My Dog Has to Pee

She really does. So this will be short. After all, you can not expect me to start blogging again and be consistent or funny or make any sense at all, can you? If you are stumbling around for an answer, it is no.

So, I was over at Chase’s blog reading about her wedding preparation and all the anticipation of the big day. It made me REALLY glad I did not blog while planning my wedding because mine would not have been so sunshiney and full of fun. Mine was a constant roller coaster of crazy. Not my crazy either…other people’s crazy. I can’t talk about it out right on here because god forbid someone who drove us crazy (and people, they know who they are) reads it. We had some boundary issues and I can tell you that I came out of it with a completely ruined relationship with one of Jason’s family members. We had a tough time but the day was beautiful and really fun. We made sure it was because we did not think of anyone except ourselves for the whole day. The whole wedding was for other people so we made sure that once the “I dos” were done, we partied and just concentrated on what we wanted to do. It was awesome.

Married life is pretty much exactly the same as it was before we were married (we have lived together for 5 years, how much really is going to change?). Except now…I don’t close the bathroom door when I have to pee in the middle of the night…

***And yes, I did want my second post in a year to start and end with a sentence about “pee”.  Ease in, people, eaaaasssssee innn.

Now That I am Confident No One Reads This Anymore…

I can now return. Really, it wasn’t because everyone and my mother was reading it but just well, I had a lot of other stuff to do. A LOT of other stuff.

Let’s see here, what has changed in a year? Hmm, let’s see, lets see..well, Jason and I are now living in downtown Philly. It’s nice. We walk to our favorite neighborhood coffee shop, walk to grocery stores, cab it out at night so no one has to drive…honestly, it’s fan-freakin-tastic.

What else? Hmm, I lost 20 lbs…yeah, 20 lbs bitches. That’s right. You ask how? I got up off my lazy ass and exercised…and I have to admit…ate slim fast bars for lunch. Hey, whatever works, right? Now I just have 10 more lbs to go and once I get there, it’ll be time to procreate! Then, I’ll have to starve myself all over again.

Gosh, well, I am also a student again. In a masters program concentrating in Marriage and Family Therapy at the moment. That’s fun and new, no more accounting! Thank the lord baby Jesus.

Oh yeah! And this happened:

That’s right!

Things I Learned on Friday Night

1.  If you are getting free drinks, you are beholden to then waste them by pouring them all over the bar.

2.  6 Blue Moons=increased pool playing skills.

3.  When I drink, my opinion is the only one that counts.

4.  When you haven’t had sex in awhile, be aware that your significant other may decide that the extremely loud request for sex in the middle of a bar in front of all of your friends is totally appropriate.

5.  Frohawks are stupid.

6.  There is someone in this world besides Jason that considers me their favorite person and all I had to do was laugh at her jokes.  Sweet.

7.  I worry way too much about Jason’s friends having fun when I am out with them.

8.  My friend Lila’s boyfriend is the only grownup that I know.

9.  The girl that was Jason’s first time was “hot” and “young”.  Awesome.  Could have gone on without that knowledge.

10. I need a job for more reasons than just money.  I miss people.

You Hit Eternity You Will Be Set Free

Dawn, who I have nicknamed “She-Ra Sunshine” because of her amazing ability to go through so much crap but still be strong, happy, and positive, had her BIL recently pass away. The post she did today was so positive because she felt still connected to him. Like he was still all around them. Signs that he was there and still looking after them have been all over the place. This totally reminded me of my own deeply felt losses in my family and how I have experienced moments that I know people who have passed are still around.

One such moment I experienced when I was 19 and home from college over winter break. My grandfather and I were very close when I was a child. He died when I was 13 from lung cancer and diabetes. By the time he died, it had been 2 years since he was actually the grandfather I knew so I don’t remember the last two years of his life. I feel that this is because I have blocked it out. That my 11 year old brain couldn’t handle it so it just let the images of him as a sick person float in and out of my consciousness.

