My Big Mouth

Getty didn't call.

And I should have left it alone ... but didn't. I sent him a text late Tuesday night, "Glad I didn't hold my breath". Why? I'm not sure. Maybe I was upset because I reached out and he took it to the level of wanting to call. Maybe I just hate being blown off.

Two in the morning I get a reply. "I'm sooo sorry. Can I call u now?"

Are you kidding? I told him I was asleep, that I'd talk to him later. He called twice yesterday, though I didn't answer. I'll call him back today, though now I'm kind of over the whole thing.

Just wanted my friend back, not all the drama that I can foresee coming with it.

Lighter post tomorrow, I promise :).

The Paint

So I guess my comeback wasn't really one at all. Ohwell. As for the bedroom, it's (nearly) complete.

I made the mistake of waiting until the day before J came home to start. I had the *perfect* color sample from the paint store. I found the *perfect* bedding at Homegoods for such a bargain. I cleaned out the bedroom and even managed to clear out the ginormous furniture, and finally started painting around midnight.

At two in the morning, I was in tears. The color was SO not the same color as the small sample I had tested on the wall. What was supposed to be an organic brown dried into a stone grey. And the bedding? Metallic blue.

I gave up around 4, with half the room painted and half of my sanity left. I managed to arrange the furniture how I wanted -- making the room look bigger -- and passed out on the couch.

I didn't alert J to the fact that I'd been up to something when I picked him up at the airport. He didn't notice the dried paint in my hair while we ate lunch. When we got to the house, he didn't notice the cans of paint sitting in the dining room. I let him walk into the bedroom first.

"Wow, you rearranged the furniture! That looks great, babe," he said, throwing his bulky suitcase in the corner. I sat on the bed, waiting patiently. A few minutes later, "Oh WOW, and you painted!"

Gee. I would think stone grey would be easy to notice. But at least he helped me finish the next day -- and I had 2 gallons left over. Surprisingly, he loves the color. Me? Eh, it'll do for now.

Stall-ing

"If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be sweet and wipe the seat." ~ Unknown

J and I finally got started on our Christmas shopping tonight. I know, I know -- but what's life without a little procrastination? We got off to a good start (thank God for gift cards) and needed to make a pit stop before trudging our way through the rest of the mall.

"Why don't you go first, and I'll hold the bags," J offered. "Then we can switch."

"I'll just take them with me," I said, "and hang them on the purse hooks."

"You guys have hooks? That doesn't seem safe. What if someone steals your stuff?"

I laughed. "The hooks are in the stalls silly."

"Wow, that's cool."

As we parted ways, I was feeling pretty hoity-toity about women's restrooms. They are pretty spiffy, what with their fancy purse hooks and smell-good soaps. I approached the first open stall and took a quick step back. Disgusting. How hard is it to flush a toilet? Shuddering, I stepped to the next one. The seat was covered in wads of toilet paper. I stepped to the next stall. Water all over the floor. The next one revealed a pee-covered seat. It took four more stalls to find a toilet worth hovering over.

My bubble burst, I met J in the food court. Women may have fancy purse hooks, but sometimes I'd give anything to be able to pee standing up.

Bass-tards

Random Guy sent me a nasty e-mail saying that I must not really be into fishing because I never talk about it, so I should delete it from my "Interests" section because it's deceiving. Deceiving of what, I'm not sure.

I was going to take the high road and ignore it ... but that's no fun. So here's to you, Random Guy, a sampling of a few of the fish I caught this past summer:







Profile policing won't get you any friends, man, but maybe getting your thumb out of your arse will.

Cheers.

If Women Ruled the World

"Women really do rule the world. They just haven't figured it out yet. When they do, and they will, we're all in big big trouble." ~ 'Doctor Leon', drleons.com

Since we have nothing in the pantry besides canned pineapple and dog treats, J and I decided we would hit up the grocery store before dinner. We never quite made it -- instead of veering left for the store, we were distracted by the pink glow of Taco Cabana across the street.

