(Taken in Helena, Alabama.)
Monday
Just a little snip....
I love a veterinarian's office with a sense of humor. Wonder which one of the ladies was having marital problems that day??
(Taken in Helena, Alabama.)
(Taken in Helena, Alabama.)
Thursday
Close-talkers..
Remember the Seinfeld episode with Judge Reinhold as a "close talker" ?
Apparently this trend is alive and well in central Alabama. In the last few days I have encountered no less than 5 close talkers. And I don't get it...don't they know about personal space and boundaries? Don't they know my aversion to complete strangers recycling my oxygen as their own?
Apparently not.
I experienced this type of person many times in my law enforcement career, but I found a subtle but firm grip of my hand on the butt of my Sig-Sauer .45 instantly remedied the situation.
Now, apparently I have the appearance of someone who is either blind, hard of hearing or has an affinity for smelling your breath. I mean I know I'm smoking hot and all
**crickets **
...but really?? Back up bub.
And it's not just older people, or someone who can't hear....oh noooo, it crosses all age lines and apparently does not discriminate.
Yesterday, I actually had a close talker that gave me such a case of the heebies I had to leave the area several times. I'm sure he's a very nice fellow, but he looked just like Buffalo Bill from Silence of The Lambs, down to the blond stringy hair and dual hoop earrings. He also kept touching my arm and asked me several what I thought were TMI questions like how long had I worked there, where I was from, where I lived and could he "oh please have a business card". He also began and finished each sentence with my name. It was like being in a creepy-deepy echo chamber. Or a pit in the basement. **uuurggghh** It's bad enough I have Dr. Lecter coming by to see me, now this guy. And anyone who has seen the movie knows that Bill likes the big girls.
Today it happened a few more times. I'm getting so good at walking backwards I could probably learn to moonwalk.
Now, I can't be a total hypocrite and I will say that hey, if you're my type I am about the close talking and you can just lean in and love all over me if you want. Unless you have funky teeth or smell like an ashtray, then you can just go on with your bad self. Sorry, I love the pretty pearlies and can't stand the smoky smell unless it involves firewood, burning leaves or the scent of a filet wafting out of the grill. And bacon. Mmmmmmm bacon.
So basically, unless you look like this ,
This,
or this,
Please give me my space and I'll give you the same courtesy.
Wonder if I could find a snappy pink holster for my Sig?
Apparently this trend is alive and well in central Alabama. In the last few days I have encountered no less than 5 close talkers. And I don't get it...don't they know about personal space and boundaries? Don't they know my aversion to complete strangers recycling my oxygen as their own?
Apparently not.
I experienced this type of person many times in my law enforcement career, but I found a subtle but firm grip of my hand on the butt of my Sig-Sauer .45 instantly remedied the situation.
Now, apparently I have the appearance of someone who is either blind, hard of hearing or has an affinity for smelling your breath. I mean I know I'm smoking hot and all
**crickets **
...but really?? Back up bub.
And it's not just older people, or someone who can't hear....oh noooo, it crosses all age lines and apparently does not discriminate.
Yesterday, I actually had a close talker that gave me such a case of the heebies I had to leave the area several times. I'm sure he's a very nice fellow, but he looked just like Buffalo Bill from Silence of The Lambs, down to the blond stringy hair and dual hoop earrings. He also kept touching my arm and asked me several what I thought were TMI questions like how long had I worked there, where I was from, where I lived and could he "oh please have a business card". He also began and finished each sentence with my name. It was like being in a creepy-deepy echo chamber. Or a pit in the basement. **uuurggghh** It's bad enough I have Dr. Lecter coming by to see me, now this guy. And anyone who has seen the movie knows that Bill likes the big girls.
Today it happened a few more times. I'm getting so good at walking backwards I could probably learn to moonwalk.
Now, I can't be a total hypocrite and I will say that hey, if you're my type I am about the close talking and you can just lean in and love all over me if you want. Unless you have funky teeth or smell like an ashtray, then you can just go on with your bad self. Sorry, I love the pretty pearlies and can't stand the smoky smell unless it involves firewood, burning leaves or the scent of a filet wafting out of the grill. And bacon. Mmmmmmm bacon.
So basically, unless you look like this ,
This,
or this,
Please give me my space and I'll give you the same courtesy.
Wonder if I could find a snappy pink holster for my Sig?
Tuesday
Random Awkwardness.....
I experience episodes of random awkwardness on a near-daily basis.
The people that bring the climate of R-A upon me aren't being malicious or intentionally hurtful, they are just doing what people do in the course of everyday conversation. Even so, sometimes I just wish people would zip it.
R-A usually pops up in a random conversation between me and people I deal with at work, or at a store, restaurant or some place where I am buying something or getting a service.
