After-dinner conversation

"Meatloaf, peas, and mashed potatoes - there ain't a meal more American than that.  You eat that for dinner and Uncle Sam shows up on your doorstep, turns into a hot chick, and gives you a blowjob."

Um.

Okay.

I'll add that to the list of reasons I don't eat meatloaf.  Or peas.

So. Many. Words.

I logged onto my retirement account last night and learned that I've made $1600 in the last 3 months.  Woot!  For the entire first year I'd been contributing to my 401k, my funds were stagnant in the general trust account - the plan administrator had never allocated the money into the stocks and funds I'd selected upon enrollment.  It wasn't until I received my 4th quarterly statement with no real change that I realized my money was not working for me.  I did some digging, learned of the error, and immediately got online to move some shit around.  Looks like I've done good - I wish I'd paid more attention sooner.

We've had a good weekend, full of happy and love and relaxation.  Friday night we split tacos and chicken nachos at the Mexican joint up the road, then, in an unusual burst of trying-to-be-a-good-girlfriend-ness, we spent an hour walking around Big Lots.  (Jimi loves to shop.  I love to sit on my ass - which is why this counts as a random act of kindness.) Baby bought me a Wahl personal trimmer.  I'm the one that picked it up and said I'd like to have it, but I still feel like his insistence that he pay for it means he thinks I need it. And I do, but still - I don't want him to imply it.  You know what I mean, don't you?  This is why men say we're crazy.

Last night we had dinner and a ridiculous amount of dessert at Stacy & Jessie's.  Stacy made an amazing dinner of filets with an onion/garlic/cream/wine pan sauce, and then followed it up with chocolate and white chocolate dipped strawberries, bananas, oranges, apples...it was out of this world.  Jimi and I had taken the fixings for marshmallow treats made with Chocolate Cheerios...which we topped with the chocolate left over after all the fruit had been dipped.  We didn't head for home until after 1 a.m. - and considering all the chocolate we ate, it's no wonder we didn't make it to bed until after 3.

It's been a weekend of good breakfasts.  I made biscuits, bacon, and fried apples with butter and cinnamon this morning.  Yesterday, Jimi broke in our new waffle iron with a from-scratch recipe that required beating egg whites into stiff peaks before they were folded into the batter - I guess to make the waffles fluffy and light.  Jimi, it seems, had never before beaten egg whites into stiff peaks, and thus did not understand that using a mixing bowl and a fork was not the preferred method - but not until he'd been beating the egg whites with a fork for seven or so minutes.  And thought his shoulder was maybe going to fall off.  My first reaction to his request that I take over was "Baby what are you doing?  That's why God made immersion blenders!" and then I took over the mixing bowl and fork until I thought maybe my shoulder was going to fall off and we said "good enough" and folded the nearly-stiff peaks into the batter.  The results were delicious:

Now Jimi's in there making some sort of awesome stew/pot roast thing with onions and garlic and butter and tomatoes and a rump roast his sister gave us - it'll be delicious.  Oh!  And somehow I'd forgotten, but we made cherry-rum-vanilla ice cream yesterday.  That will be a nice follow-up to the meat.  

I sure do talk about food a lot.  

Something I think about almost as often as I think about food is babies, and what fate has in store for me, and my desire to have one.  And I've also been thinking a lot about things that I wasn't thinking about so much a month ago - things like money, and how much babies cost, and how much I don't have.  I admit, I lost site of that fact there for a minute or month or so.  And I'm still the most selfish person I know.  And I'm not completely sure I want to give that up 100%.  I'm such a flake.  

I want a baby, I do.  I want an amazing, beautiful, perfect little miracle made with love that has Jimi's kindness and spirit and my optimism and lightheartedness.  I want to grow and nurture that baby into a curious, imaginative child full of questions and a new view of the world.  I want to teach and watch our child grow to be a good person, a responsible person.  But, honestly, I don't want to try.  I don't want to chart my ovulation or temperature every month.  I don't want to take the spontaneity and fun out of sex - I don't want to feel like our romantic gestures need to center around a certain date on the calendar.  I don't want to feel anxious if we're too tired or guilty if we both feel sexiest a few days too early or too late to hit that little target.  I don't want to set myself up for failure - I said it before and I'll say it again - I'm not emotionally strong enough to try for months and months and months and have no success and then to follow that road to a point where I'd have a new adjective to add to my blog title and labels.  I can't face infertility right now, and if it is in fact my reality, I'd rather ignore it and just not know.  

And I keep reminding myself that one miscarriage does not mean I'm infertile.  Hell, if nothing else, it should assure me that I can, at the very least, get knocked up.  But I fear the worst, and so my mind goes to the worst place immediately, and living with that fear in my heart, day after day, is something I just can't do.  It's too hard, it's too scary, it's too sad.  

