I feel a little stiffled by the amount of time that has passed and the drastic change between my life when i started this blog and now.
So, like a drastic haircut, I’m starting anew. Time for change.
http://kirbyrice.wordpress.com
Come, enjoy. I promise I’ll write more often 
Things have been good lately. Real good. They got a little iffy for awhile but I feel back on track. Bills are paid, work is productive and that boy of mine, well… perfection is to simple a word for it.
Still, today, even after the AMAZING night I had I couldn’t sleep. And I couldn’t sleep the night before, or the night before that. Something tells me I won’t be sleeping tonight, or at all this weekend. I’m restless and antsy because for the first time in almost five months C is in the same town as me. Not only the same town, but the same side of town. Charlotte is not as big as you would imagine.
Walking around Harris Teeter today I jumped three times and strained my eyes thinking he was around the corner or in line a few people ahead of me.
I have this unreasonable fear that even though he decided he didn’t want to see me this trip, he wasn’t ready to see me this trip, that I’m going to run into him anyways. Awkwardness masked with unreasonable tension makes for a bad day.
And what does that mean anyway. HE’S not ready to see me yet. I’m sorry… who dumped who via google chat after four years. I didn’t realize he got to have an opinion.
But the dynamic of me and C has always been about him, why change it now… right?
Besides, what am I worried about? The cop is planning a relaxing romantic evening for us as we speak. Candles, rose petals and most likely a naked man in my bed when I get home.
What more could I possibly want?
I remember the first time I watched the Wizard of Oz. I was memorized by the color, the anticipation and fear when they kill the Wicked Witch. The joy of seeing the Scarecrow get his brain, the Tinman a heart, the Cowardly Lion his Courage and Dorothy back to her home. It never dawned on me as a child that it was really just a piece of paper, a ticking watch and a metal of honor. Dorothy got her home, but the other three got trinkets to make them feel like they had what they were missing. And as for the Wizard, well, he was just a man behind the curtain.
I’m starting to feel the shady lines between fantasy and reality. I’m not a child anymore. I know things are messy, and can not be cleaned up with a magic wand or a hot air balloon. Still, I guess for awhile the fantasy was nice… to pretend the Wizard was all powerful and knowing and could whisk my problems away behind the smoke and mirrors.
I’m back in black and white Kansas. I miss technocolor.
I finally got rid of the funk.
All it took was:
Scene:
No makeup, ponytail. Lose fitting green sweater and white sneakers.
Large cup of milk. Bag of oreos. Answering phone and reading blogs at the same time.
There is no shame in my game.
I really don’t know what is up with me lately. Use to be that when I would crave chocolate and be blah and annoyed and aggravated and want to lay in bed for three days with my head under the covers it was because of two reason. Boy trouble or lack of sex. I’m not having an issue with either. R is amazing and sweet. I didn’t feel well last night so I laid down at 9ish and he did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. And as for sex, well trust me… the boy has no shame in his game either.
Still, funk. Funky Funk. Funkiest of the Funky Funk. That’s me. I’m still that girl.
I could blame it on exhaustion. Two jobs wasn’t easy but now I’m about to cross the threshold of three and I’m scared. I’m going to never have a moment to breathe.
I could blame it on my main job. I am getting to a point to where I don’t know why I care so much. I continuously get thrown under the bus by Ms. Tool and The Caveman I call a production manager. I hate being held responsible for something I don’t understand or have no control over. It’s ridiculous is what it is.
I could blame it on the wedding planning. The fact that our semi-perfect site is turning out to be more of a hassle then we anticipated. It’s a beautiful site but we have to worry about weather, and the fact that there is no indoor pluming, and the $1200 for tables, chairs, tents and singing Chimpanzees. Ok, so maybe we’re not getting a singing Chimp or even a Gorilla that knows the Canadian national anthem. For that price though, I feel like we should be. And the fact that it’s an hours drive for me, which means it’s a ridiculous drive for my mother who let me know how inconvenient it is.
Really mom, you couldn’t save $60 in the next 262 days to buy the gas to get to Gold Hill and back. I’m sorry, how insensitive of me. I forgot for a second who my wedding day was all about. Opps.
