I miss my flip flops.

The hint of warm weather, the longer days, the advent of spring, the coming of Easter (even though I'm not quite sure when it might be), all of these things are really getting to me. Winter is over in the blink of an eye, though it seems neverending in the middle of those cold cold weeks when you can't quite get warm and the bedsheets are always freezing cold.

I'm longing for the beach. For the warm sand and the ocean breeze and the sting of just a little too much sun on my skin. I miss my flip flops. I miss coming in out of the heat and drinking a big class of ice water, or sitting outside in the evenings with a beer and some friends.

I want to grill things, open my windows, breath fresh air instead of the stale recycled heat. I want to work in my yard and see the green green grass, or even the dandelions.

I know winter around here is mild with a hint of bitter at the worst. But I'm really not a winter kind of girl. Sure, I welcome the suprise snow storm, but only because it might get me a day off of work. What I really love is the heat. Though, ask me how I feel in the middle of August, and it may be a different story.

I'm getting the beach early this year, my friends, thanks to my dear generous sister. We are going to Key West. I know little about this place. I also know that people have said it's beautiful country down there, and that Key West is a fun place to go. I was going to tell you what hotel we were going to, but you know, internet safety and all of that. Regardless, I'll get my first beach fix early this year, and since we don't have a major house project this year (due to lack of funds and poor tax return), maybe we'll make it to the beach a little more often.

Who wants to cat sit? Or maybe we'll just take them with us, like you would a dog. I'm rather certain they are part dog anyway.

Sushi and popcorn.

My sister took me out to dinner tonight, for sushi.  It was very yummy.  The problem, though, with sushi is, that while it fills me up immediately, it tends to leave me hungry a couple hours later.  

So I made some popcorn when I got out of the shower.  Better than the Edy's loaded chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream calling to me from the freezer.  It sucks though.  You know how sometimes the kernels don't seem to quite pop all the way?  You, watching tv and not paying attention, grab a few pieces, pop them into your mouth, and you bite down, only to be painful made aware of an unpopped piece.  Or a partially popped piece.  Not pleasant.  Oh well.

I don't know who reads this.

It would be nice to know though. There are things I might like to say, but I'm not sure that I should. Though, most of me really doesn't care anymore.

I have found, as I have gotten older, more mature, busier, what have you, that I don't have time for the bullshit. I really don't. I don't have the patience to smile and nod, and I don't have the energy to keep my mouth shut. I'm really down with honesty. Really down with it. Even if it means hearing things about myself that I don't want to hear. Chances are, I already know most of them, even if I don't tell you or talk about them.

I want full disclosure. I want you to have the guts to say that you don't like me, or that I'm overstepping my bounds, or that you don't want my advice. I want you to tell me that are sorry you asked my opinion, or that you're just plain sick of me, or that you think I'm full of shit.

Ok. So, I'm probably not going to email or walk up to someone and list out my reasons for not liking them, either. Though, at the same time, I'm fiending for the truth. I just don't want to give fuel to the fire, and I'm trying not to be unnecessarily confrontational. Maybe it's better to let things be when it comes to some people. The value of the relationship might not be worth the hassle. But don't sit in my home and purposely exclude me from things. Don't be short with me or ignore me without some explanation. Don't take it out on me that your life sucks. Don't use me up, lie to me, manipulate me, suck me dry and then take your leave.

The fact is, when it comes down to it, I don't need this kind of drama in my life. I know what's going on, and I'm not going to feed into it.

But here's a little truth for you: As much as I don't need it, as relieved as I am to be free of it, it still hurts.

You can make fun of me, if you'd like.

I have long had a weakness for ABBA. It is cheesy stuff. Pop-y stuff. It lends no real value to the intellectual bettering of my life. It lends nothing, in fact, aside from making me happy. Very happy, guys. I put on ABBA and I smile. It had been a while since I had listened to ABBA, aside from catching it on the radio or tv, or whatever. Then I was slightly turned off when I read that Dancing Queen is in John McCain's top 10 songs, according to Blender Magazine. (An aside here: I wanted to search to verify this information, but I could not, for the life of me, remember John McCain's name, for a good thirty seconds. How quickly I forget.)

Then, something happened. My dear Mother-in-Law bought me the Mamma Mia dvd for Christmas. I am somewhat reluctant to admit this next fact, but aren't blogs, afterall, a place to divulge our most intimate information for all the world to see? I have watched that movie, since Christmas day, at least 7 times. Which I think is a lot for a busy woman. And it's really only been 2 months or so. Sometimes, I will replay it immediately after it finishes. I like to put it on while I sew.

