A lot has happened since we moved to the new place. For starters, J and I are no longer. Those of you who know us are not shocked at all by that news, we were rolling downhill faster than the gyrowheel (See "physics for the real world" post) and it was basically done shortly before we even moved. Without getting into the details, we are both happier for it. Yay!!
There is a new development in the world of Sy and I. We have a little family going on! I met a man named David and he has brought a daughter and lovely extended family into the mix. We couldn't be any happier! You will meet David and his daughter during the course of this blog I am sure. In fact, they were mentioned in the previous posting "He sees you when you're sleeping".
Happy 2013 in a few days!
Saturday, December 29, 2012
He sees you when you're sleeping...
Merry Christmas all!
This past year has been quite a lovely one indeed. I got married to the man of my dreams earlier in the month and was blessed to have my first Christmas with the in laws! Woo! Historically, I have dreaded Christmas at the "in laws". My ex's family is so VASTLY different than my own family that it was akin to pulling teeth to get me to go there. It was a very stressful event and often I had to be dragged kicking and screaming up the mountain, and would fine a quiet corner to hide in until I was permitted to go home.
This year, my husband wanted me to spend time with his family so the boy and I wouldn't be alone during the holidays. I love my sister in law, her wife, and my niece (and her boyfriend) and have spent time with them in the past. The little man also enjoys time spent in the company of his aunties, cousin and her boyfriend! This particular trip we opted to spend the night there and boy oh boy are we happy that we did!
Christmas eve was filled with warm laughter, chocolate fountains (just for the adults! Teehee), COZYNESS, cookies and milk, magic reindeer food and the boy was introduced to video games (hilarity ensued). It was absolutely wonderful! We tucked the little man in after a symphony of "I'm not tired" and "I can stay up!" The adults then ate more chocolate and proceeded to put the gifts out under the tree. Lovely. Just my style of night! After talking to my daughter on the phone until late in the night, I dragged my candy cane dust coated carcass off to the spare room to join my little muffin with dreams of sugar plum faeries dancing in my head. The sand man was particularly heavy handed with the sleeping powder because as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. As in TKO.
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| Wake up, buttercup. Time to open gifts. |
The next thing I know, I hear a little voice chirping. Did that little voice just say my name? "Mom?" (Yep, that page was for me.) As I rouse myself into a semi lucid state my son's voice filters through my brain straight to my heart. If there is any way for a voice to actually SOUND like Christmas, his did. Right there in that one syllable was all the excitement and wonder of childhood. As I peeled my eyelids apart, my son's rosy cheeked, hinkey toothed grin welcomed me into Christmas morning, 2012. Knowing that the boy A) needed to go to the bathroom and B) I couldn't physically make him wait any longer without breaking some kind of United Nations law against torture, I released the lad from the bedroom. As he sped past the tree his awe struck voice floated back to me... "He CAME!" Yes he sure did! Sy came back to the bedroom (as everyone over the age 18 was sound asleep still) and recounted the tale of exactly how Santa knew where he was and how to drop off his loot at a place other than home. I lay there and listened to him detail how *he* has a special connection to Rudolph, because he left the reindeer food last year and this year, and how Santa himself said that he was "looking forward to seeing him" Christmas eve. After all, he sees you when you're sleeping.
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| "And he took a right at Albuquerque..." |
He didn't have to wait long after that before we made a skype connection with my mother in law, daughter and other family from out of town, and unleashed him on a pile of gifts. He tore into those poor, unsuspecting things with sniper like precision and ferocity of a rabid ferret. Wrapping paper shrapnel was strewn everywhere. I think he may be ambidextrous because at one point it seemed as though he was destroying wrapping with one hand and playing with a toy in the other. It was a beautiful thing to see, family sharing his excitement, everyone doing basically the same as he was, laughter, love and joy permeating the whole day. It was an unforgettable Christmas.
