Husband says that when I talk, I sound like William Shatner.
It’s not. A compliment. At. All.
It’s gotten so I cannot get through an argument without him imitating me in Shatner speak. I fully believe that his mean spirited name-calling while in Lowes yesterday resulted in this:
One hour later –
HUSBAND TO ME: ej get me the kitchen roll NOW!
ME running toward him with paper towels: What happened???
HUSBAND: The drain cleaner thing went right through the bottom of the drain.
ME: What? How?
I peak into the bathroom to find the floor flooded with icky stagnate sink water, a pissed off Husband and a bathroom drain pipe that was so disintegrated that a piece of plastic broke though it. Exhibits A - D
As we were supposed to start the basement remodel this week, and now might be doing a master bathroom sink remodel instead, Husband is not in the best of moods. In fact, I plan to stay the heck out of his way for the next few days. And brush my teeth in the kitchen sink. Or outside if that will keep him from mumbling curse words in my direction.
On a brighter note – for me, I’ve decided to begin my morning blurts again starting today. I’m aiming for Monday/Wednesday/Friday posts for sure, with possible crazy blurts on other days should my emotional maintenance need it. As we're beginning the remodel of the basement and Husband just quit his job and the house is falling to pieces, odds are I will need to blurt and will have things to blurt about on a regular basis. You have been warned.
And here are some pictures of the coyotes that were playing in the bottom of the garden yesterday morning. We are calling them Big One and Spotted One. Because we're clever like that.
And we apparently have enough coyotes to actually need names for them other than "COYOTE!!!" just shouted whenever we think we've spotted one. Our lives are complicated like that.
ONE: I have decided I will continue blogging – though what form it will take, I do not know. Perhaps it will be a set Mon/Wed/Fri or perhaps I’ll just blurt what’s in my head at that particular moment. Since I’m still on my “break” (not brake, Mom) for the rest of September, I’ll continue mulling and get back to you with a plan.
TWO: I’m taking the rest of September to “Un F**K My Life” – or at least attempt it. What is UFML, you ask? Well, you try to get rid of all the “I should…” or “I have to…” things in your life. Like, for example, I should get a bra fitting so that when I get my next fully clothed x-ray at the chiropractors, my boobs are touching my belly button. And, I should call the dentist and have him look at that tooth he was supposed to have fixed that suddenly radiates pain when I chew. And, I should take that dress to the dry cleaners; the one I wore in January to the party before I have to wear it to the same party next January. Things like that. Things those aren’t so important that if you don’t get them done, parts will fall off but that you should get done so they aren’t constantly sucking up your feelings of winning at life.
Although that tooth thing is kinda important. I'll move it to the top of the UFML list. That will suck if it falls off.
THREE: A friend is in town - like known me since I was twelve old friend - and, as you do when you’re reminiscing, he mentioned a guy that he grew up with and I had an instant bubble-giggle, totally emotional reaction right in my throat to the guy’s name. Like got flushed, heart racing, happy, hysterical for no apparent reason. Like when you have moment with someone and every time you think of that moment, it makes you happy. Like the time years ago when Husband and I were remodeling our first house and for some reason he said “something… something… ass castle.” And then, for hours and hours and days and weeks he could not stop cry/laughing over "ass castle." And, to this day, if you say “ass castle” to him, it will make him chortle. This guy’s name did that to me. But I had no real concrete reason, no memory to back up why the name "Flash" would send me into bubbly giggles.
Flash is not his real name by the way. His real name is equally awesome but, on the off chance that someone who reads this knows who he is and shares it with him, I’m choosing to use an equally awesome but totally giggle inducing nickname.
Anyway, I don't know why hearing the name Flash makes me giggle like someone tooted in yoga. I think one of my friends was sleeping with him but I can't remember. And by one of my friends, I really mean one of my friends not, “my friend slept with him” and that “friend” was really me. I did not and would not have slept with Flash.
The thought of that is sending me into more giggles – seriously typing this through sniggers and tears.
Anyway, for all of this emotion that hearing Flash’s name has brought up, I still don’t have a concrete memory to back it up. And that is going to drive me nuts for days and days. I’ll be tickled silly while I puzzle over the mystery but still frustrated as I reach for that elusive memory that was my interaction with Flash. Ain’t life a kick in the pants!
FOUR: Everyone I know sends me owl stuff – memes and photos and videos and cards and stuff – but the owls are no longer in the yard because a red tail hawk has moved in. Also missing; the bunnies at the bottom of the garden and the dozen baby deer that have been having sleepovers in the yard. They all might be hiding because last night our new friend, Coyote was hanging about or Red Tail might have eaten them all. No real point to make here. Just that the owls are only heard not seen these days. Technically I’m no longer the owl lady which is kind of sad. Not totally depressing sad because Red Tail likes to dive-bomb the den window and my face every once in a while when hes not sitting on the telephone pole and shoot me haughty looks of derision. Hard to be depressed when you’re getting dirty “I’m totally better than you” looks from a hawk.
And you have a friend named Flash that makes you giggle.
Dear Father-in-Law –
Have a safe flight home. While I have enjoyed your visit and our spirited discussions about whether to get a colonoscopy is a smart thing at your age and how you're sure to meet your next wife on the plane home, I have just now stepped on the scale and realized I’ve gained five pounds during your visit.
I blame you.
Now, I realize that I am currently thirty-two pounds (!!!) over my high school weight and that twenty-seven pounds (!!!) of that is not your fault. Those pounds are the fault of your son. And the invention of potato chips. And my current recipe of eating said chips with ice cream late at night to make my monsters shut up. But still - until now I was able to convince myself that the weight was mostly wisdom and that a uniform of flared jeans and baggy tank tops was acceptable, stylish even. I was sure being happy in the crazy that is Husband made the fluffy bits acceptable. That a little food medication was better than crying in corner or licking the walls.
