Looking Back

Next Thursday, March 11, will mark the fifth anniversary of my divorce.

In the past, I have celebrated this event in different ways. The first year, I brought out my wedding dress, hacked the skirt from a respectable floor-length to somewhere mid-thigh, tried to dye it a pretty green-blue, and went out and got utterly wasted with my closest friends. I don't remember a whole lot of that evening, but I do remember that it was amazingly fun.

The second year, I made my roommate drink a shot with me.

The third and fourth years, I recorded these videos and posted them on YouTube.

So, for year five, what shall I do?

Right now, the only thing I expect to do is to spend 5-7 hours in a car, make myself and my boyfriend a passable supper, and pass out. It's probably time to stop celebrating this thing, I think.

My marriage was a huge mistake, and I never felt so free or so relieved as when I was finally able to end it. And in the past, it has seemed like that end was a good, and right, and proper thing to celebrate. It felt kin to a birthday, in a way. Each year was a new one in my new, happier life.

The problem here is that I think I've been so focused on the way I felt, that I didn't give a whole lot of thought to the way I behaved. And now that I've actually started to think about that, the feelings of freedom and relief don't feel that important anymore. So it's time to grow up.

Here's to you, year five. I'm an adult now.

Ok, so I'm mostly an adult now. You can't grow up completely, can you?

A Little This 'n That

Another catch-all blog post, because I'm bored and easily distracted.

• Is it just me, or does Alexandre Dumas get more boring with each book? The Three Musketeers was fun, The Count of Monte Christo was excellent, Twenty Years After was good enough but took me for-fucking-ever to read, and The Vicomte of Bragelonne is damnably hard to get into. If I make it all the way to (and through) The Man in the Iron Mask, I think I'll deserve a huge fucking pat on the back. All things considered, though, he's it's not as bad as Hugo and The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I've never wanted to stab a book so badly in my entire life...

• I tried the Bacon Cheesy Potato Burrito from Taco Bell today, because I saw a commercial for it last weekend and declared "I must have that!" Verdict: they put sour cream on it, which is what I blame on the... unpleasantness in the bathroom that ensued; normally, all my taco-related products are without sour cream and I never have such difficulties. Otherwise, it was bacony.
  

• My boyfriend's mother asked me if I wanted to go clothes shopping with her last weekend, because my birthday is coming up. I felt bad saying no, but clothes shopping is fucking painful for me. Socks don't fit, because my feet are too small - the heels invariably end up above my ankles. Pants don't fit, because my legs are too short. Even petite sizes are too long. Bras and shirts definitely don't fit, because my tits are bigger than my head. The only thing I can safely buy is skirts (which I never wear) and underwear. Body fail!

• Whenever Kevin Smith tweets about the amazing sex he has with his wife, and Wil Wheaton tweets about the amazing geeky things his wife says, itgives me hope for the American marriage, which Time.com seems to think is on the brink of fail. But what do I know about the American marriage? I was divorced at the age of 21. Actually, I probably know more about the American marriage than most.

• I may be growing addicted to websites like Texts From Last Night and Not Always Right. Each site makes me both glad and regretful that my life isn't more interesting. But it's seriously addicting to just read through the archives.
  

• I have a doctor's appointment next week; I finally get to talk to someone about the headaches I get every day! I'll be very disappointed if the doc suggests I see a chiropractor. It's hard to take the profession seriously when a chiro gave your ex-husband a stroke through a botched adjustment. Also, I wonder what expression the doc will have when he or she gives me my breast exam; I strongly suspect the dressing gown will surprisingly downplay how big they actually are, and am hoping for a look of shocked horror. Morbid? Me?

To wrap things up, here are some photos from last weekend, when we went home to SD to visit friends and fam.




World's Largest Pheasant, standing proud and tall in Huron, SD. Outstanding...

We bought fireworks here. Apparently that's a ride that hasn't worked in 30 years or more. If you look closely (or embiggen the photo by clicking on it) you can see a blue swastika painted on the side of one of the cars.

Fireworks and beer ALWAYS go together!
We dropped a smoke bomb in a puddle.

Kaboom!