Energy Crisis Solved (& Some Awards, Wheee!)

The irony of this post in comparison to my last post is not lost on me, people. I’m a little contradictory (i.e., schizophrenic) like that, I know. Serenity, calm, and gratitude can also exist within a mind that is like a train gone off its tracks, hurtling toward disaster.

So how ridiculous is it that I can lay awake at night FOR HOURS with my mind spinning out of control and still have the wherewithal to notice my insanity?

Here is just a glimpse of my stream of consciousness in the middle of the night:

Ok, so I’m starting back to work soon and I need new clothes, but I’m supposed to be losing weight AND watching my money, so should I only buy some new shirts or go ahead and buy shirts and pants?? And thinking of money, how many months will it take me to get rid of the balance on my Citi card because I’m going to need a new car soon and the holidays are approaching. Let’s see, if I lose about 1-2 pounds a week (preferably 3-5), how many weeks will it take me to get to my GOAL weight? When I get back to work, WHEN will I write or blog AND workout AND, holy shit, play with my son because good mothers actually PLAY with their child, but I’ll need to fit dinner in at night after work. Perhaps I should just CRACK DOWN and make myself wake up earlier in the morning so I can get the workout in then, so then, after work, I can blog and make dinner. Oh, shit! AND play with my son. Yes. Ok. After work, I will play with my child, then make dinner, then write and blog? Hmmm. That could work if I’m diligent enough…That’s NEVER going to work! Thinking of dinner, I need to remember to put butter on the store list for tomorrow. I will never remember to put it on the list, and I will forget the butter, and we will have no butter. Should I get up now and put it on the list? Will that keep me up even longer because I have walked around and ENGAGED my body in that manner? THEY say it is a good thing to write things down in the middle of the night so you can stop worrying about it. Hmmm. I do not have a pen nearby. Shit. I should really remember to put a pen by my bedside. That article I saw today talked about it not being too early to start your toddler on chores. What chores should we start Parker on? Should I make him a CHART? Is he too young yet? Wait! What TIME is it?! What the hell am I thinking?!

What the hell AM I thinking??! I know I’m not alone on this! If only we could figure a way to power our cities with the energies of a mother’s brain in the middle of the night. We might as well do SOMETHING during the middle of the night. We’re not sleeping anyway!

Ok, enough of that.

I have won awardssss! Yesssss. Not only have I won awardssss, but these are Brand Spankin’ New ones, completely created by the original mind of The Litany of Brittainy! Check them out:

The Chupacabra Award of Excellence! (I do not know what the hell a chupacabra is, nor have I Googled it, but it looks pretty damn cool, right?)

And...

The Duct Tape Award!

It doesn’t get much better than that, people. The Litany of Brittainy must have known how we love duct tape in this family.

Poor Buzz.


You see the duct tape in the background? It is an excellent way to collect empty beer cans (you know, for recycling!), say, when you are at a NASCAR race. Don't mind the man in the picture. This poor dude was in another picture recently on this blog, imitating the cat puke socks. He's getting some bad press lately, eh?

Well, just so he won't feel so bad, I'll post this picture of me for fun:

Here I am outside of that same NASCAR race event getting bucked off a mechanical bull.

I will leave you with that.

Here are the rules of this award:
-Really, you can do whatever the hell you want, but please make sure to thank the person who gave it to you.
-You can list things about yourself, or ramble on like I have, or expose yourself doing amazing things with duct tape.
-You can award it to anyone you want.

Congrats to these really, really fun and good looking bloggers for the Chupacabra and Duct Tape awards:
The Insatiable Host
Woogs World
Marketing Gurl

Reverie

"If I am lonely
It must be the loneliness...
Of being the one awake
In a house wrapped in sleep."
-From Adrienne Rich's poem, "Song"

The night is still, so still around me. It does not press down around me, it only exists for me and breathes with me. I sit in our very suburban backyard and look into the windows of my own home. Because I am in the dark, and the house is lit from within, I can see clearly the couch and blanket, lampshade, stairwell, plants, and kitchen sink. I can see the little somethings set on shelves, collected over the span of chapters in a life.

I stare at the dining room table for a while. The chairs are askew and empty. The chairs are so empty, compared to the living and eating and talking and aruging and lauging that goes on there every single day.

