Before Husband and I started dating we hung out a lot. We did everything together. We were, and still are, best friends. Husband took me on my first backpacking trip. All it took was one time and I was hooked.
In high school Husband used to backpack with a group of friends to a place called Mumford Bar. Mumford has a long and sordid history. It is situated along the river and was once a mining claim. Now it serves various purposes though it's not frequently used. Legend has it that Old Man Beatie (not sure of the spelling) moved his family down there and his wife went somewhat mad from the isolation. So he started hiking them out but they were too slow. So he left them down there where they died. I believe it's haunted. I've seen way too much weird shit there. It's either haunted or there are hill people living in the woods.
The trail to Mumford Bar is three and a half miles long and descends over three thousand feet. For you math wizards that's about a thousand feet per mile. Steep. It's okay on the way down because, well, you're going down. (Something I'm particularly fond of, but that's for another time.) The hike out kills you though. Switchback after switchback, you reach a point where you think it's not going to end. Why you ask would I put myself through the torture? The reward, my friends, is isolation in one of the most beautiful places I've ever been.
When you reach the bottom it's like you walk into a circus tent of green. The forest canopy is so dense and moss covers everything around you, it almost hurts your eyes. The forest hasn't been logged or really touched since probably the late 1800's. I've never seen another person down there, no one I wasn't with anyway. The river changes with the seasons. Sometimes it's so loud you have to shout to have a conversation. Other times it meanders over the rocks, lazily flowing through the canyon. It's just an amazing place, indescribably beautiful. But it's a hell of a hike and just beats on your body.
Husband really wanted me to go with him to see Mumford Bar, so we planned a weekend trip. We had a friend who was selling his backpack so Husband bought it for me. This was in 1998 and I still use that pack to this day, it's a great pack. We packed up some food and what we needed for the weekend and headed out. Husband was certain he would catch fish, so we were counting on eating that one night. This was my first trip and I was not very sure of what to pack or how much, so feeling somewhat unprepared I began the grueling three hour hike.
When we got to the bottom we found a wonderful place to set up camp. It was right near the river and had a perfect place to cook and a flat spot for the tent. Perfect! We'd purchased some freeze-dried meals, which are yuck by the way, and I was all excited to cook and have the whole backpacking experience. At that time we didn't have a water filter so we relied on boiling the water to clean it. That works okay, but investing in a filter was the best thing we did.
Husband caught no fish. He was very disappointed because he felt such a strong need to provide for me and was really concerned that I was going hungry. It was very sweet. By the end of the weekend we had one package of ramen noodles, powdered eggs, and a lemon. I made the "eggs" for breakfast and found them to be inedible. So gross. Do yourself a favor and do not ever eat powdered eggs. Husband wasn't especially fond of them either, and was still starving after we ate. The problem was that we had a really long and difficult hike ahead of us. Climbing over three thousand feet in three miles takes a while, and we wanted to have more energy to do it. But alas, we had limited provisions and just had to suck it up.
Before we left our camp I watched in awe as Husband ate an entire lemon peel and all. He was so hungry he ate a lemon. I still laugh at that. We hiked and hiked for hours until the pains in my stomach were too much to take. We pulled the package of ramen out, split it in half and gobbled up the dry noodles in the middle of the trail. That was enough to give us the energy we needed to finish the hike. I won't lie, I was miserable. I was tired, my legs hurt, I was starving, felt like I was going to vomit, miserable. But I made it through and the trail did finally come to an end. My heart sprang up at the site of the truck waiting for us. Once I got my pack off and sat down for a second I did start puking. Nothing serious, just from hunger and over-exertion.
We stopped at the first gas station we came to and Husband got some beer. A tip to backpackers, always leave a couple of beers in the truck in an ice chest so you can drink them when you're done hiking. It makes life so much better. Our next mission was food. What do you suppose I was craving? Ah, sweet sweet Whopper with cheese. Fortunately when it comes to Whoppers Husband and I share a brain. We found the next Burger King and got our heart's desire. It was the best Whopper I'd ever eaten and I relished each bite, practically making love to it.
That first backpacking experience prompted me to pursue the art of gourmet trail cooking. Since then we've taken countless trips and I have mastered the cooking. I'm the designated camp cook, always. I love it too, it's great to figure out how to convert meals from home to trail. We have much better equipment now, which really helps. But from the first trip I couldn't get enough. To be able to pack into complete isolation with everything you need on your back is the best feeling of independence and freedom. It's also great exercise.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Blown to Bits
Well, it's all over folks. While part of me is disappointed I won't be able to use my personal drama as writing inspiration, I'm very relieved that the end to it all is in sight.
I'll give you a brief rundown of the events over the weekend. A personal highlight for me was getting kicked out of the bowling alley, which has absolutely nothing to do with ex-Roommate. For me, getting actually kicked out of anywhere is ridiculous, but especially a bowling alley. How embarrassing. I lost my ID several weeks ago. I have not replaced it yet because that means I have to go to the DMV and deal with that nightmare. And yes, I'm a procrastinator of the highest degree so I'll be surprised if I have a new ID by summer. The problem is I'm 31 and could easily pass for 16. And where we live I don't really need an ID anymore. Everyone knows who I am and I'm on first-name basis with practically every bartender in our town. Except in the bowling alley.
So I go up to the bar with Husband and the bartender asks for our ID's. There is a sign posted over the bar that clearly states they won't serve anyone without a scannable ID. I told her my dilemma and she very rudely told me that she can't serve me. I responded, politely, that it was no big deal, I'd seen the sign and not to worry about it. We had a group of seven, all of whom were drinking beers. So while we were bowling, and without really thinking about it, I was drinking Husband's beer and probably other people's too. I think now is the time to mention that I'd had a couple of shots of tequila before we left. So we're into our second frame, had just started it actually, and the owner I guess he was came over to me and said, "You don't have ID to be drinking here." The way he said it was kind of framed like a question so I said, "I lost it. I told the bartender that." He said, "If you don't have ID you can't drink." Then our friend KB chimed in, "Dude, she's 31 years old, she's okay." And I said, "I'm not trying to screw you dude. I'm legal, I just lost my ID." And then the owner got kinda pissed and said something like I needed to stop drinking since I didn't have ID, maybe threatened to kick me out at that point. Well, Husband came over to find out what was going on and when he found out he said, "Forget it. We're done. We're leaving. We just spent a grip here and they're trying to give you shit now? Forget it." So we packed up our stuff, stopped our game and went to the counter to return our shoes. As we were standing there, KB was attempting, again, to politely explain to the owner that I was legal and they were really making a big deal over nothing. Our friend Kevin, visiting from out of town, another friend and I were talking about what happened and the bartender lady, who as it turns out is also an owner, came over to where we were standing. Apparently she didn't like what she was overhearing because she snapped, "Do you want me to call the cops right now?" I snapped right back, though not rudely, "Go ahead and call them. I'm not doing anything wrong. They can pull my license number and check my age." That's when the bartender lady actually came unglued and spewed, "I want you out now!" So I left.
I guess the moral of the story is don't argue with bowling alley owners, they'll kick you right out.
So ex-Roommate got released from the hospital and stopped by the house on Sunday to collect some of his things. Now, I've been under the impression the whole time that he understands that he's moving out. And I learned some things over the weekend that have transformed my anger into abject hate. The short version is that he's talking shit about me to Husband, actual shit. I mean, you can guess right? I'm an evil bitch, I overreact about everything, I'm disrupting the "vibe" of the house, etc. In addition he's stolen money from us that he's said we'll never get back. So fuck him.
Anyway, he got to the house on Sunday and informed us of the following, "Yeah, I'm probably going to move out. I don't feel comfortable here anymore."
I'm thinking to myself as he's saying it, yeah no shit. If I had talked as much shit about the people in this room and stolen from them, I probably wouldn't feel very comfortable either. But also I'm thinking, probably, what are you talking probably? You're GONE!
A few minutes later he informed us that he probably wouldn't have his stuff out by the first, hopefully by the fifth.
Wait just a second, I thought, you're going to tell us when you'll have your things out? Huh uh. How 'bout we'll give you a date and that's when you'll have it out or it's out on the street.
But did I say any of these things? No, my friends, I did not. I held my tongue so as not to make things worse and continued playing my game of Clue. I was playing with other people, not just by myself.
Well, Husband and Roommate have been exchanging messages and with each one Husband has gotten progressively more angry. Last night Husband called him because we found out that Frankie had let ex-Roommate inside while we weren't there to get some things. Not only did he get some things out of the bedroom, but he went downstairs and collected some plants, which he also took. Not cool. So he stole from us again, first money now plants. It's getting better all the time, no?
So Husband called him to basically ask him what the fuck. Well, as you can imagine, it escalated quickly to a shouting match, which escalated even further to ex-Roommate telling Husband these exact words, "Fuck you you piece of shit, I never want to see your face again." That just pissed Husband off even more. And in the midst of his rage I wondered aloud, then when will he be collecting the rest of his belongings? So Husband called back to ask him just that and ex-Roommate, all puffed up now, said he'd be bringing a gang of people over to get it. Now, if we though for a minute that ex-Roommate had a gang of people to bring over we might have been a bit worried. But we know he doesn't. We were his gang. But just that he said that was enough to get Husband in the bedroom packing everything up. Thankfully we had some friends over, per usual, and everyone helped us pack up his shit and put it outside.
And outside is where it remains this morning. Yes, Husband covered it all with a tarp when it was clear that ex-Roommate's posse either had previous engagements or were, in fact, non-existent.
There's still the matter of the money, but I have a feeling we'll be eating that. It's sucko, but I guess it could have been worse. I'm still trying to process it all and figure out what went wrong. Living with friends is difficult, though it can be done effectively. I wouldn't have pegged ex-Roommate for the kind of guy to steal from people though. I guess maybe I need to get a better character reader installed.
But that's it. That part of the drama is over, for now. Now we can move on to bigger and better things. You'll be able to read all about the chess games and Risk games. I'll give you the play-by-play action. Very exciting. Just kidding. Now that my head will be more clear I will entertain you with my travel stories perhaps.
Everyday is a new day, with new possibilities, new adventures and new stories.
I'll give you a brief rundown of the events over the weekend. A personal highlight for me was getting kicked out of the bowling alley, which has absolutely nothing to do with ex-Roommate. For me, getting actually kicked out of anywhere is ridiculous, but especially a bowling alley. How embarrassing. I lost my ID several weeks ago. I have not replaced it yet because that means I have to go to the DMV and deal with that nightmare. And yes, I'm a procrastinator of the highest degree so I'll be surprised if I have a new ID by summer. The problem is I'm 31 and could easily pass for 16. And where we live I don't really need an ID anymore. Everyone knows who I am and I'm on first-name basis with practically every bartender in our town. Except in the bowling alley.
So I go up to the bar with Husband and the bartender asks for our ID's. There is a sign posted over the bar that clearly states they won't serve anyone without a scannable ID. I told her my dilemma and she very rudely told me that she can't serve me. I responded, politely, that it was no big deal, I'd seen the sign and not to worry about it. We had a group of seven, all of whom were drinking beers. So while we were bowling, and without really thinking about it, I was drinking Husband's beer and probably other people's too. I think now is the time to mention that I'd had a couple of shots of tequila before we left. So we're into our second frame, had just started it actually, and the owner I guess he was came over to me and said, "You don't have ID to be drinking here." The way he said it was kind of framed like a question so I said, "I lost it. I told the bartender that." He said, "If you don't have ID you can't drink." Then our friend KB chimed in, "Dude, she's 31 years old, she's okay." And I said, "I'm not trying to screw you dude. I'm legal, I just lost my ID." And then the owner got kinda pissed and said something like I needed to stop drinking since I didn't have ID, maybe threatened to kick me out at that point. Well, Husband came over to find out what was going on and when he found out he said, "Forget it. We're done. We're leaving. We just spent a grip here and they're trying to give you shit now? Forget it." So we packed up our stuff, stopped our game and went to the counter to return our shoes. As we were standing there, KB was attempting, again, to politely explain to the owner that I was legal and they were really making a big deal over nothing. Our friend Kevin, visiting from out of town, another friend and I were talking about what happened and the bartender lady, who as it turns out is also an owner, came over to where we were standing. Apparently she didn't like what she was overhearing because she snapped, "Do you want me to call the cops right now?" I snapped right back, though not rudely, "Go ahead and call them. I'm not doing anything wrong. They can pull my license number and check my age." That's when the bartender lady actually came unglued and spewed, "I want you out now!" So I left.
I guess the moral of the story is don't argue with bowling alley owners, they'll kick you right out.
So ex-Roommate got released from the hospital and stopped by the house on Sunday to collect some of his things. Now, I've been under the impression the whole time that he understands that he's moving out. And I learned some things over the weekend that have transformed my anger into abject hate. The short version is that he's talking shit about me to Husband, actual shit. I mean, you can guess right? I'm an evil bitch, I overreact about everything, I'm disrupting the "vibe" of the house, etc. In addition he's stolen money from us that he's said we'll never get back. So fuck him.
Anyway, he got to the house on Sunday and informed us of the following, "Yeah, I'm probably going to move out. I don't feel comfortable here anymore."
I'm thinking to myself as he's saying it, yeah no shit. If I had talked as much shit about the people in this room and stolen from them, I probably wouldn't feel very comfortable either. But also I'm thinking, probably, what are you talking probably? You're GONE!
A few minutes later he informed us that he probably wouldn't have his stuff out by the first, hopefully by the fifth.
Wait just a second, I thought, you're going to tell us when you'll have your things out? Huh uh. How 'bout we'll give you a date and that's when you'll have it out or it's out on the street.
But did I say any of these things? No, my friends, I did not. I held my tongue so as not to make things worse and continued playing my game of Clue. I was playing with other people, not just by myself.
Well, Husband and Roommate have been exchanging messages and with each one Husband has gotten progressively more angry. Last night Husband called him because we found out that Frankie had let ex-Roommate inside while we weren't there to get some things. Not only did he get some things out of the bedroom, but he went downstairs and collected some plants, which he also took. Not cool. So he stole from us again, first money now plants. It's getting better all the time, no?
So Husband called him to basically ask him what the fuck. Well, as you can imagine, it escalated quickly to a shouting match, which escalated even further to ex-Roommate telling Husband these exact words, "Fuck you you piece of shit, I never want to see your face again." That just pissed Husband off even more. And in the midst of his rage I wondered aloud, then when will he be collecting the rest of his belongings? So Husband called back to ask him just that and ex-Roommate, all puffed up now, said he'd be bringing a gang of people over to get it. Now, if we though for a minute that ex-Roommate had a gang of people to bring over we might have been a bit worried. But we know he doesn't. We were his gang. But just that he said that was enough to get Husband in the bedroom packing everything up. Thankfully we had some friends over, per usual, and everyone helped us pack up his shit and put it outside.
And outside is where it remains this morning. Yes, Husband covered it all with a tarp when it was clear that ex-Roommate's posse either had previous engagements or were, in fact, non-existent.
There's still the matter of the money, but I have a feeling we'll be eating that. It's sucko, but I guess it could have been worse. I'm still trying to process it all and figure out what went wrong. Living with friends is difficult, though it can be done effectively. I wouldn't have pegged ex-Roommate for the kind of guy to steal from people though. I guess maybe I need to get a better character reader installed.
But that's it. That part of the drama is over, for now. Now we can move on to bigger and better things. You'll be able to read all about the chess games and Risk games. I'll give you the play-by-play action. Very exciting. Just kidding. Now that my head will be more clear I will entertain you with my travel stories perhaps.
Everyday is a new day, with new possibilities, new adventures and new stories.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
All Too Much
Sometimes I feel as though I'm going mad. It's as if the entire structure of life as I know it has collapsed around me and I'm the only one who's unaware. Yes, my friends, the Roommate drama continues. However, I've not the strength to discuss it presently. I would like to tell happier tales than those of the lying, shit-talking piece of human waste that was our Roommate. I will tell you right now that he has moved out, thank heaven. Well, kind of. His shit's still there but he is not.
So what shall we discuss today? The weather? Our snow is gone. It's unseasonably warm, although everyone keeps saying how cold it is. What are you gonna do? California weather is finicky.
Shall we discuss the changing face of modern religion and it's progressive movement away from the ancient religious structure? We could include in this discussion, of course, ancient religions and their impact on those of the modern day.
Perhaps alchemy, the Philosopher's Stone, angelic language?
Would you like to hear about how I almost drowned on a backpacking trip in Alaska? That's a long story, perhaps for another time.
I'm listening to my favorite morning talk radio program right now, and they are discussing the academy Awards. There's something I could not get less excited about. First of all, we don't go to movies. I won't. Ever again. Not until they allow me to take in some sort of either stun gun or taser or cattle prod, with which I can electrocute those total assholes who insist on talking, answering cell phones, taking fucking 10 minutes to open the damned plastic on your SnoCaps for the love of God! I can't take it. It's as if every noise is magnified in the theater and all the loudest people are sitting in the five seats directly around me. Second, I hate Hollywood. I hate actors, actresses, movie producers, what Hollywood stands for, all of it. It sickens me. I mean, sure, Husband and I watch movies at home. We sometimes rent them or purchase them on pay per view. But if it's got Tom Cruise in it, forget it. You can't pay me to watch it. Anyway, Oscars Schmoskers.
