Thanks!

Dear hubby and Dad-in-law, 

Thanks for cleaning the icky toilet that I don't want to go near right now. 

Love, 

Help! I'm going to do something drastic!

My mother's scathing commentary of me, you just can't make stuff like that up. It's true what they say; real life is often stranger than fiction. 

Here's just a sampling of what was said to me yesterday.

My mom and I went over to my aunt's swimming pool for an hour or so yesterday and while walking through the living room, my mom saw a picture that my aunt had of me from, like, my freshman or sophomore year of high school. My mom noticed the picture first and without skipping a beat said, "We all had our ugly years."  I was struck silent by what she said and just took it, though there were a million things running through my head. I don't know where it came from. Why would she say something so hateful?  I had only looked at the picture when she brought attention to it, but I had kept my silence. I don't think anything moved across my face that would have told her that I shared her opinion. 

This is after my mom's helpful advice from last month on making sure I love my child no matter what he/she looks like. I'm not kidding. If my mom knows anything of you, and I do mean anything of my you, my  friends, relations, co-workers-- you better believe she has said something on your appearance, much to my horror.  If I tell her I've run into someone I used to know from high school, inevitably the first questions that spill from her lips are about appearances. " Is _____ still skinny, or did she gain weight? She was always pretty." This all comes from the woman who swears up and down that she is not concerned about her own weight or appearance. How can she be? Her thoughts are turned elsewhere, and she makes it quite obvious. 

"You should take care to look at the body types of Brandon's side of the family. You might have a child who has a body like ______!" I'm not kidding. 

If her unhealthy fixation dares to interfere with my future child's self-esteem and self-worth like it did mine, well . . . it's not going to be pretty. 

I hate to say it, but there will probably come a time in my adult life where, despite all the guilt and regret I feel about my sister and my mother having to put her life on hold for the sake of a handicapped child, I will have to sever the ties with her. As much as it hurts to come to this, my mom is not the sort of person who holds herself accountable to anything or anyone. In this regard, she has never been one to be corrected. 

It breaks my heart.  While I know I'm not grotesque or anything ( and what would it really matter if I even was?), aren't mothers supposed to find their own child beautiful? I don't know. I can find attractive, gorgeous  things about every single person I know. Beauty definitely comes from the inside and manifests itself outwardly in expressions, eyes, whatever. 

Maybe she feels that I'm so rotten inside that the outside is a perfect depiction of what's inside. Maybe that's why she's so outspoken. Who knows, really? 

caffeine

Maybe it's just me, but I LOVE that feeling of optimism that takes hold after having two sizeable portions of caffeine back to back!! When I have this much caffiene in my system, I feel as if I can conquer the world. And by world, I mean my house. I can only hope this feeling remains the rest of the work day and into the evening when I am reacquainted with the piles of laundry and the bathroom that needs cleaning.

Anyhow, I am simultaneously reading Rebecca and Jane Eyre, and I am in love with them both. I have the same visual imagery for both couples that I'm reading about in the respective titles. It's funny, but it works.

Loopy, hyper... crazy. That is me at this very moment.

Have to get back to work, but it should be a good thing with this much energy.

ramble burn ramble

This is a random edit to this post since I just uploaded some pictures from Brandon's camera. 

1) Chloe sleeping with my Belmont bear. Brandon likes to terrorize her as she sleeps. She doesn't seem to care or even notice. Sweet, right? 

2) My finished book wreath, hanging in all of its glory. Sense and Sensibility coupled with a trashy Regency romance novel. 

3) Today's sunburn and me all sweaty and dirty after messing around in the front yard. 

SUNBURN! Three hours poolside reading Rebecca by Daphne Du---ummm? resulted in a burn of the deepest kind on my fair, freckly skin. I've always assumed that I am dark complected because there's a lot of Cherokee blood in my family, but the past couple of times I've been in the sun this year, I've walked away bright red with some pretty nasty tan lines and the need to down some benodryl. Of course, for the past six or so years, I've acclimated myself to the tanning bed, so this is probably just punishment for reckless behavior. And since I've been banned from the tanning bed due to Brandon's fear of me getting cancer, let's just say I've been rubbing elbows with Casper. 

