Don’t underestimate the Clapton.
January 19, 2009
Guitar Hero with my daughter.
Having a blast.
She’s kicking my butt, of course. I’m not coordinated enough to play this game well, and I get so tense because the chords aren’t done on tempo really and end up with sore arms at the end because of the effort.
Of course, Wii has turned out to be a much greater workout than I had originally imagined. Especially if you do the games the way they were designed to be played instead of taking the shortcuts.
At the moment, Abbey is playing Black Magic Woman, totally underestimating Clapton, thinking that because the song has a mellow tempo that she’s going to be able to play it out.
I’m enjoying her frustration.
She underestimated the Clapton.
And because of it, has switched to Tenacious D.
Life is sweet, my friends.
This weekend has been a bit of a long one.
I’m glad I have tomorrow off to spend some time with the young one and recoup a bit, but I believe it’s one I’m not going to be able to brush off for a while.
We’re facing a lot, the two of us, and she’s going back and forth so much that she’s spun my head completely around – and probably everyone else’s though.
I believe I know what’s best for her though – I definitely pray that I continue to be guided along the right path.
I’m definitely glad she’s home tonight – that adds to the level of peace I have.
I hope beyond hope that things stay this way.
A cautionary tale.
January 16, 2009
Don’t ever let me shop for you.
Ever.
Every time I have a selection to choose from, I always, always, always choose the most expensive item without needing to look at a price tag.
In this way, wedding shopping has been a nightmare. I love it – it’s tons of fun, but the minute I hear a price, I immediately wince on the inside. And then, of course, find a way to do it in my budget.
But today’s amusement comes from invitation shopping.
I fell in love.
And not the temporary love.
We’re talking the once-in-a-lifetime kind of love that a woman can only feel with truly good design. (and my fiance, of course.)
And.
The invitation set alone started at $1500. to upwards of $4000.
The moral of this story is that I need to hire a wedding planner and then not be allowed to make any major decisions until she can give me a selection of only three items – then I need to go from there.
No one let me near Nordstrom’s shoe department! I’m armed with expensive taste!
Making wise decisions in spite of myself.
January 12, 2009
The weekend was one of those weekends that makes you wish you’d shopped at the motivation store more often in your childhood.
I accomplished, but not much.
Laundry is almost completely done – a fact that is both wonderful and insane, considering the amount of clothes my daughter has managed to collect in 8 months. Holy moly, 8 months?!!?
And those aren’t even her daily school clothes, which are at my parents!
I’m beginning to come to grips with the fact that no one is ever prepared to plan a wedding and to become more calm in that chaos.
In other words, I’m not going to freak out until the money runs out – and considering the budget, I’m sure we’ll be fine.
I could have timed this better. But Abbey wanted to make her choice and he wanted to get married and I find myself in the midst of a million things on the ‘to do’ list and no fattening foods to make the journey easier.
Did I mention I’m on a health quest?
A quest to rid myself of the sodas and sugars and fats that have taken up so much of my life – when my metabolism still existed.
How I miss that metabolism.
I’m halfway into the idea of convincing Lindsey or Charlie that their wedding present to me should be bitching me into shape, but I think that’s somewhat presumptuous – I’m bigger than they are, so my major defense would be the squish defense.
No matter how quick they are, I’m sure my body would catch them.
I’m implementing a sort of weight loss contest among those around me – to see if that will help motivate me and the rest to start behaving better.
Making better choices. Watching out for whole grains and fibers and vitamins and such – getting rid of the more unhealthy foods to enjoy only on occasion.
Cross your fingers for me – this will be hard, because I’m an incredible cook when I cook and I haven’t the foggiest how to do so healthily.
hmm. At least I switched to ‘I can’t believe it’s not butter’ a while ago… right? Right?!!?
Le sigh.
French fries, how I crave you.
No, I’m right where I want to be. Thank you, though.
January 10, 2009
I wonder what the big stigma is with therapists.
I have one. My daughter has one.
I think everyone should have one.
What is the big deal with having someone with no emotional bias attached to your life listen to your problems, offer advice and insight, and to encourage you to improve your mental health, step by step.
And by mental health, I don’t mean that you’re mentally UNhealthy before you go, simply that there is something wonderful about being totally and completely encouraged to improve your relationships with those around you, to aim for your dreams and BELIEVE you can achieve them, and to teach you how to stop equating your self worth with the size of your body, the initials after your name, or what material things you have accomplished in your life.
