Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (A Series)

My Dear Partner in Life,

I promise to love, honor and cherish you even though you wake up with random and inconsistent songs in your head and decide to share them with me despite how dreadful they are. I agree to let you sing, even though the morning hating monster in me wants you to shut the f up, because I know that your sunshiny way of greeting the day is better than my frowny way. I commit to tolerate your sleepy dance moves as you walk in the buff from the bedroom to the bathroom, where we both get ready at the same time because we live in The Most Expensive Place in the World. And I vow, that on mornings when you walk in singing Squeezebox and start hitting me in the butt with your morning wood as part of your dance routine, I will blog about it. Because it is special and hilarious and, although publicly inappropriate, a really fun way to start the day.

Love,
The Keeper of Your Secrets

Something I Haven't Blogged Because of the Shame

Earlier this year, I had to send Venus to a retirement home.

The poor dog has become tragically neglected since we moved out here. She went from having a bedmate in David, to having a roommate in Shannon and then Nikki, to having her Mom start working from home, to having no one around for a minimum of 9 hours everyday.
She'd been doing better since we moved to our new place, but better still wasn't good. Her quality of life is completely tied to having people around her, and ever since I had to start working and Mack went back to school, she's been getting by but not being anywhere near as happy as she used to be. After we got back from Jamaica and Mack started going to school all day 6 days a week and I kept my regular work schedule, she took a turn toward decay. I had to make the terrible decision to save myself from the guilt of giving her up or to save her from the impending crazy and broken that I saw creeping into her eyes.

No one I know has a farm or the space to take on a dog, which not only made me appreciate Phil and Dave and Leigh for being so nice to babysit her so many times but also made it a heart-wrenching challenge. Let's face it. She's old and crippled and she bites. She's not good with kids or dogs or elderly people, and she's especially unkind to blondes and black people. I knew if she went to the pound she'd be put down in a matter of days. I just couldn't live with myself knowing that would be her fate.

Mack helped me track down a dog rescue in Los Angeles called Save a Life. It's a no-kill animal sanctuary, and we called to see if they ever accept dogs whose owners couldn't keep them anymore. They said they did, on the condition that the owners give a sizable donation. I looked at Venus, losing weight by the day and looking more and more defeated, and I made one of the hardest decisions I've had to make so far. I decided to give her up.

In a lot of ways, giving her up was giving up on the part of myself that thinks I can handle everything. It was me being honest instead of blindly optimistic, and it was me admitting defeat in the face of present circumstances. There's just not enough time to be all things to all people and places and pets, and doing everything halfway wasn't good for anyone. Save a Life probably saved a couple of lives by taking Venus in.

The lady who runs the place called us a couple days after we dropped of the V to ask us to send over her vet records. She'd given her some vaccinations, put her on antibiotics for her skin/itching problem, and was feeding her "more premium food," which means "stuff better than the Pedigree crap you were feeding her." (In my defense, it's hilarious to watch Venus eat Pedigree with rice in it because somehow she manages to eat all the brown pieces and spit out all the rice pieces, and that's why I was a Pedigree loyalist.) I asked how she was adjusting and what the lady said was music to my ears. A puppy they'd just brought in had decided Venus was her friend and the two of them were sharing a bed and laying in the sunshine.

It's still not easy not to think about her without getting sad. But the truth is the dog she was changed into the dog she was becoming because of our new situation. I loved her for being the rotten puppy who ate cigarettes, for pushing Ruble off the couch, for all the pizza crusts I found under my pillow, for laying at my feet when I'd write and letting me rub my toes in her fluffy hair. I loved the life we had together in Kentucky, and that's a life every dog should have. She deserves better, and I hope that her final few years in the California sunshine with little puppies keeping her annoyed but secretly delighted will let her forgive me for giving her up.

Part of the Reason I Chose to Move

Just in case your minds had frozen and you started to believe winters have to be like that. Thinking of you suckers warmly as I dine on sunshine and fresh ocean air.

Everyday the 14th

Last year Mack was in charge of Valentine's Day, and when I came home from work he had a margarita on the rocks (with salt) waiting for me. I hopped in the tub to sip the Mexican nectar while he executed his "surprise." When I got out, coconut fried shrimp and macaroni and cheese (with spiral tube noodles) was waiting for me. Not exactly what I would have picked to go with a tart margarita, but a very sweet gesture nonetheless. Especially considering I didn't do anything beyond speak the words, "Happy Valentine's Day."

