Squishisms

There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding… Because, you see, I am not The One – and thus neither is my wedding.

I am not the one to give a flying fuck if you think my invites should already be designed and printed and stuffed into envelopes.

I am not the the one to care if you are offended by my cheeky wording.

I am not the one who will cry if you talk to all your friends about how ‘tacky’ my wedding is going to be – in your most humble opinion, of course.

Get over yourself.

Guess what?

Technically – for all intents and purposes – we are ALREADY married. The purpose of this wedding isn’t to get married. Married is a legal thing – one that friends of mine are not currently allowed – so the MARRIAGE part of this doesn’t so much matter to me. I am not having a wedding to get married – so stop thinking of it as a wedding.

This is a celebration. A PARTY. The first of many that we will host together, as a couple – almost completely on our own financially. So things will happen as we can afford them. And we will take a moment to tell you exactly what we are committed to in this relationship, and then the pomp and ceremony is done.

Nothing formal.

It’s ON A BOAT FOR GODS SAKE.

There won’t be any I Corinthians, or a unity candle or sand ceremony. No toasts. No first dance. No Father/Daughter dance. No garter toss. No grand send off through a rain of rice/bubbles/confetti.

There will be barbecue. There will be electronic music by the best DJs we know and happyfuntimemusic courtesy of our IPOD. There will be bubbles and confetti and candy and fun. Beer. Bikinis.

Doesn’t sound like the wedding that would require raised type on vellum paper invites, does it? Count yourself lucky I didn’t just send an evite. Cause I thought about it. Seriously.

Additionally – It is not the only thing going on in my life. I have a full time job that, to be frankly fucking honest, is NOT going well at the moment. I’m doing the work, literally, of three people more days than not. I also have a puppy to train and work with so he doesn’t eat off anyone’s face or pee everywhere when they come into my house for the rehearsal dinner. I have to make time to lose the weight I want to to wear what I want to on this Floating Wedding Reception of Awesomeness that we are hosting. I also have to shower and clean the house and brush my teeth and go to the eye dr and grocery shopping and I can’t even tell you when I last watched a basketball game.

So – if I seem a bit behind to you… If I seem a bit disorganized… Fuck off.

Yeah, I went there.

Fuck right off. You have no idea what else I have going on or what else I am juggling to try to keep my life going AND planning and paying for a wedding on a budget with one income to entertain and include you in “the most special day of our lives.” You have no fucking clue how organized I am. My LISTS HAVE LISTS. color coded and tabbed and spreadsheeted.

And frankly, if I “obviously don’t have time” to do the things you think I should be doing, when you think I should be doing them – then obviously I don’t have the time or energy to give a fuck what you think about it.

/fin

And now, I go shopping.

Today could have been a tragedy.  I am not denying that.  I am not undermining the COULDHAVEBEENs.  I am not saying that Joseph Stack wasn’t a bit…touched…  Neither am I condoning his actions in any way.

But.

I pity him.

Yes, he had a lot more money than I do.  Yes, he apparently had easy access to a plane -whereas the only way I’m getting on a plane is if I pay the low, low price of my soul to cram in between YourMom and RedneckJoeAndHisThreeKids. I will never have forty thousand dollars TO lose and I am not trying to exploit government/tax loopholes.

But.

I pity him.

I am sorry that he felt losing that money was enough reason to give up living.  I am sorry he felt that suicide, and taking as many people with him as possible, was the ONLY way to Make A Difference.

There is a part of me that is sorry that his means will forever overshadow his message.  That by trying, the only way he could see how, to Make A Difference; he will go down in history as a crackpot asshole.  And the ConspiracyTheoristCynic in me wonders how much the media is helping that epitaph…and why.

And yes, it is entirely possible I only feed these things because there is not a death count.  Because it wasn’t  As Bad As It Could Have Been.  And I’m sure typing all this out on the internet puts me on all sorts of watch lists…even before I hit “Publish.”

I still pity him.

And all day today at work I listened to the snippets of conversation around me belittling this man.  Only ONE of the facebook/twitter/blog posts I have seen about it express any anger over the CouldHaveBeens.  It was derision.  Snark.  Snide comments regarding his mental and social status.  Assumptions.

Never once considering what could drive someone to this point.  AGAIN.

