Fancy Meeting You Here

Remember when I used to do this semi-regularly?  Remember how sometimes things I posted were funny?

Me neither.

I haven't gone off the grid or lost my fingers, but so much else has happened since I last paid much attention to this.  I got a job that I love, but that requires an excessive amount of time away from the couch.  Deduct five points.  I do get paid, though. This is the first time with regularity since, OH, 2007.  Add twelve points.  Which, bonus, means I got to buy Craig Christmas presents with my very own monies. Of course, this also means that he can no longer say his Bosco's Mug Club membership is my gift to him.  Now he'll have to call what it really is:  a very generous gift to himself and to the economy of Midtown. 

With all that's been going on, there are few things that still haven't happened.

*Mad Men has still, and yet, not returned for a fifth season

*My sewing projects have not so much become a reality, but more of a reality check on my ability to take something from the idea stage to the get out of the house and buy the supplies stage.

*My closet has still not cleaned, sorted, and organized itself, despite my pointed stares in its general direction.

However, much and much has been happening.  In no particular order--

*We made life. Mwahahahaha.  Ok, actually it wasn't very sinister, but we are expecting a little one.  Woo hoo!

     *Subpoints A-Z: I go to sleep at 8pm, burp like a trucker (who knew?), am still super, duper nervous about all possible travesties happening, and have a serious aversion to the smell of smell.

*We got a video camera, so yeah, get ready.

*I successfully resisted the urge to correct people who think the twelve days of Christmas are the twelve leading up to Christmas.  But since I'm talking about it, why not.  It's not a countdown.  Day one starts on Christmas and goes until Epiphany.  Maybe I should scratch this off the list now, hmmmmm?

*My canine champ did all kinds of wrong under the dining room table riiiight before Christmas dinner, so, Cheers!  Hasn't done it it months, might as well make it count.

I hope everyone had a restful and blestful Holiday!

Look!

I've got nothing to add, but this is is too funny for life.

http://www.happyplace.com/4286/brilliantly-sarcastic-responses-to-completely-well-meaning-signs

I Had It Coming

I've devoted several posts to Craig and the funny things he says and does because Craig says and does funny things, especially on accident.  Recently we were talking about a conversation we had a few years ago and he reminded me of my hypocrisy on this subject.  The truth is this--for all of the funny things that I've called him out on, namely butchering song lyrics and just generally being the youngest crotchety old man around, I'm definitely a pot calling the kettle black.  I know that I often speak (type?) in superlatives, so I'll try and tone it down.  Let's just say that I am one of the more literal people that I know.  I'm no Forrest Gump, obviously, but I can get a little lost in hyperbole and unfamiliar phrases.  I'll never forget this book that I read in third or fourth grade that was written from the perspective of a similar little girl who overhears her parents talking and misunderstands everything.  When they talk about navel oranges, she imagined a fleet of oranges with sailors and the whole bit.  I imagined a kindred spirit.

With that background, this might seem less stupid.  It might not. Meh.  Anyway, several years ago Craig made a remark about "not looking a gift horse in the mouth," and I casually agreed saying, "Yeah, 'cause he'll take your presents back." 

I know, huh?  It's all so clear to me now, but let me paint a picture for you.  I've heard that expression other times in my life and what I visualized was a horse bringing you presents in his mouth,  kind of a hand-less Santa.  It made sense to me that you weren't supposed to look him in the mouth, because that would be very rude to check out all your gifts before they've been given to you.  Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, lest he turn tail and take your presents to someone else.  How was I to know that it means something about how if someone gives you a horse, you shouldn't go checking out his specs, since he was a gift?  Who gives horses?  What are they looking for in there, the Carfax?

The fortunate things is, we got married and all is well.  I have not always been so lucky.  At twelve I asked my science teacher the genuine question of how big the tubes were for full term test tube babies and I lost points for being a smart alec.  She lost points for being a bummer, and became the scapegoat for why I have an English degree.

