Examining Quarks

Let's just say this happens more than you know...

2005-04-05T02:09:00.000-04:00

Poor 7 year old was lied to by the police. Why am I not surprised?

Link courtesy MosaicLife

Can't Afford To See It In Theaters Review

2005-03-03T22:28:00.000-05:00

Ray featuring ~~Ray Charles~~Jamie Foxx

I was astonished. I was amazed. I was worried that they may have concentrated on his drug use more than his extraordinary music. But I loved the movie. It was definitely almost worth staying up past 7am in the morning when I had to wake up at 9, but overslept and ended up being an hour late for everything but work, for which I was 4 hours early. *sigh*

Can't Afford To See It In The Theaters Review

2005-03-01T17:05:00.000-05:00

The Villiage by M. Night Shyamalan

I liked it. I liked the love story and the way the characters developed. I thought Adrien Brody was fantastic (and I generally don't like Brody), but I have to say one thing. M.Night, you are not Clint Eastwood. Stop putting yourself in movies. We have fun just watching what you write. The clever little find M. Night game was fun, but it's better when you don't speak.

Some things are better left unsaid.

2005-02-06T19:07:00.000-05:00

WTH?

2005-01-25T16:13:00.000-05:00

As some may have surmised, August 14, 2004 was the second happiest day of my life. Nothing can beat the most happy. I became Mrs. The Boy, he was in my life forever, and there was nothing he could do about it. We went on to enjoy a week in beautiful St. Simon's Island and came home to enjoy our lives together. Each month, we would celebrate our wedding date with a dinner out, a splurge that I never thought would be mine, but is, every month. I love to eat. We did this every month. One month anniversary, three month anniversary. We skipped the 5 month anniversary because I splurged at Christmas, which was the best January anniversary gift I could get. I like going overboard.

As I was looking forward to the 6 month anniversary, which is also near the time he proposed a year ago, I kept trying to come up with special things we could do. Half a year together, one year since he'd proposed on Feb. 20. I could imagine us going to Atlanta, maybe eating at Emeril's or the SunDial at the top of theWestin, something real fancy, schmancy. I would even forgo our 7-month anniversary for an all out celebration of the 6 month.

That's when I realized. And I have to give it to God. He's good. I mean, not just good in the sense of absolutely without evil. But good at getting us back. And when I say us, I mean me.

Four years ago, I, along with a good friend of mine, deeply troubled by what we thought was the regression of humanity when it came to love, declared Anti-Valentine's Day for all! We were amateurs, so we had M&Ms and chips, and we watched the Wedding Singer, which is a great movie, but poor anti valentine fare. We vowed to do better next year and, with a plethora of garlic-y, messy, honey barbecue wings and a delicious, cheesy artichoke and spinach dip with an entire head of garlic mixed in and cookies in the shape of broken hearts with anti-valentine messages (but no garlic) we invited our loved ones and other fed up with this Hallmark Holiday to a smellicious feast and a big screen showing of What Lies Beneath. The next year, we followed the same formula and showed Dial M For Murder (which was remade as A Perfect Murder - but I like Hitchcock better). I didn't have a party for 2004.

Now, it is 2005, about time for another party, you'd think. But it can't be because my 6 month anniversary is on VALENTINE'S DAY!!!! How did this happen? I wanted to get married on Friday 13th, but everyone said no. Now my anniversary is going to be on Valentine's day for the rest of my life. What kind of justice is this?

When I told my husband, it was the day I found out. He's picked me up from work and we were doing our grocery shopping. I lead him through the sequence and when he picked it up he stopped the shopping cart in the middle of the store and laughed at me. It was the mean laugh. The laughed that said, "I always thought it was silly of you to have your little parties hating valentine's day, but now God got you back by making you have to celebrate your arch nemesis day."

Fortunately, V-Day is a monday this year, which means that he will have to work, so we can't do anything. We will be celebrating it the 12th or the weekend after, which, after all is close to the anniversary of our engagement. Maybe I will be able to convince him to make the 20th our official celebration day in the month of February. Maybe, I will show him the error of celebrating on V-Day. Maybe he will not be mean enough to keep that particular day.

But I'm not holding my breath. *sigh*

Things are abrewin'

2005-01-18T17:34:00.000-05:00

Trust me, they are.

Shameless

2004-12-31T17:42:00.000-05:00

I steal shamelessly from my husband every day. He is a very funny guy and I find that I constantly study him to see how he can be so funny. While it is helping me be funnier in real life, it is not really helping my writing be funnier. I wonder what I could do to make that happen.

Tonight, we take off amidst New Year's Eve celebrations. While the world is getting ready to kiss in the New Year, we will be an hour up the road. With 13 more to go. We will find out what the listeners of Sirius Radio thought was the best album of 2004. We will find out what the other two CDs from the Nirvana box set has. We will find out just how far two skeins of chinchilla will go. We will see how many of my writing goals I can keep. We will see just how long it will take me to not write 2004. We will see alot of things in 2005.

I wonder...

2004-12-31T17:39:00.000-05:00

I wonder, if you chew the two new Juicy Fruit flavours together, will they taste like the regular Juicy Fruit?

Like I was saying...

2004-12-26T16:59:00.000-05:00

Have you missed me?

Due to computer problems, Examining Quarks has not been part of your regularly scheduled program for nearly a month. The problem still remains, though I am typing this at my in-laws house right now.

In-laws. What a weird thing to type. I'm married, which is even weirder. More weird. Very weirder. Whichever brings the most amount of weirdness to the table. You decide.

I am spending "Christmas" with my family this Sunday because Christmas started early Saturday with his family. We don't really have any set traditions. My family is sort of fragmented between two sects, each too rigid to move easily into new traditions. The Boy and I are starting our own traditions and part of that is incorporating traditions that his family have had into our own.

I've only seen group gift giving, video taping gift openings, and huge dinners where everyone stands and prays together and then sit and eat together, on television. I've never spent Christmas with my mom's family and when I spend Christmas with my dad's family, while fun, it is still kind of an "everyone for themselves" mentality. That's what I'm used to. Early Christmas lunch at home, eat what you can Christmas dinner at Grandmama's. To get up and have supper at noon and then open presents, watch tv, eat more dinner and talk about the move you may be making... that's new.

Moving. Yes, I may be moving. We are going to check out a job offer in Michigan. We're going to hit the road New Year's Eve night, driving straight for 15 hours, hoping to get there in time to make it to church because that's where The Boy (and of course I) may be in a couple of months. Crazy huh? Someone was telling me about lake effect snow. It doesn't sound pretty.

The Boy always laughs at me because I get cold here. He will have on a short sleeve shirt and t-shirt underneath and I will have on my big army jacket with a scarf, a shirt, my mild weather zip sweater and a knit hat on my head, while wishing I had gloves. Easily remedied, I know, but I am too lazy. But I will surprise him (and myself) because I did, after all, spend two years in Boston. 10 years ago. When I was young.

I'm almost 29. I've been only for 2 years. I've written countless bits of drivel and an occassional touching piece. The cold affects me much strongly now. I wonder if I will write many lamentations about the cold, calling myself the Weeping Poet until we move to Albequerque, New Mexico....

Well, I've missed you guys. This is an update until I have more time to write about the things I've been doing and discovering in the last few months.

And yes, our first Christmas was absolutely fantastic.

Making a List

2004-12-02T15:58:00.000-05:00

I have no clue what I want for Christmas. That is a sad state of affairs. Any ideas?

In other news, we are scheduled to get our Christmas Tree on Dec. 11th. I'm really excited about going shopping for my own Christmas stuff. Last year I went shopping for lights and ornaments for the family I was working for. I even did tree decorating, but again, for that family. I'm ready to do it for my own, much to the chagrin of The Boy. He is a Scrooge about Christmas, even refusing to say "Bah, Humbug" because they're not words, but that is how he feels. He doesn't see the point in Christmas trees and decorations, so why do it? But I love all of that stuff. I love the peaceful feeling of sitting and staring at the tree, all decked out in lights and watching a black and white movie in the background, preferably Miracle on 34th Street, although I've gotten to the point where watching It's A Wonderful Life doesn't make me want to throw something. I like seeing decoration. When we drove into our apartment complex, they'd put up wreaths with red and white lights. "Oooo, pretty." I said. "I knew you would like that." The Boy said, glad to see my happy but slightly disgruntled that the lights did it. "I can't wait to do our own Christmas lights shopping." I said. "I'm not," he responded. "Stop being such a scrooge," I say. There is one thing about Christmas, if I'm insistent on having a tree and lights, that he has given in to. We are going to find the old school bulbs that always got so hot, you were afraid they were going to set the tree on fire. They glowed so brightly they seemed almost nuclear in their strength. They were big and there was paint on the outside, unlike bulbs of today, where the light comes through coloured glass. So as they got older, the paint would start to chip and if you looked at it the wrong way, you were in danger of going blind. The Boy said that if we had to have lights, those would be lights he wanted. So we'll get them.

But they won't go on the tree.

Dear Thanksgiving

2004-11-22T15:51:00.000-05:00

Dear Sir,
Thanks for the day off. Maybe next year you could make it two. I'm sure we can set an extra plate for you if you can. So, do you hang out with any families on this day, or do you just stay at home and watch the parades and football games? We do football too, so that shows we're not so different. I like the thought of Thanksgiving movies, but could they not be so bad? Except for MSTK's Turkey Day. That was always fun. Can you bring that back?

So, why don't you deliver gifts? I think you could really compete with Santa if you put a little more thought into it. People are already gearing up for Christmas anyway, so if the 4th Thursday of November was a gift giving time, your gifts would be way better than anything Christmas has to offer, 'cause you'd be first. Just a suggestion, just in case you never thought of it.

So the surprise this year is that I'm married. All that moping and complaining last year about not being with family and I have my own this year. I know you didn't have anything to do with it, but I knew you'd want to know. So this year, you won't hear me complaining. I hope this year's celebration is good for you. Best wishes to you and tell my friends in California, North Carolina, Florida, Indiana, and elsewhere I said hello when you visit them.

