I don't typically take time for myself. I am the type of person that just is content doing for others first, and getting to me when I get around to it. I am generally happy with this and see no real reason to change that.
I love giving people gifts, or making them food, or taking care of them in general. It is one of my love languages. It makes me happy to make the people I love happy in whatever way possible. I am just a giver I suppose.
Sometimes though I need to stop and take care of me. I need to pamper myself.
On a normal day I reward myself in small ways; a new movie, some ice cream, some small trinket that makes me smile. I am simple in that way. Nothing too fancy to make me happy.
Right now I am frazzled and worn thin. I need a good relaxing day of me.
I think once faire is over I am going to take a Saturday to myself. I will go get a mani and pedi (normally I wouldn't get a mani but my poor hands look awful after all the remodel work I have been doing and they really could use it). I will go for the good kind where they slather you in fresh fruit, hot wax, and rub rocks all over you.
After that I may go get my hair cut and colored at a salon. Yes I have people who could help me do it at home for a lot less, but there is something about getting your hair done at a salon that is just indulgent. Plus I think it is part of the southern woman in me that makes it seem so very right. My grandmother would be proud.
I may even go clothes shopping and buy something new. I used to be quite the clothes horse in my younger days, but I typically find it depressing these days. I don't actually think clothing is made to fit women anymore. Notice I didn't say fat women, I just mean women in general. Still I find shopping cathartic, and I could use some new work shirts, so who am I to say no.
If I play my cards right I could fit in there lunch at a certain Indian restaurant with my girls, followed up by a trip to Marble Slab and Half Priced Books. I mean come on what is better than Indian food, ice cream, and cheap books with your besties? That's right, nothing!
After a full day of me I will most likely finish it off with some husbeast time. Dinner and a movie at our local dine in theater is the perfect way to end a day of much deserved r and r.
That is my idea of a great day.
What about you? How do you pamper yourself?
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Final stretch
So close to being finished that everything seems like an insurmountable feat. With every finished project it seems like three more spring up. Nothing is without an issue or problem that has to be solved. Nothing is ever easy.
I am sore, I am exhausted physically and emotionally, and I have very little left to give. I am just very glad that it will all be over and out of my hands soon.
Remodeling a house is not for the faint of heart.
One more long day in the books, one more to go.
I can to do this, but first we sleep.
I am sore, I am exhausted physically and emotionally, and I have very little left to give. I am just very glad that it will all be over and out of my hands soon.
Remodeling a house is not for the faint of heart.
One more long day in the books, one more to go.
I can to do this, but first we sleep.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Boundless Friendship
When I was a kid I always imagined that my friends would be my friends forever. It is an idealistic view of friendship that we have as children that is proven wrong before we have left childhood. The fact is that for the most part the friends we have as children rarely last into adulthood.
There are many factors that lead into this; distance, lifestyles changing, and simply growing into different people. Even the friends we make in high school or college do not necessarily make it into our adult lives. Sure we still Facebook stalk those people, but being a Facebook friend is not necessarily a strong friendship. Friends can not survive on Facebook alone.
Of course when I was a kid I don't think I truly understood what friendship entailed. I never would have imagined that friendship had no limits on age, or distance, or time. I never understood what seemingly insignificant gestures make a friendship strong.
I have many friends, which is not something I have always been able to say. When I was young I cold count my friends on one hand with fingers left over most of the time. These days I have difficulty listing all of my friends. This is a problem I am happy having.
Of course some of my friends are closer than others, but that is the way of friendships. The nature of a friendship can change over the course of the relationship, growing closer or further apart, but still you are friends.
Two of my closest friends are the living proof that there are no limitations on friendship. One of these amazing women is ten years older than me while the other is almost fifteen years younger than me. We live far enough from each other that seeing them can be an effort, but one always worth the trip. We have very different lifestyles yet we seem to be on the same page more often than not.
We were out to dinner the other night and my phone began to ding. The Husbeast looked over at my phone and then at me and simply asked "What are the girls talking about now?" because he knew that was who was trying to get my attention. He was right, and it was them, it almost always is.
This unlikely friendship with my Niki and my Beth seems so unlikely. Beth is a young college student who we met through faire. While there are plenty of people closer to her age on cast Beth seemed to click with us from the start. Even though we have only known her around 9 months most days it feels like she has been part of our group for years.
Beth is our sassy little translator to the youth of today that I didn't know we needed. I refer to her as our own personal urban dictionary, a role which she fills with gusto. I forget how young she is right up until I find myself needing to know what 'rachet' is supposed to mean, and then I recall Beth is hip with the slang of today.
We chat constantly, and I find it comforting to know that all I need to do is look at my phone and my girls will be there. We watch TV together which is nice for me being a TV addict to have someone who is watching the same shows with me at the same time. American Horror Story is a great show, but being able to talk to others that love it while actually watching it makes it all that much better.
Pop culture aside, they really are amazing friends. I know that no matter what they have my back. Even if it is the smallest of things, I know they will be there for me, and that is what friendship really is.
As a geyser of water was shooting out of my wall flooding my house it was Niki and Beth I was messaging in a panic as I tried to remember the name of the water removal company. After the water had been shut off and the proper people called to come dry out my house, and I was laying on the floor crying, they showed up in their pajamas to sit with me so I would have some moral support.
There was nothing they could do to fix what had happened. They couldn't make the water go away, or fix a pipe, or save my brand new carpet pad, but they could sit with me and make me smile. They could stay up with me until 2am and remind me that as long as I have friends like them it wouldn't even matter if the walls would never dry out.