So I try to come up with a nice solution. We don’t wanna get married in a church, but need to reduce the risk of rain and random bitching due to the heat in late June. What about a theatre, oh… there’s one in Lincolnton that I just SO happen to have grown up in and around. It’s available that day? Chairs and linens and location and tables included. Barely $1000? Wow, wow. Perfect. P-E-R-FECT. Let me get my fiances opinion.
::crickets:: R? ::more crickets::
Please.Develop.An.Opinion.
I’m this close to running away to the courthouse and following in my mothers footsteps. Bluejeans and bad 70’s hair in all.
But yeah, lets blame this funk on exhaustion. On the fact that I’m working when I’d rather be in bed. On the fact that tonight I will be working when I’d rather be taking a nap. That life sucks in general when you’re 20 something, planning a wedding, and working three jobs.
I’d love to get away for a few days. I guess a sugar induced coma will have to suffice.
Back to the now half eaten bag of oreos next to me.
Le.Sigh.
You know how in ever office there is one girl who’s pony-tail seems to fall constantly, and she has a big coffee stain on her shirt?
Today, I’m that girl.
And no, the stain is not figuratively speaking either. Only on days I wear white, and have a 3pm interview for job number 3.
Oh come on now, I know you’re jealous. I would be.
Or.Maybe.Not.
Sunday night I sat cuddled up to R on the couch, my throat still sore and nose congested from the cold I had battled all weekend. His arm hung tight around my shoulders, his lips rested softly on my forehead as Peter Griffin got into, and out of another one of the many ridiculous situations he always seems to find himself in. I felt complete comfort, and complete ease… still, something was off. Something wasn’t quite right.
And then the conversation floated over towards children, and the kind of parents we were afraid we would be. Dangerous territory for us, because it led us right into a town R and I never like to enter into, Daddy-ville. I talked a little about the kind of mother my mom was, and the kind of mother I don’t want to be. And then we talked about Gene. His stubbornness, the way he would bitch and complain, the time he threw an ashtray at me or the time he threw a pork chop at my brother. How he taught me pride, taught me independence. He taught me the unimportance of being able to think and take care of myself. Taught me respect. And I cried. Cried because I miss him and his stubbornness. Cried because two years later I still feel the guilt of not being there everyday in the end. I cried because I know I was being selfish by not coming home and spending so much time at school and working. I cried because I know thats what my mother really thinks when she makes her comments about how I am always “all about Kirby”.
And he held me, and let me cry. He kissed the top of my head and wiped away my tears and assured me I did what was best for me, and what Gene would have wanted. And then he got quiet, and he got that distant stare in his eyes and I knew he was headed down the same road. He talked about his dad, and how his voice always sounded like a train in the middle of the night. How they would battle back and forth, verbally and physically. How he would give anything to know rather or not he said I love you before he left the Friday before his dad passed away. And his eyes teared up when he confessed he tries not to think on it too much though because the more he does the more he remembers he didn’t.
And I held him as he stared into the distance and regained his composure. He hates it when I see him cry.
Today is the three year anniversary since he lost his father. Today is a big day for him, and I feel for him but in all actuality today does not hold so much barring for me. Still, it has me thinking to great length about things.
About Gene, about death, about family and about love. Mainly, though, I’ve been thinking about grief. I have always been very very moved and intrigued by the human ability to depict and feel emotion, but there are emotions that baffle even me. Love and Grief. Grief especially.
It doesn’t hurt like heartbreak, or linger like misery. It doesn’t sting or itch or get under your skin like annoyance. It doesn’t produce moodiness like unhappiness, it’s not ruthless like hate. It’s an emptiness you can’t touch, a void that never ceases, that never evolves, that never fills. It’s infinite and unending. It has the ability to manipulate and mold us into completely different versions of ourself, and not for brief moments in time like fear or jealousy. It’s eternal.
One of the hardest things about losing someone, about having to say goodbye is letting go everyday. And it never gets easier, it never lessens, it simply becomes a little more tolerable everyday. You get use to it.
Today after work I’ll drive to R’s and we will get in his Exterra and drive the hour up 85 to Salisbury. He will make two right turns, and one left. We will hike up the small hill, in the rain. I expect he will hold my hand to help guide me. And when we reach the headstone he will stand silent, tall… like he always does when anyone speaks of his father. He’ll stare, mouth stretched thin against pale skin, eyes focused on the name that matches his, the date, the wear from the weather of a stone that has stood for almost three years.
