Hurry Up and Wait (*updated!*)

Isn't it funny that once you finally decide to do something and you take that first step, you immediately have to wait?
image: SkyWideDesign
Yesterday, I officially completed and sent in an application to adopt a Golden Retriever! But, now, we wait. The next step is for them to contact us to make an appointment for a phone interview. Assuming I don't put my foot (or is it paw?) in my mouth, they will then come out for a home visit. I think I have managed to convince Sweetie that it would not be a good idea for him to wear a wife-beater, throw beer cans around and deck the kitties in stud collars during said visit.

If we pass the home inspection, then, and only then, are we deemed worthy to be able to meet an actual dog. All waggy tailed, and drooling.

As I've mentioned before, one of the main reasons we chose this particular group was because they do such a thorough job researching potential adopters and matching dog/human temperments. But, that requires time. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. My canine biological clock has begun to tick people! Now that I have decided to get one, I want it NOW!

I am not without other distractions, however. I'm still sorting through the pictures from Paris, the quilt won't machine quilt itself (and she's due in June!), I need to do the scrapbook of the quiltmaking process, and I'm fishing around for a new cross-stitch project since, frankly, I've grown bored with my current one. There are only so many leaf veins one can do before it's time to take a break!

But still, sometimes it's more fun to complain about the wait, n'est pas?

*Update* I got an email today (5/26) from a volunteer with the rescue organization to set up a phone interview for some time this week! I usually do really well over the phone - I spend about half of my work hours on the phone talking to people - so I think I'll do really well. But, how do you prepare for a phone interview about adopting a dog?!

Say What?

Since Sweetie and I met on the Internet, language has always been important. We are constantly making each other laugh in part because we both have such twisted senses of humor. Here are some examples.

Friday Afternoon at Lunch

We tried out a new burger joint near Maison d'X that has been open for some while but we hadn't tried. From the street, it appears to be a large warehouse, but in the back is a huge porch and further out is a field for the kiddies to run around. Friday afternoon there were quite a few people and quite a few kids playing kickball, etc.

I watched the kids for a while and turned to Sweetie with this observation: "It's like a dog park for kids! They are off the leash and just get to run around until they get tired!"

Saturday afternoon

I finally spent my gift card from Nordstrom's on stuff for Paris. I needed a good pair of shoes for walking but not my natty tennis shoes. I'm going for the more Euro look so that I don't look like a complete American McDonald's-eating-Bud-swilling tourist. I found some great Pumas that I managed to get for 10% off since they were the display models and had some marks on them.

I show them to the man and he says, "The look very froggy." As in French. I guess I accomplished what I had set out to do.

Who knows what either of will say next. It's not even Sunday yet.

The Password of Power

Mr. X has an addiction. Well, I should re-phrase that. He used to have an addiction, now he is just a casual user. Part of the reason he is a casual user is because I am his supplier now. He can't partake unless I allow him to. In a transaction that takes less than 30 seconds, he can get a fix.
image: Jean-François Chénier
Lest you should call me a pusher, I should point out that I only enable him when he requests it. So, maybe I'm just an enabler. My method? Password protection. Yes ladies and gents, I have the password to the parental controls on his World of Warcraft account. He can't play unless I say so.

His brother was his first pusher. He gave him the software for Christmas in 2004. Shortly thereafter, my man was hooked. He played pretty much when he got home from work until bedtime and on the weekends. By early 2007, he was averaging 25 hours a week on top of work. I was beginning to seriously resent the game and the fact that he was constantly playing. When we went on vacation in 2007, where there would be no internet access, he decided that this was the right time to give it up. He went cold turkey and it was so nice to have him back again.

He talked about getting back into it and I would remind him that he had quit for a reason. Eventually, though, he - with my blessing - got back into the game. But, this time we made a compromise. He would play 11 hours per week but I got the parental control password. It is locked until I get in there and change it. And, if he doesn't get out on time, it kicks him out.

So far, it's been a good system. He gets to play, I get some me-time, but we also get to spend lots of time together. And, I think he is happier being able to play again because now he uses his time much more wisely and gets more out of the time that he does spend.

And, I'm happy that I have the password. It is also one that he would never, ever guess (not that he's tried ... yet).

Left to My Own Devices

Sweetie's job entails a certain amount of travel, although it's been relatively quiet on that front for the past few months. Today, though, he left today for a three-day trip and once again, I am a travel widow. But, I'll share a secret between you, me and the Internet: I like having the house to myself. I can clean and things don't get moved around unless I move them. I can hog the sheets and there is peace in the house after 5pm, the time he would normally get home. I do miss him when he's gone, but I also enjoy the solitude.

His leaving for a trip, however, reminded me of a funny story about one time when he came home from a 5-day trip (Monday through Friday). It was Friday night, in the winter, cold and he didn't get home until about 7:30pm. He was super tired and literally dragging himself home.

