Been a while...Been a crappy summer

I haven't posted anything since June 18th. that's over 6 months now. I had an immensely crappy summer followed by an even worse fall, then November hit and there was an even bigger surprise. Mostly there was so much going on that i never had the emotional time to get all my thoughts out into a post. The rest of it was not the sort of things i want the details of all over the internet. I'll try to tell the stories as best i can without revealing too much.

In my last post, i talked all the things that were gone.

Such as Boyfriend Jon's work schedule. That started in April....and didn't end until late October. 12 hour days, almost every day of the week. He was exhausted and frustrated nearly all the time. To each of our credit, we only had one blowout where our emotional turmoil got the best of us and we took it out on each other verbally. But even that only lasted one angry phone call and we made up a few hours later. I don't want to sound like i'm a needy clingy person...but i missed him whenever he was gone. Our time to be together became infrequent but precious. Still we managed to get in a few camping trips and a couple weekends where literally all we did was simply BE at home together.
Of course...when the schedule ended, it was weird. And i ended up having to ask him to be out of the house so i could finish his christmas gifts without him seeing. A compromise was found where i worked behind a screen (a folding table leaning up against the couch blocking my work from his view...but he could still see my face).

Another thing is gone...and all i can say is good riddance. Someone i care about deeply was in a relationship with...well....the only way i can think of him now is as a con artist. Because that's what he did. He came in like a whirlwind and swept a very grounded person off her feet. He charmed her and wooed her and even put a ring on her finger.
But then things started to sour over the summer. He had tales of woe about his finances and he worked all the time. He was a very private person so he didn't want her talking to others about the problems he was having. So quietly, she helped fund so many things for him. Because she loved him, completely. Even moved to a different city, into a house that was awful for her elderly dog and had spiders infesting the lawn....but the money started running out. And things started to get worse. We all knew something was up, but she wouldn't tell us any details.
And one day...in an email...he ended everything and said he was moving out and only showed up once more to get his stuff, clearly having tried to time it so she wouldn't be there.
With a lot of coaxing, the whole story started coming out. The family and the friends were all shocked. We had all been conned by his entrancing stories, the seemingly unbreakable devotion he displayed for her, the simple fact that she was completely in love. He conned everyone, myself included, and shattered her heart.

So we did what friends and family do best. We circled the wagons around her and helped her get back on her feet. We talked, hugged, and helped until she was grounded again.
I'm so proud to say that she used this crappy experience to change careers into something that made her happy (and made her more money), she moved out of that house and into a new temporary place until she can move back to the city that suits her personality, and she is making plans to go back to school. She really channeled her anger and hurt into a very positive path.

Fast forward to September, and i'll tell you the rest of my crappy 6 months.

My uncle fell off his deck onto his head/shoulder area. Even worse luck...his head managed to find a single loose brick on the ground for it to land on.
Thankfully, someone was home and heard the crash and found him almost immediately so he was able to get help right away.
The tally of injuries were as follows: His left ear was nearly severed, a massive concussion, broken collarbone and shoulder blade, 5 broken ribs on his left side and 2 on his right, and he somehow managed to rip his toenail off. He was on a breathing and feeding tube for 2 full weeks, and in the ICU at Harborview for 2 months, then he was kept in the Acute care for an additional month. Thankfully the amazing doctors and nurses and PT trainers did an amazing job and my uncle is almost back to his usual self.
During this time, tempers and emotions were high to put things mildly. Somehow my mother and I ended up trying to be the peace keepers between certain members of the families, both working from opposite angles. That took up every ounce of my mental and emotional strength since i could see both sides merits and shortcomings.

I celebrated the day my uncle was able to go home with some reservations. I was so so so happy that he had recovered enough to go home. But i worried about the emotional healing and the fortitude of several parties involved.
Things seem to have found an unsteady equilibrium, but i check in every now and then to see if i can lend an ear or a different perspective.

Then when i thought i couldn't take another major change, November 1st hit.

Standing in front of my NaNoWriMo group of dear friends, Boyfriend Jon, not typically a big speech maker,  put his arm around me and started a countdown, explaining all our milestones:

6 NaNoWriMo's have been done while we've known each other
5 NaNo's that we've done together as a couple
4 year anniversary
3 cheers for all the work i put into my meetings
2 writers in love
1 simple question

and he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.

to which i replied, with my usual eloquence,..."oh hell yeah."

Honestly, i could never have gotten through the shit storm that was my 2013 summer and fall without him by my side. And it was an amazing turn around from all the awfulness to have something so wonderful to celebrate.

I listened to my grandmother's uncouth advice when i picked him: "Will you still love him when he farts and has sagging parts?" and the answer is yes. I've never imagined being married to anyone until i met him. there was always a family, but the future husband was always faceless and abstract in my daydreams. Now i see Jon, clearly, across the daydreamed dinner table with kids screaming about not wanting to eat peas, and i can already hear the jokes he's going to crack. Or the calm and sage advice he'll pull out just when i'm ready to tear my hair out over a really bad day. I don't need a diamond and a huge party. I just need him with me to face whatever the future brings.

So it is my pleasure to introduce you to my Betrothed.

Weird Zombie Apocalypse feeling

When Boyfriend Jon and i first started dating, we would play a small game. In only minor seriousness, we would compare our various survival skills and try to figure out how we would survive in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Even now, when we talk about skill building, we talk about it in terms of if it would be "useful" and by useful, we both know what we mean.

No we don't actually believe that there will be Resident Evil style zombies, but more that there will be a distinct lack of all the modern conveniences, and that people will become desperate for the most basic things.  We both worry that if there ever is an apocalypse, that the knowledge and skills of our ancestors will be entirely lost, and humanity will struggle to survive. We both want to be strong contenders IF this were ever to happen.

Boyfriend Jon is a boy scout, avid camper, and gets really animated when talking about movies, books or tv shows that discuss how people's "real world" skills would be pretty much useless if there was ever a disaster. (Like a mechanic would be more valuable than say a tax auditor).

I grew up with a scouting family. Both my parents have been scout masters, both brothers were scouts. My parents never saw the need to put me in Girl Scouts since i pretty much went wherever the boys did anyway. We started primitive camping when i was seven and i never regretted it. Where else in this day and age do you learn how to live for extended periods without any modern conveniences?

We both love learning new skills that could increase our chances of survival if the world comes crashing down. Jon learned how to knit. I learned how to skin an animal. Knot tying, cooking over open flames, weaponry, fire starting without matches, extended first aid....anything and everything that could keep us alive.

This last week, everyone has been hearing about Superstorm Hurricane Sandy and the artic blast that followed it. There have been several earthquakes up and down the pacific fault lines. Weathermen are predicting a harsh winter this year. We've already had a few small power outages.

All that got me thinking. What do i have ready if there's an emergency?

I'm honestly not the hypochondriac kind. I don't think the world is going to end, I don't think that disaster is right around the corner. But there's a difference between being paranoid and being prepared.

Since moving in with Boyfriend Jon, we have almost no emergency supplies stored. When the lights flickered last month. I got a little worried and went on a candle buying spree. I thought that would be enough.

It hovered in the back of my mind. That constant whisper of What if there was a disaster now? Then there was a large earthquake up at the Canadian border. Earthquakes trigger more earthquakes. Then Hurricane Sandy hit, and i heard horror stories of flooding, power outages for days, store shelves completely empty. Gas, water and food shortages. Then that sparked the worry about what happens if the electricity is out for days? No refrigeration, no cell phones, no internet to tell you what's going on.

