Oh shit, again?

The alarm went off at 9:30 - classical music, soft and soothing and a gentle way to ease into a new day.  I opened my eyes and found his blue ones - he smiled at me, then pulled my face close to his and kissed me hard on the mouth with his soft lips before putting his cheek against mine and whispering in my ear "Good morning, I love you." 

Giant blueberry pancakes and crispy fried bacon with coffee and milk - breakfast took nearly an hour and a half to cook and serve.  While I waited for the edges to dry so I could flip the cakes, I read one of my two new books that arrived yesterday - Stephanie Nielson's Heaven is Here.  Her husband served his mission in Louisville - I wonder if I met him?  The world is awfully small. 

Jimi's got another week of training ahead of him and it makes me sad.  One of my favorite things about our relationship is the fact of waking up next to him every morning.  (see above)  That said, I wasn't horribly lonely or sad in the last week, so I'm sure I'll be fine this week. 

I've got that pork tenderloin marinating and I'm gonna grill the shit out of it tonight.  I'm also gonna have a lovely spinach salad and a baked tater with bacon, cheese, and sour cream (greek yogurt).  I made a strawberry cake yesterday on a whim, and iced it with my favorite, rainbow chip icing.  There's a half gallon of Blue Bell Banana Split ice cream in the freezer.  I'm going to get fat this week. 

After I finish Mrs. Nielson's book, I've got Jenny Lawson's (aka The Bloggess) new release on deck - Let's Pretend This Never Happened.  And then, after I've finished that, I've got hundreds of free books at my disposal via the kindle and the 'net. 


And Melinda and I are starting boot camp on Tuesday.  YAY! 

See?  No time to get lonely.  He'll be back before I know it, and then life will back to normal again. 

(I tried to blog on the kindle, but I cannot.  There's something incompatible with the text-entry screen and it doesn't pull up the keyboard, so I can blog a title and maybe some labels, but no actual blog words.  I ain't got anything all that interestin' to say no how.)  :)  See ya next week!

My boyfriend's back...

Jimi's home!  YAY!  I missed him very much and the house feels like home again now that he's back in it.

Also I missed computering with a computer - the kindle is a great little tablet, but it's not ideal for exclusive internetting.  I like bigger pictures. And a keyboard.  

I like to sleep in a cold bedroom under the weight of a lot of blankets.  In summer, this requires dropping the AC temp before bed, in winter I lower the heat.  In Spring and Fall, those delicious in-between seasons, I live for nights like last night - breezy and a little rainy, but not rainy enough to soak my floors if I leave the windows open in the bedroom.  I didn't check the weather, but Jimi says it got down to 50.  Sweet.  It was freezing in the bedroom when you left the safety of the covers, but snuggled under the sheets, the thermal blanket, and the down comforter, the ambient air was juuuust riiiight.  For me, at least - Jimi insists I'm crazy... like that's some sort of news flash.

I finished my first kindle book last night - 11/22/63 by Stephen King.  I'm a huge SK fan, and this book didn't disappoint.  Like so many of his novels, the character development was excellent, the story moved along quickly, and I was completely sucked in to the world King illustrated with his words.  I'm not sure about the medium, though.  I really liked this book a lot, and as is often the case with books I enjoy, I want to share it with the other readers in my life, like Jimi, my Momma, Daddy.  I want to pass it along to Stacy, who, like me, in keeping with the precedents set in our adolescence,  will probably forever read whatever Stephen King puts out simply because Stephen King wrote it.  But this medium, this e-book format...I'm not sure about it.  I really loved it, until I realized my $15 book is a file on an electronic device that I can't drop off at Stacy's or Momma's without a care, as I would a $15 paperback.  I didn't really think that through when I made the impulse purchase.  I can't pass this book around to my closest friends and family and then go offload it at the Book & Music Exchange  in trade for a half dozen other dogeared tomes.  I think I may need a few days to sort out my feelings on this subject - till then, free e-books only. 

I just remembered today is Thunder Over Louisville - a day of celebration in our downtown, with an air show and the World's Largest fireworks display, bringing together a crowd of a quarter million on our riverbank to kick off the two-week lead-up to the Kentucky Derby.  For the last few years, bossman has given us all tickets to the local AAA baseball stadium, where we watched a game, watched the airshow, got drunk, and watched fireworks before sitting in the hours-long traffic jam that always results at the end of the night.  Last year, though, the weather turned to shit (rain and sleet and temps in the mid-30s) and no one went - the company had something like $1200 worth of unused tickets.  Bossman swore he'd never do it again, but when the time came to order tickets this year, he offered them again.  We all refused, for fear the day would turn out like last year and no one would want to go.  Looks like we made the right choice - it's 50 degrees outside and drizzling.  I'm not much interested in being outside in that crap all day.  I'm good right here in my living room.  (Besides, the badass park across the street has an awesome lookout from which you can see the entire downtown - complete with fireworks on Thunder night - so maybe we'll take advantage of the walking-distance vantage point.  Daddy took Brother and I there one year when Momma was out of town - I remember hearing later that there was a huge animatronic dinosaur on the bridge that year, and I was bummed that I didn't get to see it because we were miles and miles away.) 

WOW, what a weekend!

What's that?  The weekend's just beginning?  Oh.  So it is.  I'm sorry you didn't get to start yours on Wednesday.

We're just home from an amazing night at the swimming pool hotel.  The what, you ask?  The swimming pool hotel.  You know, the one where they have a swimming pool IN your hotel room.  Here, let me show you what I mean:

See?  Our very own pool.

The hotel chain is called Sybaris, and I've been dreaming of spending a night there since I heard of it 4 years ago.  It was totally worth the wait.

I imagine everyone in the world is reading Momastery these days, because that Glennon is one smart cookie.  I found her blog over a year ago, the piece called A Mountain I'm Willing To Die On, and last March she posted Birthdays, wherein she tells the story of her first birthday spent with her husband and how he didn't know what her expectations were and she was so disappointed.  Instead of brushing it under the rug, though, she made the brilliant move to *wait for it* talk to her husband, and explain why birthdays are a big deal for her and that celebrating special occasions is something that makes her feel loved.  That post encouraged me to give my requests to Jimi regarding this year's birthday - and man, did he outdo every one of my expectations.