Captive's Log

Day 4,3452 in Captivity (unemployment)...give or take


I'm adapting well in my new surroundings. I've started to understand the natives. Admittedly, little brown dogs are only mediocre conversationalists. If you try and discuss anything more than the superficial, they zone out and start licking phantom boy parts long removed. Yesterday, he broke rank and we had a slight disagreement. He thought that he would help me clean by getting on the dining room table and licking my lunch plate. I disagreed. Other than these set backs, all seems to be well between myself and the other prisoner. As I don't have the occasional accident on the floor, I don't have to be put in solitary like he does when everyone leaves, but the threat is always there.

I seem to have some form of Stockholm syndrome, which I attribute to the attractiveness of my captor. He's very good to me and occasionally takes me out for yogurt. He seems to appreciate having a captive, as he no longer does any housework to speak of. Just yesterday, I baked a pie with a homemade crust and sweet tea. I knew the pie was good, but I was concerned that the tea was tad on the weak side. My kind captor said that, no, "It isn't bad. It just tastes like one of the those restaurants that has sweet tea, but they don't know how to make it." Apparently, a return to my previous formula would be appreciated. Noted.

It's true that I am enjoying my captivity, but I can't even convince myself that I'm benefiting at all from my college or law degree, but I will at some point. I think I'll wait until then to update the alumni information with these respective institutions, lest they report, Laura Locke, nee Britt, has become an amalgamation of her grandmothers. She recently received a prestigious library card, and has gone through an entire bottle of Fantastik.

Keeping it Real (Boring)

Every time I think about this blog, the sound of crickets drowns it out. I have nothing to write about. Whatever wit I may have feeds on stress and anxiety, which is why I posted so much while I was studying for the bar. I love being home (except for the impending doom of loans/needing a job) and I pretty much do the same things every day, so there's just not that much to say.

I have been spending a lot of time, though, with the always charming, never dull, shoe-ruining, canine alarm system Max.  You wil be shocked to learn that this bit of cinema was completely unscripted.  Ol' one-take Beanpotts knocked it out of the park.  I'm kind of embarassed by the unexplained nasal tone of my voice, so try to just focus on the little brown face.  I especially like when he first hears his name.

Happy Mother's Day!

    The idea of motherhood is little more complicated this year.  A little more bittersweet.  I've been really blessed to be home this last month.  In that time I've been able to get back to normal. Plus, I've had time to do a lot of the little projects I've always wanted to tackle, but didn't have time.  I feel refocused and rejuvenated. 

   I only had a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the experience of motherhood, but I got a glimpse of the instant priority shift, the me into you.  It's amazing to think that I was and am on the receiving end of that everyday.  I love my Mom so very much, and it's hard to imagine that she's loved me as much since before I can remember.  Before I was born.  It's one of those things that's been so large and constant in my life that I have the privilege of being able to take it for granted sometimes.  I shouldn't, and I definitely try not to.  I know that so many people never had or have lost that love. But what a love that is to be so constant and steady that I forget that it isn't just a given.

  As if I haven't been lucky enough, I've also got a wonderful mother in law that I love, too, and feel so grateful to for making such a great man out of Craig.  I never imagined that I would feel so comfortable in someone else's family, but going to her house always feels like going home.  For reasons I've mentioned before, that fact just shows me that God has really taken care of me.

  I'm so lucky to have been my mother's child and equally lucky to have Craig's mom.  Lucky and grateful.  Thanks to the best moms I know and happy mother's day!

Clean Sweep

    Stress is like amphetamines for housewives, or at least for this accidental housewife. I've been on a DSM-IV worthy cleaning tear. I've moved past organizing the closets and cabinets and started scrubbing the walls and bleaching all the trashcans. Yesterday I took the top off the stove and drug it into the shower and scrubbed it until it said uncle. I don't know where the stress is coming from. Probably nothing. That's kinda where I live, so no need to worry. Before I do any self-examination, I'm gonna ride this wave until the floors beg for mercy.

     On a related note, Max is beside himself. I cleaned out his treasure trove under the bed. He went all Little Mermaid on me and started talking about his "whosits and whatsits galore."

     P.S.  In response to my last post, my Mom said she needed to tell me the rest of the story.  Maybe that will fill in some gaps : ) 

The Birds and the Bees

    Some of the funniest stories I have ever been told are of how some of my friends first learned about the birds and the bees.  A lot of people (myself included) have little to no recollection of the very first time we were told the awful truth.  It seems that if you have a pretty clear memory of the "talk," your parents put it off so long that you probably already knew.  My understanding of the real deal was kind of an evolution. 

