Nutcase 101

Happy 4th! Today is America’s birthday and people are running around with sparklers, watching the fireworks and BBQing the heck out of pieces of meat.

But over here in the land of Nut, we’re celebrating another kind of freedom. B got himself a new, same-ol’ gig. Confuzzled?

See B was a contractor for a client for the last seven years. Then in December/January some shit hit the fan and splattered allover the ceiling of life. B unfortunately was in between the shit thrower and the shit. Yeah, not good but thankfully his awesome skills allowed him to come out of the situation smelling like roses when he cleaned the shit up and used it to make things grow.

And now he’s no longer a contractor but an employee of his former client.

But that’s not the best part. No, my lovelies, the kicker is that he gets vacation. PAID VACATION. When you’re a self-employeed worker, you don’t look forward to vacation because it means not earning money. We’ve been in situations where we relied on B to bring home the bacon and then we were in times where he could take time off but we were trying to meet goals. Vacation was never a real priority for B and in the last five years, the most consecutive time off B’s taken is 3 days – when we got married.

Now, he gets three weeks off and sick days. He can go away and relax, not worried what to do with a short paycheck or figure out a way to make those hours up. We can walk on a beach and enjoy each other. There are locations where you need more than a week to explore and now those are on our agenda. Of course, there is the sick days, he can get sick and take days off to get well. In the past, he’d find ways to make up the hours as soon as he wasn’t contagious – which could lead to a relapse.

I’ll be honest, I cried when I thought about him just being able to not have that pressure anymore. Then I booked a cruise to a Hawaii. (Kidding! We’re going to Florida next month to celebrate my parents 40th Anniversary and we can stay longer than we had originally planned because of our new situation.)

There were pros and cons to the change but we’re incredibly happy with what this new gig will afford us in the near and distant future.

I haven’t left you guys. I’ve been hiding out at http://twochicksknitting.wordpress.com

But, I’ll be here to rant about life and it’s unfairness for having a rather large ass. And too small boobs for said ass.

Also, I’ve been writing a dear BP, fuck you for killing my childhood home and a lot of people I know livelihoods letter but I keep deleting it. Every time I start writing the letter I want choke someone and then I start crying. As I am about to right now.

Maybe in a day or two I can compose the letter to my satisfaction.

He sat on the couch next to me, took my hand and our fingers entwined. Shoulder to shoulder with something blaring on the television but it was that moment that I felt we’d been together forever. And I knew that I had just given my heart to a man on our very first date.

It was the most relaxing moment of my life, my heart didn’t race with excitement but settled into the ease of comfort of what love really is. It’s not to say that he doesn’t make my toes curl when he kisses me, because he totally does but it was having that realization that I’d found the perfect partner in crime. And we’ve been together for over five years but man and wife, today we hit two.

Happy Anniversary B, I am so glad to be your wife. And I look forward to sitting on the couch with you holding hands for a long time.

Today, I got to say good-bye to Das Frankenboot!

After four weeks of wearing this five pound contraption on my left foot (and let me tell you, the calf muscles on my left leg are GREAT!), it’s finally gone. And honestly, I’d do a happy dance if I could.

But today I had more x-rays before I got my pardon and I had the forethought to capture my bones for your viewing pleasure. Also, I have a weird fascination with x-rays.

This x-ray shows you my fracture on the day of the ‘incident’ as it’s currently being called. If you look above the mouse pointer, you’ll see the small crack in the fourth metatarsal. If only my grandmother, a former nurse, could see how I correctly used my limited knowledge of the skeletal system.

And today’s x-ray! It looks 10 times worse than the previous because the crack looks wider and it appears that I did more damage to myself since the original ‘incident’. But that’s the wrong line of thought. Because I don’t have the real x-ray image (these were captured with my iPhone), you’d see that there is new bone in the crevice. Also, I’m standing in the second x-ray because I can actually put weight on my foot again – that first x-ray, I was in a small amount of pain. There was no standing.

So, now you’ve had a bit of anatomy fun with Nutcase, I won’t scare you with the ugly (but comfortable) footwear that I’ll be wearing for the next six weeks.

