Late Night Check-In

I'm starting a new job tomorrow which, as usual, I won't be writing about. But it's going to be awesome! And I'm filled with a vibrating hum of anticipation! and jubilation! for the good things ahead! EXCLAMATION POINT!

! !

Okay, so maybe I'm also filled with a mixture of exhaustion, dehydrated banana chips and iced coffee... or at least the iced coffee I managed to suck down before I spilled it all over the nice white patchwork quilt Allen's cousins gave us for our wedding. The one that has my name misspelled on it. Damn it. I love that quilt. Excuse me while I go stick it in the washer.

...

Okay, I'm back, and I now have something called "Irish Breakfast Tea" which unsurprisingly came packaged in an emerald green packet. I wonder if the Irish ever get sick of being associated with green.

Wait. What the heck was I talking about before? Oh, yeah. I was talking about that new job I won't be talking about. And about being chock full of excitement and caffeine at half past midnight on a weeknight.

Have I mentioned yet that I'm going to be working the graveyard shift? Yes, ma'am. My days are going to be filled with the kind of insomniac frustration that comes from having neighbors who keep yappy dogs and loud, heavy-bassed stereo equipment only feet away from my bedroom window, and my nights are going to be filled with the kind of bleary-eyed caffeine dependency that only sleep deprivation can inspire. Hurray America!

I don't know why I said that. Probably because I'm sleepy, and I miss my nice warm bed and my nice warm hubby, and because I have to force myself to keep riding this crazy train until at least 5:00AM today if I want to have any hope of surviving my first day/night of work.

This is actually my second attempt to do this in the last few days. The first time, I made it until 4:00AM but it was a real challenge trying to stay awake that long. I realize now that attempting to maintain a sugar high on fruit juice, and watching Oscar-worthy films like 1999's "Mystery Men" are probably not the most effective methods for keeping a tired mind active. By the time Greg Kinnear's head melted, I was doing that sleepy nod I used to do in my high school Economics class. (Huh. Maybe that's why I have so much trouble balancing a checkbook.)

Anyway, tonight, I'm trying the keep-this-chick-doped-up-on-caffeine-and-do-laundry-while-I-blog-in-the-living-room method. So far so good. I really think this might work. By staying out of my bedroom, I'm not susceptible to the soothing sounds of Allen slumbering. Also, I'm not the asshole who's keeping my husband awake while I encourage my own insomnia. Instead, I'm the asshole who is keeping my cat awake, which is just fine considering all of the times his misbehaving butt has done the same to me. He deserves to get taken down a peg from time to time. Maybe it will teach him not to bite the hand that feeds him.

Then again, I don't think I'll hold my breath.

A New Year's Rambling

The year 2011 is now winding down to a close. As I sit here on my couch in my Tweety Bird pajamas, half listening to a Ron White comedy special for the troops, half listening for the gun shots which are sure to erupt in my neighborhood over the course of the next six hours or so, (True Story: somebody outside just popped one off as I was typing this sentence), and half listening (that was three halves for you Math majors) to Allen play whichever game on his iPhone produces loud masculine grunts and the sound of swords clashing, I suddenly feel compelled to share one last laugh with all of you. Even though it's New Year's Eve. And I'm 99% sure that none of you will be sober/interested enough to read this until tomorrow. Or next week. Whatever. Y'all sip your champagne and pop rocks shots, and I will ring in the new year how I see fit: With a gut full of hot tea (guess who's getting over the plague... *points to self*), a smelly dog at my feet, and some random comic waxing poetic about "homophobic rednecks at Nascar." Oh. And blogging. Hurray!

So. What should I blog about? What's that you say? You want me to do a countdown of something because there aren't already enough freaking countdowns of crap on TV and the internet at this time of year? (I'm seriously waiting for somebody to countdown the top 100 countdowns of the 50 best looking people of the past 10 years.)

THE TEN BEST THINGS I DID NOT DO THIS YEAR:
10.) Snooki
9.) Mistakenly share pictures of my lady junk with all of Twitter
8.) Incur the wrath of Al Sharpton/Jesse Jackson/the Honey Badger/Rush Limbaugh/Stewie from Family Guy/THE INTERNET
7.) Get vajazzled (Allen asks, "Is that still a thing?")
6.) Take up stamp collecting. Again.
5.) Kick a puppy
4.) Wear a meat dress
3.) Considered that maybe Charlie Sheen has a point
2.) Commit Genocide
1.) Watch anything involving a "Real Housewife", a Kardashian, a super model, a bachelor/bachelorette, or the Jersey Shore

This year has been... whatever. It's had ups, and it's had downs. For some, it has been amazing and life-changing. For others, it has been absolutely terrible. And for people like me, it has been a little bit of both. Whatever 2011 has been for you, I hope 2012 brings you many good times, lots of smiles, and a shit ton of laughter. I want to thank all of you for reading my stuff and for your wonderful comments this past year. I realize that I don't blog as often as some of the more popular bloggers do, but I really do love writing. It's a good feeling knowing that when time allows me to post something, I have an audience that actually enjoys reading it, so thank you. I won't resolve to post more often next year, (because I'm a realist), but I really hope that I do get to write and share more with all of you.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!
~Rachael~

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: What compels somebody to engrave a crapper?

