The root of all evil

Cash. Dinero. My life here in Ohio has been a constant struggle a big winded battle with the term "Cost of living". Because my New York salary is needed here just as much as it was in NY. While somethings are in fact cheaper here, the majority of things (like my credit card payments, student loan payments, my debt) have remained the same. In all fairness though, part of this debt materialized after our wedding.

I was in a forum the other day discussing whether or not it was tacky for a member's engaged co-worker to sell off raffle tickets for an Ipod... and the money would go towards the wedding. I thought it was creative and felt a pang of cash cramps from my residual wedding debt. So, I wrote a response to this post saying something along the lines of: I know how expensive a wedding can be. When we got married it was more expensive than we thought. We ended up racking up credit card debt. I don't condone the idea, but I do understand why she would do a thing like that. Someone (an unmarried someone may I add) said: See, that's the problem right there. People going all out and having a wedding beyond their means. Do what you can afford and everything will be fine.

I'm off on a tangent, I know that. But how come there are so many inexperienced scholars when it comes to weddings? I said the exact same thing she did when this whole thing began. I said we'd never borrow a cent and would certainly never use a credit card. But guess what? Life happened. We had to move 500 miles away and discovered this only after putting down a non-refundable deposit. We had to pay for our own hotel room, plus the flight plus the cost of cabbing it around town. *sighs*

Anyway, Sonny and I have been discussing taking up second jobs. We need that money more than either of us would care to admit. I don't have a dime worth of savings and I'm feeling entirely uncomfortable with that. In the past my savings helped me through an unemployment stint... so as my pops says, "We'll see"

The tiny snowball has become an avalanche

I love my family. They are a raucous bunch that makes more noise than necessary when they're in the same room but they mean well and protect their own.

My home is a four-bedroom deal with two rooms being occupied by our two crazy cats (the single best way to stop the territorial shitting and pissing contests). We have one room as the computer room and lastly we have our plain master bedroom.

My younger sister, Janelle, came to visit me and hubby earlier this year. She had a blast and saw some of Ohio and got a chance to relax (what else can you do out here??). I was simply exhausted at the end of the visit (which seemed to go by quickly) and was grateful for some normalcy back in our hectic lives. Having one week long guest almost killed me, not to mention almost destroyed Sonny...

Now... Jany wants to bring the whole family to my house... for a week. She never once consulted me about any of this to see if the dates and length of visit was good for either me or Sonny. No. She only called me up the other day saying that "In two weeks I would see her& everyone... and possibly a friend of the family as well". I was angry but I didn't let on. I just can't believe how rude she's being. This is like one of those dumb college pranks of stuffing as many guys as you can into a phonebooth and shutting the door: someone realizes it's a bad idea just a minute too late to do anything about it. Janelle has a one track mind, and is very determined to make a thing happen. I must set up a brick wall to stop this sailing torpedo.

I have only a single extra bed. And it's a full size aero bed. How the fuck are 4 others supposed to sleep? On the floor? Also, I can already tell that Sonny and I will just argue like there's no tomorrow about everything related to this "alleged visit". This is a horrible idea that my idyllic young sis can't understand. She's not stupid. She's just not receptive to the wavelengths of reality. It's not coming in loud and clear for her just how rude she's being to me and Sonny by demanding that we put our lives on full hold for a week simply to entertain this fantastic family reunion she's imagining. And she insists on making things happen with silent but brute force.

But I need a counterproposal.... So I'll be coming out to visit them instead of the other way around. This eliminates the need for us to buy a truckload of food just to keep everyone fed, this ensures that my little sisters won't have to battle over the black, shiny Dell in our upstairs room, and it ensures that Sonny and I will remain solid and in control of the situation. Although, I admit I am sorry to reveal this new change in the plan because Jany will have to relinquish control... a thing she's not fond of doing. I'll have to crush her and leave her in the dirt at the end of this battle, but my sanity means more right now.

Ooo, baby, baby...

