The Mister's maternal grandmother passed away yesterday. She had been slowly leaving this world for the past two years, but this weekend was her final exit. By all accounts she most likely died in her sleep after they unhooked her from life support.
The Mister had already said good bye to her long before all this. The Snarks went to see her when they visited Back East last fall, but she was hardly the woman they knew even from just six months before their last visit.
They already remember her from a more vibrant time. They are going back not so much to conjure up those memories, but to provide support to the MIL and The Mister's uncle.
They are also going to see their third niece for the first time.
The Snarks knew this was an inevitability (the MIL has been preparing them for this for the last five years) but still can't help but feel a little taken by surprise. This also completely negates any plans they might have had to visit around Christmastime as they have already booked up the rest of their time off with the DarkityFam in mid-September (the vacation AKA Hurricanes Ahoy! 2006).
Snarky will most likely be incommunicado from tomorrow through Sunday when she returns. They will have two days to prepare the house for the week-long visit of her parents starting next Wednesday.
And before they go, Snarky has a second interview at one of her Dream Companies tomorrow. Plenty of things to keep them from getting morbid/morose.
We can do it! After I finish this yummy sammich....
There is this thing that's like touching except you don't touch
Back in the day it just went without saying at all
All the world's history gradually dying of shock
There is thing that's like talking except you don't talk
You sing
You sing
Sing for the bartender sing for the janitor sing
Sing for the cameras sing for the animals sing
Sing for the children shooting the children sing
Sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn't sing
Just sing
There is thing keeping everyone's lungs and lips locked
It is called fear and it's seeing a great renaissance
After the show you can not sing wherever you want
But for now let's just pretend we're all gonna get bombed
So sing
Sing cause its obvious sing for the astronauts sing
Sing for the president sing for the terrorists sing
Sing for the soccer team sing for the janjaweed sing
Sing for the kid with the phone who refuses to sing
Just sing
Life is no cabaret
We don't care what you say
We're inviting you anyway
You mother[frakkers] you'll sing someday...
You mother[frakkers] you'll sing someday...
You mother[frakkers] you'll sing someday...
--"Sing" by the Dresden Dolls
Snarky had a bad day yesterday. The Mister did manage to go in to work for half the day, but the first half was spent in moments of panic and anxiety. He says a switch has gone off inside his head that has turned his soon-to-be-former work place into a place of near-terror for him. He apologizes to Snarky for being broken, and it's breaking her heart to see him like this.
But she's beginning to feel her fists harden into tiny little knots of grim determination. Her brow is furrowed and she's rolling up her sleeves figuratively (because it is friggin' COLD over here, making rolling up her literal sleeves a non-option) in preparation for the Work Ahead.
The Mister is broken, but he is healing. Snarky will do her best to support and ass-kick as needed. She's also keeping an eye on her own stress-levels to make sure they complement - rather than exacerbate - his.
Last night she worked on his special shirt. He requested a "got garlic?" shirt which has proven to be a bit more problematic than the other ones. If things turn out well (which they will... eventually) Snarky will post pics. She still owes finished bleeding heart and unicorn t-shirt pics too!
Tonight, Snarky is staying late because her work is having another employees-only open studio session (with potluck panini! ). She's very excited about this, though she has absolutely no idea what she's going to make. Wish her luck!
The Snarkys are addicted to HGTV. They watch famlies in their intimate spaces, delving up the tender secrets of their everyday lives to intruding strangers. They watch as these odd bedfellows work in sweaty, dusty, passionate union to create something better with their homes.
The Snarkys dream of doing it too. They are beginning to believe that this might become their backdrop. Cue bamp-chicka-bamp music:
Where all the magic happens...
But wait? What's behind this little hobbit door?
Secks-SAY!
Much to her (and her checkbook's) chagrin, Snarky has developed a taste for LE's.
In keeping with her sporadic - if not downright sparse-to-non-existant - BPAL purchasing/swapping habits, she's probably a couple-three updates behind everyone else in the taste testing. Case and point? Her current go-to scent is Bearded Lady. Her first great love was French Creole. Luckily her day-to-day scent is the comfortably GC Tombstone (albeit combined with a breath of single note sweet clove thanks to minilux).
The Mister insists that all of her BPAL at the end of the day smells like band-aids, so this is purely an exercise in selfish hedonism for her. (Though he does respond positively to just-applied Bearded Lady. For a man indifferent to most BPAL, he sure does have rarified taste!)
Snarky's new job (which, IEEEE! ) comes with many benefits. She keeps herself awake at night just imagining how it will feel to actually look forward to work - something she hasn't honestly done in years. But the job comes with a substantial pay cut. This is admittedly made up for by the inherent awesomeness of her new company and the possibilities that will be open to her in this new field of work, but at face value less moolah is less moolah.
And with less moolah (and the Snarks' joint checking account) Snarky is feeling the pinch on her already fairly anemic impulse buying budget.
The emergency flight Back East, her parents' impending arrival (tomorrow night!!) and the upcoming five-day cruise have and will also drain their resources a bit.
But Snarky has perspective: they are not hungry. They are not drowning in debt. She has plenty of clothes and yarn and, to be honest, BPAL to last quite a while. She could make a large (for her) order and not break the bank.
