today

Jun. 27th, 2011 08:53 pm
soapwench: (Default)
trying to blog more...

...made it to the gym parking lot...

...made it into the gym...

...made it out of the bathroom and onto the treadmill...

...made it on to the elliptical...

...sweat happened...success!



I've gotten lazy in the last few weeks, between being sick and trying out a new schedule and now default.html being broken. I feel...(trying to think of a discriptor that doesn't include the word Cow in in)...inertia? cumbersome? I don't know. I feel better when I move, but it's like the last three years of gym faithfulness have melted away in the blink of an eye and I'm frustrated at how difficult it is to get back into the 'swing' of things. I texted default.html my progress so that I could help motivate myself. I miss my gym partner, though it was fun going with Scooby Doo. We were largely slackers, but we made it and it was fun being together.

I totally had a brain shut-down and gave him a driving lesson in the open parking lot afterwards. I'm not sure I would call it a screaming success. He made all the rookie mistakes of slamming down on the gas and then the breaks resulting in zooming rapidly toward the windshield at high speeds. What concerns me more is his sheer joy in the rapid movement. Not surprising in a kid with sensory processing issues, but how in da hell do I teach him to be careful? **sigh** Aunt Clara need to put some coffee on and let the gerbils out for this one.

I've been feeling a bit unproductive for awhile now. Okay, I've been feeling like a ragingly huge slacker. I realized over the weekend when default.html and I were talking that part of the influence to my inability to get things done is that I don't have free time during the week. Gym-FamilyFunNight-GymandYouthGroup-DateNight-GymandKidWrangling. Seriously. WTF. Tonight I tried to get to the gym early and get home early. I wasn't so successful at that, but since default.html is combing his shrinking and massaging sessions with W tonight, I got home and have some Time To Think. Hence blogging. This feels good. Okay, now for shower, food and maybe productivity.

I'm grateful for time with my son today.
soapwench: (Default)
This won't mean anything to most of you, but the first of my square cobalt blue dinner plates got broken tonight.
soapwench: (Default)
Before I launch into my awesome weekend, I have to say that I started organizing my desk last night.   The untainted promise of new office supplies (yes, I love new office supplies almost as much as I love new purses) lured me to begin mucking out the detritus that has grown on my desk in my "office".  (For those of you who haven't seen my office, it's really a corner of my bedroom.)  It is as if my computer is the base of a tall tree and everything else is the leaves that have fallen and fallen and fallen and fallen until you have to get a shovel and the bottom layers are beginning to blacken and turn to fertilizer.  Yeah.  Needless to say, my desk has been neglected in the unpacking frenzy that Lisa has courageously helped me undertake before this coming weekend.  But I started taking it back last night.  I sorted.  I threw away.  I actually read some of my mail! I have a lot of my bills set up on automatic bill pay, so I'm not always good about mail, unless I'm expecting something fun, like lingerie.



Saturday morning, I got up early and armed with (hopefully!) Aunt Clara proof directions, I made my way into Philadelphia to a contra dance.  Yeah, I didn't know what one was either.  You do a lot of the same moves as a square dance, but you move up and down a line of dancers.  The best description, in my mind, is the country dance in the early part of the original A&E version of Pride and Prejudice.  [Don't even bother with the recent version.  It sucked.]  I ended up at this dance because an old and dear friend, Seth, was up from Hotlanta calling for the dance.  I was very amused when I arrived and asked if Seth was there yet to be told that he hadn't arrived and everyone was asking about him.  Really?  Wow.  Turns out this goofy guy who used to have lumber in his bedroom and had to throw out a pot of spagghetti sauce because he didn't want to wash it is one of the top ten callers in the country.  And he was!  Awesome that is.  I was very impressed at how he lifted the energy of the room with his...patter.  There's no other word for it.  It's patter.  And it was fun.  It was fun people watching.  It was fun dancing.  And everyone was in disbelief that I had known him so long that I knew him when he still had hair. 