My best friend from high school had a baby last month. A cute, pale, wrinkly, healthy baby boy. She's displaying pictures of him on her myspace and proudly gloating that he's her "lil angel". *goes "awwwww" with a silly grin* But why did that same friend jinx me with the immortal words from our youth, "Tag. You're it."

She left these words as a comment on my myspace page; a cute inside joke about my being next in line for the pains of childbirth. I love Sonny Boy with all my heart. Hell, I would take a knife jab for him. But... I get apprehensive when discussions of C-sections and Epidurals and Cutting come into play. I can remember sucking on cherry popsicles with my high school buddy in her living room, just trying to beat the heat...

"Hey, can you imagine trying to shove something the size of a watermelon through something the size of a grape?" she would ask between noisy sucks.

"NO! And I don't even want to think about it, Jo. I probably won't get married, so I doubt I'll ever have babies. Uh uh. Not me." I would bite off the tip of my cherry pop for some ironic sort of emphasis and we two would titter like school girls.

But I fell in love. And I did get married. And I do want to start a family... soon. But those old fears keep coming back and getting heavier and heavier. I don't know why but I feel as if I'll be lugging around precious cargo of the abdominal kind very soon. Everywhere I turn there is the testimony of maternal & paternal bliss. The calling out that YES, you can be happy with children. And no real marriage is complete without children. But that's not true. Sonny and I are a real married couple and we don't have children. How can a baby validate a marriage? And further more, why should I feel pressured or rushed into childbearing by a society who looks at celebrity motherhood as the newest "hip trend" in Hollywood? Whatever happened to that delicate moment in a couple's life when they turn to each other, grasp hands, breathe deeply and declare, "I want us to get pregnant"? Am I old fashioned or is there a general assumption going around that as soon as the ink is dry on your marriage license you should "pop 'em" out like ping pong balls from a canon?

Maybe I'm reading too much, doing too much, tripping on my own motherly subliminal messages. It's entirely possible. But I know this much: I don't want to lose sight of now...today. I love Sonny. He's a man and I'm a woman and I may be mistaken but having a child creates a wedge between some couples. We won't wait too long, but I would like to at least spend one weekend sipping coconut mixed drinks on a beach somewhere or marching through the foggy streets of London, hand in hand before signing ourselves over (mind, body and soul) to the institution of parenthood.

Coils, vending machine coffee and gold dust

Yeah, if someone had told me two years ago that I would be living in Lorain, OH, wearing my hair in a natural afro and rocking gold eye-shadow...why I'd have laughed myself silly right in their face. I'm talking the boisterous, breathless, leg-kicking, oh-my-damn-I-gotta-pee laughter. Teary-eyed, weak-kneed I would stumble off to the bathroom, use it, return and continue right on laughing in the person's face. But...they would've been correct.

I am in Lorain. My hair is 100% natural, coily, kinky. And today I swiped some gold eyeshadow over my lids. I must admit it is such a sultry and rich look. Rhianna was on to something with the metallic eye make-up on 'ethnic' ladies. Every time I blink into a mirror I get tempted to go find a beach on a coast of Barbados and shake it out in the sand surrounded by fire.

Today, a little bit sleepy and a little bit desperate I purchased a 40 cent paper cup of coffee from the office vending machine. A weird thing for me to do because it's been over a year since I last purchased coffee from that unlikely source. I'd say smashed cigarette butts marinated in a mug of piss would've tasted better than the suspicious tan-colored concoction that Sonny and I sipped back in our days of newness to the workplace. But to my surprise, the coffee was alright this morning. I wasn't even tempted to trash it, as I had convinced myself I would (and gave myself permission to do).

My hair is lovely. Call it bragging, narcissism or whatever you want but my hair is gorgeous. It's nappy as a nest of steel wool and can be just as dry but that doesn't bother me. I spritz it with water and Sta-sof-fro and sometimes I rub in some humectress. After a few minutes it's soft and happy and I can pick it with my purple hair pick to get it ready for a style. I wonder if I just had a lot of growing up to do before I could lift my head proudly and display my naps and not give a shit cake what others thought or said about it. There are too many unenlightened souls out there about African American hair texture...their own damn hair. Maybe someday they'll save themselves (and their hairlines).

