Yesterday started out a little rough and nose-dived into a mind-numbing flurry of half formed memories and ideas in my head. The type of day where the chaos in my head creates chaos in my body.
After driving around after work listening to crappy pop music at deafening volumes for hours, I went home and stewed my aching body in a hot bath - with my iPod plugged in and the candles lit. I laid there, nearly comatose, staring at my chipped toenail polish for hours.
What I really wanted to do is call some friends to meet me at the Long Haul. I'd play the jukebox and Big Buck Hunter until I'd run out of laundry quarters. I'd drink too much vodka cranberry and challenge the bartenders to J.D. shot competitions - which would then lead to flirting with 60-year old truck drivers and dancing to 80's big hair bands by myself on the dancefloor with all the regulars mumbling 'what the hell got into that girl?' over their beer mugs.
But I didn't. I got out of the tub, cleaned up cat puke, and crawled into bed contemplating the next day without the man I am fighting desperately to forget.
Maybe I am growing up, if only in unpleasant, sober ways.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Flashbacks
Edit: I realize these are no fun for anyone else because no one but me knows what they mean... So I've added some context...
Today my beautiful, amazing friend, Lisa, brought me back to 1996 with a simple phrase that nearly made my head reel with it's potent flashback-edness. I've decided to collect a few of these phrases/quotes that take me back 10 or 20 years (god, how scary. 20 years?!). I'll keep adding to the list as I think of them.
EDIT:
Today my beautiful, amazing friend, Lisa, brought me back to 1996 with a simple phrase that nearly made my head reel with it's potent flashback-edness. I've decided to collect a few of these phrases/quotes that take me back 10 or 20 years (god, how scary. 20 years?!). I'll keep adding to the list as I think of them.
- You rock! (A quote from Tina in high school)
- T.R. (Another thing Tina liked to say - T.R. = Thief River)
- Beyond: is that, like, Spanish or something? (Katie misheard Lisa during lunch in school one day, and sent Lisa and I into fits of laughter and relentless teasing)
- M.J. Chicken Legs (Katie's love for Michael Jackson and her comparison of her legs to a chickens made this another relentless harassment)
- Chicka-pow-wow (Jessica anytime love or romance or sex came up)
- My monkey wrote my paper...He said "Eek, Eek." I got an F. (Jessica quoting a comedian or something - she is much more funny than the comedian!)
- Big Tits Magee (What Fabian would call me when he wanted to make me angry)
- Tilly dirl (Another Fabian saying. Tilly dirl = silly girl)
- Electric Blue Eyes (Thor and I singing the Cranberries at the top of our lungs one summer)
- Chitty-chitty-Bang-BAAAAAAANNNNNNGGGGGG! (Jessica - just because we both love Ace Ventura)
- We're lost! >followed by evil laughter< (En route bowling with Adeline and her older siblings. Adeline thought the driver was serious and she cried.)
- Smacker dacker (Trents nickname for Thor and the way his arms flopped when he rode horse.)
- Can I pee in your ****? (Another Fabian jab)
- Cutie (What Fabian always called me)
- It's hot in these rhinos. (My favorite quote of all time. From Ace Ventura)
- Pooper dingy (Trent's nickname for Pepper. Don't know where that one came from but it makes me laugh at it's absurdity.)
- In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight! (When I was really young, dad would sing this song in the barn when he was milking cows.)
- Mama Sita (A Becky saying)
- Heidi Mae 003 (Mr. Bishop called me this in a high school math class. It stuck.)
- SAFE! (Mr. Bishop shouted this out when I tripped while running laps in phy-ed - I fell on my stomach and slide what seemed to be 10 feet with my arms outstretched.)
- Big Bopper (A nickname for Doug)
- Ada (A cow we had that was really mean - always reminds me of a friend of mom's)
- Tuna (A nickname for Tina that she hated)
- You shook me all night long! (Jess & I would sing and dance to this song all those nights of college partying)
- Maybe your girl and my friend can trade; tag team, off the ropes! On the ocean or in the boat! Factories or on hundred spokes! What about up in the candy sto' - that chocolate chocolate make it melt... (Jess and I would blare this song while getting for a long night of partying and trouble-making.)
EDIT:
- Nipples the size of dinner plates. (A conversation between mom and I that Thor accidently heard. I think we traumatized him.)
- They're still nice! (Comment from Chris)
- I suck at this game. (Chris)
To whom it may concern
My dearest Charlie:
In an effort to keep our roommate situation amicable, I have a few issues to bring to your attention.
1. First of all, your total disregard for my company is rude. Your complete and utter lack of acknowledgement, much less greeting, is a discredit to us both. I must ask you to please do your best in welcoming any and all guests into our home and to do so in a loving, kind manner.
