Filed under: Uncategorized
Jason has been in LA since Wednesday night. Since then, I have:
+slept like absolute shit. I never realized what an effect he had on my sleeping patterns until he wasn’t a part of them anymore. The first night I felt so out of place I started crying. I’m such a wuss.
+gone to Donnelly’s and Howiee’s with friends
+eaten my weight in peppermint patties and edamame (mostly the edamame. I ate an entire bag today).
+read two books
+taken two extra long baths, using all the hot water with no regard for the person bathing after me
+gone to Kaleidescope with two girls from work
The pain in my side has gotten better to the point I only feel it if I bend a certain way. My trainer thinks I pulled a muscle and when I expressed concern about how long it was taking it to heal, he told me not to worry about it. So I didn’t. And I woke up this morning and it was a mere echo of the pain I had felt for the past four days.
At Howiee’s tonight we talked a little about wedding plans as far as when everyone is arriving and what we’re doing, and now I’m really excited. You know what I’m not excited about? My loudass neighbors that decided it would be a great idea to scream their heads off and scare me half to death.
In my quest for higher education, I attended three different colleges. The first one, a state university, I attended for two years. They were very tumultuous years, full of heartbreak and depression and therapy and self-discovery. I lived in two different apartments with two very different sets of people and learned something from each experience.
The second and most rewarding was the year I spent at Southeastern. The girls I lived with in Destino 105 made that college experience the best one I’ve ever had. The craziest part about our living situation (call it divine intervention) was that none of us were supposed to live in that dorm, and only two of the six of us roomed with our designated room mates. But we fit together in a way that only spontaneity could work out; we grew together. We certainly had our differences — I don’t mean to imply that things were perfect all the time — but it was deeper than the “you slept with my boyfriend” scenario. Our struggles were spiritual, physical, emotional. We danced and we played and we worshiped together. Nothing bonds people quicker than the understanding that they all have the same purpose, the same passions. And we did. It wasn’t ever spoken aloud, and maybe I’m only now understanding all of this because I’m so separate from that situation. We knew that our purpose was bigger than ourselves, and we were able to forgive each other our flaws because ours had been forgiven.
Each of those girls impacted me deeper than they realize on levels I’m not able to articulate. It goes deep into the heart of who I am, to that place where words aren’t necessary. While I only stayed at that school for a year, I’m comforted by the fact that there will always be ways to communicate (even though our lives have strung us in different directions); while we’re not really the same people we once were, naive college girls in search of God knows what, there was that basic need of acceptance that I had fulfilled. I had struggled with that for a long time, feeling accepted. They made me feel better by being there.
Liz, Susan, Kyleigh, Kelly, & Jenna: Even though you’ll probably never read this, thank you.
This weekend was full of more social activity than usual, partly because I was feeling extra social and partly because there were watermelon-flavored things involved (such as alcoholic drinks and then, later, real live watermelon). I’ve noticed that no one eats their watermelon with salt here, and while Jason is all about trying a new beer or eating food that I’ve burned to a crisp, he is reluctant to take a bite of salted watermelon. Everyone was. It was kind of sad, really, and made me feel like I’d been doing it wrong all these years. After the first bite, I hardly cared. I ate six pieces of watermelon, a turkey burger, and two cupcakes that day. Not too bad. I could’ve done without the cupcakes, sure, but I spent all day making them and I am not about to deny myself the pleasure one gets from eating home baked red velvet cupcakes (especially when there is cream cheese frosting on said cupcakes, also home made).
Sunday evening we saw the newest Indiana Jones movie. I’d never had an encounter with Indiana before that evening, and while I’m assured that the others were a lot better than this one, I doubt that I’ll give them a chance. I was entertained, yes. But… really? With the thing at the end? Because I coulda done without it. The ant part too. Just thinking about it makes me itch.
We did indeed go tuxedo shopping on Saturday (as I said we would). I think it got Jason into the excitement a little bit. He picked out everything – I supplied my opinion when he asked, but generally didn’t say much – and when he tried on the jacket to get measured I almost shed some tears. The trip perked me up a bit as well and since then I’ve been really looking forward to getting married to Jason because the tuxedos, they will look so good.