My backyard holds bright plastic toys bought from garage sales. The moon sets alight the patterns of water stains on the surrounding wood fence. The leaves do not rustle. They are silent, at rest.

I know we will move from this home one day. We look forward to it. But, right now, in this moment, this home is perfect. This home has been cared for, and in return has cared for us. What I see inside those windows is a sum of our past years. And they have, mostly, been good.

I am, in this moment, completely alone with my thoughts. I am only...me. Sitting outside of my home, looking in at the life I lead.

"No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anyone but oneself."
-Virginia Woolf

Like this post? You may also enjoy:
Home
Stripped
Do You Have a Moment to Spare?

Tonic, Sunday Snippet

Tonic

Stars melt as I remember
The magic dance.
Haunting secrets pierce
My naked heart.
I will drink you like
Liquid desire.
If you can
Kill my worry.


Sunday Snippets are brought to you by Pure Unadulterated Soft Thistle.

Family Secrets

This meme is brought to you by The Red Dress Club.

Writing prompt: Randomly choose four numbers between 1 and 10. Use the corresponding story elements to write a story.

My numbers and corresponding story elements:
3 – Recent high school graduate
4 – Restaurant
7 – Middle of summer
2 – A secret needs to be told

Here is my first attempt at fiction writing for YEARS – probably since about the mid-90’s during undergrad. Here goes!


Family Secrets

Jackson sat down with his family and best friend at his favorite restaurant, The Chophouse, to celebrate his high school graduation. His hands were trembling ever so slightly and sweat was beginning to form on his upper lip as he prepared himself to reveal a secret he had been keeping from his parents. With graduation under his belt, there was no time to waste. He had to tell the truth of what he’d been planning his entire senior year and steel himself for the cursing and damage that could come. He felt he could handle general cursing and damage, but he dreaded more the inevitable disappointment from his father and the drunken silence of his mother.

Having his best friend, Colin, by his side was at least a witness in his favor in case things got really ugly. Jackson was relieved to have him there.

What should have been a celebratory, light hearted dinner was shadowed by a feeling of impending doom. Jackson was so sick with worry that he didn’t even notice that others at the table were not exactly cheerful. Jackson noticed that his sister, Carolyn, still had not arrived. She was late, as usual. He didn’t want to have to wait for her. Besides, Jackson thought, the news may go over better without his obnoxious, holier-than-thou drama queen sister around.

The waiter arrived. “What would everyone care to drink?”

Jackson’s father, Roy, started to speak but was quickly interrupted by Jackson’s mother, Patricia.

“I’ll have a glass of your house red, I don’t care what kind – Cabernet, Merlot, whatever,” Patricia said as she continued to look down at the menu and nervously fidget with the necklace around her neck.

The waiter looked pained. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. We do not have a house wine. There is a wine list…”

“Just whatever is your cheapest glass of red,” Patricia grumbled, adding, “for Christ’s sake.”

The whole table had fixed stares on Patricia as she continued to peruse the dinner menu, seemingly unaware of the tension she had caused.

The waiter turned to Roy. “Sir?”

Roy slowly turned toward the waiter and said, “Um, yes, a scotch and soda. Whatever kind of scotch. Whatever.”

Jackson looked at the waiter for his turn, and his voice broke slightly as he spoke, “Just water is fine for me, thanks.”

Colin followed suit. “Water. Thank you.”

“Well! Am I glad high school is done, and I made it through! I’m a graduate!” Jackson exclaimed, seizing his moment with a little too much bravado.

The rest of the table stared at him.

Jackson continued on, unable to stop himself, only selfishly caring about the relief that would hopefully come once he had his secret out in the open. Once this secret was released, he could get on with getting as far away as possible from his crazy family.

The words continued to gush out of his mouth, “Mom. Dad. I have some exciting news for you! You will be so proud that I have learned so much over the years. I have been able to independently plan for what could only be described as a once-in-a-lifetime GROWTH OPPORTUNITY! I have adventures ahead that could shape me as a person, expose me to the culture of the world, and open doors that I never even knew existed! I have been saving my money! For years! I have been saving my money, and I…”

Here, Jackson paused. The waiter brought the drinks and set them down in an uncomfortable silence. Patricia and Roy immediately began drinking.

Jackson smiled and looked around at the table, trying to sell his idea as irresistibly genius.

