That wiggled and jiggled and tickled inside her

Yesterday morning I was getting out of the shower, trying to put my hair up in one of those turban things. But I guess while I was busy singing the "Hallelujah Chorus" and washing my hair, a HUGE spider had crawled on my turban. I'd had the turban in my teeth while I was wringing out my hair, and nearly swallowed the spider! Ew! It was shocking. But I killed it instead. Poor little guy. I normally like to set little creatures free (rodents are an exception-- I HATE THEM), but this little fella didn't make it.
Well, the whole thing set my day off to a weird start. Church was relatively normal, except my poor little Hatchling and I held hands during Sunday School, thus coming under immense scrutiny. Most folks know we're just friends, but there are a few choice individuals who think the whole thing is quite scandalous. Oh well. He leaves in two weeks, and that's the end of that. He's been a good fake boyfriend to me, and I wish him well. He's even picked out his (real) successor.
The afternoon went all right-- I was feeling quite domestic, making birthday cakes for my new friend Katie. All went well until I tried to transport the awful things and, to make a long story short, I had to clean a heck of a lot of cake off of my van. Ahh. But the party was still smashing with my friend Jeff smelling like pine from an air freshener I bought him in Savannah (it's a card that says, "Thank your lucky stars this is hanging here because this car reeks") and an impromptu poetry reading, with Jeffy winning the prize for most dramatic readings. And then I remembered that spiders are good luck in Poland, so I figured that luck is a little bit more about perception than circumstances.

The positive effects of gossip

OK. Gossip=bad. Right? Not necessarily.
Talking smack=bad. Yes.
A chat with one of my friends the other night when I was able to tell her that I heard a boy she likes is going to ask her out=exciting for her.
The same friend telling me the boy I'm interested in looks at me like he's in love=new hope and a smile plastered on my face that just won't leave (even though I'm sure it's an exaggeration).
Some rules need exceptions.

Sabotage

Doing it again... being stupid. Brain, don't fail me now! I seem to have this problem of taking some good things in my life and freaking out about them and then ruining things. Agghh! Don't. Ruin. It.
My fake bf and I are about to "break up." I told Jacob (who I love, truly) that we needed to end things because he doesn't know who Bartles and James are (how can I use their "We thank you for your support" catchphrase with this kid?) and he didn't watch "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" as a child. Um, hello! I'm naming my first daughter Elaine Fairchild! (Incidentally, my friend Brett and his wife Amy just had a baby and they named her Clementine... cute, huh?) Anyway, we knew this wouldn't last, but I'm sorry to see it end-- just like his veganism. The boy broke down and had pizza the other night and hasn't been the same since.
Of course, the demise of the Rachel-Jacob love fest is not what has me a little down today. I'm actually a little more concerned about my overall behavior. See, here's my pattern. I like a dude until he likes me. Then I hate him. Fear of committment, anyone? Except I'm trying very hard to not be stupid in the case of one of my latest dudes. On background, the nicest boy in the world (very cool guy--smart, interesting, hard-working, generous, thoughtful, etc.) has, for some reason, decided to give me a bit of a chance-- we've been hanging out, but we're going to go out. Am I excited? Yes! No, more than that. I'm honored. I'm flattered. And I'm NERVOUS. Why must I be socially awkward?
But I'm not so nervous about our upcoming date... that's not a huge deal. I don't want folks thinking I'm THAT ridiculous. BUT I am nervous that I'll mess up. I mean, is blogging about it the first step in sabotaging the whole shebang? I think it's a problem that the vain and easily distracted part of me is enjoying the feast-or-famineness of it all, laughing about how when one boy likes me, six or seven others crawl out of the woodwork. I think it's wise to not put all my eggs in one basket, but maybe I need to pare down on some of the egg collecting.
Anyway, if you pass me on the street chanting my mantra of "Don't mess up, don't mess up" you'll know why.

Waving the White Flag

OK. I surrender. I give up.
I'm not in control. Well, I'm in control of a lot of things, but there are some things I can't handle or force. I hate that! My life would be much simpler if I could just wave my hand and say, "This is how situation x will turn out." And poof!
But there's no poofing. Just tossing and turning. And some whining, which I'm stopping. Because there's no point in whining. It won't help. Neither will pouting. Neither will some master plan. There are just some things that have to turn out the way they'll turn out in the time they are supposed to take place.
I'm finding contentment in acceptance. Or, I hope I will. I just decided this morning, so I guess the test will come over the next few days. Wish me luck, because that's all that's going to help me.

