Drama! Drama! Drama! And, not even the good kind that's fun to gossip about.
Yesterday started out with Warren and I going on a walk and finding a twelve year old boy, covered in blood, walking down the road who had just been beaten up by his father. The boy is in state custody now, but who knows what will happen to him in the future. The situation we dealt with broke my heart into little pieces. That's all I'm going to say about it, except WHAT KIND OF TOSSER BEATS UP HIS CHILD?
It ended with Warren and I going to a birthday party for one of our friends at a bar in St. Petersburg and Warren getting attacked by some random drunk guy. We were talking with our friend's parents and her aunt jokingly waived a glow stick in front of this guy's face. Apparently, he thought it was Warren because he turned around, grabbed Warren by the neck and shoved him into a column inside the bar. Within seconds Warren had the guy in some kung-foo throat grip on the floor, so no punches were thrown. I, of course, was freaking out like the enormous baby that I am, convinced that someone was going to die (I'm a bit dramatic when it comes to violence). I should have felt relieved to know that my husband can definitely defend himself without hurting the other person (Warren just placed the guy on the floor and held him in a grip so he couldn't throw punches), but the event still put me into hysterics. Drunk guy eventually was told what had happened and apologized to Warren, but seriously, WHO REACTS LIKE THAT? You get a glow stick waved in your face and you automatically think to turn around to attack someone? What variety of testosterone supplements was he taking?
Then, to add color to the evening, there was the drunk Vietnam vet who I was mean to (and I still feel guilty about) because he would not leave us alone outside the bar while I was trying to calm down. He wasn't asking for money, just muttering incoherent sentences and not picking up on obvious social cues to go the hell away. And, finally, on our way home we saw a car on the freeway that was about to lose its rear left wheel. I told Warren I couldn't handle a fatal car accident on top of everything else, so to please hurry and find another route home before the car in front swerved out of control.
Sometimes I am really grateful that I don't get out much these days...
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Because sometimes life is better when you have someone else to laugh at
I dare you to watch this video and not laugh till you cry at the guy around minute 1:08. Go ahead.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Broken
Yesterday I started to panic over the thought have HAVING A BABY. Not necessarily the labor part so much (I'm blocking that out), but actually having a baby in our home and the whole responsibility for another life deal. The thing is, I'm domestically broken. There isn't a single bone/vein/atom/whatever in my body that is domestic (except for my OCD over having a clean bathtub). The only time I have ever thought about being bothered by it is when someone has looked at me funny for saying something like, "I'm not going to make it to recipe exchange tonight because I don't know how to cook, and since my husband and I don't really like to eat much, I'm not motivated to learn." My mother and my mother-in-law have graciously tried to show me how to cook, but I tune out every time. Warren's sister bought us this snazzy steamer dealio and my mother-in-law showed me how to use it while she was here. Guess what happened to that steamer when she left. It went right back in the box and is now collecting dust in my cupboard along with my bread maker, George Foreman grill, various rice cookers, slow cookers, blenders, and any other kitchen appliance which requires a plug.
But, it's much worse than me not knowing how to cook. My domestic ineptness runs much, much deeper than that.
Example #1: Before I was engaged I could care less about weddings, or thinking about my future wedding, or dreaming about what I wanted, etc. When I went to sleep at night I dreamt about what next adventure I would go on, which country I would buy my next ticket to, what I was going to change my major to next. I always assumed that when or if I did get engaged I would care then. But, I didn't. Sure, once I was engaged I tried here and there to plan my wedding, but I was so bad at details it didn't take me long to give up. I never even looked at a bridal magazine. My mother and my mother-in-law planned to whole thing. My mother-in-law is fantastic with details. She would send me e-mails with spread sheets on everything she had done and what still needed to be done, and I didn't even read them. It got to the point where I would just respond to her with "looks great!" and have no idea what I had just agreed to. My husband picked the music; my sister-in-law picked out the fabric for the bridesmaid dresses, and the colors in those bridesmaid dresses ended up being my wedding colors; my mom did the table settings, designed my invitations, addressed them, mailed them, and did whatever else she could do in Oregon to plan a wedding in South Africa; my mother-in-law did the flowers, the cake, the bouquet, and the...everything else. The only thing I did for my wedding was pick out a wedding dress, and only because my mom told me I had to because she wanted the whole mother/daughter/try on wedding dresses experience. Warren and I joke that the theme for our wedding was "Duck, Dodge, and Delegate." WHAT GIRL DOESN'T CARE ABOUT HER OWN WEDDING?! This girl. This girl didn't. I cared about who I married and the rest didn't matter much.
