I'm a Grilling Maniac, and The Boyfriend Encourages Stray Cats to Sh*t In Our Bushes

A short one about my grilling exerience this evening.

It was not relaxing, and did not feel like the "Great American Pastime". Wait, is grilling the pastime? Or is it baseball? I guess I always assumed it was grilling...we're all so fat, it would seem we're doing more grilling than running of the bases, right?

Anyway, so I started the charcoal. I went out with the ground beef and brats...and the fire was out. It seemed the greedy flame had burned all the lighter fluid and then took a nappity nap. I did what any smart and rational griller would do - I doused the briquettes in white gas, which I would use to "spin fire" under normal conditions, and I lit it.

I LIT IT INTO A FIREBALL OF DEATH!

My person remained intact, the wind took the flames in the opposite direction.

I went back out and put the meat on the grill. They burst into flames. Back in the house.

I went back out and put them on again.

I could barely manage to move them around because the fire was so freaking hot. I fumbled with the two burgers, and wiggled the three brats...abort! Abort! We have a casualty...one of the brats has fallen on the patio into a pile of grass clippings! (I rinsed it off...by the time I eat it I'll have forgotten all about it).

The Boyfriend's turn: Salmon for the week. He put it on the grill of death and destruction...and dropped one of the filets into the coals (he called it, "pulling a Carolyn", although I personally don't feel like this one-time dropping of the brat can be a defining moment).

So, he did the only thing a REALLY smart person would do...he put it in the bushes in the front yard where we're trying to get the stray cats to stop sh&*#ing! When I saw starving cats eating grass in the winter, I put some food on the curb, not near the outside litter box of landscaping rocks!

He told me about his massive misplacement of the fish, and we went to see X-Men 3 (with him promising to move it to the alley when we got home, probably KNOWING it would be in the belly(s) of some cat(s)).

We came home...and it was gone, skin and all. I'm sure they'll return when it's worked it's way through their digestive systems...coming full circle into our front lawn for me to run over with the lawn mower.

Note: The Boyfriend put up a tiny bit of a fight for this story to be published (because seriously, I would never write about something he asked me not to). He consented on the grounds that I also mention my "paint chip project". We're going to paint our kitchen, and we need to agree on a color. So, I taped a bunch of chips to the wall, and when we like one, I suggested we initial it. He thinks this is ridiculous and anal retentive (which, knowing me, it most likely is). He feels as though with only two people, the initialing process is super stupid and an "x" would suffice. But what if I "x" one and then forget I did it and mark it again? Why can't we do initials? Anyway, that's my system, I'm not embarassed by my craziness...embrace the crazy. And definitely go see X-Men 3 (which should really be called X-Women since all the badasses are female).

The Boyfriend In: The Case of the Missing French Press

The Boyfriend received a French Press coffee maker from my parents for Christmas. Since the holiday, this present has definitely stood out as one of his favorites (with the exception, perhaps, of the Cuisinart coffee bean grinder that I gave him to accompany the press).

He delights in finding new coffee shops to get locally sold bags of crack cocaine...er, I mean coffee beans (coffee is his crack, unless there's chocolate around...but strangely enough, I don't think I've ever witnessed him ingesting both at the same time).

Since December, he's regularly arisen, kind of crabbed around sleepily, and tinkered with his "coffee laboratory". He's got his own process, and when I make coffee, he'll pause, assess the accuracy of my methods, perhaps question it for a moment, and then, "oh, right right right, you push the coffee DOWN, while I stir mine". Peace and unity are restored.

And just as joyfully it came into his life...it was gone.

He paced around the house, all the cupboards open, as if to demonstrate to me that all his options were explore.

"Did you check in the backyard?" I ask. "I know you watered the plants with it this morning."

"Yes, I checked outside, it's not there." Slumped shoulders, slight frown.

"Did you look downstairs? You were looking for more seeds, perhaps you took it downstairs by accident?" I felt genuine pain seeing him this sad over his missing toy, as though it were a new toy fire engine.

"No, I didn't take it downstairs."

I didn't want to press him too hard, this was a difficult topic. I quietly checked downstairs, and then did the only thing I could...I went to work.

