Crawfish and Friends

Posted on by
4

Jake and I had our first weekend away together.

so-very-excited

For a never-married guy, Jake has a weird number of married and engaged friends, particularly since most of them are younger than he is. When we first started dating, he informed me that his last single friend had just gotten married, only to ask after Christmas, if I wanted to go see his friends out of state for an engagement party. Now, coming from the wealthy folk I do, I was picturing h’orderves, at a venue of some sort. Maybe it would be in a barn and the guests of honor would include some lace and burlap, as a shout out to their country roots and Southern locale, but there would definitely be a cello. I’m not being irrational here. My aunt and uncle had an anniversary party just months ago. Just to privately mock him later, I took a mighty pretentious photo of my cousin playing his cello in the corner. Naturally, I was stressing out a bit about meeting Jake’s friends under such formal circumstances. Being a clueless boy, Jake didn’t share, until the week prior, that said engagement party meant beer and crawfish by the lake.

phew

The respite to my nerves was temporary, though, as I realized that Jake hasn’t introduced a girlfriend to his friends. I mean, sure they knew some of the girls he dated in high school and college, because they were around, but Jake has never taken a girl across states lines to meet his best friends and their wives, ever. This was likely a bigger deal than meeting the parents, because while you can rationalize that your parents are from a different time, your friends often have the exact same priorities and aspirations you do. In Jake’s case, he’s told me quite a bit about his friends’ marriages, the way they relate to their wives and their goals in general, and expressed a pretty clear desire for something very similar. If we didn’t get along, that could be a big conflict. What if they hated me? What if I said the wrong thing? Actually, to reword, what would happen when I said the wrong thing? What if I was too much of a city girl, despite every person I work with thinking I’m too much of a country girl? What if they thought I was after Jake’s money? What if I was too nerdy? Should I wear a dress, like I always do, or would I look too big for my britches, like when I met Jake’s sister in a friggin’ prom dress (not really). Why didn’t I own any t-shirts without things like “Super Librarian” of “Trek Yourself, Before You Wreck Yourself” on them?

giphy3

I tried not to think about these things, as I packed, telling myself that they were Future Belle’s problems. That girl has a lot of issues. She could handle one more. The plan was to leave for the three and a half hour drive on Friday, after I got home from work, which was at about 6:45. Jake would already be at my apartment, waiting for me. I wasn’t aware that this would mean that the second I walked through the door, I’d be greeted with only a moment of pleasantries, to be immediately followed by “You got everything packed? You ready to go?” and rushed out the door.  This meant I forgot things, namely my toothbrush and some ibuprofen. Y’all, I don’t get health insurance for another two and a half months. My glasses are almost three years old. I pretty much have a daily headache, when I get off work, because I stare at a computer screen for a living.

Jake and I headed out, quickly stopping by a steakburger fast food restaurant that Jake had been adamant would be amazing, despite my informing him that it was pretty much just fast food. He would not be deterred, being about three times as stubborn as I am, so he ordered while I ran inside to pee, because there was no way he was stopping again, in as much as a hurry as he was… that is, until about two hours later. I tried to play it off, but as the headlights flashed in my eyes, one after the other, I’m pretty sure my brain started to bleed out of my ears.

Me: “I know you don’t want to stop, but I don’t think I can make it. If I don’t get some kind of medicine, I’m not gonna be much fun, when we get there… and I might throw up in your truck on the way.”
Jake: “Is it really that bad?”

I’ve exaggerated my fair share, but it really was. I don’t even think Jake realized this until he pulled into a truck stop and I couldn’t handle the lights long enough to go inside and pee without deep breathing, while he insisted I wait in the truck for him to buy some Aleve (awww). Fortunately, by the time we got to the house, where we were staying, I was no longer near tears. Jake and I walked in together and Jake, despite his many wonderful qualities, completely neglected to introduce me. I was a little uncertain, at first, until three women started hugging me. Apparently, Jake has been quite chatty.

tumblr_inline_o0r0h6eegv1t4rkrt_500

Mindy: “I’m a hugger. I just have to give you a hug!”
Me: “Hi. I’m Belle. I’m sorry we’re so late. I didn’t get off of work until 6:00.”
Hailey: “You’re a librarian, right?”
Aaron: “Jake, you didn’t even introduce her. Be a better boyfriend.”

We sat at a table, where there was clearly a drinking game in progress… I was pretty sure. I’d never played a drinking game, unless you count the one where I’d see how quickly I could finish my paper after taking three shots of everclear, to hide from my marriage. I also didn’t announce this, so three gold stars for normal socialization skills!

sheldon20-20love20who20you20are

These people were so friendly. I was a little worried that the women might be catty or at the very least, a little exclusive, since I was an outsider. I knew it was unlikely Jake would put up with people who practiced the former, but it was equally unlikely he’d even notice the latter. As we chatted and shared embarrassing Jake stories, though, I didn’t feel excluded at all. The girls and Jake explained the drinking game to me and didn’t pressure me to drink the entire bottle of beer when it was my turn to do so. We shared stories and told jokes, until finally Haley interrupted to announce…

Haley: “I’m sorry, but it’s just so weird to see you touching him.”
Me: “What?”
Callie: “I know! I thought that when he had his hand on her back as they walked in!”
Me: “What are you talking about?”
Haley: “Jake hates to be touched. He won’t even hug us. Did you not see him duck out of the way when he came in?”
Me: “Seriously? He’s the touchy feely one!”
Jake: ::scoffing:: “I am not.”
Me: “You hugged me on our first date. I remember, because I thought you were really sweaty.”
Jake: “What? I wasn’t sweaty.”
Me: “It was June, you were so. You’re the snuggler in this relationship. You pretty much lay on me when we sleep.”
Mindy: “When you were touching his beard, I thought that must be driving him crazy.”
Me: “Well, if it is, it’s been doing so for a while, because I do it all the time.”

His friends weren’t only really nice, but they were also funny. They’ve known each other since the beginning of time and had dozens of stories about growing up in a small town and going to college together. I could tell why Jake hung out with him, particularly because they had such similar senses of humor.

Me: “He thinks it’s hilarious to use his Bane from Batman voice, when we’re fooling around.”
Mindy: “Ugh. Aaron does the same thing! He pretends I’m a Russian prostitute.”
Aaron: ::stereotypical Russian accent:: “Prostitute. Get on the bed.”

This was obviously the funniest thing Jake had ever heard and if I’d had a quarter for every time I heard that sentence over the course of the three day weekend, I’d have been able to fund the gas to get home.

Gradually, the men drifted outside and the women to the living room, where everyone chatted about their careers and guys. Haley was the engaged friend and her fiance, Clyde, was outside with Jake. Mindy has been married to Aaron (Jake’s Gail) for almost three years now, after having dated for only five months from the first time they met, when Aaron asked her to dance at a wedding. Callie was alone, because her husband, Sam, was at a varmint hunt… no really. He was shooting raccoon for sport. Jake assures me it’s a fantastic time.

1217

For probably an hour, we chatted easily, in part because I’d had a beer or two. They seemed surprised by some of the things I told them about Jake, how gentlemanly and sweet he is, but pleasantly so. It’s clear these women, two of whom Jake lived with in college, think of him as an older brother. I give them extra points for not being too fond of him to give me a chance. That night, Jake and I went to bed in a room of our own, since Callie offered to take the mattress on the floor of the pantry, because Sam was shooting gorilla rats. As nice as the privacy was, however, our bed pretty much felt like a bouncy house. So, despite downloading an app that plays the sound of a fan, because I’m just high-maintenance, I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep.