Something on my left side is killing me. It feels like a pulled muscle, maybe. Do pulled muscles hurt when you push on them? At first I thought it was gas, but things have been moving right along in that department, and doesn’t gas usually move around? What kind of gas stays in the same place for two days? Jackie was most helpful and suggested that cancer was causing my side to hurt. That’s why I keep her around, you know. She’s very good at suggesting inane diseases when I describe my symptoms. “I stubbed my toe!” “That means you have glaucoma.”
I am a prime example of Looking Busy While Sleeping With Eyes Open. I type quickly and that gives the impression of being doing something Very Important, but really it’s just writing blogs on a Word document so I can email them to myself later.
There has been a perpetual tickle in the back of my throat since going to bed last night, and regardless of how many times I cough or how many swigs of water I take or how much ardent swallowing I do, the tickle remains. Does it have something to do with weather? Allergies? My throat feels really dry, like Sahara Desert dry, and also itchy (hence the coughing). No nose problems, no watery eyes. Just this weirdass throat thing that makes sleeping near impossible.
It’s supposed to rain all weekend and I’m really looking forward to that, to the rain and the staying inside and lounging around. I cleaned my bathrooms and vacuumed yesterday, and laundry has been in & out of the washer & dryer, so come Monday there will be very little in the way of Cleaning Shit Up to do and for that, I am grateful. There’s a Jon & Kate Plus 8 marathon on TLC that starts 6 a.m. and that makes me happier than anything in the world.
Wedding related news: we’re going to look at tuxedos on Saturday. And we don’t need passports. Yipee!
I moved cubicles because we’re getting a new person on Friday, so I’m way in the back and sort of secluded. I was really hesitant at first, being away from people I talk to on a daily basis, but the move has proved successful in that I’m way more productive because I have no distractions (e.g. someone screaming at their husband/bank and them slamming the phone down, stupid conversations revolving around stupid subjects). It’s nice to have some peace & quiet & to be able to finish my work in a timely manner. I feel like such a schmuck for saying that. Don’t tell anyone.
Filed under: random
I realize that I’m not a music reviewer, and the four years of various vocal lessons and practices and many many choirs and bands I was a part of do not qualify me to commentate on any piece of music ever written, but I feel the need to say something.
I’m listening to Blackout right now, and from the very first “It’s Britney, bitch,” this is the single-most addicting compilation of Britney’s synth-laden vocal ability EVER. It’s cocaine for the ears, especially “Piece of Me” and “Radar.” Some great advances have been made in musical technology since her hiatus from the biz: her voice sounds great. I’ve never been a fan of Britney’s voice (though I really enjoyed her songs, I found her a better performer than a singer and that’s not really a surprise to anyone), preferring to listen to Christina Aguilera when I felt like hearing beautiful vocals (Britney trumps Jessica Simpson any day because her technique is reprehensible and her songs are a snooze-fest). There’s something new about it, more fresh. Maybe the stint in rehab and the vocal coaches have paid off. Maybe she really can sing. Kidding.
I’ve done nothing but listening to this album all day. It was on my desk this morning, and I slipped it in my disk drive at 8:15, only pausing the songs when I got a phone call, stepped out of the office, or was being talked to. I may be addicted.
It just hit me that in six months from today I’ll be married.
MAIR. EED. (This will NOT turn into one of those “look at me, I’m getting married” blogs because I hate that people can’t find anything else to talk about other than the fact that they’re getting married, but I had to point out the fact that I will be a missus a mere six months from now. I don’t even have an apron.)
Most of the time I’m happy about it, and other times I’m like ‘What the hell did I get myself into?’ Those thoughts usually occur after I walk into a bathroom Jason has been occupying for fifteen minutes. Why does it take men so long to go number two? Why? This is not a rhetorical questions, folks. I want some answers.
I still have no idea what kind of flowers I’m going to have on account of I still don’t care about flowers nor do I have any working knowledge of them. Hopefully that issue will work itself out and I don’t have to walk down the aisle carrying blades of grass hot glued to sticks.
Two of the groomsmen have bought their plane tickets – one of them will be driving with his pregnant wife and five year old daughter, a trip that i’m very grateful for them making but do not envy in the slightest. I’ve driven across the country once, and while it was a horizontal pilgrimage rather than a vertical one, I was very ready to be out of the GD car already. Jay & Megan will get their tickets when their stimulus check comes in (Thanks, Dubya, for allowing my friends to see me get married, how ’bout you do something about these here taxes?) and my brother will be there already. He has to travel about 15 minutes from my parents’ house to the wedding site. And that’s it. So really I’m just waiting for one groomsman and one bridesmaid to confirm that they are indeed going to show up.
