(no subject)
I try not to think too much about anything these days. Does that make me a bad person or just a typical American?
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I have also developed an annoying I-swore-I'd-never-be-that-girl tendency to make "subtle" hints (read: hints that land like bricks falling out of the sky) to Mr. Buckeye about, you guessed it, marriage. I am either building myself up for great disappointment or pressuring him into early engagement. Both scenarios suck. I must stop. But he asks me what I want for my birthday, and I answer, "A proposal by the ocean." (We'll be in Florida.) Or he leaves on a birthday present "fact-finding" trip three weeks before my birthday, which of course makes me imagine he has his nose pressed to the glass case in some uppity jewelry store.
I need to remember:
a) I don't want to get married until he is ready.
b) It'll be a better proposal if it's not a surprise or my suggestion.
c) What the hell rush am I in anyway?
d) I am an annoying hose beast.
*******
But I will say this: I am ready to get married. I love Mr. Buckeye. He's my best friend. My life doesn't work without him. He is a part of my family, and I'm a part of his. I want to have his children (in, say, eight years). I learned a lot about him this winter, and about myself, and I know we'll have other trying times in our lives, but I am confident that we'd make it through again. I'm just ready. I can't wait to be his wife.
Neither, appparently, can a local talk radio host, who announced last Saturday to all of Detroit that we're engaged. It's a long story. We know each other through work, although we've never actually had a one-on-one conversation. He's actually a co-worker of Mr. Buckeye. But I have no clue how he got the idea that we're engaged, so don't ask.
*******
I had a deep thought last week that I must share. I've skied twice in my life, thereby qualifying me as an expert. In those two ski trips, never once did I see a single parka-clad ski bunny wearing a ski mask. Nobody wears those things skiing. Why? Because they don't want to look like scary bank robbers. BECAUSE THAT'S THE ONLY TIME ANYONE REALLY WEARS A DAMN SKI MASK.
Therefore, someone should outlaw ski masks. But leave the panty hose alone. My pasty ass legs need them come November.
*******
I have also developed an annoying I-swore-I'd-never-be-that-girl tendency to make "subtle" hints (read: hints that land like bricks falling out of the sky) to Mr. Buckeye about, you guessed it, marriage. I am either building myself up for great disappointment or pressuring him into early engagement. Both scenarios suck. I must stop. But he asks me what I want for my birthday, and I answer, "A proposal by the ocean." (We'll be in Florida.) Or he leaves on a birthday present "fact-finding" trip three weeks before my birthday, which of course makes me imagine he has his nose pressed to the glass case in some uppity jewelry store.
I need to remember:
a) I don't want to get married until he is ready.
b) It'll be a better proposal if it's not a surprise or my suggestion.
c) What the hell rush am I in anyway?
d) I am an annoying hose beast.
*******
But I will say this: I am ready to get married. I love Mr. Buckeye. He's my best friend. My life doesn't work without him. He is a part of my family, and I'm a part of his. I want to have his children (in, say, eight years). I learned a lot about him this winter, and about myself, and I know we'll have other trying times in our lives, but I am confident that we'd make it through again. I'm just ready. I can't wait to be his wife.
Neither, appparently, can a local talk radio host, who announced last Saturday to all of Detroit that we're engaged. It's a long story. We know each other through work, although we've never actually had a one-on-one conversation. He's actually a co-worker of Mr. Buckeye. But I have no clue how he got the idea that we're engaged, so don't ask.
*******
I had a deep thought last week that I must share. I've skied twice in my life, thereby qualifying me as an expert. In those two ski trips, never once did I see a single parka-clad ski bunny wearing a ski mask. Nobody wears those things skiing. Why? Because they don't want to look like scary bank robbers. BECAUSE THAT'S THE ONLY TIME ANYONE REALLY WEARS A DAMN SKI MASK.
Therefore, someone should outlaw ski masks. But leave the panty hose alone. My pasty ass legs need them come November.