Category Archives: Family, Friends and other Humans

February 17, 2009 · 7:37 pm

happy heart day

I have always found Valentine’s Day to be rather dreary, as a long standing non-Valentine holder.  I generally make efforts to acknowledge my single girl friends and sometimes send cards or give flowers and stuff.  But that was all just a ploy to stifle the pitiful little sorrows of my lonely heart.

Sniff.  sniff.  weep.

And this year, I am not single and I don’t live on Planet Suck, and I get to be with this wonderful person every day that I’m just so perpetually grateful to be around.  I thought that having Valentine’s Day once I got to be in this place would be this perfectly romantic episode.  But in the days leading up to it, I found that I wasn’t that excited.  We already say that we love each other a bunch of times, every day. We always hold hands.  We go out for nice dinners together.  We snuggle on the couch.  We linger in bed every chance that we can get.  So cliched, but really, every day is Valentine’s Day.

I may have to either go have a sentimental sob to myself now, or heave a little.

It must be said, though:  my sweet boy is great.  I am amazed that I get to be with him, and that he wants to be with me.  I love how he is so unfunny sometimes when he’s actually trying to be funny, and then just how funny he really is other times.  I love that he’s astonishingly clever and knows all kinds of everything and if he doesn’t know, will do immediate research to find out.  But he is always saying that I know everything, probably because I could say who Jennifer Aniston is dating at any given moment.  I love that he is obsessed with working out and gets terrifically invested in his efforts, because it is impressive and inspiring, and he’s got a truly lovely body.  I love that he falls asleep wrapped around me at night, even though it makes me swelteringly hot.  I love that he will just decide what we should do or have for dinner.  I love telling him how handsome he is and how perfect and just that I love him as much as I can.

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February 12, 2009 · 7:41 pm

Two to the Fifth

Today is Jessica’s birthday.
Ever since I started doing things like turning 20, Jessica always did it first.  For that, I will be ever grateful.  It’s not so weird to be 24 or 29 or 31 when your soul mate does it first.  As panicky and weird as I have gotten over a birthday, I can only imagine that it would have a certain kind of awful if I didn’t have the knowledge that it was ok and normal, because that’s how old Jessica is.

And today she is 32.  I always have this sense of gratitude on her birthday and rather wish that I could wax nostalgic on her actual birth.  But thanks, all the same, to Crazy Janey and Jimbo who made it all possible.  And to the brothers, who used to feel like halfway to my own brothers, for being a part of that person.

Jessica

I don’t know how a person like me got a friend like her, but I’m awfully glad that I did.  She’s the best sort of person possible.  She is patient and listens to people.  I get jealous, in fact, of just how well she can listen to absolutely dullards.  She is adorably (possibly freakishly) in love with her cats.  She has a wonderful fashion sense, appreciative of the right flavors of quirk, vintage, and classiness.  And she changes and evolves so that it’s almost kind of like having a whole new friend, who you immediately love from the word Go.  A new friend who suddenly likes miso.

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Filed under Girl land, Special happy things

February 5, 2009 · 6:37 pm

Hermaphrodite

I kid that I have more man tendencies than I should, me being a girl.  I’m no butch, but I do do some things that really remind me of how guys function.

I think babies are boring.  I want to think that they’re cute.  But they just don’t DO anything.
I have a high tolerance for messiness and untidiness.
I like to have answers.

Last night, my dearest friend admitted some personal stew in her pot that was making her sadly.  And I opened my mouth and unleashed a torrent of blather about why it was all really fine.  I can’t even remember what it was I was trying to say, because I think it was all nonsense.  Or just noises to try and solve it all up, shove it in a box, and put it on the top shelf of the closet under an old blanket.  When maybe I could have just said that I was sorry.  Or to tell me if it develops further.  Or that it’s ok to feel worried.

I like pink and purple and I buy unreasonable high heeled shoes that are too hurty to wear and I like flowers for no reason.  But I just had a very shameful manly moment and I might need to regroup my girl goodness to recover.

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October 25, 2008 · 12:43 am

Happy Birthday, My Sweet Boy

Today is David’s birthday. He is far, far away in Ye Olde England, so I couldn’t do anything special for him, but he was much on my mind.

You are an excellent human and it’s been a pleasure to give thanks for that today.