The next day was the day of the actual party. I hadn’t realized, but numerous other people would be arriving around 2:00, so prep work was in order. Having forgotten my toothbrush in Jake’s crazed rush, I tagged along with the girls to Walmart. I wouldn’t say that I had a lot of interests in common with these women, as I’m quite sure they’ve no idea who Spock is and I mightily loathe Nicholas Sparks, but we did seem to share a lot of values. They were very… Southern. They clearly have really traditional relationships, which was a change of pace compared with my Women in Power family. Jake and I have a dynamic I haven’t discussed at length, but it is very traditional. He generally takes the lead and I generally follow. It works for us and I’m aware it wouldn’t for others. Trust me. Jake’s friends seemed to have pretty similar relationships to ours, though more permanent. The men were all very sweet to their wives/fiancees. At one point, not realizing everyone could see them from outside, Aaron grabbed Mindy’s hand and danced with her in the kitchen. Amy, who I would meet later, over-imbibed and her fiance, Taylor, spent at least a couple of hours away from the party, making sure she was alright. There was certainly a shared element, though, and I can’t even put my finger on what exactly it was, but it was pleasantly… relatable.

When we got back from Walmart, Callie started shredding a rotisserie chicken and she and I paired up to make her Pinterest buffalo chicken pinwheels. The women hung out in the kitchen, cooking, while the men goofed off in the back, but it was a mutual decision and really quite nice to be able to talk freely as girls. I don’t know if it was the standing or the bouncy castle bed, but after a few hours, my back was really bothering me. I hurt it about four years ago and it can occasionally be a real problem. Jake was having a great time, so I disappeared into the bedroom to lie down, so he could enjoy himself.

I’m not used to being so… on, as a weekend away with strangers. It took such constant effort to be friendly and sociable that by the time the party had really started going, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. We’d gotten up so early, for a Saturday, probably around 8:00, that the day felt endless. The one person I knew, was having a grand ol’ time with his high school buddies and the last thing I wanted was to make Jake feel like I needed his constant attention. I liked Jake’s friends. They were fun. It was also a lot of stimulation and I was in pain. After about 30 minutes, Jake came in to check on me and I put on my big girl panties and went back to socialize. It was then I met Amy, a newbie to the group, having been engaged to Clyde’s brother, Tanner, only a month ago, after eight months of dating. Amy, coincidentally, teaches home-ec (my bachelor’s degree), while pursuing her master’s in library and information studies. Not only was she a doll, but it was great to see how inclusive of her Jake’s friends already were. These were just really kind people.

I chronicle every detail of my life, so clearly, I’m a total narcissist, but one of my favorite parts of the weekend was the quiet pride Jake took in me. Despite his friends comments about his touch-phobia, he was just as giving with hugs and kisses and “I love yous” as always. He even bragged to someone that Callie and I had made the pinwheels. At one point, as I stood outside, listening to Aaron tell the story of how his made up game had been brought to the USA by the Titanic swim team, Jake came from behind and wrapped his arms around me.

tumblr_inline_miwz6qubww1qz4rgp
I’m pretty sure these are the sweetest hugs ever.

Haley: ::looking to Jake:: “You are a completely different person.”
Jake: “Why?”
Haley: “You’re touching her.”

As sweet, chivalrous, and physically affectionate as Jake is to me, he’s not a blatantly romantic guy. He pays for every date we ever go on, opens the truck door for me nine times out of ten, and shows up at my door less than 24 hours after I call him crying. He’s generally a pretty practical, tough, oil man, so that’s our hearts and flowers. For him to do this stuff in front of his best friends, rubbing my back while insisting I sit down, hugging and kissing me and telling me he loves me, openly bragging about some Pinterest food I helped make… that’s like the equivalent of that scene where Noah and Ally dance in the street, only I’m not an abusive, elitist snob. He’d been the same way, when I was sick during the drive, but that was in private. Seeing Jake value me the way his friends valued their wives and fiances made me picture forever with him in a way I never have. I’m talking about the consideration of compromises like uprooting my career and moving away from my family and friends, one day. It was big.

Not quite as profound, but also very important to me, was the chance to see Jake interact with his friends. Though he’d been drinking pretty steadily, all day, at no point was he out of control drunk. I never felt like I had to act as his babysitter or stay sober so I could take him to the hospital. He didn’t make any hateful comments to anyone or get angry. He was having fun, but he was being an adult while doing so. I never thought I’d say that about someone playing beer pong.

One of the many red flags waved by my ex-husband, was his lack of friends. My mother has a similar problem. I’ve never met an emotionally healthy person who just doesn’t have friends. I consider it a big warning sign that people just don’t like them. I had trouble even keeping up with Jake’s friends and he was loved. It sounds over the top to say that, but they adored Jake and were thrilled to have him there. These are people who’ve known him for 15-20 years. They’ve not only heard the drunken bathroom story, but were there to clean it up. It was awesome to know that he’ll always have his own social circle and that, if the day comes, it’s a pretty welcoming one.

The morning after the party, Jake was, surprisingly, not even hungover. When I asked him about it, he said he’d kept it in check, because he didn’t want me to feel awkward if he was sick. We ate breakfast, as a group, and then we lounged in couples and watched movies for a few hours. After that, everyone packed up and headed on their way. Jake and I chatted on the drive back and I was genuinely sad to leave. As stressful as meeting so many new people was, it was so… normal. I never had a weekend like that in all of my marriage. I’ve never gone away with a man. I’ve never had anyone hug me from behind while his best friend tells me some ridiculous tale. I’ve never even considered uprooting my life for anyone, not even Jake. It was sad to see it all come to a close, but it was pretty great to get all the insight I did from it.

 

 

The new kid in school…

Posted on by
6

Of all the complaints people have about adulthood, from paying bills to digging the glass out of the garbage disposal after breaking the cherry jar that got stuck (it happens, y’all), no one ever mentions the thing I’ve found to be the toughest: still being the new kid in school.

07afa9382205da89b2a7acaaae4387db

I’ll never forget when my daycare teachers relocated me from the four-year-olds class to the five-year-olds class. I lined up against the wall, excited to be chosen and dubbed a “big kid.” Two hours later, I sat in a circle, as strange kids played a game. When it was my turn to contribute, the only response I had was “Can I go back to my old classroom, now?”

Yesterday was my last day at the West Side Library. Today was my first at the North Side Library. I’ve been unbelievably excited about my new supervisory librarian position for the last month. I bought a new, custom-made, lunch bag, because no one ever accused librarians of being cool. I ordered a “super librarian” t-shirt and an “awesome librarian” mug, because no one ever accused me of being modest. I scoffed at my coworkers, as they fretted over change, telling them that this was old hat. I’d only moved from the South Side Library two and a half years ago. But, now that I think about it, it seems I forgot how hard that was, because by the end of my first ever, full time shift, I am…

planning-a-wedding-reaction

… overwhelmed. My new coworkers are friendly and welcoming. My boss is awesome and has made it clear that my supervisory duties will be a gradual progression and I’m not expected to immediately know how to make a schedule. I am essentially just supposed to librarian for the first month. I got keys and one of them is to my office! The weekends are finally going to mean something to me and I can save for retirement and actually see a doctor.

giphy2

But we didn’t interfile the young adult science fiction with the adult science fiction at the West Side Library. We had rickety brown wooden book trucks, not those cute and colorful metal monstrosities. My old manager didn’t use Outlook for anything and now I have to learn to use it for everything, because apparently that’s what upper management does. We didn’t keep the magazines in those magazine covers or shelve all large print with no regards to genre. We didn’t build task forces to deal with problems and we weren’t assigned readings by our manager. I don’t know where anything goes and I can’t remember if their names are Caitlin and Diane or Kayla and Diana. I don’t know where the Newbery Medal winners are, because we didn’t have a special section for them at the West Side Library and don’t knock on my office door, because I’m busy hyperventilating!

leonard_inhaler

This is my big break and literally my dream job. I’m happy. I am. That’s why I chose to make this change. It’s going to be wonderful… in a few weeks. But in the meantime, can I go back to my old library now?

