Tuesday I'm pretty sure I experienced the full range of human emotions.
I started the day to the tune of a much-discussed sex alarm (you know what I'm talking about, right? The alarm you set extra early because you know that's going to happen anyway and you might just as well not be late for work?) (Patrick is convinced I'm weird (and awesome) for always setting that alarm, but I feel like it's just pure logic.) When the real alarm interrupted our snugglefest, he made me coffee while I got dressed.
Then I went to the dentist and had my teeth cleaned for the first time in six years. SIX YEARS. I was terrified. It HURT. (TARTAR BUILD UP MUCH?!?!) But it turns out I get to keep all my teeth! Sure I need eight fillings, but not a single root canal. My fear liquefied immediately into relief.
When I got home Patrick was still there and I made all of us omelets. Bacon and cheese for Cynthia; bacon, feta, sweet pepper, red onion and MAGIC for me and Patrick. We shared a bottle of mimosas and then headed back to bed in the middle of the day for a "nap." You'd think we'd be getting sick of each other by now, but you'd be wrong. I wish I had more writerly words for the safe, connected, cared for way he makes me feel, but I really don't. All I can say is that if you've had it, you know I'm not just being cheesy when I say we both feel "cherished." And if you haven't, I only hope you get to feel it some day.
After much laughter, love and cardiovascular shenanigans, I dragged my ass out of bed with a warmed up cup of stumptown and drove over the bridge to pick up the kids. Who were full of it all the way home. We stopped off for milk and apples at New Seasons and I almost had to strangle them for playing karate chop madness in the deli section. "STOP KICKING YOUR SISTER IN THE FACE" is not really something I ever expected to say in a grocery store.
Then the sun went down on our drive home and that's always bitter sweet in the Pacific North West. Because oh sad, the sun went down! But DOOOD, did you see that?! I'm pretty sure that was the sun!
At home I somehow managed to convince both children to immediately finish their homework before we baked chocolate chip cookies together. Then I made them a few boxes of Annie's mac n cheese while summoning up my most favorite of pasta recipes for Patrick and I. We actually toasted Joel with our Pinot Noir because it was his recipe and I will always remember it with a heart (and belly) full of love. (I let my food blog domain expire, but you can find the recipe HERE if you scroll down a bit...)
Then I got an e-mail from the Silver Fox hitting me up for date, which gave Patrick and I a good chance to talk polyamory (which we haven't had much time for since he got back). That always leaves us feeling more connected.
After dinner, I tucked the kids into their rooms and left them home with Cynthia so Patrick and I could head over to Al's Den to hear some friends play a show. Moorea sings like a goddess (you might remember her from American Idol) and Allie has this one song that makes me sob. The first time I heard them together I was snuggling Genoa on a couch in front of a fireplace at a friend's house. After Genoa passed out (it WAS two AM, so yeah), Allie told me the story behind that song and it was so close to my own, I can't hear it ever again without feeling that loss right along with her. Even in public, apparently. Patrick held me while she and Moorea sang it and he said he felt my body temperature rise at least ten degrees. I guess sadness makes me sweaty.
After the show we got home to find kids playing with a rainbow loom HAPPILY. Like, ZERO DRAMA. I have no idea who those children were, but I tucked them in bed, kissed my boyfriend goodbye and stayed up late to sign up for my first comedy open mic (which was last night - it went well!).
Even WITH the dental work, it was a good day. They seem to just keep getting better and better. No complaints here.
Tonight Genoa and I made tortilla pizzas with tomato butter sauce, fresh mozarella and honey-smoked deli ham. And as I was buttering her tortillas to make them crisp before adding the sauce, Patrick snuck into the house and surprised me with a hug. We laughed, we caught one another up on our respective days while Genoa refused to eat the very same pizza she had made for herself and then, while Patrick and I talked happily did her math homework on the kitchen stool Cynthia has had since college. He went home with (a dozen) kiss(es). I'm on my way to bed.