2. Your moodiness is out of control. Yes, I know I have my faults as well, but please keep in mind that I do not scowl and hiss at you when I am merely passing through the room – my mood swings are kept quietly to myself. Each day I come home and I wonder if today is the day I will be ripped to shreds by those heinous hind feet of yours or if you will lovingly dance around my ankles. Life is too full of stress and worries as it is and I refuse to sidestep around your moodiness any longer. Granted, we have had a rough go at things. Learning to trust one another has been a long road and I don’t believe either of us have reached ‘trust.’ You have yet to trust me to treat you respectfully and kindly and I have yet to trust you to behave yourself and not prance your fluffy fat ass in the patio window where the landlady can see you and subsequently not kick me out on my fluffy fat ass. These are things we must work on together.
3. Please respect me and my space. I don’t know what your mother taught you but, generally, staring is considered rude. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do but you stare incessantly and I find is disconcerting. Particularly so when I am naked… and you do your head bob… then run to hide under the kitchen table. This hurts my feelings.
4. Another matter is that the bed in our home is my bed. Not your bed. Not your bed when I’m not in it. Not your bed when I am in it! My bed. So, don’t cry and scowl at me when I look to use it.
5. I know that you have a carefree lifestyle in which your nourishment is provided mysteriously from that sack stored under the sink, but a surprise to you would be that during daylight hours I am earning the funds to pay for your chow and would appreciate some peace and quiet when I am trying to rest. Those shoelaces do not magically come alive at 2 a.m. and there is no cause for you to stage a full-blown attack at that time of night. You and Bush can wage war on those poor shoelaces and chair ties from the hours of 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. if you wish; otherwise, zip it.
6. Last but not least, I am not a couch. I realize that I am large and soft, much like a couch, but the similarities don’t mean that I am a couch. Your efforts to be close and snuggle with me (when your mood allows) are endearing and heart-melting. However, when I am dressed for work, or any other time when I will shortly be in public, is not the time for you to settle down with your popcorn and soda on my squishy lap and take a load off. Also, another good time for you to not recline on me is when I am trying to sleep. Your making bread on my boobs while I’m trying to sleep does nothing for the benefit of our living arrangement.
I realize that not all issues in the running of our household are your fault. I have many ugly and embarrassing problems that I must address also to keep a happy home. I will continue to work on my issues, if you will please attempt to work on those mentioned above. Please remember that I do enjoy living with you. It’s nice having someone to come home to and I truly appreciate you wiping my tears and listening to my rantings about boys until all hours of the night. If we can work these few hiccoughs out, I think we’ll both be much happier in the end.
Lovingly yours,
hmv
P.S. Drool. It is not attractive.
In an effort to keep our roommate situation amicable, I have a few issues to bring to your attention.
1. First of all, your total disregard for my company is rude. Your complete and utter lack of acknowledgement, much less greeting, is a discredit to us both. I must ask you to please do your best in welcoming any and all guests into our home and to do so in a loving, kind manner.
2. Your moodiness is out of control. Yes, I know I have my faults as well, but please keep in mind that I do not scowl and hiss at you when I am merely passing through the room – my mood swings are kept quietly to myself. Each day I come home and I wonder if today is the day I will be ripped to shreds by those heinous hind feet of yours or if you will lovingly dance around my ankles. Life is too full of stress and worries as it is and I refuse to sidestep around your moodiness any longer. Granted, we have had a rough go at things. Learning to trust one another has been a long road and I don’t believe either of us have reached ‘trust.’ You have yet to trust me to treat you respectfully and kindly and I have yet to trust you to behave yourself and not prance your fluffy fat ass in the patio window where the landlady can see you and subsequently not kick me out on my fluffy fat ass. These are things we must work on together.
3. Please respect me and my space. I don’t know what your mother taught you but, generally, staring is considered rude. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do but you stare incessantly and I find is disconcerting. Particularly so when I am naked… and you do your head bob… then run to hide under the kitchen table. This hurts my feelings.
4. Another matter is that the bed in our home is my bed. Not your bed. Not your bed when I’m not in it. Not your bed when I am in it! My bed. So, don’t cry and scowl at me when I look to use it.
5. I know that you have a carefree lifestyle in which your nourishment is provided mysteriously from that sack stored under the sink, but a surprise to you would be that during daylight hours I am earning the funds to pay for your chow and would appreciate some peace and quiet when I am trying to rest. Those shoelaces do not magically come alive at 2 a.m. and there is no cause for you to stage a full-blown attack at that time of night. You and Bush can wage war on those poor shoelaces and chair ties from the hours of 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. if you wish; otherwise, zip it.
6. Last but not least, I am not a couch. I realize that I am large and soft, much like a couch, but the similarities don’t mean that I am a couch. Your efforts to be close and snuggle with me (when your mood allows) are endearing and heart-melting. However, when I am dressed for work, or any other time when I will shortly be in public, is not the time for you to settle down with your popcorn and soda on my squishy lap and take a load off. Also, another good time for you to not recline on me is when I am trying to sleep. Your making bread on my boobs while I’m trying to sleep does nothing for the benefit of our living arrangement.