Marriage: This Is How We Do It

(You just sang the title in your head, didn't you? Bahahahahaha!)

Recently, a good friend of mine messaged me on Facebook that she was thinking about getting married. (Exciting!) Even though she only asked me two little questions, I, like the long-winded person that I am, started writing her a novel-sized response. Rather than send her something she would have to schedule herself some time to read, (or God forbid, edit my monologue down to a paragraph or two), I've decided to just make a blog post about it.

*DISCLAIMER: The views and opinions expressed in this post are that of Rachael. They are completely and absolutely endorsed by Damn It Woman..., (because this is her blog and it would be really effing stupid if she didn't endorse her own opinions). If you disagree with any portion of this post, well... good for you. Maybe you should publish your opinions on your own blog. Or don't. Whatever tickles your pickle, sugar lumps.

Question #1: What's it like to be married?

When it's to the right person, it feels like the best thing in the world.When it's to the wrong person, it's like getting kicked in the proverbial junk every single day until you two pathetic souls finally decide to call it quits. Although I thankfully have never been a participating member of a bad marriage, I was/am a product of one. And let me tell you... it sucks. Hard.

Allen and I lived together for a couple of years before we got hitched, (which I completely recommend to anybody whose moral/religious beliefs do not conflict with such depravity). In many ways the wedding itself was just something to make official what both of us had already figured out: For me, this is it. There is no one on this earth who could ever make me happier, and I genuinely look forward to growing old, senile, incontinent, and toothless with this person.

Graphic found at: www.quickmeme.com

You may think I'm kidding about the incontinence, but, in my opinion, if you can't bear the thought of possibly having to spend your last few years wiping the love of your life's keester, you probably shouldn't be committing to them for better or worse. Shit happens, and someday you may be the one cleaning it up.

Yes, there are parts of marriage that some might argue can feel a bit burdensome. You're no longer approaching life as just an individual, but as a part of a team. A family. There's this whole other person to factor in, so wanting to go out and blow a couple hundred dollars on yourself on a whim is no longer an option. You now have to consider how spending that much money can affect this other person and the life you're building together. Will it make it harder to buy groceries or pay your bills that week? Sure, Top Ramen used to be an acceptable dietary supplement when compensating for a recent spending spree, but maybe that's not what your beloved wants to dine on that week. Maybe they want Hamburger Helper or Hot Pockets or Taco Bell burritos, and now you and your new Ugg boots are standing in the way of their preferred form of dysentery. And what about that necessary extra expense coming up, (college tuition/books/auto maintenance/replacing much needed torn or worn out clothing), that could be hampered by a splurge like that? (Guilt trip much?)

Your answer to an invite to spend some time out with friends is now a "maybe" until you've checked with this other person - not because you need permission, (fuck that kind of archaic battered woman mentality; they are your spouse, not your parent), but because:

1. they may already have something planned for the two of you on that day,

AND

2. again, this could potentially create a new expense, which your budget that week/month may not allow for.


Does this mean never ever doing those things again? Nope, not at all. I indulge in the occasional Lane Bryant sale when it doesn't seem like it will break us, and try to get out with my friends whenever possible. Someday, I'd really like to take a vacation with just my girlfriends. (Of course, this will be after we win the lottery, and buy me a car that doesn't require a major repair every other month.)

I'm so glad they stopped using this kind of marketing.
Graphic found at: http://arenacreative.com/blog

Likewise, Allen likes to occasionally spend time whacking balls on a golf course/driving range when money, time, and his elbow and shoulder injuries allow for it. Every year, he and his friend, Andy, like to make a goal of attending more baseball games over the summer than they did the previous year. I even gave him my blessing a few months back to take a motorcycle training course with this same friend who turned 30 this year. (I was hoping Allen would decide that he hated it. Sadly, he did not. He now desires a death cycle of his very own, much to my dismay. If ever he does get one, I fully intend to call him "Cheesy Rider" until the end of time.)


At the same time though, marriage can feel pretty damn liberating. There's less bullshit! And the intimidation factor? Gone. You're no longer pretending to like things you don't, or double guessing everything you say and do in an effort to impress somebody. This person knows the best and worst parts of you and still thinks you're the poo. They've seen you with stubble on your legs, or white armpit crumbles hanging out in your underarms, (despite your best efforts to hide such things), and still makes you believe it when they tell you that you're beautiful/sexy/way cuter than your girlfriends. They've witnessed your (accidental) farts and still don't fear walking behind you down a deserted aisle in a grocery store... much. They've seen you doing the ugly I-can't-tell-if-that's-tears-mucous-or-what-coming-out-of-your-face kind of cry, and genuinely want to be the one that makes you feel better.

Those pregnancy scares? Not quite as scary anymore.

You no longer fear this person is going to dump you and leave you with a future of nothing but empty Ben and Jerry's cartons and Grey's Anatomy reruns. You no longer worry about dying a virgin. (Okay, maybe that was just my fear, and marriage didn't really have anything to do with that one.)