All the best,
Angel

P.S. If you start delivering gifts, I would forego the "spitting tobacco in the eye" bit. Bad publicity.

Shopping

2004-11-18T21:13:00.000-05:00

Whenever we go grocery shopping, usually at Kroger, we must make a stop by the cheese cart. We head immediately for the parmigiano reggiano. The Boy finds the biggest one and wonder who would pay so much for that huge honkin' block of cheese. The we find the smallest block and wonder if it is absurd to pay $11.95 for 2 oz. Then we walk around the cart to see if there is any new cheese, ending where we started at the parmigiano, smelling it and wishing we could afford such an aromatically awesome cheese.

We don't know why we do this. But we do it every time.

Soup Day

2004-11-16T02:10:00.000-05:00

A few months ago, my husband and I went to the Taste of Atlanta. It was pretty nice, with a room that had live music and a room that had cooking demonstrations. We went, hoping to see Emeril, but he wasn't slated to appear until Sunday. So we watched a few of the chefs who had booths set up and learned new things about cooking. At each demo, they called guests from the audience. We wanted to go on together, so we bided our time. Finally, when the chef for the Sundial was up, I began gesturing pointedly to both me and my husband. The host bit and we were on stage. The chef made a winter squash soup with candied chestnuts and cinnamon whipped cream that was truly fabulous.

If you ask my family, "What is the last thing she would eat?", they might say eggs, or okra, or liver, but somewhere in their would be squash. I am a notorious squash hater. I hate the little yellow squash that always gets cut into slices and cooked in its juices, or packed into a casserole, ruining the cheese. But this squash was mild, not too sweet, not too tangy, just right. And it made an excellent soup.

So we tried to make it at home.

We had the recipe, we got everything (we thought) and we started to cook. It wasn't long before we discovered that the can of chestnuts the stock boy had lead us to was water chestnuts. We were devastated. We wanted candied chestnuts. That made the soup for both of us. So it was off to Publix to see if we could find some, because there were none at Kroger. The Boy went to get them while I finished up the soup and got the cinnamon whipped cream started.

He returned victorious.

Now, I don't know who decided to roast chestnuts on the open fire the first time, but they pop like crazy when they get hot. The chestnuts were beating the heck out of my oven before we finally pulled them out. The Boy candied the chestnuts and blended the soup pieces into mush and we were enjoying squash soup in no time. It wasn't the easiest thing to do. That old saying about too many cooks can be very true. But it was certainly an adventure, and one I will go on as often as possible.

Veteran's Day

2004-11-11T16:33:00.000-05:00

They are getting younger now. Remember when they were home on this day, not at war? Remember when they weren't fighting? Now little hands hold up written walls not understanding what a name there means. Some people were never identified, though there is, in the heart of loved one, something that knows this "Unknown" belongs to them. And with all of our resources, even identifying an unknown, we have not figured out how to keep war from happening. We probably never will.

There are people doing their jobs today, hoping that today won't be their last. There are people wishing they could be home today, hoping for just one more hug. There are people we are missing today, hoping we get a letter, not two uniformed men and a cleric standing at our door.

Thank You. It starts so small, this gratitude, while our hearts weep. I want you all back, like some mother hen, to gather you under my wings. I want the tears to disappear, as if they never happened, and a return from strife. I look to that day, a day I know is coming.

Creator and Created

2004-11-09T16:49:00.000-05:00

This week is taking its toll.

Writing this NaNoWriMo novel is taking a toll, and really, it's quite a literary toll. Having never attempted a novel, mainly working in short stories and, recently, blog posts, I've really learned to condense my words, so being prolific has really been hard. It really is weasels into the wall week. I'm not disciplined, although I do make time to write. But writing 500 - 1500 words a day isn't going to get me to 50,000 words by the end of this month. I haven't had sleepless nights because I don't really want to give up the things I would have to give up to finish this novel. But I'm not a quitter, so I am compelled to keep writing. I rejoice when I see my word count go up significantly, but I suffer as this poorly plotted novel comes to light. What is this I am writing? And really and truly, I want to be too good a writer to write crap. Oh, I know that I've written plenty of crap for you guys, but I thought this was where you put the crap out so that when you sat down and put your ideas to paper, you came away with gold. I don't know about you other writers, but I'm not encouraged by the fact that the rough draft is just the start you need to write a good novel. I am discouraged by that fact. I feel like I should be able to come up with great things and write them in ways that move and bring to tears and make you laugh. I shall continue to write and to work and maybe soon, I will be able to give up what I need to write like I mean it.

Church. It is taking a toll. It's too early, too far and too political. Every other week, I get to hear a sermon that challenges my perspective of God, that challenges me to make even bigger steps towards following Him, towards giving Him what He deserves from me, towards thinking a little more like Him and the weeks in between, I hear about how my specific political beliefs may show that I am in darkness. I hear about how, if I am angered by his words, then maybe I need to pay a little more attention to the word of God and for one, I am sick and tired of it. I would like to go to church and learn about God, leaving the things of the world behind for a glimpse of the answer to the questions God has raised throughout the week. And maybe, by some weird outlet, I am learning about holding my peace so that I may insure peace amongst the brethren. I am beginning to be too tired for this, too drained to sit quietly and wonder if this is a challenge to leave or a challenge to stay. Do the good weeks outweigh the bad? Is the fellowship of some better than trying to find a new fellowship? I once belonged to a fellowship that I would always invite others to take part in. Now, despite how much our church has grown over the last few weeks, I find myself in a congregation where I don't feel at peace to invite those I know. I wonder what it is that I am not seeing, whether I should see it, or whether this is God's attempt to take me out and on. Toll taking is no fun.

Ah, and as I write this and ask the questions, I find that the answers, though slow in coming, are coming just the same. I am not worried because writing is for me and maybe, one day will be for others. I am not worried because church is just church but God is still God and I have no worries at His hand. Though there are definitely deficits in me, there are none in Him.

Now, if only I could get at least 10,000 words *sigh*.

Ohio Is Trying To Destroy My Marriage

2004-11-03T15:57:00.000-05:00

George W. Bush Re-Elected.

That was the first thing we saw on television when we got up this morning. Althought the television was still up and blaring, the room grew strangely still and silent. I lean my head on The Boy's shoulder to comfort. He turns off the television and we say nothing for a long time. Then he turns the television back on and I'm waiting, feeling tension like claws. I'm waiting either for an explosion, or an analysis, or sarcasm; just for him to say something.
"That's something we could use better technology on."
"What?" I ask, trying to gauge his mood.
"Eye-patches. I mean, look at that thing. It's covering half his face. And that string. At least make it clear. There are children party hats that are less obvious than that eye patch."

In your face, Ohio!

I'm Not Gonna Tell You Who To Vote For...

2004-11-02T14:41:00.000-05:00

Vote Christian.

What an ambiguous phrase. The new masthead for Evangelicals is no longer Jesus, (well, at least not for the last few months) but Bush. It's been getting on my nerves how political things have gotten. Which isn't funny, considering how *not* into politics I am.

Bush is the new symbol of Christianity, the new way we Christian southerners (well to be fair, Christian Maconites) have decided is the way to show where we stand as Christians. In a somewhat devil's advocate-y discussion with a co-worker, I was accused of supporting gay marriages because I didn't support the marriage rights amendment (or marriage protection amendment to be P.C.). I was asked what kind of future I wanted to leave to my children. I was asked how I believed God would judge the United States if we didn't pass this amendment. I laughed and said not passing the amendment didn't mean that gay marriages was automatically instituted. But that was it. I was deceived by this post-modern upbringing. Maybe.

Don't get me wrong. If there were the same defining support of Kerry, in that "either vote your conscience or vote against it" mentality, I would be just as adamant. If you choose Bush because of his stances, that's fine. If you choose Bush because you would be talked about at church because you didn't, then that's not fine.

I've made my decision about how I'm voting and why (marital solidity *grin*) without the least amount of guilt that I am displeasing God. I don't believe that my decision will bring about the downfall of this country and Christianity as a whole. I don't believe God will hold me personally responsible if the United States isn't a Christian nation.

But I'd like to know where our ministries have gone in the past few months. As our pastors have been politiking, what has happened to our bible studies, what has happened to his sermons, what has happened to our outreach? They spend hours and many instances of publicity to push for a candidate, but don't use that time to exhort Christians to study, love and continued growth (not that they have to), continuing to be sideshow acts that many are beginning to deplore. Well, this one Christian... I surely can't speak for a country, can I?

At the end of service Sunday, the call to vote went out and the pastor yells, "I ain't gonna tell you who to vote for but his name begins with a ..." I'm sure he said, "...B", but at that time, my husband comes up to me and semi-loudly (because he likes being sandpaper) says, "I'm not gonna tell you who to vote for, but don't vote for Bush!"

Vote Kerry

2004-11-02T14:20:00.000-05:00

On the way home from work last night, my husband starts taking quick, loud, inward breaths. I'm immediately worried. Is he having a heart attack? A panic attack? An asthma attack?
"What's wrong?" I ask, ready to take the wheel if necessary.
"The election tomorrow. I can't take it."

If you love me, vote Kerry. I don't know how life will be at my house if Bush wins.

This post brought to you by the Committee for a Happy Marriage For Angel.

50,000 WORDS!

2004-11-01T16:46:00.000-05:00

*sigh*

Happy National Novel Writing Month!

A House Is Not A Home

2004-11-01T16:08:00.000-05:00

I've never owned furniture. When I moved to California, I moved into a furnished apartment. When I got married, I moved into an unfurnished apartment. Until this past Saturday, it was unfurnished. I had set up shop in the middle of the living room, a blanket on the floor surrounded by books, papers, pens, and thank you notes. Last week, we found out that friends of ours were moving to New Orleans. We had lunch with them Thursday and decided to buy their living room and dining room from them. It was a reasonable price, we had the money saved for just this type of thing and we really liked their furniture. Saturday morning they helped us move our furniture and we helped them load up their stuff, money changed hands, and we are now the proud owners of a living room suite and a dining room.

