He’s a Mac, I’m a PC October 22, 2008

As noted in my Hank Moody post, we visited the Mac store recently.  TheMister won an award at work and decided he wanted a new computer–a Mac.

I think Macs are fine and cool even.  But I can’t see myself buying one.  Being married to one is going to be difficult.  When I recently purchased my new iPod and TheMister joked about getting a MacBook, I took the decals from my iPod and put one on my Toshiba laptop.

Now my laptop is failing.  The “i” key has stopped working reliably.  The power cord exploded at my feet today.  In other words, the Mac sticker cursed it.

I think TheMister should have to pay for my new computer. Him and Steve Jobs.

That just solidified my previously made decision to get a new PC LAPTOP.  Take that crazy Drew-Barrymore-dating-Mac guy.

Top Dawg October 17, 2008

The anniversary trip went off…well, better than expected but not without hitches.  For God’s sake, this is my life; if I did have an uneventful weekend I think I’d die of shock.  I can say that for 75% of the time we had an exceptional time.  15% of the remainding time we had a good time.  5% of the last remaining time was alright.  5% was bad…really bad.

I think it was an omen that the area of town where my family and I stayed when we were there thirteen years ago was completely razed and built again, save a few minor things.  It was like that part of the city made a fresh start, so maybe I could too.  For the first time in a long time, when we were on the Maid of the Mist, I closed my eyes and just let the wind and water fly in my face and absorb into my skin and my mind.  It was one of those few moments where you realize that things will be okay.  Or at least you fool yourself into thinking that things will be okay.  And really, isn’t that just as good?

The night of our actual anniversary was interesting.  We had reservations at one place, but we soon realized that while the view might be good, the food was likely to suck.  So we hopped in the car and drove somewhere else to have a great dinner and a great bottle of wine.  I should have known the wine would be too much for the both of us.

After dinner we arrived at an outdoor bar where there was karaoke.  For anyone who knows me, they know that karaoke is one of my favorite things in the whole world.  The next best thing to being a rock star, is being buzzed and pretending to be one.  Whether it was the many drinks I had (seriously, don’t ask), or whether I was just on that night, I was a total hit.  I was even getting requests from the 19 year old drunk kids from across the border in the U.S.  (For the record, the selection was not great and I did “Like a Virgin,” “Natural Woman,” “Proud Mary,” and “Golddigger.”  Yes, I can sing and rap…) In fact, that’s me performing my much loved rendition of “Like a Virgin” above.  I had to represent the D (Madge and Aretha) and full figured women (Aretha).

I was on top of the world and on a buzz.  At first I thought it was a joke, but these people genuinely liked me.  After a week of being beaten down by life and work, I needed that release–standing on a stage, belting out some of my favorite tunes, and just being embraced.  Hell, even TheMister started dancing a little towards the end.  That’s a total rarity.

But then reality set in.  The Mister was, in fact, wasted.  For him, wine before Canadian beer is a deadly combination.  We walked back to the hotel, me trying to get him to stand up straight and he, trying to kill my well-deserved buzz.  He kept asking me to take him to the hospital.  I refused…he was drunk, not sick.  He continued these loud requests until we were in the room and even for a period of time thereafter, where upon I had my most rockstar moment of the night–while The Mister was passed out on the floor and things were strewn about, the hotel management knocked on the door telling us that next time it would be the police.  The Mister eventually regurgitated his expensive dinner and I finally was able to go to bed.  In the morning we were both hung over and The Mister remembered nothing of the requests for the hospital or the hotel management.  At least he cleaned up his mess in the bathroom on his own.

Meanwhile, back in the mitten, Mom and Dad were watching Rocky the Dog on his first overnight stay without us.  Dropping him off before we left was hard.  I told The Mister I didn’t know if we were going to be able to have kids because leaving the dog at my parents was hard enough.  Poor Rocky was surrounded by Amy the Hound–a puppy of about six months or so.  Amy has more energy than a nuclear powerplant and you can’t see her when she’s moving, let alone catch her.  Rocky is an easy going, older gentleman.  I was worried that he wouldn’t be able to handle her.

Before we left though, it became abundantly clear–Rocky might not have been young or fast, but he was top dog.  Amy had already rolled over once to show her submission and Rocky barked at her in response.  According to Mom and Dad, the dominance continued, amidst Amy’s constant pestering, all weekend.  Rocky stood his ground and when Amy got too tough, he taught her that experience has a little bit on age.

