Randomness (to make up for the lack of posting)

I’ve been holed up in the basement for the past three days trying to finish what I can of the walls as we want the stupid project done; almost three years later…
One of us is picking up a thing of Liquid Nails this evening, so hopefully I can post photos of all the hard work I’ve been doing; prime twice, base coat twice, color wash, decorative plank attachment, moulding.

I totally forgot! 
Last we checked, my diagnosis regarding my anxiety disorder was “general” meaning just that.  Now, it seems as though my doc (the real doc) has pinpointed my malaise.  I have Dysthymic disorder.  Cliffnote version: I have chronic mood issues that are still categorized as depression but my symptoms are not as severe as someone with major depression.  While my episodes are drawn out, they’re not catastrophic.
While I seem like a really upbeat, happy, nice person, I have a very cynical, demeaning side… major self-esteem issues.  The medication totally helps and finally, after years of silently dealing with (and ignoring) this problem, I feel like I am starting to live life.
Steve totally deserves a gold star for even offering to marry me while I was in Henious-Bitch-Mode.

I still feel elated at The Job.  I’ve been here for three weeks and I’ve already done more then I ever did at The Old Job.  I actually enjoy dressing up, obtaining new clothes and showing off how awesome I am.

It’s supposed to rain for the next however-long and I still do not own Wellies (Wellingtons) or Boots (non-fashion/snow boots).  While Steve’s at school tomorrow I think I’ll take a jaunt to Target and see what they have for me.  My sneakers (trainers) held up this morning but it wasn’t raining that hard. 

Oh, and with the rain comes tendon flare-ups.  fun.

Now that I’m not grazing aimlessly all day, I lost a pound.  Yes.  One Pound.  But that’s one pound less I have to carry around.  I totally need to figure out how to get back into they gym swing.  My shift has changed with The Job so while I used to get the gym at a not-busy time and I’d be finishing when everyone else was arriving, it worked out.  But now, by 7pm I am pooped and going ot the gym is the last thing on my mind.
Never thought I’d say it, but I miss going to the gym.

Bailey’s starting to talk.  And not just with her tail. 
We asked her to come up to the top of the bed with us and usually she grumbles.  A few nights ago, she made a short noise that almost sounded like, “NO!”
Another incident is when she told Steve to “STOP!” when he as trying to get her tummy.
She still purrs.
I had wicked insomnia last night (didn’t get to sleep until after 11, then I was up from 12:30 until 2…) and she knew, so she came up and slept with me.

Further Proof that Romance is not Dead. Maybe it is.

I come home from a day at work with blistered toes, just missed commuter trains and jerks trying to weasel into traffic.
Opening the front door, there is a MONSTROUS Edible Arrangement on the kitchen table.  Said arrangement also had a teddy bear (I heart bears, plus, it’s a tradition thing) and a balloon.
“Holy Crap.”
“Happy Anniversary!” he says, pulling me in for a kiss.
“That is a shit-load of fruit!”
“I know, right?!”
“Okay, I am seriously slacking, so I need you not to look when I come back downstairs.”
“???  Um, okay.  Have a Sam [Adams Oktoberfest].”
“Shweeeeet!”
A few minutes pass and I come up with a green gift bag.
“For meeeeee?!”, he asks, already digging in.  “Oh, there’s some apples…”
“Fresh from the farmer’s market!”
(rip rip rip)”Oh, Gilmour 5-disc live box set.  AWESOME.”
“Yeah, open the other one.”
“Oh, Blackbeary [sic] Wheat beer.”
“Yeah, that counts as fruit right?”
(clearly like, disappointed)”Um, yeah.  Hold on.” (procures a bag from between the chairs)
“For mmmeeeeeee? A steamer?!”
“YES!”
“Cool, I can like, totally make (reading box) ‘rice, vegetables, fish, some meats and poultry.’  Neat! (Honestly, the man knows me, what can I say!)  Oh you know what, that beers been sitting out for a bit, why don’t you run it into the beer fridge?”
“I’m sure it’s fine, I’ll put it up here.”
“No, for serious, I have to fit this fruit thing in the upstairs fridge, go put it downstairs please.”
(He goes into the basement)”Uh, Steph…”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something in front of the fridge.”
“Well, pick up the cat and move her.”
“No, um, it’s a wrapped box.”
“Maybe it’s a present for the beer.” I say.
“Maybe I should open it.” He says, starting to sound excited.
“Maybe you should.”  I go downstairs.
Rip rip rip.  “Oh.  Wow.  This.  This looks like fun.”  And he looks for something to open the box with because he doesn’t believe there’s a 19″ flat-screen LCD TV in the box.  “Oh.  Oh, Wow.  This.  Cool.  I can play with this!” And he starts putting it up against the wall to see where he wants to mount it.  It is clear that he is impressed.
I rock.
We go back upstairs and he tells me to look in the bag with the steamer.  There is ANOTHER box.  Inside is a Swavornski(sp?) flower pot with purple metallic flowers.  “You’re a dork, but I love you!”

Then we went to dinner (two grape martinis for me!) and dined on stuffed banana peppers and steak and CREME BRULE (sp?)!
We’re very very full. 
Waddling towards the door, I state, “We should totally take off our pants when we get home.”  (and not in a ‘YEAH SEX!’ way, but in a ‘Pants.  Restrictive.’ way)
“Totally.”
“Have I told you lately that I love you?!”

And we were sleeping by 9pm.

I love growing old with him.

Observation(s)

1) For the past two weeks, I have been looking out of the windows waiting for the elevator to take me to the lobby (hey, you try navigating marble stairs in pointy heels!).  Around noon and until around four, there has been a table set up in the square (more of a rhombus).  Could it be “Food for People”?  “Rock the Vote”?…
At lunch yesterday, Heather and I passed said table.
Scientologists.
And then, on the opposite corner, not making much of a scene is a man with big, dark, frizzy hair holding a sign that says, “Scientology Kills”.