So here's what we're going to do:  We, Jimi and I, are going to live our lives the way we lived our lives before September 2010; before the positive pregnancy test, before the miscarriage, before my hormones sent me into a biological clock tailspin.  We're going to fuck when we're feeling frisky, calendars and ovulation calculators and luteal phases be damned.  And yeah, maybe I'll pay a little more attention in the middle of my cycle to try to make sure my legs are smooth and my personal trimmer has been put to good use and that I'm extra nice to my man, and that I remind him of how sexy I think he is.  And if a baby is something we're meant to have, eventually, we will.  And if we don't, I'll stay focused on all the things I love about my life, without a baby, and remind myself every now and again that I already have so much happy in my life.

And I'm sorry I lured you in with talk of food and then threw that on ya.  My bad.  

My Momma came over and carved pumpkins with me tonight.  My Momma is so amazing and wonderful and awesome.  We laughed and talked and toasted pumpkin seeds and smoked cigarettes and laughed and got near tears when we started talking about the brother, but we moved away from the topic quickly and continued to talk and laugh and smoke our smokes.

I made a LOVE pumpkin:

Momma made a Lady Liberty that turned out awesome and I'm mad I didn't get a picture of it.  

Then she put on Jimi's mask and danced in the dining room a bit, and I took pictures of that, but it was with her camera, which means those pics will never see the light of the internet.  

I love my Momma.  

OH!  Jimi's costume won the company costume contest.  He's currently putting on the finishing touches before our GAY BAR DEBUT tomorrow night.  There will be many pictures to follow, some how, some way.  

COOKIE DROP!!!

A co-worker of Jimi's suffered a family loss this weekend, and when the team took up a collection, Jimi volunteered to make some sweets for the kids, so we've spent our evening making cookies and marshmallow cereal treats.

Jimi chose to make a peanut butter-esque cookie - basically, he used the peanut butter cookie recipe, but substituted nutella for the peanut butter.  They're thinner and have a slightly less biscuit-y texture, and they could use some nuts or something on top to add texture and flavor, but they're yummy.  I have to keep reminding myself they're not for me.

The perfect finishing touch on a batch of fresh-from-the-oven cookies?  The Cookie Drop!  Gives them that broken look on top.

I need these out of my house, STAT.

Random Ramblings

~  I dislike the work that is involved in mowing a half acre yard after ignoring it and pretending someone else will do it for nearly 5 weeks.

          ~ I really like the way it makes my skin glow afterward, though.

          ~ And I really like the way Jimi is super attentive and sweet after I've finished.  I went straight into the shower after mowing, and he came in and washed my back then shampooed and conditioned my hair for me.  Pampering is always welcome, and he's oh so good at it.


~  I'm fixing The Pioneer Woman's Bow-Tie Lasagna for dinner tonight.  (Except I'm using rigatoni instead of bow-tie pasta because I like it better.  And I have it on-hand.)  Cheese, sauce, carbs, garlic - what could be better?

~  The beer has been moved into two smaller carboys for secondary fermentation.  I had a taste.  It is delicious, and it packs a punch.  I will have to be careful in my consumption.

I have to post things like this.  Otherwise, how will my blog ever live up to its name?

About Me.

I'm 30 years old.  I turned 30 in April.  For my birthday party, we had a cotton candy machine and a pink and purple Barbie Princess bouncy dollhouse.  "How old are you, Natalie?" my mom asked with a sneer.  "Only as old as I feel, Momma!" I answered with a smile.

I'm not married.  I've been married, but I'm not married anymore.

I live with my boyfriend.  He's been putting up with my particular version of crazy for nearly 4 years.  We probably won't get married, but we'll live happily ever after anyhow.

I don't have any children.  As far as I know, I've never been pregnant.  I'd really like to know what it's like to be pregnant.  I'm not sure I want the responsibility of raising a whole other person, though, so we'll leave this as it is for now.

I have a job.  It is alternately the best job in the whole wide world and a soul-sucking whore.  Which definition fits is dependent upon which day you ask the question.

I've never been a member of any organized religion.  When I was growing up, it was a special treat if a friend or family member would let me tag along and go to church with them on Sundays.  Yet I was raised by two parents who have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.  My Granny read us Bible stories and taught us how to say our prayers.  My entire religious upbringing consisted of "Know to whom you are thankful for your blessings" and "you don't have to go to church to get to Heaven".  Now my religious views are something like: Don't be an asshole, and you'll probably be okay.

I love Mormons.  I would join their church, except for the whole tithing thing, and all the service requirements, and the religious beliefs.

I like to smoke.  I like to drink.  I like to cuss.  I'm trying to not do all of these, or to at least do them not as much.

I am tactless.  I'm an open book.  I am obnoxious.  I am self-obsessed.  I'm moody.  I'm lazy.  I'm a perfectionist, when I do try.