I hope the last year of your 20’s is a wonderful one, that leaves you fully satisfied with a decade well done. Or at least prepared to enter the next one. I, for one, will feel quite glad when you start being 30 so I won’t be in that 30 business by myself. Except that when that happens, I will be 32, and that’s gross.

But I love you today and very much look forward to this year of prime numbers.

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October 20, 2008 · 9:26 pm

Tell me a story

My very, very sweet boy also reads to me every night.
Complete with voices.

A few days ago, out of nowhere he said “Can I ask you something?”

And I panic, because once I give permission for the question, it could be:
Why don’t we have sex every five minutes?
Would you mind if I spent more time on my own?
Do you secretly eat whole bags of crisps in one go?
Really, how many people have you slept with?
How would you feel if I moved back to England next year?
<continue out of control mind spin>

So I say, “Oh my god. What?”

And he looks at me, a bit startled, and asks “Do you think you’d mind if I did the voice of Count Rogen differently? I don’t think I got it right so far.”

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October 3, 2008 · 2:16 pm

More nicer

I feel a little guilty about yesterday’s post.  Granted, I still don’t want to hear a hollow “you look pretty” when I am *clearly* looking heinous, but yeah, it’s wretched to complain about that, right?

So some things nicer:

I was worrying about how it had gotten so hard for me wake up at 5:30 am to get to the gym in the mornings since I’d started adapting to my boy’s schedule.  Let’s be honest, I would generally welcome any excuse to have to miss waking up that early, so it was sort of awesome to just skip out on it guilt free.  But I started feeling pudgier.  And the war I waged to fit into size 8 pants started to recede.  So I was bemoaning this.  What did darling poppet do?  He started getting up at 5:30 to go to the gym, too.  It just warms the cockles of my curmudgeonly little heart.

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October 2, 2008 · 1:14 pm

I Feel Pretty

This morning, as we were walking down the sidewalk beginning our daily commutes, my boyfriend said to me “you look pretty.”

Of course, this is a nice thing for a boyfriend type person to say.  But at this particular moment, I looked at him, opened my mouth to say something, and after a lengthy pause, managed “ok, well that’s nice of you to say, poppet.”

Over instant messenger, once we were both at work, a ridiculous argument ensued about why I got annoyed that he said I was pretty.  For real.  So either I’m just an evil asshole, or boys are silly.

So, I know I’m not a supermodel.  And certainly I’ve got some physical attributes that I’d say are less than gorgeous.  But in a completely objective way, I know that I’ve got a nice enough looking face and that I’m probably better looking than at least 50% of the population.

But!  This moring:
1.  I have spots.  Not big gross ones, but a lot of little annoying ones.  Blackheads that just won’t settle down and are getting irritated and making blotchy read camp sites around my nose and chin.  While donating my apartment to the sleeping needs of the boyfriend’s visiting sister and brother-in-law, I went without Proactiv for about 3 days.  And it shows.
2.  I am exhausted.  I don’t know if I’m half-way catching the end of summer cold that’s been going around, but I am dragging.  And it is written all over my face.  Particularly in quippy little witticisms under my eyes.
3.  In order to eek out as much sleep as possible, I didn’t get up until it was too late to take a shower.  So my hair is a bit scrotty and ratty, and vaguely precursor-y of the greasiness it will be in 6 hours.
4.  No make-up.  Same reason as number 3.  Too tired to take the extra five minutes.  Thus, am spotty, with a splotchy skin tone.  No eyeliner or mascara = pasty puffy piggy eyes.
5.  My pants are just a little bit too tight and are all crease-y across my hips and upper thighs.  Some good eating and going to the gym habits have slipped.  Whatever.  I suck.

Thus, it was not my foxiest day.  I look rather fugly.  Not a big deal.  Some other day will be better.  But a strange time indeed to be telling me that I look pretty.  And the thing is, I get it.  He’s a boy, feeling like saying something nice and loving.  And his boy noggin says to him ‘what’s a nice thing to say that expresses my lovingness and attraction?’  The noggin, very uncreatively, suggests the ol’ ‘you look pretty’ line.  So he tries it.  It falls a little short.  She gets annoyed and the boy and the noggin are confused.

