Mushy Ooey Gooey Stuff

The time has come. I am going to talk about the man I am going to marry.
I am. So if you don't want to hear me all mushy ooey gooey, then stop reading. Right now.

Riiight...now. Just checking!

I met him at my last job. We actually started on the same day, in the same training class. He sat behind me, and I remember noticing him but thinking he was too old for me. (Eleven years in case you had to know) Hot, yes, but too old. Oh yeah, and I was technically a lesbian at that point. I noticed him at work, but I was in a relationship and I thought he was, so life was pretty uneventful.
So, six months later, things with Hex are bad. Feeling reckless one night after my relationship has ended, I am talking to him at my register. And I ask him out.
I felt so brave.
It felt wonderful. So we start dating and he helps me move into my new apartment. Then this happens and life is weird for awhile. Next, I come to my senses and move on to happily-ever-after. I know, you're wondering when I get to the juicy stuff...

The obvious thing is I am so attracted to him, it's crazy. I never thought I'd find a guy so darn hot. He's clean, oh, and he always smells so good! He loves soap, and is a germ-a-phobe. He doesn't have morning breath. I know, sounds untrue, but it's not.
He's kind to animals and children. He'd probably be kind to elderly people too, but we don't know any. He's perceptive. He notices things around him that other people just do not notice. Whether it's the way someone wears their hair, or something they said, or just an off-putting feeling, he gets it.
When he says he going to do something, he does it. When he says he can do something, he can. I was skeptical at first, but I am no longer so. If he says he can fix the toilet when someone flushes a mini can of room freshener down it...he can. He proved it. He can fix cars and put up shelves and help build houses and make dinner. He can tuck children in and have pillow fights and lift heavy stuff.
He likes to hold my hand. He tells me he loves me. He respects my intelligence, and he thinks I'm hot when I'm being particularly smart. He has a good sense of fashion. He understands my need for shoes. He likes tattoos. He loves my hair, and sometimes when he thinks I'm asleep I can feel him petting it. My hair.
He is generous with his money and his time. He gets frustrated with me because he is very neat, and I am...not. He gets frustrated by my inconsistencies and chaotic organization/organized chaos. He gets angry when I shut-down and act indifferent when faced with confrontation, but he understands why. He is annoyed when I let my children walk all over me, but he understands why.
He likes my body and doesn't ever talk about my losing a few pounds...well, not losing them, I mean. If I don't shave my legs for a few days, he doesn't bitch or complain. When I am stressed out from work, he is comforting and tells me things that not only make me feel better, but I know that he actually means them.
He gets along with my family. It's as if there was an empty spot on my bookshelf and he fit right in that spot. We have similar values, similar beliefs. The best thing, aside from the sex? (Oh come on, you knew I would mention that sooner or later!)
He makes me laugh. Oh, not to say he doesn't make me cry, but fercryinoutloud, how this man can make me laugh. Life is somehow clearer again, like when you upgrade televisions. I look forward to holidays, when for the past few years, I was ready to go "anti-holiday". Falling asleep next to him and waking up in the same way is something to be treasured. Thinking about how he will be the only person who holds me and makes love to me for the rest of uh--his life (he's older than me, c'mon) is something I look forward to.
All right, now I'm even getting mushy for me, and I'm such a musher.

Late and Elated

There's nothing like an old friend telling you she's pregnant to make me rush to take a birth control pill in the morning.
And that explains the crazy Cat Dreams I've been having...for some weird reason, I always dream of cats when someone close to me is preggo. They were odd cats though...but considering my two friends who have procreated, that makes sense now.
The best part? I'll finally have the complimentary title of "Auntie". Oh, yes, I will.

What My Friends Think Of Me

When my friend, Ina, is confronted with poop, she thinks of me. Really!
What can I say? I like to talk about it. It's delightful when someone is in obvious discomfort when confronted with the subject of their own waste. I don't mean in a rude, "poop-joke" way, just a nice lively discussion about what each and every one of us do. Every day. Sometimes even mutiple times.
It's okay that she remembers me when there's a poop issue. Whenever I am confronted with double-sided tape, I think of Ina. <-----That story continued another day...sshhh, don't tell.

Gotta' Love 'Em

Little J woke up this morning and said, "Mommy, I had a weird dream."
I asked her what it was about.
She said, "I don't want to talk about it. It was too long."

And that's all I got.

I'm Home Sick

I came home sick today. Really, I am sick! But it's my own fault. Have I ever mentioned that I love Dutch Brothers Milky Way coffees? I'm sure I have...but have I mentioned they give me the trots? I have figured out how to combat the crapping by taking a Lactaid and an Immodium.