1.  The Early Years---
    
     I have this very, very faint memory of watching tv in our living room in Mobile.  My brain being what it is, the part that I remember most about this whole experience is that the woman on the screen was wearing a bandana on her head.  She had no hair, which I guess my Mom must have explained meant that she was very sick.  I decided then and there that I would never wear a bandana. 
  
     During this formative moment about future head pieces, I believe that I asked where babies come from.  This is where the memory ends.  That's it.  I have no idea what my Mom may or may not have said.  Knowing her, it was pretty straightforward and a bit on the clinical side.  Obviously I thought it was pretty dull because a bandana beat out that conversation for space in my permanent memory bank.

2.  The Revelation--
     Around fourth or fifth grade my Mom developed this horrible, life-shattering habit.  No, it wasn't heroin,  and she didn't develop a taste for the drink. 

So much worse.

     She would ensnare me on long road trips and talk about how I was going to start my period one day.  I would get hysterical, all but clawing my way out the car on I-65 and try to make her take it all back.  Occasionally she would relent with, "Ok, Laura, maybe you won't" so that I would raise my seat back up and stop humming.   Needless to say, I wasn't hearing any talk about my own or anyone else's body.

   Flash forward a year or so.  I had completely bypassed training bras and gone straight to the top of everyone's pool party invite list.  I was a most embarassed and begrudging VIP.  To all of you girls who dreamed of developing in middle school, count yourself lucky.  Boys in my class would call me the B-52 bomber.  No, that is not a human size, but it stung nonetheless. 
  
     I found this attention weird and confusing.  My friend at the time would've killed for it.  She was definitely more cosmopolitan than me.  She shaved her legs and knew about sex, which at that age, is basically the same as having your own apartment.  She asked me if I knew about the big IT and I was like, "Yeah, I know.  Fallopian tubes, sperm, tampax, clean your room, nine months, yada yada yada."  She realized that I was pretty much in the dark and proceeded to explain the deed.  I told her she was a liar and not funny and that that was impossible anyway.  Turns out, I was missing a lot of anatomical information.  Being a good friend and a prodigous artist, she shed some light on the situation by drawing the whole thing in sidewalk chalk on her parents' driveway.  I was truly horrified.  That night I bargained with God that I would never do that if he would take away periods and math class.

3.  Teenage Years--
  
     So let's add this up.  I was a young girl who had found out only a few years earlier that God has a strange sense of humor and that belly buttons are not, in fact, the magical portal to pregnancy.  By this point, every health and science class had pretty well convinced me that even thinking about sex will get you knocked up quicker than you can say unwed mother.  Our school allowed a program called You Are Unique to come and talk to us about saving ourselves for marriage.  This woman with the perkiest South Alabama Junior League accent told us a story about a young lady whose father...excuse me, let me do her justice...

      whose Daddeh had given her a beautiful strand of pulllls (pearls for those who don't speak Bama-nese)    to wear on her weddin' day.  This young lady, though, wore them out one night in high school and spilled punch on them. She put them away after that, but then she took them out anotha night in college where they were broken.  She put them back in the box.  Years later at her weddin', she was standing with her Daddeh at the church and he went to put her pullllls on, but they were too spoiled too wear.

TRAU-MA-TI-ZING

4.  Adulthood--

    Well, I'm still snickering my way through life.  I have learned that you cannot get pregnant by merely being horizontal.  I get the reason for scaring teenage girls stupid by telling them that pregnancy will come and find them if they so much as speak its name.  I think, though, that when you get married and may want to have a baby, someone at the end of the aisle should say, "Nah, we were just playing."  I get a little nervous when I think about having to give the talk myself.  I'm scared it'll come out all wrong.  I just don't want them the think that if you don't wear a bandana while you're on your period, you might ruin your pearls and get pregnant.





Picture from here.

