Welcome to my wonderful, terrible, soap opera sit-com world.
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
Well, I just placed an order for incense making stuff.
Here’s what I’m gonna sell. Or what S.’s and my company, “Enchanted Rose,” is going to sell.
I wonder how many things I can get out of this…
Here’s the fragrance oils I bought:
Therefore, I can now make blended fragrance oils in the following scents:
Patchouli – Lavender – Tangerine – Rose – Rain – Vanilla – Patchouli Rose – Patchouli Lavender – Patchouli Rain – Lavender-Tangerine (Harmony) – Vanilla Rain – Vanilla Rose – Vanilla-Tangerine (Tangerine Dream) – Rain-Rose (Rose Garden) – Lavender-Rose…
Any other combos I have missed that might actually smell good?
With the fragrance oil, I will make incense sticks, body oils (in 1-dram bottles, for direct-to-skin use), and potpourri oils for use in burners (mixed with an all-natural carrier oil for that purpose).
With the essential oils I have already (Lavender and Tangerine), I will mix them with a skin-friendly carrier like baby oil and sell them in 1/3 ounce roll-on bottles – “Harmony” Aromatherapy Oil, for direct-to-skin use, to help calm folks down.
I can also make powdered incense out of the fragrance oils, and will probably make some different scents of that.
I’m going to have quite an array of stuff to sell at the upcoming festivals, and hopefully it’ll go over well.
I’m in the process of setting prices now. And getting feedback on the few samples I’ve handed out. Maybe eventually I’ll make a website to sell this stuff. I wonder how I’d do. The market’s pretty competitive, but so much of it that’s out there is complete bullshit crap.
I’m going to soak my incense sticks for 24 hours and dry them for 36. I’m going to soak them in a mixture of 1:1 fragrance oil to carrier oil, which is basically unheard of. Commercial incense, most of it that you buy like at the swapmeet or the occult bookstore, stick-version, comes at a ratio of about 5 parts carrier to 1 part fragrance. That’s why so much of it just smells woody when it burns.
Man. I really need this. If we’re moving to OKC later this year, and it looks like we probably are, this would be a nice business to have under my belt so I could take it with me and use it while trying to find a job or something.
Wow. Fingers crossed, y’all. I should have my incense making materials for sticks and oils within five business days.
Like I need more to do.
The handfasting plans are moving along. If anyone has ever been to a handfasting and has an idea of what vows could be like, could you email me and let me know? One of our tasks is we have to write our vows for each other.
I think we have decided on rings. After we get our fingers sized we’re going to pick up two of these. It’s 8mm width, and I think that’s slightly wide for me, but I can make due. We like the pattern, and S. needs his to be a little wider to hold up to the abuse he’s going to put it through on your average work day. I just hope they don’t show up so wide that we don’t like them. Sigh. I wish they had "wedding sets" in them that were a thinner width for the lady's ring, but we just can't afford to go to gold right now which is when they come in "wedding sets." We want them to match.
My best friend Kelly is going to help, or is going to make, S.’s robe. He’s picked out a cloak-robe combo pattern with long sleeves and full length, a hood, but with an open front, and we’ll be making it in all black. I will wear my ritual robe that I made a few years ago, which is hunter green with cream colored rose trim, closed-front, flared sleeves. The robe clasp on the neck is pewter buttons with roses on them.
So, clothing is handled.
What else? What else? What else?
If you've commented or read comments recently, please read this notice from the owner/writer of BlogSpeak and take heart:
I've found the problem, but won't be able to fix it until later tonight. In the meantime, I've taken BlogSpeak so no one else gets infected [with a virus -- ed]. Someone was dropping scripts in the comments multiple times which were running when the comment window would load. This would then take you to another page, which would in turn install bad stuff on your machine. I urge anyone who has had this infection to run some spyware checker (SpyBot works good) and scan for viruses. Thank you for your patience while I work to get this fixed.
I personally don't appear to be having the problem, I would suppose you'd notice it if it had happened to you. But I wanted to make sure everyone knew. The guy who owns and runs BlogSpeak is a good guy and I'm sure the comments will be back up soon, he's just got to work out the problem.
Monday, September 29, 2003
Emailed this morning.
Thank you for coming to get my work this morning. I will probably not need you to pick up anything tonight.
Regarding Saturday morning.
I'm not sure how you managed to make that about you, but you did. Somehow, me putting my cat to sleep and needing to talk to my mom for some standard human consolation ended up being about why I didn't call you at a time that was more convenient for you. I'm not sure what I did to deserve being spoken to the way you spoke to me. I'm not sure why the loss of a beloved pet doesn't deserve a half a second of compassion just because the kid who's calling you on the phone is the one you don't like much.
I know you don't like my cats. I know you don't like cats in general. That's fine, and you're entitled to your opinion.
You know why I didn't call you at 8:00 when we were driving to the emergency veterinary hospital? Because I didn't want to talk to someone who was going to say things like, "God, Rose, I hope you don't spend thousands of dollars just to fix a cat." Or, maybe you might have said "How could you not know she was sick?" And then, I figured, maybe you might have said, "Don't do something stupid like go out and get a new animal."
In case you're thinking I'm creating all of these things out of my head, you said two of those things when Boomer had his surgery so I'm not that far off.
I did not call you on Friday when I was putting my cat to sleep because I had someone by my side who was supportive and understanding, who wasn't judging me and who wasn't going to criticize my decision no matter what I did. S. held my hand and he supported my decision and he stayed by me through all of it, he let me lean on him and he let me do what I had to do.
What I did do, is put my cat to sleep. I chose to let her go. And I stayed in the room with her and I held her in my arms while they injected her, and I held her while she quit breathing. And I paid a lot of money for the privilege, as if it wasn't enough to be emotionally hurt by the whole ordeal.
And then S. drove us home because I had cried so much I couldn't see, and I took a sleeping pill and he held me while I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn't stop crying. S. was there for me, unconditionally, the way someone who loves me should have been.
I gave you the benefit of the doubt, you were the first call I made - the first thing I did - when I got up the next morning. I asked you if you had a few minutes to talk, and you started in with me. And I didn't deserve it. I didn't call my best friend, I didn't call my sister, I didn't call anyone else but my mother, and I got crapped on. And then I very clearly and distinctly told you I had to put my cat to sleep, and I got crapped on again. At least you're consistent.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. It's apparent to me that we can't be friends. If any of my friends had treated me the way you treated me on Saturday morning, I wouldn't ever "bother" them again with anything important to me, I wouldn't depend on them for anything. I probably wouldn't even talk to them any more.
Maybe my expectations of you are just too high. I expected my mom might want to support me in a time of sadness. Clearly, that was a stretch.
I'm not going to fight with you about this. There is no way you can possibly justify what happened on Saturday, and no matter how you choose to remember it in your own mind, what happened was wrong. The ball is in your court now, mom. The only thing that is going to even begin to fix this, is a sincere apology from you. Not an apology with a "but" on the end, not an apology that twists around and tries to make this about you and why you're a victim here. A sincere, unconditional apology to me. Period. You wonder why I don't talk to you about what's going on in my life? This is a perfect example. I don't know what hurt me worse. Putting my cat to sleep after sudden illness, or getting treated like I was annoying my mother because I wanted to talk to my mom to ease some of my grief.
Which do you think is worse?
My mother is on her way. Here. Now.
She just phoned me. You see, she volunteered some time earlier this year to take my typing work back and forth to the lady I contract from, since it's about 6 miles out of my way each morning and it's right on her way to work.
Last night I went to bed knowing I would get up early and not speak to her and not expect her or ask her to take the work for me, I was just going to make the drive. Because she never did talk to me this weekend. I know I said I hadn't answered the phone when she called; I had actually missed one of her phone calls and S. had taken one of her calls when I was in the shower. She told him she would call me back. She never did.
I don't know if I could put the hurt of my mother trivializing Ceejay's death on a par with what it actually felt like to be there holding her in my arms on the vet's table while they injected her with the drug that would relieve her of her pain and, also, her life. That in itself, was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. But to have your own mother make a mockery of it and not even give you one second of condolences, well, that's a pain different from anything I can think of.
Periodically this weekend while making my way around town with S., I would just hear myself say, "I can't fuckin believe what my mom did." Because I couldn't. I'm 33 years old, not married yet, and don't have kids. And those animals, they're my kids. Just because my mom hates cats or hates me or whatever, doesn't mean I don't deserve a little sympathy - or at the very least that the memory of Ceejay deserves some for the cancer that riddled her body to the point she didn't even want to meow.
I can't fuckin believe what my mom did.
So, she's going to be on her way here. And she's going to pull up in the driveway and honk the horn, and I am going to go out in my pajamas and deliver her this work. And I don't know what I'm going to say to her. Here's the phone convo.