Mwah! (That's a kissing sound, by the way)

I've been doing a lot of kissing lately, but not necessarily the exciting kind. Yesterday, our accountant came over and told me that I owed a lot in taxes. I started to freak out thinking, "How can someone whose income puts them just above poverty owe that much?" Turns out he was joking, and I'm getting a nice little refund. I was so happy, I bounded over and kissed him on the cheek in front of his wife and my parents. Weird, I know.
And there's been a lot of other innocent kissing going on-- kisses on the cheek exchanged with this very sweet, effeminate boy I know; kissing my friend Gabe on the head; half a dozen boys suddenly deciding kissing my hand is a great idea (in like, three days-- it's almost an epidemic). This is all very strange. Or not. I think that somehow my pheromones are sending out a strong "Please kiss me signal" but it's misfiring somehow. And all my fakey kissing stuff is a poor substitute for the kissing I'd rather do... with the person I'd rather do the kissing with. Yeah, I've gotta tweak my technique somehow.

Savannah, Part IV

I'm sorry to say the trip has taken a turn for the worse. Don't worry, it's still not bad. In fact, this has been a WONDERFUL vacation. But it's taken a funny, insulting twist. So, here's the story. Last night my cousin had some people over for dinner-- a girl he's been seeing a bit, his sidekick, and a couple other dudes. Dinner went pretty well, except one of the other guys kept quizzing me on every possible out-there question on Mormonism he could think of. Cousin, girlie, and sidekick were bored and left the room, so I was left having to talk shop with these really nice gay men who wanted to know if I thought they were living a life of sin. Anyway, still not bad. After our little dinner, we took off to the bar at the American Legion. Now, I'm not typically one for the bar scene, but I went for another Shirley Temple and tried to be agreeable. All this southern food hasn't really agreed with me, though, and I didn't feel too hot, so my cousin's slightly drunk friend walked me home. He wasn't showing any signs of slowing down with the booze and he mentioned that he'd probably be staying on my cousin's couch rather than driving home (good). So I put a blanket and a pillow on the couch and said goodnight. Anyway, I heard my cousin come in not too long afterwards and watched him say goodbye to her in the street. Fell asleep, and all was well. That is, until about 3:45 this morning when I heard downstair's neighbor's dog barking madly. Sidekick boy was loudly stumbling in, asking Mr. Downstairs if he could crash here because he was "so wasted." Mr. D said yes, but then sidekick started saying loudly, "But I can't stay upstairs. Jordan's cousin is up there, and I can't sleep with her because..." But then Mr. D shushed him, so I didn't hear all the reasons sidekick couldn't "sleep with" me. How rude! First of all, there would be no sleeping with to begin with. Secondly, I take a lot of offense to him thinking I wanted him to sleep with me... but so many men just assume that of all women, I guess. Anyway, I AM interested in hearing all the reasons though. It could be that he thought I was in love with him, and he remembered he has a girlfriend. Or because my cousin is his best friend. Or because he couldn't stand the temptation (not likely). Anyway, it's never very nice to overhear these things, especially in the middle of the night. But I at least see the humor in it now.The other thing, though, is that my cousin and I just went downtown with his neighbor and her 4-year-old, unruly son. So while we're on our way, the little brat starts talking about my "moustache." Excuse me! I don't have one, thank you very much. I wanted to throw the little urchin in the Savannah River, but I figured that would be bad form.Anyway, it's not all bad. I'm happy to to be here, and I've loved hanging out with J. He's a great dude, and honestly one of my favorite people. We've uped the number of our inside jokes, and that's always good. So I'll just chalk those little incidental insults up to stupidity-- like when the dumb kid told me that my personality "almost made up for me being physically unnattractive." Yeah. Stupidity in men is far from limited to the South. And in fact, most of the fellas I've met here have been absolute gentlemen.