Still... she wants to celebrate her new direction. So she's going to make a list. It isn't a wishlist so much as a... well, it's just a list. Sometimes Snarky just has to indulge her Cappy tendencies and organize her pipe dreams.
slipped through the fingers
-Hungry Ghost Moon
-Chrysanthemum Moon
constant craving
-Faustus
goin' a-courtin'
-Mme. Moriarty
-Organ Grinder
-Pumpkin Queen
-Count Dracula
-Wilhelmina Murray, maybe (Snarky is, after some fashion, named after this character, afterall - but currants + Snarky = weird fruitiness)
-Dr. John Seward
Ugh. Snarky is really not trying to make this some whiny-pantsed post. She is thrilled to pieces that the Lab continues to mesmerize and delight (exponentially it seems lately). So she'll settle for being happy for everyone who is taking part (and maybe she'll sneak in a wee ickle order of her own under The Mister's nose... so to speak.)
In the past, the Snarks' luck with garden has been rather spotty. One year all they grew was a ginormous basil patch (about 36 Genovese basil plants purchased from a guy who called himself the Basil King (though he isn't this Basil King - see August 14th entry which kinda distracted me from this post for about half an hour. Why do we no longer have the Black Mountain College?!)) and made pesto all summer long and had enough left over to freeze and enjoy all through winter.
So they are quite pleasantly stunned to find that the mere seven basil plants, five tomato plants (gold nugget, an heirloom plant called "Dancing Bonnie", Early Girl, roma, and cherry tomatoes), and one each of eggplant (Japanese "Black Beauty"), cucumber (some sort of slicin' cuke) and zucchini are not only not dying, but bearing some fruit!
Wee ickle first harvest!
A recent photo of the garden, taken in the early evening.
Due to the dry (whoda thunk it?) weather, we've had to water the garden. Here's the tomato/basil/eggplant patch.
So far we've gotten two zucchini plants out of this monter. One was regular sized, and the other one we didn't get to until after returning from NC. Behold zuke-zilla!...
We've used about 2% of this thing so far.
The Snarks did end up having a good time with the Darkity'rents. Snarky starts her new job tomorrow (!!!) and the immediately after her first five days on the new job, they are flying out to TX to join up with the DarkityFam (including DarkityBro) to go on a five day cruise. (more !!!'s) At some point the Snarks will need a vacation to just sit at home and do absolutely nothing with nobody.
Today the Snarks hit four different Goodwill stores in the area for state plates and other curiosities. She has so much to show y'all (including the cow head they got for the living room!) (Don't worry, no real living bovines were harmed in the making of this particular piece of kitsch.) (Oh, and the Donut Barn! But... that's for another post.)
Until then, she will leave you this. Proof that Snarky comes from a cute short peoples.
Darkity'Rents at Multnomah Falls. Check out DarkityMa's new curly hair!
Snarky has lost her freaking mind.
Case and Point
This is the flooring she wants for her bathroom. The Mister wanted something more neutral, but this just spoke to her.
Maybe it's because the colorway is called "Asian Tiger". Snarky is just a complete sucker for names of colors that say nothing about the color. (Then again, The Mister's choice was something like "Picasso Splash" or somesuch.)
Send help. Preferrably in the form of beigy, calming tones.
Oops. Wrong show.
Recall the comic/histrionic tableaux competing families assumed at the beginning of that old gameshow mainstay, The Family Feud. If the DarkityFam were to pose thusly, Snarky believes she and her mother would be in the shouldn't-be-funny-but-really-is Mexican standoff mutual strangle-hold position.
Of course Snarky loves DarkityMa. She is cute (her hair grew back with a vengance and is curly of all things!) and cuddly and has a wicked sense of humor. She also can't stay still without cleaning and can hold on to grudges for decades. After some of the stories her parents have told the Snarks this past weekend about DarkityPauPau (DarkityGrandma) Snarky understands where the grudge thing comes from (and is starting to understand her own inability to just. Let. It. Go.)
Still, DarkityMa made Snarky cry. Snarky is considerably quick to tears (just watch her during holiday commercials), but these were bitter, angry, angsty, uncontrollable tears that Snarky hasn't cried since probably shortly after the onset of puberty. How does she do it?
Tonight is the Snarks' last night with the DarkityFam. Right now DarkityMa and Pa are meeting with the Snarks' realtor to discuss the local housing market, and to decide whether they want to move here sooner or later. On the balance Snarky would love for her parents to move closer. But there is the niggling, teenaged part of her that chafes a little at the idea -- it is all for entirely selfish reasons. Both of them are shockingly older than Snarky remembers them, and she wants to be able to take care of them without spending a day flying down to get to them.
Another enlightening revelation from this weekend is the fact that even Snarky's parents feel a sort of disconnect with the Chinese-American communities out there. They all have a healthy appreciation for the food and culture, but don't really care so much for the people... if that makes any sense at all. Snarky has found many of her "racial" contemporaries to be rather materialistic and overly driven to max out the monetary measuring stick. The Darkity'Rents moving to Portland would appease the rest of DarkityMa's clan in the Bay Area enough (hey, they're in the same time zone at least!) and still give them enough cushion from all the daily drama. Not to mention the $$$housing costs$$$.
Along with all these eye-opening conversations have been wonderful retellings of family lore. Snarky's mother and father both come from families that were greatly affected by the Japanese occupation as well as the Cultural Revolution. Both families were at some point split up during their exodus to Hong Kong, and the struggles and horrors they faced have left scars that decorate their combined pasts just as prominently as weddings, births, graduations, and other accomplishments.