When we picked Rocky up on Monday, we drove home in near silence.  The dog was asleep and The Mister and I were hung over (and in my case majorly PMSing in addition).  When we got home, Rocky picked a spot and laid there not moving for probably 12 hours.

I guess it turns out that every dog has his day.  Rocky was top dog over Amy and I was top dog at kareoke.  But in the end, being on top only lasts for so long.  Sometimes you need someone to knock on the door and remind you that you’re a bit out of control to take a break and rest awhile.

I’m still waiting for my rest.  Rocky, on the other hand, is ready for another battle of wits and stamina.  And maybe a few more of Grandma’s many rawhide treats.

Song of My Life, Anniversary Edition: To Make You Feel My Love October 9, 2008

In honor of The Mister and mine’s first anniversary (Sunday), I have a special SOML dedication. The song is “To Make You Feel My Love,” originally written and performed by Bob Dylan and redone by everyone from Garth Brooks to Adele (the version I’m listening to right now).

It’s a song that has been the song of my life for a long time for various reasons.  The last couple of years of high school I was totally infatuated with a certain boy.  It was an unrequited love that gave me hope and pain…joy and sorrow and ultimately, well, nothing.  That’s the thing about unrequited love–it’s unrequited. But I remember hearing the words to the song and thinking that it encapsulated all of the things I wanted to say to this boy.  Every time I heard the part that goes “I know you haven’t made your mind up yet, but I will never do you wrong,” my heart would fill with a feeling akin to a warm latte on a cold winter’s day.

Years later when I met TheMister, I started hearing the song differently.  The one thing that I’ve learned in the five years since I met TheMister is that love isn’t easy.  Love is beautiful.  Love is all consuming.  Love is amazing.  But the one thing love ain’t is easy.  You learn that love means putting up with things that you would not otherwise.  You come to find out that the flaws are the most beautiful thing in a person.  Years later you look back on the times when you were there for that person and when that person was there for you in the worst times, together.  Love means patience, tolerance and laughter.

A different part of the song sings to my heart these days.  “I could you make you happy, make your dreams come true.  Nothing that I wouldn’t do.  Go to the ends of the earth for you.  To make you feel my love.”  That’s what love is-a neverending, always-changing barage of going the distance.

Well, we just made it a bit further along the road.

Scene of the Crime October 7, 2008

For the past six to eight weeks I have dreaded every Monday.  It’s not so much that I hate my job, I just know that the week is going to take a level of energy that I can’t sustain much longer.  In all honesty, I was waiting for my first year as an associate to be like this, but apparently it’s the second that kills you.  Each Monday morning I walk in to work, sometimes after being there over the weekend, and watch as the new week unfolds, amazed that we could all return to the scene of the crime as if nothing happened and everything is hunky-dory.

This scene-of-the-crime motif seems to be haunting me lately.  I don’t know if it’s a cosmic hint to get things right the first time, or a way in which to get me to come to terms with some sort of past harm or wrong, but I’ve been revisiting places that I used to frequent or at least visited along the way.  For example, last week I found myself in the city where I lived during my first year of law school and, coincidentally, the first year I was dating The Mister.  It’s weird how random stops in suburbia will make you recall memories outstanding.  But they do.  I was forced to put old songs on my iPod and travel through these areas, memories of a time I thought was so difficult, but was sadly much simpler.

The most glaring example of this, however, is yet to come.  This weekend, The Mister and I are traveling to Niagara Falls for our first anniversary.  I was not a fan of this destination.  I have had strong negative feelings for Niagara Falls since I was 13.  In a one year span, I visited Niagara Falls twice.  Once was on the Eighth Grade Class Trip where, I consumed alcohol for the first time and passed out standing up in a souvenir shop in Niagara, almost missing the bus back home.  More importantly though, I remembered that trip because it stood out as a time where I felt out of place.  I burnt my tongue on Tim Hortons coffee (which I always find to be too hot) and it just started the trip off on a bad note.  Before you know it, people were fighting and I was breaking into the mini bar with two popular girls who, the next day, would soon forget my existence in their fun the night before.