Example #2: I've never been much of a decorator. My friend, Emily, pointed this out to me in high school when she asked me why I still had a picture of myself as a baby hanging up in my bedroom. This was the first time it had occurred to me that maybe that picture didn't just go there. Maybe I had the choice to take it down and hang something else up. Like garbage. Everyone would tell me that when I got my own house I would change; that suddenly I would care about decorating and start reading magazines to get ideas, and that it would all magically come to me. As if my domestic side was waiting to scratch its way out and all I had to do was buy a house. Well, we have a house now and guess what. No pictures on the walls. Warren picked out our couches, and as much as he tried to involve me in the process I still didn't care. We only have couches in our family room, our living room is empty and it doesn't bother me. An empty room for me is like a big playroom I can build a fort in! We still use plastic containers for dressers, we haven't bought overhead lights yet, which means our only form of lighting once it gets dark are $7 lamps from Wal-Mart we bought as a "band aid solution" until we found something we liked. We've owned this house almost six months now and the idea of going into Home Depot to pick out lighting is soooo uninteresting to me I could fall asleep right here in my chair. When my mom came out to help us get settled she kept trying to get me to buy a plant, or a picture, or a cute bathroom rug, or "ANYTHING FOR YOUR HOUSE, KT," but I was either too cheap or more interested in gummy worms. When she left we still had done nothing. Sure, I made up the excuse that I wasn't feeling well, or we didn't need it right now, or that I would do it later, but the truth is, I just didn't care. And thinking about everything we had to do, all the details, and what to hang where, and having to water a plant was too much stress when all I wanted to do at that moment was eat my gummy worms. So, here we are, four months after my mom left and our house still has nothing hanging on the walls and empty rooms. Neither Warren nor I seemed to be bothered.
Example #3: I never thought about being a mother. I never thought about my future kids, or picked out baby names, or talked about how many I wanted, or lingered in the baby section at Target. Instead Warren and I talked about living in Australia for a few years, in fact, we were going to start the immigration paper work this past Jan. (sorry, Mom). I had just landed this sweet job with Edward Jones and I wanted to take trips to the Caribbean and play with all our money and no kids. But all that changed when we found out I was pregnant. Not that I wasn't excited to be pregnant, but motherhood was simply not something I longed for. I know, terrible isn't it? Everyone told me that once I was pregnant it would change, that I would start "nesting," or whatever. Well, I'm almost seven months pregnant and guess what. I still don't dally in the baby sections, our "baby" room is empty, my mom, in-laws and sister-in-law have bought more for this baby than I have. I went to Babies R Us and about lost it in the isle because I was so overwhelmed with all the baby junk. I haven't read the pregnancy books, or any books on babies, I don't even know any nursery rhymes! I tried to remember the story of the Three Little Pigs, but I couldn't! WHAT HAPPENS TO THOSE DAMN PIGS?!
