My free time is few and far between. That's not entirely correct.. my free time comes in minutes at a time. A few minutes to shower. A few minutes to wipe the cat hair off the kitchen floor again so that the babies don't have furry hands the next time they crawl across it. A few minutes to make sure the four year old has eaten, again. A few minutes to throw in the next load of laundry, eat something, put something away, go for a walk, pay a bill, and the other 97,000 things I'm responsible for in a day.
I have twins. For some freak of nature reason, my body threw an egg that hilariously and entirely split into two people. One of them who is quiet, and has a lopsided crawl and is happy all the time and is sweet. One of them is a firecracker, who is always in a hurry and can climb like a motherfucker, and is also happy all the time. They tag team. One pulls it down, the other gets into it. They are hilarious and adorable. Next comes the PSA for those of you without twins.
1. For the love of all that is holy, stop fucking telling me "YOU'VE GOT YOUR HANDS FULL!" Ha ha, yes. Yes I do! I had no idea! I'm at the grocery store, or the pediatrician, and I'm struggling to carry an infant car seat in each hand toting a 16 pound baby in each. I have a four year old tagging along, most likely asking me for shit. I'm probably trying to open a door, while you stand there with your gaping maw, telling me how hard it looks without actually offering to help open the fucking door. Fuck you.
2. I have a thought to make a business card to hand out for the next several questions that follow. Are they both girls? Are they identical? How old are they? Do twins run in your family? My cousin friend aunt mom is a twin. A brave few even have asked about my breeding capabilities. I'm fabulously fertile, thanks for asking. Which brand of tampon is your favorite? Oh? That's a weird personal question? Hm...
Things have changed. We had a house built. It's wonderful. From the age of 16 to 36, I never went more than 365 days without getting on an airplane. I haven't flown since June 2013. A flight is coming though. Soon. Tropical drinks, warm breezes, soft sand, palm trees. Fuck yes.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Is it spring yet?
So, we are probably getting a new hot water heater today. This one seems to be leaking water from a rusty connection on the top. So that's awesome.
We are having a house built - about 10 minutes from here with bedrooms and stairs and garage doors and all sorts of sweet new things. The digging of our basement is on hold because of some "frost law." So that's awesome.
I'm working at a travel agency and I get to field all kinds of requests for people that want to go somewhere warm. They have no dates, no idea where they want to go and no budget. So, that's awesome.
So, I recently went to get gas - and being winter - I thought nothing of walking through a puddle, until I noticed when I got back in the car it stank of gasoline like you would not believe. My newest pair of pants is still in a bucket of water in the laundry room. My shoes are on the front porch. So, that's awesome.
There's ice on the ground. My pants fit too tight. I'm tired. I'm soooo over this winter. I want to play in the pool. I want to feel the sun. I want to mow the lawn. I want to move into my house and organize all the things that just seem to be in the way in this little place.
SPRING, WHERE ARE YOU!?
We are having a house built - about 10 minutes from here with bedrooms and stairs and garage doors and all sorts of sweet new things. The digging of our basement is on hold because of some "frost law." So that's awesome.
I'm working at a travel agency and I get to field all kinds of requests for people that want to go somewhere warm. They have no dates, no idea where they want to go and no budget. So, that's awesome.
So, I recently went to get gas - and being winter - I thought nothing of walking through a puddle, until I noticed when I got back in the car it stank of gasoline like you would not believe. My newest pair of pants is still in a bucket of water in the laundry room. My shoes are on the front porch. So, that's awesome.
There's ice on the ground. My pants fit too tight. I'm tired. I'm soooo over this winter. I want to play in the pool. I want to feel the sun. I want to mow the lawn. I want to move into my house and organize all the things that just seem to be in the way in this little place.
SPRING, WHERE ARE YOU!?
Monday, September 10, 2012
the past
The skilled writer in me desperately wants to edit this thing I wrote for my college newspaper nearly 15 years ago. The smart part of my brain knows to leave it alone to see how far I've come. I do like parts of it. The parts about my friend were pretty accurate. So, dredging up from the past....
Originally published for the Eastern Echo:
Suicide is a strange thing. I don't understand the decision to be done with life. It seems like there's always just one more thing I want to do or one more thing I have to see.
I want people to know what it's like from a friend's point of view after a suicide. I just want people to stop and think first, about themselves and about others, and see if suicide is really the only answer - because it probably isn't.
My friend Erik Widmark committed suicide about a year ago. It was rumored that he shot himself in the head with a shotgun in the parking lot of the Ferndale police department. No one really tried to find out if it was true or not.
I met Erik wile working at Marco's Pizza on the North Side of Ann Arbor. He was a little bit creepy, a little strange, entirely nice and pretty darn funny. On many occasions, he, my friend Alex and I would sit around Marco's and make fun of our customers and drink until the wee hours of the morning. Erik would bring in some raspberry wine that he was so skilled at making, or honey mead or this gross fish-goo-in-a-tube that he would try to get people to eat.
We always had a good time. We didn't really see his suicide coming - I guess.
