If I were going to write a love song it would be in the key of goat cheese cashew caramel gelato.
(shown here with my favorite back-up singer, blackberry cabernet sorbet).
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Friday, January 24, 2014
The first organizer
Things we take seriously in this house.
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Christmas ornament organizers.
After casually mentioning that perhaps tossed-in-a-box-with-some-newspaper might not be the best way to store all these very fragile Christmas ornaments we have acquired (although, to be fair, that is how it has been done in my mother's house for hundreds of years), I then tossed all the ornaments in a box. But I was told a new solution was being workshopped.
Two weeks of intense research by Boyfriend followed while I completely and totally stopped caring and moved onto other things like eating all the cheese I could find.
Last night the organizers arrived. Three of them. With bonus wreath organizer. All attempts to help with the set-up process were brutally shot down as this was "important."
Eventually I was given permission to put some ornaments in the newly constructed organizers, and then was told I was doing it wrong. I do not think of myself as particularly skilled at anything but being told that I could not handle this task was a little much for my dignity so I went to bed.
I awoke this morning to find a completely organized Christmas situation in my home. Things that already kind of home had a new and better home that was color coordinated and built to last.
For the record, the ornaments of my childhood remain stored in the shirt boxes that they have been in since the early 80's. Most of them pre-date my 21 year-old sister's existence on this planet.
It is a strange thing combining lives and traditions and finding your joint way through life. You are probably doing it wrong. But it will be okay.
Christmas ornament organizers.
After casually mentioning that perhaps tossed-in-a-box-with-some-newspaper might not be the best way to store all these very fragile Christmas ornaments we have acquired (although, to be fair, that is how it has been done in my mother's house for hundreds of years), I then tossed all the ornaments in a box. But I was told a new solution was being workshopped.
Two weeks of intense research by Boyfriend followed while I completely and totally stopped caring and moved onto other things like eating all the cheese I could find.
Last night the organizers arrived. Three of them. With bonus wreath organizer. All attempts to help with the set-up process were brutally shot down as this was "important."
Eventually I was given permission to put some ornaments in the newly constructed organizers, and then was told I was doing it wrong. I do not think of myself as particularly skilled at anything but being told that I could not handle this task was a little much for my dignity so I went to bed.
I awoke this morning to find a completely organized Christmas situation in my home. Things that already kind of home had a new and better home that was color coordinated and built to last.
For the record, the ornaments of my childhood remain stored in the shirt boxes that they have been in since the early 80's. Most of them pre-date my 21 year-old sister's existence on this planet.
It is a strange thing combining lives and traditions and finding your joint way through life. You are probably doing it wrong. But it will be okay.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Juan at a time
This blog post was supposed to be about the Bachelor because I just watched my first three hours of it ever and I have some Things. To. Say.
But instead its about a sick boyfriend who needs pats on the head and gatorade with-a-straw.
Boys are quite possibly the most pathetic of the ill. I am pretty terrible at being sick, but stoicism has never been my strong suit. Boys puff up their chests and show us their tail feathers until they have a temp-a-ture and a yucky tummy. Then it is all sleeping and wallowing in the biggest ocean of self pity that can be found.
So tonight its disinfecting the entire house, keeping the cat from making too much noise and putting the ginger ale on ice.
On the bright side, I got to be a part of this conversation:
After telling me he didn't want anything besides a single piece of bread, he looked at me for a minute, "Um."
"Yeah, what do you need?"
"Um. Are there, like, stomach flu shelves?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like, you know, to sort things."
"To sort things?"
"Yeah, to, you know, sort things for your stomach flu."
"To sort things where?"
"You know. In bed."
"Oh."
"That's a thing?"
"No. Sorry. That is not a thing."
But instead its about a sick boyfriend who needs pats on the head and gatorade with-a-straw.
Boys are quite possibly the most pathetic of the ill. I am pretty terrible at being sick, but stoicism has never been my strong suit. Boys puff up their chests and show us their tail feathers until they have a temp-a-ture and a yucky tummy. Then it is all sleeping and wallowing in the biggest ocean of self pity that can be found.
So tonight its disinfecting the entire house, keeping the cat from making too much noise and putting the ginger ale on ice.
On the bright side, I got to be a part of this conversation:
After telling me he didn't want anything besides a single piece of bread, he looked at me for a minute, "Um."
"Yeah, what do you need?"
"Um. Are there, like, stomach flu shelves?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like, you know, to sort things."
"To sort things?"
"Yeah, to, you know, sort things for your stomach flu."
"To sort things where?"
"You know. In bed."
"Oh."
"That's a thing?"
"No. Sorry. That is not a thing."
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
TYOE: Maryland (part 1)
When in Maryland, you should:
Go to a backyard Maryland wedding, one chock-full of love, and family, and bliss. One where a flooded backyard is not a cause for crisis, but just moving the tent across the street. Get muddy, drink a little too much, eat all the crabs. Drive through a foot of water (the tide is in, duh) to stay at this crazy lodge. Celebrate two really fun people and the villages that made them so great. Steal sea glass off all the tables at the end of the reception.
Watch one of your forever friends get married. Be rescued from a stink bug by your 8th grade English teacher (who is also the mother of the bride). Sit at a table with people you've known for almost 20 years. Be overwhelmed at the amount of love you have experienced. Eat a cupcake. Ponder all the delicious cupcakes eaten in the past 48 hours. Feel lucky that you know people with good taste in baked goods. Dance. Sing. Skip the after party.
Crush the free Holiday Inn Express breakfast buffet. Twice. Day drink and reminisce at RFD. Drink more at Del Frisco. Break into some National monuments. Take pictures with the nice police officers who won't let you break into others. Sit on Einstein's Lap. Celebrate the city that feels like it has always been yours. Eat a pretty good eggplant sandwich with your Dad.
Make sure your flight is as late as humanly possible so when you collapse at the Hyatt House (which is technically in Virginia) it's the best bed you've ever been in. Bonus points for the free breakfast including omelet bar.
Go when the government is shut down, essentially ruining all of your well-made plans (to go here for the best lunch and here for the cutest panda).
End up driving around historic Annapolis just enough to be mad that its raining and you can't find parking. Get your perfection-on-a-bun crab cake sandwich and some cookies at Chick & Ruth's. Take them to the movie you are 15 minutes late to (in Maryland, crab cakes can be brought in anywhere).
Try to get on the Bay Bridge at 4 pm, on a Friday, before a three-day weekend. Take back roads, feel like chump (yeah, a chump that didn't sit in two hours of crawling traffic). Arrive at your lovely Aunt & Uncle's house for amazing BBQ from Em-ings).
Go to a backyard Maryland wedding, one chock-full of love, and family, and bliss. One where a flooded backyard is not a cause for crisis, but just moving the tent across the street. Get muddy, drink a little too much, eat all the crabs. Drive through a foot of water (the tide is in, duh) to stay at this crazy lodge. Celebrate two really fun people and the villages that made them so great. Steal sea glass off all the tables at the end of the reception.
Drive forever. Listen to as much Mike and Tom Eat Snacks as you can. Make sure you get stuck in beltway traffic ruining any nap-taking plans you might have made.
