Posts Tagged ‘ManBear’

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Drowning in Life. And Stuff.

July 20, 2010

I had yesterday off work. I slept in, folded laundry, cuddled the PuppyKitten, played tennis with my friend, walked dogs, told my homance happy 25th birthday and generally reveled in having nothing to do.

I had yesterday off because starting today I have 10 solid days of work, 2 of which will be 10 hour days catering 2 different weddings.

After those 10 days is the ManBear’s birthday (a glorious friday off to sleep in and have lots of sex and drink and carouse and blowitup big) followed by another day of partying. Sunday will then be spent celebrating in a secret birthday style. Monday I get to work again. And Tuesday.

Tuesday I fly to Boston.

To meet up with Caitlin.

To drive to BlogHer.

To meet up with everyone.

Then days spent reveling and a flight home monday evening followed by work Tuesday morning.

I feel like I’ll need a vacation from my vacation!

But I am also so breathtakingly excited!

See you there?

Here is a picture TO JAZZ IT UP ZATARANS STYLE

Ichabod is not amewsed wif your innernets ramblins! MOAR GRAVY!

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a post

July 6, 2010

I have been very busy lately.

I say this not as an excuse, but as an explanation.

I have a hundred things to talk about, to share; thousands of words to rush out to explain the wonderful things I’ve been doing – the things off my life list, the exploits of my hobo and his lady friend, the party with the guy in the dress, crafts. I want to explain how crappy work is being, and how good at the same time. I want to tell you about the thing my sister is doing, and the way the ManBear looks at me. I want to tell you how I feel fat and beautiful and tired and clever. I want to tell you how much I love my life, my man, my cat, my friends, the world.

Instead, for now, for this brief moment i have to breathe and collect, I’ll tell you about all the things I want to tell you about.

Life is really, really good.

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Girl Talk Thursday – Time Savers

May 20, 2010

I feel no shame in admitting that I use time savers.

The shame is more in the fact that  I don’t use them because I’m BUSY or IMPORTANT and don’t have TIME to do things.

Instead the shame rests solely on the fact that I am butt-ass LAZY.

So I will give you my “Top Five Time-savers I Could Not / Will Not Live Without (In No Particular Order)”  or “TFTSICNWNLW(INPO)” because acronyms are cool and will totally save you time.

Though it’s not one of my TFTSICNWNLW(INPO). Because that’s just silly.

1. CARDIGANS!. I cannot shout this loud enough for you to understand how much time cardigans! save me.

Have to get ready for work in 10 minutes because I slept in until 7:40am and have to leave the house by 7:50am to get to work by 8:05am and pretend I am on time? Throw on a (hopefully) clean t-shirt or top and cover it with a Cardigan!. Maybe add a scarf to Jaunt It Up!

I own maybe 6 or 7 cardigans! and (try to) rotate them, though I’ve been known to wear the same one 5 out of 7 days. And I don’t even care.

2. Slip on flats.

At any given time I own between 3 and 7 pairs. Currently I have a pair of dark green, a pair of red, and two pairs of black (one smooth, one suede-y). In addition, I have a pair with a candy print and a strap, a pair with cut-outs shaped like flowers, and a “fancy” pair with ~JEWELS~ (not to be confused with JULES) on their sides.

Flats are awesome for multiple reasons – quick to put on, good for pants or dresses, quick to take off, cute!, and pretty affordable.

I am currently coveting these:

3. SHREDDED CHEESE!

wait.

There we go.

Ok. Shredded cheese. My time and life saver.

It’s 8:30pm. We haven’t made dinner. We don’t want to.

What have we got? CHEESE. PRE SHREDDED. A MILLION OPTIONS ARE OPEN TO US! And we wont skin our knuckles off trying to shred our Costco block of cheddar!

Top 3 things that are quick to make and DELISHUS

-Quesadillas – we always have tortillas in the house. Because otherwise you are Un-American. Or something. (Usually we go for Quesadillas with veggies and maybe, if we are feeling industrious, some meat thrown in).

-Breakfast nachos – eggs, bacon, shredded cheese, bell peppers, onions, sometimes potatoes over chips. Bake or broil for 2 – 5 minutes, or until cheese is gooey. Not the most healthy but delicious and easy.

-Groiled Cheese – not grilled (though also delicious) but GROILED. Lightly toasted bread, fresh smushed garlic* spread on the toast, a slice of lunch meat (i go turkey) a slice of tomato or tomato sauce, topped with some shredded cheese. Broil for 2 – 5 minutes or until cheese is as melted as you want it. Eat like an open-faced sandwich.

*I usually microwave a couple of tablespoons of butter and mix in the garlic so it’s a GARLIC BUTTER. You can also prepare this butter ahead of time and store it in the fridge or freezer for a while to be used on whatever you please. Add more or less garlic to your taste.