ANYHOW... I'm now taking a break from yard work. 90 degree weather just doesn't mesh with me being on my hands and knees weeding out the area beneath our shrubs.  It was kind of a jungle down there, and who knows how many spiders and other small insects are living inside of my clothes right now. So, my mom's gone to her house to get a better shovel than the one we have, and we're going to put one more hydrangea and phlox in the ground now that we've cleaned up the shrubbery and there's some bare ground.  It's going to be pretty when they bloom next summer. For now, I have absolutely no hope of new blooms. If something happens, I'm going to be more than surprised. My petunias are gorgeous, but they're petunias. I think you could pretty much throw them on a bed of rocks and they'd do fine.  I was just kind of sick of our house looking like two clueless college kids lived there. I mean, we'll be at this house three years next March, and I definitely haven't paid attention to the exterior until this year. *shame face* 

RAMBLE. This is exactly why I shouldn't have a blog. How many people care about this kind of stuff? I wish we were still going to the symphony tonight. Unfortunately, it's been vetoed by Brandon who has decided he can't sit in 91 degree heat to see Debussy but can sit in 91 degree heat on a riding mower. :/ 

self-loathing

I think I hate myself a little bit this evening. 

Dorkdom takes hold. . .

I have to apologize for not tending to the blog in the way I probably should; I just don't find myself all that interesting. I find that I participate in things of interest, but they're usually only of interest to myself, therefore not worth embellishing and expanding upon here. Besides, when I write, I can't help but find myself caught up in my own petty narcissism. (i.e. I should probably just starve myself until I'm thirty pounds lighter, Follow me as a I ramble about my plants/house/decorating/therapy sessions, etc. . . ) 

So, I leave you with some shallow findings on youtube of my favorite heartrending moments from my favorite period films. Like I said, I do interesting things that are only of interest to me. Whether or not you enjoy it, well . . . I'm not worried about that. I'm a dork, and I do dork things, like cry myself senseless over silly moments like these. Well, maybe not CRY, per se, but you know. . . squeal with dork-like glee. 

Jami's Top Five All Time Moments in Period Films that Either Had Her Weeping, Squealing, or Doing an Odd Combination of Both at the Same Time

1. Darcy's doomed proposal from Pride and Prejudice, 1995. 

This had FAIL written all over it from the time Darcy entered the room. I just love it. 

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed.  You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." Why don't we speak like that anymore? Seriously. The world would be a better place if we walked about in Jane-speak. I'm an old soul and hate that I was born in the wrong century. I love me some Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. 

2. "The Look" from Pride and Prejudice, 1995. 'Causing the ladies to melt like buttah for the past fifteen years... a moment of mutual understanding. This is what I mean when I say I have a respect for actors and actresses who can convey the whole message of a story in their facial expressions.  And Lizzy's dress. 

3. The first time Yuri Zhivago sees Lara in BBC's, Dr. Zhivago, 2002. I would definitely recommend reading the book, but this is an amazing depiction of the love story. Some purists probably don't like it, but I vastly prefer it over the movie from the 1960s. Keira Knightley is gorgeous in this at only SIXTEEN years old, and Hans Matheson has those killer storytelling eyes, too. Love this scene. Love the reflection of Zhivago's face in Lara's. 

4. Another doomed proposal. I'm a sucker for rejection scenes. I think rejection brings out some great, incredibly raw emotions in us. Probably not HEALTHY emotions, but I digress. Margaret rejecting Mr. Thornton in North and South, BBC. :) 

5) Elinor and Edward from 1995's Sense and Sensibility. This gets me every time because Elinor has thought Edward to be off limits and promised to another. I always cry when Emma Thompson cries, perhaps not to the same extent, but. . . awww. Young Hugh Grant! I usually can't stand him, but I like him in this. 