Watch one of your forever friends get married. Be rescued from a stink bug by your 8th grade English teacher (who is also the mother of the bride). Sit at a table with people you've known for almost 20 years. Be overwhelmed at the amount of love you have experienced. Eat a cupcake. Ponder all the delicious cupcakes eaten in the past 48 hours. Feel lucky that you know people with good taste in baked goods. Dance. Sing. Skip the after party.
Crush the free Holiday Inn Express breakfast buffet. Twice. Day drink and reminisce at RFD. Drink more at Del Frisco. Break into some National monuments. Take pictures with the nice police officers who won't let you break into others. Sit on Einstein's Lap. Celebrate the city that feels like it has always been yours. Eat a pretty good eggplant sandwich with your Dad.
(This trip was 8 days long, which is too long for one blog, more yummy food recommendations tomorrow).
Monday, October 07, 2013
Sunday Wellies Love
On Sunday, my green Wellies and I made it through the rain and the last minute sprints across the quad with a ribbon fluttering behind me and the volunteer scramble and the medal ceremony where we unceremoniously switched someone's gender, and the out-of-tshirts and the too many bagels and the moment where the sky got blue and everything was great and the "thank yous" and the "you did it's" and "how does it feels" and all the mud that ever was.
Thank you green Wellies. For a final hurrah, we knocked it out of the park.
Friday, September 20, 2013
A little more about Love
My first massive project at my (still-)new job is coming to a head. There are no less than one million things hanging over my head and I spend most of the day with just a hint of anxiety attack looming in my frontal cortex.
So yesterday, when my boss came over to my cube and asked, "how are you feeling?" I think we were all surprised when the answer was,
"I can't believe my friend is getting married on Saturday."
But there you have it, the emotions that were the deepest set in my subconscious were the ones about Brother (not my brother, but Brother) getting married this weekend.
Having a good, true, real, awesome guy friend in Brother is something I will be grateful for all eternity. And what's astonishing is he never once ditched me through all of the terrible set-ups and nights at the bottom of fishbowls.
And then, to meet my companion and have them get along just.so.perfectly in their singing of the Monday night football song, and watching of Dr. Who and over-indulgence of straight Captain Morgan and Jagermeister is more than I could have even dreamed of in my most practical, Midwestern dreams. Boyfriend needs someone to see bad movies with, and I am so happy that it isn't me.
And THEN! To have him find J. And for her to be all the right kinds of awesome and smart and be the missing puzzle piece of person I need in my life. My talk about the New Yorker, go see plays, commiserate about non-profit jobs, celebrate the joys of dating an introvert friend. How does that even happen so perfectly?
I could not ask for a better wedding to distract me from the impending insanity of my work. I could not ask for two better friends who want nothing more than to sit and eat pizza and enjoy each others' company. I could not ask for a better forever friend from a guy who I met because he randomly came to watch his coworker do crappy improv in a crappy bar.
I am so happy Brother found J. And then fought through all the scary bullshit of life to take her to a Storytown show one Saturday afternoon. And then despite being surrounded by a bunch of lazy, drunk, commitmentphobes, he lit those special occasion candles and made the right choice.
Happy Wedding Brother & J. You'll find me at the dessert table.
Saturday, January 05, 2013
Book 1 - The Light Between Oceans
Guys, I am reading books again this year. Neat, huh? Books are the best.
As an after-thought, I added this book to my amazon wish list right before Christmas because its our book club book this month, but I wasn't anticipating getting a chance to read it. I lucked out that Boyfriend's Dad did their Christmas shopping late this year and that he is good at following instructions and so it arrived under the Chicago tree.
I started reading it on New Year's Day-night, post-Rose Bowl. I got about 10 pages in before I fell asleep. I was sure that, despite my friends words to the contrary, this book was going to be slow and boring.
On January 2nd, what with no job and no prospects and it being only the day right after 2013 started, so no motivation to get either the former or the latter, I sat back down and opened up to page 11.
Five hours later, with tears streaming down my cheeks so much that I could barely see the words on the page, I finished the book. 48 hours in- I had my first ugly cry face of the year, that's some sort of personal best.
I think right now (in my life) is maybe the best time to have read this book as I am smack dab in the middle of the babies-and-weddings portion of the journey. I cannot imagine getting through this book as a mother. The amount of actual physical pain I felt was incredible, if I had a grown/raised a baby, I assume it would be akin to some sort of invasive, unanesthetized surgery. And while I know I would have loved the book in my younger years, the questions of what sort of sacrifices you make (and don't make) for the people you love probably would not have resonated as strongly as they did.
That all being said, the wonderful writing and vivid imagery make up for any emotional wringer it might put you through, so read it anyway no matter where you are in life.
Unlike so many books I like, I am actually willing (and dare I say, interested?) in seeing the movie version of this. If they get the right actors involved, the words of this book lend themselves to a solid script and if the western coast of Australia is anything like she describes - its going to be landscape porn best viewed on the biggest screen you can find.
Let's all go live in lighthouses and/or Australia.
 |
| image via |
I started reading it on New Year's Day-night, post-Rose Bowl. I got about 10 pages in before I fell asleep. I was sure that, despite my friends words to the contrary, this book was going to be slow and boring.
On January 2nd, what with no job and no prospects and it being only the day right after 2013 started, so no motivation to get either the former or the latter, I sat back down and opened up to page 11.
Five hours later, with tears streaming down my cheeks so much that I could barely see the words on the page, I finished the book. 48 hours in- I had my first ugly cry face of the year, that's some sort of personal best.
I think right now (in my life) is maybe the best time to have read this book as I am smack dab in the middle of the babies-and-weddings portion of the journey. I cannot imagine getting through this book as a mother. The amount of actual physical pain I felt was incredible, if I had a grown/raised a baby, I assume it would be akin to some sort of invasive, unanesthetized surgery. And while I know I would have loved the book in my younger years, the questions of what sort of sacrifices you make (and don't make) for the people you love probably would not have resonated as strongly as they did.
That all being said, the wonderful writing and vivid imagery make up for any emotional wringer it might put you through, so read it anyway no matter where you are in life.
Unlike so many books I like, I am actually willing (and dare I say, interested?) in seeing the movie version of this. If they get the right actors involved, the words of this book lend themselves to a solid script and if the western coast of Australia is anything like she describes - its going to be landscape porn best viewed on the biggest screen you can find.
Let's all go live in lighthouses and/or Australia.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Thursday's Best Internet Finds! Stalker Edition
I spend far too much time on the internet. We could go into the why of this - but you're not my therapist, blog reader, and if you were - we would have waaaaay more important things on our metaphorical plate.
In my decade and a half of time spent in the internet tubes I have uncovered a lot of really amazing things and discovered some super cool people. Here's the weird thing - the people I've discovered, don't know I exist.
Its one thing to follow people who are asking for a following (Dear Baby Blog, I am looking in your direction). But there are others who have a super awesome thing going, but are not quite internet celebrities or are celebrities with personal blogs that don't get the same type of attention.
Internet stalking, yo. Don't knock it til you try it.
