Picks of the Day- Episode 10

If this doesn't perk up your morning, well, I don't want to know you and good day sir!



I had this song stuck in my head for about a week after an episode of "Scrubs". Zach Braff hijacked my (and probably my family's) sanity, as I HAD to play it every time we were in the car. Or before I took a shower. Or when I made dinner...

Since we're going 70's here, I'd kill to acquire-


This is perfect for Tucson right about now. We haven't shaken summer's death grip yet, but we're trying. And this dress is a nice middle ground for the limbo of weather we're in.


I could wear this pretty soon...


And this.

I guess I was kind of inspired by Cher in the movie "Mask" (although "Mask" was made in '85).


A sign of the 70's- the mustache.


Hair goal! I'm trying to get my mane to about this length. It has been a tediously long endeavor but I'm getting there.

Positives and Negatives

I had been a giant ball of emotions all weekend. Most if them in the depressive/pessimistic realm. Following these were brief bouts of normalcy only to be blindsided by a breakdown in the car on the way home from Target when Greg mentioned that I had a few moments where I reminded him of Michael on "The Office." On Friday I thought it could be an extreme case of PMS, only I was due to have a period about two weeks ago (I did have some spotting and ohmygodIcan'tbelieveI'mgoingintothesedetailsonmyblog). It wasn't until Sunday afternoon when we were watching an episode of Dexter where he knocks up his girlfriend that I nudged Greg and said "I think we need to pick up a pee-stick later."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Did you see that jar of pickles we JUST bought this morning? There are two left. And unless I magically hit a growth spurt in my boobs, I just...We need to pick up a damn stick."
I have an IUD. But like any female, the second my hormones even resemble that of a pregnant womans I freak out, throw logic out the window and immediately think "fuck, I'm having baby." I googled "pregnancy with an IUD" and got conflicting messages. It seemed that although one person hasn't ever gotten pregnant on one they DID know a distant aunt who had. Such is the internet.
Jack handed me his shoes to say "hey crazy could-be-pregnant lady, lets go to the park." And no idea in the history of ideas could have been better. I needed to get away from the house. I needed to get away from WebMD and t.v. shows with pregnant girlfriends and wives and the jar of pickles with only two future casualties floating in it's delightful pickle-y juice.
Greg pushed Jack in the swing and I sat in the sand and drew spirals with broken sticks. We discussed "what could happen" while Jack obliviously swung higher to meet the clouds. "Why are things so cloudy right now."
Although we knew if I was indeed pregnant, we'd push through and make it, it still wasn't desired. We're not drowning but we're not where we'd ideally like to be financially and a baby would be a huge weight. And more than that, we're happy with just us. Greg and I and Jack. I remember when we brought home the two-day puppy I immediately felt guilty as I held it in my lap and cooed over it while Jack sat in his carseat on the way home. I felt like I betrayed him by giving my attention and affection to another thing that wasn't him. And if that was just a puppy, I couldn't imagine another child. THIS IS WHY I HAVE THE DAMN IUD IN THE FIRST PLACE!
We stopped at Wal-Green's on the way home. Greg asked what kind of test I wanted before running in to pick it up for me (I love this man). When we got home I shunned the package until GREG had to know. I did the deed and a minute passed before I saw a relieving negative.
I smiled like the Cheshire Cat and went on a cleaning frenzy (I do this in times of celebration AND despair...don't ask). Before I turned on the vacuum Greg, holding Jack in his lap, said "well, it wouldn't be such a bad thing..."
And I knew I had married the right person. A person that picks up pregnancy tests for you and doesn't care if you eat all the pickles or don't bother to shave your legs for more than two (okay three) days. A person that pushes your son in the swings and takes the pizza out of the oven because you're chicken-shit about getting burned and puts red socks on your sons feet even if it doesn't match his light blue shorts. A person who says "it'll be okay" when you find out you're pregnant for the first time on accident and three years later still wouldn't mind.
There is a negative pregnancy test in my bathroom wastebasket. Yet all around me are positives.

Picks of the Day- Episode 9

Because I love a good English accent and often you'll find me talking like Sid Vicious around the house for funsies...



















I guess I'm more of an anglophile than I thought, though that would explain the most recent tattoo and my affection for overcasts and good tea.

"I think you're crazy, maybe..."

We walked into the tattoo parlor and I handed the artist my font of choice and inscription desired. It was a date of sorts for us. He held my hand and I lied on my side feeling the needle pulsate in and out of my skin.

"How do you like it?" the talkative tattoo artist asked.
"It's perfect."

A couple months before that my mother moved out of my childhood home. My parents divorce was still fresh and unfinalized. My ex's father died and a month after that we broke up. I finished high school and was burnt out emotionally. I didn't start preparations for college or begin to enjoy the first flush of summer. I sat in my room a lot.