Love is a Battlefield

Last night, I had the most amazing experience. My cousin took me over to his favorite restaurant here in Savannah-- Queenies To Go-Go. It's a great place. The tableclothes have pink and black polka dots, the tables outside are painted like an Alice In Wonderland-pyschadelic dream, and the waitstaff is gay and fabulous. Honestly, the nicest, most charming folks. Well, they aren't all gay-- not that it matters, but it matters a little for the story. So cousin let me style his very nice hair into an asymmetrical faux-hawk (it looked brilliant) and we went to Queenies to show it off to one of the waitresses (a straight one he used to see but is still good friends with, from what I can gather). Unfortunately, she'd already gone home for the night, but I did get to meet a little hipster named Sam (who they also said is straight, but it only matters a bit). Sam looked like a perfect combination of Pat Benetar and Dwight Yoakam. Only his face wasn't all that pinched.My cousin was kind enough to ask Sam to show me his signature pick-up move, and it was maybe the best thing I'd ever seen. He'd kind of slither on over to the bar (wearing the tightest grey girl jeans I've ever seen), do a little winking action, snap his fingers twice, clap, whirl his hand around, and timber! Fall to the bar on his side, catching himself with one hand. I'm not doing this justice, and I wish I had it on video. He was the funniest little boy ever. I'm really enjoying Savannah!

Grave Robbing

This morning cousin and I went to Bonaventure Cemetary. I'm currently reading "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" to give me a little taste of Savannah, and because there's "Bird Girl" merchendise everywhere I go, and I figured I ought to read the book. Anyway, we went to the cemetary, and it was beautiful. I've decided there ought to be a Sego Family Mausoleum somewhere, but Los Lunas doesn't have a cemetary. So sad.Cousin took the liberty of bringing some dead person's Easter Lilly home with us. It's in the window of his beautiful house, specifically in the bedroom. I'm hoping nothing comes to haunt me this evening, seeking revenge while my cousin sleeps peacefully in the carriage house out back.It's days like these I wish I were a rich Southern woman. Or a rich woman of means from any region, so I could just go and do whatever I wanted, as far as shopping and eating out and activities were concerned. I'm working on it. This afternoon cousin and I went to a bar at the American Legion. I was hoping some geezer would offer to buy my Shirley Temple, but no such luck. Still, tomorrow IS ladies' night...

Ringing Out like a Southern Belle

Hey Y'all.That's right. It's my new Georgia Greeting. Why couldn't I have been a debutante? I'm enjoying my little trip to visit cousin. It makes me really jealous to see all the beautiful live oak trees. I need some trees at my place. I need a whole forest of 'em. And if I can't have moss dripping from the branches, I can at least get rid of some of my sagebrush, right? All in good time.We're having a nice little visit out here. Or at least, I'm enjoying myself. I hope my being here isn't too much of a burden. It's really nice to have a break from the typical routine. I'm trying to catch up on my sleep here. I'm a little cold, though. Hmm... that makes me want to take a nap.This city also makes a person want to write. A lot. I've really enjoyed going into all the cute little shops where I've purchased tons of stationary. Don't ask me why. Stationary and blank books are a weakness of mine, even though I don't have time to be prolific. But maybe my several-day sabbatical will prove creatively fruitful.Meantime, that nap and my new book (one I'm reading, not writing, unfortunately) are calling my name. Oh. My hands smell like the soap at "The Lady and Sons." I didn't get to meet my celebrity crush Bobby Deen, but it still could happen.

Ahh...

Today is my favorite day of the year in Los Lunas. Each Good Friday, folks from far and wide make a pilgrimage to Tome Hill-- a nice little spot about a mile from me. It's a big mound in a rather flat valley, with three crosses on the top. Thousands of people walk from their homes from all over the county to pray at the crosses. It reminds me of the pilgrims Sokphal and I saw coming into Santiago de Compustela, but on a much bigger scale. A little bit more like the people crawling to Czestochowa to pray. It's actually a very heart-warming sight.
The other day, the little fellow who installed my phone shared some funny trivia. He said New Mexico has the second-highest crime rate in the nation (thank you, Nevada!) and that Valencia County (my home, sweet home) is the most dangerous in the state. OK, yes, it's a little rough in some places, but I think there are a lot worse places a person could be... I've been to a few, in fact. But here's the thing. Even in my dangerous, slightly trashy home town, people here really are pretty special. And while I generally don't use my blog to pontificate on religious topics, I feel pretty awesome seeing so many people committed to something bigger than all of us. All our beliefs are not exactly the same, but this is truly one of the most special times of the year, and my own faith is promoted by seeing the believers out in droves. It warms my heart. If I didn't have mounds of work, I'd join them on this walk. As it is, I have my own rituals planned for this weekend to acknowlege this holiest of times. But in the meantime, I'll steal time in my parents' backyard, amid the fucshia and lime and coral blossoms on our trees, to see the literal line of people on a hill, praying for a better world.