So what shall we discuss today? The weather? Our snow is gone. It's unseasonably warm, although everyone keeps saying how cold it is. What are you gonna do? California weather is finicky.
Shall we discuss the changing face of modern religion and it's progressive movement away from the ancient religious structure? We could include in this discussion, of course, ancient religions and their impact on those of the modern day.
Perhaps alchemy, the Philosopher's Stone, angelic language?
Would you like to hear about how I almost drowned on a backpacking trip in Alaska? That's a long story, perhaps for another time.
I'm listening to my favorite morning talk radio program right now, and they are discussing the academy Awards. There's something I could not get less excited about. First of all, we don't go to movies. I won't. Ever again. Not until they allow me to take in some sort of either stun gun or taser or cattle prod, with which I can electrocute those total assholes who insist on talking, answering cell phones, taking fucking 10 minutes to open the damned plastic on your SnoCaps for the love of God! I can't take it. It's as if every noise is magnified in the theater and all the loudest people are sitting in the five seats directly around me. Second, I hate Hollywood. I hate actors, actresses, movie producers, what Hollywood stands for, all of it. It sickens me. I mean, sure, Husband and I watch movies at home. We sometimes rent them or purchase them on pay per view. But if it's got Tom Cruise in it, forget it. You can't pay me to watch it. Anyway, Oscars Schmoskers.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Brain Damage
Ugg! On days like this I'm thankful that I don't work on Fridays. I am suffering from a slight hangover, though I didn't drink very much. Must be the not-eating thing, it gets me every time. Husband, KB, Frankie and I were invited to go bowling last night. I don't bowl. I've bowled maybe once in my life when I was a child. Husband on the other hand was in a bowling league for years, and is still really good.
I had the best time! Not only did I break 100, I bowled 4 or 5 strikes and I actually learned how to bowl correctly. I've got to work on my speed a little. I'm not very fast, but my approach is good. So we bowled and drank beer and had a great time. It was a nice change to be out of the house and with friends. No drama, no shit-talking, no problems.
I'm suffering the consequences of my decisions today though. I'm bleary-eyed, tired, and I have that fuzzy feeling in my head, like I'm not quite awake yet. So now I have to think about tonight. Since I don't work tomorrow today is technically my Friday. The question is do I muster the strength to start drinking again well into the night when I finally go to sleep at 3:00 am, or do I attempt some semblance of responsibility and go to bed early? I have a feeling it will be somewhere in between. KB has requested that Frankie and I practice tonight. Have I mentioned that I sing? I sing. Not professionally or anything, though people tell me I should. My response is that I love to sing. If I did it for a living I probably wouldn't love it anymore. Anyway, Frankie is an amazing guitar player and we are trying to learn some songs together. We just have fun mostly.
I have learned that Mama is creating a page on myspace where she will display the many pictures and videos documenting Roommates attempted suicide. As soon as I have details I will post a link here. Until then, patience!
I had the best time! Not only did I break 100, I bowled 4 or 5 strikes and I actually learned how to bowl correctly. I've got to work on my speed a little. I'm not very fast, but my approach is good. So we bowled and drank beer and had a great time. It was a nice change to be out of the house and with friends. No drama, no shit-talking, no problems.
I'm suffering the consequences of my decisions today though. I'm bleary-eyed, tired, and I have that fuzzy feeling in my head, like I'm not quite awake yet. So now I have to think about tonight. Since I don't work tomorrow today is technically my Friday. The question is do I muster the strength to start drinking again well into the night when I finally go to sleep at 3:00 am, or do I attempt some semblance of responsibility and go to bed early? I have a feeling it will be somewhere in between. KB has requested that Frankie and I practice tonight. Have I mentioned that I sing? I sing. Not professionally or anything, though people tell me I should. My response is that I love to sing. If I did it for a living I probably wouldn't love it anymore. Anyway, Frankie is an amazing guitar player and we are trying to learn some songs together. We just have fun mostly.
I have learned that Mama is creating a page on myspace where she will display the many pictures and videos documenting Roommates attempted suicide. As soon as I have details I will post a link here. Until then, patience!
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Helmets for the Handicapped
Alright, alright, alright. I've calmed down a bit, today is a new day and a new topic of discussion. An interesting thing happened on Sunday, and it continues perfectly our ongoing saga with Roommate. It is also a warning to those possessing Liquid Courage, and an example of what happens when your last words are "Look at me!"
Roommate, Mama, Papa and Husband went snowboarding on Sunday. I was supposed to go but due to circumstances beyond my control, I couldn't. It was Mama and Papa's one-year anniversary so they were going to celebrate that and party it up. When Husband called me at around 10:45 am they had only taken two runs and had been drinking vodka-RedBulls throughout the morning.
As it neared closing time they took their last run of the day. Because Roommate thinks he's a bad-ass, he's trying to impress Mama and he's drunk, he decided it was a good idea to launch off of a jump. Roommate has been snowboarding for about two years. Husband has been skiing and snowboarding for over 15 and he's worked at more than one resort. He's an excellent skier/boarder. He wouldn't even take that jump because of the icy conditions and because he knows his limitations. But, since Roommate is like a professional, basically, he can take jumps like that, easy peasy lemon squeezy. Well, he can take them all he wants but it doesn't mean he can land them. Roommate didn't so much launch off the jump as fall off of it. They got it all on video, so we were able to see it probably a dozen times when they got home. The lip on the top of the jump threw Roommate backwards (well that, and he didn't even hit it right, his stance was all wrong) and caused him to land upside down on his neck and shoulders. His nose and ears started to bleed and Husband radioed Ski Patrol.
I guess an hour later they finally had Roommate down the mountain and in the Ski Patrol office. The doctor checked him out and declared a broken sternum. From what I was told when they got home, Roommate was offered ambulance transport to the hospital but they decided to just go in the next day. So four Vicodins and a belly full of booze later, Roommate and the rest of the crew get to our house, completely interrupting my nice quiet evening, all of them drunk off their asses. Roommate would not lie down, he had to make sure everyone saw his unfortunate accident at least six times, and kept replaying it until someone had to tell him to stop. I'm suffering from terrible cramps, that's why I didn't go, and I now have like 10 people in my house (did I mention some other friends dropped by before the crew got home?) drunk and loud. After we'd seen the video, the shit-talking I discussed yesterday commenced, there was some drama, and I'm sure it had nothing to do with the consumption of alcohol.
Yesterday Mama and Papa drove Roommate to the hospital where he learned that not only does he have a broken sternum, but also a vertebrae that's broken in three places. He's going in for surgery this morning. Details are sketchy, but it's obviously bad.
Now the more astute among you are no doubt asking yourselves, "Doesn't Roommate have big dog? Doesn't he move furniture for a living? With the surgery, he's certain to be out of work for a long while, how will he pay rent? What does he plan on doing when he's released from the hospital? Will he still move out?"
Allow me to ease your minds as I have already given much thought to these questions and I believe I have answers. Roommate will not be staying with us during his recovery. I don't know if he's even thought about the fact that he may never go back to his job moving furniture, but that's really no concern of mine. His mom lives like five minutes away from us and that's where he will return. We will probably need to move his bed and belongings out, which I am happy to do. But he needs to be cared for while he recovers, and as I am not his mommy, I think it's best for him to be with her and allow her to care for him. As for the rest of his life, what can I say? When you act like an asshole and try to do stupid shit, bad things happen. I wish him the best, but Husband and I can't be responsible for him, his dog, or his lack of income, which is imminent.
So please let this be a lesson to you. If drinking, semi-dangerous or somewhat risky activities, and jackasses are involved you should steer clear. Bad things are bound to happen, and you don't want to be around when a stupid drunk snowboarder falls from the sky and lands on top of you.
Roommate, Mama, Papa and Husband went snowboarding on Sunday. I was supposed to go but due to circumstances beyond my control, I couldn't. It was Mama and Papa's one-year anniversary so they were going to celebrate that and party it up. When Husband called me at around 10:45 am they had only taken two runs and had been drinking vodka-RedBulls throughout the morning.
As it neared closing time they took their last run of the day. Because Roommate thinks he's a bad-ass, he's trying to impress Mama and he's drunk, he decided it was a good idea to launch off of a jump. Roommate has been snowboarding for about two years. Husband has been skiing and snowboarding for over 15 and he's worked at more than one resort. He's an excellent skier/boarder. He wouldn't even take that jump because of the icy conditions and because he knows his limitations. But, since Roommate is like a professional, basically, he can take jumps like that, easy peasy lemon squeezy. Well, he can take them all he wants but it doesn't mean he can land them. Roommate didn't so much launch off the jump as fall off of it. They got it all on video, so we were able to see it probably a dozen times when they got home. The lip on the top of the jump threw Roommate backwards (well that, and he didn't even hit it right, his stance was all wrong) and caused him to land upside down on his neck and shoulders. His nose and ears started to bleed and Husband radioed Ski Patrol.
I guess an hour later they finally had Roommate down the mountain and in the Ski Patrol office. The doctor checked him out and declared a broken sternum. From what I was told when they got home, Roommate was offered ambulance transport to the hospital but they decided to just go in the next day. So four Vicodins and a belly full of booze later, Roommate and the rest of the crew get to our house, completely interrupting my nice quiet evening, all of them drunk off their asses. Roommate would not lie down, he had to make sure everyone saw his unfortunate accident at least six times, and kept replaying it until someone had to tell him to stop. I'm suffering from terrible cramps, that's why I didn't go, and I now have like 10 people in my house (did I mention some other friends dropped by before the crew got home?) drunk and loud. After we'd seen the video, the shit-talking I discussed yesterday commenced, there was some drama, and I'm sure it had nothing to do with the consumption of alcohol.
Yesterday Mama and Papa drove Roommate to the hospital where he learned that not only does he have a broken sternum, but also a vertebrae that's broken in three places. He's going in for surgery this morning. Details are sketchy, but it's obviously bad.
Now the more astute among you are no doubt asking yourselves, "Doesn't Roommate have big dog? Doesn't he move furniture for a living? With the surgery, he's certain to be out of work for a long while, how will he pay rent? What does he plan on doing when he's released from the hospital? Will he still move out?"
Allow me to ease your minds as I have already given much thought to these questions and I believe I have answers. Roommate will not be staying with us during his recovery. I don't know if he's even thought about the fact that he may never go back to his job moving furniture, but that's really no concern of mine. His mom lives like five minutes away from us and that's where he will return. We will probably need to move his bed and belongings out, which I am happy to do. But he needs to be cared for while he recovers, and as I am not his mommy, I think it's best for him to be with her and allow her to care for him. As for the rest of his life, what can I say? When you act like an asshole and try to do stupid shit, bad things happen. I wish him the best, but Husband and I can't be responsible for him, his dog, or his lack of income, which is imminent.
So please let this be a lesson to you. If drinking, semi-dangerous or somewhat risky activities, and jackasses are involved you should steer clear. Bad things are bound to happen, and you don't want to be around when a stupid drunk snowboarder falls from the sky and lands on top of you.
Monday, January 15, 2007
One of These Days I'm Going to Cut You Into Little Pieces
What I'd like to do now is to have a discussion about why it's so incredibly difficult for people to mind their own business. I feel as though I was transported to a parallel universe last night, and I think I'm about to have some sort of mental or emotional breakdown.
Why would someone, anyone, a person, talk to the husband of someone about their concerns about the faithfulness of the husband's wife? Why would this happen? Why is it that people are so interested in other people's relationships, interested enough to forcibly insert themselves into it and spew forth their advice and opinions? Again with the unsolicited advice and opinions!
Let me ask you this, do Husband and I look or seem to be that incompetent? Do we really not seem capable of dealing with our lives and our relationship? Is it the nine years we've been together, the four years we've been married, the almost total lack of arguing, the constant support and encouragement, or the complete trust that we have in each other that gives you this impression?
Why, knowing that Husband is a sensitive if somewhat insecure man would someone purposefully plant ideas in his head about me being unfaithful to him? Why? Why does it seem like our "friends" desire to create drama in our lives? Why are our "friends" so concerned about our marriage? Is it because we never have problems and you think we need some? Are we being sabotaged, taken down from the inside? Are you people that petty and jealous that you can't believe Husband and I are the real deal? Don't you all have other things to worry about than us?
I'm so pissed, hurt, confused, sad I could seriously drive through a wall right now. I love it. We open our home to practically everyone on the planet. We cook for everyone, clean the house, make sure bills and rent are paid, buy beer, buy cigs, smoke everyone out, always have a bed to crash in or somewhere to sleep, let people stay with us for months without giving us money, in general give of ourselves completely, and you sorry bunch of fucks repay us by talking shit about me. And not just shit, you accuse me of cheating on Husband, with our friend. And you share this with the friend and Husband. Share, please. You gossip, you poison minds with this shit. And thanks, by the way, for the vote of confidence. It's so nice to feel like people think well of you, that you're a stand up person. Lord knows I'd never want people to think that, hmm, cheat on my husband for instance. Fuck You!!!!
I'm done. Done! I feel like digging a hole, crawling inside and never coming out. If I never see our "friends" again, I think right now I'll be okay with that. But how about this as a general rule of thumb, unless you are a person whom I am giving money to for the purpose of discussing the issues in my life, in which case I am paying you for the service of providing me with your advice and opinions, STAY THE FUCK OUT of my business. Keep your opinions and shit talking to yourself. Keep it in your fucked up brain where it belongs.
Why would someone, anyone, a person, talk to the husband of someone about their concerns about the faithfulness of the husband's wife? Why would this happen? Why is it that people are so interested in other people's relationships, interested enough to forcibly insert themselves into it and spew forth their advice and opinions? Again with the unsolicited advice and opinions!
Let me ask you this, do Husband and I look or seem to be that incompetent? Do we really not seem capable of dealing with our lives and our relationship? Is it the nine years we've been together, the four years we've been married, the almost total lack of arguing, the constant support and encouragement, or the complete trust that we have in each other that gives you this impression?
Why, knowing that Husband is a sensitive if somewhat insecure man would someone purposefully plant ideas in his head about me being unfaithful to him? Why? Why does it seem like our "friends" desire to create drama in our lives? Why are our "friends" so concerned about our marriage? Is it because we never have problems and you think we need some? Are we being sabotaged, taken down from the inside? Are you people that petty and jealous that you can't believe Husband and I are the real deal? Don't you all have other things to worry about than us?
I'm so pissed, hurt, confused, sad I could seriously drive through a wall right now. I love it. We open our home to practically everyone on the planet. We cook for everyone, clean the house, make sure bills and rent are paid, buy beer, buy cigs, smoke everyone out, always have a bed to crash in or somewhere to sleep, let people stay with us for months without giving us money, in general give of ourselves completely, and you sorry bunch of fucks repay us by talking shit about me. And not just shit, you accuse me of cheating on Husband, with our friend. And you share this with the friend and Husband. Share, please. You gossip, you poison minds with this shit. And thanks, by the way, for the vote of confidence. It's so nice to feel like people think well of you, that you're a stand up person. Lord knows I'd never want people to think that, hmm, cheat on my husband for instance. Fuck You!!!!
I'm done. Done! I feel like digging a hole, crawling inside and never coming out. If I never see our "friends" again, I think right now I'll be okay with that. But how about this as a general rule of thumb, unless you are a person whom I am giving money to for the purpose of discussing the issues in my life, in which case I am paying you for the service of providing me with your advice and opinions, STAY THE FUCK OUT of my business. Keep your opinions and shit talking to yourself. Keep it in your fucked up brain where it belongs.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Stew
Perhaps because it's Friday, perhaps because we're gearing up for a bitterly cold weekend, I thought I'd share my recipe for beef stew. It is the best beef stew ever, hands down. I love making it on cold days, it's such a great way to warm up. It makes a ton and freezes well and only gets better as the days go by. Obviously use your judgement and don't keep it for too long without freezing it. This recipe has been in my family for at least a few generations, with my changes being the only ones I know about. Although it's a simple recipe it is absolutely delicious. Hope you enjoy it!
Beef Stew
1 1/2 - 2 lbs. beef brisket, cut into large cubes
4-5 large carrots, cut into big pieces
8-10 medium to large potatoes, cut into big pieces (this is something you can totally adjust, along with the carrots. If you like lots of potatoes, or lots of carrots use more.)
1 bay leaf
1 large can or 2 smaller (15 oz.) cans beef broth/stock
about 1/2 - 1 C. red wine
salt & pepper to taste
Dust the beef with a mixture of flour, salt and pepper. Heat a large pot on medium-high and add just enough oil to lightly coat the bottom, about 1 tbsp. You will probably have to cook the meat in two batches, depending on your pot size. Brown the meat on all sides until it has a brown, cruchy exterior and the interior is still uncooked. Remove meat from pot. Pour wine into hot pot and scrape the bottom with a wooden spoon to remove any browned bits. Allow wine to reduce slightly and add meat back into pot. Pour in all the stock and supplement water if you need additional liquid. There should be enough liquid in the pot to cover the meat by several inches, plus enough to cover the vegetables when you add them. Add the bay leaf, turn down the heat to simmer and cover with a lid. Allow the meat to simmer for one hour, then add the vegetables.
