These are my favorite things about summer:
Sun until 9 p.m.
Sun up at 5 a.m.
Big Brother.
Psych (this Friday, bay-bee!).
The Closer.
Top Chef.
Hell's Kitchen.
And my new favorite (da, da, da, DA)...Confessions of a Matchmaker!
That's me...Living life in my easy chair!
Monday, July 09, 2007
Stray Cat Strut
Tonight, hunky took me to Dolce, Grand Sierra Resort's newest "designer" restaurant. Owned by Mike (gag) Boogie of Big Brother fame, I have to say that despite his skankiness, the restaurant is pure class.
It's beautiful inside; walls of fire and water, fantastic music, an inviting menu and fantastic service. They also have a great by-the-glass wine list, and I had the Dolce Meritage...ummmm good. Hunky had the Pacific Rim Riesling, a riesling we both like, but one he has sort of grown out of.
After a fantastic dinner, we began our trek through the casino floor to the great outdoors. We passed what used to be the Hilton Theater, and saw a big sign advertising the Stray Cats concert in August. "Stray Cats!" I exclaimed. "I wonder if it's the Stray Cats with Brian Setzer or just the Stray Cats?"
"Go up and ask. No one is waiting in line."
So, I did. I went up and asked. The woman behind the counter assured me it was Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats. Next thing I knew, I was plunking down my credit card for two tickets to see the Stray Cats.
I am so excited I can hardly contain myself. Hunky and I saw Brian Setzer about two years ago, and I just about blew my wad then. But Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats? I won't be coming out of this concert with a clean pair of panties, that's for sure!
It's beautiful inside; walls of fire and water, fantastic music, an inviting menu and fantastic service. They also have a great by-the-glass wine list, and I had the Dolce Meritage...ummmm good. Hunky had the Pacific Rim Riesling, a riesling we both like, but one he has sort of grown out of.
After a fantastic dinner, we began our trek through the casino floor to the great outdoors. We passed what used to be the Hilton Theater, and saw a big sign advertising the Stray Cats concert in August. "Stray Cats!" I exclaimed. "I wonder if it's the Stray Cats with Brian Setzer or just the Stray Cats?"
"Go up and ask. No one is waiting in line."
So, I did. I went up and asked. The woman behind the counter assured me it was Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats. Next thing I knew, I was plunking down my credit card for two tickets to see the Stray Cats.
I am so excited I can hardly contain myself. Hunky and I saw Brian Setzer about two years ago, and I just about blew my wad then. But Brian Setzer AND the Stray Cats? I won't be coming out of this concert with a clean pair of panties, that's for sure!
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Where is...???
I'm going to miss Hunky, there's no doubt. But there are certain idiosyncrasies I won't miss. Like the fact that he appears to blame me every time something goes missing. Yesterday was a great example.
I was minding my own business, when he shouted up the stairs "Where are my glasses???!!!" "Which glasses," I asked. "Your sunglasses or regular glasses."
I hear a heavy sigh. "My regular glasses," he says, in that voice that lets me know I've just asked the stupidest question on earth.
"I don't know. I haven't seen them."
Another sigh. "Fine," he says in that dismissive voice that lets me know he blames me for their disappearance, and is now angry that he can't find them.
I went into the bedroom to see if they were by the bed. Nope. Then I remembered that he went to a movie night at a friend's house and would have taken them with him. "Honey, you took them with you to the movie night. Are they still in your car."
Again a sigh, this one letting me know that once again, I have managed to ask a very stupid question. He answers me as if he is speaking to a two-year-old and says slowly and carefully,"I checked the car already, and they are not there."
Even though this isn't my problem, I know he has made it my problem, so I went downstairs to help him look. I saw his jeans on top of the dog crate, and they were on top of a bag he had brought in from his car. "From his car..." I thought, and opened up the bag. What did I see inside, but his glasses.
"Here they are," I sing out, victoriously. He looks at me, mumbles thanks, and starts to walk away.
I call him out, though, on his tone that blamed me for the missing glasses. He didn't really apologize, just kind of mumbled that yeah, in that case it was him, but normally I am the one that misplaces his things.
So. Not. True.
And that, my friends, is the one thing I won't miss...the daily blaming me for missing items, only to find out that in 9 out of 10 cases, he is the one that misplaced the item in the first place.
I was minding my own business, when he shouted up the stairs "Where are my glasses???!!!" "Which glasses," I asked. "Your sunglasses or regular glasses."
I hear a heavy sigh. "My regular glasses," he says, in that voice that lets me know I've just asked the stupidest question on earth.
"I don't know. I haven't seen them."
Another sigh. "Fine," he says in that dismissive voice that lets me know he blames me for their disappearance, and is now angry that he can't find them.
I went into the bedroom to see if they were by the bed. Nope. Then I remembered that he went to a movie night at a friend's house and would have taken them with him. "Honey, you took them with you to the movie night. Are they still in your car."
Again a sigh, this one letting me know that once again, I have managed to ask a very stupid question. He answers me as if he is speaking to a two-year-old and says slowly and carefully,"I checked the car already, and they are not there."
Even though this isn't my problem, I know he has made it my problem, so I went downstairs to help him look. I saw his jeans on top of the dog crate, and they were on top of a bag he had brought in from his car. "From his car..." I thought, and opened up the bag. What did I see inside, but his glasses.
"Here they are," I sing out, victoriously. He looks at me, mumbles thanks, and starts to walk away.
I call him out, though, on his tone that blamed me for the missing glasses. He didn't really apologize, just kind of mumbled that yeah, in that case it was him, but normally I am the one that misplaces his things.
So. Not. True.
And that, my friends, is the one thing I won't miss...the daily blaming me for missing items, only to find out that in 9 out of 10 cases, he is the one that misplaced the item in the first place.
Einie, Mienie, Miney, Mo...
After house hunting almost every night for two weeks, I believe I'm down to the final two. The problem? I love them both equally, for different reasons. I really don't love one more than the other, so it makes it very difficult to decide which house to make an offer on.
In the first corner, we have 21 Semillion. It's 1,024 square feet, and has two bedrooms, a cute little garden with a huge shed, new designer fixtures and mirrors installed in the bathrooms and hallways, brand new cabinets in the master bathroom and kitchen (beadboard). beautiful new linoleum in the bathrooms and kitchen. I believe it is currently owned by a witch, although I haven't had the nerve to ask her outright. She has painted "Blessed be" on the fence in the backyard - kind of a giveaway. But a Druid friend of mine said "Well, everyone says that these days, so you can't be sure."
But baby, I'm sure. It's just a feeling I get when I'm in the place, ya know? Great energy.
The drawbacks: Not much storage (no walk-in closets or built-ins), the swamp cooler is in the back of the house, and only two bedrooms.
In the next corner we have 12 Riesling, a three-bedroom home with a beautiful covered deck in the backyard that overlooks Reno. The house has had many beautifications added: the deck with built-in benches, the kitchen has been expertly painted (with a design - not stenciled), textured walls in the bathroom with imprints of leaves. Brand new linoleum in the bathrooms. Walk-in closet in the master, and two sheds in the backyard.
The drawbacks: the living room/sitting room is very small and is right in front of the entrance door. In other words, there is no separation. The current owners don't even have a couch in that room, and I can see why; there really isn't room for a couch. Their chairs are near the front door, because there is no other place for them to go. No central a/c, but there is a room unit in the front room. The master bathroom was remodeled...but they took out the beautiful garden tub that came with the place and replaced it with a looooong shower. Who would do that? Well, besides a disabled person, which the owner isn't. Mama needs her baths!
I honestly don't know which place to make an offer on. I have been agonizing over this decision for days. I feel rushed, because both places are so beautifully kept up that they are bound to go quickly. However, I can't seem to make up my mind.
I wish someone would just tell me which one I will be happiest in. I tried meditating on it. Magic. Etc. And I just don't have an answer.
I need one soon!
In the first corner, we have 21 Semillion. It's 1,024 square feet, and has two bedrooms, a cute little garden with a huge shed, new designer fixtures and mirrors installed in the bathrooms and hallways, brand new cabinets in the master bathroom and kitchen (beadboard). beautiful new linoleum in the bathrooms and kitchen. I believe it is currently owned by a witch, although I haven't had the nerve to ask her outright. She has painted "Blessed be" on the fence in the backyard - kind of a giveaway. But a Druid friend of mine said "Well, everyone says that these days, so you can't be sure."
But baby, I'm sure. It's just a feeling I get when I'm in the place, ya know? Great energy.
The drawbacks: Not much storage (no walk-in closets or built-ins), the swamp cooler is in the back of the house, and only two bedrooms.
In the next corner we have 12 Riesling, a three-bedroom home with a beautiful covered deck in the backyard that overlooks Reno. The house has had many beautifications added: the deck with built-in benches, the kitchen has been expertly painted (with a design - not stenciled), textured walls in the bathroom with imprints of leaves. Brand new linoleum in the bathrooms. Walk-in closet in the master, and two sheds in the backyard.