But today I am taking off the creepy black ski mask and letting my freak flag fly free.
Here are three of my favorites:
Army Pants and Flip Flops. This one is kind of cheating because this girl and I kinda-sorta travel in the same circles. I wouldn't know her if I saw her on the street, but my brother, my mom and probably my sister would - so...there's that. Anywhoodles, she is getting married to your Grade A type Army dude and so of course (because it wouldn't be a romantic comedy any other way) she is your standard Renn Fair loving theater geek. And he's deployed to Afghanistan. And there is a wedding to plan. And she's just trying to figure this ish out. The internet is a great place to get your Ish together. She makes me giggle out loud sometimes and she won Boyfriend's heart by confirming that you can in fact make a wedding registry on Amazon.com (not that Boyfriend is looking to register for Aneee.thing. He just really, really loves Amazon).
The Enjoy Project. Okay - Kristin is pretty darn close to famous. She has a business taking amazing pictures and so she probably racks up the hit counts. I found this blog through T-bone's wedding photographer Lydia Jane (check out T-bone's wedding! Lydia is ah.mazing) who is good friends with this Kristin, who (because Maryland is very, very small) photographed the weddings and engagements of some people I know from high school. Kristin's blog really caught my attention when she started blogging about how she met her (spoiler-alert) now husband. She and I operate on different wavelengths, but it is interesting to watch someone deal with doubt and fear and figuring it out because it makes you feel better about your own doubt and fear and challenges in figuring it out.
Please Note: I did not PLAN for this to be a TBIF all about shmoopy love business. I am not breaking away from my she-man-man-hating club. But I cannot be held responsible for the fact that girls who are increadibly talented and captivating writers tend to get boys all hot and bothered (I mean, duh, Boyfriend, case.in.point).
Dancing Brave. Heather is famous. Sups famous. I was obsessed with Heather back in 2002 when she was recapping for TWoP and had a sweet diaryland blog (guys - Diaryland was the real deal back in '03). Its weird to think that she was younger then than I am now. All making bad choices and being awesome. I thought she was so cool. I still do because she runs Go Fug Yourself (which I will proudly say, I've been reading since Day 1). But she also has a personal blog where she talks about raising twins (!!), and her love for all things Notre Dame (shake down the thunder, everyone). It is fun to see the dichotomy between her glamorous Fashion Week writing and her kids-at-home-how-we-do writing.
The internet is full of funny, smart ladies. The End.
In my decade and a half of time spent in the internet tubes I have uncovered a lot of really amazing things and discovered some super cool people. Here's the weird thing - the people I've discovered, don't know I exist.
Its one thing to follow people who are asking for a following (Dear Baby Blog, I am looking in your direction). But there are others who have a super awesome thing going, but are not quite internet celebrities or are celebrities with personal blogs that don't get the same type of attention.
Internet stalking, yo. Don't knock it til you try it.
But today I am taking off the creepy black ski mask and letting my freak flag fly free.
Here are three of my favorites:
Army Pants and Flip Flops. This one is kind of cheating because this girl and I kinda-sorta travel in the same circles. I wouldn't know her if I saw her on the street, but my brother, my mom and probably my sister would - so...there's that. Anywhoodles, she is getting married to your Grade A type Army dude and so of course (because it wouldn't be a romantic comedy any other way) she is your standard Renn Fair loving theater geek. And he's deployed to Afghanistan. And there is a wedding to plan. And she's just trying to figure this ish out. The internet is a great place to get your Ish together. She makes me giggle out loud sometimes and she won Boyfriend's heart by confirming that you can in fact make a wedding registry on Amazon.com (not that Boyfriend is looking to register for Aneee.thing. He just really, really loves Amazon).
The Enjoy Project. Okay - Kristin is pretty darn close to famous. She has a business taking amazing pictures and so she probably racks up the hit counts. I found this blog through T-bone's wedding photographer Lydia Jane (check out T-bone's wedding! Lydia is ah.mazing) who is good friends with this Kristin, who (because Maryland is very, very small) photographed the weddings and engagements of some people I know from high school. Kristin's blog really caught my attention when she started blogging about how she met her (spoiler-alert) now husband. She and I operate on different wavelengths, but it is interesting to watch someone deal with doubt and fear and figuring it out because it makes you feel better about your own doubt and fear and challenges in figuring it out.
Please Note: I did not PLAN for this to be a TBIF all about shmoopy love business. I am not breaking away from my she-man-man-hating club. But I cannot be held responsible for the fact that girls who are increadibly talented and captivating writers tend to get boys all hot and bothered (I mean, duh, Boyfriend, case.in.point).
Dancing Brave. Heather is famous. Sups famous. I was obsessed with Heather back in 2002 when she was recapping for TWoP and had a sweet diaryland blog (guys - Diaryland was the real deal back in '03). Its weird to think that she was younger then than I am now. All making bad choices and being awesome. I thought she was so cool. I still do because she runs Go Fug Yourself (which I will proudly say, I've been reading since Day 1). But she also has a personal blog where she talks about raising twins (!!), and her love for all things Notre Dame (shake down the thunder, everyone). It is fun to see the dichotomy between her glamorous Fashion Week writing and her kids-at-home-how-we-do writing.
The internet is full of funny, smart ladies. The End.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Buffy.
Here are some things I am not going to miss about our cat Buffy, who passed away earlier this week.
1 - Her room clearing farts. Apparently, once you lose half your colon - your gas becomes more frequent and potent. Nothing like a purring cat on your chest who rips a noxious gas bomb and then refuses to get off of you.
2 - Her uncanny ability to vomit directly where you are about to walk. Something about cat puke on your bare foot first thing in the morning that makes you reevaluate all of your life choices.
3- Her pathetic yowl. It was like a meow, if Lady Gaga meowed and it wasn't autotuned. Luckily, it was something she just did when she was hungry, which was pretty much all the time.
I loved her very much. She was a wonderful part of our family but with all old pets, it is eventually time for them to go. I don't know if I'll ever know another animal as dumb and as patient as she. And let's be honest, for the reputation of cats everywhere - that is probably for the best.
1 - Her room clearing farts. Apparently, once you lose half your colon - your gas becomes more frequent and potent. Nothing like a purring cat on your chest who rips a noxious gas bomb and then refuses to get off of you.
2 - Her uncanny ability to vomit directly where you are about to walk. Something about cat puke on your bare foot first thing in the morning that makes you reevaluate all of your life choices.
3- Her pathetic yowl. It was like a meow, if Lady Gaga meowed and it wasn't autotuned. Luckily, it was something she just did when she was hungry, which was pretty much all the time.
I loved her very much. She was a wonderful part of our family but with all old pets, it is eventually time for them to go. I don't know if I'll ever know another animal as dumb and as patient as she. And let's be honest, for the reputation of cats everywhere - that is probably for the best.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
I'm finna talk about my mama if yall don't mind
Its Mother's Day. And I would be remiss not to mention the most important Mom I know. The one who ever so patiently waited two weeks past my due date for me to make my grand entrance. And then loved all 10 pounds of me even though I was sickly and required lots of special attention (typical).
