I hate being right. i feel like i am right about a lot of things in this household. and most of the time it is the negative things…

hubby is actively seeking different employment but by actively seeking different employment he is actively working ten times harder at the job he currently has. i knew this would happen. that he would be gone from 8 to 9 all the time… the way he said it wouldn’t be this time around. i knew that he would get crazy about work. maybe that is what riles me up so much.. the fact that i was right when i wanted to be proved wrong.

i cut him slack so i dont want to hear any bullshit about letting him do what he has to do. my blog- my feelings.

i want nice things.i know you have to work to attain those things. i want a long dining room table and maybe even a chandelier to hang over it. red high heels and clean modern walls… vacations.. great glasses of wine.. maybe an Hermes scarf thrown in for kicks… and yes.. maybe even another child.. eventually. so i get it. i understand.

i even want a sports car. and by sports car i mean a jetta or better yet.. a prius. i want a good life, prosperous life. i don’t want to struggle.

but i am used to it.

my parents didn’t have money. they didn’t have a cabin in Michigan or live on a lake. my dad worked two jobs and my mom never bought a single thing. so NOT having money was never an issue for me. not having my dad there was.

so naturally i want mya’s father there more than i care what our savings account looks like.

unlike hubby, i dont live three months ahead… i live in the now.. without today there is no tomorrow. and the now is saying i want candlelight dinners. not to have hubby eating out of tupperware and mya already in bed when he arrives. the now me is saying that i want to be able to spend time with my husband not just an hour before he falls asleep. the now me is saying that i want time. time for us… because that time is neglected. and therefore… i feel neglected.

maybe i just dont see life revolving around a bank account. he sees it as apathy.

but maybe the age difference makes us see these things so differently. i still see it as “we have time to get the things we want”, hubby sees it as, ” we need this now”. Maybe he sees it as ” i had this once.. i want it again”. either way, it takes more than a few arguments for me to shift my entire ideology on the matter.

so why don’t we… for once.. cut ME some slack?

You know you’ve been married when you decide lay in bed, too tired to move, and mutually decide to come up with a sex day. Not a day full of sex… married couples rarely do that. A sex day, a day you have sex. A day registered on your calendars in order to keep your sex life active. Once a week, we’ve decided Sundays, is our sex day.

No, I don’t only have sex once a week, shut up!! But, planned spontaneity is the key to an exciting relationship, or so I’ve heard (though, I have no empirical evidence to prove this point).

We’ve decided to make it a little fun. Any time, any place, so long as Mya is asleep or with grandma, and we are not in the middle of the mall or restaurant, when someone wants to cash in their sex day, the other must oblige.

This shall be interesting… don’t you think?

Isn't it odd how time escape us? how years escape us? how simple time suddenly becomes lost into a plethora of weeks, months, years ago. When we catch ourselves fessing up to moments that have suddenly flown the co op, it’s almost frightening.

It’s strange how we grasp onto time to ail our bones, when in fact time is such a harsh concept.

I love catching up. When time has flown by and suddenly you realize how long it’s been since you’ve had a dose of a friend, a gin and tonic, a poker night, or a scrabble game; maybe even an orgasm. It’s funny how it all suddenly dawns on us and conversations get side tracked due to what other events took place around that similar time. Who we were with, what we were into, and who we disliked adamantly.

When it comes to time and where it stands I love the sentences that need to be corrected because of simple lapses in judgment.

“I had really long hair up until about two years ago.. wait, I was fifteen when I cut it. WOW, five years ago.“

When moments like these come and swing by it’s mind boggling how we’ve simply lost our grasp with time. How we’ve allowed the years to just dissipate into a black hole of days and hours.

Then we realize who we’ve lost, or given up on. How different we feel, look, act. Time comes and slaps us in the face. Showing us the errors of our ways. Or how we were right on the money all along.

I’m even more perplexed how we grasp onto time. How we glorify and finalize sentences and even our lives because of it.