They left Macon Sunday morning. I'm glad to see them go because Macon made them miserable, but at the same time, I hate to see them go because we really enjoyed their friendship. However, I'm glad to see them go to New Orleans. Come July, we will be enjoying the Jazz Festival and continuing our friendship.

We were tired when we got back to our apartment, but we still had to drive an hour to Cochran for our Fall Festival and we had to pack for staying there this weekend. It was really nice to walk in and, instead of the usual emptiness, find the jumble of furniture that signified our new possession. With renewed energy, we set up our living room, moving things several times until we are happy and having a little nap time on the sofa. We love our new furniture.

Late Sunday night we came back to our aparment. The weekend had been longer, but thank God for daylight savings time! Maybe we forgot about the furniture. Maybe we remembered but just didn't think about it. But we were slightly amazed to walk through the door and see our furniture, arranged and waiting, and our apartment said, "Welcome Home".

Pirates of Kroger

2004-10-28T16:58:00.000-04:00

The Kroger here is trying to have some sort of Halloween Pirates of the Caribbean thing to get the locals hyped up on the savings Kroger has to offer. Their uniforms consisted of tie-dyed t-shirts and bandanas. Lots of orange. As I was walking through the store, I noticed one guy in the traditional red Kroger shirt. I was about to joke about him being out of place, but then I noticed he looked way too angry, so I didn't mention it.

Bits and Fluff

2004-10-26T17:07:00.000-04:00

I just signed up to crank out 10,000 words of drivel for National Novel Writing Month, coyly called NaNoWriMo for short. I don't know when I will have the time, really, but I will make the time. I had an idea for the month of Nov., but I forgot. I will spend the rest of Oct. coming up with an idea for where to start. I hope I don't make myself insufferble to The Boy.

I don't know what's happening, but I'm beginning to have "girl stomach". Have you ever been out to eat with someone (someone being a girl) and they eat a little bit of their small salad, a couple bits of bread and a quarter of their baked chicken and they are stuffed, while you just shoveled down 3 cups of water, all of your salad, 3 of those complementary loaves of bread (packed with butter) and all of your 6 oz steak while contemplating which cake you will have for dessert and whether you should ask for more bread? Well, believe it or not, internet, I have been from the latter group for more than 28 years. Yet a week ago, I noticed something.

And it was horrifying indeed.

The Boy took me out to celebrate 2 months of marital bliss. The restaurant was really nice. The setting was poorly lit (or romantically so) to soften features, was cozy and almost cuddly. We did sit near a loud family, but chose to ignore them because of said marital bliss. And riesling. Good riesling. I decide to eat as I am accustomed to, drinking water, eating bread (keep 'em coming) enjoying my salad, yes, I'll have the salmon steak with grilled broccoli, riesling with my dinner, yes, it was all coming together nicely. He got the pork tenderloin with a fruit barbecue sauce and it was awesome. Suddenly, I felt something that I'd never felt half-way through my meal. Full. What is going on? By the time I made it through half of my salmon, I realized that if I kept eating, I wouldn't be able to eat dessert, and we all know that's what it's all about. So, with a small amount of shame, I asked our server for a to-go box.

To go. I've never really wanted to take food to-go. I take that back. Once, I enjoyed my meal so much, I ordered another one to go, to enjoy at a later date (well, time really, about two hours later, but I digress). How much can you enjoy half of your meal later? Not much,let me tell you.

I couldn't believe it. I kept asking myself why. Why wasn't I able to eat my entire meal? The Boy laughed and said something about eating three loaves of bread. But they were small loaves, no bigger than my hand. That wasn't it. And sure, I drank nearly a gallon of water, but I always do that. Water hasn't ever really been as much a filler as it is a delayer. My salad wasn't exceptionally small, but it wasn't my idea of a nicely filled salad. It was an appropriate opening for the upcoming course. Then I realized that I was getting "girl stomach". I think if more people got girl stomach, this would cut down on the number of stomach reducing operations going on.

Speaking of stomach reducing operations... I don't know if I agree with them. Not that I don't understand the health benefits involving weight and controlling type 2 diabetes, but really, in the end, when your lower body is emaciated and your head is as big as it was when you had all the weight, it is worth it? It's really hard to look at Al Roker or Starr now without cringing.

I was so upset with the prospect of "girl stomach" that I could barely enjoy my dessert, but honey and amaretto does make a wonderful topping for cinnamon/vanilla icecream pie.

Just so you know.

Alton Brown Says...

2004-10-18T16:05:00.000-04:00

We have become fascinated with the show Good Eats on Food Network. It's a quirky cooking show that not only tells you how to cook certain foods, but tell you why they cook the way they do. You know, something of a history lesson, science experiment, cooking show. We love it.

The down side is that I've gotten to the point that whatever Alton Brown says is law. It would be okay if it was just cooking, but it's also history and science as well.

"Alton Brown says that the tongue isn't divided into 4 different taste areas. He says that the tastebuds for all the tastes are all over the tongue."
"So the scientists are wrong?" The Boy says.
I stop and think.
"Yes."

"The Unwrapped guy said that a shepherd discovered cheese." I snort as if to say, foolish guy who is not Alton Brown. "Obviously he's wrong because Alton Brown said it was a bedouin in the desert."
The Boy just shakes his head.

"Alton Brown is as much of a cheese head as you are." The Boys says.
"I guess that means I should add more cheese to my recipes."
The Boy looks alarmed.

"Alton Brown says that Columbus didn't discover America."
The Boy just hands me my lemonade and sits down to watch the rest of Good Eats with me.
It's such a great show. You should watch it.

The Big Day

2004-10-01T14:45:00.000-04:00

I knew it was all going wrong when I walked down the aisle and saw my mom on the stage. I could barely look at The Boy for wondering what she was doing there. Was this some new, preemptive stike on her part to get the wedding cancelled?

I know now I needn't have worried. In the wedding video, you can physically see me mentally detach myself as "wedding planner" to become "bride". The good thing is that only I, Mike, and our moms knew that what was happening wasn't what was planned. When my dad said he'd give me away, he kissed me on my cheek and The Boy stood beside me and we waited. Waited for my mom to be escorted back to her seat, for his mom to be escorted to the candle to light her candle, the candle that would help her son seal his unity with me. She was escorted back to her seat and The Boy and I were asked to join the pastor on the stage.

I realized then I was still holding my bouquet and saw the one important role of maid of honor. Holding the bouquet when the bride got to the stage. My dress had a manageable train, so noone was trailing me to make sure I didn't make the biggest wedding day gaffe - falling. I *did* almost lose my dress later that day, but that's another story. I stepped a few more steps to the right than necessary to pass the bouquet to my mom and continued my path up the side stairs to face my sweetheart and the pastor.

This part went off without a hitch. I don't remember a word of it. Something about three people make a marriage. I'm assuming the third is Christ. I'm certainly hoping he meant the third was Christ.

Then he makes The Boy promise some stuff and repeat after him. He does. All I see is his smile and his eyes, so bright, full of the smile, full of his promises. I didn't hear a word of it. The Boy tries to put the ring on my finger, but the pastor doesn't pause as I have to promise some stuff. I assume I actually did it instead of grinning like an idiot at this man who, in approximately 3 seconds, will be my husband. "I now pronounce you man and wife", the pastor says. We look at him, look at each other and slowly and with some relish, put the rings on each other fingers.

I love my ring. It is a smooth circle of white gold, so thin, it's barely there, but so bright, it's immediately noticeable. It was my engagement ring and is my wedding ring. I wanted this ring because I know that any other ring would get lost, scratch me or scratch something else (mainly due to clumsiness) and I didn't want to have to take the ring off every time I baked or washed dishes. I had worn the ring every day from the moment of my engagement. It was a part of my hand. But the night before our wedding, The Boy asked for it back. I felt lost without the ring. It was a striking sign that I wouldn't see The Boy,or The Ring, until we were firmly joined for all eternity in holy matrimony.

"I NOW pronounce you man and wife", the pastor says and the entire church laughs. So do we.

I know people were expecting us to kiss at this point, but we wanted our first thing as man and wife to be taking communion. We had to light the unity candle as well, so as we move to the side, my sister began to sing an especially moving rendition of Nothing But The Blood while The Boy's friend D. plays acoustic guitar.

The unity candle has never been my favourite part of any ceremony for one reason, and one reason only. Fire. Fire and I do not get along. Fire is a particularly destructive thing in the hands of the clumsy, so I have avoided actually handling fire for nearly all my life. Well, there was that one invasion of ants incident, but that's another story.

For some reason, I knew immediately what wouldn't happen. The candle wouldn't light. I knew this even as I picked up my flaming candle and he picked up his and we held it to that one fat candle that would assure all watchers that, indeed, we were in unity. We held it and we held it to the wax covered wick and we watched as the wax melted and melted and melted. Just as I had predicted. What I had not predicted, what I could not have seen coming, was what happened next. Out of nowhere, except thin air (although he must have been near our communion table), comes the pastor. He begins to dig through the hot wax, trying for all his life to pull the wick out of the wax and give us something to light. The laughter I'd been holding back for solemnity's sake bubbled forth and danced over the pastor, who responded with laughter, and I heard my beloved's soft chuckle. Then we blew out the disastrous fire and moved on. We did not need fire to show that we were one.

In my wedding pictures, there is one picture in particular that I enjoy. I don't know how she did it, but she captured a moment that I am glad is there and when I pointed it out to The Boy when were looking through the pictures, we both laugh. In the picture is my face the exact moment The Boy tells me that what I am about to drink is real wine.

