March 3, 2003
Internal Monologue: “Cody’s birthday is coming up quick. March 25th in fact. I really need to think of something to get him.”
March 14, 2003
Internal Monologue: “Cody’s birthday is coming up quick. Really quick in fact. I really need to think of something to get him.”
March 22, 2003
Internal Monologue: “Cody’s birthday is next week. The 25th, Tuesday. What should I get him? I really need to come up with something. And soon.”
March 28, 2003.
Internal Monologue: “Jeesh, what am I going to do for Cody’s birthday? It’s in, like…let’s see, today is the 28th…………………..oh hell.”
I missed my husband’s birthday by three days. And if memory serves me right I was NOT a pleasant lady to be around on his actual birthday three days prior.
Just in case you were considering me for any wife of the year awards, I’d hate to misrepresent myself.
We had been married about two years.
We had been given “Free Meal” certificates to a local Mexican restaurant.
We had two.
Not “Buy One Get One Free” but “Free Meal.”
But there was fine print:
“Limit one per table.”
After the server told us this, my husband piped up,
“What if we sit at different tables?”
Oh yes he did.
And yes we did.
Separate tables for the duration of our meals.
This was the night I realized I may very well be married to the CHEAPEST man alive, and it is the night he learned that cheapness doesn’t get you laid.
In fact all it really gets you is a lividly pissed off wife.
And who wants one of those?
Did you get here from StumbleUpon? Yes? Well hey, how are you? If you’re thinking I’m some sort of two bit whore you’d be sorely mistaken. This was written with sarcasm, unfortunately first time readers (especially you men) who don’t know that I regularly employ sarcasm and don’t know that I joke on a regular (healthy) basis with my husband don’t see this as the funny little story it was meant to be. I adore my husbandand he adores me no matter how much money is or isn’t spent. We ordered, received and ate our food from different tables, then moved and sat with each other for dessert and never went back to the restaurant mentioned. So there is no need to call me a floozy, whore, tramp or bitch. Thank you very much. xoxo-Casey
“Well, I guess I’ll see you in Chicago in March then I’m off to Cedar Rapids for work and then we’ll be in Nepal in April.”
“Excuse me, mom? DID YOU JUST SAY NEPAL? As in next to India, Nepal?”
“Yes, yes I did.”
My mom is going to Nepal. In April. Dalai Lama, Nepal. She just dropped it into casual conversation. Like it’s normal to be going to Nepal. Little does she know you can’t casually drop Nepal into a conversation that started with talk of Illinois and Iowa. There’s a rule about it. Somewhere. I know there is.
And apparently Tiny Grandma and Grandpa Poopsie are going go on a river rafting trip, they are going to fly around Everest (29, 035 foot EVEREST) and RIDE ELEPHANTS THROUGH THE JUNGLE. Have you seen my mom? She’s called Tiny Grandma for a reason.
My grandparents, in their late 80′s and married for just about sixty years have taken to traveling far and wide lately also. Two years ago it was the Great Wall (as in China). Last year it was New Zealand. In April they’ll cruise around the TIP OF SOUTH AMERICA and in the fall they’ll be cruising to Russia. RUSSIA. At eighty years old. I can only imagine that my grandpa is his travel agent’s favorite client.
In the meantime, it’s Louisville, Chicago, San Francisco and Naples for me this year. (Oh, and by Naples I mean Naples, Utah. Not Italy.)
Before I got married depression involved a lot of heavy drinking and recreational drug use.
After I got married it involved a lot of sleeping away my life and refusing to eat or leave the house.
When the moosh was little, depression involved endless amounts of crying and screaming into pillows to drown out the sound of her crying.
Now that the moosh is older, and wise to my every emotion, depression is a whole new experience. It feels as though I am relentlessly treading water, and if I stop to rest for even a moment, I go under. Fast.
Every phase of my life has had its own scapegoats for depression. From substance abuse, to a starting over a whole new lifestyle, to a horrendous pregnancy, to having a new baby and now having a husband that is gone 80% of the time and a family that is thousands of miles away.