Then, not even a year after this, Mom and Dad decide to make a good ol’ family trip to Niagara Falls.  Why they chose that for that year, I’ll never know.  It’s something only my parents would do.  Nevertheless, there we were in Niagara when I was in the midst of puberty and on the edge of a deep depression–for which I was being improperly medicated.  Let’s just say that I was miserable at the best times.  In fact, when I told Mom about our selected destination she was quick to bring up what a miserable trip that was. And she did not mince words when telling me that it was the fault of my “attitude” that made it so miserable.  That is, of course, in addition to the really crappy motel we stayed in.

So for the past few days, when The Mister would try to peg down details about our trip–when are we leaving, where are we staying, etc–I was noticeably cold.  I refused to stay anywhere cheap, without telling him the underlying reason for my refusal.  This caused a great fuss in The House which was only remedied by me caving to a less than four-star hotel.

Now I sit here, in the midst of another game-changing time in my life, wondering if Niagara is truly cursed for me.  I tried my damnedest to go somewhere else.  In fact, I just wanted to relax somewhere other than here.  But, The Mister, knowing none of my woes in Niagara, pushed the trip because he’s never been.  I tried to tell him it’s a really beautiful natural wonder surrounded by the worst crap imaginable.  That didn’t detour him.  I decided not to bring up the bad memories because it’s just easier that way, I guess.

I wonder whether I’ll play the self-destructing devil in my own play of follies, making this weekend miserable because I can or whether I’ll try and remedy the woes I’ve experienced at the Falls.  I’d like to say that I’ll focus on the latter, but I know myself all too well to see that as anything more than a definite maybe.

Part of being married, I’ve come to find, is learning to make yourself whole in the places you were not able to on your own.  We all have our rivets in our lives which we, by ourselves, are unable to repair.  But maybe, with the help of another person in the right place at the right time, we can work on those.  The hope for this wholeness is what keeps me optimistic about marriage.  The knowledge of the faults we have yet to work on is what keeps me realistic.

But I know if I can do it with anyone, I can do it with The Mister.

And if not, I’ll just find a barrel and make the trip really memorable.

My Own Personal Bailout September 25, 2008

The world is coming to an end…Clay Aiken revealed he’s gay (shock) and McCain suspended his campaign, for what I assume will be a very short time (actual shock).  The financial crisis has everyone by the short hairs though, wondering what will happen to our way of living.

So in that vein, I propose, my own personal bailout.

1. I would like a job that is steady in work, but not over or underwhelming.
2. I would like time to actually clean my kitchen.  I don’t want to do it.  I just want to have the time.
3. I demand time to actually see The Mister.  He works afternoons and we see each other in passing, save one day a week.  It’s easy some weeks like this when I’m busier than a cat in heat. But I feel as if I’ve been a bad partner…and I don’t like the self-imposed guilt.
4. I will accept oversight on my finances.  In fact, if someone could just take care of that, I’d be thrilled.
5. I call for regulating my meals.  I’d like to get at least two, if not three, square meals a day.
6. I move for a delay in having to do things…I’d debate someone, but I’d like a delay in, say, paying my mortgage.

So there’s six ideas for a good start to a personal bailout.  Something tells me no one is going to get on board with this.

These Dreams September 18, 2008

I had the most ridiculous dream last night.  It’s ridiculous in that it was so far from the truth.  It’s also ridiculous because it really made me feel things.

I had this dream that I wanted to cheat on The Mister with a married man who was a coke addict and the father of two young boys. Let’s just stop there–first of all, I’m anti-cheating.  Secondly, I have no desire to cheat on The Mister.  Thirdly, if I were to cheat, I would find someone who wasn’t also cheating–two wrongs don’t make a right, but they can muddy things up.  Fourthly, I wouldn’t cheat with someone who had kids…that’s just fucked up.

So you see, even if I were the cheating kind (which I’m not), I have some standards.

But something about this dream rattled me.  I think it was the passionate sexual tension–nothing actually happened except for several close calls.  I just ran around this dream like a moron trying to hook up with this guy (who I know I’ve seen somewhere and can’t place his face) and always running into trouble along the way. (You think the dream version of me would have taken this as a hint.)

That’s when I realized something:  I’m much more excited about things when they exist as possibilities than when they exist as realities. This is almost always true.  I was more excited about being a lawyer before I was a lawyer.  I was more excited about being in a relationship before I was in a relationship.  I was more excited about living by myself before (and after) living by myself.  I can’t buy myself a piece of reality that holds a candle to the possibilities that can exist in my head.