With the carafe gone for a week, his melancholy had only gotten worse. True, he was participating in life regularly (because that would be really lame if his missing press were to induce life altering depression...we'd have far bigger issues if that were the case), but he occasionally brought up his missing object of affection.

I plotted to sneak to Bed, Bath and Beyond to rebuy it as a surprise. Kind of a variation on the whole child's fish dying and parents replacing it with one that looks the same so the kid doesn't have to experience loss (I don't endorse this approach...let the kid lose something, they're not that fragile...but I digress).

The Boyfriend walked over to the rack where we hang our pots, he grabbed one and started laughing. There, wedged into the stainless steel sauce pan, was the lost French Press. It had been hiding there for a week!

I'm wondering if it was just hanging out, biding it's time, trying to make sure it wasn't being taken for granted. We'll never know for sure how it got there (we've both blamed each other).
One thing I can say with certainty: the coffee this morning tasted extra good.

Two People I Love

I'm not going to write too much about these photos. I took both of these at the CF walk and they're two of my favorite people. When I look at these two pictures I just really "feel" it for some reason.

On the left is The Boyfriend. I like how he's propped up on his elbows. He lies that way a lot when we're in bed talking, giggling, talking about our days, etc. I also like how his brow is crinkled...definitely one of those things that I find endearing about him.

Yeah, pretty much this photo makes me think of good times I've had with him, it reminds me of the friendship and intimacy we have in our relationship.

(He's going to be mad I posted this...he hates any picture that's taken of him, and to be honest, his brow was probably crinkled because he was trying to get us to stop taking his picture).

The picture to the right is M. She and I have been best friends for 5 years. We met when we were both at difficult points in our lives, trying to make transitions into being adults (even though by legal standards we already were). We grew as people and as friends, with our relationship strengthening as much as our characters as strong, mature women.

This picture reminds me of when we first met at a Labor Day picnic those five long years ago. It's hard to believe that much time has gone by. For me, this image captures her elegance, charisma, and playfulness...all the things I love about her.

Her little smile looks mysterious, like she's up to something...which she usually is.

Cystic Fibrosis Walk

How better to feel like you belong to something greater than yourself, than by walking for a charitable cause. And, by being a part of a really enthusiastic team...with really cool team t-shirts.

As I posted a couple weeks ago, The Boyfriend and I were on team "Charlie's Angels".

We awoke at the crack of dawn (ok, 7:00 am...but we were up kind of late and it felt really early). L came over and we picked up E (thank goodness). Seriously, if E were not in the group, we would have NEVER made it to the walk. The Boyfriend, L, and I were all a little wilted, and none of us had thought to print out directions to Fenton Park.

After stopping at Quick Trip for L (coffeeCOFFEEcoffee!!), we arrived and found out the walk didn't start until 10 am...we got there at 8:15!! We could have slept longer. More sleep. Less wakey. Sad.

I'll bypass all the parts where we lounged on the grass and complained...because that really doesn't make us seem like very giving people...but we were sort of joking (sort of).

We spent most of our time scoping out the teams that could be our biggest threat. Were they able-bodied? Young? Were their t-shirts as cool (NEVER)? How about their numbers...did they have more people than us? Shall we take out the "I Love Allison" team first? Or perhaps the posse in the lime green shirts? Again...not very good-hearted, but it did pass the time.

We also passed time by teasing the team leader, J. It's not funny that she had to have surgery for a herniated disk today...but it was a little funny that she had to rent a scooter for the walk (I dubbed it the Rascal, after seeing them on a TV infommercial). We decided we'd make more money if we used her as our mascot, instead of the rowdy and bubbly Charlie. J was wearing a hat that had "Cancer Sucks" embroidered on it, was riding the Rascal, and had a blanket on her lap. We could have fundraised for her and made much more loot.

All teasing and joking aside, we had a really good time. Charlie's Angels won for most money raised online. We had the largest team (at least the largest with matching shirts), and we seemed to have a lot of fun...which is all the really matters.