He’s American.  So he must just be crazy right?  He can’t be a terrorist, because he’s not Arab there’s no mention of a second attack or attempt to incite panic.  He’s not the forth person to fly a plane into a building in a suicide mission to make a statement – he’s just a crazy, disaffected malcontent with a manifesto and a pilots license…who crashed a plane into a building…

**DISCLAIMER: I am waaaaaaaaaaaaaay to big a scaredy-cat to ever fly a plane into a building or in any way cost another person their life. Karma is a bitch and I have no desire to be a cockroach and spend an entire lifetime disgusted/terrified of myself. K? K. **

Sometimes, I don’t even know why I am angry.  I just know that I am; that everyone sucks but me and they all need to stfu and getouttamyfaceandpersonalspace.  Later I will calm down and able to articulate that traffic sucked, or my feelings were hurt because blahblahblah… but in the moment – I have no idea why I am so angry.

I don’t think I should have to.  I don’t think I should have to explain to anyone why I am feeling the way I am in any particular moment.  I DO think that how I feel in any given moment should be acknowledged and respected.  I will do the same.  You will never have to tell me why you are not okay and need someone to go get ice cream with – just that you are not okay and need someone to go get ice cream with.  I’m a bad ‘fixer’ anyway.  I never know what to do or say when strong emotions are involved, and who the emotions belong to doesn’t matter.  But I can be there.

That is all I want out of the people in my life.  That is exactly what I want out of the people in my life.  Just to be there.  To understand that I am upset, unable to articulate why exactly I am upset, and go with me to get ice cream.  Or, as the case may be, make me a cheeseburger on skinny little lowcarb-whole-wheat-bread-things-that-aren’t-quite-buns-but-aren’t-bread-either and watch American Idol with me.

Yesterday was a good day, mostly.  I was (and still am) exhausted, but I got good news at work (the best really, but that is another blog for another place ifyaknowwhatimean) had date night with Teridactyl, loved the cheesy movie we watched… yada yada yada.  But then I sat in the tail end of rush hour traffic to get home after the movie.  And was cut off multiple times, flipped off and screamed at for simply being polite and merging when I found an opening, rather than zooming all the way up –as far as I could, and FORCING the other lane to stop to let me merge in.  Asshats.  I am angry all over again just thinking of it.  ugh.    And the longer I sat in traffic and the more I got honked at, the more I thought about everything else that I am currently not okay with in my life…

So by the time I got home, I was pissy.  My house is a wreck.  I still don’t have everything unpacked or put together – because when since the moment we moved in I have had this, that or the other to do every fucking day and the TWO days I have had to stay home, I just wanted to chill – because I hadn’t had a chance to do so since Christmas.  And the dogs wanted to crawl up inside my ass and hibernate.  And Robbie wanted to watch 24 because he missed it the night before because I was at the UT game.  And my Farmville crops were about to wither.  And I needed to shave.  And the boys wanted to talk about shows and festivals we cannot afford to go to.  And then give me advice on how I should spend my vacation time every year for the next twenty.

dinosaurs make me happy. dinosaurs in space?!? my week, she is made.

There were a lot of deep breaths taken.

And then Robbie realized I was pissy.

And he made me a cheeseburger.  And brought me a coke.  And went to get my pills when I sat down on the couch and realized I’d forgotten them in the computer room.  And then just sat with me and watched TV.

And that is why I’m marrying him.

There are 127 days til my wedding.  It’s on a boat.  Which means I need water in the lake.  I sent a call out to the Universe months ago asking for rain, and for it to rain through til March/April and then stop.  Since, you know, we can’t have it on a boat if it’s raining.  So far, the Universe has been granting my request.  I have my fingers crossed for March/April, but I have hope that this whole crazy idea might actually work out the way I plan/want.  That never happens to me.

Robbie is still unemployed…still stuck with ‘pending legal issues’ that prevent him from finding a job that pays more than unemployment does.  In addition, when he was laid off, he cashed out his 401K to help tide us over until he found a new job… and we thought that was going to bite us in the ass on our tax return.  But we filed all the paperwork and are somehow getting money back.  Enough to pay for a(n inexpensive) honeymoon.  I really didn’t think I’d get one.  Not for reals…

I got my old roommate hired on at my job years ago, before the babydrama and falling out occurred.  Yesterday, more than two full years later, I received a ‘recruit bonus’ for referring her to our company.  It isn’t much, but it has paid for our wedding rings, and will *just* cover what I need for the scant decorations we are doing on the boat.

