Made in Richmond

This evening Ross and I had the honor of watching our dear friend Remus eat solid foods for the first time. While we dined on delicious meatloaf (which you never really *pick* to eat but it always hits the spot) and mashed yams, Remus rested in the other room to ready his small self for the excitement.

We took turns feeding him rice mush and mushy squash. We all declared him advanced when he insisted on holding the spoon himself and when he would push it back towards the bowl once the spoon was empty. Needless to say, it was super cute.

Thanks to Jenny and Mark for letting us be part of this momentous occassion-I had *so* much fun. And, I’m not gonna lie, I got a little drunk, which is always nice to do on your last night of summer vacation.

This headline had me puzzled. Before reading the article, I thought it was saying that a comic was taking it upon himself to sue all of the Jews *for* Jesus. And then I realized that I was an idiot.

“Shit, I still need to make the communion bread.”

I’m sure Jesus appreciated that one.

I spent most of today in bed. I didn’t sleep last night because I spent most of yesterday in bed as well. We’ll see how it goes tonight.

My diagnosis with an anxiety disorder was essentially a diagnosis of depression. It’s by no means debilitating, but occasionally (typically with the onset of every girl’s most favorite time of the month) it seems that even medication cannot battle the wicked drops in seratonin that I experience.

As these drops occur, every part of my life that I’m stressed about or sad about comes rushing to the forefront of my brain, sending me into a mope that would put even the most emo of teenagers to shame. I am currently fighting one of those mopes, so don’t expect anything funny. A kind word or two would help, though.

I want a tattoo really bad. Like really bad. And it’s not just cause I watch Miami Ink. I want dogwood blossoms around what looks like a stamp that says “Made in Richmond, VA.” I thought it would be funny to get “Made in Richmond, VA” tattooed on the bottom of my foot, so I’d be like a Barbie doll, but I know it would rub off. Too bad we’re too poor for such a treat. Maybe one day.

I was watching One Week to Save Your Marriage this evening, because it’s one of those shows that makes me feel great about my relationship *and* my ability to just, well, not be a jerk to the people I love. Anyway, the premise of this show is pretty self explanatory. This counselor provides intense therapy for couples on the brink of divorce, in efforts to get them back on track, all in one week. This week’s couple was Erin and, well, I can’t remember the husband’s name because I was too enraged by the insanity/ridiculousness of his baby-talking, passive aggressive wife. Erin’s main complaint was that Husband was never romantic. I mean, it was pretty obvious to me why he wasn’t romantic. Who would want to snuggle up with the Pouty McIceQueen every night? Anyway, her infuriatingly vague yet screeching demands for romance got me thinking.

Ross and I have been married for three years. We were together for a total of 5 years before that, including a brief break. I like to call it “Ross’s 11 months of Insanity,” but we’ll just call it a break. Anyway, even by the time we were married, we were kind of over the romance part of things. The flowers, sweet emails, and butterflies in the stomach (although they still make their appearances every now and then) gave way to solidarity, sacrifice, trust, and deep love and committment, all of which require much more thought and dedication than a romantic evening ever would.

I think this fade of romance applies to all relationships you have, too. For example, when you make a new friend, someone that you really connect with, you make much more of an effort to ensure a really good time when you hang out. You want to have deep, revealing conversations with each other, and you tend to think about that person a lot. It’s a lot like having a crush, or just starting a relationship. But, eventually, that excitement is replaced by what comes with really knowing someone. You begin to cherish the silences when you are just together, silences that would have sent you into a panic before. Just knowing what is going on in each other’s lives and being supportive to one another becomes more important than being considered the “fun” or “smart” friend. For example, I loved knowing that after an unusually long separation from one another, the first thing Maura and I wanted to do was just hug each other. That’s it. Our only plan was to hug, not have some super, fancy girl’s day out. Not that we would be against it, but it’s just not important.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying romance is bad, despite what the title of this post suggests. I just don’t see what the fuss is all about. Maybe people have the wrong idea about what is romantic. If Ross ever showed up with flowers and whisked me off to a fancy dinner, I’d be pleased, but I probably would be wondering what was wrong, what news needed to be presented on such a fancy platter. To me, romance is giving of yourself, your energy, and your time. The most romantic thing that Ross does is get up in the middle of the night to put Shooter in his crate once the pup starts pacing around the room. He knows I have trouble getting back to sleep, so he takes care of it.