And now, I'd like to say thank you to my beautiful sponsors:
Thank you to my family: My parents (who I can always count on for support), my sister T (the guest writer on my blog), The Boyfriend's parents (who came out of nowhere! Actually, I ratted out The Boyfriend. I called them and mentioned the walk because I didn't think he had. They were relieved I'd intervened and jumped in a day before the walk to help him reach his goal. I told them not to mention to him I'd called, then ratted MYSELF out after I'd been around him for 3 minutes - that's typical).
Thank you to the lovely L from Seattle.
I would also like to add a shout out to my peeps at work: B, C (who's freakishly intelligent), and A (thanks for doubling your donation when I was sad that I wouldn't meet my goal). And a special thank you to C at the Missouri Department of Health and Human Services (she sent a check with a couple sharps containers).

Go team.

More Trouble Than I Expected

Ok, so the roses being delivered was really funny for about 5 minutes.

Since then, I've set a professional boundary with the person that sent them, and have been deluged with creepy voicemails and calls to the front desk asking if I'm there (only to get mad and hang up when they've repeatedly told him I'm not in). Our agency security plan has been helpful, and my co-workers and volunteers have been tremendously supportive.

I really thought this would blow over quickly. I've never had anything this serious happen before, but it may actually be a good experience in the long-run. I had no idea I could feel this scared by someone. The most important thing in this whole situation is that I need to feel empowered, and not let this change living my life everyday. But it kind of is changing it...

I feel fear for the first time in quite a while. We're pretty sure it's only a matter of time before he shows up at the office. We have a plan for that, but my main concern is if he follows me home and figures out where I live. I feel safe with The Boyfriend following me to work and someone walking me down when I leave...but if he figures out where we live...that will REALLY put a damper on me feeling secure.

So, I feel really passive just waiting for him to spring up, but there is a certain chain of command...and "A" (my co-worker that's been handling everything and has been INVALUABLE) and I are chain of command followers.

At this point, after having to screen my calls and watching my back when in the reception area, I'd really like to just give him the big F%#* you. I hate being controlled by fear.

Fear is ugly.

I Have a Big Fat Round Face

I hesitated to share the link of a news story that I was interviewed for, mostly because I have a big, fat, round face. Yes, the camera added about 10 pounds JUST on my face. I really wish they hadn't used the term, "ready for my close-up" literally. Maybe if I didn't gesture with my hands when I speak so much, they wouldn't have shot only my big fat head.

But seriously, Channel 11 did a really good job not editing our interviews to misquote us or take our comments out of context (that happens really often). The story was done in a manner that will probably only benefit the agency.

Is my voice really that low and scratchy?

(click the title to go to the website, then click "watch")

Crazy Cat Lady

I'm lame...so so lame. I haven't posted anything about the kitties lately, and my family hasn't seen our baby, Tiger (plus, it was bath day for Luna yesterday...and who doesn't like to see a crabby old cat with wet fur?).

The first picture is a black and white of Luna sleeping on my pillow. It seems Luna and Jack take turns napping there...and I end up with fur in my mouth when I'm in bed. She looks, peaceful, sweet, and serene...but don't be fooled...her aged skeleton covered in fur is fueled by spite and loathing. And don't be fooled by my tone...her hateful disposition is delightful.

The second is of Jack and Luna curled up together on our bed. I've always gotten the feeling they spring into cute action when we leave the house, saving all the hissing and fighting for when we get home. We happened to catch them in the act this time.

The third is of Tiger lounging under the futon in the office. He's a cave dweller and can usually be found under or in something. When I'm at the computer he's usually lying somewhere in close proximity.

The next one is of Tiger looking over his shoulder. We found out the last time we were at the vet that he may have an enlarged heart, indicating possible heart disease. I never could have imagined how attached I could get to an animal...much less a cat! Drama! Ultimately, instead of putting him through test after test and medication, we decided to treat him if anything happens. He's only a year and a half, maintaining his quality of life is what we're most concerned about...and carting him to the vet more isn't going to make his life better. He's never been symptomatic, so we're hoping for the best. My heart will BREAK if something happens to him...children aren't suposed to die before their parents...I'm expecting him to be alive for DECADES!

And here come the photos of wet Luna. She's pretty old, most likely around 16 or 17. She's definitely begun to let herself go. She hasn't been cleaning herself the way she usually would...and she's only able to con one of the boys into doing it for her on occasion. Plus, if you smelled her breath...I think she hid a dead mouse in there, it smells like death...you'd know that her tongue probably isn't doing a very good job of cleaning. So, I took her to the tub, soaped her up, and tried to ignore her cries of anguish. But seriously, you can look at the little thing the wrong way and she makes sounds of misery. I needed a little help from The Boyfriend, he has more experience with her theatrics. Poor, wet, little Luna. In the picture on the left, you can almost feel her hate penetrating your soul.