Thursday, I went to the dentist. After getting my pearlie's shined I was at the receptionist's desk making my next appointment when one of the tech's walked up. She smiled her usual cheery smile and asked me her usual cheery question "How's married life?" Ouch and hellloooo Random Awkwardness !! The ladies in the office just kind of looked up wide-eyed, as they had already heard about Gregory's death from the myriad of my family members that use the same dentist. I took a deep breath and told her what had happened, and embarrassed, she mumbled I'm sorry and left out of there like her ass was on fire. I wasn't mad, and she had no need to be embarassed because she didn't know and was just being nice. But it sure made everyone feel the wrath of R-A.
The same day I stopped at a restaurant that I had been avoiding because it was one of our regular haunts, but I was missing it and thought that maybe it was time to go back. I figured the turnover rate had been pretty high before so there was no way the same people we knew would be there. Wrong. Immediately upon sitting down I was asked " Hey, where's your husband?"
I managed to quell the urge to jump up and flee long enough to push out, "Oh, he's out of town." (Not a total lie.) Then I ordered myself a nice stiff drink. Cheers baby.
I also have to stop the sick bitch that lives inside me who carries around a little teeny urn full of his ashes in my purse and resist the urge to whip them out and boom " He's right here !! At least part of him anyway, and judging from the size of this container it's probably his big toe or something." I have unfortunately bestowed that act on several unsuspecting fellow bloggers, I mean there are pictures and everything. I'd like to go ahead and apologize for that now. I blame the drugs.
Anyway.....
See the difference?? With some people, R-A requires the truth be delivered as bluntly and harshly as the drop of a guillotine blade. With others, you can dance around it as you would a pile of horse droppings in the middle of the fairgrounds.
I've experienced a bit of R-A in the past, but it was oh so different. When I was getting a divorce from my first husband, people would ask where he was or how he was or whatever and I would instantly stifle my breaking grin and blurt out - "We're getting divorced !!" while trying to hide the glee in my voice and attempting to keep from doing a little happy soft-shoe right there in front of them.
This time, obviously it's not even the same. I can't just say "Oh he died unexpectedly and it tore out my heart and changed me forever and it was all I could do not to follow him into the crematorium and everyday it's a struggle to get out of bed and act like a normal person and breathe and not drink myself into a stupor every night because that's the only way I can really sleep and I type a lot of run-on sentences in my blog posts but really I don't care anymore because my best friend is dead and frankly I just don't give a shit about proper punctuation but I'm really good at faking it and pretending that your question doesn't feel like a knife going into my heart. "
I damn sure wish I could answer it that way sometimes though. But it probably wouldn't earn me alot of friends. Probably get me to the secret floor in the hospital basement pretty quick-like, actually.
But I can't. So I don't.
Oh sure, with people I will have to see again, and some people who aren't close but I feel comfortable with, when they say something I grit my teeth, turn off my emotions and put on my brave face and tell them in a carefully rehearsed and memorized statement what happened. Then I wait for the inevitable condolences and other things that follow. And then I thank them and walk away.
The guy at Auto Zone who tells me my husband can probably put the wiper blades I just purchased on my Jeep?
The lady at Target who comments on how beautiful my rings and jewelry are and that I'm a lucky girl and my husband must have good taste?
And the lady at Publix in the deli that always tells me to tell that crazy chatty husband of mine hi?
And all the other carriers of R-A ?
To them, I say "ha-ha" or "will do" or "Thanks" while making low gurgling noises and extracting myself from their space as quickly as possible without pulling my hair out and running away screaming.
I seem to be getting better at telling people what happened though. I try to think of what G would always say - "it is what it is."
Maybe one day I'll actually be able to tell everyone the truth.
My husband's dead and he's never coming back.
He'll never sit with me at some empty restaurant in the middle of a weekday and talk about stuff that only matters to us while we plan our next adventure or even our next nap.
He'll never again tell me he's got me something shiny because I'm his sunshine.
He'll never change the wiper blades on my jeep or quiz the deli lady about whether their prosciutto is as good as what we could get in Philly.
He'll never tell me he loves me again or ask me not to go to work that day so I could hang out with him.
But every day, he somehow gives me the strength I need to make it through the next second, the next minute, and the next hour that string together to form the long days without him.
He gives me the will to fight through the random awkwardness, to be proud to be his wife, and to know that one day , in some way either decreed by a higher power or otherwise, I will find myself seeing his smile and folding myself into his strong embrace again.
Keep bringing it babes, 'cause I won't let the R-A keep me down.
The people that bring the climate of R-A upon me aren't being malicious or intentionally hurtful, they are just doing what people do in the course of everyday conversation. Even so, sometimes I just wish people would zip it.
R-A usually pops up in a random conversation between me and people I deal with at work, or at a store, restaurant or some place where I am buying something or getting a service.