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August 26, 2008 · 3:34 pm

Outside Lands

I went to the Outside Lands festival this weekend, for the whole shebang: Friday night, all day Saturday and all day Sunday. I am the sort of girl who will plan to do something that is supposed to be entirely recreational and fun, and then angst about it. I was afeared that it would make me crabby and over-sunned and beer boozy, but it turned out to be pretty laid back and non-distressing. There were akazillion people, but it was easy enough to keep a distance from the stage, settle down in a grassy spot and listen to music without being in the crush. This does mean that I didn’t have any intense way into the music experiences, because I wasn’t anyway near the stage and it was basically like listening to the CD, but in the outside.

But whatever. It was a neat thing to have done. The Squeeze was there with me for just about all of it. We spent Saturday with my friend Shiny and some of Sunday with his entourage. It seemed like a good thing to be spending more time with one another’s people. And it had been ages since there’d been good Shiny time, so that was stellar. But then, it turns out a funk of some manner of existed: a complaint was raised that the Squeeze was “rolling around on top of me, “mauling” me and making everyone feel uncomfortable.” I am very fuggered about this, as I don’t recall doing much of anything with him even a little. But one of the members of his crew is an ex-girlfriend, so perhaps the sentiment is coming from her. And I could just obsess over this little bit of snark indefinitely. So let’s just leave it at that, shall we? Harumph.

But anyway.

Aside from having that rather distasteful topic come come up after the fact, I did have a rather nice musing to myself while I was there. I had the (obvious) realization while I was there with the Squeeze that we were friends… I recognized the sense of aimless ambling and plotting about what to do next as that feeling of camaraderie. That we are friends. Pals. People who comfortable sharing and vocalizing any passing though. Of snickering and pointing out the ridiculous looking people. Of daring one another to eat raw oysters. Of just being in one another’s company.

It was surprising and nice thing to recognize.

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Filed under Concerts, The David

August 12, 2008 · 6:45 pm

I had too much caffeine and I was thinking ’bout myself

It could be too much caffeine.

Or, I could be really bored at work.

And feeling nervous. Because sometimes I just get over wrought.

And lately, I have been fussy about my thoughts on The Squeeze. The thoughts are bordering on mania.

He’s the most normal, most nice, kind and considerate guy I’ve ever dated. And this is very, very nice. I have made no concessions. I have no qualms. I like him and really don’t want to lose him. And this freaks me the fuck out.

Calming breaths. Calming breaths. Calming breaths.

What if? What if I only think that I like him, but I really don’t, and I won’t realize that until 2 years from now? What if I make one snarky comment too many and he realizes that I’m an asshole? What if his sister hates me? What if I am just caught up in not having to be a part of some sick ill open relationship festering wound of wretched? And I’ll never forget that Shel Silverstein said, “what if green hair grows out of my chest?” Yeah! What if?

Can’t I just rationally deduce that he is:
-incredibly good to me
-very handsome and I’m terrifically attracted to him
-quite clever and intelligent both
-silly and playful
-thinking I am pretty and tells me so and I think I might believe him
-active and engaged and very impressive
-(and a whole laundry list of things, and trying to make a list is just insulting because it would be infinite. And I can’t keep writing an infinite list, so I have to stop, except that also)
-really quite superb in the sack <blush>

So be rational, woman. Stop freaking out. He is good. You are good. The us is good. In fact, it’s excellent and wonderful. Having a mental breakdown over something good is just about the dumbest thing you could choose to do at this moment.

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August 6, 2008 · 11:59 pm

And then it just got better…

I feel like a person who almost died, and then someone saved me. He’s my poppet, my sweet boy, The Squeeze.

So I missed a whole month of blogging because I couldn’t find the words to say that I had been at an absolute bottom and then found hope. I was so hungry for hope, but it scares me. Scares me so badly to have any sort of belief that good things could happen.

And even if he doesn’t love me forever, he does love me right now. I met someone who looks like a kid on Christmas morning to be able to wrap his arms around me and have me with him. Honestly, he delights in me. And it’s wonderful and scary.

He does not compliment me the way I had been over the past year. He does not woo me with words. But he worries about whether I’m happy. He bought girl smelling shower gel so that I’d have it in his shower. He volunteered to pick snarls out of my hair. He tells me that he’s thankful and proud of me for navigating my way through an afternoon with his friends. He pitted cherries for me. He cut the end off of a leek when I knew he didn’t think he needed to, just because I said he should. He justs want me to be happy. And so I am.

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