Okay. I'm going to slowly emerge from my dork coma and do something mildly productive today. Father's Day dinner this evening. Sure to be an exciting, happy time. :)

A prompt stolen from somewhere...

What was your worst experience in middle school or high school? Did it have a lasting effect on you? Do you think you learned anything positive from it?

I think, for the whole, middle school and high school were equally miserable. There's not a particular incident that stands out to me, but I know I dreaded waking up and going to school each day and often tried to skip out of going. I had fun and liked being around friends and learning, I just felt there was a better way to employ my time. I think I'd be more social if I had the chance to go back. I just wasn't too keen on myself back then. Come to think of it, not a lot has changed...

Hmm. Well, let's see. I could break down my experience my grade level, the small things I can remember. They're funny to try and remember. 

Middle School

6th grade-- I just remember being chubby and awkward. I even scribbled out my yearbook picture from that year.  That was when we finally started going to different class periods. I felt very grown up. I hated dressing out for P.E. 

7th grade- I sang for the first time in the school talent show and cracked on the last note. That was pretty horrible because it was the first time I had performed in public. My mom continued to show the video of the performance for years after. I was still chubby. To make matters worse, I was dressed in a pretty horrible homemade costume. :/ 

8th grade- I got a really bad perm at the beginning of this school year. It's not that the perm was bad. I just didn't like taking care of it and wasn't used to having to style my hair. Insert brush. Insert MAJOR poof. Awkwardess, acne, friend drama, anxiety of going to high school the next year. I HATED 8TH GRADE! Started voice lessons...

9th grade- Freshman year was a disappointment because I was of the mindset that I would magically be different by the time I entered high school. When I visualized my high school self, I didn't see the awkward kid that was there the previous year. I envisioned a glamourous, worldly sort of person. I would achieve all that I hadn't in middle school It was to be the land of opportunity! I developed a crush on a guy that year and spent the entirety of the year pining away for him. I made him a totally embarrassing poster for his graduation and delivered it to him with my mom playing amateur photographer in the distance as I assaulted him.   I developed a pretty mighty ego from being cast as the lead in the fall musical only to have my dreams shattered when I was cast as an extra in the spring musical! This was the year that someone called me caterpillar brows. I remember this because it started the pluckfest of 2000.  Oh yeah, I was still chubby, only I handled it better because I was doing theatre and chorus and all sorts of other artsy things. 

10th grade- I don't remember this year much at all. I was probably doing Latin translations and pining over the one that got away... definitely still chubby. 

11th grade- AP History and Honors Geometry. That was miserable. I probably wanted to die. It was a dark year. Lost weight due to it being such a dark year. I don't think I had time to eat with all the homework. 

12th grade- My parents wouldn't let me drive until I was eighteen. I smoked, rebelled, dated an idiot, cried a lot during my voice lessons because I wanted a vocal scholarship and just didn't feel good enough for anything. DRAMA. 

It said to document your worst experiences. Keep in mind this wasn't the whole of my middle/high school experience. Anyhow, definitely don't want to go to any high school reunions now...

Five Question Friday on SUNDAY!

So. . . the terrible, miserable tiredness has apparently worn off. I managed to actually get my junk together and buckle down and conquer cleaning both my kitchen and my bathroom! Woot! Woot!

Anyhow, I was blog stalking for some inspiration. I'm going to try to make a memo board/organizer thing for our kitchen in an effort to, well, STOP THE MADNESS that is my disorganization lately. 

Anyhow, came upon this small questionnaire on one of the blogs I frequent and figured I'd answer because I am WIDE AWAKE! 