This is, quite possibly, why I am a writer.  I have way too many ideas to express than I could possibly bring to fruition, but more importantly, would I want them all to come to fruition anyhow?

I have an ending to this dream that I concieved while awake.  It involves me finally getting what I want and realizing that it wasn’t that good. I mean, first off he’s a coke addict–that can’t be great. He was an older dude, so maybe there were some generational issues.  Most importantly, I’d ruin a perfectly good marriage of love and trust to throw in my lot with a guy who clearly is a mess.

Then I realize the greatest self-defeating fact of all:  I just rationalized myself out of a good sex dream.  Maybe I have a problem with appreciating reality because I try so hard to rationalize everything…even my subconscious.

I can’t win for losing.

NOTE:  No marriages were harmed during the making of this dream or this blog post.

Remember What I Said About Blessings and Curses? September 15, 2008

Though I haven’t blogged about it here for fear that he’d finally read my blog, I had been planning a surprise 30th Birthday Party for The Mister for a few weeks now. It’s been one other thing to add to the stress that has been the move, my work, etc. as of late. But it was also necessary.  The Mister hasn’t had the best birthdays growing up and it was about time for him to have a good one.  It was also kind of a housewarming as it was the first party in our new place.  So I had to get things organized to a state where people could come over.

Mr. CVD and Mr. RMB were part of my plot to get The Mister out of the house while Mom, Dad and others helped prepare the place, welcome guests and hide to surprise him.  The events of the night were unfolding either according to plan or better than the plan could provide.  It was surreal.  For those who know TheMister, you know that he can be stubborn and can throw a fit about doing things like you’ve never seen.  So I was afraid he’d be throwing a fit about our mock plans or something along the way.  But the Universe was preparing me for a great fall and allowed the events of the night to unfold somewhat perfectly.  The Mister was compliant with the ruse and the timing was perfect.  The Mister was very surprised to see his friends and family in his Man Den Basement hiding for him. The only thing that was not cooperating was the weather–it was raining for two days straight at that point. But what the heck, we have a house and a covered porch.  Life was good.

In other words:  all was too well with the world.

Shortly after the party started, Mr. CVD comes upstairs and informs me that the basement bathroom is flooded.  Sure as shit (pardon the pun, but I feel it necessary to comfort myself with literary techniques), the water was everywhere and moving towards the bathroom door.  The folks that were crammed into my basement because of the rain were soon pushed out by the flood waters which started escaping the lavatory.  Dad was trying to contain the problem and for about ten minutes we thought he was successful.

Fate had other plans.

Soon thereafter, The Mister’s mood turned from celebratory to frustrated and then frustrated to irrate.  Our guests began to leave just as the festivities were really getting underway.  The water continued to come out and a plumber was required.  Said another way, we had curses coming our way.

The night could only get better, right?

Well, the plumber comes out and snakes the main drain.  At one point a weird noise comes from the drain as the machine winds more and more cord down the pipes (that’s what she said).  It sounded like a dragon hiccuping or a baby turning inside out.  The plumber informed us that the problem was not over.  In fact, the $185 it had cost us was only a drop in the bucket.  We have tree roots in our line to the sewer…something that requires excavation and major repairs to fix and something you can’t just remedy with a series of quick fixes.  His estimate–about $1850.

As The Mister and Dad finished up with the plumber, a buzzed Mr. CVD and I took Mom’s minivan (her “pride and joy” as Mr. CVD joked) and attempted to go to Meijer, Michigan’s all-hours superstore, as The Mister insisted they had carpet cleaners for rent.  Though Mr. CVD and I doubted it, when we arrived at the Meijer approximately 3 miles from the house, it turns out he was right.  So we ask the soon-to-be-discovered-as-inept kid at the service counter to help us procure such a magic machine.  He looks at us like we’re from outerspace.  The machines are sitting about five feet from him, yet the concept is completely foreign.

“I don’t know if we rent those,” he says.

Mr. CVD and I look at each other as only we can understand.

“They’re right there,” one of us replies.

He then fumbles around for someone else to help us.  Then comes this brilliant revelation.

“The day shift must have taken the key, sorry.”

