In Case You Were Wondering

It was wintery cold out this morning – so cold that I went back inside to get my lovely black leather gloves to keep my finger tips warm. When I got to my car I was dismayed to find ICE on the windshield. I was dismayed because not two days ago I was at Target in the dollar section and I picked up an ice scraper commenting “Ooooh, we need one of these!” and I put it back down.

Using one of the numerous plastic discount cards in my wallet, I diligently scraped the thin layer off the glass. A woman passed, walking her child to school.

The little girl, dressed in a heavy black parka with a fur trim hood, paused and surveyed my work.

“Look, there’s ICE!” she re-affirmed the obvious.

For some reason I was the only car on the block with a frosty on the windshield. All the others around me were clean as a whistle. Apparently the universe was feeling very ironic this morning.

On an unrelated note (because who needs a segue) Husband and I have FINALLY chosen our Halloween costumes. This is his first ever, you know, so he wanted to be something REALLY AMAZING. But neither of us could think of something REALLY AMAZING to be. Instead he is going as a geek (which is going to be pretty damn cute, actually).

Only, he won't be Urkel.

And because I have a general aversion to face paint, blood and gore and suffer from a basic overwhelming laziness, I finally settled on being a jellyfish.

Only I won't be an old lady*.

My list of options was Amelia Earhart, Michael Jackson, the Cheshire cat, jellyfish or Unicorns and Rainbows (just for you, my avid searchers of sunshine and sparkles). Ultimately I chose jellyfish because it would justify the purchase of a clear bubble umbrella, the likes of which I have been coveting for years now. 

Adorable girl not included, apparently.

You know, it’s the little things in life.

Photos of the actual costumes to follow. You know, once we have finished them.


*Photo lifted of Martha Stewart's page.

Good News vs. Bad News

Good News: I went to the Neurologist today to talk about my episodes of rage. After fairly brief but very serious consultation, he gladly gave me a clean bill of neurological health. I don't have a brain tumor or anything! Yay!

Bad News: This means that the only thing wrong with me is ME. I am a screw loose of being wired tightly enough (or some such analogy). The entire weight of my crazy ass behavior is on my shoulders. I can't blame nerve damage or hormones and DNA is sort of a cop out. More meds and lots of hours of therapy are in my future.

Good News: The current medication that the psychiatrist prescribed to lessen my rages seems to be working.

Bad News: It also seems to me making me a bumbling idiot, wherein I am no longer able to formulate coherent sentences and feel like I am walking around in a half drunk haze (but not in a fun way.)

Good News: After my lady visitor was over two and a half weeks late, she finally came last night. I really am not preggers!

Bad News: Because my lady visitor was two and a half weeks late, I feel like a four hundred pound man is sitting on my lower back and one of those skinny Twilight vampires with over-gelled hair is sucking me dry. Am I being dramatic? Good, that's what I was going for.

Good News: I have succeeded in writing on this blog more than once this month.

Bad News: I’m still not interesting. I am still wildly unprepared for National Novel Writing Month. This morning Husband and I discussed my word quota for each day and he suggested a “planning” to account for days like Thanksgiving and such when my in-laws (whom I’ve not yet met – a story for another day) and I will likely not want to write. I told him that he was silly, it doesn’t work that way, but actually on reflection the idea doesn’t suck. As long as he also helps me plan what the hell we’re going to eat for a whole month. This thing starts next Tuesday. Did I mention I am not ready?

Good News: This man was reunited with his long lost gorilla friend.

Bad News: It totally made me cry.

But that’s not really news to anyone, is it?

Two Reasons I Should Have Babies Right Now

For the record – and this is a public record – Husband* and I are not looking to have babies any time soon. Considering my broken lady parts it’s not really even an option. We’d like to have some sex before we have the babies. No, no, for now Husband and I are really, really looking forward to when we have a real house so that we can get DOGS.

Husband is currently looking at Rottweilers – preferably two.

Disclaimer given, there are two reasons I have decided I should have a baby right now:

1. I would have something to talk about on this blog.
2. This would make me a “mommy blogger” thus driving thousands and millions of people to my blog, finally making me a ‘credible’ blogger and possibly winning me a book deal.

Oh come on, you know I am right. Mommy bloggers are the only ones who seem to make money off this gig. Mommy bloggers and cooking bloggers.  Even if you want to quip “Well my blog isn’t about my kids!” I guarantee that the mere mention of your progeny is driving traffic to your page.