My parents sent our Christmas presents now that we are moved and settled.  But the guy at UPS screwed up and didn’t check the address, just printed what was already in the system – so it went to my oooooooooolllld address.  A place I haven’t lived in for almost three years.  But the lady called UPS and got in touch with my Dad to let him know.  She gave him her number so we could get in touch with her to pick it up from them.

We, both as individuals and as a couple, are known for having the worst luck known to man.  Seriously, you can ask any of our friends.  It’s ridiculous.  My paycheck once stopped for six weeks for no reason whatsoever and nobody could figure out why.  My boss had to pay my rent.  We went to Bonnaroo for four days and a tornado went through Austin and battered the hell out of our cars with hail.  We rescued a big German Shepherd/Rottweiler Mix, and he’s the biggest crybaby/scaredycat ever.

Etc.

Since the start of the year I have had my check engine light and my brake light come on in my car.  The house we were so excited about has had to have the repair man come out several times in the last month to fix leaky faucets, and spray for bugs, and light switches, and half the plugs won’t hold the plugs in them, they fall out – which is totes safe, right?  We had to take Bauer to the vet because he started pee’ing everywhere for no reason and was scared to eat.  (He’s better now, by the by.)  UNC is not going to make the tourney for the first time in a looooooooooong time, and that may or may not be partly my fault.  (Shuddup, you can’t say that they still would have lost if I had been at jeremy’s like I’m sposta.)  I’ve stayed mostly sick, with strep throat twice already since the first of the year.  I am still at 200 pounds, even though I’m only eating roughly 1500 Calories a day with VERY few starchy carbs and walking the dog/going to the gym whenever I can find time – which isnt nearly often enough.  And then there is the whole impending wedding I’m not sure how we’ll pay for, Robbie being unemployed, lost Christmas package things too.

But somehow, all the mess seems less important.  Less glaring.  Because for the first time in my life, I feel like the Universe is taking care of me.  Like, somehow, I am being given what I need, when I need it.  And I can’t help but think if maybe the rest of the crap is to balance that out…  And that it’s not nearly as bad as it could be/usually would be….

I won an award!  I Squee’d.  And then did a dance.  Yes, it might have resembled the Snoopy Dance…

Courtni gave me a Happy 101 Award.  The rules say I have to list ten things that make me happy and then pass it on to ten other bloggers…but I don’t know many other bloggers who haven’t already been given it lol.  So I’ll just say that if you list ten things that make you happy, and haven’t already got the award – consider it yours now.  :)

So… Ten Things That Make Amanda Happy:

1.       Sharpie Pens.  Is that weird?  I don’t care.  I love to write and doodle and am a compulsive list maker.  I’m also a Virgo who despises mess.  Sharpie pens are clean and crisp – they make words look definitive and important.  It’s bold font that doesn’t bleed through and looks prettier than Times New Roman… bringing me to numbah 2…

2.       My Handwriting.  Most of the time.  After 45 minutes of addressing envelopes it gets a little sketchy, but for the most part I love the way my handwriting looks (especially in sharpie pen).  I love the way I make the lower case letter ‘f’.   And I love the way my new name looks when I doodle it like a twelve year old with a crush.

3.       My new house.  The boys are not such big fans of it.  All they see is a decided lack of hot water and leaky sinks and holes in the fence.  I see space for my dogs to run and play and get out of my lap/hair.  I see places for my friends and family to gather and eat wings or pizza or pasta or enchiladas whenever I want.  I see privacy.  I see friendly neighbors and a park around the corner.  I see twenty steps in any direction without running into each other, a dog or a piece of furniture.  The rest will come.  Having a house makes me feel like we are really a family.

4.       Date Nights with Teridactyl.  Nights where the boys are banished to their respective corners and I can sit in my home and be a girl.  It means a lot to me that she drives so far out of her way to hang out with me.  And the longer I live with men, the more I appreciate the girl talk.

5.       Ke$ha.  I know, I know.  Don’t judge me.  Here’s the thing.  I know it’s ridiculous. I know she is ridiculous.  I don’t care.  The songs are upbeat and happy.  They remind me of driving home to Waco from Austin at 3 in the morning – sitting in Natalie’s car with the radio up.  When we most definitely should NOT have been driving.  When we didn’t quite understand all the lyrics, so made up our own ridiculous versions.  It’s like Ke$ha is the embodiment of those moments – only her lyrics are really that ridiculous.  I adore her.  And the feathers in her hair.