Most days Snarky lives her life in the now without any sense of her history or the larger picture. Perhaps it would be good to have the touchstones of her parents closer by so that she can keep all of those lives and stories in mind. She just needs to get thicker skin first.
Snarky knows y'all must be getting tired of her waxing all faux-philosophical and all and why can't she just get back to posting pics of the house, dag nabbit? Well, she does have a few pics, but of course she doesn't have them ready for you yet.
On a lark she just looked up a former classmate from her architorture school days and has found out that she is now the happy mother of two wonderful kids. Snarky shouldn't be surprised, as she was one of the bridesmaids at this friend's wedding which took place as soon as they possibly could manage it immediately following graduation.
The W's were an exclusive couple very early into the whole collegiate experience (from Snarky's held-over High School Sweetheart phase, through the embarrassing experimental Rugby moment, all the way to meeting The Mister online). It was almost a given that they were going to be married. They just complemented eachother so thoroughly and well.
Still Snarky can't help but feel a bit of shock. Someone who has been frozen in her mind for the last eight years just got suddenly ultra-fast forwarded to being a Mommy twice over.
The same happened a couple years ago when she got in touch with an old high school roommate who had also gone and had two kids. The shock was a bit lessened by the fact that Snarky knew about Child #1 (though #2 was a complete surprise as they had lost touch by then).
The Snarks are still very much on the fence about this whole child-having thing anyway, but somehow Snarky is feeling like she missed the boat somehow - that she's in a moment of suspended animation just spinning her wheels, not really doing anything.
If she decided not to have children, then surely she must be on some upwardly mobile corporate ladder or carving a bold new niche for some previously undiscovered marketable need. Right? Only... no. Snarky hasn't done that either. Snarky really hasn't done much at all on either the family or career fronts.
Is Snarky a Slacker? If not children and not career... then what will be her legacy?
(According to this week's issue of the local freebie paper, Portland is a city of slackers. Perhaps this is why Snarky feels so attuned to the place.)
This has been a year of body horror. Turning thirty, while not nearly as traumatic on the very day back in January as expected, has become a bit of a milestone despite her best efforts to avoid cliche.
Thirty was when she had her first (and hopefully last) root canal.
Thirty was when she had her first (again, she hopes last, but fears this is really the first of many) cancer scare.
Thirty was when she not only looked at her own changing body, but also The Mister's with a bit of shock, a bit of revulsion. Just a bit.
Her uneasy truce with her skin shattered. She now feels like a dying tree trapped in the tightening grip of some parasitic growth that has managed to encase her in its foreigness, its utter otherness.
She's caved in in a mountain of puss, bile, shit, saliva, and tears. It moves and shifts at the whims of Nature and she must move along with it to avoid suffocating.
A puppet mistress tangled up in her own skeins of control.
She's glad she only has to see the dentist twice a year if a routine cleaning unearths these kinds of thoughts every time!
First the semi-tragic ordeal of the Kim family, and now the climbers on Mt. Hood.
This has not been a good season for hope.
Snarky finally hit her bummed out wall yesterday early afternoon. She and The Mister had been fairly functioning up until then, completing last minute holiday preparations for their trip Back East, s-l-o-w-l-y cleaning up ChezSnark for the impending white glove inspection from DarkityMa, generally acting as if life was going on without a hitch.
Then yesterday afternoon Snarky fell hard into a funk and didn't really recover until late in the evening. She just could no longer pretend that Everything Was OK.
She's fine now, but this morning The Mister, as he prepared for work, came into the bedroom (in which Snarky was determinedly NOT preparing to work out before work, but rather trying to discover just how much of her could be covered up before suffocation would become an issue) and started to hyperventilate and repeat over and over "I can't go in, I just can't go in, I can't go in there, I just can't go in....".
She took some time off of work to make him some pancakes and get him in bed and talk to him. Assure him that it would be OK eventually, that they were on their way to finding a better path.
And Snarky does believe this, firmly and with a steely resolve she doesn't normally feel for anything in her life (except for the Big Stuff). But she just wishes she could make The Mister believe it as thoroughly as she does right now too.
In the meantime, she continues to do little things for him. Tell him how proud she is of him, all the things she hopes will help him to regain some of what he was before all this stress wore him down.
Exciting, yes, but also New!
The Snarks are heading out to sea for the next week. Snarky hopes to catch y'all on the filp side. Her first week of new work was all sorts of exciting/boring/exciting again. She is really happy about her career change.
Glub glub!
Please forgive Snarky for pointing you in the direction of this article (links to Salon dot com, you'll probably have to click through a day pass to get there).
But. Marble bag?! She had never heard it called that before. Now, "banana hammock" (which really is fun to say out loud) for sure, but "Marble Bag"?
Thus concludes this little bit of summertime fun.
(Translation: busy work. Snarky has no idea why she suddenly went German.)
(Huzzah! for making it back onto page one, by the way.)
Snarky had the realization at the end of last week that she had turned into an internet taker, rather than a giver. She was reading blogs and posts and doing the general surfing about she could squeeze into her new schedule, but she wasn't making any contributions. Selfish Snarky!
Needless to say, the thing that is worse than de-Garboing oneself is regaining any sense of flow and light-footedness in one's prose.
Referring to oneself in the third person definitely sandbags that whole "light-footed" effort. Still! Snarky shoulders on.