I remember Erik said once that he didn't want to live to be 30. I just brushed the comment off and forgot about it. Erik would have been 30 Aug. 31.
For a year, Erik and I worked about 30 hours a week together, laughing and joking. Sunday nights were always the best because Erik and I would always close and it was always slow so we could listen to Big Sonic Heaven on 96.3. It became a tradition, really. Every Sunday night was Big Sonic Heaven night.
Sure, Erik was a friend, a co-worker and we hung out at my house once or twice. Even so, I suppose I didn't know him all that well. He was quiet about who he was. He pretty much kept to himself.
Alex and I found out later that he had a pretty rough past.
The night before he killed himself, Eric called Marco's pizza and talked to Alex for a long time. He wanted Alex to tell me goodbye and tell me that I had always been a food friend. He asked Alex to give messages to other people and to deposit his last paycheck. Alex tried to convince Erik that he would give those people the messages himself. Erik said that he was done, and that it was time to go and that if he didn't show up to work on Sunday by 6pm then he was gone.
Erik never showed up to work the next day.
Alex and I heard the news Monday morning from his distraught roommate. A memorial was to be held the next Saturday to remember his life, not his death.
After Erik was gone, Marco's just wasn't the same anymore. Alex and I both found new jobs and haven't had the privilege of knowing anyone else as quirky as Erik.
We both still talk about him from time to time. It was a confusing, sad end to a good person. All his friends will continue to miss him.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Seething
My mother's mother died last week. She was 86 years old and was born deep in the hills of Tennessee and died there too. She lived in Michigan while her husband worked, and she raised five kids. I would visit my grandparents when I was little and then in high school, and as an adult. I never met the grandfather that drank and beat his children. He went away once my grandfather retired and moved back to Falls Branch. I knew the grandfather that had a great laugh and always had his dog by his side and cowboy boots on his feet. My grandmother was the "disciplinarian" if you will. I did know her.
I didn't cry for her at her funeral. I don't miss her. I thought about it the entire trip down there and I couldn't think of one nice thing she said or did for me. I do remember her yelling at me to play outside, turn off the lights, get out of the kitchen, stop taking pictures, etc. She said these things to me when I was nine years old and she said these same things to me when I was 31. She would tell you to go outside and get her a switch - a small branch from a bush - so she could whip welts into the soft flesh of your legs. I remember she grew raspberries and I liked eating them. That's all I got.
I arrive in Tennessee on a Sunday. I find out pretty quickly that things are a mess. My grandmother was left a good sum of money which she wasted in the 6 years since my grandfather died. Her youngest daughter helped take care of her, and signed many of the checks that sent unreasonable sums of money out the door. A great deal of it went to one of her sons, the favorite grandchild - GOLDEN BOY. By her death she was broke. Most of her children are in no better financial shape than her. You know who paid for the funeral? My 30-year-old brother. If that isn't a big ridiculous flying pile of shit, then I don't know what is. If it hadn't been him it would have been me - the next to arrive with a credit card. She has 14 grandchildren and I paid for the flowers from all of them, including the unemployed, and GOLDEN BOY himself who got thousands from her, but flat out refused to pay his $20 share of the flowers that rested upon her casket. In addition to that he once denied to me that he ever took money from her. "I got my own money." I heard you ask her for money. I was in the house. We have all now seen the copies of the checks you cashed, you leech. We know the truth.
Yes, she had the right to spend her money as she wished, but those taking advantage of her should have at least left enough to pay for her death. She could have helped others that would have appreciated it. Her other children, her other grandchildren. What remains is a house and 62 acres of land. The five children are to split 50 acres, and the remainder is to be sold along with the house, the profits split five ways. I initially wanted my mom to keep her 10 acres, and be able to revisit this place that was kind of magical to me as a kid, to bring my daughter. Now I think they should sell it all. I don't wish to return. I'd rather put all this simmering seething anger behind me, about how it all ended. All is not lost, but it should be. I will tell my daughter stories, she can build her own special memories.
There's a few other tidbits that added to the smoldering coals, like my grandmothers ring being given to my brother for his fiancee, and later someone insinuating that he shouldn't be paid back for the funeral because, "Well, he got that ring." He never asked for that ring. And my terrible mother of a sister both ignoring or being mean to her two-year-old and acting like a child herself when forced to actually feed or watch her kid. Cleaning the clutter of the house that belonged to a hoarder only to be told someone will have to sort through the garbage we bagged because, "just because I think it's trash doesn't mean someone else will." I'm sorry. I thought yesterday you were wailing about not knowing what to do about all the clutter. Good luck to you all in finalizing everything that needs to be done. I'll be trying really fucking hard to bite my tongue and look past this and forget the fact that my grandmother picked favorites and I was at the bottom of the list. The clear realization of this is still quite raw.
I didn't cry for her at her funeral. I don't miss her. I thought about it the entire trip down there and I couldn't think of one nice thing she said or did for me. I do remember her yelling at me to play outside, turn off the lights, get out of the kitchen, stop taking pictures, etc. She said these things to me when I was nine years old and she said these same things to me when I was 31. She would tell you to go outside and get her a switch - a small branch from a bush - so she could whip welts into the soft flesh of your legs. I remember she grew raspberries and I liked eating them. That's all I got.