Wednesday night, he presented me with a smallish package, wrapped in red paper dotted with multicolored Christmas trees, with a card tucked in under the hand-tied pink fabric bow.  He gave it to me early, saying I'd probably want to take it with us for our overnight trip on Thursday.  I thought it was a vibrator - we went to the naughty shop a few weeks back and there was a great display of high-end vibrators that the sales lady claimed came with a 10 year warranty.  Have you ever heard of such a thing?  Turns out the warranty is really only for a year, girlfriend just didn't know her job too good.  Anyhow, I wasn't willing to drop $120 on a vibrator that night, and when we came home we discovered that you could find the same thing on Amazon for $70.  Score!  Except I never did buy it, because, well, do I really NEED a $70 vibrator?  So yeah, I thought that's what was wrapped in the Christmas paper.  It wasn't.  It was a kindle fire.  Holy crap!  A kindle?!  I couldn't believe it.  I spent the next few hours playing with my new toy - ha!  That sounds funny after talking about vibrators.  But yeah, I "bought" some free e-books, discovered our Amazon Prime account allows me one free book rental per month from the online library, ordered a protective cover for the kindle, bought that new First Aid Kit album and uploaded it to my cloud (I have a cloud!), played Angry Birds for the first time.  LOVE.

(And I'm the girl who swore, when e-readers came out, that I'd never own one.  Books are where it's at, I said, and no electronic device can ever be as satisfying as turning the pages on an honest-to-goodness, made-of-paper book.  Um, yeeeaahh...unless that electronic device can also allow you to surf the web, read blogs, stream Pandora...  I often say dumb things.  Let's just leave it at that, shall we?)

For the last few days, Jimi'd been telling me "We're going to Indianapolis and catching a train up to Wisconsin and back.  An overnight train ride!  We've got a room on a sleeper car, and there's a dining car - I think it'll be fun."  "Uh huh" with a side-eye was my response.  I didn't buy it.  I didn't know what he had planned, but I didn't think that was it.  In an effort to get the secret out of him, I told him yesterday morning, "If we're really going to be riding a train all night, I'm just wearing yoga pants and a tank top (no bra) and my grey sweater." (My friend Angie calls this get-up "fat ballerina".  Or maybe that's only when you're wearing leggings, not yoga pants.  Either way, it's my favorite outfit and I always giggle at the idea of me as a fat ballerina when I wear it, which is every day I can possibly manage to leave the house without a bra.)  Jimi just shrugged his shoulders at my comment and said, "So long as you're comfortable."  I sorta expected him to argue - I mean, what about the nice dinner part of my request?  So I sat on the bed to be packed a bra, a nice sweater, some clean jeans, a comfy dress I like to lounge around in - I figured we probably didn't have reservations somewhere with a dress code if he was letting me leave the house dressed like a fat ballerina, but I didn't want to find myself with no options if we did actually end up somewhere that frowns on yoga pants in public.  Jimi comes in, sees my to-be-packed pile and sighs, "What are you going to do with all these clothes?"  "Just in case," I say.  He put aside the sweater and the dress.  "You won't need them.  Trust me." 

He was right.  We were naked within minutes of the above photo being taken.  Actually, he was already naked from the waist down - he saw me starting to take a picture and ran for the bathroom.  Oops!  I'm not used to a wall full of mirrors.

Ten miles outside of Louisville, he told me where we were really going.  At that point, my interest in a fancy sit-down dinner was gone - I wanted to get to that pool as fast as I could.  We got into Indianapolis an hour and a half before our 6 o'clock check-in, so we went to the Wal-Mart down the way for provisions.  There was a Noodles & Company across the street that promised a quick meal, and it was conveniently located in the same shopping center as a liquor store and a naughty shop.  On a whim, I popped into the naughty shop and bought a grab bag of novelties while Jimi bought the booze, and we headed off into the sunset toward our evening in the Den of Sin.  (The grab bag was an awesome impulse buy.  That's all I have to say about that.)

Our suite was amazing.  For starters, you're in your own building, so you don't have to worry about hearing your neighbors gettin' freaky in the middle of the night.  When you walk in, the pool is on your right, and I expected to be hit in the face with an awful chlorine smell, but there's a wall of windows dividing the suite in half and the door opens to the living/bedroom section.  To the left of the door was a massage chair (!!), an electric fireplace, and the entertainment center in the corner.  There were two club chairs and a round table along the side wall, and then the king-sized bed on a light-up platform jutted out at an angle into the room.  A flat-screen TV hung just above the massage chair, and could be turned in any direction for your viewing pleasure.  (Free porn on 3 channels.)  The carpet was plush and freshly vacuumed, and there were two soft robes waiting for us on the bed.  (Available for purchase, $75, buy one get one free!  We didn't come home with robes.)  The mini-kitchen had a small fridge (complete with bag-o-ice in the freezer section), a microwave, coffee-maker, a couple of mugs and champagne flutes.  There was a huge two-person whirlpool tub, his and her sinks, and a bidet!  Have you ever used a bidet?  Me neither, till last night.  I was impressed at the selection of toiletries they offered - toothbrushes and toothpaste, Bath & Body Works shower gels and shampoos and conditioners, cotton balls and Q-tips.  I don't stay at hotels very often, okay?

Then there was the pool.  They've got several different options when planning your stay, and each has a different sized pool.  Ours was 16 feet long, 4 feet deep.  Not enough for diving or actual swimming (though it did have a swim jet, I don't think it was powerful enough to actually swim against; I kept running into the wall.), but plenty big for hanging out naked in the 92 degree water with your honey.  The next time we go, we're hoping to stay in the suite with the second floor loft, with a slide into the 22' pool below.  How awesome would that be?  Really awesome, that's how awesome.  A pipe system hidden by fake ivy rained water into the middle of the pool - we expected it to be cold water, but it was shower-temperature; Jimi loved it, I thought it was a little too hot.