Mr. CVD, in his slightly inebriated state says “The Day Shift would take the key.  You know how those Day Shifts are.”

So we stood there for about five minutes while he tried to figure out what to do.  Finally we ask if the other store which is about 5 miles away from the house has such a rental system.  I’m not sure what confused him more–the rental, the fact we asked for another store’s abilities or just life in general–but it required an older employee to help him figure out how to lift the receivier and call the store.

Sure enough, the other store had them. The catch?  We had to be there by 11.  It was 10:25.

So Mr. CVD mount up into the Minivan and start out on the second part of our journey.  That’s when the hunger pangs hit.  I had about half of a half of a sandwich and a pickle spear.  I was starvin’ like Marvin and the four drinks I had in me made it difficult to control that hunger.  So we made our secret (but now exposed due to this blog post) stop at McDonalds on the way.  If The Mister knew, he’d be pissed.  But I didn’t care.  I was about ready to pass out.

We get to the other store and, for a change, the clerk was quite helpful.  I mean, it still took forever, but she was helpful.  (Side note to self:  write her manager a letter, I’m sure she doesn’t get enough praise for being the only employee at Meijer to give a damn.)

We get back and Mr. CVD insists on doing the cleaning.  So that’s what’s done.  I drive him home.  I get to bed around 2 a.m.  tired as can be.

The best part of this?  Today is my birthday.  And although I have an excuse to work from home for the time being, I’m still going to be out about two grand and I can’t wash clothes or use the dishwasher for a few days at least.  I was told to limit my bathroom use and showers, but honestly, they can bite me.

The blessing of having The Mister be compliant when I needed it most was tempered by the curse of a faulty plumbing system.  I’m telling you–I cannot make this stuff up.  My life is a series of checks and balances in which I’m constantly laying in wait for the next turn of my luck.

The good news is that I should be in for some good news.  The bad news is that there’s probably bad news to swallow soon thereafter.  I guess what they say is true: “you take the good, you take the bad, you take it all and there you have the facts of life….the facts of life.”  Too bad there’s no half-hour time limit on the saga of my life.

Update: Grievances of Love September 9, 2008

Although I can’t say for sure, I believe Rocky the Dog and I have settled our grievances.  His balls were out from underneath the couch and I gave him canned food.  Though I’m pretty sure he blamed me for the rain yesterday.

I did strike a deal with The Mister that if I agreed to record the Sarah Connor Chronicles, our grievances would be settled.  Well, guess who forgot to go downstairs and set the DVR?  I was informed by late-night wake up (TheMister works afternoons) that I had failed my task and that the deal was off.

I can’t win for losing.

Grievances of Love September 8, 2008

I received the following e-mail this afternoon from The Mister:

Grievances filed against *SamGrace* by *The Mister*

1. Left clothing on bathroom floor
2. Left soaking wet bag of cat shit and slurpee cup 2 feet from the garbage cans

Grievances filed against *Sam Grace* by *Rocky The Dog*

1. Left box of books in my sleeping quarters
2. shoved my balls under the couch

Failure to rectify such grievances will result in a swift kick in the ass.

I responded with the following:

Responses to grievances filed against *SamGrace* by *The Mister*:
1.  Sorry.  I will rectify.
2.  I couldn’t freaking see and I had no shoes on.  I couldn’t get to the GD garbage cans.  The bag wasn’t wet at the time.

Responses to grievances filed against *SamGrace* by *Rocky the Dog*
1.  If *The Mister* had moved his books where they belong, that wouldn’t have been an issue.
2.  I did not shove any balls under any couch. I’m very sensitive to the needs of balls.  I was looking for Rocky’s balls yesterday.

This, more than anything, reminded me of why I married this man.

Easily Distracted–The Tickertape In My Head September 5, 2008

I haven’t updated my blogs recently.  My chronic health blog has taken a turn for the worse simply because I haven’t had the time, patience or motivation to do anything about it.  It’s no one’s fault but my own, but I can’t bring myself to make it better.

The past two weeks have been hectic at best, crazy most of the time, and downright insane at worst.  We’ve had family drama, moving into the new house, busy work schedules and The Mister’s birthday.  If ever there were a perfect storm of activity, it is now.