There are a billion reasons why my Mom is the bees knees. But my Dad (who is also pretty great) reminded me of one of my favorites this morning.
When we were all a lot younger we lived in Washington D.C. in a townhouse with a yard and a toy room in the Mount Pleasant neighborhood which had its share of problems in the mid-1980's.
Just down the street was Our Church. It looks like this.
Some day I will write more about how much this place and the people who came with were game changers in my existence. But this was not only just Our Church - my Mom worked here as the Parish Administrator (a two-fer, if you will)
And in 1988 - when things were really bad, and people were selling drugs literally on the steps of the church, two young men were killed on the sidewalk in front of the building.
Something had to be done. So my Mom decided to have a vigil.
She sat on the steps of the church, every night, with some other amazing folks, as the sun set. And people didn't sell drugs. Were they being sold somewhere else instead? Maybe - but my Mom was doing her part to keep her family and community safe.
Every time I think about this story - it makes my heart burst with pride. And I recognize where my fierce determination to do good comes from. In the same situation, I hope I would find the same spirited stubbornness. A "Hey you kids, get off my lawn," mentality with a "let's change our corner of the world," mission.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Thanks for keeping me safe.
(You can read more about this story and Our Church here)
There are a billion reasons why my Mom is the bees knees. But my Dad (who is also pretty great) reminded me of one of my favorites this morning.
When we were all a lot younger we lived in Washington D.C. in a townhouse with a yard and a toy room in the Mount Pleasant neighborhood which had its share of problems in the mid-1980's.
Just down the street was Our Church. It looks like this.
 | ||||
| Image (via) |
And in 1988 - when things were really bad, and people were selling drugs literally on the steps of the church, two young men were killed on the sidewalk in front of the building.
Something had to be done. So my Mom decided to have a vigil.
She sat on the steps of the church, every night, with some other amazing folks, as the sun set. And people didn't sell drugs. Were they being sold somewhere else instead? Maybe - but my Mom was doing her part to keep her family and community safe.
Every time I think about this story - it makes my heart burst with pride. And I recognize where my fierce determination to do good comes from. In the same situation, I hope I would find the same spirited stubbornness. A "Hey you kids, get off my lawn," mentality with a "let's change our corner of the world," mission.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Thanks for keeping me safe.
(You can read more about this story and Our Church here)
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Everyone Love.
Same-sex marriage bill approved by Maryland Senate
I could not be more proud of my home state right now. While I am frustrated that not all states allow people who love each other and want to be together forever announce it proudly with some flowers, rings and good food - knowing that the good people of Maryland (or at least their elected officials) think that it is A-OK has me jubilant.
My thoughts on marriage as an institution are for another day, but today I feel like a proud Mama watching my little state make all the right choices (we will ignore the fail bombs my particular county is dropping for the time being).
Thank you Maryland for being a great place to grow up. Right now, I am incredibly proud to call you "where I am from." The sprinkles on this sweet, sweet news is the editorial the Frederick News Post came out with in support of this bill. Frederick is a backwater of conservative assbaggery (as proven by the link above) and coming out in support of this bill lost the FNP some of their subscribers. But they did it anyway. And I love it.
I am also incredibly happy that I surround myself with loved ones who agree with me on this particular topic (as I am seeing by the responses to my facebook post on this matter). I am willing to debate many things, but on the topic of Love, there is my way, or the way of people who are wrong and who want others to be just as miserable as they are.
Go Maryland. Two points for love. And two points for the crabcakes I had last weekend. You win again. You always do.
edited to add - Apparently I have already written about marriage. Right here! I still feel exactly the same about it (and babies) as when I wrote this post, if you are interested. But I still think everyone should be able to do it if they want to.
I could not be more proud of my home state right now. While I am frustrated that not all states allow people who love each other and want to be together forever announce it proudly with some flowers, rings and good food - knowing that the good people of Maryland (or at least their elected officials) think that it is A-OK has me jubilant.
My thoughts on marriage as an institution are for another day, but today I feel like a proud Mama watching my little state make all the right choices (we will ignore the fail bombs my particular county is dropping for the time being).
Thank you Maryland for being a great place to grow up. Right now, I am incredibly proud to call you "where I am from." The sprinkles on this sweet, sweet news is the editorial the Frederick News Post came out with in support of this bill. Frederick is a backwater of conservative assbaggery (as proven by the link above) and coming out in support of this bill lost the FNP some of their subscribers. But they did it anyway. And I love it.
I am also incredibly happy that I surround myself with loved ones who agree with me on this particular topic (as I am seeing by the responses to my facebook post on this matter). I am willing to debate many things, but on the topic of Love, there is my way, or the way of people who are wrong and who want others to be just as miserable as they are.
Go Maryland. Two points for love. And two points for the crabcakes I had last weekend. You win again. You always do.
edited to add - Apparently I have already written about marriage. Right here! I still feel exactly the same about it (and babies) as when I wrote this post, if you are interested. But I still think everyone should be able to do it if they want to.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Little bit about love.
So. A few months ago, I had one of the hardest decisions of my life (based on past experiences you can figure out how much hyperbole has been sprinkled on that statement). Luckily, it was kind of made for me.
Two of the most amazing, smartest, prettiest, sassiest ladies I know (Cindy-loo and KChu) are getting married to two of the luckiest guys in the known universe (AndyP and Howie Howardson, respectively). And it just so happens they picked the exact same day to celebrate. But of course, they couldn't get married in the same room. Noooo, that would be "weird." So I had to make the epic choice of which one do I love more. Well, not actually. Cindy-loo very sweetly (and for reasons that still I don't quite understand because I am terrible at this particular job) asked me to rep for her in front of Greek Jesus.
I so rarely get a chance to hang out with Greek Jesus, that I said yes. And a bridesmaid was made.
So Cindy-loo and AndyP. get my presence at their wedding.
KChu, and Howie Howardson get this, a blog about them. (and honestly, I don't know which is the fuzzier end of that lollipop).
KChu & Howie Howardson,
There is some thing crazy special, and the most fun of your 20's life, about getting a front row ticket to watching real, true, forever love happen.
Its pretty rare to know, and be friends, with two single people, and then watch overtime as they evolve to be a couple. Still two awesome people, but two people who have high-fived and decided that they're going to take on this big, bad world together.
I feel like so many of my friends started dating strangers (we like to call the interlopers) who only through their dating of one of the finest people in the world, have I gotten to be friends with. But KChu and Howie were both great people with solid stamps of approval before the first awkward attempt at hand holding ever went down.
This was Howie Howardson getting real, real sauced at 9:30 AM watching Badger Football. Maybe flirting with a waitress, maybe yelling at the televisions, but always there, surrounded by at least 6 female friends and occasionally a dude or two. And we all waited for the girl who would walk through the doors of that stupid, stupid bar and be good enough for Howie - and his pile of lady friends.
Well, what do you know? She was already there. Maybe it took a few more months for her to become part of the circle but she was a brilliant, occasionally overserved but always responsible, fast friend. She went to college on the East Coast (unlike everyoneelseintheuniverse who had gone to school out in these parts) but she was still from Wisconsin in all the best ways. East coast brains with a midwest heart? Ain't no shame in KChu's game.