It has become difficult to distinguish any real feelings any more. Am I depressed? Or just feeling sorry for myself? I honestly don’t know. I keep myself so busy that if I stop for even a minute, I start to drown quickly. Thankfully I am blessed to be surrounded by dozens of other girls in very much the same situation, dozens of distractions to keep me busy. But I’m afraid to slow down, afraid to stop.
Afraid of what will happen if I do.
Because if it is what I fear, I don’t know what I’ll do.
In all my kicking and fighting to start a cooking blog, I lost.
Come read me channel my inner Paula Deen to turn five (FIVE!) sticks of butter into Cinnamon Rolls over at Linoleum Dynamite.
To all of those who feel I should have a cooking blog, allow me to change your mind in less than, oh, let’s say, forty seven seconds.
I am a huge number one fan with a foam finger of Ziploc’s new microwave steam bags.
Frozen salmon, meet Ziploc. Ziploc, meet frozen salmon.
Frozen salmon, Ziploc, meet lemon, dill and butter. And meet them in the microwave for five (YES FIVE!) minutes.
Perfectly cooked and seasond (albeit nasty looking) salmon. Meet the perfect side dish.
Yep. Salmon and Cheetos.
Are you sure you still want a cooking blog out of me?
Heh. Thought so.
NEXT ON THE LIST.
You’re dead to me. Anybody else want to break the news to me now so I don’t find out through pictures of YOUR PREGNANT BELLY IN FLICKR?
Would someone please pay me prolific amounts of money for contributing this to the gene pool?
It’s really only fair.
And last on the list tonight is a picture that I had done while in Disneyland in June. It is the moosh’s real name hand painted in Disney Princesses. This is impressive for two reasons. Number one being that it is impressive. Number two is that I FRAMED IT ALL BY MYSELF. Put it together and EVERYTHING. LET’S SEE YOU DO THAT METALIA!
Anyway. Since I’m not going to share the moosh’s real name here on the world wide web I’ll first show you the wicked awesome frame job that is so much more awesome than any ultrasound picture of Metalia’s.
And then I’ll show you a few letters from the painting.
This is Snow White as an L.
This is Cinderella as an A.
And this is Ariel as an E.
Pretty amazing, eh?
I’m off to eat more Cheetos. And sleep on my stomach, because PREGNANT PEOPLE CAN’T SLEEP ON THEIR STOMACH.
My sister knew from a very young age that she wanted to be a vet.
She has worked at the same animal hospital for over ten years.
I knew from a very young age that I wanted to be a gardener, in the symphony, a physical therapist, a dance therapist, an artist, a ballerina, a writer, a Porche driver, a professional soccer player, a speed skater and beauty queen.
Here I am at 25, a stay at home mom with an idle degree in graphic design. (While the SAHM title is honorable, it’s not exactly rocket science, OOH! Astronaut! I could be an astronaut!)
Whoo! For dreams! goals! and ambitions!
I want to go back to school, scratch that, I will go back to school. And when I go back I’ll become a web designer, a pastry chef, a photographer, an ASL interpreter, and I’ll also get my nursing degree and a degree in social work all while going to medical school on the side. Maybe I’ll even hit law school when all that gets boring. Oh, and there’s all these other people who tell me I should be a writer. Both novels and children’s books.
I have this little voice in the back of my head that says “By the time you finish any of those you’ll be so OLD. Besides, you’re a big fat quitter, so quit while you’re ahead.”
SHUT UP VOICE I SAY!
But it’s true, I want to be good at so many things but want to be good at them immediately. The only thing I feel like I’ve ever been good at immediately was baking. Now if everything else in my life could come that easy I sure would appreciate it.
Even little things like Dance Dance Revolution. Do you have any IDEA how frustrating it is to practice a song for over an hour only to have your HUSBAND BEAT YOUR HIGH SCORE ON HIS FIRST TRY?
C’mon universe, GIVE ME SOMETHING!
I so want to be something, to do something with my life. To have mad wicked skills at all sorts of stuff. Musically, athletically, academically, craftily. I’ll keep on trying, and in the mean time…
Will someone else tell please decide what I should be when I grow up?
How did you decide what you wanted to be when you grew up?
And when will I get really good at Guitar Hero?