Although most of us have friends – at least a few CLOSE friends – there is something to be said about an outside point of view.
Something to be said about learning something about ourselves with a few intuitive questions and time to wonder.
But as a dramatic time in my life approaches, I wonder why it’s looked down upon, this soul-searching, soul-SAVING that I encourage everyone to enjoy.
Being told I’m unfit was quite a shock – through all the mud-slinging that has gone on behind my back, I hadn’t received that one directly… only through my daughter. But now, on legal papers no less, I realize that I’ll have to answer questions that were privately my own and now will belong to others.
Am I unfit?
No. Perhaps at one time, 12 years ago, without the tools or the smarts to pull it off by myself.
But I didn’t have to – I’m lucky in that, and because of my family’s help, I grew and grew quickly.
Now I’m more than fit, more than stable, more than mature and strong enough to handle almost anything that comes my way.
Including this, my biggest fear, my biggest challenge.
So unfit is more a laughable insult – a discredit to what I accomplished with my parents help, and all that I’ve accomplished in the years since. To those who oppose me, I’m still the same person I was at 16 and always will be. I can’t help that – I can’t fix that – but I have the calm in facing that as one who knows what it’s like to work two jobs to feed and clothe and take care of someone who’s counting on them.
I am a woman, a mature woman. A mother who’s sacrificed – and is blissfully happy for the opportunity to have done so.
I’m not ashamed for needing help to maintain perspective. There are times when I look around and think that the heartbreak my daughter has had and I’m surprised I haven’t needed more time to yell at the unfairness of it all.
The medical bills, the daycare, the school costs, the clothes, the tears, the sick days, the phone calls… Who wouldn’t need an outlet at the thought of losing the ability to make sure the person they loved most in the world was okay.
If she’s okay, I’m okay.
Sometimes we need a little help – a little perspective.
And I’m sorry, but I can’t find it in myself to be ashamed of that, no matter the cultural stigma.
Effort.
January 8, 2009
Okay. Calling one, calling all – The Biggest Loser competition – or my version of it.
I suppose that’s copyrighted, so let’s calling it the Biggest Anti-Gainer: Competition Lish’s Wedding.
I’m totally serious.
Anyone is welcome to join – not just the girls in my wedding. But every one of you.
It starts Sunday. $10 to join. Winner takes all the money.
Weigh-in the first weekend of October.
Thoughts?
If you want to join, email me at snpdragn@gmail.com – money will be through paypal in order for everything to be kept all neat and clean and no one has to hold on to it.
No retroactive weight losses count…
It’s from this point on.
I need a good kick in the butt.
Big time.
Big and quick.
The change has to start here and I need to be held accountable.
Not just for the wedding, but for the rest of my life.
Obviously my workouts aren’t enough. I need some serious help at this point.
And just maybe, maybe, some of you do too – and this can be the kick in the ass we need.
Reception Dilemmas
January 6, 2009
So the golf club next to my apartment has their banquet hall open on my date.
Same number of people, different venue.
I’ll give you a picture or two to show you because I’m thinking aloud.
One is the caterer’s hall. First Choice Catering – Ironically the only caterer that North Creek will allow you to use, so either way, they’re cooking the food.
First Choice will rent to me – if they do the food, for $1175 before food. Includes things like linens (only white with the black chairs), tables, chairs, yadda yadda.
The only problem really is that they look smaller – when we went they were set up for a dinner for 50 and it already looked a little tight, though I believe them when they say they can work it out for more, but here’s what we got on the inside – excuse the pictures if they’re blurry and focus on the space.
BUT.
Here’s where the building is located – the building that I’ve circled for you…
The other, the golf club, says it has about the same size square feet – the price would be $1400 for the rental, and there would be a corking fee for each bottle of wine or champagne. Tables and chairs are included – linens would be extra, and the chairs are awfully ugly.
Here’s the outside of the club though:
And then just the size of the inside, as they had two parties this weekend and the carpet cleaners and maids haven’t been in yet because it’s icy and gross here in Memphis, so don’t pay attention to the mess… it definitely has a better view…
So.
There’s my dilemma.
Actually, most of you are probably going ‘what the hell does it matter?’
The answer is… I have no fucking clue.
For some reason random stuff has become a bigger deal than it used to be and I’ve become incapable of making decisions.
Damnit.