Why My Boyfriend Will Never Be at Christmas

Posted on by
12

The holidays are my very favorite time of year. Jake enjoys them, too, though not with quite the overwhelming enthusiasm that I do.

anigif_enhanced-buzz-7181-1386491988-23

I’m insufferable during the last four months of the year and I know it. My text tone has been sleigh bells since mid-November, when I put up my hot pink tree and started playing Christmas movies around the clock. Every time I saw Jake, I talked him into watching at least one Christmas movie, and he did so in good spirits, even when said movie was Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. We did our holiday shopping together and Jake even waited in the obscenely long line to drive through the Springfield Christmas lights, just for me, despite having been awake for over 24 hours for work. He even did the walk-through portion. We traded gifts and had our own little celebration, after Jake made a trip to the mall the weekend before Christmas, just to get my present. Despite all of this mutual cheer, however, neither of us attended the other’s family festivities… and we spent the entire holiday season defending that choice.

Mrs. Granger: “We’re doing Christmas the 23rd. Is Belle coming?”
Jake: “That’s actually when her family is doing their thing.”
Mrs. Granger: “Is that going to be a problem?”
Jake: “What? No. We’re not married. Neither one of us is going to miss Christmas for the other.”

Dad: “Well, maybe if you guys had been dating longer…”
Me: “No. There is no period of time that we could date, when I would be willing to miss my family Christmas for him, nor would I expect him to do so for me.”

Cousin Delia: “You do have to bring him around eventually.”
Me: “Sure, but we’re not married. I’m not asking him to miss Christmas for me. Would you guys be okay with me ditching our Christmas for him?”

Jake’s Family: “So, where’s The Librarian?”
Jake: “Well, first off, she has a name. Second, she also has her own family, that she wants to spend Christmas with.”

Why is this such a foreign concept?!?! Why must it be the case that Jake and I aren’t serious enough if we’re not willing to split our holidays?

giphy

My whole family knows that, not only does Jake work one week on and one week off, but his family lives well out of town, with his parents actually living in another state. Had my family done one of their smaller Christmas parties on the 20th, he’d have gladly come, but since they did it the same day as his family, it wasn’t an option.

Laura: “Well, we used to spend less time at each and do both.”
Me: “No. That’s for married people.”

That, right there, pretty much sums up my and Jake’s views on the entire issue. I recently followed a link on Facebook, leading to an article dictating what not to say to newlyweds, because Guides to Not Offending Me were to 2015, what doomsday prepping was to 2012. One of the numerous reasons to sit in awkward silence with the Just Married was to avoid asking “Do you feel any different?” The article went on to elaborate that for most people, there’s really not much difference between their dating life and their married life.

giphy1

Now, I’m not knocking the decisions of other people. On the contrary, my entire point is one of “to each their own.” If my 15-year-old cousin gets to bring her boyfriend to the family Christmas party without hearing complaints of how she’s ruining our photos with that random kid who won’t be around in five years, or concerns about why he’s not with his family, though, then why can’t I come solo without insinuations that Jake and I must not be that serious?

I love Jake and he loves me. We’re actually planning to go away for a weekend together, to attend an engagement party, so I can meet every friend he’s ever had. We also acknowledge, however, that there are perks to dating, over marriage. One of those perks is not having to divide Christmas family time. If things keep going well, then the day will come when we do have to choose a Christmas day destination. We may be able to schedule my individual grandmothers’ parties around some of Jake’s family gatherings (something completely unreasonable if we’re not married, I might add), but on December 25, we will not be able to attend two different gatherings, in two different states.

As much as I love Jake, I’m really not looking forward to hiding tears over missing my own family’s giant Christmas gathering, for the first time in over ten years. We rent out the church gym for our crazy Catholic soiree. The kids usually put on a talent show and we play Dirty Santa and board games and eat until we all want to die. Sometimes, a few of us even go to a movie afterward. It’s a blast… and one that I’ll likely have to sacrifice, in the near future, on rotating years. Jake feels the same loving nostalgia for his own family get together and dreads missing it just as much. So why would we voluntarily sign up to do this a year or two earlier than absolutely necessary? To make a statement about our level of commitment to one another? Really? That’s worth missing Christmas? 

ralphie-parker-shock-face-a-christmas-story

Quite frankly, the same goes for living together before marriage. Jake and I have discussed it and it’s not going to happen. One of the joys of being in a serious relationship, that is not marriage, is continuing to live alone. If we marry, eventually, we will have to give that up and say goodbye to midnight CW Netflix marathons/Fallout 4 binges, at least on the scale we enjoy them now. I’ll have to start folding clothes and Jake will have to own furniture. I won’t get to have a pink Christmas tree anymore and Jake will have to deal with me decorating his hunting trophies. Why do that for any reason other than marriage, though? Ideally, we don’t get to go back, to be alone again. Why shouldn’t we enjoy the perks now, instead of playing marriage without any of the actual lifelong commitment? I don’t condemn those who do it. Gail and Terry have lived together for more than three years, scheduling hobbies and holidays around one another, and they’re happy. I’m happy for them. It just doesn’t appeal to me, and that’s okay too. One day, Jake and I might decide to join our lives, trading in all of the aforementioned for the joys of being husband and wife. In the meantime, though…my boyfriend won’t be at my Christmas and his girlfriend won’t be at his.

not-going

The Sociological Horror that is Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

Posted on by
Reply

If you’ve been reading my blog for any period of time, you know I adore a good over-analysis and that extends to my favorite classical Christmas movies, including Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

tumblr_ng7b6npoxp1sgqffyo2_500

There have been numerous depictions of Santa Claus in the media. He was anti-establishment in the stop action film, Santa Claus is Coming to Town. He was absent-minded in Elf (how do you not realize there’s a human child in your toy bag?) He was on acid in Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. He was terrifying in A Christmas Story…

… and he was a douche bag in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. 

The movie opens with newborn Rudolph residing comfortably in a cave with Donner and “Mrs. Donner,” because female characters don’t warrant their own damned names. It quickly becomes obvious that Rudolph is horribly disfigured, when his nose starts to glow.

Mrs. Donner: “Well, we’ll simply have to overlook it.”
Mr. Donner: “Now, how can you overlook that?”
Santa: “Great bouncing icebergs!”
Donner: “Now, I’m sure it’ll stop as soon as he grows up, Santa.”
Santa: “Well, let’s hope so, if he wants to make the sleigh team some day.”

No one mentions the real concern here, and that’s that Rudolph’s nose makes a high-pitched whining noise. Seriously, light up all you want, but stop that. I suppose it doesn’t matter, though, because Santa’s made it pretty clear what his sleigh team values most: conformity.

We even see the universality of this concept, when Hermey the Elf tells his boss that he doesn’t enjoy his job.

