Notice That The Sugar and Grease Groups Are Well Represented

My little backslide into burny peeland seems to have ceased--I think it was brought on by dehydration. So today I chugged an incredible amount of water. I think I spent most of the day peeing but hell, small price to pay for pain-free girly bits.

I started my new job a while back and it has been pretty good so far. A little nuts because it is our busy season and I am learning the new gig, doing my old one, and training my replacements. It's just a lot. A great opportunity and I am really happy but it is just. A lot.

And the thing is people keep asking me if I am excited. I am. I mean I was so giddy when they gave it to me y'all just do not even know. But I mean, I've settled down. I have work to do, besides how can you do a good job if you are walking around "just so happy to be here?"

I think people are disappointed that I don't seem more excited. And I am pretty sensitive to that because I am just not a demonstrative person like that. I think my nature is more reserved that to wear every emotion on my face. But I can tell people just thought I'd be cheering around. I don't know, it is a strange thing. Like my mother keeps asking me how the first day felt. Well, I mean it felt like a day of work. I was just glad to get started, glad not to have to wait anymore. But I mean ultimately it is a job, it's not a day at Disneyland so I mean it isn't like I was going to come home all stoked about how fun everything is.
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And into something totally unrelated
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I realized today that in the past three days I have eaten the following:

one can of pineapple
one Dick's deluxe with fries
2 iced sugar cookies from fancy Dallas bakery
one cup oatmeal
one cup rice and veggies
a scoop of macaroni and cheese
a scoop of ice cream

Even ignoring the complete lack of nutritional content--that isn't a lot of food for three days. I was a wee bit worried until I looked at the side effects of the anti-biotics. May suppress appetites.

It is a nice excuse to eat only what I really want though. I mean if I am only going to eat one thing today it might as well be ice cream.

Modern Medicine

I was so smug. The anti-biotics were working I felt fabulous. And then today my stomach swelled up and my girly bits are burning and I feel like hammered shit.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

What the hell is modern medicine for?

Modern Medicine

I was so smug. The anti-biotics were working I felt fabulous. And then today my stomach swelled up and my girly bits are burning and I feel like hammered shit.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

What the hell is modern medicine for?

Pug Splash

Remember that weird experiment in elementary school where you dropped watermelons off the roof? It's to test gravity or something I don't actually remember the purpose. What I do remember is the sound of the watermelon hitting the pavement, a sort of sickening thud that is sort of squishy sounding.

That sound flashed back to me last night just before midnight. Since the same one came from my kitchen. I woke up in a start and rushed in to find a lump of pug called Buster lying on the floor an overturned chair next to him. Dipshit had jumped on a chair to get on the kitchen counter and then fell.

He just seemed stunned. But then decided to celebrate feeling ok by doing high-speed laps around the house--over furniture, up and down the stairs. I finally pinned him down so I could check his legs and chest for injuries.

He's fine Fucking dumbass.

Perhaps I Need To Get Out More

There is nothing like 24 hours of anti-biotics to perk a girl up. And wake you up to exactly how shitty you have been feeling.

It is strange how you can feel sick but not even realize it. It just gets worse and worse--you try to sleep more, take some vitamins--but as soon as you start to take of it BAM.

Anyway, some one more talented than me should write a little love song about anti-biotics. Bliss is peeing without burning.

J is off playing softball so the dogs and I acting like it isn't a school night. Things we have learned so far:

1. Darla loves Captain Crunch.
2. It is possible to play run around the house without breaking anything but some one will probably puke afterwards.
3. Rooster is not amused. About anything. Ever.
4. Captain Crunch for dinner rules.
5. One night is not enough to get through the eighty-eleven hours of The Dog Whisperer and Dog The Bounty Hunter saved on my Ti-Faux.

Everyone on the Band Wagon

I'm supposed to be at a baseball game right now.

A friend of J's offered at us free tickets and we were all set to go when I had to rush to the doctor this morning. Seems that my kidneys are infected. Fever, blood in the urine, the lovely sensation of a ginsu knife demo into my abdomen every few minutes--these are bad things.