And I’ll stand behind him, wanting to say or do the right thing to make the grief easier, to make it fade even though I know there is no easing grief. There’s no dry eraser to make it go away. I stand silent, the pillar of strength Gene left behind him. I’ll fight back my own tears, tears of my own grief, tears of being forced to witness the grief of the man I love. When he turns back around I’ll hold him if he needs it, or I will simply let his hand slip perfectly into mine and walk back down the hill in the same manner we had walked up it.
The emptiness will still exist, the moment won’t touch it, won’t ease or comfort it. We will drive off, trying not to look in the mirror as the graveyard becomes smaller and smaller until it stretches into a thin streak of fought memory into the back of our minds. It’s just another day.
Day 1095 for R.
Day 624 for me.
Day 57 for us.
I’ve been a member of this site for almost a year now and I feel comfortable admitting a few of the guilty pleasures I have developed. As much as I love and adore my blog roll there are two types of blogs I read even though they are not constantly updated on my screen. Blogs that I have to go looking for.
One of them, is wedding blogs. I love reading about what women are doing and how they are handling the stress of their “big day”. I love seeing their ideas, and how they incorporate two very distinct personalities into something personal and beautiful and intimate. I think you can learn a lot from watching the way someone plans a wedding.
Taking a step away from myself I see my neurotic need to control minor details. My need to lay everything flat in front of me, black and white, no pink or purple or blue. I like decisiveness. I don’t like leaving things to chance. The Cop (let’s call him R from here on out) says it is one of the things he loves most about me. R is a big picture kind of person, where as I am always thinking of the details. It amazes him for some reason.
And where as I can assure you this blog is not going to turn into a wedding blog filled only with gushy exploitations of love and cake flavors and dress fittings for today at least it is.
Details I have planned:
This song in the video will be the song played when My bridesmaids and I walk down the isle. Minus the heavy middle with the guitar and fiddle (I think) but the soft beginning and end looped perfectly.
Our first dance will be to this song, which is R’s favorite.
Colors are lapis and berry which is a deep red and purple. The main tone will be purple. It’s gonna be pretty
And the main accent, candles. Not flowers or ribbons or twigs. Candles. Simple, small, white candles. Yeah… I’m pretty excited about it.
So I’ve been more then a little absent lately. I’ve been right damn MIA and I apologize to those of you who were concerned. Things have just been interesting. I really don’t know where to begin.
I kind of feel like I’m in a movie, because everything feels rushed and quick like we are trying to fit it into a 126 minute film, minus the credits of course (no bunnies or ants were harmed during the making of this film. We can not however say there were no unicorns dismembered during the rainbow scene.) But its more then just the rushing. It’s the whole thing. How perfect we mesh together, how quickly we were able to attach to each other, how perfectly happy we are. Even when we argue we can’t help but smile. Even when I’m being difficult or trying to pick a fight or he’s being moody and distant we can’t help but feel it bubbling.
It’s a lot like walking on air. And it’s weird. It’s nothing like I remember and more then I ever imagined. Being in love. Weird.
But it’s good. Really good. Amazingly good. So good, in-fact that last Saturday at Salem when he lead me over to a shade tree overlooking the Maydell and got down on one knee and asked me to marry him I said yes.
I know. i know. W.T.O.M.G.F? right? That’s been everyone’s reaction… except for ours. And I think in the ends it’s only ours that matters. So yeah. I’m getting married. Soon too. We set the wedding date for June 20th and it’s unreal how quickly everything starts to fall into place.
I still want to cry a little when I think of how C took the news. But, I’m moving on, and I’m happy. And even though a little part of me misses him everyday I know I love the Cop and will be happy with him. I’m unreasonably excited.
::squee::
And for you all to enjoy, my “bomb-ass ring!”… the boy has damn good taste.
Dear Cheap-Ass Bitches,
Hello, remember me. Yeah, I’m the pretty girl who smiles at you and refills you glasses while your child throws food in my hair. I carry the meal out, sit it in front of you and wait with uncomfortable anticipation to be “dismissed” as a servant. You know, even indentured slaves we clothed and housed yet after spending 300 dollars on a flawless meal you can’t even find the kindness in your heart to provide me with enough of a tip to buy a shirt on clearance at walmart.