Hermey: “I just don’t like to make toys.”
Boss Elf: “Oh, well, if that’s all… what?!?!?! You don’t like to make toys?!?!.. HERMEY DOESN’T LIKE TO MAKE TOYS!”
::Immediately, all of the elves start to whisper about the Freak Elf (not a direct quote)::
Boss Elf: “Do you mind telling me what you do want to do?”
Hermey: “Well, sir, some day, I’d like to be a… a dentist.”
Boss Elf: “A dentist?!?! Now, listen you! You’re an elf… and elves make toys. Now, get to work! 10 minute break! Not for you! Finish the job or you’re fired!”

Okay, dude, first off, you asked what he’d prefer to do. Second, he just told you he hates his job and doesn’t want to do it anymore and you responded by taking away his break and threatening to fire him, though you clearly want him to stay? Also, what kind of regime is this? Elves are born and die in their station as factory workers? They’re shamed for wanting to pursue higher education? Fortunately for him, Hermey grows a pair and decides that he can’t be fired, because he quits.

Meanwhile, Donner makes Rudolph cover his disfigurement with a fake black nose that makes him sound like he has a sinus infection. When Rudolph complains about the discomfort, we get this parenting gem:

Donner: “There are more important things than comfort: self-respect! Santa can’t object to you now!”

So, like a closeted, homsexual, country boy, Rudolph dons his fake nose to make his dad happy, and as long as he’s doing so, Donner is proud.

We return to the elves, as they practice their Christmas song for Santa. As far as we’re told, this isn’t really for any kind of event. They’re just singing Santa a song to make him happy. He accepts this gift with the poise of a mom stomping on her child’s macaroni necklace.

Santa: “Hmmm… well, it needs work. I have to go.”
Mrs. Claus: “What does Papa know? It’s beautiful. You keep it just the way it was.” 

See. Even Mrs. Claus is like…

Geez. No wonder my parents’ generation came up with the participation trophy.

Ultimately, both Hermey and Rudolph are shamed into leaving Christmastown, but not before Rudolph’s crush, Clarice, is told by her father

“You get back to your cave this instant! … Now, there’s one thing I want to make very plain. No doe of mine is going to be seen with a… a red nosed reindeer!”

Off they go, and in their travels, Rudolph and Hermey team up with Yukon Cornelius, prospector of silver and gold, narrowly escaping The Abominable Snow Monster of the North, Bumble. Bumble is apparently very dangerous, though he never actually harms anyone. Rudolph’s parents, however, are still quite worried about him. When Donner heads out to find the bane of his existence, Mrs. Donner wants to go as well, but Donner insists on leaving her behind.

Donner: “No. This. Is. Man’s. Work.”

Regardless, Mrs. Donner sets off to search, taking Clarice along with her, also known as kidnapping. Seriously, she’s a child and you’re taking her out, alone, into the arctic? No wonder the men belittle the women in this story.

Rudolph and Company find The Island of Misfit Toys, where everyone different has been banished. No seriously. The lion with wings, King Moonracer, gathers them from around the world and keeps them on the island, until they find homes. It’s never explained how they’re supposed to go about that while confined to a deserted island, though. Read: banishment. The truly confusing part, is that most of these toys’ problems are easily remedied. The water pistol that shoots jelly could be filled with water. The Charlie in the Box could start going by Jack. Also, who made these loser toys? Was it Hermey? I’m betting it was Hermey, either falling down on the job while daydreaming of incisors, or fullfilling some kind of God complex, while he created an inferior species.


Is that… other toys they’re burning?

Sadly, Rudolph, Hermey, and Yukon are denied safe haven on The Island of Misfit Toys, seeing as how they aren’t toys. King Moonracer still has the gall to ask for a favor, though. Rudolph is to plead the case of the banished toys to Santa, in the hopes that he’ll find them homes. They’ve already tried to find homes, so I’m guessing they’ll end up in some kind of orphanage. The elves, of course, could replace the square wheels with round ones or repaint the polka-dotted elephant, but that was apparently too difficult in the first place… Hermey.

When Rudolph returns to Christmastown, his parents and Clarice are still out looking for him. He’s now an adult reindeer. It’s been at least a year since he left, as it takes a male reindeer about that long to reach sexual maturity.* Clarice knew that boy for about 11 minutes and she’s been searching for him for over a year. That’s what I call commitment. Lucky for her, Rudolph returns this sentiment by heading out to search for the search party, where he’s held hostage by Bumble, who honestly, is only seen petting Clarice. No one’s been harmed, until Rudolph attacks Bumble and he clubs him. That, right there folks, is self-defense. Naturally, in response, Hermey and Yukon Cornelius set a trap to knock Bumble unconscious.

Okay, so I get that Yukon is supposed to have some sort of history with Bumble. He’s apparently very dangerous and that petting would have turned vicious… eventually. Here’s where it gets intensely disturbing, though. After Bumble is knocked unconscious, Hermey and his God complex pull out all of his teeth. What the fucking fuck?!?! That’s like half of the procedure used in Human Centipede, also by a man with a God complex!!!

hermey
Hermey. So I had a little free time? That doesn’t make me “creepy.”

After Yukon pushes Bumble off a cliff, “they realized that the best thing to do, was to get the women back to Christmastown.”

We all know the ending, of course. Rudolph and pals make it home. Santa finally realizes that the exact same idiosyncrasy, for which he shamed a child all along, can be exploited for use as a fog light in an epic storm… because the elves can’t make a fog light? Then again, I suppose if the task fell to Hermey, it would be a fog light that doesn’t light up, so he can feel better about going against The Regime’s demands of him, when he’s finally allowed to become Christmastown’s dentist. Seriously? The guy has no training beyond his experiments with animals. That’s like making the town butcher your new gynecologist. Speaking of animals, abominable snow monsters bounce, so Bumble is given a job… to put the star on the tree. That’s right. He can no longer feed himself, but for one minute annually, his life still has purpose. Last, as an afterthought, the misfit toys are saved by Santa… though we never do find out who wants these half-assed creations.

http://www.theanimalfiles.com/mammals/hoofed_mammals/reindeer.html

Why Our Education System Fails, by a Fly on the Wall

Posted on by
8

After six years of substitute teaching, it’s quite possible that I’ve “taught” my last class. I use quotations, because I’ll readily admit that I was a moderately compensated babysitter. Sure, my bachelor’s degree was in education and I have a current teaching certificate, which raised my daily pay by $10, but my job has generally been to take attendance and make sure no one sets anything on fire.

tumblr_mrgyxw0heb1s02atbo1_500

I jest… a little. I did just recently announce to a table full of teenage girls that they were going to have to change the subject, because I could hear every detail of their sex lives. There was also that time I didn’t really stop the teenage boys from paying each other to eat dead flies…

… but hey, they were quiet.

 

tumblr_lc3ijnt8g71qbxnmd

I’m practically Dumbledore.

It’s not that I was a bad substitute. They knew my limits. I just also knew theirs. I dare you to go into a public high school classroom and tell everyone to put away their phones, when their teachers let them use them every day. Go ahead. Report back. I’ll wait…

fireworks_01

… which brings me to my point. As a substitute teacher, particularly one with a degree in education, I’ve had the privilege of a unique perspective. You see, no one really pays attention to a substitute teacher. No teacher worries that I’m observing the daily anarchy that is their class, as long as they get a good evaluation from their principal. No student worries that a substitute teacher is going to overhear them discussing their cheating methods. I have truly been a fly on the wall for the past six years, in a wealthy public district that scores quite well on state report cards. For this reason, I can declare, with certainty, that our public schools have hit a downward spiral, and here are my top reasons why.

