Schweet.

So far three people have called or come by the house to inform me that "OMG, you and your boyfriend ARE IN A MAGAZINE AD! Dressed like PIRATES! Did you know???"

Well, of course we do. In fact?

We've collected no less than three copies of the damn thing, taped it to the wall in the hallway and shared it with everyone we know. FORCIBLY.

And we've even posted it on the Intarnets.

W00t!!1!

The agony of defeat.

I think it is fairly obvious, given the complete lack of any sort of "YAY!" post whatsoever, that my daughter did not get let out on parole last Wednesday.

*sigh*

Well, I guess that is just the way it goes.

*cue somber melody*

In other, non-related yet still sucktastic news... I took another cut in pay this afternoon so it looks like Den and I will need to find more things to scale back on in terms of our monthly budget to the tune of approximately $100.00.

Too bad that pretty much everything that could have been cut already has been.

*SIGH*

Were not for the good news of N. and C* setting a date for their handfasting and the prospect of sitting down with N. at tonight's shindig to discuss not only her upcoming event but Dennis and mine's as well (providing that K. comes home by next spring and that we are able to scrape up some monies to purchase the necessities), this weekend would have pretty much been a bust.

Childbirth...

It sure feels different when the baby you are (hopefully) about to deliver is 18 years old.

My gods this has been a long time coming. Almost three years. She went away a child and she is coming back a young woman. All the rules have changed and it makes me nervous and anxious and scared and hopeful and excited and a thousand+ other emotions that are so jumbled up that I cannot even name them.

Truthfully, I was a mess when she left. I was barely handling my own life and was struggling to handle hers too. I failed in a lot of ways I think, but I like to also think that I succeeded in a few very important ones. *shrug* At least I HOPE that I did.

*sigh*

Poor Dennis. I've appointed him as The Reality Check. The guy, when I get all wound up and control freak-y, who is going to remind me that I'm supposed to be treating adults like adults and to back off. I think this is going to work. I really do. I love and respect him and given his laid back yet responsible and loving nature, I think he is the perfect candidate for the job.

We will just be three adults living like roommates and friends - after all the kinks are worked out of course, because every new household will have it's random "bumps". But I am hoping that this will all work out *crosses fingers* and we will all be able to coexist happily like a little family. And I think that sounds pretty darn nice.

Depths of hell...or somthing marginally related to it.

Strange. A while ago I commented on someone's MySpace blog about having been on antidepressants and hating it...

Every time I start cleaning the abyss which is my home office, I find something weirder than the last time I started cleaning it. This time however, I might have found the great, great granddaddy of The Strange.

For those of you who didn't already know, I used to be nuts. Certifiably. It all started with depression, which lead to antidepressants, which lead to anti anxiety meds which lead to more meds and more meds more meds until HOLY HELL I was on anti-freaking-psychotics because all those hundreds of other psychotropic meds?

They were making me paranoid and under the impression that the TV was talking to me and about me, amongst other fantastically bizarroland things.

In a nutshell, I was suffering from drug induced psychosis. I was drugged quite literally out of my mind. Fortunately, after the "doctor" who was treating me vanished (and was presumably relieved of his medical license) I got a new doctor who weaned me off of the shit and got me back on my mental feet.

Anyways.

While I was on the Crazy Train, I used to write a lot. VOLUMES. Truckloads of Crazy. And today I found a large pile of it buried under underneath the most mundane of things - like old bills and bank statements, etc.

WOW.

I couldn't shred up that shit fast enough lemme tell ya. Because the thought of me having an accident or dying suddenly and leaving that crap to be discovered by my daughter or my Dennis scared the hell out of me. It's a time that I'm embarrassed about and don't like to think too much about because well, I said and did some REALLY cuckoo stuff but thankfully, by the grace of I don't know what, I managed to screw my head back on and move forward and I never looked back.

It would break my heart if the last things they had to remember me by was a bunch of twacked out nonsense rambled by a woman in the clutches of insanity. You know? I would far rather have them remember me how I am right now:

Blissfully happy.

Unquestionably loved.

And last but not least... (relatively) SANE.

The Sexy™

Dennis and I just got back from a ballroom dance seminar with six other couples and wow are my legs tired but DAMN, does he have The Sexy™. My baby was moving his groove thing like he meant that shit from the bottom of his deep, dark, Rumba-saturated soul!

Hopefully *crosses fingers*, I'll catch up and find me some rhythm before I bust a hip (and bring the both of us crashing to the floor) while trying to figure out where my legs go when I'm making one of those fancy turns.

WHEW.

Well, the gods were certainly smiling on me this weekend because I just got off the phone with my mom and the whole drunken disaster is already a funny story that "we will all laugh heartily about in a few years if you two are still together".

She even said that of all the guys I've brought around over the years, Dennis is the nicest one yet.

In other words: THEY LIKE HIM!

*squee!*

Well, THAT went well...

Does getting trashed by accident and throwing up all over yourself make for a good evening with your parents? Hmm. Probably not.

I don't know if it was The Nervous, the boat, the Buffalo Milk (and by the way, what was I thinking when I agreed to not one but three glasses of anything with milk in it?), or the six other drinks we had with my brother and sis-in-law but whatever it was, it didn't sit well in my stomach.

*BARF*

Honestly. What was I thinking?

The good news is that my mom and dad didn't seem (from what Dennis told me) to be terribly upset with either of us. "It gets the best of everyone sometimes. Welcome to the island". And up until we got blasted they seemed to like him, so yay for that. My bro and sis-in-law also get mad props for rescuing me and throwing me into the shower and my clothes into the wash so that I could clean up before dinner so yay for that too.

I am so embarrassed though. Mortified really.

I CANNOT believe that I got sick all over myself. And of all days, the day when Dennis finally meets my parents. Even though I'm pretty sure that this will all be a funny story eventually, it sure doesn't feel funny NOW. *sigh*

The Big Day

So tomorrow is the big day. The day the parents finally meet the boyfriend. Gah. I'm excited and nervous and also? Wondering how in the hell I pulled this madness off.

Seriously.

Not only have Dennis and I been dating for nearly three years now, we've been living together for over a year and regularly traipse about town hand in hand. By any and all laws of probability, someone ought to have seen us together at least a year and a half ago and informed my parents leading to a lot of awkward questions including "why have we not met him yet".

At this rate, I'll have been dead a week before anyone notifies them that I've died.

Anywho.

Tomorrow is the big day. And it's taking place on Catalina Island. And the plans for the day include a round of Miniature Golf and a trip to the Wrigley Botanical Gardens. And dinner with my parents at the house.

*shudder*

Did I mention that I was nervous yet?