Tonight sounds like the beginning The Door’s song, “Riders on the Storm” with the way the rain has been coming down.
Random, but true.
Tonight sounds like the beginning The Door’s song, “Riders on the Storm” with the way the rain has been coming down.
Random, but true.
Once again, life (and sleep) got in the way of blogging…….tons of awesome news to report! The updates will include a Felis catus, the Windy City, breaking social norms, giving back to God, and I-9 forms. The summer is nearly half over and I haven’t been surfing in ages because the stupid waves won’t cooperate – hopefully I’ll change that today.
In any case, life is good and 2012 seems to be a year of growth and change. I say bring it on.
I was at a local organic market the other day grabbing lunch and some elderberry syrup — I think I’m starting to get sick. Not only was my nose completely stuffed the other night, but I also had a dream that I had the flu. Arg. Anyway, I saw this product called “liver cleanse” and how you need to clean out your liver with this product to ensure it’s working and remove all the toxins.
I burst out laughing right in the middle of the aisle.
One of the main jobs of the liver is to remove toxins and old red blood cells – not to mention making chemicals so your blood can clot – among other things. YOU NEVER WOULD NEED TO DO A LIVER CLEANSE!!! It does not need help. If your liver is not working properly, you’ll go jaundiced – yellowing of the skin/eyes and your poop may turn gray (that’s really bad, go to an ER). If your liver does indeed stop working you have 12 hours to either get a new one or get it working again. I’m shocked they can actually sell that.
I was invited to a baby shower recently and is it inappropriate to buy something for the parents, rather than the baby? Like gifts you would buy for a batechorlette party? I think sometimes people focus so much on the babies that they completely neglect the parents. Maybe if I did show up to a baby shower with gifts of lube and a gift certificate for dinner out, I would be black balled from other baby showers? I can’t see this being a bad thing — and the new parents win. I firmly believe that if you are not a good spouse you will not be a good parent. I say that as a cat mom who sometimes forgets to feed her kids. But they’re really good at reminding me. And my General is wonderful.
I don’t remember the interactions I had with my friends, floormates, or the boyfriend (Lys) of that day. It didn’t phase him – and it didn’t phase me – I was more upset at the needless loss of life and those left behind more than anything. New York wasn’t on my radar. I didn’t know anyone in that area.
I don’t remember the afternoon or much of the next day, outside of the lieutenant colonel of ROTC getting us together in a group at PT and telling us a) not to worrry and b) we were gonna git ’em.
I don’t remember the days/weeks that followed. I got on a plane that following March to Reagan National in DC with Lys to visit his mom in Virginia. Didn’t think twice about it. In 2004, on my 1st trans-Atlantic flight to Germany, I sat across the aisle from a group of Muslims in full garb. Again, I didn’t think anything of it. I remember looking over their shoulder to see the book they were reading was in Arabic; what looked like scribbles to me was their language.
This Sunday, our church marked the 10th anniversary with a service dedicated to that fateful morning. One of our church members was a fire fighter than responded that day and he talked about what happened. I went to church alone that morning and the air felt thick. I prefer to be alone on the heavy days. I sat in the back, on the floor, and tried not to tear up at certain points.
Half of guys I’ve, um, “kissed” have been firemen. What can I say? I have a thing for EMTs. (And I married a tertiary responder, ha!) I look at things differently now than I did back then; perhaps because I’ve experienced more of the world, got the inside track to a fire fighter’s thoughts, and spent a vast amount of time in an emergency room where tragedy occurs on a near daily basis.
I also do not remember this. I just found it, ironically enough, on 11 September. WTF?
So much has changed, yet so much hasn’t. Isn’t that the way 10 years always goes by?
I got my college degree. I found a good paying job in this economy. I have an amazing husband and we live in our dream house.
I have arrived. Now what?
Society says kids. I’m not so sure that’s what the Lord has in store for us. Or is it? Either way, it’s not up to me. And I am lucky enough not to have a biological clock that ticks.