The first...boy...that I danced with had bare feet and was so sweet about it being my first time.  I think he's been stoned A LOT in his lifetime, but he was very kind as he helped me through the moves.  The next guy I danced with came all the way up from DC for this dance.  He showed me how to properly be swung.  I like to be swung.  It's spinny and fun.  In fact a lot of the dancing was spinny and fun.  Allemande is spinny and fun too.  I spent a lot of time looking into the eyes of people I had never met before.  There's a curious intimacy about it.  It's not like when you meet someone for the first time and you look at all of them and talk to them and your eyes move about the room.  No, when you're dancing and your partner swings you, you look into their eyes.  Everyone there had a different energy.  There were the college guys like Keith and Joe who were having laid back fun.  There were the guys who, you could tell, were serious dancers and took every misstep with the tolerance of a siamese cat.  "No, your feets go there, stupid human."  There were the little old men who were just glad they could still get it up and onto a dance floor.  There were some gay couples, one of which had very prickly energy.  There were the couples that kissed every time they swung together, kissed while the waltzed.  There was one couple especially that was all about the kissing.  I kept looking at them and trying to decide if they were kinky or not.  Because that's how my mind works.  He appeared to be much older than she looked and he had this big-ass, goofy grin on his face for most of the dance.  This man was having some serious bootilicious fun.  It was a joy to watch.  

At this point, let me say, never ask a guy who wears fluorescent yellow and orange pants what to wear to a contra dance.  The vagueness of his response goes into Guy Communication Hall of Fame.  Really it does.  Though, to be fair, people wore a wide variety of outfits from short tennis-type skirts, to peasant skirts, to pants, to pants under skirts, to short flirty skirts that showed their panties when they whirled.  No one had a skirt stuffed inside their pants, but that's just because everyone was all about the swirling.  The men wore skirts too.  I guess men who contra dance like to swirl too.  One of the guys wore this cool-ass skirt that was black with fall leaves on it.  It was awesome.  There were a couple of guys there in kilts.  One of them was quite offended when I asked him if he was regimental.  I don't know why.  It's not like I was groping his ass while I asked!  

It was a lot of fun and I plan on dragging our Girls' Night Out group to a more local contra dance.  

It was also a lot of fun to catch up with Seth.  What can I say about him?  It's lovely to have shared your life, your time, your body with someone and years later still be friends.  He put up with a lot from me in the rocky months after we finally broke up.  I told everyone about the cat playing ping pong with his balls.  I gave all his new girlfriends' bug names.  But we survived.  And our history together is something to be treasured.  He's the one who upped my nickname in college from Wench to Fiendish Wench (Somehow "pantsing" someone while they're doing laundry and not wearing underwear could be considered evil.  Go figure.).  He challenged me in how I have relationships with people.  He accused me of splurching on myself all the time to draw attention to my tits.  Please.  As if.  We talked about old and familiar topics.  We talked about new stuff in our lives.  He's expecting another child and I'm thrilled for him.  I always knew that he would make a great dad and was a little sad when I thought he was going to marry someone who didn't want kids.  I rediscovered his fabulously silly sense of humor.  Puns and silly jokes abounded.  

I was so tired Saturday night that not even the Magic Pajamas could give me energy.  They practically had to scrape my ass off the sofa to get me into bed.  Of course, that didn't stop me from being distracted the next morning and running late in the process of discovering my legs are too short.  