A younger me would be very embarassed by this, I think. But the current me embraces it as a part of who I am. ABBA makes me happy. Their songs are corny, fluffy, and stupid. But there's just something about it all. It pleases me. Their songs are fun to sing to, and silly to listen to.

I need some fluff and some smiles. And ABBA is doing it for me right now. And I'm not afraid to admit it.

Judge away.

(I plan to write a few more posts about music in the coming days/weeks, and hopefully I will at least slightly redeem myself. I'm taking a trip in the way back machine and discovering some old favorites.)

The Simple Life.

I'm sure I've written about this numerous times, but I just can't get it out of my head.

Maybe it's just a phase. But it isn't one of those 10 minute phases.

Maybe it is a result of recoiling from the whole growing up thing. Where we have to pay a mortgage and worry about gas bills, and forego nights out on the town for staying in with a six-pack.

Maybe it's reading blogs about women who stay home with their children to watch them grow, and who grow their own vegetables and knit their own socks. Because isn't the grass always greener?

Maybe it's a function of seeing the daily news reports of recessions and depressions, and failing banks, and homeowners in crisis.

I remember, back in school, reading about the problems my generation would have with keeping up with my parents' generation. Whatever it was I was reading, or listening to, made the point that for generations and generations, the following generation made out better than the previous. Parents raised children who got more education, made more money, had more things, bigger houses, fancier cars, better savings. Whatever. And now, as my generation comes of age, the tables have turned. I will not, in many respects, have the things my parents had. Of course they had their own struggles. But they still managed to own a home, and cars, and my mother could stay home with us for 8 years. I'm not sure this is even a remote possibility for me. Not with out major cut backs, or a huge pay increase for my husband, or a windfall.

We're being knocked down a peg. We will not have everything we want. We might not even get everything we need. In an effort to preserve sanity and conserve energy and resources, simplicity is calling me. Maybe it's some sort of evolutionary mechanism. Or instinctual. I want to go somewhere quiet, where people aren't competing for the biggest house or fanciest car or whatever. I don't want to see a million people every day. I don't want to feel crazy every day because I feel like there is so much I should be doing, seeing. I want to live somewhere where it's ok to stay home all weekend because there is no other choice. I want to live somewhere where we can afford to be simple, and to stay at home.

I think, what it maybe comes down to, is that I'm tired of wanting, and tired of feeling like I need more. Tired of competing. Tired of climbing. I want a smaller house, a cheaper car, fewer televisions.

Maybe I'm crazy. But, until I am diagnosed as such, I am going to strive for less. Strive to be more giving, more resourceful. Less greedy. Less inclined to instant gratification.

I'll let you know how it goes.

My Stupid Mouth.

Sorry for the absense. I've been busy, lazy, thinking about other things, doing other things. I really do apologize. But whatever I'd had to say would have been boring anyway.

So. The news of the day is that I'm having a TMJ flare up. It's the news of the week, really. I was diagnosed maybe almost 2 years ago now. My dentist said the treatment was to use warm heat, eat soft foods, and take advil. He said the cure was to see a psychologist and get a job I loved.

Well.

I have had it pretty much under control ever since then, aside from minor flare ups brought on by eating a chewy dinner roll, or having a sub (or hoagie, or whatever you like to call it). Or eating too much hard meat (that's what she said). By hard I mean chewy, like steak, porkchops, overcooked chicken breasts. Basically, anything that requires more chewing than a noodle.

That's an exaggeration, the noodle thing, but I do have to be careful about eating too many things that are hard to chew in a short time span. One sourdough roll will give me a headache for a day. Having pizza, then a roll, then a sandwich on anything other than soft bread, then some steak, in a short time frame, let's say 4-7 days, leads to an extended bout of this nonsense. Throw in some building stress and a natural predisposition to clenching my jaw and I'm out of luck.

I've really done myself in this time. What can I say. Sometimes that Italian sub is just too good to pass up. So, starting today, I'm on to soft foods, hot compresses, and regular dosing of advil. The headaches that this crap brings on, while no wher enear debilitating, piss me the hell off. They get in the way of everything just enough that I'm not functioning normally.

Here's hoping that the soft foods diet leads to some weight loss.

Happiness is...

Seeing that your husband cleaned the kitchen for no real reason, and without being asked on a Monday night.