I'd always wanted to have a real wine and bread communion. Over time, I've learned what the real "bread" Jesus broke was, but that has never erased the image of partaking of the body from a chunky loaf of fresh baked challah. And though grape juice was instituted, as churches showed their support of Prohibition by giving up their communion wine, I'd always wanted wine.

So the minister gave The Boy bread, and he broke it and ate, then gave the bread, real bread, not the Jesus wafer, to me. Then the minister gave The Boy wine, and he drank, then gave to me, told me it was real wine, I made a face, which the photographer took a picture of, then I drank.

My sister finished singing just as we began to pray. Then the pastor takes us back to center and says, "You may now kiss the bride." There is polite clapping, when suddenly, we hear someone yell "Wooooo!" and then the entire church turns into Phillips Arena and everyone is yelling and clapping and this makes us very happy. He introduces us and we walk off and that is the end of the longest and shortest 15 minutes I've ever experienced.

No, thank you

2004-09-30T15:50:00.000-04:00

I've been writing thank you notes for the gifts we received on the day of the wedding. I thought I would give you a peek into the Thank You Note process. It's somewhat slow and tedious, as I want to really capture what is in my heart and give an example of just how useful each gift was.

Dear Aunt Joe*,
Thank you sooo much for the picture frame. Even though we don't like taking pictures, we did take alot when we got married. I am glad that, knowing this, you bought us a picture frame. We are going to put one of our wedding pictures in it, even though we don't have tables, or a mantlepiece, or any surface outside of the kitchen to stand it on, it is a gift we will cherish forever. Love, Angel and The Boy.

Dear Uncle Rose,
Thank you so much for the picture frame. We were so happy to receive your gift of a picture frame. We can't wait to put one of our wedding pictures in it. The picture we've selected is the one where we are smiling at the camera. She put a soft focus on it. It will look really good in your horse picture frame. How did you know we like novelty picture frames? It is a gift we will cherish forever. Love, Angel and The Boy

Dear Dennis,
The Boy has said often how great it is to work with you. Thank you for coming to the wedding, and thank you so much for the picture frame. Wasn't it funny how the unity candle wouldn't light. I'm sorry we spent took so long taking pictures, but I'm glad that you made it. Your gift is a gift we will cherish forever. Love, Angel and The Boy.

Dear Anna,
I'm surprised you made it to the wedding. I'm glad someone with an invitation told you how to get there. Even though you didn't have to, you still gave us a gift, which I am grateful for. How did you know that a picture frame might be perfect?Thank you for your gift. Angel and The Boy

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty

2004-09-28T16:22:00.000-04:00

Whenever I introduce myself to others, I get a chance to practice saying my new married name. Today, I introduced myself to someone and they said, "Oh what a pretty name!" I just wanted to giggle and say "I KNOW!"

My new name wouldn't have been so exciting if my last name hadn't been so awful. Not awful as in Spooneybarger or Roach, but awful in that "unpronouncable-dreadful pause-I'm not going to take the time to try to phonetically sound out a last name with 13 letters" kind of way. I've heard so many variations that sometimes I would mispronounce my name.

I proudly say my last name now, versus the sometimes apologetic (because you're going to have to spell it) sometimes antagonistic (because you have to spell it and I don't like you) way that I would say my old last name. For a while, I would just start spelling my last name, as in, "My name is Angel M-C-E-". Even then, said slowly and as if to a child, I could come away with as many different spellings imaginable.

The first time I was called Ms. Macaroni, it was by a first grader in a class I was substituting. He was so cute, I wasn't even aware he was harbouring the evil that would concoct the name Ms. Macaroni. It's an awful thing to be laughed at by 1st graders. This cute little evil incarnate also came up with "Jolly Green Giant" when I mistakenly thought that the green sweater and black slacks was becoming and sedate enough for a first grade class. I can still hear his "Ho Ho Ho" ringing in my ears and my distaste for green is a remnant of that occasion. I remembered this little boy when I substituted for high school classes after that, making anything but the correct, phonetic pronounciation of my name punishable by detention.

There were good points to having a last name that people wouldn't try to pronounce. It was the best way to discern friend from foe in a telephone conversation. Here are examples:
"May I speak to Ms... McClain?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Angel... Mc.. Clain?"
"I'm sorry, you have the wrong number."
OR
"May I speak to Angel?"
"Angel who?"
"Angel Mc... Macle... Mclainy"
"I'm sorry, you have the wrong number."

I'm glad I'm Mrs. The Boy now. It definitely smooths out more than it cloudies.

2004-09-20T17:20:00.000-04:00

Today is my first day being "on-line" as the technically advanced like to say. Oh, I know that I've posted here and there, and check my email once a week, but for the first time today, I had the opportunity to browse the online at my leisure (pronounced leh-zur).

The first bit of goodness came from Que Sera Sera. While she was talking about a romantic involvement that went South then steadily North again, it reminded me of a friendship that went south, tried to go north, went sort of east, then trickled back south. It just makes no sense to have had a great connection with someone, and then assume they can’t ever be part of your life again just because that connection has changed. I've always believed if a relationship is worth starting, it is worth keeping. I know that not everyone shares my beliefs, and sometimes I wonder if maybe I would be less hurt if I changed my opinion.

Also, today, I discovered the wonder of nature at Nowheresville.

I'm really just happy to have constant connection again... well, not constant, but definitely more consistent.

And Kevin is correct. Writing is 3 percent talent and 97% not being distracted by the internet.

Let the distraction begin!

-14 Days

2004-08-28T01:29:00.000-04:00

"What's that noise? Are you sure you closed the door?"
"Yes."
"I thought I heard something."
"Buildings make noise like that."
"Haunted buildings."
"There's nothing out there."

I know there probably isn't, but there is now someone who will get up and check for me.

"I told you there was nothing out there."
"Did you get the water?"

Ahh, how refreshing.

We decided to try a low carb diet which, I am proud to share, I just quit. But I did not go quietly into the night. I fought briefly for the right to continue the diet to encourage The Hubby. He politely informed me that I was miserable and that I should just go to Subway and get a Greek-Mediterranean Sub. I love this man.

Although we loved where we went for out Honeymoon, Hilton Head, we hated driving there at night. You have to be a freakin' owl to see there at night! We got especially mad at each other one night when we couldn't find a restaurant I particularly wanted to go to. When we tried again the next day (in the daylight) we found it with a small degree of difficulty and declared that we would never have seen it in the dark. Never. We got lost another night and just happened to stumble upon the place we were going, after seeing one shopping center at least 3 times before we found the market. In the same complex. Hilton Head, get some lights. Problem solved.

I am without internet access (consistent access) and at a loss for things to write because The Hubby does not want to be the focus of my writing (and I want to write about other things as well), so if there are some suggestions for Examining Quarks, please post your comments. The person with the best idea will have a very grateful Mrs. Wife who will do her best to write the best for your winning ideas... Get to thinkin'.

9 days

2004-08-05T22:57:00.000-04:00

The last post feels like eons ago.

If I had to do this wedding over, I would elope. Weddings really do bring out the best and the worst in people. Egos get crushed, feelings get hurt, and if the bride avoids hurting her own feelings, she is stepping on the fragile hearts of those around her, causing heart attacks and embarassment with every step down the aisle.

Especially if she's not wearing any shoes. In a church.

But the food is cooking, the picture ideas are being prepared, the cameramen are getting their gears in.... gear and after 9 days, I will be Mrs. The Boy.

Will you miss Miss Angel? Will she be forever swept away, never to be thought of, never to be mourned? Don't cry for me Blogger-net. You know I'll always love you.

37 days

2004-07-07T23:16:00.000-04:00

In 37 days, I will be Mrs. The Boy. It will be odd, writing my new name. I haven't had to think about forming the letters in my name for quite a while. And I will have to go through the trouble of changing my name on everything...

Well, maybe not the bills. Unless I have to.

37 days is not very long either. But it is taking forever. I want the days to fly by. The only thing that keeps me from praying that they fly is the number of things I don't already have done. My dress is not finished. My cake is not made. My menu is not set. My honeymoon is not completely booked. (Does anybody know of a nice restaurant in Charleston???)

About a month ago, I quit my day job (I've always wanted to say that) so that I could regain some energy and concentrate a little bit more on the wedding. By the time I had to quit (because I was too tired) any thought of the wedding just made me want to sit quietly in a corner and cry. It wasn't that I hated planning the wedding, or that I didn't want to get married. It was just too much. Work here until this time, spend some time with The Boy/wedding planning/making lunch/getting ready to go to night job, work night job, get off late, a quick few minutes with The Boy, sleep, wake up early, do it again. I didn't have a chance to get anywhere, talk to anyone, do anything. I couldn't plan around 2 jobs. When I quit my day job (there, doesn't that sound nice) I could make plans for early in the day. I had the flexibility to take days off from my night job and I got so much done! By that time, I was ready to go running down the aisle and say "I will!!!" to marrying The Boy. I was ready to get fat on wedding cake, petit fors and cheese straws. I am ready! But now I have to wait. 37 days.

2004-07-07T23:07:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wish the old man from Six Flags would come and rescue me from the mundane.

I can just see it. I'm standing by the espresso machine, steaming the milk. Customer Type A is watching closely, because he has just informed me that he wanted a cappuccino with no froth. I'm trying my best to smile, but the best I can muster is upraised eyebrows in place of a frown. Customer Type A has just informed me that he has seen froth when, standing at the door, suit delightfully mussed, bald head gleaming, black frames planted squarely on his wrinkled face, is my guy

Da Da Dum Dum Dum Da Da...

I'll look at Customer Type A who is warning me with his eyes not to do it. I will look at my co-worker, who is watching our guy with the same gleam. Should we, we ask ourselves. A line is forming, people are afraid they won't get their coffees. We almost back down. Then he starts to dance. He does every dance we remember fondly, yet embarrassedly, from the 80's. We look at each other, nod and run for the bus. Six Flags, here we come.

Why can't that happen for me?