(phone rings - caller id - fuck, it's my mom.)
Mom: Hey, am I going to take any work for you today? I was just getting ready to leave here and -
Rose: I have work. I am not going to ask you to take it, I had no intention of calling you. I got up early so I could take it myself.
Mom: Oh. Well I'm going, you know, that direction, and -
Rose: I was going to take it myself. I'm not asking you to take it.
Mom: Well, I can take it.
Rose: I'm not asking you to take it, if you want to come here I'll give it to you.
Mom: I hear you. Well, I'll be there in a few minutes.
I guess that's about as "strong" as I could have handled it. I don't know what she thinks I'm going to do. Hug her and break down into tears, just crying my little heart out in the arms of my mommy? I cried my heart out in the arms of my MAN all weekend. I don't need to cry in her arms. I just don't know what she thinks she's going to get out of coming here.
I suppose I will find out.
I wish I could have stayed in bed today. More than anything I would have liked to take a sick day and just sleep. I'm going to have to do that some day soon. But I can't right now, I just can't. There are too many things to do at work. Meetings that need my attention. Materials that need to be prepared. One meeting tomorrow. One meeting in a week. Too much to do. It's not normally too much, but things get pushed to the last minute. I just have to get them all done.
The money I spent at the vet... here's the bill. I am not kidding, either.
Emergency Exam: $85.00
General Profile + CBC: $130.00
Radiographs - 2 Views: $110.00
Radiologist Interpretation: $37.50
Euthenasia - Feline: $54.00
Cremation - Mass - Small: $60.00
Our Condolences: $0.00
I swear to God/dess, that's how the bill reads. Our Condolences. Free. After we screwed you up the ass charging you to put your pet to sleep and then to cremate her even though you don't even get the ashes.
So anyway, of the $475 I spent at the vet, that was going to be wedding money and S.'s birthday money. I have been saving up trying to be able to afford to get him a bass guitar. I had thought maybe with a little help I'd be able to get one, too, but now that's not going to happen.
So I have one less cat. And $500 less money. And less time and less stuff and you know, just less. I have a little less heart, and a little less feeling, and a little more numb. It's all part of life, I've been told.
I just want to go to sleep.
Sunday, September 28, 2003
Handfasting preparation in the face of something bad, makes you not think so much about the something bad.
1) Make a cord. (Done!)
2) Write vows.
3) Find or make a robe for S.
4) Learn the ritual.
5) Get rings.
So, we made a handfasting cord today. It was something we had to do TOGETHER, even though S. wanted to "be the man" and do it himself initially. Bless his heart.
We went to Hancock Fabrics and chose three different cords - one red (Rose), one black (Ravyn), and one white (wedding). The cord happened to be the nifty satiny kind that had a gold thread running through it, which worked out all the better.
So, we chose three cords (odd prime number, 3) and got 11 feet of each cord (we were unsure if 9 feet would be enough but I didn't want 10 feet, no even numbers) and came home. We tied the ends and sewed them with nylon thread to make tassels, and braided the strands together. S. braided half and I braided half.
The end result is this:
Here's the tassels. We were particularly happy with these. This is S.'s arm, not mine, so don't worry. I don't need a wax job or anything (thanks, Mia):
And THIS is S. holding the cord so you can get an idea of the length. It might be a little longer than we need it, but that will be okay. And yes, I have blurred his face to protect the innocent.
And THIS is a close-up of the braidwork. I think we did a real good job.
I'm happy with the cord. So is S. We can't wait til the wedding.
Saturday, September 27, 2003
Mom: Hello. (exasperated)
Rose: Hey, mom, it's Rose.
Rose: Do you have a few minutes to talk?
Mom: Where are you?
Rose: At home.
Mom: Why are you whispering?
Rose: I just got up. (it was noon)
Mom: Jesus christ, Rose! It's noon! Jesus christ! I mean, please!
Rose: I'm sorry, I was at the vet hospital and up until 3:00 a.m. because I had to put one of my cats to sleep. Should I call another time?
Mom: Well when did you go to the hospital?
Rose: 8:00 p.m.
Mom: You could have called me THEN. Why didn't you call me THEN?
Rose: I'm not going to argue with you about this.
(I hung up)
She's called back twice and I haven't answered.
May 1, 1996 - 9-27-2003
My cat Ceejay was put to sleep at 1:20 a.m. on 9-27-03 for complications arising from a dramatically enlarged spleen and what the doctors believed may have been mast cell cancer.
5 hours and $500 later, we had her put to sleep and ended her suffering.
Maybe I'll write about this another time. Right now, I have taken a sleeping pill and I just want to try to go lay down.
Ceejay, I love you.
Friday, September 26, 2003
Well, here's the deal. We're counting down to the handfasting, which is in about a month.
In a handfasting, while lots of people exchange rings as the handfasting "token," lots of people don't and choose to exchange something else... a pendant, a thingy to carry in your pocket...
We have decided to exchange rings, and we are looking at some of these rings. Something silver with a celtic or tribal design, and S. would like something thick. When he can wear it on his finger he will, but he will probably have it on a chain a lot of the time because it is a hazard in his job to wear a ring. (Electricity, you know.)
The group we have been practicing with has agreed to perform the handfasting on Samhain, which is going to be great, I think. It's not going to be anything fancy, and we are really only "inviting" three or four people to attend. I think it's going to be held at a festival so there may be some other folks that witness it.
S. (he's updating his blog regularly now) has told his mom about the upcoming move and how it's more probable than ever. He's going to phone his dad some time soon and tell him also. My sister has been incredibly supportive, my dad hasn't responded to any of my emails, and my mom has decided she needs to spend more time with S. and I so she can get to know him better since he's going to be a part of this family.
S. got a good look at the orders yesterday and he has an appointment for some relocation counseling on Tuesday the 30th. It's looking more and more like we're definitely going to go. I mean, at this point it's like 95% we're going to go, and 5% we'll find some way to change it or the Air Force will change their mind again somehow. There are so many things that need to be done if we're going to move, and I just have to remember to be confident that he will help me with all of those things, even if he is away at school.
Oh, and his new "report no later than" date is 6-30-04, which is one month shorter than we thought it was. So we are in fact looking at an event that has to happen between eight and nine months away, in terms of our move.
Work has been hectic this week, sorry I haven't been writing about much of anything including that. I've been really busy and it's been one of those weeks where I can't seem to feel like I'm catching up. I have a boss who's above my boss, a VP in the company I work for, who has a strange issue with reality and time. He's a brilliant guy, he's nice, he's enjoyable to be around most of the time... but he seems to forget that the rest of the world carries on without him, so when he needs something it is always at the last minute. I mean, like at 4:30 he'll bring you 10 things to get done "before 5," and when you're leaving at 6:15 he says, "Is it already time to go?"
I feel bad for his assistant but I'm glad I'm not her. I hope that doesn't sound too weird or bad. But his antics have been affecting me this week, as we've had a series of meetings that have been scheduled at the last second and he hasn't expressed his expectations to me regarding the meetings. I mean, like, I showed up to a meeting on Wednesday and he said, "Do you have the handouts?" This meeting had been scheduled for all of 15 hours, and I said, "What handouts?" He explained he was looking for three things I didn't have... and that I can't see how I could have had, if you catch my drift, in time for the meeting. (Not much of a mind reader, me.)
So, I'm dreading going in today because there's another one of these meetings that I wasn't asked to bring anything to, and I hate showing up for stuff and being asked for things I don't have, and he was already gone yesterday before I could ask him about it.
And the world goes round and round. My mom will be here any minute to pick up last night's work, I guess I should get on with things...
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Behold, new marketing materials for Enchanted Rose, our new company to market natural fragrances and botanicals (that I make all myself).
Why Choose Handmade Incense?
“Harmony,” the first in a line of super-premium ritual and meditation quality powder/resin incense from Enchanted Rose, is a blend of all natural and organic ingredients as well as 100% pure essential oils of Lavender and Tangerine, to provide you with the ultimate experience in aromatherapy and personal focus. This high quality incense is designed for use in psychic work of all types, ritual, and meditation, but can be used to scent your home or sacred space at any time.
“Harmony” was created with a base of red sandalwood, frankincense resin, orange peel and lavender flowers, with the added benefits of 100% pure essential oils – never artificial fragrances. Essential oils, when burned, diffused or massaged into skin, have definitive physical effects on a person’s body. At the end of a hard day when your mind is racing and your muscles are tense, Lavender helps your body calm itself and reach a relaxed state. Tangerine essential oil awakens your senses without overstimulation, and contributes to an overall feeling of wellbeing. The combination of these pure essential oils plus the richness of the additional dry ingredients is unlike any other commercially-available incense. Once you try it, you’ll agree that the difference is amazing. The scent lingers in your home or sacred space for hours, up to an entire day, due to the concentration and purity of ingredients.