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| Imma let you finish, but first, lemme tear into these bad boys. |
Thanks to my Husband, I will now be able to share moments like this and many more in the future with a group of people I feel 100% comfortable with. The only kicking and screaming I did this year was out of laughter. Thank you, David, for this precious gift of family. \m/_
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| Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. |
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Zom-Be-gone
If you know me, or are getting to know me from this blog, you will know that I have a pretty poor filter and I tend to blurt out very random or very silly things depending on the situation at hand. I have also found that fear or surprise (often one and the same for me) will disengage the coherent language function of my brain and activate the Koko the signing gorilla gibberish blurt mode. I am also a stress laugher. More times than I would like to admit, I laugh at the most inopportune time possible. My laugh during these times tends to be a shrill, piercing laugh that is somewhere between sheer hysterics and mad as a hatter. I'm a keeper.
A few months after moving, I took a new job that is located in a pretty non-descript office building. You know the kind, every movie has them. Lots of very new age looking glass, beautiful shiny tile floors, high traffic well thought out carpeting, chrome everywhere, sterile and conducive to good business. There is a beautiful lobby with touch screens to look up what companies call this building home, complete with a small sitting area adjacent to the elevators. There is no true smell in the building, all traces of individuality have been meticulously scrubbed by a dedicated group of cleaning people. That is, until a lady comes in with a love of her perfume. A floral trail will follow her through the maze of hallways and offices until both trail and trailblazer find their way back to the outdoors where chemical flowers are diffused by proper ones. Men and women scuttle around with files and very important documents that need to be scanned, printed, stapled, faxed and stamped "received" from 8:00 am to 5:00pm Monday through Friday. Employees use electronic key cards to beep their way into the sections of the hive that we are assigned to work in, keeping everyone separate and safe from the general public who may wander in for a meeting or consultation with any of the uniformed staff. The uniform of this particular building is the suit. Men in suits, women in suits, dressy suits, business casual suits. Except our little nook of course! We are the people who are lucky enough to come in wearing jeans, sweatshirts and Birkenstocks looking quite out of place in the world of corporate America. Our industry allows us the comfort of dressing slightly more comfortable than our starched counterparts in the office building. Yes, I work at another large company. This one however, is not the same type of worker sweatshop as the previous one, but I digress.
Business for me is a familiar cube surrounded by technology, getting things processed and churning billable numbers for the new set of "mgt". Part of my job means that at times, I must work late at the office. The receptionists leave, the lights are dimmed to an acceptable level of dim throughout the building with the exception of the cool and nonchalant lobby on the first floor. All the doors that are normally kept open during business hours are locked up tight and business is put on hold in all the little honey hive offices until the next day when the nasdaq and dow are pumping their piston fury rise and fall once again. But I am there late. And quite alone. The warm glow of my computer screen keeps me company as workers leave, tired and ready for the weekend where they will trade the suits for plaid shorts and bbq tongs. And then I am alone. Normally, its not too much of a problem, being alone. However, on these nights I listen to the quiet creaking of the building as it settles in for its own weekend, free of the tiny human cells that course through its hallway veins. I am alone and I get the distinct feeling the building would like to be alone as well.
I have quite an imagination. When I am alone and my own work day is coming to a slow post-sunset end, the inevitable downward spiral begins. I am alone. And alone after dark means boogie men of all shapes and sizes are waiting to chew on my flesh in all the shadowed corners from my desk to my car. That walk, down dimmed hallways, echo filled stairwells or the brash loud elevator (that during sunlit days is much more demure), is riddled with figments of my imagination waiting to pounce on me from behind and drag me off under the stairs to delight in every conceivable torture. Not one human ear in the building, who wants to be ALONE, can hear my mews pleading for help. The cold sweat begins. I am going to have to transport my very soft self, full of deliciousness that bad things would love to feast on, out to my car. No silver bullets, no golden shields, no intrinsic sense of post-apocopliptic survival, and a very ominous sense of plausibility for every monster movie that I have watched from behind my trembling hands.
So begins my quest to my car Friday night. This month, the media and pop culture has latched onto my least favorite undead character and of course, I was obsessing about how I would make it to the safety of my car through throngs of zombies. I so hate zombies. They are the creepiest movie monster that I could even begin to think of! They like scary dark places, they are already dead so only a well stocked militia could hope to rescue themselves, people such as myself often trip and are engulfed by the pulsing hoard as the fitter, armed movie characters bound to safety and ultimately "get the girl". Great. Not to mention the more recent zombie movie that I watched with Will Smith, had the cancer virus zombies hiding out in a .... large... dark... office building. Not too unlike the one I was exiting.