I love plants.  I don't exactly have a green thumb, but there are definitely shades of blue and yellow mixed in there somewhere.  I've got a house and front porch full of things I've managed to not kill.  I've never tried to garden, but I'm going to one of these days.

I want to have a year's supply of food stored in my basement.

I want to be a runner.  Most days, I can't find enough motivation to take the dog for a walk.

I love to cook, but sometimes I forget.  The work and effort required to get the kitchen clean, do the cooking, then clean the kitchen all over again...it makes me forget and carryout sounds easier.

My parents are fantastic, good, warm people.  They adore me and love me and are on my side even when the rest of the world is against me.  My Daddy told me once, "No one will ever love you the way your mother and I love you.  No one will ever want good things for you the way we do.  You can trust us always, because we will always want only the best for you."  They've never let me down.

My brother is...not someone I want to talk about.  I love him.  I want good things for him.  I want to bitchslap him.

I've only got the one blood sibling, but my cousin Stacy is like a sister who didn't live with us when I was growing up.  Maybe she went to boarding school?  A close one, though, because we still saw each other all the time.  She was my partner in crime, my worst enemy, my true bff, the person I played "doctor" with (our own version, more "E.R."-esque, that didn't involve any touching or taking off clothes), the person I got into trouble with, the person who explored The Property with me, the one who I told all my secrets to and who loved me anyhow, the one who "got" me, always.  (And later confessed that she looked up to me and wanted to be like me, and I'll always love her forever for thinking I'm cool.)

I'm a voracious reader.  I prefer books, paperback ones, but a hardback will do, and if a computer's all that's available, bring it on, too.  I don't want a Kindle and I don't want an IPad, but I will if I must.  I love to go to the Book & Music Exchange and sort through the mishmash of titles on display - and I can't walk away from the shelves until my arms are full or my basket is heavy.  I come home and line up my new-to-me selections on the second shelf from the top, on the bookcase closest to the front door in the front sitting room.  Then I spend the next few days/weeks/months making my way through that shelf, saving this silly romance for later, after the serious Oprah's Book Club selection, and then after that we'll have Amy Tan because hers are always good.

I love elephants.  My Granny loved elephants.  Maybe I get it from her.  Maybe they're just really awesome creatures.  This video makes me teary-eyed, and made me decide I'm going to Thailand on my next real vacation.  And I'm going to buy this:

and two or three like it and I'm going to hang them all over my house.  

I'm a sentimental sap.  I hold on to ticket stubs and show programs and little origami figures he makes out of the foil ripped from the inside of a fresh pack of cigarettes.  I have a treasure trove of shit/garbage/junk stowed in various boxes and drawers and bowls and vases all over the house.  In our last home, I even displayed it, using push pins, on the wall in the kitchen.  When we moved, I packed it all into a box.  That box is in the upstairs closet.  Yes, you probably will see me on an episode of Hoarders one day.

I don't watch television.  (I'll give you a minute, I know it's a shock.)  But no, I don't watch TV.

That's kind of a lie.  I watched 6 episodes of Weeds last night. We have a Blockbuster subscription and they mail movies to our house.  It doesn't count as TV watchin'.  And Friday?  When we were over at Rick's?  I totally watched a half hour of DC Cupcakes (which I'd never seen, and adored) and (you'll never believe it) Say Yes To The Dress!  (Can you believe it?  Jimi and Rick both put on their big boy panties and let me watch the pretty dress show!)  But before that, I probably didn't turn a TV on for 2 weeks.  That's why I say I don't watch TV.  I don't have "my shows".  I don't care.  It's all a bunch of shit, and most of it is gross or depressing or nasty.  (But some of it is great, like the cupcake show and the pretty dress show and the one where those people have all those kids, that one's good too.)

I'm a bad story teller.  I go off on tangents and forget the point and then can't find my way back to it and so I just get to the point and everyone's standing there looking at me like "Did you really just take ten minutes and a detour to talk about gun control legislation to tell us that cherries are on sale at Kroger?"

Now that you know all this...aren't you glad you started reading my blog?  I'll bet you can't wait to hear what kind of crazy shit I talk about next.

I'll never be a recipe-sharing, "I'm an awesome cook" sort of blogger.

I cooked dinner tonight.  (That's two nights in a row, if you're counting.  Obviously, I'm counting.)  It was good, but I'm mostly proud of the fact that I cooked a meal wherein I planned the portions accurately - we each got a good-for-us, filling, yummy dinner, and we didn't have the option of eating too much, nor were there leftovers to throw away (or store in the fridge for a few weeks so they can be thrown away later, after they've started growing things).

That's the extent of my excitement about cooking lately.  I remember that I like cooking; it's the actual execution and clean-up that seems like too much to mess with.