Here is the post were I spill it about my teenage rebellion, hold onto your hats, people.
So when I was 16-ish I would climb out my bedroom window at about 3 in the morning, leaving it cracked just a bit, and steal my father's car from the drive. I would then drive the 10 miles into town to....Kinkos. Oh yes, friends, I wasted my youthful rebellion on making photocopies. I would make postcard sized copies of collages I made out of catalogs and magazines. I am sure at least 2/3s of them were snipped from Sassy magazine.
So, I just thought "wouldn't it be funny if I still had some of those postcards.....hmmm, there is that file of all my high school correspondence right there on the book shelf....." Oh folks, it is your lucky, lucky day!
Pretty sure this one never got sent because I was certain the Post Office would hunt me down if I dared to send a butt through the mail.
So there you go, the height of my high school rabble rousing, 24 hour photomats and butts. I was a pretty good kid. I am pretty certain I never got into any behavior related trouble at school ever. Not-ever-doing-my-homework trouble, yeah plenty of that, but otherwise, I was a rule follower. Also known as a square.
But you know, maybe I was quietly, happily cutting and gluing in my basement room when all the other kids were boozing and sexing. But now I have mad scissor skills and this wicked awesome postcard to remember it by! What do those other kids have? Herpes? I think the square peg wins here.
I have always felt pretty special having a name that starts with W. I mean W! That is twice as good as a regular U!
Sure there are WIlliams and Wilmas and Walters and Wendys. But it is no J name; Jons and Jennifers and Jessicas and Jeremys and Josephs and Jingers (one of the Duggar children is a Jinger, poor girl. Obviously she is the harlot of the clan). There were always at least three Jennifers in my classes growing up, but I was always the lone and proud Whitney.
I will even take the endless "Hey, like Whitney Houston!" (Deadpan: Yes, I am just like Whitney Houston in so many countless ways, so clever of you to make that connection), my love of W is so strong. W is my spirit letter - like a spirit animal, but with no spirit litter box to clean.
In my full maiden name I have three W's. Three! Clearly W and I were meant to be together!
Today I had to spend two hours being friendly, smiling and making small talk. I worked the line at Rock and Roll Craft show. Basically I just had to point waiting customers to available cashiers. Pretty easy-peasy. That is certainly one of the great things about this show, you only have to be there in person for two hours. In previous years, I worked in one of the departments of the show; accessories, kids, glassware, etc. And for those all I had to do was stand there, watch for people pocketing stuff, arrange merchandise, and answer questions if need be. Well, working the line I had to actually talk to people and be friendly.
Surprisingly, I can be quite charming when need be. I get it from my dad who can chat up about any stranger be it bank teller, convenience store clerk, or workman. I don't know where he gets it from as he is quite a weirdo in real life. It is some sort of charming hillbilly switch he can flip, kinda amazing to see in action.
So, I was nice and charming for two whole hours, but most shows I have to be "on" for two days straight and that really drains my nice reserves. During those shows, when I am not actively manning my booth, I am asleep. I can not maintain that much good cheer, small talk and near constant smiling without lots of naps.
All that said, I really do like doing shows. It does feel good to be upbeat and smiling for that long, though it does start to wane near the end of a show. And it is some of the best people watching ever. It is on par with people watching at airports. When working a booth or table it is particularly great as you are trapped in one spot as a whole menagerie of humanity just wanders by.
Blah, I am exhausted and this post is going nowhere fast. Before my shift at the show, we went to the zoo and walked all over creation. I don't know if I am more tired from watching an ark-full of animals move thier bowels or being chipper.
Whatevs.
I have to go to bed. Sorry for the half-assed post. V is a crappy letter anyway.
Timmy and I went to the movies tonight for the first time in months. It was awesome to be on a "date" and we were thrilled to see when we walked into the theater that they had a "zero tolerance" cell phone policy. They will kick you out for using your cellphone, so awesome.
So we continue into the theater for the movie, get our seats and settle in when a couple comes in with a small child. Now, I have certainly grown more tolerant of children in many settings and definitely more sympathetic towards parents in general, but cripes, it was an 8pm movie on a Friday. And, AND, the child, who was bored out of her gourd, had jingle bells tied to her shoes. JINGLE BELLS!! TIED TO HER SHOES!! IN A MOVIE!! WTF, parents, wtf indeed.
They wound up leaving about 15 minutes into the movie because, I don't know, the reality of a one year old in a theater set in. At least they had the sense to leave, unlike the teenage girls behind us who had seemingly endless epiphanies about key points in the movie that we got to hear all about in very loud whispers. Sigh.
I am definitely becoming that old person who would rather wait until most movies come out on DVD. Sometimes it seems the only excuse to go to the movies anymore it to eat an ungodly amount of popcorn.
We are in St Louis for the next couple of days, I have my laptop with me, but posts will be short and sweet.
This year I am thankful for so many things. I have had a pretty great year.