Anyway, I have great memories of my grandfather. My grandparents had a house in Long Beach Island, NJ and every summer my mom and I would go down for the whole month of August. When I was a child, I used to get up from bed without actually fully waking up in the morning and go downstairs to where my grandparents were having their coffee in the living room. I would crawl into my grandfathers lap and go back to sleep. There are pictures of this ritual which helps me recall what it looked like but I still remember how he smelled. Mainly of cigarettes and Old Spice. I sit here even typing this now with tears in my eyes being able to recall the scent but not actually able to recreate it. It’s weird how you can recall a scent but not actually ever smell it again. It just sticks in your noggin, doesn’t it? Anyway, he also used to sing this song in the morning when we would sit down to eat breakfast, I can’t remember what the actual lyrics were but it was something about “Ham and Eggs”. I can literally picture him in process of sitting down in one of the yellow chairs at the dining table singing this song.

So, you get it, I have a lot of memories like that. To describe what this man meant to me as a child sums it up in what I said to my mom when I was 4 and didn’t have a clue what marriage meant. I told her that when I grew up I was going to marry my grandfather. Then she had to explain to me that it doesn’t work like that but the sentiment that I loved him so much that I wanted him around me forever is what you need to remember. We had a special bond.

Back to Winter Break 1994, I was dating Stumpy and had just pledged a sorority but I was kind of down because I had just switched my major from theatre to psychology. The stage fright had just sort of taken over and I didn’t know what to do so I had to switch. I remember being so sad that this was the end of my dream. I wanted to be a singer and I really thought that was what I was meant to be. So I just felt lost and afraid that if I didn’t sing then I would have to be this totally different person. I guess I sort of defined myself by singing and without it, I no longer had a definition.

I remember crying in my room one day, like one of those uncontrollable sobbing moments that make you exhusted so I ended up falling asleep. I think somewhere in it, I asked God for help. Help came in a form I did not expect, my grandfather. I dreamt about him and in my dream he just kept telling me over and over that it was ok. That I was going to be ok. Those were the words that he used but the feelings I was getting were that I wasn’t just my good singing voice, I was a person who other people loved and it wasn’t important what I did, what was important was who I was as a person. That was a feeling but he didn’t actually say those words. I remember waking up and feeling better, like a weight had been lifted. I thanked him, told him I loved him and never said a word about the dream to anyone lest they think I was coo coo for co co puffs. The next evening our family sat down at the table to eat and my brother who was 9 asked my mother very abruptly “Can you talk to people that are dead?”. My mother said “No John I don’t think you can, why?”. He then replied “Well, I thought I was talking to Grandpa in my room and I asked him if he was my guardian angel and he said “No, I’m Debbie’s”". I almost choked on my food. My brother hadn’t even really known my grandfather. He was 3 when he died. I told my parents about the dream I had the day before and the only expanation that any of us could come up with is that this had to be him letting me know he was still around. That I was not alone and he would always be there. My parents are not big believers in the supernatural or any of this coming back from the dead to give you a message stuff so their admission that they believed it was actually him was like an awesome validation for me that there was something to this life after death thing after all.

The only other communication from the other side that I can recall was much more subtle. My grandmother passed away when I was 23. She was as important to me as my grandfather. I was her only granddaughter and let’s just say, I got some more attention because of that. My grandmother was much more reserved than my grandfather so it’s kind of funny that his communication was on a much grander scale than hers. Although I do have to say that after I got the news that she had died I prayed and asked her not to come to me as a ghost or anything(I’m serious, I did). So maybe that was part of why she hasn’t shown up in such an obvious way. I believe my grandmother shows up through my great aunt. My great aunt is her older sister, she is 91 and still truckin. My great aunt gives me a $100 every year for my birthday. $50 from her and $50 from my grandmother. She also seems to know when I need help monetarily without me ever having to say anything at all. My grandmother helped pay for things that I really wanted to do without me knowing that she was the one paying for it. I got to go to Europe with a school choral program when I was 17 because of my grandmother. I was able to pay for my school books in college because of my grandmother. When I am really in a bind financially, no one can actually “bail me out” per se, but when there is an opportunity that I want to take but need some extra cash to do it…Aunt Greta is ALWAYS there to help. I would NEVER ask for it but every once in a great while Aunt Greta is there with a check to help. These aren’t big sums of money, let me point out. She’s not Donald Trump or anything but it’s just a enough to help me take the step I need to take. I believe that my grandmother is actually behind my aunt’s strange tendency to know when things in my life are going to take a turn and I’m going to need some extra help. The giving is all Aunt Greta because that is just the kind of generous person she is but the timing of these gifts is all my grandmother. This is HER way of coming through. No flashy dreams, no appearing to my brother in his room because her way would be something like this. Helping me out without me knowing it was her who did it.