The vegetables will take about an hour to cook. Again, depending on how you like them cooked this will determine when the stew is finished. But the most important thing is that the beef is very tender. There will be a period of time when the meat will become very tough and you will think something is wrong. Be patient. When the meat has cooked long enough it will fall apart easily with a fork and will be very tender to eat. I always let the stew sit for a couple of hours and then re-heat it before serving. For some reason it's just better that way. I serve it with a big piece of toasted bread, sometimes cornbread. For those of you who are curious, I added the beef stock and the red wine. My mom always made it with water only. I find the stock gives it a very nice flavor.
I'm thrilled it's Friday, even if it has been a somewhat sucky one. My weekend should prove interesting given the situation at home. Hopefully it will at least give me some good stories.
Beef Stew
1 1/2 - 2 lbs. beef brisket, cut into large cubes
4-5 large carrots, cut into big pieces
8-10 medium to large potatoes, cut into big pieces (this is something you can totally adjust, along with the carrots. If you like lots of potatoes, or lots of carrots use more.)
1 bay leaf
1 large can or 2 smaller (15 oz.) cans beef broth/stock
about 1/2 - 1 C. red wine
salt & pepper to taste
Dust the beef with a mixture of flour, salt and pepper. Heat a large pot on medium-high and add just enough oil to lightly coat the bottom, about 1 tbsp. You will probably have to cook the meat in two batches, depending on your pot size. Brown the meat on all sides until it has a brown, cruchy exterior and the interior is still uncooked. Remove meat from pot. Pour wine into hot pot and scrape the bottom with a wooden spoon to remove any browned bits. Allow wine to reduce slightly and add meat back into pot. Pour in all the stock and supplement water if you need additional liquid. There should be enough liquid in the pot to cover the meat by several inches, plus enough to cover the vegetables when you add them. Add the bay leaf, turn down the heat to simmer and cover with a lid. Allow the meat to simmer for one hour, then add the vegetables.
The vegetables will take about an hour to cook. Again, depending on how you like them cooked this will determine when the stew is finished. But the most important thing is that the beef is very tender. There will be a period of time when the meat will become very tough and you will think something is wrong. Be patient. When the meat has cooked long enough it will fall apart easily with a fork and will be very tender to eat. I always let the stew sit for a couple of hours and then re-heat it before serving. For some reason it's just better that way. I serve it with a big piece of toasted bread, sometimes cornbread. For those of you who are curious, I added the beef stock and the red wine. My mom always made it with water only. I find the stock gives it a very nice flavor.
I'm thrilled it's Friday, even if it has been a somewhat sucky one. My weekend should prove interesting given the situation at home. Hopefully it will at least give me some good stories.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Oh, I'm the Jerk?!
The drama continues my friends. As some of you are already aware, Husband and I have been dealing with Roommate issues. Behind The Camera already suggested that we kick him out, stat. Well, it's finally come to that. It's a fairly humorous story and just happened yesterday. However, I'm suffering from a terrible cold, and in my sickened, weakened state I hope I'll do it justice.
So for the sixth month in a row now we have had to ask our 35 year-old roommate for rent money. It's only $300, a third of our rent. He's got his own room, with cable (even Husband and I don't have cable in our room), he really doesn't have to clean, well he doesn't anyway, he's got a pretty descent situation. All Husband and I ask is that he pays his rent and bills on time. It is none of his business, nor does it effect when he needs to give us money, if we have made arrangements with our landlord as to when we're paying rent. Our arrangement with our landlord is our business, Roommate is not on the lease. Roommate's agreement with us is just that, it's between us and his obligations are to us.
So for the sixth month in a row now(I know, deja vu) Roommate doesn't have rent money when it's due. He swears up and down that he's some "playa", just rolling in bills. HA! You know the types, they like people to think they're big pimpin' but they're just liars. But when it comes to getting us the money he owes us, he never has it. It's like pulling teeth.
(An aside: Husband and I met some really cool people at our New Year's party. They live close to us, they're our age, we're really excited to get to know them and hang out. Well, Roommate has decided that he's into the wife, let's call her Mama, and that Mama's into him. Papa, that's the husband, told all of us just last weekend that meeting us was perfect timing for them because they hadn't been doing well, their marriage hadn't been doing well, Papa was depressed, etc., and it was great for them to meet us when they did. Okay, in my mind, when someone tells you their marriage is having problems, if you're a friend you do everything you can to support it and encourage it's success. Roommate has a different strategy. Marriage troubles to him mean hone in on the wife and try to break the marriage up. So he's been relentless in his pursuit of Mama and I'm terribly concerned that it will hurt our brand new friendship. At this point I'd deny knowing the guy.)
Roommate got home the other night and Husband again asked him for the rent money. He still didn't have it. Husband got pissed, told Roommate so, and pretty much laid into him about screwing us on rent. Roommate promised to have the money to us the next day. I was in bed, having found the solace of my poofy comforter by 7:30 that evening due to my cold. At about 11:45 pm I woke up and subsequently woke Husband up. I asked him if Roommate had given us rent, to which he responded no. Well that just set me right off and I proclaimed, "That's it! I want him out!" And Husband and I decided at that point we would be telling him to find other accommodations. I told Husband and our friend KB that before I start to hate him, he needs to leave. I still wanted to be his friend, but I wouldn't be if he kept living with us.
Yesterday afternoon KB was over as well as our friend (who is also staying with us for a bit, no I swear we don't run a youth hostel) Frankie, when Roommate got home. Husband gave him a minute to get settled and they made small talk. Now, I'm already upset about the money thing, and I'm unhappy about what his intentions are with Mama. Not to mention my weakened and sickly condition. So when Husband finally asked Roommate for rent, which he had promised us by yesterday, and Roommate says, "Well, I've got it but there's a slight problem." I was ready to throw down, and here's how it went:
R: "Well, I've got it but there's a slight problem."
H: "Well we're fucked dude. Our check's gonna bounce."
R: "No, listen, it's only a slight problem. The check that I got today isn't going to be good until tomorrow at 9:30. So I'll be able to get you the money tomorrow."
H: "That's not gonna work man, I mean, you're really fucking us here."
R: "Well if someone had told me that they were gonna pay it I could've maybe gotten the money sooner."
Me: "Roommate, rent is due on the fifth, it's always due on the fifth. I'm sick of having to ask you for money every month!"
R: "You don't have to ask me for money every month! You guys keep changing your mind about when you want the money. I was told I had until Friday."
Me: "I know I didn't tell you that. And I know that Husband didn't tell you that. In fact, he told you something quite different than that, so don't start making shit up."
R: "I'm not making shit up!" Storms off to his room and slams the door. A few minutes later he comes out with his checkbook and begins to write a check while also beginning to talk shit.
R: "You all need to get your shit together 'cause you're telling me to pay rent by the fifth, and what, you motha - when did you pay rent, today?" Please note that yes, he was about to call us motherfuckers, motherfuckers, after everything we've done, our kindness - bah!
Me: "Roommate!! That's none of your fucking business. Your obligation is to us, this is our house, you're not on the fucking lease!! We have an agreement and rent is due by the fifth! Whether you like it or not, your agreement is with us and every month now we're begging you for money."
(Another aside, Roommate, Husband and I also went in on kind of a business deal, we propagated some plants, which we were going to harvest and sell to supplement our incomes. It didn't go exactly as planned, and I was worried from the beginning that Husband and I were going to get screwed. Well, like January 2 Roommate gave some of the harvested plants to a "buddy" to sell. He told us that we'd have rent money from the sale of the plants. We still have not seen any money out of it.)
R: "You don't have to beg me for money! I have money for you every month, you just keep changing your minds about when you want it."
Me: "Roommate, you're an adult. We shouldn't have to ask you for money at all! You should have it in your hand ready to give to us when it's due!"
R: "Well, it's not my fault that my boss is in the hospital and her husband is dying and she can't pay me."
Me and H: "It's not our problem either! Now it's our problem because you've made it our problem." Me: "None of your personal bullshit is our problem Roommate. Whether it's the shots for the dog or your boss, it's not our problem!!"
Roommate tries to start yelling things at me at which point I said: "Oh, what Roommate, you wanna go? You really wanna start that shit? 'Cause I'm ready to go!"
R: "Well this check will be good by 9:30 tomorrow morning . . ."
Me: "Yeah, just like the money from the plants, that was supposed to cover rent and we haven't even seen any, and I'm not really expecting to!"
R: "Is that right?"
M: "Yeah Roommate, that's right."
It's important to note that I am yelling, no, screaming at this point and have been through most of the conversation. I know, it's not the most mature, or the best way to deal with things. What can I say, I lost it.
R: "Fine, if you're not expecting it then you won't see it. But don't try to accuse me of anything."
Me: "I'm not, all I want is rent and bills paid on time! You have a responsibility to us, like it or not. And guess what, if you don't like it, you know where you can go!"
R: "Yeah that's fine. I'm outta here. I'll start looking for a place and be out by the end of the month."
Me: "Probably a good idea."
Roommate storms back into his room again where he remained for the rest of the night, only coming out to use the bathroom and make it clear that he's the pissed off one, the jilted one, the hurt one, the victim.
Now clearly I could've dealt with that whole situation a lot better. The problem is people who refuse to take responsibility for themselves and insist on always blaming others for their fucked up lives just set me off. I've been dealing with Roommate's bullshit for over six months and I'm just done. So maybe part of me wanted it to go down like that, just to be rid of him. I really hate getting that out of control though. So consequently I spent the rest of the night apologizing to KB and Frankie for my horrible behavior, or at least for scaring them by yelling so loud.
To be continued . . .
So for the sixth month in a row now we have had to ask our 35 year-old roommate for rent money. It's only $300, a third of our rent. He's got his own room, with cable (even Husband and I don't have cable in our room), he really doesn't have to clean, well he doesn't anyway, he's got a pretty descent situation. All Husband and I ask is that he pays his rent and bills on time. It is none of his business, nor does it effect when he needs to give us money, if we have made arrangements with our landlord as to when we're paying rent. Our arrangement with our landlord is our business, Roommate is not on the lease. Roommate's agreement with us is just that, it's between us and his obligations are to us.
So for the sixth month in a row now(I know, deja vu) Roommate doesn't have rent money when it's due. He swears up and down that he's some "playa", just rolling in bills. HA! You know the types, they like people to think they're big pimpin' but they're just liars. But when it comes to getting us the money he owes us, he never has it. It's like pulling teeth.
(An aside: Husband and I met some really cool people at our New Year's party. They live close to us, they're our age, we're really excited to get to know them and hang out. Well, Roommate has decided that he's into the wife, let's call her Mama, and that Mama's into him. Papa, that's the husband, told all of us just last weekend that meeting us was perfect timing for them because they hadn't been doing well, their marriage hadn't been doing well, Papa was depressed, etc., and it was great for them to meet us when they did. Okay, in my mind, when someone tells you their marriage is having problems, if you're a friend you do everything you can to support it and encourage it's success. Roommate has a different strategy. Marriage troubles to him mean hone in on the wife and try to break the marriage up. So he's been relentless in his pursuit of Mama and I'm terribly concerned that it will hurt our brand new friendship. At this point I'd deny knowing the guy.)
Roommate got home the other night and Husband again asked him for the rent money. He still didn't have it. Husband got pissed, told Roommate so, and pretty much laid into him about screwing us on rent. Roommate promised to have the money to us the next day. I was in bed, having found the solace of my poofy comforter by 7:30 that evening due to my cold. At about 11:45 pm I woke up and subsequently woke Husband up. I asked him if Roommate had given us rent, to which he responded no. Well that just set me right off and I proclaimed, "That's it! I want him out!" And Husband and I decided at that point we would be telling him to find other accommodations. I told Husband and our friend KB that before I start to hate him, he needs to leave. I still wanted to be his friend, but I wouldn't be if he kept living with us.
Yesterday afternoon KB was over as well as our friend (who is also staying with us for a bit, no I swear we don't run a youth hostel) Frankie, when Roommate got home. Husband gave him a minute to get settled and they made small talk. Now, I'm already upset about the money thing, and I'm unhappy about what his intentions are with Mama. Not to mention my weakened and sickly condition. So when Husband finally asked Roommate for rent, which he had promised us by yesterday, and Roommate says, "Well, I've got it but there's a slight problem." I was ready to throw down, and here's how it went:
R: "Well, I've got it but there's a slight problem."
H: "Well we're fucked dude. Our check's gonna bounce."
R: "No, listen, it's only a slight problem. The check that I got today isn't going to be good until tomorrow at 9:30. So I'll be able to get you the money tomorrow."
H: "That's not gonna work man, I mean, you're really fucking us here."
R: "Well if someone had told me that they were gonna pay it I could've maybe gotten the money sooner."
Me: "Roommate, rent is due on the fifth, it's always due on the fifth. I'm sick of having to ask you for money every month!"
R: "You don't have to ask me for money every month! You guys keep changing your mind about when you want the money. I was told I had until Friday."
Me: "I know I didn't tell you that. And I know that Husband didn't tell you that. In fact, he told you something quite different than that, so don't start making shit up."
R: "I'm not making shit up!" Storms off to his room and slams the door. A few minutes later he comes out with his checkbook and begins to write a check while also beginning to talk shit.
R: "You all need to get your shit together 'cause you're telling me to pay rent by the fifth, and what, you motha - when did you pay rent, today?" Please note that yes, he was about to call us motherfuckers, motherfuckers, after everything we've done, our kindness - bah!
Me: "Roommate!! That's none of your fucking business. Your obligation is to us, this is our house, you're not on the fucking lease!! We have an agreement and rent is due by the fifth! Whether you like it or not, your agreement is with us and every month now we're begging you for money."
(Another aside, Roommate, Husband and I also went in on kind of a business deal, we propagated some plants, which we were going to harvest and sell to supplement our incomes. It didn't go exactly as planned, and I was worried from the beginning that Husband and I were going to get screwed. Well, like January 2 Roommate gave some of the harvested plants to a "buddy" to sell. He told us that we'd have rent money from the sale of the plants. We still have not seen any money out of it.)
R: "You don't have to beg me for money! I have money for you every month, you just keep changing your minds about when you want it."
Me: "Roommate, you're an adult. We shouldn't have to ask you for money at all! You should have it in your hand ready to give to us when it's due!"
R: "Well, it's not my fault that my boss is in the hospital and her husband is dying and she can't pay me."
Me and H: "It's not our problem either! Now it's our problem because you've made it our problem." Me: "None of your personal bullshit is our problem Roommate. Whether it's the shots for the dog or your boss, it's not our problem!!"
Roommate tries to start yelling things at me at which point I said: "Oh, what Roommate, you wanna go? You really wanna start that shit? 'Cause I'm ready to go!"
R: "Well this check will be good by 9:30 tomorrow morning . . ."
Me: "Yeah, just like the money from the plants, that was supposed to cover rent and we haven't even seen any, and I'm not really expecting to!"
R: "Is that right?"
M: "Yeah Roommate, that's right."
It's important to note that I am yelling, no, screaming at this point and have been through most of the conversation. I know, it's not the most mature, or the best way to deal with things. What can I say, I lost it.
R: "Fine, if you're not expecting it then you won't see it. But don't try to accuse me of anything."
Me: "I'm not, all I want is rent and bills paid on time! You have a responsibility to us, like it or not. And guess what, if you don't like it, you know where you can go!"
R: "Yeah that's fine. I'm outta here. I'll start looking for a place and be out by the end of the month."
Me: "Probably a good idea."
Roommate storms back into his room again where he remained for the rest of the night, only coming out to use the bathroom and make it clear that he's the pissed off one, the jilted one, the hurt one, the victim.
Now clearly I could've dealt with that whole situation a lot better. The problem is people who refuse to take responsibility for themselves and insist on always blaming others for their fucked up lives just set me off. I've been dealing with Roommate's bullshit for over six months and I'm just done. So maybe part of me wanted it to go down like that, just to be rid of him. I really hate getting that out of control though. So consequently I spent the rest of the night apologizing to KB and Frankie for my horrible behavior, or at least for scaring them by yelling so loud.
To be continued . . .
Monday, January 08, 2007
Have You Seen The Baby?
There is a mystical force effecting people, mostly women, who have children that compels them to wish children upon everyone else, particularly women. I don't think I will ever fully grasp this phenomenon, perhaps when I have children the mystical force will effect me too.
Husband and I have no kids. We would like to have them someday, Husband probably more so than I do. Don't get me wrong, I like kids. I think I'd be a pretty cool mom, and I know Husband would be a great dad. For one reason or another we just don't have any yet. It's interesting because we have friends with and without kids. Some of them have kids that live in another state, some are divorced with kids, some are married with kids and some have none. It's been my experience that there are several different attitudes people have about their own kids and then also about childless couples. First let me just say to all you people with children who have friends with none, please stop asking us when we're going to have them. Number one it's none of your business. Number two, you clearly have no idea how condescending and de-valuing it is; like we're somehow not really valid until we have kids. Number three, you also clearly have no idea that there could be serious problems or not so serious problems that prevent people from having children. This is not necessarily the case with Husband and I, but it's very insensitive to assume that we're just not trying hard enough or don't know what we're doing. Take into consideration that every time you ask that question, the couple you're asking may be dealing with a recent miscarriage or perhaps they just found out they're infertile. Just think before you speak.
