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Tuesday

7 Jan

It was a Holy Shit when I saw myself in the mirror kind of morning. One of those where I wondered, how? Just how? Last night was uneventful. Aside from B talking to our pillow then flinging it back to knock a wine glass off the table. He was not drunk, maybe a little, but he is always mildly clumsy if there is something tinted around to be spilled on an expensive rug or an electronic device. Which is why we don’t have expensive rugs and have had to replace many remotes.

My period humbles me each month, reminding me of Adam and Eve. How he must have loved her. The way my Adam loves me. Blinded by it or terrified of hormones, he looks past the 90’s sweats, the uncontrollable hair and says, “you don’t look terrible.” I close the door to try to get my body on board with the day. There is much to be done.

Famous Last Words

9 Feb

“I think I’m going to sleep in tomorrow, honey.”
Ugh.

I finally checked my phone. 4:45 #nowireallywontgobacktosleep Why did I do that?! It would have done no good to try to drift back anyhow. I was too riled up by some stupid work dream. Not even present day but *shudder*, that last place. Lucky for you I have jotted down a few notes of things I would like to share with you.

#1
What married life does to us in a little blip I like to call, Things I never thought I would hear in my future house said back to back while lying in bed.

“That was the worst episode of Glee I have EVER seen.”

“I applied for Yelp Elite status today.”

End Scene

#2
Here are ideas for skits I would like to see made. Call me if you are interested in making my dreams come true.

Don Draper, wait for it…..Present day. BOOM!
Same suit and speak, smoking in public with no apologies. Hospitals. Offices. Pouring drinks in meetings, shushing women for talking out of turn, ending up in the HR office being classy. That HR broad never stood a chance,(he has sex with her).
Or maybe we go opposite. Don Draper later years, homeless then coming back and selling AA like nobody’s business. The world buys into it and people stop drinking, smoking and every one becomes vegan. Then he has sex.

Stoner Master Chef

Bring in three regular people. Get them seriously baked. Let them chill on the sofa for ten minutes, then unleash them to choose their ingredients to see who makes the most creative, delicious freaking meal anyone on this earth has ever had.#runonsentence Who will be the next Stoner Master Chef?

Those are two of many. I can’t share all my secrets.

#3
Next up is my review of Haywire

I would like to know whose nephew wrote this movie to have Stephen Soderbergh, Ewan McGregor, Antonio Banderas, Bill Paxton and Michael Douglas all on board. It is the most over choreographed pile of stench I have seen since Margin Call(if glares and long knowing stare offs can be counted as choreography). They should give Oscars out to the guys who cut terrible movies’ trailers because over and over I am getting tricked into these POS films and have now forfeited my right to choose what we watch.#Bputshisfootdown
Well stated by B, “The best part of that movie was the first five minutes in when you asked me if I wanted to watch something else.” Worst of all, we were in the theater!!!
Well, we sat through it and if you just must, I recommend sneaking in some booze and taking a drink every time someone says, “Barcelona” then calling a cab to take your disappointed drunk ass home.

Midnight in Paris
If you like Woody Allen and Hemingway DO NOT SEE THIS MOVIE. It will ruin everything. I just don’t get it. I like Woody Allen and after re-watching the trailer to find out where things went wrong I am still amiss because it made me want to see it all over again. #damndamndamn
I even read A Moveable Feast prior just to get the feel for it. I sat on a reclined chair with my IPA in an indie theatre and still hated it. Maybe I am just not sophisticated enough to get it. Or maybe Woody Allen is capable of making a bad movie. #thatsrightisaidit

Okay, my power cord is far away and B’s alarm is about to sound. Time to make the doughnuts…

Rants to come…
How I was denied Yelp Elite status, more bad movies and restaurant fun

Oh and don’t forget to see the video of B wooing me in a fancy hotel.

