Hey, Bethany. Stop hitting yourself.

Once upon a time, I cried laughing when I realized I’d saved a gift set of Burt’s Bees products for dang’on ten years because why wouldn’t I do something like that. It looked nice. Therefore I did not open anything, but kept it for the SPECIALMOMENT. Only when I opened everything. Yeah. It was borderline rancid. I took rather a good talking to when I admitted this on Twitter. Particularly when I got to the part where I still wasn’t throwing certain items away, but I WILL acquiesce and let the citrus-basil-something-or-other lotion go and I guess it’s not a good sign that it’s brown and wasn’t it like a pale orange when I first got it? But I tried it and it didn’t burn very much so I think they were overreacting. And also maybe just wanted my goodies.

That was before today. Today, I’m…mildly concerned. For myself. And my hoarding tendencies. And I’m only gonna show you these things because ….. hmm. I’ll get back to you on the ‘why’.

So as we do every couple years, the hubs and I have been purging our storage closet. This helps me deny my tendencies. Until you go through the “keepsake” box of the things too important to get rid of (so they get put in these bins and then the bins get neatly stacked so I win at life and oh no, this sounds like something from an episode of the show who shall not be named). And in my HIGH SCHOOL keepsake box? Aside from every letter/note passed even though I have to think a long time to remember about 25% of the note-givers. ::facepalm:: WHY is history so hard for me to part with? What accurate portrait of myself do I think my descendants will have by reading notes from people I CANNOT AT THE AGE OF THIRTY REMEMBER?!? Come on, son. Snap out of it.

But please remember. The following items…are from the high school box.

What you’re lookin’ at: a bag (an empty, run-of-the-mill this-is-what-your-purchase-came-in baggy from Sanrio); an opened sleeve of tissues; a small notebook.

What you’re not lookin’ at: the unopened Pochaco printer paper, still in pristine condition…and still being kept; the Pochaco coffee mug…which is obviously in the kitchen cabinet; the unused Keroppi stationary which I gave to my son to keep from having to throw it away.

Mama had a problem. I also came upon these tiny rubber stamps from the same store. O_O I feel like I need to remind you that I’m now thirty and these things were still taking up room in my house. …And that I did throw those pictured items away but only after taking pictures and herein immortalizing sweet mercy of heaven I see the problem now!

But you’re like, hey, even though you’re pretty sure this stuff was purchased in 1994 or 1995 which means you weren’t in high school, you were in junior high so. Close enough.

Come’ere, honey. There’s more.

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I was not in high school when I used this. Actually – full disclosure – I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this before in my life. But in all the times we’ve purged before, this was important enough to save a place. [Short break for tear-shedding.]

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YOU GUYS?! THIS IS A NEWSPAPER CUT OUT OF A PAULY SHORE MOVIE ANNOUNCEMENT. (Okay, I’m not at all ashamed that I love that movie and In The Army Now and junk but for TRUE?!) MAN. HELP ME, OBI-WAN! YOU’RE MY ONLY HOPE!

I mean, yes, at this point I’m like, BETHANY. Getchu some help. PLEASE. But do you wanna know the thing de resistance? DO you? Are even prepared for this?

 

……

 

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Oh. What’s that? You’re not sure what I’m showing you?

IMG_7503THAT IS A SLAMMER.

AS IN POGS AND SLAMMERS.

WHY HAVE I BEEN SAVING AN EIGHT BALL SLAMMER?!? You guys, this is my final blog post. I’m turning myself in. I can’t even right now.

Forget the scented drawer satchel from my favorite Victoria’s Secret Garden collection that I hoarded somewhere OTHER than the drawer as though not putting it in there would save the scent until I was ready. #dead

Forget the hospital wristbands I collected from other people and I have no idea what they are for or the date because WHAT DO I NEED THIS FOR?! #dead

NONE of that is the breaking point.