That's Bull

     I'd like to share a story.  I have a sneaking suspicion that it's one that you really had to be there for, but I'm gonna try to do it justice.  So, to start, Craig and I are in this prayer group that meets once a month or so.  Everyone in the group is a little bit older than us.  Ok, most of them are our parents' age or older.  We really enjoy it and were pretty honored to be invited to be a part of it.  Stop that, that's not the joke.  Now, among this group of people that are our parents' age and older, there are also two nuns and a lady that I'm pretty sure is the sweetest living person in the universe.  Like I said, we've really enjoyed it, but I will definitely admit that we make an effort to be on our best behavior and not highlight the maturity age difference.

    That's the backstory. 

    We had our meeting a week ago and we were discussing something as a group and a man starting sharing a story.  Now, let me say for the record, I really, really like this guy and what he was saying wasn't something to make fun of.  What he did next, though, leaves him wide open.  You see, this quiet, somewhat serious, man was trying to say that in this situation he was describing, he needed to grab the bull by the horns.  To emphasize his point, he even held his hands up in fists, you know, like grabbing bull horns.  I'm really hammering this home, because the part that follows is so much better when you realize how much of a mistake it was.  Anway, while he's making this bull/horn gesture, he has a completely unintentional mental mashup of phrases and says, "You've got to grab it by the bulls."

???
??
?

     Now, not that big of a deal, right?  Right, except it sounded like a Jersey Shore "grab it by the balls" if there ever was one.  I can %100 guarantee that not only was it not intentional, but it went unnoticed both by the man and the rest of the group.  The husband and I, however, not so much.  We both IMMEDIATELY shifted way too much in our chairs and started looking down to not get caught cracking up.  I went into full blowfish cheek mode trying not to start laughing out loud.

    I don't know, maybe you did have to be there, but there isn't much that's funnier than a straight laced guy saying balls in a Jersey accent in front of a prayer group with nuns in the mix, accident or not.  Happy Monday.  I hope you really grab Holy Week by the bulls!

Careful, It'll Make Ya Craaazy

Have you ever thought about....

--How many people have pictures where you're the crazy/creepy looking person in the background.  Similarly, how many homes might have a framed picture with your mug or behind in the background?

--Why informercials no longer say, "Sorry, no CODs."  Did they finally realize that no one currently alive on the planet has ever been allowed a COD purchase?

--How you can a hear a thing so many times that you just assume that it makes sense, when it doesn't at all.  For example, the line, "Maybe she's born with it" on an ad for deep purple nail polish.  For her sake, let's hope she wasn't, you know, born with it. 

--That all day, people think the same kinds of things about you that you think about them.  Ok, let's all agree to never think about that again.

--That your dog might kinda understand nudity.

--How if you still feel about the same as you always have, you'll probaby think and feel about how you do right now when you're elderly.  The next elderly person you meet feels more like you than you've ever imagined.  I mean, if you're lucky, you'll get to be one of them one day.  I could go on and on about this and other cheerful topics, but you didn't marry me, so I'll spare you.

--That there was a time when leaving the house without a phone didn't cause mild to moderate feelings of doom. 

--How "match light" charcoal is able to get away with calling itself that. It's not like the other kind lights up with a little prayer.

--How rough people must've looked and smelled through most of human history.  No showers or dental care, not mention how people got around without tampons, eye glasses, anesthesia, oh my!

--What would happen if you broke rank and made eye contact in an elevator.  Is that what makes them crash?  I'll never know.

--How, if Coke has this super secret fantastical formula under lock and key, why does it taste different in different regions?  Hmmm.  How important is your formula if you've got so many variations, Mr. a-Cola?

--That, as much as this is straddling the line between cute and obnoxious, you read this far anyway.  Thanks!




Photo from here.

It's In the Bag

When we first decided to get a dog, Craig was adamant that we didn't get one of those "stupid" dogs that rides around in a purse, as if the dog comes with specific purse instructions (double strap, supple leather, synthetic lining, with a hidden side pocket).  And anyway, I think I deserve a little more credit than that.  At the most, I would tie him up in a little napsack and carry him on the end of a stick like a hobo, but not in a purse.  I know that he wanted a huge dog that could fetch and maybe not do so much sneaking under the couch.  But in this house, with this yard, I just didn't think it would be fair to the dog.  Plus, one of the last times we were around a mammoth, it walked up behind me and put his front paws on my shoulders.  I don't want to rehash our whole relationship, but basically there was an involuntary interspecies conga line for a few seconds and I've been a little rattled since. 