I’ve been going to the gym regularly for about three weeks, and tomorrow I start sessions with a personal trainer. Exciting as it may be, actually speaking the words “I want to lose 60 pounds” makes this whole thing seem very daunting. One day at a time, only you can control your actions, blah blah blah. Excited. Yes. I am excited. This will be good! The gym is fun! I’m playing mind games with myself by repeating positive phrases and hoping that they’ll make their way into my subconscious and I’ll start to believe them. Unfortunately, because I know that it’s all a game, I am not fooled.
Filed under: random
I hope that by now you’ve all taken my advice and have gone to see Iron Man. If not, please stop reading this and Fandango a movie time for crying out loud. I realize that I’m entertaining and action-packed, but can I fly? Do I have a superawesome suit that shoots fire? Do I have an assistant named after a condiment?
Spring is soon! It’s coming! The mornings are still a little brisk (cold enough that I have to wear a sweater, not cold enough that I have to wake up thirty minutes early to scrape 8 inches of ice off my windshield) but the afternoons are sunny & bright and I’ve already got the shoe tan lines, dear God the tan lines! I’ve missed you! Since moving here ten months ago I’ve had to buy three new foundations because the pigment of my skin has gotten more and more translucent. Now my feet have little half-moons of darkness and I’ve never been so happy to be duo-toned. On another weather related note, it’s supposed to be 100 degrees on Friday.
I have a little mini-vacation scheduled the second week of June to go to Lauren’s wedding and NYC that I’m really excited about, partly because I get to see some old friends and partly because I get to go to New York City. It’s just occurred to me that I don’t have luggage. Scratch that. We have old luggage. The kind that still looks like a flat box with four wheels on the bottom that’s made out of vinyl or something, navy blue with maroon piping around the sides. It’s really classy. I’ll be meeting Kelly in Connecticut, and then from there we’ll meet Ashley at the train station and hitch a ride to New York. I don’t even know what we’re going to do. Kelly wants to go to Canal Street and Ashley wants to see the Statue of Liberty and I really don’t care as long as I have some good company and I don’t get mugged.
Jason and I had been talking via email and telephone for months before I met him in October, and meeting him only confirmed what I had expected all along: I loved this boy. There’s something about meeting someone on the internet that’s a bit freeing, and that feeling of free only heightens when you find their blog and can read back entries. Rarely does one open up as completely as they do to the internet.
My goal wasn’t to move, let me be perfectly clear. I didn’t see our relationship as a way out of the small town I grew up in, nor was I in any big hurry to leave. What I wanted was to bridge the geographical distance between us, and me relocating was a logical solution to that problem. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. It was considered, weighed from all angles. I got the opinions of the people closest to me. My mother was supportive from the get-go (if she had reservations, she shared them little by little and I surprised us both by having well thought-out answers to her questions), and my father came around eventually. Without ever having met him, they gave their blessing.
The main issue I have with people calling what I did ‘courageous’ is that I wasn’t scared. There were fleeting moments of insecurity, there was homesickness, but there wasn’t ever a time when I thought, “I have made a huge mistake.” That’s a lie. There was one time. I was checking into a hotel while Jason was parking the car, and the desk clerk asked for my address. I broke down and cried on the spot because I didn’t have an address. I didn’t live at home anymore and we hadn’t moved into our apartment and where the hell did I live and what did I get myself into? I sputtered out my parents’ address and that only made me cry harder. The clerk, I felt so bad for him. He just stood there for about twenty seconds and then handed me the room key. Dear Clerk in Butthole, Nevada: I am sorry I was a crazy crying woman. At least you have something to tell your friends at parties.
Courage is exemplified by people being scared to do something and doing it anyway, like rushing into a burning building or chasing tornadoes. Or maybe the things we think of as courageous we deem so because they scares us, and the fact that anyone would willingly do those things makes us simultaneously question their sanity and applaud them. I’ve been asked where I got the courage to move to Oregon, but there’s not a solid answer to that, particularly because I don’t see it as a courageous act. Much like a child taking his first steps, I did what came next.
There wasn’t anyone in the world who cared less about Transformers than me. Everyone was all “Ooo, ahhh” about those huge machines kicking each others’ asses, and I was wondering how long I would have to hold the remnants of the Super Large Only a Quarter More Diet Coke in my quivering bladder before I could safely maneuver the aisles without tripping on some nostalgic dork. But I really enjoyed it.