The drawbacks: the living room/sitting room is very small and is right in front of the entrance door. In other words, there is no separation. The current owners don't even have a couch in that room, and I can see why; there really isn't room for a couch. Their chairs are near the front door, because there is no other place for them to go. No central a/c, but there is a room unit in the front room. The master bathroom was remodeled...but they took out the beautiful garden tub that came with the place and replaced it with a looooong shower. Who would do that? Well, besides a disabled person, which the owner isn't. Mama needs her baths!
I honestly don't know which place to make an offer on. I have been agonizing over this decision for days. I feel rushed, because both places are so beautifully kept up that they are bound to go quickly. However, I can't seem to make up my mind.
I wish someone would just tell me which one I will be happiest in. I tried meditating on it. Magic. Etc. And I just don't have an answer.
I need one soon!
Friday, June 29, 2007
Looking for Mr. Goodbar
I have been out house hunting almost every day (or night) this week. Looking at potential new homes is fun, but it's also exhausting.
Saturday, Todd and I looked at three places listed with one realty agency here in town. Two of the listings were in a good location. I kind of really liked one place, but it was (brace yourself) a fixer upper. But, it was a manufactured home (that looked like a real house) with a garage! And a backyard! And a garden tub! So, I looked past the cosmetic fixes and fell in love.
I must be a fickle girl, because I fell in love again on Wednesday night with two more places. Both are basically turn-key, so good-bye fixer upper (but I'll miss you, Garage!).
One place is small...the smallest place I've been shown so far. It was 1,024 square feet. Well, that's 200 more square feet than my place was in Milpitas, but it seemed smaller. Probably because it had less storage.
My place in Milpitas had two walk-in closets, lots of storage (deep storage) in the bathroom, built-ins (hutch, cabinetry in the bathroom, pantry) and a shed. This place that I fell in love with had a regular closet in both bedrooms, however it had two full baths AND A GARDEN. A real garden. With a fence and everything.
I loved the whole house, but the garden sold me. The current owner really made the backyard cute. She painted "blessed be" on the fence, added a chiminia, made a path to the backyard outlined in big rocks, and sprinkled the yard with statues and whatnots.
The house itself is painted really nicely, and has a luxurious master bath off the bedroom with a deep garden tub. However, since there isn't much storage, and the floor layout is kind of...odd, there isn't much choice in how one places furniture, nor a lot of room to be a clutter bug (which, unfortunately, I am).
My mom's solution sounds simple: put out what you really love, and sell the rest. But how will I ever be able to part with all my stuff?
And that question brings me to the next place I fell in love with. It's a three bedroom home (THREE - a bedroom for me, a bedroom for an office, and a bedroom for...stuff!). The kitchen is lovely, with beautiful cabinetry. The most attractive selling point is the covered deck with built-in benches. I could see myself drinking coffee out there in the morning, looking out over McCarran. Okay, so maybe McCarran isn't the most lovely sight in Reno, but my point is there is a view! I can see the Atlantis from my backyard. Oops. Her backyard. Mine if I buy it.
The drawbacks: one of the park's main sewer lines is in the backyard, there are no trees or greenery on the property (it's all xeriscaped) and there are at least two neighbors with kids.
I saw another place last night which I could have fallen in love with, if it weren't for a couple of odd things about the place. But let's start with the selling points first. It was huge...three bedrooms, and the master bedroom was the biggest I've seen so far, with two walk in closets JUST IN ONE BEDROOM. The bathroom had a garden tub AND a walk-in shower. The laundry room was HUGE, with more than enough space for shelves and a table for folding, and litter pans. The kitchen was open, and there was a gorgeous bay window in the living room.
And now for the oddities. The guy was obviously doing work on the place, and decided to give up and move away. He had replaced the carpet with berber carpeting...simply beautiful. New linoleum in the kitchen. But there was a huge gash on the kitchen counter, doors missing on some cabinetry, door knobs missing on all the doors, the front door needed to either be re-hung or replaced (or maybe the place just needed some basic leveling), and that gorgeous bay window? Ruined because that's where he decided to plop the swamp cooler. Plus, he had torn out the sink in the master bathroom, and replaced it with a smaller one, which left the eye to settle on the blotchy dry wall on either side of it. Oh, and get this: no door to the bathroom. Okay for a single person, I guess, but if you were married and had to take a poop while your partner was in the bedroom, well...that would be very unpleasant.
Tomorrow I am meeting two realtors. One I haven't met before, but he has more properties in Sun Villa, the place I've decided I'd like to live. Then I'm meeting the realtor I like in the afternoon to visit a park I haven't seen yet. And the home with the deck? It's Open House tomorrow on that one, so if I want it, I guess I better make up my mind quickly.
If I had to make an offer tomorrow one of the three houses I really like (the fixer upper, the witch's lair, and the scenic home), I'd probably go against convention and get the witch's lair. Why go small? No idea why, except the energy is good there, and the backyard sold me.
My sensibilities tell me to go with the scenic home...but who knows what I'll fall in love with tomorrow?
Saturday, Todd and I looked at three places listed with one realty agency here in town. Two of the listings were in a good location. I kind of really liked one place, but it was (brace yourself) a fixer upper. But, it was a manufactured home (that looked like a real house) with a garage! And a backyard! And a garden tub! So, I looked past the cosmetic fixes and fell in love.
I must be a fickle girl, because I fell in love again on Wednesday night with two more places. Both are basically turn-key, so good-bye fixer upper (but I'll miss you, Garage!).
One place is small...the smallest place I've been shown so far. It was 1,024 square feet. Well, that's 200 more square feet than my place was in Milpitas, but it seemed smaller. Probably because it had less storage.
My place in Milpitas had two walk-in closets, lots of storage (deep storage) in the bathroom, built-ins (hutch, cabinetry in the bathroom, pantry) and a shed. This place that I fell in love with had a regular closet in both bedrooms, however it had two full baths AND A GARDEN. A real garden. With a fence and everything.
I loved the whole house, but the garden sold me. The current owner really made the backyard cute. She painted "blessed be" on the fence, added a chiminia, made a path to the backyard outlined in big rocks, and sprinkled the yard with statues and whatnots.
The house itself is painted really nicely, and has a luxurious master bath off the bedroom with a deep garden tub. However, since there isn't much storage, and the floor layout is kind of...odd, there isn't much choice in how one places furniture, nor a lot of room to be a clutter bug (which, unfortunately, I am).
My mom's solution sounds simple: put out what you really love, and sell the rest. But how will I ever be able to part with all my stuff?
And that question brings me to the next place I fell in love with. It's a three bedroom home (THREE - a bedroom for me, a bedroom for an office, and a bedroom for...stuff!). The kitchen is lovely, with beautiful cabinetry. The most attractive selling point is the covered deck with built-in benches. I could see myself drinking coffee out there in the morning, looking out over McCarran. Okay, so maybe McCarran isn't the most lovely sight in Reno, but my point is there is a view! I can see the Atlantis from my backyard. Oops. Her backyard. Mine if I buy it.
The drawbacks: one of the park's main sewer lines is in the backyard, there are no trees or greenery on the property (it's all xeriscaped) and there are at least two neighbors with kids.
I saw another place last night which I could have fallen in love with, if it weren't for a couple of odd things about the place. But let's start with the selling points first. It was huge...three bedrooms, and the master bedroom was the biggest I've seen so far, with two walk in closets JUST IN ONE BEDROOM. The bathroom had a garden tub AND a walk-in shower. The laundry room was HUGE, with more than enough space for shelves and a table for folding, and litter pans. The kitchen was open, and there was a gorgeous bay window in the living room.
And now for the oddities. The guy was obviously doing work on the place, and decided to give up and move away. He had replaced the carpet with berber carpeting...simply beautiful. New linoleum in the kitchen. But there was a huge gash on the kitchen counter, doors missing on some cabinetry, door knobs missing on all the doors, the front door needed to either be re-hung or replaced (or maybe the place just needed some basic leveling), and that gorgeous bay window? Ruined because that's where he decided to plop the swamp cooler. Plus, he had torn out the sink in the master bathroom, and replaced it with a smaller one, which left the eye to settle on the blotchy dry wall on either side of it. Oh, and get this: no door to the bathroom. Okay for a single person, I guess, but if you were married and had to take a poop while your partner was in the bedroom, well...that would be very unpleasant.
Tomorrow I am meeting two realtors. One I haven't met before, but he has more properties in Sun Villa, the place I've decided I'd like to live. Then I'm meeting the realtor I like in the afternoon to visit a park I haven't seen yet. And the home with the deck? It's Open House tomorrow on that one, so if I want it, I guess I better make up my mind quickly.
If I had to make an offer tomorrow one of the three houses I really like (the fixer upper, the witch's lair, and the scenic home), I'd probably go against convention and get the witch's lair. Why go small? No idea why, except the energy is good there, and the backyard sold me.
My sensibilities tell me to go with the scenic home...but who knows what I'll fall in love with tomorrow?