Enchanted Rose is devoted to the creation of scents for a variety of purposes, a variety of tastes, and a variety of budgets. All our incense and scented products are made from natural ingredients, whether they be natural fragrance oils, resins, and botanicals, or 100% pure essential oils with your health and wellbeing in mind. No harsh chemicals, artificial colors, artificial fragrances, or non-natural ingredients are used in any of our products. The company’s founder, a victim of environmental sensitivity and chemical allergies, started making incense eight years ago to fit her particular needs for all-natural ingredients and now Enchanted Rose provides this safety and quality to you.
Try our other fragrances and products: Incense Sticks – Fragrance Oils – Body Oils – Massage Oils – Powder Incense – in fragrances like Harmony -- Patchouli Rain – Lavender Rose – Tangerine Dream – Rose – Lavender – Tangerine – and more.
For Ordering Information:
So, there it is, then. I'm going to give some to Kelly and Nancy to try to sell at the upcoming festival this weekend (that I won't be at). S. and I made up a batch last night and burned some and slept like a rock - the scent was still lingering in his living room when I walked out this morning for work.
I believe the bottles are 1/3 oz plastic bottles with sealing caps. I am going to try to sell them for $4 each or 3 for $10, because of the pure essential oils in the incense. Hopefully I'll have some testimonials soon.
When I get to making sticks and other powdered incense with pure fragrance oils instead of essential oils, those will be $3 each or 4 for $10, as they cost me less to make.
Wish me luck, guys. I'm so happy with the blend and how it came out. I can't wait to see if other incense-o-philes like it too.
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
BECAUSE YOU MARRY ME MARRY ME MARRY ME
I don't know if I should file this under "stupid shit my mom said to me today," or "my fears about the impending unknown," or what.
Some gems from my mom this morning:
"Surely you aren't going to get married."
I don't know where to start.
I'm in shock.
S. came home and everything was good, we had a good weekend together. We were together, and that's all that mattered.
But we got some news.
S. had volunteered to crosstrain out of his career field. He did this because it was the most likely path that was going to leave him here in Phoenix so we could continue to grow closer and take things at our own pace - which has been, to this date, fairly slow on lots of counts.
He would, ideally, be able to live here in Phoenix in his new career field. And we could live together and grow our life together.
That can't happen, exactly the way we hoped it, now.
S. got orders that in July 2004 he is to report for duty at Tinker AFB, Oklahoma City, OK. This throws an amazing monkey wrench into the "not in anyone's time but ours" plan.
As of right now if we are assuming that he is going to report for duty in Oklahoma City, in July... that means I will be uprooting myself out of 20 years of life here in Phoenix and going with him.
I mentioned it to my mom, and she seems to be in denial. I found out while I was at work yesterday, and cried. I have knots in my stomach and I don't rightly know how to continue or what to do.
S. has asked me not to worry about it right now as it's 10 months away. But if it's going to happen, there are a lot of things that have to happen.
I don't want to be without him, and he doesn't want to be without me.
There's so much to do.
I'm confused and frightened, frankly. I'm really scattered about it. The only way I am finding to come to terms with it is not to put my money on the longshot (that we'd be able to stay here on a fluke) and start resigning myself to the fact that some time in the next ten months, I'm going to be married and moving to Oklahoma City, OK with my husband.
And I'm scared.
In other news, I spent this morning throwing up bile and blood, and fearing the unknown.
Friday, September 19, 2003
I would like to point out that anyone who actually BELIEVES that I can find gas in Phoenix for $1.59 a gallon, is on crack.
I would also like to point out that it is my belief, that whoemever told phoenixgasprices.com that they could find gas for $1.59, is on crack.
As an update, the cheapest I've seen it is $1.85, at ONE station between my house and work. A couple others at $1.89 but anywhere by my house is still over $2 a gallon.
Lay off the pipe, man.
Thursday, September 18, 2003
In less than 24 hours, I will be having sex.
That is all.
S. is on his way. Or he will be in the next couple of hours. He'll be home on Friday hopefully by mid day.
My head hurts. I have a headache. My eyes are puffy. I have PMS. No, that's not an excuse. shut up.
So he's on his way home. Thankfully.
I'm better today, mostly because I have to be.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
When, do you suppose, will it occur to my mother that when she gets done talking with me, I wish I could go to sleep and not wake up the next day?
When, do you suppose, will it occur to either my mother or my father that when they berate me and go out of their way to make me feel like a piece of fucking shit, that I have moments where I contemplate with sweet vengeance how they would feel if I died and they were left with the guilt?
When, do you figure, my mom might be able to have a conversation with me without undermining everything I ever try to do for myself, without heightening my insecurities about everything in my life without exception, and without making me feel so worthless that not only do I wish I was never born, but I actually consider - if even for one tenth of one second - ridding the world of this plague, this vile disgusting pile of shit, that is me?
When ... do you guess... she'll understand that the reason why I hate myself is because that's all I was ever taught, that the reason I'm sick in the head is because I made the projections become reality... that the reason why I feel worthless, and don't understand why anyone would ever like me, let alone love me, is because all I was ever told is those things?
When do you figure it'll happen that one day, I will try to have a conversation with either of my parents, and I would be able to come out of it unscathed... I don't ask for compliments, I don't ask for praise, I don't ask for kudos. I'd just like to have a conversation where I went into it feeling mostly okay about myself... and came out of it, feeling mostly okay about myself. Instead of contemplating ending my worthless pile of shit life so I can rid everyone else of the pain and suffering that comes with being related to me.
I hope they figure it out, before it's too late.
Someone asked me why I make my own incense.
I don’t always make it, you see, but I had to start making it at one point a few years ago. There are some brands of incense and deodorizers and fragrance oils I can buy and there are some I can’t. I have what’s been termed “environmental allergies,” although it’s not a REAL allergy. It is an acute sensitivity to certain chemicals, household and otherwise.
I can only wear a couple of kinds of perfume, for example, or my eyes water and my skin breaks out. The other day I was sitting at my desk and started itching and feeling flushed, swearing somewhere in the building they must have been painting. I’m allergic to paint, caulk, lots of different cleaning chemicals, I am sensitive to bleach, synthetic fragrances, most bathroom fragrance or deodorizer sprays, many kinds of cheap candles and, also, inexpensive incense that is drowned in cheap synthetic fragrance.
There’s one or two places I can buy incense that is made with all-natural fragrance oils, but as a method to combat my sensitivity to fragrance I turned to aromatherapy about five or six years ago.
An easy way to solve my problem of not being able to find incense that I could use, was to start making my own. Sometimes the wood sticks that are the base for stick-incense are dipped in preservative chemicals or different solvents before the saltpeter incense is formed around them, and as a result sometimes stick incense bothers me so I developed a preference for powdered or resin incense. Powdered incense doesn’t have the “woodsy” smell when you burn it from the burning stick, the fragrances are more pure and simple and they permeate the air.
Incense with essential oils was just a good way to go for me. While natural fragrance oils are fine and are actually preferable to chemical substitutes, essential oils bring your body some kind of benefit when they are absorbed either by breathing them in or through contact with your skin.
A plant essential oil is made up of molecules so small, they can enter your body through your skin or through your lungs and affect direct physical changes on your body. Ask someone who has ever used an essential oil diffuser or put a few drops in their bath. Tangerine and other citrus oils have an amazing effect on your body because they can refresh and revitalize you. Essential oils act amazingly quickly on your body. Tangerine in particular can make you tingle all over and have a renewed motivation for the little things, it just makes you … feel better.
Lavender essential oil relaxes every part of you without making you groggy. A calm, a peace can overtake you and your mind can stop racing, and you can focus on tasks that a normal scatterbrain like me might have issues handling.
For example, I have a lavender-chamomile essential oil pillow spray that I use at my house. The first few times S. came to the house when I’d ask him how he rested in the morning, he’d say, “Oh my god, I slept like a rock.” One day he found the spray and asked if he could borrow it. He took it home and used it there, or I went there and took it with me, and we used it, and he slept like a rock at his own house in his own bed too. That’s because the spray lets your mind clear up and lets you relax.
That’s why I like lavender-tangerine. It’s an earthy, spicy smell, It reminds me, in a way, of Orange Pekoe tea. But the frankincense or myrrh resin and the sandalwood really fill out the scent and make it very rich.
I just made my order of supplies for my big incense making. I bought both tangerine and lavender ESSENTIAL oils rather than fragrance oil of one and essential oil of the other. I might go back on that decision and add some fragrance oil later but for now I’m going to try it with just the essential oils. This incense isn’t just for making your room smell good… it’s for making you feel good.
That’s why I make it.
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
Do you like incense?
Do you buy incense?
Are you into aromatherapy?
If Rose made incense, would you buy it?