Which brings me to my anxiety attack yesterday. The cooking, the house, the wedding--none of that really matters. But, the BABY? SHE matters. I have no idea how to be a mom, or what I need to do, or how to change a diaper, or where to buy diapers, or if I should use cloth diapers, or how to prevent butt-rashes, or how to make her room all cute, or what toys to buy, or how to child-proof my house, or what babies do, or how to bath her, or nurse. What if I can't do it? What if I go crazy? What if I hate being a mom? Nothing else I have done up to this point has seemed as scary as what I'm about to do in three months (and I've jumped in a freaking shark cage for hells sake). But, for the first time in my life I care about figuring it out. The more pregnant I become the more like I mom I begin to feel. The less I care about my career, the more I am willing to sacrifice financially to stay home, the more important this little girl becomes. She's not even born yet, but there is nothing, NOTHING I would rather do than fix all my domestic flaws for this little life who is currently giving me heartburn.
(Warren said that I sound like I'm not interested in marriage, so I felt like I needed to clarify. WHO I married was very important to me. Warren--you know I love you and that you are my life, and that sometimes when you ask me why I'm crying before I go to sleep it's because I'm thinking about how much I love you and how my life is better than I could have ever expected because of you. Now, quit being sad over the fact that I have yet to frame a single wedding photo and go eat your pre-prepared grocery store meal from Winn-Dixie.)
But, it's much worse than me not knowing how to cook. My domestic ineptness runs much, much deeper than that.
Example #1: Before I was engaged I could care less about weddings, or thinking about my future wedding, or dreaming about what I wanted, etc. When I went to sleep at night I dreamt about what next adventure I would go on, which country I would buy my next ticket to, what I was going to change my major to next. I always assumed that when or if I did get engaged I would care then. But, I didn't. Sure, once I was engaged I tried here and there to plan my wedding, but I was so bad at details it didn't take me long to give up. I never even looked at a bridal magazine. My mother and my mother-in-law planned to whole thing. My mother-in-law is fantastic with details. She would send me e-mails with spread sheets on everything she had done and what still needed to be done, and I didn't even read them. It got to the point where I would just respond to her with "looks great!" and have no idea what I had just agreed to. My husband picked the music; my sister-in-law picked out the fabric for the bridesmaid dresses, and the colors in those bridesmaid dresses ended up being my wedding colors; my mom did the table settings, designed my invitations, addressed them, mailed them, and did whatever else she could do in Oregon to plan a wedding in South Africa; my mother-in-law did the flowers, the cake, the bouquet, and the...everything else. The only thing I did for my wedding was pick out a wedding dress, and only because my mom told me I had to because she wanted the whole mother/daughter/try on wedding dresses experience. Warren and I joke that the theme for our wedding was "Duck, Dodge, and Delegate." WHAT GIRL DOESN'T CARE ABOUT HER OWN WEDDING?! This girl. This girl didn't. I cared about who I married and the rest didn't matter much.
Example #2: I've never been much of a decorator. My friend, Emily, pointed this out to me in high school when she asked me why I still had a picture of myself as a baby hanging up in my bedroom. This was the first time it had occurred to me that maybe that picture didn't just go there. Maybe I had the choice to take it down and hang something else up. Like garbage. Everyone would tell me that when I got my own house I would change; that suddenly I would care about decorating and start reading magazines to get ideas, and that it would all magically come to me. As if my domestic side was waiting to scratch its way out and all I had to do was buy a house. Well, we have a house now and guess what. No pictures on the walls. Warren picked out our couches, and as much as he tried to involve me in the process I still didn't care. We only have couches in our family room, our living room is empty and it doesn't bother me. An empty room for me is like a big playroom I can build a fort in! We still use plastic containers for dressers, we haven't bought overhead lights yet, which means our only form of lighting once it gets dark are $7 lamps from Wal-Mart we bought as a "band aid solution" until we found something we liked. We've owned this house almost six months now and the idea of going into Home Depot to pick out lighting is soooo uninteresting to me I could fall asleep right here in my chair. When my mom came out to help us get settled she kept trying to get me to buy a plant, or a picture, or a cute bathroom rug, or "ANYTHING FOR YOUR HOUSE, KT," but I was either too cheap or more interested in gummy worms. When she left we still had done nothing. Sure, I made up the excuse that I wasn't feeling well, or we didn't need it right now, or that I would do it later, but the truth is, I just didn't care. And thinking about everything we had to do, all the details, and what to hang where, and having to water a plant was too much stress when all I wanted to do at that moment was eat my gummy worms. So, here we are, four months after my mom left and our house still has nothing hanging on the walls and empty rooms. Neither Warren nor I seemed to be bothered.