Maybe i should learn how to create a generator out of car batteries and alternators. Or is it possible to learn how to build a real solar panel?

One thing led to another and it all finally centered on this thought which i haven't been able to shake.

YOU ARE NOT PREPARED FOR ANYTHING

When i should be thinking about work, i'm thinking about what to include and where to store emergency supplies in our apartment. When i should be thinking about driving, i'm going over how to winter camp without getting frost bite. When i should be writing for NaNo, i'm researching how to build energy devices.

I'm trying to not be crazy obsessed about this, but the more i think about it, the more worried i get. About six years ago, the area was without power for a week in the middle of winter. I was lucky to be living with my parents at that point. We had fires going, bundled up, and in general were just fine. But would i be fine now, living on my own with boyfriend Jon? Or would we be one of the hoards of people looting for the most basic supplies because we were caught unprepared?


I think, as much as we talk about being prepared, that we would be hurting for some basics in the event of a disaster if it were to happen today. So, call me paranoid, call me crazy, call me silly....but I think now would be an excellent time to get prepared for the basics.

My Great-Aunt Claire

Aunt Claire & Uncle Buddy

I have no idea why, but these last several days, my mind has turned frequently to memories of Aunt Claire. I find myself missing her so much. I wish that i could once again be a little girl, and climb up into her lap and tell her all the problems of my small little world. And that she would hug me tight tell me not to worry, then suggest some tidbit of wisdom that would snap everything into perspective and then everything would indeed be all right. And if it wasn't, well, suddenly her crossword puzzle would become too difficult for her and only i would be able to help.

My Great-Aunt Claire was many things to me. She was my grandmother's unmarried sister, my father's aunt, my summertime house guest, my playmate, my enthusiastic audience, my source of infinate wisdom, and role model for how i wanted to live my life.

To look at her, she would make a doctor, fashionista, and hair stylist all cringe. Her hair was dark brown, almost black (and later grey) and she never dyed it. She kept it cropped boyishly close. She wore thick 80s glasses that gave her bug eyes. She was very overweight, so she wore muumuus usually in garish colors like orange, fuchsia, and brown. Beneath them, she wore knee high nylons to hide her varicose veins and what i can only describe as grandma shoes. Her arms had arm fat hanging from them almost 10 inches long and she never work makeup. She was no delicate flower. Not with her brisk and no nonsense attitude.

G-Aunt Claire, Grandma Anne, Aunt Eileen, Uncle Paul

But I loved her fiercely and i would never change a single hair on her head. If i had eons to sit here and tell you about her, i could never come close to truly describing the woman who shaped my growing years in ways that i can't even pick apart until i catch someone staring at me when i'm ranting in "Aunt-Claire-ian" terms. Her enthusiasm for life always amazed me.

Behind those thick glasses were mischievous and sparkling with a hundred unspoken jokes. Her arm blubber was an endless source of entertainment and she never ever felt shamed about it. She wore the muumuus because they were exceedingly comfortable, not giving a damn about fashion. I learned how to count because she would have me count out her pills in her weekly pill reminder case. She made up words collected from Italian, Ukrainian, Yiddish, and Tarzan (no i'm not kidding, she loved Tarzan's language of the beasts and used several phrases on us children) She knew how to improvise just about everything from card game rules, which spontaneously changed mid-game, to the left hand while playing piano.

Aunt Claire, my brother Michael, Grandma, Me, Dad, Mom,
Grandma T and my brother Johnny

And she would sing. Off key, tuneless, and able to be heard through the whole house. That's how i knew everything was right in the world, when Aunt Claire was singing or shuffling her feet in a silly little dance.

When everything was not all right, the whole neighborhood heard about it. Her and my grandmother would get into screaming matches over who had more cookies at tea time or if Perry Mason or Columbo was a better show, which generally ended up with them screaming at each other in Ukrainian about fifty or more past arguments. But so help you if you jumped into the argument, they would both turn on you like savage dogs, defending the other for the very thing they had been yelling about seconds before.

She died just before i graduated, on May 21, 2005 at 84 years old. I very badly wanted to go but with school coming to a close and the trip to the other side of the continent, we held our own memorial at home in the form of an UNO card game marathon proclaiming PURPLE PEOPLE EATERS, and YELLOW CANARIES and TAKE 2 when dropping a regular 2 card and the infamous ACCORDING TO HOY-LEE proclamations. It was my aunts favorite game even though she would cheat against us children. So many of my memories revolve around a deck of well worn Uno cards.

Uncle nick, Michael, Random person,
Me, Margaret, Johnny, Noreen,
and Aunt Claire, clearly plotting some uno scheme

I found recently that my upper arms are starting to develop a little droop when i hold them up. I began to freak out. I loved my aunt and admire every detail about her, including her complete disregard for mainstream beauty. But at 25, i'm not ready to have her arms, I hate dresses in general, i love my long hair, and well, just...damnit i'm to young to have blubber arms!

Part of me has always wanted to be like her. Until Boyfriend Jon came along, it wasn't entirely unexpected (by myself and my family) that i would become the unmarried caregiver in this generation of our family since it seems there's always one or two. I wanted to be the one whom all the kids gathered, so i could pass on my unconventional wisdom that comes from not being a typical woman. To show them that its not really necessary to live according to main stream, to have the latest media and toys to entertain yourself, and mostly that life is a wondrous thing and we should enjoy it.

It's my philosophy in life even now; not conforming, doesn't necessarily mean you can't be happy doing it. I wish now that i had asked my aunt why she never married. There's so many things i wish i could talk with her about. I regret that in the last few years of her life, she was barely even a shadow of the incredible dynamic woman i grew up with. Dementia saw to that. And that even as a teenager, i didn't make time to talk with her on the phone. Mostly i regret that my future children will never know her.

Some day, the Uno cards will come out, and i'll teach them about purple people eaters, Hoy-Lee, dig a little deeper, let me call you sweetheart, scosheeboshee and Ungawa Nichcha (most of those are aunt clarian terms that still float around our family). Who knows what's in the cards for me. I could still turn out to be very much like her.

But the blubber arms have to go.

The Feast of the Seven Fishes

There's been quite a delay in my posts. Partially between a burn out from writing in general, and partially due to the chaos of the holiday season.

Updates:
Boyfriend Jon has gone off to the wilds (aka, California) to spend the holidays with his family. It leaves me with two weeks of pure alone time after work. Although i miss him terribly, I've already started putting it to use; cleaning my bathroom from top to bottom. I'll wash the floor tonight.
Other cleaning is in the works including an entire empty and reorganize of my cupboards, emptying and sorting of all the boxes that have miscellaneous items shoved inside them when i had company coming over. Maybe i'll actually figure out where on earth my second hammer went to.

Then i have projects galore to work on. Wood working and sewing projects which for the time being will remain unspecified because they're Christmas presents.

All i can say is i'm very happy that i found a wood supplier online that has bubinga, one of my favorite woods.

Also, in my family, we have a holiday tradition that many people don't know anything about. It's called the Feast of the Seven Fishes. It stems in my family from my grandfather, my dad's father, who was born in southern Italy. It's supposed to be very religiously related, but there's very little rhetoric in my family. We believe what we believe and that's all there is to it. The Feast of the Seven Fishes has it's own traditional meaning for us that has nothing to do with religion. It is a very special time.