Work is fantastic. Well. Today it isn't. But that's not too horribly bad considering Snarky has been here for sixty days (she should know, her 60 day review is this Friday). Today has been diminished in fantasticness simply because Snarky is a problem solver and her problem was not. Getting. Solved already! Her addiction is more to the sense of accomplishment rather than the journey, and this particular journey was starting to feel like an endless turn on a traffic circle rather than the euphoric A to B that usually measures her day.
"Big Ben!"
"Parliament!"
"Big Ben!"
... you get the picture.
On top of the slightly stuck feeling Snarky is having today, she's also slightly sick. The atmospheric controls for her office don't, so she and her co-workers have been running between the extremes. Some days they keep their jackets on and wrap scarves around their faces. On these days Snarky looks like a technicolor urchin with her turqoise and rainbow arm warmers and slightly haunted expression. Other days the office becomes a sort of greenhouse/sauna. Heavy, humid air hot enough to warrant short-sleeved t-shirts (yesterday one of the supervisors was wearing what amounted to a nice tank top. In November!). All this wishy-washy weather (interior and exterior) has caused the quick dissemination of Seasonal Crud that runs the gamut from tickling cough to full on phlegm attacks.
Snarky has yet to succumb, but today she feels the closest to "unwell" that she has felt since starting work here.
Ah, but the fantastic stuff! It truly is fantastic. Snarky is surrounded by passionate, funny, educated people. The industry is very different from The Cracker Factory. Snarky gets to work with manufacturing types and artistic types and IT types and sales/marketing types. She gets to type really, really fast, and is apparently the heir apparent to the new CRM system they are trying to implement. What does CRM stand for? Hold on... Snarky needs to look it up.
Customer Relationship Management
Of course! Anyways.. what Snarky knows of the CRM is that she is trying to merge four different databases into the one thing... and also train herself up on the new system in order to train everyone else up on the new system... and also customizing and reporting and data crunching and... um... yeah. Just a little bit of everything. If Snarky was the Office Monkey before, she's more like the Office Gorilla now.
Along with all the newness of being in a different work environment working in a completely different industry, Snarky has the added bonus of tests! Product Recognition Tests, that is. She finally managed to pass Test One (correctly identifying 82 samples) after two tries. Next up: Test Two, which requires the mere memorization of about sixty-some-odd pieces. No big whoop. Test Three (and this is the final test) Snarky hopes is under re-configuration... as most of the test is over soon-to-be-discontinued product. Snarky realized, after failing her first go at Test One, that the last written test she had taken prior was for her driver's license. This definitely felt like a return to the days when one's value hinged on the passing of a test (though to be fair, Snarky would not have been fired had she failed the test again... she would have just been stuck in test limbo, having to re-take the test every two weeks until she got it right).
Beside the failing her first test ever part of this experience, Snarky is really enjoying this whole "learn the product" process. She is starting to feel a bit nervous about her performance review on Friday because it has been so long since she geniunely cared about her job that she just might cock it up. (Snarky has been dying to use that term all week. Sorry if it abruptly offended/shocked anyone. Snarky seems to be good about cocking up the flow of things today. Hee!) (From where did that term come anyway? Is it gun related? Or just more blatantly phallic?)
Snarky hopes things go well and that she can remain the resident office monkey gorilla. Bananas are good.
Eat your heart out, Bellagio!
So the ancient running joke is that Snarky is in possession of two very black thumbs.
The Mister made a habit of gifting her with a potted orchid (of the Lowe's/Home Depot variety) every Valentine's Day, knowing that she would eventually find a way to kill it. One year he gave her a companion cactus thinking that it would outlive the orchid which seemed extremely logical at the time.
Snarky deflated it.
Back in May, some good friends of the Snarks came out to visit. The wife is a master gardener and the husband is the handiest of handymen. They both have done amazing things to their triple wide trailer (and 5 acres of property) nestled in the Appalachians.
The Snarks were able to give them a tour of their soon-to-be house for hints/tips/praise/approval. She did a careful evaluation of the landscaping (somewhat over-exotic for the Snark's taste, but really quite impressive) and even gifted them with a regional resource (which has since been packed and lost, but will be found again, by gum!).
If it weren't for their words of encouragement, Snarky might've considered a scorched earth approach to the existing landscaping. So... they're trying. Most of the bordering landscaping has been weeded (Snarky suspects she "accidentally" took out some "decorative" thistle, but it was annoying and leggy) except for the corner with the roses... which are choking and trying their darndest to continue despite her efforts to destroy them.
She harvested a fistful of lavendar blossoms which are being artfully displayed in one of their many "why did we register for all these?" vases.
They've got a miniature garden (mostly for sammich makin's - tomato and cuke) fighting it out with the clover.
They are doing their best not to destroy what was left to them. Besides the curly willow, which had to go. (Much to the shock of the neighborhood.)
Cross your spades and pointy weeder thingies (Snarky likes to call it "The Probe") for them... pictures of the carnage results soon!
Unfortunately, the Snarks did not keep a food journal during their five days on the boat. Perhaps it is better that way, as Snarky will not be tempted to calculate the calories consumed (and therefore realize that she will need to climb the equivalent of three Mount Hoods in order to bring her Calories In/Calories Out equation back to equilibrium).