It's amazing to me how often people take their own children for granted. I know that not every day with your children is puppy dogs and ice cream. But when I hear people talking about their kids with disdain or actually calling them "dummy" or "loser" or any number of other names, joking or not, it breaks my heart a little. Kids are going to get enough of that throughout their growing up. They should never hear that coming from the mouths of their parents. My other favorite thing is when people talk about their kids with the tone of someone who would rather have their fingernails pulled out with pliers. Like their kids are so much of a burden, and if only they'd done things differently they could be doing more, have a better job, have more money, whatever. Hey, guess what? You didn't do things differently. You made kids whether or not you meant to. Buck the fuck up and appreciate the fact that you've got a life to mold into something productive and we'll all be grateful when you raise a person who can contribute positively to society. Sorry you chose to burden yourself with the precious gift of life. How about you stop complaining about it? Now obviously the flip side of this attitude is one of gratitude and overwhelming joy at the ability to bring a child into the world. To those parents who are doing their best and loving their kids, thanks.
The hardest part about dealing with people who have kids is wading through the self-righteous bullshit that is their vast knowledge of child-rearing. I understand that I'm so far behind the curve when it comes to dealing with children, not having any of my own, and that I couldn't possibly understand the intricacies of raising kids. I get that. But when, and if, Husband and I do have kids, our experience will be totally different from anyone else's. Every time I hear, "Oh, when you guys have kids . . . " I just want to shove knitting needles in my ears. You don't know what it will be like when us guys have kids.
In general it seems that people with children view childless couples with a certain degree of suspicion, maybe even resentment. I think in that depths of their minds they wonder, do we not like children? Does that mean we don't like their kids? Are they communists? Satanists? Why would someone not have kids? I believe this is what prompts the unsolicited advice on how exactly to go about making babies. Please, spare me this advice. I've had lots of experience when it comes to the whole baby making process. I don't want to know about your turkey basters, standing on the head, putting your feet in the air theories. I'm pretty sure that when I'm meant to get pregnant, it will happen. I'm not trippin' so why are you? It's as if people have an active interest or investment in my pregnancy, much more than I do. I have expressed to exactly no one that I'm sad, concerned, disappointed or otherwise upset about not having a child yet. And that's what makes me think, perhaps they are resentful. Their lives were drastically changed, some of them without warning or desire, and they never got to have the life they truly wanted. They see Husband and I living basically how we want to, we don't have to worry about a sitter or taking baby stuff with us, or planning things to accommodate children. If we want to do something, we do it. And maybe this is slightly irritating to people with children. Maybe they miss that lifestyle and so they wish upon everyone else they kind of life that they have now.
Mostly though, I hate, hate, the feeling of being discounted because I don't have kids. Discounted as a woman, as a wife, as a person. During the last several days it seems like the kid thing has been hitting me in the face. One friend swears I'm pregnant because (hand to God, I'm not making this up) she just found out that two of her other friends are pregnant and pregnancies always come in three, and she's been having dreams that I'm pregnant so it must be true. She is the queen of making comments that on the surface seem like just innocent comments, but really are meant as an under-handed put down. These comments are typically directed at me and usually have something to do with why I'm not dealing with a particular body issue or other since I haven't had kids yet. She has to eat all the time or she gets cranky. I usually don't eat anything until 3:30 or 4:00 in the afternoon. Well, since I haven't had kids yet I can do that. I've been put on notice that this will change when I finally get pregnant.
Not having children does not make you weird. Having children does not make you better. I am not less of a woman without kids. And I know most of these comments are made out of concern, good intentions, and curiosity, and carry with them no ill will. I will continue to handle them like I always do, with grace and civility. But this, like so many social curiosities, has everything to do with people dealing with their own lives. Unless I ask for your opinion and advice, I don't want or need it. Please, handle your own business, deal with your own life and let me deal with mine.
Husband and I have no kids. We would like to have them someday, Husband probably more so than I do. Don't get me wrong, I like kids. I think I'd be a pretty cool mom, and I know Husband would be a great dad. For one reason or another we just don't have any yet. It's interesting because we have friends with and without kids. Some of them have kids that live in another state, some are divorced with kids, some are married with kids and some have none. It's been my experience that there are several different attitudes people have about their own kids and then also about childless couples. First let me just say to all you people with children who have friends with none, please stop asking us when we're going to have them. Number one it's none of your business. Number two, you clearly have no idea how condescending and de-valuing it is; like we're somehow not really valid until we have kids. Number three, you also clearly have no idea that there could be serious problems or not so serious problems that prevent people from having children. This is not necessarily the case with Husband and I, but it's very insensitive to assume that we're just not trying hard enough or don't know what we're doing. Take into consideration that every time you ask that question, the couple you're asking may be dealing with a recent miscarriage or perhaps they just found out they're infertile. Just think before you speak.
It's amazing to me how often people take their own children for granted. I know that not every day with your children is puppy dogs and ice cream. But when I hear people talking about their kids with disdain or actually calling them "dummy" or "loser" or any number of other names, joking or not, it breaks my heart a little. Kids are going to get enough of that throughout their growing up. They should never hear that coming from the mouths of their parents. My other favorite thing is when people talk about their kids with the tone of someone who would rather have their fingernails pulled out with pliers. Like their kids are so much of a burden, and if only they'd done things differently they could be doing more, have a better job, have more money, whatever. Hey, guess what? You didn't do things differently. You made kids whether or not you meant to. Buck the fuck up and appreciate the fact that you've got a life to mold into something productive and we'll all be grateful when you raise a person who can contribute positively to society. Sorry you chose to burden yourself with the precious gift of life. How about you stop complaining about it? Now obviously the flip side of this attitude is one of gratitude and overwhelming joy at the ability to bring a child into the world. To those parents who are doing their best and loving their kids, thanks.
The hardest part about dealing with people who have kids is wading through the self-righteous bullshit that is their vast knowledge of child-rearing. I understand that I'm so far behind the curve when it comes to dealing with children, not having any of my own, and that I couldn't possibly understand the intricacies of raising kids. I get that. But when, and if, Husband and I do have kids, our experience will be totally different from anyone else's. Every time I hear, "Oh, when you guys have kids . . . " I just want to shove knitting needles in my ears. You don't know what it will be like when us guys have kids.
In general it seems that people with children view childless couples with a certain degree of suspicion, maybe even resentment. I think in that depths of their minds they wonder, do we not like children? Does that mean we don't like their kids? Are they communists? Satanists? Why would someone not have kids? I believe this is what prompts the unsolicited advice on how exactly to go about making babies. Please, spare me this advice. I've had lots of experience when it comes to the whole baby making process. I don't want to know about your turkey basters, standing on the head, putting your feet in the air theories. I'm pretty sure that when I'm meant to get pregnant, it will happen. I'm not trippin' so why are you? It's as if people have an active interest or investment in my pregnancy, much more than I do. I have expressed to exactly no one that I'm sad, concerned, disappointed or otherwise upset about not having a child yet. And that's what makes me think, perhaps they are resentful. Their lives were drastically changed, some of them without warning or desire, and they never got to have the life they truly wanted. They see Husband and I living basically how we want to, we don't have to worry about a sitter or taking baby stuff with us, or planning things to accommodate children. If we want to do something, we do it. And maybe this is slightly irritating to people with children. Maybe they miss that lifestyle and so they wish upon everyone else they kind of life that they have now.
Mostly though, I hate, hate, the feeling of being discounted because I don't have kids. Discounted as a woman, as a wife, as a person. During the last several days it seems like the kid thing has been hitting me in the face. One friend swears I'm pregnant because (hand to God, I'm not making this up) she just found out that two of her other friends are pregnant and pregnancies always come in three, and she's been having dreams that I'm pregnant so it must be true. She is the queen of making comments that on the surface seem like just innocent comments, but really are meant as an under-handed put down. These comments are typically directed at me and usually have something to do with why I'm not dealing with a particular body issue or other since I haven't had kids yet. She has to eat all the time or she gets cranky. I usually don't eat anything until 3:30 or 4:00 in the afternoon. Well, since I haven't had kids yet I can do that. I've been put on notice that this will change when I finally get pregnant.
Not having children does not make you weird. Having children does not make you better. I am not less of a woman without kids. And I know most of these comments are made out of concern, good intentions, and curiosity, and carry with them no ill will. I will continue to handle them like I always do, with grace and civility. But this, like so many social curiosities, has everything to do with people dealing with their own lives. Unless I ask for your opinion and advice, I don't want or need it. Please, handle your own business, deal with your own life and let me deal with mine.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
The Butcher
As you may have figured out, I have somewhat of an imagination, and I enjoy creating stories and telling them. So it should come as no surprise that I craft stories about people in my daily life with whom I have little to no interaction with. Take my neighbor for instance. Well, back up. Mountain communities are notoriously close-knit, and many of them don't adjust well to people moving there from the valley. When Husband and I moved into our neighborhood we weren't exactly welcome with open arms. We still aren't especially popular with our neighbors due in large part to the fact that we party it up on weekends and we're on the younger side and we don't have kids. We're always respectful of noise levels at night, but some of our neighbors think that since they live in the mountains it should be quiet all the time. Well, we live in a neighborhood just like in the suburbs. If there weren't huge trees everywhere and they sky weren't so blue you wouldn't even know you were in the mountains. If you want solitude you need to buy property to insure that you won't have neighbors close by. Okay, now you know about our neighborhood. It's our across the street neighbor who is the subject of this story.
Since we moved in the neighbor across the street has always struck me as odd. And I don't know that any of my suspicions are correct, but it's so fun to speculate! When you move into a new neighborhood you try to meet your neighbors, in the very least you wave to them and say hi. The neighbor across the street, hereby known as The Butcher, has never acknowledged my numerous attempts to say hi and wave to him. That's the first oddity. The Butcher drives a very small car, two wheel drive, with at least five antenna on top of it. The reason I bring this up is because it snows where we live, and having four wheel drive is practically a necessity. The Butcher has a huge truck. But rather than drive the truck he uses it to back up and down the driveway when it's snowing to plow a path for his Geo Metro. The Butcher will spend upwards of 45 minutes carving tracks into his driveway. And when he drives the Geo through the snow, forget about it. You better watch out 'cause he ain't. He drives like a madman! During the summer The Butcher will open his front door and turn his music up so loud that we can hear it clear as day inside our house. Sometimes it's good music so we don't mind. But regardless, it's just kind of odd behavior yet again.
So I had been observing the comings and goings of The Butcher for a couple of months upon moving in to the house. He kept strange hours, coming and going in the middle of the night, sometimes being gone for a couple of days. Then one sunny summer weekend I was gardening in the front yard. The Butcher had several long plastic tubes, like one would use for plumbing or maybe a swimming pool. These tubes were very long though, and The Butcher doesn't have a swimming pool. I continued to watch trying to figure out what he was doing. It appeared that he was cleaning the tubes out, and doing a thorough job at that. The wheels in my head began to spin and a story was weaved out of whole cloth. BUT . . . it's a story that makes more and more sense with each passing day and new discovery.
The Butcher keeps a dungeon under his house. The dungeon is full of young women, teens and early twenties. They are chained up and tortured until The Butcher is done with them, and then they are unceremoniously dismembered and either 1)kept in large fridges to be distributed as meat for human consumption 2)kept in the same fridges until The Butcher eats them or 3)somehow disposed of by means of a wood chipper or acid vats.
See, he turns up the music when he's torturing them so no one will hear the screams projecting from the basement. He may also use this technique when he is chopping them up. There is still some argument as to whether he uses a chainsaw or carving knife. Now he may use an electric knife, but that wouldn't require loud music to mask the sound. The tubes are used probably to drain the blood from the dungeon. There is some speculation that they may also be used as a conduit for poison, which is what actually kills the girls.
At this point you may be wondering, where and how does he get these girls without being seen? Ah, my friends, this is where it gets interesting. Also in our neighborhood there lives a man who purchased a stretched Hummer limo, which he chauffeurs to make money. I have seen this very limo, on many occasions, full of girls in their early twenties who are drunk off their asses. Limo man just happens to be friends with The Butcher and often drives the limo to The Butcher's house. Not to go for a drive, Limo Man just parks it there while, I don't know, they have tea and crumpets.
Last night our power went out for several hours. The entire street, the entire neighborhood was dark. Every house, that is, except The Butcher's. As soon as the power went out he had his whole-house generator running. Why? To keep the fridges cold of course! You can't go to all that trouble to cut up dead bodies and store them in cold storage just to have the power go out and ruin everything. He also may have some sort of forced-air system for the dungeon to keep the girls either too cold or too hot.
Of course I have no proof of these allegations. That's why I observe. I'll tell you what though, when they find the dead bodies buried in the back yard, or the vats of acid with pieces of bone floating in them, and the cops come to question us, I won't be that person who says, "He was such a quiet man who kept to himself. I just can't believe he would do this."
I'll be the one who says, "I knew it all along."
Since we moved in the neighbor across the street has always struck me as odd. And I don't know that any of my suspicions are correct, but it's so fun to speculate! When you move into a new neighborhood you try to meet your neighbors, in the very least you wave to them and say hi. The neighbor across the street, hereby known as The Butcher, has never acknowledged my numerous attempts to say hi and wave to him. That's the first oddity. The Butcher drives a very small car, two wheel drive, with at least five antenna on top of it. The reason I bring this up is because it snows where we live, and having four wheel drive is practically a necessity. The Butcher has a huge truck. But rather than drive the truck he uses it to back up and down the driveway when it's snowing to plow a path for his Geo Metro. The Butcher will spend upwards of 45 minutes carving tracks into his driveway. And when he drives the Geo through the snow, forget about it. You better watch out 'cause he ain't. He drives like a madman! During the summer The Butcher will open his front door and turn his music up so loud that we can hear it clear as day inside our house. Sometimes it's good music so we don't mind. But regardless, it's just kind of odd behavior yet again.
So I had been observing the comings and goings of The Butcher for a couple of months upon moving in to the house. He kept strange hours, coming and going in the middle of the night, sometimes being gone for a couple of days. Then one sunny summer weekend I was gardening in the front yard. The Butcher had several long plastic tubes, like one would use for plumbing or maybe a swimming pool. These tubes were very long though, and The Butcher doesn't have a swimming pool. I continued to watch trying to figure out what he was doing. It appeared that he was cleaning the tubes out, and doing a thorough job at that. The wheels in my head began to spin and a story was weaved out of whole cloth. BUT . . . it's a story that makes more and more sense with each passing day and new discovery.
The Butcher keeps a dungeon under his house. The dungeon is full of young women, teens and early twenties. They are chained up and tortured until The Butcher is done with them, and then they are unceremoniously dismembered and either 1)kept in large fridges to be distributed as meat for human consumption 2)kept in the same fridges until The Butcher eats them or 3)somehow disposed of by means of a wood chipper or acid vats.
See, he turns up the music when he's torturing them so no one will hear the screams projecting from the basement. He may also use this technique when he is chopping them up. There is still some argument as to whether he uses a chainsaw or carving knife. Now he may use an electric knife, but that wouldn't require loud music to mask the sound. The tubes are used probably to drain the blood from the dungeon. There is some speculation that they may also be used as a conduit for poison, which is what actually kills the girls.
At this point you may be wondering, where and how does he get these girls without being seen? Ah, my friends, this is where it gets interesting. Also in our neighborhood there lives a man who purchased a stretched Hummer limo, which he chauffeurs to make money. I have seen this very limo, on many occasions, full of girls in their early twenties who are drunk off their asses. Limo man just happens to be friends with The Butcher and often drives the limo to The Butcher's house. Not to go for a drive, Limo Man just parks it there while, I don't know, they have tea and crumpets.
Last night our power went out for several hours. The entire street, the entire neighborhood was dark. Every house, that is, except The Butcher's. As soon as the power went out he had his whole-house generator running. Why? To keep the fridges cold of course! You can't go to all that trouble to cut up dead bodies and store them in cold storage just to have the power go out and ruin everything. He also may have some sort of forced-air system for the dungeon to keep the girls either too cold or too hot.
Of course I have no proof of these allegations. That's why I observe. I'll tell you what though, when they find the dead bodies buried in the back yard, or the vats of acid with pieces of bone floating in them, and the cops come to question us, I won't be that person who says, "He was such a quiet man who kept to himself. I just can't believe he would do this."
I'll be the one who says, "I knew it all along."
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
The Happiest New Year
What an incredible weekend I had! I'm absolutely exhausted today, but it's well worth it. It started out on Friday when I dislocated my shoulder while going down a slide. I don't work on Fridays, which is great obviously. Last Friday though, shit hit the fan and I was required to work for a few hours. KB didn't have to work but he had to pick up his check. KB's work and my work are very close together so he gave me a ride down to the office on his way to get his check. After we were all done KB bought me lunch and we went to the park to eat. I wanted to play a little on the playground when we finished eating, and KB joined me. I went down the slides a couple of times and climbed around a bit. I went down the tunnel slide again, KB was standing on top of it, and something went terribly wrong. I suppose I was going too fast and I was slammed against the wall of the tunnel slide with incredible force. I ended up coming out of the slide head-first with a horrific pain in my right shoulder. The look on KB's face I will never forget. He was really worried, as was I, because I couldn't move my arm. I was trying to figure out what I was going to do if my shoulder was broken. KB asked if I wanted to sit down and I told him that I just needed to walk it off. Suddenly I felt the bones in my shoulder shift and everything just popped back into place. I've never dislocated anything before and it was the grossest thing I've felt when it popped back. Friday night we had an impromptu gathering with a few friends. Suffice it to say, tequila was consumed, fun was had by all, I passed out on the floor sitting up against our friend KB's legs. Husband eventually escorted me to bed without incident.