When we were little, on Christmas Eve morning, dad would get us out of bed early, (7am), and treat us to hot chocolate at a coffee shop (which almost never happened during the rest of the year) then we would go to the local fish market and dad would carefully select and buy all kinds of fish and seafood. Shrimp, Sole, Salmon, Halibut, Clams, Crab (more about this later), Scallops, and occasionally Eel, Catfish, Trout, and other random seafood made the menu. Most years, we had no idea what was going to be on the table when everything was concocted.

Then we would stop off at the grocery store and pick up any extra ingredients that were necessary. Then it was back to the house. By that time, usually it was past noon, and food preparation began immediately. I always got tasked with shelling shrimp and de-boneing what i could. And my dad would cook everything, dressed in his blue and white striped apron, going in and out of the back door to check on things cooking in the BBQ.

When the shrimp was done, as with all holidays, i got put to setting the table, arranging shrimp around the rims of these short glasses with snowmen painted on them, and filling them with the sauces. I made sure we used the gold rimmed goblets with snowflakes, and pulled out the candles. And after my grandmother died, her favorite silverware was used.

My mother would go outside with a pair of garden nippers and bring back in several branches from our cedar trees and occasionally the neighbor's pine tree. Then she would arrange it all, with some pine cones and ribbon into a beautiful center piece.

It took all of us years to figure out how he did it, but all the dishes hit the table at the same time. At which point we would dig in to spinach and garlic halibut, seared scallops, grilled salmon, a plethora of other mouth watering dishes.

Even this makes me want to throw up!

When i was really little, everyone in the family would get a kick out of putting the cooked crab right next to my chair. Then dad on my left would rip off the legs and arms with gusto while i tried not to think about those horribly sickening sounds. Then being a trouble maker, he would leave the head of the crab staring at me. I couldn't have been more than five and he would try to get me to touch it, only to make it move when my finger was a hairs breath away.

One year my mother got the hair brained idea to run the cleaned out crab head through the dishwasher with the idea of keeping it to add to her collection of shells. Only she didn't count on my brother Johnny to be the one to empty the dishwasher that night. I'll give you three guesses as to what a sevenish year old boy did with a scary crab shell that made his little sister scream. Oh yeah, he chased me with it. It was cruel, but i survived usually by screaming so loud that my mother put a stop to it. Though to this day, i'm still terrified of crab in the shell. No problems with the meat, it's quite tasty actually. Just the disgusting, creepy, freakish exoskeleton, makes my stomach turn.

Anyway, that was the story when i was little. Now it's a whole different ballgame. Dad still throws a fit if any of us so much as thinks about not attending. But he always has volunteers to go do the fish shopping. When we had fifteen people to feed, the table would be filled with different dishes. Often only limited to seven KINDS of fish, but multiple variations of all of them. Now, we're all more health conscious. Baking instead of frying, and reducing the amounts of butter and cheeses in all the dishes. Also, my sister and I join in on the cooking often bringing a signature dish or two ourselves to save our dad some of the labor.

This year is another first. My sister finally finished her kitchen remodel and wants to host the Feast at her place. My father was giddy that he wouldn't have to cook. But then my sister ended up having to work. So we're going to try preparing some dishes ahead of time. And we won't be without some of my dad's signature dishes this time around.

Eyes bigger than my lap

I bought my first personal laptop when i was a senior in high school. Technically i was in running start and going to my first year of college, which is how i got mom to put it on her credit card while i paid her cash. She was very hesitant, but understood it would help me dramatically. Indeed, for the first time in a long time, i 

In the days of "Dude you're getting a Dell" i succumbed to the marketing and ordered a Dell Inspiron 5150. Lappy served me very well until i ran it practically into the ground. I gave the old laptop to my sister and two days later, Lappy died, never to be resurrected again. 

But i had already ordered Sarah. A(nother) Dell Studio 17 inch laptop. My reasons originally were: I want it to run WoW flawlessly, be great for photoshop and to not have to cramp my elbows in when i want to type.

However i didn't think about certain things. Like for instance what would happen when i met soon-to-be Boyfriend Jon, how little of an urge to play WoW I would have in favor of his company. In a matter of a month, i kicked my WoW habit and suddenly started noticing certain things about Sarah(laptop). 

While her insides were still magnificent, and a great gaming machine, her outsides were, not suiting my needs anymore. She was a honking 9 pounds and LITERALLY double the size of Boyfriend Jon's netbook. I love her dearly, but i started to think if this was really what i wanted. 

The conclusion i've come to is that i no longer need a blazing fast gaming computer. I need something portable that's great for photoshop, but otherwise is used for standard fun. 

Thus begins my adventure into the realm of laptop selling, something I've never done before. 

Warm season hair removal - Preview

Here's another once upon a time story. But it's not for the faint of heart. 

Once upon a time, when i was somewhere near sixteen years old, i got the idea in my head to try waxing my legs.

Most likely this idea came from some of the more girly-girls in my choir class claiming it didn't really hurt. I figured that i had a pretty high pain threshold and could tolerate it. I was totally taken in by the fact that it lasted for at least a month since i was shaving my legs twice a week. It seemed like a perfect solution to me.

I knew my dad would be very unsympathetic to my desire to show my legs off, since he was completely entrenched in the "lock her in a tower and cut off her hair" stage of fatherhood. So, i went to my mother and begged her to let me try it. I detailed out how some of the girls i knew said it didn't really hurt and they'd been doing it for years! When she stopped laughing and realized i was completely serious she said "Ok, i'll do it with you, I've never tried it before."

So for a while, we didn't shave our legs to get the hairs long enough. We then purchased an at home hair removal kit and went downstairs into the big guest bathroom. Bravely, I opted to go first and my mother carefully smeared on the green wax. She firmly pressed the sheet on and then looked me square in the eye. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yup." I replied nonchalantly.

I was utterly unprepared for the searing pain that shot through my leg, up my hip, through my stomach, and straight to my head. I'm still surprised that i didn't pass out, but i did fall off the counter and proceeded to dance around the bathroom going "OH MY GOD, WHAT THE HELL, OW OW OW, HOLLY COW, WHO THE HELL THOUGHT THIS UP, THEY NEED TO DIE!"

I wouldn't look at my leg, convinced that i would see muscle and blood, not skin when i looked down. This went on for a few minutes while my mother was caught halfway between laughing hysterically and reprimanding me for cussing.

Finally, my brain decided blocking the pain would be a good solution and was able to check the results. About 90% of the hairs were indeed gone and several of the hair folicles were bleeding mildly. I'm not sure exactly what prompted me to do this, but i allowed my mother to do another strip. Perhaps for some bizarre reason, i thought the first one would be the worst. And as she ripped the sheet off on 2 instead of on 3, i began to dance and jump around again.

After that, i was D.O.N.E. My mother laughed at me and then told me something to the effect of:  "I gave birth to four babies. This can't be that bad. I'll do it!" I knew before this that everyone in my family was a little bit crazy, but this solidified my mother at the top. So i returned the favor.

She didn't cuss nearly as much, but she did do the dancing "Owwowowowow!" routine. And she lasted through about four strips before she said "You were right, the person who invented this is nuts. I'm done."

That was the end of the attempts to find a better solution to shaving our legs for spring and summer.

UNTIL NOW!

Perhaps i didn't fully learn my lesson, or i'm just a sucker for punishment, or perhaps like millions of other women, i absolutely HATE shaving my legs. Whatever the reason, i'm going to try something new. This one at least, i have very little to loose.