4. Not Washing My Hair

Most people do some variation on this, but I have a system that saves me more time that I expected it to when I first worked it out.(Please note: I shower in the morning 90% of the time so my hair is usually wet daily and works for me.)

Day 1: Wash hair. Condition. Style/Wear/Etc.

Day 2: Ignore hair in shower. Style/Wear/Etc.

Day 3: Condition. Style/Wear/Etc.

Day 4: Ignore hair again. Style/Wear/Etc.

By day 4, the natural oils and the condition work together to overpower whatever goo you’ve put in your hair in the first place and I have no problem waiting that long to wash my hair. Plus, styling it gets easier because I fight with it less and put in less effort. TWO FOLD TIME SAVER!

Add in the time you save IN THE SHOWER washing it (it’s only like 3 minutes but man, that can be a LONG time!) and it becomes THREE-FOLD!

5. Roller Color Eye Shadow

Maybelline makes this roll-on eye shadow that my mom and I found at a Longs a few years ago. It’s quick and easy and saves me worrying about make-up in the morning. It’s enough for me to feel like I’ve put effort in without being a pain-in-the-ass.

I don’t use a pink (mine is a softer, lighter color that doesn’t appear to be on their list?) but highly recommend it if you ever bother with eye make up.

(I’m including a #6 that used to be #5 cause I remembered what #5 was supposed to be.)

6. Making my boyfriend drive me to work every morning

I almost used a different one but I think this really is one of the biggest. I didn’t want to put it in, because it’s not really that I make him drive me to work.

It was actually his idea. It wakes him up early enough to be on time to work in another town, and lets us have a little extra morning together time.

Plus I don’t have to leave the house 15 minutes earlier than normal to get to the bus stop in time to be on time to work. And I hate the bus.

If I didn’t get that ride every morning, my routine would be completely off and I wouldn’t have nearly as much time to get ready in the morning.

Time saver! And sleep saver! And sanity saver! Woo!

So those are the TFTSICNWNLW(INPO) that save ME time.

How about you?

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McCrystle

May 14, 2010

The Manbear asked, based on GTTs Teacher theme, if I would post something he wrote about his favorite teacher. Which, um, duh.

In my years of schooling I’ve had quite a few teachers who stood out as wonderful, a few who stood out as terrible, and a lot were too average to remember clearly. There is one, however that stands out in my mind far above all the rest.

I only ever had one class with him. It was my Senior year of High School and in all honesty I don’t remember a whole lot of the content of the class. The class was titled Conflict in the Modern World, and as you might guess, it covered the various wars, revolutions, genocides and uprisings happening around the globe. Lots of talk about Africa, Asia, Latin America and the Middle East and the historical setting in which these modern conflicts were happening. What made the class though, and why I still consider it one of the most important moments in my educational history, was the teacher: Mr. Patrick McCrystle:

crystle.jpg

Mr. McCrystle took his job as an educator very seriously but considered his job to be comprehensive, not topical. He made sure that we were not just learning about the struggles in Myanmar and Sudan, but also that we were learning what it meant to be responsible, thinking, adult men.

Going into his classroom was always an exercise in the unexpected. Most often we’d sit down and hear about something that was in line with the course description, but there were days, oh those glorious days!, when he’d pull one of the empty desks to the front of the class, turn it around and set himself right on top of it. These were the days where I really learned.

One day, perched awkwardly on the top of that desk he read “The Laughing Man” from J. D. Salinger’s Nine Stories. Then discussed it with us, asked our views, talked about similarities in our own lives and used it to connect with us personally.

He told us of his travels. Of running the bulls (and nearly dying) in Pamplona with one of his closest friends. Being the last through the gate, mere yards in front of the first bull and the shower of flowers and money that rained on them from the onlooking crowd. Of visiting Northern Ireland during The Struggles and trying to get some official IRA literature. Ducking into a half-sized door at the end of an alley and walking a long, narrow, dimly-lit hallway to a small waiting room; the only other occupant a large, rough man who looked very frightened and who’s knee had obviously been shot at some point in the past. Stories about a life well lived, if not lived wisely.

Another day he spent lampooning the Church of Scientology, explaining its roots, crazy, money-driven, sometimes murderous practices and the utterly interesting and insane life of the religion’s founder L. Ron Hubbard.

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The day that most stands out was one he spent talking about fatherhood. I went to an all-male, Jesuit College Prep school, and Mr. McCrystle though it was important for all of us young men, many of whom would likely one day be fathers ourselves, to know something of fatherhood.