I arrive in Tennessee on a Sunday. I find out pretty quickly that things are a mess. My grandmother was left a good sum of money which she wasted in the 6 years since my grandfather died. Her youngest daughter helped take care of her, and signed many of the checks that sent unreasonable sums of money out the door. A great deal of it went to one of her sons, the favorite grandchild - GOLDEN BOY. By her death she was broke. Most of her children are in no better financial shape than her. You know who paid for the funeral? My 30-year-old brother. If that isn't a big ridiculous flying pile of shit, then I don't know what is. If it hadn't been him it would have been me - the next to arrive with a credit card. She has 14 grandchildren and I paid for the flowers from all of them, including the unemployed, and GOLDEN BOY himself who got thousands from her, but flat out refused to pay his $20 share of the flowers that rested upon her casket. In addition to that he once denied to me that he ever took money from her. "I got my own money." I heard you ask her for money. I was in the house. We have all now seen the copies of the checks you cashed, you leech. We know the truth.
Yes, she had the right to spend her money as she wished, but those taking advantage of her should have at least left enough to pay for her death. She could have helped others that would have appreciated it. Her other children, her other grandchildren. What remains is a house and 62 acres of land. The five children are to split 50 acres, and the remainder is to be sold along with the house, the profits split five ways. I initially wanted my mom to keep her 10 acres, and be able to revisit this place that was kind of magical to me as a kid, to bring my daughter. Now I think they should sell it all. I don't wish to return. I'd rather put all this simmering seething anger behind me, about how it all ended. All is not lost, but it should be. I will tell my daughter stories, she can build her own special memories.
There's a few other tidbits that added to the smoldering coals, like my grandmothers ring being given to my brother for his fiancee, and later someone insinuating that he shouldn't be paid back for the funeral because, "Well, he got that ring." He never asked for that ring. And my terrible mother of a sister both ignoring or being mean to her two-year-old and acting like a child herself when forced to actually feed or watch her kid. Cleaning the clutter of the house that belonged to a hoarder only to be told someone will have to sort through the garbage we bagged because, "just because I think it's trash doesn't mean someone else will." I'm sorry. I thought yesterday you were wailing about not knowing what to do about all the clutter. Good luck to you all in finalizing everything that needs to be done. I'll be trying really fucking hard to bite my tongue and look past this and forget the fact that my grandmother picked favorites and I was at the bottom of the list. The clear realization of this is still quite raw.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Actual email I just sent via Zappos.com web form
Hi.
I'm a tall person. You ask me to get shit off the high shelves for you at the grocery store. You think it's AMAZING and MAGICAL to be tall. I'm a girl. You don't sell shoes for me at the store. You don't sell pants for me at the store. Or long-sleeve shirts. Or sweaters. Or coats. I am forced to go online to find clothing that fits my long limbs. I'm not a freak of nature. I'm 6'2 and have a 36-37" inseam. On Zappos (this is where you come in) you can search for pants by inseam. See, this is handy because NOT ALL LENGTHS FIT EVERYONE. However on Zappos, (you!) when you select inseam of 36, 37, you *also* get the inseam of every single pant that just says "one size" when you click on the link, yet in the description below it clearly states an inseam, of usually 30, 32 or 34. Could you PLEASE fix this so that the search for a 36 or 37 inseam actually gives those results? I have one pair of pajama pants that fit wonderfully, however sadly they are old and falling apart and I can't find new pajama pants (and one bad-ass pair of jeans would be nice) in the correct length, and really don't have time to wade through 100+ pairs of pants for SHORT PEOPLE WHO CAN BUY THEIR DAMN PANTS AT THE DAMN STORE.
Thank you very much.
I'm a tall person. You ask me to get shit off the high shelves for you at the grocery store. You think it's AMAZING and MAGICAL to be tall. I'm a girl. You don't sell shoes for me at the store. You don't sell pants for me at the store. Or long-sleeve shirts. Or sweaters. Or coats. I am forced to go online to find clothing that fits my long limbs. I'm not a freak of nature. I'm 6'2 and have a 36-37" inseam. On Zappos (this is where you come in) you can search for pants by inseam. See, this is handy because NOT ALL LENGTHS FIT EVERYONE. However on Zappos, (you!) when you select inseam of 36, 37, you *also* get the inseam of every single pant that just says "one size" when you click on the link, yet in the description below it clearly states an inseam, of usually 30, 32 or 34. Could you PLEASE fix this so that the search for a 36 or 37 inseam actually gives those results? I have one pair of pajama pants that fit wonderfully, however sadly they are old and falling apart and I can't find new pajama pants (and one bad-ass pair of jeans would be nice) in the correct length, and really don't have time to wade through 100+ pairs of pants for SHORT PEOPLE WHO CAN BUY THEIR DAMN PANTS AT THE DAMN STORE.
Thank you very much.
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