1. If you could go back to college would you change your major? Or, if you were to go to college right now...what major would you choose?
MOST DEFINITELY. I would choose something that I would enjoy, something really dorky and unheard of. Chances are, I'd still be plugging away toward the same goal-- staying at home and raising the kids/ being creative on the side. Anyhow, I would probably go to school for art history or studying the classics. Something that you wouldn't be able to really get a stellar job in! Oh well, it's the stuff that makes me happy. That, or maybe MAKE UP or interior design. I have so many loves, it's hard to buckle down and be serious. It's ridiculous to plot out your life, I think. I like to be constantly surprised.  Who needs money when you're fulfilled? Oh, I forgot this. I would probably like to try and go back for musical theatre again. It was my first major, many moons ago. If I had not lost confidence and had stuck with horrible musical theory, I might have enjoyed it more. It's so funny how we convince ourselves that stuff is more daunting than it actually is. I thought music theory was going to be the death of me, but I've dealt with much more difficult things since then! Ah, the perception of an eighteen year old. Wouldn't want to have it back! 

2. What do you love most about your home?
That it's cheap rent. ;) Other than that, I love that the person who lived here before us tried to renovate it. There's a lot of really cute cottage-y elements to this house. My favorite room is our bathroom because it's a shabby chic explosion! I also love our living room because we're always in there!  
3. What types of books do you like to read (if you like to read at all)?

Hah, I laugh at the person who doesn't like to read at all. That being said, I laugh at my father-in-law and father. Um, I am moderately obsessed with Jane Austen, if you couldn't tell. My taste varies. This summer, I was going to try and crank out a ton of books. I had intended on focusing on classics, but I love some chick lit and historical fiction. I will try anything once, but I don't really swing toward mystery or suspense. I just have a hard time getting into those kind of books. When I do, I usually freak myself out! I get paranoid. 


4. What is the grossest thing you've ever eaten?

Probably something of my own creation... I can't really remember. I don't like chicken livers, but who does? Really. Find me someone who does. I don't believe you. 


5. If you HAD to be a character on a TV show, whom would you be?
BLANCHE from Golden Girls. Ha. :) I think it would be fun to play a fifty year old mattress prior to the Sex and the City craze.

Miserable tired

You know when you're MISERABLE TIRED? Like, you want to get up instead of moping around and actually do something productive but your body rebels and you're left with a shell of yourself? The kind of tired when a three hour nap just doesn't really cut it for you? Yeah, that's me today. I'm shuffling around trying to remember where I put things (phone's dead and can't find it) , berating myself for not cleaning the bathroom yet ( has it been a week or two?) , and just being a poor excuse for a human ( give me chocolate...). 

I can't believe I thought it was going to be possible for me to juggle three books a week with this life. I'm only just now to the part in Bridget Jones's Diary where she has invited Mark Darcy around for a dinner party. And speaking of BJD, I have an extra copy if anyone feels compelled to borrow it. Goodwill in Mt. Juliet is completely half off the first Saturday of every month, and I may or may not have stalked the book section and had triumphant luck. Usually all of their books are $1.99, but I walked away with four books for $4.37 on Saturday after standing in a crazy line. Who knew so many people flocked to Goodwill? I lucked out with...

another copy of Bridget Jones's Diary

Tess of the D'urbervilles by Thomas Hardy

Jemima J ( chick lit) by ????

Andrew Lloyd Webber coffee table book ( still had original price tag of $25.00) -- fitting because we see Phantom in little over a month. 

Should have gotten candleholders and what not to spray paint as everything was measly $1 price tags but didn't have the patience to stand in hot line and dream up Pottery Barn scenarios. Was too ecstatic over the books and behaving very much like a dork who found the holy grail with my ALW book in hand. I've been reading too much Bridget and have adopted the usage of sentence fragments. 

Have a good night, all. The work week starts once more, and I couldn't dread it anymore than I do right now. So sleepy. 

.........................head, meet desk. Desk, meet head.

Desperately want to start keeping a diary like Bridget Jones. I am her. Only she's perfectly witty, British, and exciting! I, unfortunately, am none of those things. Anyhow... I have nothing. 