Thursday, I went to the dentist. After getting my pearlie's shined I was at the receptionist's desk making my next appointment when one of the tech's walked up. She smiled her usual cheery smile and asked me her usual cheery question "How's married life?" Ouch and hellloooo Random Awkwardness !! The ladies in the office just kind of looked up wide-eyed, as they had already heard about Gregory's death from the myriad of my family members that use the same dentist. I took a deep breath and told her what had happened, and embarrassed, she mumbled I'm sorry and left out of there like her ass was on fire. I wasn't mad, and she had no need to be embarassed because she didn't know and was just being nice. But it sure made everyone feel the wrath of R-A.
The same day I stopped at a restaurant that I had been avoiding because it was one of our regular haunts, but I was missing it and thought that maybe it was time to go back. I figured the turnover rate had been pretty high before so there was no way the same people we knew would be there. Wrong. Immediately upon sitting down I was asked " Hey, where's your husband?"
I managed to quell the urge to jump up and flee long enough to push out, "Oh, he's out of town." (Not a total lie.) Then I ordered myself a nice stiff drink. Cheers baby.
I also have to stop the sick bitch that lives inside me who carries around a little teeny urn full of his ashes in my purse and resist the urge to whip them out and boom " He's right here !! At least part of him anyway, and judging from the size of this container it's probably his big toe or something." I have unfortunately bestowed that act on several unsuspecting fellow bloggers, I mean there are pictures and everything. I'd like to go ahead and apologize for that now. I blame the drugs.
Anyway.....
See the difference?? With some people, R-A requires the truth be delivered as bluntly and harshly as the drop of a guillotine blade. With others, you can dance around it as you would a pile of horse droppings in the middle of the fairgrounds.
I've experienced a bit of R-A in the past, but it was oh so different. When I was getting a divorce from my first husband, people would ask where he was or how he was or whatever and I would instantly stifle my breaking grin and blurt out - "We're getting divorced !!" while trying to hide the glee in my voice and attempting to keep from doing a little happy soft-shoe right there in front of them.
This time, obviously it's not even the same. I can't just say "Oh he died unexpectedly and it tore out my heart and changed me forever and it was all I could do not to follow him into the crematorium and everyday it's a struggle to get out of bed and act like a normal person and breathe and not drink myself into a stupor every night because that's the only way I can really sleep and I type a lot of run-on sentences in my blog posts but really I don't care anymore because my best friend is dead and frankly I just don't give a shit about proper punctuation but I'm really good at faking it and pretending that your question doesn't feel like a knife going into my heart. "
I damn sure wish I could answer it that way sometimes though. But it probably wouldn't earn me alot of friends. Probably get me to the secret floor in the hospital basement pretty quick-like, actually.
But I can't. So I don't.
Oh sure, with people I will have to see again, and some people who aren't close but I feel comfortable with, when they say something I grit my teeth, turn off my emotions and put on my brave face and tell them in a carefully rehearsed and memorized statement what happened. Then I wait for the inevitable condolences and other things that follow. And then I thank them and walk away.
The guy at Auto Zone who tells me my husband can probably put the wiper blades I just purchased on my Jeep?
The lady at Target who comments on how beautiful my rings and jewelry are and that I'm a lucky girl and my husband must have good taste?
And the lady at Publix in the deli that always tells me to tell that crazy chatty husband of mine hi?
And all the other carriers of R-A ?
To them, I say "ha-ha" or "will do" or "Thanks" while making low gurgling noises and extracting myself from their space as quickly as possible without pulling my hair out and running away screaming.
I seem to be getting better at telling people what happened though. I try to think of what G would always say - "it is what it is."
Maybe one day I'll actually be able to tell everyone the truth.
My husband's dead and he's never coming back.
He'll never sit with me at some empty restaurant in the middle of a weekday and talk about stuff that only matters to us while we plan our next adventure or even our next nap.
He'll never again tell me he's got me something shiny because I'm his sunshine.
He'll never change the wiper blades on my jeep or quiz the deli lady about whether their prosciutto is as good as what we could get in Philly.
He'll never tell me he loves me again or ask me not to go to work that day so I could hang out with him.
But every day, he somehow gives me the strength I need to make it through the next second, the next minute, and the next hour that string together to form the long days without him.
He gives me the will to fight through the random awkwardness, to be proud to be his wife, and to know that one day , in some way either decreed by a higher power or otherwise, I will find myself seeing his smile and folding myself into his strong embrace again.
Keep bringing it babes, 'cause I won't let the R-A keep me down.
Monday
Yanno....
...what really, really sucks about being a widow??
Besides the whole husband being dead and all ?
It's the little things.
It's having a great blog post written about the amazing Sunday you spent at your parent's house doing the yardwork that your husband used to do, and being able to do it all by yourself and you figured out all of the lawn tools and the hedges you trimmed look oh so even, and being so proud and feeling all accomplished and "super widow-y" like, even though you got a hang nail on your pinky toe because like an igmo, you wore no socks with your yard shoes.
