And it's got me in it's grips, currently. Never mind all the flashing bulbs and warning signs, I'm going in anyway. Why do you suppose we are drawn to the things that are obviously so bad for us? You can give me the whole devil testing you theory, but I'm not so sure I buy the whole weakness of the flesh thing. Unless you count stubbornness. No matter how many times I get burned, I've still got to find out exactly HOW close I can get. One day I'll learn, I'm sure, but until then...
Cryptic, I know, but as I am working on a new project and delving into things that I have ignored for over a decade, I realize that I'm going to offend a few people, hurt a few people, and possibly end a few friendships, although its none of my intention to do any of the sort. Understand that I am examining events in my past that have shaped who I have become today. I'm still working on that Brave, Bold, and Confident thing.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Concrete Jungle
I come from a family of procrastinators. My mother. My father. I'm noticing a tendency in my sister. I've noticed that same tendency in myself. Dammit.
The setting is Christmas Eve 2006, my parent's living room and we're opening presents. I am sitting in the 1970s era orange swivel rocker, so marred with age that you don't lean back too far without fear of ending up heels over head on the opposite side. I know that my sister is getting a bedroom suite from our parents-her graduation from the daybed into a full size bed at age 21. I know this because as the Interior Designer in the family, I was haggling pricing with a few of my vendors to make this happen. I also purchased the entire bed linen collection as my gift to her. So I know that her gift is pretty substantial, but I haven't the foggiest what I'll be unwrapping in just a few minutes. After all the presents are dolled out we begin to open. I've only got three gifts in front of me, two from my parents and one from my sister. I am accustomed to having upwards of ten gifts to open, each small thing wrapped separately, to prolong the occasion. Being from a small family, my parents always went overboard when it came to us girls, and they wanted us to have several gifts to open, rather than be done within 5 minutes. So this display in front of me piques my interest for it must be something substantial for the actual gift count to be so low. I open the first gift and it is an assortment of memorabilia from my college alma mater, from my sister. A few minutes later there is a fireproof/waterproof safe sitting before me--my own request after being with a friend 6 hours away from home when she learns that her home has burned down and while her husband made it out ok, everything inside is lost. And alas, the final gift. It's heavy. Something inside is sloshing around when I turn the gift over to tear apart the tape. Lift the cover off the box and find a bag of dirt. Well, not dirt really, Concrete Mix. And a note from my parents telling me that they are going to give me a patio for Christmas! WooHoo.
Yes, I know this gift sounds lame, but in the society of twentysomethings who are just OVER the whole bar scene, group potluck dinners and cookoffs has become our norm. In south Louisiana there is a period of about three weeks each spring and fall when the weather is simply delightful and there is nothing more pleasing than sitting outside on the patio. Up until now that has consisted of grass, so pardon me while I do my happy dance.
Ok, stop dancing. The WAIT. Prices go sky high and we just cannot get anyone in to do this job for anything less than an arm and a leg. So we wait. Formwork is done (although I was so hungover the day we did that part that I have blocked it from my memory). And we wait. I finally randomly meet up with a subcontractor I had worked with years ago. He now owns his own remodeling company and--guess what--can get my patio done for a fraction of the previously quoted price. So just a mere week from that first phone call and I am now walking on a two day old concrete slab in my backyard! Yay ME!! Next step is to plan the cook-off...
The setting is Christmas Eve 2006, my parent's living room and we're opening presents. I am sitting in the 1970s era orange swivel rocker, so marred with age that you don't lean back too far without fear of ending up heels over head on the opposite side. I know that my sister is getting a bedroom suite from our parents-her graduation from the daybed into a full size bed at age 21. I know this because as the Interior Designer in the family, I was haggling pricing with a few of my vendors to make this happen. I also purchased the entire bed linen collection as my gift to her. So I know that her gift is pretty substantial, but I haven't the foggiest what I'll be unwrapping in just a few minutes. After all the presents are dolled out we begin to open. I've only got three gifts in front of me, two from my parents and one from my sister. I am accustomed to having upwards of ten gifts to open, each small thing wrapped separately, to prolong the occasion. Being from a small family, my parents always went overboard when it came to us girls, and they wanted us to have several gifts to open, rather than be done within 5 minutes. So this display in front of me piques my interest for it must be something substantial for the actual gift count to be so low. I open the first gift and it is an assortment of memorabilia from my college alma mater, from my sister. A few minutes later there is a fireproof/waterproof safe sitting before me--my own request after being with a friend 6 hours away from home when she learns that her home has burned down and while her husband made it out ok, everything inside is lost. And alas, the final gift. It's heavy. Something inside is sloshing around when I turn the gift over to tear apart the tape. Lift the cover off the box and find a bag of dirt. Well, not dirt really, Concrete Mix. And a note from my parents telling me that they are going to give me a patio for Christmas! WooHoo.
Yes, I know this gift sounds lame, but in the society of twentysomethings who are just OVER the whole bar scene, group potluck dinners and cookoffs has become our norm. In south Louisiana there is a period of about three weeks each spring and fall when the weather is simply delightful and there is nothing more pleasing than sitting outside on the patio. Up until now that has consisted of grass, so pardon me while I do my happy dance.
Ok, stop dancing. The WAIT. Prices go sky high and we just cannot get anyone in to do this job for anything less than an arm and a leg. So we wait. Formwork is done (although I was so hungover the day we did that part that I have blocked it from my memory). And we wait. I finally randomly meet up with a subcontractor I had worked with years ago. He now owns his own remodeling company and--guess what--can get my patio done for a fraction of the previously quoted price. So just a mere week from that first phone call and I am now walking on a two day old concrete slab in my backyard! Yay ME!! Next step is to plan the cook-off...
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