Example #3: I never thought about being a mother. I never thought about my future kids, or picked out baby names, or talked about how many I wanted, or lingered in the baby section at Target. Instead Warren and I talked about living in Australia for a few years, in fact, we were going to start the immigration paper work this past Jan. (sorry, Mom). I had just landed this sweet job with Edward Jones and I wanted to take trips to the Caribbean and play with all our money and no kids. But all that changed when we found out I was pregnant. Not that I wasn't excited to be pregnant, but motherhood was simply not something I longed for. I know, terrible isn't it? Everyone told me that once I was pregnant it would change, that I would start "nesting," or whatever. Well, I'm almost seven months pregnant and guess what. I still don't dally in the baby sections, our "baby" room is empty, my mom, in-laws and sister-in-law have bought more for this baby than I have. I went to Babies R Us and about lost it in the isle because I was so overwhelmed with all the baby junk. I haven't read the pregnancy books, or any books on babies, I don't even know any nursery rhymes! I tried to remember the story of the Three Little Pigs, but I couldn't! WHAT HAPPENS TO THOSE DAMN PIGS?!
Which brings me to my anxiety attack yesterday. The cooking, the house, the wedding--none of that really matters. But, the BABY? SHE matters. I have no idea how to be a mom, or what I need to do, or how to change a diaper, or where to buy diapers, or if I should use cloth diapers, or how to prevent butt-rashes, or how to make her room all cute, or what toys to buy, or how to child-proof my house, or what babies do, or how to bath her, or nurse. What if I can't do it? What if I go crazy? What if I hate being a mom? Nothing else I have done up to this point has seemed as scary as what I'm about to do in three months (and I've jumped in a freaking shark cage for hells sake). But, for the first time in my life I care about figuring it out. The more pregnant I become the more like I mom I begin to feel. The less I care about my career, the more I am willing to sacrifice financially to stay home, the more important this little girl becomes. She's not even born yet, but there is nothing, NOTHING I would rather do than fix all my domestic flaws for this little life who is currently giving me heartburn.
(Warren said that I sound like I'm not interested in marriage, so I felt like I needed to clarify. WHO I married was very important to me. Warren--you know I love you and that you are my life, and that sometimes when you ask me why I'm crying before I go to sleep it's because I'm thinking about how much I love you and how my life is better than I could have ever expected because of you. Now, quit being sad over the fact that I have yet to frame a single wedding photo and go eat your pre-prepared grocery store meal from Winn-Dixie.)
Saturday, May 10, 2008
While eating a delicious lunch at Panera Bread
Hey Warren, what would you do if I were a great cook who made homemade chicken noodle soup in a homemade sourdough bread bowl?
I'd probably be happier and enjoy going to church more.
I'm sorry, honey, but that's not enough incentive.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
On becoming granola...
As I've said before, my husband is very much into protecting the environment, recycling, blah, blah, blah. Recently, I've discovered it is much easier for me to go along with him than live with the guilt of watching him dig through our trash to separate out the cardboard, paper, tin, glass, and plastic. I'm kind-of digging on the whole conservation thing. Yesterday I spent 45 minutes looking for a diaper service in my area so I could use CLOTH DIAPERS. That's right. CLOTH. (I haven't told Warren yet about my plan to use cloth diapers--that's his Christmas present.) And, like most things in my life, I've completely overkilled
Thursday, May 1, 2008
What I learned today
Now I'm confident that if this financial advisor gig doesn't work out, I'll have something to fall back on.
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