Sunday morning, I met Seth, along with Baldric and my kids at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  We grabbed a quick breakfast at their suck-egg cafeteria and then hit the museum.  We had so much fun!  The Japanese Tea house was lovely.  The temples were so peaceful.  I got to see "Sunflowers" up close and personal.  Wow.  But the best fun we had was in the modern art rooms trying to decide what everything was.  (A long time favorite pass time of the boys' and mine.)  My favorite was the Washer and Dryer.  Nicholas thought it was a cave.  I don't remember what everyone else thought of it.  The highlight of those rooms though was Nicholas trying to touch some (probably priceless) piece of artwork because he didn't realize the stick stuck in front of it was part of the piece.  Once we scraped the security guards off of him, he was fine.  I plan on teasing him about this for years to come.  We also liked the ceiling which I thought would make a good nerf gun target.  Conner agreed because it was already shaped and painted like a nerf bullet.  We had a great discussion about what art was.  Is a painting that is grades of orange on canvas art?  Or the blue square with a different shade of blue down the center?  Or the grid of 25 blocks in five different colors?

We then trekked nearby to a restaurant for a leisurely lunch.  It was a bit more leisurely than we had anticipated, because our waitress was so slow, I think she was going into the kitchen and giving blowjobs to the kitchen staff in between trips to our table.  She always had this vague, silly expression on her face.  Everything took forever.  My toast came after the bus boy cleared my plate.  But we had a great time.  Seth showed the boys his iPhone and let them play with it.  He and the boys told silly jokes and talked.  it was a lot of fun.  I only got lost a couple of times on the way out of Philadelphia.  Breathing much easier once I hit 422.  

The evening wasn't so fun.  Nicholas was very...expressive...of his anger.  But it needed to come out.  I also found out that someone I absolutely cannot stand because of something she did to Conner wants to date Baldric.  What?  Why?  Sometimes the world is just too bizarre, even for me.

But, I had a lovely weekend and fulfilled a couple of my goals (yeah me!) of keeping in better touch with friends and of taking the boys to more fun, enriching activities.
 
soapwench: (Default)
 I went to the most awesome concert last night!

www.interculturaljourneys.org

It was R. Carlos Nakai, a Native American flutist, joined by Udi Bar-David a cellist and Wu Man, a pipa vurtoso.  Oh my goodness.  The flute music was so peaceful.  The cello was haunting.  The pipa (a chinese banjo - I know of no other way to describe it, though the program says it's a type of lute) was intriguing.  I loved watching their faces while playing and their joy in the music.  Udi and Wu Man were especially captivating to watch.  They enjoyed it so!

One of my two favorite parts of the concert were when a violinist joined them and they played Amazing Grace.  Each of the instrumentalists took the lead on one verse with the other instruments supporting them.  The pipa doesn't draw notes out, so it was tinkly with a melodic undertone.  I'm not musical enough to describe it correctly.  I don't have the language, but it was one of the most beautiful versions of that song that I've ever heard. 

The other part was at the end when they were improvising jazz riffs.  I mean, how cool is it to hear a Chinese lute and a Native American flute performing jazz riffs?  It was an experience that I will always remember.  I just wish the kids hadn't been too tired for us to stick around and meet the artists.

Okay, so I'm sitting here at work writing this, listening to a cd that I purchased last night of R. Carlos Nakai's flute music and one of my more outrageous co-workers pipes up with the comment that it sounds like porn music.  So, I can say, "No, it really isn't porn slappin' music." and be correct, but then everyone I work with will know that I watch porn.  I think I'll just let the comment pass.

soapwench: (Default)
 I was sitting here at work (pleased to be employed, even if I want to stab my boss in the eyeball with a letter opener) feeling whiny about how tired and run down that I'm feeling.

What an ungrateful wretch I am!  

I had a fan-fucking-tabulous weekend.  Emily and I had an unexpected and enchanting dinner during which we discussed literature (one of my favorite topics!) and evolutionary psychology.  It was a really enjoyable conversation about love and whether or not humans are genetically engineered for monogomy.  

Saturday morning we went to get furniture from my boss (Napoleonette) that is being put to good use.  Freecycle low tech version.  I talked (chatted via IM) with my cousin in Crete.  How cool is that?  How cool is technology sometimes?

Saturday afternoon I had fun cleaning my house.  Yes, I had fun cleaning.  No, I'm not feverish.  I really enjoyed it.  It was as if I took possession of my house.  I'm beginning to see me in my house.  I love it.  I didn't get nearly what I wanted done, but do I ever? 