Max ended up a little smaller than we expected, but perfect nonetheless.  He's never ridden in a purse (the poots!), but he is definitely a lap dog.  As karmic fate would have it, it's almost always Craig's lap.

And speaking of karma---

Memento: Other People's Treasure

Just as a little unnecessary forward, let me say that this is not a sad post, and doesn't have anything to do with my last two posts.  It's just another post about my many, many treasures that I've squirrelled away in Craig's closet.  The fact that the word baby appears in this and those is the only connection, emotional or otherwise.  It's my Dad's baby book that my grandmother kept.  I have strong sentimental connections to things that he had as an adult that remind me of him, or my time with him, or those things that reveal something about him that I didn't know.  This isn't really any of those things, so I haven't held onto to it because it has special meaning for me.  What I love about this little memento is how lovingly it was kept by my grandmother.  It was obviously one of her treasures, and for that reason, I can't part with it.  I can't remember how I got a hold of it, but along with it are pictures he drew in Sunday school and old baseball team photos, and even a little hat embroidered with "Tommy."  I think it's all sweet, but I'm planning on thinning it all out pretty soon.  One of the things I know I'll keep though, is this little book.  It's not even filled out past the first few pages, but my dad was her third and last child, so I'm impressed she managed to fill it in at all!  One of the best parts to me are all these sweet little congratulation cards that she kept from friends and family.  My grandmother was one to save things, too, and she used to show me her old pictures and treasures and trinkets from her life.  She kept these huge photo albums of each of her children and grandchildren, each carefully laid out and preserved.  Later in her life she had lost all of her memories, and it's really special to me to be able to hold onto a few for her.









I had no idea that Thomas was a family name.

And this, to me, was incredible.  I had no idea about a couple of these names and had forgotten the ones I knew.  I'm so glad to know my great-grandmothers' maiden names.  If I ever actually do half the things I say that I'm going to, I'm definitely going to do a little geneology research with this info. 

Fun Fact: The Britts (my grandfather Winard's parents) had ELEVEN children.  I used to think they just ran out of normal names around three of four.  Other than Winard, who's name GodBlessHim isn't going to be passed along through my line, there was also a Jasper (aka Red to my grandfather's Little Red), and Oberon, who was known to the family as Uncle OB.  There are also a whole mess of Lelas, Lilys, and Hazels in the mix.  I love it and I'm so glad she kept this book and that it wound up with me.

Brief Update

To all those who said something to me or Craig after reading my last post, thank you so much for your support.  To anyone who read it and said a prayer or wished us well, thank you also.  I especially appreciate people reaching out to Craig.  I think its a little easier to imagine how crushing it has been for me, but it was equally hard on him.  On top of his sadness about the loss, he also had to be (or at least thought he had to be) tough for me.  Through all of this he has had to go to work, pick up both of our slack on a charity project we're working on, and managed to get offered an interview for a fantastic job out of the blue.  Don't get me wrong, he's handled all of this really well, but he never had the opportunity to press pause like I did.  Anyway, thanks for showing support for him, too.

I had my surgery yesterday and everything went well.  I was in more pain than I expected yesterday afternoon, but I suspect that that was because I had made no headway on my own.  We took it easy all day and watched a marathon of Pawn Stars on the History Channel (one of my addictions), and were grateful that this part of this experience is behind us. 

Today, I woke up with different discomfort.  I feel like I was picked by my jaw and forced to do crunches.  Interpretation:  my jaw, neck, and ribs are super stiff and sore.  My mom assured me that this isn't a big deal and is probably the result of a less than graceful anesthetist.  Overall, I have nothing to complain about.  Everything went well.  In the grand scheme of things, it was a very minor surgery.  To be honest, I'm so glad that if this had to happen, it happened very early.  Thank God it wasn't later.  Thank God it wasn't our child in the hospital having surgery.  Thank God.  Thank God.  As you can see, I go back and forth between thinking this is the most awful thing that's happened to us, and knowing that there are far more painful things that people are facing right now, that I don't even know about.  This morning I said a prayer for all those who are suffering silently, and that includes any who may be reading this blog. 

