"I'm gonna start blogging again," she said.

Heh.  Famous last words, spoken on this blog no fewer than at least once or twice before, I'm pretty sure.


Guys, I'm on fire.  Not Literally.  If I was literally on fire, I would be stopping, dropping, and rolling.  Swearsies.  My heart is on fire.  That sounds like I have heartburn, which is not the case because I am not pregnant.  I'm not pregnant!  Saying (typing) those words makes me very happy.  What a different world from where I was 5 years ago.  Time changes everything.  Right?  Or do all things stay the same?  Either way, as desperate as I was to be pregnant five years ago is as glad as I am today to not be pregnant. 

What were we talking about?

I'm going to change the world. 

(Save this page to a favorites somewhere.  You'll want to come back to it again one day and you'll be all, "I'll be damned.  She said she was going to do something.  And she did.  Good on her.")

I don't know how just yet.  But I'm going to.  I can feel it.

I imagine my kids will be a bit older when it happens, when it all plays out, when all of my hard work comes to fruition.  I think that's probably the case because, well, I haven't started anything yet.  That's not entirely true; I have a load of towels in the washer.  Towels are not earth shattering or world changing, though.  Maybe they could be for someone who'd never seen a towel before or known the absorbent joys of towels, but I don't think towels are going to be my claim to fame.

How do you want to be remembered?

What did you do today?  If all you were remembered by was what you accomplished today, how would people mourn you? 

I had a really good day today.  I've had a few of them in a row, in fact.  I feel good.  I feel capable.  I feel strong.  The guilt and shame and self-hate are pretty quiet.  The anger isn't flaring as quickly, as easily. 

I'm 35 years old.  When I was 14, I thought I had the whole world figured out.  I continued to believe that as I got older, even as my opinions and experiences changed and grew - each time I learned something new, each time I experienced something I'd never experienced before, I still walked away feeling like I had it all figured out.  I never considered that I don't actually know anything, which is why there are so many new and unique things out there to experience and learn.  Am I making any sense?  Probably not.  That's okay. The point is that i'm finally realizing...what?  My place in the world?  How small I am, how insignificant?  I'm realizing how much I don't know, how much I can never know, and that scares me.  Things like who really shot JFK and did aliens build the pyramids and is God real - those aren't answers I'll get in this lifetime.  And I don't know if I believe there's another lifetime to be had, so that scares me.  I'm scared a lot.  People scare me, mostly.  I'm afraid of the people I love dying.  I'm afraid of people not liking me.  I'm afraid that maybe I'm wrong, that maybe people aren't actually inherently good, that they won't usually do the right thing when they are presented with the opportunity and means to do so. 

I have this theory that if I could just sit down, one on one, with all of the "bad guys" out there, I could explain to them why they should stop being mean and start trying to help.  I could hug them and let them cry out their hurts and sadness and pain, and I could tell them that it's all going to be okay, that we'll start fresh and it will all be just fine.  Everything can be fixed.  I could fix them some vegetable soup and cornbread and a big glass of milk and they could just sit and eat and feel safe and not judged. 

But, you know, reality.  I mean, seriously.  Some of those people don't even think women are human.  And then I get jaded again, because how do you start a dialog with people like that?  And the problem is so deep, I don't know that it can be solved.  That sounds too flip for how grave it is for me to say it.  How to do you fix something so broken? 

Jimi told me early in our relationship that I have a young soul.  It was a polite way of saying I'm naïve, I figured.  I am naïve.  Extremely so.  I want to believe everything you tell me.  I want to judge you on your intentions.  People keep telling me that's a bad idea, it's unsafe.  I was going to agree with them.  But you know what?  It's not always a bad idea, or unsafe.  Sometimes it's what a person needs.  And sometimes it's dumb as shit.  My problem is that I don't have the filter to distinguish between the two.

Hurt people hurt people.  Happy people don't hurt people.  Right?  Is it that simple?

I'm getting too deep.  That's not where I wanted to swim to tonight.  Can we raincheck this discussion for now?  I have other things I wanted to get to.

I think i'm going to run for political office.  Not really.  I would love it, except for all the work that comes along with it.  I'm so lazy.  Seriously.  Or maybe i'm mistaking lazy for tired.  For intellectually unstimulated. 

I can't be a politician because I can't remember anyone's name, and i'm incapable of schmoozing.  Something happened to me along the way, something that broke my confidence.  I suspect it was the deep shame I felt when I miscarried.  That also is not what I came here to discuss.  Why do I keep taking all of these detours?  Raincheck again, please.

I want to help people.  I want to do something that makes peoples' lives better.  It may sound trite, but I genuinely want to win the lottery so I can travel the world doing cool shit while also managing several charitable trusts.

Can I tell you about my day?  This is my blog. Of course I can tell you about my day.  Last night, Geneva pooped on the potty.  (That didn't happen today, but it's my blog, so I can mention it if I want to.  it was the first time.  It's a big stinky deal.)  Then, I worked until the wee hours of the morning to knock out a project i'm pretty sure my boss thought was probably impossible.  His boss emailed me to thank me for my efforts.  And I woke up to an email saying I'm now officially a Starbucks Gold Card Member (may take up to six weeks for actual gold card to arrive with it's balance of $4.59). And then, I came home to a mail that said American Express just upped my limit.  Fuckin' A.  (I had bad credit left over from bad decisions for a pretty good while, so it feels really awesome to have really good credit for a change.  We're considering maxing out everything and "disappearing", but realize that is impossible because we have kids and responsibilities and shit.)  And my husband was nice, and my kids were adorable and sweet, and dinner was good, and I know what I'm wearing to work tomorrow...it was just a really, really, exceptionally good day.  I should've bought a lottery ticket.

Tomorrow, I'm going to change the world.  Or at least get started on figuring out what exactly it is that i'm going to do to change the world.  If I have an extra minute. 

If you have an extra minute, talk to me.  Please?  In the words of RadGuy, UR THOTS?

Breathing deep

Things I Know Are True:

 

Jimi loves me.

 

My parents love me.  Family - aunts, uncles, cousins - I have people who love me.

 

I am a great mother.

 

My girls are amazing miracles full of wonder and delight and I am so lucky to get to be their mom.

 

I am smart.

 

I am pretty.

 

I am a good person.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I'm working this week on trying to not worry about things that I cannot control.  On setting boundaries.  On remembering things that are true, and not allowing myself to hold space for things that are not. 

 

Starting tomorrow, I've got to start working on my temper, too. 

