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Jun 27

T’why’light

Posted on Sunday, June 27, 2010 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

Let me begin by admitting that I am somewhat of a news junkie. I have my favorite sites that I visit every morning and every night and sometimes several times in between. Lately, my concern is growing over the fact that EVERY SINGLE DAY, on news.google.com there is a new “news” story about Twilight, its fans, its characters, its plot, or if not one of those coma-inducing topics, it’s about the actors themselves and the stupid things they say, do or think. I have to wonder if there is any mystery left about this latest movie coming out (it may be out already as I write this…but I wouldn’t know because I don’t give a hoot). Granted, I understand that this article invariably falls into the “Entertainment” section, where it does belong, but, this is more than just covering the opening of a new Summer smash. This is like beating a dead horse a week after the vultures have had a go at its rotting corpse. Article after article after yet another article about these movies, their actors and any of that nonsense is NOT NEWS. No one cares that Robert Pattinson cut his hair. No one cares that one of the other actors in the movie won’t show his abs unless it’s “really important”…I can’t tell you how many times flashing my abs saved someone’s life. Sheesh. I swear to god, if the actors themselves would allow it, I think some of these journalists would set them all up on heart moniters and other various medical systems meant to moniter one’s health activities, they would do it in a heartbeat, and we’d be seeing stories like “Robert Pattinson’s Heart Rate Stays Stable Overnight”, and then all of the Twilight fans could breathe a sigh of relief and sheer joy that most likely, Mr. Pattinson will (unfortunately or otherwise) live to make another Twilight craptastically stupid sequel. The other thing that bugs me is that these actors are deemed “smoking hot”, not because they actually have ONE OUNCE of attractiveness, but because they have billions of dollars of marketing funds fueling the appearance of their ugly, scowling faces on every screen or surface in the world, in effect convincing the stupid masses that they are indeed attractive in some way–and yes, I’m talkingtwilight trees about Kristen Stewarts’ often superior smirk on her unsmiling and just darn PLAIN face). I really can’t say whether or not the Twilight books are any good, I’ve not read them (too busy reading the instructions on how to grow strawberries on my apartment patio)–I’m sure they are entertaining to a certain demographic and certainly any reading is better than no reading at all, but this hype over the movies is straight up ridiculous, and I’m not afraid to say that (I’m no fool, I stocked up on garlic and bathed in holy water this morning). I don’t remember there being news updates about Harry Potter or its actors, etc, every single minute (I can just imagine headlines like “Daniel Radcliffe’s Adam’s Apple Causes Traffic Jam” or “Emma Watts’ First Pop Album To Hit Stores In January”). I think my favorite headline that I’ve seen, only just this week, is (drum roll please…..) “Is Robert Pattinson a Real Vampire?”. Well. Of bloody course he is! Can somebody PLEASE enlighten me to the greatness and importance of these people and their stupid movie? Can someone make a detailed argument to me about why these movies and every move the actors who are in them make, are such a newsworthy topic? (Cue the crickets, please sir!!!)

I’d like to see a face off: Twilight v. True Blood (a t.v. show apparently all about vampires and werewolves as well, another thing I haven’t dumped my valuable time into watching…why would I when there are ample seasons of Murder, She Wrote available on Netflix Instantwatch???). More interesting, quite possibly, would be a face off between the fans of each, although I’m pretty sure that they would end up to be one in the same, because after all, vampires and any subject matter even remotely related to vampires is just irrefutably cool. Anybody who’s anyone knows that!

May 31

My disgust is overflowing

Posted on Monday, May 31, 2010 in Bitch slap of the day

Recently, there’s been a new slut on the Hollywood scene, and it’s got me gagging on my Grapenuts. No, it’s not that trash bin Heidi what’s-her-face, or any of those distinctly classy women with current “accidental” sex tapes circulating the internet. No, it’s 17 year old Hannah Montana, AKA Miley Cyrus, AKA underage streetwalker. There’s been a lot of talk in the media about

And she's supposed to be 17. This makes my skin crawl.