Another look back, this story takes place in 2004. Enjoy.

It was 11:30 pm on a Saturday night. People around me were drinking, playing beer pong, making out in the corner or challenging each other to see who could do the longest keg stand. At the ripe old age of 24 and eleven months, I was too old for these sophomorish shenanigans.

The party was at someone’s rented house that I kind of knew through a friend that was in a class with a boy that was cute by my friend’s standards. Said friend wanted to an excuse to check out her classmate with full on beer goggles with the hope that he’d have his beer goggles on as well. Then who knew what would happen to them. (I think she had their wedding planned before we had entered said party door.)

I’d ended up at the party to make sure that my friend didn’t do anything stupid and because I needed to get out of the lab/library/apartment. Me, I was incredibly happy with my laptop or a book. They didn’t spill libations on me or try to pet my hair or (and honestly this happened and there are witnesses) lift me off of the dance floor in a He-Man-esque type move.

And this night wasn’t much different. There was one gentleman that had started drinking early in the evening and anyone with a pair of breasts was his target. Thankfully, I was able to tell him that the cute guy sitting on the couch was my boyfriend and that I was off the market. I scooted my way to the couch, sat down and started talking to the light-brown haired guy with a huge smile, like I had been looking for him everywhere. Thankfully, this tactic worked because my liquor lothario was on his way to his next target and I started up a really great conversation.

I had no clue who I was chatting with but we started talking, trying to figure out how we’d been conned into going to this gathering. We found out that we had a lot in common and decided that the couch was probably the safest place to stay while our ‘friends’ were off getting their party on. We chatted for two and a half hours until my friend came out of the back of the house crying because in true party fashion, her crush had a girlfriend but didn’t disclose this information until after my friend and he decided to see how much they could recall from Anatomy 101.

That meant I would be making a quick exit, needing to console my friend and said good-bye to cute guy on the couch.

My friend left whining about how glad she’d never marry her crush and I left with the contact information for my future husband.

Saturday I did something that I don’t normally do, I was social with strangers. Not in the “Get out of my way” in the grocery store manner but a nice “How do you do?”

The week before I had decided to be adventurous and check out a new local knitting store that is right down the road from our apartment. (B, sorry, that means a lot more yarn is going to be adopted and making it’s home with us.) The owner had converted an old craftsman style house into a yarn store but kept all the warmth of walking into someones abode when you crossed the threshold.

You walk into a livingroom that happens to house yarn on the shelves instead of family photos and books. The dining area is ready for you to sit down to supper but the china hutch bursts forth with color of cashmere, not Grandma’s fine china. This repeats from room to room, except for the kitchen where tea, coffee, cookies and cupcakes await to be eaten.

Basically wants to make a knitter/crocheter fat and happy.

Anyone who walks in the door is encouraged to bring in their knitting, sit on the couch and just chat. So, this past Saturday I did. I was bold enough come in (and spend a pretty penny on some Cascade Ultra Pima), then work on the hat that I’m making for B. I met some wonderful ladies, learned about the various classes and had people complement me on my knits.

And the good news, I survived. I put myself out there to interact with strangers and it wasn’t too bad. I’ll definitely be back.

(This was supposed to have been published February 11th but I forgot – Ooops.)

Two million, six hundred twenty-eight thousand minutes.

That’s how long B and I have been walking this earth declaring our love for one another. And honestly, I had no clue that much time I had passed since we first decided that I’ll be his and he’ll be mine.

Ours wasn’t a traditional meeeting: Girl meets boy on couch of loud party. Boy talks to girl to not be bored at party he didn’t really want to attend. Girl responds to boy because she’s at a party that she didn’t really want to attend. Boy looks for common thread to make the time more enjoyable and Girl talks about computers, servers and connection speed. Boy gets really excited because Girl speaks fluent geek.

From that fun filled night of discussing processors and IT follies, we exchanged numbers and Instant Messaging accounts. Yes, we’re that dorky. And from that party until today, we’ve spoken every day.

We also knew that he was just visiting my locale when we left each other that night but decided it would be great to have friends in different locations. The friendly chats turned flirty and we decided we needed to see each other just one last time. Because what we had couldn’t be ‘real’, it was just harmless fun and a mere fascination.