Thumb

Thumb
By Carolyn's Sister, "T"

“No, I don’t want to go to sleep!” she cried. The she I’m talking about is my big sister Carolyn. As they do every Friday night, my parents are trying to get us to stay in bed so they can watch their weekly TV shows. As Carolyn and I try to hunker down, I can’t help but scooch over to her side. That’s just how I am; the cuddly type. Carolyn, on the other hand, likes her space! “Okay,” she says to me with a bit of frustration in her voice, here is the line. She draws an imaginary line down the center of the bed. “You can’t cross it!” Yeah right, I think to myself, that’s too good of a challenge to turn down. So, I do what every person in my situation does…I slowly, yes, very slowly scoot my body closer and closer to Carolyn. “Mom! She’s too close AND she’s sucking her thumb!” Oh great, another night of bliss is about to be destroyed by the bain of my short existence…Thumb!

In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, Thumb is this clear liquid that comes in a little glass jar. Yes, it all sounds very innocent. But just wait until you have to put it on your thumb and let it harden. It tastes like fingernail polish remover. So, as I’m laying there with this awful Thumb on my thumb, I’m thinking through every possible way to get rid of this stuff so I can suck my thumb again (let’s face it, at six years of age, there aren’t a whole lot of options. The idea to get out of bed and rinse my thumb off in the bathroom sink never crosses my mind).

As usual, Carolyn has no problems falling asleep. Before I know it, my thoughts of removing the Thumb are interrupted by a very familiar sound. I look over and gaze at Carolyn, and the slobbery, snoring monster she has now become. As if by magnetic force, my hand is drawn to the monster. Slowly but surely, my arm stretches out and crosses the imaginary center line. “Whew, no alarm went off,” I whisper to myself with a grin. The force continues to pull my arm toward it, and then lowers it toward its final destination…Carolyn’s mouth! In it goes, where it finally lands on her slippery, slimy tongue. Even though I am very grossed out, I remind myself what my ultimate goal is; to get my thumb safely back into MY mouth (minus the Thumb). A few more seconds of twisting and turning my now very moist thumb on Carolyn’s tongue, and that should do it, I think to myself thankfully. Great! Now it’s time to make the exit.

By now, Carolyn’s snoring has stopped and her body is slowly turning towards the outside of the bed. I pull my arm out and wipe my thumb off with my blanket. After all, I don’t need any slobber, just a Thumb free thumb. “Mission accomplished,” I whisper, while happily putting my thumb into my own mouth.

Carolyn didn’t realize a thing…so I thought! It turns out, the next morning when we woke up, Carolyn mentioned a really strange taste she had in her mouth. All I know is that I slept really well last night!

A Note From Carolyn: After reading this story again, I'm not sure I should have published it. I really don't sound all that cute as the slobbering monster.

The Vase

I wasn't sure if I was going to write about this or not - mostly because it's awkward and uncomfortable.

Ok, so basically, through NO FAULT OF MY OWN, two dozen long-stemmed roses and a stuffed bear were delivered to me at my office. The note said something about "Thanks for everything, call me soon". The awkward part is that they were not from The Boyfriend (thank goodness...anyone that knows me AT ALL would know that I wouldn't be into such a gross overcompensation. I'm more of a colorful wild flower girl).

They were actually from someone I'd come in contact with through work (I have to be kind of vague on this part). He also happens to be a world boxing champion. Basically, I think this person has been training in St. Louis, and may have misconstrued my helpfulness for something more. Since I maintain strict professional boundaries, I've felt innocent during this whole debacle.

From the very beginning of this charade, I kept The Boyfriend abreast of the situation...from the creepy phone message, to the request that I call said creeper after I get "a package". The package was worse than I'd expected, to say the least. The volunteers at the front desk were oohing and ahhing over them as I came out. I groaned, "No, no, no...oh man, no".

