It's a wonder Chris and I have never

been either physically ejected or asked to leave a store.

Saturday morning he came over to help me move some things I'm giving to my Aunts (They have a thrift/antique store). When we got to mom's house and unloaded, I ran in to use the rest room.

My three week overdue (because of stress I'm sure) period had landed, and it wasn't being subtle. My slacks and underpants were not fit to wear. So, I rooted through the clothes that I had brought with me. I found underpants, roughly 308 shirts, but not one pair of slacks.

*cue the Jaws music* Time to look in mom's closet. I found a skirt that fit. It was a floor length, casual beige cotton, with a ton of trim and embroidery. I've seen that style of skirt called "bohemian" "hippy chic" or "Renaissance". Either way it's more foo-foo than Poodle day at a dog show.

I like simple clothing; this explains my shuddering. I stepped out of mom's bedroom wearing my shirt (tan, simple, unadorned), my mother's beige "a trim store exploded" floor length skirt, with my well-broken-in sneakers peaking out from the hem. Since I'd known we'd be moving boxes, I wasn't wearing make up, and my hair was thrown up in a quick bun held by a hair clip.

Chris looked at me and said, "So we're eating at a drive through right?" I rolled my eyes and told him what happened as I climbed into his truck.

Store # 1: We stopped at a gas station to get a few things. I asked the clerk for a small bag since the skirt didn't have pockets. My exact words were "May I have small bag?" The clerk looked at me oddly. I said, "The little one that people use for one beer will be fine."

Chris couldn't help it, it was the skirt. It was too much for his sarcastic nature to hold in.
He said "I didn't think that Mennonites were supposed to expose themselves to corrupting things like beer." I shot him a very non-Mennonite-like look, all while his lips twitched.

When we stepped outside I said, "You should be glad I didn't BUY a damn beer after how this mornings been going. And I don't even like beer." We were laughing as we drove off.


Store # 2:We had lunch and since we were right next to it, we went into the Dollar General Store to see if they had a pill splitter. As we passed a shelf of towels, Chris starts telling me that his partner doesn't like big fluffy towels; he likes the thin waffle weave ones.

Keep in mind, we weren't whispering, just the normal voice you use with a shopping buddy. Oh and I was dressed like a "Mennonite minus the bonnet" (pffft whatever).

Me: Really?! Les loves the waffle towels too. I just don't get it. As far as I'm concerned, they are just dishtowels on steroids"

Chris: Yeah It's not like I have to be completely, totally dry. A few water drops won't kill me in exchange for the comfort of terry cloth.

Me: Oh I know. I was surprised Les liked them. I mean he's got hair. Lots of hair. After a shower I spend most of my drying time on my hair and crotch. But Les..He's just..He's just one big crotch...

Oh yeah, we cracked up. He understood what I meant and that only added to the humor.

STORE #3: Chris needed to drop of a movie he'd rented. As we were getting back into his truck, I asked if he wanted to rent a horror movie, then immediately retracted it saying I really didn't feel up to it.

Me: I think I'm just going to go home and cuddle with my heating pad. You know what! I want a realistic horror movie scene. You know a heating pad, and Midol Vs a tsunami-like period, with clots the size of grilled cheese sandwiches.

We were cracking up and grossed out at the same time.

Me: Yeah sorry, That one was a bit over the top. But we always have a good laugh together.

Pretty damn seldom....

I happened to think of this today, and it sort of reflects how I anticipate my married life will be. I came across this on a thin sheet of old typing paper, written up decades ago.

I remember when I was little how my mother used to say that a soft answer turneth away wrath, but I always thought Father's system...a gay answer...was better. Later I discovered the best system of all, and I don't mean no answer; for you don't get anywhere in married life not having an answer.

It was a Chinese traveler who evoked the magic formula which makes quarreling almost impossible for my wife and me. One day, late for his train, he rushed over to the station baggage room, threw his check on the counter and demanded his bag. The attendant couldn't find it. As precious minutes went by, the Chinese finally could stand it no longer. He pounded the counter with his fist and yelled, "Pretty damn seldom where my bag go. She no fly. You no more fit run station than godsake. That's all I hope!"

Before hearing this, when anything of mine got mislaid around the house, I used to scream like a wounded banshee. But now I merely holler, "pretty damn seldom where my papers go!" In the old days, my wife used to come back snappily with, "IF you put your papers where they belong, you'd know where to find them!"-which is sheer nonsense.

I found the only answer to such a remark was, "You no more fit run house than godsake!", which put her in her place, until she learned to retort, "That's all I hope!", stopping the argument.

In silly old days I used to moan, "Why don't you fill out your cheque stubs properly?" Now I just say, "Pretty damn seldom where my money go. She no fly." And I get just as far as I ever did, which is exactly nowhere. As for the children, we never quarrel anymore about who is spoiling which. One of us merely look at the other and says in a resigned way, "you no more fit run children than godsake!" Which nobody can deny.