There was a normal shower in the bathroom, but in the pool portion of the suite there was also a glassed-in shower cave that doubled as a sauna.  Jimi liked to sit in the steam for 10 minutes or so, getting real hot and sweaty, then turn on ice cold water full blast through the four overhead shower nozzles and the hand-held sprayer.  "Like the Norwegians," he said.  Yeah, I prefer to go from steam to pool, not steam to ice, but I'm probably just a wimp and doing it wrong.

Remember the kindle he gave me?  Their sound system included a jack to plug into it, so we were able to pipe music throughout the entire space.  They didn't offer free Wi-Fi - I imagine most of their clientele aren't interested in surfing the web much during their stay - but my phone can act as a portable hotspot, so we were able to stream Pandora all night.

Jimi is smart and suggested we sip on a concoction of lemon booze, orange juice, and champagne all night, and it was delicious.  (I would've drunk more champagne, though, if I'd realized he'd paid $35 for the bottle.  I'm more of a $12 champagne girl, and I prefer the sweeter ones over the Brut.)  We also had crackers, and filled the mini-fridge with hummus, cheese, and a tray of fresh-cut fruit with vanilla-bean cream cheese dipping sauce.  And a mini cheesecake, which I somehow completely forgot about until I was packing everything up this morning.  THAT is how awesome our night was - I forgot about cheesecake.

Wednesday night we had dinner with my family for a cousin's 16th birthday, and around the table upon our arrival went choruses of "Nat, you look so good!" and "Nat, you've lost a lot of weight, haven't you?" and "Oh, you look great!"  Always nice to hear, and I'm hearing it more often these days and that's really nice.  But I've not really SEEN the difference yet.  Sure, my clothes fit differently, but I've still not been real sure what all the fuss is about.  I saw it last night, in the full-wall mirrors.  I stood there in the bright lights and saw my naked self.  I see what they mean when they say what they do.  I do look good.  I mean, I'm still carrying some extra baggage, but compared to where I've been, I look great.  I recognize my body, the one I remember loathing when I was 16 and had that ittle bitty pooch and now look back on with longing because my only pooch was little and alone.  I'm not down to just the one yet, but I'll get there.  I can see, now, that I'm making progress, and man, that's great motivation.  I laid on my back last night, on the plush carpet, and put my hands on my hips.  Guys, I have hip bones again.  I can actually see them and feel them.  I was pretty bummed a few years back when I realized they were missing.  Last night, I felt sexy.  I spent something like 18 hours naked in a room full of mirrors, and I felt sexy.  Fuck yes.

We spent hours in the pool, floating, kissing, laughing.  We played silly water games and did handstands.  We talked and talked and talked. We fed each other fruit and took turns sighing over the awesomeness of the chair massage.  We watched some porn reality show on the Playboy channel and laughed at the chick giving a blowjob to the strap-on.  (Seriously, what's the point?)  

I'm just so happy and glad that Jimi took us on this little excursion.  I'm flattered by his attention and generosity.  This one night away, it was like a refresh key for the romance portion of our relationship - there was nothing in the world except the two of us, and we had a comfortable, fun setting where we could relax and wallow in being in love.

On our way home today, we stopped at the outlet malls and I bought myself a new dress.  Jimi says he needs to give me more excuses to dress up, and as he dropped me at the fitting room with an armful of frilly frocks, he headed toward the Tools & More with this: "Don't just try them all on and decide you hate them and give up.  Find a dress.  We'll go out."  Yes sir.  I found a dress, but not until he came back and picked it out for me.  He dresses me so much better than I dress myself - he knows while the dress is on the hanger if it's right for me; I'm doing good if I can make that distinction while I'm wearing it.  Clothes shopping is typically a horrible experience for me, resulting in a complete meltdown of my self-esteem and extra beer and junk food consumption.  Today it was fun, though.  The 14s fit, and I may have been able to get into some 12s if I'd really wanted to push it.  My favorite dress was a gorgeous red number that wasn't in my size, but was in a 10, and so I tried it on anyhow.  The bodice was too tight, but it didn't look as awful as I'd expected and it wasn't uncomfortable and it would've fit well in another few months...I almost bought it.  I sorta wish I had, now that I'm thinking more about it.  I may go see of the local store has my size.  I really loved that dress.

Jimi humored me and let me spend 20 minutes trying on rings in the discount gold and diamond outlet.  I don't dare let myself read into that, or that he said, "I'm glad to get a better idea of your tastes, to know what you like best."   I hate that the rings I like the best are the ones I don't want because for their price, I could nearly build a Sybaris-esque master suite onto my home.  (Which we're seriously considering, by the way.  That's how we're spending the first lottery check.  When we win.)  Honestly, when it comes to rings, all I want is the wedding band, yo. 

And then we drove home and kissed the puppy and the kitty and lived happily ever after the end.

I started this post right after we got home, maybe around 5ish.  It's after 9 now.  Jimi's been sleeping for hours - he says he pulled the bottom fitted sheet off the mattress when he was pulling back the covers on his side of the bed last night, and he never got it back on all the way, so it balled up underneath him all night and was lumpy and so he didn't sleep well.  That's not the hotel's fault, he does that at home too.  Even if he'd slept as soundly as I did, we didn't sleep long enough, there was too much excitement to be had.  I'm probably going to be in bed myself before too long - it was a fantastic night, and I'm appropriately worn out because of it.  My arms and legs and back have that good I-got-a-good-workout stiffness and soreness from so many hours in the water.  I feel relaxed and calm and happy and in love.  I'm content with my world, right here, within these walls.

32 is already better than 31, and it hasn't even officially started yet.  



 

In other news...2

It hit over 60 degrees today.
In case you've forgotten, it's December 14th.
I'm not complaining, just stating facts...in a sarcastic tone and with a confused look on my face.
I'd really like a white Christmas, but that ain't lookin' likely.
Maybe I filled my white Christmas quota when I was living in Michigan.