The next day Husband had to work. We've been putting off getting firewood for several weeks now so KB and I decided to go while Husband was gone. Several miles down an unpaved, muddy, bumpy road lives KB's friend Mountain Man. Mountain Man started building a house a few years ago and has not finished it yet. It is a very cool house. It's three stories and all of them have a deck the entire way around. MM lives on five acres and has a couple of horses and lots of dogs. One of the dogs, a hound, had puppies four months ago and they are the cutest pups I've seen. They're a mix of hound, lab and husky. KB and I took our dog and our friend's dog to MM's, so all told there were seven or eight dogs running around. It was great. They all got along really well. The pups loved playing with Ben, our dog. The mom seemed to be sizing Ben up, figuring out if he'd be a good dad to them. Unfortunately for her, Ben's chopped.
MM also has a huge tractor thing. I know it's not a tractor, it's a frontloader or something. That thing makes really quick work of getting wood. It pulls the trees out in seconds. The hardest part, really, is finding trees to cut up. There's all sorts of rules about what kind of wood you can take out of the forest, so you have to be mindful of them. KB took me to see an amazing view of the canyon and the mountains. The sky was just beginning to darken so it had an almost purple hue. The mountains, now snow covered, peeked over the top of the canyon ridge. They looked so close you could touch them. It was a calm evening, barely a breeze.
We ended up with both of the trucks full of wood and made our way back home in the dark. Husband was home with the rest of our crew. Most of the guys played a game of Risk and we just hung out for a while. We ended up playing music and drums and singing into the night and stayed up way too late. We had to get the house ready for the New Year's party the next day. So we had a slumber party in the front room, I think four of us ended up sleeping out there, and woke up blurry-headed and unmotivated to clean house.
The party was planned on very short notice. One of our friends from down in the valley called a couple of weeks ago to find out what we were doing for New Year's. Husband said, "I don't know, I guess partying with you guys." And then we were having a party. Roommate had a couple of friends come from out-of-town and we were expecting a bunch more from the valley.
Roomates friends, goodness, what can I say about them? Rough around the edges to say the least. We'll call them S&T. S is a study in human development. I'm sure that she could be studied for years and the researchers would still have unanswered questions. S is an extremely apologetic person. She says she's sorry for everything. I have trouble with this kind of person because at some point, they're not really sorry. You can't be sorry for everything, it's impossible. Being sorry indicates that you are at fault for something. I hate it when people use words to the point of rendering them useless. Anyway, she's sorry for everything and likes to tell extremely detailed stories. I like detail as much as the next person, and I obviously like to tell stories. The difference is, I'm writing something that people can choose to read or not. I don't corner people at a party and tell them, in excruciating detail, about the death of my parrot and how it related to my bad marriage, divorce and subsequent move. And I don't keep repeating myself while I'm telling the story. So we have one sorry repeater, if you're keeping track.
T and S are together but not married. T is a one-upper, class A one-upper. He's not only done what you've done, but he's done it better, faster, longer, more often, whatever. Not only is he a one-upper but he fancies himself to be quite the comedian. And here's another one of my peeves, people who make themselves laugh. Now, I'm known to be a laugher. I love laughing, love making people laugh, I love being funny. But if you're talking and you say something that only you are laughing at, it's probably not that funny. And when you do this like every two minutes and you also have this maniacal, high-pitched, insanely annoying laugh, I don't like you. Yes, just like that, right off the bat, you and I will never be friends. That's not to say I'm going to kick you out of the house, I'll be polite. But you are not my friend.
Eventually we rallied and started cleaning, which actually went fairly quickly. Husband and our friend Stretch went to the store to get supplies for the party. My request? Snacks to feed people since I wasn't making dinner or anything. While the rest of us were cleaning Husband and Stretch were really doing a great job on stocking up with necessary supplies. They did bring back beer, enough beer for a good party. Their snack of choice? The snacks they figured would feed at least 30 people who were driving for over an hour to get to our house? A single, small box of Chicken in a Biscuit. I'm sorry, come again? Yes, that's right. A small box of chicken flavored crackers. So I though of various serving ideas for the Chicken in a Biscuit, perhaps putting them individually on trays with a sprig of parsley and passing them, very classy. We managed without many snacks, thankfully. People brought stuff with them and there was enough for everyone to eat. I made two pans of "special" brownies so that helped.
The fun really began once people started showing up. There were many people from the valley we haven't seen in a long time. There were new people we'd just met that night. It was a great group of people though. Everyone got along and there was no drama. That's all I cared about. At some point during the night I was talking with an old friend from the valley when I thought I smelled poo. I looked at the carpet and saw what appeared to be poo. I asked the valley friend, "Cas, does that look like poo?" The lights were down and it was hard to tell what it actually was, but she thought it had the potential to be poo. So I grabbed my CSI flashlight and lit it up. Sure enough it was poo, not only in one spot, but tracked through the entire living room in a neat little line. Door to door poo line. Of course, it had to be cleaned up. After I picked up the big chunks, I got the cleaner and a towel and then S decided she wanted to clean it up for me. She made a big production about how she was cleaning it for me and pretty much stopped the party to clean up the poo. Me, I probably would have kept it more on the DL, but what do I know? After the poo was cleaned up I announced that we were having a poo crisis and could everyone please check their shoes so we could avoid another poo emergency.
Not ten minutes later I looked down and saw another suspicious brown spot on the carpet. Could it be? Yes it was, more poo! After cleaning it up I finally found the source of the poo. There was a big glob of it on the front porch. Why I was the only one to find this is beyond me. After removing the poo from the front porch I was confident that we'd have no more poo disasters. But no, my friends, there were four more poo incidents that night. Periodically I would scan the room with my CSI flashlight and on each occasion I was face-to-face with more poo on the carpet. Between the poo and all the people spilling beers I was cleaning most of the night. At one point late into the night, KB spoke up and announced, "Okay people! You all need to start checking your shoes and stop spilling your beers. This lady needs a rest!" Of course all of these incidents were highly amusing and I could hardly contain my laughter long enough to scrub poo out of the carpet. It was funny, or at least we made it funny.
The night climaxed with a lengthy drum circle session, it was awesome. I'm sure the neighbors weren't thrilled, but it was great. Husband was playing his harmonicas, there were like five or six drums being pounded on, the energy was amazing. Roommate was out of his head on miscellaneous drugs and alcohol and fell into the fire pit outside. Lucky for him there was a metal cover on it so he only got badly burned rather than char-broiled.
All-in-all the party went off without a hitch, well except for the poo, and everyone said it was the best one yet. Who knows, maybe we'll make it a tradition. I hope you all had a great New Year's and you're ready to take on this one. Cheers 'till next time!
The next day Husband had to work. We've been putting off getting firewood for several weeks now so KB and I decided to go while Husband was gone. Several miles down an unpaved, muddy, bumpy road lives KB's friend Mountain Man. Mountain Man started building a house a few years ago and has not finished it yet. It is a very cool house. It's three stories and all of them have a deck the entire way around. MM lives on five acres and has a couple of horses and lots of dogs. One of the dogs, a hound, had puppies four months ago and they are the cutest pups I've seen. They're a mix of hound, lab and husky. KB and I took our dog and our friend's dog to MM's, so all told there were seven or eight dogs running around. It was great. They all got along really well. The pups loved playing with Ben, our dog. The mom seemed to be sizing Ben up, figuring out if he'd be a good dad to them. Unfortunately for her, Ben's chopped.
MM also has a huge tractor thing. I know it's not a tractor, it's a frontloader or something. That thing makes really quick work of getting wood. It pulls the trees out in seconds. The hardest part, really, is finding trees to cut up. There's all sorts of rules about what kind of wood you can take out of the forest, so you have to be mindful of them. KB took me to see an amazing view of the canyon and the mountains. The sky was just beginning to darken so it had an almost purple hue. The mountains, now snow covered, peeked over the top of the canyon ridge. They looked so close you could touch them. It was a calm evening, barely a breeze.
We ended up with both of the trucks full of wood and made our way back home in the dark. Husband was home with the rest of our crew. Most of the guys played a game of Risk and we just hung out for a while. We ended up playing music and drums and singing into the night and stayed up way too late. We had to get the house ready for the New Year's party the next day. So we had a slumber party in the front room, I think four of us ended up sleeping out there, and woke up blurry-headed and unmotivated to clean house.
The party was planned on very short notice. One of our friends from down in the valley called a couple of weeks ago to find out what we were doing for New Year's. Husband said, "I don't know, I guess partying with you guys." And then we were having a party. Roommate had a couple of friends come from out-of-town and we were expecting a bunch more from the valley.
Roomates friends, goodness, what can I say about them? Rough around the edges to say the least. We'll call them S&T. S is a study in human development. I'm sure that she could be studied for years and the researchers would still have unanswered questions. S is an extremely apologetic person. She says she's sorry for everything. I have trouble with this kind of person because at some point, they're not really sorry. You can't be sorry for everything, it's impossible. Being sorry indicates that you are at fault for something. I hate it when people use words to the point of rendering them useless. Anyway, she's sorry for everything and likes to tell extremely detailed stories. I like detail as much as the next person, and I obviously like to tell stories. The difference is, I'm writing something that people can choose to read or not. I don't corner people at a party and tell them, in excruciating detail, about the death of my parrot and how it related to my bad marriage, divorce and subsequent move. And I don't keep repeating myself while I'm telling the story. So we have one sorry repeater, if you're keeping track.
T and S are together but not married. T is a one-upper, class A one-upper. He's not only done what you've done, but he's done it better, faster, longer, more often, whatever. Not only is he a one-upper but he fancies himself to be quite the comedian. And here's another one of my peeves, people who make themselves laugh. Now, I'm known to be a laugher. I love laughing, love making people laugh, I love being funny. But if you're talking and you say something that only you are laughing at, it's probably not that funny. And when you do this like every two minutes and you also have this maniacal, high-pitched, insanely annoying laugh, I don't like you. Yes, just like that, right off the bat, you and I will never be friends. That's not to say I'm going to kick you out of the house, I'll be polite. But you are not my friend.
Eventually we rallied and started cleaning, which actually went fairly quickly. Husband and our friend Stretch went to the store to get supplies for the party. My request? Snacks to feed people since I wasn't making dinner or anything. While the rest of us were cleaning Husband and Stretch were really doing a great job on stocking up with necessary supplies. They did bring back beer, enough beer for a good party. Their snack of choice? The snacks they figured would feed at least 30 people who were driving for over an hour to get to our house? A single, small box of Chicken in a Biscuit. I'm sorry, come again? Yes, that's right. A small box of chicken flavored crackers. So I though of various serving ideas for the Chicken in a Biscuit, perhaps putting them individually on trays with a sprig of parsley and passing them, very classy. We managed without many snacks, thankfully. People brought stuff with them and there was enough for everyone to eat. I made two pans of "special" brownies so that helped.
The fun really began once people started showing up. There were many people from the valley we haven't seen in a long time. There were new people we'd just met that night. It was a great group of people though. Everyone got along and there was no drama. That's all I cared about. At some point during the night I was talking with an old friend from the valley when I thought I smelled poo. I looked at the carpet and saw what appeared to be poo. I asked the valley friend, "Cas, does that look like poo?" The lights were down and it was hard to tell what it actually was, but she thought it had the potential to be poo. So I grabbed my CSI flashlight and lit it up. Sure enough it was poo, not only in one spot, but tracked through the entire living room in a neat little line. Door to door poo line. Of course, it had to be cleaned up. After I picked up the big chunks, I got the cleaner and a towel and then S decided she wanted to clean it up for me. She made a big production about how she was cleaning it for me and pretty much stopped the party to clean up the poo. Me, I probably would have kept it more on the DL, but what do I know? After the poo was cleaned up I announced that we were having a poo crisis and could everyone please check their shoes so we could avoid another poo emergency.
Not ten minutes later I looked down and saw another suspicious brown spot on the carpet. Could it be? Yes it was, more poo! After cleaning it up I finally found the source of the poo. There was a big glob of it on the front porch. Why I was the only one to find this is beyond me. After removing the poo from the front porch I was confident that we'd have no more poo disasters. But no, my friends, there were four more poo incidents that night. Periodically I would scan the room with my CSI flashlight and on each occasion I was face-to-face with more poo on the carpet. Between the poo and all the people spilling beers I was cleaning most of the night. At one point late into the night, KB spoke up and announced, "Okay people! You all need to start checking your shoes and stop spilling your beers. This lady needs a rest!" Of course all of these incidents were highly amusing and I could hardly contain my laughter long enough to scrub poo out of the carpet. It was funny, or at least we made it funny.
The night climaxed with a lengthy drum circle session, it was awesome. I'm sure the neighbors weren't thrilled, but it was great. Husband was playing his harmonicas, there were like five or six drums being pounded on, the energy was amazing. Roommate was out of his head on miscellaneous drugs and alcohol and fell into the fire pit outside. Lucky for him there was a metal cover on it so he only got badly burned rather than char-broiled.
All-in-all the party went off without a hitch, well except for the poo, and everyone said it was the best one yet. Who knows, maybe we'll make it a tradition. I hope you all had a great New Year's and you're ready to take on this one. Cheers 'till next time!
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
It's Snowing!!!!!
Yeah! Finally the snow is starting to fall. I personally love it, that's why Husband and I moved to the mountains. The air is cleaner, the sky is bluer, the trees are bigger, everything smells better, and it snows. For Husband and I this means backhilling (snowboarding the back country), snowshoeing, skiing for Husband, he's incredible, and various other snow activities. We live in the best possible area for everything outdoors. In the summer we're minutes away from the lake, hiking, mountain biking, whatever. And in the winter, same thing except for everything is covered in snow.
It was coming down pretty well on my way to work, and I hope it keeps up all day. I had a wonderful drive, listening to Dave Matthews, watching the snow fall, thanking God for being alive. Something about the snow, I don't know, it's so much different than rain. I lived in Portland, Oregon for four years and couldn't leave quick enough. I hate the rain. But the snow - it's so quiet and peaceful. I love the sound it makes, kind of a crunch crunch, when you walk on it. I love how it disguises everything and transports you instantly to a new world. What was once recognizable, covered in snow is not at all. You can get lost for hours in the woods, and sometimes I do on purpose. Ben, our dog, and I will go to the woods and he'll bury his face in the snow and slide all over and we'll just walk for hours. It's amazing to live where we do. I'm so thankful. Sure, it's farther to drive for some things. We're farther away from our parents. But we get to live in the mountains. It's way worth it.
It was coming down pretty well on my way to work, and I hope it keeps up all day. I had a wonderful drive, listening to Dave Matthews, watching the snow fall, thanking God for being alive. Something about the snow, I don't know, it's so much different than rain. I lived in Portland, Oregon for four years and couldn't leave quick enough. I hate the rain. But the snow - it's so quiet and peaceful. I love the sound it makes, kind of a crunch crunch, when you walk on it. I love how it disguises everything and transports you instantly to a new world. What was once recognizable, covered in snow is not at all. You can get lost for hours in the woods, and sometimes I do on purpose. Ben, our dog, and I will go to the woods and he'll bury his face in the snow and slide all over and we'll just walk for hours. It's amazing to live where we do. I'm so thankful. Sure, it's farther to drive for some things. We're farther away from our parents. But we get to live in the mountains. It's way worth it.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
The Let Down
I always feel more tired after Christmas than I do in the days leading up to it. Somehow my adrenaline keeps me going until after the day is over and then I just crash and burn. And that's exactly what I'm doing today. Back to work, not feeling it, wanting to crawl under my desk and hide.
Christmas is becoming almost a chore and, frankly, I'm always glad when it's over. I feel the pressure of having to shop for all of our family and friends, the pressure to do all of my baking, decorate the house, having family over, going to family's houses, trying to make sure all my loose ends are tied up. And it's funny that it almost always lands on the wife/girlfriend. Not that I resent it, I don't at all. I'm happy that I can postpone all of my shopping until the last minute, and with lists in hand, complete all of my Christmas shopping in one fell swoop in a matter of hours. To me, that's beating the system. Only a few hours that I have to deal with the horrific sounds that pass as Christmas music blasted over the store speakers. Only a few hours to deal with lines and traffic and rude people. Then it's done. Husband does and did do an excellent job of helping me wrap.
Then I have to make sure that I've got my potatoes to take to Husband's family at the buttcrack of dawn on Christmas Day. I have to get the pecan pie baked to take over to my family's after we see Husband's. This is always fun because Husband's mom is a freak. No exaggeration. She's got some serious problems. But she's always surprised that I have a family to go see and that we won't be staying for dinner at their house. Every year this surprises her. It doesn't matter how many times Husband tells her what our plans are. See, she's all into Christmas morning. Christmas is for the kids she says. Not for grown-ups. Well Husband's sister, the one sister who lives in town, is the only one with kids, who are now 6 and 8. His other sister lives in Florida with her two kids. Husband and I are the only losers without kids. But since Christmas morning is a big deal to his mom, we go over there to share in the "festivities". This is a joke because we eat, open gifts and then just sit around. The conversation is very limited and typically consists of Husband trying to explain, yet again, that my family lives 10 minutes away and that's where we'll be for dinner.