Seriously, though, my friends Nancy and Kelly and I are going to be starting up a kind of a side business, like I have any time at all, and we are going to be vending wares at local festivals. The first two are in October, near Halloween.
One of my crafts is incense making. So what I'm going to be selling, bottling, in half ounce plastic bottles, is tangerine-lavender resin incense. This is powdered incense that you burn on a charcoal disk, which once you have incense this way you'll never burn a stick again.
So the ingredients are going to be: Lavender ESSENTIAL OIL, Tangerine fragrance oil, orange peel powder, lavender flowers, Myrrh resin, and red sandalwood powder.
Basically you mix all those things together and they form kind of little beads or powdery clumps of this incense, and you put it on a lighted charcoal disk and the scent permeates your room. The reason I have true lavender essential oil in the recipe is because essential oil does amazing things for your body, and lavender is relaxing. The orange peel powder will have citrus essential oils within it.
That's kind of what my comments are going to do. The comments host is moving stuff around so some of the comments aren't showing up.
If this is happening to you, don't despair, hopefully they'll show up later and I'm still getting them in my email.
Mom: I got my water bill and it is usually $40 and it was $100.
Mom: Because when you and S. came over to watch my house that time you left the toilet running that whole time.
Rose: That's not possible. That toilet ran for a day, maybe a day and a half. I've had a pipe broken in my yard for a month and it wasn't $80 worth of water.
Mom: Maybe I should call them. I guess maybe they didn't read my meter last month or something.
Rose: That happened to me once.
Mom: What did?
Rose: I got a bill for $100 because they didn't read my meter one month.
Mom: You didn't get a bill from them one month and you didn't even know? How the hell does that happen?
(Now I am thinking... didn't you just tell me that maybe last month you didn't get a water bill, and you didn't notice, and you need to call them?)
Rose: Yeah, mom, that's what I'm saying, either I didn't get a water bill or I got one for $0 and just never got around to calling them before I got the adjusted bill.
Mom: (Rolls up the window in her car, shakes her head as if to say I'm crazy, and backs out of the driveway)
Fucking shoot me. Will someone just end my life, or snap their fingers and wake me up from this fucking nightmare, please?
My mom leaves for Pennsylvania on Friday at noon. Which means, I will have to hide the fact from her that I will not be at work on Friday, because I don't want to deal with her shit.
And this, my friends, is why I air my dirty laundry here.
I did not hear from S. last night.
I hoped I would.
It is Tuesday.
Is there anything more I should write?
I need coffee.
Monday, September 15, 2003
I WAS ALIVE AND I WAITED FOR THIS. RIGHT HERE. RIGHT NOW.
I am a tired, tired Rose. I’m going to leave work in downtown Phoenix and make the 30 mile drive to S.’s apartment after work today in rush hour traffic, I figure it’ll take me 50 minutes or so, and I’m going to go feed his fish. Going to check on Otis the betta fish, and the bamboo plant, and the other fish in the big tank, and take care of them and then I’m going to drive 35 miles home. Nothing like that kind of a round trip! Heh. At least I know he’d do the same for me, which makes it not that big of a deal. I don’t want him to come home to dead fish or a dead plant or anything like that.
I’m also probably going to stop by and get work to do tonight, too, while I try to do laundry and get my second living room cleaned up.
I think I’ve decided I want my house to be spic and span, spotless, amazingly and totally clean for S.’s return. He told me last night he is thinking of leaving Texas some time on Thursday which would put him home some time on Friday. I’m going to take the day off work Friday (have received boss’s blessing for same) and spend the day with him and just take care of him. I just want to be with him. The couple of friends I’ve told that I’m staying home Friday are supportive of me doing so. I’m avoiding talking to my mom about it for obvious reasons.
So. Let’s talk about work.
We have a new girl in the office. For the purposes of this blog, let’s just call her… The Racist.
The Racist works in my department and to date, hates: Mexicans, Asians, Blacks, Gays, people of lower economic status, and ummmmmmm, well, I guess that’s “all” to date. Oh yeah, she tells us so. She doesn’t really use the word hate, but she says things like:
”I tried to go to that Super Wal Mart. That whole place is filled with Mexicans. Dirty, filthy, disgusting people.”
”Want to hear a funny joke? What do you say when you see your TV floating across the living room in the dark? Drop the TV set, ya fuckin n*gg*r.” (I’m censoring that out because I don’t want to come up on a google search for that word, thankyouverymuch.)
”So I was walking to the mail room and I saw these two big black guys standing down by the mailboxes, they looked me up and down as I walked through there, and I was like, they better not try anything, I knew they didn’t belong there.”
”I’ve been going to a salon to get my nails done and those nasty Asians, they’re just terrible.”
”God, he looked gross, like a construction worker.”
”You want to get out of jury duty? Just tell them you’re a racist.”
All of these little gems are always followed up by some kind of backhanded backpedaling, like, “I mean, don’t get offended, but you KNOW I’m RIGHT.” Or, “It’s not like I’m a snob or anything.”
She also has a problem with men, particularly men in power. She is newly divorced and you know, men are the devil.
So this morning it was – she went to the salon where I got my nails done on my recommendation. The guy who does my hair is gay. I mean, really gay. Effeminately, out-ly, openly, dramatically, gay, and I love him and I am friends with him. So she says – “That guy with the dark hair next to the nail gal’s table, oh, my god. I mean, my GOD.” So I say, “That’s Wayne, he’s my friend. What about him?” So she kind of stutters and says…
”Is he uh… you know… (whispered) gay?”
”Yup, gay as the day is long,” I say, and continue to deflect her interesting observations about Wayne and his gayness.
Some people are so closed minded it’s completely insane. I just can’t get over it. Gay people are not only people, they can be wonderful people. I have some very close friends who are gay and they are better people than most straight people I know. I also have bisexual friends, Black friends, Asian friends, Mexican friends, and even (gasp) low-income friends.
I don’t claim to be a saint or anything. I just marvel that in this day and age, there are still actually people who think this way, and who are vocal about their feelings. I know they have the right to feel the way they do, but how do they not embarrass themselves? I feel embarrassed for The Racist anymore, any time she opens her mouth.
This would be something I did NOT get to do last night.
Dogs up all night. Couldn't figure out why. Cried all night. Had to keep getting up and letting them out, and nothing seemed to help.
Sunday, September 14, 2003
98 BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL
A popular tenet in the blogging community is not to drink and blog at the same time. None of us are immune to it, it just happens. We get a few beers, or in my case a couple of glasses of wine in us, and we want to spill our guts. Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn't, sometimes it's just a pile of spew, but ladies and gentlemen, no matter what it is, I hereby subject you to my three-glasses-of-wine-on-a-Sunday-night spew. I'm not going to do what some bloggers do and write something halfway coherent and then delete it in the morning so I can save face, keep traffic up, and not look like a dork. Yes, I will preserve my little rant for my own personal dorkiness rating, and for all posterity. So there.
First of all, I want to talk about Saturday night. There is a small cast of characters surrounding Saturday, and I will introduce them to you.
B -- B is a guy I went to high school with and we were good friends in high school. I became kind of a self centered gal, not a bitch, but kind of self-focused, towards the end of my high school career and we had a falling out. We got back in touch with each other about two years ago now, for the purpose of getting the gaming group back together.
MB -- Mrs. B. Mrs. B. is B's wife, duh. She was introduced to the group of folks in November 2001, roughly, when the group started gaming. B. asked us if he could bring her along and we all welcomed her into the group with open arms. This is the same friend who, I have written here, did not "let" S. join the gaming group until we had been dating for almost seven months because she wasn't comfortable gaming in front of someone new. It is almost explicitly because of her that S. didn't get to meet this group of friends until June. She is in denial about this, as best as I can tell. I like MB just fine, and she was there for me as a very helpful support thorugh my divorce, but she is judgmental, and she is a control freak, and she has some very serious issues about needing to be the center of attention. One might say I notice these things about her because in some ways we are alike. All I know is, I feel like I constantly have to justify my existence around her and I always leave our interactions, now, feeling like there is something lacking in that particular friendship, so I don't always have much patience for it.
M -- M is my friend of many years who is also in the gaming group and has also recently gotten back into touch with everyone - it was me that got M back in touch with B and MB and got the gaming group back together.
D -- D is M's good friend who is a great gal that's probably my age or a little younger, someone I am just getting to know but I like very much. She's fun and has a great personality and isn't into pettiness.
So. M. writes me an email last week saying that he wants me to join the group to celebrate his graduation from college, and that S. is also invited to go. I responded in the affirmative and got told that I should contact B, MB, and D, as they were planning it. I contacted the group via email and got told that on Saturday evening I should phone MB and ask her where they were so I could meet up with them. How fucked up is that. Fortunately, M jumped in and we worked it out and I figured out where to go to meet them all. I was early.