Oh, gross.

how “grown up” she’s been looking lately. Yeah, any teenager can look 10 years older if you get a professional to cake enough makeup on their face and dress them in a slutty getup that no teenager has any business wearing–not even for Halloween. I’m not sure what her hurry is to appear grown up, when she clearly has the maturity level of a 12 year old, based on some of her recent comments in the media. Why does her father stand for this? Could it be that he is immune to the wrongness of it because he too has been in the spotlight for too long? Or maybe he allows it because his career is washed up and he’s living through his daughter. Either way, it’s despicable and gross. Any man who looks at Miley Cyrus and thinks “damn, she is hot” (because let’s face it, that’s the whole point of this gross display of ridiculousness isn’t it? To gain adoration and fans to get the sales on her records that her talent just clearly doesn’t support?) If ever there was a “product” of the pop industry, Miley is IT. It’s sad too, because from what I understand, she was a role model for young girls for many years as a child actress. Not true anymore—I would be appalled as a parent to find out that the girl my daughter had been idolizing turned into a cheap media whore.

My prediction for this “new” Miley: She’ll wind up either a drug addict/alcoholic (maybe both), in an abusive relationship (maybe she’ll be the abuser), an arrest record of some sort, probably a DUI and some version of a “sex tape”. It’s just gross the kinds of things the media reduces people to. A young, bright-eyed starlet, turned into a JOKE. In all fairness, she didn’t have much of a chance. Making a transition from child star to serious actor or singer is hard, as we all know. I think the smart thing for her to have done would have been to enjoy her Hannah Montana success, dumped the proceeds into the bank and gone to college. At least she’d come out of college having learned something. At the very least, she’d have something to fall back on when this all goes “poof”. Nah, splashing inappropriate images of herself all over T.V., the internet and silver screen is more fun and way more lucrative. And hey, ANY publicity is better than NO publicity, right?

Feb 11

A realization

Posted on Thursday, February 11, 2010 in That's the spot.

heartToday, it’s finally starting to become clear to me just how smart my husband is. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve know of his brilliance for quite some time, but, today I’ve done a lot of thinking on how much business sense he has, and how professionally he handles his clients. We’ve lived about 7 months as technically unemployed people, subsisting only on what he makes from the business he is building. That’s pretty amazing. Seeing how his clients react to him and value his opinions is damn sexy if  you ask me.

Pretty much, on the day that we were married, our lives changed drastically. I went from working full time as a manager in a crappy position that I was efficient in, but wasn’t right for me, into a full-time non-worker. Which is huge for me on several levels. First, I’ve worked since the age of 14. I’ve always been independent and fully able to take care of myself, and I know that I still could. Secondly, I never thought I would ever trust someone to take care of me. My parental units basically bowed out of taking care of me physically when I was about 16, emotionally when I was about 9, so I’ve always been a pretty tough cookie. And I’ll admit it’s been an adjustment going from fully independent to fully-in-your-face-can-I-buy-this-so-and-so dependent. But I know that I also contribute to our business, and I take care of our home and lifestyle. It may not always be this great and so I’m going to enjoy it while I can, while we can. We do have it pretty good, considering that the economy has taken a huge dump on everyone, we are very fortunate to be as busy as we are, and the going to the gym in the middle of the day when it’s not busy part is certainly a huge perk. I can shop when it’s not busy, sleep until noon if need be, and stay up late if we want to. That’s pretty damn nice.

Now, you know that I’m knocking as fast and as furiously as I possibly can on the biggest piece of wood I can find because I know that none of it is promised to us. It will be what we make of it. And today, the magnitude of my husband’s drive & commitment to succeed, and his curiosity to learn, and how well he’s been doing has just overwhelmed me, and I’m damn proud of him, and even more proud to be his partner in this. And lucky, too. I sincerely appreciate all of his hard work and dedication to make our lives wonderful, and I hope someday he sees what a great job he’s doing.

We will be headed to Boston early this Summer for a conference, for a project that my husband came up with, pitched to an investor and will soon be a product to sell. I’d say that’s pretty impressive.

Anyways, I guess I’m just trying to say that I love my husband, but I already knew that, but that just didn’t seem to cover it.

Happy Hallmark Holiday to all of you!

Feb 2

It’s shit, that’s what it is.

Posted on Tuesday, February 2, 2010 in Legitimate concerns

I'm mad.

I'm mad.

A little over a year ago, I designed and built a website for a friend, at a deeply discounted rate. I charged a measly $300, for something I should have charged over $1,000. Not only this, but I designed brochures, printed them, and helped this selfish bitch hang them around town. Additionally, I made several changes and updates throughout this last year. FOR FREE. I did it all because I knew that the business she was advertising was something she really wanted and would be good at, because she was my friend. On top of all of the free advertising I did for her, I asked her about her business, on a regular basis, genuinely interested in her success and funny, albeit stupid stories about clients.

