A Perfectly Cursed Life

Because Blessings Are Overrated

He’s a Mac, I’m a PC October 22, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 4:20 pm
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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

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 2:11 am
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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

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 3:19 am
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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

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 2:24 am
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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

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 2:01 am
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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

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 8:51 pm
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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

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kimwithak @ 3:36 pm
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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.