It certainly made work a little surreal. Fortunately, I am home now, deep conditioning my hair, eating ice cream and crying like a sap over the Saints game (though dude, I cannot help feel sorry for Atlanta because the ENTIRE WORLD is against them--anyone who isn't rooting for the Saints tonight completely sucks).

I think I deserve a little more ice cream before they sing "When the Saints Go Marching In" again and I start sobbing.

The New Breakfast Club

We like to watch football at home.

This is because the best kind of football Sunday involves down comforters and greasy bacon. It it being in your pajamas until 2pm. It's about dirty hair and flipping to the NFL Network and laughing at the guys on the 49ers' message board.

Sadly, because of Direct TV's strangle-hold on the NFL we never get to watch good games. So we went to the bar for the early game (we wanted to watch the Indy/Jacksonville game) and to watch at least part of the 49er game.

The Eagles started to kick our asses early and often so we did come home early.

We enjoyed the ass-whoping that the Seahawks were putting on NY (which late in the game got entirely too close) because we all hate Eli Manning. Watching the game at the bar is just totally different. You have to get dressed first of all. And feel a little self-concious in jerseys for a team not the home team. Plus, no candy.

Or duvets.

We came home for the second half and immediately relaxed (until the Seahawks started to buckle a bit) and put our feet up.

I wonder if they would let us drag our couch into the bar next week. We're the early game after all--we need to be there for breakfast.

A Little Like I Am Speaking A Foreign Language

I think a lot of people are in the same position that I am. That their jobs, the things they spend most of their time doing, are careers that didn't really exist a generation ago. Business has changed, technology has changed, and a lot of us make a living doing something that most people don't realize people actually do.

My job is like that. And with the new one it has become even harder to explain. Especially to people like grandparents, who are genuinely happy for me but really are sort of flabbergasted that some one is necessary to do what I do. I read a letter from my grandmother and I can sort of hear her whispering in my ear, "they pay you for that?"

Yes they do.

It is one of those gaps that I suppose get wider every year. I mean my grandparents remember a time before plumbing and electricity were common. My grandfather worked in offices without typewriters, but did manage to graduate to a computer. There is a lot happening in the past eighty years so I feel a little guilty asking them to try to figure this out too.

I want to make it simpler. Perhaps I will start telling them I am a truck driver.

Homework

I have a big work thing in a couple of weeks and they assigned us homework to prepare for it. And one of my co-workers mentioned that she just wasn't going to do it.

Totally fucking blew my mind.

Not do it?

This honestly proves that I am such a goody-two shoes about so many things. I have never not done my homework. What if I didn't get an A?!?!?! Do I think that they will fire (or probably even notice) people who don't do this assignment? Not really. But I would obsess and worry too much over it to make it worth not doing the assignment. Worse, I don't think I can even do a half-assed job because I can hear my dad's voice in my head, "It's ok to get any grade AS LONG AS YOU DID YOUR BEST. . ."

Clearly I need some lessons on breaking rules and getting over myself.

And a lot of tequila. I still have an assignment to do.

But Obviously My Memory Is Not So Great

On my way home each night I pass the same billboard. It is an advertisement for the local transit system and it features a women who is blurred in the photo because she is riding a bicycle and throwing her head back with laughter. And every damn day I think the same thing (which, shockingly is not "bullshit, anybody doing that shit would crash"), "Why the fuck is Jamie Lee Curtis doing ads for Sound Transit?"

I think this same thing every single day which proves, 1. this model likely makes her living based on her, at least blurry, likeness to Ms. Curtis and, 2. I never fucking retain information.

Also in this vein, when I drive by this sort of sad roadside stand of "oriental rugs" and wall hangings, you know the kind that feature Elvis? There is one that always looks like two polar bears butt fucking. Honestly, the first time I saw it I almost drove off the road. Bear anal sex! AWESOME! But near an elementary school? Of course I sort of wanted to hang it in my living room. Sadly, it really is more of a bear family scene. I do not know why "loving bear family" reads as "zoological porno" to me but it does. This probably says a lot more about me than I want to think about.

Not to mention another thing I never learn, not to start entries with long stories because I can never remember what the fuck the entry was supposed to be about.

Something tells me it wasn't possible hermaphidite actresses and the sexual habits of the animals in Antartica.

At least I don't think so.