Magic

2004-06-03T12:06:00.000-04:00

August 14th is almost here, I thought. The panic was building, but I was in the worst place possible. Work.
"Did you want whipped cream on that?" I asked, much more chipper than I felt. I sent the cup and the customer to the other end of the counter and looked at the next person. She was a regular and she didn't look good. She looked worse than I felt, and that was hard.
"What can I get you?"
"I need a striped mocha, the biggest you got!"
"Long day?"
"Yessss...." she sighed. She regales me with the disaster that was her day. What's good is that she is able to laugh about it now.
"What about you? How's the wedding going?" I felt like I was going to break down. I could hear my anxiety. It was a loud whine and it was growing. I could feel my mouth moving and hear, like in a tunnel, the words I was saying. I talked about the dresses I'd tried, the fat, my poverty...
"Why don't you get someone to make your dress?" I told her about the woman I could never seem to get in touch with and how getting my dress made was going bust before it even started.
"I know someone who makes dresses. She usually makes competition dance gowns, but she does other stuff. She just made a dress for my niece's wedding and it was beautiful! She's also pretty reasonable when it comes to price." I think I stopped crying inside long enough to get the number.

I called her. It took me a week, but I called her. She was very direct and to the point. I liked that. We arranged to meet, she gave me directions and I was beginning to get excited.

The cats met me at the door. They kind of stared at me before Meg opened the door. She invited me in, told me not to mind the cats and sat me down at a table where she had book out, opened to pages with similar styles I'd shown her. Then I found out she used to work for the place that sold the dress I liked. She had a book with the exact dress in it. I breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was going to be okay.

Pause. "How much is this going to cost?" I asked.
"Well, the cost of materials, of course. Let me write down what you'll need. And, let me see, how's 75 dollars for labour?"
"That... that sounds great." I say, trying to be composed, suave. But inside, I was jumping around like a little girl. "Great."

I was saved... I would have a dress! It wouldn't break me! It was going to be what I wanted! Now... all I have to do is get invitations. Ummm, how do I do that?

Fat

2004-06-03T11:56:00.000-04:00

It's a state of mind. There are people who would slap me if I said I was fat. There are people who want to force feed something deep fried in grease. There are others who feel I am completely fine. The initial shock of so much flab on what I had always considered a healthy body was so shocking to me that it was that "fat" that initially put me into the exercise frame of mind. But exercising and eating better just made me feel better. It wasn't about being skinnier or fatter. It was just about being healthier and feeling healthier. I was never fat. I was just unhealthy and it showed. The showing was the problem.

The Change

2004-06-02T22:44:00.000-04:00

... Now, I've never considered myself fat. I was a wopping 120 lbs and 5ft9 when I graduated from high school. My college weight was between 140 and 175 and 5ft11. My weight now fluctuates between 150 - 165 lbs. That's a good weight for me. I'm pretty curvy, not model thin. It works. This dress took every bit of confidence in my weight and curviness from me. I've always had a muscular back, which looks nice when it's exposed. But the lace up straps were so tight and close that about 2 inches of flesh seemed to move up my back and over the top of the dress. "Loosen the straps a little", the salesperson suggested. But the bodice fit the way I would want the bodice of a strapless dress to fit. It was official. I was fat.

The Boy is healthy. I was not. I had no reason to be. I wasn't fat. Until now. I awoke the next morning with new resolve. I ran for 30 minutes around my block and then did some exercises. I opened up my latest bridal magazine and poured over Fit To Be A Bride exercises until I had them committed to memory. I bought a jump rope and 5lbs weights. I stopped eating desserts at The Cup (and anyone who's had dessert at Joshua Cup knows how hard that is). No more Pringles (bye bye Chees-Ums), no more Nacho Cheesier Doritos, no more 100% whole milk cheese, no more 2% (skim or 1% only). I wanted to cry, but I wanted to not be fat more.

The first week was about all the hell I want to experience. I was sore all the time. The Boy would say, "What did you do today?" I would say, "I jumped rope for 6 minutes and walked for 10, did my L-Kicks (exactly what that sounds like), arm exercises and sit ups." He would nod and massage whatever part was sore. Yes, the first week was hell, but after that, I saw the results of my labour and felt the benefits of my exercising and I knew heaven... the heaven of being shapely without two inches of flesh hanging over the back of a wedding dress. The Boy gave me a hug about a week and a half after I started, then pulled away from me. "You're doing a good job!" I smiled at him. "You didn't think I was doing anything did you?" Then I began to show him how jumping rope helped carve the fat from my knees and was rounding out my shoulders. I showed him how the top of my thigh was smaller by actually being able to pull my pants away from my thigh. I showed him my new bicep and tricep muscles. I still have a little bit of a ways to go, but the starting results was just so promising that I couldn't help but gloat.

This lifestyle change is a bit hard at times... like when the Hot Now sign is on. Or when I don't have time to cook and I think to stop by Sonic for a Chicken Toaster and a Peanut Butter shake... Or when I just really really really want a cheesecake brownie from J.Cup. But the benefits are as many cherries and strawberries as I want, and baked chicken, which I love. I mean, 2% cheese is sort of a drawback, but not as much as not having any. After all of this, you would think the super big sequin dress was my choice, but it wasn't, because I had another option that was presented almost magically to me when I was at my lowest...

2004-05-22T23:49:00.000-04:00

It's 12 weeks before my wedding. I feel like I have nothing done. The reception is largely incomplete and though people know about the wedding, many don't know if they're invited.

Dress shopping was too much like the way most people shop to suit my taste. For some reason, I thought I would be in and out (which is my way of shopping). I don't know why I thought choosing a wedding dress would be like picking out a tank top, but there you have it.

The salesperson convinced me to try on all manner of finery, from ruffles and petticoats to flashy sequins and lace. Floaty chiffon over matte satin and shiny princes poof satin with a cathedral train. I tried on dresses that were nice, dresses that were cozy, dresses that were sleazy, dresses that were breezy, dresses that were tame and dresses that should have had their own time zone and attendants. In all of the dress shopping, I did find one dress with definite possibilities. It was in my price range, just barely, but it was still way more than I really wanted to pay for a one time dress. "I'll look around more," I thought.

Now, wedding dress shopping doesn't do a lot for bridal self esteem. Dresses run small so you have to up the sizes you try on. I normally wear a 10, my "dress try on range" was 12-14. Fortunately for my esteem, the 14s were much too big. So, if you are already planning to diet, you don't come out on the confident end of the stick.

With the next bridal shop, I decided I was in control. No lacy poofs, no cathedral trains, just something nice and simple. No petticoats, no sequins, just plain. HofH was a very different bridal shop. It was really a prom tuxedo rental place that also happened to carry wedding dresses. They had a wide selection from which to choose from, but not in the store. There were only about 2 dresses that fit my category of plain and simple and both of those were in the catalog. Somehow, I got suckered into trying on dresses I knew I didn't want. It's crazy really. One second, you're saying that you only want to try on dresses with a chiffon layer and 10 minutes later, you have 5 dresses in front of you and they all have cathedral trains. There is an expert in the room and it is not you, you think. I believed that my "salespeople" knew more about wedding dresses than I did... What I should have remembered is that I know more about me than they could possibly hope to know in one description. What HofH didn't do was restrict me to sizes. The first dress I tried on was a size 14. The salesperson wanted me to see it on, because if I tried on their only size, then maybe I would order it in my size. It was probably the ugliest dress I've ever tried on and it was much too big. When I walked into the "viewing room" (the room with the big mirror) the owner, his son and his wife were all there. Quite a crowd when you're struggling, in vain, to hold your bodice up with your left hand while your right is clutching frantically for the train because, believe me, we know how easily I fall. The wife looked like she'd smoked 2 packs a day for the last 40 years. "Looks good honey," she said, barely glancing at me and sounding like the 2 packs a day for 40 years had just kicked in. I wondered if she even saw the 2 inch gap at the side, or if she even cared. This dress was definitely a no. Then came the 10 I couldn't squeeze my size 12 wedding dress butt into, so we had to give up. Next came the dress that laced up in the back and had a billion giant sequins on the bodice... it was this dress that brought about The Change....

2004-05-04T15:06:00.000-04:00

Anyone have an idea for a nice place to honeymoon on the South Carolina, Georgia or Florida coast?

Wedding Planning is of the Devil

2004-05-04T15:05:00.000-04:00

I think there is a special place in hell for the person who came up with all the little etiquette things when it comes to getting married. A very special, hot place. I have discovered that, though this is my day, it is not really my day. If there is anything I want to do that is opposite of what everyone has done, then I am selfish. "What happened to 'this is YOUR day'?" I asked, where I would be promptly told that your day meant much more than "Angel's day".

If I were to write a book to anyone hoping one day to be married, I would say to them, start taking notes now. As I am learning, the day the guy of your dreams asks you to marry him is not the day to begin figuring out how you would like it to be. Also, you are going to have to turn in your Nice Card. The Nice Card is that feature that comes with girls in specific, and some guys, where you just want to give in to whatever is being said around you, to avoid the most amount of conflict. But if you do that, then you will be getting married in your Aunt Ida's dress, fashionable in the early 60's, having 15 bridesmaids, all friends of your family but not necessarily yours, having the colours fuschia and emerald as wedding colours and wearing a headdress so big, it will make some ancient diety want to strike your wedding with lightning. (For those who had a fuschia and emerald wedding... I'm sorry.)

The bad thing about my planning is that I have everything, but I just can't seem to put them all together. And everyone who wants to help is getting hung up on insignificant things, like the fact I don't want a bridesmaid, that I don't want to wear a veil, that I don't want my father to walk me down the aisle... Okay, not all of the hang ups are insignificant, but it's stopping the flow of what should be a smooth, simple wedding. But I could go on and on...

And I will.

2004-05-04T14:44:00.000-04:00

Every now and then, the reminder that I am getting married surprises me.