“I get to travel Europe for a year!” He rushed on with hardly a beat between breaths, “Don’t you worry about anything! I have it all planned out. I have paid for my flight, and I’ll be staying in hostels – now I know that sounds bad – but I Google’d it all! Hostels really are safe and the most affordable way for me to get the most of the entire experience. Heck, maybe I could even find a job and stay on longer than a year. I can’t even imagine what kind of opportunities could come up! Imagine, your son, the WORLD TRAVELER!”

Patricia softly said, “What about Stanford? Your father’s alma mater?”

Jackson nodded his head in a serious fashion. “Yes, yes. Stanford. I won’t be going to Stanford. Yet....But, Mom! Dad! Stanford will be there when I get back, I can ask for acceptance to any college any old time!”

Roy sputtered out some of his scotch and soda. “Are you actually not even accepted into Stanford?”

Jackson darkly realized that this was it. The moment of truth. He had to deal with the anger and disappointment and anything else that came of it.

“No. I have not been accepted into Stanford. I’m sorry. I lied.” Jackson said.

He braced himself for what was to come next. Jackson’s friend, Colin, just sat, watching the scene with a mixture of horror and excitement on his face.

Patricia looked at Roy then looked back at Jackson.

“That…is…the…most…FLIPPING FANTASTIC NEWS!” Patricia shouted with a big smile on her face. “Oh MY GOD!” She shrieked. She jumped up, bumping against the table, so she could give her son a hug.

Jackson was shocked. Speechless. He stood limply while his mother awkwardly hugged him. He looked at his father.

His father looked…relieved? His father was smiling, swirling his drink around. Then Roy called over the waiter.

“Sir! Did I mention that we are CELEBRATING?! Please, bring out some champagne!” Roy exclaimed.

Patricia noisily sat down laughing and guffawing. “Roy! Did you hear that?! Our boy isn’t going to Stanford after all!”

Jackson looked at his friend, Colin, as the waiter brought the champagne to the table. Colin looked at him and gave him a puzzled expression. Jackson had never experienced so much dissonance in his life. He should have felt elated, relieved! His parents were happy with his smart and independent planning. They actually “got” his speech! Instead of joy, Jackson felt, well…disappointed. Did his parents not care about his future?? Did his parents WANT him to tramp around in seedy, cheap hostels, where he could quite possibly become the main character in a real-life horror film or some other ungodly tragedy? What the hell was going on here?

Roy could only reach across the table and smack his boy on the shoulder. “That’s great, Jackson. I’m proud of you. Go out there and get ‘em! See the world! Ha!”

Jackson looked to his mother. Patricia began rambling on, “Oh, Jackson, we’ve been so scared to tell you what’s been going on! What a relief! Your father was fired from his job! Yeah, yeah, can you BELIEVE IT?! Fuckers! Anyway! There was just NO WAY we were going to be able to pay for Stanford. No way. We didn’t know how we were going to break it to you. In fact, we don’t even know if we’ll get to keep the house! Ha! But, now! Now that you are going to EUROPE, and you are staying in hostels? Oh, this is just fabulous! We don’t have to worry so much! Maybe we’ll get to even keep our house!” With that, Patricia downed her first glass of champagne and started to pour another.

Roy said, “You’ve saved up enough, son?”

Jackson stopped staring at his almost crazed, half-drunk mother, and looked at his father, “Yes, Dad. I have it all taken care of. Like I said.”

Roy smiled.

“Yippee!” Patricia exclaimed. She lifted her glass and motioned for everyone to do the same. “To Europe!” They all clinked glasses.

At that moment, Jackson’s sister, Carolyn came rushing to the table.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! Argh, I’m always late, I know, I know, the traffic, and the…” Carolyn stopped and looked at the table. She saw the shocked, confused expression on Jackson’s face. She saw the sheepish, holding-back-a-smile look on Colin’s face. She saw the snockered expressions on her parents’ faces.

Patricia shouted, “Honey! Sit down! Your brother just shared some VERY EXCITING NEWS!”

“Ahhh,” Carolyn said nodding her head knowingly. “He finally told you he was gay and escaping to Europe with Colin, his lover, all these years?”

Silence.

Jackson shifted in his seat nervously and cleared his throat. “Um, yeah, about that…”

THE END

How to Spice Up a Marriage

(Thank God the hubs has a sense of humor.)

