Stormy weather…

I know that I’ve never been the best friend. There are times when I disappear for extended periods of time until someone contacts me asking where I’ve been. I know that life gets in the way sometimes and you just don’t have the time or energy to make sure all your friends are okay. And I know that when things are going especially rough, you’re suppose to reach out to friends, but I’m not like that. More often than not, I hide from the rest of the world until I can sort out my feelings and put my game face back on.

I’m a very private person. I have an outside persona and an inside persona. Not to say I’m two different people, but when I’m out with people I don’t know, I never really say anything of any substance, but I just crack jokes and be friendly. Once I get to know someone, that’s when I finally open up and start to talk about something and let people know what I’m thinking and feeling.

While I’m not the best friend in the world, all my friends know that all they have to do is pick up the phone and call. I may not come over every weekend and hang out, but if you’re going through a rough time, I’ll come help out.

I don’t like it when friends want you around as a last resort. I don’t want someone to call me when all their other friends have bailed. While they may sound weird when I say I don’t call friend often, when I do call them, it’s because I want to talk to them or see them, not because I wanted to talk to someone else and had to settle for what I could get.

 

Just a thought…

I guess at my other blog, I blog to think things through. At this blog, I just ramble on about things that are not that important.

Jeremy and I are spending the week at his parents house. They’re gone on a cruise, and we’re taking advantage of their electricity and their mega, ultra TV with Dish. But I couldn’t be at the house without messing with my father-in-law, so the day we got here, I ate Mexican for lunch. I held in all those farts, those stinky, spicy farts, until I got to the house. I sat down in the father-in-law’s chair, and I almost couldn’t sit down, because I was having such horrible gas pains, but I let out the longest, most silent deadly fart I have ever had in my life. I had to look in the seat to see if I didn’t leave a little burn hole like you would with a cigarette.

Jeremy just walked in here with the best damn spaghetti sauce ever. I didn’t know my husband could cook! I mean, he’s grilled me hamburgers before, but he’s not actually stood at a stove and cooked. And it’s good! And I’m thinking, “What the fuck? Where have you been hiding your inner Emril?” And he’s even grunting and talking to himself like a dirty old Italian.

I read a little today on a certain Web site, and I was just overwhelmed with the childishness and fucking ignorance of some people. It was nothing but mud slinging and telling half-truths or just shit that someone just made out while taking a shit on a toliet. And then, everything was reduced to insults when they figured out their argument was just absolute shit. *sigh* I hate stupidity.

I haven’t been able to string complete thoughts together this week, because so much has been jumbled in my head. I think if it hadn’t been for Jeremy, my head probably would have exploded by now. I really do have the best husband in the world.

 

One year…

J and I celebrated our one year anniversary last Thursday, but I’m just now getting a moment to sit down in front of the computer.

The problem is that I haven’t felt like blogging anywhere, but I think I’m starting to find stuff to talk about again. So, maybe I’ll update more often, but then again, maybe I won’t. It all depends on how I feel.

Our one year anniversary came and went with little fanfare. We started celebrating July 3rd, because last year on July 3rd at a Fourth of July party is when we pretty much knew that whatever was happening between us was going to be awesome and powerful.

It’s funny how it all pretty much came to the front when I got bit by a black widow spider. I was on some high-powered medication and could hardly stand. If I had to be honest, I probably should have gone to the hospital, but I’m a warrior. And by warrior, I mean I’m scared of needles and there’s no way in Hell I’m going to the hospital so they can stick needles in me.

But I was walking around pretty pitiful, but with a smile on my face nonetheless. There were moments where I had to prop my leg up. When it got really bad, I was force to lean to the side, because the antibiotics and spider bite were causing the room to spin. I leaned on J and he made sure I didn’t fall out of my chair and turn into a mubbling, convulsing pile of goo in the floor.

It’s funny how life works sometimes. Most people think that love comes with fireworks and fanfare. Well, ours did, because it was the Fourth of July.