Saturday evening Robin and Shannon came over.  It was wonderful.  I'm really hoping this grows into a long, term close relationship.  (I love playing board games and anyone who accepts offers of sexual favors so I can win and then collects right then and there is delicious to play with!)  We had some seriously awesome, quality sofa cuddling time while watching Black Adder.  We played a new game that I ordered Sunday (after playing it) it was so fun.  I lost twice and enjoyed it.  Shannon is delightfully cut-throat.  We never made it to the chocolate fondue, but I'll leave it that I had never fully realized how sexy breath could be, I was never in charge and a good time was had by all.  *cheshire grin*

Sunday morning Rev. Paul's sermon was actually inspiring.  I didn't daze off at all.  I actually paid attention and listened and was inspired.  Sunday afternoon Lynn and I had a comfortable coz at McDonald's chatting and working on our service for next week. 

I mean seriously, aside from a couple minor hiccups (including avoiding a call from my mother who seems to have forgotten everything that happened and wants me to come up to spend the holidays with her) and VERY little sleep, it was a fabulous weekend.  The only reason I'm not walking on cloud nine is that I'm sooo tired.  Which says to me that my attitude is heavily influenced by how rested I am.  I don't know if it works that same way for everyone, but I think that's how I work.  Interesting. 

In any case, thanks to the universe for a great weekend.

soapwench: (Default)
 I haven't really blogged about this yet.  The emotions are pretty intense and pretty deeply buried.  I realized today that I needed to write about it to bring some of this up and deal with it.

My mom has finally crossed the final line for me and I'm at the point where I will no longer speak to her ever again, unless she heals one or two of her addictions.  I'm not picky.  It doesn't have to be all of them.  Just one or two.  I really hope that I can stick with this, because it's the right choice to make to protect myself from her selfishness, drama and destructiveness. 

I have a lot of empathy for my mom who has had several strokes and brain aneurisms (sp?).  She's very creative, but she's unable to hold down a job due to health reasons, so she's at home all the time with the television, catalogues and four yappy-ass dogs. 

About a week ago I thought that she was over-dosing from an ingestion of oxycontin, tranquilizers, alcohol and probably other substances that I wasn't even aware of.  I processed.  I consulted with valued members of my family (thanks Richard and Robin).  I talked with my mom and my stepfather.  I finally realized that she was enjoying the drama of the situation more than she was in any real danger. 

In her diatribe about how she had been abused her whole life, she started in on my dad and what an asshole he had been to her.  This is one of the boundaries that I have established with her.  In order to maintain any kind of relationship with this women we do not discuss the past and we do not discuss my father or his family, because she and I remember so much of what happened completely differently.  We can never find middle ground.  So, we just don't discuss it..  I not only called her on it, but I told her to get off her Pity Potty and quit being a victim.  Weeeeell, that, in addition to telling her that she was killing herself, didn't go over well, needless to say. 

The following day, she left me a couple of messages, the jist of which was that I was an ungrateful child, that she had done so much for me and it was never enough, I always wanted more and she hoped I wouldn't be so selfish as to keep the facts from my children, including how she wanted to be a grandmother to them but was prevented by my selfishness.  She threw in my face the train tickets to Rhode Island.  She threw my purse in my face.  I love my purse.  I didn't ask for it, but I love it. 

And I just can't past this.  I know that she equates love with money.  I know this.  I've known this for a long time.  I know that I don't do enough to show my love to her by buying her things.  I just can't wrap my heart around it.  I can show love by doing things.  I can show love by listening.  I can show love by telling people.  I can show love with hugs.  I can show love with food.  I can even show love by buying things for people sometimes, but it's usually something I see that just jumps out at me and I know is perfect for them, or a special surprise that I think will mean a lot to that person. 

