Aimee...
I hope that where you are was perfect for you today - that they celebrated all you are, all you have meant to those of us who love and miss you, and that you could feel all the love we sent today as we endured your birthday without you.
Happy Birthday, my dear sweet friend. You are sorely missed, loved always, and never forgotten.
I love you.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Happy DST!
Did you spring ahead, my lovelies? Give up that hour of sleep for an hour of sunshine? Or what would be sunshine if it wasn't 33 and raining?
I am glad for DST and they could leave it that way forever for all of me. My nephew informed me yesterday that the origins of DST have something to do with train schedules. He's kind of a genius so I don't doubt he's right, but I had never heard that. Oh, these youngins, they got all that fancy larnin' up ta their big schools.
Happy Sunday! (...and Happy Birthday to my mommy who celebrates her 30th 29th birthday today!)
I am glad for DST and they could leave it that way forever for all of me. My nephew informed me yesterday that the origins of DST have something to do with train schedules. He's kind of a genius so I don't doubt he's right, but I had never heard that. Oh, these youngins, they got all that fancy larnin' up ta their big schools.
Happy Sunday! (...and Happy Birthday to my mommy who celebrates her 30th 29th birthday today!)
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
And Now For Something Completely Different
Digging around in my Analytics while I should be sleeping. Found some VERY interesting actual keywords used to find my blog by you kooky, yet faithful readers in the last two years or so. My favorites are as follows:
daughter in the mens bathroom at church pooping Uh, what?
how to get my wife to love me again kathy and bill This is weird because I dated a guy named Bill who later married a girl named Kathy, but not before he asked me to schtoop him one last time...gag. Ironically I would bet money that said Kathy by now does NOT love said Bill.
"fuck me in the butt and call me sally" OK most of the time I can see how the key words, at least some of them, got a person here. This is not one of those times.
are midol and mushrooms ok to take together Clearly she has bigger problems than PMS.
could you die from licking lysol Uh, I'm pretty sure you could, dumbass.
rash back arms itchy man -pregnant -female OK, none of those words even go together. What could they have been looking for, really?
tricking my sister into kissing my butt I have never done a blog on getting anyone to kiss anyone's butt. I don't think.
will i ever get to see cathy again? Why, yes - yes you will. Unless you have never seen me in the first place and don't know where I live. Then, maybe not, you know.
Also interesting to me are how many times people have searched for "cathy and greg" and "cathy's blog", and how many hits I got from "von maur shooting" and "velveeta" searches. The "we deserve it dividend" probably had the most, in its varied forms, but we are not discussing that today. Shut up, I didn't write the dumb thing, I just posted it; and I retracted it as soon as I did the math. And I said we're not talking about it.
I seriously need to go to bed. But you few random weird fuckers out there searching for some crazy stuff, who find me instead, you are welcome to root around and read whatever your nutzy little heart desires here at FMFO. My blog door is open, come on in.
daughter in the mens bathroom at church pooping Uh, what?
how to get my wife to love me again kathy and bill This is weird because I dated a guy named Bill who later married a girl named Kathy, but not before he asked me to schtoop him one last time...gag. Ironically I would bet money that said Kathy by now does NOT love said Bill.
"fuck me in the butt and call me sally" OK most of the time I can see how the key words, at least some of them, got a person here. This is not one of those times.
are midol and mushrooms ok to take together Clearly she has bigger problems than PMS.
could you die from licking lysol Uh, I'm pretty sure you could, dumbass.
rash back arms itchy man -pregnant -female OK, none of those words even go together. What could they have been looking for, really?
tricking my sister into kissing my butt I have never done a blog on getting anyone to kiss anyone's butt. I don't think.
will i ever get to see cathy again? Why, yes - yes you will. Unless you have never seen me in the first place and don't know where I live. Then, maybe not, you know.
Also interesting to me are how many times people have searched for "cathy and greg" and "cathy's blog", and how many hits I got from "von maur shooting" and "velveeta" searches. The "we deserve it dividend" probably had the most, in its varied forms, but we are not discussing that today. Shut up, I didn't write the dumb thing, I just posted it; and I retracted it as soon as I did the math. And I said we're not talking about it.
I seriously need to go to bed. But you few random weird fuckers out there searching for some crazy stuff, who find me instead, you are welcome to root around and read whatever your nutzy little heart desires here at FMFO. My blog door is open, come on in.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
I Miss You Tonight
Well, not just tonight. Every night. And every day.
Your birthday is next week. You would have been 31, and close to the same number of weeks pregnant, roughly. You should be big and full of baby right now, bitching about weird areola changes, heartburn and braxton-hicks contractions. You should still be veto'ing the names Nik suggests and painting the nursery. You would know if you had a he or a she in there by now. You should be counting up when your maternity leave might start and how many weeks you will get to take off after s/he is born. You should be having baby showers - including one here hosted by me. Duckies. I was going to do "duckies" for your shower theme. Little cute baby duckies, and I was going to have E make you a diaper cake. I was going to do lots of things.
None of that is happening. And frankly I'm still pretty pissed about it. The whole fucking thing is ridiculous, and I know you thought the same thing when it happened. I pity the first person you saw when you crossed over, and think it's pretty ironic and hi-larious that I know you said "Oh, somebody's gonna DIE up in this motherfucker! Y'all can eat a dick STRAIGHT up because I am NOT supposed to be here!" I know you. I am close on this one.