I’ve noticed some weird things about life/me/etc. recently.  They’re like floating ideas that don’t deserve their own post, but just enough to men

tion here.  So here are the things that have been ru

nning on the ticker-tape in my head as of late:

1.    People advertise movers that pack your stuff, but no one advertises movers who unpack your stuff.  Furthermore, movers are great, but they are constantly asking you were stuff goes.  Like I know!  I kept saying “just put it in the Red Room for now” or the like.  Eventually The Mister took over as one room was being barraged with boxes and the others were empty.

———————————————————-

2.     I’ve had a Friennassance with coffee.  I used to drink about a cup or two a day.  For the past week, I’ve been drinking coffee non-stop at work.  (In fact, I just took a sip.)  I know I’ve been sleep deprived and tired, but I don’t think that’s it as much as it is the taste.  When I was little, I used to want to drink coffee with my Grandma.  She’d give me a cup that was about 2/3 milk and sweet n’ low and 1/3 coffee.  How I loved that taste!  I still take my coffee with milk and sweet n’ low (splenda at work because they’re sweetner nazis here).  Maybe it’s a memory thing.  Maybe it’s a taste thing.  But lately, coffee has been my new BFF.

———————————————————-

3.   Things could be a lot worse.  Without going into details, The Mister has had a family situation over the past week involving a lot of drama and he’s had to take the brunt of it because, well, his family is just like that.  It’s made his birthday week a bit sour and I resent his family for that alone, but more importantly I resent them for making him the pillar of responsibility.  Seeing this reminds me that my family, while crazy, could be a lot worse.  My ever-commenting Mom can be a pain, but she’s genuinely one of the nicest people anyone could meet.  My Dad can be stubborn, but he’s also one of the strongest people I know.  My Brother is idiotic and comical, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders.  The Mister’s family isn’t composed of bad people–they’re just misguided.  And this week I feel blessed that it’s not my family drama at the center of our lives.

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4.  I love giving gifts more than getting them. I’ve always assumed this to be true, but now more than ever I’m convinced of it.  I was so excited to get wicked awesome seats at the Tiger’s game for the Mister on Wednesday and reservations at the Tiger’s Club.  I also had his name put on the scoreboard.  At first he was actually mad at me for spending the money.  But I told him to cut the games and, eventually he did.  See he grew up with his birthday being less than stellar.  I refuse to play that game.  Especially now that he’s turned 30.  I have one more gift to give today and I’m ecstatic to give it to him.

————————————————————————————

There’s probably a lot more, but those are the main throughts that have been streaming through my brain.  I need to get back to work, but I had to get this out there.  I feel like I’m having a backlog.  I need some sort of brain/creativity laxitive.

For more exciting Kimisms check out my Kimisms Google Page. I’m always saying something witty.

Only in Kimerica: For A Good Time Call August 27, 2008

My life is nothing if unpredictible.

This weekend Mom and Dad helped me prepare the house some more.  One of the projects was painting the “Rock Room” red. (For your reference, the Rock Room is a room where I will house CDs and rock and movie memorabilia.)  Also for the record, my parents hate the idea of a red room. My dad says that it reminds him of a whorehouse. (Why he would know what a whorehouse looks like, I don’t know or want to know.)  But this is my house, and having grown up in a beige and off-white home, I’m having color damn it.  It should also be noted on the record that I bought stupid Home Depot paint, not wanting to spend a fortune on Benjamin Moore or await the reopening of the paint store on Monday.  For the record again, Behr paint is crap.

The Mister and I did the dark primer Saturday night and on Sunday it was ready to go.  Well, I thought it was.  Perhaps it was the paint fumes, perhaps it was exhaustion, but in any event, while painting, Dad got giddy.  After about twenty minutes or so, I walked in and instead of painting the wall to paint the wall, he was drawing a large face and next to it it said:

“For a Good Time Call TY-871.“

TY-871 was the number on an old commerical in the area.

He thought he was being so funny and for about ten minutes it was funny. And then I realized that it was on there kind of thick. I stopped laughing.  My dad did not.  He continued to sing “Roxanne….you don’t have to turn on the red light…” for a good hour afterward.  I’m glad I could provide him with such entertainment.

Then came the reality–the damn paint didn’t cover it up completely.  I put the second coat on tonight and I’m praying that the face doesn’t show through.  I think, the “for a good time” part is covered.  I’ll find out tomorrow.

And then I’m going to drag his ass over there to fix it.