She can recall a few memorable standouts: foie gras souffle (served with fig preserves and a slice of candied citrus rind); deliciously spicy gazpacho that had more than a passing resemblance to a very good, chilled Bloody Mary; so many dishes that should have been served en flambe but weren't, but were still good nevertheless; schooling DarkityBro on the concept of a Baked Alaska (he was deeply shocked that he had not heard of such a thing in all his twenty seven years - this is surely the sign of a die-hard foodie); ordering the Chateaubriand and then annoying The Mister for the rest of the evening by slathering on a heavy, horribly fake French accent; and vienerschnitzel (Which, yes, was made out of veal. Snarky had a long conversation with DarkityBro about foie gras (a recently very hot topic in Chicago, where he lives) and veal. DB has come from a much more radical animal rights POV than the emotional topics of baby animals and force-fed ducks and geese, but organizations like PETA's overzealousness has caused him over the years to consider all sides of the many issues in this debate.)
Oh.. kay. Snarky didn't mean to veer off like that. She'll just wrap up this tangent by saying spending some time with her brother and recently reading Heat by Bill Buford has really caused Snarky to think about just where her food comes from... and how she goes about consuming it.
Having said all that, on to the food pics!
The Orchestrated Big Food Event was the Midnight Buffet. It is such a big deal that they open it up half an hour early just so people can shuffle past and take pictures. Snarky did not stay up to partake (she had, afterall, just stuffed herself on a four course dinner only a few hours before) but DarkityMa reportedly threw down, later swearing that she would never eat that much ever again.
Snarky apologizes for the poor quality of the Midnight Buffet pictures. She could have used a flash, but didn't want to blind the people on the other side of the table...
... such courtesy was not extended to the ship's staff, however, during the Galley Tour. Oh no, Snarky didn't mind at all shoving a camera practically up this poor guy's nose as he tried to carve up a similar melon for the next Midnight Buffet.
DarkityBro, Snarky, and The Mister went to a little wine tasting seminar during the first Day at Sea. This was definitely more for fun (no spit buckets!) but was also educational. DarkityBro gave the Snarks all of his little pieces of cheese that were to accompany the selections. Bonus! (The Snarks still resolutely drink wine out of a box, but can now at least understand what the labels mean on those pretty pretty bottles... sort of.)
The Mister's last dessert. Some sort of (non-animal cruelty) souffle. The woman hiding in the background was the eldest of the group of three women that were seated at the DarkityFam's table for all of our dinners. It was a daughter treating her mother and grandmother to a cruise (the first night was the grandmother's birthday -- we all got cake!) Grandmother is from Peru and speaks little to no English (and reminds Snarky of her own maternal grandmother), mother speaks Peruvian, Spanish, and English (with a heavy accent), and the daughter speaks unaccented English and translated for her mother and grandmother when needed. They were excellent company.
Snarky's last dessert. Why do chefs insist on stacking food? This looked like a crime scene when Snarky was done with it.
After the cruise, the DarkityFam stopped off at a Buddhist/vegetarian restaurant and had plates and plates (and plates) of analogous foods (Peking "Duck", "seafood" stew, roasted "pork", etc.). And since all those eleventeen dishes didn't fill up their newly stretched stomachs (Snarky wonders if her own liver will be ripe for harvesting soon) they also went to the best boba tea place in Houston. At least, according to that one chick they asked. It was pretty good!
Snarky has more to post, but when the Snarks got back to Portland, they discovered another monster zucchini in the garden, so she need to go make about three loaves of chocolate zucchini bread right now.
Snarky was just going to throw out a light, humorous, purple-prose-free post about the miracle of covering things in chocolate (obviously, the good), but she just got a call from the imaging center asking her to come back in for additional views (alarmingly, extremely, horrifically bad).
Based on her mother's occurences of breast cancer (2-3 times, depending on how you look at it), Snarky went in for an early baseline mammogram two days ago. The woman who called was very reassuring about the fact that several women get these "call backs", and that the reasons that are bringing Snarky back in (that have absolutely nothing to do with the glaring C WORD that neither mentioned over the phone) could be overlapped tissue and the fact that the radiologist wants the baseline mammogram to be as accurate as possible.
Still. Snarky can't help feeling the tears crawling up the back of her throat... nor the sense of absolute, blind, shrieking panic just barely restrained by her too-tight, too-cold skin.
Perhaps she should have saved the last chocolate covered Nutter Butter for later.
Snarky has to interrupt this regularly scheduled home improvement program to do a little theraputic venting/stream of consciousness whangdoodle:
Givens:
1) Snarky hates moving. HATES it. With a deep, burning, vitriolic passion. She suspects she might be a little OCD about her Stuff being Messed With, even if it is she who is doing the messing.
2) The Mister has been suffering from low-grade depression for as long as Snarky has known him. That would be eight years.
3) The Mister only recently started getting treatment for said depression when it developed into anxiety attacks that affected his work performance and also showed up as heart attack-like symptoms.
4) The Mister had to stop taking his "happy pills" because they gave him a rash.
5) The Mister hates his job. This is probably what pushed his depression into anxiety.
6) The Mister's job is so consuming that he's too busy during the day to do anything "extra-cirricular" and has also had to bring home "homework" that sometimes has him up past midnight (or in one instance, he never came to bed). Therefore, Snarky has been doing all necessary research for the house/move.
7) Snarky really, REALLY hates moving.
8) Snarky wrestles with her own issues of low self-esteem (coupled oddly enough with a raging ego, work that puzzle out) which can create overblown reactions to criticism.
Catalyst:
So today, all those factors came to a head as Snarky tried to secure temporary permits to allow the Snarks to park a fourteen foot moving truck in front of their (essentially, for the purposes of this story) downtown apartment building. It's always the little things that set off the best explosions, no?
