Just another Thanksgiving list

As much as I’ve been whining lately, I have a lot to be thankful for.

I have two sweet cats (even though they aren’t so sweet to each other). I have a printer that does print (even though it is mentally challenged), and a laptop, both of which I use to write stories. Which reminds me — I am thankful that I have the ability to put my thoughts and feelings and imagination into words.

I have an awesome sister who is my best friend, and an awesome best friend who is like a sister. I have a beautiful family: my mom, dad, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I have a boyfriend who fits me completely.

I also have a mouth, which can taste and chew and eat (pleasepleaseplease let 2:00 tomorrow come quickly)! I have a body that may be diseased, but does allow me — roadblocks and all — to do what I love , and I am so thankful for that.

I have a great group of friends, both online and offline. I have a job that, although it can be stressful, I love, and allows me to work from home, during my own hours. I am so thankful that I don’t have to get up early in the morning, that I can work in my pajamas or sweats, and take as many breaks as I want, so that I can rest when I need to.

I have a beautiful niece and beautiful godchildren.

I have so much good in my life that, when I lump it all together, it far outweighs the bad.

And that is what I’m most thankful for.

What are you thankful for?

Birthday #22 recap

Thanks for all of the birthday wishes! I had a good weekend. I definitely missed my sister, but the rest of my family kept me occupied. On Saturday, we did a cookout up at the lake (the seasonal campground my grandparents have had a site at since before I was born). I chose the lake because it was one of Popi’s favorite places to be, and I feel closest to him there. Noni made me spignata, which is an Italian layered bread, with salt, pepper, rosemary, and garlic between each layer. It’s my favorite thing that she makes, and I wanted it specifically because I hadn’t had it in a long time. We did hamburgers, hotdogs, ribs, and macaroni and green salads, too, and then we had ice cream cake. We all agreed that Friendly’s ice cream cake is better than Carvel’s.

After we stuffed ourselves, I opened my presents. I got lots of money, which I plan on putting toward new clothes* and some treats**. I also got a gift card to Victoria’s Secret, which I really needed***.

Nana, Aunt Elyne, and Kate left before it got dark. Noni, Aunt Wendy, Vin, Mike, Mom, Dad, Biz Noni, Aunt Barbara, and I all stayed overnight (Biz Noni and Aunt Barbara’s site is right next to Noni’s). I attempted to make a vodka collins and failed; Smirnoff vodka really sucks unless you’re using it for mixed drinks. (You know, the ones you can barely taste the alcohol in. Sigh.) Mike and I got into a relatively stupid fight (but talked things out the next morning and throughout the next day). Dad built a really big fire, and we all just hung out until we were tired. I also ended up crying like a five-year-old on Aunt Wendy’s shoulder because I really missed Popi, but I still had a good night.

Sitting around the fire, 08/28/2010

Sitting around the fire, 08/28/2010

The next day, we had a huge breakfast after Dad and Vinny got back from fishing. A bee ended up stealing my pancakes and eating my syrup, so I mostly ate bacon****. Then Dad went to go visit one of his childhood friends who now camps there, too, while the rest of us went down to the water for a swim. The water was a little cool but very refreshing. Mike and I talked some more while I floated around, and things were worked out.

I’m proud of us; we’re learning to communicate better and to recognize when we are overreacting. Everyone — I don’t care who you are — picks stupid fights, and it’s important to talk even when you think you’re overreacting, or when you think the other person is being unfair. I realized years ago that I tend to pick fights for no reason, and have been making a huge effort lately to ask myself, Is this really that important to me? before I open my mouth. (I have a hard time thinking before acting.)

Like a good wine, we just keep getting better and better.

And speaking of, tomorrow is our four year anniversary. When I stop and think about it, four years isn’t really a long period of time — but it is a long time to be with someone, and it also feels like we’ve been together forever. We know each other really well. In some ways, I think we know each other better than we know ourselves, which has helped me learn more about myself. We have come a long way from the uncertain beginning we had.

I just realized that I got way off track here, so I’ll write more about us tomorrow. :D

Anyway, we spent most of Sunday up at the lake. Aunt Wendy and Vin left shortly before we had an early dinner, and Mom and Dad left just before dark. Mike and I would have left then, too, but he saw the sun setting over the lake and thought it would be romantic to go watch it. Noni had suggested we watch the sunset the night before, saying that she and Popi used to all the time. I think that was when he had his headphones on and I was annoyed with him, so we ended up not going, hahaha. But we did go last night, and it was beautiful. I ended up taking him on the trail to the old root cellar — what we kids always called The Cave. There’s a little shore there with a great view of one side of the lake, and that’s where we sat, talking about the future.