Monday, June 25, 2007
Packing My Bags
Guess who's going to move?
That's right. Me.
I don't know when. And I don't know where. But I'm moving.
I spent part of Saturday looking at potential homes. I have an appointment tomorrow night to look at more. And another appointment on Wednesday to look at one in particular.
It's weird. Todd and I are getting along better than we have in quite awhile. And he hired two girls to get the place in shape. It looks good. We look good. So, why am I thinking about moving?
It's time. We're not getting married. He's still dating. And I'm...waiting? Stuck? Something, anyway.
We had a nice, long, heart-felt conversation on Saturday. We shared "I love yous." We didn't blame anyone. For anything. It's just...well, I've said it before. I'm not entirely what he wants or what he thinks he wants. And, I'm not what he needs.
He said he believes I'm not happy with him, either. That's not true. I wasn't happy with the house. But now it's clean and we can walk and play and breathe...and I am happy again. And I am happy with him. That doesn't mean I don't get frustrated when he doesn't listen to me sometimes, or when he's focused on a computer program nothing short of sticking my butt in his face will get him to refocus on me.
I'm definitely not happy with the status quo, which is he's dating and I'm not and let's face it: I don't share well. Especially mymen man.
I don't think that moving will be the end of us. If anything, I believe it will renew and refresh our relationship. We'll actually choose to be together, instead of just being together because we live under the same roof.
As for how I feel about this potential move (and I do say potential, because of course I not only have to find a place, but it has to be a place I can afford), well, I'm both excited and sad. I look around the house when he's not here and I think "These are the things I'll miss..." Then I realize that what I'll miss aren't really the things, but the memories. The time we spent picking out a couch. The laughter we share in the bedroom. The meals we've shared in the dining room.
I'll miss living with him. And the dogs. Yet, it's a brave new world out there...and Todd won't be too far away.
That's right. Me.
I don't know when. And I don't know where. But I'm moving.
I spent part of Saturday looking at potential homes. I have an appointment tomorrow night to look at more. And another appointment on Wednesday to look at one in particular.
It's weird. Todd and I are getting along better than we have in quite awhile. And he hired two girls to get the place in shape. It looks good. We look good. So, why am I thinking about moving?
It's time. We're not getting married. He's still dating. And I'm...waiting? Stuck? Something, anyway.
We had a nice, long, heart-felt conversation on Saturday. We shared "I love yous." We didn't blame anyone. For anything. It's just...well, I've said it before. I'm not entirely what he wants or what he thinks he wants. And, I'm not what he needs.
He said he believes I'm not happy with him, either. That's not true. I wasn't happy with the house. But now it's clean and we can walk and play and breathe...and I am happy again. And I am happy with him. That doesn't mean I don't get frustrated when he doesn't listen to me sometimes, or when he's focused on a computer program nothing short of sticking my butt in his face will get him to refocus on me.
I'm definitely not happy with the status quo, which is he's dating and I'm not and let's face it: I don't share well. Especially my
I don't think that moving will be the end of us. If anything, I believe it will renew and refresh our relationship. We'll actually choose to be together, instead of just being together because we live under the same roof.
As for how I feel about this potential move (and I do say potential, because of course I not only have to find a place, but it has to be a place I can afford), well, I'm both excited and sad. I look around the house when he's not here and I think "These are the things I'll miss..." Then I realize that what I'll miss aren't really the things, but the memories. The time we spent picking out a couch. The laughter we share in the bedroom. The meals we've shared in the dining room.
I'll miss living with him. And the dogs. Yet, it's a brave new world out there...and Todd won't be too far away.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Backstory
So. Things aren't really good here at the Snuggle Ranch. The hunkster and I have been fussing and fighting and arguing. He's unhappy. I'm unhappy. And neither of us comes right out and tells the other one we're unhappy, but we send signals of distress hoping that something will come and fix it.
The signals go unnoticed and the smoke surrounds us, trapping us in its thick, gray blanket, smothering the life out of us both.
I sometimes wonder about this relationship. How we made it this far (in years). How we haven't really gone far at all (in our journey together). How we'll ever make it another nine years. Or even one year.
In the beginning of our relationship, I did what I despise in other women: I changed to make him happy. Oh, sure I haven't changed my personality. But, I knew he was unhappy with certain things in our relationship, so I changed those things. He still wasn't happy, so I changed a bit more. I made a few concessions. I loosened up my (gulp) standards.
I'm a pushover for love. What can I say?
However, all that change happened and he still wasn't happy. Yet, he constantly asked me to run away and get married. My answer? A little laugh. A playful nudge. A kiss on the lips. But no real commitment, because I wasn't ready or willing to change even more.
Then one day he really proposed. And I accepted. I accepted, even though I knew our relationship still had problems. I accepted because I loved him, and saw the goodness and strength of character, despite the personality idiosyncrasies that is part and parcel with Asperger's. I accepted because I don't believe in fairy tales and perfect love and soul mates. I accepted because he is the best partner and best friend I've ever had.
And when I started to plan the wedding, he panicked, and before I knew it, we were no longer engaged.
He still wanted me to join him in Reno, and I dragged my feet for a full year, and finally moved. It's a move I often regret.
I don't belong here. I don't fit in. I have had a hard time finding friends. I have a hard time entertaining myself, because it's a cultural wasteland. So, I spend my spare time at Savers and Goodwill and buy things that are cheap and give me a thrill, until they clutter up my office so much that I can't walk, so I purge it all. Then I start over again.
My life has stalled here. Heck, maybe it would have stalled in Milpitas as well, but at least there I had a home. And friends. And I felt like I had a future. Here, everything is brown. The landscape. The houses. My future.
Todd has many complaints about me, but there are two that are huge and, in his words, deal breakers. One is financial. The other is sexual.
The state of the house has become a bone of contention between us. He told me he would take care of me if I moved here, and I have really dug my feet in on that issue. So, I haven't contributed much to the household. I buy groceries, and try to buy other things I notice he needs. When he mentioned he needed new slippers, I got them. When he has a cold, I buy him cold medicines and Kleenex and mentholated-rub. If he's on the road, I buy the dogs their food (which can be expensive). And yet...I know that my contributions are a mere drop in the bucket compared to what he puts in financially to the relationship. He pays the mortgage. And the cable bill. And the electric and water and sewage.
So, when he noticed that one of the cats had been peeing in corners (we think it was Lucy when she was so sick she didn't know what she was doing) he had a conniption fit. Last week he put his foot down and demanded that I start paying him 25% of my pay to help alleviate the cost of repairs.
I was offended.
He said that if I asked any of my friends who lived with guys, I'd discover that I actually had it good. He hadn't asked me for money up until now. He still will pay for the bulk of everything. But he wants me to contribute towards what he believes is the damage caused by the cat pee (which, btw, there is dog pee all around, too, but he doesn't seem to get upset about that).
I put my foot down as well, and said he'll get 20% and that's all. I reiterated that he promised me he would take care of me, and while I understand that the cats have caused some damage (and they have) and that I should pay for that, I would never have moved here if he hadn't promised he would take care of me.
And I know that sounds like a whiny, gold-diggerish thing to say. But it's true. I left everything I had to move here. Stability. A fairly decent job with decent benefits. My own house. Friends.
So. I thought it was settled. And then not even two full days later he aked "When do you get paid?" I got mad. He couldn't understand why, and I said it's because he acts as if he doesn't trust me. That he thinks I'll hide my paydays from him, and not pay him the money we settled on. We ended up in another argument about money, and while he admitted he probably did want some reassurance that he would get paid, therefore he nagged me, he still didn't think he was wrong.
Maybe he wasn't.
I don't know any more.
Of course, then there's sex. My libido flat lined about two years ago. Perimenopause. Lovely. I had absolutely NO desire for sex. None. And because I didn't want sex, I kept putting it off. "Maybe later." "After dinner." "Tomorrow afternoon...I promise." And the more I put it off, the more resentful he became. He didn't feel wanted. Or loved.
I felt guilty, and so would sometimes try to muster up some sort of sexual feelings so I could indulge him. And usually once we got started, I was okay, and sometimes even really got into it. But the moment it was over, I would think to myself "Well, that was a lot of fuss and bother, and now I'm hot and sweaty and I have sticky stuff all over me and I need to take a shower and get errands done and..."
Not romantic, right?
He has bugged me for years to see a doctor for hormone replacement. I did not want synthetic hormones in my body. I believe they cause far more problems then they cure. Then I heard about bio-identical hormones, so I tried them.
And you know what? They work.
For the last week (since I increased the amount of testosterone I was supposed to take), my libido has been on fire. I've surprised him a couple of times...pleasantly. But is it enough to fix the resentment, the hurt feelings, the rejection?
Maybe not.
So where does that leave me? And where does that leave us? What happens next?
I have no idea, but the cards tell me to move.
I think I'm telling the cards that I'm not ready yet. I don't know if cards listen, though.
The signals go unnoticed and the smoke surrounds us, trapping us in its thick, gray blanket, smothering the life out of us both.