In the process of planning a trip with Lindsey, somehow we got on the topic of spas. This led to the conversation about bikini waxes and the "I'll do it if you do it" routine. Somewhere in my research, i came across another form of hair removal called "Body Sugaring".

Here's the schpeel: It's an 'ancient' form of hair removal originating in Egypt. It's made from plain sugar, lemon juice, and water boiled down into a thick taffy like substance. It's then smeared on and jerked off your skin to remove hair.

Pros:

• More like ripping off a bandage than a chunk of your skin
• Can be made at home for pennies
• hypoallergenic because it's all natural ingredients
• it also is edible and reusable for multiple areas 
• lasts as long as a wax job - 4-6 weeks
• I have a couple testimonials from REAL people that i know saying that it's wonderful. 

Cons:

• it still hurts
• i question it's effectiveness at removing all the hair
• can be a difficult technique to master
• sticky residue

So today after work, this will be my project. I will blog as to it's effectiveness soon.

Unwritten Recipes

Oh my goodness, i actually have kept a promise to myself. I bought cookbooks for small portions. I truly love to cook, but i feel like it's not cost effective (and i'm also very tired after working 10 hours) most of the time. But that's about to change. With the rent increase, i have promised to start eating at home a LOT more. And that called for some new cookbooks. These are the three i got. They had the highest recommendations (and they were cheap via Amazon). 


I'm excited to go through them with Boyfriend Jon and mark the ones we want to try. 

My family had six people in it. Not to mention the neighbor from behind us, the multitude of young boys in the neighborhood, my brother's friend Tommy who practically lived with us, and all the other people who frequented our dining room table. Dad was the cook in the family, and we were blessed to never be short on delicious, filling, food. 


Eggplant Parmesan, Spaghetti and my mother's meatballs (she can't cook most meat cuts very well, but she does incredible, divine things with ground meat), Pirogies, Halupcha (cabbage meat-wraps cooked in tomato juice), stir fry, Jeager Schnitzel, Paprika Chicken, Egg flour vegetable soup....the list goes on. 


But not a single dish has a recipe that's written down. We all learned how to cook by practice....and by feeding a full table. So it's very little of a wonder to me that all of us kids have trouble cooking for just a small table. 6-10 person dinner party = no problem. Cooking a real meal for just ourselves, or a dinner for two = lots of leftovers.


It should be easy, just use less ingredients right? So how do you do that when you don't use measuring utensils? I mean, how do you half an egg? Not to mention, dad still has kept some of his recipes secret. It took me over a decade to get his icing recipe out of him. And some of his recipes were created out of necessity. 


One of his most famous recipes is called "Mussgo". And it's easy to make. You open your fridge and say "this Muss-go, and this muss-go..." (Muss go = "must go"...as in it's been in there for a week already). You put it in a wok, stir fry it all together, and serve. 


Sometimes it was good, sometimes it wasn't. Whenever we'd ask dad what's for dinner, if we'd been unruly he'd grunt and say "Mussgo" to stem off any more questions. And we'd spend the rest of the day trying to get out of the house to have an excuse to eat at a friend's place. 


Someday...i'll use these tricks on my own children i'm sure. 

Last night, I had a major craving. Olive Garden's Chicken and Gnocchi soup. So trying to cook at home more, i looked up a copycat recipe. Oh internet, where would i be without you? 


Looking back on the math now, it would have been more cost effective to go to Olive Garden and get it for take out. But $80 later and many staple groceries heavier, i got back to my place and got to chopping, slicing, dicing, mincing and cooking. 


Finally by 7:30 it was ready. It was worth the wait. ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS, even without the Gnocchi/dumplings which i couldn't find. 

Ambitious plans

"Ambition is like love. Impatient both of delays and rivals."

This is another of the sayings I've picked up in my life. When my heart starts pumping, and my fingers start tapping, I find myself resenting whatever is in the way of whatever project has stolen my attention for the time being. I'm completely impatient. I just want to get to it before the obsession is past. Right now, the obstruction is work. More so than any other day lately.

What is making me so impatient for the workday to be over?

I have a sewing/craft project brewing in my head. One with a distinct time limit to it. If i can't make the deadline, it's over. The entire reason for it to be done will be gone. So i must work quickly and efficiently.

A little back story:

Junior year, i was dating my good friend Kacy and homecoming was upon us. I had been to a school dance once before, but I had worn a hand-me-down dress from my sister's friend Carla that had never fit my figure right. I begged my dad to buy me a new dress on the strict understanding that i would only get that one for all the remaining dances throughout high school. That's was just fine by me. It wasn't about the money, it was about my friends with four dresses that they would never wear again that i would have killed to be able to wear.

I found a gorgeous dress on the "cheap" rack at the boutique that i would work for a few years later. It was burgundy, with sparkles all over it. $200 later, it was mine. It was a perfect dress except for the tulle underneath. It brushed up against my skin every time i walked and by the time i had gotten to dinner, i had taken Kacy's knife and cut it off.

After that dance, the dress went into my closet never to come out again. I didn't go to Senior year homecoming or prom because i was doing running start and there was a college level final around that time.

But it has always grated on me that the dress was so expensive and I only got to wear it once. Through all the moves, and closet purges, and knowing that the dress was too extravagant for most post-highschool functions...i couldn't let the dress go. Even when it wouldn't fit anymore, and the zipper was broken...i didn't get rid of it. I'm still in love with that dress.

Now I finally have found a post-highschool function that demands a little extravagance. The masquerade will be ideal for a full skirt, rich hues and sparkles.

The problem: The dress still doesn't fit.

The solution: Perhaps it's a good thing that i like lace up dresses.

The Ambitious plan: Tonight it's off to a fabric shop to buy material for a modesty panel and the making of a lace up back for my old homecoming dress. Tomorrow, it's adjusting seams and creating the new fit...which will spill into Friday most likely. With any luck, i'll be able to make this adjustment in time. Please cross your fingers for me.

I know how to sew and have made garments before. I even sewed a bodice together by hand once a long time ago...in two days. At least this time i have a sewing machine.

Can this be done? I'm confident it can. Will it be easy? No, I'm confident it won't be.

But I like challenges.

Wedding Cakes and Monday review.

Wedding season. Also known as summer. Three friends of mine are getting married this year and another pair have announced the date for next summer.

Perhaps I shouldn't be so happy about only being invited to one wedding ceremony. But my budget is a little limited to be dropping the socially acceptable 50$ on people I hardly know and haven't really talked to in the last few years.

I am happy though, that the couple who did invite me are two wonderful people who have actually been the sole reason I still believe in True Love. I've known the groom since fourth grade. We had a very weird and rough start to our friendship (mostly my fault) but I count him among the Select Trustables. People who understand me, esoteric though I am, and still can care about me despite all my faults. Through him, I met the bride. Another no-nonsense, anti-silly and non-air headed female who shares my preference to be outspoken and sassy. They overcame their own version of Romeo and Juliet minus the tragedy and in just a couple short weeks will become Mr. and Mrs. ......not to mention the first of our junior high group to fall to that title.

After talking with the bride, it sounded like she needed a helpful set of hands to help with the wedding more than she needed a crystal candelabra or a crock pot.
My contribution to this couple is the wedding cake. I took the Wilton's decorating class, and after a couple practice cakes, felt confident in my abilities to complete this task. That was...until. the first practice cake for this wedding...took a flying leap off of the platter I was transporting it in for the taste test. I had to salvage it carefully and was horribly upset with the results. But I didn't have nearly enough time to start over. So I tried again the next week. The results the second time around where great. The bride LOVED the changes to the recipe I made and was completely satisfied with the design, the flavor, the filling and the colors.