For all of the times we get on each other’s nerves, we have at least ten good “moments” or days.

We left after walking back up to the site and kissing Noni goodnight, trying to beat the sun setting completely. We made it… sort of. We ended up missing the exit to get on the next route, getting off the expressway (which ended right after the exit), getting back on, and jumping on the next route… in the wrong direction. Luckily, we were able to find what we thought might be a shortcut, but naturally we ended up sitting on 84 in Hartford because they decided Sunday while people were driving back from weekend getaways was a good time to do night paving. We just sat there listening to music and laughing at our luck, which if you know me is funny, because I have no patience for traffic. Although, I should add that I did make a few comments, so I’m still me. I think I’m growing as a person, but Mike says he’s just rubbing off on me. (I’M GROWING AS A PERSON, DAMMIT!)

By the time we got back and hit the bank, we were too tired to do anything else. I made us scrambled eggs and toast, and then we went to bed.

Operation Twenty-Two was a success! I had a good time, with good people. And oddly enough, I slept better in the air mattress in the tent Saturday night than I did in my own bed last night. This tells me my mattress sucks.


*As soon as I lose more weight, I’m treating myself to a new wardrobe. A couple of people told me I look like I’ve lost some weight this weekend, and I managed to squeeze myself into my size seven jeans Thursday night before going to the bar with my friend Sean.

**I desperately need some new CDs, and I want to get a pair of boots, and maybe some DVDs (I still need Firefly, and Dollhouse comes out October 12th)!

***GIRLS ONLY post about this coming soon!

****Seriously. The little fucker refused to get off of my plate, and I’m too chicken to swat at bees anyway, so he had an easy victory.

Why my life is better than BlogHer… except not

The people have asked for a blog update, so who am I to deny her them?

I have officially survived my first two weeks of being full-time self-employed. The reason I have completely forgotten about abstained from updating my blog is that I’ve been leaving my laptop at my aunt’s, and during the day I don’t have enough time to write anything. I actually like this. The days go by fast, and I always feel good and productive when I leave.

There’s also a lot of drama going on, none of which I can write about, because as much as it pisses me off, it’s not my drama to tell. I would move the world for Mike, but when I can’t, it makes me crazy.

Thursday night I went to see Ramona and Beezus with my mom and sister. It was really, really, really cute. When I was in elementary school, I read most of the Beverly Cleary books about Ramona. She is one of my all-time favorite children’s book characters. I can’t wait until I have a little girl — or until my goddaughter Kaylene is old enough — so that I can read her the Ramona books. It was a nice night out with Mom and Lauren, and one of very few left, since Lauren is going away to school… on my birthday. I’m honestly really sad about my little sister leaving the nest, even if it’s not really permanent. I’ve spent the last eighteen years seeing her almost every day. She’s my best friend*.

But you can’t change anything**. You can only adapt.

It’s weird when life is half good and half crazy-in-a-bad-way. You spend all of your time alternating between grinning like the Joker and feeling ready to hire a hit man on someone, so you end up looking completely insane.

I did, however, manage to get away from it all for a few hours last night. I went to my watering hole with my cousin Kate, and we drank vodka collinses and sang karaoke until last call. Our karaoke guy called me “badass” after my last song, and this guy kept hitting on me, even though I kept reminding him that he’d met my boyfriend, and all of my friends at the bar kept talking about my boyfriend in front of him. Like Kate said, some guys never give up, even when it’s hopeless. It wouldn’t have been so annoying if the guy hadn’t inserted himself into every conversation and smoke break (even though he doesn’t smoke). Poor Mike’s little hottie is in high demand; a couple of weeks ago, a guy asked me out for coffee as I was leaving Barnes and Noble. It always amuses me when guys hit on me. I like the way I look, but I’m so used to ignoring the male species with my gaga eyes on Mike, that when I get hit on, I am always surprised.

Anyway, to make this post even longer and more ADHD, I’m going to be participating in #superbyseptember, a weight loss challenge started by Karen and brought to my attention by my friend Brooke. I just have to find a scale in my house and weigh myself, something I’m not exactly excited about doing. At this point, the cheeseburger baby now looks like I am carrying a real human baby and am somewhere in my second trimester. Since I have my mom’s side of the family’s curse — wherein all extra weight goes to our stomachs and asses — the extra twenty or so pounds I’ve gained from Seroquel and have continued to gain after quitting it from a massive intake of fast food and little to no exercise has indeed made me look like I’m now picking out clothes for a baby whom I now know the sex of. My mom is the only person who insists that I don’t look pregnant. Thank you for your dishonesty, Mom, but the mirror tells the truth, and so does everyone else who comes into contact with me and my baby bump.