I've been very busy lately. I have two jobs and very little free time. All of that free time I spend with The Boy. It is during the non-The Boy time when little things remind me of the upcoming day. A flash of light on my engagement band, calling him my fiance instead of my boyfriend, finding an apartment that we will both want to live in... and when I remember, I smile.

It's not like I'm checking guys out and have to forcibly remind myself that I am with someone. I remember that all the time. But it's the little things that remind me of how this relationship is different from any one I've ever had.

Sappy, I know. Deal with it.

The Swan

2004-04-27T13:54:00.000-04:00

I am not an ugly person.

It's taken a very long time for me to be able to say that without rolling my eyes. It's somewhat harder for me to describe myself in positive terms. I'm not beautiful or gorgeous, but I'm not hard on the eyes either. I've had a very poor perception of myself for a long time, so, even though I haven't had plastic surgery, lost weight, changed in any real significant way, I feel like I was an ugly duckling and am becoming a swan.

It's been a hard road though, to come to terms with how you look. When I see people from my past, when they know exactly who I am right away, when they say to me, "you haven't changed a bit since highschool", then I feel that old, familiar dread creeping over me, and the swan that was beginning to emerge quickly shuffles back into duckling.

I think it would be fascinating to see the "Swans" and the rejected "Swans" in their everyday lives. They should keep a journal on how they now interact with their new looks. How do they think? Did their counseling help them accept the new them, or do they still harbour the same thoughts about themselves because they are not used to looking different? And what about the not being able to see themselves part? I wish I could see the show at least one time, but I work every Monday night. I only get to see the unveiling on Good Day Live when I work the reception desk. I also wonder what goes through the mind of a woman that goes through with all this painful surgery just to be rejected again because she's not pretty enough, or ready enough to be a beauty? She's penalized for the very same emotions and reactions that brought her to the show in the first place... Just thoughts.

Doughnuts Clogging Planes

2004-04-16T12:55:00.000-04:00

That's why I need to move to Hawaii... as if anyone needed a reason to move to Hawaii...

2004-04-15T11:31:00.000-04:00

I had a dream last night that I was working at Joshua Cup Coffee when this couple came into the shop. I was tired in my dream and slightly frustrated. The couple wanted to buy everyone in the shop an espresso drink. So I began to make cappuccinos and the woman began to tell me that I was doing it wrong... now, as a customer service oriented employee, I didn't tell her I'd been doing it for 3 years and I knew what I was doing. I just say "Okay" and finished making the drink. So she comes behind the counter and takes one of the double espresso cups (which were bigger in my dream than they are in real life) poured some espresso into the cup, followed by milk, then proceeded to steam the combination. She was putting too much air into the milk and there were big, ugly bubbles and I got so angry with her that I hit the counter really hard, so hard that it upset her. She says, "Did I do something wrong?" and instead of yelling at her like I wanted to, I just politely say, "Would you excuse me for a moment?" and went outside and screamed.

That's all I remember about the dream, but it mirrors perfectly my day yesterday... well, not perfectly, but I definitely understand why I had that dream. Yesterday at the JCup was extremely, steadily busy. The Boy came in and brought me dinner, but I didn't have a moment to talk to him. I was going to try to talk to him when a guy walks into the shop. He's speaking very loudly in a heavily accented voice. He keeps talking about wanting a plain cup of coffee. So he looks at our list and says, "I want a cappuccino."
"Are you sure?" I ask him
"Yes."
"Would you like any flavouring in that?"
"Oh, flavouring... yes." He looks at the menu.
"Maybe caramel?" I say, "Or vanilla." He looks at me smiling
"I've never done this before." he says. All the more reason for you to use my expertise, I think to myself.
"Chocolate and caramel are a really good combination."
"How about blueberry."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes.
"Okay then. That will be $2.50"
"$2.50 for coffee???"
I don't bother to explain the process. He's the first person to complain about the prices in almost 3 years.
"Yes." I take his five dollars.
I place his cup to the side because I'm going to take the orders of the other people standing in line, then make all the drinks. He continues to stand where he is and look at me.
"Do I get it myself?" he asked.
"No. Sir, I'll make it in just a moment."
"Can I have the receipt?" he says as he reaches over the register and tries to tear the receipt from the top, but only succeeds in pulling paper out, not tearing it.
"Sir, let me do that." I say through clinched teeth. He takes the receipt and looks for a number. We don't call by numbers.
"So I hold on to this and then what?"
"Sir, when your drink is ready, I will say, 'Blueberry Cappuccino'."
"Okay,"he laughs. After I made his drink, he proceeded to sit in the corner and talk very loudly to himself and whoever was near enough to respond. I avoided eye contact.

The Boy was leaving while I was in the middle of steaming a pitcher of milk. I looked at him, saw him getting up and I knew that my day just went from bad to badder. He gave a little sad wave. "See you tomorrow," he said. I wanted to cry. Since I started working two jobs, I haven't seen him a whole heck of a lot. It's depressing. It took me two hours to eat the sandwich he brought me and I needed, needed, NEEDED the latte I made for myself an hour later.

I got more rest today. Maybe it will be better.

2004-04-10T13:01:00.000-04:00

In other news, what your mother really thinks about blogging.

Link courtesy The Holy Observer

P.S. Don't you hate when you're using a laptop with a touchpad mouse and your palm touches it by mistake, then your cursor moves somewhere else and you've invented a new word? Thank God for the edit button. Thank Him!

2004-04-08T13:56:00.000-04:00

I find it strange that the ads from blogger for today was about saving my marriage.

Anyway, that's not what this is about. I think that the idea of the show The Swan that Fox is running is intriguing. There are many aspects of this show idea that I find interesting and appalling. The premise is 17 women with compelling stories who are "physically flawed" are given the opportunity for beauty through plastic surgery, dental work, life coaches and psychology. In the end, they get to compete in a "The Swan Beauty Pageant" where one of these women will be declared the ultimate swan.

I was watching Good Day Live (I know drivel, but when I work the front desk, I can't turn the channel, so there you go) and one of the women from The Swan was on. She was pretty, no doubt. But when I saw the before picture, I realized that all it would have taken was a little bit of work on her part and she could have naturally gotten as pretty as she did with the liposuction, plastic surgery and face lift. Of course, this is all my opinion. I will have to see the show to know her story. She was pretty, but she didn't have on any make-up, her clothes were shabbier, her hair wasn't done up or styled... she looked plainer, but she was pretty.

I'm not sure what this show will be saying to women. The show's creator, Nely Galan said this: ``I wanted to show women that anyone can be beautiful with the right amount of money and (internal) work,'' Galan said. ``Stop thinking that somebody out there is more special than you genetically. They're not.’’

I don't know if I like that... okay, I'm not at a disadvantage because, for $250,000, I can look just like any supermodel.... I'd hate for someone to tell me, "You'd look good with plastic surgery, liposuction, a boob job, and dental work... plus a life coach to get your life on track." I mean, that might be all it takes, but please, don't tell me that. I also believe that part of our "who is beautiful and who isn't" problem is something we created, maybe even by shows just like this.

There are alot of ideas going through my head with this show... I may have more to say.

2004-04-07T10:27:00.000-04:00

In my email, I am always getting links to strange sites. Sometimes, they lead me to places I will visit again. Sometimes, they lead me to places that make me groan. Most times, they lead me to stories that are crazy or really, really funny. This was a really, really funny one. Look at that guy! He's NOT getting girls.

Link courtesy Kevin

P.S. Please, please, please, for the love of all that is sacred, read the article.

Random, Unfinished Thoughts

2004-04-02T09:59:00.000-05:00

I do not agree with gay marriages. I do not think the setup was for two people of the same sex to get together and form a lasting bond. That is my opinion, an opinion I believe is firmly established by God. I could be wrong and I am more than willing to have my thoughts changed if the evidence so stands.

I do not, however, agree with banning gay marriages. Ministers like to say that Sodom and Gomorrah was brought down by homosexuality. While that may have been one of the sins in that city, Sodom and Gomorrah was brought down because there were no righteous people there. Read it again, you will find the debate between God and Abraham, Abraham trying to save a city that was beyond redemption by that city’s own doing. I keep hearing preachers talking about the fabric of our society going to shreds and if we allow homosexuals to get married, we are heading towards the same destruction that Sodom and Gomorrah faced. But I have to tell you, I don’t think that gay people want to get married so they can pretend they are doing the right thing before God. I believe there are other reasons why.

They want to have the right to visit their loved one in the hospital. They want to have the right to be protected from testifying against the person they love. They want to have the right to share health plans, all the rights of society that makes them a person. Are ministers upset because they think that a legal certificate claiming the right of marriage between two men or two women legitimizes their relationship in the eyes of God? The fight for souls is not a political struggle but a spiritual struggle. If gay marriages were legal and everyone who wanted to get married could get married, does that stop the need for prayer? Even if it is banned, made a constitutional amendment (which is extreme) so that no one who is gay could get married, does that lessen the need for prayer? We were not called to force those around us to abide by the laws of God, especially those that are not his children. We, his children, were called to abide by his laws. We are called to be a witness to those around us, no matter what. Ministers, you believe in the sanctity of marriage? Stop marrying unbelievers to each other, even heterosexual unbelievers. Why should they enjoy the benefits of marriage because they fit the boy/girl dynamic, but not those who fit the boy/boy – girl/girl dynamic? Is either one worse than the other? If you answer yes to this, you don’t really understand the concept of sin and just how much Jesus’ blood actually washes away. It’s time to stop being high and mighty and time to get humble in our petitions to God.

Do you believe God called you to fight the fight against gay marriages? Fight on. But do so prayerfully because the war is not against flesh and blood.

Confession

2004-03-30T09:41:00.000-05:00

When I was little, I used to put sugar in my frosted flakes... At least three tablespoons, usually more.

2004-03-24T13:38:00.000-05:00

Due to popular demand (okay, 1 comment), the story of The Boy's family meeting me.