I am sad that I have lost friendships through the years. I am sad that distance and time has pulled me away from people that I love. I do know though that they will always be my friends because some things simply can not be changed.
I am very glad for the friends I do have, and especially for my girls. I cherish all of our silly TV watching, GIF filled chats, inside jokes, and middle of the night moral support. I am so very glad that the ideas I had of friendship as a child proved to be wrong, and friendship turned out to be so beautifully limitless.
I love my friends.
There are many factors that lead into this; distance, lifestyles changing, and simply growing into different people. Even the friends we make in high school or college do not necessarily make it into our adult lives. Sure we still Facebook stalk those people, but being a Facebook friend is not necessarily a strong friendship. Friends can not survive on Facebook alone.
Of course when I was a kid I don't think I truly understood what friendship entailed. I never would have imagined that friendship had no limits on age, or distance, or time. I never understood what seemingly insignificant gestures make a friendship strong.
I have many friends, which is not something I have always been able to say. When I was young I cold count my friends on one hand with fingers left over most of the time. These days I have difficulty listing all of my friends. This is a problem I am happy having.
Of course some of my friends are closer than others, but that is the way of friendships. The nature of a friendship can change over the course of the relationship, growing closer or further apart, but still you are friends.
Two of my closest friends are the living proof that there are no limitations on friendship. One of these amazing women is ten years older than me while the other is almost fifteen years younger than me. We live far enough from each other that seeing them can be an effort, but one always worth the trip. We have very different lifestyles yet we seem to be on the same page more often than not.
We were out to dinner the other night and my phone began to ding. The Husbeast looked over at my phone and then at me and simply asked "What are the girls talking about now?" because he knew that was who was trying to get my attention. He was right, and it was them, it almost always is.
This unlikely friendship with my Niki and my Beth seems so unlikely. Beth is a young college student who we met through faire. While there are plenty of people closer to her age on cast Beth seemed to click with us from the start. Even though we have only known her around 9 months most days it feels like she has been part of our group for years.
Beth is our sassy little translator to the youth of today that I didn't know we needed. I refer to her as our own personal urban dictionary, a role which she fills with gusto. I forget how young she is right up until I find myself needing to know what 'rachet' is supposed to mean, and then I recall Beth is hip with the slang of today.
We chat constantly, and I find it comforting to know that all I need to do is look at my phone and my girls will be there. We watch TV together which is nice for me being a TV addict to have someone who is watching the same shows with me at the same time. American Horror Story is a great show, but being able to talk to others that love it while actually watching it makes it all that much better.
Pop culture aside, they really are amazing friends. I know that no matter what they have my back. Even if it is the smallest of things, I know they will be there for me, and that is what friendship really is.
As a geyser of water was shooting out of my wall flooding my house it was Niki and Beth I was messaging in a panic as I tried to remember the name of the water removal company. After the water had been shut off and the proper people called to come dry out my house, and I was laying on the floor crying, they showed up in their pajamas to sit with me so I would have some moral support.
There was nothing they could do to fix what had happened. They couldn't make the water go away, or fix a pipe, or save my brand new carpet pad, but they could sit with me and make me smile. They could stay up with me until 2am and remind me that as long as I have friends like them it wouldn't even matter if the walls would never dry out.
I am sad that I have lost friendships through the years. I am sad that distance and time has pulled me away from people that I love. I do know though that they will always be my friends because some things simply can not be changed.
I am very glad for the friends I do have, and especially for my girls. I cherish all of our silly TV watching, GIF filled chats, inside jokes, and middle of the night moral support. I am so very glad that the ideas I had of friendship as a child proved to be wrong, and friendship turned out to be so beautifully limitless.
I love my friends.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Finding Normal
Where have I been?
This is a question that has been running through my mind a lot lately. For well over a year now I have felt as though I am absent from my life. I am going through the motions and getting things done, but it is mostly out of habit and obligation. All the things that make me more than just a lump of animated carbon seemed to be missing.
My spark, my je ne sais quoi, just has not been there. The things that I do that make me happy, that express my passion, my being, have been neglected. I stopped writing almost completely, I only sew what I have to with the most minimal of effort, I haven't been cooking exciting foods, I have only barely been present for my RPG's, and even Faire has felt like something that is old and stale. Just gone.
What happened?
Life I suppose is the answer to that. A couple of years ago things turned incredibly ugly at work for about seven months and I just buckled under the pressure. I was in a constant state of stress, I was having daily anxiety attacks, and I was just reacting to the situation poorly. I neglected myself on every level because I just didn't know how to cope.
Once things evened out at work I suppose I just never really bounced back. I was in this strange place where I was surviving with minimal effort and I just decided to stay there because it was easy and I was still so very exhausted. I figured some time to fly under the radar would allow me to build up my reserves again, but it honestly just wore me down more.
Last summer we decided to buy a brand new house. When I say brand new I mean built from the ground up. Everything about it was new and shiny and ours. It was a process that took almost an entire year, and has been another source of incredible stress and anxiety. While it was not as bad as the work drama, it still took its tole on me. If I had managed to build any reserves up I burned through them well before the house buying was over.
Even though we have been in the new house nearly four months now we have still been dealing with our old house. We had hoped to rent it out but finally came to the decision that the best thing for us was to sell it. Either way we went it required an intense amount of time and energy to make the house ready to be sold. When you have a house that is falling apart you have to do a lot of work to make it sell-able.