 

I'm angry, a lot.  Way more than I probably reasonably should be.  For no good reason, usually.  Today, I couldn't find my tennis shoes.  They weren't where I thought I'd left them.  So I tried to look under the pile of dirty clothes on the floor by the bedroom door.  And i got mad at Jimi because there are three hampers full of his clean clothes right there, but no empty hamper for dirty clothes.  And so i threw the pile of dirty clothes into the middle of the bedroom floor, searching for my missing shoes that were not under the pile of dirty clothes, which only made me more mad.  There were tears.  I yelled.  Jimi told me to leave the house because he just couldn't even with me.  Geneva told me she didn't want me to be angry.  My heart broke, but I still had all of this fire inside, this madness that I needed to get out somehow, but breaking windows isn't an option and i can't really throw things at all because moms don't do those things and so I stomp and make passive aggressive comments under my breath toward my husband and my kids who aren't doing anything wrong at all, mostly I'm mad that they're just like me, leaving shit laying around and not picking up after themselves and not being very good housekeepers in general.  Maybe my life's problems would be solved with a housekeeper.  But probably not.

 

 

I got mad last Saturday night over pizza.  It was 9 o'clock, i'd just put a frozen pizza in the oven, thinking I had at least an hour before Geneva would want to go to bed - Uncle J was over!  as soon as I set the timer, she was hollering for milkies and ready to sleep.  I told Jimi I had a pizza in the oven and asked him to check it when the timer when off, then disappeared with G for our bedtime ritual.  An hour later, Jimi was waking me up, telling me my pizza was done...  oh, I was so mad!  Why did he wait 40 minutes to get me - he knows I fall asleep when i'm trying to get her down!  I stomped into the kitchen, pausing to look into the living room and see that Cora was still awake.  Awesome.  And then I saw my pizza, lukewarm and not fully cooked.  I turned the toaster oven back on and put it back in, but i was seeing red.  Uncle J left at some point, and apparently I freaked him out so much he asked Jimi later if I've ever hit him.  I haven't.  I'm not violent, just loud.  Not even yelling-at-other-people loud, and I certainly don't call names or anything like that.  I do stomp, though.  and slam stuff around.  and lately i'm prone to bursting into tears for very miniscule reasons. 

 

I need to get a hold of myself.  this sort of behavior is not acceptable, as I would say to Geneva. 

 

My head gets all cluttered.  There's so much - work, home, kids, husband, family, myself! - so much to do and remember and think about all the time.  So many balls to juggle.  When I drop one, or fear I may drop one, I'm so hard on myself, believing, in the moment of fear and anxiety, things that are not true, worrying myself to the point of a sick stomach about things that haven't happened, things that probably won't happen. 

 

 

Every woman I talk to about this says, "Me too.  Yes.  I understand.  I know."  That helps.  It really does.  It doesn't fix it, but it eases my mind.  It's not just me.  Maybe I'm not losing my mind.  Maybe I'm not crazy as a loon.  Maybe every little thing really is gonna be alright.

 

Jimi is awesome.  I know I say that a lot, and I take it for granted a lot, but when times get tough, he's always right there with the right words, and the truth.  He's really good at telling the truth, even if it's something I may not want to hear.  I love that about him.  It makes me feel safe, because I know that he is honest with me so we can always be on equal footing.  I don't always give him that same courtesy because I think by not speaking my mind i'm sparing his feelings, but then I end up acting like an asshole and the whole thing becomes way bigger than it needed to be or would have been if i'd just told him what was bothering me in the first place.  I'm working on that too, as part of my boundary-setting/worrying about things I can control exercise.  Jimi and I have had some really good talks on our way to work this week, and he's offered some introspections I hadn't considered - like how everything in my life is different today from how it was three years ago.  Hell, from a year ago!  I've had another baby, we have a willful toddler, my job changed entirely when I returned from maternity leave in January, and it's only gotten more stressful since.  That's a lot.  There are a lot of stressful situations I've been facing all at once, and it's no wonder the pressure is starting to catch up with me. 

 

...Deep breaths. 

One thing at a time. 

Don't worry about it if you can't change it. 

Deep breaths. 

Change what you can. 

Do your best. 

What are you really upset about? 

What is the root cause of your frustration? 

What can you do to change the situation? 

Deep breaths. 

Is this reaction setting a good example for the girls? 

Deep breaths. 

 Set boundaries. 

It is okay to tell someone what your boundaries are. 

It is okay to remind them if they forget and cross your boundaries. 

It is okay to have boundaries. 

Boundaries are not rude or mean. 

Deep breaths. 

You cannot control the emotions of others. 

It is okay if someone doesn't like you. 

Deep breaths. 

Remember how lucky you are. 

Remember the good in your life,

add it up - there is so much. 

Deep breaths...

 

 

6, or My Little Lentil

**Disclaimer:  This shit is TOP SECRET, yo.  Well, as Top Secret as it can be when it's posted on the internet.  I can't not blog about this life-changer, but if you know me in real life, please don't share the news - I can't bear to have to make those phone calls or announcements again if things don't end well.

Hey there good buddies.  I wanted to write this, or something like it, yesterday, but yesterday was kind of a bad day.  I worked 10.5 hours and then sobbed the whole way home, then got home and sobbed for the next hour.  It's possible I'm a little over-emotional, but it's just as likely that my job is a soul-sucking whore that's trying to break my spirit.  Maybe a little of both? 

I made it to six weeks, folks!  Can I get an "atta girl"?  Yesterday was a line of demarcation I'd set in my head - will I make it that far? - and next week will be even bigger.  Fingers crossed we get there. 

We had dinner Tuesday with also-newly-pregnant friends, and talking pregnancy talk live and in person with another first timer was surreal and wonderful and made my heart so happy.  Comparing symptoms, joys, fears - the same stuff all the women do on Baby Center, but this felt real, if that makes any sense.  It's one thing to type it all out and commiserate with strangers, but to say actual out-loud words...it brought this thing to a whole new level of reality. I've been reticent to talk too much about it with anyone, because of my fear of it ending, but Tuesday gave me new hope and encouragement. 

The sore boobs come and go, and I much prefer it when they're around because then I don't worry so much that something may be wrong.  I haven't had any more episodes of nausea since the one last Friday.  I still have some occasional cramps, but they're becoming more infrequent.  My appetite is good.  I love sleep and had to take a nap after work on Monday just to get through the evening - sometimes the tired comes over me and it feels like a weighted blanket.  The mood swings, though - I'm over them.  I've broken down at work a dozen times in the last two weeks, and while I'm naturally a crier, this is a new level of distraught that renders me incapable of holding back the tears.  I've fantasized in the heat of the moment about walking out of my job and never going back...the thing that makes me think crazy thoughts like that, though, is the same reason I can't act on them.  I'm going to have to work harder to find a way to keep my emotions in check. 