While stuffing our faces with chips and queso, we started chatting about babies and such. J's cousin had called me last night to excitedly exclaim that she was pregnant (her second) and wonder if we'd started trying yet.* In J's family, there are five kids under the age of four -- only one is a boy. Which means holidays are spent listening to the oldest shouting Taylor Swift in between screams over who gets to play with the Dora doll.

J's really hoping that she has a boy. "Could you imagine another girl?" he said in between mouthfuls of taco. "You girls are going to take over the world."

"Would that be soo bad?" I said jokingly.

"Are you kidding?" he shuddered. "If women ruled the world, nothing would get done and everything would smell pretty."

I had to think about that for a minute. When J does a load of dishes, I get every single detail including the when and how, complete with sound effects. But when I do a load of laundry, I just do it. For all J knows, the clean undies made it from the floor to the washing machine, to the dryer and then magically into the drawer by themselves.

So, is it less that women won't get anything done and more that we don't complain as much as men, therefore it seems like we don't get as much accomplished?



*That would be a big, fat N-O.

Breaking the Silence

"Communication leads to community, that is, to understanding, intimacy and mutual valuing." ~ Rollo May

Thanks to those of you who offered up advice and encouragement to help me through my funk. J had been overly sweet this week, so I had decided to wait until after Thanksgiving to approach the subject. Surprisingly, J beat me to it.

Friday was a cold, rainy day, so J skipped golf with his cousins to spend the day at home with me. As I was walking through our bedroom with a stack of clean laundry, he pulled me down onto the bed, where we lay silently curled up for half an hour before he spoke.

"Do you still love me?" he asked softly.

"Of course I do," I answered, knowing this was the beginning of a long conversation. We were in the spoon position, and I was glad that he couldn't see my face. "Why would you even ask?"

J paused for a minute before saying that he felt like things were tense the last few weeks, that it felt like we were strangers living in the same house. I shrugged it off, but he pressed on. Turns out he'd been feeling a little out of place lately too, thinking maybe I was losing interest in him or that I wasn't attracted to him anymore. J even admitted to doing extra push ups at night. I forget that guys can get self-conscious too.

It feels like the last three weeks have flown by, with me training at night and on the weekend, staying late at the office to help our new admin, both of us having family gatherings to attend, me getting sick this week. Add to that my funk, and I guess we haven't spent that much time together lately. And I was glad to know that I wasn't the only one feeling like we were living on separate planets.

I came clean about my feelings that Saturday night at Gilleys too, and I realized if I had just said something sooner it would have saved us a lot of tense moments. I assured him it had nothing to do with trust; J assured me that if there was anyone in this world that he would want to dance with, it was me.

We talked for another hour or so -- about things we were feeling, about the future, about randomness -- before falling asleep in each others' arms.

When we awoke, things felt back to normal. I sometimes forget how important communication is in any relationship, especially in a marriage. In an effort to avoid nagging or beating a dead horse, I sometimes become a closed book. Luckily, J's learned that a little snuggling and a lot of patience goes a long way in getting me to open up.

The Highschool Years

“High School: the mouse race to prepare you for the rat race.” ~ Unknown

I was tagged by Miss Caught Up to tell the story of my teenage years, something I really haven't thought about too much lately. So I'll give it a shot.

Highschool was an awkward time for me. My parents were ultra-conservative, my sister didn't pave the way like I thought she should have, so I was the so-called rebellious one. But, that mostly came after highschool.

Anyhoo. When I was a freshman, my sister was a senior at the same school. I was on the dance team. My favorite class was art. We had bomb threats almost every week. I was in all honors and AP classes. I made my first C ever. I played street hockey everyday after school with my sister and her friends. I fell in love with a boy I saw on the stairs the first day of my freshman year, who turned out to be in love with my best friend. I'll call him Tag. I learned that people can change, but not always for the better.

My sophomore year brought much of the same. Still played street hockey everyday after school, developing a crush on Goalie, a boy we played with. Still was a book nerd. Had long hair down to my waist. Danced. Volunteered at the nearby nature center. Still madly in love with Tag. Became tired of girls, thanks to the drama that was our dance team.