Jimi slow-roasted a brisket last night.  At 3:30 a.m., his phone started making gadowful noises, and you'll never believe this, but he made it do that on purpose!  So at three thirty, his alarm goes off and I'm all "OMGWTFKITTENS?!" and he's all "Gotta check the meat" and so I went to go pee.  Have you ever been awake at 3:30 in the morning when there's a brisket roasting in your oven?  My house smells fucking delicious, yo.  (Of course, it's not 3:30 now, but it does still smell delicious in here.  I hope he brings some home - see, it was for work, and so I did not get to taste not one little morsel of the delicious-smelling meat. Sad face.)  Anyhow, he checked his meat and came back to bed and gave me a big hug and kiss and for a second I thought he was gonna try to get some sexy time started and I was thinking "oh hell, it's 3:30 in the morning, but what the hell, okay. but man, I'm so sleepy" but it didn't matter, because he just wanted to kiss me and cuddle a little.  His hair smelled like meat.  I was really hungry when I woke up this morning.

I'm hungry now.  I'm thinking something easy, like tomato soup and grilled cheese.  Or leftover pizza from lunch. Like I said, easy is the name of the game.

I've done a little Christmas shopping, but I'm not nearly finished.  It'll be a busy weekend, or a busy week next week, or a busy Christmas Eve...

We're reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and it's awesome.  Have I ever mentioned how much I love that Jimi's a reader?  I love it.  I love that we read the same books, each of us choosing a different marker, and have a "i'll get to the end faster than you!" thing going on.

I love everything about him.  He's dreamy.

Oh, and Finn chewed the face off of one of the reindeer under the Christmas tree.  I'm pretty sure it's the Jimi-reindeer, not the Natalie-reindeer.  Poor Jimi-reindeer.

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.

I've been taking pictures of things! And stuff!

I've mentioned a few times recently how I scored a new phone through work - traded in the old clunky "I don't know how to make this work for me" Blackberry for a new "I don't know how to make this work for me either but it's a lot faster and cooler" HTC myTouch HD.  I'll be honest - one of the biggest reasons I wanted a new phone is because I was way jealous of my friends with their smartphones and badass camera features.  The blackberry could take a total of like nine pictures, but they were horrible quality and did I mention it could only hold nine pictures?  Nine is not a lot.  

So I've been playing with this new toy - learning how to download apps, trying to think of apps I need in my life that I've somehow managed to live without for the last 31 years - and I've been taking a lot of pictures.  Not of anything in particular.  Just things.  And stuff.  And I'll be honest - one of the reasons I wanted this new phone so bad and not just another Blackberry reincarnation?  I wanted to do this - take all these pictures of stuff and things...

...and then post them on my blog.  Because you guys care, right?  

Store-bought, or home made?
There's a story here.

Giant Cupcake!

Giant cupcake fall down.

He's begging for food.  He's not supposed to do that.

This is my reading table.
It's on the front porch.
I sit next to it while I read.
Beer cans and bug spray and dog brush and cigs and candy go here.

Those cool editing things you can do with this camera?
It's pretty cool. 

Shouldn't have been speeding.  

Pretty sure Autumn has officially arrived:

I was married to a pilot once.
Planes don't get me too excited these days,
but bi-planes will always be neat.

These prayer flags were given to us by our landlord at Christmas of 2007.
They hang over the gate that leads to the breezeway.
We pass under them twice each day, entering and leaving our home.

Just LOOK at that face!
(Not the floor, just the face.)

Shower cleaner.
Bone of contention.
Devil duck's watching you shower.

When I see a dead stick on the ground, I think "Oooh, that would burn good."
Jimi says I shouldn't say things like that on the internet because people will be scared of me.
I'm not scary.
I just like fire.  A lot.

Hello Mr. Cricket!

Jimini is obviously his name.

He's only interested because he thinks I may have food.

Hey look!  More evidence of Fall:

What are you reading?

I've been reading those Sookie Stackhouse books by Charlaine Harris.  (That's where True Blood came from.) Holy shitballs, what a great story-line!  My friend who loaned me the first 7 books described them as "quick, easy, interesting reads" and he hit the nail right on the head.  I've flown through the first 5 in the last 2 weeks, and somewhere in there I've managed to go to work and throw a surprise birthday party.

Conversely, Jimi, who is also reading the series (even if he's only on book 3 and I'm on number 6), has said, "Suck me, Sookie!" often enough that I hear it in my head automatically every time I hear, think, or read "Sookie Stackhouse".

I'm gonna go finish book six now.  If you've got the other books in the series, starting with number 8 and on up, and wanted to send them to me, that'd be totally cool.

Wah wah wat wha wah

The world ended last night.  And I'm pretty sure I made out with some scrawny pirate-looking dude, but it's okay, because later I killed him.

We were at a party, and the world shifted.  We didn't know what had happened, or how, only that all of a sudden, everything was different and we were no longer enjoying the party, we were trying to decide who we could trust so we could make our escape and try to get to safety.  From the second-floor veranda, we could see smoke from fires in the distance.  The roads were choked, traffic lights out, but not as many people were wandering the streets as you'd expect - we guessed the ones we didn't see were probably dead.

Pirate man was some sort of boss, and he'd been making eyes at me all night.  After the shit hit the fan, I had to employ whatever tactics necessary to get us out of there safely, so I did what any reasonably creative chick would do - I made him think I was going to have sex with him and then I killed him instead.  I didn't get any weapons from him, but his death made our escape possible, and before we knew it, we were on our way home. I haven't told Jimi yet, but I'm confident he'll understand.

I can't remember where we got the plane or what we did with the car, but none of that really matters now as they're both useless - the car was out of gas, and the plane...well, we ditched the plane into the river to get a closer look at this factory.  There were hills and shit all around us anyhow - we were going to find ourselves with empty tanks before we found a flat place to land.  I must say, when my ex-husband was teaching me how to fly his dad's plane, I thought it was just a novelty - I never realized it would one day help save my life.  And water landings aren't nearly as scary as they look if you're expecting it.  The hardest part was accepting that I'd probably killed a few innocents, but dammit, if one of us has to die, I'd rather it be them than me.  What are all these people doing in the water, anyhow?  It's like a lazy river up in here, people floating by in giant tubes and rafts and on doors and shit.  Where are the boats and canoes and kayaks?  How did people manage to get their floats blown up?  All the electricity is out.

