So, I have my halloween costume! I'm candy corn!!!
Well, not exactly.
I'm candy corn but my colors are in the wrong order. I don't know how that happened, because I looked at candy corn A MILLION TIMES before buying the pieces of my costume. But somehow, I got completely turned around. So when I came home from Target last night I headed straight for the bag of candy corn on our kitchen counter (yes, the bag I'd looked at and memorized before I'd left for Target). Much to my disappointment, orange is in the middle. Well, not in my world it's not. Brachs be damned. It's on the bottom in my world, because I bought the cutest pair of orange sweats, and I'm wearing 'em for halloween.
JPow told me I should put a sign on myself reading "seconds." She said "seconds" is a product that's defective, and thus sold at a reduced price.
Whatever. If J had let me be the trampy devil these color coordinations would be irrelevant. The trampy devil is all red.
Sloppy "seconds"
Sugar and spice
My sis and my friend R have been telling me for ages to shop in the kids department. They do. Out of principle, or maybe pride, I've always refused. But tonight I crossed over. And I learned that although it's humiliating, it's really quite a bargain. I've figured out that almost everything in the girls department is $7. Stuff that would normally cost $40 or $50 in the women's department! It's hard to swallow your pride. But $7 goes a long way to take a little of the sting out.
A blogger gone missing
I don't have the flu, or the nine month "flu." I just got too busy to take time for myself. Or my blog. Sad, huh? Where'd the fun go?
That's a rhetorical question, but if you happen to know the answer please chime in.
Crime, time, and punishment
Ever get the feeling that you've done something wrong, only you don't know what? The 'waiting for the other shoe to drop' feeling. That's how I feel. Only as far as I know I haven't done anything wrong. It started last night and hasn't stopped. Relentless nausea. Exhaustion. Everything hurts without actually hurting. Today I cried at work for no reason. My boss said, "How are you?" and I starting crying. She asked me what was wrong and I told her I don't know. Which is the truth. I don't know, but I know it's not good.
I worry that it's delayed punishment. Maybe I haven't done anything wrong lately, but the universe can hold a nasty grudge. It waits until you're relaxed and comfortable, and then revisits your sins upon you. It's like holding a rock poised over an ant when you have no intention of letting it live. It's cruel really. I know there's something wrong. I can feel it. It's a poised rock, and I'm standing in its shadow.
Either that or I have the flu. Another distinct possibility given my symptoms.
The departed. Or not
Last night I went to see The Departed with TD and J. It was riveting, well scripted, and beautifully acted. Matt Damon was good, but Leonardo DiCaprio was amazing. I've always thought him to be a talented actor, despite the blip that is Titanic. But he reminds me of one of my more serious college boyfriends R. R was an abusive psychopathic asshole and later also proved himself to be quite a competent and resourceful stalker. So you can imagine why it's hard for me to fully appreciate Leo, hot or not.
It's funny how you can easily exorcise some people from your life. And some you can't. R was a lifetime ago, but the sight of someone who looks like him makes me sick to this day. He was responsible for years of unlisted phone numbers and unexplainable jumpiness. He's to thank for introducing the concept of caller ID into my life. I wouldn't put my name out into cyberspace. I constantly googled myself to make sure nothing would come up. He didn't halt my life, but he did have me looking over my shoulder for a long time.
I should count myself lucky. I've had a string of great boyfriends. Real humanitarians and genuinely stand-up people. I pick good. R was my only mistake. So I can accept that I made one. I won't ever make another one, I can tell you that much. It was a hard lesson but I learned it well and fast.
R is gone from my life, and pretty much gone from my memories. But the sight of Leo still jolts me. I'm sure that will go away too. But a decade later, it hasn't yet. I guess that's the thing about ghosts. They can be gone, but they aren't necessarily departed. Maybe that's important. I'm sure they serve a purpose.
Circus? Check
The circus is so freakishly fun! It was way more fun than I ever imagined it would be!
As you can probably guess, I never went to see the circus as a kid. I'm not sure if the circus is a decidedly American phenomenon, but I put it on the list of those American things I didn't get to experience as a kid with a foreign mom. Others? Mainly these come up in conversations when people are reminiscing about something from childhood, and they look to me for my nostalgic input on the subject. I shrug and offer "My mom's German." Sage nods around the table. "Oh, German."