And that's where we end our long Christmas Day. At my parent's house. It's always pretty uneventful since my mom's family is dead. See the link for that story. http://natureswonderland.blogspot.com/2006/12/on-serious-note_12.html
Anyway, by the time we're done with dinner and gifts at my family's, I'm done. Done with the day, with driving (we have an hour drive each way), with the thinking about others, with all of it. I'm actually glad when the day is over and we can proceed with our normal lives. I'm sure this makes me a Scrooge, but I really don't care. Christmas has long since ceased being full of magic and mystery (keep in mind we never believed in Santa), ripe with possibility and hope, a season of caroling and baking and decorating. Where you can present your dad with the construction paper tie proudly, knowing it's the best gift ever. No, now it's a requirement, an obligation. And if our prayers are answered and it's an enjoyable day, that's just a bonus. We prepare and expect the worst and that way we're never disappointed.
Yes, I'm very glad that it's over. Now we can start planning our New Year's festivities, which will most certainly involve imbibing a ridiculous amount of alcohol and other illicit substances.
Christmas is becoming almost a chore and, frankly, I'm always glad when it's over. I feel the pressure of having to shop for all of our family and friends, the pressure to do all of my baking, decorate the house, having family over, going to family's houses, trying to make sure all my loose ends are tied up. And it's funny that it almost always lands on the wife/girlfriend. Not that I resent it, I don't at all. I'm happy that I can postpone all of my shopping until the last minute, and with lists in hand, complete all of my Christmas shopping in one fell swoop in a matter of hours. To me, that's beating the system. Only a few hours that I have to deal with the horrific sounds that pass as Christmas music blasted over the store speakers. Only a few hours to deal with lines and traffic and rude people. Then it's done. Husband does and did do an excellent job of helping me wrap.
Then I have to make sure that I've got my potatoes to take to Husband's family at the buttcrack of dawn on Christmas Day. I have to get the pecan pie baked to take over to my family's after we see Husband's. This is always fun because Husband's mom is a freak. No exaggeration. She's got some serious problems. But she's always surprised that I have a family to go see and that we won't be staying for dinner at their house. Every year this surprises her. It doesn't matter how many times Husband tells her what our plans are. See, she's all into Christmas morning. Christmas is for the kids she says. Not for grown-ups. Well Husband's sister, the one sister who lives in town, is the only one with kids, who are now 6 and 8. His other sister lives in Florida with her two kids. Husband and I are the only losers without kids. But since Christmas morning is a big deal to his mom, we go over there to share in the "festivities". This is a joke because we eat, open gifts and then just sit around. The conversation is very limited and typically consists of Husband trying to explain, yet again, that my family lives 10 minutes away and that's where we'll be for dinner.
And that's where we end our long Christmas Day. At my parent's house. It's always pretty uneventful since my mom's family is dead. See the link for that story. http://natureswonderland.blogspot.com/2006/12/on-serious-note_12.html
Anyway, by the time we're done with dinner and gifts at my family's, I'm done. Done with the day, with driving (we have an hour drive each way), with the thinking about others, with all of it. I'm actually glad when the day is over and we can proceed with our normal lives. I'm sure this makes me a Scrooge, but I really don't care. Christmas has long since ceased being full of magic and mystery (keep in mind we never believed in Santa), ripe with possibility and hope, a season of caroling and baking and decorating. Where you can present your dad with the construction paper tie proudly, knowing it's the best gift ever. No, now it's a requirement, an obligation. And if our prayers are answered and it's an enjoyable day, that's just a bonus. We prepare and expect the worst and that way we're never disappointed.
Yes, I'm very glad that it's over. Now we can start planning our New Year's festivities, which will most certainly involve imbibing a ridiculous amount of alcohol and other illicit substances.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Repeaters
What's with people who repeat themselves? It drives me right up a wall. It's one of those personality traits I've never been able to wrap my head around. Do they forget they just said the exact same thing? Do they think I didn't hear them? In the last few weeks I've encountered many Repeaters for some reason. I've discovered there are several types of Repeaters.
The Beating a Dead Horse Repeater
This sort of Repeater will tell you the same thing like five times in a row. But they will change slightly what they are saying. For example, I was on the phone trying to get some information for a client. The woman I was talking to was explaining why she couldn't talk to me about the specific information I needed. The coversation went like this:
"I'm sorry but I won't be able to talk to you about this member's coverage. It's protected information."
"Okay, " I said, "What should I have the client do?"
"Well, you see, it's protected information you're asking for and I can't really discuss it with you without you being the broker of record, you know because of HIPAA laws."
"Uh huh, I understand that. So should I have the client call, or . . . "
"Since this is protected information and I can't discuss the details with you, the client should call and we'll be able to help him. I can't talk to you about it because of HIPAA and this is considered protected information."
Unfortunately the coversation continued in the same vein for several minutes. Don't get me wrong, the lady on the phone was polite and well-meaning, but come on! You only need to give me this information once. I hear it, process it and remember it in a matter of seconds. That's what my brain is for, that's it's primary function in fact. Unless I specifically ask you for clarification or to repeat what you just said, you can pretty much guarantee that I got it the first time.
The Lack of Short Term Memory Repeater
This type of Repeater will tell you something and several minutes later they'll tell you again. Now, this is a touchy one especially when dealing with the elderly or someone who's experienced head trauma. Sometimes there are valid reasons why people forget what they said just minutes ago. But for the rest of you who do this for no good reason, start taking Ginko Biloba for the love of God. I can't take it! You JUST said that. Do you think that my short term memory is as bad as yours? You don't need to give me the exact same instructions you just gave me. I remember things, very well. My mind is like a steel trap. I'm sorry that you have trouble with your's, but why should I suffer? Your repeating this information to me is only wasting my time and severely annoying me. Do you think I'm stupid to the point of needing to hear what you said more than once to understand it? Did I miss something the first time? Did you want me to laugh and I didn't? Were you expecting a different reaction and you think that by repeating yourself you will get what you were expecting? Help me help you.
The Story Repeater
These people I cannot stand. This to me is the worst form of Repeater there is. Because, without question, they are also Repeaters who will not stop even though you've told them you've already heard this story. In fact, you can even help them finish it and they still won't stop. There are two people I know who are perhaps the worst offenders in this particular genre of Repeater. One is Roommate, the other is banned from our house.
Roommate likes to talk about himself. It's sad on the one hand because you know that something happened somewhere along the line that he needs constant validation. So he talks and talks about himself as a way to prove that he's worthy of love, respect, whatever. The problem is that he keeps telling the same stories. And he's kind of a combination Short Term Memory and Story Repeater, which is even worse. Just the other night he told us about how he had to sell some furniture from the warehouse to pay the employees because the owner hadn't dropped off payroll. It was longer than that when he told it. The next morning everyone was waking up and whatnot (we had a big slumber party). And I was sitting with KB when Rommate sits down with us. He starts telling us the exact same story as the night before. So KB starts finishing the story with him, putting in the details and stuff. Roommate still continues the story, KB's contributions going completely over his head.
The other offender is the worst Story Repeater I've ever encountered. He is banned from our house because I can't take him. I just can't. It's like every combination of annoying habits in one person and I actually experience unwanted physical reactions to his very presence. Husband used to work with this Hillbilly and we've heard every story he has to tell more than once. Of course they're all about what a badass he is and how he's done everything and anything better than you or anyone. Not only is he a Story Repeater, he's also a One-Upper - a deadly combo. This jackass will not be interupted either. Believe me, I've tried. He tells his moronic stories in such a manner that he monopolizes the entire converstation of everyone present. He speaks so loudly that you can't hear anything else above his voice. And then . . . during the story . . . he will pause . . . very dramatically . . .
And wait . . .
Leaving the listener to wonder, is this the blessed end of this moron's ridiculous story? Can I go back to my previous conversation? What can I do to end this misery? So the listener, praying it's the end, will begin to say something like, "Great story, " or "Yeah, that's pretty crazy, " and without missing a beat and as if he is watching for cues that the listener is about to speak, One-Upper will start talking again, completely cutting off any comments or questions and will keep talking until he decides to stop.
You can tell him you've already heard the story, he just keeps talking like he didn't hear you. You can help him tell the story, he'll just talk louder to drown you out. The only thing you can do to escape is exactly that, leave the room, patio, area, neighborhood. But, as I said, he has been banned from the house so I don't get the pleasure of his stories anymore.
I'm sure there are other types of Repeaters, but these are the kinds I've encountered recently. I know that dealing with these people is almost certainly a test of my patience. I don't know that I've passed with flying colors. But then again, it's a very self-indulgent thing, Repeating. It assumes that your life, your stories, your experiences are somehow the most important thing to everyone around you. So please, if you are a Repeater or care about someone who is, baby steps to change. That's all it takes, baby steps.
The Beating a Dead Horse Repeater
This sort of Repeater will tell you the same thing like five times in a row. But they will change slightly what they are saying. For example, I was on the phone trying to get some information for a client. The woman I was talking to was explaining why she couldn't talk to me about the specific information I needed. The coversation went like this:
"I'm sorry but I won't be able to talk to you about this member's coverage. It's protected information."
"Okay, " I said, "What should I have the client do?"
"Well, you see, it's protected information you're asking for and I can't really discuss it with you without you being the broker of record, you know because of HIPAA laws."
"Uh huh, I understand that. So should I have the client call, or . . . "
"Since this is protected information and I can't discuss the details with you, the client should call and we'll be able to help him. I can't talk to you about it because of HIPAA and this is considered protected information."
Unfortunately the coversation continued in the same vein for several minutes. Don't get me wrong, the lady on the phone was polite and well-meaning, but come on! You only need to give me this information once. I hear it, process it and remember it in a matter of seconds. That's what my brain is for, that's it's primary function in fact. Unless I specifically ask you for clarification or to repeat what you just said, you can pretty much guarantee that I got it the first time.
The Lack of Short Term Memory Repeater
This type of Repeater will tell you something and several minutes later they'll tell you again. Now, this is a touchy one especially when dealing with the elderly or someone who's experienced head trauma. Sometimes there are valid reasons why people forget what they said just minutes ago. But for the rest of you who do this for no good reason, start taking Ginko Biloba for the love of God. I can't take it! You JUST said that. Do you think that my short term memory is as bad as yours? You don't need to give me the exact same instructions you just gave me. I remember things, very well. My mind is like a steel trap. I'm sorry that you have trouble with your's, but why should I suffer? Your repeating this information to me is only wasting my time and severely annoying me. Do you think I'm stupid to the point of needing to hear what you said more than once to understand it? Did I miss something the first time? Did you want me to laugh and I didn't? Were you expecting a different reaction and you think that by repeating yourself you will get what you were expecting? Help me help you.
The Story Repeater
These people I cannot stand. This to me is the worst form of Repeater there is. Because, without question, they are also Repeaters who will not stop even though you've told them you've already heard this story. In fact, you can even help them finish it and they still won't stop. There are two people I know who are perhaps the worst offenders in this particular genre of Repeater. One is Roommate, the other is banned from our house.
Roommate likes to talk about himself. It's sad on the one hand because you know that something happened somewhere along the line that he needs constant validation. So he talks and talks about himself as a way to prove that he's worthy of love, respect, whatever. The problem is that he keeps telling the same stories. And he's kind of a combination Short Term Memory and Story Repeater, which is even worse. Just the other night he told us about how he had to sell some furniture from the warehouse to pay the employees because the owner hadn't dropped off payroll. It was longer than that when he told it. The next morning everyone was waking up and whatnot (we had a big slumber party). And I was sitting with KB when Rommate sits down with us. He starts telling us the exact same story as the night before. So KB starts finishing the story with him, putting in the details and stuff. Roommate still continues the story, KB's contributions going completely over his head.
The other offender is the worst Story Repeater I've ever encountered. He is banned from our house because I can't take him. I just can't. It's like every combination of annoying habits in one person and I actually experience unwanted physical reactions to his very presence. Husband used to work with this Hillbilly and we've heard every story he has to tell more than once. Of course they're all about what a badass he is and how he's done everything and anything better than you or anyone. Not only is he a Story Repeater, he's also a One-Upper - a deadly combo. This jackass will not be interupted either. Believe me, I've tried. He tells his moronic stories in such a manner that he monopolizes the entire converstation of everyone present. He speaks so loudly that you can't hear anything else above his voice. And then . . . during the story . . . he will pause . . . very dramatically . . .
And wait . . .
Leaving the listener to wonder, is this the blessed end of this moron's ridiculous story? Can I go back to my previous conversation? What can I do to end this misery? So the listener, praying it's the end, will begin to say something like, "Great story, " or "Yeah, that's pretty crazy, " and without missing a beat and as if he is watching for cues that the listener is about to speak, One-Upper will start talking again, completely cutting off any comments or questions and will keep talking until he decides to stop.
You can tell him you've already heard the story, he just keeps talking like he didn't hear you. You can help him tell the story, he'll just talk louder to drown you out. The only thing you can do to escape is exactly that, leave the room, patio, area, neighborhood. But, as I said, he has been banned from the house so I don't get the pleasure of his stories anymore.
I'm sure there are other types of Repeaters, but these are the kinds I've encountered recently. I know that dealing with these people is almost certainly a test of my patience. I don't know that I've passed with flying colors. But then again, it's a very self-indulgent thing, Repeating. It assumes that your life, your stories, your experiences are somehow the most important thing to everyone around you. So please, if you are a Repeater or care about someone who is, baby steps to change. That's all it takes, baby steps.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Inside My Head - a poem
Exhale slowly
Get my head straight
These thoughts, these feelings
eventually will go away
They never last forever
though they do keep returning
tormenting me with the past
suddenly, without warning
Silly of me to think I could escape
Whispers, chuckles inside my head
it's all coming back to me now
resurrected from the dead
I was so miserable then
never feeling quite right
always the oddball, out-of-place
always ready for a fight
Years have elapsed
and though I'm much older
my strangeness prevails
and isolates me further
I've accepted reality
I'll never be her
I won't have the grace, the style
I won't have the same curves
And by the look in your eyes
I know your desire
what can I do? I turn a blind eye
I walk through the fire
The way it's always been
never the beauty, never first choice
never commanding attention
not like your new little toy
I breath in and breath out
got to get my head right
not think about the pain
feel the cold embrace of night
Not a tear will drop
while I lay in my bed
keeping at bay
the monsters in my head
I will slip into the background
blend in with the rest
laugh, drink and be merry
I can fake it with the best
Some sweet day
the aching will cease
and I'll be delivered
to eternal peace
Get my head straight
These thoughts, these feelings
eventually will go away
They never last forever
though they do keep returning
tormenting me with the past
suddenly, without warning
Silly of me to think I could escape
Whispers, chuckles inside my head
it's all coming back to me now
resurrected from the dead
I was so miserable then
never feeling quite right
always the oddball, out-of-place
always ready for a fight
Years have elapsed
and though I'm much older
my strangeness prevails
and isolates me further
I've accepted reality
I'll never be her
I won't have the grace, the style
I won't have the same curves
And by the look in your eyes
I know your desire
what can I do? I turn a blind eye
I walk through the fire
The way it's always been
never the beauty, never first choice
never commanding attention
not like your new little toy
I breath in and breath out
got to get my head right
not think about the pain
feel the cold embrace of night
Not a tear will drop
while I lay in my bed
keeping at bay
the monsters in my head
I will slip into the background
blend in with the rest
laugh, drink and be merry
I can fake it with the best
Some sweet day
the aching will cease
and I'll be delivered
to eternal peace
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
On a Serious Note
The end of the year, and especially the holidays surrounding it, are a constant reminder that I have no family. Or more accurately, I have a very small family. There are four of us. I'm talking about my immediate family, my brother, mom and dad. Husband has a rather large family but that's another story.
In my dreams I have an enormous family, a house full of people, a table a mile long full of food, everyone is laughing and enjoying themselves, everyone loves each other and puts aside their differences if only for one day for the greater purpose of celebrating Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Year's, whatever. In reality my dad's family lives out of state and are not, shall we say, emotionally stable. My mom's sister and her two children (both married now) stopped speaking to us years ago over some disagreement about, I swear, Dr. Laura. I was not present at said disagreement and so have only heard about it second-hand. And though I'm sure the argument and subsequent abandonment have more to do with other unresolved issues, it still amazes me that something so petty can get so out of hand.
I have two cousins and an aunt who live maybe an hour away from me (much closer to my parents) who I've not seen or talked to in easily eight years. Not by my choice or my poor mom's. I can't imagine the pain of having your sister cut you out of her life. My mom has written countless letters in a vain attempt to reconcile their relationship. The aunt won't budge though. She's never written back and it's my belief that she never will. Perhaps when she's on her death bed, rethinking her pathetic life, maybe then she'll realize the error of her ways. But people like that rarely admit their mistakes. My mom still leaves the door open for reconciliation. She prays about it, I'm sure daily. Not me so much.
I should mention that this was the second abandonment that my mom's sister's family has put us through. Many years ago my mom and the aunt had a horrible argument over my grandma who is now dead. The aunt wanted to put her in a home, my mom wouldn't hear of it. (No, she didn't belong in a home, the aunt just wanted access to her money.) So the aunt and her family stopped talking to my mom and all of us. Well several years later the aunt's marriage of 25+ years is falling apart, she's getting divorced and has decided that she needs to reconcile with my mom. So they did and then we were all talking again.
But then about eight years ago the Dr. Laura incident happened and we haven't talked to them since.