But sometimes love is quiet. Sometimes it’s an arm around the shoulder and a “How are you feeling?” Sometimes it’s sitting on top of a dog house listening to the mortars go off and smelling the gun powder in the air.

But with J and I, a year later, love still has its loud moments and its quiet moments. Sometimes it’s sitting in the office listening to me talk shit to an online game. Sometimes it’s a rambling conversation and the hearty guffaws that follow. And then it’s sometimes when I flash J and he trips over his shoes and falls against the wall and I fall in the floor laughing. And there are countless other times where one or both of us have busted out laughing.

But then again, it’s quiet. It’s the feeling of him stretching his arm on in bed and saying, “Come, come,” and I put my head in the same spot on his shoulder and my leg thrown over his at the same spot every night. Or it’s when I run my thumb up his forehead and make his eyes cross. Or when I wake up early on the weekend and surprise him with cinnamon rolls and coffee.

It’s been a year. It seems like it’s been forever, but then again, it seems like it was yesterday when we were watching movies on the Fourth of July.

Love is grand.

 

I’ve really got to stop…

Momma’s house was always clean. I mean, the vacuum probably needed to be run because we have a cat, and I’m sure the baseboards could have used dusting. In fact, I know they needed dusting, because she asked me for 3 years to crawl around on my hands and knees over the entire house and dust the base boards. Never got done.

I have Thursdays off of work. Monday and Wednesday are my big days, because I’m designing pages. Tuesday, I upload to the internet and start on a few maintance things like designing new fillers. Friday, I build the Shopper cover and upload to the internet and finish up those maintance things. On Thursday, there’s nothing for me to do at work. NOTHING.

Just because I have Thursday’s off, doesn’t mean I’m not working.

I have a bad habit of cleaning the house without asking Alpha Male for help. He’ll be sitting here surfing the internet and I walk out of the office. I’ll come back 30 minutes later. He’ll ask me what I’ve been doing and usually it’s a reply of, “I straightened up the living room, washed and put up the dishes, I’m on my second load of laundry now; the first load is already been put up, got the trash ready to take out.”

I didn’t say that I was going to do that, didn’t even make a peep. Just got up and started cleaning.

I’ve always been told that you keep our house nice, because you never know who’s going to be knock on your front door.

Today, I’ve washed 3 loads of laundry, washed and put up dishes, soaked the shower curtain in a tub full of bleach, bleached my kitchen sink, picked up the living room, got the trash ready to take out, folded up and stored our “junk table”, moved the microwave and snack shelf beside the fridge, cleaned the bathroom, picked up the bedroom, and rearranged my kitchen/dining room.

I’ve always been worried that Alpha Male would secretly resent me or be annoyed by the fact that I get an extra day off during the week. And sometimes I wonder that when I start teaching, he’ll be annoyed that I get out of work before 4 p.m.

But I think that’s one reason why I clean without his help on Thursday’s when he’s not here. He works 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, and I work 4 days a week until whenever. I might get off at 2 p.m. or I might get off a 5:30.

I’ve always thought that marriage should be an equal partnership. It’s a 50/50 situtation. Not 70/30. If one day, he has to work 2 jobs, then by God, so am I.

But I’ve really got to stop surprising him when he walks in the door with an entire two rooms being rearranged. It’s like coming home to a changed house everyday. I only do it because we’re fairly new in our place and there’s still some boxes that need to be unpacked and some stuff that still needs to move.

I guess it’s because I want to show my shiny, new, fresh out of the wrapper husband that I’m not dependent on him. Well, not to say I’m independent, but that I work my butt off, and I take the initiative and I have drive. I guess it’s because I want him to be married to someone he can be proud of.

I know that washing dishes is nothing to brag about, but it’s the little things that count. I clean his underwear and he kills bugs for me. I rub his neck when it hurts and he takes his shower first in the morning so I can have a few extra minutes of sleep. I give him the piece of pizza that has the most pepperoni’s on it and he opens the car door for me every time.