Monday Night Football

We don't even like Jacksonville but we are enjoying Monday night football right now.

Fuck you Ben!

Seriously. Way to throw a couple of interceptions on national TV. Maybe the fucking national media will stop sucking your cock for five minutes now.

Probably not.

But still. SHUT OUT. Fuck off asswipes. Go back to Pittsburgh.

My Vernon Davis jersey came today, courtesy of the best mother-in-law EVER. The 49ers won yesterday. Football season is BACK.

Bet You Money My Dad Didn't Ask Either

My mother and I took my dad and J to get fitted for their tuxes for my sister's wedding today. The whole experience sums up everything that is different (and WRONG) about men. We get there first and I fill out the paperwork for J and all he does is stand up while the girl measures him. He gets annoyed because I don't remember his shoe size (UM but neither does he so WTF DUDE). Once my parents get there lather, rinse, repeat (except my dad at least knows his shoe size) and my mom and I wander the store a bit. Once they are all done we end up paying for the stupid things and making sure that we know how they can pick things up and the guys stand around staring at the TV in the store.

Later I ask J what the tuxes that Sister picked out look like . . .he has no idea. He didn't even ask.

Guy just paid a hundred bucks (or I guess he let me pay a hundred bucks) for an outfit and didn't even ask to see it.

Weirdo.

This is in such a contrast to how bridesmaids work. I mean there are huge diplomatic conferences that take place about bridesmaids dresses (though not for this wedding thank GOD). Negotiations have to be made, usually one bitch cries, and most often the bride asks for something really unreasonable or heinous like everyone has to grow their hair to the exact same length and if that means that the girl with natural girls has to have her hair chemically straightened then SO BE IT THIS IS MY DAY.

The only other time I have been a bridesmaid this shit happened but blissfully I was not there. The other maids were her sisters and they had a battle royale that I was pleased to be a couple of thousand miles away from. It did result in us wearing crazily expensive dresses in a color that made me look naked but at least I didn't have to get in a cat fight over it.

Of course at least I knew what the damn outfit looked like.

Idiots.

Room For Three

A couple of weeks ago was my best friend's fourth wedding anniversary. She got her final divorce papers in the mail that very day.

Sometimes fate is a cruel cruel bitch.

Their divorce took longer than normal. Things got a little messy around property division (not uncommon) and he putzed around a lot--he didn't really want to be divorced. And the whole time she kept pushing harder and harder. She just wanted it over with. And when it was . . .well.

She was heartbroken.

I wasn't surprised.

She doesn't miss him. I think she was over him before she even filed for the divorce. But when you get married you aren't just marrying the person. You are signing up for a certain way of life. You are supposed to be partners, to share your lives, to grow old together, to support one another. You imagine the house and the family and she was mourning that part. Is mourning that part.

When you put on the big poofy white dress you never really imagine that you will spend your fourth anniversary opening up notices from the state family court. I mean I am the most cynical bitch around and I have never thought that.

I know that she will be fine. In truth she is already more fine than she was at this time last year. She isn't dreading the inevitable divorce now. She isn't putting off starting over. She's already done the hard part.

It is just hard to remember that when your best friend calls you in the middle of the night, making you promise that she can come live with your kids (that you don't have) instead of going into a home.

Sorry unborn children, make sure you have enough spare rooms for the three of us.

Sated

The past couple of years have been a little rough in my career. I don't think that is so unusual for people in their mid-twenties. Sometimes it takes time for opportunities to catch up with ability. Sometimes you have to learn hard lessons about professionalism, dealing with others, about politics, about balancing your life and your work. I never imagined myself doing the kind of work that I do now. I do not have the kind of job that easy to explain to people outside my industry. I do not save lives or build anything. But I find a lot of satisfaction in my work. I bust my ass and I am good at what I do.

Most of the people in my family have done physical labor of some kind. Not my parents or sister but my extended family. Even if they are professionals they are nurses or other types of jobs that require physical labor. They really do not understand how some one who sits all day at a desk can be working hard. Not that it is in any way the same thing as digging ditches.