I told The Boyfriend immediately...these types of things are best kept in the wide open! He laughed with me (nervously) and said he was willing to fight for my honor (yes, let's all recall he is a scientist...a very sexy one, but a fighter he probably is not. But what more could I ask for, he vowed to "bloody this dudes fists and become one beat-up little white guy". My hero). Ok, for real, he's not a fighter, and I wouldn't be with someone that is. He responded exactly the way I'd hope my partner would respond...with patience, humor, and a tiny bit of jealousy. :)

I did the only thing that I could do (besides call the flower sender and very specifically set a boundary...which I did). I had to turn the ugly situation into an inside joke between me and The Boyfriend...something that we'll look back on and laugh. I made a new card that read,

"Dear The Boyfriend (but with his real name), Congratulations on getting a post doc position in Dr. Insert name's lab. I'm so proud of all your hard work and look forward to spending the rest of our lives together. Love, Carolyn"

A co-worker, C, and I sped to The Boyfriend's office, raced to the lab, and deposited the flowers-of-all-that-is-unpure with his advisor...quickly asking him to deliver them to him.

He called my cell phone before I could get out of the building. I told him we were making our escape, then waited for him to come downstairs to give me a hug. Some of the women at work thought it was a risky move. They felt it would rub it in his face. But they don't know him.

His response? "Well played. And hey, I kind of like the vase...can we keep it?"

And that, my friends, will be the vase that we giggle over each time it comes out for flowers out of our yard. That will be the vase that I regifted flowers to The Boyfriend in.

Whirling Dervish

There were two things I really wanted to accomplish over the weekend - besides buying a car and studying. 1. Weed and feed the yard. 2. Plant the hanging flower baskets for our front porch.

I did neither.

I did, however, come home tonight after going to the gym and spun into a frenzy. I potted the baskets, and ran the Blue Devil fertilizer spreader over the lawn (it's my Dad's old one...and invaluable).

My Dad had trained me well...reminding me over the years (each and every year) of the best circumstances for fertilizing. Apply after a light rain, or, lightly mist the lawn first. Put it on when it won't rain for at least 24 hours, or it will wash it away.

It's been raining lately, and the lawn looked perfectly dewy to accept the white flecks of poison that would chase away our dandelions and creeping charlie. I looked on cnn.com - a clear forecast. I rushed outside cheerily, workout clothes still on, and when I came back in I felt satisfied that I'd gotten these things completed. I relaxed on the couch, excited to tell my Dad of my success.

Thirty minutes later - it stormed.

Gift Made By The Devil

There once was an intern at my agency named P.

P was delightful - intelligent, funny, and after my supervision of her ended - we actually became friends (not that we weren't while we worked together, but it just seems more appropriate to call us friends now). We touched base from time-to-time, had lunch, etc.

P is going off to medical school (she is a total rockstar in school...I hope a tiny bit of her rubs off when I go back to school). And today, she came to the office and dropped a gift upon me that was so evil, so decadent, that The Boyfriend and I have thrown ourselves on it like Luna (our old, bitter bitter kitty) on a misplaced chicken carcass.

In all honesty, The Boyfriend didn't dive head first into it like I did. First, I coerced a practicum student, Z, into splitting a chunk of chocolate heaven at the office. Then, while I showed The Boyfriend all the delightful boxes (and yes, the instrument of dispair that she gave me looks like the deliciousness to the right), I opened all of them and tried a little from each. After dinner we shared something...and then I skulked into the office and I shoved a whole bag of caramel corn down my face.

Did I mention she also gave me a book of LSAT practice tests? While not delicious, it was very thoughtful.

A New Car For Me

This post will definitely be the dorkiest post I've ever written (maybe...I think I may have written about my beading and jewelry-making...that may be dorkier). I promise you, there will be plenty of pictures of my new vehicle that may bore you beyond reason.

Our day started out early, mine more than The Boyfriend's (his started after I made his mating call...the sweet sound of the coffee grinder). We hit the road and established a strategy. Basically, he'd follow my lead. I wasn't sure if I was going in as Go-Go Girlpower, or maybe I'd present as flaky and unsure of myself...only to whollup them with a heavy dose of "give me my car, give me what I want, and give it to me NOW...and also, if you could, at the price I demand.".