Junior year was a bit more complicated. My best friend and Tag broke up the summer before. He asked me out on a date, and I said "yes". He was the only guy my mom officially let me date during my entire highschool years. My best friend said she didn't mind, but I shouldn't have done it anyway. Tag and I dated on and off, but mostly off. I fell in love with Goalie, but he had a girl that profusely hated me. He and I became the best of friends. I still danced. I was inducted into the Honor Society. I developed a crush on Leo, a blue-eyed boy who swam with my best friend.

And senior year was complicated still. I was one of four Lieutenants on the dance team. I was going through EMT Training -- I truly believe there are some things 17 year olds should never see, bloody messes being one of them. My grades began to slip after mom said that no, I wouldn't be headed off to the college of my dreams but rather I'd be headed to the local junior college for two years first. With my sister. Who never tried at school. Leo got caught sneaking in my room -- which sounds terrible and R-rated, but we honestly just listened to music and talked. Okay, and made out. But whatever, we were banned from ever seeing each other again, creating a sort of "Romeo & Juliet" story for us which still lingers today. I joined the rugby team but told my parents I was just going to dance practice. I had to quit when they found out the truth. Goalie joined the Air Force and moved to New Mexico, where we finally realized we were more than just best friends. We talked on the phone constantly. Wrote letters (yes, real letters with stamps and everything). When he came home for Christmas, we went on our first official date. But it didn't take long for that relationship to fizzle as the longer he was in the Air Force, the more different he became. I graduated with honors, but my parents were a little disappointed when I wasn't in the top ten percent (I was in like the top twelve ... out of 600 kids).

Summer after highschool was spent playing roller hockey and working out at the gym where my sister worked. Over the next two years I met new boys, discovered alcohol, re-kindled my love for school and all things nerdy, stayed in and out of trouble, and eventually found my way to a four year college.

It's weird to take a look back, to feel some of the same emotions once again. It's interesting to note that in highschool I never really cared what boys thought. It was easy to say "no", to ditch the jerks, to avoid all the things that parents worry about (which my parents thought I was doing anyway). It was later, in college, that all of that went down the drain. But, I'll save that for a rainy day.

That's my story in a nutshell. I'd love to hear all of your stories -- so if you'd like to share, then I tag you!

When Men Get Curious

“There’s very little advice in men’s magazines, because men don’t think there’s a lot they don’t know. Women do. Women want to learn. Men think, “I know what I’m doing, just show me somebody naked.” ~ Jerry Seinfeld


This morning I caught hubby flipping through my September issue of InStyle magazine that I had left on the kitchen counter. I watched from the hall for a moment before poking fun.

Me: Getting ideas on what to wear today?
Him: [flipping a few more pages while thinking of something to say] I was trying to figure out Uma’s last name [now closing the magazine and pointing to the cover].
Me: You mean Uma Thurman?
Him: Oh … [setting the magazine down] … right, that’s it.
Me: Uh huh, sure.

Maybe he was interested in this year’s Fall fashions, the pictures of beautiful women, or perhaps he truly couldn't remember Uma’s last name. Regardless, his curiosity sometimes is quite entertaining. Like two days ago when he came home early from fishing and found me with a green clay mask on my face.

Him: Eww … what is that?
Me: It’s a clay mask … don’t make me laugh, it hurts.
Him: What does it do?
Me: Makes me pretty.
Him: Can I touch it?
Me: What? No, keep your dirty hands away from my face.
Him: But I want to touch it.
Me: You freak, stay away from me.
Him: Okay, Shrek.

Later that day I found him slathering the clay on his hands.

Me: What are you doing?! You’re wasting it.
Him: I just wanted to try it.
Me: But it’s for your face.
Him: Oh … I thought maybe it would make my hands look less wrinkly.*
Me: You’re a guy, your hands are supposed to be rough and wrinkly. Dork.

*Note: His hands still look the same, so no -- it didn't work. Though, it was fun to watch him not use his hands for ten minutes.