This could have just as easily been a week-old stack of unwashed dishes in the kitchen or an odd comment on the appropriateness of a certain pair of pants to a certain type of musical venue. Something trivial and small yet monumental, like dripping water or straws on camels' backs.
Results:
A very terse, very public cellphone conversation in the middle of the engineering department where at points Snarky had to hold the phone away from her ear because The Mister, in his best moods, cannot use an Inside Voice to save his life. As he was at times apoplexic with anger (at Snarky, the world, his employer, again with Snarky, and again with work), fuming with frustration, and exclaming in exasperation, his Outside Voice was just about at Football Stadium Level.
Snarky responded with hushed, angry, trying-to-be-not-"you-statements" speak and had a fun time wrestling her features away from alternating between tears of rage, tears of sadness, tears of fear, and just plain good old fashioned WTF.
Snarky admits she is not blameless in this. She is passive-aggressive, sensitive, and requires much grooming. She's usually pretty much self grooming, but enjoys a fluff every now and again from her paramour. She can be a demanding diva bitch banshee at times, but has been working hard to recognize when those "chocolate and pickles" style impulses present themselves.
This is the rockiest point before it gets smoother. This is the abyss from which, after the dust has settled, they will look back with their arms looped around eachother's waists, and they will say "Whew! That was a close one!" And they will be glad that they had eachother to lean on, rail against, and be pushed through by in order to make it to the Other Side.
They just have to have faith and get there together.
Solution:
Snarky plans on making peace offerings tonight. But for now, she has a job interview for which to prepare, and a slowly rising tide of panic to quell with logic and love.
Purely through serendipity, Snarky was directed to the site of one Walt Lockley (link to his site, here's his Wikipedia user bio). She needs to find out more about this man.
She read about the history of the Garden of Allah in Hollywood and thought of Valentina when she read the following passage:
Snarky doesn't even know if anyone else gets excited about things like this (she has only recently been reminded of her own love affair with the built environment), but she just had to share that tidbit.
Xena knew something was up the way She was calling to her with that nearly-falsetto voice. She never called to Xena like that unless Something Bad was about to happen. Last time it had been twenty hours in that blasted carrier in the loud growling metal box, Junebug mewling plantively like the little whiny bitch she is. Xena had saved up her displeasure to generate one particularly foul poop that filled that metal box with the smell of her indignation.
Then they had been moved into a larger metal box that roared enough to shake the ground. By that point even Junebug was too terrified to make a noise. They were finally freed by Him into a small, carpeted room. Xena found all her new hiding places within the first few days.
After a while, it seemed perfectly normal to be two cats and two humans in a small carpeted room. There were three windows that opened out to trees and crazy talking people down below. The food stayed good, and the litter box was (mostly) fresh. Xena and Junebug got used to it and began to forget about their ordeal.
And then one day She came back from Outside, talking in that cracking, anxious voice that should have rumbled with impending doom. Xena recalls with horror how She resorted to using half of a wooden paddle to sweep her out from underneath the coffee table. A paddle!
Oh she hissed. She hissed and did that low, lingering growl bourne from sheer panic. She even released her bladder a bit, which only made Her voice go even higher.
Then He got home. He that was usually their saviour. And He stuffed her in the hamper. Traitor.
She was too frazzled to even muster a good protest poop as they rumbled in another metal box. Junebug still found the air to yowl a few good times, and Xena tried to answer back with her own timid "meh-reow?"s.
When the world stopped rumbling and lurching about, they found themselves in a small room that stank of laquer. The windows were too high to reach, and there was a lone lamp on the floor. The litter box was not where it was supposed to be, it was in the corner. There was food, but it tasted of ashes.
Xena nudged the litterbox out of the corner and created another slender hiding space. She stayed there for two days.
Junebug, and Xena is convinced that she might be a little damaged in the head for this, hid in her carrier every time they heard the clomp-squeak noises in the ceiling. Who hides in that place of impending anguish? Only cats who are Not Right in Their Heads, Bless Their Hearts.
Finally on the third day the door cracked open and He released them into... into what? There are too many places. There are windows to look out to trees, there are windows where they can see Them coming and going in their metal box. There are old familar smells behind the doors Xena has already figured out how to open, smells of His feet and Her perfume piled up and hung down like layers of comforting curtains in the dark. There are new smells and strange, smaller metal boxes. There don't seem to be other cats in these boxes, but They seem to spend a lot of time cooing at them anyway.
He has been gone for a few days. She seems to be quieter, less active because of it. She is giving lots of belly rubs, though, so Xena thinks it will all be OK. If not now, then soon.
She is still keeping an eye out for the carrier though, and a cautious ear for any change in register in Her voice.
Darkity was going to squee all over the "how are you feeling?" thread, but there's some heavy shozbot going down over there and she didn't want to be the inappropriately gleeful one interrupting the flow of commiseration...
So she'll subject her blog to rampant glee instead.
Because the house? Very almost nearly officially ChezSnark! Darkity and The Mister signed away their lives and handed over The Big Check yesterday. The Sellers had already signed their bit up in Canada, so all that stands between The Snarks and Homeownership now is for the paperwork to record (and the check to go through... Darkity still regrets that her bank does not make their checks proportionately sized to the amounts they represent. She wanted to have a picture of the Ginormous Check Handoff complete with Ginormous Publisher's Clearinghouse style Check.), which is scheduled to happen sometime on Friday.