We are still in the final steps of finishing the old house and even though we are so very very close to being done, it feels so far. We had a set back mid week last week where a pipe was accidentally drilled into. Aside from having to fix a pipe and the wall that was damaged, we had to rip out the carpet padding that was less than a week old and will have to replace it. As we were waiting for the emergency water removal people to show up at 10pm on a Tuesday, I just laid down on the soggy floor and cried because I didn't know what else to do.
I realized after I had a good cry on the carpet that I have been letting this stress run my life. I keep telling myself that I just have to finish _____ and I can relax and get things back to normal. I am realizing now that I have filled in that blank a dozen times now and I still have not relaxed or found normal again. I don't even remember what normal is anymore.
I realize now that there will always be that blank to fill in. I have to keep living while waiting for the next blank. I have to find my normal among all the stress and crazy. I have to find the joy in my writing, and cooking, and performing again. I have to find time for my husband, and my friends, and for me.
I can't let my life live me.
I need to live my life before it is gone.
This is a question that has been running through my mind a lot lately. For well over a year now I have felt as though I am absent from my life. I am going through the motions and getting things done, but it is mostly out of habit and obligation. All the things that make me more than just a lump of animated carbon seemed to be missing.
My spark, my je ne sais quoi, just has not been there. The things that I do that make me happy, that express my passion, my being, have been neglected. I stopped writing almost completely, I only sew what I have to with the most minimal of effort, I haven't been cooking exciting foods, I have only barely been present for my RPG's, and even Faire has felt like something that is old and stale. Just gone.
What happened?
Life I suppose is the answer to that. A couple of years ago things turned incredibly ugly at work for about seven months and I just buckled under the pressure. I was in a constant state of stress, I was having daily anxiety attacks, and I was just reacting to the situation poorly. I neglected myself on every level because I just didn't know how to cope.
Once things evened out at work I suppose I just never really bounced back. I was in this strange place where I was surviving with minimal effort and I just decided to stay there because it was easy and I was still so very exhausted. I figured some time to fly under the radar would allow me to build up my reserves again, but it honestly just wore me down more.
Last summer we decided to buy a brand new house. When I say brand new I mean built from the ground up. Everything about it was new and shiny and ours. It was a process that took almost an entire year, and has been another source of incredible stress and anxiety. While it was not as bad as the work drama, it still took its tole on me. If I had managed to build any reserves up I burned through them well before the house buying was over.
Even though we have been in the new house nearly four months now we have still been dealing with our old house. We had hoped to rent it out but finally came to the decision that the best thing for us was to sell it. Either way we went it required an intense amount of time and energy to make the house ready to be sold. When you have a house that is falling apart you have to do a lot of work to make it sell-able.
We are still in the final steps of finishing the old house and even though we are so very very close to being done, it feels so far. We had a set back mid week last week where a pipe was accidentally drilled into. Aside from having to fix a pipe and the wall that was damaged, we had to rip out the carpet padding that was less than a week old and will have to replace it. As we were waiting for the emergency water removal people to show up at 10pm on a Tuesday, I just laid down on the soggy floor and cried because I didn't know what else to do.
I realized after I had a good cry on the carpet that I have been letting this stress run my life. I keep telling myself that I just have to finish _____ and I can relax and get things back to normal. I am realizing now that I have filled in that blank a dozen times now and I still have not relaxed or found normal again. I don't even remember what normal is anymore.
I realize now that there will always be that blank to fill in. I have to keep living while waiting for the next blank. I have to find my normal among all the stress and crazy. I have to find the joy in my writing, and cooking, and performing again. I have to find time for my husband, and my friends, and for me.
I can't let my life live me.
I need to live my life before it is gone.
Sunday, November 1, 2015
Rising from the ashes
Someone said to me recently "Blogging is dead" and as much as I wanted to refute the statement I just really couldn't. Considering I have not posted more than a few times over the last year and a half or so and the fact that almost every single blog I follow has stopped posting, I would say that they are fairly correct in their observation. Blogging is just drying up.
The thing is I absolutely love blogging. Obviously I have been distracted from doing it for quite some time now, but that doesn't mean that I do not still enjoy doing it. When I do find the time to write and publish a post I feel so satisfied. It is a form of catharsis I suppose. I am not overly concerned with whether my words are reaching an audience or not, I am mostly writing for me. I am beyond happy that my words do reach people as well, but that is just a happy side effect of me writing.
So why am I writing this now (and on a Sunday to boot)? I am writing it because I have decided that while the art and demand for blogging might be dwindling, I am not going to let it die for me. I have decided that I am going to make more of an effort to regularly post here, and today is the start of this.
Today is also what normally would be the start of NaNoBloMo (National November Blogging Month, which I don't think is the correct acronym but I like this one because it makes me giggle on a very adolescent level). I figured if I was going to jump in I might as well go off the deep end while doing it.
The goal is to blog something every single day for the month of November. This is an especially difficult challenge for me since I am at faire on the weekends, but I have made it work in the past and I can do it again. It is amazing what we can accomplish when we put our mind to it.
This is the challenge I have set for myself, and I want to challenge all of you, my minions, to challenge yourself. Find something that you love and were once passionate about but allowed to slip to the wayside because of life. Find that thing and for the next month do that thing every day for just a few minutes. Carve out the time to sing, dance, draw, write, play, to live your passions.