There they each were. Through the yelling and the confetti and the gallons of Miller Lite being spilled every where. They managed to spot all the right things about each other. And while the rest of us were contemplating what the secret ingredient in the tater tots was, and where Naulty had lost her credit card, they were in those very baby stages of becoming a team.
Then there was the time line of drama. Drawn on text messages and serious bathroom talks, on book club conversations and the bottom of the shot glass. The good and the bad and the "what happened last night?" We were spectators and occasional coaches, whether they liked it or not.
While they were weathering each other, they were also forced to weather us - Statler and Waldorf times six, but much higher pitched. Us girls with too much time on our hands were there for the commentary, but also to occasionally steal focus with all our own silly, silly hearts.
And then you survived! You survived those years with an Apple Holler and a Mars Cheese Castle between you. Even though it had to have been tough, we all secretly knew that this was the test, this was your journey through the Hidden Temple, and if you made it through you would be together for life (and also possibly win a trip to Space Camp).
KChu & Howie Howardson, I don't know if you can really comprehend how much we all love you. You are both incredibly smart, and perhaps with your powers combined you can understand how much we (me, and all your other loud, drunk friends) have loved watching you guys find each other and start this life together.
Thanks for letting us come on the journey with you. Thanks for being awesome while single and while dating. Thanks for both being able to (individually) hold your own at a late-night Baby Atlas dance party. Thanks for being two of the best listeners in the history of people-having-ears.
I have been told that every bar in the world can only produce one couple. While people will meet in bars and inevitably make bad choices with each other, each bar can only produce one real, amazing, forever couple. I am so happy that Redmond's got you guys. And as a celebration of that, let's never go back.
I love you both so much. I'm sorry I can't be there to be embarrassing on the dance floor.
-R
Two of the most amazing, smartest, prettiest, sassiest ladies I know (Cindy-loo and KChu) are getting married to two of the luckiest guys in the known universe (AndyP and Howie Howardson, respectively). And it just so happens they picked the exact same day to celebrate. But of course, they couldn't get married in the same room. Noooo, that would be "weird." So I had to make the epic choice of which one do I love more. Well, not actually. Cindy-loo very sweetly (and for reasons that still I don't quite understand because I am terrible at this particular job) asked me to rep for her in front of Greek Jesus.
I so rarely get a chance to hang out with Greek Jesus, that I said yes. And a bridesmaid was made.
So Cindy-loo and AndyP. get my presence at their wedding.
KChu, and Howie Howardson get this, a blog about them. (and honestly, I don't know which is the fuzzier end of that lollipop).
KChu & Howie Howardson,
There is some thing crazy special, and the most fun of your 20's life, about getting a front row ticket to watching real, true, forever love happen.
Its pretty rare to know, and be friends, with two single people, and then watch overtime as they evolve to be a couple. Still two awesome people, but two people who have high-fived and decided that they're going to take on this big, bad world together.
I feel like so many of my friends started dating strangers (we like to call the interlopers) who only through their dating of one of the finest people in the world, have I gotten to be friends with. But KChu and Howie were both great people with solid stamps of approval before the first awkward attempt at hand holding ever went down.
This was Howie Howardson getting real, real sauced at 9:30 AM watching Badger Football. Maybe flirting with a waitress, maybe yelling at the televisions, but always there, surrounded by at least 6 female friends and occasionally a dude or two. And we all waited for the girl who would walk through the doors of that stupid, stupid bar and be good enough for Howie - and his pile of lady friends.
Well, what do you know? She was already there. Maybe it took a few more months for her to become part of the circle but she was a brilliant, occasionally overserved but always responsible, fast friend. She went to college on the East Coast (unlike everyoneelseintheuniverse who had gone to school out in these parts) but she was still from Wisconsin in all the best ways. East coast brains with a midwest heart? Ain't no shame in KChu's game.
There they each were. Through the yelling and the confetti and the gallons of Miller Lite being spilled every where. They managed to spot all the right things about each other. And while the rest of us were contemplating what the secret ingredient in the tater tots was, and where Naulty had lost her credit card, they were in those very baby stages of becoming a team.
Then there was the time line of drama. Drawn on text messages and serious bathroom talks, on book club conversations and the bottom of the shot glass. The good and the bad and the "what happened last night?" We were spectators and occasional coaches, whether they liked it or not.
While they were weathering each other, they were also forced to weather us - Statler and Waldorf times six, but much higher pitched. Us girls with too much time on our hands were there for the commentary, but also to occasionally steal focus with all our own silly, silly hearts.
And then you survived! You survived those years with an Apple Holler and a Mars Cheese Castle between you. Even though it had to have been tough, we all secretly knew that this was the test, this was your journey through the Hidden Temple, and if you made it through you would be together for life (and also possibly win a trip to Space Camp).
KChu & Howie Howardson, I don't know if you can really comprehend how much we all love you. You are both incredibly smart, and perhaps with your powers combined you can understand how much we (me, and all your other loud, drunk friends) have loved watching you guys find each other and start this life together.
Thanks for letting us come on the journey with you. Thanks for being awesome while single and while dating. Thanks for both being able to (individually) hold your own at a late-night Baby Atlas dance party. Thanks for being two of the best listeners in the history of people-having-ears.
I have been told that every bar in the world can only produce one couple. While people will meet in bars and inevitably make bad choices with each other, each bar can only produce one real, amazing, forever couple. I am so happy that Redmond's got you guys. And as a celebration of that, let's never go back.
I love you both so much. I'm sorry I can't be there to be embarrassing on the dance floor.
-R
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Flying Solo
M- "I am sorry, I wish I could be there for you on your existential journey."
R- "Its okay, it wouldn't be much of an existential journey if you were there helping out."
This was part of a much longer conversation that I had a few months back. And it has latched itself right to the front of my conscious.
As someone who is well aware of what an incredibly good life she leads, there are moments when I am awash in the realization of the futility of everything. I desperately grasp into the fog of my own doubt to try to discover what truly matters. Over time, I have found that these things that matter tend to be the ones that sink to the ground, and tend to easily accessible no matter what the mental weather.
However, I have also discovered that this journey through my own mire is one that can only be taken independently. How could anyone else even think to venture through this? No matter what you are willing to offer, be it treasure or particularly empathetic ears, they are useless on a quest with no map or key.
I survive the journey, surely enough. I always do. And I am never very far from where I began.
Eventually the offers of hands-to-hold will wither away from neglect, and then, well, things will be almost just as they are now.
These battles are mine, but there is nothing quite like having someone with to do a victory dance at the end.
R- "Its okay, it wouldn't be much of an existential journey if you were there helping out."
This was part of a much longer conversation that I had a few months back. And it has latched itself right to the front of my conscious.
As someone who is well aware of what an incredibly good life she leads, there are moments when I am awash in the realization of the futility of everything. I desperately grasp into the fog of my own doubt to try to discover what truly matters. Over time, I have found that these things that matter tend to be the ones that sink to the ground, and tend to easily accessible no matter what the mental weather.