6.       Reading.  Specifically horrible, cheesy Supernatural Romance novels.  Gimme.  Gimmegimmegimmegimmie.  So much that I have a corner in the new house already slated for a papas an chair for me to curl up in to read where the dogs won’t fit and will have to bug someone else.  Shhh.  Itsa secret.  Iwon’t haven’t told the boys (yet).

7.       My family.  Robbie and my dogs being there every day when I get home is a bright shiny moment, every single day.

8.       Email.  I do a happy dance anytime I can email instead of call.  I get seriouslyfuckingpissedoff at places of business that do not have links for email or online communication and force a bitch to call.  We all know we are all making these things happen while at work nowadays.  It’s far easier to pretend to work while writing an email than sitting on the phone – and I ain’t got time to sit on hold, motherfuckers.  Getwithit.  It’s TWOTHOUSANDMOTHERFUCKINGTEN.  I should not have to pick up my phone ever.

*ahem*

9.       Butter Cookies.  And French fries.  And pie.  And cobbler.  And SourDough Bread.  And mashed potatoes.  Baked Potatoes.  Pasta… you get the point, I’m sure.  But the thought of fitting into a bikini of a specific size makes me happier – so I will be forsaking the starches.  I can do this.  For reals.

10.  And now I’ll be a big geek.  WoW makes me happy.  A lot.  I rarely group or play my level 80 character though.  I like the leveling.  The questing.  The killing of things by myself, with my headphones on.  Noone to tell me what to do or how to do it or when or why.  Just single minded killing or things that don’t matter cause they aren’t real… and I miss it when it’s gone.  When I cancel my subscription for months at a time… I always come back.  And – Truth?  Between you and me, I’m bad at it.  And I don’t care.

One of the reasons I am Childfree is that I know myself.  I would be a horrible parent.   I don’t like children for more than an hour or two at a time – and even then only if they are clean and well behaved.  I have no idea how to talk to them.  Conversations with my friends’ kids can often be painful, awkward moments for me…

I like dogs.  They trigger that mooshy/gooshy/maternal emotional response in me.  I have slightly more patience for an animal that literally cannot understand the words coming out of my mouth than a child who just doesn’t want to.  I know how to train and communicate with dogs…

At least I thought I did.

Bauer can sit and shake and stay and lay down and come(sometimes) and drop it, plays fetch and is learning to walk on a proper leash.  He knows what I mean when I tell him to get in his crate, or off the bed or couch.  He is learning to get Up in the car on his own, and didn’t foam at the mouth on Tuesday when we went for a ride without Ginger to comfort him…

But Bauer is not okay.  He is terrified and overly-submissive and agitated.  He cowers even when we try to feed him and hides in his crate if I raise my voice or have any semblance of an angry tone – regardless of who I am speaking to.  It’s worse with Robbie.  He gets too afraid to pee, and then either lets it all go subconsciously in acts of submission to Robbie – or in the middle of playing fetch because he just can’t hold it anymore…  and then he hides and shakes.  Or he’ll follow me step for step and sit right behind my feet when I tell him to go potty.

He’s always been timid.  We’re 90% sure the people before us were beating him.  But it was getting better…

And then we moved.

And suddenly it was much, much worse.  And I have no idea why.  Or how to fix it.  He wasn’t this spooked when we brought him home with us to the apartment – so I don’t think it’s the move itself that has him so worked up…

I feel like a horrible dog-mom.  My baby puppy is scared and hurting and sad and I have no idea how to fix it.  I am not even sure if maybe we haven’t caused it in some way – which makes me want to cry.  Both boys are Over It.  They didn’t sign up for puppy-drama and are frustrated at his lack of understanding that he is Physically Okay and Safe.  At having to clean up his messes when I am not home and… so I feel guilty for bothering the boys.  For bringing this poor, pathetic, high-maintenance dog into their home.