It's having a fab evening that included Waffle House, champagne, good friends and favorite fall TV shows. It's thinking "Hey !! Maybe I will get through this after all!" It's anticipating a great "Me" Monday of a mani/pedi, a new fall hairdo', and a late lunch and movie before Monday Night Football.
Then......
It's ripping out aforementioned pinky toe hangnail by scraping the laundry basket whilst walking through the bathroom, bleeding all over the beige bedroom carpet like a stuck pig, and breaking down into a wailing, snot flinging mess on the cool bathroom tile because you can't find the neosporin, nor any band-aids, and the dog is trying to lick up the peroxide you spilled on the floor while hopping across the tile on your one good foot.
Then after you manage to regain just a bit of composure you only find coach's tape to wrap your pinky toe in, and you do a craptacular job of that because hell everyone knows it takes TWO PEOPLE to properly wrap a pinky toe and I'll be damned if my person didn't up and DIE ON ME so my toe looks and feels like deviled crap.
And it was 5 minutes after midnight, which meant MONDAY.
Hey Monday??
See that pinky toe there?? Sit and spin would ya?
Besides the whole husband being dead and all ?
It's the little things.
It's having a great blog post written about the amazing Sunday you spent at your parent's house doing the yardwork that your husband used to do, and being able to do it all by yourself and you figured out all of the lawn tools and the hedges you trimmed look oh so even, and being so proud and feeling all accomplished and "super widow-y" like, even though you got a hang nail on your pinky toe because like an igmo, you wore no socks with your yard shoes.
It's having a fab evening that included Waffle House, champagne, good friends and favorite fall TV shows. It's thinking "Hey !! Maybe I will get through this after all!" It's anticipating a great "Me" Monday of a mani/pedi, a new fall hairdo', and a late lunch and movie before Monday Night Football.
Then......
It's ripping out aforementioned pinky toe hangnail by scraping the laundry basket whilst walking through the bathroom, bleeding all over the beige bedroom carpet like a stuck pig, and breaking down into a wailing, snot flinging mess on the cool bathroom tile because you can't find the neosporin, nor any band-aids, and the dog is trying to lick up the peroxide you spilled on the floor while hopping across the tile on your one good foot.
Then after you manage to regain just a bit of composure you only find coach's tape to wrap your pinky toe in, and you do a craptacular job of that because hell everyone knows it takes TWO PEOPLE to properly wrap a pinky toe and I'll be damned if my person didn't up and DIE ON ME so my toe looks and feels like deviled crap.
And it was 5 minutes after midnight, which meant MONDAY.
Hey Monday??
See that pinky toe there?? Sit and spin would ya?
Saturday
Shared paths.....
"I will not fail you, my love. I will continue on the path we shared and I know you will be there to help me, as you always were. And when we meet again at the journey’s end, and we laugh together once more, I will have a thousand things to tell you."
-Unknown
Friday
Thursday
Rocktober......
It's OCTOBER already? Wow.
I can't believe how quickly it's made it here. This has been a hell of a year.
October is one of my favorite months, the weather starts to change, fall festivals are happening, football is abundant, and of course, Halloween !!!
I hope for a good month, because the next few with holidays and what would have been our anniversary and G's birthday coming up, I am thinking I'll be spending alot of time with Dr. Lecter. So I'm making a few changes, doing a few new things and I'm gonna rock-tober and try and make it a good one.
Today I am headed to the dentist to have my pearlies shined, then I'm going to buy some fall flowers and pumpkins and start my fall decorating ! This is guaranteed to make my day a happy one.
This is last year's mantle....
I'm gonna try and color it up some this year !!!
And alas , unlike last year, I don't think I'll be subjecting anyone to the horror of pet costumes.....
I'm sure the shame of that night still lingers in his little brain.
Well, happy fall y'all !
I'll post pics of decor here as it goes up !!
I can't believe how quickly it's made it here. This has been a hell of a year.
October is one of my favorite months, the weather starts to change, fall festivals are happening, football is abundant, and of course, Halloween !!!
I hope for a good month, because the next few with holidays and what would have been our anniversary and G's birthday coming up, I am thinking I'll be spending alot of time with Dr. Lecter. So I'm making a few changes, doing a few new things and I'm gonna rock-tober and try and make it a good one.
Today I am headed to the dentist to have my pearlies shined, then I'm going to buy some fall flowers and pumpkins and start my fall decorating ! This is guaranteed to make my day a happy one.
This is last year's mantle....
I'm gonna try and color it up some this year !!!
And alas , unlike last year, I don't think I'll be subjecting anyone to the horror of pet costumes.....
I'm sure the shame of that night still lingers in his little brain.
Well, happy fall y'all !
I'll post pics of decor here as it goes up !!
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