Over a year later, she’s paid me half of what she owes me, and it’s looking like we won’t see the other half any time soon. To be a little more specific, after doing the math, she has paid me $11/month. That’s cheaper than cable! Cheaper than Netflix. Cheaper than the pot and liquor her boyfriend buys on a weekly (maybe daily) basis! What a selfish user she is. Ugh, she makes me so mad- I can’t wait until she is a nearly forgotten memory!

Dec 9

10 things I hate about you, {city name here}

Posted on Wednesday, December 9, 2009 in Legitimate concerns

I know I’ve mentioned in past posts about the lovely town I live in, and how much I sincerely loathe, I mean love, the people who generally populate this area. I’ve decided to vent, once and for all. I’m going to dump it all out there and then move on, or rather, move away! My husband and I are praying to be able to move away from this rat’s nest within the next 6-8 months to somewhere in the Southeastern region of the country.

Let’s jump right in with the list, shall we?

  • This town is up to its neck in trustafarians. By trustafarians, I am lovingly referring to the surplus population of 30- something hippies who live off of their daddy’s trust fund. Trustafarians can usually be found attending yoga in the middle of the afternoon, taking their 6 month old babies to dance class, sipping lattes in expensive but gross coffee shops or talking in a rather animated fashion on their cellphones while they cart their superstar soccer playing kids to and fro.  They preach buying local, being green, hugging trees, etc. When they are finished spewing from their judgmental soapbox, they hop into their Escalades, Yukons, or Land Rovers and drive to their $600,000+ homes with million dollar views, send their household staff home to their apartments or rented rooms on the outskirts of town or further, which is the only place household help can afford to live on the measly salaries they are given, crawl into their lush king-sized beds in Martha Stewart decorated bedrooms. What the CHRIST do these people know about, well, anything?
  • Hippies. These are tricky in my town, because, well, as I’ve always understood it–hippies are loving people, they love everyone, man. They accept you for what you are and they embrace you. Hippies have also been commonly known to stink to high heaven, smoke a lot of pot, and hang out in parks, loving everything…right? This is only partially true in my town. The word “hippie” in my town, might as well be short for hypocrite. Yes, they stink–oh good lord do they stink. And yes, they smoke pot, in inordinate amounts. But when it comes to the hierarchy of judgmental fucks, they are at the very tippy top. I have never felt so judged, in my entire life, for being the type of person who showers, grooms themselves and cares to do a good job at work. If you’ve read my blog, you know I can tend to be a bit judgmental at 4times…I am but a simple kitten in comparison to these people. I might be wrong but I’m pretty confident that disliking someone because they aren’t just like you is the exact opposite definition of the word “hippie”. Oh, and white guys with dreads in my town? No way!! Just on every other block. Good thing there are hardly any african americans in this town, right? Actually, I miss experiencing diversity, because there sure as hell isn’t any here.
  • Real estate. Is a joke. People who work here can’t live here. Well, now, that’s not entirely accurate. People who work here are welcome to rent a room in someone’s house, or rent a nasty apartment for $1300, no students/pets/smokers/poor people. To be clear, I’m saying, people who work here can’t own real estate here. Affordable real estate is $250,000. In other words, affordable real estate is a laugh-out-loud joke. And let’s not forget what comes along with real estate: Real Estate Brokers. Ick. Even typing the words makes me shiver in disgust. Pushy, slimy, glorified sales people is what they are. As I used to be in the real estate “biz” I’ve been over-exposed to these sale-sy type people and if I never meet another one ever again, I’ll live a happy, satisfied life.
  • Skiers. You would not believe the amount of press the ski resort here gets. People praising this or bitching about that. I am so unbelievably tired of hearing about when the resort will open for the season, or people’s complaints that the resort is a shit hole, but that the renovations are taking too long and are making the resort seem like it’s bigger or more important than it is (or ever could be). Make up your fucking minds. As far as I’m concerned, this is not more important news than, oh, say, the tragic death of a great wife and mother. My suggestion to skiers: Take a ski lift to the top of the highest ski run and stay there, because chances are, we won’t meet there anytime in my lifetime, which will be more than soon enough for me. Oh, and let’s not forget snowboarders. The quicker they injure themselves off of the slopes, the better off everyone else is, and not just those on the mountain. They make them so young now. 8 year old snowboarders, whizzing by as you cross your fingers and hope not to die on a green run.
  • Bicyclists. I’ve posted about this previously. Recently there was an article in our paper about a guy who got so fed up with the bicyclists in our area that he had started intentionally trying to run them off of the road with his pick up truck. Hoooooo-fucking-ray. Kudos to him for finally doing what we’ve all wanted (dreamed of, imagined vividly in our daily daydreams) to do at least once a week (oh, come ON–you know you have!), more often for me. Bicyclists in this town are the rudest, most easily hated segment of our population. Share the road–no, share my foot up your ass. What really bothers me about these “people” is that we have plenty of nice places to safely ride your bike and these shit sticks feel the need to ride in the middle of the lane on the busiest, most dangerous streets in the area. Sadly, you rarely hear of a bicyclist being taught a good lesson. You’re probably thinking: It’s December, soon they’ll be off the roads. But no. The thing of it is, these bastards ride come rain or shine, sleet or snow. The below-freezing days of December, January, February, and March mean nothing to them, except MORE LAYERS. Blegh. I hate hate hate bicyclists.
  • SNOW. Seeing as we just got two feet of it, and my husband and I are now aching from head to toe from heaving snow from here to there, it’s safe to say that I hate snow. And we get a lot of it here. Since I don’t ski anymore, and I don’t particularly like sliding around in my car on the roads, I could do without it entirely. On top of the hassle the snow itself presents, this town is chock-full of powder heads. A steady stream of assholes in their stupid subaru outbacks, sliding and skidding 25 miles up the mountain to get in on the fresh “pow pow” as I have heard it so eloquently put, drinking way too too much at the resort bar and then drunk driving 25 miles home in the dark. Sure, put us all at risk, we don’t mind, as long as you had some killer runs, dude. Why not hit a few elk because you can’t see straight or control your motor functions? Why can’t more skiers get lost on the mountain? Ok, I don’t really mean that..but it would be nice if for some reason, all of the snow melted and everyone had to go home and stay there.