I sometimes wonder about this relationship. How we made it this far (in years). How we haven't really gone far at all (in our journey together). How we'll ever make it another nine years. Or even one year.
In the beginning of our relationship, I did what I despise in other women: I changed to make him happy. Oh, sure I haven't changed my personality. But, I knew he was unhappy with certain things in our relationship, so I changed those things. He still wasn't happy, so I changed a bit more. I made a few concessions. I loosened up my (gulp) standards.
I'm a pushover for love. What can I say?
However, all that change happened and he still wasn't happy. Yet, he constantly asked me to run away and get married. My answer? A little laugh. A playful nudge. A kiss on the lips. But no real commitment, because I wasn't ready or willing to change even more.
Then one day he really proposed. And I accepted. I accepted, even though I knew our relationship still had problems. I accepted because I loved him, and saw the goodness and strength of character, despite the personality idiosyncrasies that is part and parcel with Asperger's. I accepted because I don't believe in fairy tales and perfect love and soul mates. I accepted because he is the best partner and best friend I've ever had.
And when I started to plan the wedding, he panicked, and before I knew it, we were no longer engaged.
He still wanted me to join him in Reno, and I dragged my feet for a full year, and finally moved. It's a move I often regret.
I don't belong here. I don't fit in. I have had a hard time finding friends. I have a hard time entertaining myself, because it's a cultural wasteland. So, I spend my spare time at Savers and Goodwill and buy things that are cheap and give me a thrill, until they clutter up my office so much that I can't walk, so I purge it all. Then I start over again.
My life has stalled here. Heck, maybe it would have stalled in Milpitas as well, but at least there I had a home. And friends. And I felt like I had a future. Here, everything is brown. The landscape. The houses. My future.
Todd has many complaints about me, but there are two that are huge and, in his words, deal breakers. One is financial. The other is sexual.
The state of the house has become a bone of contention between us. He told me he would take care of me if I moved here, and I have really dug my feet in on that issue. So, I haven't contributed much to the household. I buy groceries, and try to buy other things I notice he needs. When he mentioned he needed new slippers, I got them. When he has a cold, I buy him cold medicines and Kleenex and mentholated-rub. If he's on the road, I buy the dogs their food (which can be expensive). And yet...I know that my contributions are a mere drop in the bucket compared to what he puts in financially to the relationship. He pays the mortgage. And the cable bill. And the electric and water and sewage.
So, when he noticed that one of the cats had been peeing in corners (we think it was Lucy when she was so sick she didn't know what she was doing) he had a conniption fit. Last week he put his foot down and demanded that I start paying him 25% of my pay to help alleviate the cost of repairs.
I was offended.
He said that if I asked any of my friends who lived with guys, I'd discover that I actually had it good. He hadn't asked me for money up until now. He still will pay for the bulk of everything. But he wants me to contribute towards what he believes is the damage caused by the cat pee (which, btw, there is dog pee all around, too, but he doesn't seem to get upset about that).
I put my foot down as well, and said he'll get 20% and that's all. I reiterated that he promised me he would take care of me, and while I understand that the cats have caused some damage (and they have) and that I should pay for that, I would never have moved here if he hadn't promised he would take care of me.
And I know that sounds like a whiny, gold-diggerish thing to say. But it's true. I left everything I had to move here. Stability. A fairly decent job with decent benefits. My own house. Friends.
So. I thought it was settled. And then not even two full days later he aked "When do you get paid?" I got mad. He couldn't understand why, and I said it's because he acts as if he doesn't trust me. That he thinks I'll hide my paydays from him, and not pay him the money we settled on. We ended up in another argument about money, and while he admitted he probably did want some reassurance that he would get paid, therefore he nagged me, he still didn't think he was wrong.
Maybe he wasn't.
I don't know any more.
Of course, then there's sex. My libido flat lined about two years ago. Perimenopause. Lovely. I had absolutely NO desire for sex. None. And because I didn't want sex, I kept putting it off. "Maybe later." "After dinner." "Tomorrow afternoon...I promise." And the more I put it off, the more resentful he became. He didn't feel wanted. Or loved.
I felt guilty, and so would sometimes try to muster up some sort of sexual feelings so I could indulge him. And usually once we got started, I was okay, and sometimes even really got into it. But the moment it was over, I would think to myself "Well, that was a lot of fuss and bother, and now I'm hot and sweaty and I have sticky stuff all over me and I need to take a shower and get errands done and..."
Not romantic, right?
He has bugged me for years to see a doctor for hormone replacement. I did not want synthetic hormones in my body. I believe they cause far more problems then they cure. Then I heard about bio-identical hormones, so I tried them.
And you know what? They work.
For the last week (since I increased the amount of testosterone I was supposed to take), my libido has been on fire. I've surprised him a couple of times...pleasantly. But is it enough to fix the resentment, the hurt feelings, the rejection?
Maybe not.
So where does that leave me? And where does that leave us? What happens next?
I have no idea, but the cards tell me to move.
I think I'm telling the cards that I'm not ready yet. I don't know if cards listen, though.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Fall down, go boom!
Last Friday, I had a hair appointment. My stylist had moved to a new location, closer to my old place of work (Acme Consulting). I parked in the back, took notice of how close I was to my old stomping grounds, got out of the car, and headed towards the front of the building. All of a sudden, I was splayed out on the ground.
I don't even remember it happening. I had no idea how I got from an upright, walking position to prone on the ground, with my belongings all around me.
I picked myself up and noticed my arm hurt like an emmer-effer. I looked, and it was all bloody and scraped, and my elbow was bleeding. All of a sudden, a guy appeared and asked if I was okay. I was embarrassed and said "Yeah, I'm fine for someone who doesn't know how to walk!" I shrugged it off, and went inside for my hair appointment.
I ignored the pain, but it got worse. I soon noticed my arm started to swell. I couldn't wait to get out of there and go home, but as my luck would have it, Shannon messed up my hair color...three times, so my hour and a half appointment turned into three. By the time I got home, my arm was extremely swollen, and I noticed my hip and leg hurt as well.
Pain and embarrassment aside, the one thing that I kept thinking about was how I did not remember falling. Why, just the week before I fell down the stairs and I remember the sensation quite clearly: my foot slipped, I thought "hey, my foot slipped, I'm going to fall," and then I put my arms out, braced myself on the railing, and only hurt my butt in the process (and there's a lotta cushion back there, so no biggie!). In other words, I think we know when we're falling; we're conscious of it. While we may not be able to stop ourselves, we know what's about to hit.
In this case, I had no warning or no remembrance of how it happened, so I became quite suspicious.
See, as I mentioned, it happened near my old stomping grounds. And as I've droned on about before, I am convinced that Michelle put some sort of spell on me or prepared some sort of spell that propelled me out of the office quickly. I mean, there was literally no warning; one day I was getting praise for a job well done, and the next day I was in the conference room, facing both my bosses and being told I was on probation.
However paranoid I sounded to myself, I just knew Michelle had something to do with my fall. I didn't quite know how, but just as the climate at work changed so quickly, so did the onset of this fall. No warning; just boom.
Finally, I talked about it with two different witchy-type friends I have: one friend whom is also in the Risting, and another who is a Druid. I asked them both separately if I was just being paranoid, or did they think something from the spell still remained in that area. They not only agreed, but both had their own ideas on what I should do about it.
So...here I am, a week later with bruises still remaining on my arm and the knowledge that I've really let this go on for far too long. I guess I thought that since I was away from it all, it wouldn't affect me anymore, but apparently it still is. Now I have to decide what sort of protection to use, or some sort of way to send it back.
All suggestions welcome!
Until I figure this out, though, I think I better stay away from the area around Acme. The next fall might be fatal!
I don't even remember it happening. I had no idea how I got from an upright, walking position to prone on the ground, with my belongings all around me.
I picked myself up and noticed my arm hurt like an emmer-effer. I looked, and it was all bloody and scraped, and my elbow was bleeding. All of a sudden, a guy appeared and asked if I was okay. I was embarrassed and said "Yeah, I'm fine for someone who doesn't know how to walk!" I shrugged it off, and went inside for my hair appointment.
I ignored the pain, but it got worse. I soon noticed my arm started to swell. I couldn't wait to get out of there and go home, but as my luck would have it, Shannon messed up my hair color...three times, so my hour and a half appointment turned into three. By the time I got home, my arm was extremely swollen, and I noticed my hip and leg hurt as well.
Pain and embarrassment aside, the one thing that I kept thinking about was how I did not remember falling. Why, just the week before I fell down the stairs and I remember the sensation quite clearly: my foot slipped, I thought "hey, my foot slipped, I'm going to fall," and then I put my arms out, braced myself on the railing, and only hurt my butt in the process (and there's a lotta cushion back there, so no biggie!). In other words, I think we know when we're falling; we're conscious of it. While we may not be able to stop ourselves, we know what's about to hit.
In this case, I had no warning or no remembrance of how it happened, so I became quite suspicious.
