You say I'm good as dead, if I keep it up much longer...

So today was a quiet one. The sun was beaming over Lorain. The sky was crisp blue. I could almost feel things growing around me, the grass pushing up through the muddy soil, the trees stretching up and out to embrace the sun. It was, strangely enough, a nice day. It began with tears and frustration and a tiny bit of resentment. Mostly, frustration. 2 o'clock this morning I was clawing at Sonny in his restful slumber, demanding to know something. He answers me, in a half-assed, I-don't-wanna-hurt-your-feelings type way. I demand a full explanation. He gives. I cry. He consoles. I push him away. Yada. Yada. I always thought I was pretty strong. A silent, inner strength that got me through a lot of tough shit and kept my eyes dry...kept my vulnerability concealed; like that nip of Jack Daniels one of my coworkers (allegedly) drinks most mornings. Since I met Sonny I'm a lot more emotional. Love works in mysterious ways.

Anyway, I think Sonny felt the magical sparks of Springtime approaching, too. He was smiling his wide, devilishly handsome smile all through lunchtime. His eyes looked more alive too. He must have been really digging the sunshine, since he took out his antique car.

My sisters called today. I love my sisters, don't get me wrong. But they are usually bored when they call me. Looking to hit me up for some quality, old-fashioned time wasting. I used to do this with my best friend from high school. Hell, I can remember days where we'd be so bored 2 minutes of silence could pass between us. Once, I fell asleep on the phone with her. So yeah, I used to reign as the Queen of Phone-Time-Wasting. But since I left high school and got a job and started to realize that there's more to life than what's immediately outside your front door (there's a whole entire world out there!!)I'm not very good on the phone. Oh, I love meeting up for coffee or a dinner or a movie. I don't mind talking face to face. But I've noticed that people's manners fail them when they're on the phone. They interrupt (a lot) and watch t.v., completely ignoring you. My dad sometimes holds conversations with other people around when I call him. And my sisters are no better. Tell me, what is so damn important that you feel you are entitled to lay claim to 3 hours of my life? Usually, not much. Given my aversion to talking on the phone (and the distance from Ohio to NY) you can imagine I don't talk to my sisters that much (my brother knows how to have a nice, short and polite conversation). It just scorches my fun-bags when I'm talking to someone who is commenting on what Drew Lachey just did on television. If I really cared, I'd have turned on my own boob-tube and watched it, no?

Funny... it made me smile = )

You're a DRAMA QUEEN. Your favorite is the

SQUEALER, who awards you with the

encouragement and adoration you think you

deserve. Your natural enemy is the BASHER, or

anyone who gives you negative reviews.


Which annoying fan are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

The lost weekend, indeed

This weekend, I don't know what happened. Something finally exploded between Sonny & me. There's a black soot all over my heart. I didn't feel like coming in to work today...but then, lately that's usually been the case. Sonny senses my sadness, but can't make heads or tails of it. And the topic of D-E-B-T came up. Money problems and love just don't mix. So that sucked. This weekend was one for raw nerves and sore button pushing. I'm probably not even making sense right now. Anyway, I think we're doing alright now. Sonny smiled at me widely on our way in to work this morning, and kissed me good bye. He must be feeling like we made some progress through our late-night discussion, Sunday. >sigh< I wish I had a Grande Vanilla Chai Latte at this exact moment.

But if you really want to live, why not try and make yourself?

I woke up this morning with that Incubus song "Make Yourself" banging on my brain. I even did my best to explain the deep intricate meaning of the song to Sonny. There are a few people I would just love to pull from the single file line of life. "Listen to this. LISTEN TO IT!" I'd shout, duct taping the headphones to their skulls.

"If you let them make you, they'll make you Paper-Mache,
At a distance you're strong, until the wind comes..
Then you'll crumble and blow away...
If you let them fuck you, there will be no foreplay,
Rest assured, they'll screw you complete, 'til your ass is blue and grey!