Behold the Devil's Food cake with cherries and shaved dark chocolate in the middle with my dad's special butter cream icing recipe, fondant and pearled sprinkles.

From Firefly's Haven

Also...putting up deck railing....leads to lots of stiffness and muscle pain the next day.

Family

I had a dream about my grandma last night. And it made me think that on November 11th, 1911, my grandma would have been 100 years old. That's not too far away.

Technically, she was never related to me by blood and thus not a true grandma. But I called her so, thought of her so, and sent her finger-painted pictures address to a woman called Grandma. It made me think of two very distinctly different, but related things.

I have never put much credit in blood ties. I think of the boys i grew up with as brothers, even though they just lived in the neighborhood for most of my childhood. I somehow managed to adopt our elderly neighbor, Mrs. Reed as a grandma like figure before she had to move away. I've even adopted a co-worker as a fictitious Uncle. And while my immediate family will always come first, I can't help but notice just how much some of these non-traditional ties have meant to me.

Children have ways of making up their minds about people, instinctively adhering themselves to people they believe are good. If i put a lot of credence on blood ties, it would have led me to people i have reason to dislike. And since, my experience with certain blood ties was severely limited, either due to death or distance, I found ways of filling those holes positively.

Perhaps that is why i get so irked when a "close" relative completely misspells my name, even when it was the same spelling as their mother's, but a boy whom I haven't even seen in more than a decade, still remembers to spell my name with an E.

The other different but related observation was this:

• My grandmother never learned how to drive
• she never went out much, much less to parties
  
• she never drank more than a glass in a night and only on holidays
  
• her house was immaculate, but she never had a house keeper
  
• she was fit as a fiddle well into her 80's but she never went to the gym
• when we came over, there was no TV. We played with her antiques, or Majong, or cards, or read stories
• she wore gloves and a scarf when she went out
• her house was locked with a skeleton key (real secure there, yeah)
  
• when i was bored, she would pull out a random cardboard jewelry box and i would decorate it with broken jewelry and glitter and sequins.
  
• And when she died, i found every single box i could remember making

And yet, I never remember ever not wanting to go, even in my rebellious stubborn teenage years. I don't remember asking to watch tv; not when there was the beautiful view of the Puget Sound Canal when there were boats and binoculars to be had.

I also never remember thinking there was anything wrong with it either. That it could be a better place with a big screen TV, or video games, or extravagant things. You know the coolest thing in my grandma's house....

Little blue light bulbs in the living room instead of overhead lights. I will forever remember dancing around in my Christmas dress in her living room with all the lights turned off except those as she watched and clapped her hands and laughed and my pure joy.

Oh yeah, I was 14 when this memory happened...shortly before she died.

Sayings

In my life, i've picked up sayings, quotes, or limericks. They travel with me in the back of my head, much as they do with anyone else.

The one on my mind right now is more of a play on words than an actual quote. I got it when i worked my second official job at a movie theater. I had been slated to work in the box office because my till was always spot on. And they had us throw up all these window decals for Eddie Murphy's Haunted Mansion film (wow, that just dated me).

I cannot stress to you how much i hate window decals. I have some kind of OCD when it comes to windows. Streaks are like nails on a chalkboard for me. Bird poop has me shaking my fist at the bird who dared fly over my car and relieve itself. And unless window decals are put on perfectly....i can spend literally hours pressing out the bubbles. Which is why my normal station was regularly cleaned between rushes for all the people who poked at the glass or annoying kids smudging their dirty noses and mouths all over.

Anyway, back to the decals. There was one decal on my side of the box office glass that took me a while to figure out. Hey, i was 16. In keeping with the haunted mansion theme...it was a headstone with the "name" Claire Voyant. Read it fast, and you have clairvoyant or someone that can see or know what other people can't. Soon after that, i started telling people who had assumed i knew something. "My name is Anne ...not Claire Voyant"

Sometimes i wish it were just that easy. To be able to understand where people are coming from without them having to tell you. To see why they feel the way they do, and what is prompting them to react in a certain way. Sometimes it seems like it would make everything better. And then i realize that it would also take away how we learn for ourselves.

Another once upon a time....

Once upon a time...
there was a little girl named Anne who was only about 4 years old. Her much older sister who was a senior in high school threw a party in the basement of their house. Anne being a curious and wanting to see what all the noise was about snuck downstairs against her mother's admonishments. It was there that she ran face first into the leather clad thigh of Karla. Looking up at her sister's tall, brunette friend Anne found herself in awe. Karla was tall and very beautiful, wearing a Harley leather jacket and motorcycle chaps. Everything about her seemed regal and left Anne full of awe. Karla smirked at little Anne and took her by the hand. Instead of leading her back up the stairs away from the party, she led her into the living room where there were people dancing and talking. To little Anne, it looked like a grand party with colorful baloons floating on the ceiling and bright streamers strung all around.
Curious little Anne tugged on Karla's arm and asked her why she was wearing all black to a party. Black was a sad color and she didn't look sad. Karla pulled Anne up on her lap and told Anne about her motorcycle which she rode to school every day. She wore the black leather to make sure she was protected should she get in an accident. And black wasn't a sad color, it was just another color. Anne of course, understood what she meant right away (not).
It wasn't long before Anne's mother had noticed that she was not in bed where she was supposed to be and came downstairs looking for her. Her mother found her grinning like a fool drapped in the heavy leather jacket with a group of people around her chuckling as she tried to dance without falling down.
Her mother decided that was enough and untangled her wayward daughter from the jacket handing it back to Karla. As Anne was carried out of the room, she looked back over her mom's shoulder and saw Karla wink at her. Anne decided then and there that she wanted to be just like Karla when she got older.
However fate would have other plans. When a friend with some achreage offered to let her ride on the back of his dirt bike while he drove, Anne, now a teenager, practically leapt at the opportunity. They drove round and round his property going fast and slow and going over the bumps. Anne eventually got comfortable and decided to let go and just relax on the back of the bike, resting her hands on her thighs. Little did she know her friend had braced for impact as he hit a small ditch causing the back of the bike to buck and throw Anne off. No worries...Anne landed safely in a big pile of grass clippings which cushioned her fall and left her with only a few minor scrapes.
But the flying leap left her scared of motorcycles ever since. Her idolized persona suddenly slipped away.
It wasn't until last summer when Anne rented a moped (first 2 wheeled experiance in almost a decade) and realized just how silly she had been and after a while got so comfortable on it, she was topping out the small moped motor. But 40mph still wasn't fast enough.
She talked to her friend Mark, a "greasy biker dude" who had basically been riding bikes for his entire life. He could talk for hours about his biking experiances. He later let her ride on the back of his bike on a ride to the ferries last fall. She enjoyed herself so much that she began to make plans to "get back on the horse" ....bike that is.
She signed up for a motorcycle class, paid the fee and had to wait for the class on May 14th.

To be continued when I finish the class.....if I ever bring the motorcycle back.........

The Five Stages of Grief

It's probably not a good idea to be writing this now while I'm still stuck solidly in the first stage which is anger, but I need to get this out or I'll spend the rest of my day with it going through my head and overwriting any function i need for my job.

My dear friend, adopted uncle, and esteemed colleague flagged me down this morning as i drove into work. He was on the phone at the time, but I put down my window and told me four words which essentially ruined my day. "I just got fired".