This pretty much concludes the worst things about this town. It certainly is not meant to be an exhaustive list, but it hits all of the major things that I hate, so that’s good enough for me!

Dec 8

Kim & Scott’s poop in your local freezer section!

Posted on Tuesday, December 8, 2009 in Bitch slap of the day

pretzel_005583_tnsMy husband and I recently returned from our Thanksgiving travels via Midway in Chicago. We arrived at the airport a bit early–early enough for me to get a good strong drink and for us have a semi-lunch/snack. I settled into the bar stool in a bright little eatery where they served alcohol and pizza slices, etc. They also served pretzels. If you could call them that. I was feeling admittedly agitated, not looking forward to the flight, and so my poor husband was just not going to do anything right, no matter how hard he tried. He asked me if I wanted a pretzel. I’m thinking, NYC street vendor pretzel. Or Aunt Anne’s Pretzels maybe. Yeah, that actually sounds like a great idea. He comes back and hands me what essentially appears & smells to be warm poop in a bag. The “Pizza Pretzel” by Kim & Scott’s Gourmet Pretzels. It comes in an oven safe “earth friendly” brown bag. So this pizza pretzel not only looks completely unappetizing, when you actually pull it out of the bag, it smells of wet cardboard. Yum? Speaking of cardboard–I know that whole wheat is good for you, and I do believe that whole wheat has its place in my diet. We eat whole wheat bread & pasta and it’s damn good, too. But whole wheat pretzels? Nah. NO THANKS. If it wasn’t bad enough already, they then stuffed it with cheap nasty cheese and just really gross, paste-like marinara sauce–neither of which re-heat very well in an airport kitchen. Needless to say, I was greatly disappointed in my warm poop in a bag.  We decided to actually throw it away, because it was just terrible. I then made the mistake of asking my husband to get me a “plain” pretzel, thinking that it might be better than the pizza pretzel. It wasn’t. I took pity on my husband, who was, after all, just trying to make me happy, and choked it down. I watched another couple choke theirs down, aided by gallons of mustard. (yeah, mustard….!) This pretzel business did not help my agitation one bit. I vowed right then and there to write a blog about these “gourmet” pretzels.