Cell Phones
Zetus lapetus, what a cliche am I, lamenting the tragedy of youths with cell phones.

ynhkyzh

Fine. It’s cliche, but it’s cliche for a reason. I won’t even focus on that time “53 percent of boys and 28 percent of girls (ages 12-15) reported [viewing pornography]”, or that “four out of five 16 year-olds regularly access pornography online”*, or discuss those who’ve been prosecuted as child pornographers for taking naked pictures of themselves*.  For the sake of this post, I’ll limit my rant to school specific issues.

Every day, even the best parents send their child to school with a cell phone, where their teacher competes not only with it and all of the information, entertainment, and communication it contains, but with 24 other devices in the classroom seven times a day. Most people hear the opening statements of my rant on this subject and interject with “They’re allowed to have them out in class?!?!” Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to monitor whether or not 25 people are using their phones for 55 minutes? I’m only speaking from my experience giving tests. The teacher is actually trying to teach what’s on it. If he stops every time he sees a phone, demanding someone put it away/put it on his desk/go to the office, he’s going to accomplish nothing, particularly since he has to uphold this standard throughout the year, because as Sebastian the crab says, “you give them an inch, they swim all over you.” For this reason, most high schools have gone “technology friendly.”

Technology friendly simply means that we’ve given up the fight. If we forbid students from bringing the phones to class at all, their tax paying parents insist they’ll need it “in an emergency.” Keep in mind, these are the same parents who use said phone as a bargaining tool and confiscate it every time they get ticked off, despite the dread of these vague emergencies. The result of this is students discussing the fear that they won’t be able to pass their end of semester Spanish test, because they’ve been using Google translate all year. It’s students watching Netflix on the affluent school’s WiFi, because they know how to get around the safeguards. It’s teachers making the assumption that students will have the internet in their pockets when assigning work, because heaven forbid they create a thought, as opposed to regurgitating ones they find online. It’s students asking to be dismissed from class for a moment, because their parents are calling them. What, might I ask, is so important that you have to call your child’s cell phone, when you know they’re at school?!?

Ultimately, cell phones have created an environment where students are not learning.

College Preparation
My bachelor’s degree was specifically in family and consumer science education – occupational and career technology. Translation: I could teach at a career tech (vo-tech) center as easily as at a high school. Unlike most teachers, my degree focused a great deal on those not going to college. Here are the facts, according to the US Census:

86.8% of Americans have a high school degree.
28% of Americans have a bachelor’s degree.

Why the fuck are we teaching 100% of our high school students as if they’re going to earn a college degree!?!?! 

tumblr_mkqimsivr61ruw1vso1_500

This is a blatant waste of funding. You can argue all you want about a “well-rounded” education, but why can’t we redefine what “well-rounded” means? Why does it have to mean five core subject classes and two classes that potentially prepare students to immediately enter the workforce? Why aren’t we allowing students not planning for college to sign up for two hours of core classes and five hours of real world skills? In my state, we have an amazing career tech program, but it’s poorly promoted. We encourage the kids who aren’t “smart enough” for college to take advantage of the free welding, nursing, and computer programming courses and that’s ridiculous. There are skills involved in auto mechanics that I don’t know that I could ever possess. I couldn’t tell a carburetor from a… I CANNOT EVEN THINK OF ANOTHER KEY CAR PART.

We need to end exclusively college preparatory public high school. We need to have real discussions with students about their interests and capabilities. We need to admit when they aren’t suited for a four-year degree and stop implying that that means anything other than that every person has different skills and capabilities. I have a master’s degree. I sit in a temperature controlled library and offer customer service all day long. I have a dozen uncles who lay pipe in subzero temperatures. Could I do that? NO. Could they smile politely when a man hurls a DVD in their face? NO. Does that make either of us less intelligent? NO.

The problem with the current system is that a good 50% of students feel public school curriculum is entirely irrelevant to them. They enjoy their career tech courses, if they’re in them, but get nothing from literature courses. They’ve found a use for marketing class, but chemistry has been a complete waste of their time. So, why are we funding it?!?! Is our society any better for the Shakespeare forgotten by your plumber? NO.

 We’re Wasting Instruction Time
I would vote for a complete removal of funding for art classes in my district.

gasp

I know. That statement doesn’t make me popular, but you substitute a middle school or high school art class and tell me what you see. No matter the instructor in my A+ school district, art class has always been a total waste of time from my vantage point. It’s not because what they do accomplish isn’t worthwhile. It’s because they accomplish so little of it. I get it. These are the Freaks and Geeks, the kids of Empire Records. They’re the outcasts and this is the only place they feel they belong. I wore overalls all of sophomore year. Believe me, I get it.

Art class, however, should be a place for self expression. You don’t have to let students come and go as they please, without a word of explanation, just because you want them to feel accepted. If this is a place of creativity, then they need to be doing something creative. I know I was only substituting these classes and I didn’t get the most accurate sample, but never have I taught another class where students just followed their whim to walk out. Never have I seen them blatantly watch Netflix as I have in art class. They do this, because it’s okay with their teacher and that is not okay. Creativity and productivity are not mutually exclusive and it’s harmful to suggest otherwise.

Art class isn’t the only place I see wasted instruction time. Remember when I stressed a need for strong life skills courses for those immediately entering the workforce after high school? Well, those exist as electives. Leadership is a great example. What a wonderful course to teach, even to those pursuing college. Or so I thought, until I subbed it and my students informed me that all they’d been doing for the last three weeks was painting banners to hang around the school.

A leadership student should be gaining public speaking skills by delivering presentations on effective leaders through history and the impact they’ve had on the world. They should be finding ways to be leaders in the community and possibly spending the occasional field trip volunteering at the local food bank or running winter coat drives. Leadership students should be presenting the awards at ceremonies and taking part in presentations on real world issues that effect teens, such as the consequences of texting while driving. Leadership students should not be spending three weeks painting banners. In fact, that’s actually a great activity for those art students!

Perhaps you’re thinking I’ve just proven we don’t really need those elective courses. You’d be right, were it not for the fact that this regularly occurs in core classes, as well. Because we don’t want to admit that some students aren’t cut from Shakespeare reading cloth, our high school English classes are paced for the mean, or average. If four students can finish Othello in a week and two need three weeks, we write the curriculum for two weeks, which leaves four students playing on their phones for a week and two in tears, because they don’t understand this Shakespeare Shit. We even add whole class blocks for “study hall” or “advisory”, which end up essentially being recess. Kids sit, talk, play cards, or play on their phones. At best, students spend four hours a day learning and another three waiting to learn.

We’re So Top-Heavy
There are a lot of reasons I never taught in a traditional setting and I’ve just outlined three. Another, however, is that my state has nearly the lowest teacher pay in the country. It’s still a living wage, but I make about $16,000 more as a librarian and the benefits are substantially better. Our cost of living is also astoundingly low, but even those states with a lower cost of living often pay teachers more. The result is a few days a year, when teachers rally at the state capitol over the injustice of it all, which I categorize as fitting into the previous heading of a waste of instruction time.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying teachers shouldn’t be paid more. I’m simply saying that they’re protesting at the wrong location. While we could certainly use a little more state funding, the problem is primarily a district one. I just counted my district’s administrators and came up with an astounding 34. If I average each of them at $80,000 per year, that’s over 2.5 million dollars. If I’m averaging too high and it’s closer to $60,000, it’s still over two million dollars in a suburban school district with low teacher pay.