*I* am terrified he’s going to pee on something and irritate/frustrate the boys.  Which has me even more on edge.  And makes it even more stressful – which I know he picks up on.  He is eight months old and 42 pounds.  He is going to be a big dog.  Too big to be so afraid of everything.  I am terrified I won’t be able to fix it and something will happen and he’ll bite someone and have to be put down.  I have nightmares of it… or that I can’t fix it and Robbie decides he can’t deal and leaves us.  Or he asks me to get rid of Bauer/says we have to get rid of him.

I’ve scoured the internet.  I am trying everything listed to fix this.  I am not petting his head or standing over him or hugging him tight like I used to.  I am letting him win at Tug games and making a concentrated effort to not yell or use angry tones.  I am lying down on the floor if he starts to shake or get scared.  I am trying to distract him with a toy if the lying down doesn’t work.  I am making a point to exercise him when I get home: with a walk, or games of fetch/chase in the backyard.  I am making him sit and stay and shake to give him something to do that he is good at and try to build confidence.  I am letting him rest his head on the top of mine and praising him every chance I get.  I am using soft tones when asking if he wants to potty and then walking outside to stand in the middle of the yard in the rain so he doesn’t feel abandoned or punished for peeing.  I crawled with him into the living room to eat – taking a handful out of the bowl and placing it in front of him.  I let him hide in his crate as long as he wants to when he wants to…

But how long before it starts to work?

…and what if it doesn’t?

I get it.  I really do.  You go to the movies, and you like whatever you see.  You want to share the happiness and joy you experienced with everyone else.  It made you happy, so obviously it will make them happy too.  You have to tell them about this movie that will make them happy.  You have to let them know that they will be happy if they go see it.

You, and every single other person that was in that theater with you, will go and tell all your friends about the movie.  Half will go see the movie, maybe half will like it as much as you did, and then they all go tell all of their friends, along with every other person who was in the theater with them.

I used to do it too.

I am poor, but more importantly, I am claustrophobic in the extreme.  I CANNOT go to movies opening night anymore unless someone can guarantee me that I will have someone I know WELL on either side of me to buffet me from the crowd of people I do not know.  I often wait at least two weeks before I will go see a movie, and even then I prefer to go on a weeknight or matinee showing.  (If I can drag Robbie out of bed for a weekend matinee, my life is perfect.)  I may even just wait to see it in BluRay.  It takes a lot to get me to a theater anymore.  I will be the last person to see the movie.

Always.

And by the time I go see it, I have either heard all about it and there is no point in spending the $40 it takes to go to the movies now, and then I’m irritated that I wasted the money and time.  Or, I don’t find it as entertaining as EVERY SINGLE OTHER PERSON alive apparently thought it to be and then I’m even more irritated at the waste of time and money – and irritated at the person who told me the movie was worth that (Read: You).

I am not big on romantic comedies.  Very few of them make me happy.  Up In the Air?  Not a fan.  Completely don’t get the draw of that, other than Clooney – who never gets naked.  ‘Dramas’ with Matt Damon or Leo DiCaprio?  Also not my thing (99% of the time, Blood Diamond is still one of my favorite movies ever.)  I don’t get moral treatises in movie form.  I just don’t.  Julie and Julia? Made me want to cry and stab people all at once.  And I still want those two hours of my life back.  Don’t even get me started on movies like Paul Blart,Bruno, or Napoleon Dynamite.

I can appreciate the high caliber of acting prowess…but not the movies themselves.

My alley is horrible movies.  Horror movies.  Action movies (without Bruce Willis, unless it’s the Die Hard movies).  I love foreign movies, with subtitles – dubbing is ridiculous.  Bread and Tulips is work of art.  And there are not enough words in the English language to fully describe my love for documentaries.  And I am my father’s daughter and will always watch SciFi movies, and love them, regardless of hole-y plots and bad acting.

Occasionally I do like the movies everyone else likes.  Most recently – Avatar and Star Trek.  These movies tend to be HUGE blockbusters.  Movies with huge promotional campaigns.  Movies everyone anticipates, including me.  Movies that McDonalds makes a special French Fry container for and/or BurgerKing invents cups for.  Movies I will have decided to go see long before you (and everyone else) come tell me how awesome it is and the thousand reasons why I should go see it.  I will have been dodging commercials and trailers for weeks, to keep from knowing more of the plot than I want to.  To keep from expecting anything from the movie.  So that I cannot be let down.

And then my weeks of careful avoidance are ruined by one sentence from someone who just can’t contain their excitement.