I can't really wrap my head around family just cutting other family out of their lives. I suppose I could understand if there were addiction issues or one of us was a kiddie porn enthusiast or made snuff films or something. That you disagree about the merits or lack thereof of Dr. Laura is not a reason I'd typically choose to end a relationship over; with anyone let alone family.
So after the second time the aunt ended things, that was it for me. I don't mention their names, ever, and on the occasion that it does slip out, I do spit on the ground immediately after the name leaves my lips. I have no interest in reconciliation, a pleasant conversation, a cup of coffee, a brief glance, nothing. They are all dead. It's sad because I didn't attend a funeral for them and the cause of death is still unknown, but they're all dead.
I have not found a better solution yet. In my heart and my soul it hurts too bad to anguish over why they did this. I've had to watch my mom deal with it this way and it's heartwrenching. She agonizes over what she could have done differently, why she's not good enough, what's wrong with her, etc. I can't do that. What happened is my mom's sister is a bitch, a ruthless, heartless, evil bitch. You think the way she treated my mom's family is bad? You should have heard the way she talked to her own mother. And rude, evil, heartless bitches tend to raise self-absorbed, selfish, spoiled, evil children. And that's exactly what happened. And now they're dead. End of story. What, they're going to do me a favor someday by deciding they want to talk to us again? Fuck that!
This time of year though, can really bring all of those memories and the hurt right back. That's why I'm so thankful for the friends that Husband and I have been blessed with. It's like, I didn't get the big family, but my family continues to build through the years with the friends we make. That is my family.
So I'll be thankful for all of those blessings and I'll enjoy my celebrations with my small immediate family and I'll not think about the hurt. And someday when I find out where they're all buried, maybe I'll go visit their graves.
In my dreams I have an enormous family, a house full of people, a table a mile long full of food, everyone is laughing and enjoying themselves, everyone loves each other and puts aside their differences if only for one day for the greater purpose of celebrating Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Year's, whatever. In reality my dad's family lives out of state and are not, shall we say, emotionally stable. My mom's sister and her two children (both married now) stopped speaking to us years ago over some disagreement about, I swear, Dr. Laura. I was not present at said disagreement and so have only heard about it second-hand. And though I'm sure the argument and subsequent abandonment have more to do with other unresolved issues, it still amazes me that something so petty can get so out of hand.
I have two cousins and an aunt who live maybe an hour away from me (much closer to my parents) who I've not seen or talked to in easily eight years. Not by my choice or my poor mom's. I can't imagine the pain of having your sister cut you out of her life. My mom has written countless letters in a vain attempt to reconcile their relationship. The aunt won't budge though. She's never written back and it's my belief that she never will. Perhaps when she's on her death bed, rethinking her pathetic life, maybe then she'll realize the error of her ways. But people like that rarely admit their mistakes. My mom still leaves the door open for reconciliation. She prays about it, I'm sure daily. Not me so much.
I should mention that this was the second abandonment that my mom's sister's family has put us through. Many years ago my mom and the aunt had a horrible argument over my grandma who is now dead. The aunt wanted to put her in a home, my mom wouldn't hear of it. (No, she didn't belong in a home, the aunt just wanted access to her money.) So the aunt and her family stopped talking to my mom and all of us. Well several years later the aunt's marriage of 25+ years is falling apart, she's getting divorced and has decided that she needs to reconcile with my mom. So they did and then we were all talking again.
But then about eight years ago the Dr. Laura incident happened and we haven't talked to them since.
I can't really wrap my head around family just cutting other family out of their lives. I suppose I could understand if there were addiction issues or one of us was a kiddie porn enthusiast or made snuff films or something. That you disagree about the merits or lack thereof of Dr. Laura is not a reason I'd typically choose to end a relationship over; with anyone let alone family.
So after the second time the aunt ended things, that was it for me. I don't mention their names, ever, and on the occasion that it does slip out, I do spit on the ground immediately after the name leaves my lips. I have no interest in reconciliation, a pleasant conversation, a cup of coffee, a brief glance, nothing. They are all dead. It's sad because I didn't attend a funeral for them and the cause of death is still unknown, but they're all dead.
I have not found a better solution yet. In my heart and my soul it hurts too bad to anguish over why they did this. I've had to watch my mom deal with it this way and it's heartwrenching. She agonizes over what she could have done differently, why she's not good enough, what's wrong with her, etc. I can't do that. What happened is my mom's sister is a bitch, a ruthless, heartless, evil bitch. You think the way she treated my mom's family is bad? You should have heard the way she talked to her own mother. And rude, evil, heartless bitches tend to raise self-absorbed, selfish, spoiled, evil children. And that's exactly what happened. And now they're dead. End of story. What, they're going to do me a favor someday by deciding they want to talk to us again? Fuck that!
This time of year though, can really bring all of those memories and the hurt right back. That's why I'm so thankful for the friends that Husband and I have been blessed with. It's like, I didn't get the big family, but my family continues to build through the years with the friends we make. That is my family.
So I'll be thankful for all of those blessings and I'll enjoy my celebrations with my small immediate family and I'll not think about the hurt. And someday when I find out where they're all buried, maybe I'll go visit their graves.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
'Tis the Season - Ugh!
I love Christmas time. I love that Husband and I live where it snows and we're expecting some this weekend. I love the lights, I love decorating my house, I love baking cookies.
I HATE Christmas music. I hate that the day after Thanksgiving it's impossible to go ANYWHERE without hearing it. It's like noise pollution to me. I'm hearing it without my permission - an assalt to my ears!
Don't get me wrong, there are some Christmas albums I enjoy listening to. But I typically listen to them like the week before Christmas if at all. Odetta, Emmylou Harris, The Chieftans, I enjoy these. But the sacchrine, pop, bubblegum crap they play on the radio and in the grocery store makes me want to shove knitting needles through my ears.
Here I sit at work, the radio is on in the office. The station that it never changes from plays adult contemporary (my favorite!), you know these types of stations. During the holiday season, in addition to the joy of hearing my favorite Rod Stewart and Phil Collins classics, I get the special pleasure of hearing Madonna sing Santa Baby. This wonderful station came up with the brilliant plan of rotating in Christmas songs with their regular playlist. EVERY OTHER SONG. This is why I look forward to January.
I HATE Christmas music. I hate that the day after Thanksgiving it's impossible to go ANYWHERE without hearing it. It's like noise pollution to me. I'm hearing it without my permission - an assalt to my ears!
Don't get me wrong, there are some Christmas albums I enjoy listening to. But I typically listen to them like the week before Christmas if at all. Odetta, Emmylou Harris, The Chieftans, I enjoy these. But the sacchrine, pop, bubblegum crap they play on the radio and in the grocery store makes me want to shove knitting needles through my ears.
Here I sit at work, the radio is on in the office. The station that it never changes from plays adult contemporary (my favorite!), you know these types of stations. During the holiday season, in addition to the joy of hearing my favorite Rod Stewart and Phil Collins classics, I get the special pleasure of hearing Madonna sing Santa Baby. This wonderful station came up with the brilliant plan of rotating in Christmas songs with their regular playlist. EVERY OTHER SONG. This is why I look forward to January.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Of Dunebuggies and Rattlesnakes
This is a little gem from several years ago.
Our story begins as three friends, me, Mr. D, and Husband before we were married, embark on a weekend camping trip. Mr. D had friends camping at nearby a lake for 4th of July and we were invited to join the party.
Now camping anywhere on the 4th of July is at best a crowded madhouse. At worst you end up at the very back cove of the lake, squished in like sardines, tents almost on top of each other, which was our situation. This particular lake is also very popular with jet boat owners, and each morning we awoke to obscene thundering of jet boat motors.
My companions and I had arranged to indulge in some extra-curricular activities, namely LSD. For those of you who have never taken this drug, the experience can be both incredibly fun and sometimes terrifying. Your perception of reality changes completely. Any concept of time is gone. While I have never lost control of my functions, I guess this happens from time to time. I also have never had a "bad trip" and have always had a great time on acid.
We arrived at the site Mr. D's friends had chosen and unpacked. We set up the tent, met Mr. D's friends, opened some beers, you know the routine.
Mr. D's friends proved to be the only entertainment we needed that weekend. At the time Mr. D worked in a gas station and the friends we were camping with were friends from work. The group was a mish-mash of missing teeth, hillbilly charm, Keystone drunks and the like. It was truly like camping with the Clampetts. I kept expecting to see the pickup roll up with all the furniture and grandma in a rocking chair. One particular man was the token drunk guy. When we were introduced he was already lit and a few hours later could not stand up without stumbling. He proceeded to dive into the most shallow part of the lake and busted his head open on a rock. Of course, because he was so intoxicated he didn't notice the blood pouring from his head until we pointed it out. Token Drunk Guy then decided to have another one of the group pull him behind a wave runner on an innertube. This was particularly hilarious because he still had a beer in his hand and the driver of the wave runner was doing everything in his power to flip TDG over. Eventually he succeeded and our entertainment ended for a while.
After we'd eaten and the afternoon was turning into evening, we decided to take our treats. Rather than blotters we had sugar cubes. I remember five. We each took one and saved the rest for later. The opposite side of the lake from where we were camping was empty. It was not part of the campground, but was accessible by way of crawling through a dilapidated barbed wire fence. Before the acid started to kick in we walked around to the fence, crawled through and made our way to the far side of the lake.
As our trip began we immersed ourselves into the lake. The water felt like silk and was warm as bath water. Our clothes came off and we swam around naked for quite a long time. What's funny now is that we were just on the other side of the lake, completely visible to everyone camping and it was still light out. Of course, we didn't care at that point. We were absolutely content to lay on our backs in the water as the sky grew darker and the stars began to shine. As the drugs pulsed through our bloodstream and the trip became more intense, the stars looked as if they were shooting across the sky. I couldn't figure out if I was actually seeing the movement of the earth or if I was just trippin'.
We did get out of the water before it got dark and walked back to our camp through the same void in the barbed wire fence. We changed into some warm clothes and attempted conversation with everyone at camp. In our condition this proved very difficult. After ingesting another half a sugarcube each, we decided we liked it better on the other side of the lake and so, once again, set out to cross the barbed wire borderline.
Once safely on the other side we attempted to get into the water again, but found it much too cold now that night had fallen. So there we were, acid coursing through our bodies, pupils as big as plates, staring at the lake and just trippin' and having a good time. All of a sudden we hear a noise in the distance. At first it sounded like a chainsaw, maybe a dirt bike. As the noise grew closer we saw the accompanying lights of a small dune buggy. With a cloud of dust in it's wake the dune buggy kept coming towards us and stopped suddenly a few feet from us. There before our eyes were two men. One, the driver, was a heavy set gent with a long grey beard the likes of which would put ZZ Top to shame. The passenger was a funny looking guy, very thin with a rat-like face. He was wearing rainbow suspenders.
At this point we all looked at each other to figure out of this was really happening or if we were all experiencing the exact same hallucination. We stood there in utter disbelief and then the driver spoke.
"Y'all live around here?"
We thought, where, where would we possibly live around here? Who, if anyone, lives around here?
Husband answered him, "Does anyone?"
What the driver said next would prove most disheartening.
"Y'all better be careful out here. There's rattlesnakes everywhere."
And with that, the dune buggy started up again and drove away into the hills, its' wake of dust still following behind.
At this point we were all freaked out. We were freaked out that we may be standing in a field full of rattlesnakes, freaked out that we may all have just hallucinated some hillbilly telling us about the rattlesnakes, and mostly freaked out about how to get back to camp without being bitten by the rattlesnakes. Husband especially freaked out because he is terrified, terrified of snakes. All he could do was squat down on the ground and be very still so as not to disturb the snakes.
So we all sat for a while and contemplated our options. I wasn't so sure about the rattlesnakes. I couldn't see any, or hear them. I suggested that we start walking back to camp, carefully, and see what happened. As we discussed what to do a commotion began on the other side of the lake.
We heard the whine of several dirt bikes from off in a distance, but clearly close to our camp and getting closer. From out of the trees on the hill above the camp came maybe four or five bikes, busting into camp like the cops. To our surprise, it was the cops. The lights were flashing, the bike motors roaring, and then came the cop boat. We sat on the other side of the lake and watched the entire scene unfold. The cops were clearly in pursuit of someone. They went right to a white Honda-type sedan and I believe took someone into custody. When the bike cops were finished, the cop boat started coming around to our side of the lake. He shined his light where we were sitting and we froze. We were sure we were getting busted. For what? Who knows, maybe we were trespassing, maybe we were disturbing the rattlesnake sanctuary. We just knew that between the cops and the snakes it was perhaps safer back at camp.
Slowly, so as not to disturb the snakes, we found the barbed wire fence and made it unscathed back to camp. We used our small barbecue as a makeshift fire pit and watched the coals glow and change shape. Our trip was coming to an end and our sleeping bags were calling us. Husband decided to sleep in his truck and let Mr. D and I have the tent. Right next to us was another group of campers who had brought along a keg which they had floating in the lake. There weren't very many people to warrant bringing a keg, but whatever, they were getting tanked. This group of campers gave every indication that this was some sort of group home or boys home camping trip. Maybe it wasn't but that's what it looked like to us. The leader of the group home was a large woman who stayed mostly in the tent. What we didn't realize until the camp became quiet was that she had a serious lung problem. Having a bad cough is one thing. When the cough is more of a constant hacking accompanied by the gurgling, moist sounds of lung butter, you might want to think about seeing a doctor. This lady, every two minutes, was hacking up her lungs. Seriously, I think there were actual pieces of her lungs flying through the air, landing willy-nilly on the floor of the tent.
Well this just set Mr. D and I off. It was such a disgusting, constant, flemmy cough, but it made us laugh like it was a comedy routine. Every time she would start coughing Mr. D and I would start laughing uncontrollably. This lasted what seemed like hours until Mr. D and I drifted off to sleep.
This was one of the best times I've had, and is still one of my favorite memories.
Our story begins as three friends, me, Mr. D, and Husband before we were married, embark on a weekend camping trip. Mr. D had friends camping at nearby a lake for 4th of July and we were invited to join the party.
Now camping anywhere on the 4th of July is at best a crowded madhouse. At worst you end up at the very back cove of the lake, squished in like sardines, tents almost on top of each other, which was our situation. This particular lake is also very popular with jet boat owners, and each morning we awoke to obscene thundering of jet boat motors.
My companions and I had arranged to indulge in some extra-curricular activities, namely LSD. For those of you who have never taken this drug, the experience can be both incredibly fun and sometimes terrifying. Your perception of reality changes completely. Any concept of time is gone. While I have never lost control of my functions, I guess this happens from time to time. I also have never had a "bad trip" and have always had a great time on acid.
We arrived at the site Mr. D's friends had chosen and unpacked. We set up the tent, met Mr. D's friends, opened some beers, you know the routine.
Mr. D's friends proved to be the only entertainment we needed that weekend. At the time Mr. D worked in a gas station and the friends we were camping with were friends from work. The group was a mish-mash of missing teeth, hillbilly charm, Keystone drunks and the like. It was truly like camping with the Clampetts. I kept expecting to see the pickup roll up with all the furniture and grandma in a rocking chair. One particular man was the token drunk guy. When we were introduced he was already lit and a few hours later could not stand up without stumbling. He proceeded to dive into the most shallow part of the lake and busted his head open on a rock. Of course, because he was so intoxicated he didn't notice the blood pouring from his head until we pointed it out. Token Drunk Guy then decided to have another one of the group pull him behind a wave runner on an innertube. This was particularly hilarious because he still had a beer in his hand and the driver of the wave runner was doing everything in his power to flip TDG over. Eventually he succeeded and our entertainment ended for a while.
After we'd eaten and the afternoon was turning into evening, we decided to take our treats. Rather than blotters we had sugar cubes. I remember five. We each took one and saved the rest for later. The opposite side of the lake from where we were camping was empty. It was not part of the campground, but was accessible by way of crawling through a dilapidated barbed wire fence. Before the acid started to kick in we walked around to the fence, crawled through and made our way to the far side of the lake.
As our trip began we immersed ourselves into the lake. The water felt like silk and was warm as bath water. Our clothes came off and we swam around naked for quite a long time. What's funny now is that we were just on the other side of the lake, completely visible to everyone camping and it was still light out. Of course, we didn't care at that point. We were absolutely content to lay on our backs in the water as the sky grew darker and the stars began to shine. As the drugs pulsed through our bloodstream and the trip became more intense, the stars looked as if they were shooting across the sky. I couldn't figure out if I was actually seeing the movement of the earth or if I was just trippin'.
We did get out of the water before it got dark and walked back to our camp through the same void in the barbed wire fence. We changed into some warm clothes and attempted conversation with everyone at camp. In our condition this proved very difficult. After ingesting another half a sugarcube each, we decided we liked it better on the other side of the lake and so, once again, set out to cross the barbed wire borderline.
Once safely on the other side we attempted to get into the water again, but found it much too cold now that night had fallen. So there we were, acid coursing through our bodies, pupils as big as plates, staring at the lake and just trippin' and having a good time. All of a sudden we hear a noise in the distance. At first it sounded like a chainsaw, maybe a dirt bike. As the noise grew closer we saw the accompanying lights of a small dune buggy. With a cloud of dust in it's wake the dune buggy kept coming towards us and stopped suddenly a few feet from us. There before our eyes were two men. One, the driver, was a heavy set gent with a long grey beard the likes of which would put ZZ Top to shame. The passenger was a funny looking guy, very thin with a rat-like face. He was wearing rainbow suspenders.