It’s the little things that make life wonderful.

 

Now what?

Yeah, well. I’m sick of blogging about being married. I can’t really blog about all the good stuff that happens, because it’s either embarrassing, too much information, private, or all of the above. I don’t want to type about my bowel movements, our sex life or how we do lines of coke off a hooker’s ass when we’re feeling a little down in the mouth.

I still maintain that I’m about to buy me a handy dandy notebook to keep around with me. Jeremy says some of the funniest things, but it’s never at a time where I can type or write it down. He uses his cell phone’s notepad feature for writing down funny things from Patrick and me.

Like the other night, I dropped a pepperoni as I was laying it on the pizza, and I said, “I made a Pterodactyl noise when I dropped the pepperoni.” I really did sound like a big damn dinosaur bird. He wrote it down. He found it funny while people read that last line and go, “What…?” And that’s the thing; he found it funny and I found it funny, but we have a quirky sense of humor that some people don’t get.

Do I really want to put the effort in of typing about how I’m on my computer and how Jeremy’s on his computer behind me? I’d write that everyday. Except for 4 days out of the month when I’d write “I’m on my computer and Jeremy’s on his computer behind me, and my fucking head hurts and I have the cramps, because I’m PMS-ing. I’m hungry and nothing sounds good. I’m cold, but sweating. And my neck and head is killing me and I should have been born a boy. The End.”

And then I had an epiphany. HARK! ALAS! SHAZAM!

Marriage is not exciting.

Now,don’t get me wrong. I love being married to Jeremy and think it’s exciting. However, Joe Blow from Bum Fuck, Minnesota doesn’t give two shits about what Jeremy and I do.

Maybe I’m using this blogs as my friend. I’m the youngest person at work. Everyone has either been married, is married or should be married and has more important things to think about than me rambling about what Jeremy and I did last night.

I don’t have a good friend that I completely unload on. Except Jeremy, but he’s the other half of this dynamic duo so he’s experiencing all this with me.

What’s quite ironic is that I’m using a public blog that can be accessed by millions, if it was interesting enough, as my friend.

So, maybe instead of using this as a marriage/wedding/”OMG I’m so in love” blog, this blog is shaping up to be a more personal blog that’s peppered with vulgar language.

Oh, and if you want to know how today is going - I’m on my computer and Jeremy’s on his computer behind me, and my fucking head hurts and I have the cramps, because I’m PMS-ing. I’m hungry and nothing sounds good. I’m cold, but sweating. And my neck and head is killing me and I should have been born a boy.

The End.

 

Who said married couples were boring?

Jeremy and I have a sense of humor.

So, when I came running after him to tickle him, I didn’t mind that he threw his pack of cigarettes like a grenade and bounced them off my foot.

And he didn’t mind when I laughed at him, because fate decided to remind him that hardwood floors and socked feet don’t mix well. He laughed and fell down and I fell down and laughed.

All of this right after we got done watching America’s Funniest Home Videos.

 

The anti-bride

I am the anti-bride.

Well, technically, I’m not a bride anymore. But before I was married, I wanted nothing to do with big fancy weddings or elaborate receptions. My wedding and reception was perfect.

There was no tux and there was no big wedding dress. I was dressed in peach shirt and black pants with high heels. I figured my wedding was suitable occassion to dust off my dress shoes. My bad-ass husband was wearing his black cowboy boots which I think is totally awesome.

We went to courthouse, found the county court clerk, said “I do” five times (which I found odd) and headed back to Jeremy’s parents house for a cookout. Our family and best friends were there and that is all.

Our cake was a Dairy Queen ice cream cake. Our honeymoon was locking ourselves up in our house for a weekend. Granted, we are planning a trip to Six Flags, but time and money have to come together first.

We had a low-key wedding and everyone thought it was awesome.

