ariadnelives: (Default)
Well hi. I guess I'll be here now, too.
ariadnelives: (Default)
Is not quite five days old today.

Isn't she the most gorgeous baby you've ever seen?
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"Stirling said 55-year-old David King, of Havasu, was detained by police after the ordeal. Because King’s portable breath test results showed his blood alcohol to be at least .30 percent, King was transported to Havasu Regional Medical Center to be medically cleared before being booked into the Havasu jail.
King could face charges including aggravated assault, misconduct involving a firearm and discharging a weapon within city limits, Stirling said.

King was the sole occupant of the residence.

King also was arrested in late March 2012 and charged with disorderly conduct involving a firearm. During that incident, King told police his recently deceased cat deserved a 21-gun salute. King reportedly organized the salute toward the Lake from his backyard at the same residence. One week prior to the cat-tribute incident, King also was contacted for setting off fireworks from his property.

Monday, Lake Havasu City volunteer Community Response Team responded to provide heat rehab for police working the scene.

“The officers got pretty warm out there after a few hours doing their thing,” said Jim Thill, CERT assistant team leader.
In all, five CERT volunteers responded to provide water, Gatorades, cooling buckets of ice water and snacks to police."
ariadnelives: (falloutshelter)
Two weeks ago, Jesse was at his mom's house in Portland after she took him and his brothers to see Leonard Cohen, and Jesse's sister in law, Kama, asked when we are getting married and don't we know that people need to plan and it's about us, sure, but we need to recognize the complications of other people's lives for chrissake, so Jesse was like, "Okay, it's Friday. We're getting married on BLACK FRIDAY, which means YOU CAN'T SHOP." Jesse's mom chimed in and said, "Don't do it on Friday because we're leaving the country on Friday. Why not on Thanksgiving?" It's worth noting that Thanksgiving was also Jesse's mother's birthday, so we could kill two proverbial birds with one proverbial stone. So when Jesse came home on Monday, he mentioned that maybe we should knock it all out now, quickly while all the family is going to be in one place.

My girlhood fantasies about my future never involved a wedding. I've never been the kind to rank my friends in terms of who would stand up for my side of a wedding party, and the only dress I ever thought I might consider was one I dreamed about-- bib overalls, but satin instead of denim. Whenever anyone has asked about how the planning has been going, I immediately get the impression that planning one's wedding is probably pretty involved and most likely includes calligraphy and hot glue guns and fights with one's life partner. The more I have expressed that I want to keep things as simple as possible-- we're buying a house, which will last a lifetime whereas a wedding will last one afternoon/evening-- the more input I get from well-meaning friends and family whose ideas of simple overwhelm me. This is, of course, at the same time that most of the people in my life tell me that if they could re-do their wedding, they'd spend the money on a cruise or something instead of dinner for 200 of their mother's closest acquaintances. Besides, I'm old. Big weddings are for people in their early 20s.

So I said that I'd call my mom and my brother, and if they could make it out for Thanksgiving, we'd do it. If not, then not. My mom called back on Friday to say that they could make it, and then I was like, shit! What am I going to wear?

My good friend Katie was all over the idea of a shotgun wedding as long as we still have some sort of ceremony in the summer, and since she likes to shop (whereas I would rather grade papers or pluck each of my body hair out one strand at a time), she said that she would lead the charge to find a proper wedding outfit. We went everywhere, and it sucked, but I finally found a white shirt with bling on it, and blue velvet combat boots. And then Katie agreed to make a head thing for me-- it's gorgeous, a head wreath thing out of copper with blue flowers on it with long tulle. I thought I might find a skirt if I looked on Sunday, and I did look (I swear) but couldn't find anything made my reflection more acceptable, so I decided to stick with jeans. Jesse wore an orange and blue tie with black pants and white converse and a plaid sports coat. We both agreed that if anyone besides family was watching, we'd look way too obnoxiously anti-wedding/hipster/douchey, but I thought he looked lovely.

Wednesday morning during my prep period, we met at the county clerk's office and paid an extra $10 to waive the waiting fee.

I wrote down all the parts that people play in a wedding on small scraps of paper, and then everyone there drew them out of a hat. My brother was my maid of honor, and Jesse's mom and sister in law Kama were bridesmaids. Jesse's other sister in law Jen was his best man; his brother Joe was the father, and his other brother Paul was a groomsman. I had a junior bridesmaid and two flower girls, including Jesse's aunt Sue who always wanted to be a flower girl. And because we didn't really have time for vows, I thought it would be fun to do mad libs. Jen took everyone who wanted to participate into another room, where they wrote vows for me, Jesse and Kenneth who officiated the wedding and whose house it was.