See, as I mentioned, it happened near my old stomping grounds. And as I've droned on about before, I am convinced that Michelle put some sort of spell on me or prepared some sort of spell that propelled me out of the office quickly. I mean, there was literally no warning; one day I was getting praise for a job well done, and the next day I was in the conference room, facing both my bosses and being told I was on probation.
However paranoid I sounded to myself, I just knew Michelle had something to do with my fall. I didn't quite know how, but just as the climate at work changed so quickly, so did the onset of this fall. No warning; just boom.
Finally, I talked about it with two different witchy-type friends I have: one friend whom is also in the Risting, and another who is a Druid. I asked them both separately if I was just being paranoid, or did they think something from the spell still remained in that area. They not only agreed, but both had their own ideas on what I should do about it.
So...here I am, a week later with bruises still remaining on my arm and the knowledge that I've really let this go on for far too long. I guess I thought that since I was away from it all, it wouldn't affect me anymore, but apparently it still is. Now I have to decide what sort of protection to use, or some sort of way to send it back.
All suggestions welcome!
Until I figure this out, though, I think I better stay away from the area around Acme. The next fall might be fatal!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Happy Anniversary, Baby, I got you on my miiiiiiiiiiiind
"Honey, exactly when was our anniversary?"
This question was posed to me when I was in the kitchen last night, fixing Lucy's medicine food. I faltered, gulped, and answered "Um...yesterday."
"Would that be the same yesterday in which you apparently had better things to do than to spend time with me?" I felt my face flush with shame.
It wasn't that I had better things to do; I cleaned most of the day, putting stuff in the shed that Todd had been after me to do for a month. I mean, heck, it was my only real day off...a day with nothing else to do.
Well, except maybe to celebrate our anniversary. A milestone that honestly just slipped my mind.
I don't know why it's been okay for Todd to forget our anniversary every year we've been together (nine, by the way, if anyone's counting), but the one year I forget, it's a major catastrophe. If I understood him right, he said it's typical Todd-behavior to forget, but for me to forget means I've simply stopped caring.
That's not true. I just...forgot.
And who can blame me? I've had a lot on my mind. My mom has been in the hospital, and will be going back in for surgery soon. I've been hounded almost every day by Todd asking me when I was going to start bringing stuff out to the shed. Plus, he was gone just last week, which meant I had the additional task of taking care of two very needy dogs, both on medication and both who wear diapers, along with my normal every day stuff.
Additionally, let's not forget the fact that Todd scheduled a date for the very next day after he arrived back from Idaho Falls...so he got in late Friday night, and had a date scheduled for Saturday. Apparently our anniversary didn't mean a whole heck of a lot to him, either, if he was scheduling dates with other women.
So, yes, I feel a bit shamed, however I don't believe it means I stopped caring. Obviously, if I still get jealous over the parade of women that springboard in and out of his life, I still care.
I'm simply just an old woman with a feeble memory and a brand new shed to fill.
This question was posed to me when I was in the kitchen last night, fixing Lucy's medicine food. I faltered, gulped, and answered "Um...yesterday."
"Would that be the same yesterday in which you apparently had better things to do than to spend time with me?" I felt my face flush with shame.
It wasn't that I had better things to do; I cleaned most of the day, putting stuff in the shed that Todd had been after me to do for a month. I mean, heck, it was my only real day off...a day with nothing else to do.
Well, except maybe to celebrate our anniversary. A milestone that honestly just slipped my mind.
I don't know why it's been okay for Todd to forget our anniversary every year we've been together (nine, by the way, if anyone's counting), but the one year I forget, it's a major catastrophe. If I understood him right, he said it's typical Todd-behavior to forget, but for me to forget means I've simply stopped caring.
That's not true. I just...forgot.
And who can blame me? I've had a lot on my mind. My mom has been in the hospital, and will be going back in for surgery soon. I've been hounded almost every day by Todd asking me when I was going to start bringing stuff out to the shed. Plus, he was gone just last week, which meant I had the additional task of taking care of two very needy dogs, both on medication and both who wear diapers, along with my normal every day stuff.
Additionally, let's not forget the fact that Todd scheduled a date for the very next day after he arrived back from Idaho Falls...so he got in late Friday night, and had a date scheduled for Saturday. Apparently our anniversary didn't mean a whole heck of a lot to him, either, if he was scheduling dates with other women.
So, yes, I feel a bit shamed, however I don't believe it means I stopped caring. Obviously, if I still get jealous over the parade of women that springboard in and out of his life, I still care.
I'm simply just an old woman with a feeble memory and a brand new shed to fill.
Living in a Pig Sty
When I tell people (and I often don't!) that our house is messy, they don't get it. They either tell me I'm neat, and I must be talking about just a tad bit of clutter, or they laugh and say something like "Oh tell me about it! My house..." But if they saw the inside of the house I live in, they'd run for cover.
Hunky is a pack rat. And he has a shopping obsession. Almost every day, we receive one or two packages from UPS, mostly from Amazon, but also a few packages from Sit Stay, Wysong, and Raspberry Fields thrown in. Since he knows what is in the packages, he often doesn't open them. Instead, he stacks them in the entryway until it becomes difficult to even walk through the front door.
But, and I hate to admit it, he's not the only problem. I, too, have some stuff that is problematic. The main thing is that when I first moved here, hunky let it be known that he wasn't really a fan of my decorating style ("too kitschy!"), so he didn't want me to start decorating the house with the stuff I brought from my own home. So, it pretty much stayed in the boxes it was packed in, which we stacked along the dining room wall.
And then there was the cottage...a disaster I don't like to think about much. My parents were excited that I was going to have my own place, and even though I had plenty of stuff to decorate my cottage with, they bought me more. Much more. So, when I would come back from a visit with my parents laden with stuff meant for the cottage, I would pack it lovingly into boxes and put those boxes in the dining room, and eventually the living room, waiting for the day I would be able to move it all into the cottage. A day that never came.
Add my boxes to his boxes and throw in hunky's slovenly ways (for instance, leaving piles of receipts where ever he emptied out his wallet, and other piles of stuff, like bags he never emptied from stores) and you've got one heck of a mess.
When I first moved here, I wasn't working, so I used Fly Lady's techniques to keep the place pretty neat and tidy, despite the pack rat tendencies. I employed the 27-Fling Boogie weekly, and that got rid of magazines and other things I simply didn't need. However, once I started working ten hour days, Fly Lady slowly slipped away from me.
After about two years, I wasn't following Fly Lady at all, except for the occasional Hot Spot attack and 27-Fling Boogie. So, eventually we ended up with piles of stuff all around the house (and I'll admit, some of it is mine, because I simply didn't know where to put my stuff). And the state of the house stressed me out so much that it caused a strain in our relationship.
I became uninterested in sex or in spending time with hunky. Because, just sitting around the house lounging together left me feeling piggish. How could I just sit and watch TV with hunky when there were piles of stuff to attack? The stress also took away my desire for sex (well, that and the onset of perimenopause, but it was actually both things that ate away at my libido). Soon, we were in big trouble.
In the last month, the state of the house has finally gotten to Todd as well. So, when a friend of his said "I really need some money for rent; can you put me to work until my job starts next month?" he said yes. Yesterday was her first day here, and already there has been a huge dent made in the family room.
I am so ashamed of the way we live. If my mom saw it, she would just shake her head and say "You didn't learn this from me!" And I know that. However, at some point it became too overwhelming to clean up after myself AND Todd AND still manage to have a bit of free time. The times that I did manage to clean up areas, like the front entryway, it would all go to hell after a week or so, because Todd would just populate the area back up with his many boxes from Amazon. After awhile, it just didn't seem worth it to try.
When I got home from work yesterday, Todd's friend Elaine was cleaning (in a slinky skirt, slit up to the thighs, but I'm trying not to go there!), and I felt so ashamed. Because, if she thinks any bit like I would expect a woman to, she probably thinks I am the main problem. After all, we are conditioned to clean up after our men. To keep home and hearth joyful and clean. And I have failed miserably.
So, I did what I do best: I hid upstairs until she left.
When I finally went downstairs, we had room to breathe. Oh don't get me wrong; there is so much more to be done. So. Much. More. But it feels good to know we can get on top of it.
About two months ago, Todd said "What happened, honey? Your place in Milpitas was always so neat." Well, yes it was. But I also only cleaned up after myself, and I normally didn't make too big of a mess in the first place. Trying to keep on top of someone like Todd, along with six animals and my own messes, while working full time, has become quite a challenge.
After we get this mess under control, I am going back to Fly Lady. I know it works, and I have no idea why I gave up on it. Well, wait. I just wrote a whole entry on why I gave up on it. But maybe this time it'll actually work, as hunky as said once we get the place under control, he is going to hire another friend of his to come in and clean (once a week? twice a month?), so we can keep on top of it.
Well. So, here I am, a failure at cleaning and apparently a failure as a girlfriend. But that's another entry for another time...At least the family room is kind of clean, and that's a start.