The things, the stuff, has never meant much to me.  It would have meant so much more to me if she had just come to my high school graduation, my college graduation, my wedding, the birth of either of my children, any milestone in my life.   Any ONE of them. 

I accepted, with much reluctance, some things she wanted to buy me or do for me, because I knew that's how she showed her love.  And I know that I failed to show my love for her.  I failed her in so many ways, but she crossed the last line for me.  I know this may seem silly.  She's crossed so many lines.  She's accused me of taking her prescription valium to hide her use.  She's thrown me out of her house in the middle of the night in a snow storm.  She's let me down in so many ways and this is just the final one. 

soapwench: (Default)
Let me first say that this was a very trying weekend.  On top of a major, much-needed complete home re-organization that my hubby and I have undertaken to redefine our space and make it more ours, I committed to a number of things at church this weekend.  Not only due to wide-spread criticism of our efforts, but also because we were very invested in the space being really special, one of my committee's and I spend several hours Friday night decorating the building for the winter soltice.  I got home and got to bed well after 2:00 am.  It was well worth it because it looks fan-fucking-tabulous.  But I still got to be really late (or early, depending).

Saturday started out okay, but still, I felt like I was caught in a Jackie Chan movie.  I worked on Sunday's service, amid other errands, was an hour late to set up for the Holiday Party at the church and ended up leaving after just two hours.  I ran around looking for a CD with a song that I wanted to play Sunday and couldn't find at home due to said re-organization, only to discover that "A Child's Celebration of Christmas" with "The Takeover Before Christmas" by Odds Bodkin on it, was out of print.  I went home to download it only to discover that I had incorrectly saved all the work I had done earlier on Sunday's service and had to re-create it.  It was a good, creative process, but I still didn't get done until about 2:00 am.  All my good intentions to go to bed early were flushed down the black hole with all my 0s and 1s. 

So Sunday morning, I'm scrambling around to find people to fill parts for my skit that I was doing that morning with no rehearsal, I knocked over a basket of ornaments, my cell phone (the infamous 'All Aboard' from Crazy Train) goes off during a major song by our choir, and the play goes very stiltedly.  I end up passing on a committment that was important to me and going home.  That went pretty well, I did laundry, took a long, hot bath and went to bed relatively early.  Asleep by 10:00 pm.

Then Herman struck.  You were wondering when I was going to get to Herman, weren't you?  Herman is our mouse.  Herman has a mansion somewhere in the strata and structure of our townhouse building.  Herman has built the mouse super-highway with exits in every major room of our home (with large, orange caution cones around all of our fancy mouse traps). 

Herman decided that he needed to redecorate Sunday night at midnight.  I don't know what I'm missing ('cause everything is in boxes and I can't find a fracking thing), but Herman dragged something very large down to his little mouse mansion.  I woke up to his huffing, puffing and crinkling noises, turned on the light and watched said item disapear behind my dresser.  I'm hoping it was just a big page of a magazine to shred and bed down in, because if it wasn't Herman is Super Mouse.  He can leap tall 11 year olds in a single bound, he's faster than a speeding scream.  Light doesn't phase Herman.  He lets out a piercing squeek, which I interpret as "Thanks.  It was hard working in the dark.", waves his claw of steel and keeps working. 

So, I get up and run down stairs to get my phone and place an emergency call to a girlfriend who is up at this hour for sage advice.  Herman followed and continued construction underneath our modified entertainment center.  Apparently the re-organization has had an impact on his super-highway and he is working over-time to make sure all the little mouse families can visit each other for the holidays.  I think our home might be a hub, like the Atlanta airport. 

This was clearly not one of my bravest moments in life as I went from standing outside in my robe to calling my husband at work shrieking like a...well, like a semi-hysterical, very over-tired woman.  Husband arrived armed with steel wool and more traps and well...protectiveness.  Sometimes I can be fierce and people shouldn't mess with me, but sometimes it's nice to be protected, even from Herman. 

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