It is high time we took back a little bit of time for ourselves and for the things that make us happier and stronger.
See you tomorrow.
The thing is I absolutely love blogging. Obviously I have been distracted from doing it for quite some time now, but that doesn't mean that I do not still enjoy doing it. When I do find the time to write and publish a post I feel so satisfied. It is a form of catharsis I suppose. I am not overly concerned with whether my words are reaching an audience or not, I am mostly writing for me. I am beyond happy that my words do reach people as well, but that is just a happy side effect of me writing.
So why am I writing this now (and on a Sunday to boot)? I am writing it because I have decided that while the art and demand for blogging might be dwindling, I am not going to let it die for me. I have decided that I am going to make more of an effort to regularly post here, and today is the start of this.
Today is also what normally would be the start of NaNoBloMo (National November Blogging Month, which I don't think is the correct acronym but I like this one because it makes me giggle on a very adolescent level). I figured if I was going to jump in I might as well go off the deep end while doing it.
The goal is to blog something every single day for the month of November. This is an especially difficult challenge for me since I am at faire on the weekends, but I have made it work in the past and I can do it again. It is amazing what we can accomplish when we put our mind to it.
This is the challenge I have set for myself, and I want to challenge all of you, my minions, to challenge yourself. Find something that you love and were once passionate about but allowed to slip to the wayside because of life. Find that thing and for the next month do that thing every day for just a few minutes. Carve out the time to sing, dance, draw, write, play, to live your passions.
It is high time we took back a little bit of time for ourselves and for the things that make us happier and stronger.
See you tomorrow.
Friday, October 23, 2015
5,880 Days
September 1999, Stephen F Austin State University campus, late afternoon.
I was just barely a freshman in college. I had only been traversing the waters of SFA for a few weeks and I was still fairly well lost. I had managed to secure myself a pair of friends who were fast becoming my best friends so that helped immensely. I also had my roommate who I had known before college and she was my point of sanity most days.
The four of us exited out of the UC after an early dinner and began making our way across campus to a destination I can no longer recall. It was late enough in the day and the week that we didn't have many concerns or obligations; we were just a bunch of kids hanging out. It was just a typical day in the life of a college kid.
As we approached the admin building an incredibly tall young man with long dark hair and a mischievous smile hidden behind an unkempt goatee came lumbering up the sidewalk towards us. My roommate recognized him and called out to him at once, our small group coming to a stop to say hello to this strange young man. Introductions were made and a conversation started up and before we knew it we were sitting on the impressive steps of the Austin building chatting about all manner of things.
The sun was drawing lower in the sky and this young man made the suggestion that we go see a movie. I looked at my companions and it was fast agreed that none of us had the money and we had to be at the theater soon so a movie wasn't in the cards for that evening. We all parted ways with smiles and I didn't give that moment a second thought for quite a while.
Little did I know that was the beginning of the rest of my life.
October 28th 2000, Samhain bonfire out in the middle of nowhere East Texas, after midnight.
I had not seen the tall young man in over a year. Shortly after we met that day on the steps to the Austin building he moved to Dallas. I had mostly forgotten about that day and him. Our party had been mighty and as the evening wore on we found ourselves in a large pile of people laying by the fire and watching the impossible amount of stars that are visible from the woods far from the city lights. I had managed to lay in his arms, purely by coincidence.
I don't know how long we lay like that before he turned to look at me, his face aglow in the fire light, and asked to kiss me. I do know it took me less than a second in my slightly inebriated state to shout "NO!" and extricate myself from the tangle of bodies we were in, making a fast run for the old barn to hide. It was not one of my better moments.
It took a mutual friend to talk me down. There had been a guy I was really into, and I was a little drunk, and I had sworn off kissing friends in drunken moments at parties because it never ended well. Our friend made me feel less like an ass and convinced me to come back to the party, he swore that the young man understood and was not upset with my reaction.
I made it back down to the party to find him sitting in a chair on an old house slab waiting for me. Everyone else was down at the fire so we were alone. He beckoned me to sit on his knee as there were no other chairs, and he softly began to tell me that it was alright.
I don't remember a thing he said. I remember that I could feel his warm breath against my ear and neck. I remember how he shifted my weight on his knee so he could speak softly into my other ear. I remember this shift kept happening, moving from one ear to the other, getting closer to my mouth with each word spoken. I remember a loud cat call from down by the fire and someone shouting "Come up for air" or some such nonsense and realizing that we were kissing.
May 25th 2003, Scarborough Renaissance Festival, Captains Pub, Evening Pub Sing.
I knew he was going to propose to me that weekend. He slipped up asking me about my ring size on the drive to faire and got really upset when he realized he had gotten it wrong. I knew what that meant. It was my birthday on the 26th, and so I expected it then.
We had discussed proposals many times in the four years we had been dating. I made it clear to him that I wanted something grand. My answer was most assuredly going to be yes, but I wanted a good story to tell later. I had no idea what to expect.
Throughout the day different cast members began delivering me flowers. Every flower that Rose Joe sold that was not a rose since I don't like roses all that much. With each flower was the message "This is not from me." By the end of court dance I had a bouquet that was quite impressive, I was quite pleased.
We were getting ready for Pub Sing and I started to notice people acting a bit squirrely. Every time I would move one person in particular would jump at me asking me where I was going. I kept assuring him I was not going anywhere and finally opted to sit down so he would stop barking at me. I also noticed more people than usual. Pub Sing is popular, but not THAT popular. My boy was no where to be seen.