A Festering Pile

27 Jan

Okay, I have seen this picture before. It is not my photo and I don’t know who took it. But I had seen this one, or a version of it, before one of my Facebook friends shared it with me this morning. And admittedly, the fact that fast food is not good for me,(duh),is something I should have realized on my own back when I was gobbling it up daily and a year later while vacuuming my car would find perfectly, in tact french fries. I hardly remember those days but if I had to guess finding the fries most likely led to me driving over to McDonalds. Perhaps that is the goal. To make ‘food’ that will not decompose as a reminder. A Pet Cemetery version of a past meal, reaching out. Beckoning. “Eat me….”rattling chains.
Anyway…THIS IS NOT FUCKING NORMAL.

Mmmmmmm.

B and I do not have kids, which I have mentioned before is CRAZY considering I’m in my early 30’s and Hispanic. Especially to Mexi’s I meet. It’s not, “do you have kids?” it’s “how many kids do you have”, and nobody asks if I am married because it is irrelevant. One of my El Paso friends once told a story of how some Chicano girls called their friends over to meet her once they found out she had never been pregnant. Well, that is what I get now. I am an anomaly. Other races find it normal, but other Latinos take a few steps back then make the sign of the cross. We will eventually make or get a kid and I have a list of lessons I cannot wait to teach. This one I came up with on the front porch, drunk, smoking a cigarette staring at our compost pile.

First we will watch this video:
The Symphony of Science
Then we will make a meal together or a fresh juice engaging in conversation about the video.
Then we will take the scraps of food, skins and stems, outside to the pile.
And then I will say:

“Baby B, do you remember when we had dinner last week and mommy went outside and put the leftovers in the dirt? Well, they went back to the earth and made more dirt. And we came from dirt and when we die, we will go back to the earth. So this is why it is important to put good things in our bodies, to be good to ourselves and to the earth, because we are all connected.”

And then Baby B will say:

“Mom, you so crazy!” (our future kid loves old episodes of Martin. I know, kids!)

Anyway, I don’t have the time this morning to really get into this post as much as I’d like to, but I want the self-hatred and pressure out of your mind when it comes to food and dieting. Don’t diet or work so hard to change your diet. Take baby steps. And when you are hungry, eat. But before you decide on what to put in your mouth, ask not, “Is this meal good for me?” ask, “By eating this meal, am I being good to myself?” And be honest. And I love you! You are special and yes, it is not often but sometimes I smoke. Deal with it.

The Opposite of Sleep #hashtag everything

19 Jan

If it is not the dreams keeping me from good sleep it is being awake thinking how I would rather be dreaming. Every night B hears the same pathetic, soft, frowny, “I am sleepy”, before he puts me to bed. It is mostly women who have this anxious insomnia because if the day is not planned before it starts, nothing will ever get done. B on the other hand, has the same plan 5 days a week. Snooze alarm for hour to annoy wife. Get dressed. Go to work. Get food to belly. Home. Sex,(hopefully). Repeat. Sex. Repeat. Sex. Repeat. Sorry. It is sleep then repeat.

Even when I was not working I hardly had the time to do everything I wanted. Now, forgeddaboutit. Worst 6a.m. Italian accent ever #MickeyBlueEyesbad. Before I had to worry about yet, another restaurant, it was the puppies whining, or the garbage truck emptying the dumpster at four a.m., which btw, if the rent is really cheap, you might want to look out the bedroom window. If there is large green box in full view or train tracks, reconsider, #itisalwayssomething. (I decided I will hashtag everything in real life, in case you missed it, even in speak.)