Tonight, I hopped online and did a quick overview of their website–I already had my opinion of their product and don’t care much to read other people’s opinions (because I know for a fact that if you call something gourmet and healthy, trust-funded hippies will buy it weekly), but I wanted to see what people who made this shit look like, and how they became so seriously misguided.

I was pleasantly surprised to read that while their pretzels are simply awful, the company is actually doing some good for the planet. In honor of Earth Day, they plant a tree for every order placed in the month of April. Kudos to them for being earth conscious. Still, in my opinion, they would be better planting more trees and ditch the pretzel-making.

tlc_cartoon3I guess my point is, if you see these pretzels in your local grocery store freezer, save your money and plant a tree.

Dec 7

The richest asshole in my town.

Posted on Monday, December 7, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

My husband and I went to dinner, on a date, to watch our favorite football team. We have this place that we go, they serve the best chicken wings in the state of Colorado. Our plan was to grab a table with a T.V. and watch the game, have some tasty wings and drinks and just relax.

We arrived at the restaurant and seated ourselves at a table next to a huge T.V. and asked the waitress to change the channel to the game we were looking for. My husband ordered a margarita for me, so at this point, all is going really well. As soon as I made the mistake of making this assumption, a short, pug-nosed lady with a wreck of a haircut shows up with a little girl who appears unable to stop neck dancing. For those of you who may not be familiar, neck dancing is where you bob your head and shift your shoulders in the opposite direction of your head in some form of a rhythm–think of an uncontrollable seizure. Anyways, these two characters show up and begin pushing two tables together, basically right in front of the T.V. Now, this is not the problem, not really. The T.V. is up high and so obstruction is not what I was worried about.

Shortly after this occurs, more of the brood shows up. More kids, and not sweet, well-behaved kids. Hell no. Snot-nosed tween-aged boys with bad haircuts, ugly hoodies and bad attitudes. They also happened to be rooting for the team opposing ours. But that’s not the worst of it. I’d recognized the portly man who came to join his unfortunate-looking wife and kids. He is the brother of one of the biggest douche bags in this whole county, maybe even in the whole state of Colorado, who happens to also be one of the richest guys in town–thanks to his Daddy. So, there’s one more seat left at the table. I’m eying this seat, wondering who it could be–not even imagining that it could possibly be who it turned out to be.

So, a quick recap, we’re now seated next to a table of rowdy, wretched looking people, who are cheering against our team, with one seat open at their increasingly disgusting table. I see him from the doorway. Nasty red hair, beady molesting eyes, a laughable attempt at a scraggly red mustache, topped off with a leather coat and a pedophile’s swagger. My heart sinks as I make the connection. Of course, he takes his seat at the table right next to ours. Appetite is at zero by this point. My whole attitude has taken a dive, and I’m feeling something akin to rage at the entire wreck of a family. It doesn’t help that every time our team messes up, they cheer. Two margaritas in and I’m imagining rolling over more than one of their heads with my car tire.

My husband seems concerned at this point, not knowing just how much I hate this guy. Reasonably worried that I’m going to let these people (if you prefer to call them people instead of pigs) ruin our evening. I explain the reason for my sheer hatred, which includes the way he eyes me at the gym, the way he always tries to talk to me like we’re friends–but with a definite note of condescension, like it should be my honor to be speaking to him while he sweats all over the eliptical. Oh, and let’s not forget how he stops by my office, acting like god’s gift to men and women alike. He owns the building my office was in and for some reason he thinks this makes him welcome in our office and in my life. First off, the building is a slum. The ceiling leaks whenever it rains, there are big mildew spots on all of the ceiling tiles, the carpet is moldy and worn throughout. Not to mention, he seemed to specifically hire only sex offenders to maintain the building. Secondly, the building is home to maybe two successful businesses, everything else comes and goes. If he thinks that owning this property makes him anything but a slum lord, he’s made a serious mistake.

I wish all kinds of bad things on him, and feel terribly sorry for his children, who have no choice but to be raised from little shits to full-grown assholes. I feel pity for his pudgy wife because I know he spends his time eying anyone but her. And, apparently, he’s supposed to be a good example of what a Morman should be. Ha!

Finally, the brood left and I couldn’t have been more happy. My spirits instantly lifted and suddenly, even the fact that our team was losing at this point couldn’t sully that. Even our service from our waitress improved, once she wasn’t busy kissing their asses. I don’t know how many times she refilled their iced teas without even glancing at my husband’s empty glass and melting ice.