"Why yes, Mr. Bean, you can have your way with me."
At the precise moment he came home, I was watching a movie with one of my favorite actors, Sean Bean. Now, I am a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to the delectable Mr. Bean. In fact, I have told Sweetie on many occasions that if given the chance, I would gladly marry said Mr. Bean - despite the fact that he's almost 50, already had three ex-wives and I'm married. Unfortunately, I was beaten to the altar earlier this year by a little hussy who is two years younger than I am. But, a girl can dream.

So, the movie really wasn't that good - but I got it because it was one of the few in which he wasn't cast as the total bad guy and it looked like innocent eye candy. Although, it was made back in the 90's, during what I like to call his Emaciated Period. He has since filled out nicely. Anywho, he was playing a guy who taught photography to adults and (surprise, surprise) got into an adulterous affair with one of his students. He took her on a trip to Paris where they of course did what most people do on adulterous trips to Paris. And, concindentally, what Sweetie and I plan on doing on our non-adulterous trip to Paris.

But wouldn't you know it, Sweetie walked through the door just as the delectable Mr. Bean's very naked behind was on the screen. No, it was not during The Moment - our adulterer was sleeping on his stomach and she (the student) was taking pictures of him as he slept - but it was very obvious that it was a man's behind and soon became clear which man. Without thinking (obviously), I paused the DVD so that I wouldn't lose my place and wouldn't you know, it paused right on the gorgeous behind of Mr. Bean. This is the image that greeted Sweetie as he walked through the door. What a wife I am.

Sweetie thought it was hysterical, no doubt in part because of the look of asbolute horror on my face that the one time I freezed the DVD, it would be on this particular image. He has since told this story to many of our friends, thus not only embarrasing me to high heaven but also revealing my inner most secret desire to see said behind in person.

Luckily this time, there are no Sean Bean movies in the house and he'll get home around 5pm on Thursday when I'll still be pecking away at the old laptop. Why give him any more ammunition to embarrass me in front of our friends?

I should also add that I have no serious intention of marrying Sean Bean. I hear that he's got rather backwards ideas about women (and monogamy) and I love Sweetie much more than the chance of getting it on with a guy who did a relatively mediocre job as the gamekeeper in Lady Chatterly. But, we both get a kick out of discussing my infatuation, and he's always up for watching the next Sean Bean biopic that happens to grace the screen.

Eight Years Ago Today...

April 2, 2000, eight years ago (or 2,922 days - including two leap years - for those who are counting), was a beautiful Sunday. That morning, I got up and out of bed in my one-bedroom apartment. I put on my khaki pants and a light blue shirt. Rather than wear my contacts, I had on my tortoise-shell glasses.

I had some work to do at school - I was in my first year of grad school - and afterwards, I headed in my car downtown to meet a boy. I only knew this boy through the internet - we met two weeks earlier on Match.com. This was before it was de rigeur to post a picture, before you could "wink" at someone and before Dr. Phil invaded with his, bald pate, glaring white teeth and obviously fake tan. It was pretty darn simple back then. You sign up, answer some questions and then it starts spitting out the different members in your general area who remotely match your answers.

This boy was a 94% match to me, but his little narrative on his profile immediately struck me; I had to meet him. I emailed him that first time while I was procrastinating on a school assignment, and later learned that he almost didn't write back. Apparently, he had three bad dates in a row on Match.com and had pretty much given it up. But, the Internet Fairy must have been looking out for us because the email still was delivered. Of course, I knew nothing of this at the time. All I knew was that I was interested and I had stuck my toe in the water.

He did email me back and we embarked on an old-fashioned daily electronic letter-writing courtship. It was he who suggested meeting. Of course, I had been agonizing over whether to bring this up, but luckily, he saved me from having to make a decision. A date was set, physical descriptions were exchanged and promises to wear certain clothing were made.

When I got to the appointed place at the appointed time, I saw him before he saw me. Sure enough, he was wearing the Hawaiian shirt with steamships as he had promised. He was pacing and looking rather grumpy. I walked up to him and introduced myself and there was the smile. I won't say that it was love at first sight, but that smile was wonderful. We started walking to our brunch destination and didn't stop talking. We ended up having an all-day date and the rest, as they say, is history.

That boy is now my husband. My Sweetie. He is my lovely day, my sunshine and my rock. And I look forward to thousands more days together, come rain or shine, hell or high water (we've been through both), or whatever else life throws at us.

Eight years ago today I met the man who I would end up marrying and today, eight years later, I have my graduate degree, we have owned two houses together, we completely renovated one house, we moved to a new city where we knew all of 2 people, we adopted two kittens (who are now 5 year old whiny beasts), we've each had a surgery, and we've endured three years of infertility with two miscarriages, among other highlights.

We have also laughed more than is probably legal, fought very rarely (and fairly), and just been the best spouse to the other. And it all started eight years ago when I ventured into the unknown. I love you, Sweetie.