603db088bfc439746087637584a11833

What if, and this is a crazy suggestion, we actually give the teachers the ability to discipline their students so we don’t need as much on-site administration and enforce consequences more effectively, overall? Why do we allow repeated problem students, particularly when they’ve reached the state’s legal dropout age of 16, to continue coming to public schools? If a student ditches detention X number of times, why not tell him he still has his right to pursue an education, but he’ll now have to do it, either through another district or online schooling? Over 98% of public libraries have Internet access. If that’s inconvenient, so what? They had their chance and got plenty of warnings. Should their behavior impede the learning of other students, add stress to their low paid teachers’ day, and create a need for a more top-heavy district as a whole? NO.

I’m not talking about basic discipline problems here, to be clear. I’m talking about the student who punches his teacher, repeatedly gets in fights or makes threats toward other students or staff, or gets a designated number of detentions for other behaviors that disrupt class. I’m talking about a decision made by a panel, with the opportunity to appeal in one calendar year. Perhaps, in this case, the parent would suddenly care that their child was misbehaving, were they faced with the possibility of having them at home all day and being responsible for helping them pursue an education until age 16. Why don’t we expel students anymore?!?! When we do, it’s always for something that doesn’t effect the big picture or anyone in it, such as a student having a buck knife in his truck, because he forgot it in his truck after his hunting trip or a girl who carries her asthma inhaler on her, even though it’s not allowed. Let’s kick them out, regardless of their lack of previous discipline problems, but nooooo, not the guy who screamed at his teacher that he was going to set her cat on fire.

If the major problem students were gone, usually a very small percentage of the school and a very large percentage of the discipline issues, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to cut administration. If my district cut half its administration, we could afford to raise every teacher’s salary by over $11,000. Carry on with your protests at the state capitol, though. Maybe they’ll designate an administrator to teacher ratio.

Citations

http://www.internetsafety101.org/pornographystatistics.htm

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2015/09/21/n-c-just-prosecuted-a-teenage-couple-for-making-child-porn-of-themselves/

http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/00000.html

THE GREATEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE HAS OCCURRED!

Posted on by
12

It’s true. I have peaked. This news shall not be surpassed by my wedding day, the births of my children, or the announcement that Hollywood has remade Titanic and Rose chooses Cal over Jack…*

tumblr_inline_n94owf5jeg1sybzrb

*probably not true

…  because this week, I finally got the call. I HAVE BEEN PROMOTED TO FULL TIME SUPERVISORY LIBRARIAN! 

533047

When I was 21 years old, a year and half out from graduating with my bachelor’s in family and consumer science education (home-ec), I announced to the world that I wasn’t going to teach. I was going to immediately enter the graduate program to receive my master’s degree in library and information studies. The general consensus was a resounding scoff.

arrested-development-lucille-sure

“A librarian? Do they even have librarians anymore? Isn’t that mostly a dying field?” – everyone ever

Before I met Jake, every date I ever had was with a man who either openly mocked my profession or downplayed it as a secretarial hobby job. After I finished my master’s degree, the exact same people who rant about entitled millennials expecting to start at the top, berated me for working only half time after spending so many years in school. As much as I love my daddy lunches, I began to dread the moment he’d ask if I had heard about any more job openings. Four months into my relationship with Jake, I hesitantly asked him…

Me: “Does it bother you that I’m only half time?”
Jake: “What? No. Not at all. If that’s all you were doing and you couldn’t pay your bills, I wouldn’t be here, but you work.”

Work I did. Some weeks, I worked 65 hours only to go home and do 20 cumulative hours of graduate school work. In the beginning, I was substitute teaching and working at the community center for minimum wage. Those 65 hours wouldn’t even pay my bills. Later, I saw a wage increase when I got my first library job, working circulation, but even that was only  $11.50 an hour. Finally, after graduation, I was promoted to half time librarian, where I am today. I was overjoyed that I could finally afford my bills without financial aid assistance, but only just. Between substitute teaching and working as a very well-paid (hourly) librarian, I was still only pulling in $30,000 a year, with no benefits save for the year and a half I qualified for my dad’s health insurance. I had to pay student loan debt and buy a new car, after discovering that that wasn’t condensation leaking from the engine. All the while, I hoped and prayed for my health, because even a single hospital stay could financially ruin me.

Over the last 10 years, my entire adult life, the closest I have ever come to a sense of financial security were the months I subbed every day I could, averaging out to that 65 hours per week. Not only was I too exhausted to enjoy it, but it still didn’t mean anything, because I had to save that money to get me through the summers without substitute teaching. Sure, I could’ve gotten another job, but not one that paid me any more and allowed me my nights and weekends at the library. If I worked full time, I wouldn’t be able to take off for interviews, if and when I got them. I couldn’t work a weekday that a coworker was out, go to staff development or state conference, or do any of the things that would make me a competitive candidate for a full time librarian position. Substitute teaching may have only averaged $10 per hour, but it allowed me to work the hours I chose. So, I worked every day I was able, lamenting any time off I took because there weren’t open sub jobs or school was closed for snow or a power outage. I looked forward to the days I only worked one job or the other, because I might have as many as ten waking hours free.

uitgeput

Just five weeks ago, I was devastated to learn that I’d been passed up for a position, after an interview I felt went really well. I cried inconsolably into frozen pizza and even refused to answer the phone, when Jake called me. For two days, I could barely speak a sentence without bursting into tears. I had to, of course, because I worked both jobs to afford the aforementioned frozen pizza. I was exhausted and considering looking for office jobs or teaching positions just to have benefits and a comfortable wage. I convinced myself to wait it out, though. My system recently announced several internal openings. If I couldn’t get one of those, fine, my career with the system was over. I wasn’t being dramatic, either. If I was qualified, experienced, and interested, but still couldn’t wow anyone in regards to an internal postion, for which I had little competition, there wasn’t a lot of hope for any forward momentum.

I got the email three weeks ago, that I would sit down at my library for a short interview. After only two days of preparation, the meeting on which my career was riding took all of ten minutes. For a moment, I genuinely started to hyperventilate, which is not considered a desirable leadership trait. Ultimately, I thought it went alright, but how much can you really tell from ten minutes?

nervous-gif

This time, I told no one about the interview, in part because every one of my coworkers knew I’d go for the job and it took place at my own library. If I didn’t get it, they would all know, eventually, that I’d been turned down. I hoped I’d hear back before the holiday, so I could enjoy my Thanksgiving (or skip it and eat pie in tears), but had no such luck. For nearly two weeks, I literally waited by the phone. I vacillated between two extremes: either my career was over or just beginning. I went into deep bouts of depression and got very little sleep, all in silence, because I couldn’t bear to break the news to my family and friends that I’d failed. Then, on Monday, I couldn’t find a sub job. I knew I’d hear back that day and quite literally stared at my phone all morning. I tried to do things that would distract me like starting a Harry Potter marathon. During The Sorcerer’s Stone, I received the e-mail that a different position I’d applied for would no longer be filled. I was still looking at the phone, because if HR was sending e-mails, then I’d be getting something soon. The screen lit up…

tumblr_ljndwhekav1qbncy4

… and my adult life started. I finally feel like a grownup. I start my new supervisory librarian position the first week in January. I get excellent retirement benefits and health care. The wait is over. I did the college thing. I worked my way up. I have financial security. Come Christmas break, I’ll no longer substitute teach. I can buy Christmas presents and get my car repaired and start paying off some of my debt. I can get new glasses and see a dentist. I can move and finally get a cat! I can afford to turn on the heat!!!!!!