The Welcome Wagon

Moving into a house seems to require a lot of grumpiness and frustration... and not just my own. My moving in (or its effects) seems to have put a lot of people in a bad mood. Yesterday I had to call American Home Furnishing three times because those folks can't seem to get me the right ottoman, and they don't seem to care. When my little brother picked up the furniture a couple of weeks ago, they first tried to give him the wrong couch all together. Then, they sent the wrong colored ottoman. So I took it back, and the store told me they wouldn't have another one in stock until April 9-- very frustrating considering I paid cash for this stuff back in January. But then they called and said one had come in early, and that they'd deliver it Tuesday. So yesterday morning, I was just about to leave for work when the little delivery guys showed up with EXACTLY THE SAME OTTOMAN. And the lady in the "customer service" department, Sylvia, was so rude! Anyway, I'm picking up what I hope is the right ottoman tonight. Again-- what a waste of my time!
And speaking of waste, I also had to put a call into Waste Management. I had to prepay for three months of service, which wasn't a big deal, but they've never brought me a bin. So I called and spoke to someone yesterday who said, "Oh, you're paying for the pickup service, not the free bin. So just put your trash out on the curb, and we'll pick it up until we can get you a trash can." How nice, considering yesterday was my trash day. And I probably couldn't have just left the trash out anyway, because there are tons of dogs in the neighborhood-- apparently some of the neighbors just let them have free reign (one ran into my house once, and I had a heck of a time getting him out) and the dogs probably would have eaten the trash, or scattered it everywhere.
And I know that would have made the neighbors mad, because they are already mad at me. This morning I got to my parents' house for work and there was a message on the answering machine. It said, "Hi. This is one of the neighbors from the house you are building. That truck you have out front of your house with trash in it? I'd like you to move it, because there's trash blowing all over the neighborhood. I'd appreciate you taking care of this problem now." He was really mean. I've asked my dad to help me dump this trash, but he's been busy. I think he'll help me today, but it's still discouraging. Welcome to the neighborhood, I guess. I certainly don't want to cause trouble, and, not to sound like a brat, but you'd think that the folks in the 'hood would be happy to have my house around-- drives up the property value for everyone. At the same time, I'm pretty ticked off that the dude didn't even have the courage to leave his name. Jerk. Anyway, I'll take care of the trash because it's the right thing to do, and I was working on it anyway. But if that guy ever calls me back, I'll refer him to the magnet on my grandmother's refrigerator, which reads, "I can only please one person per day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow doesn't look good either." I guess it's natural to get combative and defensive, but I don't like that. The good news is, the guy wasn't able to call my house because the phone company hasn't sent a technician out yet to fix their problem-- that I can call out, but can't receive calls. I guess some of these minor frustrations are a blessing.

Trouble right here in River City

OK. Need to focus. Great things are happening all around me. What's barring my happiness? The sneaking suspicion that the things I want most and the things I want now are competing for my attention, and I might get those confused.

Nesting

I'm in my house, I'm in my house!
Well, right now I'm at my parents' house, and I'm working. But I've stayed in my house for the last couple of nights! Love it, except the unpacking is taking FOREVER. I just want everything to be clean and cute and in ship-shape, and I've got very little time to get that done. I'm hoping to have everything in perfect order by the time the clan comes over for Easter dinner, but this week is going to be crazy. I'll have church stuff in town tonight, Wednesday, and Friday. Saturday we may or may not have an additional choir practice for our performance on Sunday. Plus also, I'm getting ready for a quick jaunt out of town, so it's all very busy and jumbled, but fun. I think I did seven loads of dishes yesterday (want everything to be clean before it goes into my cupboard, you know) and unpacked several boxes of books. But I still need to put another bookcase together so I can unload the rest of them, and I need to paint a bunch of furniture and... whew! Breathe, Rachel. Breathe!
OK, regaining some semblance of self-control.
The problem is, while I'm enjoying unpacking and putting my house in order, there are a lot of other things I enjoy, and they kind of are more important. I mean, if you had the choice between lining your cabinets with shelf paper (the world's worst job) and talking to your new, very smart, very interesting, very fun friend until a quarter to two and then driving home in the middle of the night, stoked at your social prowess, what would you do?