"White red and sleeping pills
Help me get back to your arms
Cheap sex and sad films
Help me get where I belong"

I met Greg online on another night of making my room a foxhole of cigarettes and Elliot Smith. We talked and commiserated quickly. We met and while we were happy to begin a new romance, both of us were suppressing a dark place. Battling our own dysphorias. It took a long time, and more than that it took honesty, but somehow we managed to get through it together.

I carry that first tattoo on my hip as a reminder of that. Of how far I've come, how far we've come. And though it's been weathered with stretchmarks and though it could use a touch-up, I still cherish it.

We must sometimes embrace the darkness to appreciate the light.



(Id Quoque Transibit also known as "This Too Shall Pass")


And so when I stumbled upon this song again after not hearing it for too long, I couldn't help but cry. It is exactly the musical manifestation of my feelings when I went into that tattoo parlor on 6th Street.



And now?

It has passed. And all is well.

Sublime Sundays

I usually don't do blog posts on Sundays, not because I'm religious but just because I like to sleep in, laze about, and wait for Mad Men to get my weekly dose of early 60's vintage nostalgia and Joan Holloway's beyond words amazing cleavage. But right now Greg is in the kitchen making salsa (and I try to avoid being in the kitchen with anyone else because I get all hot and clausterphobic) and Jack has decided to take a nap, so here I am, trying to kill some time before we head to the lovely in-laws for swimming and general merriment.

So! A video-



And the house I wish we could afford-
http://mls.thepepper.com/listingdetails_97970.cfm?
startrow=1&&list_id=20916493&PageID=102370

How amazing is that dwelling?! The charm is almost too much to stomach. And the price (albeit so far beyond our budget I shouldn't even be looking at houses like it) isn't all that bad for being so amazing AND located in the Sam Hughes neighborhood. Le'sigh. To sleep, perchance to dream...

Jellicle Cats

I've been toying with the idea of getting a cat as of late. We tried the puppy route and when I discovered I was no Wonder Woman at managing both (it is very much like having two toddlers, two very needy, destructive, stubborn toddlers...and this is why I have an IUD now), we put the process of raising a puppy on the back burner until Jack is old enough. Cats, however, are much more independent, less boisterous, destructive, and just less in your face. I've also discovered that Jack really likes cats, which wasn't exactly the case with the puppy. So, I presented the idea to Greg and we're seriously considering it. When plans are "seriously considered" I tend to prepare, so here is my list of possible cat names!

Boy Cat

1.Rumpus (short for "The Great Rumpuscat" which was a character in T.S. Eliot's "Old Possum's Book Of Practical Cats")

2.Lestat (from "Interview with the Vampire"...I'm not falling into the vampire trend, so don't worry. It's just an all around good movie and a name I thought appropriate for a cat)

3.Hemingway (after the writer and huge cat lover)

4.Edward (from "Edward Scissorhands")

5.Ichabod (which I think is my favorite so far)
--------------------------------

Girl Gatos

1.Margot (after Margot Tenenbaum)

2.Dietrich (after Marlene)

3.Beatrix

4.Mia

5.Maggie

----------------------------------

And I think those are the top favorites. We rattled off so many last night but I must have lost them in my sleep.

Blank Becomes Her

I read and peruse a lot of style blogs. Most of the time for glorious eye candy, ideas, inspiration, photography, etc. The thing that I notice most though, is that in many of these blogs the writer generally has a specific style down. Some fancy the look of the 40's, some were deeply affected by "Grease", some dig the 60's vibe. But what happens when you don't have a specific trail to follow. I've always loved almost everything when it comes to fashion.

I've sighed looking at Dita Von Teese's book.



And I've bought shirts that reminded me of Penny Lane. I love pencil skirts but I've also been known to wear more bohemian frocks. I've mastered the cat's eye and I've thrown a flannel shirt on in the same day. I've no specific style to tell of, and sometimes it drives me crazy. It drives me batshit crazy when it comes to finding something to wear when going out. My mind ever indecisive and my closet just as confused. I can commit to marriage and child, tattoos and calendar dates, but when it comes to defining myself in fashion I have a mini panic attack.

Perhaps it's from being in drama. Hiding in the wardrobe room and trying everything on only to realize that one dress was just as fun to wear as the next. I wanted to be a 40's librarian and maybe tomorrow I can be Bridgette Bardot! Today I'm a flapper and tomorrow I can be a girl who danced at Studio 54. It made me giddy and though I've left the wardrobe room back at my old high school, I've taken the same spirit with me.

So maybe that's it. Maybe I'm not a 40's incarnate or a 60's muse. Maybe I'm not a 70's disco queen or a Seattle transplant. Maybe I'm just a girl who likes to play dress up.