You should make amends with you,
If only for better health!
But if you really want to live...
Why not try, and make yourself?"

Ok. Sure, it sounds kind of funny. But think about it. The next year or two of my life, I'll be focused on dragging my ass out of the ditch I kinda carelessly flung myself into. I've had "up" days and I've had "shitty" days. But this song always reminds me that *life is what you make it*. You can build yourself to be the way you want to be or you can let others build you. You can be a victim of your circumstances and fall into the oppressive labels created to categorize people (ie Welfare Mother) or you can rise above it and make your own path. Idealistic drivel? Maybe. Romantic rubbish? Maybe. But what could it hurt to believe it? To join in the bet between my friend and I that life is what you make it. What do you have to lose? More importantly, what do you have to gain?

This song is my gym anthem. It's the song I play on repeat when I'm doing that extra ten minutes on the bike or when I'm walking that extra 1/2 mile on the treadmill. It's audio rocket fuel. I love that it begs the question, "Why not try and make yourself?" How can you answer that, honestly? There are so many reasons you can't make yourself, but none of them are solid barriers. They're excuses. I know this now; every reason I can possibly come up with not to lose that extra 30 pounds, or finish that novel or get that degree...none of them are 100% valid. There's a way to achieve whatever goals you make yourself get up and go after.

So...Why not try and make yourself?

The right side of my face is not happy

Damn IT!!! I can't even chew on the right side. And that's the side I unconsciously chew on. It feels weird being a lefty-chewer. Anyway, we all know what this means. I've got to go to the dentist. It's time for:

5 REASONS WHY GOING TO THE DENTIST SUCKS

1. The horrible, excruciating, knee-weakening pain!
2. That damn drill!
3. Stupid, hemophobic nurses (I had a couple of these...now I ask you: why would you become a fucking NURSE if you are afraid of BLOOD?!Having someone stitching up your wound with closed eyes because they're terrified of the sight of blood..that's just horribly wrong!)
4. Novacain shots...into your gums!!
5. And that creepy, super bright light concentrated into parts of your mouth you've never even seen. *shudder*

I could go on, but I'm just succeeding in terrifying myself. The price you pay for wanting to keep your teeth. But after all, they're just teeth. . . LOL! That's like saying, "It's just an eye". I mean, you could get a long without it but it screws up your quality of your life. Uggghhh. *pouting heavily* I guess I should make an appointment.

The main thing that burns my fun bags...every single time I sit in that stupid (p)leather chair and open up wide enough for them to inscribe my tonsils...each and every time they make some off-hand comment about my overbite. OK. Yes. I've got the "Bugs Bunny deal" going on, but it just so happens I'm P-O-O-R, buddy! So screw you. The problem here, obviously, is that I've not been to the same dentist more than twice. (drawback to having Medicaid as a kid). And I avoid those creepy SOBs like the plague as an adult. I don't think I've been in at least 4 years. Seriously though, the last time I went (for the removal of my pesky, lower-left wisdom tooth) the dentist actually called a nurse in just to 'get a load of my overbite'. And then he rolled out the lecture template about how important it is that I fix this problem. Like...he was ready to slap the fuckers on right then and there! I calmly reminded him that I was visiting him on Medicaid, which would imply that 1)I couldn't afford braces and 2) The Medicaid Administration Office would die from laughter if they got the $5K bill for what is essentially a *cosmetic procedure*.

End Rant....

Where ya goin'...till tomorrow?

We didn't do anything for Valentine's day. Sonny was stuck at the office all night and I was stuck right along with him. Even still, it was better to be in a warm, dry office griping about a missed romantic opportunity, than wandering around town in a pair of fishnets in the middle of frigging winter. So, V-Day 05 still reigns as The Worst One, so far.