As my 30’s loom just around the bend, I wonder what this decade of life will bring. The teens and twentys were time of massive change and figuring out the world. While I still have some growing to do, I am basically, for all intensive purposes, a grown up. I pay taxes. I pay a mortgage. I drink wine. And I’m not sure what to expect in my 30’s.
It all slows down, is what my small group (women in their 50’s) and the General (my favorite quadragenarian) say, and just live. Slows down? Sure, I won’t be running off to party like I did; school is long over and done with; I have no plans of leaving my husband, he’s too freakin’ awesome. I have my career set, and as long as I toe the line, I am have a job. And as long as said job stays, I am able to keep my house.
I don’t know if it’s just me, but I am not ready to “slow down.” I’m ready for the next big adventure, whatever that is. I don’t even have a set goal for life right now — which is weird for me and hard to comprehend. I always have a plan. I’m at the mercy of the waves, wherever the Lord takes me. Freeing, in some ways; a little scary about the lack of plan in others.
I am going to begin my 30’s on a cruise to the Bahamas. Woo hoo!! It’s booked, we just have to show up. Yay! By the end of my 30’s, if my family is any predictor, I will go through full menopause. That ought to be interesting. I’m sure I’ll be more secure in who I am, both in myself and the Lord – but I wonder what events will shape that?
I refuse to believe my 30’s will just be one big decade of “meh, life.” What will the Lord bring? Whatever it is, hang onto your bra strap, it’s going to be crazy. Simply because it’s me – and I’m probably drinking wine.
The General has just discovered Breaking Bad, a show on AMC that comes on before Mad Men — it’s about a cancer-stricken high school chemistry teacher and how he cooks crystal meth in order to pay for his chemo treatments. I haven’t watch the show, but the General (being the science geek that he is) is really into the show because of all the science behind synthesizing crystal meth. As someone who hails from Illinois, I have seen 1st hand what meth does to people. Anhydrous ammonia tanks dot the cornfields for the crops — many are stolen and/or drained by meth cooks. Nothing good ever comes from meth: making it alone is a hazardous material clean up situation (i.e. suits and masks) and people who do meth destroy their lives, their loved ones, and their bodies. I can’t even imagine being a part of something that would eventually destroy someone purposely.
The General has joked about cooking meth (a pound of the good stuff would fetch about $40,000) since we both have a heavy chemistry background. I shut him down right away: that’s not even something to joke about. It’s a terrible, terrible thing.
I made a deal with him: if he ever starts cooking meth, I’m going to take after my favorite AMC show, Mad Men. I’m going to start sleeping around and drinking. All. The. Time.
I think that’s fair.
You live with your boyfriend of 2 years who has a ring to propose, but has yet to propose. It’s been almost a year. When asked about the delay, the reply is, “I don’t know.” You both want kids, you’re both thirtysomethings. The relationship ranks as “meh, rarely” on the intimacy scale. Certain details are less than expected, but you get along for the most part. Push comes to shove time is rapidly approaching.
Sometimes I wonder how cool it would be if the General and I (and our friends) were famous movie stars.
How cool would that be?
“Hey, honey, you want to watch one of my old movies tonight?” I’d ask.
“No, let’s watch my summer blockbuster I made when I was 16!” He’d reply.
I’d love to be able to see old friends and screen shots of my husband 20 years ago. I wonder if real movie stars do this?
I think it would make for a great movie night.
Even though I have an amazing husband and a great life with him, I hate Valentine’s Day. The romantic part of the day was ruined years ago. My grandmother (Oma) died on 14 February 2003 after a long courageous battle with ovarian cancer (she made chemo look easy); we were close, so it made it all the more hard, especially when I couldn’t travel to her funeral. The same night, my boyfriend at the time blew off a candlelit romantic champagne night with me for watching the movie “Fight Club” and hanging out in the dorm with his co-worker: a beautiful full-busted blonde. He would eventually leave me for her, but at the time I was so beyond myself lost in the boyfriend….well, that’s another story for another time.