The hole in the foundation of the building told us it probably had been abandoned for a while, and we were right - it had been claimed as shelter by few guys and a gal who had an awesome stock of emergency and survival equipment.  I'm not sure why they took a liking to us and let us stay, but when that flotilla of strapped-together rowboats crept by, the didn't slit our throats when we took defensive positions and readied our weapons to fight along side them.  A chunky girl who was probably 35 but looked 20, with short brown curls that clung close to her long, rectangular head, appeared in the hole where a window used to be - she was out of the boats and on the ledge.  She wore a yellow dress covered with small pink flowers, and her double chin hung down so low it rested on her chest.  She disappeared from the window, acting as if she'd not seen us, but I knew she had, and I crept along the wall, just on the opposite side from her, and when she turned to enter the doorway, i drove that battery-powered drill bit up through that double chin, through the roof of her mouth, and into her brain.  She was not going to ruin my day.  The floating caravan continued upriver, uncaring that they'd lost one of their own, or unwilling to risk their own hides to check on her.  We continued organizing the well-stocked supplies our new-found friends were generously offering to share.



And then I woke up.

Pretty sure I can blame this on the fact that I'm currently reading "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies".  Almost certain.

Jimi's reading it too; I hope he got enough sleep last night to have dreams.  (I doubt it, though - his shoulder has been hurting him something awful, and he woke me up screaming at 3 a.m. because he'd gone to roll over and had somehow tweaked it the wrong way.  Poor guy.  It's not bad enough for surgery, but PT and cortisone haven't helped.  Boo.)

My week's been pretty fantastic so far.  No plans for that to change any time soon.  It's almost the weekend - and a long weekend at that.  YAY!  Looks like we're camping.  I love that, except for the getting-ready, packing-up, loading-up, assembling, taking-down, packing-up, unpacking, washing-everything-again parts.  The part in the middle, where we're camping and doing nothing, that part is awesome and fantastic and ALMOST worth the trouble of all the rest.

I ate an avocado for the first time yesterday.  Well, it wasn't the first time I've ever had avocado, but it was the first time I've cut one in half, removed the pit, and sat down with a spoon to eat one.  I loved it!  I want more!  I went to Valu Market last night and was going to buy some more...but they were, I shit you not, $2.69 each.  Holy shit, $2.69 for an avocado?!  I read a blog post just the other day wherein one of my bloggy friends bemoaned the fact that her man eats a $2 avocado every day.  I can't remember what I paid for the one I bought, but I promise it wasn't $2.69.  I hate Valu Market.  Highway robbery.  It's some bullshit.  Know what makes me maddest?  The neighborhood served by that market is mostly made up of recent immigrants - I feel like they're being taken advantage of.  $0.69 bananas, $3.50 gallons of milk, $3.69 taco kits.  I hate that store, and I just decided I'll never shop there again.  (Unless I just need beer or water chestnuts or baby corns - their prices on beer and canned Asian vegetables are pretty reasonable.)

Do you dream?  Do you remember details of your dreams?  Do your dreams have recurring themes?  What did you dream about last night?    Talk to me, people!

Oh, and Happy Hump Day!

Today is the greatest...

The shit?  You know, from my house?  It's all gone and on its way to you.  And it didn't even cost $100, which really surprised me and made my checking account happy.  And Jimi's going to be so happy to see the living room again!

I was a bitch to Jimi all day yesterday.  As a token of his appreciation, he laid out my clothes for today, including socks that match each other AND match my shirt.  (That never happens - who has time to find socks that match their outfit?  Finding socks that match each other is hard enough.)  And my panties and bra match too!  I feel like I should get a gold star for being so fucking fashionable.  Jimi probably has earned a blowjob.  (Don't tell him I said that, okay?  Don't tell my mom I said that either.)

I found a semi-Christian fiction romance novel that I really, really like.  It's fluff, but it's so easy to read fluff.  Sometimes fluff is all you need.

I've only chewed off one of my fingernails in the last seven days; that's almost a record.  The problem is, now they're long enough where I can feel them - they're not bitten down even with the skin on my fingertips any longer.  This is the danger zone; this is when I feel the tips of my nails over and over again, and I worry the edges incessantly until, finally, one little edge gives and then the entire growth is history, chewed upon and spat out.

Our grass won't stop growing.  It just gets taller and taller and taller and taller.

I just realized I didn't put any notes or cute little cards or anything inside the packages I mailed.  So, if you get a random package from Natalie in Kentucky and you're all "WTF?", it's from me.  Kari, you got the leftover crap. :)  And someone's husband is going to be very confused.

Life is peaches and cream and strawberries with sugar.

It's about to storm like a motherfucker.  We had a nasty squall roll through early this morning, but this one's a bit more slow-moving.  It's been creeping in for an hour, and the first drops are just starting to fall.

I'm gonna go back out on the porch and watch.

Happy Monday, Friends!

I have some things to tell you.

My computer is back!  Okay, it was barely gone.  I dropped it off after work today with Britney Robinson of Robinson Technology & Financial Management Services - within 30 minutes she called to say she'd restored all of my photos YAY!!!  In less than 3 hours, she called to say she'd cleared 5 viruses and restored all documents (including tax returns) and our machine was ready to be picked up.  It's running like new and the cost was much less than I would've expected - a third of what I paid to repair my ex-husband's machine when he made the same mistake years ago.

Do I have to say how good it feels to know my pictures are safe?  Or that I'm going to back those bitches up post haste?

Other things I want to talk to you about:

~  I've got this ridiculously bad habit of accidentally buying Christian Fiction books.  I don't pay much attention when I'm buying books, mostly because I don't spend a lot of money when I buy books and if you're only spending a quarter or fifty cents, how bad could it really be, you know?  Speaking sign language gorilla bad.  My five year old died and now I'm going to clone him except OH WAIT that opens the door for late-term abortions bad.  No, really.  Those are the story-lines for two of the books I picked up at that neighborhood yard sale last Spring - a REALLY Catholic neighborhood, turns out.  The Encyclopedia of the Saints I picked up should've tipped me off maybe.  Or the "Women of Faith in Fiction" badge on the cover that I barely glanced at before my purchase was complete.

I never know these books are Christian fiction until I'm like 10 pages in, and by then, I'm officially "Reading" the book.  I've got this rule, you see - once I start reading a book, I have to finish it.  That piece of shit called "The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon" or something like that?  Stephen King?  It's like 150 pages and it took me 10 months to finish it, but I read every page of that pile of poop.  So I start reading these books, and I have to finish them, even though it involves lots of eye rolling and soapbox preaching and loud exclaiming.  