During after-dinner conversation with our guests Tuesday night, Jimi broke my heart a little.  Lisa asked him, "So, now that you've got a baby on the way, are you guys going to be making with the marrying?"  He told her yes as I was saying "we haven't even talked about it yet" - we hadn't talked about it.  Last time, the day I took the test he said, "Natalie, I will marry you", but then the baby wasn't and we never did.  It became pretty fucking important to me about a year ago, to the point where I went into a pretty dark place this past winter when no proposal came.  I've said my piece on the matter, though, made my feelings known, and let it go, figuring it'll happen eventually, hopefully.  A few weeks back, I asked Jimi what he sees in his mind, immediately, when someone says the word "marriage".  "Failure" was his response.  Okay.  If that's a word he connects with marriage, no wonder he's not in any hurry to do it.  Tuesday, though, he told Lisa that he'd been afraid to marry me, because he knows I want children, and he was afraid that maybe he couldn't give them to me.  Maybe he wasn't physically able to make a baby with me.  His biggest fear is that we'll marry and not have babies and one day I'll come to him and tell him I have to divorce him because I need to have children.  This is why you should talk about your feelings, people, so that your SO doesn't find out about your deepest darkest most heartbreaking fears while in a social setting where it's inappropriate to cry and delve into an in-depth discussion. 

Obviously, there's more to that story, but that's going to have to be for another time.  I have to go take a nap now. 

Happy Thursday!

Altruistic gestures.

Jimi sent me an email this afternoon:  "Want me to have an epsom salt bath waiting for you at 8 o'clock?" 

Tonight was my first full boot camp class.  He's so sweet, right?

I went to class.  I worked out really really hard.  I walked through the door at ten till 8.

He was up and at 'em right away - "What can I get you?  Want me to start a bath?  Are you hungry?"  I was a little overwhelmed with the attention.  I walked around a little bit, trying to get used to this strange feeling in my muscles - I'm not used to that post-workout jelly feeling.  It's pretty new to me.  I kinda like it. 

"Yeah, okay, I want a bath."  I started the water, he went after the epsom salts.  I got my book and a beer (ha!) and climbed in.  He sat on the toilet and rubbed my back down with a homemade tonic of his - witch hazel, tea tree oil, eucalyptus oil.  He told me to lay back, to relax.

And then he reached over my head, and from the shower caddy he withdrew my razor, and laid it on the side of the tub. 

"You know, just in case you were feeling up to it, now's a good opportunity..."

Someone just lost all their banked blowjob points.

Mandatory Sunday "Here's What's Up" Post

Getting up before 6 on a weekday is torturous and cruel - on a Sunday, it's called getting the most out of your weekend.  (And it totally justifies that 3-hour nap that's gonna come in the early afternoon.)

Finn got pepper-sprayed yesterday and it was completely due to stupid human mistakes.  I was sitting on the front porch with a book when Jimi and Finn joined me.  Jimi put Finn on his lead, but I saw the mailman coming up the opposite side of the street, and the mailman won't come into our yard when Finn's outside.  So I tried to get Finn to come into the house.  He wasn't done outside, though, and ran to Jimi (like a kid playing off his two parents, that dog is sometimes).  Jimi petted his head and looked at me as if I were being mean and said, "He doesn't want to go inside, Mommy."  Fine.  "But the mailman is coming, so hold onto his collar and I'll go get the mail."  I watched him hook a couple fingers under Finn's collar, sat down my book, and went down the porch steps and started across the yard to meet the mailman.  Halfway there, Finn darts past me, growling and barking and making haste for the poor mail carrier.  I yelled for my bad dog, and my eyes saw him stop running and crouch down as I heard Jimi yell "Man, don't spray him".  I hadn't noticed the mail carrier as he whipped the pepper-spray canister off his bag in a flash and gave Finn a face full, but I figured out what was happening and I at least had my wits about me enough to yell back, "He has to do what he can to protect himself, Jimi."  Oh, I was pissed.  "I thought you were holding onto him?!"  This I was saying as I grabbed the mail from the carrier, apologizing all over myself as he was trying to apologize for spraying my dog, assuring him I understood when he said, "I don't like to do it, but..."  "No no, I understand, and I'm SO sorry" (pleasedon'tcallanimalcontrolandtakemydogaway), with my hand hooked around Finn's collar as he shook his head from side to side and pawed at his face, which was covered in red speckles from where the spray had gotten him.  We made it up onto the porch, (Jimi saying, "he twisted and nearly broke my finger and I couldn't hold him anymore" and "He didn't have to spray him"), and I fumed as I held onto my twisting pup and hosed him down.  Jimi felt bad for hours, and normally I'm one to console and try to not lay blame, but I couldn't bring myself to say "It wasn't your fault" this time.   I would never say to him what I'll say to you, which is that it was completely his fault, but I did't make a lot of effort to make him feel better about the situation, either.  I sorta feel bad for placing blame at all, but dammit, this one wasn't on me, and could've been easily avoided.  And I keep thinking about how the mailman told all his friends last night over beers about the dog that he pepper-sprayed and the lady who was wearing footie pajamas at 2 o'clock in the afternoon on a Saturday.

Jimi told me yesterday he wants a recliner for his 40th birthday.  I had sorta just decided on either a treadmill or an elliptical or a new range or a new fridge, but he said if I'm going to spend money on him, he'd really like a nice recliner.  Typing that makes me think it sounds like an old man gift.  And then I remember, after all, he's turning 40.  Age ain't nothin' but a number, sure, but 40 seems like it should still be much farther off.  The last five years have FLOWN, yo.

I'm thinking of going downtown to the Occupy Louisville protests today.  A friend of mine is baking a turkey today to take to the group, as a show of support; her partner has apparently spent some part of every day with them.  I told her I'd call and maybe meet up with them -

This Occupy Movement may have gotten off to a slow and confused beginning, but there's something legitimate and lasting and real there.  I have always watched footage of the Civil Rights Movement with awe; the bravery of those few willing to stand up to so many in the name of What's Right.  I have always wondered if my generation would ever be passionate enough about anything to stand up and make a difference in a big way.  I've often wondered when American Citizens would realize that we are many controlled by a few who let us pretend we have a say.  I figured that once the word started getting out, big changes would come.  Fingers crossed.

I've got a two-day workweek to look forward to - I can't even be sad that it's Sunday, because Monday's not so bad when Tuesday is your Friday.  (I like that sentence a lot.)  Stacy and I have appointments starting at 10:45 on Wednesday for 75 minute facials and hour-long massages, then we'll have lunch and some sort of obscene dessert.  And then Thursday, of course, is the original Day of Many Dinners (at least two, and somehow men always manage to go back for seconds at each).  I won't shop on Friday - I can barely make myself go to the store on a normal weekday, you think I'd stay up all night to fight the crowds?  No effing way.  Besides, I'm more of a "finish shopping on Christmas Eve and give the gifts unwrapped and in the store bags" sort of girl, anyhow.

I'm reading The Hobbit; I read it at some point during my adolescence, but I was more into Stephen King back then, and so while I liked it, it wasn't really my sort of tale.  I really missed out back then because the writing is beautiful and vivid, and I can't help but picture myself reading this story to a child before bedtime - it's exactly the kind of story that should be read to a child.  I have the Lord of the Rings trilogy on deck, so my reading needs should be covered through the end of the year.

I can't believe the Holidays are here already.  Holy smokes, this year has flown.