This year, I am in charge of the celebration. He has no idea what we're doing, but I have crafted a President's Day Lover's Saturday Night Special complete with an Evite and an adapted Gettysburg Address. Because I am an awesome Valentine.

Because Mack is also an awesome Valentine, he gave me a gift first thing this morning. In addition to displaying his full body in all its natural glory while he puttered from the bed to the shower, he also made me eggs, which reminded me of last year and started this year's V-Day off with a smile.

Virtually Best Friends

Melissa mentioned on the ski trip that she *loved* the blogs that I have introduced her too (okay, she loves ONE of them), but I found another one back in May that I haven't bragged on enough yet.

Here's how it happened. We had a contest for Mother's Day where women dished on that one naughty thing they did and kept secret from their mom their whole lives. (I broke some crystal wedding candlesticks that used to sit on the mantle that I used as a microphone when giving live performances on the fireplace, but we always just glued them together so no one knew.) This lady Erin revealed that she peed in her mom's shoes and blamed it on the dog. She won free maid service for a year. I called to tell her and she said she kept a blog to deal with the insanity of being a mom to three (they write on the walls with Sharpies a lot). I read her blog. I laughed my butt off.

Now Erin blogs for Capessa. And still for herself. Check her out at Finding Yourself.

She is also trying to finish a baby nursery (she had a little boy a year ago and is preggers again) and is a finalist in a contest for Lifetime. It's neck and neck between her and some lady named Nancy, so I figured I'd use the almighty power of MY BLOG (hey mom! you there?!!) to throw some votes her way because I want her to win.

Please go there and vote for Erin from Oveido, FL as many times as you can. She deserves it.

Super Dee Duper Tuesday

I am so excited about the political prospects right now I can barely contain myself. Since moving to a non-apathetic state, I've taken to elections in the same way I used to take to UK Basketball. I go vote, then I go to a little sports bar near my precinct and drink a beer and watch the Democrats take control. It's thrilling.

Today, after filling out my non-partisan ballot on behalf of the Democrats, a lady with a British accent asked me if I could help her walk across the slick floor of the Cellular Factory (yes, we voted in a cell phone store). She was the type of old that is frail and wonderfully sweet, and I took her arm and helped steady her out the door and down the steps. She told me she just lived down the alley and she'd forced herself to get out of the house to cast her vote even though she can't walk too well since breaking her hip three years ago. The half a block required so much energy that she'd thrown a coat over her pajamas to conserve her strength before setting out to do her duty as a citizen of her adopted country. Her name was Veronica, and that she was working so hard to be a part of the process, to contribute her voice to our country, made me appreciate even more what it means to vote.

Mack took her arm to escort her the whole way home, and even in her state of ancient she still had enough spunk to tell me he was so handsome, that she didn't need me anymore and that he'd be home in about four hours. Saucy little thing. We walked her to her apartment, and as she thanked us for helping her out, she blinked back her tears and made me make some of my own. Then she looked into my eyes (there is some debate as to whether she described them as "true" or "shrewd" or "shrew") and made me want to be her granddaughter. At least I get to be her fellow American.

[A COMPLETE ASIDE: Happy Mardi Gras! Our little sports bar was having a Mardi Gras party tonight and I got to have crawfish for the first time in probably 15 years. It was delicious and made me miss Liz and Amy and Harris's and gumbo parties and swamps and Louisiana and the two step. Another nice reminder of where I come from.]

So You Think You're Tougher than a Kindergartener?

20

I think I could actually take on 43. But that's only if I was wearing my heels and had gotten my teeth sharpened.

Also Known As Hype

The Shot Train is loading up on West Virginia coal and is scheduled to depart on Friday, just as planned. Here's some respect, doubling as hype.

Growing Optimism

I'm excited for this. Little baby Samuel. Due in March. To one of my very best friends, Dear Elijah. Samuel has made me happy today. As has thinking about the comment his mom made about chicken yesterday.

It's Just How I Feel

Dear MLK Day 2008,

Fuck you.