I have never read a comic book in my life. I don’t know anything about anything comic related. I’ve never seen a Superman movie. Ever. And I don’t care about Superman. At all. I’ve seen exactly 15 minutes of one of the many Batman’s. I don’t remember which one, but I think George Clooney was involved. I saw the first Spiderman because my boyfriend at the time wanted to see it, and I saw the second one because I don’t know why. I’m sure it had to do with the same boyfriend. I liked X-Men because hellllooo? Hugh Jackman? Shirtless? Yes, please.
We saw Iron Man tonight. It. Was. Awesome. The movie was thoroughly entertaining and you don’t have to know anything about the comic to enjoy it (except the very very very end part – Jason had to explain why all the fanatics were so giddy that they needed a new pair of pants) and only a little bit did my mind wander, but it still had something to do with the movie (Gwenyth Paltrow looks really good as a red head is what I was thinking). It was definitely worth the $5.50 we spent to see the movie (during the week nights we buy senior tickets at the kiosk because it’s really slow and no one checks the tickets to begin with) and even though I spilled half the bag of popcorn on my jeans and effectively ruined them, it was a good time.
I started the day out at about a 4 on the Scale On Which All Things Are Judged. The little sleep I did get was horrible and I kept tossing and turning, and when it’s midnight-thirty and all you want to do is sleep but the person sleeping next to you is all WHEEZE, SNORE, WHEEZE, SNORE and even the pillow can’t keep the noise out, it will most assuredly be a long evening. Morning. Period of darkness.
I’m exaggerating the wheeze/snore thing. He wasn’t breathing any louder than usual. But you know when you’re trying to get to sleep and the teeniest noise will keep you up and also sound like an 800 pound gorilla jumping up & down? It was kind of like that. Except the gorilla had its nostrils all up on my ear and no amount of pillow would keep the noise out, and because my ears were lobe-deep in pillow I was painfully aware of my own pulse. One wheeze/snore for Jason, four heartbeats for Denise. It was our own little rhythm, an opus of bodily noises.
I should also note that as much as deep breathing bothers me and hinders my REM progress, if I can’t hear Jason breathing in the middle of the night I stick my finger under his nose and feel for air. If that doesn’t work, I lean over and put my ear really close to his mouth. If I still can’t tell, I lean over until he chokes on my hair and wakes up. Then he falls back to sleep and I can rest a little easier, knowing he hasn’t died. And also wanting to kill him for breathing so loudly.
Filed under: random
I could easily spend hours upon hours wandering the aisles of Target. Everything’s so bright and cheery and nice looking that I would drop my entire paycheck in one afternoon if I didn’t have to worry about things like eating and having a place to live. I think it has something to do with the lighting. It’s still florescent, but it’s a more dim, warmer florescent. The kind of florescent that says “Come here. Stay here. Buy things.”
While Target is only a step or two above Wal-Mart, it’s an important two steps. It might have something to do with the feeble octogenarian greeters. Is the pink-haired lady going to stop someone from busting a cap in anyone’s ass? Am I going to avoid a shanking because she’s there to waggle a finger? The blue vests just aren’t threatening. I know that the head honchos at Wallyworld are trying to make the stores seem more pleasant and family-friendly by hiring People From Our Community, but in my experience those greeters aren’t smiling and most young kids are scared of old people. The generic stickers pasted on to cheeks and shirts by the liver-spotted hands of People From Our Community don’t do much to deter from the fact that sometimes, they’re just plain creepy.
The security guard that greeted me at Target, however, made me feel safe and deterred me from trying to stuff my pants with Isaac Mizrahi bedding. I walked in and he was standing there in all of his Rugged and Manly glory, looking quite threatening in his black official looking uniform. But he smiled at me, a warm smile that crept out from underneath his Rugged and Manly handlebar mustache. It was a smile that said, “Hello. I am here to make sure no one hurts you, and also to make sure you don’t rip us off. If everyone just keeps their hands to themselves, then I won’t break out the pepper spray and/or taze you, which is something that I secretly want to do because c’mon now, this is Target and isn’t exactly the Ghetto of All Things Dangerous.” I appreciated that. A perfect mixture of notoriety, disdain, and altruism. Way to go, Target. Way to go.