At this point we all looked at each other to figure out of this was really happening or if we were all experiencing the exact same hallucination. We stood there in utter disbelief and then the driver spoke.
"Y'all live around here?"
We thought, where, where would we possibly live around here? Who, if anyone, lives around here?
Husband answered him, "Does anyone?"
What the driver said next would prove most disheartening.
"Y'all better be careful out here. There's rattlesnakes everywhere."
And with that, the dune buggy started up again and drove away into the hills, its' wake of dust still following behind.
At this point we were all freaked out. We were freaked out that we may be standing in a field full of rattlesnakes, freaked out that we may all have just hallucinated some hillbilly telling us about the rattlesnakes, and mostly freaked out about how to get back to camp without being bitten by the rattlesnakes. Husband especially freaked out because he is terrified, terrified of snakes. All he could do was squat down on the ground and be very still so as not to disturb the snakes.
So we all sat for a while and contemplated our options. I wasn't so sure about the rattlesnakes. I couldn't see any, or hear them. I suggested that we start walking back to camp, carefully, and see what happened. As we discussed what to do a commotion began on the other side of the lake.
We heard the whine of several dirt bikes from off in a distance, but clearly close to our camp and getting closer. From out of the trees on the hill above the camp came maybe four or five bikes, busting into camp like the cops. To our surprise, it was the cops. The lights were flashing, the bike motors roaring, and then came the cop boat. We sat on the other side of the lake and watched the entire scene unfold. The cops were clearly in pursuit of someone. They went right to a white Honda-type sedan and I believe took someone into custody. When the bike cops were finished, the cop boat started coming around to our side of the lake. He shined his light where we were sitting and we froze. We were sure we were getting busted. For what? Who knows, maybe we were trespassing, maybe we were disturbing the rattlesnake sanctuary. We just knew that between the cops and the snakes it was perhaps safer back at camp.
Slowly, so as not to disturb the snakes, we found the barbed wire fence and made it unscathed back to camp. We used our small barbecue as a makeshift fire pit and watched the coals glow and change shape. Our trip was coming to an end and our sleeping bags were calling us. Husband decided to sleep in his truck and let Mr. D and I have the tent. Right next to us was another group of campers who had brought along a keg which they had floating in the lake. There weren't very many people to warrant bringing a keg, but whatever, they were getting tanked. This group of campers gave every indication that this was some sort of group home or boys home camping trip. Maybe it wasn't but that's what it looked like to us. The leader of the group home was a large woman who stayed mostly in the tent. What we didn't realize until the camp became quiet was that she had a serious lung problem. Having a bad cough is one thing. When the cough is more of a constant hacking accompanied by the gurgling, moist sounds of lung butter, you might want to think about seeing a doctor. This lady, every two minutes, was hacking up her lungs. Seriously, I think there were actual pieces of her lungs flying through the air, landing willy-nilly on the floor of the tent.
Well this just set Mr. D and I off. It was such a disgusting, constant, flemmy cough, but it made us laugh like it was a comedy routine. Every time she would start coughing Mr. D and I would start laughing uncontrollably. This lasted what seemed like hours until Mr. D and I drifted off to sleep.
This was one of the best times I've had, and is still one of my favorite memories.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
A Poem
The Other
Ecstacy
Overcoming me
Finally
I lay in the calm
Feel the glow . . .
He doesn't know
The storm brewing
The other . . .
Lingers in the depths of my mind
Pulls on my body
Drags me down
Willingly
I sink into
the realm of the other
Blissfully
skin's memory overtaking me
lips quivering
Begging, pleading
for deliverance
Just once
Again
Until I return
to the world that I've chosen
and hide the storm
of desire
in my eyes
Ecstacy
Overcoming me
Finally
I lay in the calm
Feel the glow . . .
He doesn't know
The storm brewing
The other . . .
Lingers in the depths of my mind
Pulls on my body
Drags me down
Willingly
I sink into
the realm of the other
Blissfully
skin's memory overtaking me
lips quivering
Begging, pleading
for deliverance
Just once
Again
Until I return
to the world that I've chosen
and hide the storm
of desire
in my eyes
Maybe It's Me
Having a roommate is a very delicate relationship. It forces you to choose your battles carefully, especially if you have a roommate who is not especially considerate. A brief history -
When Husband and I met our current roommate, he was unemployed and living with his parents. We all became friends and, at that time, he was very polite and thoughtful. Husband and I have friends at our house every weekend and almost every day during the week. We enjoy the company of our friends even though the house gets kinda thrashed. But current roommate, before he was roommate, would wash dishes, help clean the house and in general thought of others, especially Husband and I. He wanted to be helpful. Husband and I encouraged Roommate to get a job and were very supportive of him becoming a productive member of society. His own mom was discouraging him from obtaining gainful employment, which is why Husband and I thought maybe living in our house for a while would be a better environment.
Fast forward a few months and he is now our roommate. Things were pretty good for a while. But slowly and steadily a self-centeredness and selfishness started showing its face in Roommate. He would (and still does) spend hours talking about work and his day and himself when he got home in the evening, not pausing long enough to even ask Husband and I about our days. That was the first indication that something was amiss. I'm still not sure if this is how Roommate actually is and he was going out of his way to be "good" so he could move out of his parent's house, or if he is actually changing into an asshole. Well, in addition to the detailed and lengthy monologues every day, Roommate also stopped doing anything around the house.
Let me insert here that I work, full time, just like Husband and Roommate. I also make dinner every night for whomever is in the house, but always for at least Husband and Roommate. I clean the house every week, I make sure the bath towels are clean and all of the other things that go along with keeping up a household. I ask for virtually nothing in return. I do these things because they need to be done and I'm generally happy to do them.
How things have changed. Roommate won't even lift a finger to do anything, dishes, take out the trash, clean, nothing. Okay, fine, I guess I can live with that. As long as rent and bills are paid, right? Wrong. Now it's like pulling teeth to get money out of roommate as well. And call me crazy, but I feel like at the age of 35 you should be able to figure out when rent is due and pay it. Your roommates shouldn't have to ask you to pay the rent. Same with bills. Why is it our responsibility to ASK for money? I'm not dude's mom. Nor am I a maid.
Okay, so fast forward again, but also reverse to Thanksgiving. Even though Roommate was invited to spend Thanksgiving with Husband and I (in September he was invited) he decided he was too good for my family and decided to just stay home. Except he didn't stay home. Roommate decided it was a good idea to buy a puppy. A St. Bernard puppy.
Perhaps now is the time to tell you about our house. Husband and I could not be happier with where we live. But it's a small house. Like 900 square feet small. It's barely big enough for me, Husband, our dog and Roommate. But in his mind it's more than adequate for a ST.. BERNARD. Look, I don't even know what his plans are when this thing gets bigger. He has no plans.
To make matters worse, Roommate didn't even discuss the idea of getting a dog with us. So Husband called our house on Thanksgiving to check in with Roommate and found out about the puppy. Roommate spent $200 on a papered St. Bernard. Great. I'm not saying anything bad about spending money on a dog. Husband and I only paid $20 for our dog, but to each his own. What I am saying something bad about is spending that kind of money on a dog when you can't even pay rent. Priorities you know? So the whole day of Thanksgiving Husband and I spent ruminating on this puppy and what in THE HELL Roommate was thinking. Roommate goes to work before it's light and gets home when it's dark. Who will stay with the puppy during the day? Who will train the puppy? Who will walk the puppy? It's not even the puppy that burns us as much as the complete lack of consideration and respect that Roommate showed for us.
Husband and I talked on the way home about how to handle the situation, which had to be very delicately. (Roommate already has a history of defensiveness and anger and, in general, very childlike behavior when it comes to conflict.) We got home to find a house full of people, our friends, which was just fine with us. It did make talking with Roommate a bit more difficult.
Roommate was visibly excited, thrilled more like it. He had the papers out and ready to show us and tell us all about the puppy's bloodlines and how many times she'd taken a shit already. The following conversation ensued:
Roommate: "Touch her belly, it's so soft, isn't she so cute?"
Me: "Yes, she's cute. Puppies are cute."
Roommate: stupid shit I don't care about having to do with bloodlines once again and blah, blah, blah
Me: "We're going to have to talk about this at some point Roommate."
Roommate: "Talk about what?"
Me: "About this, the whole dog thing."
Roommate: "I thought we already talked about it."
Me: "It would've been nice to know that you were going to get a dog. It would've been cool for you to talk to us about it first."
Roommate (now clearly agitated and defensive): "We already talked about it. I've told you so many times that I was going to get a dog."
Me: "Roommate, you've never told us that you're getting a dog."
Roommate (now even more defensive and clearly angry): "Man, I told you so many times sitting out on the deck. You knew I was going to get one!"
Me: "Alright, well we're gonna need to talk about it."
At that point I ended the conversation. Clearly Roommate had it in his head that he'd discussed this with us. Roommate has, in the past six months, "discussed" getting a boat, buying property, buying a house, and yes I think even getting a dog. The "discussions" go something like this:
"Man, I'm gonna get that boat. We gotta have a boat."
"Man, I wanna dog."
So, okay, clearly I'm in the wrong, we did have a discussion about the dog. It was just very brief and without any actual discussion.
Husband did talk to Roommate later that night. Roommate assured Husband that he indeed had a plan for the puppy and would take it to work with him and clean up after him and everything. Well, when Monday came the puppy didn't go to work with Roommate. Roommate locked her in his room. Oh, but it's okay, he put some puppy pad shit on the floor for her to piss and shit on. The carpet will be fine. Meanwhile Husband and I are kissing our pet deposit goodbye. Not to mention that Husband and I are still asleep when Roommate goes to work and the puppy, as puppies are known to do, cries and yelps when Roommate leaves.
Husband had to have another talk with Roommate, making it clear to him that the puppy can't stay in the house, locked in a room all day, shitting and pissing on the carpet. So Roommate has been taking it to work.
Fast forward once more and here we are. Rent's due yet again and yet again we are forced to collect it from Roommate. His new plan is to build a wall in our downstairs area (an unfinished basement-type room where the washer and dryer are, and that Husband and I painstakingly made into a cool-ass chill room complete with carpeting) to keep the puppy contained in the chill room. His theory - the carpeting is just remnants and the puppy can shit and piss all over it and it won't matter. That way Roommate will have one room, Husband and I will have the other room, and puppy will have her own room and we will have no chill room. Now, call me crazy, but Roommate and puppy each having their own room seems as though it's worth more than just a third of the rent. Not to mention, I want my chill room! We spend a lot of time making it chillable and nice enough to even want to hang out down there.
It's just so fucked up at this point I don't even know what to do. But I know one thing, shit's gotta change with a quickness. This will not stand!
But then again, maybe it's me.
When Husband and I met our current roommate, he was unemployed and living with his parents. We all became friends and, at that time, he was very polite and thoughtful. Husband and I have friends at our house every weekend and almost every day during the week. We enjoy the company of our friends even though the house gets kinda thrashed. But current roommate, before he was roommate, would wash dishes, help clean the house and in general thought of others, especially Husband and I. He wanted to be helpful. Husband and I encouraged Roommate to get a job and were very supportive of him becoming a productive member of society. His own mom was discouraging him from obtaining gainful employment, which is why Husband and I thought maybe living in our house for a while would be a better environment.
Fast forward a few months and he is now our roommate. Things were pretty good for a while. But slowly and steadily a self-centeredness and selfishness started showing its face in Roommate. He would (and still does) spend hours talking about work and his day and himself when he got home in the evening, not pausing long enough to even ask Husband and I about our days. That was the first indication that something was amiss. I'm still not sure if this is how Roommate actually is and he was going out of his way to be "good" so he could move out of his parent's house, or if he is actually changing into an asshole. Well, in addition to the detailed and lengthy monologues every day, Roommate also stopped doing anything around the house.
Let me insert here that I work, full time, just like Husband and Roommate. I also make dinner every night for whomever is in the house, but always for at least Husband and Roommate. I clean the house every week, I make sure the bath towels are clean and all of the other things that go along with keeping up a household. I ask for virtually nothing in return. I do these things because they need to be done and I'm generally happy to do them.
How things have changed. Roommate won't even lift a finger to do anything, dishes, take out the trash, clean, nothing. Okay, fine, I guess I can live with that. As long as rent and bills are paid, right? Wrong. Now it's like pulling teeth to get money out of roommate as well. And call me crazy, but I feel like at the age of 35 you should be able to figure out when rent is due and pay it. Your roommates shouldn't have to ask you to pay the rent. Same with bills. Why is it our responsibility to ASK for money? I'm not dude's mom. Nor am I a maid.
Okay, so fast forward again, but also reverse to Thanksgiving. Even though Roommate was invited to spend Thanksgiving with Husband and I (in September he was invited) he decided he was too good for my family and decided to just stay home. Except he didn't stay home. Roommate decided it was a good idea to buy a puppy. A St. Bernard puppy.
Perhaps now is the time to tell you about our house. Husband and I could not be happier with where we live. But it's a small house. Like 900 square feet small. It's barely big enough for me, Husband, our dog and Roommate. But in his mind it's more than adequate for a ST.. BERNARD. Look, I don't even know what his plans are when this thing gets bigger. He has no plans.
To make matters worse, Roommate didn't even discuss the idea of getting a dog with us. So Husband called our house on Thanksgiving to check in with Roommate and found out about the puppy. Roommate spent $200 on a papered St. Bernard. Great. I'm not saying anything bad about spending money on a dog. Husband and I only paid $20 for our dog, but to each his own. What I am saying something bad about is spending that kind of money on a dog when you can't even pay rent. Priorities you know? So the whole day of Thanksgiving Husband and I spent ruminating on this puppy and what in THE HELL Roommate was thinking. Roommate goes to work before it's light and gets home when it's dark. Who will stay with the puppy during the day? Who will train the puppy? Who will walk the puppy? It's not even the puppy that burns us as much as the complete lack of consideration and respect that Roommate showed for us.
Husband and I talked on the way home about how to handle the situation, which had to be very delicately. (Roommate already has a history of defensiveness and anger and, in general, very childlike behavior when it comes to conflict.) We got home to find a house full of people, our friends, which was just fine with us. It did make talking with Roommate a bit more difficult.
Roommate was visibly excited, thrilled more like it. He had the papers out and ready to show us and tell us all about the puppy's bloodlines and how many times she'd taken a shit already. The following conversation ensued:
Roommate: "Touch her belly, it's so soft, isn't she so cute?"
Me: "Yes, she's cute. Puppies are cute."
Roommate: stupid shit I don't care about having to do with bloodlines once again and blah, blah, blah
Me: "We're going to have to talk about this at some point Roommate."
Roommate: "Talk about what?"
Me: "About this, the whole dog thing."
Roommate: "I thought we already talked about it."
Me: "It would've been nice to know that you were going to get a dog. It would've been cool for you to talk to us about it first."
Roommate (now clearly agitated and defensive): "We already talked about it. I've told you so many times that I was going to get a dog."
Me: "Roommate, you've never told us that you're getting a dog."
Roommate (now even more defensive and clearly angry): "Man, I told you so many times sitting out on the deck. You knew I was going to get one!"
Me: "Alright, well we're gonna need to talk about it."
At that point I ended the conversation. Clearly Roommate had it in his head that he'd discussed this with us. Roommate has, in the past six months, "discussed" getting a boat, buying property, buying a house, and yes I think even getting a dog. The "discussions" go something like this:
"Man, I'm gonna get that boat. We gotta have a boat."
"Man, I wanna dog."
So, okay, clearly I'm in the wrong, we did have a discussion about the dog. It was just very brief and without any actual discussion.
Husband did talk to Roommate later that night. Roommate assured Husband that he indeed had a plan for the puppy and would take it to work with him and clean up after him and everything. Well, when Monday came the puppy didn't go to work with Roommate. Roommate locked her in his room. Oh, but it's okay, he put some puppy pad shit on the floor for her to piss and shit on. The carpet will be fine. Meanwhile Husband and I are kissing our pet deposit goodbye. Not to mention that Husband and I are still asleep when Roommate goes to work and the puppy, as puppies are known to do, cries and yelps when Roommate leaves.
Husband had to have another talk with Roommate, making it clear to him that the puppy can't stay in the house, locked in a room all day, shitting and pissing on the carpet. So Roommate has been taking it to work.
Fast forward once more and here we are. Rent's due yet again and yet again we are forced to collect it from Roommate. His new plan is to build a wall in our downstairs area (an unfinished basement-type room where the washer and dryer are, and that Husband and I painstakingly made into a cool-ass chill room complete with carpeting) to keep the puppy contained in the chill room. His theory - the carpeting is just remnants and the puppy can shit and piss all over it and it won't matter. That way Roommate will have one room, Husband and I will have the other room, and puppy will have her own room and we will have no chill room. Now, call me crazy, but Roommate and puppy each having their own room seems as though it's worth more than just a third of the rent. Not to mention, I want my chill room! We spend a lot of time making it chillable and nice enough to even want to hang out down there.
It's just so fucked up at this point I don't even know what to do. But I know one thing, shit's gotta change with a quickness. This will not stand!
But then again, maybe it's me.
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