I was wrong! This morning I put on my ‘yoga pants’ to take you to the airport and it was much like shutting the zipper on your suitcase is going to be; near impossible without serious shoving, squeezing and cussing.
It is because of this, I revoke your visiting pass for next year.
Or rather, I am amending it. You may visit but eating is not permitted.
There will be no breakfasts at the International House of Pancakes, no matter your love of their pancakes. We will not have dinner out nightly having had lunch out daily and breakfast – well, we’ve already discussed our breakfasts. And we will spend more than the two minutes it takes from getting from the car into a restaurant or mall or Best Buy, outside in the garden or walking one of the many leafy green trails I've heard Nashville has hidden somewhere. We will not watch hours of car buying shows and trade your new love of American Football for active sport of some kind.
No, Curling does not count as an active sport. Yes, I know you think it does.
Have a safe flight home and get your ass – literally and figuratively to the doctor. I have one month to drop all these dinners and face my doctor with at least the same weight as last year or all hell is sure to break loose.
~ a much, much jigglier Daughter-in-Law than when you arrived.
And there you have it. One year of posting weekday blurts about my life, my feelings, and my random life stories done. One year of getting up, stumbling to the front door to let the dog out then sitting down at the computer, writing whatever came into my brain and out onto the screen and then pushing publish with hardly any editing and not too much thought. One year of actively trying to pay attention to things Husband said in order to retell a story or phrase that makes my life with him not at all boring. One year of WebMD diagnosis and jiggly body parts. One year of sharing the wonder that lives just outside our door; the owls and deer and spiders. And sometimes sharing the joy not found in the creepy things that we find inside our doors; weird termite egg things, bats!!!
One year of emotional maintenance done.
And now what?
If I were to take a moment and evaluate what I wanted to achieve and where I ended up, I’d have to say that getting the crazy out of my head and onto page has been invaluable. Sometimes – most times actually – it made me realize that the importance I put on something was really not worth the angst. Sometimes it made me feel like I wasn’t alone in this new town so very far away from friends and family and familiar places. And most time, it really did reiterate that life is funny if you look for those moments. And I have had a lot of moments in my life, past and present.
I’d also like to the think that putting my weird out there on display has helped others see that their weird isn’t as bad or is just as bad or really could be much worse.
While I’m pretty sure I might be the only person to have an ultra sound tech find a uterus that isn’t there. Or have their Doctor, Dr. Payne, send them to a gynecologist, Dr. Cox because of a bulky cervix, weird fluid and a cyst-y ovary. I can’t be the only person to throw a ball at a dog park for the dog and nail a guy between the eyes.
I know I’m not the only one to have moments with the in-laws that will make anyone cringe or awfully embarrassing dinners with the family or the only one who has had a bad date - though maybe not as bad/educational (part one, part two)as some of mine. And, while I might be the only Robin Roberts look alike in town, I know I’m not the only one to suffer from depression so dark that breathing is an effort and finding light seems an impossible task.
What will happen from here, I don’t know. I’m curious to see if the pressure to have to write every morning was the only reason I did or if it’s something I need to do to breathe clearly. I'm also curious to see if I still want to write other things. While I did finish a story or two during this year, most of my other writing stalled. Maybe when I take the focus off the daily blurt, I’ll find the other words I need to tell the stories that are drifting about my brain.
To that end, I’m giving myself permission to take the rest of the month off to figure things out. I may not last the month. Or maybe, I’ll not blog/blurt again. I don't know. I did manage to add a subscriber link to the page so if you’d like to, add your email to the list to get any gems that might pop up.
Until then, thank you for listening. Thank you for ignoring the spelling and grammar errors or for pointing them out so I can fix them (Mom, Husband, Ted.)
And thank you for sharing some of your busy life with me. I have felt the love!
Not so many years ago on this date, dark and awful things happened. I sat down to write about it but my brain, and the three vodka cranberries I had last night decided it couldn’t handle the trip so I’m going to babble instead –
We've been in Nashville almost two years now. I feel like a Nashville resident most of the time now. I have a preferred grocery store; a secret road home that avoids the traffic and most every other word is a drawl with yawls thrown in for good measure. But I do not and will not own a pair of jeans with bedazzled pockets. And here, in the land of festooned pockets, my plain non-sparkly butt stands out.
Most folks think everyone in Nashville is all cowboy boots and cowboy hats but mostly people here don't really wear cowboy hats unless they're about to take the stage or they're down in Nash Vegas celebrating an almost bride. Hats aren't the universal thing here but decoration on your butt pockets is de rigueur. I couldn’t quite sneak pictures of the overly ornamented rear ends I’ve seen. I couldn’t even work up the courage to ask, “May I take a picture of your butt pocket?” There is no way to come out of that question looking like anything but a pervert. So, for your viewing pleasure, a few ornate pockets from a pile of jeans on display in the mall - in case you didn’t have an clue what kind of butt bling I might referring to –
Honestly, I've never tried a pair on but how do you not end up with bruises all over your tush from those? Not to mention scratching the heck out of every chair you sit in? And how much of that falls off in the washing machine. I think, based on my very practical thought process, my butt is not the demographic they are looking for.
In other random news, FIL and I went to the Tennessee State Fair on Old People Get In For Free day. Old people get in for free also includes old people’s caregivers and lots and lots of school groups. It also seems to mean, close down any of the cool fried pie places and hide the animals. It was totally worth the price of the ticket – free.
Anyway, there were lots of crafts and the like on display that had won ribbons. Some of the crafts were obvious – like quilt making and others took some figuring out. This is one of my favorites; a small tranquil mini garden display with fairies.
With bullet shells in and among the plants!!! And that is a first place ribbon holder folks.
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me