There was a good reason for me not posting for so long.  I was obsessed with a wonderful secret that I didn't want to share until the exactly the right time.  It was all I thought about.  I was anticipating how I would share the news.  Unfortunately, my amazing news has turned into something else entirely.  I probably shouldn't talk about it now.  No one does.  I have no idea why it's such a secret, I just know that no one ever talks about it.  It's not like I hurt someone.  I didn't break the law.  But somehow, this is one thing you never share. 

In February, we got the thrilling and terrifying news that we were expecting a baby.  I was over the moon.  I've waited my whole life for that experience and the day that I would tell Craig that he was going to be a daddy.  I ate heatlhy and scoured books and articles for how to have a healthy pregnancy.  I was going to do everything right.  I scheduled our first appointment and counted down the days.  At that first appointment, the doctor did an ultrasound and said that the baby was measuring a week smaller than she expected, and there was no detectable heartbeat.  But, she said, we should be cautiously optimistic because there was a chance that everything would be fine.  We scheduled an appointment for the next week.  That may have been the longest week of my life.  I felt suspended between trying to prepare myself for bad news and trying not to give up hope.  That next week, on my birthday, we got the news we dreaded.  The doctor said that I should expect to miscarry in the next week.  I haven't done it on my own, so I'll have a procedure instead.

I know this is part of a plan, but I can't help but wish the plan had lined up with my own this time.  We are both doing just fine.  Naturally, we're worried about if we'll be able to have children in the future.  For every story that works out great, there are those that don't and I want to, eventually, be okay with either way our lives take us. 

I have no idea why I've shared this story.  It doesn't begin to capture how we actually feel about it all, which is fine.  I don't really want to try to explain that.  Not here, anyway.  A very dear person shared her story with me and it has given me so much comfort to know that I'm not the only one.  I guess if this gets to one person, stranger or friend, that goes through the same thing then it's worth it.  If I get flack for this or change my mind about being so open, I may take this down. Of course, it's wide open on the blog, but it should only show up for a few people on facebook. We'll just see.

The Locke Marriage in Text Messages

Everyone's a critic.

No. It should defnitely say cat.

Oh. Are you at Boscos? I would've nvre gussed thatt.

I was 90% successful.

At this point he still didn't believe me.  Now we tell Max that

those sounds are coming from our old dog who didn't listen. 

It's very clear where I learned to be a dog parent.

It's defnitely time for another photo shoot.

And my favorite.  The ever supportive husband : )

Things That Make Me Want to Quote a Certain Grammy Nominated Cee Lo Song

Thank you, in advance, for this opportunity to rant.  Please feel free to read this in your best Lewis Black voice for the full effect.

1. Have more than one air freshener hanging from your rearview mirror. Whatever it is that you're doing in there should be stopped. Immediately. If it's not there because of some especially foul odor, but just because you're lazy, you need to get a grip. Immediately.

2. When I hand you a $10 for something that is, let's say $6.03 please, oh please, oh please ask me if I have three cents. I'm aware of how currency works, ma'am. You need to realize that I probably don't have three cents, or I would've given it to you. However, even if I had fifty tiny coin purses, each containing three shiny pennies, I'm still perfectly within my rights to hand you an even dollar amount. Maybe I don't want to dig through my purse for change. Maybe I need to flip a coin soon. Maybe I need to buy a bouncy ball.

3. Tennessee Residents: have any year other than the current year showing on your license plate. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN? It very clearly has only one spot for the year sticker, and you are to place the current year over the past year. What is particularly infuriating is that the incorrect places people put their stickers have instructions about what is supposed to be there. What about "Wheel Tax Decal" says that you should probably go ahead and put the year there. Why would the police care if you were in compliance in 2009? No need to imitate Bob Ross with your color pallette of the past three years.

4. Respond with "That'll be fine" to a statement. If I'm not asking your permission, please don't feel the need to give it. Unsolicted advice is also unappreciated at least 83% of the time.

5. Expect me to care if you think things have an expiration date. I've got no interest in the philosophy that for something to be good it must be less than 3 months old or greater than 10 years old, plus those bizarre caveats for things that are acceptable to like ironically. Grow up.