If the world really was going to *poof* end on December 21, 2012, and we really only had 13 months left, how would you spend the next year?  What would you finally do that you've been putting off forever and ever?

I'm going to travel.  I'm going on a grand adventure some time in the next 13 months.  I'm going to see fabulous things and take beautiful pictures and have sex in crazy adventurous places.

Nothing like having goals.

Love always leads to heartbreak.

Last year, during the week I knew I was pregnant, there was a night when the smell of the litter box was really getting to me.  I asked Jimi to clean it; he said he would, then went back to doing what he'd been doing before I'd asked.  I'm sort of a bitch in that when I ask someone to do something, I sort of expect them to get up right that minute and go do it; Jimi makes me crazy, because he NEVER gets right up and gets on it.  He asks me for a glass of water, I'm up and getting it before he finishes the last word in his request; I ask him for a glass of water, and 2 minutes later he's still sitting there so I just get up and do it myself.  That was the way it went the night of the cat box, too.  I asked, he acknowledged and didn't move, so I did it myself.  Once he figured out that I wasn't waiting for him to get to it in his own time, he ran downstairs and took over for me, lecturing me on how I shouldn't be messing with cat shit blah blah blah.  "Yeah, but I can't stand smelling it, either, and if you weren't going to clean it, then someone had to."

Fast forward over a year, to last week.  That pregnancy is long gone, reduced to nothing more than a handful of shattered dreams and a line of demarcation in my life of "before" and "after".  I think about it all the time, of course.  Last week, I was explaining that to Jimi, how I can't make my brain turn off the baby switch, how I obsess with the idea of getting pregnant again but can't really picture life with a child, how I blame myself for the loss of a ball of cells that we already loved.  "I blame myself too," he told me, and I looked at him through the tears I cry every time we talk on this subject.  I was confused and surprised; he's never mentioned guilt before.  "That night, with the litter box?  I wonder if things would've been different if I'd just gotten up and done it when you asked me to.  Maybe that caused something, you know?"

People write about heartbreak as a literal pain in their chest at the moment something tragic happens.  I know that pain pretty good, I've felt it a few times - when I found out my first live-in boyfriend was cheating with a 17 year old mother, when my husband told me (over the phone, as I was driving to work, when he was 700 miles away) that he wanted a divorce, when my Momma told me (as I sat at the airport gate, waiting to catch my flight home to see her one last time) that my Granny had died.  When I realized I was losing my baby.  And then, when Jimi told me he thought it may have been his fault.

How could something so small, so brief, lead to all of this hurt, all these tears?  If things had gone differently, would the end result have lead to an equal amount of happiness and laughter?

Here, have some words.

I think I need to have another party so I'll be forced to get my house presentable.  Why is it so hard to get motivated to clean?  Ugh.

Stacy went to the hospital twice this weekend with contractions.  Doctors say she's showing no signs of labor, so by all appearances, these seem to be those notorious Braxton Hicks.  Thank goodness.

I've got a face pain problem.  I burned the roof of my mouth the other night on one of those bullshit french bread pizza things, and it's been tender ever since.  This morning, though, it hurt when I brushed my teeth in a way it didn't when I went to bed last night.  And I've had this bruised feeling in my face all day that I thought was sinus pain until I came home for lunch and realized it hurt to chew on the left side.  Fuck.  Of course, with all the awesome health insurance I've got, I have no dental coverage.  And I've got like $100 in the bank because Jimi was kind enough to give me a break on my part of the mortgage payment this month because I overextended myself last week and I was going to be completely broke till this coming Friday.  (In other words, I don't have the cash on hand to visit a dentist.)  And I don't have a credit card, so that's not a quick-pay option.

How long do you wait to figure out if weird shit like this is "see a dentist" serious or if it'll go away on its own?  My gut tells me I've got an infection of some sort in my gumline because of that burn Friday night.  I don't think this is a rotten tooth thing, and nothing feels loose.  Then again, gumline infections can cause some serious fucking damage - I've got an uncle that had a hip replacement at 50 because of an infection that traveled from his gums (during a teeth cleaning) and went to his hip, dissolving the entire structure within 6 months; he required ridiculous rounds of antibiotics, and at least 2 exploratory surgeries before they had to completely replace his hip.  Because he got his teeth cleaned!!!  So, I don't want to be all nonchalant and shit.

If I have to see a dentist, I will.  I'll borrow the money from Jimi or my boss or my Momma or someone till I get paid Friday, and I'll see someone tomorrow if I have to.  I'd just rather not.

I've really not been interested in blogging lately.  Well, I have, I just haven't had a thing to say.  No Words.  My constant complaint.  I never have the words.

I'm a little worried about my hermit-ness.  I joke about it all the time, but between you and me?  I'm a little concerned.  Even the idea of going to my Momma's makes me get jittery, forget a trip to Wal-Mart or Burlington or Kroger, even.  Contemplating stopping by the grocery on the way home from work makes my heart feel heavy and my stomach flutter.  It's all in my head, though - it's all the IDEA of doing things that is so hard - once I'm out in the world, doing things, it's not so bad.  That's what Jimi says all the time, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"  And it never was as bad as I'd feared it would be, I almost always end up having a good time, but still...I dread having to leave the sanctuary of my home.  I resent having things planned to do on weekends when I feel I should be able to sit in my chair and do nothing at all if that's what I want to do...and OH, that is SO what I want to do!  I don't look forward to anything.  Not if it takes me away ... and I don't even know what I fear being taken away from.  My house?  My dog and cat?  Not Jimi, certainly - he's almost always with me if it's not work or an errand before he's home from work.  There's nothing that I do here that is special or unique; there's nothing I'm missing out on by leaving here - I'm missing out on life by staying, though.  I realize that.  And it scares the fuck out of me.

I wasn't always like this.  And I won't always be.  I'm working on it.  One step, one drive, one visit, one party, one shopping trip, one day at a time.

Doing things when I'm here is hard too, though.  I said that once already, didn't I?  About the cleaning?  Yeah.  Cleaning, and re-potting that hibiscus, and that Wandering Jew, and folding all that laundry and finishing the ones that need to be washed...

Ugh.  I'd rather read my book, read the internet, play the Sims Pets, watch Judge Judy - I think I'm a perpetual 17 year old, hoping Momma's gonna clean up after me.  (And Jimi does, a lot. Bless his heart.)

I felt better when I was watching my calories closely and exercising every day.  Imagine that.  I wonder if my sudden stop has anything to do with the funk I've fallen into?  Wow.  I may have just worked that shit out myself, yo.

So, how's your Monday night?

I missed "The Walking Dead" last night.  I went to bed at 8:30.  I figure they'll show it again before the next episode.  I'll see it eventually.

About your Monday night...

sunday morning check-in

I want to live in a TV-free home.