Life is calm. Strangely, absurdly calm. I'm healthy. I have health INSURANCE. (THANKS, OBAMA!) I get to see a dentist on Monday for the first time in over FIVE years. Dave and I always need to make adjustments to the annual schedule in January so we've separated the kids this week, which means I get Genoa alone until Saturday morning, then Alex alone till Monday, which shouldn't be, but is my favorite way to be with my children. Individually. I have NOTHING to complain about. Even when my poor Lola's water pump broke and cost me a fortune in car repairs, I was too happy with the mechanic for saving my favorite car ever that I wasn't phased. And my turn signals work! So everyone on the road can finally stop flipping me off!
Not that I don't have issues, because oh hell yeah, I do. Only this time, they're all mine. I blame no one but myself. I have ONE New Year's Resolution and it's to finally, once and for all, figure out my body/weight/size/dismorphia shit, because it's no fun. No fun at all. I'm a healthy, attractive, average-sized woman who once, for the briefest of magnificent, fleeting, sparkly years, experienced the holy grail of thinness.
Even worse - I understood what it was like to feel beautiful. NOT "you have such a pretty face." (SAY THOSE WORDS TO A FAT GIRL AND PREPARE TO DIE, AMIGO.) But beauty by conventional standards. Stupid, unrelenting, completely media and male-libido-driven standards. THIN standards. Standards that are unfair to my ego. Unfair to my athleticism (which still means I will SO FUCKING KICK YOUR ASS) (and I will be hungry, no let's make that STARVING LIKE A FOX, to maintain your ridiculous standards of beauty). To my daughter (who will no doubt inherit my inherent weakness).
Unfair to myself.
I don't like that the experience of thin privilege (thanks, Sis! I now know EXACTLY the hell of which you once spoke!) has given birth to new standards within myself. Standards I had never understood in other women, but now understand all too well. That last 20 pounds means something different to a fat girl than it does to a woman who has always been thin. I'm frustrated that the misery and anxiety I had due to my life circumstances sucked my hunger for life from me in such a way that I shriveled to an impossible-to-maintain size.
I hate that I LIKED it. Loved it, even. I shouldn't have. It SHOULDN'T MATTER. I'm smart. Beautiful. Capable. Privileged.
And that's my work to do.
I am happy. Truly content. Nothing to complain about! I have so much love. I AM loved. SO fucking loved. I feel ADORED even. And yet... this. All I can feel right now is that my belly (which is still 90% skin from losing so much god damn weight) is hanging over the waistband of my old fleece, kitty-themed pajama pants. No one can see me - I'm alone - and I'm sucking in my gut as I write this. Which makes breathing rather uncomfortable.
Let me say that more clearly - my body issues sometimes make it difficult for me to breathe.
So my only resolution for 2014 is to stop sucking in my motherfucking gut. To tell myself that I am both beautiful AND strong. My imperfections are what make me the woman I have always wanted to be. That I can run hard and fast and long. That I am more than any number ANYWHERE. Not on a scale. Not on a pedometer. Not on a calorie counter. Not on a treadmill. And definitely NOT in the back of my pants.
Happy 2014! Watch out. You are so going to be my bitch.
1. What did you do in 2013 that you’d never done before?
I hugged a tree.
I ran a half marathon. Or three.
I fell in love with a forest.
And a bridge.
And a town.
I wrote and performed a five-minute stand-up routine.
I bought a biodiesel.
I downsized my possessions and upsized my freedom.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I can't remember making any, so no. My only resolution for 2014 is to run. Just... keep running.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
My oldest bestest friend had a baby girl on December 6th. Her name is Piper. I have waited to meet her for a very, very long time. Decades. I was honestly a little terrified that my friend wouldn't ever get to be a mom and I can't even express how grateful I am to the universe for making it so. I've never been this excited about a baby that didn't come out of my own vagina. I got to meet her on Christmas day and she is the most beautiful child I've seen since my own. I was the one sobbing like a baby.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Unfortunately, yes. Oh Fred. It's still strange that I wasn't as close to Fred before he died as I feel like I am now that I'm living in his house. But he is missed daily. (Nobody tell him we're running the furnace this much, mmmkay?!)