The internet is ruining us.  We are all, myself included, guilty of over-sharing.  We can tell literally every single person we know each time we have a bowel movement through FaceBook or twitter if we so choose, and some do.  We have gotten used to being able to inform the world of every single action we take and how that makes us feel.

We don’t wait to be asked anymore.

“I saw Avatar last night.”

“Oh yeah?  How was it?”

“Ohmigod it was the bestest movie that ever bested!  I loved it!  You haven’t seen it?   You should go see it.  I’ll take you to go see it, right now.”

Has become :

“SoandSo SuchandSuch      JUST WATCHED AVATAR AND OMG EVERYONE GO SEE IT RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW!!!ELEVENTYONE1!!!  I’LL GO WITH YOU!!!”

Again:

Which brings me to my second point:

No.  I do not want you to go with me to see it, if you have already seen it.  You will give away the plot.  You’ll lean forward in your seat in anticipation of the gunshot.  Or look to me to see how I will react to the betrayal about to occur.  Or you’ll talk through the whole damn thing telling me to “just wait” for what’s about to happen.

Some movies, I don’t care.  I don’t care if you tell me if you liked it, or didn’t.  Or what RottenTomatoes has told you think about it.  Or if you go with me and sit forward in your seat and preemptively shield your eyes from the Scary coming…

In those cases:  I WILL ASK.

Is it so much to ask that I not be told if I don’t ask?  Really?

***Note:  I am aware the blog above is petty and pouty.  This is me not caring.  >_<***

Any 8 year can tell you what it means, if you aren’t sure.

*ahem*

Xamine Your Zipper.

Now, bear with me for a minute while we skinny dip in a sea of metaphor.

Wow.  That was just mean.  I apologize.  I couldn’t help myself though.  Stay with me.  It IS game day and I might have had some vodka.  I’m getting somewhere though, I promise.

*ahem*

Socrates said “The unexamined life is not worth living.”  I have spent these last twenty-five days reflecting on my life.  Examining the last year in minute detail as I strove to find things to be grateful for that began with certain letters.  I found, as mentioned in the S blog, that there was much more than I expected.

Some days though, it was a struggle – and I let all my ugly bits hang out for the world to see.  One day, in particular, I neglected to ‘Xamine {my} Zipper.’  And instead just spewed ugly in your eyes.

Yeah, I went there.

I told you – a SEA of metaphor here today ladies and gents.

A zipper holds back, hides, the ’shameful’ parts of us.  The parts society says should be kept private.  That society has insisted are Private for long, that it became a euphemism.  Parts of us that, frankly, no one else wants to see without advanced warning, and then may still put the kibosh on the idea of letting all that hang out in the breeze…

My biggest lesson in the last year has been to examine that line.  As I’ve quit smoking and re-learned to manage my emotions.  As I got in trouble for blogging at work because my words hurt someone’s feelings (again.)  My lesson has been learning when to share…and when to simply sit quietly.  To think about WHY I want to say something, and try to do so before saying it.  To determine if I SHOULD unzip… in that moment…that situation.  To evaluate if the good it does me outweighs the harm it could cause another.  And then to act accordingly.

I have learned that when I do this – I find my Xanadu.  I am the ruler of my little slice of life, with a pretty palace near a sacred river.  But it is every bit as fleeting as Coleridge’s Opium-induced vision…  For though I am older than I was, I am not yet wise – and I find myself grateful for my follies – because I truly believe they are what is keeping me Young (at heart.)

And I am grateful for the Zipper that separates it all.

W is for Wicked.

On our Wedding Website I said:

Courtni is Amanda’s Soul Sister.  Her words, her inspiration, her attitude and her unconditional love and support were crucial to Amanda becoming the woman that Robbie fell in love with.  The wedding would not be complete without her.

That is not an exaggeration.  When I first ‘met’ WickedGame – I was intimidated beyond belief.  I had never cared for or about blog-ratings or the myspace ‘elite’ as I thought of them – and she, at least in my eyes, was one of the Elite…but I desperately wanted to know this Woman Whose Words echoed my soul.  More than just Wanting to know her, I Wanted…Needed…her to know ME.  I stalked her blog for months before leaving my first comment.  I almost cried the first time she commented on mine – I felt like I’d won an award.

