Glad, where?

What a day. After a 6 month process, I showed up in court on my appointed day of today and then waited for what seemed like ages for a courtroom full of people to sign in. I then gave my testimony when called, which took about a minute, and I was done. I held up my right hand, swore in, and answered a battery of questions asked by my attorney with "yes yes yes yes yes yes yes". And now it's over.

Georgina accompanied me for moral support which was super fab of her because it was all pretty boring really. It could have been less boring if we could have knit, but we couldn't take our needles in. We talked about how strange it was to wait with all those people, all knowing that they're going through the same process. All these random people end up in this one spot on one day for the same reason. Like when you're waiting for a mammogram, and you know everyone there is going to get their boobs smooshed. Or when I saw an eating disorders psychologist years ago, and if there was someone waiting in the waiting room when I came out I felt like I had this automatic bond with them, that I knew that they were messed up, but I didn't know if they were throw-uppers, or anorexic or what. And I was curious about that. But your eyes don't even meet because that would be weird, because we wanted our screwed-upness to be anonymous. How things have changed, because here I am posting about it on my blog.

Now I just feel exhausted.

I got a message from the ex today that said that he was thinking about how the last time he told me he loved me, and that I told him that he only thinks he loves me. And he said maybe I was right.

What is love anyway.

I'm so tired, I can't even function right now. My dog keeps looking at me with concern. Or maybe she just wants to get fed. I think I've secured my dog's love with food, but that sure doesn't work with people. That's just a pile of empty gladware containers.

Jive Turkey

It's Thanksgiving weekend.

Our usual Thanksgiving gig was cancelled due to the stressiness of my aunt that would have hosted. My grandfather broke his hip and had surgery, and she's been the one helping her mother out and getting her back and forth to the hospital. When she called on Sunday to tell me, I was similarly stressy from the party that was shortly due to start at my own home to celebrate Luka's birthday. His birthday was the Sunday before but I just couldn't do it then, too much going on. So when my aunt called, I shrieked, "I know where you're comin' from sister!"

So the boys and I spent Thanksgiving at home, and I rather looked forward to it. I like to hang out with my family, but it's been so chaotic here that I was glad to be able to just come to a screeching halt for a second. I planned a beta-carotene Thanksgiving--I was going to make stuffed acorn squash with veggie sausage, smashed potatoes, turnips and baby carrots with faux chicken gravy, and carrot soup. For some reason I bought what seems like a bushel of baby carrots at Costco for Luka's b-day party and I have to use them up. I figured my kids wouldn't be thrilled with the pervasive carrot theme, but we all like fake meat. Boca makes good stuff, and so does Tofurkey. I don't really like their fake roast, but their sausage is good and I was going to chop up some of their Italian sausage to put in the squash.

Late afternoon, I took the boys to see Bee Movie. I am not a huge fan of going to the movie theater, and became less so when I had to fork over $21 for the three of us. I thought there was a discount for getting there early, but I think they were gouging us for the holidays. I brought my knitting and two little flashlights to knit by that turned out to have dead batteries, so for a good portion of the torturous movie I was holding up my knitting to be silhoutted against the screen so I could see what I was doing. We discussed the movie afterwards, and I taught them a new word--"formulaic".

I was starving by the time we left, too hungry to go home and cook the planned dinner that they probably wouldn't appreciate anyway, so we decided to search out an open restaurant. I figured our best bet was Asian, but Tuptim and DaLat weren't open. We stopped at Pita Pita and ate there. I'd been there before, but I never noticed how dirty it was. I took Luka to the bathroom, and started immediately telling him "don't touch that! don't touch that!" He grabbed the door handle before I could wrap it, and so I made him rewash his hands. I know from Microbiology what would grow on some agar if any door handle were swabbed and cultured, and normally I don't make a big deal about it but this place was gross! Then I noticed everything that needed to be cleaned and I started getting a headache thinking about how disgusting the kitchen might be. I guess that was kind of a depressing Thanksgiving dinner. We went home and had a nice time playing board games, though.