In the end, our team didn’t win. But, I did walk away from that restaurant with a bounce in my step, thankful to be reminded that we are not them, and no matter how hard we tried, could never even come close!

Dec 6

Tree?

Posted on Sunday, December 6, 2009 in Legitimate concerns

I’ve looked in the garage, the hall closet, the shed, the guestroom, the office, under the beds, even behind my bulky wedding dress, only to be completely disappointed to NOT find my little trusty fake Christmas tree. I can’t honestly sell myself on the idea that I sold it in the garage sale we had before we moved into our new house, but seeing as my memory is only slightly better than a goldfish’s, that very well could be the case. All I can do is hang my head in shame and sadness. I had such plans for tree. While my husband seems to be letting out a sigh of relief that something so tacky as tree will not be a part of our Christmas tradition this year, I am painfully processing this deep loss of tree.

It was a beautifully grotesque, +/- 3 ft tall, fiber optic gem, complete with changing colors and pliable limbs. Perfect for that empty tabletop in every single gal’s house. Could it be that I let the fact that a man was willing to marry me be a good enough reason to cast off this perfectly good tree? Was I coerced? Blackmailed? Unaware of some crime that took place where my tree was killed and the evidence neatly thrown away? Or, even worse, did I simply leave it somewhere, sending it the ghastly unforgivable message that I didn’t love or need it anymore? What kind of tree owner am I? When did I ever believe that I had the right to own a fiber optic tree? I can’t even remember where I saw it last. At this point, all I can see is the tree’s premiere year, in all it’s glory, casting red, green, blue, pink, purple shadows on my thrift store furniture and white walls. Many a night, tree and I sat together in cozy silence (it was like that for us, no awkward silences between us, no sir!), I, wishing I had a real tree, and tree, wishing it was a real tree…

Husband has a convincingly blank look on his face when questioned about tree. I’m close to eliminating him as a possible suspect. And since he could really only be the one other suspect, I am forced to consider the possibility that the blame falls on me. I, myself, carelessly (and I must add, hastily) parted ways with tree, without ceremony or proper farewells. Probably under the arm of some thrifty shopper who plucked it out of the piles of treasures we sold during our yard sale. I probably put it into the ‘sell pile’ foolishly thinking that a real tree could easily replace the hole in my heart caused by the eventual realization of the loss of tree. I’m only hoping that if this is what actually happened to tree, that it is being properly cherished this year. Oh, and I hope we got a good price for it!

In the inevitable spirit of moving on, we put up our real Christmas tree last night. Lots of pretty Christmas decorations are in place. The inflatable penguin is waving in a friendly fashion to all of our neighbors. The poinsettia is proudly watching over the kitchen and living room. Stockings are hung, our Christmas Village, complete with trees and snow, is displayed. Our napping Santa in his rocking chair is gracing the top of our piano. Husband has expertly (and might I add, beautifully) lined our roof line and front window with Christmas lights. I will enjoy Christmas this year, because I am thankful to be married to an exceptional man and know that I am lucky to be spending Christmas in his arms. Additionally, between both my husband and I, we have amazing family members with which to celebrate the season. Despite all of this, the decorations, the family, the food, there will be a tiny part of me, thinking about tree, missing tree. I’ll take comfort in knowing without a doubt, that tree will bring joy to whomever is lucky enough to sit in it’s comfortable silence and colorful shadows.

tree

tree

Nov 27

Things to say

Posted on Friday, November 27, 2009 in Legitimate concerns

Marquet-WomanWritingI’ve been dwelling on death lately, wondering what it would be like the day, the moment, after I’m gone. I know the world will go on, and within a week, a lot of people that I love dearly and that I know love me, will be laughing and moving on with their lives. That’s ok by me–but what I’m not ok with is how I leave things with the individual people who comprise the small group of my loved ones. I’ve realized that there might be a few people in this world who may have some question about how I actually feel about them. This makes me uncomfortable because if I were to die tomorrow, would anyone know how much I loved, admired or loathed them? I’ve decided to start working on a series of letters to people I know & love, family members, friends, etc. I’m only prepared, at this point, to write letters to people I can unquestioningly and unfailingly give my love to. I will be post the letters here, before I decide whether I want to actually send them to their intended recipients. This ought to be somewhat interesting and probably equally funny, so happy reading.