To add to the glee, some good friends visiting from Back East were dragged to the homesite for One Last Look on Saturday, and the house (and grounds) met with enthusiastic approval. These friends have about two more decades of experience with the world than The Snarks. The husband is the Ultimate Mr. Fixit and the wife is a Master Gardener. They both knew The Snarks' last ChezSnark (in all it's cute, quaint, cramped glory) and are famliar with Darkity's Black Thumb of Doom. So to get their nod of encouragement was... extremely encouraging!
Now The Snarks are dealing with nesting instincts on Overdrive. They found a place that consigns ecclectic furniture. They are addicted to Craigslist. They are gonna have a home!
Snarky developed some psychosomatic quirks during her senior year back in Nerd School. She was falling into a mild depression, feeling the strain of separation from her first serious boyfriend (the relationship was a bit co-dependent), and she was at a complete loss as to where/what she wanted to go/do/be after graduation.
About once a month she would come down with symptoms of a particularly virulent stomach virus that didn't exist. Two days of debilitating gastro-intestinal distress then suddenly nothing, and back to her self-imposed hermit-like existance of skipping meals in the cafeteria in lieu of a pseudo-monastic supper of rye bread and onion soup (She's not sure why she settled on this particular combination, it was probably something she picked up from reading The Name of the Rose and/or the better option compared to flagellation.). Naturally her suitemates didn't take any of this seriously and did their best to harrass her into being more sociable.
The psychosomatic weirdness climaxed with a spectacular presentation of a raging case of hives during final exams. Every where her skin was constantly touched - her bra strap, necklines and waistlines, where her low pony tail rested against the nape of her neck, bloomed with red, itchy welts. She added two Benadryls to her rye bread and onion soup communion every night and had nightmares about physics exams and botany practicals.
Eventually her skin cleared and she graduated (probably in that order) and after that traumatic senior semester, nothing quite so extreme happened to her again.
But she remembers that it's possible. A crouching gremlin hiding in her meat and bones, waiting for the right triggers.
Last week The Mister took two days off of work because of stomach problems. Today, a full week later, he's still not quite back to normal. He comes from a family that doesn't always think to go to the doctor until the problem becomes much worse, so Snarky's attempts at getting him to Get Help have been treated as Chiken Little-style freakouts.
Finally, though, he is thinking about seeing his doctor. Even if this ends up being all in his head (his work is approaching a critical turning point this week) she hopes that seeing the doctor will help him somehow.
In the meantime, her own stomach has been a bit sour and sullen as well. Whether it is in sympathy (the closest to synced menses they'll ever get), or due to exposure to him (if it is an actual bug), or due to a whole new resurgence of her old sub-conscious mind/body craziness (always an underlying possiblity), she's unclear. Perhaps she'll never fully focus on the cause. She just hopes the effects for both The Mister and herself go away soon.
Snarky's feeling very torn today.
The house inspection was mostly good, with a few somewhat glaring Need-to-Fix-Before-Moving-In issues (leaky faucets, bad wiring).
She and The Mister have been left to marinate in the juices of an extremely thorough inspection report and whatever else that $1000 got them until Thursday evening, when they will meet with their agent to discuss any addendums to their offer.
Since another offer for $20,000 more is waiting in the wings, odds are the sellers will simply back out of the deal and move on to the next fish. Snarky is working hard to be OK with this, even though she's spent the last week mentally placing furniture and having Special Moments in every nook and cranny of this house.
She took over seventy pictures of the place during the inspection, for goodness sakes.
On the upside, her boobies have been deemed perfectly healthy (if maybe just a wee bit lopsided) and she is fairly confident that her lovely "modesty mole"'s (by which she used to determine the level of raciness of various necklines) biopsy will also come back clean.
Snarky was going to extoll the benefits of an anxiety based weight loss plan... but she just succumbed to the siren call of chocolate chip cookies, so apparently that point is not only moot, but revoked.
Given that her attention span is normally comparable to that of a fruit fly on a normal day, Snarky's ability to maintain "workplace workface" today has been a hopelessly lost battle from the get-go.
Not only is her heart and mind still racing through MoveIntoTheHouse scenarios, but their contractor is currently tearing up the subfloor in the main bathroom right now, with no way of being finished until the ordered flooring (Asian Tiger! Rawr!) gets in tomorrow at the earliest.
And tonight is The Great Cat Migration '06. The Snarks' furbabies do not take to their carriers very well. At all. EVER. They could be going to the land of catnip and cheeses and still with the yeowling and bloody murder.
Before TGCM'06 comes The Death Defying Cat Wrangling of Ought Six. Snarky only hopes that they have managed to leave one polypro jacket unpacked in which she can suit up in order to protect her fragile, extremely claw-able hand/arm/chest/neck skin. She has had to have medical attention applied to her body in the past. At the vet's office. Cat Wrangling is that violent, swift, and gory.
Tomorrow is the Official Day of Moving, though the Snarks have been schlepping bits and pieces of their lives over to the house for the last two weeks. Last night Snarky did their first quarterless load of laundry in their very own, new washer and dryer! They also have a shiny new fridge! The Snarks are a bit disconcerted by the new appliance smell coming off of said fridge, but they are confident that a few trips to the Safeway will eliminate the problem.