Love,
Amber

Tail Tales

One year ago, on an icy deck outside of a mountain cabin, feeling warm and wobbly from one too many, I turned on a dime, lost a sense of equilibrium and butt planted in Gatlinburg. My one witness, a fellow I call Jon Connor, isn't equipped to deal with my whining, so I bottled it up and relished in the satisfaction of knowing "that'll hurt tomorrow."

Well, tomorrow has been going on for a year now. Some women, like my older, sturdier, braver sister, break their tailbones doing things like giving birth, but some of us, well, we lose our balance. I've had bad days every now and then for the last year, but I'm usually able to get through it by sitting on the couch and ordering Chinese takeout. Today, though, nothing was working. Not even the sweet pot of tulips or the Black History Month card Mack got me. 

I got home from work, where I sat down all day, and I couldn't sit down. I tried to sit on Mack's new motorcycle and realized that the extent of this injury and my neglecting it hoping it magically heals itself is ridiculous. 

I get not being able to walk, not being able to stand, not being able to leap small buildings in a single bound... but not being able to sit, that is just humiliating. I think the busted tail bone is flaring up because I've been riding my bike to work, and since I *heart* my new bike, I have to deal with this butt bone issue asap. I'm, against my self-conscious judgment, going to invest in one of those hemorrhoid cushions until this crap gets better. I just hope they have one with skulls or swords on it so I don't feel like such a wimp.  

Wanderlust (Part 1 in a Series)

Ever since Jamaica, regular life has just sucked. Knowing time isn't all it's cracked up to be. "Brisk" is just a word used to make cold sound snappier. And I hate cars more than ever.

If I could just give up my job and wander the world for the rest of my life, I would be the happiest person on earth. But since I only get 10 days of vacation a year and since my dog is barely hanging on even with my care, escaping doesn't happen as often as it should. As often as I neeeeeeeed it to. So instead of actually going anywhere, I'm going to spend the next few minutes virtually visiting one of the places I hope to visit someday in the near future -- like before 2010.

IceHotel

This is in Jukkasjärvi, Sweden, 200km inside the arctic circle.
You can only go to it in the winter because in the summer it's actually a whitewater river called the Torne River. But in December and January, artists and architects meet to create an igloo mansion under the Northern Lights, complete with ice beds, ice chairs, ice bars and ice art.





It's the coolest thing in the world during winter, and in the spring, it goes back to being a river, which is also cool. Now if I could just scrounge up the $800 a night to stay in this chiseled piece of modern art...

Letters to the Cupboard (Part 1 in a Series)

Dear Poppin' Jalapeño Doritos,

I knew when I saw you in the grocery store that I should have just walked right past you, should have left you in that mound with your friends Taco/Ranch and Blue Cheese/Buffalo Wings, but my willpower self caved when my deal monger self caught sight of the 3 for $5 sign gracing Mount Doritos. Damn deal monger self.

I put you in my cart hoping that would shut you up and went through the store buying sensible things I don't eat in a puddle of shame. Morningstar sausage patties were $1 off, eggs were $1 cheaper than they were last week. As I stood in the checkout line unloading my cart I managed to resist the salty whisper of the PayDay bars and opted to use my purchase power to put a smile on Mack's face with a Crunch bar. It would have been a wholly successful trip to the grocery, complete with all the fixins for chili and bean salad, if not for you tarnishing my cart. What is it about you that I cannot resist?

As if the public disgrace at the grocery store wasn't bad enough, when I got home you put me into a trance so deep that I couldn't put the groceries away until you were devoured, until all evidence of my weakness was consumed, until all traces of a bag of corn chips having power over me were cleaned up. About 75% of the way through the bag, feeling like a junkie who's already injected too much, torn between a world of sobriety and one of thrilling impulse, I regained control and stuffed you into the cupboard where you should have been 8 servings earlier.

Yesterday I managed to ignore you all day, mostly because I was out of earshot. But today, the minute I walked in the door from work, you started up again. Crunchy, salty, ready. Your convenience and powdered flavor is just impossible to resist. You want to be good, I know you do. That's why you put the 0g Trans Fats on your packaging. But you aren't good. You are a very, very bad food. And you please need to shut up now.

Love,
Amber

Do What?

To better understand what I am presently doing with my life from 9-6, M-F, take a look.




Because now that our own private site is what you would call "live," I, and any of my friends I've made do an interview with me, can embed videos into our blogs.

Capessa is joy. And technology. And I expect everyone I know to join.

You Think You Know Dasher...