Okay, not really.  Then I wouldn't be able to watch "The Walking Dead" tonight.  But I like Sundays where Jimi sleeps in till 10 or so, and I have two hours of quiet before the bombardment begins.  Shows full of loud noises, flashing lights, shouting and screaming - we pay money for this shit to invade our quiet sanctuary?  I moved the laptop into the dining room so I can write - I can still hear it from the other room.  It's kinda making me want to scream.  I may need to go get my earplugs.

It's just too much first thing in the morning.  It's too much stimulation, too much noise, too much brightness, too much trash.  I need soft jazz and at least a cup and a half before that crazy begins.  I need a moment to organize my brain, still jumbled from crazy dreams and fitful sleep.

And then he's yelling to me from the front room, a random comment about some random show I know nothing about, something I don't understand and don't care to - "Motherfucker's name is Sucklord!"  Today's shows are so enlightening and uplifting.

He followed my path to the dining room and apologized - "I'm sorry honey, were we bothering you?"  "It's just the loud.  I can't take the loud this early."  "I'll turn it off, sweetheart."  "Could you just turn it down?"

He turned it off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aside from that, today's great.  :)  Got some things to do, but nothing stressful or work-related or sucky.  Jimi promised a walk after we eat our frosted shredded wheat - it's a beautiful day here in the Ohio Valley, chilly and clear and full of the smell of dead leaves and wood-smoke.  

O Hell!  Just realized we missed the clock roll-back last night!  It's only 8 o'clock!  Hells yes!

Remember that time I posted about my laundry and how bad it was and I fixed it up and swore I'd stay on top of it?  I didn't.  (Surprise!)  So we're working on that today, too.  

But first, it looks like we really are going on that walk.  Color me surprised.  

Happy Sunday!

I say dumb things. A lot.

A neighbor we hadn't met came over to introduce herself on Halloween night.  I was able to shake her hand, say it was nice to meet her, offer her a seat and a drink, all normal, the way normal people do.  I can handle that much interaction with strangers without putting my foot in my mouth.  Once she sat, though, and our getting-to-know-each-other officially began, that's when my social skills became a trainwreck.

Within moments of her ass hitting the chair, she asked if we had many trick-or-treaters last year.  My response was something like, "We didn't pass out candy last year - we were going to, since it was our first Halloween in the house and all, but I don't like to leave the house much, and I guess picking up candy was just too hard."  What.  The.  Fuck?!  Who says shit like that 45 seconds into a conversation with a stranger who lives across the street?  She sort of nodded like she understood the crazy coming out of my mouth and mercifully moved onto another topic, which I obviously didn't fuck up too horribly, because I don't remember what it was.

I was thrilled to learn she's a Librarian!  A real, live Librarian right across the street from my reading porch.  How awesome is that?  We chatted for probably half an hour, Jimi joining us mid-way to introduce himself and say hello.  I don't think I was too bad after that initial flub, but Jimi insists I shouldn't have referenced "smoking a bowl" when we were talking about things to do when you're floating downriver on a canoe.

A few weeks ago, the weekend of Melinda and Gary's wedding, I went to a housewarming party at the home of some friends.  I was brilliant that night!  I got like 5 high-fives for funny shit I said, and I replayed those snippets of conversation over and over in my head for the next 3 days, congratulating myself for being brilliant and hilarious.  I wanted to tell Jimi about the time we were all talking about the well-known fact that Gingers don't have souls, and someone said, "Well, then what about Ben?  Ben's not a Ginger, but he doesn't have a soul" and I was all, "Yeah, but he's Jewish" and the crowd went wild.  (Ben high-fived me for that one, for the record, so I totally wasn't being a nazi cunt or anything.)  The whole night went that way - someone setting up a punchline that came into my head with perfect timing - that happens to me so rarely!

But that party was full of people who know and love me.  They've known me for at least 5 years, and they invite me to things because they enjoy my company, despite my quirks (like how I rarely show up to things I'm invited to).  I was comfortable there, completely at ease.

(I'll be honest, though, if Steve hadn't been there, my night probably wouldn't have gone quite as swimmingly.  He's like my Jimi surrogate when Jimi's not around - he provides that security and safety that I rely on when I'm not in my home.  I feel like he wouldn't let anything bad happen to me - he'd save me from a rapist, or he'd punk out some asshole that was mean to me...not that either of those situations have ever presented themselves, but I feel confident he would defend me and my honor.  He's like a big brother I never had but always wanted.)

The Tuesday after the housewarming party, Jimi and I went to Lisa's for dinner.  The tentative plan was to order in, catch up (we'd not seen her in over a year!), and then meet up with her fiance' for drinks and fun later.

Before I go further with that, I should give you some background on Lisa and Jimi:  The first night I went to Jimi's apartment in Old Louisville, hanging on the wall in the center of his living room were two large pieces of framed art; cut-outs of a beautiful platinum blonde, staged in all different poses, wearing all sorts of costumes - it was Lisa, and the piece is called Paper Dolls.  It hangs in our living room today.  Then, though, I thought it was proof positive that he had a relationship with this gorgeous woman, and I immediately saw how inadequately I measured up to her in beauty and creativity and all-around awesome.  Of course, they weren't a couple - she is what he refers to as his "Sissy".  Likewise, he is her "Sissy".  They are 3 days apart in age and joke that they are twins.  Lisa is deeply involved in all things ART, and Jimi loves all things ART, and on this level they meld and mesh in a way I will never be able to with him.

Obviously, I'm a bit intimidated by her.  I didn't realize that's what it was or call it that until after Jimi pointed it out to me on Wednesday, when I sent him an email apologizing for being a drunken slore and drinking half a big bottle of wine and half a beer and eating 2 huge slices of pizza and nearly puking in Lisa's bathroom and then falling asleep at Lisa's kitchen table.  His words were, "I told her you're intimidated by her, and that you get a little over-excited and over-indulge, but once you're comfortable with her, you'll norm out."  I wanted to argue, but I couldn't.  He's so perceptive, that man of mine.  I'm terrified that I won't measure up, so I make a fool out of myself to prove it.

I feel like that in most social situations where I'm not well-known and already loved.  I feel awkward and not good enough and strange and uninteresting and uncool, and I throw out the very worst of me to try to disprove these thoughts that probably only live in my head until I say or do something to show it to everyone else.

Thank goodness there's something underlying my crazy that doesn't make all people turn and run in the opposite direction; thank goodness there's something there that says "Wait, maybe she's funny sometimes, and maybe she's the sort that would buy a round, and maybe she's pretty smart when we're not talking about a subject that's way over her head, and maybe she's the type who'd be willing to give me a ride to the airport, and maybe she's one of those people who won't notice that I haven't called for two years when I need a shoulder to cry on."  I have good qualities, I swear!  Maybe they're just not so obvious when you first meet me; maybe that veneer of awkward and strange is just something you just have to look through, like one of those 3-D pictures that you have to stare at for a few seconds before you can see the image.

Is it completely obnoxious to compare my personality to a 3-D picture from the 1990's?  "I am so deep and hard to understand."  Yeah.  Like a fishbowl.