As Pub Sing wound on I kept looking for my boy but it was looking as though he was not going to show up which was very unusual for him. The show was nearly over when the royal procession came up from the evening joust. It was impossible to miss that trailing behind the King and Queen was a block of playtron royal guard surrounding my boy who was in shackles. I had no idea what he had done, but I was certain that it was something insane.
No explanation was given for his state as the King and Queen arrived and everything went on as though nothing was happening. A solo performer got up and began singing Red is the Rose, which is a slower song but one of my favorites. I somehow did not notice that the King and Queen had snuck up behind me until they were standing at my side. Each grabbed an elbow and tossed me unceremoniously out into the center of the pub where the boy was now standing holding a single white rose.
The music had stopped and everyone was staring at us. He handed me the rose and began reciting a poem he had written for me. I honestly have no idea what he said. As much as I had been expecting it, I was in shock. There were camera flashes going off everywhere; it was like we were at the Superbowl.
When the poem ended he dropped to a knee and held out a dagger and a small box. He told me that if I did not want to be his I should take the knife and plunge it into his heart right then. I opted for the box and quickly shouted yes as I flung myself into his arms. The small emerald ring fit on my pinky finger, but I didn't mind.
I had my story and I had my boy.
October 23rd 2004, Texas Renaissance Festival, Castle Stage after hours.
Everything had gone wrong. All of our wedding plans had fallen through; no dress, no venue, no cake, no flowers, nothing. It was nothing like what I had dreamed of except for my boy. We had decided not to wait until we could find the money to do the big white fluffy wedding. We just wanted to be married.
I wore my normal work garb and so did he. My mom lent me her pearl necklace and gave me one of my grandfathers handkerchiefs. Our shop mates bought us a cake at the grocery store and got me a bouquet of daisies from Rose Joe. Even a dinner had been made for us thanks to our boss knowing a guy who was a chef. It might not have been perfect but it was all done for us from love which made it even better.
Nothing went off without a hitch. There was nothing but hitches from the word go. I cried in the not good way more than once. It was the sort of wedding you tell people about to make them feel better about their bad wedding day.
When it was all said and done though I still had my boy; my husbeast. I wouldn't trade a moment of the misery of that day for the world, because that day was the best day because of him.
16 years since we met.
15 years since we became a couple.
11 years since we were wed.
He is still my everything and I am thankful every day that he is in my life. I love him more than I can ever say. He is my knight, he is my love, he is my husbeast.
I was just barely a freshman in college. I had only been traversing the waters of SFA for a few weeks and I was still fairly well lost. I had managed to secure myself a pair of friends who were fast becoming my best friends so that helped immensely. I also had my roommate who I had known before college and she was my point of sanity most days.
The four of us exited out of the UC after an early dinner and began making our way across campus to a destination I can no longer recall. It was late enough in the day and the week that we didn't have many concerns or obligations; we were just a bunch of kids hanging out. It was just a typical day in the life of a college kid.
As we approached the admin building an incredibly tall young man with long dark hair and a mischievous smile hidden behind an unkempt goatee came lumbering up the sidewalk towards us. My roommate recognized him and called out to him at once, our small group coming to a stop to say hello to this strange young man. Introductions were made and a conversation started up and before we knew it we were sitting on the impressive steps of the Austin building chatting about all manner of things.
The sun was drawing lower in the sky and this young man made the suggestion that we go see a movie. I looked at my companions and it was fast agreed that none of us had the money and we had to be at the theater soon so a movie wasn't in the cards for that evening. We all parted ways with smiles and I didn't give that moment a second thought for quite a while.
Little did I know that was the beginning of the rest of my life.
October 28th 2000, Samhain bonfire out in the middle of nowhere East Texas, after midnight.
I had not seen the tall young man in over a year. Shortly after we met that day on the steps to the Austin building he moved to Dallas. I had mostly forgotten about that day and him. Our party had been mighty and as the evening wore on we found ourselves in a large pile of people laying by the fire and watching the impossible amount of stars that are visible from the woods far from the city lights. I had managed to lay in his arms, purely by coincidence.
I don't know how long we lay like that before he turned to look at me, his face aglow in the fire light, and asked to kiss me. I do know it took me less than a second in my slightly inebriated state to shout "NO!" and extricate myself from the tangle of bodies we were in, making a fast run for the old barn to hide. It was not one of my better moments.
It took a mutual friend to talk me down. There had been a guy I was really into, and I was a little drunk, and I had sworn off kissing friends in drunken moments at parties because it never ended well. Our friend made me feel less like an ass and convinced me to come back to the party, he swore that the young man understood and was not upset with my reaction.
I made it back down to the party to find him sitting in a chair on an old house slab waiting for me. Everyone else was down at the fire so we were alone. He beckoned me to sit on his knee as there were no other chairs, and he softly began to tell me that it was alright.
I don't remember a thing he said. I remember that I could feel his warm breath against my ear and neck. I remember how he shifted my weight on his knee so he could speak softly into my other ear. I remember this shift kept happening, moving from one ear to the other, getting closer to my mouth with each word spoken. I remember a loud cat call from down by the fire and someone shouting "Come up for air" or some such nonsense and realizing that we were kissing.
May 25th 2003, Scarborough Renaissance Festival, Captains Pub, Evening Pub Sing.
I knew he was going to propose to me that weekend. He slipped up asking me about my ring size on the drive to faire and got really upset when he realized he had gotten it wrong. I knew what that meant. It was my birthday on the 26th, and so I expected it then.