However, I have also discovered that this journey through my own mire is one that can only be taken independently. How could anyone else even think to venture through this? No matter what you are willing to offer, be it treasure or particularly empathetic ears, they are useless on a quest with no map or key.
I survive the journey, surely enough. I always do. And I am never very far from where I began.
Eventually the offers of hands-to-hold will wither away from neglect, and then, well, things will be almost just as they are now.
These battles are mine, but there is nothing quite like having someone with to do a victory dance at the end.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Book 11 - About Alice
Guys, these book reviews are coming 'atcha. There are three unread New Yorkers on my kitchen table (I'm saving them for Iceland as they are easier to dispose of than books) and I have a fair amount to show for it.
This book made my heart make funny noises.
It made it beat seemingly slower and faster at the same time. It made me cry with sadness and with pure joy.
Seriously, if 16 year-old girls knew what was good for them, they would stop mooning over boys who can write songs and spend some time with boys who can write words that don't need to hide behind lame guitar cords and canned drum beats (You're Welcome, nerdy book-writing boys).
There isn't much I really want to say about this - except you should go read it. Now. Right now. It will take you exactly one lazy, sunny afternoon on the porch. You'll still have time afterwards to cry a little and then send a wish out into the universe that you'll feel that way some day. Or that someone will feel that way about you. And even if it never happens - you can smile because it happened somewhere, for someone. And in some small way, the fact that we get to share it makes it wonderful.
This book made my heart make funny noises.
It made it beat seemingly slower and faster at the same time. It made me cry with sadness and with pure joy.
Seriously, if 16 year-old girls knew what was good for them, they would stop mooning over boys who can write songs and spend some time with boys who can write words that don't need to hide behind lame guitar cords and canned drum beats (You're Welcome, nerdy book-writing boys).
There isn't much I really want to say about this - except you should go read it. Now. Right now. It will take you exactly one lazy, sunny afternoon on the porch. You'll still have time afterwards to cry a little and then send a wish out into the universe that you'll feel that way some day. Or that someone will feel that way about you. And even if it never happens - you can smile because it happened somewhere, for someone. And in some small way, the fact that we get to share it makes it wonderful.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Little City State of Mind
My heart will always belong in a big city. Which big city is up for debate but I feel the most comfortable wrapped in the anonymity that these places provide. That being said - my heart strings are being tugged, hard, for my little-big hometown right now.
One of the top 5 things Frederick, MD has going for it is the Maryland Ensemble Theater. Truly, truly one of the most wonderful things that's been part of my life. Anyway - in my time hanging out at the MET, like a stray hoping for scraps, I got to know Rona.
Rona is just...awesome? I mean, pick some compliments out of a hat and they all work for her. In her real life she was a DJ for a local radio station (she was Rona on the Road, if you will). She's been on the same station for 17 years - up until just a few days ago when she "Left." Which is the PC way of saying the weenies running the show (which has a "new format" and a new "parent company") kicked her to the curb, but said they were sorry.
This is not the story to me though. People lose jobs all the time - especially in radio (an especially with all that "new format" business), even people who deserve their jobs, who have been doing them forever and are very good at them lose their jobs - losing jobs is just a part of life.
But the outpouring of love and support for Rona is what makes my heart rise up into my throat. How amazing to have a whole city of people shouting from the rooftops how much they love you. Especially, this city which is full of people who all seem to spend most of their time complaining about each other (don't believe me? Spend some quality time reading the reader comments on the Frederick News Post - particularly any article focused on housing developments or helping poor people - two things this town cannot seem to agree on).
This is one of these things I miss about small town living. This sense of true community - of knowing the woman who does the traffic on the radio station, of seeing people that you know on the street and not having it be a strange anomaly, but a lovely addition to the day, and to know the people who serve you coffee and work at your bank - and not just know them in those roles, but in their roles as parents and musicians and soccer coaches.
Its almost enough to make me go back to that world. That love and support cannot truly be replicated in the world of public transit and . And while I do revel in walking down the street and knowing that no one knows my business, I can see the benefits of the grass on the other side.
And to Rona who deserves whatever the eff she wants - You're a gem. And you're loved. No matter what happens tomorrow or the next day, you are truly loved. I feel like that may be better than a job.
One of the top 5 things Frederick, MD has going for it is the Maryland Ensemble Theater. Truly, truly one of the most wonderful things that's been part of my life. Anyway - in my time hanging out at the MET, like a stray hoping for scraps, I got to know Rona.
Rona is just...awesome? I mean, pick some compliments out of a hat and they all work for her. In her real life she was a DJ for a local radio station (she was Rona on the Road, if you will). She's been on the same station for 17 years - up until just a few days ago when she "Left." Which is the PC way of saying the weenies running the show (which has a "new format" and a new "parent company") kicked her to the curb, but said they were sorry.
This is not the story to me though. People lose jobs all the time - especially in radio (an especially with all that "new format" business), even people who deserve their jobs, who have been doing them forever and are very good at them lose their jobs - losing jobs is just a part of life.
But the outpouring of love and support for Rona is what makes my heart rise up into my throat. How amazing to have a whole city of people shouting from the rooftops how much they love you. Especially, this city which is full of people who all seem to spend most of their time complaining about each other (don't believe me? Spend some quality time reading the reader comments on the Frederick News Post - particularly any article focused on housing developments or helping poor people - two things this town cannot seem to agree on).
This is one of these things I miss about small town living. This sense of true community - of knowing the woman who does the traffic on the radio station, of seeing people that you know on the street and not having it be a strange anomaly, but a lovely addition to the day, and to know the people who serve you coffee and work at your bank - and not just know them in those roles, but in their roles as parents and musicians and soccer coaches.
Its almost enough to make me go back to that world. That love and support cannot truly be replicated in the world of public transit and . And while I do revel in walking down the street and knowing that no one knows my business, I can see the benefits of the grass on the other side.
And to Rona who deserves whatever the eff she wants - You're a gem. And you're loved. No matter what happens tomorrow or the next day, you are truly loved. I feel like that may be better than a job.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
once upon a shoe
And now a fairy tale -
Once upon a time there was a girl who was going to a fancy event. So fancy that she couldn't even afford a ticket. But a very nice lady bought her a ticket, so she got dressed up and even curled her hair! She looked so cute and, because the invitation said festive attire, she wore her patent leather red shoes. Pointy and fancy, but with a sensible two and a half inch heel. The short heel was important because she was going to need to walk pretty far to get to the magical land of the 30th floor of the Blue Cross Blue Shield Building.
So she is running late to her fancy event, because she is a girl who was bad at planning. Also, she kind of has a headache, which had made her grouchy and maybe even a little mean to her boyfriend. Her boyfriend did not have a ticket to the fancy event, so he was going to have to sit at home by himself. And she may have been mean about it. Also about other things. Because sometimes pretty girls are mean when they are rushed and/or having a bad day.
The girl was walking to her event. She had to walk all of the blocks because she is broke and hates cabs. It was a little too cold for her dress and so she was walking quickly, even running a bit when she was attempting to cross a street before the light changed.