~  I love Jimi so much.  I say it all the time, I know, but my God, I love that man like I love breathing air.  You know how when you're in a long term relationship that feeling of awe, that overwhelming ILOVEYOU feeling, it ebbs and flows, right?  It does with us too, sure, but we flow a lot more than we ebb.  And our highs are so much higher than our lows are low.  And he continues to amaze me every day with his ability and willingness to bend, to shift, to move with me, even when I'm unpredictable and nonsensical and crazy.  He's a lesson in patience, goodness, kindness, generosity.  Every moment I spend with him makes me a better person - he makes me want to do more, to be more.

~  I need to go see if I can play my Sims 3 game again - the restore fucked it all up and I'm hoping the magic fix fixed that too.  Fingers crossed!

~  There are two blogging award thingies hanging out there with my name on them that I've yet to acknowledge. I haven't not noticed - I've been busy, and I'm sorry.  Give me a few more days, ladies, please?

~  I'm really going to have a giveaway and give away shit from my house.  100 things.  No shit.  100.  Tell your friends.  No more details until I have 100 followers.  Yes, I'm trying to lure more people to my blog with the promise of mailing them things I don't want anymore.  You know you're going to enter.

I think that's a good place for an ending, eh?  Happy (almost) Tuesday!

Patty thinks I'm sweet.

(Don't tell her the truth, okay?)

She gave me this:

She blogs over at Another cookie, please! - we found each other through For The Love Of Blogs, and she's the best bloggy friend.  She leaves the best comments and she said that she'd cut my hair if I go to her and she shoots too!  Chicks with guns - automatic awesome.  

Now I'm supposed to tell you five random things about me.  I'm hoping I can come up with some things I've not told you before.  Give me a minute...

1.  I sucked my thumb until I was 9 years old.  I had a blankie (an old crib sheet) that went everywhere with me, and I held it wrapped over my first finger so I could smell it while I sucked.  I moved the blankie around often - like the other side of the pillow, a cool spot to breathe on the sheet was the best.  I tried to quit a few times, but finally my dentist told me I'd need braces if I didn't give up my habit, so I wore socks on my hands for about 6 months and was cured!  Kinda - I've woken up with my thumb in my mouth at least twice since then, but not since I was a teenager.  

2.  I started trying to read Stephen King when I was 10.  His stuff was a little advanced for me then - but I finally got through Pet Semetary for the first time when I was 12.  (It was the first book that ever made me cry, true story.)  After that, it was on - I read every King book I could get my hands on.  I read The Stand, all 1300 pages, in 3 days, taking breaks only to eat and pee and sleep.  At 13, I read 'Salem's Lot...and promptly rearranged the furniture in my bedroom so I could face the door even while asleep.  I also slept with a light on for 6 months after that - that book scared the fuck out of me.  I think Mr. King's quality declined with time, but I recently read Lisey's Story, which is a relatively new (within the last 10 years) release, and it was really good.  I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for this master of horror.

3.  I have a memory of when I was little (whether I was 9 or 13, i don't know), I went to the Property with Granny and Papaw - Papaw was working on the barn in some such way or another, and Granny and I were hanging out in our lawn chairs over in the shade.  She'd brought her boom box, and there was a blank tape from somewhere.  She sang Cowboy Jack and I recorded it - later when I played it back, Papaw's hammer was a sharp staccato in the background, totally not in time.  There were birds chirping, and Granny's voice warbled a time or two and I'm pretty sure she got choked on a high note and coughed.  I'd pay $5000 to have that tape in my hands right now. 

4.  Another being-little memory:  I was 5 or 6, and I'd found a pair of nail scissors, and they were fascinating.  I wanted to cut something, so I went into Papaw's bedroom, shut the door, walked around to the far side of the bed, and cut a square of fabric out of the flat sheet on the bed.  I thought no one would ever notice.  Granny did, nearly immediately.  (Turns out, the sheets were new.  Like, it was the first time they'd been on a bed, new.)  Stacy and I were the only ones there; one of us was guilty.  She asked us, I lied, Stacy denied.  Granny asked again, our little selves lined up in the hallway.  I kept thinking, "Eventually, she'll give up.  Or Stacy will confess."  She didn't, and neither did Stacy.  She pulled out the Bible - the same one that's downstairs in my Momma's house right now, on the end table, with Granny's obituary inside.  Granny held the book out to us, told us to put our hand on it and say if we'd cut the sheet or not.  We both said we hadn't.  Granny knew it was me, but she didn't call me a liar; she said one of us was hurting God and Jesus very badly and that we would have to live with that.  What I wish more than anything is that I'd told Granny the truth before she'd died.  

5.  Brevity?  It's not my thing.  No, really - I can't tell a story to save my life.  I get caught up in the background and the details that don't matter and forget to focus on the point. 

And now I'm going to introduce you five blogs I love (and the timing is great, because I ran out of steam working on that shout-out post the other night and didn't get to several I wanted to name):

1. Clean Sheets on Sundays

2.  Not About Cake

3.  Grown Up Rachel

4.  My Eye On Things

5.  La Dulce Vida ~ The Sweet Life

And now I'm going to get back to work.

Happy Monday, Friends!

I may be a little obsessive.

I read a lot of blogs.  Like, dozens.  And then I come to work and I tell Kim about them.  She's started to notice a pattern - most of the blogs I read are written by women with children.  I explain this away by saying, "Well, that's who blogs - women with children do all the blogging."  She just nods and says "oh, okay."

But maybe that's not completely true.  I read blogs written by gay Mormon men (MoHo's - who doesn't want to read a blog written by someone who describes themselves as a "MoHo"?!).  I read blogs written by women whose husbands are in the military, deployed overseas, and several written by women whose husbands were injured overseas or killed in action.  I read blogs written by people who have left the Mormon church; I read blogs written by people who adore the Mormon church.

But the blogs I read most often, the ones I'm the most invested in, the ones I log onto the internet to check if there's been an update posted - those are mostly written by moms, pregnant women, and infertile women trying to get pregnant.