And so, after dinner, it was on. I walked down the hallway to Breathless by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, on the arm of my mother and preceded by my brother. And in the dining room of Kenneth and Mayanna's house, Kenneth read his part. Then Jesse read his mad lib, and I read mine (they'd worked the word "moist" and "oily" into every place possible), and then something changed because--

I was having so much fun, and our families were such good sports about the spontaneity of it. They were just happy to be a part of it, and for me, that kind of wedding made me comfortable down to my bones, and this kind of relationship that I have with my husband (I have a fucking husband!) makes me comfortable down to my bones too. When I was little, I didn't think of having some big fancy wedding, but I always hoped that someday I'd find someone who would really love me in the way that I wanted to be loved, and for all the things that I love about myself but can't put into words-- someone who would see me in the ways that I desperately wanted to be seen, and to find me beautiful anyway. And I don't know if I can ever really express how grateful I am to have him in my life, and in my future and as a person who will help me raise a kid or two and will engage in discussions about where it would be best to wait out the end of the world as we know it, and who will tell me that he understands how patriarchy has always been good to him and is totally down with rejecting all of it, and who cares so much about other people's feelings, he often ignores his own. I loooove him, and I believe that he is a better human being than I am, and I am so fucking lucky.

In my real vows, the ones I sort of summarized in that last paragraph, I didn't promise anything, and I didn't promise to be anything or fill any role, and neither did he. He kept it simple by telling me how much he loves me and will build a life with me and will be old and die with me. And then mazel tov! All of these roots I've been carrying around like a too long dress, all gathered in my arms to avoid letting them settle or gather dust and dirt-- I let go of all of them, whump! And now they're free to wriggle into the ground because this is where I really live now. This is my real adult life with my real adult husband.

We spent the night in the attic of his mom's house, also used as the bedroom of Jesse's teen age years, where he thought he would never find anyone to really talk to, and where he decided he would never be good enough for anyone he really loved to love him back. There's still a poster of a Lamborghini and one of Jennifer Beals. And then the next night, we spent in a hotel downtown, where we tried it on for a while, like

-Holy shit, we're married!
- Holy shit, you're my husband!
- Holy shit, you're my wife!

Over and over again.

Saturday night, we took my mom and Tim with us over to Joe and Kama's house, and we played dominoes and drank too much wine and talked shit and ate Chinese food, and now I have nieces and nephews and siblings in law, and they're so damn cool, and I am lucky, lucky, lucky, and I am so damn thankful.
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Still without Internet at the new pad. Jesses mom and step father are visiting. Have been painting. Accidentally painted dining area the color of home depot, but changed it to a nice orange dreamcicle. Am uncomfortable with the idea of LJ disappearing, as I'm afraid of losing a timeline and access to myself in previous years. Will write more and provide subjects to my verbs when the Internet finally comes to the house.

The end.

On regret

Jun. 29th, 2011 02:52 pm
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If I could go back in time, I would go back to March two Marches ago, and before I trashed my DVD/VCR, I would hit the "eject" button, and I would remove disc 1 of the first season of Mad Men, and I would place it safely in its case.
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Omar prefers to drink from the toilet, and he's a terrible drinker. He gets a mouth full of water and then starts running, drooling all of the water out while he runs. The bathroom has become a hazard, so we started making it household policy to close the toilet lid. It took Omar all of about three minutes to flip up the lid and drink from the toilet anyway. Then we started closing the door, and this morning, Omar figured out how to open the door. Worse (or better? because I'm kind of proud of him?), he's figured out that he can open any door in exactly the same way.

Today, I'm going to try to teach him how to do my laundry.
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I came home from teaching night school, and Jesse's got corned beef and cabbage on the stove and he greeted me with a black and tan in hand. He's listening to the Pogues, and he informed me that not only has he peed with Omar outside as a form of bonding with the dog, but also Omar now answers to "Cocksucker." You know, after Deadwood.
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Winter in Oregon means it's just as light at 7:30AM as it is at noon, which is the same as 2:00PM and the same and on and on until it's dark, and it's so damn dark when it's dark.

It's the kind of weather that makes me want to curl up with a cup pot of coffee and a cat or two and something fuzzy on my body while I read an engrossing novel about loss and death. And this weather will only last a season while slowly, slowly small bits of green will appear on the branches and twigs and barrenness outside, and then one day, the whole world will pop open with pink and white flowers that will drop their petals within weeks while the yellows begin to open, followed by the purples and the reds and then the oranges, and then the sky will be blue again, and after being gray for so long, the blue of the sky will seem lucky, like a double yolk or five dollars in the pocket of long-forgotton jeans.