We had discussed proposals many times in the four years we had been dating. I made it clear to him that I wanted something grand. My answer was most assuredly going to be yes, but I wanted a good story to tell later. I had no idea what to expect.
Throughout the day different cast members began delivering me flowers. Every flower that Rose Joe sold that was not a rose since I don't like roses all that much. With each flower was the message "This is not from me." By the end of court dance I had a bouquet that was quite impressive, I was quite pleased.
We were getting ready for Pub Sing and I started to notice people acting a bit squirrely. Every time I would move one person in particular would jump at me asking me where I was going. I kept assuring him I was not going anywhere and finally opted to sit down so he would stop barking at me. I also noticed more people than usual. Pub Sing is popular, but not THAT popular. My boy was no where to be seen.
As Pub Sing wound on I kept looking for my boy but it was looking as though he was not going to show up which was very unusual for him. The show was nearly over when the royal procession came up from the evening joust. It was impossible to miss that trailing behind the King and Queen was a block of playtron royal guard surrounding my boy who was in shackles. I had no idea what he had done, but I was certain that it was something insane.
No explanation was given for his state as the King and Queen arrived and everything went on as though nothing was happening. A solo performer got up and began singing Red is the Rose, which is a slower song but one of my favorites. I somehow did not notice that the King and Queen had snuck up behind me until they were standing at my side. Each grabbed an elbow and tossed me unceremoniously out into the center of the pub where the boy was now standing holding a single white rose.
The music had stopped and everyone was staring at us. He handed me the rose and began reciting a poem he had written for me. I honestly have no idea what he said. As much as I had been expecting it, I was in shock. There were camera flashes going off everywhere; it was like we were at the Superbowl.
When the poem ended he dropped to a knee and held out a dagger and a small box. He told me that if I did not want to be his I should take the knife and plunge it into his heart right then. I opted for the box and quickly shouted yes as I flung myself into his arms. The small emerald ring fit on my pinky finger, but I didn't mind.
I had my story and I had my boy.
October 23rd 2004, Texas Renaissance Festival, Castle Stage after hours.
Everything had gone wrong. All of our wedding plans had fallen through; no dress, no venue, no cake, no flowers, nothing. It was nothing like what I had dreamed of except for my boy. We had decided not to wait until we could find the money to do the big white fluffy wedding. We just wanted to be married.
I wore my normal work garb and so did he. My mom lent me her pearl necklace and gave me one of my grandfathers handkerchiefs. Our shop mates bought us a cake at the grocery store and got me a bouquet of daisies from Rose Joe. Even a dinner had been made for us thanks to our boss knowing a guy who was a chef. It might not have been perfect but it was all done for us from love which made it even better.
Nothing went off without a hitch. There was nothing but hitches from the word go. I cried in the not good way more than once. It was the sort of wedding you tell people about to make them feel better about their bad wedding day.
When it was all said and done though I still had my boy; my husbeast. I wouldn't trade a moment of the misery of that day for the world, because that day was the best day because of him.
16 years since we met.
15 years since we became a couple.
11 years since we were wed.
He is still my everything and I am thankful every day that he is in my life. I love him more than I can ever say. He is my knight, he is my love, he is my husbeast.
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Just Be You
This might sound weird, or even counter intuitive, but I have come to a point where I find all of the 'positive pro fat, or curvy, woman' propaganda insulting. Yes that is right, I just said I was offended by articles meant to lift up and empower fat women just like me. I know it doesn't seem to make a lot of sense even to me.
Here is the thing. First off it is annoying that people feel the need to write such articles. You don't see '10 reasons it rocks to be thin' articles popping up everywhere. I get that is because thin is the accepted norm and seen as the more desirable body type by societal standards, but somehow to me it seems like by pointing to the fact that being fat can be awesome, being skinny isn't awesome. Why can't both be awesome?
Second, and this is the big thing for me, the articles are just flat out insulting. Most of the time these things are written by women of a certain size, so you would think that would mean they could say things that didn't make other fat women feel bad, but that is not true. Some of the boneheaded things that are written just make me sit there, mouth agape, thinking "Did she really just say that?!".
I clicked a link to one such article today, '8 reasons to love being curvy' or some such nonsense, and didn't even get past the first point without rolling my eyes. The list was point after point that either built up curvy girls by backhandedly insulting thinner women, or made it all about pleasing men, which is wretched on so many levels.
One of the points said something about fat women knowing their way around the kitchen so we will happily cook for our man and it will be good. The number of things wrong with this statement is amazing.
Just because I packed on extra pounds doesn't mean I did it being a gourmet cook. Alright so I did, but it doesn't mean all or even most big girls did. I know more than a few that did it through not cooking at all but instead eating out every meal. Fast food is going to take a higher toll on my waistline than my baked chicken and roasted root veggies.
Then there is the 'pleasing a man' aspect of the statement. I am sorry my purpose in life is not to please a man (or woman). I shouldn't have to justify liking my body for anyone but me. How can you call this an affirming article when you keep telling me that my body, and the reasons for my body being the way it is, is only good for pleasing my partner? That makes no sense.
Of course people throw out points that have nothing to do with food or men. One point that is said over and over again that I hate is "Curvy girls are funny". People like to say that fat people are funnier because we have to learn to laugh and make jokes to deflect all the awful things that are said about this. I suppose this is the theory that others laughing at you won't hurt if you are already laughing at yourself.
