Oh Night Divine?

Oh man, it's been a while. Well, I'm not going to lie to you, I've been in hiding for a reason. Please, take a deep breath and have a seat before you read this because... well... I hate Christmas.



There, I said it. I know it's awful and very "Bah-hum-bug" of me to admit it but sorry, I hate this time of year. Unfortunately I'm aware (if you know me at all) that your obvious response to this statement will be that I hate it because I'm not a Christian.

No, you would be very, very wrong about that.

I was raised Southern Baptist and my happiest memories to this day is still of listening to Christmas choir music and taking communion at church surrounded by all the light and love of Christian beliefs. To my husband's shock, my favorite Christmas song to this day is still "O Holy Night". Don't hate on my Southern Baptist heritage, folks. However, despite my agnostic beliefs counteracting all of the joy that I gather from my childhood traditions revolving around Christian morale, I still retain a soft spot for believing in Santa Claus and what it means for a young child. I may no longer believe that there was a woman who actually gave birth without ever having intercourse, but the idea of Santa Claus, to me, is still vital for the imagination of a young child's mind. Now... with all THAT said...

I hate this "new" Christmas. It's starting to feel a little TOO commercial, don't you think? When I was out shopping for gifts this month, I never saw one happy face. I never saw one wide-eyed child filled with excitement. I never saw an ounce of Christmas spirit. In it's stead, I saw angry women barking orders at their loud-mouthed children. I saw the looks in people eyes as if it was my fault when I almost got ran over in the mall parking lot... twice. I saw disappointment, venomous hatred, regret, and anxiety. Sure, these people probably went home spouting off on their Facebook statuses what a joy it will be to see the look on their children's faces Christmas morning but for real? It's almost as if they HAVE to say that. And I don't buy it.

The final straw for me was at the tail end of my Christmas shopping at Wal-Mart (which, I'm sorry, is my hell) when I stumbled in the door with $70 worth of junk, set my bags down with my frozen fingers because I forgot my gloves and realized... I didn't grab the $8 worth of gift wrapping I had purchased at U-Scan.

Kill. Me. Now...

Which was exactly what Chris was probably thinking when I went into a much-needed, well hidden for 2 weeks rampage. I threw the bags onto the floor and took off. I looked out our giant dining room window and cursed Christmas. I screamed to Chris about how much I didn't even care who got gifts this year 'cause they'd be forgotten by February. I made my way to the kitchen to roar about how I will feel awful, not blessed, at the gifts I receive from the people who really couldn't afford it anyway. I even pointed at our Christmas tree and said how dumb it looked without the lights working right and how I felt like a failure for not making it look better. That, I had screamed, was Christmas's fault, too.

I do, however, have hope. Last night, Chris and I went on our annual Christmas date. We decided last year that we don't need to buy gifts for each other and instead went to our favorite (and very expensive) restaurant. We don't go all year so that it will be special. We go on December 23rd when practically no one else is there. It's across the street from the Peachtree Plaza and the giant Christmas tree and all the lights shine right into the window across the street. It's OUR Christmas to each other and it's glorious. We got all dressed up and had an hour to kill before our reservation so I poured myself a glass of wine and turned on the television. I yelled for Chris that Home Alone was on so he hurried up from getting dressed and snuggled up next to me on the couch. We recited the lines we know so well and laughed. I looked over at our wonky, memory-filled Christmas tree and knowing exactly what I was thinking Chris goes "I love our Christmas tree". Last night was lovely, albeit just the two of us, but I have hope that tonight I'll feel the same way. Cousins I rarely see will hopefully open their gifts I picked out at that packed, tension-filled Wal-Mart and scream with glee. Even if they stop playing with them by tomorrow, that one scream will echo a lifetime. Hopefully the heat from the oven at Aunt Ronda's house will warm my chilly heart tonight.

Hopefully, I will hear "O Holy Night" and remember what it's like to love this time of year.

Thanksgivin' Me a Headache

Jeez Louise, people, I need to update.

Actually, I'll be honest for a second. I haven't blogged because I swore I'd be positive and think happy thoughts, Peter Pan style and... well... this week it has been hard to do that. I've been in a piss-poor mood and our house is currently filled with snarls and hair-raising fights. And I'm not talking about the dogs. Yikes, I know. The only way I can describe it is a big ol' funk lingering over our house. Every little thing Chris and I do annoys the hell out of the other. I can always tell the level of pissed I've gotten all week by how many glasses I break. This week, I'm down three. My good beer pilsners, too, so you know I was over the edge. Yes, I'm a dish breaker. It's dramatic, wasteful, unnecessary, and an all out bitch move but, well, it's my thing. Better in the sink than at his head, right?