I live to exasperate my husband. I live for the eye roll. I find it very entertaining.

After a certain number of years together, this must be what they mean by spicing up the marriage, right?? Who’s with me?

What better way to pass the time and the years than by pushing the exact buttons you know lurk under the surface? (I realize that many of you out there right now either think I am evil or brilliant. It is a line I carefully walk.)

Reactions out of my husband that I find fun include:

1. Disbelief
2. Blank stare
3. A short, choppy, loud, “What?!”
4. The afore-mentioned eye roll with a small smile playing on the lips
5. Slight and fleeting annoyance

Obviously, whatever keeps ME chuckling (on the inside) works.

Some examples of how I accomplish this include:

1. Pretending I am completely serious, when actually I am only totally messing with him.
Our late cat, Gweniviere, is buried in our back yard. Recently, we were sitting outside on the patio watching our little maniac run around the backyard. We have been pondering moving in the future. Deadpan, I looked at my husband and said, “You know when we move, you’re going to have to dig up Gweniviere so we can take her with us.” Reaction: Disbelief and blank stare.

2. Giving flimsy responses to questions he has for me.
My husband always loves to know “what the plan is” for the day or the next day. Although I am an organizer-type, when it comes to planning open, summer days, I rather like to fly by the seat of my pants and not feel constrained by too many “plans.” So, about EVERY SINGLE TIME my husband asks me, “What are you going to do tomorrow?” I say, “Go to Target. Get some socks. Maybe a necklace.” Reaction: short chuckle and eye roll.

3. Swearing that Us Weekly stories are THE FACTS.
When watching television news, my husband may comment on a story here and there. I’ll say, “I already know all about that.” He may say, “Oh, yeah, how?” I say, “Us Weekly!! You know! THE FACTS!” Reaction: chuckling and eye roll, but unfortunately, sometimes heckling.

4. Increasingly reminding him of his dear Grandma L. as I get older.
Recently, I had to have a wisdom tooth removed and was put under for it. When I began to wake from sedation, my husband tells me that I started rapid-fire questioning for the poor nurse. He said I wouldn’t stop until we were out of the office. I was asking, “How long did it take? Can I see my tooth? What does it look like? Was it hard to get out? How many minutes or seconds of pulling? Did you have to grunt and pull hard on it, or did it come out easy? What kind of tools did you use to get it out? Was there lots of blood? Did I make any noises? Did the dentist make noises?” and on and on. I remember my husband telling me this, shaking his head, and he quietly said, “You reminded me of Grandma L.” (She was a rambunctious, curious gal.) Reaction: Disbelief and scared amusement.

5. My driving.
My driving never fails to get reactions out of my husband, but I am always quick to remind him, “I have NEVER been in an accident, so be quiet!” He believes that this fact is a miracle and there must be angels surrounding my car every time I drive. I like to zip around in a zippy sort of way. (He must know by now that I do some things on purpose when he is with me just to get the desired reaction out of him. For example, speed up a bit right when I’m entering a parking spot and then slamming the brakes.) Reaction: Disbelief and some fear.

Ladies, you gotta keep your man on their toes lest things get…boring. Why not be the Lucy to his Ricardo and laugh along the way. Even if you’re the only one laughing, at least SOMEONE is having fun!

Bringing Sexy Back?

Do you ever find yourself wondering, “Uhh, where did my sex life go, and why is it so hard to bring it back?” I have a person here that I married, and I SHOULD be able to have sex almost as much as I want, right?

Well, it just isn’t as easy as it sounds.

One night, my husband and I had DECIDED that we were going to have sex later that night. Yes, it was a decision. A very exciting decision.

But, first, before exciting things could happen, we had The Bed Time Ritual to get through. The little maniac relaxes on the couch with a cup of milk and watches a show on our Tivo list before we go upstairs to get ready for bed. This particular night, he chose a rousing episode of Chuggington. Titillating stuff. Anyone getting excited yet?

I decided some wine was in order, but, oops, I had a little too much. Perhaps I was trying to take the edge off the DECISION and the anticipation it had caused. I was sitting on the couch, and I kid you not, I had to shut one eye to focus on Chuggington. This is a sorry, sad state of affairs when you find yourself watching Chuggington with one eye closed because you have had too much to drink. (Trust me, it didn’t make the damn show any better either.)