I find it horrific that this is even a mindset that is necessary.
Yes it is true that people say terrible things about and to fat people. This world is a constant onslaught of anti fat language. Mostly you learn to ignore it, but it never stops hurting. No matter how confident you become in your own body, or how well you learn to laugh it off, it will always hurt.
Instead of saying that we should just laugh or ignore such behavior I would love to see it say 'Curvy women (and men) are brave and stand up to bullies and senseless fat shaming by expressing to those that would bring them down that such actions are wrong'. I would love to see us work on stopping hateful actions than blowing them off with a joke.
I would also love to stop perpetuating the idea that fat people are only able to be funny. I want people who are heavy to be able to be the hero without also being a joke. To be sexy without making people laugh. To be tragic without it being about their weight. I want them to be all the things everyone else gets to be. We are not stock characters in a Comedia play, we can play any roll we like.
Many years ago a young man walked into the shop we work at down at the Texas Renaissance Festival. This young man was maybe 15 or 16, very heavy set, and dressed as a jester. He was with a group of friends who were all much more fit than he was. While he was in the shop he was constantly cutting up and making jokes, entertaining his friends and everyone around, and seeming to have a good time.
The group of boys made their way to the sword counter where the typical bluster of young men took hold and they spoke of being strong and brave; all of them except the boy dressed as a jester. The husbeast noticed this right off. The husbeast is of course a large man, though for most of his life his size was dues to being over 6'6" as well as being a power lifter. Still he knows the plight of the fat man.
He took the young man aside and offered to show him a sword, but the young man resisted. Jesters don't fight he insisted. The husbeast looked at him a moment and asked why he couldn't be a knight instead of a jester, or even a king instead. The young man looked at him as though he had lost his mind and pointed out that he was the fat kid, and the fat kid is only good for being funny.
How sad it was that this young man felt at such a young age that he had no options in life but to be funny if he wanted to be liked. My husbeast told the young man that he was wrong. He pointed out that his friends listened to him, not because he made them laugh, but because he had the personality to command such attention. He told him that if he wanted to lead all he would have to do is take charge and they would follow, with or without the laughs. It was fine to be funny, but it was not all he was capable of.
The group of boys soon left our shop, the jester looking a bit more pensive than before.
A year passed before we saw that boy again. When he walked into the shop with his friends for a second time he was much changed. His weight was roughly the same, though some baby fat had melted away in a year as is want to do with young men of that age, but he was obviously altered. The young man walked with his head held higher and an air of confidence. Where before he had followed in the back of the group, he now led the group. Where before he only spoke to make a joke, he now led the conversations. No longer did he wear the hat or air of a man only there to entertain.
He went to the husbeast and shook his hand confidently and thanked him. He told the husbeast of how he had taken his words to heart. He had returned to his school and had stopped trying to be funny, but instead spoke his thoughts and found that others listened. He had run for president of his class and won. He had auditioned for the roll of the hero in the school play and got it. He had become a leader who didn't have to make jokes to be listened to. He was still jovial and cut up with his friends and made people laugh, but he made people listen too. He was not just a funny person, he was so much more.
Everyone is capable of being more. We should not pigeon hole them into being one thing because of their body type.
I think I tangented off topic there.
Where was I?
Oh yes, insulting pro fat articles.
If you are going to try and raise people up can we not do it at the expense of others? Can we try to not do it in a way that actually demeans us? Can we not possibly address the actual problems instead of making jokes or lists?
So here is my list:
I have said it many times before, and I will keep saying it because it obviously needs to be said.
If you are fat you are perfect.
If you are skinny you are perfect.
If you have big boobs or no boobs, a big ass or a flat ass, you are perfect.
If you are funny you are perfect.
If you are emo you are perfect.
If you are whoever you are you are perfect because you are you and you are exactly the way you are meant to be.
If you want to be thinner, good for you.
If you want to be fatter, good for you.
If you are happy the way you are, HOORAY for you (what is your secret?).
Don't judge others.
Don't judge yourself.
Just be, and be happy.
Don't allow others to put you down for any reason. Don't ignore it or make it a joke. Tell them they are wrong. Tell them they are hurtful. They will probably just say they were joking and you are too sensitive, and they will probably believe that, but they won't know how wrong they are until people start telling them it is not funny. We can't change the attitude of the world if we don't change our own attitude first.
You don't need to make anyone else happy with who or what you are. You only need to be true to yourself, whatever size or demeanor yourself happens to be.
Just be.
Here is the thing. First off it is annoying that people feel the need to write such articles. You don't see '10 reasons it rocks to be thin' articles popping up everywhere. I get that is because thin is the accepted norm and seen as the more desirable body type by societal standards, but somehow to me it seems like by pointing to the fact that being fat can be awesome, being skinny isn't awesome. Why can't both be awesome?
Second, and this is the big thing for me, the articles are just flat out insulting. Most of the time these things are written by women of a certain size, so you would think that would mean they could say things that didn't make other fat women feel bad, but that is not true. Some of the boneheaded things that are written just make me sit there, mouth agape, thinking "Did she really just say that?!".
I clicked a link to one such article today, '8 reasons to love being curvy' or some such nonsense, and didn't even get past the first point without rolling my eyes. The list was point after point that either built up curvy girls by backhandedly insulting thinner women, or made it all about pleasing men, which is wretched on so many levels.