Wicked is a Writer.  The undiscovered/unacknowledged 10^th World Wonder.  Untempered honesty Winds its Way through every Word she speaks, pens, or types.  More than anyone else I know – Courtni owns Who and What she is.  Completely and Without an ounce of shame.  I have never seen her pull a punch.  And so, when she accepted me – I knew it was real.  When she complimented my Writing – I knew it was real.  She played a big part in my acceptance of my Self.  She exudes strength and Wisdom, and I soaked it up.

And, for the first time in my life, I found myself truly interested in watching a pregnancy progress.  Even being squicked out if I thought about it in terms of ME or MY LIFE… I found myself fascinated by her letters to her unborn daughter.  Teary eyed and full of Warm fuzzies.  It was the first glimpse I had into the soft, gooey WickedHeart beating beneath the hard {candy} shell she portrayed.  And yet, it was no less strong than that exterior.

I almost pee’d my pants when I learned she was going to be in Tennessee for Gigifest.  I was SOOO excited to be able to meet this amazing Woman…and then got tongue-tied when I finally did…and right about the time I started to realize she was human, and neither deserved, nor wanted the pedestal I’d placed her on – and relax – I got the flu.

In the months following got to know Courtni all over again.  Without the idolization, as an equal – a sister.  I stopped feeling like the lost little loser tagging along with the cool kids and realized the cool kids thought I was cool.  I stopped trying and started BEING.  It was a flipped switch, not a process.  An epiphany fueled by the knowledge that Women such as Courtni liked me. Me.  Singing badly at the top of my lungs at two in the morning in the kitchen, wearing pajama pants and a lime green bra that had seen better days – they liked me. Stressed up by superstition and in desperate need of a sports bar – they liked me. Sick as all hell, whiney, mopey and bitter at missing out on the festivities – they liked me.

And when the Frog turned out to be just a Frog, and not a Prince – they were there.  And as I came into my own, there were Wicked little text messages spurring me on.  Forcing me to think a little harder, dig a little deeper into the void known as my Self and KNOW.  And when I needed a new outlet, she got me a visa to thepqnation.

And when I met a man really Worth my time and effort…and when I fell in love with him…and when I got engaged to him– no one was happier for me than Courtni.  LittleMissWicked was happier to hear I found a love like this than I think my own mother was.  It made total sense to me to ask her to stand with me.  And the perfect way to express what (at the time) I had no Words for:  How much she meant to me.

(*ahem*  notgonnacrynotgonnacrynotgonnacrynotgonnacry *ahem*)

So yes.  W is for Wicked.

Carry on.

Is it sad my brain, when faced with the letter ‘V’ – immediately thought of the Sookie Stackhouse novels I’ve been reading?

Then I thought of my friend’s LongDeadVibrator named Vesuvio.

I am grateful for the entertainment both of these things have given me, though Vesuvio died more than a year ago.

But V is for Vanity.

Vanity probably seems a bit strange as a topic for these specific blogs… but I can explain.

I am vain.  I can admit it.  In fact, I just did lol.   Looking nice matters to me.  It’s the number one motivator for my continuing to not smoke – which Iam grateful for.  Despite the weight gain, and the emotional outbursts I am still learning to control…  I know I look better.  My nails aren’t yellow, warped or cracking.  My teeth are visibly whiter.  My hair grows faster and my chin and cheeks break out less often – since I am not pressing my fingers against them all day long to get the cigarette to my lips and the nicotine in to my lungs.  I SMELL better – which is an instant attractiveness boost in anyone’s book.

As much as I want another cigarette – and don’t think I don’t want one more than you could possibly imagine – I am equally reluctant to undo the physical differences quitting has had on me.  For (exactly!) 50 weeks now, that has kept me (relatively) smoke free.  It is why I haven’t brought smokes home.

Even the reluctance to FAIL at quitting can be attributed to my Vanity.  Failing to quit smoking is a very public failure.  Everyone will know if I fail – and we’ve already gone over how much I hate to fail in front of people.

My Vanity has me making a conscious effort to eat better – and now with less frequency.  I am also heading back to the gym after a two (three?) week hiatus.  It has me rediscovering how much I love a good salad…and cottage cheese with sunflower kernels…etc

Despite my weight gain in the last year… I am healthier than I was this time last year.  And I am working my way down in the weight department as well.

My Vanity spurs my determination…  and I am grateful for that.  I figure its better than more than a few of the other Sins anyway…