Here’s a little math lesson for you, dear sweet idiots. $300 multiplied by the 12% I have to claim is $36 which means I get taxed on that amount. Not to mention that $36 has to have 15% tipped out on. Making my $10 dollar tip you left me a whopping $5.60 even though I will get taxed as if it is $36. If you can’t afford to eat out, then don’t you fucking retards.
It’s people like you that are making me seek employment at a third location. So you know what, prepare to suck the cock of karma. I’m sick of it.
Sincerely,
Pissed-Slap-The-Fuck-Off
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Dear BBM.
BBM, can you and OBBM please stop sticking me in the middle of your petty, childlike quest for power. It’s getting old fast. And if you really want me to stay, which both of you seem to so desperately want please stop putting this bullshit on me and making me out to be the bad guy. I’m sick of it.
And OBBM, you think I am not aware of your wonderful talent of manipulation. I know you are just trying to tell me what you think I need to hear to keep me happy, and waiting so you can continue to pay me half of what my salary should be while I do 12 peoples jobs. You have a year left to give me the promotion and the raise you have promised me.
I’m serious, and I am not giving a six month notice either.
Sincerely,
Not-Your-Fucking-Mom
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Dear Men I have slept with recently, (minus the Cop of course),
Please just stop.
Stop texting me and asking if you can come over.
Stop telling me “damn you, we weren’t finished yet.”
Do not try to convince me that it would be a good idea for me to cheat on my boyfriend just because you have no problem cheating openly on your girlfriend. Personally, I don’t want a steak knife in my ass so please, leave me out of it.
Thank you both for providing me with some much needed confidence and a physical push when I needed it most.
Trust me when I say you both got WAY more out of it then I ever did.
If you wanna hang out, grab a beer, shoot the shit then awesome… call me. It would be a lot of fun to sit down and have a conversation that doesn’t include head or fucking on the hood of a car. But if all you are going to do is try to “pester” me into sleeping with you then just delete my number. I’m sick of the bull shit.
Sincerely,
Not-Anyones-Fuck-Buddy-Any-More
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Dear Connecticut/C,
I’m mad at you. For four years I have not been able to be upset or angry with you for more then ten minutes at a time but right now I’m annoyed and furious and just unbelievably upset. It’s lasted two days and it feels foreign to me, strange and uncomfortable but deserved.
You brought up the cop and then get quiet and antsy when I talk about him. We agreed that not all of the boundaries are as well defined as others.
Well here are some of my boundaries:
Do not refer to me as your Kirby. You relinquished that titled when you broke up with me via Google Text. Grow a pair.
Do not try to reestablish the sexual sense of humor from our past. Making jokes about pulling hair and so forth are unacceptable. Not only are they degrading and one of the reason that for four years I felt like nothing more then an easy, cheap, fuck buddy to you they are inappropriate now that I am in a serious relationship with someone else. You may think they are funny and comical and something I can just roll with but they aren’t. They are harsh and mean and only a way to keep me low and I don’t appreciate it.
Don’t make fun of the cop, rather pickingly or not. He’s good to me and if you can’t handle that then I’m sorry.
Don’t come back for me. When you’re in town visiting family and want to see me over the holidays thats fine but don’t expect me to fall into your arms and cry and swoon and let you manipulate me. I’m stronger then that and I can FINALLY see what everyone has been telling me for years. You had your moments C but my GOD you treated me like shit. I won’t put up with it anymore.
I don’t hate you C and part of my will always love you but just STOP. Stop holding me down. Stop holding me back. Stop trying to save me. Let me save myself.
Sincerely,
Not-Your-Charity-Case
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Dear Cop,
Thank you for everything. Even the bad things seem easy with us and that just amazes me. Thank you for showing me what it’s like to be treated with respect and loyalty and love. Thank you for making me feel beautiful and not used.
I hope my bad mood doesn’t flow into our evening.
Sincerely,
Almost-Yours
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I’ve been in this mood for days and I don’t really understand it. Maybe it’s PMS?
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