where fuck it, i’m going to bed means fuck it, i’m going to pf changs for more lettuce wraps

So.  Turns out?  I have no life.  I do, however, have crispy green beans, sesame chicken and lettuce wraps from PF Changs.  And frankly?  I’m okay with this.  Because have you tasted their lettuce wraps?

Along with this having no life?  Is having nothing at all to write about.   Seriously.  I’m going to have to start making shit up.  Because I’ve got nothing at all to write about.  I’m thinking of going to the midnight showing of Harry Potter tomorrow because I have nothing at all to write about.  Unless it was tonight.  Then I’m not going.  Or maybe I will. 

But, I’m trying really hard not to try to cut my own hair, or like, fix my own car. 

Although…I think that the right (or left) brake light is out on my car.  Because now when I turn on my right (or left) blinker, it goes really fast.  Instead of going tick – tick – tick - tick.  It goes tick-tick-tick-tick.  I think that means the bulb is out.  But I’m not sure.  I need someone to follow me around some turns and call me on my cell phone and let me know.  Where call means text. 

Also.  All the light bulbs in my hallway are out.  I have two ceiling fans with three bulbs each.  All six are out.  Or the chains are pulled the wrong way. Probably the bulbs are out, but I’m not sure.  Maybe I need to have someone stand at the other end of my hallway and turn the light switches on and off while I pull the chains and then call me and tell me if the lights turn on.  Where call means I’ve got nothing at all to write about. 

Okay.  So I’m going to try to figure out if the 12:10am showing of Harry Potter listed at the very end of the Tuesday, July 14th schedule of movies is at 12:10am tonight, which really makes it Wednesday, July 15th, or if it really means it’s tomorrow, which is technically 12:10am Thursday, July 15th.  Maybe someone could go to the theatre and call me and let me know.  Where call means fuck it, I’m going to bed.  Where fuck it, I’m going to bed means fuck it, I’m going to PF Changs for more lettuce wraps.  Because have you tasted their lettuce wraps?  Where have you tasted their lettuce wraps means I have nothing at all to write about. 

to recap: 7-11-09 jess + adam

There are no words for this kind of fun.

Guess how this ended…

That is totally a six-pack of Bud Lite in cans that they went to the general store for.  In the four wheeler thing.  Swear to God.

 

 

I’m sure there was a groom there, but frankly?  Who remembers with this girl around?

July 11, 2009 Jessica + Adam

Pierced Niece is getting married today.  She asked me to write something to read today for her wedding. 

 

Even those who have experienced love like this are quick to say that sometimes love isn’t enough. But it is. Love is enough. Love is more than enough. It is everything.

Love is ridiculous. You see that, don’t you?

It makes the preposterous seem sensible, the absurd seem reasonable. Here you stand, without any notion of what life has in store for you, no idea where life will take you, what life will give you, and you can say assuredly, that you know who you want standing next to you for it. But that is the absurdity of love. That you have no idea, today, what tomorrow holds. But you know who you want standing next to you for it. And of course you do. Because love? Is enough.

Love is foolhardy.

It makes us do bold things. Think daring thoughts. Make brave promises. Today is a promise. A daring promise. Today, Jessica, you are promising to choose Adam. And Adam, today, you are promising to choose Jessica. You are promising to choose each other a hundred thousand more times. How can you promise something so daring? Because that is the audacity of love. Promising, blindly, to choose each other every day, for the rest of your lives. But of course you are. Because love? Is enough.

Love is remarkable.

It is a revelation. It makes our breath catch and hearts beat. It is an extraordinary gift given to those who are open to it. A sublime experience reserved for those who will tend it. So, Jess and Adam, I wish you countless more moments of breathlessness. I wish you a lifetime of remarkable love. And if you ever think that love isn’t enough, remember that it is. Remember that it is everything. And tend it like it is everything. Because if you do? Then it will join you together in ridiculous, foolhardy, remarkable ways. Because love? Is enough.

and my sister? makes it so easy for me to do my eddie haskell thing.