He never had a picture of me. I don't have too many and the ones I do have are somewhat embarrassing, dating back to my nerd years in elementary, middle, high school and college. So he had to describe me and I believe that, though somewhat less than what they'd imagined, the things I brought with me into the relationship, besides cookware, made them want to like me. Being the south and all, mixed marriages are not the most common thing, although more common than they used to be. The surprise for me? My mom, who has known that my marriage would be mixed, balked the most and his family, having no idea that he would get involved with someone like me, was more accepting.

We all met at church. Right after I moved back to Georgia, I met his entire family. His mother gave me a big, long hug. She got to me first, appropriately, because she is an usher at the church. Then, periodically through out the pre-service and post service, without much warning, I'd be hugged by another stranger before I could register their presence. The only person that didn't hug me was his dad, but he shook my hand, smiled and said encouraging words. His sisters were crying, their kids were giving me the eye, and I realized that this was the family I would soon be a part of (even though The Boy hadn't asked me officially, we both knew it would happen). I believe his mom still worries somewhat about the suitability of our marriage, but I believe she sees that we are both stubborn people who don't believe in giving up when the going gets tough and the more she sees me and gets to know me, the more she believes that I will be a good wife for her son.

2004-03-23T14:10:00.000-05:00

I'm getting married.

A couple of weeks ago, we decided to do our bridal registry. We went to Bed, Bath and Beyond because I was told they had really good everything. It was like an all in one stopping place. We thought, hey! we can knock this out today... BB&B, Target and Pier One all in one day. So we walk into BB&B and it's scary to me right from the start. This place has no books, no electronics, so why am I here. That thought has become more like instinct for me. I hate shopping. But then I remember that The Boy and I, as a couple, own nothing and it was up to us to get together all the things we wanted other people to give us.

Everything was white and clean and smelled like new linen. You could see the glint of silver (pots and pans and whatnot) off to the left. On the right, in a little hidey-hole bedecked in bridal white and lace, was the registry department. I am already in unknown territory. The Boy is taking it all in stride (he takes everything in stride).

When the Registry Official comes into the ~~hidey-hole~~ office, she begins by addressing me. The only reason the boy got to talk was when he asked questions and when he gave her his address. After we gave out many pieces of needless information, she asked, "Okay, who gets the scan gun." I didn't say a word because I knew the scanner belonged to The Boy. He was very specific about the things he wanted, cookware with clear lids, NOT the waffle iron, a vacuum specifically for cleaning out the car because we are NOT taking the house vac out and using the attachments. I was specific about the things I would use in the kitchen. We looked at candles, silverware and dishes. By the time we got to towels, I was so exhausted, I wanted to leave and I wanted to leave NOW. So, being the great guy that he is, The Boy stopped his scanning and we headed back to the office. The prospect of leaving added a lightness to my step, so, when we got to the office, I said to the ladies, "We had to cut it short because somebody was getting tired." Then I pointed to The Boy and we all cackled. When they left to print out our list, I realized that The Boy was hurt because my joke had put him in the category of "typical man" and he isn't. So when our Registry Official came back, I yawned and said, "I'm really the one that's tired. I hate to shop, but he could do this for two more hours." The Registry Official sympathized and said, "Registering is a mighty big process." Almost 4 hours later, we leave BB&B with our list and decide that maybe doing the other two stores could be reserved for another day.

The funniest parts of our registering experience... The sales person in housewares helped us in our knife selection. She told us a story of a couple who went registering with both mothers and how they spent nearly 6 hours in just three sections. Then, I guess in the interest of keeping an eye on the inexperienced registers, she would always pop up when we seemed to have a problem. The thing that bothered The Boy was how she would take the scanner and scan herself. She was taking the only thing that was interesting about this experience away from him. She was, thankfully, not too annoying (she was only annoying when we were the most tired) and very helpful. There was a woman, just a regular shopper, who wanted to know the cost of an item she was holding up. She asked us if our registry scanner could tell her the price. We told her we didn't work there, that we were doing gift registering, thinking she would see her mistake (we were not employees checking merchandise prices) and leave us to it. Instead, she got a pained look on her face and continued to stare at us and say, "But will it read the bars?" she asked and looked as if we were asses if we didn't do this one little thing for her. So we did it grudgingly (we're not very nice) and made a big deal out of how we now had to delete her ugly item and her thank you let us know she could care less that she'd inconvenienced us. We felt bad for a second then proceeded to talk about her nerve.

Next topic: Wedding dress selection... don't miss the fun (I wish I could).

2004-03-23T13:33:00.000-05:00

I'm getting married.

I've debated whether or not to mention it. It's such a time consuming, thought consuming thing. And it is not at all what I imagined when I thought about this time. The biggest problem, the only problem, was that mom didn't like The Boy. In not liking him, she was the hardest person to live with. I avoided my home constantly. I only slept there. I showered there. That was the extent of my involvement at home. It saddened my mom, but she didn't let up. Finally, after all of the strife it was causing me with The Boy (because I love my family, but mom was driving a wedge between herself and her future son-in-law, which was driving a wedge between us as well since I am soooo family oriented) that I finally had to tell mom that if this is how she was loving me, then I needed a little less love. I couldn't take advice from someone giving me only bitter, pessimistic advice about my future. Especially when everyone else was hopeful/happy for me.

So mom talked to someone from our church. When she came home that evening, she walked through and asked, "Have you ever known someone that was right all the time?" We didn't say anything and she walked out of the room. When she came back in, she sat down and apologized to us for her actions. It felt like, when you have a huge headache and the medicine you took began to work, the relief that you're not scrunching your eyebrows together in pain and you can take a deep breath and get on with life. Amazing really. So, maybe mom will turn out to be a good mother in law after all.

2004-03-23T13:24:00.000-05:00

It's been a while, and I was hoping to keep up some semi-regular posting. Since I can be around a computer everyday, you'd think this would happen. Somehow, it's not.

I think the problem is I don't know what I want Examining Quarks to be. I write regularly, but I am not at the stage where I want to put what I've written out as much as blogging warrants. I don't necessarily want to express the salient details of my semi-made up life, although that can be fun and will be done to a certain extent. Sometimes, I just want to talk. Sometimes, I just want someone to laugh at what I write. I guess that means I should get to writing...

2004-03-18T09:45:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, for St. Patrick's Day, I didn't wear green, but I didn't get pinched either. I think we can all thank the Lord for that.

2004-03-02T15:45:00.000-05:00

It was Friday. They hadn’t expected her today. But here she was and there they were, waiting anxiously to see if their new baby girl was healthy even though she was a month early, even though it'd only taken a couple of hours to deliver her, even though she weighed so little. But there she was, all pink perfection, eight perfect fingers, two perfect thumbs, ten perfect little toes. The little tuft of blonde hair stuck up in true punk rock fashion. All three acknowledged, without saying a word, that this was the happiest day of their lives.

It was Friday. Her little body registered it like a bear registers hibernation. It was innate. She looked at the wall, the wall with the house with stuff on it. The lines were positioned perfectly. Whatever it says, she thought, it is time for daddy to be home. The bird came out of the house just as she heard her daddy’s steps on the porch. He wiped them on the mat, just as he always did, then put his hand on the knob. The knob was jiggled slightly, then the door opened. Her little body quivered as the door pushed slowly in. When it came fully open, she ran to the man that stood there, his arms open already, because he knew that she would be there.

It was Friday. The drinking began sometime around noon. She was never there for that part, thankfully. It was almost the natural order of things. She wouldn’t see him until later tonight, but she would see more than she wanted to when he showed up. Any happier time had been erased by the years of alcohol abuse. She looked at the clock, the hands slowly moving to place. She shivered slightly because she was going to have to shut down every emotion so that it was not as bad as it could be. She heard the key’s progress in the lock, helped along by an unsteady hand. She closed her eyes and turned over in the bed.
“HEY! EH!” he yelled. Her mom unsuccessfully tried to shush him. His voice, slurred and loud, got even louder. Soon she heard her mom whimpering and she vowed to never forget the sound of his hand hitting her mother’s flesh. Soon, she knew, he would pass out and mom would come into her room and lick her wounds in a place her husband dared not go.

It was Friday. Everyone in the apartment had gone out already. She was alone. She should have been happy to finally have a moment to herself, but the freedom was bittersweet. The freedom was really just loneliness shared with no one. She debated following the television version of loneliness, eating an entire half-gallon of Breyers Coffee ice cream in her pajamas, watching something like Bridget Jones’ Diary and simultaneously hating men and wishing that you had one. She picked up her good book and sat down to read, snacking on pretzels, and hoped that good health, physically and mentally, would make her an excellent catch in the future, when “the one” finally took notice of her and asked her for her hand in marriage. When the phone rang, she barely roused herself, letting the answering machine catch it. Hearing the voice on the phone gave her pause. Hearing the voice took her back to unpleasant times. She gripped the pages of the book and gritted her teeth. “Hey baby.” There was a long pause. She thought he’d hung up and she expected to hear the familiar click and dial tone. “If you’re there, pick up.” Another long pause. “Your mother told me about your job with the paper… I just wanted to call and say… congratulations.” There was another pause before she heard the click and dial tone.

Coffee Talk

2004-02-15T18:46:00.000-05:00

Conversations can often be few and far between. When you sit in deep concentration, nose in a book, eyes focused on your laptop screen, the world a dull roar around you, you find yourself in welcomed seclusion, in looked for loneliness. You need to block the noise of the coffee shop so you can concentrate on the task at hand. Four swift hours later, hours that show themselves only through the tension in your shoulders and pain in your neck, when your laptop battery dies, you are forced to rejoin the world, forced out of your seclusion for something as necessary as food and water. Battery power. But when you step out of a world of your own creation, you find people from this world waiting to pounce on you.