It was rainy this morning. It felt like a coffee day. I recently got a raise in pay, so I just happened to have some cash...and I bought a Milky Way. Mmmm! It was sooo tasty when I got it. It was tasty as I got to work and realized I had a meeting at 8:00am. It was tasty during the meeting while I was sitting forgetting to take the pills in my desk drawer. No Lactaid. No Immodium.
Bathroom time! Again! Again! Uh....better run, again! So I needed to come home to use my own bathroom. Plus, it's kinda' difficult to interview clients/customers when I feel like a could crap my pants at any second!!
So I took a picture of my socks for you. Just because I can. Notice my freakishly long second toe...

For Those Of You Who Were Wondering

Would you like to see my shoes? Of course you would! That tan shoe-holder has four more rows of cubbies on top. But I felt that I needed to show you the pile of shoes on the floor. And don't think that my shoes are mistreated, oh no! They are very happy on the soft carpet in a pile of shoe friends.















Here is a picture of a flower that came in a dozen from my fiance. The other day I helped(by 'help', I mean did it all) him with a shitload of legal paperwork, and when I came home from work, I felt he was properly grateful. In the flowers was a little card, and he had written me an original "Roses are red.." poem. If that wasn't enough, he satisfied my Scratcher Ticket urges with four or five tickets at which I won $20.












The last thing I will show you is set in my charming bathroom with a tub that needs cleaning. Here we have the Bathtub Pony Family. They spend their days watching over Little Yellow Bathtub pony, who is being held captive by Naked Barbie Whose Hair Reminds Me of Pubes. Rest easy, Bathtub Ponies.

Milestones!

For some reason, October second is my favorite day of the year. My favorite month and my favorite number makes it so, I guess. (October 22 is good too).
Anyhow, on October 2, 2006, Little J read me a book for the first time. A whole book without help. My favorite day was a little sweeter this year...

Please please please

I took Little J to the eye doctor the other week. He recommended a specialist, as there were "white floaty things" in the gel of her eye. He thought it might be this disease where later in life the retina detaches from the eye. As this runs in my family, I was dismayed, but not overly concerned.
We went to the specialist. He confirmed that it was not this disease. He did have a lot of questions, however, on head trauma.
What?
Yes, head trauma. Apparently, whatever he saw in the dilation of my youngest daughter's eyes prompted him to speak out on Shaken Baby Syndrome. Whatever he saw in my child's eyes...he recognized as trauma from being shaken.
This is extremely difficult to write. As a mother, the thought of anyone hurting my child, or any child for that matter, but especially MY child...well, I want to kill them. I want to beat them with a baseball bat and stab them with burning hot pokers. I am sure I could get more creative if I were to let myself.
Little J has no other symptoms, no learning disabilities diagnosed as of yet, and if she was shaken as an infant, it was not enough to cause any noticable emergency-room-type signs. I don't know who, I don't know when, but I am begging you to educate yourselves and your family members.
Please. Click on the link, and read about what you can do to stop this from happening, and why it happens in the first place. If you tell one person, just one...you could save another family from this.

There's No Crying At The Eye Doctor

I got my first pair of glasses when I was nine years old.
I got my first pair of contacts at thirteen. When I put them in at the eye doctor's office, I cried. To be able to see clearly, without hardware on my face, was an emotional thing for me.
I switched back to glasses when I was eighteen. I was a new mother, the contacts were uncomfortable, and too much fuss.
Today, at twenty-seven years of age, I put in a pair of contacts. I didn't cry. I covered my eyes and peeked through my fingers...something I cannot do with glasses. I walked to the mirror, and looked at my face.
For the first time in almost ten years, I could see my face clearly without glasses on. It's how my fiance sees me in the morning. It's how my daughters see me in the middle of the night if they need me. But it's not how I see me.
I came home to put on some eyemakeup. I grabbed my eyeliner pencil and reached up to take my glasses off. I proceeded in almost poking myself in the eye, being so used to taking those glasses off.
Those of you with perfect eyesight take it for granted. You don't know how it feels to wake up in the morning and open your eyes, rub the sleep from them, and everything is still fuzzy. To have to squint and fumble for the right bottle of shampoo in the shower. To have to stand two inches away from the mirror in the morning to put on makeup.
Here I am with my contacts in. You've seen me before without my glasses, but now, I'm smiling because I can see you, too.


>>edited<<

I am now going to the Mall, where I will try on pair after pair of sunglasses. Why? Because I never have.

And Boy, Are My Arms Tired!

I played softball yesterday. No, not by myself. (I know what some of you were thinking--you can't deny it.)
I played a softball game with some people from work. Let's remember that I haven't played in well over ten years. Try, ummm...thirteen years!
But it was fun, and I didn't pull any muscles. Hooray!

Umm...

It turns out that the idea of the baby mice versus the actuality of the baby mice are far too difficult to experience. Because I'm a softie. And to watch that snake devour this tiny, squeaking, scared baby mouse just made me cry and cry and cry. And I had to go outside. To cry some more. Yeah, yeah, the whole food-chain thing, whatever.