And I realized last night that at least 5 of the blogs I'm following right now are written by women who found out they're expecting right about the same time I found out I was expecting.  Except I'm not expecting anymore and they still are.  And watching their progress?  It kinda sucks.  It sorta hurts my heart. 

I hate their baby tickers.  I hate their "bump" pics. 

I keep reading though, because I'm invested and I'm fascinated and I want to see what stories they tell next.  I try not to imagine myself in their shoes when they talk about moving out of the first trimester, ultrasounds, listening to heartbeats.  I try to skip the posts that are ALL PREGNANCY, ALL THE TIME. 

Last night, a mommy-blogger that I read posted something along the lines of "Can it be my turn, universe?"  She wants to have another baby; she feels like she's surrounded by babies.  She says the next step is to see a doctor, but she's afraid that taking that step will lead her down a path she's not emotionally ready for...hold on, I'm just going to copy the exact text...

"As I discussed my feelings today, I realised that the next step is to see a doctor. But I can't bring myself to take that step. It is an enormous step to take. A step that will take me down a path that I am not sure I am emotionally ready for. So I sit and wait in having-a-baby limbo land. Waiting for my miracle."

This is exactly why I'm afraid to "try".  If we're just going along, doing our thing, and we happen to make a baby...AWESOME!!!  I can even handle going so far as to try to make sure we're "doing our thing" on certain days of the month to hopefully increase our chances of making a baby.  But you start talking about body temperatures and charting and ovulation kits...oh hell, I can't take it.  And what if I did do all that, and we still weren't able to make a baby?  Doctors visits and needles and pills and tests and...it's too much.  Too much.  My delicate psyche can't handle the pressure and stress. 

Mostly, I can't even allow myself to try to picture a world where someone tells me I'll never have a baby of my own on my own. I know a couple of things to be fact:  adoption isn't an option for us; in vitro and all those other invasive medical miracles they can do to make babies other than the old fashioned way - those also aren't an option for us.  So instead of seeing a doctor and being told that to have a child we'll have to do something more than just "it", I'd rather pretend we're still up in the air about whether or not an addition to our family is something we REALLY desire and then pretend that it's no big deal if it doesn't happen.

Only I'll know that my heart would be broken. 

So yeah, maybe it's a little fucked up that I spend minutes of my day reading pregnancy posts and mommy talk and tales of infertility struggles.  But we're only just to the point where we can start trying to get pregnant after the miscarriage; if we're not successful, my blog watch list may find itself trimmed in the best interest of my emotional well-being. 

Yes, Grammar is important.

Anne Rice posted a link to this story on her facebook page a little bit ago:

http://content.usatoday.com/communities/ondeadline/post/2010/10/school-board-member-who-posted-anti-gay-comments-on-facebook-will-resign/1

It's about an Arkansas School Board member who is resigning in the wake of an uproar caused by the following comments he made on his personal facebook page:

Seriously they want me to wear purple because five queers killed themselves. The only way im wearin it for them is if they all commit suicide. I cant believe the people of this world have gotten this stupid. We are honoring the face that they sinned and killed thereselves because of their sin. REALLY PEOPLE.

What a cockbag. 

I can see why there was an uproar demanding his resignation.  Even if his words weren't hateful and mean and wrong - I'd sure be pissed if I'd elected a man to sit on the local schoolboard and later learned he communicates using nonwords such as "thereselves". 

REALLY PEOPLE.

Jimi made soup tonight with a can of corn, a can of black beans, a can of tomato soup and a bunch of spices.  It's like a chili base, but with the perfect amount of hot spice (very little) to make my taste buds tingle.  This is one of my new favorites, especially since it was so stupid easy.

I've got to go to Cincinnati tomorrow for the trailer summit, and I'm not even a little bit ready.  Oh well.  Not much I can do about it at this point.

I just finished reading "The Adultery Diet" by Eva Cassady.  She loses a bunch of weight when she starts emailing with an old flame.  I'd held out hope that she'd pull back at the end and not screw around on her husband, but she totally did, and i was disappointed.  I wanted her to have more class.  of course, it turns out her husband was having an affair of his own, so i guess no one could really win in the end.  I hate it when no one wins.  It feels like a cheat.

I ordered the last two books in Anne Rice's Sleeping Beauty erotic trilogy.  Jimi hates the first one; he says it's dirty, and not in a good way.  I admit it's dirty, but I would classify it also as "hot".  C'est la vie. 

"The Adultery Diet", I admit, made me want to move my ass and drop some weight myself.  I'm not interested in taking a lover for my daily motivation, though.  And, let's be honest, self-control and denial of pleasure are not concepts I fully grasp or am able to exhibit. 

This entry is so lame it doesn't even deserve a title.  I find that I feel guilty if I don't blog for a few days, and this is the end result when it feels like life is normal.  I should embrace these times.  God knows, when the shit hits the fan and everything around me is crazy and hectic and emotional and awful, I long for these times.  I love my boring little life, even if it does make for a boring little blog. 

This is what I did today

We went shopping again today.  I bought candles and a tablecloth and books.  And 100% fruit juice.  And a new eye pencil.

At least I'm happy with the little things.  Finding 100% fruit juice on sale for $2 a bottle?  Totally made my day.  AND THEN I found out the books at Book & Music Exchange were buy one, get one free.  I mean, who could be sad with shit like this going down at every turn?  AND Jimi was right there with me, all kissy kissy lovey dovey and super sexy strong manly looking.  Could it even get better than this?  I think not.

So then we drove out to J-town to go to the Gaslight Festival with my Momma.  I'm this >-< close to instituting a "You can't tell Momma No" rule in my life.  Because, really, who am I to be all "No, Mom, I don't want to spend time with you even though you birthed me and raised me and gave me money every time i needed it and still buy me awesome birthday and Christmas gifts."?  I can't say no to my mom without a good reason, I've decided.  Because that would make me a jerk.  And I don't want to be a jerk.  And it's not like my Momma's needy.  She just wants to see me every now and then.