As I made my way past the break room, I was faced with the bane of my night time existance. The dark, 30 foot hallway, at the end of which is a door with no windows that will lead me to the elevator or the stairs. I steel myself to make it down that hall, because the other route out of the building is past too many empty and dark offices where the beasts of my imagination are rousing from their slumber, so the safest is the dark hall. I tread lightly, my chuck taylors helping me pad softly to the heavy door, so nothing from the underworld can hear me sneaking home, very eager to give them their peace and quiet. The pounding of my heart and the clammy jitters surge me forward as I stealthily grasp the handle of the door before I bolt my escape to the relative safety of the stairwell. As my blood rushed its white water siren through my eardrums, washing away all sound, more specifically the sound of another person beeping their entry by way of electronic key card, I throw the door open directly into the very sturdy body of a non-imagination. My senses come to a crescendo as I realize that I have encountered SOMETHING! Probably the worst *thing* that hell can drag up! I stagger backwards, a scream racing from my toes straight out of my mouth as a very tall, very solid, very bearded man stumbled around the door that was close to concussing him and offers his own baritone warble to my glass cracking screech. It is then, that we both come to the split second realization, that we are in the company of another living breathing human being and the ridiculousness of our panic is exposed by the office world crashing back down around us, replacing the cobwebs and tombs of our imagination with glass and chrome sterility.
He fumbles out an apology. I, having logic evicted from my brain, rush out the words "Oh my God! Sorry! I so hate zombies! I'm... well, I hate them! *insert mad hatter laughter here* Woah! I thought you were ... you know! *Mad hatter hysterics*" All the while, I am clutching my chest and have fallen back, my chest heaving with my lungs clawing and gasping air into them.
His pale reply, peppered with halting laughter of his own, as his hand flutters around his heart, "A zombie!! *ha ha* I know! I hate them! If it makes you feel better *ha ha*, my office is right down there... you know... I'd protect you there in case of zombies!*Ha ha*!"
I'm sure the building was amused as we excused and 'sorry'd ourselves out of each others company, to rush red faced to our respective destinations. The stairwell and lobby smirking as I rushed out to my car. So silly. Zombies.
Office Zombie protector and I saw each other in the lunch room Monday afternoon and as he walked by he softly said "So they didn't get us, huh." Don't worry, I know where your office is in case of attack.
Business for me is a familiar cube surrounded by technology, getting things processed and churning billable numbers for the new set of "mgt". Part of my job means that at times, I must work late at the office. The receptionists leave, the lights are dimmed to an acceptable level of dim throughout the building with the exception of the cool and nonchalant lobby on the first floor. All the doors that are normally kept open during business hours are locked up tight and business is put on hold in all the little honey hive offices until the next day when the nasdaq and dow are pumping their piston fury rise and fall once again. But I am there late. And quite alone. The warm glow of my computer screen keeps me company as workers leave, tired and ready for the weekend where they will trade the suits for plaid shorts and bbq tongs. And then I am alone. Normally, its not too much of a problem, being alone. However, on these nights I listen to the quiet creaking of the building as it settles in for its own weekend, free of the tiny human cells that course through its hallway veins. I am alone and I get the distinct feeling the building would like to be alone as well.