I’m not only going to be okay, I am going to be wonderful, doing the job I love, the job I’ve dreamed of for years and taking care of myself. It all worked out and it was worth every second of struggle. Five years ago, I was a broke, terrified, 23-year-old graduate student, just days from filing for divorce. Today, almost all of my dreams have come true.

 

“… an Eskimo kiss for the road.”

Posted on by
1

So, why haven’t I written? Well, I could make excuses about work stress and car trouble, and while both would be valid, they wouldn’t be completely honest. The real reason I haven’t written, is because I’m sill suffering from the dreadful Girl Brain.

Things with Jake are super. He is the bees’ knees, peachy keen, dreamy, and every other pre-1960 reference I’ve made in the past. A few days before Halloween, he came out to Shetland and spent an impromptu two days with me, both of us taking off work to enjoy cuddling up during a rainstorm to watch scary movies and eat pizza. On Halloween evening, I drove to Wellston to spend the holiday with him and met his parents.

Jake: My parents will be here, by the way.
Me: Okay. Does that mean you don’t want me to come or that I just shouldn’t dress all whorey?
Jake: What? No. Stop reading into things.
Me: I’m not reading into anything. I’m trying to figure out if you’re saying you want me to meet your parents or if you want to cancel so you can spend time with them alone.
Jake: If you don’t want to meet them, I’ll understand, but I wasn’t telling you not to come.

Jake’s parents are southern cattle ranchers through and through. Just… picture a couple of southern cattle ranchers and that’s the Grangers. It was a nice dinner, at a local fast food chain. Jake was proud to introduce me. He joked about the fact that I was sort of in costume, in my red jeans and Superman shirt. His mom hassled him about the length of his beard, while his dad talked about politics. They discussed rodeos and deer hunting. They both laughed, when I teased Jake for looking like Yukon Cornelius.

After dinner, Jake watched Hocus Pocus with me, under strict orders that I not recite it. We cuddled on the couch before going to bed, where we also cuddled, until he had to leave for work at 6:00 in the morning and I had to make the drive back to Shetland.

After Halloween, I was all geared up to tell you this great story about meeting the parents. Then I got busy. Then I started overthinking things.

Y’all, if Jake ever proposes, I’m pretty sure my response is going to be “I didn’t even think you liked me.”

Due to distance, family obligations, work, and us both generally having lives, Jake and I get about one sleepover per week. In the meantime, we talk on the phone two or three times and I send a series of anecdotes or Internet memes that rarely get a response… via text message, that is. When we see each other in person, he’ll mention the things I send him and joke about them or discuss them. Jake just doesn’t put as much value on texting or even phone calls as I do. He’d rather spend time together in person… because he’s a dude. I can’t think of a single guy who would want to spend large quantities of time on the phone… but he does it for me, a few times a week. Still, by the time I’m ready to post a blog, I’m worried that Jake is losing interest and that I’ll look back on the post I’m writing and wonder how I was so blind.

The week after Halloween, Jake and I weren’t planning to see each other. He was going to spend his days off hunting and we were going to get together the next week. It was all good, though I knew I’d miss him… until the Thursday following the holiday. I got out of work early and decided I’d finally go get new tires. It couldn’t cost more than $200.

New Tires: $370
Replacement Wheel Strut: $55
New Break Shoes Immediately or I Die: $255
New Struts That are Future Belle’s Problem: $750
New Break Pads That are Nearer Future Belle’s Problem: $300

Me: I don’t think I can do anything next week.
Jake: Why?
Me: I’m just having some financial issues and I think I’m going to have to work. I may be able to take off Friday. I’m not sure.
Jake: Tomorrow or next week?
Me: I meant next week. I’m sorry. I miss you. It’s just been a tough week. 
Jake: I can come tomorrow.
Me: I work tomorrow… and every day after that and it’s still never enough.
Jake: What time? 
Me: I get out at 3:35.
Jake: I’ll be there.

After I got that text, I called Jake to assure him that he didn’t need to come to Shetland. He was in another state, y’all, yet he was willing to drive to Shetland the next afternoon, knowing I was on my period and that we both had to work Saturday, so we’d be getting a maximum of 16 chaste hours together.

Me: “You don’t have to come here. Enjoy your time with your family. I’m fine.”
Jake: “You just called me crying. I’ll be there, tomorrow.”
Me: “I’m not crying! I’m fine.”

Gail: “You’re right. He probably doesn’t even like you.”

The following night, we went out for pizza and cuddled on the couch to watch Zombeavers on Netflix (he now has his own profile on my account).

Jake: “To save your life? Yes. I would throw your dog to a pack of zombies.”

What do I do? Do I swoon or break up with him?

We didn’t get to see each other for another week, after that night. Once again, instead of blogging about the astounding chivalry and genuine care Jake showed me, after I called him bawling about money troubles, I spent the week deciding that the rarity of his messages obviously meant he just wasn’t that into me. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t tell him these things. I don’t act clingy or crazy or ask what he really means, when he says he loves me. I’m aware that these are my insecurities to deal with and not his problem. It’s just that every other woman in the dating world needs a book called He’s Just Not That Into You and I’m wondering where I can get a copy of No Really, He Actually Likes You. He says he loves me. He shows he loves me. Yet, here I am, scratching my head and wondering what he’s thinking. He’s not a complex guy! He’s thinking exactly what he tells me he’s thinking!

This past weekend, Jake came to Shetland, once again at the end of his three days off. He had been hunting with his brother and saw a giant buck on his way out to see me, but still kept his commitment to our plans. I made us crock pot taco soup and talked him into watching an episode of Supernatural, while I sprawled on top of him on the couch. The next morning, Jake came to church with me for his very first Catholic Mass. We went to lunch and then he humored me while I browsed the outlet mall for a couple of Christmas presents, even carrying my bags after I’d made my purchases. We went back to my place and watched The Devil’s Advocate (his choice).

Me: “I made you a present.”
Jake: “You made me a present?”
Me: “Yeah. You probably won’t wear it and that’s okay. I just thought I might make you one. You said red is your favorite color.”
Jake: “It’s a hat. Why wouldn’t I wear it?”
Me: “I don’t know. It’s really bright and maybe it’s kind of lame to wear a hat your girlfriend crocheted for you.”
Jake: “No. I’ll totally wear it to work.”

Definitely swoon.

A few minutes after he left, I called to tell him he’d forgotten some things. I packed them up and ran out to meet him in the parking lot of my complex.

Me: “Open the door. Give me a hug for my troubles.”
Jake: “I would’ve come up and gotten it.”
Me: “That’s okay. I love you.”
Jake: “I love you, too.”
Me: “Hold on. You need an Eskimo kiss for the road.”
Jake: ::laughing::

Gail’s right. He probably doesn’t even like me.

Textersation Tuesday

Posted on by
Reply

 

Halo 5 came out today. When you’re single, you don’t even know that more than one Halo exists.
10-27-15 2

I interviewed for, and was passed up for, another full time librarian position. Gail tried to say the right thing…

10-27-15

I texted Jake the news, as well. He texted back once and called twice. I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I didn’t want to interrupt his video game fun with attempts to console his girlfriend in a dramatic mood, so I let it go to voice mail as I randomly wailed into my frozen pizza. Sigh. Here’s hoping that I’ll read this in a year and smile, because it all turned out okay, just as I’ve been doing with last year’s terrible date stories.