I realize that not all issues in the running of our household are your fault. I have many ugly and embarrassing problems that I must address also to keep a happy home. I will continue to work on my issues, if you will please attempt to work on those mentioned above. Please remember that I do enjoy living with you. It’s nice having someone to come home to and I truly appreciate you wiping my tears and listening to my rantings about boys until all hours of the night. If we can work these few hiccoughs out, I think we’ll both be much happier in the end.
Lovingly yours,
hmv
P.S. Drool. It is not attractive.
Friday, January 25, 2008
On family
No need we power or splendor, wide hall or dome; the good, the true, the tender - these form the wealth of home. --Sarah J. Hale
You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance. --Franklin P. Jones
Nothing you ever do for children is ever wasted. They seem not to notice us, hovering, averting our eyes; and they seldom offer thanks, but what we do for them is never wasted. --Garrison Keillor
There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One is roots; the other, wings.
A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on. --Carl Sandburg
Making a decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body. --Elizabeth Stone
You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance. --Franklin P. Jones
Nothing you ever do for children is ever wasted. They seem not to notice us, hovering, averting our eyes; and they seldom offer thanks, but what we do for them is never wasted. --Garrison Keillor
There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One is roots; the other, wings.
A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on. --Carl Sandburg
Making a decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body. --Elizabeth Stone
What the books say about love
On being in love:
Our honeymoon was spent on a yacht and with twenty-one children. That is, I sailed a thirty-six-foot Rhodes from seven in the morning till whenever my passengers had enough, and Jenny was a children’s counselor. It was a place called the Pequod Boat Club in Dennis Port (not far from Hyannis), an establishment that included a large hotel, a marina, and several dozen houses for rent. In one of the tinier bungalows, I have nailed an imaginary plaque: “Oliver and Jenny slept here—when they weren’t making love.” I think it’s a tribute to us both that after along day of being kind to our customers, for we were largely dependent on their tips for our income, Jenny and I were nonetheless kind to each other. I simply say “kind,” because I lack the vocabulary to describe what loving and being loved by Jennifer Cavilleri is like. Sorry, I mean Jennifer Barrett. (Love Story– by Erich Segal)
On believing you're in love:
I didn’t know what she wanted, but at that moment, I felt like I did. This is part of the illusion I’m talking about. It makes you think that you’re doing the right thing, that you’re headed down the right path, that the two of you rolling around and sweating and f*cking on a single bed in the dire heat of St. Petersburg, with her suite-mates hanging around drinking wine one flimsy wall away, is the right thing to do. When maybe really all that’s right about it is that it feels good. (Girl Boy Etc– by Michael Weinreb, pg 64)
On trying not to be in love:
What you normally do to extract yourself from this situation is focus on her flaws. They don’t have to be major flaws; perhaps she has a couple of unattractive moles on her lower back. But here’s my question: What happens when you start to cherish her flaws more than her perfections, when you look at that mole and you feel like you could kiss it until your mouth is sore? It’s like I’ve been telling you. My knowledge is limited. (Girl Boy Etc– by Michael Weinreb, pg 79)
Our honeymoon was spent on a yacht and with twenty-one children. That is, I sailed a thirty-six-foot Rhodes from seven in the morning till whenever my passengers had enough, and Jenny was a children’s counselor. It was a place called the Pequod Boat Club in Dennis Port (not far from Hyannis), an establishment that included a large hotel, a marina, and several dozen houses for rent. In one of the tinier bungalows, I have nailed an imaginary plaque: “Oliver and Jenny slept here—when they weren’t making love.” I think it’s a tribute to us both that after along day of being kind to our customers, for we were largely dependent on their tips for our income, Jenny and I were nonetheless kind to each other. I simply say “kind,” because I lack the vocabulary to describe what loving and being loved by Jennifer Cavilleri is like. Sorry, I mean Jennifer Barrett. (Love Story– by Erich Segal)
On believing you're in love:
I didn’t know what she wanted, but at that moment, I felt like I did. This is part of the illusion I’m talking about. It makes you think that you’re doing the right thing, that you’re headed down the right path, that the two of you rolling around and sweating and f*cking on a single bed in the dire heat of St. Petersburg, with her suite-mates hanging around drinking wine one flimsy wall away, is the right thing to do. When maybe really all that’s right about it is that it feels good. (Girl Boy Etc– by Michael Weinreb, pg 64)
On trying not to be in love:
What you normally do to extract yourself from this situation is focus on her flaws. They don’t have to be major flaws; perhaps she has a couple of unattractive moles on her lower back. But here’s my question: What happens when you start to cherish her flaws more than her perfections, when you look at that mole and you feel like you could kiss it until your mouth is sore? It’s like I’ve been telling you. My knowledge is limited. (Girl Boy Etc– by Michael Weinreb, pg 79)
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