It occurred to me today over lunch, that my life right now is at a stand still. Not really a "stand still". I'm kind of slipping backward. My ambition might as well be buried 7 feet into the earth. I dig Oberlin College(gorgeous campus, hip student body and a fab little college town). The problem? Well, greenbacks my friend. $$$. I'm more broke than a leg-less chair. And tuition there is a little piece of a fortune. So, after I finished choking down that tidbit of info, I decided to set my sights on Lorain County's Community College. I must say, there aren't any courses there that *grab* me. It's just another college. That's not to say it's a crappy college. But at this point I need a kick in the pants. I need that next step. And the business school I went to was *basically* a waste of time. I don't want to keep treading water, I want to start doing laps and building up my atrophying muscles. I think it's time I made some intense and jarring decisions. I mentioned to Sonny that I had fleeting thoughts about moving back to NY for awhile, enrolling in a worthwhile college and working my ass off to get to that next step. It just doesn't make sense to remain in neutral for the next year or so, while Sonny fulfills his own destiny. I need my own footing. Especially before I begin having children. I must.

Of course, that poses very obvious problems and all kinds of issues. Like for one, where the hell am I going to stay if I move back there? For various (and very annoying) reasons I can't move into my mom's pad. And there's the small matter of a job. I know where I would love to work (the last place I worked), but I'd be kidding myself if I thought I could just slip back into my former life with reckless dreams and seamless precision. Just reckless dreaming...

Every year around this time...

February 10th. I watch the mad dash (mostly made by men) to grab last minute chocolates and balloons and all the commercialized materials that go along with this commercialized holiday coming up. Valentine's Day is a trick. I can say this even with a wedding ring on my finger. It's a ruse designed to make single people feel like shit pate on a cracker (well, the ones that give a hoot anyway) and designed to guilt dating and married people into dropping a buttload of cash into the flower and candy business. And Hallmark gets their little pound of flesh too. It's allllll about the Benjamins.

I remember when I was in grade school (probably the 6th grade) and Valentine's day rolled around. Every V-Day I would drag my ass to school. What were the odds that I would get a card from the guy I liked? What were the odds that I would get a card from a guy, period? Mostly, girls bought in these cute Mickey and Minnie cards and would hand them out with a little cherry heart-shaped lollipop taped to the card. Their parents, no doubt, encouraged them to give one to all the classmates whose names they could remember. Humiliating.

Anyway, to add to the frustration of dodging bouquets of roses and heart balloons big as a sofa, we had a small pack of jokers. These guys would each produce a red rose (from gawd knows where). They would lay in waiting until after lunch, when everyone had gotten all the V-Day stuff they were going to get. Of course, there were a handful of girls with nothing but the well concealed Mickey & Minnie cards. The jokers would approach these girls and caress her cheek with the rose, say something highly cheesy but semi-romantic and offer the flower to her. The girl would smile, reach out to take the rose (her little heart racing a mile a minute, probably) and then they would yank it away and laugh in her face...move on to the next unsuspecting victim. I watched this happen 4 times before they locked their sights on me. I didn't fall for it. But I loved what happened when they approached one of our poor classmates who had broken up with her boyfriend that afternoon. She snatched the rose and ripped it to pathetic, fragrant shreds and stomped on the petals for good measure. It was AWESOME!

Every year that I've been with Sonny we've tried to have an awesome V-Day. I don't think either one of us every really appreciated the holiday, but when you're dating it's a chance to be romantic. It's a chance to woo your partner with poetry and ply them chocolates, soft music, expensive dinner, roses, even diamonds. Last year, by far was the worst one ever. I wore this sweet-n-sexy mini dress, stockings and heels. Not one of the things I've just described is something you're likely to catch me in. I hate mini dresses. Frankly, I like to sit with my legs apart. Not the *guy* distance apart, but I like to be comfortable, dang it! Stockings are bogus. I can't even put on a pair without catching my nail and snagging them. Heels and I have never had a good relationship. Ever. So basically, I donned the sex-goddess uniform and teetered all over the place for the sake of unbridled romance.