...right?

So yes, this is why I haven't updated. Plain and simple: I didn't have anything fun or positive to say. I can't even pinpoint where the fighting is coming from but I'm willing to bet some more stemware that it's holiday stress. Either way, things will smooth out soon and until they do, I'll just drink my Pabst Blue Ribbons out of coffee mugs.

And speaking of holiday stress, this will be my first year helping with Thanksgiving! (Yay? I think?)



I've been honing my culinary skillz (yes, with a "z" since I'm gangster and because an "s" would imply I was somehow trained) and I'm really excited to show them off to everyone. I'm making a Food Network themed offering that includes:

Guy Fieri's Chorizo Chickpea Sautee
Paula Dean's Green Bean Casserole
Alton Brown's Baked Macaroni and Cheese
Guy Fieri's Roasted Carrots and Cippolini Onions

and a wildcard Raspberry Truffle Tart with some techniques I learned WATCHING the Food Network.

Sounds delicious, right? Well, let's hope so. Here's what the tart looks like so far. It's got to do it's thing in the fridge over night so it doesn't have any garnish but ain't it beautiful?



I'm also organizing all my recipe supplies by what dish they go in so that tomorrow morning I can haul the goods to my mom's house. They are going to have to sit tight over there while I'm gone, though, because Chris and I have to be at his side of the family's for Thanksgiving at 1pm. Then we have to rush back and I have to start on dinner. My emotions about all this time-crunching and food-making is fading in and out from dread to excitement and then back again. Like a hot flash. Yes, an emotionally-driven, Thanksgiving-charged hot flash. Awesome.



I know I say this a lot to you, Moms, but seriously, you rock. If I had a kid (or worse, PLURAL KIDS) I would be in the fetal position by noon tomorrow rocking back and forth between swigs from a warm Jack Daniels bottle. What gets you through, I'm sure, is your overwhelming drive to make memories for your children that will last them a lifetime and I dig that. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm excited about finally being included in the Thanksgiving cooking tradition. But deep down, I'm sort of in it for the self-satisfaction of my family commending me for an amazing meal. Yes, I was hugged enough, I assure you. But who doesn't want a boost every now and again? So moms, again, I adore you and your ability to suffer through the ups and downs of the holidays in the name of spirit and tradition.

And as for me, if the task at hand gets to be too much, well, I'll at least be at my mother's house and can throw her dishes around for a change.

Less wasteful, no?

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

The point of my blog is to be more positive. "Wag more, bark less" is an adopted mantra so that I keep from complaining or losing sight of all the good in things; both of which I have a habit of doing from time to time. I told myself I would never vent or blog negatively. I'm trying very hard to spin this current situation I'm in into something to observe at all angles and move on from. I do not plan on dwelling, or worse, letting myself down by ranting and raving. I will bark about this once, fellow readers, and then I will carry on for the better.




Firstly, it is not hard to be a good person. I don't mean charitable or nice or even compassionate... just a person that others can look at and go "I'm glad they are in my life". I think in this day and age of self-service and independence, people are losing sight of genuine human decency and manners. There are very few excuses for kindness to not be second nature to you. Friendliness makes the world go round. Whether its to the lady that pours your coffee or your own spouse, thoughtful consideration is what separates us from animals. If what I am saying seems like a lot to ask for, you are part of a huge problem.

With that said, I'm going on the record to say that by not possessing the mere good qualities that I simply expect of my own self, I'll kindly show you the theoretical door out of my life. When someone treats me with respect, they get mine ten fold. If someone makes me laugh, my new job is to make them laugh harder. If someone appreciates me, I show them consistently how I appreciate them. These are not things I am bragging about, people. This behavior is common sense. If you do not grasp the simple concept of give and take, please just sit in your house and avoid all human contact until you die alone. I don't ask for much, but if you can call me a friend because of the things I have done for you, just return the favor. If you don't, you are taking advantage of me... plain and simple. I'll happily stay out of your life. Everyone deserves people who makes their life meaningful if they themselves make others' life meaningful. If you aren't contributing to this very uncomplicated concept, get. the. fuck. out.