A little back story: Mark Telford came into the company on a contract with our copiers. He was their employee but worked on our site every day. Mark quickly earned not only my respect as a perfectionist, but my friendship as well with his no-nonsense but fun attitude. Before him, we had another site operator who was, sorry to say, completely useless. Mark was everything we needed and more with a smile and a joke.
But as it always seems now adays, those who are good at what they do, but don't kiss ass, don't get anywhere. Mark tried for a manager position within his company, and instead they hired in someone who needed help whiping his ass.
Now before you write my opinion of this manager off as animosity that my friend didn't get the job, let me explain a few things:

• Mark had more experiance doing the job he was doing, than the years this kid had been alive.
• Mark is a Ride Captain for the Patriot Guard Riders and has proven his managing skills in that, constantly.
• The quality of Mark's work is always important to him. I've personally seen him tweak things but 1/16 of an inch to make sure it's centered and all fits where it needs to.
  

whereas on the other hand:

• Mike shows up wearing a yellow hoodie with food spills on it. When i pointed it out to him, he lifts up his hoodie to show me he had a button down shirt underneath it. Which i promtly pointed out ALSO had stains on it and wasn't ironed. Professionability out the window.
  
• I was handed back a project which needed holes drilled in it with the back sheets all torn up because he didn't use the machine properly. And i'm a firm believer of you don't hand shoddy workmanship back to a customer because it's a reflection of yourself. And when i requested it be re-done...he looked at me blankly like "what's wrong with it?" I believe that a manager should be able to do the job beneath them and do it right.
  
• Mark went into the ER one day, and the only phone calls he recieved from Mike were "When are you comming back to work?"

He's a bonified jerk. I say this after having met with him, speaking with him, dealing with him, and observing his behavior towards Mark. I have ZERO respect for him and I am OUTRAGED that he would utterly twist Marks words to turn upper management against him.

Mike i have a message for you: Stay the fuck away from me or you'll get introduced to my right hook and she's more of a bitch than I am.

Mark, we will try everything we can to get you back here and in the meantime, I'll miss you very much.

I know, i know...I don't like gossip either. Consider it a vent.

When I opened this screen at 7:22 this morning (note, i get into work at 7:00am), i really had intended to write something with a clearly defined opinion in regards to something someone wouldn't care about.
However, disaster struck at 7:24. I was sitting in my cubicle, minding my own business when suddenly every gosiperista in my building, not just my floor mind you, decided to descend on me in quick succession of each other.

This person is doing this, and that person is doing that....the usual gossip from those that don't take even the direct hints that you're busy and don't have time to chit chat, but rather follow you around as you run copies and file paperwork and build binders still jabbering at you.

Then i heard one bit of gossip that was more of a vent that actually made me stop.

We have a certain upper manager whom has rubbed SEVERAL people the wrong way, myself included. I've never been quite certain what i did that deserved a perpetual sneer in my driection every time i pass her in the halls, but i get the sneer, attitude,unreasonable demands, and a distinct lack of please and thank you from her. This has led me to be less than cordial with her. With her being upper managment, i don't want to directly piss her off. But never fear, have ways to get even and then some without ever getting myself into trouble what-so-ever.

But if there's one thing in working life i've learned, it's this:
There are three types of people that you never want a hostile working relationship with
1) Custodians: How bad does your three days worth of garbage smell on the fifth day?
2) The IT department: ....office life revolves around computers and technology...enough said.
3) Admins: you want how many copies of a very critical presentation that, woops, a few crutial pages can go missing from? You wantted catering for this all day meeting...sorry, you didn't give me authorization. You need this by when? yeah, i'll fit that in somewhere between my nap and manicure.

And speaking for several co-workers: this woman is so full of herself, we're not sure how she gets her big head through her office door.
Some highlights of her first year here at my work:
*a SCREAMING hissy fit in the front parking lot because the closest parking spots to the door aren't reserved for upper management
*demanding to have entirely new furniture in her office instead of the perfectly good desk and bookshelves in there
*telling an employee to take his work home with him when he was already meeting deadlines.
*telling said employee who was offered a better job at another company, that he was stupid and not worth the money they were offering him for the position.

And now the icing on the cake? (and almost as disgusting as birthday cake at a 5 year old party with a bunch of snot nosed kids)

I find out today, that rather than doing like management even higher than her, and refilling the coffee urns when they run out, just how far she will go to show her dissrespect for her lower co-workers.
Our coffee urs are stainless steel and work on syphon power. When they run out of liquid they make this very noticable noise like trying to get the last dregs out of a cup full of ice, via a straw.

Twice in a row (two days) she has found the urns to be empty after trying them....flipped open the lid and poured the coffee she just got back into the urn and leaves.

Not a big deal IF she ever washed that cup. Which most of us have yet to see.

I'm sorry, but that is disgusting. And i'm mad now. Other people drink from that, myself included on occasion. And who the hell is she to have coffee making beneath her as she clearly demonstrates. If her manager can do it, she can. If I EVER catch her doing that she's going to have and imovable wall blocking her way out of the breakroom and a tounge lashing like she's never had before. HR has been notified now of her attitude noted by myself and others, this situation of pouring the coffee back in has been documented, and i am so angry that i'm sorely tempted to basically camp out at the breakroom tomorrow morning with empty urns and watch and see what happens.

Bla day

aside from some drama at work....Meg I love you dearly, BUT I have not evolved so much as to be able to read your fucking PMSing mind!!!!....today has been pretty bla.

Punched number for wOOt!!!! 4 and a half hours!!!!!-_- My brain pretty much contemplating what it would actually feel like for my body to actually melt as though i had no bones like they do in saturday morning cartoons the entire time.

just...don't ask.

Got through my week list of things to do now just have to pester two people to give me what i want.

6 months ago, I asked the EH&S leader (emergency and safety guru) what i would need to do to join the building specific response teams since there are no female team members in my building. Not a sexist deal, just thinking that what if something happens in the ladies room. The victim might prefer to not have a guy comming in to help her.

Also 6 months ago, we had two incidents. One where someone died at my company, and another where I had to run full sprint to stop the ambulence from leaving because no one followed the proper procedure and they didn't know where to go.
So my solution: EMERGENCY BOARDS THAT TELL YOU WHAT TO DO!!!

At the time there were only two lists which were small print and over a year out of date and they were located very far away from where the incedents occured. I was a little ticked at how badly prepared we were for the two emergencies and took it upon myself to propose a solution to the safety board. It was well recieved and then a group took it over....and nothing has really happened for 6 months even though apparently they're doing my proposal almost exactly.

If they're doing almost the same thing.....why in the hell has it taken so long? This seriously could have been up and running in under a month of when i put the proposal.

So join the emergency team and get those damn boards up already!
********************
In other news...hanging out with my friend Trey tonight or tomorrow whenever he manages to show up. That boy seriously need a PDA.
But he's fun to hang with anyway.

More Yoga for me please. It's the first exercise where I look foward to doing it.

Yoga on my mind

The last time I did yoga was nearly three years ago. My friend Sarah was going to go to one and I had come along. Since the class was literally on her property (she works and lives on a horse stable) and the class was cheaper for her because of it I tagged along, completely not dressed for doing yoga. I think I was wearing a low cut top and jeans.
At first, I just sat on the sidelines watching the class because I hadn't signed up for it. As I was watching my friend do all these moves, I thought to myself "oh that doesn't look hard, I could do that!"
So I got barefoot, and rolled out a mat next to my friend. She was very focused on doing the class. So I mentally snapped at myself to focus like she was.
The hour long class, about 45 for me, was probably the most humbling experiences of my life. Not that it was hard for me physically. It turns out I'm still very flexible despite my sturdy and rotund structure. Balancing was harder, but I managed to keep up with the class despite it being my first time.
I wasn't even unbearably sore the next day.