So with Chuggington as our foreplay, upstairs we went. I will leave the rest to your imagination, but I beg of you, how do you bring sexy back on a semi-regular basis without taking too much time or staying up too damn late (Let’s face it, I’m pretty sure there are many studies to support the fact that a tired mother will choose sleep over sex 10 times out of 10). And we wonder why we don’t do this more often…

Operating on Lizard Brain (RAGBRAI Adventures)

Writing prompt: Write a funny story involving socks.

I used to be part of a hooligan crowd that believed in riding bicycles on long journeys in various stages of undress and drunkenness.

Pretty soon, the hooligans will be at it again. During the last full week of July, about 5,000 people bicycle across the state of Iowa on a 7 day journey, beginning on the banks of the Missouri River and ending at the banks of the Mississippi River. Each day is usually between 70-90 miles of biking. This event is called RAGBRAI (Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa). If you’d like to learn more about it, click here. The bike team I rode with was Team Mosquito.

As if biking across Iowa in July weren’t crazy enough, the shenanigans that go on can be truly shocking. If you are there, the feeling in the air and the spirit and energy of the crowds encourages you to BELIEVE in the crazy and to push the boundaries of what is APPROPRIATE. You do because you CAN.

In other words, people are largely only operating on the lizard part of their brain.

Really, there is no thinking required. Only the pushing of pedals, the lifting of a cup to the mouth, the foraging for scraps of food here and there, never once caring what you look like or how much you have sweat, and pretty-much a constant smile on your face.

There is the sun on your back, silent 20 mile stretches of highway as you ride past fields of corn. Sometimes the air is cut by a distant radio strapped onto a fellow biker’s bike. There is the kindness of strangers to push your back up a long hill on your bike when they see you are struggling. There is the kindness of families opening their homes and showers and lawns for sleeping. There is the kindness of whole towns offering their streets for Mardi-Gras type celebrations.

I have sat outside of a gas station on a sunny early morning, eating a banana, sharing a cold beer, and looking at my bike to prepare to get on and ride for another 70 miles.

I have gotten myself lost in the dark, riding drunk down an obscure Iowa highway, only to be picked up by fellow riders and dropped at a nearby town bar.

I have demonstrated bad ass skills like the one below.

I have dropped to the ground and danced in the dirt to Violent Femmes, Blister in the Sun.

I have chased many a shot of vodka with a swallow of cold baked beans from the can (What? You've never heard of vodka bean shots? You just haven't been living!).

But there is one memory and picture that truly makes me chuckle more than others and is a great insight into what tickles my sense of humor. I fondly recall one of the hooligan bike team members wearing these cat puke socks when he would ride.

You see the cat on the sock? It is puking.

Now here is an example of a person operating on the lizard part of their brain. I am sure this person would not mind me posting this – in fact, he would be proud. And, my husband, his good friend, gave me permission. Here is another hooligan bike team member:

Obviously, he is imitating the cat on the cat puke socks.

People, it doesn’t get much better than this. I am only so grateful that I can own these memories as part of the great things I have done in my life.

God speed, RAGBRAI-types. You are getting ready for your journey, and I am not jealous, only nostalgic – like it is an era gone by for me. Carry on and bike hard.

Personal disclaimer: I will stop myself and clarify that I was never a die-hard biker. In fact, the first few times I tried it, really tried it, I hated it and declared the entire sport stupid. Why would someone push two wheels MANUALLY up a hill over and over again, WHY?! I wanted no part of it. I hated the way it made me feel inadequate and tested my strength. But, I did keep trying (because I married one of these hooligans, and I didn’t want to be left out of all the fun), and eventually I came to “get” what it was that was so appealing about being on your bike for a long time and accomplishing SOMETHING.

I will also be honest and clarify that I have never been able to bike the entire RAGBRAI route. The most consecutive days of biking I have ever done is TWO, and I don’t think I have ever biked more than about 70 miles in one day.

General disclaimer: There are, of course, family-types that partake in the event that is a genuine celebration of the great state of Iowa. There are family-focused activities, and I’ve heard there are some standards of conduct that are encouraged. This is an experience that exists and is obviously encouraged by the creators of RAGBRAI, however, this just wasn’t ever my experience and I am only writing to my experiences.