I don't think for a second that I'm being too harsh about this. I don't think I'm being big-headed when I say that I am a good person and deserve good people in my life. It is a privilege, not a right, to have people you can depend on.

There. Barking over. We will now continue with our regularly scheduled blogging.

Crazy Little Thing...

Chris and my relationship has never been normal. I'm sure a lot of couples say that about themselves, but I'm pretty sure ours raises the crazy bar just a little higher. Allow me to explain...

As you know from my past entry about Chris and my beginnings, he had a child before we even got back together. Well, there goes the infamous "first comes love" bit. Once love did come, though, boy did it come. For me to say I knew he was "the one" in the first week we got back together is an understatement. Even my own mom saw us back together for the first time and knew. We glowed. Literally, glowed. And we were going to need that kind of whimsical, blind insanity that was our love to get through the first few months of what was nothing short of a nightmare.

I failed to mention what a whirlwind of risk taking that went on in the first weeks of our relationship. It started with my apartment. It was the first "on my own" apartment I'd ever lived in and it wasn't exactly in the greatest of locales. I loved it, but I would have to admit when Chris reminded me of how much he worried about me alone in a neighborhood like that, I started to see what he meant. Our "love is blind" insanity's first rule of business: move in together.

Love is also patient, as the psalm goes, and we needed a lot of it during those few months. We were going entirely on gut and heart; what made sense rationally was a buzz kill for our punch-drunk love. Looking around me now at everything we've accomplished, we did pretty damn good. Looking back, however, gives me hives just thinking about it.

I grew up real quick in those months. In one day, I'd chosen a life that now included a child, a divorce, a mother of said child, and an overwhelming responsibility to someone I loved so dearly that all the other difficult things didn't and wouldn't matter.

We made the decision to move in together right out of the gate. It was perfect timing in our minds. Granted, our minds were clouded with all those fuzzy love feelings, but perfect timing nonetheless. We bounced from place to place as reality stepped in and evicted us from cloud nine. We were trying to build a life with each other and all the while it felt like life was fighting back. Some people say that making rash decisions without thinking "big picture" will be a mistake. I believe that. But in our case, every time we trusted our heart and went blindly into a decision, we inadvertently loved each other more for it. And when that said thing blew up in our face, well, we were immune. Keep in mind, "Love bears all things", too.

So let me catch you up. We'd moved in together (albeit place to place) and after about a year and a half, we were settled in somewhere we loved and finally began to function normally. (I know, just a year and half is all it took. Yikes.) The idea of getting married had been there since the beginning. When I said I knew he was "the one", I didn't mean "the one... boyfriend". I meant hands down THE one. THE one I would spend the rest of my life with. THE one I would brush my teeth next to each morning. THE one I would fight with about dirty dishes for the rest of our lives. THE. ONE. And luckily, he seconded that notion.

So, just like our random relationship, we decided on a random Wednesday on a random date (August 19th) to take the random opportunity that we both had the day off and... we got hitched. We didn't even tell anyone. We just told my mom. I wore red trouser pants, a white top, and the cutest short-sleeved jacket. He wore a blue top and dress pants. That was it. No tie, no dress... just... us. We decided not to tell anyone we were actually married because later down the road we wanted to have a real wedding. We thought it would just be a fun secret between us and there would be no reason for anyone to think otherwise. We'd just "be engaged" and later when money and the stars aligned, we'd have an actual wedding. We should have known then that we are always trying to skip ahead and forget that with us, life always catches up and snaps us back to reality. By the end of October, the jig was up. Planning a wedding was so not our style that we decided to stop kidding ourselves and 'fess up. We got mixed reviews at first, but in the end, everything evened out. Just like it always does with us. And you know what? That random, abnormal Wednesday was the happiest day of both of our lives.

Alfred Adler once said "The only normal people are the one's you don't know very well". Now that you've had a peek at how not-so-normal Chris and I are... maybe we aren't as different from everyone else as we think. No matter ups and downs, lefts or rights, one thing is for sure for everyone: At the end of the day, you don't just want everything to go right...

...you want to make it right with the person who is everything.

A Letter to No One

To Whom It May Concern...

From the bottom of my heart, I never meant to hurt you. My life has been a tangle of leaping before looking, falling fast and landing hard. If you were caught in the crossfire of a much too intricate web I weaved, it was never my intention to get you stuck. I've never wanted anything more but to learn and to love. Both experiences have, at many times, been harsh and necessary, lovely and brutal. Depending on where the stars were aligned on the particular day our paths crossed, any number of perceptions of me could've been made. I can only hope your memory of me is a positive one, but I'm no fool. If thinking of me sears your heart like an unexpected flash of sun, from the bottom of my soul I am sorry.