She gets to the block just before the fancy building and skittered across the intersection to beat the flashing orange hand. There she was, a mere 40 or so steps from the entrance when, all of a sudden, her gait became unbalanced. She feels as though, with every step, she is stepping into a hole, or perhaps a vicious crack in the sidewalk.
She looks down upon her beautiful left shoe and is devastated to discover that the heel had broken and when she attempts to fix it, it snaps right off in her hand.
Here she is six minutes late and holding a very critical part of her shoe. She knows she had two to three hours of socializing to do and it cannot be done in her current state. A younger, more sassy version of this particular girl might have just gone barefoot. But this girl has a title. And business cards. She could no longer go barefoot to expensive benefit events.
So she does what any damsel in distress would do. She calls her long-suffering boyfriend and hopes he has forgotten all of the not-so-nice things she had said before.
She is in luck, he is in a super hero kind of mood. He asks what kind of shoes he should bring and tells her he'll be there as soon as he can.
As she presses the end button on her cellphone, her heart floods with love and realization. He is quite simply the nicest boy who ever lived. To fish through her side of the closet for the black mary jane pumps (all words he does not quite understand, in a language he believes himself to be fluent), travel through downtown Chicago traffic, on a Saturday, no less, to go to a party he was not invited to...all for her.
She walks into the party, trying to give off the appearance that absolutely nothing is wrong, that she is supposed to be slightly lopsided. She macgyvers a temporary solution with some gum, dutifully donated by a 13 year-old boy who, perhaps, has never seen a girl put a shoe back together with gum.
Half an hour later her cellphone vibrates while she is piling a plate with delicious looking sushi. She gave the plate to the person standing closest to her and runs, ever so daintily out of the room.
As she runs, her temporary solution proved itself to be, well, temporary and the heel of her shoe falls off yet again. The people standing at the door stop her and attempt to discreetly tell her that her heel has fallen off. They are distressed, because they are good at their door-guarding jobs.
"What are you going to do?" the lady guard says in a distressed tone.
"Oh, I am about to be rescued!" the girl says as she skitters down all 30 floors in the elevator.
She runs outside and does not even regret not getting her coat out of the coat check, she is so happy.
There he is, the valiant knight in a green hoodie walking towards her carrying a pair of black Steve Madden mary janes.
"You came!" she cries.
"Of course I did," he states in his most matter of a fact voice, as if she is silly to be so surprised and happy.
He waits as the girl quickly changes her shoes and then he picks up the broken ones.
"Have fun at your party," he says and kisses her forehead before walking off towards his Mazda 3 (the noblest of steeds).
And she did have fun at the party. But was also very happy to go home to her knight who was sitting on the couch playing Angry Birds.
And they all lived happily ever after.
The end.
Once upon a time there was a girl who was going to a fancy event. So fancy that she couldn't even afford a ticket. But a very nice lady bought her a ticket, so she got dressed up and even curled her hair! She looked so cute and, because the invitation said festive attire, she wore her patent leather red shoes. Pointy and fancy, but with a sensible two and a half inch heel. The short heel was important because she was going to need to walk pretty far to get to the magical land of the 30th floor of the Blue Cross Blue Shield Building.
So she is running late to her fancy event, because she is a girl who was bad at planning. Also, she kind of has a headache, which had made her grouchy and maybe even a little mean to her boyfriend. Her boyfriend did not have a ticket to the fancy event, so he was going to have to sit at home by himself. And she may have been mean about it. Also about other things. Because sometimes pretty girls are mean when they are rushed and/or having a bad day.
The girl was walking to her event. She had to walk all of the blocks because she is broke and hates cabs. It was a little too cold for her dress and so she was walking quickly, even running a bit when she was attempting to cross a street before the light changed.
She gets to the block just before the fancy building and skittered across the intersection to beat the flashing orange hand. There she was, a mere 40 or so steps from the entrance when, all of a sudden, her gait became unbalanced. She feels as though, with every step, she is stepping into a hole, or perhaps a vicious crack in the sidewalk.
She looks down upon her beautiful left shoe and is devastated to discover that the heel had broken and when she attempts to fix it, it snaps right off in her hand.
Here she is six minutes late and holding a very critical part of her shoe. She knows she had two to three hours of socializing to do and it cannot be done in her current state. A younger, more sassy version of this particular girl might have just gone barefoot. But this girl has a title. And business cards. She could no longer go barefoot to expensive benefit events.
So she does what any damsel in distress would do. She calls her long-suffering boyfriend and hopes he has forgotten all of the not-so-nice things she had said before.
She is in luck, he is in a super hero kind of mood. He asks what kind of shoes he should bring and tells her he'll be there as soon as he can.
As she presses the end button on her cellphone, her heart floods with love and realization. He is quite simply the nicest boy who ever lived. To fish through her side of the closet for the black mary jane pumps (all words he does not quite understand, in a language he believes himself to be fluent), travel through downtown Chicago traffic, on a Saturday, no less, to go to a party he was not invited to...all for her.
She walks into the party, trying to give off the appearance that absolutely nothing is wrong, that she is supposed to be slightly lopsided. She macgyvers a temporary solution with some gum, dutifully donated by a 13 year-old boy who, perhaps, has never seen a girl put a shoe back together with gum.
Half an hour later her cellphone vibrates while she is piling a plate with delicious looking sushi. She gave the plate to the person standing closest to her and runs, ever so daintily out of the room.
As she runs, her temporary solution proved itself to be, well, temporary and the heel of her shoe falls off yet again. The people standing at the door stop her and attempt to discreetly tell her that her heel has fallen off. They are distressed, because they are good at their door-guarding jobs.
"What are you going to do?" the lady guard says in a distressed tone.
"Oh, I am about to be rescued!" the girl says as she skitters down all 30 floors in the elevator.
She runs outside and does not even regret not getting her coat out of the coat check, she is so happy.
There he is, the valiant knight in a green hoodie walking towards her carrying a pair of black Steve Madden mary janes.
"You came!" she cries.
"Of course I did," he states in his most matter of a fact voice, as if she is silly to be so surprised and happy.
He waits as the girl quickly changes her shoes and then he picks up the broken ones.
"Have fun at your party," he says and kisses her forehead before walking off towards his Mazda 3 (the noblest of steeds).
And she did have fun at the party. But was also very happy to go home to her knight who was sitting on the couch playing Angry Birds.
And they all lived happily ever after.
The end.
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Grandpa
Today is my Grandpa's 80th birthday.
For some reason I thought his birthday was February 19. But it isn't. It's February 9. Its okay though. I don't think he would have minded if I got it wrong. Especially if I got it wrong every year. In fact, he would probably find it funnier that I am so insistent that his birthday was the 19th, then he would be offended that his own granddaughter doesn't know his birthday.
Grandpa wasn't big for celebrating birthdays anyway. The cakes and the presents and the singing - they were for us. If it was up to him he would have spent every birthday alone in his truck driving down two lane alternate highway routes. But Grandpa loved us more than he loved himself, and that was the amazing thing about him. He was surrounded by all these women who wanted to celebrate him. These women who worshiped him. And so he celebrated because he loved how happy it made everyone else.
