Archive | November, 2011

Postpartum

8 Nov

Here is something I did not figure on happening, I am super bummed, not that B and I are married but that we finally had our third and final reception a little over a week ago. Up until that last day all I could say was that i could NOT WAIT until it was all over but ever since the hangover wore off, which seriously took a few days, I have been getting emotional about what is next but also about what has passed. I didn’t miss anything. I bled it. And now here I am sitting in our home writing out Thank You notes saying things like,” B and I are lucky to have such friends,” and “It was such a treat to have you as our guests for such a special occasion.” I started shredding them once my hand cursived out, “Thank you for your lovely gift! It really adds something to our tiny living space!” I sound like an asshole. Stop to text Alice about it. Response: “There are only so many ways you can say thank you for the salad bowl. It’s silly but protocol.”
True. But anyone who knows me or has spoken to me for a minute will think that I’m being a dick. Reflection, reflection, too much time in my own head, reflection. How did I get here? Shuffle lands on some home town country. Let’s see where this goes…

How Robert Earl Keen makes me feel. Nostalgic.
For many many years my life was lived through impulses. At times this worked in my favor and probably the same number of times it did not. It was a life with few boundaries, or at least few my friends and I chose to recognize, where every. single. thing. we did was with a vengeance. Burning both ends working, loving, shouting because we could and we didn’t give a fuck what any body else thought about it because we paid our own ways and we took care of each other. We were our own family and own worst enemies and it was beautiful. We worked doubles then drank them, collapsing over each other wherever we happened to be at four in the morning, then started all over again a few hours later. We gave each other something to care for similar to the way pets are given to convicts or cancer patients. We were all sick holding each other’s hands but never looking for a cure only something to dull the pain. Cliche much? I know.
I was quickly approaching the bottom but as long as I could feel the wind on the way down, it didn’t matter. The most dangerous part of those primal times was that they were funded by those we never wanted to become. It is what gave us the sense of entitlement to think that we were the ones doing it right. We were better than them.

Back to Robert Earl. Flash back to Summer after Senior year. A more innocent group of friends loving and living. True tailgating. Drinking beers on someone’s acreage. Driving three to the front in a pick up an hour out to a better swimming hole. Snuggling up to boys because we could, with our hearts pounding. The music was about love. Borderline hateful, dysfunctional, drunken love. About cops and being broke, about getting into trouble and trudging on. About going back home. “The road goes on forever and the party never ends.” These songs I knew all the words to, even before i knew what they meant. The understanding came a decade later.

I was the first to hit. A bigger splat into denial and a bottle of Sapphire there never was. My roommate had just killed himself. Robert Earl was wrong, the party was over. There was a fallout. Some guilted debauchery but everyone was tired. I zombied through my work coding invoices in my own version of chef pants, completely forgetting a friend request I had sent weeks before. The phone rang and I was excited about something again.
I had not seen B’s face in 13 years. He was recovering from his own fall. We wandered in a fog together for months, broke up because I was use to a different way and he thought he needed to be single for a while. We were in the middle of moving into this house. The house I am typing this out in. The house where I realized that I would change everything I had learned the wrong way to be someone we could both love. The house with a new throw pillow featuring a beautiful embroidered hummingbird on it. I think it really adds something to our tiny living space.

A Change in the Weather

7 Nov

I have been unemployed now for over a month. Although it ended rather abruptly, it was time. I was unhappy, not with doing my job, but with the pests that kept me from it. I am trying to forget about it and move on but every once in a while instead of being thankful and listening to all my friends’ cliched wisdom, I just want to be mad. Just plain mad. But what good does that ever do? And very quickly stemming from wanting to be mad, I decide it’s better to be drunk, which usually isn’t an issue but, well, read on…

We are and have been trying for a baby and although things aren’t going completely according to plan, or rather I should say, according to the timeline we had in mind, we will for sure not be giving up any time soon. But I will say the longer it takes, the more stressful purposeful love making becomes. It’s bad enough I’m hispanic but I am also probably the only grandchild without a kid in, hmmmmm, well over 30 of us. Even my lesbian cousin has two of her own.
There are days I feel like Charlotte in Sex in the City, when she says something about spending all that time in her twenties trying not to get pregnant as she now has trouble conceiving. I mean, I’ve always felt that something was wrong with me but now I am truly fretting that there very well may be. But the worst feeling is wondering, what if it’s not me? And although there are options to help conceive, I have already told B that I am not interested in putting either of us through fertility procedures or surrogates but then when I’m studying him in the morning still in awe that he is mine and I brush his coarse red beard and peck his freckled shoulders, kiss his long lashes and…*sigh* If I could create a life from pure lust and want we would not be struggling. We will not rule out adoption because, well, B was adopted and so was his father. B always asks about breastfeeding though. Do people still have wet nurses? Or maybe my count has just been off. But again, I’m hispanic, C’mon!

So no job and mucho sexing to make a zygote that blooms, I don’t quite count the first one as a negative just yet even though it complicates our lifestyle and of course hurts my pride a little. The second is definitely a pro, it is the waiting that’s a drag. But other than that, life with B is amazing as always. He keeps me smiling and I try to keep him interested, fed, and now that I can’t use work as an excuse, in a clean house.

Continued…

7 Nov

“Instead of points you get dollars to kill people.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Well, you’re fighting an alien species on another planet that has eradicated your ancestors. All bets are off.”

“Ah.”

***********

“So, you want a Lamborghini?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You wanna pick up chicks!?”

“Honey, how am I gonna pick up chicks going 200mph?”


Warning: sprintf(): Too few arguments in /home/nfotm_user/nfotm.com/lwb/wp-includes/widgets.php on line 1069

Categories