I’ve heard horror stories about spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on a wedding. You could buy a car or a house with the money you spent on one day. I’m not saying that the day isn’t special, but logic and reason rule in this household and it wasn’t logical or reasonable to go broke getting married.

To us, the marriage is more important than the wedding. Wanting to get married was important. How we got married wasn’t as important.

Maybe that’s the problem with almost half the marriages in this country ending in divorce. Too many people focus on where and when they’re getting married, and not focus on the important thing: Why you’re getting married.

 

The feeling…

Every so often, someone will ask me if I feel like I’m married yet.

No. I don’t.

I think everyone expects to yell, “OMG! Yessss!” and gush about all the cutesy things that Jeremy and I do. Not that we don’t do cutesy things, I just don’t gush about them.

I’ll be honest. I didn’t know I was suppose to feel “The Feeling,” and I highly doubt I will ever feel the overwhelming wave of emotions, because I felt that before I got married. And it wasn’t an overwhelming feelings. It was more of a, “Dude. I love the shit out of you. How about you let me cook macaroni and cheese with hot dogs for you for the rest of you life?”

I’m kidding. Slightly.

But I don’t guess anyone realizes or understands that we felt married long before we actually got married. We’ve never been one to discuss life changing events like getting married. We both got there at the same time, and looked at each other one day and said, “Let’s get married.” So we did.

We didn’t even discuss Jeremy moving in. I came home from my mom’s house on Sunday night, and Jeremy came over after I got home and never left. It was just the natural progression of things. I was quite happy with the arrangement, because it was getting harder and harder not to wake up to his wonderful face everyday.

While I don’t feel “The Feeling,” I do feel love, happiness, and excitement. Jeremy felt like my husband long before we got married. I started making decisions with him in mind and making sure he was happy long before we said “I do.” And he did/does the same with me.

So, have I felt that feeling yet? No, because I felt about 5 months ago.

 

Don’t slam on the brakes…

Tomorrow is J and I’s one month wedding anniversary. Yeah, we’ve already been married a whole month, and I really don’t know where the time has went. And the next month, on the 10th, will be our one year anniversary of being together.

It’s shocking how much can happen and how much can change in a year. In fact, the people who hosted the Fourth of July party where me and Jeremy first went out in public are having/had a baby. They may have already had their baby, because she was due yesterday.

In a year, I’ve finally found my niche at WCP. I think Newscoma will agree when I say that the first couple of months at WCP was a little rough on me and I didn’t make it easier on her either. I started out writing, and I think everyone figured out at the same time that I hate writing. (Irony, I know. I keep two blogs and hate writing.) They moved me into design and started coming to me for tech stuff, and finally, FINALLY, I, and everyone else, figured out what I rocked at. I can’t write anything of any substance, but my God, I’ll make it look fantastic.

In a year, J has quit his job that he worked 6 years at and established himself at a new one. In a year, I’ve met J’s two best friends and they have become two of my best friends.

In a year, I’ve gone from college graduate where I graduated Cum Laude to a graduate student where I’m rocking a 3.7 GPA. I’ve gone from executive editor of The Pacer to designer at The Press. I’ve gone from living in a university government housing shoebox with noisy neighbors and roaches to a duplex with an office and a bedroom and plenty of room to get comfortable. I’ve gone from Miss Watts to Mrs. Lackey.

J and I have decided that since we haven’t had a one year anniversary, that we’re going to celebrate July 10th this year, but after that, we’ll celebrate May 16th as our anniversary. So, I’ll get two one year anniversaries in less than a year. It’s like Christmas coming twice in one year.

Our mother-in-laws have started mentioning grandbabies. Not that I don’t want kids, but I don’t want them in the next year. We still got to get all that kinky, wild newlywed sex out of the way, before we settle into a wholesome missionary lifestyle. (*snort* Yeah, right.)