There is one more way she has come through and perhaps this is the most meaningful way for me. I sang “Amazing Grace” at her funeral with my aunt. I tried to get out of it but my mother told me my grandmother would be so happy that I sang because she always loved my voice. I sang the song without any hesitation or stage fright. I felt completely at peace standing in front of this large group of people. I have never felt that since but I will never forget how nice it felt to sing and not be scared. I believe she guided me through it.

So those are my evidence that there is a thing called life after death. They are good enough evidence for me, I hope that you have had some of your own.

This Is A Poop Song

Cutesy nicknames have always boggled my mind.  When people would date and call each other goofy nicknames, I would have to keep myself from barfing all over them.  Now, let me stress that I have no problems whatsoever with regular nicknames.  I nickname people all the time.  For example, Chase is “Slutty McWhoreyface”, Karl is “Loverdoodle”, Hilly is “Hillylicious”, and Nicole is “Sexy Butterbean”.  See, those are fun nicknames for two reasons: a)I don’t actually call them any of those names and b)I’d like to.

For some reason it used to sicken me to even think of someone giving me a cutesy nickname.  It reminded of that guy I hooked up with when I was nineteen who thought baby talk was a turn on.  This was before “Sex In The City” warned men everywhere that baby talk=no booty.

The closest I ever came to a nickname when I was dating someone was Wolf when we were still bitty teens.  I called him “hun” once.  When he looked at me like his eyes were going to burst from his head, I recanted and said that I said he was “fun”.

Jason, on the other hand, has forced me to give up this cutesy nickname ban.  He is the KING of cutesy nicknames.  He also doesn’t know how to keep these nicknames private.  For example, for a while my name was “Debbie Snugglebunny”(appropriate because I do like to snuggle and have teeth like a bunny).  He put my nickname in his email so everyone that got mass emails from him also saw that he sent email to a “Debbie Snugglebunny”.  I was horrified.  People teased him and he laughed it off.  I, on the other hand, was being called “Snugglebunny” by strangers.  Wasn’t so funny to someone who was opposed to cutesy nicknames.

As the years passed, our nicknames have changed but Jason has been fabulous about keeping those names under wraps.  Recently though, he has been slipping again.  So much so, that I am willing to tell you our nicknames on here because, frankly, you are the only people who don’t know.  Since we have been engaged, we call each other “Mr Poops” and “Mrs Poops”.

The nicknames have nothing to do with how much we in fact “poop”.  A couple of years ago, my friend, Lila started calling people “pups”.  I thought it was cute but one day I called someone “pups” and they said “did you just call me Poops?”.  I thought it was funny so I said yes.  It caught on.  So I started calling people completely inappropriate versions of feces.  When Jason and I got engaged, he started calling me “Mrs”.  Somewhere “Poops” worked it’s way in.

Jason has now leaked it to the public.  The first time was when we were traveling across the country.  I started to notice that when we ordered at a restaurant, he would say “Go ahead, Mrs Poops” in front of the waitress.  Whatever.  People I didn’t know knew our cutesy secret, so what.  Then we were staying with our friends in North Carolina, we were eating dinner and all of a sudden I heard, much to my embarrassment, “Can you pass the chicken, Mrs Poops?”.  Both of our friends didn’t stop laughing for 10 mins.  They now also call me “Mrs Poops”.  He throws it around everywhere.  My parents call me “Mrs Poops”, I’m surprised the dog doesn’t call me “Mrs What I do in the living room when you aren’t in the house”.

So there it is.  Mrs Poops.  That’s me.

