Halloween: the only day I wish I had kids

Husband was bored one day at work a couple weeks ago, and while randomly searching around the internet discovered that Lewis Black was touring and coming to our neck of the woods soon. I forgot how small the Orpheum is and authorized him spending about double the normal ticket price to buy a couple of third row seats some season ticket holders were selling for this past Friday night.

The ride up was fun, if trying, with Memphis traffic in the rain, but it gave us time to talk and wander through thoughts that we hadn't gotten to express in the business of life lately. Using the wonder that is my iPhone, we were able to locate a parking garage inbetween the restaurant and theater. We ate at my husband's favorite barbeque rib place, Rendezvous. Unless you just know where this place is or are smart enough to ask directions you'd never find it hidden away in the one-way alley beside the Days Inn. Regardless of its hidey-hole location, it stays very busy, nearly full even at 5:45 when we walked in to eat. I like it because they have meatless red beans and rice, which they label as meatless, and serve with all their meatless sides including cole slaw, pickles, peppers, cheese cubes, and rolls. And it's tasty. Husband revelled in his dry-rubbed rib goodness, practically bathing in it, and we sucked down a pitcher of beer before finally heading out into the cold rain again to walk to the theater.

While waiting for the doors to open, we had a very engrossing conversation about the difference between the "riff-raff" of the left and the "hicks" on the right side of politics, how the left gets all the socially enept nerds with their gristly mustaches and pac man t-shirts and socks with black tennis shoes (there were several of these surrounding us at this point) while the right gets the camo wearing hee-haw yelling crowd. I know both crowds well having grown up as a liberal in a very conservative state. Yes, we were stereotyping, but apparently the staff was trying to keep us trapped in the lobby so we'd buy beer and Lewis Black paraphenalia, and we were bored. Finally they opened the doors and let us sit, and we were very happy with our seats. The opening comedian, John Bowman I believe, was hilarious, and Lewis Black was exactly what we expected him to be. I laughed so hard I cried several times in the hour and a half he was on stage.

I was so sleepy on the ride back, we forgot to pick up my husband's car from his work, and in the morning the last thing I wanted to do was drive him to work, so I was without a car all day Saturday, not that I would have gone anywhere. I spent the day braiding myself a headband for my hippie costume and then braiding my wet hair so it would be wavy later, only to get a migraine at about 1 pm.

By the time my husband got home, my head was still pounding, and two of our friends had pulled out of our plans. We still had another couple we could have gone out with, but they don't go out until late (they're young'ns) and I just wasn't feeling it anymore.

After about the third group of trick-or-treaters (I think it was two little girls as ninjas) came and left, I was feeling better, so we went and got some dinner on the Square so we could see what some folks were wearing. I saw lots of Mario's and several Ninja Turtles-- it was a very old-school Halloween. We tried to find our friends with the little boy, who I hear was the cutest pirate ever, but they ended up at the in-laws, so we just grabbed a couple movies and went home.

Watching all the little kids up and down the streets, running and jumping in their pink fairy wings and long Batman capes, my usually non-existant maternal instinct kicked in. I would love to have some children to dress up in crazy little costumes and parade around the neighborhoods, watching the joy light up their little painted faces. (But then I'd want to give them back to whoever is responsible enough to take care of them on a regular basis. So that feeling didn't last very long. I just need a couple more dogs.)

We snuggled on the couch, with the dog, and watched our movies until late at night. Sunday we watched a couple more but also managed to get in some yardwork, and after holding up that heaviest-weedeater-ever for an hour, my arms are sore today. But that's the last trim before the winter. We want to create ourselves some raised garden beds for use for vegetables in the spring, but we're having trouble finding a border-- it's either 108 foot-by-half foot heavy bricks, moved down the hill one at a time, or some big pieces of untreated cedar. The cedar would be easier to handle but is a lot harder to find. We probably have better things we could be spending money on, like new window blinds or new stairs for the deck, but there's something wholesome and renewing about digging in the dirt and creating food from what once was nothing. My grandfather did it, now I want to carry on.

Italy or bust

My parents told me that for Christmas they are going to buy mine and my husband's plane tickets to Italy because they don't want us to have to wait til 2012 to go. I've mentioned before on here that we are steadily saving for a whirlwind two week trip, but because of our slow progress in that department, we hadn't planned to go until 2012, or The Year I Turn 30 (dum dum dummmm).

