Nine days of radio silence and I still want more.
It's been crazy in my world lately, and it's worn me out. Yesterday I tossed a new hire package into my "to be filed" bin without doing the actual offer letter, and today I freaked out because I couldn't find said package. I've spent the evening blowing raspberries on Riley's still-bare belly to make myself feel better.
Last weekend was the Vegas Bachelorette Extravaganza, and I'm still recovering in a number of ways. Apparently, I am too old to be one of "those girls", the ones walking down the Strip in a kick ass pink cowboy hat while alternately drinking vodka from a giant red cup (hooray for no open container laws!) and yelling "Woo!!" because the night after I did that, I suffered from my first honest to goodness, I-can't-move-without-puking hangover. I suppose that may have had more to do with the fact that I drank 3/4 of a bottle of Ketel One in the space of 3 hours than it does with my age. But that part, it was everything a bachelorette party should be...loud and fun and with lots of goofy drunk pictures and sides that hurt from laughter the next morning. Saturday found us lazing around and recovering, and that was good too. The whole point of last weekend for me was to spend time bonding (and re-bonding) with the women I consider my touchstones. And that? Was accomplished.
There were a lot of good memories made last weekend.
But there were some kind of crappy ones too. There was drama, which I both expected and dreaded because of the way things have gone over the past few months. I hoped it would just go away, in my own sparkly happy optimistic way, and I showed up on Friday night hyped up on caffeine, laughing at stupid jokes and ready to have a good time. But it wasn't enough to erase everything that had been bothering me, and despite following my mother's admonitions when I called her that night (Her advice? "Drink the vodka. You'll feel better." My mom, she is hee-larious.), everything blew up in my face.
The hard part is that it was the kind of drama that causes a person to step back and look at what happened and think really hard about what comes next. Things shifted and they broke a little and they got fixed a little but nothing is really the same. There's going to be a lot of tiptoeing arond the wreckage for awhile, unfortunately. I still have no idea how everything is going to shake out, and it's made writing this entry very, very hard because I know that people who were part of the story are reading it. But I'm not going to sugarcoat it and ignore the fact that last weekend sucked as often as it rocked.
I'm a person who honestly and truly values my friends, and because I do, I tend to forgive an awful lot. Sometimes I let people get away with too much, and sometimes I think that they know me better than they actually do. Sometimes I bite my tongue when I shouldn't, and sometimes I expect too much from someone.
I said a lot this weekend, and for once in my life I do not regret anything that I said. I spoke my mind, and I probably hurt someone's feelings with some hard truths, but I'm hoping with all my being that those truths were really and truly listened to, because something needs to change. Things need to change because I am tired of feeling sad while I watch a friend stagnate and stay miserable because they refused to acknowledge that sometimes, the only thing that can help them is a change in the way they deal with life, and people, and their relationships. So I said my piece and it's out there and people will do with it what they will.
To sum up:
Vegas Bachelorette Extravaganza-Part awesome, part crappy, all memorable.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In other news, Hepatitis A shots are FUCKING EXPENSIVE, but how much would it suck to come back from a honeymoon with hepatitis? It would suck a lot, I'm sure.
So yeah, we went to the travel clinic today and walked out with three shots (Kevin had to get a tetanus shot too, ha ha!) and prescriptions for anti-malarial pills (because OF COURSE the pennisula we are staying on is a malaria zone) and Cipro (to be taken if hit by the dreaded traveler's diarrhea). I have to say, this little visit to the travel clinic was not the most romantic part of the wedding planning so far.
While we were at the travel clinic we decided that next week we would go donate blood since we will have to wait a year after we return from the romantic malaria zone to donate again, and Weetabix's entries lately reminded me that it's time to get my ass down there because I'm almost universal with my O+ blood. I'm sure that spending time together with needles and tubing sticking out of us will be WAY more romantic than discussions about traveler's diarrhea.
And just to round things out, we have SUPER SEXY PLANS to hang out at urgent care tomorrow night and insist that they fix my damn foot. Because I am admitting defeat. It's been two weeks and the damn thing still hurts all the damn time and today I poked it and almost cried. I'll be insisting on no permanent casts though, because A) I have to wear heels at the wedding or I will trip over the dress and B) I cannot hike in jungles and see monkeys if I have a leg wrapped in fiberglass. Besides, it's a tolerable pain, so I can fudge it with a stupid air cast or something.
I also have a super sexy cold sore right now. LIFE IS FANTASTIC.
(Seriously, it is. When I'm not stressed out to tears, I am deliriously happy. My moods would make a great roller coaster.)