I. HAVE. A. SLAMMER.

#DECEASED

The Classy Thing Is Not To Draw Attention To It

I need you to keep a secret, just this once. And if “secret” is a ridiculous thing to call something to-be-posted on the internet, then let’s just say don’t read too much into this and start hounding me – particularly those who know me. If those who don’t know me start hounding me, well. That’s fine.

So. WHAT about the age of 29 has anything to do with grandchildren? Unless you’re on some BBC documentary. You guys know I have a seven-year-old piece of adorable and that I have not had a second. And not for lack of trying! (Trying, I mean, not to have a second. To be clear.) So, the thing that I’m going to admit and that you’re going to promise NOT TO BRING UP AFTERWARD? Is how it’s because of this need of grandchildren that I’m reconsidering.

With an only child, there’s a pretty glaring chance that I’ll have zero grandchildren. O_O I’m not kidding. I’ve thought ahead to age 50 and half the time, I’m playing with balls of yarn. That….is just depressing. And somehow, my child being a male makes this scariness seem even more likely. (I don’t know how that works, either.)

I may or may not have blurted this out to Ezra when it struck me one day during our snugglefest. He may have tried to relay it to my father the next day while we were on speakerphone, which of course put me in the awkward position of having to laugh really loudly at nothing and pretend to get disconnected. Because come on. You don’t tell a father of nine – who has told you once before that he thinks it’s “not right” to have an only child – that you’re having visions of a lack of grandbabies and it is freaking you out. (He has thirteen and isn’t satisfied.)

But I can’t deny it anymore. My phantom grandchildren might be winning.

That, Children, Is How We Digress

First of all, I don’t understand how half of these referring sites are related at all to my blog. Andy. Please explain.

Okay, so before I get to work today, I must talk about feedback. My untitled novel, The Steampunk One, has passed the 12k word mark – which I realize sounds more arbitrary than just rounding down to 10. I’ve seen the in-progress bars on some of your sites, which is super cute, but haven’t felt the compulsion strongly enough to procure one.

I'm lactose intolerant, Mother!

Anyway, I have reached a new place in my writing – one that makes me feel like it’ll sound like (I like to say like) I’ve been stagnant and playful in my craft for the past twenty years. I round up to eight when determining when I first wrote a story, even though I distinctly remember the story of a doe named Feline – pronounced feh-leen and what was wrong with me. That back-to-school night, my teacher taped it to the face of my desk for my parents to admire. I remember my mom carrying my tiny baby brother, Carlton, and saying how much she loved the name. (Which, you see, is where I get it.) My dad wanted to see the science fair exhibit in the gym, for which my sister Jennifer had once again or perhaps for the first of what seemed like many times made teeth out of plaster of paris and styrofoam cups and sawed them in half before diagramming the anatomy. Of course, this was back when he was telling my two sisters that they would be a doctor and a dentist. Back before his obsession switched to the creative – which unfortunately was too far in the future for him to be all that intrigued by my second grade teacher insisting to him that I was her only student who wrote songs. (I cringe to think about the type of songs a second grader writes – although I still remember the Christian songs my sister Jennifer used to write. I still sing them.)

O_O That was a mighty digression. The point of this post was supposed to be about feedback. And to lead up to that, I was going to say how I’ve reached this wonderful point – I am relatively sure I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. With the genre, with the concept, with the story living up to either of them. It’s. Pretty awesome. There’s a whole entry I could write about how this all relates to my relationship to God. But I just wrote a journal entry about it. I can’t say I never had intense moments, particularly when I wrote TMLA – about which I could also write an entry because it began life as a dense 53k word literary novel and I know it needs to be somewhere between that and the 80k words it is now. I’m sorry, I just had to mention. Anyway, what I felt with that one was an intellectual obligation – to digest and articulate the social predicament I was describing. But most of the sinking feeling was – “Lord, I don’t wanna argue about this.” That was me looking ahead to the response to the material. But this is different.

Anyway…I guess I’ll write about feedback tomorrow? (I’m a winner, folks.)