I got promoted yesterday. It feels like I have been working towards this for a long time. And I have. I've pushed and pushed and had to wait a lot longer than I thought I would. It has been worth it though. I really believe that. That is not to say that I am not going to hate my job in the next couple of months--I probably will. It is going to be a tough time. But I worked for this, I earned this. And it's mine.

There is something really cool about calling your parents and telling them that you are getting what you wanted. Something that you have earned. There is something amazing about telling your husband that that thing that you have been obsessing about for months is finally here. And yeah, our bank account is going to benefit a bit too. I highly recommend it. I truly do.

It even makes a terrible night of softball (I was a sub--everyone else played fabulous, I hit for shit and did something terrible and swell inducing to my foot) feel good. Nothing matches that.

I need to save this feeling. I'm going to need it next month when I am all angsty and worried that I can't do this. But for now I just feel satisfied.

Empty

We went to a baseball game on Monday night.

It was surreal.

On one hand, the place was empty. It could be because the Mariner's suck and they were playing the Blue Jays who aren't so hot either. Or it could be that people are afraid still. Which I sort of understood.

For me it felt very right to be out that night. There were tributes to our local fire and police departments. And to those who died.

I wasn't in New York or DC that day. I don't know anyone personally who died. All that I lost that day was my feeling of safety and security--which five years later still isn't the same. And the ability to talk about patriotism. Because people have co-opted patriotism and made it something strange and ugly.

I love this country but it frightens me. It frightens me how we haven't learned much in the past five years. That we haven't changed or grown. And it frightens me that that stadium was so empty.

Treasure Found

After all my bragging about my sister not being a Bridezilla, I have to admit my mother has been a bit of a MOBzilla. A tad. About her dress.

I took my mom shopping for a dress for my sister's wedding a couple of weeks ago. The most successful part of the day was she only cried twice. We found one outfit she liked but it was a way out of our budget. It actually cost more than my wedding dress. It looked great on her but that did seem excessive.

Everything else looked like shit.

And we were a little traumatized. There are very few things as demoralizing and trying on thirty or forty dresses and having none of them fit. Or having a few fit but those make you look like a rotting summer sausage--the gases being emitted by the decay forcing through the casing.

We went again today. I have to admit I gave myself a little pep talk on my drive down there. In many ways, having this happen with my mother's dress was much worse than having it happen to me. My mother is a very kind person, who doesn't do much for herself. And she has the lowest self-esteem you can imagine. And of course looking terrible in all of these dresses just made her feel worse.

Finding the right dress became more than just finding the dress. I think for both of us it was symbolic. Our family has been through so much in the past few years. I think we have all worked through some of the ugly shit and our dynamic really feels good. It is just hard because I think we are all afraid of fucking that up. I know that my sister doesn't truly care what she wears. But we are not a part of her daily life so we want to make a good impression. And we really desperately do not want to do anything that would embarass her.

Today was so much better. We found three or four that looked great on her. And one she loved. Bought that one, and a gorgeous necklace (that actually cost more than the dress) so she is ready to go.

And we didn't have to burn down a single store to find it. There are retail gods after all.

Look Away Boys, Nothing For You Here

First. Period. In. Three. MONTHS.

GREETINGS AUNT FLO, WHY DID YOU STAY AWAY SO LONG?!!!

It's A Small World

I read this post at Weigook Saram with interest. She talks about how she feels like the differences between her culture and her husband's culture is both a strength and a strain in their marriage. I imagine that this seems more obvious in biracial relationships--or those between people who have obvious cultural divides. But I feel quakes of it in my marriage too, and J and I would be classified as from the same culture.

I think that is honestly the toughest part about marriage for me. Harder than money, harder than career. Harder than shit about kids. Because all of those arguments begin with culture for me. It may not be a racial or ethnic culture but more of based in the culture of my family of origin. How I was raised and what is normal for me looks pretty different than what is normal to him. And y'all KNOW THAT I AM RIGHT.

I am pretty uptight about being on time. I hate being late. It makes me feel uncomfortable. It's rude. I can't get passed that. J is late every day and doesn't think a thing of it. Especially in social situations when he thinks people don't care.

In my family we are typical midwestern and don't talk about money. I don't even like to tell my parents how much money we make or how much things cost or how we spend our money. Filling out the paperwork to buy the house gave me hives. J will tell anyone anything. He will blurt how much an item cost without batting an eyelash. He talks salary with anyone who asks and probably some who don't.