The first place was good practice. I don't remember the dudes name, but he was obnoxious. He was hyper, unfocused, and totally cheesy. I told him I couldn't spend any more time with him and walked out after he started "building" our car on the Toyota website...something I'd already done a couple nights ago on my own. Lame.

The second dealership had a salesman that had no sales skills as far as we could tell. He was nice enough, but his glazed eyes and pachouli scent indicated why he was dazed and unmotivated to show us anything. We kind of "hung out" with him, talked about a couple cars he's owned, and left. A couple more lots and we were thoroughly uninspired. Well, that's not altogether true. I was motivated by a gas guzzling Mazda 3 (24/30) and a Cooper Mini. The Boyfriend did his duty and brought me back around to the goal at hand...fuel-efficient, safe, sexy (I added that adjective to the list of requirements), no high-performance tires, safe. I dubbed him Mr. Poopy-Pants. He was extremely offended and corrected me...he is to be known as CAPTAIN Poopy-Pants...the downer of all cars fun, exciting, and unpractical.

The Car
I hadn't planned on a new car...or if I did, I'd envisioned a Toyota Yaris or Honda Fit. After test driving both of those, my beloved Mazda 3, and a used Corolla...I found the one...a 2006 Honda Civic.

It's not what I thought I'd get (but not outside the realm of possibility; I do come from a Honda family and have driven an '88 Civic and '93 Accord...both fabulous cars). The miles per gallon - 33 in town and 40 on the highway (slightly better than the Honda Fit, which is a couple thousand cheaper, but MUCH less car).

The Civic was redesigned this year, with a dashboard that feels like the cockpit of a spaceship. The actual dash has two levels with blue lighting. The ride is so smooth and really tight in handling.

I hate to admit, but I added on an accessory that wasn't really necessary. I would have been safe and fuel-efficient, but would I have been a happy consumer? I think not. Even though my last vehicle was a hatchback, she was pretty sporty. The new Civic is meant to be sporty...but it screams sedan to me. So I had a spoiler put on. I'm a little embarassed even typing that, but I knew I'd come to love my replacement (that really blows my old car out of the water) in the way that I need to more quickly and intensely with this ridiculously overpriced addition.

So I figured out what I wanted. And...the dealership had none of it. Not only that, but they can't really move much on the price, because those vehicles move on their own. At the end of the day, it came down to me dropping some cash, them getting theirs, and me getting an automatic, with tan interior, in Cosmic Blue (all Captain Poopy-Pants had to say was that this color was kind of cheesy-soccer-momish and it was not an option).

Yeah, not so much. I told our salesperson my frustration, and she said that they're making an order on Monday and I could pick exactly what I want. I chose Galaxy Gray Metallic (which looks tan in the photo, but it's really more of a smoky dark gray), a 5-speed stick, with dark gray interior. This also means it will take 4-6 weeks to come in, which ALSO means The Boyfriend and I will be sharing his car for 2 weeks to a month. Interesting. It's true, we work within a half mile of each other, but I have class out in the county on Tues/Thurs, as well as a meeting every Wednesday even farther in the county. He thinks he's going to start riding my bike to work, or we'll work it all out another way.

So by the time we have a routine figured out, my car will be here. And, by that ime, I might even realize that I HAVE a new car.

Car Accident Part 2: Closure Is Near

My insurance assessor finally came to his senses and made the call that my car is a total loss. I expected to feel really good about it, knowing that I could start over...and not owning a junkheap. I need to send my title, and they'll send me a check to use towards my new vehicle (it's actually enough that if I chose to, I wouldn't have to spend any of my own money...but really, how realistic is that?).

I went to the auto body place to clean out my car today. I'd forgotten how much I loved that car until I got there and saw what was left of it. When I set out to get a new car back in 2002, I knew exactly what I wanted, exactly what color. All I had to do was make the right deal. I took a friend with me to pose as either my father, brother, partner, whatever...basically he was the muscle in case I caved and couldn't walk away if I didn't get what I wanted. Driving that car home, I felt so sure that I would drive that thing into the ground. This would be the car I would drive for at least 10 years. Since I really don't WANT a different car, I'm not sure where to start. I'll post possible cars on here once I start looking.

Anyway, I've felt like I have a lump in my throat all day. I didn't go to work because my neck started throbbing yesterday, but I think I'll be ok to go tomorrow.