This winter is survivable.

In one hour, Jesse will be home, and then we will get in the car, and we will drive to look at the ocean and the interminable rain and the battleship skies, and Jesse will tell me that I'm not allowed to listen to what's on my ipod because it makes him want to do heroin.
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Me n Jesse are going to go see this tonight.

Also, I am sick and bitter about meth addicts taking all of the good decongestants away. Fuckers.

Maybe 15

Sep. 21st, 2010 07:23 am
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If this were a movie, the homeless man in my front yard would be full of wisdom and/or guile. Occasionally, I'd go out to the yard, and he'd be eating beans out of a can by a fire, and he'd be well read and have some sort of perspective on whatever existential crisis I might be experiencing. Or maybe we'd have wacky hijinks, or maybe I'd be suspicious of him but find that later, he was acting in my best interests. But he's just Don, and he tries to make up things to do in the yard to spend his time. He drinks Mt. Dew and trades me and Jesse food for money for cigarettes, and he tries to take care of Zalman, who is also homeless. Zalman is gentle and fragile and only wants to help Don. In terms of what people lack, especially homeless, Don is not so bad off. He uses this address as his, and that's okay because he does live on the corner of the property. And he reads all the time-- books about elves and magic and parallel universes. And he's missing teeth and has crazy hair, and if he could come in to the house to bathe more often, you might not even know that he's homeless.

Sunday, I went to the convenience store across the street to buy half and half for coffee, but when I brought it home, it curdled and smelled awful. I put my shoes back on to return it, but when I walked out, Zalman was there to wish me a good morning and ask what the plan is for the day (I think Zalman is autistic but he might be schizophrenic). When I explained the half and half situation, he grabbed it and then hopped on Jesse's bike. I was like, uh...Zalman? Within about ten minutes, he was back with new half and half. Zalman says to me some mornings, "I don't know who you are Kate, but you seem pretty cool."

At night, when I'm ready to go to bed, I say to Jesse, Goodnight. I will see you in the morning... if you're lucky. And Jesse says, g'night Kate, I'll see you in the morning...if you live that long. And I say, g'night, I'll see you in the morning... unless you're murdered in your sleep. And he says g'night Kate, try not to be abducted from your own home.

I don't know that of all the people here, I'd be the one abducted, but a girl can always dream.
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ariadnelives: (Default)


During (which is how it looks now):



Jul. 20th, 2010 12:18 pm
ariadnelives: (tim and me)
And so, I am 34 years old.which means I am boring and I ramble.  )
ariadnelives: (Default)
I'm finally out of my old place. I've been in my new place for about an hour. Raia (who is three) just asked me if I have nipples, which I do. She also has nipples. I showed her my cat's nipples. Now she is shouting "Labia!"

I think she's drunk.
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I'm in that annoying stage of the move where there is something left to do in every room, and the attention that the kitchen and bathroom need is becoming more painful to acknowledge as the rest of the rooms clear out. I should be cleaning, but I want to sit with the quiet and a cup of coffee for a little while longer. I was going to stay at the new place last night, but as things stood at about midnight, there still isn't room to put my bed down, and I still had an air mattress, so I crashed here, in what will soon be my old place.

La la la.

I finally threw out old journals from when I was 20-23. I'd been keeping them in my box of memorabilia, which I usually use to store things that make me (or have made me) feel loved or at least very much present in a particular moment. Journals though, especially those, just suck for accomplishing a sense of re-anchoring my metaphorical boat. Last night I caught up on myself, age 27, which wasn't quite as painful but was still hard to read. When I look at things I've written, it's like watching a fat, bespectacled pubescent band kid wander around the cafeteria looking for a place to sit where other people won't throw french fries in his/her hair. Like, I can empathize with myself, having been there once, but another part of me wants to step in and stop the whole thing from happening.

I bought a nice color for my new room-- it's something like Darker Butter, or Late Afternoon Sunshine or Faded Oranges. It's a warm yellow. I also bought a dark blue gloss, and I'm planning on painting all of my bookshelves (and parts of the surfaces of the built-in stuff) and making a wall of books, even though the shelves are all different sizes. I'm looking forward to hardwood floors and built-in drawers and shelves.

I have a lot to do. I best get on it.
ariadnelives: (Default)
He's very helpful.

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