Hunky is a pack rat. And he has a shopping obsession. Almost every day, we receive one or two packages from UPS, mostly from Amazon, but also a few packages from Sit Stay, Wysong, and Raspberry Fields thrown in. Since he knows what is in the packages, he often doesn't open them. Instead, he stacks them in the entryway until it becomes difficult to even walk through the front door.
But, and I hate to admit it, he's not the only problem. I, too, have some stuff that is problematic. The main thing is that when I first moved here, hunky let it be known that he wasn't really a fan of my decorating style ("too kitschy!"), so he didn't want me to start decorating the house with the stuff I brought from my own home. So, it pretty much stayed in the boxes it was packed in, which we stacked along the dining room wall.
And then there was the cottage...a disaster I don't like to think about much. My parents were excited that I was going to have my own place, and even though I had plenty of stuff to decorate my cottage with, they bought me more. Much more. So, when I would come back from a visit with my parents laden with stuff meant for the cottage, I would pack it lovingly into boxes and put those boxes in the dining room, and eventually the living room, waiting for the day I would be able to move it all into the cottage. A day that never came.
Add my boxes to his boxes and throw in hunky's slovenly ways (for instance, leaving piles of receipts where ever he emptied out his wallet, and other piles of stuff, like bags he never emptied from stores) and you've got one heck of a mess.
When I first moved here, I wasn't working, so I used Fly Lady's techniques to keep the place pretty neat and tidy, despite the pack rat tendencies. I employed the 27-Fling Boogie weekly, and that got rid of magazines and other things I simply didn't need. However, once I started working ten hour days, Fly Lady slowly slipped away from me.
After about two years, I wasn't following Fly Lady at all, except for the occasional Hot Spot attack and 27-Fling Boogie. So, eventually we ended up with piles of stuff all around the house (and I'll admit, some of it is mine, because I simply didn't know where to put my stuff). And the state of the house stressed me out so much that it caused a strain in our relationship.
I became uninterested in sex or in spending time with hunky. Because, just sitting around the house lounging together left me feeling piggish. How could I just sit and watch TV with hunky when there were piles of stuff to attack? The stress also took away my desire for sex (well, that and the onset of perimenopause, but it was actually both things that ate away at my libido). Soon, we were in big trouble.
In the last month, the state of the house has finally gotten to Todd as well. So, when a friend of his said "I really need some money for rent; can you put me to work until my job starts next month?" he said yes. Yesterday was her first day here, and already there has been a huge dent made in the family room.
I am so ashamed of the way we live. If my mom saw it, she would just shake her head and say "You didn't learn this from me!" And I know that. However, at some point it became too overwhelming to clean up after myself AND Todd AND still manage to have a bit of free time. The times that I did manage to clean up areas, like the front entryway, it would all go to hell after a week or so, because Todd would just populate the area back up with his many boxes from Amazon. After awhile, it just didn't seem worth it to try.
When I got home from work yesterday, Todd's friend Elaine was cleaning (in a slinky skirt, slit up to the thighs, but I'm trying not to go there!), and I felt so ashamed. Because, if she thinks any bit like I would expect a woman to, she probably thinks I am the main problem. After all, we are conditioned to clean up after our men. To keep home and hearth joyful and clean. And I have failed miserably.
So, I did what I do best: I hid upstairs until she left.
When I finally went downstairs, we had room to breathe. Oh don't get me wrong; there is so much more to be done. So. Much. More. But it feels good to know we can get on top of it.
About two months ago, Todd said "What happened, honey? Your place in Milpitas was always so neat." Well, yes it was. But I also only cleaned up after myself, and I normally didn't make too big of a mess in the first place. Trying to keep on top of someone like Todd, along with six animals and my own messes, while working full time, has become quite a challenge.
After we get this mess under control, I am going back to Fly Lady. I know it works, and I have no idea why I gave up on it. Well, wait. I just wrote a whole entry on why I gave up on it. But maybe this time it'll actually work, as hunky as said once we get the place under control, he is going to hire another friend of his to come in and clean (once a week? twice a month?), so we can keep on top of it.
Well. So, here I am, a failure at cleaning and apparently a failure as a girlfriend. But that's another entry for another time...At least the family room is kind of clean, and that's a start.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
I Am My Mother
When I was growing up, everyone who saw me would either say "You're just like your father," or "You look just like your dad."
While I looked very much like my dad, and have a lot of his personality traits, as I age I realize I am more like my mother.
I'm not always really sure how I feel about that.
Don't get me wrong. I love my mom. I wouldn't trade her for any other mom in the world. However, my mom has a black and white way of looking at things, and a rambling way of speaking, both of which I seem to have inherited.
One of the main reasons I haven't been on here much is because my mom was in the hospital. It caught us all by surprise, especially my mom, who hadn't been in a hospital since my brother was born. However, after days of not being able to pee or do other things, she found herself in a lot of pain. My dad finally convinced her to go to the emergency room. Good thing, too, because it turned out she had diverticulitis. Basically, she had an inflamed pocket in her colon, and if she had kept refusing to go the hospital, it could have ruptured and caused her death.
Because my mom isn't in the best of health, her hospital stay was longer than the doctors first expected it to be. And, little by little, it got to her. She couldn't sleep at night, because she would be interrupted by nurses checking her vitals and the "moaner" in the next room. She couldn't sleep during the day, because she was poked, prodded, and intruded upon. But sleep wasn't the only evil; quite frankly, just being away from home was a hell in and of itself.
She got home in time for Mothers Day, and I went to visit. Everything went well, however it was difficult to see my normally fairly active mom relegated to the couch and laying around in a nightgown.
She'll have to go into the hospital again soon for surgery. I'm glad to hear she's actually going to go. I could see my mom coming up with all kinds of reasons not to go, but she's following through. She's taking her meds, and she's changing her bandage, and she's doing everything the doctor told her to do.
I can relate to this, because deep down inside, we're both good girls. We follow the rules. We don't cause havoc. We do what our loved ones want us to do.
Just one more way we're both alike.
While I looked very much like my dad, and have a lot of his personality traits, as I age I realize I am more like my mother.
I'm not always really sure how I feel about that.
Don't get me wrong. I love my mom. I wouldn't trade her for any other mom in the world. However, my mom has a black and white way of looking at things, and a rambling way of speaking, both of which I seem to have inherited.
One of the main reasons I haven't been on here much is because my mom was in the hospital. It caught us all by surprise, especially my mom, who hadn't been in a hospital since my brother was born. However, after days of not being able to pee or do other things, she found herself in a lot of pain. My dad finally convinced her to go to the emergency room. Good thing, too, because it turned out she had diverticulitis. Basically, she had an inflamed pocket in her colon, and if she had kept refusing to go the hospital, it could have ruptured and caused her death.
Because my mom isn't in the best of health, her hospital stay was longer than the doctors first expected it to be. And, little by little, it got to her. She couldn't sleep at night, because she would be interrupted by nurses checking her vitals and the "moaner" in the next room. She couldn't sleep during the day, because she was poked, prodded, and intruded upon. But sleep wasn't the only evil; quite frankly, just being away from home was a hell in and of itself.
She got home in time for Mothers Day, and I went to visit. Everything went well, however it was difficult to see my normally fairly active mom relegated to the couch and laying around in a nightgown.
She'll have to go into the hospital again soon for surgery. I'm glad to hear she's actually going to go. I could see my mom coming up with all kinds of reasons not to go, but she's following through. She's taking her meds, and she's changing her bandage, and she's doing everything the doctor told her to do.
I can relate to this, because deep down inside, we're both good girls. We follow the rules. We don't cause havoc. We do what our loved ones want us to do.
Just one more way we're both alike.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Flowers
I love flowers.
I wish I had a garden, but I don't. We have xeriscaping, so it's all rocks, rocks, and more rocks. No dirt.
Before hunky had the xeriscaping put in, we had a strip of dirt on the side of the house out front. The previous owners had planted a rosebush there, and annuals. Of course, we only had the annuals the first year, and then they were gone.
One day I was at the store and saw gazillions of different types of flower seeds on sale. I bought about six packets of two different kinds of sunflower seeds. I watered them faithfully. Soon, I had lovely sunflowers lining up the side of the house.
Now the strip is gone, and I feed my love of flowers at Trader Joe's. For the past month, they've had daffodils there, and I buy three bunches every Sunday, and bring them to work (for if I leave them at home, Schmutzy dines on them).
Last night, feeling gross and sick, I decided to take a bath. While I was in the tub, hunky came home. I could hear him downstairs fiddling around with the dogs, and making something to eat in the kitchen. After a while, he came upstairs and presented me (still in the tub) with the most beautiful bouquet of roses: yellow, with petals outlined in orange.
After I admired them, he put them in the sink, but Schmutzy would not leave them alone. So, I was forced to get out of the tub, kick Schmutzy's ass (not really; just checking to see if you're still paying attention), and put the flowers in water. I then put them on a shelf by the front door, so Schmutzy couldn't get at them, and I'd remember to take them into work today.