2) I figured White-Faced-Woman was lonely and liked to spend her time downtown, watching the new business people carve out their niche in life.
This morning she was sleeping on a bench between The Old AM&As (yes, with the sinkhole) and M&T Tower.

3) Yesterday, a co-worker and I got hustled for some change.  Bums these days are harder to reason with.  Today I did not wear my jewelry until I got into the office.

Two More Letters: “Dear Frank, ” and “Jerk in the Tahoe”

Dear Frank,

What happened?!
We used be cool.
But you cut me.  You cut me bad.
You used to be soft and pale.  Now it’s like you’re angry; bright, almost neon, pink and so very harsh.
Maybe it’s me who has changed.  I’m not entirely blaming you, Frank. 
Perhaps, years ago, we were both different.  Maybe you were always hard and brash against my softness.  Perhaps you were always fuchsia but I never noticed, and for that, I am sorry.
But, I can’t look past how you’ve hurt me and how you’re skimping on the marshmallows.
This may be the end FrankenBerry.
I just can’t bring myself to tourture the roof of my mouth like this.
Not to mention, having to explain why I am covered in pink powder and smell like cheap strawberries.

*******

Dear Jerk in the Tahoe (intersection of Main and HSBC Tower),

You are a jerk.
Why?
Well, see, wait, no you didn’t… I was standing at the corner of Main, trying to cross whatever dinky little street that is between Main and the Old Buffalo Medical Building.  I was just in the street a bit, standing behind the other SUV.
Up you pull, sans blinker, right up to the curb, with your front end parked DIRECTLY in front of me as illustrated in this children’s drawing of an SUV in front of a small blond woman on her way to work.

So, Jerk, explain to me WHY you had to pull DIRECTLY in front of me while I was trying to cross the street.
And explain to me WHY it was my fault that you couldn’t have parked TWO FEET BEHIND ME.
Jerk.

Remembering Apple Pie

Seeing as it’s Apple Season here in WNY…
*wiggly lines of The Time Machine*

… created an apple pie from scratch without a recipe.  I just though about what would taste good in my head. 
Mind you, previous attempts at cooking had turned out rather, um, disastrous.  If you ever run into my dad, mention “Care Bear Cake” and start timing a gag reflex.  (FYI: “Care Bear Cake” was sugar, eggs and milk, microwaved until it became solid and served in huge chunks.)

However, Stephanie’s Apple Pie was far, far less awful.
In fact, Stephanie’s Apple Pie would have “certainly” won an award (as per the nice old ladies running the event) at The Annual Apple Festival, had we not arrived two hours late for judging.

So Dear Reader, tell me about the time you made something without knowing what you were doing.  Don’t leave out the hilarious results either; sometimes those are better than the food itself.  Maybe someone made something potentially deadly for you… either way…

I May be Reduced to Going to Spatula City

(You remember the movie UHF, right?)

Thursday marks our fourth wedding anniversary.
Already.
I know, right?
Tell me about it.

So, according to the incredibly accurate internets, the “traditional” gift is fruit/flowers and the “modern” gift is appliances.
Because you know nothing celebrates your love like a new washer.
Well, maybe if you’re having sex on it.

Previous years, we’ve both gone out-of-the box.  Like for our second (cotton) I got a hot-air balloon ride for us.
Our first year (paper) we went to see Spamalot… for hich we needed a ticket…paper.

So.
hmmm.
Most guys I know don’t like flowers.
Steve doesn’t eat fruit, except for apples.  And sometimes raspberries.
I was considering a bonsai, but a) it doesn’t flower b) where the hell would he put it.
Then I thought about a flowering tree for the yard.  Then I thought about how I would feel if he got me a tree.  Oh, wait, I’d be excited because it’s a natural present.  He’d most likely be disappointed.  Moreso when he’d have to install it.

The closest I’ve come is a TV for the bar area.  He’s been talking about one for thisclose to forever.  It’s not a flower.  It’s not fruit.  It’s a long shot for an appliance.  However, it does quailify as a gift.

I’m just afraid I’ll show up with a bag of apples from the farmers market and he would have resurrected the ghost of Christopher Columbus to make me a lemon martini.
Because that’s how he rolls.

A Bridge Too Far

Previously, I had slight tinges of “I wonder how they’re doing without me.”
Not that I think the world stops spinning if I’m not someplace…
That thought passed through my head today while I was next to the high speed copier.
A week after starting here.

Previously, I had been panged with guilt.
“What if…”s circled my thoughts.  They ranged from doubt [about the new position] to remorse (“how bad was it… really?”) to failure (“I don’t want to have to go back to where I have a track record if this fails…”)
This time, it’s been “What if I feel fortunate?”
What if I enjoy (as much as one can) my job?
What if this was the best thing I could have done?

It’s been a week and I’ve already mastered the tricky restroom key, the copier, the storage room, who to ask for what and who is high-strung.  My compulsive eatinghas GREATLY subsided and I’m not scroungingaround for food because I need something to do.
Holy crap.

I mean, I didn’t bound out of bed this morning WOOT!ing that it was Monday and if it hadn’t been for my sinus infection and/or the mysterious shrinking of all my pants (“Damn you beer!”), I would have been breezing out of the door.

I no longer check to make sure I feel good enough to go to work… I used to wake up disappointed if I didn’t feel ill.
Tonight, depending how my sinuses feel, I’ll hit the gym.

It’s not even like I’m overwhelmed, it’s just, nice.  Nice to feel wanted.  Nice to needed.  Nice to feel competent.  Nice to be talked to.  Nice to be asked to do things.
It’s just.  Nice.