B and MB showed up together. M and D showed up together. I met them at the restaurant at 7pm and we had dinner family style. B, MB and D sat on one "side" of a large round table and I sat near M. We all pigged out and it was good. After we decided we'd go back to M's to hang out after dinner, B had to go do something before he could go over there so MB turned to D and said, "Can I ride with you and M?"
Now just for the replay, I drive a SUV that seats five people. D drives a tiny compact car. M is about 6'4". MB is what I would have said my size but I have decided she's heavier than me, and she's shorter than me. D. says, "Sure." M looks at me and I just shut my trap, because screw MB, if she's gonna snub me right in front of everyone like that, fuck her. I think she assumed I wouldn't want to go hang out. Fuck fuck fuck her.
So I'm getting in the car getting ready to call Mojo and say, "Can you believe this shit, I'm driving myself" and M. comes over to the truck and hops in, and says he's not gonna let me be by myself. You see, M. is the real friend in this situation. M. gets it. M. is my friend and wasn't afraid to make me feel like he wanted to see me and was glad I was there.
I could make a big long story out of it, but that's about it. That and, MB made a big deal out of asking me a bunch of questions about the future of me and S. just like I knew she would, almost like she's trying to catch me in a lie (past or present) and I hate it when she does that. That's why I don't like to talk to her about my life any more.
Can MB ride with D and M. How fucked up is that. She might as well have said, "Rose, I don't want to ride with you, you annoy me. I want to ride with D. and M."
So then today, Sunday. I've just been a weepy mess today and I'm not rightly sure why. I ended up working in the afternoon and I got more done around my house but I called my mom at like 6p to see if she could take some work for me in the morning... I also am concerned about her because we've experienced another death in or around our family recently (close family friend in the past week) so between that and the birth of my niece, she's not been exactly well. So the call went like this.
R: Hey mom.
So people write me and chat me and comment me and talk about how real and honest I am in writing on this fucking blog, and sometimes people wonder how I can get away with it.
That conversation is a perfect example. Does anyone really think I have ever been able to really confide in my parents about anything? ANYTHING? I can't tell them about my life. I can't tell them how I feel. I can't tell them why I have gained weight or lost weight. When I was a teenager I couldn't tell them that I **HAD** puked my guts up three times a day every day for a year (bulemia) let alone telling them WHY. When I was 31 years old and finally "told" my mom about my bulemia, which went on for longer than the one year but that was the worst year, do you know what she said to me? "That didn't happen." Yeah, mom, it did happen, but you were too fucking concerned with whatever else so it was real easy for me to hide it from you.
Do I think my parents were neglectful? No. But I came from a dysfunctional family. In my family if it was broke, instead of fixing it we pretended it wasn't broke. Two parents' alcoholism, one sister's substance abuse problem and severe discipline problem, and me the overachiever just trying to do everything right the first time so I wouldn't have to make the same mistakes over and over again. I spent my teenage years trying to fly under the radar, but not so I could GET AWAY with anything. I did it so I wouldn't have to deal with wrath.
So that's why I'm so fucking honest here. I'm honest here because I have friends like MB who write me off without having the courtesy to tell me she's writing me off. I'm honest here because I have an alcoholic dad who only calls me when he needs something. I'm honest here because my mother gets so wound up with what's going on in her own life that she can't find it in her heart to be supportive or kind or understanding about my life for even one second. I'm fucking honest here because this is how I cope with things. It's either this... or drink.
And apparently when I drink, I'm even more fucking honest here.
So I feel like I'm surrounded by death, there's been more death in my life than I've even written about here, and that's a fucking lot of fucking death. I know it doesn't make me sound very articulate when I just say fuck fuck fuck all the time, but I don't care right now, I'm venting. Please bear with me.
So. I have all this death. And I'm tired. And I'm not motivated to do anything. And I miss S. And my mom pissed me off. And I'm overworked. And my house isn't clean completely yet. And I went to the grocery store and nothing looked good except chips and crackers and crap and corruption and I didn't buy any of that shit.
I'm just tired. I'm tired of being sad, I'm tired of feeling alone, I'm tired of feeling helpless, I'm tired of my world spinning out of control. With all these people around me dying, and all of these people in the celebrity world dying, it makes you realize you have to take every day as a treasure and live it to its fullest but it also makes you wonder if the world would really miss you, if you just didn't wake up tomorrow morning.
Would my mother feel guilty for making me feel like shit for the majority of my 33 years on the planet? Would my dad regret not calling me to see how *I* was instead of calling to see if I had heard from my sister? Would MB realize what a bitch she was not to offer to ride with me since she was the odd man out and I had an empty car? Would they?
Or would the world just continue to spin, and the sun continue to rise and set, and the few people that I've touched would feel some kind of loss but everyone else wouldn't even care because I don't have many folks I'm close to any more.
I think it's the second option.
No, I'm not going to kill myself or anything. But I've honestly thought about whether or not anyone would even notice I was gone.
I'm not sucking up for responses.
So if there's one thing I know about myself in my voluptuousness (as we will avoid calling me plus-size since I so often rail on my own fat ass) it's that I have a great rack.
It is, actually, magnificent. And I'll be the first one to tell you, I dress to show it off whenever I can.
I have an awesome rack.
I found a link today that made me proud of my rack. And here it is. Enjoy.
I. WILL. TOO.
If you have a moment please check out Christy and Alex, from St. Louis and New York City, respectively. Two more honest from the heart bloggers who put their lives out for our reading pleasure. And they're good reads, too.
And thanks, Alex, for our chat today, I really enjoyed it.
Go now. Read.
Saturday, September 13, 2003
Got up. Ate. Talked to my mom. Rearranged furniture. Swept. Mopped floor. Scrubbed kitchen. Ran dishwasher. Ran two loads of laundry. Brushed the pool. Found algae in the pool. Remembered that when the pool was low on water I turned off the filter, which is why there's algae in the pool. Saw a bug swimming in my pool, so apparently, now it's a pond. Filled pool. Went to pool store. Got algae killer and case of shock. Paid $60. Went to pet food store. Got million dollar pet food for dogs. Sat with S.'s cat since she finally came out from behind the TV. Went to Paula's and took care of the cats. Came home. Put algae killer in pool. Put shock in pool. Now I'm itching from the chemicals. Groovy. Came inside. Tried to cool off. Realized not even a diet Pepsi to drink in the house. Missed a phone call from my friend Chris. Called Mary to find out what time Gourmet House is - 7pm. It's now 4:40. Debating short nap.
Looks like I got a lot done today but I haven't done much.
Friday, September 12, 2003
I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, I just can’t seem to get into the swing of things. I think part of it is having S. gone.
Oh, an update. S. is in San Antonio with his mom now – actually they are probably driving to Bucholtz as we speak. He’ll stay with his grandmother there for a couple of days. The viewing is today. The funeral is tomorrow. He says he’s holding up pretty well and that most of the folks who are there are doing okay with everything, it’s almost a relief because he’d been so sick for so long, but the people who are coming in from out of town are going to have a harder time with it. And still I can’t do anything to help, but I suppose that was to be expected.
He said he showed our camping pictures to his family and they all finally got to see a picture of me. He didn’t say if any of them said anything in particular about the picture of me, it’s too bad there were none of us together. See, there I go, making it about me again.
I won’t hear from him until Sunday at the earliest, probably, he says it might be hard to reach me from Bucholtz. We’ll see.
My mom came over this morning to pick up m tapes and run them to the lady I work for and she said, “Do you have a full weekend even though S. is gone?” and she looked at me expectantly. I started in and said “Well, Bren and Ann and I are going to dinner tonight –“
I am, however, going out tonight to see Ann and Brenda, and we’re going to go eat Mexican food and drink margaritas and catch up. Brenda and Ann are two of my good friends from where I used to work, and Brenda’s still there and Ann is not there. It was Bren’s idea to go out and I’m pretty excited. I told S. that last night and he said “Aw, yeah, now that I’m out of town you have all kinds of time to go have fun!” I know he was teasing but I would never want him to feel that way. Little does he know that when we live together, I’m gonna have LOTS of time to have lots of fun because we’re going to need our moments apart from time to time.
Saturday day I’m gonna clean. When I get home tonight I might just let myself get a little drunk since I don’t have to get up early. Besides, it might help me sleep.
Saturday night I’m going out with the gaming group gang. My friend M is graduating from college and emailed me to invite S. and I along, and he said that the evening out had been being planned by the others in the group. I got a little frustrated because no one had said anything to me but I guess M. saying something makes it okay since they hadn’t really come up with any details yet. So, I’m going to go to Gourmet House of Hong Kong and eat family style and then we might go out and have a martini or two.
Sunday I’ll probably work and clean.
And miss S.