Where has Ms. Thomas been the last 23 days, you are probably wondering. Well...

I dashed home the weekend of Dec. 15 to see this:

Then I dashed back to L.A. that Monday to launch this:

With all the dashing I was doing, I was really putting Santa to shame, so he (in the form of Mack) brought me this:

Then a couple days later I dashed to Jamaica for this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this: 

And some more of this:

I seriously doubt the next 23 days will be quite as dashing, but I do have a legendary ski trip to attend in 27 days, so that should kick things up a notch. In the meantime, I am doing this:
Happy New Year!

The Most Fun a Married Couple Can Have

Mack is obsessed with bugs. When we were dating there was a bush outside of his apartment that was full of praying mantids and these little red beetle bugs. Mack would study them during his smoke breaks and do experiments to see how they would respond to hot cigarettes. I brushed past this bush dozens of times and never gave the insect world a second look until he pointed out how weird and dynamic it all was. Then every time we went outside we'd stand, huddled over a 2-inch section of bush, staring at seemingly nothing, waiting for the praying mantis to nab her a little booty bug snack (the red bugs became known as booty bugs because they would shake their butts really fast in response to the hot cigarettes... we may just be scientists). 

I've never been really hateful of or too keen on bugs. Whatever. Mosquitos devour me, flies irritate me, worms make me feel so guilty when they're all laid out on the formerly wet sidewalk drying to death, and spiders I think are amazing from a healthy distance. Anything that can pull a house out of its ass is amazing. I didn't actively go looking for spiders ever, but if I found one in the corner I'd usually let it hang out for as long as it wanted to. Some may think that's dirty, but I rationalize that a spider in the corner is keeping the other bugs under control, thus making my house cleaner.

When we previously lived on an alley, the only bugs we saw were dust bugs. Massive mounds of dirt scooting into the corners and accumulating no matter how much sweeping or mopping or door sealing you did. Now that we live in a place with half a yard, Mack has been able to reconnect with the bug world, at least a little bit.

The other day as I left to take the dog on her morning walk, Mack was outside with his new best friend. I present, the Jerusalem Cricket of Mass Proportions.

This steroidal bug was an interesting break from our normal routine of eggs and soysage followed by a stroll that always ends in handling poop. He captured it, wikipediaed it, packaged it, I photographed it in disbelief, and he took it to his dad's to release it in the wild of the Park La Brea condo complex courtyard. 

A few days later, at our neighborhood 99 cent store, which is amazing because it has 4-packs of thick glass glasses for 99 cents and terrifying because it also has holiday candy dishes with warnings that the paint on them contains lead for 99 cents, I walked into a display of venus fly traps. I thought it might be a pretty rare find since I'd never actually seen a venus fly trap in real life... not counting Venus when she tries to catch flies by biting them. Then I thought, hey, it's only 99 cents, why not buy two? I am a very deep, complex thinker, especially when posed with the question of how much to buy at the 99 cent store.

I knew Mack would love the fly trap, so of course as soon as he opened it we had to go on a bug hunt. The trouble is, California doesn't have bugs really, aside from mutant Jerusalem crickets. We had to really look in some nooks and crannies, but eventually we came up with a spider and dropped it onto the fly trap. And, in true fly trap fashion, it closed its mouth on the spider. 

The most amazing thing in nature that I've ever seen. A predatory plant. A carnivorous plant. Basically the universe as I know it changed in that moment. And I wanted to feed it again.

Well, it takes a while for the fly trap to excrete all its plant stomach juices to digest the bug, so you can't feed it every day. But you can feed it the day after every day. Which is what we did, but not before being caught snooping around cracks in the carport, flashlight in hand and no obvious reason for our behavior, by our neighbor while we looked for the plant snack. This time I videotaped the whole meal to blow your mind too.

This is where we're getting ready to feed the plant.

This is where the plant shows the bug who's boss.

This fly trap has been the most fun that's come into our house since the addition of the big, flat, shiny, new TV. And it was 199,900 cents cheaper. 

Ambora's Box

My mom, in her doting role of Gigi, sends out monthly photo emails which make all of us wayward wanderers miss home and all the fun those dopes are having. Well, today she selflessly sent out the latest from Thanksgiving and her 3 days babysitting Ben. Of course when I saw this, I got a craving for cheeks and UK sports.