For some reason, when I imagine Grandpa and his four daughters they're all wearing swirling full-skirted dresses out of the 1800's. I have no idea why, since they were a bunch of hippie/cowboy/beachbums but its a lovely image that I can't really get away from.
Grandpa would laugh at me for writing this blog at 11:30 at night. He would have told me to go to bed. He'll still be 80 tomorrow and then I'll have had a good night sleep and can celebrate him properly. Or at least, that's what I think he would have said - thinking of my adult relationship with him is something I can't really wrap my brain around. Its too sacred and sad to think about for too long.
I think one of the reasons I love Boyfriend as much as I do is because there are these flashes of Grandpa I see in him, this silent stoicism in the face of an overload of very noisy estrogen. This dry humor sliced paper thin, so subtle that you almost don't notice it. This terrible singing voice. Naturally, this makes me Granny. Which is a little hard to swallow, and yet - exactly right. A love that defies the laws of just about everything.
Grandpa wasn't big for celebrating birthdays anyway. The cakes and the presents and the singing - they were for us. If it was up to him he would have spent every birthday alone in his truck driving down two lane alternate highway routes. But Grandpa loved us more than he loved himself, and that was the amazing thing about him. He was surrounded by all these women who wanted to celebrate him. These women who worshiped him. And so he celebrated because he loved how happy it made everyone else.
For some reason, when I imagine Grandpa and his four daughters they're all wearing swirling full-skirted dresses out of the 1800's. I have no idea why, since they were a bunch of hippie/cowboy/beachbums but its a lovely image that I can't really get away from.
Grandpa would laugh at me for writing this blog at 11:30 at night. He would have told me to go to bed. He'll still be 80 tomorrow and then I'll have had a good night sleep and can celebrate him properly. Or at least, that's what I think he would have said - thinking of my adult relationship with him is something I can't really wrap my brain around. Its too sacred and sad to think about for too long.
I think one of the reasons I love Boyfriend as much as I do is because there are these flashes of Grandpa I see in him, this silent stoicism in the face of an overload of very noisy estrogen. This dry humor sliced paper thin, so subtle that you almost don't notice it. This terrible singing voice. Naturally, this makes me Granny. Which is a little hard to swallow, and yet - exactly right. A love that defies the laws of just about everything.
When I was a kid, I was pretty sure Grandpa knew all the secrets to the universe and that we were all so busy running around we never got around to asking him about it. But even if we had, he probably would have shrugged and said, "ask your Grandmother, she knows everything."
Thursday, February 12, 2009
dumb love
I still hate Valentine's Day.
Apparently, this is causing a little stir. People don't quite understand why I'm not giddy with the anticipation of flowers and calories and awkward dinner dates where I have to wear a dress.
Well. I hate flowers (why would you give some one a present that is literally DAYS from dying/is technically already dead? Would you give someone a 17 year-old cat with Feline Leukemia? Sit down. Think about it. That is dumb. A plant? In soil? Is different, but I'm still not interested). I really don't need any more calories in my life, and if I want candy- I want it the day AFTER Valentine's Day for 50% off, because I'm a girl who likes saving for a down payment. And Awkward Dinner? No thanks. I mean, I love a good meal out as much as the next girl, but I would spend the entire night staring at everyone else wondering they were going to break up/have sex/get engaged. And if someone got engaged in the restaurant I was eating in, I would probably throw food in their lap. Gross (they don't wash that floor very often, get off your knee) and Cliche. And honestly, I can't really decide what's worse between the two.
Here's the thing. YES. I have a boyfriend that I love. But so?
I cannot think of anything more hypocritical than spending the first 22 years of your life (okay, I probably didn't care the first 15 or so, but whatever) feeling inadequate for being "incomplete" this one day a year and then finally getting to a point (23) where you're perfectly happy to make out with strangers but not have someone to buy you a stuffed animal and candy and dinner (ps - receiving that as a gift that makes you sound like a 12 year-old. Gross. Again.) and THEN all of a sudden when something alters slightly (ie- a boy won't stop bothering you and tricks you into taking him home for Christmas), you're singing the praises of St. Cupid for giving you this opportunity to declare your love for this person who just showed up.
Dumb.
I mean, I am under the assumption that if my boyfriend would like to purchase a present or food for me, he is at his leisure to do so whenever the spirit moves him. It would be weird and awkward, but he can do whatever he wants. I may wear the pants, but I don't control him (okay, I do kind of, but I think he understands that he can buy me food and things and if he doesn't understand he will comment on this blog, I'm sure).
And that road runs both ways...
So, on Saturday, I will wake up hungover from a birthday party Friday night, do a kid's show, go to Circus class (maybe - see hangover), and then spend the rest of the day enjoying having more than 6 hours of daylight without obligations. Will my boyfriend be around? Probably. I can't seem to shake him.
Apparently, this is causing a little stir. People don't quite understand why I'm not giddy with the anticipation of flowers and calories and awkward dinner dates where I have to wear a dress.
Well. I hate flowers (why would you give some one a present that is literally DAYS from dying/is technically already dead? Would you give someone a 17 year-old cat with Feline Leukemia? Sit down. Think about it. That is dumb. A plant? In soil? Is different, but I'm still not interested). I really don't need any more calories in my life, and if I want candy- I want it the day AFTER Valentine's Day for 50% off, because I'm a girl who likes saving for a down payment. And Awkward Dinner? No thanks. I mean, I love a good meal out as much as the next girl, but I would spend the entire night staring at everyone else wondering they were going to break up/have sex/get engaged. And if someone got engaged in the restaurant I was eating in, I would probably throw food in their lap. Gross (they don't wash that floor very often, get off your knee) and Cliche. And honestly, I can't really decide what's worse between the two.
Here's the thing. YES. I have a boyfriend that I love. But so?
I cannot think of anything more hypocritical than spending the first 22 years of your life (okay, I probably didn't care the first 15 or so, but whatever) feeling inadequate for being "incomplete" this one day a year and then finally getting to a point (23) where you're perfectly happy to make out with strangers but not have someone to buy you a stuffed animal and candy and dinner (ps - receiving that as a gift that makes you sound like a 12 year-old. Gross. Again.) and THEN all of a sudden when something alters slightly (ie- a boy won't stop bothering you and tricks you into taking him home for Christmas), you're singing the praises of St. Cupid for giving you this opportunity to declare your love for this person who just showed up.
Dumb.
I mean, I am under the assumption that if my boyfriend would like to purchase a present or food for me, he is at his leisure to do so whenever the spirit moves him. It would be weird and awkward, but he can do whatever he wants. I may wear the pants, but I don't control him (okay, I do kind of, but I think he understands that he can buy me food and things and if he doesn't understand he will comment on this blog, I'm sure).
And that road runs both ways...
So, on Saturday, I will wake up hungover from a birthday party Friday night, do a kid's show, go to Circus class (maybe - see hangover), and then spend the rest of the day enjoying having more than 6 hours of daylight without obligations. Will my boyfriend be around? Probably. I can't seem to shake him.
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