So we went to Gaslight.  Jimi, sweet Jimi, he even went along, knowing there would be much walking to get there, and then much shuffling (the non-walk of festival/fair/car-show goers - the sort of half-step shuffle people do when there's too much of a crowd to enable actual full-stride steps), and probably a large amount of "Oh!  Look at this..." as Momma and I ogled some random piece of homemade crap that someone was hawking for $5 at an overpriced "Official Gaslight Festival Vendor" booth, before culminating in the ever unpopular long walk home at the end of the night, half drunk and completely exhausted from fighting the crowds and the cheap boozy atmosphere.

Needless to say, we had a fabulous time.  A member of Momma's chorus was singing with a band that was playing in front of the old Ferd Grisanti's.  We listened to most of a set, and Momma and I even danced.  Poorly, but still.  It was fun.

Dylan was home when we got back to the house, and there was a lingering smell of pot smoke outside.  Imagine that.  He and Jimi watched an episode of Boondocks while me and Momma went out front to smoke cigarettes and talk about women stuff.

Jimi crashed almost as soon as we got home.  I hopped on the computer, intending to check my Facebook while the dog ate his dinner.  (The dog doesn't eat when we're not home.  And since he usually eats his dinner in the early evening, when we leave around that time, he'll leave his dinner sitting in his bowl until we get home.) So I was trying to stay up just long enough for Finn to eat his dinner, and maybe go outside for a poo, but I got distracted by a Facebook conversation and then I started writing this and now here we are.  Jimi's snoring in the next room and Finn is keeping my side of the bed warm until I come along and rudely banish him to "YOUR bed, Finn.  Go to YOUR bed."

And now I'd like some pizza.  But it's one a.m.  Should I go to bed hungry, or stay up another hour to heat up and eat some pizza?  Gosh, life is full of hard choices.

Hi ho, hi ho, it's back to Ohio I go.

I have to attend a meeting in Columbus on Wednesday.  Thinking about it makes my stomach hurt.  I'm fearing the worst.  (Not getting fired or anything crazy like that - I'm afraid they're going to be mean to me or yell at me or confuse me and make me look dumb and feel dumb.)  But I've got two cute outfits to choose from for that morning, so maybe if I look good I'll feel good.  Confidence is key, right?

I'm pretty sure this is the first time Jimi and I will be spending the night apart since we moved in together in July '07.  That's jacked up, isn't it?  Co-dependent much?  (Me, not him.  Though he's not too far behind me.)  I'm not happy about this aspect of the trip, either.

I need to remember to take my book, plus a spare, since I'm almost finished with this one.  And I already packed a sleeping pill, in case I'm just bored out of my mind and ready to give in and go to sleep at 8 p.m.

I feel unprepared and inadequate.  I hate this feeling.  Dumb work.  If only I could win the lottery.  All my problems would be solved.  Except for the new problems the sudden windfall created.  But I could take just as much as I needed and then give the rest away and all those problems could disappear too.

I like to daydream about winning the lottery. I don't buy tickets, though.  I don't think about it.

I'm hoping I'll at least get a steak dinner out of this.  I mean, if Maggie will buy me a filet, my boss should certainly be willing to.

This trip will be a dry one.  My boss doesn't drink, and while it can be fun to get drunk on overnight trips with coworkers, laughing at the Applebee's bar until they close and then giggling in someone's room till 3 in the morning, splitting a six-pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade and Hostess Fruit Pies - well, my boss doesn't drink, and I certainly won't be showing my inner-alcoholic to him first-hand, alone, with no one else to help take the heat off me when the front desk calls a third time asking you to please keep it down, the guest next door has an early meeting tomorrow morning, in just a few hours, in fact.  

At least, this is my goal.  DON'T GET DRUNK AND SHOW YOUR ASS WHILE ON A ROAD TRIP WITH YOUR BOSS.  A good goal to have.  Everyone needs goals.

Reading

I just finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows for the second time.  Kinda.

I didn't remember much of how the story went from the first time I'd read it, see.

Sometimes, mostly when a book is really exciting to me and I can't wait to find out what happens, I'll skim a book more than I'll actually read it.  Like, I'm reading along and things are getting heated and there's lots of dueling and shit's blowing up and...my eyes wander over to the next page and give it a quick skim to see if someone's about to die, and THERE IT IS!!!! THERE'S THE WORD BODY!!! OMG!! and so I have to read that chapter to get the context, but then I have to back up and read what happened before that because now Fred's dead and    I have no idea how we got here and    what happened and   where was I a minute ago       I should just let the author tell the story in her own time...

So yeah.  I miss things sometimes.  And let's face it, when you're reading like that, and reading that fast, how much can you really be retaining?  

But that doesn't happen with every book.  I mean, I read parts of every book I pick up in that manner, but most books I haven't anticipated the release of for months and then stood in line for an hour or two at midnight to get one of the first copies and then gone home to devour as quickly as possible within the next 24 hours.  Most books get only a little skimming, like when sex between characters seems imminent and I want to see if my hunch is right or if the author is being a tease again.   

But still, even with my horrible reading habits that often result in missing key minor details, reading is one of my favorite things ever.  If I had to make a list of things I wouldn't want to lose the ability to do, reading would be on the same list with loving, having sex, sleeping, and eating.

I love being immersed in the visions of others.  I love journeying along the paths of characters both fictional and real.  I love the inevitable dreams that result for days after hours of reading a particularly enthralling story.  

I love the color that reading brings to my world.  I love the look of the spines of the books lined up in the bookcases; the whites and blues and yellows and greens and oranges and reds and blacks and golds.  Their presence makes the room feel warmer, more inviting, more comfortable.  

My love for reading makes me feel sorry for non-readers.  If they can't read, I feel sorry for them and feel that they're missing out on something wonderful and this is an oversight that must not stand and must be rectified posthaste.  If they just don't read, I just don't get it.  I feel sorry for them and wish that I could show them the magic that I see in words.  It's like they're missing out on a treasure.  I try to give them books that I know are awesome and that they'll love and they're all, "I'll try to read it, I promise."  (I'm talking to you, Kim.)

Okay, I'll get it eventually.  Things that are important to me aren't necessarily AS important to everyone else.  

But they really should be.  

(IT'S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU, NATALIE.)

OKAY.  GOSH.  

But yeah, reading is cool.  

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.