Because of their generous offer (which of course we jumped on right away, I don't turn down presents, no matter how generous or uncalled for) we have amped up the planning process. We're thinking September next year. I made our itinerary the other night:

Fly into Naples, spend the night
Explore Naples- one day
Day trip from Naples to Pompeii
If we can, day trip from Naples to Positano and/or Sorrento
Train to Rome, explore Rome the rest of that day
Two more days to explore Rome, leave later second day
Train to Florence
One day to explore Florence
Day trip to Pisa
Train to Venice, stopping in Bologna and Ferrara, so taking a day
Full day in Venice
Tentative: Next day train to Vienna (all day train)
Two days in Vienna
Fly home

So including all the tentative plans and flight days, that's a full 15 days. Wow. What an amazing trip it would be if we can pull it off.

Naples worries me. All I've ever heard about it is that it's run by the Mafia and it's dangerous. I don't know anything about the city though. I've been to both Pompeii and Sorrento and loved them, so I want husband to see them. My alternative plan would be to fly into Naples and directly catch a bus or train to Sorrento, making that our "stay" those couple days instead of Naples. But we would probably have to go back into Naples to get the train to Rome. I'm concerned that with the traveling I've done in Italy no one has ever thought to take me into Naples. Is that a bad sign?

On the other end of the trip, we have friends in Vienna we'd love to see, and I've never been there and am dying to go. It's a full 8 hour train ride from Venice, but it may be worth it.

I feel like I'm leaving out so much. I want to go to Sicily, I'd love to go to Capri, I want to see Lake Como and the Alps, I loved Assisi and want to take him there too but can't figure out how to add it in. There's only so much that can be done.

His mom asked us the other day to make our Christmas lists, and my first thought was "money!" But it being his extended family doing the giving, I dutifully made a list of easily accessible and wrappable items like books, cds, and other randoms that I don't really need or want (although I did add a disclaimer at the top that cash is perfectly acceptable). I'm not asking the parents for a single other thing, though, not after that gesture. I need to think of something great to get them.

Comments fixed!

I want to apologize to anyone who's tried to comment on my blog in the last couple days. Something in my new html was messed up, but it's all fixed now! Thank you for bringing this to my attention Rachel!

Grateful Thursday

1) Although apparently I have scared everyone away, I'm glad for the new direction I'm taking with my blog. I'm sure topical conversations will arise from my chronicling of every day life, but I'm tired of trying to force them, so I'm changing tones. And looks too, in case you haven't noticed the lack of black.
2) Halloween. It's my favorite holiday. When else do you get to dress up and act like a child and eat candy, and no one thinks poorly of you for it? We're going out with a couple couples-- one dressed as Fred and Wilma Flintstone, the other as Mario and Luigi (the female in that couple has an odd obsession with wearing a mustache). We'll be a Hippie (me) and a Mime (husband), better known as Peace and Quiet. Thanks to whomever posted that in my earlier costumes post-- I'm grateful for you too!
3) My Friday night plans. We've got tickets, third row, to see Lewis Black perform at the Orpheum in Memphis. He's one of my favorite comedians, and I can't wait to laugh my ass off.
4) The relationship I've formed with our VP of Sales. No one else likes her-- they all insist that she's rude or demanding, but really she just knows what she wants and asks for it. She knows, now, that she can call me and talk about issues she's having with other employees, the same way all the employees come to me, so I'm better able to mediate problems between everyone now. I'm grateful that she trusts me enough to be honest with me.
5) Diet root beer, which tastes a lot like regular root beer, especially when it's really cold. My boss says that I'm poisoning myself, but he's one to talk with his solo-slim pills and protein supplements. Plus, we all have to die of something, right? If I die because I had too many sodas, then so be it. At least I was happy while I was here.

I was supposed to go to the grocery store yesterday after work, but my email refused to work properly until 4:30 yesterday afternoon. I had our System Admin trying to fix it all day, meaning I got no work done until then, so I had to stay til nearly 6 catching up. I could have stayed longer. But we had the makings for dinner at home, cleaning out the pantry, with cream corn, crowder peas, and biscuits. A nice, warm vegetable plate.

I slept with ear plugs in last night, and I don't remember ever waking up, not once. It was so refreshing. Husband bought me pink woman-sized plugs as well which is nice because the regular ones make my ear canals sore. Who knew such a thing was possible.

snoring, unfortunate meals, and muffins

I'm tired lately. I'm tired of my blog, I'm tired of thinking of things to write. So I'm not going to think anymore, I'm just going to write. I started this for me anyway.