One more hour left before the bloodletting fun begins. Snarky suspects she will be radio silent after tomorrow morning possibly through Monday. The Cable Guy is supposed to be hooking the Snarks up Saturday morning (between the hours of 10 and 12, of course). Even if all goes well, Snarky might opt for the more alluring prospect of blissful unconsciousness Sunday rather than playing catchup. If Snarky gets too caught up tomorrow, she wishes all of y'all a wonderful weekend in advance.
Antimony ruminates on the Lloyd Dobbler/Diane Court dichotomy of soul mating.
Snarky has to admit, should the world of couples fall into the strict either/or of Lloyd or Diane archetypes: she aspires to Dianeness (Dianeity?), but is most likely the Lloyd in her relationship with The Mister.
Sure, Snarky is the rightful egghead of the two. Her nerdiness and geekiness are such to elicit hybrid words like gnerd or possibly nee(k) (an homage to Monty Python, which adds a flavor of Dork to the mix as well).
Heck, she even started making notes in dictionaries (her own copies, of course), she was crushing on Diane that hard.
But her yearning for The Mister, even now almost six years into their marriage, is all Lloyd. She feels she needs to be a better woman to be with him. He makes her want to succeed at things she's barely even dreamed about. He didn't take her across the pond, but they did end up on the other side of the country to follow his career. (OK, and it was separate flights so no hand/breath holding, "waiting for the 'ding'" moment for the Snarks.) (Which seriously? Next to the "holding up the boombox" moment? One of Snarky's favorites.)
Currently The Mister has a slight advantage to Snarky on bread winning. Very slight. The care and feeding of the home fires is done jointly (though the laundry-and-dishes part of the kindling often gets neglected). Snarky has taken the reins of the check book and manages most of the financial matters of the house, though The Mister does his Annual Duty of Using His Accounting Degree Once a Year for Taxes.
All in all, Snarky has to say her relationship with The Mister falls into a more stereotypical, "traditional" one (man provide, woman manage)... with leanings toward scale-like equilibrium rather than yin-yang parity.
She is thinking about taking up kickboxing.
Today Snarky is nekkid! Well, in the ol factory sense anyway.
The Mister got in touch with a childhood friend just before his and Snarky's wedding with the intention of asking him to our Best Man. They had lost touch during their college years and in that time DeathRockGuy had married DeathRockChick, who was twelve or thirteen years his junior.
The Mister explained that DRG's father was significantly older than his mother (he was sixty when DRG was born), so such an age difference was not shocking.
And over the years, the Snarks and the DeathRockers got to know eachother as couples and became comfortable "couple friends".
The one thing that always caused a bit of unease for the Snarks was the fact that the DRs were almost too well matched. They were of one mind. Always in agreement, and always together. Save for work, they did everything together. They had no hobbies, did not leave the house except to eat out, and were thisclose to developing their own twin language. If ever a living, breathing example of Plato's theory (as Snarky understands it from watching "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" anyway) about soulmates existed, it would be these two.
However over the years, DRC has also exhibited a tendancy to absorb the personality of those she hung out with most: her sister, her co-workers, and of course, her Mister.
After the birth of their baby (DeathRockBaby! Oh, the dark and spooky knitted goods Snarky made for that child...) they seemed to make the perfect (albeit dark) young family. New house, new car, new jobs, new baby.
Then, after DRB was weaned, DRC fell into a severe post-partum depression. She started going out two and three (possibly more) nights a week with work friends, getting so drunk she couldn't recall the evening. Snarky remembers listening with growing horror as DRC proudly announced that she never had to pay for anything but her first drink.
The last time the Snarks visited Back East, DRG confided that things were not going well for them. DRC was leaving him at home with the baby to go to the gym for hours and then to bars, then complaining that he never wanted to do anything with her. His argument was that she suddenly wanted to do things that they never wanted to do together to begin with, and also she needed to give him more advanced notice so that they could arrange for a babysitter.
Y'all can see the trajectory this relationship is taking, but the Snarks were still a bit shocked to find out yesterday that DRG and DRC are now on a trial separation. She has moved out to an apartment and they are taking turns caring for DRB.
Snarky wonders if DRC is trying to re-establish her own personality after her perceived removal from being a mother once DRB was weaned. What the Snarks thought was mature self-possession when they first met DRC might have been what she developed from being around DRG.
It's... upsetting and confusing. This is not the first separation in the Snarks' small circle of acquaintences, but it is the first one that will affect a child.
They are working to be equally supportive of both parties, though it's probably apparent just from this recap that they are more sympathetic to DRG's plight.
And all of this sudden drama and upheaval has Snarky wondering about soul mates and the influence of those with whom we have entrusted our hearts/minds/lives.
Snarky firmly believes with the faith of secular scientific types that there is more than one "soulmate" out there for everyone. She finds more romanticism couched in the actions of the people that finally settle down and commit to make lives with the one(s) they choose rather than in the pining, angsty search for The One. But how much of making small changes to accommodate this whole other person (or persons) in one's life is just making adjustments before it becomes major shifts in one's basic... well "one"ness?
DRC married DRG before she turned 21. While she was mature for her age at the time, perhaps she's feeling now like she hasn't had a chance to figure out some things on her own.
The Snarks hope that this separation will help both of them to see what makes them unique, but also how that uniqueness and their similarities complement and enhance the whole... both for their sake, and for the baby's sake.
What they fear is that she will realize that she wasn't meant to be this woman (wife, mother) all along. If that is the case then permanent separation would be best for the child, but the Snarks still ache for the consequences.