This whole bloggy business is clearly not for me, although I do love my pretty new background and the idea of a blog. I just don't think it's practical with a full-time job. I don't get terribly excited about decorating anymore since this house is just a rental, and that kind of stuff is what I like to read about or blog about. It's not like I can tear down a wall and do all sorts of things to this place, so I'm just going to be neutral and content and try not to obsess about all of the things I would like to buy or decorate or rearrange. There's no purpose in it anymore. As long as it's reasonably clean when people drop by, it'll be okay for now. We're throwing money into a fund to get our own house as soon as possible, the old fashioned way. No thirty year mortgage, no crazy debt, no fear of foreclosure. It's tedious, but the rewards will be huge! 

Now I just have to pretend I didn't get a brand new Ballard Designs catalog in the mail. It gives me too much inspiration, and I just don't have any room for inspiration these days. 

blahblahblah... 

Move over Jane Austen festival, the Phantom's in town...

Well, not in our town. . . in Atlanta, GA, but still. Close enough for me to know we've already gotten our tickets and hotel booked for a romantic anniversary getaway. Who knows? This might be our thing, going to Atlanta for our anniversary. While I'm not really a fan of the city, I have been beckoned by the angel of music. . .better start listening to the cast albums now. 

Anyhow, unfortunately our getaway falls on the same weekend that I had set aside for dorking it out with Jane Austen enthusiasts in Louisville, KY. Oh well. I guess I'll be dorking it out, high class, with some "phans" and eating some fabulous Chinese at Chow Baby.  Maybe next year. . . 

Lemme just say that Brandon was ecstatic at the prospect of Phantom over Jane Austen. This is coming from the guy that has the six hour Pride and Prejudice  miniseries going in the next room. . . ha. I'm excited because I've only seen a few shows with Brandon. He claims Phantom is his favorite, so that'll at least be enjoyable to the both of us. I don't need to go into the snoozefest that was Chicago, the complaining of Harvey Fierstein in Fiddler on the Roof, or the yawning in Les Miserables. 

So, I leave you all with this (in case you haven't noticed, my mood drastically improves when musicals are on the agenda. More musicals please.):

Fat Stats Week 2

What to say, what to say? 

Oh, I should perhaps post my fat stats. I find this to be particularly impressive, considering I don't think I've had any H2O this week and have generally been pretty lazy, save for some stressful moments here and there. I am down to 164.2. 

Not too shabby. I ate out a lot this week. And Andy brought amazing cookies to work, so I had to indulge a few times... 

But this is kind of a chance occurrence. With no real change to speak of, I'm sure my weight will buoy back up in a day or so. 

What else is new? 

Okay, so I'm also depressed. This is neither here nor there. Just saying. It's hard to pretend to be happy when you're clearly not. I don't know exactly what it is. Probably just an imbalance. I'm unfulfilled and stressed out all of the time. I don't even know what it means to be Jami. I've never liked myself all that much, so I've never been really comfortable in my own skin. I carry around my dysfunctional childhood like a security blanket. I'm considering the antidepressants route again. I don't want to dwell on this kind of stuff here. Look how happy a journal this is. Look how happy I look in the pictures, people. Obviously. . . 

 Before this journal turns into an emo wasteland, I should mention that this is a regular thing for me. I have been a little more vulnerable to my moods since the miscarriage, but this is still nothing new. I have come to the conclusion that I'm probably always going to be a trifle unhappy. And I'm not blind to the reason why; I haven't been transformed. I haven't laid it all out there to be restored. I'm a quarter of a century old, and I have been doing this crap for a good ten years-- at least. I've been comfortable in my pain or very content to at least run away from it. And every time I search for a way out, something happens that absolutely terrifies me. The part where I have to deal with my anger, my hurts, and resentment. The truth of the matter is-- I hate dealing with ugly, crazy, broken me. 

Anyhow, this is all very serious, and I do so hate to be serious here.