No one can ever predict what the next year will bring. All it takes is a day or a moment to change your life. Sometimes it’s good, and sometimes it’s bad. And by bad, I mean it only took a day for 5 people at The Press to come down with the flu at the same time.

Side story: Days after Valentine’s, Newscoma, Badger, Madam Squirrely, Brina, and I caught the flu within hours of each other. Jeremy came home and slid my newly-sized engagement ring on my finger while the thermometer in my mouth said I had a  103.6 fever. I wasn’t able to show my engagement ring to the parents until two weeks later when I felt like being human.

But whatever does or doesn’t happen, you can’t slam on the brakes, because life is moving too fast. You have to have you seat belt on so you don’t get hurt by the sudden stop, and you have to plant a foot in the floor so you don’t fall over when life takes a sharp turn.

I’ve never believed in fate or destiny, because that means that I don’t have control of my life. My life hasn’t been decided for me, and I make decisions, because I, not Buddah, Allah, God, the stars or Yoda, think they’re the best.

However, I think the decisions you make decide what’s going to happen in your life. What if I had graduated with a Education degree instead of a Communications degree? Would I have worked at The Press? Doubtful. Would I have met Jeremy? Unlikely. Would I have started blogging again? Probably not.

But if you sit back and wonder where your life would be if things had been different, you’ll miss out on what you’ve got in front of you. I think a lot of lives would be better if people would stop counting their losses and started counting their blessings.

And I think one of the biggest blessings I’ve received is J. I’ve laughed with him, cried with him, snuggled up next to him and buried my cold toes in his legs. I’ll only ever admit this once, and if you ask me about it again, I’ll deny it, but the only reason I put my cold toes on his legs is so he’ll grunt out “Woman!” in the that deep, gravely, sleeply voice that makes me giggle and feel special and tell me to snuggle closer while he grabs my hand and pulls me to his back. Heck, sometimes, I’ll stand on the hardwood floor an extra long time so my toes will be nice and frigid.

So, I think that in order to enjoy life and get the most out of it, you have to count your blessings, make wise decisions, and fight the urge to slam on the brakes with life goes too fast. Because when life goes too fast, if you close your eyes, you’ll forget that life is traveling at the speed of light and you’ll only notice the wind whipping around your face and the indescribable feeling of flying that you will feel.

 

I’ve decided…

I’ve decided what I’m going to use this blog for.

I’ve never blogged for someone else or for an audience. I’ve always blogged for me and still do. I could really give a damn if anyone ever reads this blog, likes this blog, or visits.

I have another blog at killawatt.wordpress.com that I blog for shits and giggles, and lately I’ve been posting music videos of music that I’ve listened to. Almost everyday, I have the urge to sit down and blog about how life has changed with being married, how much I’ve learned being married, and how wonderful being married is. However, I know that after a while, most people will get tired of hearing about love and being married.

When I was single and people would be in love, it would get annoying when hearing about how wonderful their lives was/is, and how much fun they had doing stuff together, even if it was mundane and trivial. Now that I’m married, I get it. And I want to remember it.

I made the mistake of not blogging at the beginning of our relationship. It was one of the most fantastic and whirlwind times of my life. It all started with fireworks and those fireworks still go off between me and my husband everyday. It might be a look, a hug, a kiss, or just a moment shared.

But anyways, I didn’t blog at the beginning of our relationship, and I wish I had. It’s not that I don’t remember it, but as time passes, the memories get a little fuzzier. Well, some of the memories.

So, I’ve decided that I don’t want to forget a single moment of this marriage. I know that my mind will eventually start to forget, because time has a way of doing that, but hopefully, I can come back to his blog and remember and laugh and smile.

While the address of my blog is ecwatts, my last name is now Lackey. I’m not signing up for a new blog when I have a perfectly good one sitting here waiting on me to make up my mind. So, with that said, this will be the blog that I post at when I want to write about the lovey-dovey stuff that not everyone wants to read. Everything else will be at the other blog.