I have quite an imagination. When I am alone and my own work day is coming to a slow post-sunset end, the inevitable downward spiral begins. I am alone. And alone after dark means boogie men of all shapes and sizes are waiting to chew on my flesh in all the shadowed corners from my desk to my car. That walk, down dimmed hallways, echo filled stairwells or the brash loud elevator (that during sunlit days is much more demure), is riddled with figments of my imagination waiting to pounce on me from behind and drag me off under the stairs to delight in every conceivable torture. Not one human ear in the building, who wants to be ALONE, can hear my mews pleading for help. The cold sweat begins. I am going to have to transport my very soft self, full of deliciousness that bad things would love to feast on, out to my car. No silver bullets, no golden shields, no intrinsic sense of post-apocopliptic survival, and a very ominous sense of plausibility for every monster movie that I have watched from behind my trembling hands.
 |
| Sleep? Who needs it. |
So begins my quest to my car Friday night. This month, the media and pop culture has latched onto my least favorite undead character and of course, I was obsessing about how I would make it to the safety of my car through throngs of zombies. I so hate zombies. They are the creepiest movie monster that I could even begin to think of! They like scary dark places, they are already dead so only a well stocked militia could hope to rescue themselves, people such as myself often trip and are engulfed by the pulsing hoard as the fitter, armed movie characters bound to safety and ultimately "get the girl". Great. Not to mention the more recent zombie movie that I watched with Will Smith, had the cancer virus zombies hiding out in a .... large... dark... office building. Not too unlike the one I was exiting.
 |
| 'Scuse me, you dropped someone. |
As I made my way past the break room, I was faced with the bane of my night time existance. The dark, 30 foot hallway, at the end of which is a door with no windows that will lead me to the elevator or the stairs. I steel myself to make it down that hall, because the other route out of the building is past too many empty and dark offices where the beasts of my imagination are rousing from their slumber, so the safest is the dark hall. I tread lightly, my chuck taylors helping me pad softly to the heavy door, so nothing from the underworld can hear me sneaking home, very eager to give them their peace and quiet. The pounding of my heart and the clammy jitters surge me forward as I stealthily grasp the handle of the door before I bolt my escape to the relative safety of the stairwell. As my blood rushed its white water siren through my eardrums, washing away all sound, more specifically the sound of another person beeping their entry by way of electronic key card, I throw the door open directly into the very sturdy body of a non-imagination. My senses come to a crescendo as I realize that I have encountered SOMETHING! Probably the worst *thing* that hell can drag up! I stagger backwards, a scream racing from my toes straight out of my mouth as a very tall, very solid, very bearded man stumbled around the door that was close to concussing him and offers his own baritone warble to my glass cracking screech. It is then, that we both come to the split second realization, that we are in the company of another living breathing human being and the ridiculousness of our panic is exposed by the office world crashing back down around us, replacing the cobwebs and tombs of our imagination with glass and chrome sterility.
 |
| Sorry about your heart attack, sir. |
He fumbles out an apology. I, having logic evicted from my brain, rush out the words "Oh my God! Sorry! I so hate zombies! I'm... well, I hate them! *insert mad hatter laughter here* Woah! I thought you were ... you know! *Mad hatter hysterics*" All the while, I am clutching my chest and have fallen back, my chest heaving with my lungs clawing and gasping air into them.
His pale reply, peppered with halting laughter of his own, as his hand flutters around his heart, "A zombie!! *ha ha* I know! I hate them! If it makes you feel better *ha ha*, my office is right down there... you know... I'd protect you there in case of zombies!*Ha ha*!"
I'm sure the building was amused as we excused and 'sorry'd ourselves out of each others company, to rush red faced to our respective destinations. The stairwell and lobby smirking as I rushed out to my car. So silly. Zombies.
Office Zombie protector and I saw each other in the lunch room Monday afternoon and as he walked by he softly said "So they didn't get us, huh." Don't worry, I know where your office is in case of attack.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Walking on Sunshine. Wait, thats *NOT* Sunshine!!!
There are times in peoples lives where you need the solidarity of a group of people that have shared a common experience and I am no different. Some people enjoy Harley Davidsons and join a bike group, others like stupid blogs and find the most ridiculous ones that they can, other people have a hankering for Hello Kitty band-aids and are able to find a flock of people that have that same bend. (Just to make it clear, I do not have a joke writing, Harley Davidson riding, Hello Kitty fetish. Just sayin')
A few weeks ago I signed up for a group that I thought I could get a lot out of and the first meeting was last Tuesday. Before I packed myself off to the group, I made a wonderful dinner, gave a ton of silly kisses to Sy, had a LOVELY phone conversation that just set up one of the best moods I have had in a great long time! What a PERFECT day! The sun was just setting as I collected myself into the car for my very first meeting! I hoped I wouldn't say anything silly, or be too obviously "new"(crowds of new people are very intimidating to me), so to ease my mind I turned on my playlist. I have lots and LOTS of songs (as most people do) and for some reason, it was ON that night! Songs I had not heard in a long time were played and for the drive over there, it was AMAZING!