My point is: I love being married... to Allen. I really can't say that I would enjoy being married to anybody else because honestly, the thought has never entered my mind. Before falling in love with Allen, I didn't want to get married. At all. EVER. I've witnessed plenty of bad marriages that truly scarred me for life. Fighting, fighting, fighting... Why the hell would anybody want anything to do with that kind of mess? No, thank you.

So, what made me have a change of heart? Well, it's hard not to feel excited about the idea of spending the next 60-80 years with your best friend. And I really mean that, by the way, (I can feel all of you skeptics judging me). Allen isn't my best friend because he's my husband; he's my husband because he's my best friend. Even now, (8 years together, 5 years of marriage), I look forward to seeing him when I get off work. I love hearing about his day, and it's great to be able to tell him about mine. When something awesome or terrible happens, he's the first person I want to talk to about it. We bounce ideas off of each other. We inquire what the other one thinks of [insert random topic]. We genuinely take interest in each other's opinion, and respect the right to just plain disagree. But, we also give each other space. We can be silent together and not feel the need to fill the void with constant chatter. We take time for ourselves, as well as time for each other. That's OUR marriage. Replace one of us with another person, and who knows how the equation would work out? We are by no means perfect people, but we're perfect for each other. And that's really what anybody should look for in a spouse or partner.

No, you don't need to be us. You need to be you with the person that makes you feel the most like the best parts of yourself. Trying to make a marriage or relationship work with a person that repeatedly makes you doubt or feel bad about yourself is like trying to walk in a pair of shoes that are a half size too small. Could you do it? In theory. But something is going to give eventually, and you're just going to end up feeling like hell for ever bothering to try.

Contrary to what fairy tales have taught us, marriage doesn't fix a damn thing. If you are constantly struggling to make a relationship work without the marriage vows, it's only going to get worse once the rings are on the fingers. So, if you're going to commit to forever, make sure it's to somebody that's worth it.

Question #2: Why did you decide to change your last name to your husbands's last name?

*NOTE: For the purposes of this blog, I'll be using pseudonyms. Don't worry. If your name happens to be Rachael, there will be NO chance of anybody confusing you for me. You'll see why in a second.

Despite being born and raised in an age of feminism, I did indeed take my husband's last name. Am I a traditionalist? Not exactly. The reason I decided to change my last name was because it was finally going to mean something. You see, I'm not actually even related to the person whom my maiden name originated from...

Once upon a time, in a decade long ago, (the 70's), a lady by the name of Huh, (my mom), married a man by the name of Meh, (NOT my dad). She took his last name, as well as gave it to their daughter, (my big sister).

One day, the marriage to Mr. Meh ended, (for reasons that aren't important to this story). Sometime after, the now Ms. Meh met a man by the name of Okay, and they began dating off and on for several years. At some point, Ms. Meh and Mr. Okay were seeing each other "casually", (can you say, "cas-u-all-ee", children?), and so, within the same time frame, Ms. Meh also started seeing a Mr. Blech.

During this period, Mom developed a thing for facial hair.

Sometime after that, (approximately nine months, give or take...), Ms. Meh and Sister Meh welcomed a new baby girl (Me!) into their little family. Although she easily could have chosen between Okay or Blech for her new baby's last name, to keep things simple, Ms. Meh decided to name the baby Rachael Meh so that everybody's name would match.


Then, Ms. Meh decided she wanted to be Ms. Huh again. (Can you say, "bull-shit", kids?)


A few years passed, and Ms. Huh and Mr. Okay decided to get married. This lasted about a minute, BUT it was long enough for Ms. Huh to decide that she wanted to have the name Okay for the rest of her life.

During the course of this story, Mom started going through "the change", as did her hair.

Also, I discovered hair dye.

To summarize: In this family, there was now a Ms. Okay, a Sister Meh, and a Rachael Meh, (who, although confused, was nevertheless grateful that she wasn't born Rachael Blech).


Years passed, and when Rachael Meh was a grownup, it was finally decided that she and Mr. Okay should get a paternity test done. The results?

By the way, Mr. Povich had nothing to do with the reveal.

A few years before this happened, Rachael Meh met and fell in love with a Captain Awesome!. 


(*NOTE: He really isn't a Captain, but when I mentioned the pseudonym I chose for him, he laughed and suggested I make him "Captain Awesome", like the character on 'Chuck.' *wiggles nose* Wish granted!)

Allen is going to hate these graphics. He's such a font snob.

Captain Awesome! was indeed, awesome. So awesome, in fact, that Rachael Meh decided to marry him so that one day they could make Awesome! babies. This still hasn't happened, but maybe it will someday. Or maybe not. Regardless, the Awesomes now live happily with their two awesomely dumb dogs, homicidal cat, and Mr. Okay. 


This isn't really a happy ending, but then, those sort of things belong in Disney movies, so...


TO BE CONTINUED... 
(for the next handful of decades until I develop Alzheimer's, he reads me this confusing story every day, and then we both die in our sleep while cuddling on a gurney, just like in The Notebook).