I am forgetting one other marketable blog type and that is the “Expat/Travel Blog” – i.e. the ONLY** blog a single person can have that will be deemed interesting. Once upon a time I had one of those, but I am once again just plain old American Juliet.

Not that I even so much want to make money off of my blog. If I did then I probably would have found a way to market it by now. I really just want the book deal. I want that magical moment of an agent calling me out of nowhere, saying “Julie we read your blog about recreating every recipe Julia Child ever wrote and we think your stupid idea is worth making a movie out of.” Except it will be an agent calling about how poignant and well written my blog is and how Oprah Winfrey herself wants to read the first draft and is fighting four other major publishers for the rights. Maggie Gyllenhal will play me in the movie. Yes, I dream big.

So I figure the only way to make this happen is to get readers to come to this blog and the only way to make that happen is to get knocked up.  

Husband is shaking his head vehemently “NO.”

Since I am sure there is some copywrite on the whole Julia Child schtick, I guess ya’ll are stuck with plain old American Juliet. Blog name change?

Other things that I need to inform you of, but will draw out so that it seems like I have more blog content:

• Being married is awesome! (So are the gifts.)
• It’s Husband’s first official Halloween.
• We got finally got our big kid’s bed. No, it doesn’t have whips, swings, or handcuffs. Not THAT kind of big kid’s bed. It is just lovely. 
• We went to the Poconos last weekend. Fall in PA is very pretty.
• I am kind of freaking out about writing for a whole month. I may have already sold myself as a failure, to myself.

Pick one, any one! I’ll write about that next.

Choose Your Own Adventure Blog? …Now that could be a hoot.

* The Boy shall henceforth be named "Husband". Firstly because he really isn't so much a boy, and secondly because I really love saying "my husband".

** I know of plenty very good and even successful blogs that don't fit into any of the above categories. But admitting that isn't any fun at all.

Finally!!!

This Saturday, under a beautiful blue sky and a canopy of fall leaves, The Boy and I finally did it: We got married.

It's true that some days I didn't think it would even happen. We have certainly shared a lifetime worth of troubles already. But I like to think we are just getting it out of the way early. It's a niave and hopeful thought, but I am sticking with it.

As I said my vows a huge wave of realization passed over me. We were getting married. And it was everything I hoped it would be. I wanted to say 'Yes, I do' and I wanted to never turn back. I wanted to be with this man, for better or for worse, forever. Crazy.

I didn't wear the wedding dress I bought back in January - it just didn't feel right. We are planning on having a 'real' wedding with a cermony and reception in about a year when we (and all our guests) have recovered a little financially and can celebrate the day we had hoped to have in September.

At the restaurant about five hundred feet from us someone else was having a wedding. The music from their reception echoed through the leaves as we exchanged rings. Kiss tenderly set the tone for "I now pronounce you man and wife". As we kissed and held each other close a sweet and low "Mmm hmmmm" passed over us.

No Diggity, will forever be "our song."

 We were married!!! Finally!

In Other News

As of a few months ago the keyword search for "unicorns and rainbows"* is the one that brings the most traffic to my blog. Not wanting to leave these people sorely disappointed, I offer you this:

I probably owned this folder. I kinda wish I still did.

...And this guy. Because why not.

*Indeed, when you search for unicorns and rainbows you find my blog in sixth place on the first page. Go ahead, go look: You know you want to.

Postivity and the Not So Dramatic (Okay, a Little Dramatic)

All I want to do is write a blog. This didn’t used to be a hard task for me. I used to crap those things out like writing was easy – like stringing together words to make clever sentences and hitting publish was just like breathing. But now… Oh now.

I’ve been thinking about writing this blog since Monday. Monday, people. That was four days ago. Has something more interesting happened since then? No, of course not. But my brain could have used the exercise.

Regardless, I didn’t do it. I am doing it now, and that’s what counts, right? Unless you have a goal - a lofty goal such as National Blog Posting Month which looms on the horizon, along with its predecessor Nanowrimo. In previous years I attempted posting a blog per day, every day for the month of November. Each time I failed - though I think I came close in 2008. (I was 5 days from a win in 2008 – ironically I wrote 45 blog posts in November 2007 before I’d even heard about Nablopomo.)