“What are you doing?” I don’t know if I want to answer this question, if I want to walk the path to this conversation. Should I answer tersely, so that you see that I am very busy doing whatever and can’t bother to talk to you now? Should I tell you in glowing terms about my foray into writing and the glorious world that I could create if I could just ask the right questions of myself? Or do I ignore you because you are the guy that always starts conversations with people who don’t want to talk to you, because you always turn a conversation to how smart you think you are, because you always use conversation as a means to show everyone how much smarter you are than they.
“I’m turning my computer on,” I say, trying for levity, brevity and ambiguity.
“What’s in your systray?”
“I’m sorry?” Damn! I think to myself. This guy will not take a hint.
“Whatever loads up in your computer could be eating at your battery power.”
“My battery power is just fine. It lasted 4 hours.”
“What!” he asked, completely incredulous at the lack of battery time my loaded up systray is affording me.
“Let me see what’s in your start up. Hit control alt delete.” I look at him. Ah man! I moan to myself. Why me? I know some of this thought is in the look on my face. But I know he doesn’t care. “You should only have about 3-7 things in your systray…” he is saying. I hit control alt delete as if they are the tolling bells. My systray holds 5 things.
“Windows 98… Well that’s your problem!” he says instead.
“It’s an old computer and the battery is supposed to hold out for 4 hours.”
“I can see that.” John replies. Nothing gets past him.
“Do you get the internet?”
“I do, but I’m not doing the wireless. I have an ethernet connection.”
“Oh. I don’t know about WiFi. The Houston County police department is trying to look into everyone’s Upload Protocol. You know what that is right?” Before I have a chance to answer, he continues. “It’s where the police can look into what you’re doing through the WiFi. It’s completely illegal and the Houston County police hate me for bringing it out. Yeah, if they don’t have a warrant from the FBI, and you find out they are looking into your Protocol, then you can sue the police department.” I sit there in silence wondering what he was talking about and what this has to do with the fact that, just a few minutes ago, I was writing in my own lovely, lonely world. To demonstrate just how much I need to go back to work, I randomly pull a book out of my shoulder bag. It is my New Living Translation Promise Bible and it’s bright green. Drats, now he’s gonna want to look at it.
“What’s that you’re reading?” I show him the cover, completely unwilling to speak to him.
“Oh, the bible. That’s okay then.”
“Obviously.” I say, not trying very hard to hide the fact that I was laughing at him.
“Obviously? Why obviously?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“Wait, what translation is this? How many bibles do you have?” I hand him the book, ignoring his last question. He looks through it, glancing really and then hands it back to me.
“So, how is this different than the King James?” I look at him. I Really. Look. At. Him. Then I take my book away. He doesn’t consider this strange, but I consider him really strange.
“I really need to get back to writing.”
“So, uh, do you still listen to music?”
“I gave it up.” I say before turning back to my glowing screen and writing all about it.

Some Things Never Change

2004-02-13T11:32:00.000-05:00

Unlike the previous post (which happens to be under this one) I don't really like being sappy. I'm sure The Boy won't appreciate his frequent mentions on this site. I read the How To Date And Blog article, but too late. I am usually too late in matters such as these. But what other matters will find themselves on these "pages" that, had I known before, I could have stopped? I have come up with a handy list of things that may happen here so that if you read this, you will know that I will have my foot in my mouth more often than out.

1. Bad attempts at writing. Not only will you find introspective things, things about The Boy, comments from internal thinking, you will also find writing assignments, hopeless attempts at humour, and maybe a few apologies.

2. Critical articles about family. Though names may be deleted, you still know who you are.

3. Dieting.

4. Why I hate Los Angeles.

5. Why I am not a country girl even though I am from the south.

6. Religion

7. Politics

But mainly, there will be stories. Stories about me, stories about others, real stories about imaginary people and imaginary stories about real people. I'm going to have fun, foot in mouth or out. I hope you will too.

Treat Her Like A Lady

2004-02-13T11:00:00.000-05:00

There are many things I have been to others. I was a mother of sorts to my younger siblings growing up; the nerd to the people I went to school with; that southern girl who enjoyed the snow, then froze, in Boston; a salesperson; the coffeeshop girl; Still Store girl, etc.

What I have never been, to any of my friends, is a lady. While working a few nights ago, I found it hard to undo something sealed tightly and had to ask for help. The guy who helped asked, "What's going on? You used to be Wonder Woman!" I grinned and told him I was turning into a lady. "Did you start buying floral summer dresses?" he asked with a grimace. "No," I said, "but I did see one that I liked."

Noone told me that you could begin puberty in your late 20's. My voice changed and got deeper, I grew breasts, I bought my first pair of jeans made specifically for women for the first time in my life, I began to see make-up as a distant friend and not an evil enemy bent on conquest and I thought that dancing with a boy may not be so bad after all. I mean, cooties aren't communicable.

These changes were internal. I clung to them on the inside, frightened to let them seep out. To all of my friends, I was still that tomboy, eager to enter the fray, ready for the next adventure - as long as it didn't include much running. I have a bad knee- jumping to be included in the next escapade. Inside I was wearing sandals and a sundress, laying in the grass, contemplating the clouds. Outside, I was moshing at a rock concert at a friend's club. Inside, I was writing poetry and gazing wistfully at The Boy. Outside, I was writing poetry and who needs boys. I am a writer after all.

One day, the inside starting taking over. I was given a gift card for my birthday to a store I wouldn't go into if my life depended on it, girl or not. But I needed clothes so I went in and my femininity took over. The art of finding a deal, which must be a gene women are born with, came out of hiding and went to work and not only was I out of the store in no time (I give credit to the tomboy side), but I had a goodly amount of clothing for much lower than I expected. Even though the outside was taking over, the people who knew me best could not see the changes. I would venture some still don't.

Then, one day, I was no longer gazing wistfully at The Boy, but expectantly. He was gazing back and the only thing he ever saw was the woman. He laughed at the image of me as tomboy and frightener of men. I regaled him with tales of terror I'd wreaked upon the male populace, the guys who were afraid to be on my bad side, the guys who considered me big and scary. He burst into hysterical laughter the first time I punched him and asked if my tiny, fragile wrist was hurt. And when I told him that I was too big for any "carrying over the threshold tomfoolery", he picked me up as easily as the 90 lb weights he curled. When a friend asked me to walk in the rainy cold that is the south, instead of driving, he wondered if the friend knew how delicate I was. I knew that friend didn't think of me as delicate, but as a tomboy.

Delicate. Me? hmmmm, I think I can get used to that.

Showdown on V-Day

2004-02-11T10:43:00.000-05:00

It was just me against the world, and I was losing badly. I knew if I saw one more wriggling monkey, gorilla with a heart on it or $69 gold covered rose, I was going to lose it for real. I really did want to just crawl into a hole and not come out until after the whole mess was over... or when the candy was half priced or lower. I knew that all of the pressure was really in my mind, but after so many years, I wasn't used to quelling the commercialism that made me want to regurgitate.

Then, The Boy got into it. I thought we had an understanding. With feminazi zeal, I argued my case, deploring a holiday that had no significance. I remembered the years in the trenches, before The Boy, when I was so bombarded by love, I thought my life would have to end before I could find release. I made a promise to myself that, in love or out of love, Valentine's Day would mean nothing to me. No expensive dinners, no roses that cost more than my car payment, no gifts, shiny or not, on this particular day. Maybe I was going overboard, I reasoned once, but I quelled that thought with another look down the seasonal aisle at Kroger. That's all I needed.

But the boy would prevail. Valentine's day would mean something. Not everything, just something. He wanted to take me out and he chose my favourite restaurant. How can I stand up against Bert's Bistro? They had the best salmon in Macon. They had the best salad I'd ever eaten. They had the best atmosphere of any restaurant I've been too. They had the friendliest staff and I loved to eat there. I had lost. I was going to celebrate Valentine's day.

This wouldn't have been so hard to take if not for two things. One, my hardcore zealous behaviour against Valentine's day and two, the utter glee and enjoyment from the people who knew me and that hardcore zeal. Every year, the baker at the Joshua Cup makes a valentine dessert with me in mind... but not to disparage the day, but to make fun of me. Some of my friends look forward to my Anti-Valentine's Day party, which I won't be giving this year, thanks to The Boy. Oh, I love him, and I'm glad to a certain extent. All the planning and work that would go into it was much more than I needed after moving back. But when people ask about your party, a party you've given the last 3 years, a party they always thought was over the top, but which they enjoyed, and you have to tell them that you have a date that night... well, you can imagine the reactions.

It took me a week to get over it. It took me another week to be fine with everything. Once I was fine, it took me a few days to start looking forward to it. Then I realized something. V-Day hadn't won. I was no more in love with it's red-tinged stab of commercialism than I was years ago when I set my cap against it. I still shuddered walking past aisle 8, I still wouldn't waste my money on a card. This year, instead of spreading my love to 30 of my closest friends and acquaintances, I would be able to concentrate that love on one person. Love had won. So I will remember V-Day with some fondness this year, although I will still try my hardest to not let this repeat itself next year. I couldn't deal with a Feb. 14 tradition.

Why Am I Here?

2004-02-09T15:20:00.000-05:00

I almost quit. There were odds that seemed insurmountable and walls that blocked. I understood that I could either be the trowel and build higher or the dozer and tear down. Well, here I am and the trowel is buried beneath the rubble. The first few steps seemed unimaginably awkward, as if I’d never written before. I kept replaying statistics in my head about bloggers who fall yearly. I don’t have anything to gibe. All I want is to feel the keys under my fingers. So you will suffer for my ineloquence and poor sense of humour and self imposed writing assignments. I have too many words floating in my head to be satisfied with silence.

2004-02-09T13:05:00.000-05:00

I was just wondering if there was a way to remain abstinent for the rest of my life.

2004-02-09T10:50:00.000-05:00

Brand new, starting over, as if speaking from a new mentality. Being a baptism of sorts, a public declaration of a private change, a chance to review, renew, pursue. Some things will be old, resorting to my old way of interaction. Some things will be new, straining for a place I cannot quite see, an elusive dream that has both sought after and run away. Words are more than enough, I just have to prove it or disprove it to myself.