Well, there is is. Pretty damn seldom where you happiness go. She no fly. But if you don't try this next time instead of quarreling, you no more fit run marriage than godsake.

That's all I hope.

In the process....

I was in the middle of typing up a note that it had "now" been 60 hours since I saw my cat when I heard one single meow.

You know how parents learn to pick their child's voice, cry etc out of a room of other kids. Well, I'd know my cat's meow anywhere. She doesn't do alot of talking/vocalization.. but she's mine.

Hearing that one Meow was like a shot in the ass. I started running around the house. I opened everything that was still closed (including Drawers in dressers, yes I was that worried), called her name and ... well.. nothing.

I started to believe I'd imagined that single "meow" out of pure want.

Then I found her.

Thank the gods. She hit the food and water dishes, went to her litter box and now she's the needy one. I cant even sit still for more than 10 seconds before she wants me to pet her. I'm so happy.

Luna AKA the last thing I need

People say kids keep you on your toes...
Well maybe not so much as a cat. I've had my cat since I was 17ish.. Well over a decade.

She's the closest thing to a daughter I've ever had until I was married.

She's been missing 48 hours at least. My son is talking about the possibility she died. Did I mention my son and I have been opening cabinets and calling her name ALL DAY?! And truth to tell she's old.. even for a cat..

I don't know if I could deal with this right now. I'm moving out of the COUNTRY (US) In the next few weeks. And I know as stupid as it may sound... I've had her longer than my son's been alive. I cant imagine life without her. She's like another child to me,

He's my husband...

Quickly, before I go to bed AGAIN, 90% of why my husband IS my husband is because he is one of the few people in the world that has seen me at my most "psychotic" and

1. Lived to tell about it
2. Still loves me
3. Doesn't hold it against me
4. (technically #3 part B) Understands when my past life moments revisit me.

I'm moving to Canada soon. Tonight I had a nightmare about my deceased brother. He traveled with me/us the whole time... UNTIL we came to the border of the US and Canada. Then he disappeared/abandoned me.



Even still. I was able to call my husband AT WORK and sob and moan for the better part of two HOURS.

May the Gods note: I love this man.

The Fish

James went fishing with my mother's husband this past week and trounced the men by being the only person there to catch anything.

The Last Time

I told Chris, my cousin, I loved him was when my brother died. I, almost, fell into his arms with grief.

Chris, had he been straight and not a family member, is my soul mate.

I cried on his shoulder tonight. Last night I hung up on my husband. I was baring my soul and he was buying cigarettes. PMS is somewhat to blame.. but even still.

Chris has told me he's not going to think about me leaving until it happens. Truth to tell...

I love my parents... I love my siblings, But the thing that makes me shake in my boots about leaving is leaving Chris.

He's my best friend.. often the only one.

Thanks Chris. As always, even on the phone, you are the one I lean on when life is hard.

Chris! (close your eyes) I love you.

An Empty room

I took a wander through an empty room in my apartment the other day. It was a sort of sterile and lonely place. Oh, it has a bed, dressers, lamp, closet and such, but nothing else. No clothes on the floor, no marks on the walls, no posters. There are no handprints on the window, nor any scars or stickers on the drawers. It has been more or less like this for a year and more.

The other bedroom looks a bit more lived-in. There are clothes, dressers, and other things in there. But again, it still feels a bit empty and desolate. The whole apartment, really, is lacking in vital life. I've been loath to decorate, because it needs the input of two other people. If it had just been me, I'd have started to make it my own. But for this past year, I've been waiting to make it a home. Soon, I'll be able to put those finishing touches on a place that will feel more complete. Soon, pictures of my family will be joined with those of my new family. The walls will have things that will reflect a group of people in a loving home.....

And scratches, marks, kid shoes, high heels, three times as many toiletries, food in the cupboards, sugary cereals, more laundry................

I'm so very grateful that this will be happening soon.

The numbers

I'm already doing the dates. James' last day of school is 45 days from now. I'm planning to leave my job in 51 days.

Then we'll start driving in roughly 78 days.

Can you tell I'm excited?

FBI, Thorough but slow....

I mailed my first request for proof of "a non-criminal record" to the FBI in October. January came around and I'd not gotten a response. I checked their website.

Waiting list... 16 to TWENTY WEEKS long. Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln...

On March 22nd I mailed a second set of "official" fingerprints and another letter requesting the information. I overnighted signature required this second request and wrote in blood red ink on every inch of white space on the envelope that it was a SECOND request.

I got it back TODAY!! They, actually, spent the time to locate my first request, and include it with my answer (including the 2nd 18 dollar money order).

All that they did was put 2 rubber stamps on the back of my first fingerprint card.

They say "NO ARREST HISTORY, FBI"


Jasus.. I've spent almost Five Months Of My Married LIFE waiting for a rubber-God Da.. uh .. I mean "God-Bless-America-STAMP!!!" Shit .. if I'd known that I would have forged it..

Son-of-a-biscuit-eater!!!