The circus isn't something I thought about daily, but every once in a while I'd remember it. When I found out the circus was coming to Boston, I immediately suggested to BF that we go. Relatively soon after that I got distracted and forgot to keep hinting. Luckily, he didn't forget, and planned a Saturday night surprise for me. Complete with snow cones and a souvenir purple elephant cup.
The circus is crazy! Some of those performers literally execute death-defying stunts. I'd always linked the term death-defying with the circus and now the association makes perfect sense. It was amazing! Nauseating, terrifying, and amazing.
There were elephants, goats, TIGERS, zebras, and camels. Naturally the animals made me a little sad (they can't actually like being in the circus???), but I have to admit it was spectacular to see so many exotic animals inside a transformed basketball stadium. The overall effect of the circus was just that: spectacular. The lights, the animals, the performers, the costumes, the constant whirlwind activity. The weird talents. It's the place where freaks go to shine. That must be why they're called circus stars.
It was magical. I wish I could go again tonight. I think it gave me ADD, but it was quite possibly the greatest show on earth. True to its claim. Good job, Ringling Brothers.
Today we're going to the circus
Boyfriend does this thing. He makes funny noises that correspond with something I'm doing. Something I'm doing to him. Not that kind of something. Get your mind out of the gutter!
It started when I was in the habit of putting my nose right up against the center of his rib cage and rubbing it back and forth. Not as in, like a tissue. More like a nuzzle. And he'd make a noise every time I'd do it. The noise would change based on how hard I had my nose pressed up against him, or how fast, slow, long, or short I'd rub it back and forth. The first time he did it he was probably just kidding around. But I'm sure my whole face lit up, and the 1000-watt smile was probably incentive to keep coming up with new noises for other touches.
The thing about me? My mom has always pointed out that I'm simultaneously the most mature and the most immature person she knows. When I was young she told me I should marry someone older than me, to match my maturity level. She thought I'd outgrow my other-end-of-the-spectrum childishness. But that never happened.
My insistence that BF act as Noisemaker is relentless. If I nuzzle, poke, or tickle him and don't get a noise response, I simply continue until I do. With pout in place.
I imagine I'll stop when we have kids because then it'll be their turn. And they'll grow up with priceless memories of their dad. Memories of the silly things he'd do to make them smile. Simple memories to recall when they need that heart-warming feeling. The feeling you get when you know that someone in the world loves you enough to be your Noisemaker. Someone in the world loves you enough to break down every barrier and submit to being your personal clown.
Maybe wanting a Noisemaker for your nuzzle isn't so childish after all.
And we are going to the circus. That wasn't a metaphor.
Ode to Ormi Army
Oh Ormi
Like lemons you smell!
You come turn our house
Into heaven from hell
You make our beds
And do our dishes
I would wish for you thrice
If I had three wishes!
I long for your army
of happy housekeepers
You make it so nice
To come home and go to sleepers
I thank goodness for you
Oh Ormi army of clean!
To walk in and smell lemons
Is the stuff of a dream
Where's my consolation prize?
I'm tired.
No wait. That's not emphatic enough.
I'm exhausted.
And I don't even know what to do about it anymore. Work is insane. The gym is a chore. My class gives me a headache. Personal/family matters are stressful: BF's mom isn't well and we're moving up the sale of my Grandma's house. None of these things alone is catastrophic. But the sum of them makes want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. And speaking of covers, I bounce back and forth so unpredictably between my place and BF's that when I wake up in the morning it takes me a minute to figure out where I am.
There you have it. My recipe for exhaustion. Not the fun brand of Lindsay Lohan "exhaustion." The less fun kind that doesn't involve any booze, wild parties or Greek shipping heirs. If you're going to exhaust yourself, you oughta get a Greek shipping heir out of the deal. Something to take the edge off.
Be careful what you wish for
I advise a group of students who do health education around campus. We have meetings Tuesday nights. Sometimes my students say things that make me laugh, and sometimes they say things that make me want to go home.
"I wanna take Valtrex."
"Do you know what Valtrex is for?"
"No, but in the commercials people seem to enjoy life when they take Valtrex."
"It suppresses genital herpes outbreaks."
"Oh."
"Still wanna take it?"
"Totally."
"I'm not sure genital herpes is a whole lotta fun."
"Yeah, but I've never been kayaking. People taking Valtrex go kayaking and camping and white water rafting. If that comes along with a little genital discomfort, so be it."
"You don't even like nature."
"I like nature in theory."
"I think this might be a good time to call it a night."
First rule of advising: when you can't beat 'em, adjourn.