Shit Fuck Damn Hell Shit Fuck Shit… Fuck. --Butt Trumpet
It’s my day to pick up bagels at the Einstein’s on my way to work. So I go in and make it as easy on the lady as possible.
”Hi,” I said, “I need one dozen bucket please, and one half dozen, please…”
She interrupted me. ”two buckets?”
”No,” I said, “One dozen bucket and one half dozen deal” – now she’s reaching over the counter at me to grab my cream cheese. As she turns her back on me I say, “I have four cream cheeses there, I have to get one extra.”
”A bucket and a half dozen,” she says, “What bagels do you want?”
Now remember, I’m making this easy. “As long as there’s one of everything –“
She interrupts me. ”One everything? What else.”
I grit my teeth and smile. “No, as long as there’s One. Of. Everything. Like, one of each kind of bagel. Just one of each kind of bagel and then-“
YOUSTUPIDBITCH IFYOUWOULDJUST SHUTUP FORAMINUTEANDLETMETELLYOUWHATIWANT IAMSURE WE COULDCOMETOSOME KINDOFUNDERSTANDINGFUCKING QUITINTERRUPTINGMEQUITITQUITIT QUITITFUCKFUCKFUCK Thankfully, that was my inside voice.
”Yes, please. And when you have a minute, I also need some pastries from the case.” Apparently she didn’t hear me because when she got done throwing the bagels through the slicer (I saw her pulling two bagels out of some bins and one bagel out of others) she walked them to the register. I said, “I also need some pastries from the case.” She looked at me and kind of sighed, turned around, went into the back of the store and got a box and came back.
”Okay what else do you need?” I said, “I need one bluberry muffin, one banana nut, one chocolate chip, one pumpkin, one mango-peach, and one of those big cinnamon rolls please. Thank you very much.”
By then the lady at the register was ringing me up. The gal packing up the muffins came over to the register and the lady running the register said, ”What does she have?” The gal responded, ”A bucket and a half dozen, and uh how many cream cheeses did you have?”
”Four,” I said, “I got one extra.” Ka-ching, the lady rang up the extra cream cheese at $2.99. Four cream cheeses. Remember that, as there will be a test later on… Then the gal said, ”She also got three no – wait – four – no wait uh – five – uh four? No, five. Five muffins. And a Danish.” Kaching. Muffin. Muffin. Muffin. Muffin. Muffin. Danish.
$32 later I was leaving Einsteins with a bag, a box, and a bucket.
I got to work and started to unload the bagels. Two of some, none of others. No chocolate chip (specifically requested). No EVERYTHING! The girl HAD an EVERYTHING BAGEL in her HAND when she started putting the bucket together and there was no Everything bagel. No Garlic. No Onion. No sun-dried tomato. Two blueberry. Two wheat. Two cheese. Two cinnamon raisin. Two plain. Two poppy. Fuck me.
So my boss says, “Where’s the cream cheese?” and I say, “There should be four in there – one pumpkin, one garden veggie, and two plain.” She says, “Nope, there’s one veg and one pumpkin but no plain.” Fuck me.
We open the box of muffins. No cinnamon roll (specifically requested). One cinnamon walnut Danish that was so gooey and sticky I couldn’t get it out of the box. Fuck me.
So now I’ve got twelve duplicate bagels and no cinnamon roll and no plain cream cheese. At this moment in the office kitchen there sits half a veg cream cheese, a pumpkin cream cheese with one scoop out of it (mine), leftover maplewalnut cream cheese from the last time I got bagels, and a strawberry cream cheese from the last time someone ELSE got bagels, and no plain cream cheese. In addition, since no one wanted the flavored cream cheese, there’s an assload of bagels. Many bagels in few flavors because she couldn’t pay attention.
It’s gonna be one of those weekends.
John Ritter, talented actor and comedian, dead at age 54.
Goodbye, Johnny Cash. I'm glad some of the people in this world younger than myself got a chance to start to get to know you.
You'll be missed.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
What more is there to say? Two years ago I came running home - from my morning run - bursting into the house shouting about what I had just heard on the radio.
I cried every day for the rest of that week. You couldn't escape the news and you couldn't escape candlelight vigils and you couldn't escape the sadness and the shock and the fear and the anger.
Here we are two years later. My life is so different but looking at the internet archives and local and national news... again, you can't escape the sadness and the shock and the fear and the anger.
My thoughts go out to anyone who lost someone in the terrible attacks two years ago today. Blessed be.
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
S. and his cousin have stopped in Sonora, four hours outside of San Antonio, for the night. They've been stopping periodically and have finally just given up, it's 11pm there and they got a room, they're watching TV, cranking the air conditioning and going to get some rest.
I feel glad to have heard from them. And I still love him madly.
1,000 miles, roughly, from Phoenix to San Antonio.
If he hit the road last night at 12:45a, so let's say 1a, then he should be getting into San Antonio some time in the next few hours. I haven't heard from him yet and can't wait to hear from him.
I miss him and I'm worried about him and I love him madly.
WITH THE RANGERS ON MY TAIL AND NO HEAD START
I'D RATHER DRAW MY LAST BREATH WITH A BULLET IN MY HEART
THAN EVER DRIVE AWAY FROM YOU
I'LL NEVER DRIVE AWAY FROM YOU.
S. is on his way to Texas, and I am beside myself. He phoned at about 12:30a last night to say he was "on his way out the door," and I hope to hear from him some time today. He's got to make it as far as San Antonio, where he will join up with his mother and make the remainder of the trip to a small town in north Texas.
I'm so desperate to try to make this easier for him. Maybe this is what love is all about. I don't know. When I was married, my ex husband went through more than one funeral and I had no desire to go if I had not met the individual in question. Of course I didn't want him to feel the pain, but I felt it was my duty to try to hold things together in the day-to-day so he could go about his business and do what he had to do to get through it. It's like I had this strange logic about everything. I don't know if that was the being married, or the fact that I don't think I was in love with my ex husband.
With S., I would take the pain on myself if it meant he didn't have to feel it. I would gladly do whatever I had to do to help him get through this, make the trip with him, spend my vacation days, just be there for him in whatever way I can. If he said, "It would really help me if you shaved your head and drew a bright purple mickeymouse on the back of your neck," I would have done it probably without question. I just don't want him to have this pain. I've been through it all too recently and I just don't want ANYONE to go through it... but I especially don't want HIM to have to go through it.
My problem is, I want to fix everything. I want to make everything right for him. Now when I say "fix everything," I don't mean it in the psycho-freak Fatal Attraction kind of "make your life perfect for you so you love me more" way. I mean, he's a good man and he's had a lot of struggles in the last twelve months, and I don't feel he deserves them. We all have to go through different things at different times in our lives so we can grow and become the people that we're meant to be, but this is getting ridiculous... there are so many wonderful blessings he should be able to take advantage of that he just can't, things keep coming up. And I want to smooth out the bumps in his life. And I want to make it so he can enjoy all of the blessings that he so rightly deserves. Even if it's only for the way he improves my life and makes me feel and treats me and loves me, that in itself should be worthy of some serious, serious blessings.
And we just have death.
I found out that my brother-in-law's grandparents are going to die "this week" too. What in the world is going on? People need to stop dying, at least people related to me. I, and just about everyone I know, is dealing with some kind of death in the last month or two whether it's the anniversary of a loved one's death, or the death of a mom, a grandparent, a friend. My BIL's grandparents are both suffering renal failure and the grandfather has decided that since both of his kidneys have failed, he is going home and is not seeking treatment. As a result, the grandmother who has been in renal failure and on dialysis for quite a while has decided to end her dialysis treatment because she doesn't want to live without her husband. So, they're both going to die, and it's going to be soon. I suppose they're making a choice for themselves, but it seems like an odd one. I've never been through dialysis but I wonder if not going through it is worth dying.
So S. is on his way to Texas and now all I can do is wait. He doesn't have a way to call me from the road, so he's going to have to call me on a callingcard from stops along the way. I don't know how long it should take him to drive from Phoenix to San Antonio, that's how in a fog we've been for the last two days... I didn't even bother to ask.
I sent him a greeting card on Monday that should have showed up in his regular snail mail yesterday. He didn't say anything about receiving it. I wonder if he even checked his mail on his way out. Maybe it'll be there when he gets back. I sent it before I found out about his grandfather so it's not a sympathy card... it's just an "I love you" card. The best thing I can hope for now is that he gets it when he starts looking through his mail, if he picked it up on his way out.
I will go to his apartment tonight and get Noki. And then I will come home and work. And try to sleep when I don't hear from him.
I just want to make it all better, and I can't. So all I can do is all I can do. And frankly, it's kind of eating me up inside.
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
AND HOW DO YOU RELIGHT THE FLAME WHEN IT’S COLD
I NEED SERENITY.
NOTHING CHANGES. DAYS GO BY.