I can't say I'm deliriously happy here, but I admit I am content. And my love for Sonny Boy seems to grow a little more each day. I want to look at him all the time and hold his hand and kiss him. He's just the best thing that ever happened to me. Of course, this could just be the moment of joyous, mid-air suspension that comes indefinitely during a moodswing. That means I could come crashing to earth from Heaven at any moment. LOL, last weekend I was happy just to be on the other side of the city from Sonny (doing my own thing in Pat Catan's)... So I dunno. But whatever the cause of what I'm feeling for my Boy, I'm Sonny swooning this week :)

And that's my life in a nutshell these days. How are things in your section of the world??

Freecell! You are the devil!

No matter how strong my will is to do something on the computer besides downloading music or playing computer games, I always seem to end up indulging in at least 2 games of Freecell. Why? I don't know. It's almost like a sad obsession. And those two games quickly become 5. Before I know it I've won a game, but the circulation to my legs has been cut off and it's a full hour later than when I started. Freecell is like slipping into a black out memory lapse. I wish I understood the power it has over me. But I don't....

Tomorrow, tomorrow, We're fightin', tomorrow...

3pm. Dinner with the in-laws. *groan and eyeroll simultaneously* Whenever I'm subjected to parties (and I use the term loosely because there is NO enjoyment or amusement at ALL) but whenever I'm subjected to parties with them I must step back a few paces and glance at my dashingly handsome Sonny Boy and then in the general direction of his dysfunctional, toxic clan... and wonder where he really came from. (Ok... so my clan is just as screwed up) It'll make his old mother very happy to have him there devouring food like he's got a space to fill somewhere inside him. A hollow leg or something. Yep, my boo's an eater.

So I just finished downing a shallow bowl of rippled Lay's chips (yes, I sucked the grease off my fingers) and sipping on a plastic tumbler of Pepsi. I've had the dieting habits of a 5-year-old loose at the family barbecue today. I had fried chicken, potato salad, potato wedges, cauliflower, shrimp, baby carrots, watermelon, a sugar cookie, chocolate pudding and strawberry cheesecake. Now, I'm snacking on more crap. Insanity. I probably added 3 more pounds to my already cellulite-swollen ass. Funny day.

Hurray for Sunday!

Sonny's at work today, and I'm in the house chilling. It's a muggy day, but most of the things I've got to do are indoor type things any way. The AC is going and the place is a good temperature.Today is going to be a good day for me, I can feel it. But already, I've had an altercation with one of our kitties, Serena.

She is very strong willed and all but refused to settle down into her room and finish her breakfast. She doesn't let me get within 50 feet of her, so when I tried to scoop her up and carry her there it became a mad dash around the house. I finally caught her, but not without three brief claw gashes on my hand. I can't deal with that one anymore. Every exchange we have involves a mad chase through the house, and it's worse if I'm late for work. She can tell I'm anxious to have her in her room and she enjoys hiding behind the couch at such times. I've been talking to Sonny (who agrees) that maybe she needs a change of environment and life. So, we're putting her up for adoption in the next month or so. Also, this will take care of the "new-home-territorial-pissing-and-shitting" match they each begin when we move.

It's sad because we rescued her, and in a sense she must now be rescued from us. Our other cat delights in random fights and butt sniffing at inappropriate times with Serena. Our Serena's face is now baggy-eyed and haggard. She looks constantly under stress and I know it's because she can't rest alone unless she's safe in her room with the door closed. She needs a new (catless) home. Possibly, if she were nicer the other cat would be the one to go. But alas, we are going to start a family soon (eventually) and I don't want to even dream of what Serena might find it in her heart to do to an infant seeking to yank her tail.

Anyway, my treat at the end of this day crammed with cleaning house, doing laundry, preparing a dessert for tomorrow's picnic, writing a couple letters, dancing for 30 minutes and balancing my checkbook is to sit down with a strong cocktail and watch at length "The life of David Gale". Yes, this should be an exciting evening... especially now that I've got that darned cat in her room. <_<