It's funny how fast I can sink to feeling like a deadbeat and like I'm holding people back. It's not like EFA needs me there to function, but I feel like I'm neglecting the agency and my department. I know the Boyfriend doesn't feel this way, but I've started to feel like I'm holding him back in having fun and being productive. I wouldn't want to be around me right now, why would he (again, I'm projecting...I'm quite sure he doesn't feel this way)?

In times like these, it takes all the energy I can muster up not to isolate myself from other people. It's been a while since I've felt this down, but I think I need to accept that this will happen sometimes, and it's ok for me to feel these feelings.

At least I have plenty of time to find a new vehicle. My insurance will cover the rental until May 30th. I'd hate to have to make a snap decision while I'm not feeling like myself. The Boyfriend and I are going car shopping this weekend.

I wonder how the uninsured driver that hit me is doing?

Car Accident Part 1: Bitterness

A couple things. I'm not going to elaborate too much because the more I think about these things, the more my neck aches. Right now it aches aplenty.

The dude driving the Explorer that PLOWED through my little hatchback does not have insurance. He provided false proof of insurance to the police, and yeah, that sucks.

The insurance assessor feels that with $7,000 worth of damage, my car is fixable. That's going to be a sweet little pile of crap when they're done.

Yee-hawww!

Writing Runs In the Family

My sister has historically given cautious disclaimers of her inabilities to write. She defers to me, the oldest, as the writer in the family...although I've never thought this to be true. I think I can be recognized as the FIRST child in the family to write, since I was born first.

And now, I have proof of her abilities...and I'm spreading them to the world! I'm going to publish two different items - one is a free-association-type poem, the other is a story about us as children. Both are touching to me because I lived both of them with her.

I Am From

By Carolyn's Sister, "T"

I am from the seasons of the North
Strong winters and easy summers
With kick the can and racing fence to fence
With the blustering fall and the freshness of spring
When hard working hands push soil aside to lay in the seed to later harvest

I am from where doors are unlocked, and where blue
stars are put on windows so kids know which houses are safe
Where crossing guards hand out candy that we accept without question

I am from where bologna sandwiches are eaten,
and popcorn balls, and pork chops too
Where “pop” is only allowed on Friday nights,
and where Grapenuts expand from milk
Cabbage Patch Kids, GI Joe, Barbie and Frogger
toy guns, Night Rider, and puffy blue Smurf stickers

I am from no crying, whether joyful or sad
No saying “I love you”
Yet feeling it everyday
Still yearning for it to be said
From the things my sister did that I never had to do
From a mom’s strength and a dad’s sensitivity
Both of which I exude

He Knew Before I Ever Said It...

I had my third Kaplan class last night. It felt good to ease back into things after the accident.

The Boyfriend had gone to see a movie (Inside Man...he highly recommends it), and I hurried home to watch an episode of America's Next Top Model, which I had taped (seriously, best show ever...Tyra is so dramatic, I could watch her forever...but not on her talk show, which is the worst talk show in the history of the world).

I was relaxing on the couch, surrounded by cats, and happened to see a slab of dark chocolate out of the corner of my eye. The Boyfriend had left it on the coffee table. He buys them in bulk at Trader Joe's because he has serious issues with chocolate. If he were to pass out, I would probably try to slide a tiny piece into his mouth, knowing that it would revive him.

I don't have these same issues. Mostly.

I reached my arm out, delighted that it came to rest on top of the giant chunk of chocolately goodness. And there it goes, right to my mouth. Bite, swollow, and repeat...and repeat...and repeat...infinity.

I finally stopped myself. Shortly afterward, I heard The Boyfriend's car door close. He walked through the door.

"You know", he said, "I love the feeling of walking from my car, knowing that I'm coming home to you." Ah, that's the sweetest thing ever!

My reply, "You know, I feel like I need to set a boundary. Please, do not leave large blocks of chocolate within my reach."

I'm not sure if he heard that last part because he was doubled over laughing.

"Go look in the mirror".

Sidenote: Every woman fears becoming her mother. Instead of fearing this, I've embraced the fact that I'm morphing into her more every day. Case in point, my mother is physically incapable of making brownies or anything chocolate without having a large portion of it finding it's way around her mouth. Interesting.