Being Me

It is Friday night, exactly 8:24pm (according to my computer )and I find myself (again) in the situation of a quiet house. So seldom does this happen that it requires documentation in the form of a blog.
The kids are in bed. Derrick is gone for too many days to think about comfortably. I am listening to Sarah McLachlan. The house is SPOTLESS... the reason being that I feel out of control when Derrick has to work elsewhere so I gain back my sense of control by being super-vigilant about cleaning, mopping, sorting, arranging, organising, dusting, vacuuming, washing every inch of my house. Even the kids rooms got a good going-through today by both myself AND the child-owner of the said room (I'm sure they will need some therapy in their 30's to understand the OCD I have created in them). Even this blog is snatching a little bit of control out of the air. So far I have googled at least four of the words I have chosen to use, and according to google I was CORRECT in my spelling. I am cool and in control of my word spelling AND usage (okay, the word "usage" fouled me up because I REALLY wanted to spell it ussage...)

ANYWAYS, it is Friday night and part of me is reveling in the fact that it is so early in the evening and for at least the next three or four hours I OWN this time. I have to say that again. I OWN the next three or four hours. Even though I need to stay at home, I can choose to either play on the internet as long as I would like too, OR read (I have a really good book I am reading right now), OR I can take a bath, OR I can call someone, OR I can watch television, OR I can do nothing but sit on the back porch and breath the forest-fire smoke and look at the bright pink smoke-created sunset. All interruption free.

The point is I have the choice and there is no one here to look disappovingly at me for being a total bum. How awesome is that. Not that I don't cherish the time with my family but sometimes it feels so GOOOOD to just be Rachel.

My Addiction

My Addiction




I woke up thinking of you today



My head foggy, my body tired



You were the missing link



Between now and my future



I am yearning to be intoxicated



By the strength of your dark charms



Your taste sends me reeling



Your erotic aroma



Carries me home



I can not begin another day without you



I have succumbed.

Declined

I reluctantly admit to being a "goody-two-shoes" sort of gal most of the time. I am okay with that. In fact, I have chose to be that. But every once in awhile even the goodiest of two shoes feels the need to be a little daring.

My only claim to "being daring" comes in the form of a little ring in the top of my right ear. I admit, it isn't much. BUT, it does allow me to go to my favorite tattoo place (Altered Skin) from time to time to have the ring changed out (they are nearly impossible to do by yourself).

Tuesday on a whim I decided it was time to change the earring. I was by myself and feeling a little bit daring. I admit, going into that place totally intimidates me in the most delicious of ways. All of the guys who work there are super tough looking, burly, tattooed, peirced and actually very nice. The peircing guy (can you believe I still do not know his name? how rude of me...) always tries to persuade me into getting a different ring than I really want. This last time I chose one with a little blue sparkliness on it. It was obviously not my peircer's favorite ring there. He told me I should just go to Claires in the mall and find one like it. How insulting. Then he pointed out the fine array of titanium rings they were offering, stating that they were much better quality and I imagine he thought they were just way more cool looking. But I love sparkly things. After insisting on the blue sparkly earring we went into his "office" where he kindly inserted it in my ear for me. I am such a nerd. I get nervous every time, looking around at all of the crazy pictures on the walls and making awkward conversation with Mr. Burly Tatoo Peircing Man whose name I don't know. I also am sniffing the air nonchalantly. It smells so good in there, like soap and metalic cleanliness, and the faint scent of cigarrettes being smoked outside.

When it was done I silently congratulated myself on facing my nervousness. Then I told myself that I was way cool. I mean look at me. I'm in a tattoo parlor with burly type men, making pleasant small talk. I rock. Then it was time to pay. I had a check book... turns out they don't take checks. I had a debit card BUT... it was the last day of the month.... and sweating bullets I tenatively handed the card to Mr. Peircer with a hope and a prayer that money had been transfered into the right account so it might work BUT... it didn't. Declined. Declined in the tattoo parlor. In front of Mr. Peirce... I smiled weakly and felt myself get a little clammy. My moment of coolness was suddenly obliterated. I offered a Discover card BUT turns out they don't take Discover either! I was reduced to begging for mercy, offering to leave my ID while I went to find an ATM to get the required money. Mr. Peirce smiled kindly and said,"No need to leave anything. Go find an ATM and come back, I trust you".

You know why he trusts me? Because I am so obviously not a badass. I am goodytwoshoes with a little sparkly earring. And I'm okay with that. But the next time I go to have my earring changed I am bringing cash.