Very rarely does the playlist pick such gems for me to listen to!
WOW! This whole playlist with all sorts of genres was just rocking all the good stuff! I was swept away by nostalgia and fuzzy feelings.
From the beautiful weather, the amazing phone call, Sy being just chewably adorable, to the playlist, my life was perfect! I hit every green light on the way there. Oh yeah, perfect day!
There is only one problem with this whole story. (No, not that I am not making it all up.) Unfortunately, I forgot precisely what group it was I was headed to. Not to say I had forgotten the NAME of the group, just the point of the group that I was about to attend. Had I remembered, I don't think I would have sailed into that room with such swagger.
The feeling of total inappropriateness enveloped me like an ill fitting, hand made, itchy Christmas sweater. Once I owned that room, there was no giving it up. I held the floor. With sunshine and rainbows pouring in behind me like Rainbow Brite's drunken sorority sisters, I felt like I had just "pre-gamed" an AA group. Terrible.
I just walked into a Grief share group with the blinding smile of Ghandi. The whole point of going there was to bond with other people who have had significant losses in their lives, but let me tell you, I sure didn't LOOK the part. There were gray haired older people, looking morosely into their tepid coffee then scanning the room half heartedly with rheumy eyes. There were middle aged people with their eyebrows knitted into a permanent scowl. And there was me. They all looked over as I swept into the room, the smell of unicorns and meadows boiling in behind me. The only thing that I could do in that moment was defend myself. They didn't know my story, I had a right to be there! So with an overly loud voice I announce, "Sorry! I really AM sad! Sometimes.... just not right now!"
Typical "Dani" fashion. What a dork.
Thankfully, they didn't turn on me with pitchforks and torches. Instead, a very pleasant grey haired woman led me to the table where the tepid coffee was fermenting and the snacks were resting comfortably. She welcomed me with a tear soaked smile and in her own quiet way reminded me that even though we all grieve, happiness is always allowed. =)
A few weeks ago I signed up for a group that I thought I could get a lot out of and the first meeting was last Tuesday. Before I packed myself off to the group, I made a wonderful dinner, gave a ton of silly kisses to Sy, had a LOVELY phone conversation that just set up one of the best moods I have had in a great long time! What a PERFECT day! The sun was just setting as I collected myself into the car for my very first meeting! I hoped I wouldn't say anything silly, or be too obviously "new"(crowds of new people are very intimidating to me), so to ease my mind I turned on my playlist. I have lots and LOTS of songs (as most people do) and for some reason, it was ON that night! Songs I had not heard in a long time were played and for the drive over there, it was AMAZING!
Love Katrina and the Waves!
See the crease? I draw on real paper, people.
WOW! This whole playlist with all sorts of genres was just rocking all the good stuff! I was swept away by nostalgia and fuzzy feelings.
Dropkick Murphys?! WHAAAAT?!
From the beautiful weather, the amazing phone call, Sy being just chewably adorable, to the playlist, my life was perfect! I hit every green light on the way there. Oh yeah, perfect day!
The 90's RULED!
There is only one problem with this whole story. (No, not that I am not making it all up.) Unfortunately, I forgot precisely what group it was I was headed to. Not to say I had forgotten the NAME of the group, just the point of the group that I was about to attend. Had I remembered, I don't think I would have sailed into that room with such swagger.
Ah crap. Sinking feeling in 3... 2... 1...
The feeling of total inappropriateness enveloped me like an ill fitting, hand made, itchy Christmas sweater. Once I owned that room, there was no giving it up. I held the floor. With sunshine and rainbows pouring in behind me like Rainbow Brite's drunken sorority sisters, I felt like I had just "pre-gamed" an AA group. Terrible.