That’s not just romance; to me, that’s love.

Today I made my way to J. Sarg. to get myself a student ID and parking pass. If you’ve never been to the Parham campus, the whole school consists of two buildings and some trailers. As I was standing in a line* that was nothing compared to the lines I was used to at UR but was apparently “ridiculous” according to the full time students, people were gathering around classrooms waiting for the next sessions to start. Directly to my left was a classroom that was locked. By the time I had gotten there, 5 people were sitting outside the door. They all knew the door was locked. And yet, everytime a new person came up, he or she would glance at the people waiting and go up and try the door. Never once did any of the people who already knew the door was locked say anything to their classmates. NOT ONCE. I watched this scene for 30 minutes. Of course, I could have said something**, but it was more interesting to watch how much these people did *not* want to talk to each other.

*Just as I left the ID services room, with parking pass and ID in hand, there was fire drill. All of the people in line had to leave the building and then get back in line once allowed back in the building. It was awesome.

**I was also too busy to talk to these people because I was chatting it up with my new friend Tina and her son, Mike, who is a junior in high school. Mike is obviously gay and his mother obviously has no idea. I didn’t want to tell her that because she was nice enough to let me borrow her pen. I used the pen to fill out my car registration form, rather than to burst her bubble.

Shooter loves loves loves the smell of anything distributed by Mary Kay. He will rip himself from a sound sleep to stick his nose on my face and just breathe in the luxury.

I really need someone to go under my house again. We need to put a concrete block under one of our beams so it’s not resting on the ground. If you do this, you can have our first born.

I bought a notebook for my class today. I really can’t wait to write my name on the cover, but I’m trying to restrain myself.

The fact that I now have a printer makes me feel free and powerful.

They say you’re either a Beatles person or an Elvis person. I am an Elvis person by nature, a Beatles person by assimilation.

Have you seen Justin Timberlake’s new video for “SexyBack”? Oh my gawwwwwwd. Mmmm.

I hate mushrooms. THEY ARE A FUNGUS. Why don’t you just go lick the toes of someone with athlete’s foot?

Good night and good luck.

So today was Robin’s bridal shower. We had a fiesta in honor of her honeymoon in Mexico. There was lots of food and drink, and even some gross Mexican “candy.” In leu of the typical shower games, I decided to have a battle of wills, to see who could last the longest with a pickled Chinese plum in their mouth. The plums are pickled, obviously, covered in salt, and are an odd shade of green. These plums are a popular snack with little kids in Mexico, and contain over 9,000 mg of salt per plum. It was a strong showing from all, but Theresa won in the end, lasting a full 15 minutes. She’s a dark horse, that one. Everyone else spent the rest of the afternoon guzzling water and showing of their new Martian tongues (I never know how to spell that).

Robin got some good loot and I got many suggestions to start a career in party planning. I now have enough salsa to last the rest of my life, and will never have to buy paper plates or napkins again. Also, if I see a buritto ever again before I die, it will be too soon. Regardless, it was fun and I’d do it again, because she’s my sister and she deserved a nice day just for her.

Happy Wedding, Sister! Today was the start of all of the festivities to come! I don’t know if I can handle planning your bachelorette party, though. I might be too wholesome for that. But, I mean, I’ll come. And drink. And dance. And drink.

Ross went to the dentist for the first time in about 4 years. He had no cavities and was told to keep up the good work. A dentist visit was touchy area for us for a long time. I wanted him to go. He wouldn’t. But now he has and I’m so proud.