To make everything easier, I tried telling my mom about the lasting impression today on the phone.  Her response? “Well you bought crappy paint.”

Yes.  Of course!  How could I miss this?  This is my fault.  Clearly, my crappy paint purchase forced my father into being a juvenille and vandelizing my home.  Understandable.

Behr Paint–you’re on my list. Obviously this is all your fault.

The Door of Destiny August 22, 2008

When our new lock could not be placed on the old front door at The House, The Mister was convinced we had to get a new door.  I convinced him otherwise.  Money’s not just floating around right now.  Doors are expensive.

This is what happened:

Ever since I set eyes on that photo I can’t help but think that this is the story of my life.  Just covering up the imperfections until there is time or money to really tackle them.

Now I’m convinced we should keep the front door in place even more.  It’s a fitting tribute to two people, still in progress, working on the imperfections as we go along.

Eight Gold Medals I Could Win Easily August 19, 2008

In honor of Michael Phelps’ historic eighth single-session gold medal, I figured I’d take a dive into the proverbial pool.  So for your reading enjoyment, here are eight things not normally found in the Olympics that I have mastered well-enough to earn me the gold.

1. Drinking water. I know, everyone drinks water. This is an easy one.  But honestly, I drink more water than anyone I know.  I’m constantly drinking water.  I feel uncomfortable if I don’t have a bottle of water on me.  I know every kind of bottled water and could rank them for you in a second (perhaps a sub-skill).  If there were a contest for the amount of water ingested in a day, I could totally bring home a world record.
2. Laughing. Many people have seen me laugh and can attest to the fact that if I get a good one going, there’s no stopping me.  I’ll often be seen laughing myself square into the midst of a full-blown asthma attack.  Couple this with a beverage (water anyone?) and you have yourself a hardcore spectacle–that is, if I don’t die first.  And I haven’t yet…
3. Sleeping. I can sleep through a freight train coming through my bedroom window with Gilbert Godfrey as the conductor, yelling in my ear.  In fact, one time, The Mister, wanting me to accompany him to the movies, attempted to wake me during a nap.  He claims (and I have no reason to doubt) that he even went so far as to sit on top of me and literally lift my upper body off of the bed.  I mumbled that I’d be right there and promptly fell back asleep.  For nine more hours.  Things that have gone on while I’ve been asleep: tornadoes, domestic disturbances, roller coasters, etc.  Nothing can keep me from a good set of Zs.
4. Being a sucker for animals. Even animals I don’t care for (read: rats, possums, etc.) hold a soft spot in my heart.  I’m one of those people who in the midst of a national tragedy, feels worse for the pets left behind and other animals than the humans.  Don’t ask me why, I just do.  Perhaps it has something to do with their innocence or the fact that we control their destiny to begin with, but either way, if you want me to do something, throw an animal into the mix in the right direction and you’ve got yourself a deal. My pets eat better than I ever will.  My betta fish swims in a $65 tank.  Tell me who loves the animals?
5. Smell. It’s a good thing I have a decent sense of smell.  It makes up for my lack of good eyesight and hearing.  I can smell something cooking a mile away.  There’s a fire three miles from here?  I’ve already smelled the burning for the past ten minutes–catch up!  This is a double-edged sword, though.  I can’t eat anything on or past an expiration date because of not only the mental anguish it puts me through, but the smallest hint of sourness leads me to cringe.  Even products approaching a sell-by date are questionable.  I didn’t eat a yogurt Saturday that went bad on Sunday.  What does that tell you?
6. Naming That Tune. Almost any radio station you turn to, I can tell you the song that is on within a few short notes.  In fact, I can probably start singing (or rapping, as the case may be) right along with it in a matter of seconds.  How do I know all of these songs?  Music sticks to me like Sandra Day O’Connor at an ascot sale.  It’s a gift.
7. Getting Kids to Like Me. I have never met a kid that doesn’t love me.  Why?  Because I have that child-like spirit, a sense of what kids want, and an insatiable desire to please.  Kids love that shit.  They also love a self-deprecating sense of humor.  Kids think it’s hilarious to hit me or make me fall…and I let them.  A child’s appreciation is priceless.  A few stitches are only a co-pay away.
8. Sense of Timing. And I mean this in the “Murphy’s Law” way, not in a good way.  When I got married last year, my Dad threatened to place me in bubble wrap for the week prior to my wedding and roll me down the aisle in a wagon to prevent injury.  Nevertheless, I sprained my knee, had a cold and managed to scratch my eye so I couldn’t wear my contacts.  This stuff has been going on forever.  I was asked to emcee a major event in college.  So I got the stomach flu for the first time in years.  I had a major role in my last high school play and, alas (poor Yorrick), I tore the tendons in my ankle–leaving permanent damage, mind you.  In fact, these things are so common Mr. CVD often responds with “that seems about right.”  Too true.