There are still days I just ache to talk to you. There are things that happen, things I hear and see and discover, that I was supposed to share with you. I can almost SEE the holes in my life now - things that would have been topics in our long weekly phone calls, things we would have laughed about til we cried, things that would have started with "Oh, you don't even KNOW..." and "OK, lemme just tell ya..." And as blessed as I am with so many wonderful people in my life, people who love me, support me and care for me, there are just some things that were meant for us. You. And. Me. And I can't help but feel TOTALLY screwed over every damn time one of those things comes up.
There is no way to get over losing you. There is no way to stop hurting, I can see that now. The days that add up between my crying fits become more numerous with each month that goes by, but it's just scar tissue, not healing. When the pain wells up and spills out, it's just as piercing and difficult as the day Nik called and choked out the words that would change me forever. I find myself avoiding your memorial site for days at a time, only because it's just too painful. And then I am drawn there, like a moth to the flame, as they say. It hurts and it sucks and it's like having to acknowledge your death all over again.
There is no "but at least", no silver lining, no beautiful resolution that gives me peace in losing you. I don't think there ever will be. Your life was ripped away from you, and you were ripped away from us. For no reason. None. And I lack the ability to make any sense of it, and feel certain that I always will.
"I miss you" seems so horribly inadequate. "I love you" is true but too simplistic. "This sucks and I fucking hate every second of it" seems much more genuine and true. And yet I do miss you, and I do love you. Always will, honey. Come visit me some night again soon, OK?
Your birthday is next week. You would have been 31, and close to the same number of weeks pregnant, roughly. You should be big and full of baby right now, bitching about weird areola changes, heartburn and braxton-hicks contractions. You should still be veto'ing the names Nik suggests and painting the nursery. You would know if you had a he or a she in there by now. You should be counting up when your maternity leave might start and how many weeks you will get to take off after s/he is born. You should be having baby showers - including one here hosted by me. Duckies. I was going to do "duckies" for your shower theme. Little cute baby duckies, and I was going to have E make you a diaper cake. I was going to do lots of things.
None of that is happening. And frankly I'm still pretty pissed about it. The whole fucking thing is ridiculous, and I know you thought the same thing when it happened. I pity the first person you saw when you crossed over, and think it's pretty ironic and hi-larious that I know you said "Oh, somebody's gonna DIE up in this motherfucker! Y'all can eat a dick STRAIGHT up because I am NOT supposed to be here!" I know you. I am close on this one.
There are still days I just ache to talk to you. There are things that happen, things I hear and see and discover, that I was supposed to share with you. I can almost SEE the holes in my life now - things that would have been topics in our long weekly phone calls, things we would have laughed about til we cried, things that would have started with "Oh, you don't even KNOW..." and "OK, lemme just tell ya..." And as blessed as I am with so many wonderful people in my life, people who love me, support me and care for me, there are just some things that were meant for us. You. And. Me. And I can't help but feel TOTALLY screwed over every damn time one of those things comes up.
There is no way to get over losing you. There is no way to stop hurting, I can see that now. The days that add up between my crying fits become more numerous with each month that goes by, but it's just scar tissue, not healing. When the pain wells up and spills out, it's just as piercing and difficult as the day Nik called and choked out the words that would change me forever. I find myself avoiding your memorial site for days at a time, only because it's just too painful. And then I am drawn there, like a moth to the flame, as they say. It hurts and it sucks and it's like having to acknowledge your death all over again.
There is no "but at least", no silver lining, no beautiful resolution that gives me peace in losing you. I don't think there ever will be. Your life was ripped away from you, and you were ripped away from us. For no reason. None. And I lack the ability to make any sense of it, and feel certain that I always will.
"I miss you" seems so horribly inadequate. "I love you" is true but too simplistic. "This sucks and I fucking hate every second of it" seems much more genuine and true. And yet I do miss you, and I do love you. Always will, honey. Come visit me some night again soon, OK?
Sunday, March 1, 2009
One Week: A Laundry Laundry List
Four people, seven days.
Seven days of socks = 28 pair or 56 socks
Seven days of undies = 21 panties and/or boxer briefs
Seven days of bottoms = 24 jeans/sweats/yoga pants
Seven days of tops = 28 shirts + 10 sweatshirts/sweaters (roughly)
Seven days of pajamas = 10 pairs (roughly - if we get more than one night out of anyone's)
Seven days of towels = 8 towels (roughly - again, re-using before washing)
Seven days of washcloths/hand towels = 14 washcloths + 10-15 hand towels
Not even listed: jackets, linens, tablecloths, rugs, blankets, dog beds, clothes being laundered for garage sale, extra clothes used for accidents, spills, etc.
So, what have we learned here?
Seven days of laundry listed here = a clear, nauseating, painful understanding of why I am NEVER caught up on laundry. Ever.
Seven days of socks = 28 pair or 56 socks
Seven days of undies = 21 panties and/or boxer briefs
Seven days of bottoms = 24 jeans/sweats/yoga pants
Seven days of tops = 28 shirts + 10 sweatshirts/sweaters (roughly)
Seven days of pajamas = 10 pairs (roughly - if we get more than one night out of anyone's)
Seven days of towels = 8 towels (roughly - again, re-using before washing)
Seven days of washcloths/hand towels = 14 washcloths + 10-15 hand towels
Not even listed: jackets, linens, tablecloths, rugs, blankets, dog beds, clothes being laundered for garage sale, extra clothes used for accidents, spills, etc.
So, what have we learned here?
Seven days of laundry listed here = a clear, nauseating, painful understanding of why I am NEVER caught up on laundry. Ever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