Basically, I just have to weigh myself sometime this weekend — and fuck am I afraid to see; last time I weighed myself, I was 17lbs over my normal weight, which I’m sure has increased — and start getting fit. I’ve been saving money for a bike for some time now, so I think I’ll be buying it and a bike rack maybe this week. I’ll also need a scale in my house, since we don’t have one (though Noni has one downstairs). I want to stop ignoring the fact that I’ve gained so much weight and put it right in front of my face, where I can’t ignore it. A quick BMI check says that I’m just on the verge of being overweight — and that’s only using the weight I was last weighed at. I used to wonder how anyone overweight could let it happen, and now I see that it just happens. There are so many factors, that you can’t just pinpoint one thing. Seroquel is the biggest factor, but so is the fact that I stopped walking around so much and spend most of my time in front of the computer these days***.

So I am determined to lose some kind of weight this month using this challenge. Since I have a track record of losing weight unnecessarily, I’m not even sure what a healthy goal is for the month. I’m just going to stop eating fast food so much, ride my bike around some trails a few times a week, and go for a twenty minute walk every day, even if I just walk around the mall.

I know I’ve attempted to give up fast food before, and I failed horribly at it, but I just can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to give it up completely, though, because that’s apparently how I cave. I’m going to try to eat it only once a week, and try to make healthier choices (like Taco Bell instead of Burger King****).

I’m feeling kind of dubious about this, but I want to at least try it. If I fail, at least I tried, right?


PS: I severely need to go get my eye prescription updated. Someone please remind me to call the Walmart eye center place thingy on Monday so that I can start seeing the computer screen — and everything on the road — again.


*Yeah, Mike and Sandy and my cat count, but Lauren and I have tons of history and inside jokes that can’t be beat by some hot guy, funny girl, and pretty cat.

**Unless we’re talking underwear.

***Still, I mostly blame Seroquel, because I was pretty lazy before I started taking it and would probably still weigh around 118lbs if I hadn’t started.

****Is Taco Bell healthier? It seems healthier. I must research this.

How to start a girl band

Everything we learned about music, we learned from TLC and the Spice Girls. When deciding on our “band’s” name, my cousin Kate, my sister Lauren, and I chose “The Bomb Girls” because it was close enough to the Spice Girls to get us some recognition, but different enough so that no one could say we had copied them.

Our key instrument was a tiny Casio keyboard with pre-programmed techno music on it, and our voices that could easily rival Chili’s and Scary Spice’s. Every song we wrote had to have a rap in it, and our stage names had to be carefully chosen to go along with our band name.

“You’ll be Baby Bomb,” my cousin told my sister, who is the youngest.

“I want to be Hot Bomb!” I yelled, before Kate could claim the name first.

“That’s fine. I want to be Cool Bomb,” Kate said.

Lauren said, “I don’t want to be Baby Bomb.”

“You’re the youngest,” Kate reasoned. “So you’re Baby Bomb.”

“I want to be Cool Bomb,” my sister said.

I was elated. I got to be Hot Bomb, which would obviously catapult me to the star of the band. I could see it now. The whole family would be blown away by my amazing voice, songwriting skills, and of course, my beauty. Boys from school would fall all over themselves trying to get next to Hot Bomb.

My cousin and sister went back and forth over Lauren’s new stage name, and I managed to back my cousin up a little while daydreaming. After a few minutes, Lauren reluctantly adopted her new name, and we got down to the business of songwriting.

At the time, my cousin lived with our moms’ aunt, our Aunt Karen, and our moms’ sister, our Aunt Rikki. It must have been some kind of holiday because the entire family was gathered downstairs while we put together our new band up in Kate’s room while listening to Crazy Sexy Cool. It seemed that within minutes we had a couple of songs written and were rehearsing them so that we could perform our first concert downstairs.

Now I don’t know what to do
I’ll leave you
I don’t understand

I had this. I was the best Bomb Girl and singer ever, and I couldn’t wait to get this show on the road. I followed Kate down the stairs, with Lauren behind me, and we found Aunt Karen and asked her for her microphones. We gathered the family, set up our keyboard and turned on our music, and got ready to start.

Kate — Cool Bomb — was the group rapper, I was the singer, and Lauren — Baby Bomb — would jump in on the chorus, along with Cool Bomb. We were also supposed to dance.

The music beat in my ears, our family’s eyes were glued on all of us, and suddenly the room was very small and way too hot.

No, no, no, I can’t do this, I thought, looking from our family to Cool Bomb to Baby Bomb and back to the microphone in my hand. Kate looked at me expectantly. It was my turn to sing.

I shook my head and started backing away.

“Come on,” she and our family said. “Come on!”