So, as a personal promise, I will be blogging more often, (since I am up anyway), and not just on how great my gorgeous husband is. I notice people do not like this. Normally I would say f*%# off because trust me, I put in my time and kissed some pretty bad frogs before I bagged this guy, but I do have many interests that gushing over my husband most of my hours actually keep me from. I will also be redesigning my site, (by “I”, I mean B #I<3parentheses) changing it to include some new stuff such as.... My reviews of yelp reviews. I shall call it Yhelp! I'm still working on that. One of the things keeping me up since 3. This is where I will review those who think they know something about the service industry, what quality is, or take themselves too seriously. If you use "polarization that can occur" and "kitschy space" in the same sentence, I'm coming to get you. Movie reviews based on trailers alone because who has time to actually go to the movies? #meunemployedforthreemonths. Some fashion don't and really don'ts maybe.... Oh, and some Dr. Phil tellin-it-like-it-is truths about health in America. Example, if you have type 2 Diabetes and you eat like shit, stop it. No one feels sorry for you. You are killing yourself. You are a fucking idiot and probably fat and you have only yourself to blame. Or something like that. That one is really directed toward my kid readers. Exciting stuff, right? I also joined Twitter so if you just cannot get enough of my sacred thoughts you can follow me @nfotm. Is that how it works? I really have no idea. I joined, got a bunch of twitter sluts, they figured out I am not a man and now they have stopped following me so....yeah.#pathetic And being right brainily-self absorbed there is also a nfotm YouTube where you can see all the exciting adventures of B and I#didiusethatright? Well, I think that's it. You will soon know all there is to know about this girl, my likes #myworldandeverythinginit and dislikes #everything else. B's alarm has gone off for the fourth time so I'd better get the coffee going. Hope to see you checking us out soon. #encouragingstalking

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.

Butterflies

8 Aug

All of last night I stared at B’s face trying to penetrate his mind. I want to know his every thought on what we are doing. He laughs and tells me to stop and that nothing has changed. I tell him that I need reassurance, but really that is not the right word. I need hugs mainly. And to be reminded that all of this anxiety is me playing into wedding pressures of hair and shoes and dresses and ugh. My chest hurt. I bought a pack of cigarettes this weekend. I even smoked a couple.
But when those eyes of his fix on mine or he smiles or touches my leg when we are watching t.v. just to stroke it, all the bullshit falls away.
I finally had to let more people in on what is going on to get the day of off. Some ladies at work organized a last minute happy hour on Friday. Although one of the attorneys spoiled the surprise early in the day, I played along.
It did make me a little uncomfortable walking the halls after realizing an email was sent out to about 100 people announcing news most of my family hadn’t heard yet. At the HH, I got some stockings, a couple of cards and an envelope of money that had been collected. Considering how many employees we have and how much some of them make, it was not a grand sum, but knowing that the people who were there or bothered to put a little something into that envelope did it because they sincerely wanted to contribute, made the little package worth more than any other gift I’ve recieved in some time. And it did not go wasted. It was almost enough to completely cover the cost of the dress I will be wearing. The people who were able to make it did so out of love and not obligation. And that is what meant the most to me.

Although I feel like crap because I did not sleep well, I am beaming inside even if half of the office probably thinks I am pregnant.

Count Down

5 Aug

Last Friday we made it to the county clerks office to get our marriage license. A photo id and $71 later and done. We’ve got 30 days to get hitched.
We decided on Friday August 12th, which is, in case you don’t have a calendar in front of you or don’t have a ‘real job’ is next Friday.
I finally get to start telling people soon. The reception invites went out yesterday and apparently people have already started getting them. I am so many things right now. Giddy, excited to say the least, curious at what our friends are going to say, bursting….SO bursting. It has been a hard secret to keep so I am also a little relieved.
We’ve still got a handful of things to do but with the reasonable time line we’ve set for ourselves, jaja, we will get through it with little stress and the proper urgency.
Or at least that is the plan.

Fotos y Recuerdos

4 Aug

Looking for inspiration for a graphics project B was working on, I came across this photo.

Circa 1995

Mom's kitchen

Young Love


And another of young us.

Truthfully, my mom probably remembers more about us dating back then than either of us do, but I do remember the letters he sent me and how they made me feel. I saved them. They are tied together with a blue ribbon, tucked away in a steamer trunk. Some of the envelopes he made from magazine pages. I thought I was so lucky to have such a cute artsy boyfriend,(finally). We were both such shits back then though. Too cool for so many things.

Moving Forward

22 Jul

Things are moving along. We have a reception date and venue as well as a photographer, Steve, a dear friend of mine. There are other things in the works but I believe in jinxes so I will have to keep them to myself until they have solidified a bit more.