Yesterday I took the boys to their Grandma's and they're staying for two blissful nights. There is so much I want to get done, but unfortunately I discovered that the furnace wasn't kicking it out as it should. I had a heating and cooling dude out and found out that the fan is broke and it can't be replaced until Monday. Well, it could have if I coughed up an extra $100 because the supply house was closed for the holiday and they would charge extra to go open up. Thrifty as I am, I said nah, I'll wait. So it's currently 51 degrees, calm wind, barometer steady in my living room. When I was drinking coffee, I could see my breath. Now I just want to sit here swaddled on the couch, but I can't let some good freedom go to waste so here I go. I'm going to try to warm up this place with some cleaning energy and I suppose it's a good time as any to fire up the oven and cook that squash.

Turn 42, First Tattoo

I turned 42 last week.

Georgina threw me a party at her house, which was loads of fun. We ate delicious food, including a pesto pate thingie that was demolished and a roasted veggie soup that Brooke made. I know there was a can of Campbell's soup in there, and according to Brooke, that was the magic ingredient. Andy brought a cake that eventually was blazing on its entire top surface. We also demolished a case of Dark Corner.

I missed Julie, who didn't make it because she was sick. I guess the upside is, as I decided to wear something lowcut, at least she wasn't there to steal my boob thunder.

We danced! Thanks to Brooke and Shawn for providing the tunes, as well as entertaining us with their dance routines. A highlight of the evening was reenacting Tara's fourth grade dance routine to Devo's Whip It. We did that twice.

I also did double duty in the spanking machine. It was supposed to be a progressive spanking machine, although the first time it didn't work out that way so we redid it. I ended up with elbow burns since there was some low-clearance areas that required some elbow-shimmying. It was an all-ages spanking machine, and there were some young 'uns that were more challenging to get through. Our parties are family-friendly, after all.

I felt lucky to have such great friends to celebrate with. I am glad to have the vim and vigor to make it through a spanking machine. I hope to still go through spanking machines when I'm 82, truly.

The day after the party, I got my first tattoo. I met up with Leo Zulueta of Spiral Tattoo, and he proceeded to draw the design on my wrist. I had been into his place before and looked at this portfolio, and I loved the wrist tattoo that he had done on another woman. It's not his usual style. He is known for his work in tribal tattooing, the big bold Polynesian style tattoos. Another thing about Leo is that he draws the tattoo freehand, which apparently is unusual because a lot of tattoo artists use stencils. That's my understanding anyway, but like I said, this was my first one.

I spent a probably a total of three hours there, and I'd say that it took two hours to draw, and one to actually tattoo. Leo was meticulous, and kept redoing the art. Other than starting to feel a little hypoglycemic, I really enjoyed the whole process. Leo is very knowledgeable about the history of tattooing, and talked a lot about that. His partner, Diane, was there, a tattoo artist herself and photographer, and they were the cutest thing together. She oohed and aahed over my tattoo, and they smooched each other when they crossed paths, and he told me how she was his biggest supporter. He told me how he thought tattoos are a sort of rite of passage, and that those are missing in our society. He told me he thought the tattoo would help me, and how he knew they helped Diane. I asked her in what way, and she told me about how it's helped her claim her body and herself, no matter what society tells her is appropriate. She showed me something that she had framed on the wall, that was attributed to Nelson Mandela but when I looked it up I found that it was actually written by Marianne Williamson, and it goes like this:

"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some; it is in everyone. And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Other than the God stuff, I can relate.

I love my little tattoo. I like that I can see it, because I do think of it as a little ritual that is marking this time in my life. There are a lot of changes going on with me now, and it's kind of a hard time because I'm juggling a lot with home and school. I look at my tattoo, and I think--I can do it, I have to do it. I like that there was pain involved in the process. I like that the design is evocative of water and feathers, and that it encircles my wrist, one of the toughest parts of my body on one side, and one of the most vulnerable on the inside. The two dots on the inside represent my babies, and I didn't think of this at the time, but I think it's fitting that they are on the side where the skin is thinnest and you can see the vessels that carry my blood.