5. What countries did you visit?
The People's Republic of Portland. Isweartogodthisistheyearirenewmypassportforfuckssake.
6. What would you like to have in 2014 that you lacked in 2013?
7. What dates from 2013 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
I feel like I should remember some sad dates, but without looking any of them up, I think of The 4th of July because it was my first real date with Patrick. Alex's birthday is up there too. Our trip to Disneyland was unforgettably awesome.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I chose my children and my happiness over romantic love. It sucked. Unfortunately there's no epidural for the human heart.
9. What was your biggest failure?
See number eight above.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Healthy as a fucking horse. And not just ANY horse, one of those Budweiser Clydsdales.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
Lola. Best car ever.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Samnterry. Again. I don't call them My People for nothing. (Patrick, who scraped Genoa's barf out of the back seat of my Dad's car on our trip to San Francisco, was a close second.)
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
My own. Again. I'm the only one capable of ruining my mental health.
14. Where did most of your money go?
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
St. John's. I've never loved a town this much. I'm gonna try to live here for the rest of my life.
16. What song will always remind you of 2012?
Fucking Problems by ASAP Rocky. I did so much awkward twerking to that song, you guys. You have no idea.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
20. How did you spend Christmas?
With my kids, my boyrfriend, my oldest friend, her baby and my big extended family. In California. It was rad.
21. Did you fall in love in 2012?
Yup. Even better is that my kids love Patrick as much as I do.
22. What was your favorite TV program?
Same response as last year: what is this "TV" of which you speak?!?
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
No. I can't think of ANYONE I hate.
24. What was the best book you read?
The Ethical Slut.
25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
26. What did you want and get?
27. What did you want and not get?
Joel. New year, same shit. Only this time I only miss having him as a friend. He won't speak to me, which is strange because at this point I only want to see how he's doing and pat him on the back for his nerdy Hitchcock writing.
28. What was your favorite film of this year?
Love Actually. TEN years running! It practically took an act of god to get my schedule to allow for it, but Patrick and I watched it right before Christmas. (Right after he showed me It's a Wonderful Life for the first time. We both cried at both movies.)
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 37. I was in California and Joel and I spent the day in San Francisco together.
30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2013?
Purple haired Penelope the pussy comic from portland.
32. What kept you sane?
Ramona. (My magical therapist). Always.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Queen Bey. Dayem.
34. What political issue stirred you the most?
35. Who did you miss?
Joel. Although less now than when we were still together.
36. Who was the best new person you met?
One Mr. Patrick Curtain. Sure, it wasn't the first time we met, but still. Keeper.
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2013.
Just. Keep. Running.
38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
I don't have my kids on Thanksgiving. Ever. Because holidays dedicated 100% to gluttony are simply not my thing. Never will be. As much as I love to cook, I HATE the traditional meals. I don't like how they taste and I don't enjoy preparing them. I haven't cooked a turkey or a ham or a roast beef in four years and no part of me misses spending all day worrying about and hovering over a slab of dead animal that I don't even like eating.
So instead of the traditional turkey, I made a vegetarian Indian feast for 20 of my closest friends. Homemade cheese for Saag Paneer! Homemade Naan! Vegetable curry! Indian rice! Mango dahl! It was epic and THAT was a meal I enjoyed preparing (especially since Sam, Terry, Sophie and Ginger all got covered in flour helping me with the naan). It was a perfect Thanksgiving. (Even sans wine, thankyouverymuch.)