I'm no stranger to my misguided actions and divided intentions in the past. Every day I learn more about myself and every day I become a better person, sparing anymore victims of my naivety of life. I only wish I could show you who I am now, but I know it would only be a reminder that it is all to late to rearrange those stars. Instead, just know I think of you often. I have vivid dreams of you now and again that wake me up changed. Love and devotion of your memory washes over me in those moments. Where ever you are and who ever you became, your impact on me was permanent, whether heavy force or gentle touch.

Love Always & in My Mind,
Amanda


...Do you guys ever have the most vivid dreams that actually make you feel completely different the next day? Like it wasn't just random memories jumbled together into nonsense, but a real-life experience? If you have, you aren't alone. Mine happen almost all the time. My latest one was particularly unique. It was someone who is a very important part of my past that, for me, may as well not exist any more. This person isn't forgotten, but they are gone forever with no possibility of re-appearance. I never knew to acknowledge that fact or even decide on what emotion I feel about them anymore... until this dream. I woke up sad and happy all at the same time. Sad that I may be the sole reason they are gone and happy that us growing apart was probably the best thing ever to do for both of us. Not existing in someone's life anymore sometimes is the best thing for everyone. Because of this, I can never tell them how I truly feel.

I tell everyone how I feel and hate "unfinished business". A college professor once told me that writing them a letter you never send might be the best remedy. If I were to write one for everyone that I will never send it to, it would go just like that letter. No postage and returned to sender.

Baby Whoa's

Whoa. That's what I want to say to people when they ask me if I have kids. "Whoa".

Or any variation like "Easy there" or "Slow your role, partner".

There is SO much pressure to start a family after you've gotten married. It's ridiculous. I'll never forget the first time I heard it said to me. It was when Chris and I "got engaged" (we had really already been married but we didn't tell anyone until later on... I should probably post about that?)...ANYWAY! The two of us were at an anniversary party for my great aunt and uncle. I had been use to the "AGH! Let me see the ring!" and the ever popular "How did he propose?!". Then, from somewhere in the crowd, the ooh's and ahh's subsided and a random relative turned the tides. When I first heard "So when are you guys having kids?!", I'm pretty sure my brain went vacant for a moment. Kids?! Seriously?! I had just already decided to make a life long commitment to another human being and now you want me to CREATE a human being to make yet ANOTHER life long commitment to? Seriously... whoa.

I guess I've never thought to question people's motives so the idea of asking someone when or if they plan to start a family has never crossed my mind. I never grew up with this concept that life had a beat to follow. Until I got engaged, I never thought of any sort of plan that people had for how they were organizing their life. I'm coming to learn that the people who think the opposite of that, however, are the ones who ask you where YOUR kids are and whose eyes pop out of their head when you tell them you aren't planning on any. I actually had an ex question the legitimacy of my relationship with Chris because I haven't been wanting a family. See what I mean? Again, whoa.



I have to admit that the pressure isn't just coming from other people. It may stem from peer pressure, but I sometimes catch myself muddling over the reason I'm not having kids and then end up pressuring myself. Sometimes a baby will smile at me from its stroller at the mall, my heart will melt, and I swear I can feel my ovaries release an egg. And if I happen to pass by a Gymboree at that exact moment, it's game over and I start contemplating baby names. It makes me wonder if my surge of estrogen is that "maternal clock" I apparently keep hitting snooze on or if it's all just pressure to conform.

It's only when I realize that a baby's car seat would look really crappy in my bright orange two-door Tiburon that I realize it was all just pressure.

That isn't the ONLY reason, of course. (But you have to admit that's a good one.) What I hate more than the pressure is the judgement. Those "life choice questioners", no matter how many great reasons you give them, they always chalk it up to selfish. Sure, I'm not stupid, you can spin all my own reasons into "selfish" if you wanted. I don't want a pregnancy janking up my body. I like nice furniture. I like spending alone time with my husband. I like peace and quiet. I like loud parties in my home. I like the occasional lunch that goes so long it turns into dinner and then drinks and ends well into the night. And I suppose the most "selfish" reason of all is:

I DON'T WANT TO TAKE CARE OF A BABY.