Concurrent with what is going on in our home life, B is finally working behind the scenes on tasks he finds more his style. Or at least what he is more interested in. I can tell he is excited as he is consumed with work and unfortunately for me, extreamly distracted.
We are going home this weekend to see his parents. They are not currently in the loop and I know it is silly but I am terrified curious about a couple of things. Like whether they think I am worthy enough to take their name or if it matters that I am hispanic as they are from a different generation. More aged than one would expect for having a son in their 30’s. B has never had to worry about such things since my parents already treat him like family. They remember him from when we dated in high school. Mother has a chore for him everytime we go home. Dad phoned him yesterday about car parts and a cousin’s birthday party. And my sister finds him as humourless as she finds me.

But nevermind the worry. I am all too excited to hear the words come out of B’s mouth. That he and I are getting married. I am uneasy hearing myself say it. But if he says it, it reinforces that it is indeed happening. Not that I am not having fun making plans and setting dates for this apptointment and that, but I get absolutely giddy when he has an idea or makes an effort. Talking about it with his family makes me look forward to going home.

So for now, Life with B is on an upswing in all directions and all in all things are great. Even though we are not having a huge shebang, there are still many things to get done and funny enough, I feel like I am planning all these things for somebody else. It is all very exciting but we are not getting carried away. I haven’t even changed my Facebook Status. Maybe because I don’t want to turn into this.

July 4th

13 Jul

I don’t quite remember what we did last July Fourth. It was the holiday weekend before I started the job that made me appreciate weekends and name each day of the week with a tag. “Ugh, Monday.” “It’s only Tuesday?” “Yea Wednesday” though the only recognition Thursday gets is that it’s the day before Friday. A shame really.
I had been eyeing my list of Holidays counting down to my upcoming three day weekend.
Well, my Dad spammed my Saturday,(I love you Dad but seriously, I just saw you two weeks ago). Sunday, B ran errands before we lied our old souls down for a nap in preparation for a friend’s birthday party, which we of course slept through. Monday morning while walking through the dogpark I mentioned to a girlfriend my plans to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day.
Enter B’s sickness. This had first occured the Monday after Father’s Day. I kept the man hydrated and chalked it up to a stomach bug. He is retching now. Not puking, not throwing up, not a lean over and bleeehhh, but a noise from the core of his insides, telling me that this is not normal. When a grown man is curled up holding his stomach confessing to a woman, “it hurts so bad”, it is time to drive to the ER.

I will spare you the obvious complaints of the wait and how they keep hospitals in the negative of degrees, and skip right on to when they wheeled him away 8 hours later for an appendectomy.

The second he was out of sight I finally let myself cry. I cried with worry. I cried with relief. I cried for our lack of commitment. I cried at the thought of living my life without him. And I am crying again typing this out.

The pang that stuck was the commitment part. There have been many conversations and an overt knowing that we will get married and until recently that was enough. We have a warm and lovely home which we share with two spoiled animals. We have picked out our dream house. We have also been trying to start a family and have kicked around a few names. But somehow when a nurse questioned who I was to him, all of the trueness of our love and dedication was obliterated with his utterance of “my girlfriend”.
“Girlfriend” doesn’t convey what our relationship is. Girlfriends still wear make-up. Girlfriends don’t fold holy boxer shorts. Girlfriends still think everything he does is cute. I have put too much time and effort into getting that heart of his to realize it needs me to have an outsider think I am some tart he has been playing house with for a few weeks.
*breath*
Side Rant:
The next available is even worse. “Significant Other”. Ugh. This label is just as stupid as “Girlfriend”. It says, “I am his girlfriend BUT I am significant, I swear. No, really.”

I gave B a few days to let the wounds begin to heal before I tore him a new one. Not really but I did start a dialogue. It was about a few thoughts I had had occupying my brain but it stemmed from the want of that entire hospital staff to know just how much that precious, precious man means to me. Wanting to say, I am his wife and my world would end if anything ever happened to him because he is my world, so you had better take good care of him.

We are planning to marry next month.


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