And holy sheeeeeeet, do I have a lot to be grateful for this year. So much. Such a sharp contrast from last year. Last winter was... hard. I will forever refer to it as The Winter of Ill Repute because that's exactly what it was. Joel and I got into an epic text message fight last Thanksgiving. Oddly enough, the fight was because he told me he wasn't coming for dinner, so I invited Daniel* to join us and then Joel decided to come at the last minute and that set off an unfortunate series of events that led to us getting back together only to break up again three days before Christmas. Then the day after we broke up, Joel lost his main source of work. So we stayed together just to make it through the holiday without anyone slitting their wrists. I couldn't afford to heat the house. I wasn't talking to my family. SamnTerry were in Washington DC for two weeks. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, I had to return the only gift I'd gotten for my kids so my utilities wouldn't get shut off.
It was fucking AWFUL.
This year it's all come full circle. I have so much to look forward to! Patrick gets back on Tuesday. (TUESDAY!) (Only four days!) Then we'll have December together with the kids - brunches and parties and dinners, oh my. THEN! As if that isn't enough, I'm taking the kids home for Christmas for the first time in seven years. My mom sent us tickets and we're going on Christmas day at noon. Patrick was asleep in Vienna when she did all the booking, but when he woke up, he bought tickets too, so he'll get to meet my parents (and the ENTIRE extended family) on Christmas day. (We're surprising the kids, so don't say a word!)
Here I've been dreading December all year and just knowing I'll get to be with (most of) the people I love is enough to change my entire outlook on Christmas. (SamnTerry will be out of town. AGAIN.) I'll even get to hold my BFF Jill's newborn baby girl because SHE'LL be home for Christmas too. I can't wait. I'm actually excited instead of terrified. It's the strangest thing.
Less strange and far more sappy is how grateful I am for all the love in my life right now. There's my children, of course, and I love them in terrible, infuriating ways. There's Patrick, who loves me better even from another continent than any man has loved me yet. There's the budding romance with Lela, which is sweet and new and special to me. There's the extended group of friends who let me feed them and Cynthia and Gigi who put up with our crazy loud house every Sunday.
There's Daniel! Who came to Thanksgiving dinner for a do-over of last year's epic drama. He brought the bald and the homemade bread and the college stories (and the smooches for alllllll the ladies).
There's even Patrick's tribe of People, who I'm slowly but surely getting to know and love and who've included me even while he's been away. There's also the rekindling of the relationship with my parents, which is better than ever.
Most important, though, are My People. Terry had her own series of unfortunate events over last few weeks and having the privilege of being there with her through the shitstorm made me love her in deeper, more heart-twisty ways than I ever thought possible. (And Sam, too, for being such a damn fine husband to her.) There's something incredibly poignant about being let in to the lives of the people you most love and admire. It fills me up with the exact kind of gluttony that Thanksgiving is supposed to be about.
Thank you for that.
One of the things I'm learning in my stand-up class is just how alternative my lifestyle really is. I'll get up in front of the mic and do a bit about vagina waxing, then one about how all my boyfriends are bald and then one about lipstick lesbian manicures. But when it's time for feedback, everyone's like, wait. HOLD THE PHONE. WHUT? They can't laugh at my sexy nail-clipping bit because they're still stuck on the fact that my clients call me the Vagina Whisperer and I have more than one (bald) boyfriend.
"I realize making women get on their hands and knees to wax their butt cracks is totally normal for you, but give the rest of us time to catch up!"
"I make men do that too," I say with a shrug. "Duh. It's the best part of the wax."
So maybe I am a little... different.
I prefer it this way. I didn't just fall out of a tree and decide to be weird. I'm actually doing all of this on purpose. With intention. I'm not a "normal" girl and I don't have traditional values. I thrive on chaos and noise and excitement and I am passionate to a fault. I'm lucky to have a job where it will never matter that I have purple hair and tattoos. No one cares how weird their waxer is (nor their comedian, now that I think about it).
So after a few years of fucking it up royally at every attempt, I've finally decided to go ahead and give up on monogamy. I know I'm not the only one doing it wrong. If the divorce rate has anything to say about it, it's that monogamy rarely works out the way we think it will, forever and ever and always, amen. Hell, maybe it works for you, but it has done nothing but suck for me. So there's my insanity plea - why keep trying the same thing over and over again and expecting it to make you happy? I am happiest when I'm in love. I am happiest when I am dating. I feel strongly that those two phenomena don't have to be mutually exclusive.