Husband has been snoring at night. (I think I should start referring to him as "'usband" in a sort of Eliza Doolittle voice-- it makes me giggle). It started maybe a month ago. We both noticed that as the weather started to change, so did the level of snot in our noses and throats, and while my just continually drains down the back of my throat and makes it sore, his stays stuck, apparently, like gooey peanut butter in the back of his airway, causing him to rattle and shake when he breathes deeply at night.

I'm a light sleeper. There's a dog that lives out our bedroom window and across our neighbor's backyard onto our neighbor's neighbor's deck, and at least two nights a week I wake up to a poodley sounding "yap... yap yap... yap... yap yap." And yes, it keeps that same rythm, that musically trained poodle, for hours at a time. Quite annoying. Between that and the snoring, well, these dark circles under my eyes keep getting darker and bigger and deeper. I stuffed toilet paper in my ears for a while, realizing while sitting in the bathroom in the middle of the night for one of my 3 am pees (I'm like an old woman), that I could roll up half a sheet and stuff it down in there, and that was enough to at least drown out the yap yap. But not the 'usband.

I got frustrated last night, asking him to roll over at least twice. It's not a constant snore. It's random. He'll be quiet for half an hour, then all the sudden he'll let out one loud SNAAA and then quiet again. Just enough to wake me up completely. He made a particularly loud noise at about 2 last night, to the point that I flopped over on my back so hard I shook the bed, and then I let out a little whine and sigh, so he stood up, grabbed his pillow, and walked to the couch. I didn't say a word. I slept hard until my alarm went off at 7:30. Today, on his day off, his only task is to go buy me some real ear plugs.

We went to dinner with friends last night. It was a birthday celebration, so the birthday boy got to pick the place. Everyone loves this restaurant, they all rave and say it's their favorite, the best shrimp and grits and steaks in town. I've had the shrimp and grits there. Eh. 'Usband doesn't like it either. I had fully decided to eat a salad and then pick up Sonic on the way home if I was still hungry (grilled cheese and onion rings... talk about gourmet), but they had changed their menu a little and added an interesting looking grouper dish with a hollandaise sauce and new potatoes and wilted spinach.

It looked interesting, but that was about it. The hollandaise tasted like butter and mayo whipped together, which don't get me wrong, those are two of my favorite things, but if I'm paying $20 for a dish, I expect more creativity. The potatoes and spinach were ok but boring. The fish was at least cooked well. Overall, I was not impressed though, and the chicken my husband got was just so-so as well. I hate so-so meals in general, but with a $68 tab, I was annoyed the rest of the night. I think the birthday boy enjoyed his pasta at least.

I was hungry the rest of the night too since I could only manage to put away half my piece of mayo-butter bathed fish. At some point a Dunkin' Donuts commercial came on, and no I was not tempted by the donuts, no, not the coffee either. The muffins. I got the oddest craving for a muffin, particulary the apple cinnamon friendship muffins that my mom used to make all the time. (They're called friendship muffins because the recipe makes so much dough you're supposed to give some of it away to a friend, but you can keep the dough refridgerated for up to two weeks while you use it up, so we used to just make a batch and keep the dough ready for freshly baked muffins every day for a couple weeks.)
I emailed my mom, as if she would be up at 10:30 pm, and asked her to send me the recipe. She emailed me back this morning and said that she hadn't thought about those in a while, but thanks, she now has a craving too. She'll send me the recipe tonight when she gets home from work. I can't wait. I can taste the warm fluffy apple cinnamonyness now.

inside my room

I wish I could remember when, but at some point in my life I decided I was too sensitive. A raw bundle of nerves, feeling every prick and thump and caress too vividly. I couldn't take it.

I hurt much too deeply and too long; I loved so deeply I drowned. I huddled around my emotions for a while, trying to shore myself up for a long life filled with higher ups and downs than other people experience or could even imagine. I tried to explain to myself, convince myself, that this won't kill me, that it's a wonderful thing that I feel so much, and that I just need to protect my innermost self a little better. So up went the walls.

I wonder what it's like to live inside other peoples' heads. I wonder what someone would do if they were trapped in mine for a while. I imagine a rational brain, like my husband's, as a tidy little library with memories and thoughts and feelings and information all tucked away neatly into their places, clean of dust and spiderwebs, ready to be pulled out when needed. Or a creative brain like my boss's, an imaginative fairy-tale world where he encounters no boundaries on what he wants to think or do, booming with confidence and bravery.