But, two states, over 5000 miles flown and 600 plus miles driven and hundreds of thousands of cell phone minutes, we sit here married and very much in-love.

To you B, love of my life. I’m so glad you sat on that couch bored out of your mind five years ago. May we speak geek with fervor for many, many more years.

Yes, I used the f-word in the title of my post. Pull your jaw up off of the floor and make sure you don’t bite your tongue as you roll it back up into your head.

Life is hunky doory.

Oh wait it’s not always happy. Sometimes it is.

But right now, we’re trying to figure out which way is up because we’ve been through a lot of good and bad change in our lives in just the last couple of months. A lot of it is really affecting B, because people in this world aren’t always who you thought that they would be and sometimes they change on a dime.

But there have been a lot of freaking awesome. People that take time out of their lives to tell you that you’re appreciated and they think you’re worth keeping around. This has been a continuing thread in both B and I’s lives and that gives us the warm fuzzy feeling inside.

I wasn’t going to write this post. Hell, I put up a fluff piece about the cats. THE CATS. I love the cats but they haven’t cured cancer or done anything YouTube worthy for them to become internet stars.

So, life is life. It’s fun, scary and damn interesting moment-by-moment. Honestly, I’d like it to slow down a bit to the pace it was before but if this is what it takes for B and I to make a life for ourselves, then so be it.

(Part two of two on religion in my life.)

The question I dread when I go home to visit my family is, “Have you found a church home?”. I use to be direct, with a “No.” Then of course that leads into the dreaded, “Why? Why not?” and that’s when I typically find a big ol’dish of bean dip to hand the inquisitor.

I know that they pray for my ‘lost soul’ but my soul isn’t lost or wandering around without spiritual guidance. I’m getting plenty of it in my daily discussions with God. I pray fervently in all things, good, bad, and ridiculous. I think a bad thought and I ask forgiveness. I cuss out the driver that cut me off and I pray for God to give him guidance (and sometimes I think that it should be off the road and into a poll – but then I have to pray for forgiveness). I pray for people that have to go through horrific ordeals and I am thankful for all that I’m given.

But the bottom line is that the only judgment that I need is God’s.

Some glad morning when this life is o’er,
I’ll fly away;
To a home on God’s celestial shore,
I’ll fly away (I’ll fly away).

I’ll fly away, Oh Glory
I’ll fly away; (in the morning)
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,
I’ll fly away (I’ll fly away).

(Fair warning: This post deals with spirituality and is part one of two.)

This old church hymn haunts a lot of memories of my childhood, teenage years and adulthood. In each phase the lyrics evoked different emotions in my soul.

As a child, it was a promise of what was to come if I followed the hallowed rules that my parents set for me because in my eyes, they were my deity on Earth that I was to obey so that the real God would allow me to cross through the pearly gates when I was to no longer roam in this world.

As a teenager, it was what I clung to when others my age were experimenting and walking, running away from the harsh bound bible that was thrown at them when they did something wrong. I knew that if I kept up my walk of salvation that waiting until marriage, no drinking, getting good grades would be an honor to my God because I decided to walk with him and not ‘in this world’, my glory would be obtained.

And, as an adult, I realized that my clinging to what others wanted me to hold on to wouldn’t grant me my freedom in heaven but my allowing myself to be free to know myself in this world, I’d fly to learn who I am and what I really believe God is to me. And that was my glad morning.

I freely admit, to the dismay of my family, that I don’t go to church on a regular basis. Churches were made with the hands of man and my relationship with God was to be one between him and I, not between me, him and the intermediaries that believe that they are holier than me. Those that have proven, and again very recently, that the acts that they commit on behalf of their relationship with God can be done without regards for others, even if the righteous destroy the lives of good people for their benefit to worship.

One thing I do know is that there are good, spiritual people in this world. And, as I’ve stated before, each person’s relationship with a higher deity, or lack there of, is their own. For me, I believe that there is a God, who is – just is. But I will not accept the judgment of others and my faith because until that morning, I fly away, it is mine and mine alone.