This year, despite my massive attack of lack-of-inspiration and/or motivation, I am going to try again. Screw posting every day for a month, though – I am shooting for the moon, biting off more than I can chew, bringing out the big guns – I am going to participate in National Novel Writing Month.

My fear of failure is getting the better of me. Do I even attempt to write over sixteen hundred words a day? Considering I am not doing so well at even pushing out a couple hundred every week is it really possible for me to be able to write a whole book? In a month?

I’ve joined the website, carefully written my Novel Information and joined the forums for my region. I hope that I can find motivation there, but I’m finding a (not) surprising amount of college and high school students. It seems very few people past the age of 25 have the motivation (read: time?) to try to write a novel in a month. It makes sense, really. It’s not hard to commit to writing every night when there is no laundry to do or dinner to make. No kids? Why not!

I think about my mother and how she used to write at night when she got home from work. She had dedication – a gene I fear missed my generation. How did she did do it all of those years? I will never know. But I want that dedication. I want to write a book in a month.  I have Crystal over on the other side of the pond who said she'd give it a shot too. The Boy is behind me, even if he doesn't know yet that it means crappy dinners for a month. So I am going to try. I am going to try to prove myself wrong. I am not a failure, or a quitter or any of those things. Right? Right?

Just say 'Right', okay?

OH SIGH

You know how sometimes bad things come in multiples? It’s as if, cosmically, a person is not allowed to simply suffer one injustice at a time because that would be too easy (and the universe hates easy). Or maybe it’s the opposite and the universe is trying to do us all a favor and put all the bad stuff together so that we can, in fact, enjoy moments of peace and joy in our lives? Either way the end result comes off rather unfair.

Such is my life. Along with my vulvodynia, which is sufficiently taxing my relationship (if you know what I mean), I have been suffering for quite some time from something else. People who like to give out scientific names to things would probably liken it to Intermittent Explosive Disorder, or IED. I rather like that acronym because it’s the same as that for an Improvised Explosive Device which is known for causing unspeakable destruction to anyone or anything that should happen to trigger it.

According to Wikipedia, an IED is a roadside bomb often used in acts of terrorism or guerrilla warfare. This bomb - like Intermittent Explosive Disorder – detonates on impact, obliterating everything around it leaving pain, sadness and confusion in its wake.  Those whose lives have been affected by an IED are forced to rebuild what has been destroyed (if possible) and often need significant amounts of counseling to cope with the aftermath.

Of course I have not been actually diagnosed with this terrible thing, but in the age of internet-self-diagnosis, I know that’s just gotta be what’s wrong with me.  Sometimes they are more like really (really) scary anxiety attacks that involve me pulling out my own hair, and sometimes they involve throwing ladles at across the room. One results in holes in the wall. (Note to self: old plaster is not stronger than a metal ladle.)Both involve screaming, tears and often balling up on the floor, hyperventilating. Neither make me feel like anything less than a crazy lady.

Before anyone sends their concerned comments flinging off in my direction, let me just remind you that I am fully aware that none of this is normal and that I am already seeing a therapist, taking my medication and looking for any possibly related health issues. In fact, I am convinced that it’s not something so stupidly incomplex as IED. Nothing is that simple and humans are like oceans. We give off superficial indications of what is really going on inside of us but doctors simply cannot dissect us deeply enough yet.  There is no microscope that has been built that can break down the complex chemical processes that make us think and feel certain ways. It would have to be magnified ten million times before the ten percent of our brain that we use could even begin to comprehend it.

Needless to say it’s nothing I understand. I am trying to. I have conjectures. There are triggers which are like little clues to the mystery. I am pushing for blood tests to rule out anything that just can’t be fixed with an antidepressant. I am proceeding cautiously and getting second opinions and doing my research. I’m going Nancy Drew on this shit, y’all.

But it’s frustrating. In case you can’t figure that out, this sucks. It’s bad enough that I can’t have sex. My body is rejecting something that naturally makes us feel emotionally better? What a cold cruel world. And don’t think I haven’t let the idea of a correlation between the two pass my constantly whirring mind. No sex = crazy rage episodes? Or crazy rage episodes = no sex? Which one would make the other better if I could just get it fixed? Either way my body seems to be seriously pissed about something.

And so there’s that.

The good news? C’mon, there is always good news, right? The good news is that it’s Friday. For two days, I am not going to think about either one of these things. TGMotherfuckinIF y’all.