So here's how it works... Patrick is my boyfriend. My Person. In polyspeak he'd be my Primary Partner, but that's just a fancy way of saying he's the one I'm in love with. The first and last person I want to talk to every day. Fortunately, since Patrick isn't monogamous either, falling in love with him didn't mean I had to suddenly disconnect with all my other partners. We both still date other people. He's in a band, so he's pretty much set when it comes to finding cute fan girls to flirt with. And I'm still seeing the Dom, the Muse, the Silver Fox, the Russian(s), the Redhead and most recently, the Friend(s).
Sure, I'm a fan of the sexytimez (BIG FAN), but I haven't picked this life for my libido alone. It's not just about letting my slut flag fly. I've known or have been seeing most of the other people I'm dating on and off for almost a year. I still love meeting and connecting with NEW people. And none of this is a zero sum game. Intimacy certainly isn't. Why expect one partner to be your everything when it's possible to spread that love around a little?
Basically, I get have my cake and eat it too. And so do all of my partners.
So why isn't EVERYONE doing this? Seriously. WHY? Most people never even CONSIDER non-mon0gamy as a lifestyle.
I think that's because polyamory is really hard. It ain't for pussies. It's not all cake. It requires solid egos all around and the kind of communication skills most people only acquire after lots and LOTS of therapy. But miscommunication happens. Jealousy happens. And even then it's still mostly a matter of trial and error. You don't know something's going to hurt until it hurts.
I have a LOT more to say on this topic, including a story about a recent set back, so I'm going to keep writing about it and probably make it a series. If you have questions, ask them. I'll do my best worst.
Still sober! And as disappointing as it will be for my many readers who think I'm a Stark Raving Alcoholic Who Will Eventually Crash and Burn in Denial and End Up in a 12-Step Program, it is still one of the easiest things I've ever done. Aside from wishing someone would just go ahead and slurp down the remaining Jello shots from Halloween because they're taking up an awkward amount of space in the fridge, I haven't even really even thought about booze.
Not even in situations during which I normally would have had a cocktail (or three). Situations like:
Never once in any of these situations did I even WANT a drink. It wasn't even on my mind. And trust me when I say no one could be more surprised about this than I am. The only physical symptoms I'm having are weightloss and exhaustion (which could be a result of my increase in work out hours). I've lost seven pounds.
I've also gained a veritable fuckton of insight about myself and my drinking. And how UNNECESSARY it is. It feels like I've been using crutches for three years because I thought I broke my leg, but it turns out my leg healed a long time ago and I can walk just fine on my own. I JUST DIDN'T KNOW because the crutches became part of my life.
But it turns out I'm EXACTLY THE SAME PERSON drunk or sober. I'm loud. Silly. Slutty. FUN. I say the hard things and ask the wrong questions. I put my foot in my mouth a lot. I'm forgetful. I have zero short term memory. I've been blaming so many of my less flattering personality traits on liquor, but it turns out I'm just a ditz! And KLUTZY! I break just as many dishes sober as I do drunk! I had no idea that was just me and not the vodka. I'm also not a morning person. Ever. It has nothing to do with how much I drank the night before. I'm just crabby in the morning. Period.
I'm looking forward to seeing Patrick so he can tell me if he notices any difference, but I think the main lesson I'm taking away from November is that I'm the same drunk or sober. Not MORE me, not LESS me, just... ME.
I see a lot more sobriety in my future. And I like it.
An alcoholic, apparently. At least as defined by the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism [NIAAA], who applies that label to women whose "alcohol consumption exceeds 7 standard drinks per week or 3 drinks per day." No one ever really likes to admit how much they drink, not people who DRINK anyway. But if I only have 3 drinks in a night, I consider that a GOOD night. That's... sobriety. I often have "sober" nights like that, sure, but mostly I have a "drunk" night here or there and lots and lots of "lushy" nights in between. (I only ever drink during the day on Mimosa Sundays.)