I revert to a fifteen-year-old when I stay at my mom and dad’s house. But not in a way that resembles my actual fifteen-year-old self. I revert to this sort of Eddie Haskell version of my fifteen-year-old self where I want to be the favorite. There’s no hope of my mom ever choosing favorites. She’s just all I love you all the same and you’re all so smart and beautiful and blah blah blah. But my dad? Can totally be bought.

This morning I offered to make him farina for breakfast. And if you had any idea how much I loathe making farina, you’d understand my weird desperation to be his favorite. All the whisking of the milk, the bringing just to a boil, the god damn stirring over medium heat, the fuckall pain-in-the-ass simmer until thickened. Gah! I hate it. But I did it. Because favorite daughter.

And my sister? Makes it so easy for me to do my Eddie Haskell thing. Like she never ever parks her cars where she’s supposed to. My dad is very specific about where it’s okay to park. He spends days and weeks putting reflectors on fence posts and big rocks along the driveway and shit like that to delineate where it’s okay to park. My sister? Totally ignores this. Which for me? Is excellent. Because then? When my dad’s all Jesus Christ, these god damn kids just do whatever the hell they want like they own the whole god damn place…. I can be all yeah! Jesus Christ! I’ll move the cars for you Dad, because hello? Have you met me? Perfect. Daughter.

The Sailor is my ace in the hole for this. Because he? Sent me a hat from his ship for my dad. And I totally didn’t know this until my dad told me, but there’s this patch on the side of the hat with some pirate flag or something on it because the Sailor? Is totally chasing pirates around the something something classified yada yada sea. And my dad thinks that is awesome and he’s pretty sure the Sailor’s a republican. Which seriously helps me.

Anyway. It seemed like it was all going really well. My dad and I were out doing ranch things together while my sister sat around not making farina and not parking where she’s supposed to and not being at all republican. But then he asked me to help him run the horses up to the high pasture, so he could take down an electric fence, which, of course, I did. But then? He laughed his ass off when he turned on the electric fence while I was holding it. Zzzzttt. My sister thought it was funny too. As did my brother. And like, everyone else.

But the Sailor? Better not be laughing.

we had to eat eggs. like straight from the hens. which i think? is gross.

So.  Here’s the deal.  The Little People?  Totally don’t want to come back to San Diego with me.  Oh sure, on Friday, when they hadn’t seen me in 192 hours, they were all when will you be here?  We miss you, we want to go home when you go home.  And by they I mean only the First Grader.  And then?  When I got to my mom and dad’s house they were all Mama!  We missed you!  Okay, go home now.  And by they I mean including the First Grader. 

And frankly?  I’m just all meh.  Grandma’s house.  Whatever. 

Because it’s not like it’s a little log cabin on a ranch

 

by a lake

exactly right in the middle of the mountains

 

like all covered in rainbows and unicorns and shit.

What?  Shut up.  There are no unicorns. 

But, so, here’s the deal.  The Little People?  Want to stay.

They’re all Mama!  There are chickens!  And a hen is going to have chicks!  Really soon!  And Grandma makes muffins whenever we want! 

And they’re not even making it up.  There are, like, actual chickens.

Just like, totally hens sitting on nests .  There’s also a rooster . And one of those is it, but I don’t know which one.   (And thank God there’s a rooster.  Because when I was a kid and the hens laid eggs?  My mom actually made us eat them.  We had to eat eggs.  Like straight from the hens.  Which I think?  Is gross.  But now?  There’s a rooster, and a hen on a nest, which means that we can buy our eggs at the grocery store like normal people.)  (72 at a time.) 

And there really are muffins.  Really effing good muffins.  With cranberries and something orange .  They taste like orange spice tea.  If it were a muffin.  And my mom just totally made them this morning.  And then?  She let me eat them.  Right away.  I didn’t have to save them for guests or anything.  Because I?  Am the guest. 

But still.  I’m all meh, Grandma’s house.  Whatever.  Let me know when there are unicorns.