“We’ve been together for ten years, he can’t do this to me.“

“I’ve been doing this for eight years.“

How we judge happiness based on time and how we all find a way to procrastinate because of it.

The theory that after five years of marriage everything is just easy and a cake walk.

How two years of college merits a mini degree.

At eighteen someone becomes an adult.

How only a week of rest can cure the common cold.

Time heals all wounds.

All theories and beliefs relative to time..

But we are comfortable rationalizing moments in time. Placing our actions in something else’s hands. Blaming, escaping, and getting lost in eras.

” I was twenty, what did you expect?“

I think it’s something to think about. It’s a beautiful, baffling thing.

There are so many things out there that I want to do with my life. It’s hard for me to just choose a single thing and focus on one goal. I’ve spoken about this before.

In class, on campus, and in the eyes of some people I’ve run across on the street or through mutual acquaintances the ones who are go getters, or “goalies” as I call them sound different, speak different, act different. They carry books and have bags. As opposed to me and my old, dusty, patchouli -smelling backpack thing. They dress differently. As opposed to me and my old grungy patchouli smelling rolling stones shirt, cut offs, and flip flops. Do they all live in this fervently stiff (oxymoron?) character? I suppose character is the wrong word but.. it sure does seem like a character is being played when peering from across the room while everyone is wondering “who smells like dirt?” (it’s me)

It seems like the more I look around the more I realize I am surrounded by those who have so much focus. focus on life, focus of career, focus on how to achieve their personal Mt. Everest. It’s odd to think that when inspiration, or determination rather, hits you that you physically change in shape. an amoeba becomes solid. It’s wonderful to see in some odd aspect but it’s also a sight to see me, sticking out like a sore thumb in a room full of focus. Wandering through a plethora of subjects.

If college were kindergarten, they would be handed my gold stars left and right though. I speak up. I give answers. I have my comp professor raising his eyebrow.. in the good way. So far so good, right? So maybe “focus” is secondary to aspiration. Or inspiration rather. It’s okay to be a dreamer.

Any respectable woman will tell you that waxing your legs is one of the most painful endeavors you will ever experience (the inner thigh is pure torture). It’s bad enough we have to wax our eyebrows, others wax their mustache, and some wax their other stache. (this means vagina) but our legs are such a harsh and tedious task for what I feel is no better a result than taking a razor to your leg every three days. But after shaving your legs for what? 10 years so shaving becomes such a drag; like a bad dye job, or a great dress in a bad size.
So like any person who was looking for the quickest way to remove hair without shaving I went out and bought Nair. The neat kind that smells like chemical roses and comes out a girly pink color just to up the estrogen. I lathered the cool barbie corvette colored goo on my thighs and calves and sat there air pushing Mya away (not touching her but shooing her away from the ick. The menstrual mallow mommy). I know, I pick such glorious times to try to take care of myself. After the six or so minutes were up I wiped a little of my hair away. With stubble left I figured I would keep the potion on my gams little bit longer. Besides, what do instructions know? Instructions don’t know my body. I know.

So I went chasing Mya throughout the house .. ATTACK OF THE MENSTRUAL MALLOW MOMMY…. and in the middle of a big roooooaaaar and baby giggle something kicked in. This nair is burning the hell out of me!!! In a frantic rage I ran to the bathroom and saw nothing but tissue paper. I grab a ton (what an enabler!) and try to wipe the chemicals away. It’s not working. the nair is dry and causing a horrible reaction. My legs are going to be purple I know it, I just know it. Damn kids, this is what I get! attack of the mallow covered mommy? puh. What a crappy game. stupid stupid stupid.

I am almost in tears when I open the shower and splash myself.. fully clothed. I need relief. Soap them, pat them. Shoo the baby away. I feel like my skin may peel and Mya stands there giggling at my face. That little demon. All is well now, I have lathered them in Aloe and let them air dry. They are silky smooth, no stubble in sight. All in all, not bad at all ha.