So, even though I'm feeling crappy (in that sniffly, sore throat, can't hear sort of way), I'll have a beautiful arrangement of roses to look at that will remind me that someone loves me, even with the sniffles.
I wish I had a garden, but I don't. We have xeriscaping, so it's all rocks, rocks, and more rocks. No dirt.
Before hunky had the xeriscaping put in, we had a strip of dirt on the side of the house out front. The previous owners had planted a rosebush there, and annuals. Of course, we only had the annuals the first year, and then they were gone.
One day I was at the store and saw gazillions of different types of flower seeds on sale. I bought about six packets of two different kinds of sunflower seeds. I watered them faithfully. Soon, I had lovely sunflowers lining up the side of the house.
Now the strip is gone, and I feed my love of flowers at Trader Joe's. For the past month, they've had daffodils there, and I buy three bunches every Sunday, and bring them to work (for if I leave them at home, Schmutzy dines on them).
Last night, feeling gross and sick, I decided to take a bath. While I was in the tub, hunky came home. I could hear him downstairs fiddling around with the dogs, and making something to eat in the kitchen. After a while, he came upstairs and presented me (still in the tub) with the most beautiful bouquet of roses: yellow, with petals outlined in orange.
After I admired them, he put them in the sink, but Schmutzy would not leave them alone. So, I was forced to get out of the tub, kick Schmutzy's ass (not really; just checking to see if you're still paying attention), and put the flowers in water. I then put them on a shelf by the front door, so Schmutzy couldn't get at them, and I'd remember to take them into work today.
So, even though I'm feeling crappy (in that sniffly, sore throat, can't hear sort of way), I'll have a beautiful arrangement of roses to look at that will remind me that someone loves me, even with the sniffles.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Addicted
I think I need to get myself into a 12-step program and quickly.
Why?
Because I'm hooked on swapping.
Oh, I'm sure after I've been flaked on, the buzz will be killed, but right now I'm signed up for about 6 swaps on Swap Bot, and hosting three. I check it 4-5 times a day to see if any new, interesting swaps have been posted. I update my profile every time I think of something new that I like.
It's a sickness.
A sweet, delicious, overwhelmingly delightful sickness (although my wallet might beg to differ).
Why?
Because I'm hooked on swapping.
Oh, I'm sure after I've been flaked on, the buzz will be killed, but right now I'm signed up for about 6 swaps on Swap Bot, and hosting three. I check it 4-5 times a day to see if any new, interesting swaps have been posted. I update my profile every time I think of something new that I like.
It's a sickness.
A sweet, delicious, overwhelmingly delightful sickness (although my wallet might beg to differ).
Diversity Training
Last week, we had mandatory Diversity Training at work (II and III...wonder why I didn't have to take I?).
The company I work for recently added a Diversity Award, to be given out quarterly to the business unit that hires the most diverse group of people. I have a lot to say about that topic...and find that I am censoring myself with regards to that. I will condense my thoughts enough to say this: I am not at all onboard with this award, and my reasons why are simple. The most qualified person should be hired, no matter what. I would hate to see a white person passed over because he/she was equally on par with a more diverse applicant. Of course, then there's the reverse: I would hate to see a qualified culturally diverse applicant passed over because of his or her race.
I'm sure Slippery Slope guy would have some more to say on the subject, and maybe I'll just let him handle it instead of me.
In the meantime, during my three hour training, I kept flashing back to Diversity Training as featured on The Office. So much so that when the instructor passed out index cards, I was surprised that she didn't instruct us to put them on our forehead.
I definitely watch too much TV.
The company I work for recently added a Diversity Award, to be given out quarterly to the business unit that hires the most diverse group of people. I have a lot to say about that topic...and find that I am censoring myself with regards to that. I will condense my thoughts enough to say this: I am not at all onboard with this award, and my reasons why are simple. The most qualified person should be hired, no matter what. I would hate to see a white person passed over because he/she was equally on par with a more diverse applicant. Of course, then there's the reverse: I would hate to see a qualified culturally diverse applicant passed over because of his or her race.
I'm sure Slippery Slope guy would have some more to say on the subject, and maybe I'll just let him handle it instead of me.
In the meantime, during my three hour training, I kept flashing back to Diversity Training as featured on The Office. So much so that when the instructor passed out index cards, I was surprised that she didn't instruct us to put them on our forehead.
I definitely watch too much TV.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Not as enlightened as I think I am
Boy, is my face red.
I thought Akashic Records was a music label for pagan music.
I'm glad I never said that out loud to anyone!
I thought Akashic Records was a music label for pagan music.
I'm glad I never said that out loud to anyone!
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Where the hell have I been?
Once again, it's been about a week since I posted.
Wanna know what? It's been a very good week! If I sound surprised, it's because I am. It's not often I have a whole week of good things. And it's not that I'm a pessimist or anything...just a realist.
For once, though, this realist has been having a pretty good time.
Well, there was initiation, and since then life has been really good. Nothing spectacular...I mean, I haven't won the lottery or come up with a plan for world peace or even lost any of my cellulite. Still, life's been good.
I received THE BEST swap package I've gotten in quite awhile. The woman took so much care into putting it together. I've had so many substandard swaps that I forgot what it's like to receive a great one.
I've also been dabbling with Swap Bot. I am currently hosting a few swaps, and have joined a few. I'm not big on the international swaps, though, because postage is so dang high to other countries. Still, I thought it would be fun to host an international postcard swap, so I did.
I reconnected with an old friend, and visited my folks for Easter. We had a really good time together. I also got to visit Half Price Books when I was in town, and walked away with a bag full of goodies.
Plus, this week is casual week at work. That means I don't have to think about what to wear or scrounge around for a pair of nylons without a run. I just pull on a pair of jeans, grab a matching top, and head out the door. The simplicity of jeans makes me smile.
And, the thing that will make hunky the most happiest - or at least he's hoping - is that I saw a doctor today and will be starting hormone therapy with bioidentical hormones. It appears that I am low on testosterone and progesterone, so we'll see what happens when I start therapy. If all goes well, my libido is supposed to increase in about 6 weeks. As with any "fix," though, there's a side effect: I could grow hair on my upper thighs where the hormone is applied.
Too bad it doesn't cause lube growth. That would sure make things a lot easier, doncha think?
Wanna know what? It's been a very good week! If I sound surprised, it's because I am. It's not often I have a whole week of good things. And it's not that I'm a pessimist or anything...just a realist.
For once, though, this realist has been having a pretty good time.
Well, there was initiation, and since then life has been really good. Nothing spectacular...I mean, I haven't won the lottery or come up with a plan for world peace or even lost any of my cellulite. Still, life's been good.
I received THE BEST swap package I've gotten in quite awhile. The woman took so much care into putting it together. I've had so many substandard swaps that I forgot what it's like to receive a great one.
I've also been dabbling with Swap Bot. I am currently hosting a few swaps, and have joined a few. I'm not big on the international swaps, though, because postage is so dang high to other countries. Still, I thought it would be fun to host an international postcard swap, so I did.
I reconnected with an old friend, and visited my folks for Easter. We had a really good time together. I also got to visit Half Price Books when I was in town, and walked away with a bag full of goodies.
Plus, this week is casual week at work. That means I don't have to think about what to wear or scrounge around for a pair of nylons without a run. I just pull on a pair of jeans, grab a matching top, and head out the door. The simplicity of jeans makes me smile.
And, the thing that will make hunky the most happiest - or at least he's hoping - is that I saw a doctor today and will be starting hormone therapy with bioidentical hormones. It appears that I am low on testosterone and progesterone, so we'll see what happens when I start therapy. If all goes well, my libido is supposed to increase in about 6 weeks. As with any "fix," though, there's a side effect: I could grow hair on my upper thighs where the hormone is applied.
Too bad it doesn't cause lube growth. That would sure make things a lot easier, doncha think?
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Into The Woods
Last night was my initiation into the Risting. It took place at a park after hours. "Park" isn't quite the right word for the place. "Park" connotes a happy, family place with swings and water fountains. This park, though, is actually quite magical.
The park is larger than it seems. I started out walking the labyrinth, and then set out on a solitary walk that brought me by places like the Lake of Reflection and the Tunnel of Darkness. I was afraid I might lose my way in the dark, but my feet kept going, and I found the little clearing in the woods where the ritual was to take place.
My instructor didn't expect me so soon. He said he hadn't finished clearing the space or putting up the hedge, which turns out might have been in my favor. The night before, my classmate was initiated and she told me that after the hedge was put up, she couldn't find them, and they didn't see her. A phone call in the dead of night fixed all of that, but it must've been a bit scary not knowing where to go.
Initiation didn't take as long as it could have. Our instructor threatened us with a ceremony that could go on into the wee hours of the morning. He took pity on my working ass, though, and the ceremony only took about 30-45 minutes (once I found the place). He did most of it: the clearing of the space, the calling of the quarters, etc. I was only responsible for presenting my two items and reading my oath.
The oath was the hardest part for me, being as I've never written an oath before in my life. I showed it to Todd and he called it "cute." I don't know much about the secrets and mysteries of ritual, but I am pretty sure they don't involve "cute.