First he told stories about his own father, an F.B.I. agent and hardass of a man. His father would often show up to his soccer games and, not thinking of how other people would react, remove his jacket. There he would stand on the sideline on a sunny summer day, yelling encouragement to the kids, criticism at the refs, all with his holstered sidearm strapped securely under his arm. Mr. McCrystal, then only Patrick, would note the 15 feet of empty space space surrounding his father and would run to the sideline and plead with him to put his coat back on.

He also talked about himself as a father and about his young daughters. At that time they were probably about 4 and 6 years old, and Mr. McCrystle seemed to be doing a very fine job of raising them.

There was a rule in his house: you could play with any toys you liked throughout the day, but before you went to bed you had to put them away. It wasn’t something that he or his wife made habit of reminding them; the girls knew they had to clean up, so they either would or they wouldn’t. If they didn’t clean up though, then the parents would. If the parents had to though, the toys would get put away in a different closet and were unavailable for use the next day. The girl’s often complained, but they didn’t get their toys that day. Its just the way it worked.

The sword cut both ways though. On more than one occasion Mr. McCrystal would change into his running shorts and go to the closet for his running shoes and not find them there. “Has anyone seen my running shoes?” “You didn’t put them away last night, Daddy! You can’t have them back ‘till tomorrow!” He wouldn’t demand his daughters return his shoes. He wouldn’t find some other shoes to run in. He’d change back into his day clothes and not go running that evening because even though he’s the one who made them, he too had to follow the rules of the house.

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Trying to explain Nate, My Hobo, My Brother.

April 16, 2010

Nate: dear Kat

I’m seriously considering joining the French foreign legion

What are your thoughts?

Me: you don’t speak French

Nate is a boy. In every sense of the world, Nate is a boy. At 22 he hasn’t grown past the age of 13 mentally. Not in the idiot sense, because somehow Nate is really smart. But no, Nate is 13, still trying to look up skirts and down shirts, valiantly struggling to find a “centering experience” and his drive. He has been homeless and broke, worked as a photographer, a ski-lift operator, an escort. He choreographs and costumes elaborate dance routines with his best friends. He violently rejects the Mormonism his family (tried) to raise him in. He tries to hide the white-knight complex he devotes solely to people he decides are worth loving, but doesn’t always succeed.

Luckily for me, I’m one of those people. The day I realized that’s what he was doing, my heart was happy because I knew that no matter what happened, I would have Nate forever.

Our relationship is one of the weirder ones I’ve had in my life. The quick and dirty of it is that I met him at a party and he was my rebound the evolved into something all the more odd due to his prior rebound status. Nate and I used each other physically and emotionally and we both knew it.

I got over the ex, and Nate moved on as well. And lost his housing. And moved in with me. My Hobo. The Hobo of My Heart.

Around the same time, and partially because I felt Nate having a place to live was more important that my housemates xenophobia being respected, I had a huge falling out with my best friend from college. She refused to acknowledge her depression had anything to do with the fact that we were spending less time together (read: ANY), and I was less than delicate. (It didn’t / doesn’t help that she works for my ex either.) So I looked for places to live while Nate looked for places to work.

And I found an apartment with a housemate ok with the fact that I had a hobo coming with me.

And I started dating the ManBear and Nate continued dating an odd collection of women with dreadlocks and lesbians, of co-op living hippies and bitch-faced blondes.

And we went out to the bars. And we drank and we laughed. And Nate took pictures, and I bought his alcohol and food. And he got a job and brought home pie, and discovered the wonders of Bourbon. And I had a fight over nothing with the ManBear and drunkenly cried at the bar on a Tuesday, and went to the bathroom. And the bartender asked Nate if his sister was ok.

And then I had a brother.

And people tell us how much we look alike (we don’t) and how they can tell we are great friends (we are). They don’t flinch when I mention I grew up in Oakland minutes after Nate finishes stories about growing up in Utah’s winter. They never make the connection.

And we grin at each other, sharing in our private joke, and continue on our way.

Oh his birthday, I baked him a Chocolate Bourbon Cake, drenched in bourbon glaze. He ate almost half of it and was tanked.

“I didn’t realize you meant it had that much bourbon in it.”

Some people who know us think our relationship now is creepy. “You’ve slept together and now you’re siblings?”

But it’s different than that. The important points of our relationship aren’t the sex. Our relationship is about being there for each other, and we are. I go to him with problems as often as I go to the ManBear or to Meghan or my actual sister. He comes to me more than his family.

We are a little, odd, incestuous family of our own.

I had a dream, months ago. Before Nate moved back to Utah, dated a girl he found on craigslist, and launched a career-based website.  Before he decided he needed a centering experience in his life and that the best option was the French Foreign Legion.

I dreamed that Nate was in my wedding, years from now. He was one of my bridesmaids, dressed in a lovely gown, tucked at the end of the line. He picked it out himself.

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