Way to go.
I just walked into a Grief share group with the blinding smile of Ghandi. The whole point of going there was to bond with other people who have had significant losses in their lives, but let me tell you, I sure didn't LOOK the part. There were gray haired older people, looking morosely into their tepid coffee then scanning the room half heartedly with rheumy eyes. There were middle aged people with their eyebrows knitted into a permanent scowl. And there was me. They all looked over as I swept into the room, the smell of unicorns and meadows boiling in behind me. The only thing that I could do in that moment was defend myself. They didn't know my story, I had a right to be there! So with an overly loud voice I announce, "Sorry! I really AM sad! Sometimes.... just not right now!"
Typical "Dani" fashion. What a dork.
Thankfully, they didn't turn on me with pitchforks and torches. Instead, a very pleasant grey haired woman led me to the table where the tepid coffee was fermenting and the snacks were resting comfortably. She welcomed me with a tear soaked smile and in her own quiet way reminded me that even though we all grieve, happiness is always allowed. =)
Monday, January 23, 2012
Turkey day... belated as it is.
There has been an awful lot going on in the life of us. We decided that we wanted to move and started that ball rolling in the summer time. Since then, I liberated myself from the giant machine and began working in the community much more. It is so pleasant!
I also cooked the Thanksgiving meal for Jesse's family. I must admit I love to cook. I mean, I LOVE to cook! I can make a tomato sauce that would bring tears of joy to your Italian grandmothers eyes, I can make meatballs that would end wars, and I can make chicken wings that men engage in fisticuffs to simply taste, and my turkey is no exception. I make a mean turkey for Thanksgiving. Of course, along with the turkey, there must come sides. Lots and lots of sides. You know that saying "if you want something done you have to do it yourself"... I live by it when cooking. Delegation is not something that I am well practiced in. Its a fault to some I suppose.
The preparation for the turkey is a multi day process, so about three weeks before any major meal, I make a timeline and post it to the fridge. All the sides are also noted and posted where they should be. My fridge looked like the wall of a inner city detective about to make a break in a serial case. This year it was ratatouille, cheesecake, two varieties of jalapeno pepper bombs (cherry and bacon) as well as raisin sauce for the "back up ham" (*Scoff* it wasn't needed but a ham was produced anyways) strawberry sauce for the cheesecake AND of course, what thanksgiving meal is complete without turkey and cranberry sauce. All made by scratch. By me. The other members of his family also brought their own things to the meal, potatoes, roasted veggies, dressing, rolls, various desserts and other delicious bites for the meal. It was a military operation by the sheer size. But I digress.
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| It all fits, but HOW!? |
After tending to and meticulously creating each dish, slicing and dicing, reducing by half and stirring, I had become a little tired. The kind of tired where most things are funny and the pink ferret you just saw scamper through your hot air balloon may or may not be real. I thought to myself in the confusion of the whole meal (you haven't met that guy's family, meals are confusing) I had better label my sauces at least so no one wound up with strawberry sauce on their turkey or raisin sauce in their mulled wine. I found note cards and set to work with a permanent marker. The fumes are strong in those little suckers.
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| Gobble gobble! |
After the first one, announcing that the sauce is for the turkey, I got a little carried away.
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| Just do as Mr. Sun tells you. |
 |
| Glaring spelling mistake, anyone? |
I admit, I started this little project pretty late and I was already hopped up with the notion of providing holiday bliss to a large number of loud and hungry people. But the rats spelling mistake is one that I should have caught. But I was sniffing that permanent marker and dared to continue.
This little guy is I think the one that tipped me over the edge. If anyone has seen me "draw" you will know that I lean quite close to the page. The little gobbler here has way more black lines than the others and my nose was pretty much sitting on the pen the entire time. I was on a roll!!
*shakes head*
"Oh come on" is right.
This little birdie mirrors the incredulous mortification that I felt the next day with my blazing sharpie-marker-hangover headache. How is it I could spend so much time coloring in the turkey settings?! Well, they were done and brought to the dinner anyways. As it happens, they were quite a hit!!
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