The scariest part of the night was walking through the tunnel in the dark. Upon first entering the tunnel, the light of the full moon lit the path. However, the deeper into the tunnel I got, the darker it became. Then there was this strange illusion that made the tunnel appear as if there was some sort of moving energy force inside. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, and soon I was near the end of the tunnel where the light from the moon reappeared and guided my way safely out of there.
I was told there would be someone at the end of the tunnel to guide me, but no one was there. During the whole walk, I kept thinking I saw cloaked figures, and as I got closer, these figure would turn out to be trees or posts or other stationary objects.
At the end of the ritual, I was gifted with two items: a besom and a magnifying glass with a jade handle (so I may always be able to see what is hidden). After the circle was open, I was driven to my car, and that was that.
Of course, I know the journey didn't end with that drive to my car. It will continue, only now it has a different slant.
I'm looking forward to that!
The park is larger than it seems. I started out walking the labyrinth, and then set out on a solitary walk that brought me by places like the Lake of Reflection and the Tunnel of Darkness. I was afraid I might lose my way in the dark, but my feet kept going, and I found the little clearing in the woods where the ritual was to take place.
My instructor didn't expect me so soon. He said he hadn't finished clearing the space or putting up the hedge, which turns out might have been in my favor. The night before, my classmate was initiated and she told me that after the hedge was put up, she couldn't find them, and they didn't see her. A phone call in the dead of night fixed all of that, but it must've been a bit scary not knowing where to go.
Initiation didn't take as long as it could have. Our instructor threatened us with a ceremony that could go on into the wee hours of the morning. He took pity on my working ass, though, and the ceremony only took about 30-45 minutes (once I found the place). He did most of it: the clearing of the space, the calling of the quarters, etc. I was only responsible for presenting my two items and reading my oath.
The oath was the hardest part for me, being as I've never written an oath before in my life. I showed it to Todd and he called it "cute." I don't know much about the secrets and mysteries of ritual, but I am pretty sure they don't involve "cute.
The scariest part of the night was walking through the tunnel in the dark. Upon first entering the tunnel, the light of the full moon lit the path. However, the deeper into the tunnel I got, the darker it became. Then there was this strange illusion that made the tunnel appear as if there was some sort of moving energy force inside. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, and soon I was near the end of the tunnel where the light from the moon reappeared and guided my way safely out of there.
I was told there would be someone at the end of the tunnel to guide me, but no one was there. During the whole walk, I kept thinking I saw cloaked figures, and as I got closer, these figure would turn out to be trees or posts or other stationary objects.
At the end of the ritual, I was gifted with two items: a besom and a magnifying glass with a jade handle (so I may always be able to see what is hidden). After the circle was open, I was driven to my car, and that was that.
Of course, I know the journey didn't end with that drive to my car. It will continue, only now it has a different slant.
I'm looking forward to that!
Friday, March 30, 2007
My Left Foot
It's official: I am an old lady.
Why do I know this? Because I have old lady toe. You know what I'm talking about. You've seen these toes on grayed hair, thick ankled women all over the world. The big toe that defiantly sports a yellowy-tinted, ragged-edged, malformed nail, peering its ugly head up at anyone who happens to look down and see it squished into an orthopedic sandal.
Well, at least I have the good grace not to wear an orthopedic sandal and force my fugly toe to the world. I figure it's enough that I have to look at it every morning and every night. But when lose all sense of propriety and buy those orthopedic sandals, steer clear. It'll be a sign that I've given up on life.
I haven't given up yet, but apparently my left foot has. Let's just hope that spirit doesn't spread to the rest of my body.
Why do I know this? Because I have old lady toe. You know what I'm talking about. You've seen these toes on grayed hair, thick ankled women all over the world. The big toe that defiantly sports a yellowy-tinted, ragged-edged, malformed nail, peering its ugly head up at anyone who happens to look down and see it squished into an orthopedic sandal.
Well, at least I have the good grace not to wear an orthopedic sandal and force my fugly toe to the world. I figure it's enough that I have to look at it every morning and every night. But when lose all sense of propriety and buy those orthopedic sandals, steer clear. It'll be a sign that I've given up on life.
I haven't given up yet, but apparently my left foot has. Let's just hope that spirit doesn't spread to the rest of my body.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Welcome To The Club
Tuesday night was my last night of class. My classmate and I have been invited to be my instructor's first initiates into the Risting Tradition (not the first initiates; his first initiates). We're the first to successfully complete the course, and we're both pretty proud of that.
And so is he.
My initiation will be first, because I called dibs on the first full moon after class. When our instructor sat us down to tell us what we'd need to bring, I joked "Should I start taking my clothes off now?" We laughed, and he told us not to worry; we could wear whatever we wanted. Ritual wear is encouraged, but jeans and jacket is acceptable as well. Seeing as I'm a jeans kind of girl, it will be jeans. (Plus, since I just lost $20K, I don't exactly have money for ritual wear, now do I?)
Once our fears about having to be skyclad were erased, we both became a bit unnerved at other things he said the ritual might involve. No drinking of blood or things like that. No, we are going to have to find our way to him in the dark of night, at a deserted park. We will have clues, and he will wait three hours for us, and no longer.
He said he might have the ritual go on until 2 a.m., which will be awful for me because I have to work the next day. I think my worst fear and largest aggravation in life is not getting enough sleep. So when I heard he would purposefully make the ritual go on as long as he felt like it, I found myself getting irritated.
Other than the sleep part, though, I think I can handle it. But can the Risting Tradition handle me?
I guess we'll find out soon enough.
And so is he.
My initiation will be first, because I called dibs on the first full moon after class. When our instructor sat us down to tell us what we'd need to bring, I joked "Should I start taking my clothes off now?" We laughed, and he told us not to worry; we could wear whatever we wanted. Ritual wear is encouraged, but jeans and jacket is acceptable as well. Seeing as I'm a jeans kind of girl, it will be jeans. (Plus, since I just lost $20K, I don't exactly have money for ritual wear, now do I?)
Once our fears about having to be skyclad were erased, we both became a bit unnerved at other things he said the ritual might involve. No drinking of blood or things like that. No, we are going to have to find our way to him in the dark of night, at a deserted park. We will have clues, and he will wait three hours for us, and no longer.
He said he might have the ritual go on until 2 a.m., which will be awful for me because I have to work the next day. I think my worst fear and largest aggravation in life is not getting enough sleep. So when I heard he would purposefully make the ritual go on as long as he felt like it, I found myself getting irritated.
Other than the sleep part, though, I think I can handle it. But can the Risting Tradition handle me?
I guess we'll find out soon enough.
It Is Finished
Today, I closed escrow on my cottage.
Finally.
I haven't talked about it, because my one superstition is the great and powerful jinx. I truly believe I jinx myself, or rather my good fortune, by talking about things. It has proved to be true over and over again.
My Risting instructor doesn't believe in jinxing, but he does believe I bring stuff on myself. I didn't quite understand his explanation, but it has something to do with the way I channel my energy and hope in such a way that it becomes chaotic and then, poof, it's all gone.
Maybe he's right.
Maybe I'm right.
All I know is I didn't breathe a word of it, and it actually happened.
In January, I had a reading from Carrie, a woman in whose readings I've come to trust. She told me I would sell the place in March. When people asked me about my reading, I shared everything but that precious piece. I kept it to myself, because of my overwhelming fear of jinxing myself.
On a long distance call to Idaho to share the good news with Todd, he asked me how I felt about it. I said sad and relieved. He then asked me which was the predominant feeling. I said relief. He said then that means I did the right thing.
The whole cottage diabolic was a $20,000 mistake. Actually, $20,013.22, if you count the Cobb Salad from Claim Jumper and glass of wine I had to celebrate my loss. After all, it's much better to wine than whine, doncha think?
Finally.
I haven't talked about it, because my one superstition is the great and powerful jinx. I truly believe I jinx myself, or rather my good fortune, by talking about things. It has proved to be true over and over again.
My Risting instructor doesn't believe in jinxing, but he does believe I bring stuff on myself. I didn't quite understand his explanation, but it has something to do with the way I channel my energy and hope in such a way that it becomes chaotic and then, poof, it's all gone.
Maybe he's right.
Maybe I'm right.
All I know is I didn't breathe a word of it, and it actually happened.
In January, I had a reading from Carrie, a woman in whose readings I've come to trust. She told me I would sell the place in March. When people asked me about my reading, I shared everything but that precious piece. I kept it to myself, because of my overwhelming fear of jinxing myself.
On a long distance call to Idaho to share the good news with Todd, he asked me how I felt about it. I said sad and relieved. He then asked me which was the predominant feeling. I said relief. He said then that means I did the right thing.
The whole cottage diabolic was a $20,000 mistake. Actually, $20,013.22, if you count the Cobb Salad from Claim Jumper and glass of wine I had to celebrate my loss. After all, it's much better to wine than whine, doncha think?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