It's been crazy in my world lately, and it's worn me out. Yesterday I tossed a new hire package into my "to be filed" bin without doing the actual offer letter, and today I freaked out because I couldn't find said package. I've spent the evening blowing raspberries on Riley's still-bare belly to make myself feel better.
Last weekend was the Vegas Bachelorette Extravaganza, and I'm still recovering in a number of ways. Apparently, I am too old to be one of "those girls", the ones walking down the Strip in a kick ass pink cowboy hat while alternately drinking vodka from a giant red cup (hooray for no open container laws!) and yelling "Woo!!" because the night after I did that, I suffered from my first honest to goodness, I-can't-move-without-puking hangover. I suppose that may have had more to do with the fact that I drank 3/4 of a bottle of Ketel One in the space of 3 hours than it does with my age. But that part, it was everything a bachelorette party should be...loud and fun and with lots of goofy drunk pictures and sides that hurt from laughter the next morning. Saturday found us lazing around and recovering, and that was good too. The whole point of last weekend for me was to spend time bonding (and re-bonding) with the women I consider my touchstones. And that? Was accomplished.
There were a lot of good memories made last weekend.
But there were some kind of crappy ones too. There was drama, which I both expected and dreaded because of the way things have gone over the past few months. I hoped it would just go away, in my own sparkly happy optimistic way, and I showed up on Friday night hyped up on caffeine, laughing at stupid jokes and ready to have a good time. But it wasn't enough to erase everything that had been bothering me, and despite following my mother's admonitions when I called her that night (Her advice? "Drink the vodka. You'll feel better." My mom, she is hee-larious.), everything blew up in my face.
The hard part is that it was the kind of drama that causes a person to step back and look at what happened and think really hard about what comes next. Things shifted and they broke a little and they got fixed a little but nothing is really the same. There's going to be a lot of tiptoeing arond the wreckage for awhile, unfortunately. I still have no idea how everything is going to shake out, and it's made writing this entry very, very hard because I know that people who were part of the story are reading it. But I'm not going to sugarcoat it and ignore the fact that last weekend sucked as often as it rocked.
I'm a person who honestly and truly values my friends, and because I do, I tend to forgive an awful lot. Sometimes I let people get away with too much, and sometimes I think that they know me better than they actually do. Sometimes I bite my tongue when I shouldn't, and sometimes I expect too much from someone.
I said a lot this weekend, and for once in my life I do not regret anything that I said. I spoke my mind, and I probably hurt someone's feelings with some hard truths, but I'm hoping with all my being that those truths were really and truly listened to, because something needs to change. Things need to change because I am tired of feeling sad while I watch a friend stagnate and stay miserable because they refused to acknowledge that sometimes, the only thing that can help them is a change in the way they deal with life, and people, and their relationships. So I said my piece and it's out there and people will do with it what they will.
To sum up:
Vegas Bachelorette Extravaganza-Part awesome, part crappy, all memorable.
In other news, Hepatitis A shots are FUCKING EXPENSIVE, but how much would it suck to come back from a honeymoon with hepatitis? It would suck a lot, I'm sure.
So yeah, we went to the travel clinic today and walked out with three shots (Kevin had to get a tetanus shot too, ha ha!) and prescriptions for anti-malarial pills (because OF COURSE the pennisula we are staying on is a malaria zone) and Cipro (to be taken if hit by the dreaded traveler's diarrhea). I have to say, this little visit to the travel clinic was not the most romantic part of the wedding planning so far.
While we were at the travel clinic we decided that next week we would go donate blood since we will have to wait a year after we return from the romantic malaria zone to donate again, and Weetabix's entries lately reminded me that it's time to get my ass down there because I'm almost universal with my O+ blood. I'm sure that spending time together with needles and tubing sticking out of us will be WAY more romantic than discussions about traveler's diarrhea.
And just to round things out, we have SUPER SEXY PLANS to hang out at urgent care tomorrow night and insist that they fix my damn foot. Because I am admitting defeat. It's been two weeks and the damn thing still hurts all the damn time and today I poked it and almost cried. I'll be insisting on no permanent casts though, because A) I have to wear heels at the wedding or I will trip over the dress and B) I cannot hike in jungles and see monkeys if I have a leg wrapped in fiberglass. Besides, it's a tolerable pain, so I can fudge it with a stupid air cast or something.
I also have a super sexy cold sore right now. LIFE IS FANTASTIC.
(Seriously, it is. When I'm not stressed out to tears, I am deliriously happy. My moods would make a great roller coaster.)
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