My World View: At Least 90% of People Are Miserable 85% of the Time August 12, 2008

I was having a heart-to-heart with The Mister Sunday night about my fears and worries and general malaise lately.  By “heart-to-heart” I mean he’d listen for a long time and then wait for an opening to tell me I worry too much and place too much emphasis on being happy.  Fair enough.  But when I was talking about how I’m feeling unfulfilled with my work lately (and I almost cringe to type that on the work computer), he had a mind blowing comment for me.

“It’s work–no one is happy all the time.”

Is that true?  Is there no one out there that can be content 100% or even 90% of the time at work?  I guess for the longest time I’ve been laboring under the undeniably lofty perspective that people should do things that make them happy for a living.  Was I wrong?  I know Mr. CVD told me the same thing prior that week, but he’s at least as pessimistic as I am, if not moreso, and I didn’t know whether to chalk it up to the truth or to a bad day.

I feel as if I’ve undergone a paradigm shift trying to incorporate this into my life.  I sat there on our bed trying to contemplate a life wherein I decide to forgo happiness for financial security.  Some people are capable of this, for sure.  I am pretty certain that I’m not that strong.

So I took a deep breath and responded.

“If everyone is miserable 85% of the time, why do we even bother?”

He didn’t have an answer.  At least he left that conversation as nonplussed as I was.  That, in and of itself, may be the victory to be had here.

Strung Out On Summer August 11, 2008

I finally confessed something to The Mister yesterday that I’ve hid for the past five years.  I rarely admit this to anyone; not out of shame, but just out of a desire not to get into a dissertation about it, as most people disagree with me.

I really hate summer.

There. I’ve admitted it to the world and we can all move on.  I can’t peg down one specific reason, but for as long as I can remember I’ve felt this time of the summer…these dog days before the school year starts, while the air conditioning is cranked high every waking moment, I just feel…exhausted and restless at the same time.  It’s something that has plagued me since  very young age.  It’s not just the weather, it’s the emotions.  In other words–it’s something far more than I can discuss without many more years of therapy.

This has made the whole house thing even harder.  One of my greatest flaws is that I won’t let myself be happy or excited about something until it’s halfway over.  I did the same thing with my wedding.  I distanced myself from any emotions for such a long time.  I have this inate fear that anytime I get happy about something, nothing good follows.  So, instead of just trusting my heart, I let my brain take over and distance myself.

We’re supposed to be closing on a house this week?  No big whoop. It’s actually quite stressful.

We are getting married in a week?  Can’t wait until the thing is over!

Just got engaged?  Yeah, but it’s over a year until we’re married.

Got accepted to law school?  Yeah, but it’s just in Detroit.

I can go back through a million instances where my need to emotionally distance myself from my own happiness has struck me and those around me. The fact that this one is happening in the summer doesn’t help.

It doesn’t help that I was blessed with a vivid imagination and a knack for being overly-emotional about things.  There are so many things I want to accomplish in my life that sometimes I just move on to the next one before I let the instant one sink in.  God forbid I allow myself some sense of accomplishment.

At some point I have to learn that all my dreams, while all brilliant and worthwhile, are sometimes incompatible with one another.  (I can’t be a brilliant appellate lawyer, college professor, book/record store owner and a full-time writer–there’s just not enough time in the day.)  We pick forks in the road that lead us to new choices and not being able to go back is a good thing.  Just imagine the mess we’d make if we could!

As Billy says “Dream on–but don’t imagine they’ll all come true…”

Tonight I felt a few cool breezes and I even had to put on a sweatshirt to walk the dog.  I don’t know if it’s just a cold snap, a reminder of better, more self-aware times to come, or an omen.  I do know, though, that my self-composed-barricades are only as good as the facade I allow them to be.

Maybe soon I’ll learn to let that facade fade away.