Then upon closer inspection, I realized that was the TV in the background. And since I have a chronic craving for TV, I peered deep into my computer screen to read the fine print. And because TV has a tendency to reveal more vivid truths than I can resist, I discovered some very subliminal messaging that made my conscience breathe a sigh of relief. 

Proud Sister

Not sure if any of you will believe this since she's been MIA in blogland a lot this year, but Leiah has posted a very special announcement over on Ahh Life.

Congratulations Leiah. I'm very proud of you and happy for you. And my teeth, they're glad to know you.

News from LA

A high def TV has revolutionized the way we see our local news anchors since we can now see their armpit wrinkles. But the other day, during the 11 o'clock news, I actually thought our weather girl was a character from the SIMS video game. And it freaked me out.
And speaking of other news oddities, this little interweb irony is courtesy of our KABC anchor.

Dulywed: Year 1

Dear Mack,

You finally left to help your Mom & Dad with their Craigslist posts so I finally have a chance to ponder our first legal year of marriage in the peace and quiet of a dog chewing itself and a cat crunching dry morsels of food.

I didn't know it at the time, but our plan to get married over Thanksgiving weekend was sheer genius. Most of my genius moves happen accidentally, but having this whole weekend to realize our relationship is one of the smartest things I've done. We've been able to spend the last three days together, like 100% together, and, much to my surprise, I haven't wanted to scream, "Shut up and die!!" even once. We are healthier than I thought.

It's been a challenging year for us. I've been jealous of you going to school while I work a lot of times, and because I am only human and new to this whole selfless wife partnership supportive thing, I've probably been ruthless about it more than once. I just want you to know that more than I feel jealous, I feel so grateful to you for working so hard to make our lives better. I know that I won't remember this frustration once we get the life we're working toward, and I hope you don't remember it either. I'm sorry for all the times I've yelled at you about money (and all the times I will), and I'm sorry for all the times I've made you feel like you aren't doing enough. I know that this is about give and take, and the only reason I'm having trouble with the giving is because for a long time I was the taker... because you were so generous and supportive of me in my dreams. You are better than me at insecurity, especially financial insecurity, but I'm trying to learn how to stop insecurity from getting in the way of doing what you want. I've only been challenged to learn this in my first year of marriage to you, so thanks for your patience as I, a notorious control freak, learn to embrace uncertainty. I'm proud to be helping you be the man you want to be, and I hope that in Year 2 we win the lottery.

I can't believe that this whole entire year we've only uttered the words "divorce" and "leave" 5 times. I thought it would be a lot more than that, to be honest. I know I've said both, probably because they seem nicer than "die" and "rot," especially in the heat of the moment, but in all honesty, I never want you to leave. Never, ever, ever. Being with you the last three days has proven that to me. Without work, without school, without worries about money, when it's just me and you and being alive, we are impossibly happy. You are the funniest person I've ever met. You are a thrill to talk to. You are adorable to look at. You are smart and sharp and hopeless. You are the man of my dreams, and even though I want to stab the parts of your brain that have the parts that make me scream at you, overall you are perfect. If you were any nicer, you'd be miserable. If you were any meaner, I'd be miserable. We are dangerously and miraculously balanced.

The thing I've really discovered in this first year with you is that for the first time in my entire life I can be 100% who I am around you. If I feel sad or angry or ecstatic or curious or contrary, I can share it with you and trust you with it. I have a lot of relationships with a lot of people, but no one gets the extent of me that you do (which is probably why I am able to maintain those relationships with them). I can't imagine being in a relationship where you have to maintain facades or ideals, and with you, I can just be myself -- in all its beauty and shame and glory and fear and nervousness. You have no idea how precious a gift this is for you to give me, and I hope that I offer something similar to you. Considering I know the smells you are capable of, I think I do.

The walks on the beach, not saying anything; the time spent laying on the couch so close that I can't tell where my skin ends and yours begins; the constant hum of noise that is you living; the laughs that are so deep they make me drool on myself; the kitchen dances; the spicy fruit cups; the unexpected Internet news bits; the wait-it-out tactic to see who heats up the bed first. I try to imagine what my life would be like if you weren't in it and the thought is so terrible and so foreign, I want to die.

It may seem cryptic, but I think that's a good indicator of a successful first year. I love you more than me. Happy anniversary.