I was single for a lot of them and I stopped caring. I got flowers once from the guy I was dating back in Illinois, but that was just a mere blip on my romantic radar. And not a very good blip at that.
The General treats me so well the other 364 days of the year (he’s my sugar daddy — he brings me random chocolate throughout the year) and we do so much together and for each other, this just seems like a lame attempt of appeasement.
Exactly my point. I put this holiday in the same category as Arbor Day, Casmir Pulaski Day (What’s that? You didn’t attend public school in Illinois? Grab a pierogi and check the link.), Kwanzaa, Secretary’s Day and Flag Day — holidays I don’t celebrate. I would embrace it more if it was a holiday that meant getting the day off. Or even better, time and a half. Otherwise, meh.
Because of our crazy schedules, I haven’t seen The General in days. We found ourselves both off this Tuesday, so we decided to out to dinner. I blame my supervisor on the proximity to Valentine’s Day. Through some random Arby’s-at-midnight conversation, we figured out that today, 15 Feb, I am 352 months old. I always find it amusing when people refer to their kids ages in months when they’re clearly over a year old. So I decided to be equally amusing and see how many months old I was. Tonight is a birthday dinner of sorts.
Speaking of getting older, I do not find Justin Bieber attractive nor do I like his music. I liked him on SNL and I think he’s quite talented, but as 352 month old woman, I just don’t see what the big deal about him is. I suddenly feel like Don Draper on Mad Men when he talks about taking his daughter to a Beatles concert and he’s all ho-hum about it. I don’t like sugary pop music, it grates on my nerves; maybe if Mr. Bieber released a song that was written in a minor key I would like it more. I love a good dirge. I also don’t find him attractive – he’s cute in the way a newborn baby is cute, not cute as in, “Take me now and let me bear your children.” Maybe it’s my love for Led Zeppelin….or maybe I am just getting old to the point of where I roll my eyes at teen sensations.
I’m sporting a few gray eyebrow hairs – like white as snow gray. The General laughs at me. Then again, he’s 132.5 months older than me.
My doorbell went off moments ago. It’s mid-morning on a Monday, I’m off again today and I wasn’t expecting anything. I tiptoe down the stairs, like I’m that chick in horror movie, to look through the peephole. I have a rule: I will open the door if I think I could win against the doorbell ringer in a fight. 2 middle-aged ladies were standing on my front porch. I saw one of them carrying what I thought was a Bible, the other a clipboard. Oh no, Jehovah’s Witnesses?! I decided not to find out. They stood on my porch for a long moment talking, but I couldn’t hear through the door what they were saying; they left after another moment. I wouldn’t be a good candidate for their chat: “Hi, I’m a saved Christian, thank you very much, and I don’t understand what you people have against cells that carry oxygen.” Yeah, if that’s what they were, it’s best just to pretend nobody’s home.
Ah, the random things that happen to me
I can’t believe it’s August already.
I really like the name August. It was also my great-great-grandfather’s name, August Ruprecht, who was an immigrant from Prussia in the 1870’s and went to Detroit. If I ever were to have a son, I would probably use August as a middle name. It is doubtful I would ever have children; I was on a plane with screaming children once and my fallopian tubes tied themselves in knots – “maternal” is not a word used to describe me.
Mad Men episode #402 goes up tonight, but I missed it. I don’t have a DVR cuz I’m cheap so I have to wait until midnight tomorrow to watch it.
My parents land here next weekend. I must admit, I am a little nervous. My dad is a pretty intense person and I’m afraid the famed “Mount Vesuvius” temper of his will manifest. I enjoy the peacefulness of the relationship The General and I have and I hate to back track to days gone by.
I’m off all day tomorrow — I wish the waves were good.
Breaking news: I’ve decided to start blogging again after a 2 year hiatus.
I find myself longing for a beach day that involves more sun and surf than bundling up and gusty winds that seem to blow off of Michigan Avenue directly to my little slice of paradise here.