It rained that evening. And it was cold; as a February evening should be. What was I thinking?! Oh..romance. That's right. Ok. There was a Thai restaurant we loved on the dining strip in Brooklyn. We never even parked the car to get in there. Just driving past the place you could see the line of couples standing single file, shivering and cuddling into each other to stay warm. That looked like at least a 2 hour wait. We silently shook our heads at each other and drove on. Finally, we found a parking spot about 3 blocks away from the place we originally wanted to eat. We got out and tried a few places. All were booked. Solid. 30 minutes later, we had worked our way through a block and a half, my feet were aching, my legs were icicles, and we were both punchy from hunger. And not to mention that we were arguing bitterly. We finally found a small Indian restaurant that was practically desolate. I wondered why...for about 3 seconds. And then I smelled the food and my legs start to thaw. We were seated. Toasted some wine and ate our dinner voraciously.

This year we'll both be at work. I started February banging my head against the wall trying to figure out a way for us to have an awesome Valentine's Day. I mean, it is our first one as a married couple. But he's being super passive about it and I just don't care enough about it to pull the weight of it alone. So, I doubt we'll be doing anything this year. Of course, I'll probably pull something off: dazzling, curt and sweet. But absolutely NO HEELS!

Like Semisonic, I'm feeling strangely fine

That's right. No gripes. No bitch-moaning. No irritating, perverbial pebble-in-my-shoe. I'm doing ok. For a while things were what you could call "warm" here weather-wise. Temperatures pushing 55. It was sweet. Made me want to roller skate to work. Or at least drive to work and rollerskate in the parking lot. Psssh. Like I can really rollerskate. ::eyeroll:: My ass hits the ground so many times when I put on skates, I might as well just wear one on my cheeks and be done with it. I don't mind falling with good company around, or at least a friendly stranger (who ISN'T trying to grope me) so I can regain my compsure and laugh it all off with a shrug. It's a horse of a different color to be stuck in the middle of a rink falling and trying desperately to use those stupid "brake" bumps on the front of the shoe to stablize yourself. The thing that always irked me, was that each time I go to a skating rink (the number of which can be counted on one hand) you always get the showy-disco-chicks who shake their asses and can go backward on one skate and the strapping-hot-boys who can do handstands and flip on their skates and shit. Not that I'm hating on these people. BUT, why do they always do it near me?! I'm afraid to even breathe while I half-dragging, half-tumbling around the rink, holding on to the wall or a friend desperately. The LAST thing I need is someone coming out of a double-clap back flip with a twist and nearly hitting me. Just the threat of colliding with someone is enough to weaken my knees and send me on my(oh-so-sore-by-now) ass.

So far, having a license I think has improved my perception of OH more than I had anticipated. I've been doing my own progress report and a few things have changed in a matter of months: The Giant Eagle (the local high end supermarket) is my fave place to shop. I remember we went there our first night in town to pick up some eggs and bacon and general staples to keep me occupied and fed for the next day. Our hair curled when we picked up a block of cheese. "This price sticker can't be RIGHT!" I gasped. Well, we don't buy much cheese (we sort of gravitate to the cheese food products)but somehow GE has won me over. Maybe it's that sweet-ass deal they've got going with the gas station they own: Spend $50 bucks and get 10 cents off gas. You may scoff, but in the words of Eryka Badu it's *cuz you did not do your math*. I scoffed too, but then I realized how frigging much we pay for groceries. To date the most we've accrued was 60cents. Look around, people. Who can scoff at getting 60 cents off each gallon of gas you purchase?

I feel the need for SPEED. Not the drug! I acutally enjoying doing 60 on the highway, switching lanes and all that jazz. It's fun :) I can remember the first time I went onto a highway. Everyone had to pass me because it had started to drizzle and all I could think of was "hydroplaning" so I went 10 miles below the speed limit. Don't get me wrong: I'm a cautious driver, and I never go over the speed limit..er hardly ever. Even doing 60 in a 60 zone people still pass me. I think it's hilarious.