6. Say that you don't like small dogs. My dog doesn't like you either.

7.  Make mindlessly offensive comments about only children. You've got to let go of those fantasies you had as a child where you would've been allowed everything you ever wanted if only it weren't for your brother or sister.  No you wouldn't have. Neither was I.  You see, onlies are the whole shabang.  Grandkids?  Gotta be you.  College? Gotta be you.  All their success as a parent is measured by you.  Just you.  You get the best, but also the worst, of being the oldest, middle, and youngest child.  Think on it. 

8.  Be mad at me when I'm mad at you.  Wait your turn.


Ahhhh.  That feels better.

Untitled

Please, please, please don't go to this link if you are at all squeamish about death and dying.  You'll just find it upsetting.

I think it's really powerful and beautiful, just be aware of the subject matter.

LINK

Hair Raising

If you were ever going to heed my my warning about the banality of a post, this should be the one.  I definitely won't be posting this one to Facebook because I'm afraid I might be the first person booted off for lulling a hundred people to sleep.  Okay, maybe I'm being a little dramatic.  I know only seven people read this foolishness.

If you think you have the fortitude to stay awake and aren't operating heavy machinery, then please allow me to share.  I have a product review I'd love to pass along.  I've always been the biggest sucker for pretty packaging and the cache of luxury products.   I'm always drawn to expensive beauty potions and fine cosmetics.  I don't always give in, but I am definitely charmed by the finer things.  With that in mind, I hope you'll be able to appreciate the seriousness with which I tell you that I have found the greatest shampoo/conditioner I've ever used.  It's the Suave Professionals line.

What!!!

Maybe you aren't having to recover from shock the way that I imagine, but just know, it really is that good.  I'm a Sephora junkie and I've used everything.  Keratase, Bumble and Bumble, Aveda, Ojon, Phyto...all the overpriced brands that are supposed to be amazing.  I've also used every drug store brand ever made.  I've got wavy, coarse, dry hair that has been dyed and styled with in an inch of its life at one point or another.  Nothing has ever worked as well as Suave Professionals.  I've been using it for a few months and my favorite is the Almond and Shea Butter, but I've tried a few and they are all perfect.  The best part is, they're only about $3 a bottle, so you can afford to try a few.

I feel like a massive goober posting this, but I just had to share.  There is a formula for every hair type and I would highly recommend trying one out.  Just make sure it's the Professionals line.  I can't vouch for the other stuff.

Hey.

HEY!

Wake up.

Squirrels and Nuts

I have talked about this before, but I like to call my dog a lot of things other than his Christian name, which would be Max; Maxwell Franklin Beanpotts if you're nasty.  I call him Scooter a lot, or Potts, or Mista Pottair, a la Welcome Back Kotter.  Sometimes, he'll come if I call him DJ Skriddle and lately I've taken to calling him Dr. Lucien Farkas.

For all this and more, I'm sorry Craig.

There is one more name that I call him, and many other animals, and that is squirrel, sometimes pronounced skwee rell. 

Don't worry about it.

Anyway, this has somehow become a self-fulfilling prophecy, as Craig (via Dan) found an amazing portrait-esque drawing of a squirrel in a suit that he's using as his profile picture on facebook.  It's from an etsy page of an artist who makes them and they're so great.  There's another of a lady squirrel and I'm thinking about hanging the man and the woman in black oval frames on the wall, like silhouettes, facing each other.  In related news, I'm thinking about owning seventy-eight cats and driving a 1989 Bonneville with beige sneaks and a pocket book.  Get off my lawn and quit trying to dig up my money!

In keeping with the theme, I had a visitor this afternoon.  Allow me to introduce you to a little friend.



Taking a little bath in the snow.




Here he is, just being cute and what not.





Max thought we should invite him in for some stimulating conversation, and possibly a little light mauling.






Please and Thank You.



Um, please??





Why Not?

Sometimes this bubbles up from the maternally inherited portions of my DNA.

Deal Breakers

     I recently watched a show...wait, that's a terrible way to start a post.  I'm not sure I would read something that started, "I recently watched a show."  That's almost as bad as, "I had this dream the other night..."  Those are statements that usually precede a story that sounds a lot like what I need to buy from grocery store, because that's what I think about during the story.  For the most part, I only care about what my husband dreams about because, then, I get an explanation for the rabid badger-esque movements and the grunts and snickering he does in his sleep.  One night, I got up to go to the restroom and he said, "You can't dance like that on NPR!"  I, of course, thought that it was the most charming thing I've ever heard.  Usually, though, he tries to get in a little work in his sleep because he explains the Memphis housing market or foreclosure counseling to me at 3 o'clock in the morning.  That's no joke. 