“Would it freak you out if I told you I loved you?”

Posted on by
1

Me: “You make me really happy.”
Jake: ::silence::
Me: “Does it freak you out, when I say stuff like that?”
Jake: “What? No.”
Me: “Would it freak you out, if I told you I loved you?”
Jake: ::laughing:: “No.”
Me: “I love you.”
Jake: “I love you, too.”

Y’all, I said it first. I later informed Gaily that I didn’t feel insecure about it, because Jake’s a very strong-willed guy and there’s not a soul on Earth that can manipulate that man into doing anything he doesn’t want to do. Also, though, as I was leaving…

Me: “Did I push you into saying anything you didn’t want to say, before?”
Jake: “What? No. You didn’t.”

Despite this, I had horrible moments of insecurity over the next week and a half, rationalizing that “I love you” is practically an ultimatum. The other person either says it back or the two of you break up. So, by that logic, Jake wasn’t saying he loved me. He was just saying he didn’t want to break up with me.

Well. I made that significantly less romantic.

Suddenly, I was worried about every text I sent. Was I annoying him? Was he not texting back, not because he’s always been more of a phone guy, but because he’s over me? Did he really want to spend his birthday with me? Would the effort I put into his birthday celebration freak him out? Should I send everything back and act like I hadn’t planned anything? Would buying him beer that he’d undoubtedly keep at my place be too long term? What about starting such an epic series as The Lord of the Rings? Zetus lapetus, I may as well have just proposed!

I kept this all to myself, of course. I’d already essentially asked Jake if he was sure he loved me. I’ve also heard him say numerous times that women need to just take the things men say at face value instead of over-analyzing them. I know he’s a forthright guy. So, at this point, my vulnerability is not Jake’s problem. It’s Gail’s.

Me: “He told me he loved me. He told me he was sure he loved me. He cooked me dinner that he killed personally. He doesn’t care that I left a toothbrush, some shampoo and conditioner, a comforter, and a stand-up fan at his place. He was willing to go with me to have my dog put down if he had puppy cancer. He’s a bearded oil man who gives Eskimo kisses and coos at my beagle like he’s a baby. He’s not getting laid until Valentine’s Day! Still, I’m over here with Girl Brain, tearing it all to pieces.”
Gail: “When he said ‘What? No.’ when you asked if you’d pressured him, what he meant was ‘What? No… and I hope that’s the end of that drama.’ You’re being totally and completely irrational and you’re right. You don’t get to talk to him about it, because that’s not his problem. I can tell you this, because I know it’s exactly what you need to hear. You talk to me about this stuff, not him.”

Despite Gail’s reassurance, I vowed that I was just going to stop saying it. Clearly, this goes on the very short list of things at which Belle does not excel: modesty, sports, and vulnerability. So, the next time I saw Jake, I was going to just pretend the whole thing never happened. On Wednesday, when I drove to Wellston after work, I was determined not to say it.

Me: “What if February comes and I’m really bad at sex?”
Jake: ::laughing:: “Meh. You’ll learn.”
Me: ::laughing:: “I love you.”
Jake: “I love you, too.”

  1. modesty
  2. sports
  3. vulnerability
  4. filtering thoughts to speech

It’s definitely best that we haven’t had sex, yet.

The First Time He Sees You Have a Panic Attack in Bed…

Posted on by
6

That’s a relationship milestone, isn’t it? Wasn’t that an episode of Sex and the City?

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know that, in addition to my dated television references, I have… difficulty processing negative emotions.

Me: “All kidding aside, I genuinely think that if we just bury our negative feelings, without discussing it, there won’t be any long term consequences as long it doesn’t happen often.”
Gail: 

So, last Wednesday, when I topped off my already terrible day by running into my ex-husband for the first time since he signed the papers five years ago, I coped as only Belle can… which is to say I didn’t. It was only 4:00 in the afternoon, y’all. I was already overwhelmed and still had a night at the library head of me. I chose not to process such unpleasantness. After all, no words were spoken. We only made eye contact and kept walking. It was easy enough to compartmentalize and label it Future Belle’s problem.

Indeed it was. That night, after work, lying in bed, I had an… episode. Though it’s been almost five years, occasionally, I still have nightmares about my marriage. Usually, I’m still married, he’s still a sociopath, and the worst part is that I have trouble waking. Even more rarely, I wake and have trouble convincing myself that I’m in the present day and in no danger. Last Wednesday, however, was… severe.

I’m talking, Lifetime Original Movie severity, here. It was epic, in a way it has not been in years. So, naturally, once I’d come to my senses, emotionally and physically exhausted, I assumed the drama was out of my system. Everyone gets one meltdown every decade or so. Fortunately, I’d had mine that night, as opposed to the next, when my boyfriend would be staying over. What luck!

Jake came to town the next day and I conversationally explained a bit about why the previous day had been so awful, including that seeing my ex-husband “rattled” me. We went to dinner, watched a couple of movies and an episode of The Walking Dead, and we went to bed. Once there, we fooled around for a little bit and then I started to feel a bit… off. I feared I knew what was happening and went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I told myself to get control and went with my usual inner mantra.

It’s 2015. Your’e 28 years old. It has been almost five years and you are safe.

It wasn’t working. Of course, I shifted my focus to hiding my breakdown from Jake as I got into bed. It seemed easy enough to do with the lights off, even if that was making my little PTSD-worthy flashback worse. I told myself to keep my feelings where feelings belong: on the inside…

… as I started shaking. To Jake, there was no catalyst. The room was cold and he assumed the shaking was shivering… for the first few minutes.

Jake: “Are you okay?”
Me: ::nod::
Jake: “Belle? Are you alright? Say something.”
Me: 

Without a response, Jake reached for the light… and I lost it.

Me: ::hysterically crying:: “I’m fiiiiiine.”

I don’t remember a lot of the conversation, honestly. It’s sort of a blur beyond Jake finally getting frustrated with all of my apologies for crying.

Jake: “Will you stop apologizing and just please tell me what’s wrong?”
Me: “Sometimes, I just… I feel really panicked and just get really… scared. I’m sorry. Yesterday just really freaked me out. I promise this never happens!”

Jake was impossibly sweet, as he stroked my hair, told me I was okay and that I was safe. At one point, he actually feared I couldn’t breathe as my throat started to close and I wheezed through my cries. He just held me as I apologized again and again for showing negative emotions.

Me: “Do I have too much baggage?”
Jake: “No. Jude’s not too much baggage. He’s close, but not quite.”

He made a joke. The guy realized how much I don’t like to talk about feelings and he joked about my clingy dog being too much baggage, instead of forcing me to take the situation seriously.

Once I’d calmed down, Jake kissed the top of my head…

Jake: “I want my tea.”
Me: “What?”
Jake: “I’m thirsty.”
Me: “There’s a water bottle right there.”
Jake: “I know, but I have tea in the fridge and I want to get it.”
Me: “Okay? Why are you telling me this?”
Jake: “I just didn’t want you to think that I was getting up to put on my boots and leave, because I would never do that.”

More than once in the night, Jake actually woke me to make sure I was alright. The next morning, I brought it up first.

Me: “So, did I freak you out too much last night?”
Jake: “What? No. I’m just glad I was here.”
Me: “Yeah. Me, too. It was a lot worse the night before last. Don’t worry, though. I only cry once a year. If feelings were meant to be talked about, they would be called talkings.”