Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Greetings from the Real World

I am a terrible blogger. Bad, bad, naughty, evil girl. Oh well. I have neglected my blogging responsibilities because, well, dammit, I am just having too much fun in the real world. Nothing worthwhile about which to moan or complain, or even wax philosophical. Oh, sure, there are things I'd could say, but they're really not fully formed and finished at this point. A couple of interesting issues that have FL and I giggling here and there, but really nothing worth sharing or even speculating. If the rest of the scenario plays out like we have the big hunch it will, life will become a bit simpler for our little group, and happiness will be spread thick as peanut butter. (Smucker's Natural, crunchy, please!)

So, yeah. We continue in connubial bliss, even doing nothing is too much fun. We make dinner together, we compose goofy songs together, we say the same thing at the same time, we read each other's minds. Weekends are never long enough, we enjoy our our three-a-days, even laundry and dishwasher-emptying ain't bad. Funny how things take on a different complexion when you are with your person. Aren't the clouds particularly fluffy today!? Yes, yes, they seem to be. Little stresses become microbial, and big ones so much more handleable. Our first anniversary approaches with joy, one year of actually living and loving together daily. So, dear readers, apologies for the lack of ranting in the last six months, but I figured there would only be so much ooey gooey lovey dovey syrup you could stomach. I promise I'll be back with juicy tidbits as they happen. Cookie recipes, philosophy wax. Complaining. All that good blogging shit. Yeah, that. Until then, Greetings from the Real World. My fondest wish is that you find the same level of happiness that I know today.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

It's That Time Again...

The end of January, the beginning of a new year, and the rollover of the personal odometer coming up in a few days. The Queen's Birthday, if you will. Double fives, even. Everloving criminey, how'd I get this old? I certainly don't feel my age, if there is even such a thing, and I have no intention of starting to. In fact, I feel closer to my high school days now than in an embarrassingly long time. Still, there are the ups and downs, as there always are. This week, for example, has been a challenge. Work has been relentless, with twice the work crammed into the regular workdays. That and we discovered I made a serious boo-boo. Huge. Thought for a moment I'd be asked to vacate my little office and the premises because of it. Woo. But it seems we take it all in stride, and some of the bad may be redeemed as well. (Before you call the Feds, rest assured, nothing prosecutable, just missed a deadline, albeit a BIG one. I hate to screw up.) Other little aggravating stuff, like a high school girl in her daddy's SUV backed into the side of my car in the parking lot. My wallet was lost for a while. People I depend on to help me do my job efficiently let me down (not a surprise, but aggravating nonetheless.)

So really, the week has distracted me from moping around about the becoming elderly thing. Truth be told, life in toto has actually prevented that lately. Because, dear Interwebs, all things considered, my life has turned around into pure joy lately. I am sure you're getting stick-a-finger-down-your-throat-and-puke tired of hearing all this glittery gooey tap dancing, but dammit, it's legit. Being with FL is all that, a bag of chips and a fucking King Cake, for reals. We just have so much fun being around each other. It doesn't have to be dinner and dancing and a Broadway show, it might be tacos and folding clothes. It's lovely, and enduring and just so right. Even in, no, especially in a challenging week like this one. So, this year's pre-Birthday reflection goes like this: bring it on, bring on the double-nickel. I am not skeered. I am serenely, joyfully, completely happy. And I will continue to feed that state (of mind? brain? heart? all of the above??) as long as humanly possible. So Saturday, if you see a redheaded chubby 55-year-old woman wearing a birthday tiara and a goofy grin skipping down some street holding hands with an adorable man wearing a similar goofy grin, that's just us. Smile and wave, and bask in the magic for a sec. Happy Birthday to me!

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Grand Re-opening

I shut this baby down a few weeks ago, in reaction to someone finding my blog, reading my words and reacting to them with derision. She is in such a sad place in her life, necessarily. I feel for her, I know what she is going through, but you know, life happens. Without taking responsibility for a bad reaction to a bad turn in life, I have to tell you that I can't stop being the person I've become because of the person you've become. I've offered in the past to supply this really lost grieving person 8 by 10 glossies of her choice of FL or me to fling stuff at, if it helps her get past her pain. My offer still stands. I really do understand. I wish you all the best, and I hope that you can see your way past this painful part of your life. I have trod lightly, where you are concerned, tried not to shake up the ants or make you angrier or more hurt than you already are. If you need to make fun of me (Lord knows, I'm there poking fun at my stupidity before anybody else, just so you know...) feel free. I don't feign perfection nor do I expect it of anybody else. I do wish you a good life, a happy life. If you need to have bitter thoughts about my relationship with FL, again, be my guest. Tell all your friends what a hussy I am, what an ass he was. how we're all headed for crash and burn (I mean, who isn't, right?) I have no taste, I have orange hair (copper penny, to be exact), I broke his heart, I'm fat, whatever. Email my blog to anyone you'd like, I have written every word honestly and with a positive, self-deprecating intent. I will discuss anything within with anyone, so as to clear up any kind of misunderstanding (yeah, guess what, we are humans..........) With that flourish, I shall shortly re-open Maxwell the Tattooed Boy for blogly business. All the best to you and happiest of holidays. I shall smile in your presence and hope to reflect my happiness into your heart.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Joy.... I'll take it!