But what struck me most profoundly was that all the things, ideas, emotions, and mental conversations that normally run wild through my mind like a highway full of cars rushing at top speeds, were suddenly silenced.
Silenced completely and rather than thinking, I felt.

I felt my blood coursing, the sweat on my body, the muscles straining, my breath flowing in and out, and this feeling of raw internal strength enveloping me.
I felt like suddenly I was a wild tiger. Sheer strength, power, agility, and carnal intuition. If I could put a better description to what I felt, I would.
But when I think of wild tigers, I think that they are roughly 10 or more feet long including the tail, they are huge, massive, and sheer muscle. They have to be to survive, there is no room for unnecessary weight or sluggish movements. And to watch that kind of powerful grace in action, even on tv or the internet, it puts me in awe. And in those minutes, I was in awe of myself.
I had never come into contact with my, as cheesy as it sounds, inner tigress. And even to this day, I haven't forgotten what it feels like. The calm of knowing exactly what is inside of you and finally being at peace with it.

I was disappointed when I realized my budget would not enable me to continue with these lessons. And at that point, I put the notion out of my head. It wasn't feasible, so no use pining after it.

But my circumstances have changed and now it is feasible. And when looking for a way to find the calm I had as my life is growing more and more out of focus, I almost feel as though I'm being drawn back to yoga and that feeling.

I've meditated since, but it's not quite the same. It's the difference for me of shuffling papers reading and organizing them to discovering there's a glowing, purring tigress beneath the table I was shuffling papers on top of. That actually almost conveys the shock I felt when I discovered it during that yoga session.

If I believed in things such as spirits and souls and similar things as that, I would say I met my animal spirit guide. And it is definitely a tigress.

It's strange for someone who's always been a dog person. of course, I said the same thing when I was a tomboy and starting to willingly wear skirts.

"You want some fries with that shake"

Thank you Mark for the ego boost, it made me smile. There's something to be said for a good set of high heeled boots, new jeans and an ipod.

However enough is enough. I apparently weigh about 50lbs heavier than i look, wear an unacceptable size of pants and I'm embarrased by photgraphs of myself. What's worse? I'm not healthy.

My roommate and I are now workout buddies. Since it's more fun, and more of an incentive to have a friend doing the same things as you are, trying to reach the similar goals. Both of us agreed that we are neither healthy nor happy. We're going to be working out together at least twice a week.

I'm going to throw in an additional workout day on fridays right after i get off of work, since that's at like noon anyway and it's not like i do much with that extra weekend time right now anyway.

I've seriously been considering taking up a yoga class for that friday time...but those things are unbeliveably expensive in my area. I know that if i don't get somewhere that's convienient, i'll find more and more excuses to not go as time goes on. So i'm looking at some possibities and running some numbers. Investing in a few DVD's and a mat is becoming more and more realistic.

For myself, I don't expect to become lythe and waif-like. It's not a realistic idea for someone with my body style. as much as i would rather not admit it...i'm stocky. I have curves, no doubt, extra even. But i'm solid and built with a lot of muscle up on top. I have wide shoulders, bicepts, a solid core, and thighs that are primarily muscle. Even without working out for months, i can be poked in the stomach and there are muscles under that pudge.

But i worry constantly about working out. I collapsed twice this last year from doing things i used to consider mild exercise (walking up a hill near my house, and mowing the lawn). My doctors have no idea what's going on. They basically came down to dehydration, not breathing properly, over heating, and high blood pressure. But they can't explain why i apparently convulsed some (don't ask me, i was o.u.t.). There's no reasonable explanation that they could come up with, even after a pleathora of tests.

I hate that feeling I get right before it happens, my blood pulse under the skin of my face and a wave of cold.
I hate that even though I have that warning, by then I'm not able to function to warn anyone. I'm either going to collapse or i'll recover.
I hate watching the ground come up at me and thinking "oh hey, the ground is getting closer" for lack of anything more intelligent to think.
I hate waking up with everyone clustered around me screaming at me to wake up.
I hate causing that scare for them.
I hate that feeling of "oh shit, what the hell just happend" because then I start panicking.
I hate panicking.
I hate that everyone keeps trying to diagnose me themselves.
I hate being poked and prodded and no explanations to show for it.
I hate being a lab rat.

That all being said, I've done the only thing I'm able to at this point. I've warned my roommate. I've told her what happens in the past, and what seems to work best for helping me after it.

She actually suprised me. I expected her to get all, oh my god, maybe we shouldn't do this! But instead she started telling me she had taken all the CPR and first aide classes, and how she would help me prevent it..."take it easy and lots of water". No revulsion, no worry...just very matter of fact. This is a problem an this is how we're gonna take care of it.

I feel like i'm in good hands.

On a side note: Due to some well made arguments, I've decided to allow comments on posts. To be clear, I'm not looking for sympathy, or for everyone to agree with me. Please, if you're going to argue with me, have a coherent, well reasoned or backed up argument. I dont' have time for childish cussings or "you're wrong because i think so".
But if there are comments you would like to leave for me to read and/or reply to, you can now do so. I will only delete comments that are spam or inappropriate.

Mom's insinuations

At my brother's birthday party, my mother and I got into a discussion that had been stewing for a long while. Thankfully this didn't happen in front of my brother, thus ruining his party, but it was one of those things that just couldn't stop once it started.

My family owns an island cottage. It's beautiful out there, with fresh water, fishing, swimming, and several generations of bald eagles that fish just a handful of feet off our dock. It's the perfect place to relax and I've spent the last 5 years, one day every weekend throughout each summer, working very hard out there. Since it's an old cabin, it needs repair and maintenance. So we work, then we play.

At age 20, I started asking if I could bring some of my girl-friends down there and spend the night (I'm female and interested in men so there was no issue of musical beds). My request was met with "Not without a chaperon". That same year, my brother (2 years my senior) was allowed to go down with his girlfriend, a buddy, and that buddy's girlfriend....unchaperoned. I know this was a double standard, and in itself, unfair; but I let it go and just dealt with it, biding my time.

Now two years later, I'm the same age as my brother was, and I wanted a mixed gender party down there with friends I've known since junior high, unchaperoned. Again, this group is not the kind that play musical beds. We just want to hang out and laugh and enjoy ourselves.

While my brothers went outside for a smoke, my mother took the opportunity to tell me no, not without a chaperon. My brother's girlfriend who had been out there when they went 2 years ago, was present for this discussion. When I asked my mother why...she began to imply that we would not comply with her wishes. I asked her directly what her wishes were. She said to quote: "I don't want you screwing around out there".

I understand that it's her house and her rules, and I've given her my word on four separate occasions that I will comply for those reasons. But in this instances, it's a non-issue. I don't have a boyfriend at the moment, I don't sleep around and I am most certainly not going to do so with long time friends (plural).

And because of that, I decided there had been enough beating around the bush about this. I told her I felt she was implying that I was a whore and that she had a double standard with this. This was clearly a direct attack on me since none of my other siblings were around. She told me there was no double standard and that it wasn't a direct attack. I know she hasn't had this same conversation with any of my other siblings. So I know she's either delusional, or trying to make herself sound better than she really is.