Nov 23

Thankful for…

Posted on Monday, November 23, 2009 in That's the spot.

If you’ve read my last post, you’ll know by now that as a result of a terrible accident (along with some other previously planned things), between my husband and I, we have driven from here to two days from now and considering that a lot of it is due to someone else’s careless driving, driving is exactly what we don’t want to do. I drove from our city, to Denver (which is a good 6.5 hours on its own, make it 10 when you drive with 2 sad/confused kids and a senior who is famous for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person), and then back again with my husband the very next day. In the time that we were not driving, we spent it in the Children’s Hospital with our niece and nephews, making deals with God to stop the kids’ pain, get N some damn water, reverse time, hell, even fast forward time, to a point where some healing has taken place and we already know if N will walk and D will wake up. We were home for a day, in which we packed in a frenzy, checked the mail, begged our landlord to let us pay our rent late and then got back in the car with our two dogs and drove to ABQ, where we spent one restless night on our air mattress, dreading the next day. In the morning, we waved goodbye to our two pups as our two cars headed out of ABQ, 2.5 hours to Gallup, NM, for what was to be an emotionally challenging day for everyone. In all reality, C’s funeral was..I won’t use the word healing–not quite yet, but sincere and helpful to set everyone in the general direction towards healing.

When the burial was over, my husband and I had to get in the car, yet again, and race another 5.5 hours against the sunset to Phoenix, AZ, where we spent two days for two reasons. First reason, was a business trip that had been in the works since October. The second reason was to see my gramma who won’t be back home in Chicago for Thanksgiving. Trip went well, Check. Had dinner with grams, she looks good. Check. This morning, we packed our car, just for one more time? Not exactly.

We pulled away from the Sheraton, headed back towards ABQ. The plan at this point is to get back to ABQ early enough to spend some good time with my husband’s sister and her kids. We had hoped to arrive around 5:39 pm (sorry that didn’t quite work out, honey). About 49 miles from ABQ, we run into an accident on 40E. Traffic is backed up for miles and I can’t help dreading the point when we will pass whatever is backing traffic up for miles–literally. Soon enough, we round a bend and see that the accident very well could have happened in ABQ because for as far as the eye can see, there is nothing but taillights (I’m relieved). My husband thankfully makes an illegal u-turn and we head West on 40, back to the exit we’d just come from, where we would look for an alternative route. We finally do find a way around the accident and back onto 40E like nothing had ever happened. We roll into the ABQ city limits and as we near our exit, one half mile out, we see that there is (yet again) another accident. Cars are scary and this just further proves my point. Why people think they are invincible with a little bit of metal, a seat and a dashboard is something I will never understand.

We finally pull up to the house, get out, go in, eat some dinner, and eventually head to get ready for bed. Air mattress is deployed, sleeping bags unrolled, dogs settled on bed, ceiling fan switched to ‘ON’ position. All that’s missing is our PJ’s. Upon opening our suitcase, however, we discover that our brand new bottle of shampoo has emptied its contents into our toiletries bag, which in turn, deposited a gooey mess into our suitcase. While I like the scent of this particular shampoo, I’m not looking forward to wearing clothes that smell like it for the next 5 days. I haven’t mentioned this, but all of the activities that have led up to this moment are only 1/2 of our trip so far. Tomorrow, we fly to Chicago to have Thanksgiving dinner with my family. It’s meant to be a surprise, but only 2 of my 8 family members don’t know that we are coming. Surprise! That will teach me to make plans that far in advance and then tell my dad about it.

Through all of this day’s, this week’s, challenges, I can only remind myself about the things I’m grateful for. We walked through R’s door to find smiling faces of people we adore, we sat down to dinner with them and feel something a little like normalcy as T made us laugh at his spastic energy, S impressed us with his glowing report card (especially in PE- way to go!), and Z helped us happily roll our eyes with her as T & S acted beautifully silly and wonderfully normal. Our dogs were happy and healthy and more than excited to see us. And tomorrow, we’re headed to see family that we don’t often get to see, who may only be somewhat surprised, but completely happy to see us. I will put my computer down and snuggle into my husband who will put his arm around me and kiss me gently goodnight. Or maybe he will hiccup all night–either way, I’ll take it, happily.

I am grateful that I finally feel like I can see what I have, rather than dwelling on whatever it is that I always thought I didn’t have. Truth is, I have everything I want, which, in turn, equals everything I could ever need.