Is that so wrong? I mean, sure, it looks bad when I put it all in caps like that, but does it really make me a horrible person? No, I think not. I read an article that said 68% of women are more irritated than concerned when their babies wake up crying in the middle of the night. A shocking 91% of divorced women believed that their marriages could have possibly been salvaged had they not had children to contend with. I believe that. Chris and I fight loudly a lot of the time. We're passionate and short tempered, but it works for us and we always work it out. It's hard for me not to yell when I'm mad or for Chris to not scream profanities and throw things when he's losing a video game. When Chris' son comes into town, (which is only once every two months) we play nice, of course, but it never feels normal. If we had to zip our lip ALL the time like that because of our own children, I'm convinced we'd never resolve issues. Instead, we'd silently begin to resent the other and would ultimately smother the other with a pillow.



The final thing I don't understand about all this baby pressure is the infamous motto of a "life-choice questioner". Drum roll, please...

Being a mom is the hardest job in the whole world.

...Ok! You win! I always thought cleaning up dead bodies from crime scenes would be the hardest, but I promise, I'm taking your word for it! With that said, how can someone possibly say that infamous line and in the same breath question why I'm not signing up to do it?!

Baby Enforcer: "Hi, would you like to do the HARDEST job in the world and only be paid in unconditional love?"

Me: "Well, that love part sounds good, but, hardest job in the WORLD? I'm going to pass..."

Baby Enforcer: *head explodes from confusion*


So listen everyone, I don't know when or if I'm going to have a baby. Sometimes I envision what Chris and my baby would look like, but that could just be the grown-up version of doodling his last name as mine on a trapper keeper. Sometimes I imagine baby names. Mostly though, I enjoy the silence, a midday beer, and sex in the kitchen whenever I want...

...and if that's so wrong, I don't want to be right.

Cupcakes and Muffin Tops

Well it's been a few since I posted about going on a diet and tomorrow will be the end of my 3 weeks on Atkins so here's an update:

It's going great!

I've lost 11 lbs so far and my jeans already fit better! I'm not a huge fan of numbers on the scale, so jean and dress sizes are what I really focus on. I didn't realize 11 lbs was that big of a deal until I went dress shopping for a friend's wedding this Saturday. You know how when you shop you just grab the selections in your size and there's always one thing right before you go into the dressing rooms that would be perfect but you totally don't see yourself fitting into it? Well thankfully I grabbed that one "wishful thinking" dress and it was THE one! All the other ones I grabbed in my size didn't even fit anymore! Hooray for me!

Don't get me wrong, I'm still no where near "jealous-worthy" yet. You know, that magical size you wish you were so that others will be envious of YOU for a change. I said my jeans are fitting better which means my muffin top still exists, it just isn't AS noticeable. There's still a long way to go until I fit into those size 6 jeans I haven't worn since... well, never. I bought them on accident YEARS ago and they hang sadly in the back of my closet, losing hope they'll ever be worn every time I eat a cookie. Well don't worry, size 6 pants! I'm coming for ya!

And speaking of cookies... they are ALL I think about. Well, that's a lie. I'm also thinking about brownies, peanut butter ice cream, chocolate ANYTHING, and worst of all... CUPCAKES. I'm not even a sweet-tooth kinda gal! My guilty pleasures have always been potato chips and big macs. RARELY do I want anything sweet! But this no refined white flour, sugar, and lack of anything sweet altogether diet has got me dreaming about bakeries and endless supplies of raw cookie dough. Pictures of gourmet, colorful cupcakes are my new porn. I watch Food Network and salivate... literally SALIVATE while staring at the non-stop cake baking shows... and when you realize that just hearing the word "butter cream" makes you hot, shit gets real.



All that aside, however, I haven't cheated! Not once! I even survived the aftermath of the dreaded "monthly cycle" without so much as a chocolate chip. If I can accomplish that, I know I can do anything. But these cupcakes really are killing me and I want so badly to bake them... even if I don't eat one! I wish I knew if I can withstand that kind of pressure. If you know me, you know I LOVE to cook. Baking has never been a real specialty of mine, but I have been absolutely dying to play around with all these recipes. Should I risk it, though? I could always make them and give them away to other people like my classmates and my family... right?

What do you guys think? Will trying my hand at all these gourmet cupcake recipes curve my appetite... or my hips?

In the meantime, I'll test my other options and continue my parade of cupcake website porn... but just for the articles, of course.