I do think that clear cultural divides would make this whole maze more complicated. But I also think that in some ways that they might make it easier. If your husband is Korean and you are not it is pretty obvious to you and to him and to all around you. Misunderstandings are expected. And you have constant reminders about how you might see the world differently. For us those differences are wrapped up in class and economics and our family dynamics. And that is a lot harder to handle sensitively. I can't just say to J, "You talk about money so openly because you are white trash!" I mean I could but it would be mean and not terribly accurate.

This could be why people get divorced. It can be hard enough to adjust to another culture without it being in your own home.

Insulting Compliment

I realize that my post last night made it sound like I expect my sister to behave like some crazy veiled banshee who wants my soul in exchange for the right place cards at her reception.

Way to insult the person you were trying to compliment AB!

I really didn't. It is just I have been regaled with bridezilla tales all week from various sources and it took me back to a dark dark place when everyone I knew was getting married and acting like their liveswould be ruined if they somehow didn't convince their bridesmaids to get matching pedicures, hairstyles and teeth capping.

I am just really thankful she isn't going there.

So I insult her on the internet.

Though it does show our family harmony that I didn't get a pissed off email right? RIGHT?!

And Easy On Me Is The Point

When my sister announced her engagement (and her plans of her wedding) I braced myself for the coming End of Days. My sister, despite her pronouncements to the contrary, definitely inherited the Drama Queen Gene. Sis did tell me that she wasn't going to be a bridezilla but honestly y'all, my experience has been that when some one says they won't be a bridezilla that means you are totally getting a three am teary call about how her day will be ruined! because the caterers won't make the waitstaff wear uniforms in the special wedding colors! or because they can't get mongrammed toilet paper at the ceremony!

I love my sister. I want her to have whatever she wants. But I am so relieved she has not pulled any of this shit.

I think it is to our credit as a family that (I think) everyone is keeping a clear head. Sis sent me an email talking about how similar I am to her future sister in law who is demanding and difficult and actually sounds pretty horrible. BUT. In the spirit of our new found family amity I figured she meant we were alike in some unnamed but positive way.

REALLY.

Honestly, she has been great, especially if you consider the strain of planning a wedding on the timeline that she has put herself on. My job is to be supportive, do whatever she wants, reign in any bratty behavior on our side of the family and look pretty. So far I am doing my job.

I am just glad she is making it easy.

All Of My Hipster Friends Can Fuck Themselves

I used to be cool.

Well, I once passed for cool. If the observer didn't pay too close attention, maybe squinted. Sort of.

I knew where the cool bars and clubs were. I managed to get strange men to buy me drinks and take me nice places. Then I met J, who was just as poor and broke as me. We got married, bought a house and never had fun again.

It is important to understand this so that y'all can understand our motivation for Thursday night. We had free bleacher seats for the local minor league baseball team. Free seats, free parking, cheap eats. That equals AB family fun right there.

We sat with a bunch of people J knows from work. Six adults, 847 children. I think I am the only one in the group that watched more than about half an inning of the game. I give this team credit, they had a bunch of activities for kids. They could play a game where they tried to catch a fly ball (and won a prize, whether they did it or not). They could jump around in a huge balloon bouncy thing. They could run around the bases. They sang Take Me Out To The Ball Game during the seventh inning stretch.

At some point during the game J got up to go to the bathroom and to get us some drinks. Forty minutes later I have to admit I wondered what happened to him. The little girl that had been spending her time poking him in the stomach and laughing was FRANTIC that he might not return.

He did show up, sodas in hand, but sweating, shaking and bleeding from one knee. Apparently every child in the group had attacked him at once and he was FORCED to play with them. He described it as being caught in a Ooompa Loompa civil war. Looking at him, I am not sure it was an exaggeration.

I have to admit that I am thrilled he has found playmates who are on his intellectual level. Even if they are ages 2-6.

We left the game much past our bedtime on a school night and were awarded a loaf of wheat bread from some sort of promotion. Which is how I ended running down the main drag of the city being chased by a man hitting me with a loaf of bread.

That isn't actually cool is it?