Hi Honey, How Was Your Day?

We now own a snake. A Snow Corn Snake. It will eat little baby mice. I'm not sure how I feel about that. And the pillowcase is just cool.

The Engaged Zone

It's like the Twilight Zone...but different. All of a sudden, there are so many things to think about! People are asking me all sorts of questions, and I haven't even thought of them, much less know how to answer them!

"When is the wedding?"
Holy crap people, can I get used to being engaged first?

"Are you going to take his last name?"
I seriously just got my own last name back not so long ago, after my first marriage. Now I'm gonna' change it again?

And now I have to get used to the fact that what we buy today will be "ours" in the future. Not such a little thing for a selfish bitch like me. I like my stuff. I like my space.
I like my name!

I'm Showing You The Finger

Are you ready for my finger? Here it is... okay, so it's actually my hand. But it has something made of carbon and white gold on a very important finger.





I almost peed my pants. Pee-ed? Pee-ded-ed?

Mrs. Blackeye and Mrs. Kissylips

It was makeover day at Grandma's house this weekend.

Shifts and Shifties

I have never been in prison, nor do I intend to go. So I'm not sure how they do things around there...but I'll wager a guess.
They (being The Prisons) must release the inmates in shifts. I've noticed that lately there have been more than a few recently released inmates applying for food stamps and medical benefits. That's all I had in my interviews one day last week, guys just released from prison. And it's not like they release them according to catagory, either. I had a Grand Theft Auto, an Incest, and a Drug Felon. Then another Drug Felon. And then a Fleeing Felon. It was like a convention of homeless parolees!
When I brought my theory up the other night to Boyfriend, he laughed. Laughed some more...sputtered the words "let them...shifts..hahasnortgarumph"...and finally choked to a stop. But I think I'm on to something.

What Are You Bringing?

Little J has a new favorite song. The song is "Sexyback" by Justin Timberlake. She wiggles her little hips and sings, "I'm bringin' sexy back...la la la la how to act...sexy back." While I was driving the girls to school the song came on the radio. Little J got really excited and started boppin' to the beat in the backseat of the truck. I told her, "Make sure you don't sing that song at school, it's not really appropriate."
Big J starts laughing. "Mom!" she says, "She sings it during afterschool care! And she dances!"

Well at least it's technically after school. Right?

Something I Didn't Know

I just realized that I can control a man with sex.
Some of you are saying, "Well no kidding! She didn't know that?"
C'mon people, I was with a woman for the past four or five years! We women don't have to have sex all the time.
A man, however, I've noticed is different. Without "getting any", he is grumpy and irritating. If
he is, uh...satisfied, (I'm trying to make this as PG rated as I can), he does things like clean the house with me! And he's in a better mood! And he's more affectionate, eager to please...oh, the list goes on and on. Like a puppy, I give him his treats and he doesn't piss on my carpet!
Why didn't anyone tell me about this earlier?

Who's Got The Spirit?

Apparently my oldest daughter does. Big J survived tryouts for Spirit Squad at her school and was one of the lucky ones to make it on the squad.
What is this Spirit Squad, you ask?
I have absolutely no idea. But they get to dance in front of the "whole school". Hooray!

Growing Up Is Hard To Do

I thought that I was an adult. After all, I'm twenty-seven years old. I never really felt like I was grown-up, though. Lately, it seems to me that maybe I will never be grown-up. What does being grown-up mean anyways?
I thought it meant a few things...being responsible for my actions, taking charge of my life, doing the things that needed to be done. Learning all the lessons you needed to and then, then you were grown-up.
I have learned many a lesson recently. I've learned that I am selfish. I've learned that love is a give-and-take kind of thing. I had the impression in my mind that if someone does something for me, I am not obligated to return the favor. I don't like being obligated. However, it has occurred to me that maybe 'obligation' is not the correct word. Maybe the word is...courtesy? I've learned that other people's feelings do matter to me. (Well, some people's feelings. I'll work on that.) I've learned that there is sometimes more than one "right thing" to do. Which one do I choose? The one that's right in the eyes of the law? The one that's right morally? The one that's right in my heart? So much pressure.
I've learned that the choices I make are sometimes best left alone, rather than fucking with them and choosing something else. Previously, I held my motto out to be happy with life, and if you wanted something different, change it! Choose something else! You only live once, so why be unhappy!
I have found that maybe, just maybe, I've made my bed and I might as well lay in it. That maybe what's better in the long run does not necessarily make me happy now. If I want instant gratification, I'll go shopping. If I want to have a healthy happy future...well, that's different. I made a few choices and I will stick with them. If I cry at night over them, that's okay. Because my future will be better. Time will heal my heart.
I have learned that it's best to go with my first instinct. So that's my story...and I'm sticking to it.