Definitions aside, I clearly drink too much. Which isn't a newsflash to anyone who has ever met me. I don't hide it. I rarely even TRY to hide it, not even from myself. I'm human. Flawed. Weak. I love my liquor. It smooths out the wrinkles of an otherwise lumpy life. It makes me happy. It makes me sad. It makes me more... me. A stiff drink is very much like the word "fuck" - sometimes it's the only intensifier that works. It's certainly my favorite exaggerative.
Which is why I have ZERO intention of quitting. I will never join a 12-step program. I will never surrender my addiction to a higher power. I think AA is horse shit. I don't think it works because life isn't black and white. I don't agree that just because I happen to love booze more than the average person that for me DRINKING = BAD and that NOT DRINKING = GOOD. Drinking is as much about MORALITY as whether or not you eat carbs.
Most people would advise me to simply quit. It's seems like that would be a lot easier than trying to manage the slippery slope of my quest for the perfect gin martini, but if I tell myself I'm not allowed to drink ever again for the rest of my life, THAT is when I'll go from just being a drunk to being a drunk who wakes up in the gutter. Tell me I can't have something and it's the only thing I'll be able to think about. Instead I'd rather work on harm reduction - never EVER driving after drinking. Never drinking with strangers or on first dates. Staying "sober" around my kids. Always making sure someone else is around who can help if needed. Taking a thousand vitamins a day, drinking my body weight in water and pounding as many antioxidants as I can to counteract the physical effects. Eating well. Running.
The beautiful thing about self-awareness is that once you accept yourself AS IS, you can mitigate a lot of damage. "I know I'm going to drink too much while dancing tonight, so I'm going to arrange for some cab rides" is a lot healthier than "Oh, I'll just be good at the club tonight! I'll only have two drinks! I'll be fine to drive!" Denial is dangerous. Acceptance is freeing, even if you're accepting things you're not proud of.
So why quit for November if I have no intention of permanently quitting? I have my reasons:
But mostly there is one BIG reason - I've gained weight. My clothes don't fit. It's making me uncomfortable. It's that simple. And oddly enough, it's not even the calories in the booze that I worry about. The real problem is what I eat AFTER I start drinking. My restraint weakens and I wake up the next morning wondering what the hell happened to the crackers. Oh yeah. I ATE THEM ALL. That has to stop.
It's only day four, but I'm doing remarkably fine. This isn't my first rodeo, so I'm not naive enough to think I'm over the difficult part yet. Aside from not sleeping very well, I've had zero physical withdrawal symptoms. Not so much as a headache. That was something I'd been scared about, honestly, so it's a big relief that my body isn't chemically dependent on Vitamin V.
Instead of drinking, I've been watching what I eat and working out like a crazy woman (I ran 21 miles last week, swam a mile, did my weightlifting circuit twice and spent over two hours on the elliptical.) I forgot how much fun it can be to geek out on fitness and how much better my mental health is when I'm taking care of my body. (You can't really feel bad about your weight when you've done EVERYFUCKINGTHING you can to be healthy.)
Even Mimosa Sunday was no challenge to my NoBriety. We had at least a dozen people over and somehow four bottles of champagne magically disappeared without my help. All I drank was a liter of water and a pot of coffee. Aside from not wanting to play bartender, I was totally fine. I was honestly more tempted by the double-batch of Paula Deen Cinnamon Rolls I had made the day before, so I woke up early and ran across the St. John's Bridge as a preemptive strike. It worked. I only had ONE.
My next challenge is to see how long I can go before I start to think it's not a big deal anymore. Because THAT's when I'll be tempted to drink again. It's why I haven't made it longer than a week in, well, YEARS. So if YOU'VE quit drinking before, I'd love to hear your experience. Might be good to know what I'm up against, even if it's only for a month.