     Anyway, I did watch a show and you can just get over it. 

     It was some kind of reality something or other and these women were talking about deal breakers in relationships and what they won't put up with or stay in a relationship because of.  I started thinking about my own life, and couldn't really imagine that I have deal breakers.  Until Craig, I've essentially dated different versions of the same person all based on a boy I had an all consuming crush on at summer camp.  My relationship history is all guitars, bonfires, and bootleg Keller Williams cds.  One or two was nicer than the other one or two.  All smart.  Most full of it.  None were quite right for me in the end.  That's not a comment on anyone I was ever friends with or involved with, only that I got too good at the type.  I knew the all the right bands and thought all the right unconventional thoughts, and could talk about things I had no basis for with the best of them.  I've become much more of doer as I've gotten older and have a lot less interest in talking about how this thing or that ought to be.  Change what you can, but get over the rest.  I've become much more skeptical of this "type" as I've gotten older, too.  Now, I think it's ridiculous to rehash canned ideas and live your life for your favorite band's next show, unless you're twenty.  It's easy to not care about having nice things when you've never had to go without them. 

    Even though the door to that path has been permanently closed behind me, I am still drawn to people with some of those traits.  I love being around people who can think big.  Those things weren't deal breakers, I just outgrew the type.

    The deal breakers in my current life apply to would be friends, not relationships, but are just as strongly held.

• Bigotry is a no go.  Don't like it.  Don't think it's funny.  I have a hard time coming back from racial slurs, offensive gay comments, ignorant statements about the poor, etc., etc.  Someone is free to believe what they want to believe, but I will freely believe they are stupid in return.
• Fear of admitting when something is unclear.  It's a huge pet peeve of mine when people are too prideful to just ask a question or admit that they don't know something.  Silly, silly, silly.
• Stare at women like they're there to for the sole purpose of your viewing pleasure.  It makes my skin crawl.  Admiring an attractive woman is something no one could be offended by, but when it becomes gross and leering, I always want to throw my shoe at the offender and yell to the woman, "In case you're into trolls, there's one lurking in the corner trying to read your butt's mind with his laser eyes."
• I'm usually down for dirty joke and don't offend too easily with language, even though I try to keep it fairly clean myself, but there are a few words that immediately shift my opinion of someone.  Actually, there are a few words and a few combinations of said words, in particular.  I won't list them here, but hearing some of them instantly makes me turn into one or two of these phrases.
• Before someone makes a sweeping statement about my religion, I would prefer it if they do a little reading to make sure they are not, in fact, completely mistating doctrine, or taking something out of context.  I won't defend the Catholic Church on every front, but I definitely won't defend it to someone who's quoting stereotypes.
• The previous things listed are pretty serious.  This next one isn't, but is definitely a major impediment to my friendships/relationships.  Tardiness.  I don't think you're an ass if you're late, I just can't hang with you.  I have to work to not be early everywhere.  Craig and I will both sit, fully dressed, whenever we're leaving to go somewhere and tell ourselves that we have to wait another ten minutes to leave. 
• Being rude to wait staff and salespeople.  Unless someone does something outrageous, I'm deliberately nicer to these people than I would be to another stranger. I've worked retail and it was hard.  I know how someone can make you feel very small with one comment. 

 I guess that's about it.  I've never had rules like, my significant other has to be able to dance or my friends have to like the same things that I do.  I've never dated anyone under six feet tall, but I wouldn't say that was a requirement.  I can't reach anything so, although not required, height has always been much appreciated.  My mom always said that she hoped for me to find someone who was tall, dark, Catholic, which I have.  Craig is very different from my past relationships.  I think I knew he was the one when, while singing Boys II Men in a karaoke bar packed with old white men, he proceeded to start a slow clap FOR HIMSELF.  Later, he sang Sexual Healing to a woman no younger seventy, and I thought, that one is a keeper.  She did too, but I guess I won.