 There is an undeniable thrum of joy pulsing through my body. I can feel it with every breath, every beat of my heart. Maybe it IS finally my heart, fluttering and tap dancing its way through these days. And before you vomit glitter and cabbage roses all over, understand that these days are as ordinary as they are wonderful. We sleep, we wake, we go to school and we go to work, we do things together that need to be done, we deal with random and non-random shit thrown our way. But it is just so, well, you know I have to say it, LOVELY to have a bond, a connection, with a man I can count on to understand me, put up with me, hand me kleenex when I need it, make me laugh when I need it, talk to me about all things imaginable, even asking me consistently how my day was, then listening to the answer. He loves me, he loves The Boy. He gives me kisses and buys fresh flowers for the foyer. He does laundry and cooks, for criminy's sake! He bought me a car that he knows I'll be safer in, and that he can fix himself. He takes care of me, and I want to take care of him right back. This is how it should be, and this is how I suspect it shall be, for the rest of time. Nothing has been so easy, nothing so completely seamless. Fights last 98 seconds, while all the talking and laughing and cuddling and just smiling like fools at each other take up so much more time. We are not perfect, just perfect for each other. And things are not just good, they are escalatingly awesome, even in areas I had given up for over, gone, hang it all up and put it away. OMFG and Huzzah, or as he puts it, we are Not Bad for 111.

So yeah. Hit me with a hammer, I am just filled with joy. It beats against my eyelids when I sleep. It turns into an earworm, especially when we sing out special reconfigured showtune medleys. The reimagined Godspell is the latest... "I shall call the pebble Fred...." or the irreverent West Bank Story... "Muhammad... I just met a man named Muhammad......." We got a million of them. We giggle through them like eight-year-olds, and I can't fathom life any other way. I am so lucky. I'll take it!

Friday, October 3, 2014

You Hear That Train?

It is coming up upon a year since Chuck died. A year since the phone call in the middle of the night, his boss missing him at work. Just a year since I had to wake his parents and his kids up with the most horrible news they could have imagined. A year since I picked my son up from school early so as to make sure he heard it only from me and not from his friends on Facebook. A year since I walked my mother-in-law through those days afterward, she so fuzzy with grief and Xanax that she would ask me later to fill in most of the details of what we did and where we went. Just a little while since the surreality of it all. I watch the date on the calendar, and then ignore it. I can hear it approach, but I can't quite bear to look into its glare, like some freight train on a country track.  It's not like I don't know it is bearing down on me, but I don't really want to feel the weight, the impact. I don't know that I will, actually, because, you see, I've moved on. And somewhere in the lower soup of my psyche, there's a toad attempting to make me feel guilty about that. But you know, the very fact of the tragic accident, the here today, gone tomorrow part of everyone's lives, is the very reason that I can move on and squash the toad singing in my gut. I waited a long time to be this happy. I am not going to put it off another day, because of the grief train that passes through shortly. And please, don't get me wrong, I do get on the grief train every so often. I am sad that this man, who did the best he could to live his life honestly, just like we all do, died in such a way.  I miss him being able to watch his son grow up. I know his parents and his other kids miss him, too. I can't let the sadness engulf me, nor can I let my son be taken under. Yes, we will remember, we can't help mark the time, that is why we have calendars and clocks and phones that ring in the middle of the night. But we will live and be happy. It is what we do. And occasionally we get stopped by a train.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Deliver Me from Excel Spreadsheets

Okay, so at work, we have this CRM system to keep track of things -- donors, contributions, campaigns, etc. You know, keep track. Now, in theory, you can ask the system to give you a report in an excel spreadsheet. You simply name your parameters, and voila, the thing spits out the information you're hankering for. In order, in cells as requested. In theory. In reality, in practice, for some godforsaken reason I have yet to figure out, it never populates the same cells in the same order with the same stuff. For instance, I have these two, no three membership lists to merge and purge for a mailing going out later on in October. I asked for one part of it and got it as an excel spreadsheet: First name, last name, address, you get the picture. Well. I tried to get the second part of the membership list into that format, and even though I set up the cells, it just would NOT lay it out as a table. It stacked all  the addresses in a cell and gave me some extraneous crap about donations made etc. in other cells, which I so did not need. So the easy merge and purge cell, stock and barrel I envisioned for this is out. Instead, I am retyping the whole bloody damn thing into the first spreadsheet, and merging and purging manually, as I go. Gah. Mindless data entry exercise. Not much better to cut and paste because of all the back and forth, and I feel more confident in my ability to retype the chunk of data into four separate cells than to highlight and click back and forth that many times. I am screaming obscenities in my head. Actually, I am screaming them physically, but with my lips tightly clenched together so it might sound more like I am having some sort of seizure than expressing my annoyance with the system. Mfffphghgh.

Sometimes, you just get time off from purgatory for the things you have to do, but deliver me from Excel spreadsheets.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Grief Sneak

It was foggy this morning when I stepped out to the patio. It made me think about Chuck. I still get a little sad and feel sorry that his life ended as it did. I wish things could have been different, and that he hadn't suffered like he did... in life and in death..