The first House of Hijinks Halloween was pretty rad, not gonna lie, but I was too busy partying to document the party itself. My bad! I didn't get a single photo of Alex in his Phantom Grim Reaper costume, which might be for the best now that I think about it. He had a blast trick-or-treating around the neighborhood with his friends. Without grown-ups. That was a big step.
Genoa stuck to me like glue all night, which was just as well since we went as kitties together. I think I deserve a medal for not making a single pussy joke all night. I was in rare form.
Today is November, however, which is NOT going to be my favorite month. Not even with NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo and 30 Days of Gratitude and Noshavember and nope, not gonna do any of that this year. All I'm going to do is not drink for 32 days and write about not drinking. It's going to suck and it might not paint me in the most flattering light, but I'm going to be as honest as I possibly can about it. Even if I fail.
(ESPECIALLY if I fail.)
For the record, Day One has been a breeze. I slept for four whole hours last night before dragging us all out of bed early to get to Genoa's parent-teacher conference at 8:45. (I'm sure I made an excellent impression what with yesterday's makeup, a hangover and purple hair.) Needless to say, I felt like shit all day. Not drinking has never sounded so good.
October is almost over and I plan to say goodbye to it with a bang because it's been my favorite month ever.
Let's see, there was DISNEYFUCKINGLAND with my son. Which was the most fun the two of us have ever had together. Or with my parents!
His favorite ride was Autotopia because when he wasn't hitting the barriers, it was really "mellowing." He also loved "Indiana-ing Jones" and riding the monorail with Grandma. On our second day there, he went swimming and found a hotel key at the bottom of the pool, which turned out to be The Magic Key to The Universe. We could use it to get into the luxury top floor club room where we ate continental breakfasts and got free drinks for happy hour for the rest of the trip. Well done, kid. Well done.
See also: the fireworks made me cry. Even an antidisestablishmentarianist like me can't resist the magic of disney. It was beautiful (AND JULIE ANDREWS PEOPLE - she narrates the fireworks show!).
When we got back it was CRAZY at work. In fact, this was my best month yet as an esthetician. I think my paycheck will still be about $300 shy of what I made as a financial planner during my first job after college when I was 23, but STILL. This job is soooo much better.
On the weekends I've taken to hosting a big neighborhood/friends/random stragglers brunch every Sunday. Aside from just feeding the masses as I am wont to do, I needed an excuse to see SamnTerry every week. It turns out I moved as far away from them as possible while still maintaining a Portland address and we've been seriously missing each other. I needed to come up with something that was SACRED. Like church. Basically, I'm hosting a mandatory mimosa party every Sunday. You should come!
Oh! And after brunch every Sunday I'm taking a stand-up comedy class. I thought of it because I went to a random open mic night recently and realized that I'm pretty much sitting on a comedy gold mine, what with the polyamory and vagina waxing and all. I may as well take advantage of it. The only thing is, I have NO IDEA how to write a joke. I can write a hashtag, sure, but a joke? We'll see how it goes.
If nothing else, comedy will distract me from missing my boyfriend, who left for Vienna on Monday. He'll be in Europe touring with the band for FIVE WEEKS. I'm doing surprisingly well with it, likely in no small part because of the two weeks we DID get to spend together. They were spectacular. We did ALL THE THINGS. We kissed all the kisses, and ate all the eats, and drank all the drinks, and danced all the dances, and really, we did more in two weeks than I usually do in two months. There were days spent taking the kids to the pumpkin patch and also days when we didn't get out of bed. It was a true honeymoon. The kind neither of us ever got to have before. So yeah, I'm doing fine, but I'm also counting the days till he gets home.
Until then I'll be getting my ass back to the gym, e-mailing love letters, writing jokes, attempting sobriety (not a joke!), waxing hooch, running in the muddy forest, and generally being a purple-haired badass. You know, TOMORROW. Tonight we're hosting Halloween with thirty of our closest friends. Wish me luck.