*You may have noticed that this is, in fact, not a poop song.  If you don’t watch The Sarah Silverman Program then you don’t get it.  You really should get it so you should watch The Sarah Silverman Program.  And no, I am not working for The Sarah Silverman Program because they banned me for stalking her and asking her to have my babies.

Laugh Out Loud Wednesday

You have to have your volume on when you click through to this site.  I promise you won’t regret it!

 http://youmakemetouchyourhandsforstupidreasons.ytmnd.com/

Men Aren’t Like Women-Thank God

When women are younger and we get confused about men we sometimes turn to our mothers for an explanation. Usually we want to know why one doesn’t like us or why they do so much that they won’t stop calling even though we have never called them back. Our mothers typically just say “because they’re men” or “that’s just the way boys are”. For most of us, this explanation is not enough. We are SURE there is more to it than that. The answer seems too blase, too simple and too generalized. What we dismiss as our mother’s bitterness towards the male gender or her complete disregard for one’s individuality is actually based on totally relevant experience. We forget that this woman has more knowledge of the nature of dealing with the male gender than we do. We think she must be scorned by her own background with men so we immediately chalk up ourselves as being different from her and therefore try to understand the opposite sex in a more “modern” fashion. Many an author and psychologist have made loads of money off of women’s fascination with decoding the thoughts and actions of the male of the species. Do you think hoards of men made “Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus” a bestseller? No, of course not. Women did. Persuing the ultimate goal in understanding men. The problem is, what we don’t realize as teenagers and young women, men are really much more simple. Our mothers were right.

Now, by “simple”, I don’t mean stupid or dense. I mean uncomplicated as compared to their female counterparts. Are there exceptions to the rule? Probably but very very few. We, as women, are taught to examine everything. Examine our feelings and actions. Do they match up? Are we in connection with ourselves? Men are not taught this. Even with the millions of single mothers bringing up little men, they are still not taught to study their feelings. Which is fine with me. Frankly, the sight of a man crying uncontrollably in public makes me more than a little uncomfortable. I know that makes me sound mean and extremely hypocritical given my mostly progressive views. If I thought that men would be ultimately happier exploring every feeling that they have, I would put up with the public sobbing, hell, I would cheer it on. I don’t think men or women would benefit from being the “same” emotionally just as we are not the same physically.

Here’s why. If I had someone deciphering my every action, trying to figure out how that action reflected my feelings towards them, I would lose my ever loving mind. Frankly, sometimes I wonder how Jason doesn’t start axe murdering people in the street out of sheer frustration. Seriously. I can’t believe sometimes how I haven’t driven the man insane. Then, it comes to me. It’s really easy to figure out. Without us, men would never know what they are feeling.
You know how every guy in his 30s has that unmarried guy friend that acts like he is still in college? The eternal frat guy? The guy that you can’t ever see with a woman over the age of 25? This guy never has to “delve deep” because no woman has ever made him do it. If they have, he’ll freak out and run like hell in the opposite direction. You’ll spend your days greeting every 23 year old he brings to your place while wondering where that cool down to earth 29 year old went to. She won’t be back. Stop wondering. This guy will never find a girl that you will be able to have a discussion comparing Cosby Show to Growing Pains with. She won’t even be able to pick out which Beverly Hills 90210 character she was most like or know who Zack Morris is. This because, at 23, most girls are still reading self help books and trying not to “scare guys off” with their pesky “feelings”. You did it at 23, after all, didn’t you?

As you grew older though and got more “hands on” experience, you realized you can’t understand men in the context of being a woman. There are fundamental differences. You find instead of wondering why they can’t articulate how they feel about every stinkin thing that happens, you find you are GLAD they don’t. Sometimes you just want to take things at face value too. Sometimes you get tired of trying to get beneath the surface of everything. If you do feel like digging, most likely you’ll call one of your girlfriends to help you. Then you’ll curl up on the couch with your significant other to watch “Lost”, have him grab your boob a couple of times and all of the complications of life fade away.