I felt very bad for my brother's girlfriend who got caught up in the middle of this and decided to take a walk around the block and then stay away from my mother for the rest of the night and instead concentrate on making my brother's party fun and enjoyable for everyone else. My brother's girlfriend told me she was not going to come to our house for a while because of the way my mom behaved and that she agreed with me and said I handled it very well. I don't really care one way or another on that, but my mom crossed the line both with me, and against the girlfriend.

I'm turning 22 within this month. I live on my own, I own my own car, live my own life, am true to my word and don't answer to her for my personal choices. I feel it is VERY wrong for her to dangle the cottage as a treat so long as I live the life she decides I should. I've worked just as hard, if not harder, as she has there, have agreed multiple times to comply with the rules of the cabin, but never been trusted. At this point, I'm insulted and hurt enough to write my mother off.

The only reason I wouldn't is because of my father. He trusts me, respects me and is realistic. He's been the chaperon and usually, once he decides to go to bed, he puts in earplugs and goes to sleep and trusts me to behave because there is no reason not to.

I will not be unfoundedly treated as untrustworthy, as a tramp, or with this level of disrespect especially from my mother. How can I resolve this to some kind of cordial relationship? This will be the end unless something changes. I want to be able to enjoy the island and have a nice relationship with her but she's making it impossible.

Introducing my brother Michael

My brother Michael is up from Texas last week and this week. It really hasn't been until these last couple days that either of us has had time to hang out. We talked briefly for an hour or so on the dock and last night. He's said a few things that I want to take out of my memory and analyze.

First, a little bit about my oldest brother:
He's 33, works as a jail guard in Texas. He left for the military when i was 7. I can just about count the number of times he's been home since then on one hand. Needless to say, we never really had much to talk about, nor bonded very much. He was off living his life and i was growing up in mine.
I'm not really bitter about it, nor do I blame him. Military tends to travel a lot, it's part of the job. For most of my life I couldn't even remember his face. He was a stranger that showed up and that I had to call brother until I was 16 and he finally realized that he and I should develop some kind of relationship. We went out and had a great evening, just meandering around and talked about some things. It was then that he started becoming a brother to me.
There was a 5 year gap after that where he and I only exchanged small talk on the phone. He'd call for birthdays and major events like my graduation.
He came back this last April right before my mom's shoulder surgery. And we had another bonding time. This time we had more in-depth talks, about some things that had affected us emotionally in the same ways. I started to realize that, of all my siblings and even my parents, I'm most like Michael. This is odd given how little time we spent together.
Now he's back up again this year (unheard of to see him twice in a year before this) for these two and a half weeks. It's nice having him and for the most part we get along just fine.

Now, the two things he's said that have....i don't even know the word, but it's somewhere along the line of surprised, insulted and ultimately amused me.....

1) When mom and dad die and we start dividing up their stuff (first off, this surprised me that he talked about it so casually. Our parents aren't dead, nor dying) Noreen will try to run everything until i get tired of it and tell you all how it's gonna be (Noreen is older than Michael and if he tries it's not going to go over with her very well) Johnny will just want equal treatment and you....you we're not gonna have a problem with.
My response in my head: "Hun, you have no idea what kind of force you're up against". Being a prison guard, I'm sure he's used to getting his way because if they don't listen, he can use pain to force them to submit. He can't do that with me. I'll call the cops on his ass in a heartbeat. And if there is one thing I'm good at, it's being stubborn to a point of spite. Should i set my heart or mind on something...trust me, I'm going to get it.
Second: how demeaning is that of me? I'm not gonna be a problem? talk about pompous. Had my sister been the one to say that, who's been around my whole life, i might take it more seriously. But he doesn't have a clue about me. Who the hell does he think he is, to come back and suddenly, he's in charge? I don't fucking think so!

2) You are such a drama queen. And you would know that SO well considering you left when i was 7? I've talked to mom, and dad, ...and Noreen,.......and Johnny..... Oh, so you're going off of what they tell you when they're frustrated with me? by hearsay? He changed the subject after that.

He doesn't know me. And these minor overtures to try to do so don't change that fact. He's been gone. All he's gotten is tiny snapshots of my character over a very long period of time. And during that time, i was growing and changing and coming into my own. Especially recently. I'm most definitely not a kid anymore and most definitely not who he thinks i am.
Even my parents are changing their idea of me. I shocked the hell out of them when i told them i could afford my car, and be fine. They really thought i was going to get in over my head. I even got eyebrows from them. My parents, who never show emotion, and i got the eyebrows into the hairline.

Ok, that's the end of pretty colors.
I'm frustrated with his braggart ways thinking he knows everything about everyone. He's missed a lot but doesn't seem to care. I'm not going to even try to say i understand him, but i think i have a better idea of him than he does of me. He was already "grown up" when i started to get to know him. He hasn't changed very much in the time that I've known him.
I think it's time we talked. I really would rather he didn't attach mom and dad's stigma to me. He's told me several times that they weren't right about him. So if he believes that, why does he follow their lead in defining my character?

I don't believe that I'm a drama queen. I don't go actively seeking drama. Yet it seems to find me. I can understand how several people might think that i am because when i believe in something, i get very intense about it which most people define as dramatic. I'm beginning to believe I'm sorely misunderstood by those who i thought knew me best. Ok, can't please everyone.

I want to be viewed as myself. Who i am today, not who i was in those snapshots.
no past,
no clearly unfounded assumptions,
no stigmas,
no reputation,
no hearsay,
no boxes of definition.

I think I've changed enough to merit a revised image. It's high time to get to know me, not who i was.

WANTED, clothes and movie

Last night, i went out with my three good friends...meeting at a local mall with Grace first while we waited for the guys to show up.
Back story:
Grace is my first boyfriend's new girlfriend. Suprisingly we're a LOT alike down to a few nuances. But we get along great, and i couldn't be happier for said first boyfriend, Josh. They're good for eachother and i now have someone that i can go shopping to Old Navy with that won't take it as a creepy brand name. They have my size clothes that aren't designed for women in their 50's. It's awsome. Well, Grace shops there too (and works, which is where her discount comes in VERY handy, not that i have an alterior motive or anything >.> <.< >.>)
So first, I spent about 78$ (after her discount). To be fair...90% of my wardrobe is black....still. For those that read my last blog and are going "wait...didn't you say you almost never wear all black?"....yes...all black. some black, specifically black with a pair of jeans...is my favorite combo.
But now, after that expensive charge (thank you Grace ^^) i have lots of color for summer! YAY.

Finally the guys showed up and we went to see WANTED.
Wanted was a very good movie overall. I felt like it was jerky. There was one very long running fight scene. It was just a little too perfect, him recieving a gun the second his previous one runs out. ....Right. I would have liked to see him use different kinds of weapons or maybe some interesting martial arts coreography.
And i'm sorry, the lead guy James McAvoy, FAILED. He does not pull off a convincing "angry", "hurt", or "vengeful". his crying was forced, and he definetly was a pussy until the very end of the movie. And i want to know why he was so hell bent on killing his father's murderer when he had never met his father?
Angelina and Morgan Freeman definetly pulled it back together. A similar personality to Mrs. Smith showed up again this time tortured and tormented. A very good mix for Angelina's abilities.
Morgan Freeman was a very good mentor personality. Calm, collected, unflinching, with a sense of humor. I really liked him. He always does a good job.
On a side note: I HAVE TO GET THIS SOUNDTRACK!!!!. I didn't hear one song i didn't like!