Then there's me. I imagine my brain would look a lot like my teenage bedroom-- clothes, shoes, books, pictures, toys, pillows, all strewn carelessly around, a riot of colors and shapes and movement, with some darkness and dirt hidden under the beautiful mess.

I cried last night while laying in bed alone in the dark. I don't know why. If you had asked then I wouldn't have been able to tell you. I must have stumbled on a stack of books and uncovered something deep and dark without knowing it. I hadn't cried in a while. I miss my grandfather; time passes too quickly; I'm afraid of losing Bub soon; work is stressful.

It's a condition of being me, being confined behind these walls, that I bundle things like this up and let them out at once. But if I were to tear down a wall and let the sunlight into my chaotic little world, who I am and the depth of my ever-changing emotions would spill out onto whomever is nearest. It wouldn't be pretty. I don't think I even want to open a door-- someone may come in and mess up my mess. I think I'll design a pretty Keep Out sign. I like living in my crazy little room. It's comfortable and cozy, and I wouldn't really be me without it.

So what does your brain look like?

new look

I was bored with black. I hope you all find this easier to read as well.

I'm going to have a busy couple days here at work, but by Thursday I think things will be slowed back down to a more manageable pace and I'll find some time for writing.

devil's advocate

My husband is a natural born arguer. He'd argue that the sky was green if he could find someone to labor the point with him. He loves a good debate, but very early on he learned that he could not argue with me. I don't put up with it. If you don't agree with me, fine, agree to disagree and I'm going to continue liking you unless the argument is on a couple of specific subjects: women's rights, animal rights, and my family and close friends.

One night early on in our relationship, he had had too much whiskey and picked a fight with me over why I volunteered so much for the family crisis center here in town. (I was still in college and actually had time for such things.) He claimed I only did it for recognition, so people would think I was a good person. He made me so mad I cried right there in his living room, and he got so mad at himself he threw his glass into the sink from across the kitchen. He passed out on the bed, and I, not being able to drive his stick shift and not knowing who to call so late, slept on the couch. In the morning he drove me home in complete silence, and later that day he sent flowers with an explanation that he didn't believe anything he had said.

Silly arguments, that's all we ever had or have. After a couple more like the one above, he learned that he couldn't argue with me about stupid things, that I'll cry and make him feel bad or I'll give him that look, with one raised eyebrow and a down-turned mouth, that says, "Watch that line, buddy." And our arguments are usually about why he likes to fight with people (it annoys me even to watch) and there's usually alcohol involved, if not for both of us at least for him.

Luckily we've both matured enough so that now I'd say we fight, like knock-down, drag-out, voices raised and sleepless night fight, only about twice a year. We have little spats maybe four times a year. And snide comments immediately followed by an "I'm sorry, I'm just tired and taking it out on you," or similar maybe once a month. Occasionally he'll still try to get in a pointless debate with me. Once we talked about whether a shirt of mine was pink or red for thirty minutes. (I was pro-red, he was pro-pink.) He claims he's "always right," only conceding that we both can be right in some select instances.

I don't know why I don't like to argue. You could walk up to me right now and tell me that my house is ugly and I have no sense of style, and I'd probably just say, "whatever" and go back to my business. But if you tell me a woman shouldn't have the right to choose, that animals should be factory-farmed because it's our "God-given right," or that my momma is ugly, I turn into a rebellious demon, determined to make you eat your words. My husband likes me like that, likes to see that fire in me, as long as he's not the one that brought it out.

I just don't think there's any point to fighting or even debating in most circumstances. My husband's "always right" attitude is the same attitude that most people have about their beliefs, especially the dearly-held ones like my little category of three. There's no convincing someone of an opinion contrary to their own. Even if you happen to have concrete proof, you have to get the person first to admit they were wrong, and there are very few humans who will do that willingly.

I suppose this all relates back to my agnosticism. As Socrates said, "I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing." I, too, know nothing. I don't believe I'm the smartest woman alive, not by a long shot, but I do know that in order to learn anything, in order to have a mind open to all the amazing things and people in this world, you first have to admit (swallow your pride and admit) that in actuality, you aren't sure of anything and probably never will be. It's so liberating. You at least have to give yourself wiggle-room; otherwise you're stuck inside a set of beliefs that you outgrow or that get proven incorrect and you have no way of extracting yourself from them gracefully and with dignity.

As John Mayer says, "Belief is a beautiful armor. It makes for the heaviest sword," but very rarely does it strike down the real problem. More often, we end up fighting between ourselves, even waging wars, over simple disagreements about belief systems, and we end up with lost friends, damaged relationships, and, in the worst cases, murdered innocents.