I’m fucking surrounded by people having babies. And new babies. It always happens this way.
My sister has a new baby.
I don’t want a child right now. I don’t. Honestly. I’m not ready to be a mom even though my hormones, sometimes, are screaming loud and clear that I need to hurry up and get pregnant.
I’m not ready for a child.
It just seems like on the days when things are harder for me I just keep get bombarded with people having babies. It’s like the one luxury in my life I have to honestly wonder if I will ever be able to afford myself. I’m getting older, I’m not married, so much of my future is up in the air – where will we live – how financially stable will we be – will we really want to take that extra step and go that extra mile and start a family.
A psychic lady read my palm and told me I would have two boys… or that WE would have two boys… but not until my late 30’s.
Don’t mind me, I’m just feeling a little ratty. A little overwhelmed. Overwhelmed for S., overwhelmed for me, wishing I could just snap my fingers and have all of the little quirky obstacles in our life go away so we could just get on with the business of living and loving without having to struggle against so many different things. So many what-ifs. So many don’t-knows.
At least I’m confident enough in our love that I do refer to it as “our” life, I suppose.
Goddamn babies everywhere I look. Someone tell me how to not be resentful. Because I’m starting to feel like always a bridesmaid and never a bride, and it’s making me kind of pissy.
S.'s grandfather passed away last night. He got the phone call at 11p and I got it at 11:30p.
He's on his way to Texas today and I will be watching his cat for him. The funeral will be Saturday.
I'm very sad for him.
Monday, September 08, 2003
What in the world are people searching for and finding ME?
Of course, still every possible permutation of “Googly”…
I still like Get Laid Tonight In Phoenix. I bet S. would come over a heck of a lot more if he knew all he had to do was search for THAT and be present to win.
Just kidding, honey.
Besides. I put out.
(IN THE SHADOW OF THE VALLEY OF DEATH)
So much death.
So much death this year I don’t know if I can keep it up.
My ex grandmother-in-law passed away.
Now S.’s grandfather is very, very ill, and he’s been told to get ready to go to Texas for the funeral as he might not last out the week.
Now in light of that, there’s a lot of life. Brooke survived her hellacious car accident and IM’s me when she can to let me know how she’s doing. I have a new niece, Amanda LeAnne M_____, who is healthy and beautiful. I got the first pictures today, and she’s a real chunk. I have a new fish.
But there’s been a lot of death this year. And now S. has to go through it.
He tried to explain part of it to me, and I didn’t completely understand. Anyone who has any experience with this sort of thing, if you want to help me fill in some of the gaps so I can continue to be supportive for him without his feeling as if he has to teach me the ways of the world, that’d be great.
He’s got to be the man of the family. He “can’t” let his Mom or his Grandmother see him a wreck due to grief. He’s got to be a pallbearer, and he’s got to hold it together. Therefore I don’t know if he’s going to allow himself to grieve until he’s back here in Arizona, after it’s all over with. And just to prepare himself before and after the services he’s going to drive. To Texas.
I want to help him and be there for him, and he’s let his guard down a couple of times recently and let the emotions flow. I feel bad that he’s got not only the weight of his grief for his impending journey on his shoulders but he’s also got these expectations that he’s set upon himself regarding what he can and cannot, is allowed and not allowed to feel. He tells me I wouldn’t understand, and that is probably because I am a chick. And I accept that. We’re allowed to be more emotional than men are.
I just want to help him through it.
And I’m stuck.
Please check out Leesa when you get a chance. A girl with a blog who talks about her life, we have some stuff in common and I hope you'll like it.
Go. Now. Don't dally.
Sunday, September 07, 2003
Welcome, Hank. Sorry about the picture quality if it doesn't come through perfectly clear, I saved it at a little lower quality to save on bandwidth. The full pixel version in all its glory is just an email away if for some strange psycho reason you'd want a picture of my fish. :-)
I just had an email conversation with a personal friend who also happens to read my blog. He pointed out that I'm being feverishly written about, both directly and indirectly, on a rather popular blog because of an altercation that took place on a THIRD blog, on Friday.
The only reason he even knew about the third blog is because I discussed the argument briefly and how frustrated I was trying to have a real, adult conversation about a serious issue with someone who just didn't seem up to the task.
One of the things I find out time and time again about myself is that I'm not very good at the whole balls-out internet fight thing. I'm not good at it because when the argument starts going nowhere, and no progress is being made, when the other party is either too stubborn to continue in an adult vein or is just obviously out for the joy of riling up some anonymous internet person, it suddenly doesn't become stimulating any more. I will never fathom how or why someone can take pleasure in making someone else angry, or making them upset, or even in berating them. I'm not good at that kind of fighting, and as much as I try to feel bad about that I just can't. I suck at the standard internet fight, because the standard internet debater is armed to the gills with a whole arsenal of "I told you so" and "you're so stupid it's funny" and "you can't be serious," and doesn't bring a whole lot else to the table. When it boils down to pushing someone's buttons for the purpose of pushing them, I fail miserably.
Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still stubborn enough to try from time to time to keep up with the A-list internet asshole, the occasional usenet troll or what-have-you... but have you ever heard the adage about having a battle of wits with an unarmed person? It's kind of like that. It's like going to an asshole convention, but not being an asshole. Eventually it just becomes fruitless.
So anyway, I got asked why I'm not "over there" rebutting and commenting, since my name and siutation have been brought up both in and out of context, in relevant discussions and non-relevant, probably because I quit fighting and now I'm not any fun.
The answer is, that's exactly why. I quit fighting, because it's not any fun. I have enough stress in my life with the things that go on with me personally, I don't need to spend my leisure time on the internet bumping heads with a bunch of stubborn dingdongs just because they want to feel superior. It's interesting... I find it entertaining to read arguments or discussions back and forth between people when there's a definite trend to the discussion, points are made, counterpoints are made, it's like watching a sport. Tennis or something, where the volleys are made and everyone steps up and makes their point. I take no joy out of the situation when the argument is fruitless, and that's the only place such a thing could go. I don't have to be called out by someone and get into another stupid argument that's pointless and won't go anywhere, in order to boost my self esteem. And, I think it's unfortunate that there are people on the planet who have to start that kind of turd-stirring, to raise their own. It's interesting how the folks with the biggest egos are the ones who need the most ego strokes.
As it is, I said I wasn't even going to bother myself or anyone else with the situation over here, and you'll notice there are no links. No point in adding fuel to the fire. This started out as an email response to said friend about why I am choosing not to play, and I suppose it's morphed into a blog entry.
There are lots of different kinds of bloggers out there. There are bloggers who provide a public service and discuss news. There are bloggers who are linkinators and send us shooting all over the internet finding nifty stuff to gawk at. There are bloggers who write fiction for entertainment of others. There are bloggers who write about THEIR lives for entertainment of others, and write about their lives from a perspective that makes us giggle, or makes us laugh, or makes us feel like we wished we could be a part of their interesting, entertaining world for just a minute or two. There are bloggers who write just for their friends and core groups of people, there are bloggers who want to branch out and become paid writers. There are even bloggers who write in odd combinations of fact and fiction, "stranger than truth" type writing in an effort to keep their readers guessing. There's bloggers that discuss high flame risk stuff, and there's bloggers who talk about the chick they hooked up with last week. It takes all kinds, literally. And then there are bloggers who write about their lives, who let their guts hang out there whether it's fun or not fun, whether it's interesting or not, whether it's entertaining or not.
Maybe it's because I'm the blogger who writes about whatever no matter what, but that's the majority of what I find myself reading because I can relate to it. I relate to the people like Joe and Sassy and Daryl and Jose who lay their fucking guts out on the internet for everyone to see every day, so we can grow with them and learn with them, laugh with them and cry with them. I like being able to look at the screen and get a feeling for who the person is, and I like feeling that personal connection.
That's where the heart of blogging is. It doesn't matter where you come from, it doesn't matter if you're local to me or you're half a world away. You're putting your heart and soul on the line and I'm taking the time to read it, and if it helps you to dump your guts four times a week and get things off your chest, then we both benefit.
I don't blog for other people's benefit. I actually save just about every blog entry I write, becuase it very literally is an online journal. I don't care if you think I'm entertaining or not, I don't care if I make you laugh or not, and I don't care if my hits and positive comments are up or down or whatever-the-fuck. You know, if I have 250+ hits a day or 60+ hits a day, it doesn't much matter to me
I had more hits the day I had the fight than any other day. The interesting thing about that was, the hits didn't come from my comments that I was leaving on the "third blog." They were people from all over, but lots of them had the URL which meant someone was referring them since they were new. It's just strange. But it's a flash in the pan. I figure they were coming here to see if I was going to whine or stomp or rant or rave or whatever about it. The thing is, I wasn't going to rant or rave here because it's not real. The fight I had on the internet with the guy who didn't know what he was talking about, wasn't real. The discussion that ended with someone shouting lame childish things because there was no logical progression to the talk, was complete and utter fiction. It didn't affect my life (although it apparently affected theirs) and it didn't make me so squirrely that I had to come here and write about it.