Post-Wedding Hair

I took the bobby pins out.

17 of them, 

which really doesn't seem like that many,

I decided I'd take a picture or two of the results, to share here.

This is my first ever bathroom self-portrait.  

And no, I've still not erased that little love note from the bathroom mirror.

Jimi watched me from the doorway, then said, "Watch."

He held the phone up so I could see the display through the mirror.

Like most 5th graders have mastered,

yet I probably wouldn't have figured out for a hundred years.

Jimi took the rest of these shots.

That's his hand there on the side.

He was talking to me.

He made me laugh.

And then it got fun.

He was trying to make my boobs bigger.

Didn't work.

Mowing is serious bidness.

I came in from mowing (90 minutes, 653 calories burned) (Really?!  That seems like an awful lot), and stripped down to get in the shower.  There was a spot of grass on my upper thigh; I went to brush it away...and it crawled closer to my girl bits.

"Holy crap, I think there's a tick on me!" I yelled to Jimi, who was in the next room, dressing to take over/finish up the mowing.  He came in and closely examined the squirming spec I was trying to squish between my fingers.

"Yep.  That's a tick."

"It was headed for my no-no place!"  I was leaning over as far as I could, desperately trying to see into my vag to make sure there weren't any ticks in there.  I stood up and looked my beloved straight in the eye, "Is there a polite way to say 'Baby, will you check my butt crack for ticks?'"

He smiled at me sweetly, "Take a shower first."

True love.

Love and unicorns and rainbows

"Your skin looks nice - I was looking at you, noticing how pretty you are."

My heart, it melted.

He says things like this all the time - he's so generous with compliments and kindness.  He lifts me up on a cloud of love and hope and I feel the butterflies in my belly.

I know how easily relationships can break down - the indifference, the sullenness, the selfishness.  Jimi has taught me how easy it can be to mend the cracks, though - the tenderness, the forgiveness, the giving...and the thank-yous, the I-love-yous, the pleases, the whatever-you-want-honeys.

And regular, fantastic sex - that's important, too.

What I Said vs. What He Heard

"For dinner, we're having split pea soup, garlic cheddar biscuits, and blow jobs for dessert."

"We're having garlic cheddar biscuits?  Really?"

What the fuck?  What dimension am I living in?  I cover my face with my hands to hide the horror and hilarity...

"Natalie, look at me."  He's using his serious voice.  I look.  "We're really having garlic cheddar biscuits?"

I'm obviously doing something wrong.

Ain't got nothin' to say...

But I'm gonna type, type, type away.

That is what I do, 

when I can't think of anything good to share with you.

Whoa.  I'm not a poet and I totally know it.

Instinct tells me to move to something else, distract myself and maybe later something will come to me.  Nope.  I'm staying right here!!!  Aren't you glad you're still reading?

Twitter me this...

I don't know how to do Twitter.  I figured out how to get my blog posts to automatically update my twitter feed, but that's about all I do on there.  Last friday, no fewer than three awesome women linked me in #FF - i think that means Follow Friday?  Like you're supposed to recommend your favorite blogs?  I don't know how to do it though, so I couldn't even properly reciprocate.  I'm so ignorant about this technology stuff.

Jimi got his hairs cut today.  He just told me I should talk about that:  "What are you typing?"  "A bunch of bullshit."  "You should talk about my hairs.  It's the most important news of the day."  I must say, he looks very handsome with his new hairs:

But all I can see is the crap on the table behind him.

Have I mentioned I'm a lousy housekeeper?  That's totally my beer bottle.

But yes, he's very pretty.

I like wine.  Cheap wine.  3/$10 Arbor Mist cheap "wine".  Can't you tell?

Wait.  I just re-read that.  That's totally not what I meant.  Stop giggling.

Nevermind.

I need some pie.  I baked a pie on July 4th, in honor of Independence Day because that's the American thing to do, right?  Eat apple pie?  It was all the justification I needed, okay?  And I'm going to eat some more of that pie tonight and pretend it's me being patri-fucking-otic.  

Did I mention I'm going to be in a wedding in October?  And that I ordered my bridesmaid's dress the other day?  In a size smaller than the one I tried on at the store, which fit me to a T?  Um, in case you're having what I'm having - that means I need to lose no less than one dress size in the next 4.5 months.

How long can I put it off before I have to start the starvation/laxative diet?  

No.  Wait.  I'm going to do this the right way.  I'm going to exercise, eat right, and lose so much that I have to have the size-smaller dress taken in so it'll stay up on me by the time the big day arrives.  

Right?  Right?!

Right.

I'm starting tomorrow, obviously.  There's pie in there that can't go to waist.  Waste.  Whatever.  

Yesterday was Monday. Today is Friday.

That's how it was supposed to go down this week - no work Monday, Thursday, Friday.  But I have to work a little tomorrow; I didn't get it all done today.  I'm going to go in early, knock 'er out, and then come home and fix the dryer.

Oh yeah.  The dryer.  I went after work to buy the heating element.  It's $59.65 plus tax, and it's not returnable.  The guy behind the counter, who's obviously done this a time or two, looked at me over top of his glasses and said, "Have you done this before?"  

I scoffed.  I couldn't help it.  "Do I look like I've done this before?" I wanted to ask.  Or, "I just said 'This is my first attempt at appliance repair...', but sure, I could see how you'd think I'm a pro, what with my blank stare and detailed, expert description of how the hot doesn't work."  I didn't really say any of that, of course; I said, "No, I've never done anything like this before" and he said "Are you sure it's the heating element?"

Motherfuck.  No, okay!  I'm NOT sure it's the heating element!  But Jimi said it's the heating element and Jimi's usually right about everything, so I'm pretty sure he's right about this.  

"Um.  Not exactly?  It spins but it doesn't get hot."  Again with the expert descriptoring.  

"Well, it could be one of the thermostats or the dumaflicky or the thingamawhatsit or the whobamersnagger or the heating element.  We have all the parts, and they're all non-returnable."  How these people talk to people like me every day without rolling their eyes over and over and over again is beyond me; but then, they exude the same warm fuzzy feeling with their tone of voice, so maybe I'm not missing much from the actual eye-rolling experience.

He flipped over the piece of notebook paper where I'd scribbled the numbers from the label I found on the front of the dryer - one of them was a model number and the other was a secret code to the location of the ark of the covenant, I'm pretty sure.  Anyhow, he drew me a picture.  It was beautiful, with flowers and shit; okay, I'm making that up - he drew the back of my dryer.  And showed me with dark lines where the thermostats and dumaflickies and thingamawhatsits and whobamersnaggers live.  Apparently there are lots of things that can break the hot on your dryer.  And of course, we'd not yet bothered to pull off the back cover and actually inspect the inside guts of the dryer - Jimi said it was the heating element.  I don't know from where he pulled this not-all-that-educated guess, but, as I've said before, he's generally right about most things, so I generally go with whatever he says.  