No one is right and no one is wrong. The sooner everyone realizes that the better off we'll all be. Live and let live. Clinging to a closed-minded set of beliefs stifles the growth of not only individual people but also of entire communities and countries. Our biggest enemy is usually ourselves.

Grateful Thursday

1) Pepto Bismol. Enough said.
2) Cardigans. I think I own too many cardigans, one in every color... except blue. Now that I think about it, I don't have a blue one. I will have to remedy that. I'm a t-shirt girl, love a good "favorite" tee from the Gap or similar, and cardigans instantly dress them up in the fall, no fuss, no muss, and they're so much cozier than blazers. And more colorful. Today I have on a slate grey t-shirt and an slouchy plum cardigan. Tuesday was a black tee and a red boyfriend card. Simplicity.
3) Hand sanitizer. It's my I'm-not-getting-a-flu-shot substitute. I hate shots. A nurse told my husband not to get the H1N1 shot, but he got his regular flu shot as usual. I, as usual, will not. Instead I bathe myself in hand sanitizer all flu season praying that I won't get sick. I haven't yet, (clean) fingers crossed.

That's about it today. Mostly I'm sleepy and my tummy is rumbly, as Winnie the Pooh would say, so that's all I seem to be focused on. I wonder if it was the pile of spaghetti or the bread pudding that did me in? More likely it was the aloo palak and naan at lunch. Indian food, so good going in.... There's been absolutely nothing going on at work since the boss is out of town, so I've been making up stuff to do, like cleaning my desk and making phone extension labels. Calm before the storm, that's all it is.

hope against hope

I don't like to do political posts. I leave politics out of my life, and my head, for the most part, because living where I live its rare that I find someone who agrees with me. Besides, I don't believe it's possible to change most people's minds, so why argue? But it's probably pretty obvious to my more dedicated readers that I lean to the left, what with my agnostic ramblings and animal rights rants.

I drank the Obama kool-aid pretty early on in his campaign, dumping Hilary like last season's worn out designer purse and picking up the new, shiny, hopeful Obama model. It was all the rage, and with all the promises made about a new way of being, a positive change, how could I resist?

I forgot when I committed that it was a four-year committment. No matter how pretty a purse is, no matter the designer label or the pretty features, none are perfect. The straps are too long, the zipper sticks, or it turns into a black hole where your keys and lipstick get lost somewhere at the bottom never to be seen again.

Obama is a black hole, a bottomless pit, the worst of all offenses. I poured my hopes and dreams in, wanting so much for this country to make a positive change. I wanted the wars to end, Gitmo to close, public health care for all, and maybe even to give gay people more rights if not legalizing their marriage, but none of that is happening. He's a puppet of his designers, a false front created to give us all false hope. He was branded, the same way a purse is branded. He may say Louis, but really he's no better than one I could pick up at Target. Same materials, same construction, same end use.

I wish I could meet him in person. I've planned out what I would say. I would shake his hand, look him in the eyes, and say something like, "I voted for you because I believed you could change things. You have the power now, you have the Senate votes, you have America's undivided attention. Now do something. Stop sitting on your hands, fretting about bi-partisanship and keeping everyone happy. You can't please everyone. Follow through. It's time. You may fail, but you're sure to fail if you do nothing." Then I would let go of my grasp on his hand and hope that somehow my words sunk in, because they are the words of so many.

Not only would his failure create another 4 or 8 years of do-nothing politics, where we sit and spin our wheels while people die and our earth falls to pieces, but the apathy of the voters of this country would swirl out of control. He got me off my feet, made me excited again about the possibility of an America of which I could be proud, but now... I worry. I worry he was too good to be true and no one will ever be able to motivate us again. We'll all be afraid, and rightfully so, that we're being tricked into backing a false prophet once again.

I don't know that I've ever believed one small person could make a huge difference. I know that one person can make a difference locally, and that local changes can create regional and then national changes, which is why my personal political mantra has always been "think globally, act locally." I support local charities and follow local politicians. That's why I'm having a hard time right now understanding how this happened and how to fix it.

There may be no fixing it. I may just need to wait out this four-year contract, pray that no more of my hopes get lost somewhere at the bottom of the bag, and then reluctanly pick out a new one in 2012. I won't be taken in by another smooth talking salesman again though. I don't really believe anymore, and that's the saddest part of all. Yes, we can, but we haven't yet.