Just A Nibble

Of Kidneys and Kooter Juice… it sounds like a longlost Jane Austen tome, doesn’t it. Really, it refers to the latest trend of transvaginal kidney donations. Which means you just got va-jay-jay sauce on your donated internal organ. I’m. Not sure how to feel about that, unless we only get said donations from our mothers. In which case, it’ll match the set. When I first read this, I shouted, “Hold. The phone.” And Ezra grabbed my cell off the table. HILARIOUS.

Katherine Heigl’s hubby of one year is offering some profound marital advice, as someone who says he feels closer to her now than when they got married. If you’re not growing “more in love” everyday? It’s time to move on. Now I don’t wanna disrespect an elder, retarded as he may be, but as someone who’s been married almost seven times longer than him: Easy, Action. The whole thing about marriage is that it’s constant. So. Maybe every day after the honeymoon phase won’t seem like you can feel the throbbing love growth. Maybe at some point – if you’re normal and reflective – you might even wonder if you love your spouse and how you know. Because when something is constant – like the air we breathe – sometimes you forget it’s there and how much you need it. But, what he said too. As soon as you hit that plateau, don’t wait it out or work on it or exert yourself in any way. Dump your spouse. SCORE! (And please, sir, don’t have kids.)

That’s Tough Stuff

*Title is a shout-out to coo-coo beans, hella funny guy from season before last of Project Runway… how did I forget his name?!?

Soooo, my husband so rarely chooses a song “for” me that when he does, they instantly sound so much more meaningful. There’ve been two thus far – wait, three – to my recollection and the two I usually remember have been Alicia Keyes. She’s one of those people whose voice is beautiful to me but to whose music I don’t “listen” in the sense that unless it comes on the radio and I happen to be listening to the radio (which is the improbable part) I’m never hear it ’cause I’m never gonna buy it. So, I really probably wouldn’t have been the biggest fan of “No One” if he hadn’t brought it to my attention. Especially because – as my girlfriend noted – her voice sounds “imperfect in it”. And then, of course, Josh had to go and say how that’s precisely why it means so much to him. He’s the guy who can’t say what he feels (long non-stereotypical story you shall never hear) and imagines that if he could finally force it out and say what I mean to him, the strain/weight of what he wants to say would be raw emotion. And that’s why he thinks she sings that song purposely raspy. Because she can finally get the words out.

Anyone who knows him will understand why I’m like: O_O.

And why I’m listening to that song.

In other family news. I’m not – nor do I plan to be – in the family way. And I can’t seem to hear the end of it. Seriously. The in-laws (I hesitate to use that title because I have such a real aversion to it… it just sounds like you’re forced to be in a relationship with someone and I love them to death so I never call them that, same goes with broseph, Andy) have launched a rather aggressive campaign. Every conversation somehow
came back to how Ezra would do so well with a younger sister. When I talked about his very obvious (to me) confusion at trying to discern what had changed in the presence of his much younger cousin, they somehow segued that to his being such a good older brother. I was like… I thought we were talking about how your firstborn “loses” something when you have another child. Not something horrible, but they do go through something and I wanted to make sure to go back to being all about Ezzie for a few days when we came back so he knows his place hasn’t changed. How that became, it’s time for a little girl (or how they decided we could “figure out a way” to choose to have a girl)…I’m…not sure. Seriously. When you get engaged, it’s: when is the wedding?!? You get married and it’s: when’s the first baby?!? You have the baby and everyone calms down for a year or so (give or take a couple of retarded people who immediately start in with the second child questions)…and then it’s like, BAM. Way more aggressive pressure than before! What the heck, people! If it’s up to me (the me at this moment), I’m done. Why don’t people accept that stance, though? There are plenty of people who are more than willing to give more grandchildren. And even then, it’s not because they’ve given in to pressure. They honestly want and planned to have multiple children. Maybe I’ll change my mind. Doubtful that it’ll be because I keep getting weird non-sequitors.