One of the points said something about fat women knowing their way around the kitchen so we will happily cook for our man and it will be good. The number of things wrong with this statement is amazing.
Just because I packed on extra pounds doesn't mean I did it being a gourmet cook. Alright so I did, but it doesn't mean all or even most big girls did. I know more than a few that did it through not cooking at all but instead eating out every meal. Fast food is going to take a higher toll on my waistline than my baked chicken and roasted root veggies.
Then there is the 'pleasing a man' aspect of the statement. I am sorry my purpose in life is not to please a man (or woman). I shouldn't have to justify liking my body for anyone but me. How can you call this an affirming article when you keep telling me that my body, and the reasons for my body being the way it is, is only good for pleasing my partner? That makes no sense.
Of course people throw out points that have nothing to do with food or men. One point that is said over and over again that I hate is "Curvy girls are funny". People like to say that fat people are funnier because we have to learn to laugh and make jokes to deflect all the awful things that are said about this. I suppose this is the theory that others laughing at you won't hurt if you are already laughing at yourself.
I find it horrific that this is even a mindset that is necessary.
Yes it is true that people say terrible things about and to fat people. This world is a constant onslaught of anti fat language. Mostly you learn to ignore it, but it never stops hurting. No matter how confident you become in your own body, or how well you learn to laugh it off, it will always hurt.
Instead of saying that we should just laugh or ignore such behavior I would love to see it say 'Curvy women (and men) are brave and stand up to bullies and senseless fat shaming by expressing to those that would bring them down that such actions are wrong'. I would love to see us work on stopping hateful actions than blowing them off with a joke.
I would also love to stop perpetuating the idea that fat people are only able to be funny. I want people who are heavy to be able to be the hero without also being a joke. To be sexy without making people laugh. To be tragic without it being about their weight. I want them to be all the things everyone else gets to be. We are not stock characters in a Comedia play, we can play any roll we like.
Many years ago a young man walked into the shop we work at down at the Texas Renaissance Festival. This young man was maybe 15 or 16, very heavy set, and dressed as a jester. He was with a group of friends who were all much more fit than he was. While he was in the shop he was constantly cutting up and making jokes, entertaining his friends and everyone around, and seeming to have a good time.
The group of boys made their way to the sword counter where the typical bluster of young men took hold and they spoke of being strong and brave; all of them except the boy dressed as a jester. The husbeast noticed this right off. The husbeast is of course a large man, though for most of his life his size was dues to being over 6'6" as well as being a power lifter. Still he knows the plight of the fat man.
He took the young man aside and offered to show him a sword, but the young man resisted. Jesters don't fight he insisted. The husbeast looked at him a moment and asked why he couldn't be a knight instead of a jester, or even a king instead. The young man looked at him as though he had lost his mind and pointed out that he was the fat kid, and the fat kid is only good for being funny.
How sad it was that this young man felt at such a young age that he had no options in life but to be funny if he wanted to be liked. My husbeast told the young man that he was wrong. He pointed out that his friends listened to him, not because he made them laugh, but because he had the personality to command such attention. He told him that if he wanted to lead all he would have to do is take charge and they would follow, with or without the laughs. It was fine to be funny, but it was not all he was capable of.
The group of boys soon left our shop, the jester looking a bit more pensive than before.
A year passed before we saw that boy again. When he walked into the shop with his friends for a second time he was much changed. His weight was roughly the same, though some baby fat had melted away in a year as is want to do with young men of that age, but he was obviously altered. The young man walked with his head held higher and an air of confidence. Where before he had followed in the back of the group, he now led the group. Where before he only spoke to make a joke, he now led the conversations. No longer did he wear the hat or air of a man only there to entertain.
He went to the husbeast and shook his hand confidently and thanked him. He told the husbeast of how he had taken his words to heart. He had returned to his school and had stopped trying to be funny, but instead spoke his thoughts and found that others listened. He had run for president of his class and won. He had auditioned for the roll of the hero in the school play and got it. He had become a leader who didn't have to make jokes to be listened to. He was still jovial and cut up with his friends and made people laugh, but he made people listen too. He was not just a funny person, he was so much more.
Everyone is capable of being more. We should not pigeon hole them into being one thing because of their body type.
I think I tangented off topic there.
Where was I?
Oh yes, insulting pro fat articles.
If you are going to try and raise people up can we not do it at the expense of others? Can we try to not do it in a way that actually demeans us? Can we not possibly address the actual problems instead of making jokes or lists?
So here is my list:
I have said it many times before, and I will keep saying it because it obviously needs to be said.
If you are fat you are perfect.
If you are skinny you are perfect.
If you have big boobs or no boobs, a big ass or a flat ass, you are perfect.
If you are funny you are perfect.
If you are emo you are perfect.
If you are whoever you are you are perfect because you are you and you are exactly the way you are meant to be.
If you want to be thinner, good for you.
If you want to be fatter, good for you.
If you are happy the way you are, HOORAY for you (what is your secret?).
Don't judge others.
Don't judge yourself.
Just be, and be happy.
Don't allow others to put you down for any reason. Don't ignore it or make it a joke. Tell them they are wrong. Tell them they are hurtful. They will probably just say they were joking and you are too sensitive, and they will probably believe that, but they won't know how wrong they are until people start telling them it is not funny. We can't change the attitude of the world if we don't change our own attitude first.
You don't need to make anyone else happy with who or what you are. You only need to be true to yourself, whatever size or demeanor yourself happens to be.
Just be.
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