“I’m not singing by myself,” I told my groupmates. “I just can’t do it!”

“Fine,” Cool Bomb said, and did my part. The three of us did the choruses.

Although the Bomb Girls wrote about a dozen more songs — and I think may have even recorded a couple in my bedroom with a crappy kiddie recorder — I knew then that my career as a diva wasn’t going to happen. It would be a good thirteen years before I could bring myself to sing in front of people again — and that was only under the influence of alcohol. I don’t even need a drop of alcohol to get up in front of people now, but poor little Hot Bomb just couldn’t take the heat.

How I inspire people to make babies

Karaoke night, from two weeks ago. Last night I went to the Berlin Station Cafe for karaoke again with Kate, and this time Mike came along. Poor Mike looked traumatized every time someone other than me, Kate, or a few other people sang, and he kept getting frustrated because they didn’t have any of the songs he wanted to do. (My love is quite picky when it comes to music. It’s a good thing I’m a decent singer, or else I’d be afraid of singing in front of him!)

I didn’t tweet at all this time because I was too busy singing song after song, getting mauled by strangers who wanted to adopt me, and laughing at Mike’s horrified facial expressions during songs where people who were just having fun did songs he really liked and ruined them. Ah, good times, good times.

I did the following songs:

  • “Head Over Feet” — Alanis Morissette
  • “Going Under” — Evanescence
  • “I Turn To You” — Christina Aguilera

I was going to do “Fallin’” by Alicia Keys, too, but we left a little early so that Kate could get up for work in the morning. I feel like I did another song, too, but I can’t think of what it was.

Kate did:

  • “Mercy” — Duffy
  • “Sweet Child o’ Mine” — Guns N Roses
  • “No More (Baby I’ma Do Right)” — 3LW

and I think she did another one, too, but again, brain isn’t awake enough right now to put it all together.

Mike just cheered us on, sipped my beer while I got drunk, and made this adorably traumatized face when some guy did Disturbed, some lady did Evanescence, and a couple of guys did Snoop Dogg. (Kate and I were amused; we take karaoke seriously enough to do songs in our range, but we both seem to thoroughly enjoy watching other people, whether they’re good or bad.)

As Mike drove us back home (Kate lives twenty minutes away from me), I sang “Fallin’” because in my drunken mind, I was gonna get that song out of my system, dammit. Then I sang “Delayed Devotion” by Duffy. I started to sing something else, and then got sidetracked because we started talking. Or, well, he started talking. Then I started talking with him because I’m ADHD like that.

Altogether it was a fun night. I really like the bar, and even though it’s quite a ride away from my house, I think it’s worth it. I like it so much, in fact, that it’s in my novel. (I mean, I’ve only been to like five bars in my life, so that qualifies me to decide on a bar now.) I really like the atmosphere, the people, and the all-you-can-drink for $10 special (you get any of the drafts and the first row of hard alcohol, which is mostly vodka, but whatever, I love vodka). It pays off once you’ve had a few beers, and now that I’ve been drinking a couple weekends in a row again, I can drink more than a couple beers before I’m sloshed. Heh.

Ahead of me this weekend now is more writing, some work on a client’s website, some research for another client’s social media marketing plan, my Colts game against the Ravens (should be good, too bad I have to miss most of it), and a baby shower for Mike’s brother (which is smack in the middle of my game). We got the baby some cute stuff though, and a few things that I think Robbie and Jaysa will really, really appreciate. I realized as Mike and I were shopping that I know entirely too much about raising a child for my age.

“It’s because you have so many friends with kids,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. It’s just weird, being surrounded by people with kids and still not being in The Mom Club. Believe me, I know my time will come, but in the meantime it’s a little awkward. Still, it’s nice to be able to enjoy other people’s kids without having to worry about the financial end of it or the other scary bits about parenting. Mike and I have long talked about someday having kids of our own; we both love kids and can’t wait to have our own. But we both know that we have a lot of work to do before then (so if any of my family is reading this, you guys can breathe now). Heh.

Anyway, I don’t know how I got from alcohol to babies, but this couple at the bar last night — they said they were thirty but looked a lot younger — just loved me. It was a drunken love, but it was love. They grabbed my wrist with the LOVE tattoo while I was getting a refill on my beer and both screamed at the same time. She kept telling me that she really, really wants that tattoo, except the O shaped as a heart. The next time I stood next to them waiting for a refill, they proclaimed that I am their daughter from the future, because I’m beautiful and bold enough to do karaoke. I was like, “uh, thanks,” and pretty much just squirmed while they sat there squeeing and telling me that they were gonna make a baby that night and that they hope their daughter is like me.

Hey, I guess it’s better than getting hit on by an old man at a hip hop bar.