So Mr. Appliance Parts is drawing me a picture of my dryer and telling me why it's probably not the heating element and convincing me that my genius boyfriend is an idiot when it comes to dryers, and I say, "So you're saying I need to call someone who knows what they're doing, right?"  He pulled the new, sealed-in-box heating element from the now-unsealed box and showed me what to look for to determine if the heating element was indeed the culprit.  

I left certain I'd be buying a new dryer at the Best Buy in the morning.

BUT!  But, there is a but!  Jimi got home from work, and I told this tale to Jimi, and so Jimi pulled out the dryer, removed the back cover, removed the housing from the heating element...

Lo and Behold, the coils were broken, just like little buddy at the parts shop had told me to expect - the heating element was the problem!  YAY!

I'll stop at the shop on my way home from work in the morning, pick up the part, and we'll be back in laundry business before noon.  Don't you just love a cheap happy ending?  

Rambling Right Along

Walking upstairs in my house right now feels like putting on a foam bodysuit made of electric blanket - it starts at your head, and engulfs more of you with each step you take up the stairs.  The heat, the thickness and the dry smell of it, it fills every place that isn't touching something else - the gap between my breasts and the bodice of the dress I'm wearing, the space between my torso and inner arm about midway between my shoulders and my elbows (because my upper arms are fat and glide along nice and snug next to the fabric of my dress), then the rest of my arms, the spaces between my cupped fingers and the palms of my hands, my hips, my bare legs, and then up between my thighs and my skirt.  Even my toes can feel the resistance.

But then!  But then I turn the corner in the hallway, pass the shrine of photographs from D.C. with which I've adorned the passageway, and move the heavy curtain of fabric Jimi rigged up to act as a barrier between the oppressive heat and the light, breathable air of the window-air-conditioned nook where we spend our non-sleeping/showering/cooking time.  And then that coat of hot that's enveloped me, it falls off from the front to the back, and maybe I might stand there for a moment or two, feeling the mixing of the seasons, the whoosh of hot and cold across my skin, raising the hairs on my neck and making my nipples hard, before I swish the curtain back closed, making sure there are no gaps for the precious expensive electrically cooled air to escape into the sucking heat of the hallway and stairwell.

(The entire downstairs has central air, but the fucking raccoon that lives in our attic has wreaked havoc on the ductwork upstairs.  We spent thousands last summer trying to cool these rooms using the separate HVAC system up here - only to learn that the cool air was being pumped directly into the crawl spaces of the attic, rather than through the vents that fed the liveable rooms.  Our solution has been to ignore the ductwork, turn off the upstairs AC, install the window unit that came with the house and hang a curtain to keep in the cold air.  Or we could've left the TV downstairs.  But there's an electrical issue down there and I have a lot of knicknacks in the other room down there so DON'T BE LOGICAL WITH ME!!!)

I like our little nook up here.  It's cozy and warm when the outside is cold, and thanks to that window unit, it's comfortably cool when the weather's warm.

******************

I've got the Mormon fascination kickin' again, brought on after conversations with an old new friend who's left the church, the release of the cast recording of The Book of Mormon, and a long conversation with my boss about Kolob and food storage.  I just love Mormons.

I've been trying to listen to the cast recording for two days now, but I've been foiled by life - visits from friends on Monday and a fight with my beloved last night.  (The fight only lasted a few minutes, but I was an asshole and in attempt to make up for it I agreed to watch a movie with him, which meant giving up the computer for the night because our blu-ray player is jacked up so movies can only be instantly watched by connecting the laptop to the TV.  Have I mentioned how I have a hard time paying attention to any one thing for an extended amount of time?  Fortunately, the movie didn't suck and cuddling with Jimi is always good.)  Tonight was going to be the night I got past 12 minutes 35 seconds, I was determined - after all, I only needed an hour and eight minutes total.

I got home from work, popped open a beer, opened the browser and hit the play button.  Then I got distracted by shiny emails and facebook messages and Jimi coming home from work; I'd made it eighteen minutes into the production.  Jimi wasn't interested in listening along with me, so I dug out the earbuds.  Then I remembered the facebook post I read earlier today talking about how sitting is killing us and decided I may as well use the treadmill while I listen.  I moved the laptop to the basement, staged on the ironing board and an old rubbermaid tote so the short cord on the earbuds wouldn't tangle and pull the whole works onto the concrete floor.  I went upstairs and dug out some shorty socks and stripped out of my work clothes.  I put on the socks and my running shoes...and Jimi said "you should just walk naked" and since I was already naked I decided that's what I'd do.  And so I did.  I walked and jogged, naked, on my treadmill for half an hour, listening to the raunchy South Park-esque "The Book of Mormon", drinking a can of Bud Light between exercises with my two-pound hand weights.

Notice how I only walked for half an hour?  And how I said earlier the musical is an hour and 8 minutes?  The treadmill died - the surge protector popped and my feet came to a stop while the rest of me kept moving.  I think maybe it's done this once before, and  I hope it's temporary.   I think it'll be fine, and on that assumption I'm planning to get up at 6 a.m. to walk and listen to the other half of the story.  I'll get through this tale, dammit, I will!

******************

 Jimi said last night that there are two of me, Natalie and Bratalie.  The bitch of it is, he wasn't wrong.  I hate it when I have to admit that I've acted like a spoiled child, or worse, an asshole.

******************

It's a lot easier to write when the TV's not on.

You people are so freakin' awesome.

All 100 of you!

That's right, folks, I've hit 100 followers/people who don't think I'm boring/awesome people/readers!

Giveaway details are coming.  I thought I had at least a week before I'd have to get my shit together (literally), but I only had a day and of course, I'm not prepared.  Color me surprised.

Jimi doesn't get the giveaway thing.  "You're going to send strangers 100 things that you find around the house?"  Yes.  "Do you know how much that's going to cost in postage?"  What's a few hundred bucks between friends? "Why would anyone want anything you find around the house?"  I have no idea, other than a deep conviction that if someone else was hosting this giveaway, I'd want to win something.  "You should call it Natalie's Absurd Found Household Item Giveaway."  It already has a name, Jimi.  It's called Shit From My House.  "Must you always cuss?"  Yes.

Stay tuned.  Good shit is coming.  And some really awful shit too.

Trojans are assholes.

I turned the laptop over to Jimi and went downstairs for a nap.

Three hours later, I'm awake again and I come upstairs and he's all, "I think there was a virus.  I'm running a scan now."

Hours pass.  The scan finally completes, I reboot, and the virus is still hanging out.  Shit's all wonky.

I go downstairs, where Jimi's cooking dinner.  "I think the laptop is fucked."

"Fuck."  We're real eloquent around here. "Did you try a system restore?"  He's the brains of this operation.  He always has the best ideas.

I shut down, restart, escape, restore.  YAY!  It's all fixed!

Wait.

Wait a second.  I had folder over there, on the desktop.  Where'd my folder go?