What gets written about here is what's real. So, my friend who asked me why I'm not over defending my honor, now you know the answer. Because that's not real. What gets written about over there isn't from someone's guts, it's an attempt at eye candy. What gets written over here is anything but eye candy (except when I'm posting pictures of S., yum) and at least today, it probably never will be.
Life's too short to bother with folks who have to be in the middle of a shitstorm to feel cool about themselves. Personally I'd rather be laying out by my pool or having a capuccino with S. or playing with my dogs or worrying about the things in my life that matter.
Hope that answers your question.
(insert typical classical opera lyric used for a funeral here)
Grandpa the betta fish died.
S. showed up at my door with "Hank," who is another beautiful betta.
You know, to replace him in my time of grief.
So I will post pics later.
Friday, September 05, 2003
I knew I wouldn’t be let down by Shanna as she submitted me some interview questions in exchange for mine!
Let’s see what Shanna wants to know…
1. If your house were burning down and you only had time to save *three* things, what three things would you choose? (Time not exactly a factor - you have enough time to get out everything (of the 3) that you want; no matter how big. Pets, plants and all loved ones have already been moved to safety - this would be just your favorite possessions). Hm. Wow. Three things. Let’s see. First, I would want to take my altar and its contents out of the house, as there are fourteen years of accumulated Pagandom held within in tight little jars and small cloth sacks. I know it sucks to name this as one item, but my altar is in a roll-top desk so I figure it’s part of the desk. :-) I know, I’m cheating. Too bad. So, my altar. Second, I would want to take my photo album that I have of my life as a kid in Alaska, photos spanning me from the day I was born pretty much until we left there when I was 11 years old. There are some amazing, amazing pictures in there, and I know I was blessed to be surrounded with nature’s majesty as I was at a young age. I can’t keep going back up there, but I can always look at the pictures and remember what the ocean smelled like in the middle of winter or what it felt like to come over the top of a hill and see a Kodiak bear eating blueberries with her cubs. Third, I suppose I would want to take my camera, if only for the reason that it is the way I now document my life and it’s a damn nice camera, it was $1200 new and I bought it from a private party for $400 because they just “didn’t like it”… It still runs for $800 on ebay so I don’t think I’d be able to replace it if I tried. Now, I know you only asked for three but if I could take four, I’d take the two dried roses that S. gave me on the night he first told me he loves me.
2. We all love every pet that has passed through our life, and each leave a special mark on our heart. But there is always one pet that touched you more deeply than all the rest; one that you possessed almost a "soul-connection" with. Who was that pet, and why was he/she so special to you? That’s pretty easy. Rocky. Rocky was my bulldog-pitbull-boxer that I inherited from my sister. Probably the smartest dog I ever had. Rocky got stomach cancer at 10 years of age, I was still married at the time. And he was very sick for a long time, there was nothing they could do for him. I read up on naturopathic therapy and made him his food three times a day and fed him his medicine and gave him treats, let him sleep on the bed with me (he had a hard time getting comfortable around the tumor) and did everything I could to make his life more comfortable. That damned dog used to find a way over a six foot wood fence – no, I am not kidding – and he was a small dog, maybe 25#. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you how he did it. One day my neighbors called me and said, “Rocky is in the pool chasing my grandkids.” In. The. Pool. This is the dog that got picked up and taken to the pound because he was sitting on the front porch after horsing the back gate open and running around the block to make it back to the front of the house. He was my troublemaker but he was my baby. When he got sicker and sicker finally one day we had a talk, and I said, “You’re going to have to let me know when it’s time to let you go.” About a week or two later, he wouldn’t take his medicine. For anything. Not in cheese, not in a treat, not in food, not in a box, not with a fox. So then the next day he wouldn’t eat his dinner but he’d eat treats. The day after that he wouldn’t eat any meal and wouldn’t eat treats. I told my husband it was time and when I started my brand new job, then, on April 19, 1999, my ex took him to the vet to have him put down. I knew I would never be able to make it through that day, and I still cry on the anniversary of him being put down. I didn’t go to the vet because I didn’t want him to see me sad and hysterical… my mom, sister, and my husband at the time went and they brought me home his collar. I have picture upon picture upon picture of him. He’s my baby. Three or four months later I went to the dog pound to look at puppies because Cody, my sheltie/bordercollie, was incredibly depressed and lonely. And I saw this little dog from behind, brindle, long tail, goofy feet, looked just like Rocky and I was freaked out. And he turned around and looked at me and kinda smiled at me, like Rocky used to do, and I didn’t see a card for anything that looked like him on the pen. So I grabbed a volunteer and said, “What’s that dog” and they said “Oh he just came in, that’s why his card isn’t there yet, his name is Rocky.” Well, I had to have him. I took him home and he immediately jumped on the bed and put his head on the pillow and wriggled under the covers just like my beloved Rocky used to do – we renamed him “Boomer” because everytime I saw him out of the corner of my eye for a LONG time, I saw Rocky and I couldn’t call him that… I still say Boomer was brought to me by Rocky to watch out for me. And Rocky’s up there somewhere showing him all the good spots to lay and what the best treats are and how to make mama smile.
3. You're getting married - and *anything* is possible. Describe your dream wedding. Where would it take place (real or fictional), who would marry you (alive/real/dead/fictional), what would the ceremony be like, what colors would everything be? Wow. It would be a handfasting-to-legal-marriage, first of all, and the colors would be earthy – hunter green and deep, rich brown and black and gold and … lots of colors, but earthy ones. And my best friend would perform the handfasting but she’d have to be able to legally marry us which wouldn’t happen so then I guess I’d have to have someone like… Scott Cunningham or Starhawk perform the ceremony. And it would take place at Stonehenge, and all of my friends and family would be there. And all of S’s friends and family would be there. And it would rain, just a little bit, as we were saying our “I Do’s” and jumping a broom, and then we’d all drink mead and dance into the night beneath a beautiful full moon. On Beltaine. May 1. It would be a glorious celebration of a union of two people of like faith before God/dess, and the world, and everyone.
4. What is your ultimate dream car (+ color), and why? WHITE 1964 ½ MUSTANG HARD TOP WITH MANUAL TRANSMISSION AND 289 FULLY RESTORED MINT CONDITION PREF. ORIGINAL INTERIOR AND ORIGINAL PAINT, GARAGED FOR THE LIFE OF THE CAR AND NEVER DRIVEN BUT WILL ACCEPT AUTHENTIC RESTORATION WITH ALL FACTORY PARTS. I’ve wanted one since I was 14. I’m 33 now. That’s a fucking long time to want one. So. That’s my dream car. Gosh, think I’ve thought about this question a little?
5. What about yourself do you love the most (could be physical or mental/quality)? What about yourself do you like the least (could be physical or mental/quality)? Let’s see. About myself the most? I love my appreciation for spirituality and my open-mindedness regarding my fellow man. I think I’m basically one of the easiest people to get along with that I know. About the only things that keep me from working and playing well with others are intolerance and ignorance about other ways of life, whether they be mainstream, counterculture, unusual, from another country, another city, whatever. I have a love for other cultures, and find people in general completely fascinating. I find myself sticking up for the underdog or going to bat for people who get criticized for their way of life. My dad all my life was worried I was going to grow up to be a “bleeding heart liberal,” and I’m sure there are some folks out there that think I am one, although I’m quite politically conservative. I’ve just never been able to justify in my mind or heart, telling someone else that the way they live is wrong. Of course there are exceptions to that rule – I criticized my ex husband’s way of life all the time because his drug using had us in the poorhouse and his physical abuse of me had me bruised and hurt, and his lack of a job meant I had to work three. And he was hurting himself as much as he was hurting other people. But for regular day to day life choices that aren’t self destructive or destructive in general to others, I say, live your life. I turned away from Christianity because I could never rectify within myself the idea that my path to righteousness was the One True Way and everyone else was going to burn in hell. I have quit jobs because of the way other people were treated. I find myself to be tolerant of lifestyles and accepting of people for who they are, which is why I have quite a few friends and people find me to be trustworthy and easy to talk to. I’m accepting, tolerant, understanding, I’m easy to get to know, and I’m easy to trust, and that’s what I like about myself. Now. As for the least, I’d have to say the size of my ass. And that’s all I want to say about that.
My job as a military wife is
to make it as easy as possible
for my beloved husband to do his job.
Where he leads, I will follow.
Husband: SSgt, USAF
Current Location: Tinker AFB, OK
Job: Self-Employed Transcriptionist
and Domestic Goddess
I am currently pimping:
me @ consumating
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