Men can resolve their emotional issues without having to decipher why they felt the way they did.  Men usually have four avenues of doing this: sex, sports, drinking and eating.  We have a multitude of avenues but if we use them in excess(like eating too much or buying that sweater we just had to have but couldn’t afford), we are remorseful.  Which brings on more negative feelings.  So, in turn, we eventually have to figure out why we filtered our emotions into whatever distructive thing we did instead of “dealing” with them.  Men don’t question, unless forced, their avenues for dealing with emotions.  Sometimes they don’t even know they are feeling anything at all.  It’s as simple as women look at life through an emotional glass that men don’t have.  They don’t see the world through this glass no matter how much we try to force them to do it.  They are neither taught nor born with this emotional glass so how can they be like us?  Why would we want them to be?

I, for one, love men.  I always have.  I have always had guy friends and I dated a lot.  It’s always funny trying to get guy friends to analyze your relationships with other men.  For one, usually your guy friends want to sleep with you.  The exception being if they are gay, which I have to say gay men are the best friends to women.  It’s like having the other teams plays before the game starts.  They will be honest.  They don’t care if you will sleep with them or not after they tell you that the guy you think is in love with you is just trying to get in your pants and he doesn’t give a crap about your involvement with Greenpeace.  The hetero male friend though…this is where it gets sketchy.  There is a fine line between an insight into the male netherworld and a plan to erode your feelings for the man in discussion.

My relationship with Jason is actually a perfect example of this.  Jason and I were friends since we were 16, but didn’t become a couple until we were 25.  Now, this isn’t the movies, so no, he was not in love with me since we were 16.  He didn’t have deep rooted feelings for me the whole time we were friends, plotting our future together.  Of course he didn’t.  He’s a man, baby.  I have no doubt in my mind though that he probably wanted to sleep with me that whole time.  Which, as you know, is not the equivilent to being in love with someone.  Anyway, from the time he met me until I was 22, I was obviously deeply infatuated with Wolf.  So, Jason and I would have many discussions regarding Wolf and his “mysterious” behavior.  One day, Wolf was all about me, the next, he was running 1000 miles away, not to be heard from for weeks.  Jason would attribute his behavior to being “a guy who wanted to sleep with me but not date me”.  While I think he was right, Jason would damage his objective credibility on the subject by calling Wolf “Art Garfunkel”(Wolf had a fro when he was in first grade and unfortunately for him, a first grade picture of him was placed in the senior high yearbook.  I thought it was possibly the cutest thing I had ever seen but then again, I was very blinded by hormones) and proclaim that I was “an idiot to like this loser who would never see how wonderful you are”.  Jason would make fun of him and instead of seperating what I knew was true(Wolf wanted to sleep with me but not date me), I would discount the whole discussion.  Purely based on the fact that I knew that Jason was male and driven the same way Wolf was, by sex.  I should have seperated the good insight from the male defense mechanism(i.e. trying to diminish the other guy’s grasp on my emotions by belittling him).

In there also lies the second problem, even when we do go to our guy friends for the answer to our quandry, the answer is again too simple for us to comprehend.  How can it be that simple?  Girls, because it is that simple.  Accept it and move on.  Guys are easy.  Think about how it is for them.  Holy Jesus.  Thank god I am not a man.

Hungry Like The Wolf

Recently I got back in contact with Wolf by accident.  Now before everyone starts to tell me “You shouldn’t talk to him because he’s your ex-boyfriend and you are getting married”, let me tell you, I’ve heard it.  To summarize our relationship as “ex-boyfriend/ex-girlfriend” is not quite accurate and an extreme oversimplification.  We were friends that dated then broke up, then didn’t talk for awhile, then were friends again, then friends with benefits, then didn’t talk for awhile, then were friends again, then started the benefits again, then were just friends again.  It was a cycle of lunacy that I’m not sure why either of us subjected ourselves to over and over.  We were very good as friends, terrible as more than that. 

Maybe you have had a friend who has been in this type of relationship where the mere mention of the person’s name makes you wince.  I say the name “Wolf” and literally my friends eyes fill with disapproval and they look as if they want to grab me by my hair and bang my head up against a hard surface to see if that would bring me to my senses. It isn’t that they don’t like him; it’s that they had to hear about him day in and day out for 6 years.  I would be fine, he and I would be friends, inevitably we’d mess it up and I would be a crying crazy loon.  That had to frustrate the crap out of them.