"Jimi, I think it's deleted all of our pictures."  I couldn't help myself.  I burst into tears.  I stumbled downstairs and threw myself on the bed and I sobbed.

Who comes home from vacation and promptly gets a virus that erases all of their vacation pictures?

And it would be this batch of pictures - the ones I was so proud of and so looking forward to having printed and hanging on our walls.  Fuck!!!

Oh, but wait, there's more;  it's not just vacation pictures, I discovered.  All of our pictures are gone.  All of them.  Every one I've taken and saved to this computer - they're all MIA.

Fuck.

I'm going to drink a beer or five until I don't care anymore.  Jimi's gone to bed; he's really fucking broken up about this and I'm not even being a smartass when I say that.

I've got a friend who speaks computer repair - maybe she'll be able to work some magic and fix everything all better.  Or maybe we'll just have to take some more pictures as we make new memories.

The silver lining?  I uploaded pics to Facebook daily while we were away, and this afternoon (before my nap), I got a few blog entries put together and saved - and the pictures I've attached to those posts are still there.  YAY!  Maybe I'll still be able to get some of these guys printed and hung on my walls.

How many times do I need to be reminded to create backups of everything?  I mean, seriously.  This is some bullshit.

 This one survived, somehow.  Fucking viruses.  

Giving money to homeless people, Take One!

April 1, 2011
Washington, D.C Trip
Day 1, Part 1

We drove all day Thursday, and then Jimi stayed up talking to his brother until the wee hours of the morning, so our start Friday was slow-going.  That's the beauty of vacation, though - no schedules, no time-tables, certainly no alarms.  We had breakfast at the Denny's, because I was craving pancakes and bacon and hashbrowns, then went back to the house to get cleaned up so we could drive up to the city and see what we could see.

For some reason, I'd gotten it in my head that the nearest Metro Park 'n Ride station was 20 miles from Jimi's brother's house.  I was way wrong - it was 60 miles.  D'oh.  Still, to not have to actually drive in the city, then wander in circles for an hour or three looking for a parking spot, it was well worth the $4.50 per day parking rate.  The Metro is my all-time favorite form of public transportation...not that I've sampled a large variety of public transit, but there's nothing intimidating about it.  Our local bus system, TARC, is awesome, but using TARC can be confusing if you're trying to get across town.  The Metro uses huge color-coded maps that are posted everywhere, making it nearly idiot-proof to go from one end of the city to the other.

And the people watching!  Holy smokes, the people riding the Metro are just so awesome.  One of these days, I'm going to get a day pass and just ride the trains all day, watching the people who get on and off.  The tourists are everywhere, of course, but so are the Lt. Colonels on their way home from a day working at the Pentagon.  Businessmen and women in sharp suits and shoes I only ever see on television or in magazines, because (cue hick accent) they ain't got them stores in Kentucky.  Single mothers with double strollers holding a pair of twins with very different personalities.  Huge afros and awesome mullets, scarlet and saffron robes of monks and brightly colored saris worn by Indian women with thick braids and *gasp* sandals?!  It's 40 degrees outside!!

The whole city's like that, of course.  It's just one huge melting pot.  We heard dozens of languages.  I love it.

A homeless guy got on the train at one of the early stops - I had a feeling.  I was right.  I went to put my arm around Jimi's shoulder and bumped the man's hand; he was reaching out to tap Jimi on the shoulder.  I swear, it's like we wear signs or something.  "Ask me for money, I never say no."

"Excuse me, sir," he scratched out in his (very cliche', if you ask me) scratchy, slurred, maybe-he's-not-drunk-now-but-he-probably-will-be-soon voice.  "Do you have sistyfie snent I cud barry to git sum buzz fare?"

I had money, but it was all twenties in a wad in my wallet and, while I'm pretty naive and green, even I know it's not such a good idea to pull out a big wad of cash in the middle of a crowded public place, so I said, "I don't have any change," even though the guy wasn't asking me for money.  This was my way of telling Jimi "I don't have anything small and I'm not giving this guy a twenty."  I knew baby'd come through - he gave the guy a five and told him to have a nice day.  We all leaned back in our respective seats and felt better about ourselves.

When the guy's stop came, he exited the train, but stopped to tap on the window next to our seats, smiling and waving.

"You made his day," I said to my beloved.

"Best five bucks I've spent all day," was his reply.

 <-- That's my happy face.

I saw orchids.

I love orchids.

Two years ago when we were up here, the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History was hosting a travelling exhibit called "Orchids Through the Eyes of Darwin" or something like that.  We spent an hour taking pictures and looking and oohing and ahhing.

When we got home, we excitedly downloaded the pictures onto the computer - they were all out of focus.  The low light/shaky hands/inexperience - something caused a problem with each and every photo we'd taken.  (*insert sadface here*)  I was really bummed - I'd fantasized the whole way home about how I was going to blow up our brilliant masterpieces and frame them and hang them on our walls and enter them into the State Fair and win first place.  Instead, we had nothing.  (sadface)

On Friday, we went up to the city and walked around the Mall, visiting a gallery and a sculpture garden, but it was getting late and most things we wanted to see were closing.  We did see the banner hanging over the entrance to the Natural History museum, though - ORCHIDS, it read, under a large flower.  We squirreled this info away, and today when we were wandering toward the Mall and my internal frustration temperature was rising*, Jimi quickly suggested we head toward the flowers, knowing that would calm my crazy ass down.

He knows me well.
And our pictures are better this time around.

*We got off the Metro and started walking.  "Let's get a coffee at Starbuck's," I suggested, knowing I had a gift card in my wallet and that there'd be a coffee shop somewhere along our route.

"I want a hot tea," Jimi's brother declared.

"Look, there's a Starbuck's, right there on the corner," I cried.  ("Like a sign from God that I'm meant to get my caffeine fix today," I thought to myself.)

Jimi headed for the ATM, his brother and I headed inside the store.  There was a line.  A wrapped-around-the-inside-of-the-store line.  Fuck.

Jimi's brother's a swell guy, I adore him.  But he's quirky.  And set in his ways.  And waiting in line at a Starbuck's?  Not his cup of tea.

"We're just gonna wait here in line, huh?"  He asked.
"How long you think this is gonna take?"
"You'll get me a tea, right?  This is a buzz kill."

"Fuck, *Jimi'sbrother'sname*, let's just go."  I didn't give him a chance to respond.  I excused myself past the people in line behind us (who were really standing next to us because the store was just that tiny), and I stormed out of the shop.  Jimi was waiting for us just outside, with that sweet smile he always has for me - and then he saw I didn't have any coffee.

"Oh shit, I thought," is what he told me later.  "You had that irritated look on your face and no coffee and I knew exactly what had happened."

I calmed down eventually.  The orchids helped, but honestly, it wasn't until we snuck off and found a quiet spot along the Potomac that I was able to really lighten my mood, IYKWIMAITYD.

But the official story is that orchids have healing powers.