I am really grateful for my new job. I have never worried more about money than after Alfie was born, like laying awake at night wondering what the hell we were going to do and what is this strange pain in my chest kinda worried. Now, not so much. Do we still scrimp and save, sure, but the worry is so much less and I am so, so thankful for that.
Of course, I am so thankful for my little family, Alfie and Timmy. I won't get too cheesey here, but between the two of them my life is so full of wonderful, wonderful love and joy I don't know how it could be any better.
I am also grateful for my kind, smart and funny friends. I wish there were more hours in the day to spend with them.
I am thankful for a pile of snoring puppies in my kitchen right now. There is some unconditional love for you. Such good and ridiculous dogs.
I would like to think I am a rational person. I try to use logic and reason to solve my problems. All the Logical Positivists are my bros. But even I with my mean empirical streak still occasionally fall prey to some quasi-magical thinking. Por ejemplo:
At night, when going up the dark stairwell to bed, I rush up as quickly as possible because surely there is someone right behind me.
I lift my feet when going over train tracks in a car. Even when I am driving.
I flip over heads-down pennies before picking them up.
I try not to sleep with my head facing west.
I dread looking in the rear-view mirror when leaving my parents house down thier long drive that winds through the woods. I am sure I will see something, someone lurking.
Similarly, when I go to the bathroom at night, I avoid looking in a big mirror in the hall that reflects out into the living room for fear I will see something.
I knock on wood. Pretty often. And from the side or underside, not the top.
I hold my breath while passing certain buildings or places.
I am sure there are more, but I can't think of anymore for the moment. So. Less logical and more crazy it seems.
Speaking of unreasonable magic, see here David Bowie's pants................
I just got done singing my entire arsenal of semi-appropriate songs to a two year old who was refusing to sleep. I start out with "Where have all the flowers gone" and then "Baby mine" from Dumbo. I rounded it out with "Natural Woman" -the Carole King version- which is strangely applicable to our whole trying-to-get-pregnant-but-getting-a-bit-crazy-instead experience in a particularly melodramatic way.
Shit, I would have done the entire Tapestry album if it meant that kid would go to sleep. And never in my life have I been asked to sing. I am...not very good. But tonight I got many "More songs, mama." Poor kid, doesn't know any better.
For a very long time, I didn't think I wanted to have kids. I felt no impulse to breed, I had a nervous feeling around babies, and wasn't much more comfortable around the older versions either. I don't know what changed when. Timmy and I had been together for nearly a decade by the time we got around to even think about trying. And pretty soon, trying became a huge part of my life (not like that, guys!...well, a bit like that), so much of my brain space was dedicated to thinking about getting pregnant, why I wasn't getting pregnant, what was wrong with me, maybe I didn't deserve to have a child, maybe I was a bad person, maybe I am being punished for something and and and...oh the crazy-making spiral.
And then, and then I was pregnant. And spent a good portion of nine moths wondering what version of horrible mother I was going to be.
But that didn't happen. Now, I am not saying I am the best mother, there are nights when I completely refuse to eat dinner at the table. And on hot, hot summer days, I would rather we watch a million hours of television before taking a step out of doors. Once when Alfie was just crying and crying and crying in the car and would not respond to logic or distraction, I turned up the radio very loud until eventually I heard from the back seat "Mama, Mama! Arrow! Arrow!" (We find arrows on signs while we drive around, there are a lot of arrows in the world) and everything was okay.
No, I am certainly not the best, but I love that kid very fiercely and he will never go a day not knowing how much I love him. I have surprise myself by being patient and not really losing my temper (so far). This was my biggest parenting fear. I grew up in a yelling and spanking house. I remember being afraid a lot. I was a particularly sensitive kid, even a light repremand would set me off on a crying jolt. And as a grown-up, I can have a short-temper, especially when I am tired or under-nourished, things that happen pretty frequently to new parents. So, I was worried; worried I would yell, worried that my baby would be afraid of me, worried that yelling would be a huge part of his childhood.
But somehow that hasn't happened. Somehow I have drawn from a well of patience that I didn't even know existed in me. Now, I am lucky, Alfie is a pretty easy kid, mellow and laid-back most of the time, but he has had his share of screaming, whining, terrible baby moments. And it is amazing to me that I have hugged and soothed and sung and smiled through it all. If I believed in magic, this would be it. That little boy has put a spell on me, poured my heart so full of love that it is over-flowing. Being a parent has made me a better person and I was completely unprepared for it. And selfishly completely thirlled to find out I can even be this person at all.
This here is a special audio edition of the ol' blog.
Just a couple notes before you listen: First off, this unedited audio from my phone in my car. My car is loud, the audio is loud. I am loud, turn down your volume, friends! Second, I had a childhood speech impediment - okay, lisp - that I had therapy for, but still comes out sometimes when I am really tired (or drunk). I am really, really tired in this (but not drunk). And I am really, really lispy in this. I only am willing to share this with you because I love you all. I love you all because I am really, really tired. I am hateful and bitter when well-rested.
