hey hey hey

Howdy. Today was a warm day and i took my kids to the playground. i love winter in Utah...yes, i know. I just said love and utah in the same sentence. it's sort of creepy. anyway, we had a great time. i met a guy who was there with his triplets--zoiks. we compared notes (birthweight, gestation, time in newborn ICU, etc) and had a very satisfying conversation. sometimes it ain't so bad gettin' out and mingling with the locals...although, actually, he's not a local either...could explain why i didn't hate him. Anyway, it's nice to be reminded occassionally that twins is as easy as it gets--besides having one at a time babies, but who needs that crap? I'm a multi-tasker, you see. Besides, all my friends were having their first babies the same year i got pregnant and i wanted to be different...of course we all had boys, but that's alright. i still had TWO.

So, here are some thoughts on my obsession with hating Utah.

I would hate it if we lived in Maine and I was as happy as a clam, and all my husband did was whine at me to move to Utah. I think he wants to tell me yes, but his subconscious doesn't really accept it, because he keeps making long term plans for us...here. And it's hard to argue with him because I can't guarantee what would happen if we took a chance and moved to Maine. Of course, we can't even guarantee what will happen if we stay here. He could lose his job or get hit by a car or who knows what. But, it's sort of the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" line of thinking, and I have to agree. If I could find him a job with a comparable salary and a company with a definite future and people who respected him and who he enjoyed working with....sheesh. I wouldn't want to leave all that either. I am beyond pissed off about this. I guess another old saying is true--you can't always get what you want. I wish I was better at accepting stuff like that. Also, I honestly believe that if we lived anywhere but Utah I wouldn't have this issue at all. Because, yeah, Maine is great and I miss a handful of people but that's not what this is all about. I could handle being homesick if I didn't hate where I am. In fact, I was never homesick until I started hating it here. Now it has sort of worked into this huge issue of the evil black hole full of betrayal and dashed hopes of utah, versus the green, lush, ocean-side, good memories-filled Maine...Would you like some mellow with that drama, for shit's sake? So, hopefully i'll get to move away from here soon. but then what would i have to bitch about? i'm sure i'd think of something...cold winters for starters...

Well it's meatloaf night, so i better get going.

New Year's Eve:
So, we got to the hotel and checked in and hung out with our friends, munching and drinking. I drank probably 5 or 6 shots of Mandarin Absolute, but somehow was only pleasantly buzzed by the time the cab arrived to take us to the club. I looked hot, by the way. I haven’t looked “good” for a long time, and I’m not as skinny as I’d like to be yet, but I still put together an outfit that played up the good and disguised the bad. Knee high black, heeled boots with a black skirt that had a diagonal hem and a really sexy see through shirt with a little camisole thingy…and I was even having a good hair day!! Yee haw! I love it when I look good!! Of course, I had my bar goggles on, but who cares???? So, we got there, and settled into our “VIP” booth, and picked out some fantastic masks and played with the noise makers, and started in on the complimentary bottle of champagne and then headed to the vip lounge to have sushi and then danced and drank and danced and drank and Husband and I ended up so god damn drunk it’s frightening. I have never been this hung over before. I’m not really sure how it happened because I was only a little drunk when I got to the club, and I only drank a couple of glasses of champagne… We had a great night, and I’d have to say it was worth it, but holy shit on a stick, batman! I wanted to throw up and Husband actually did, and I don’t know how we made it home this morning. And finally it was naptime and I put the boys to bed and I slept for 3 hours and woke up feeling marginally better. Oh yeah, and all night when I’d wake up to pee and all morning until I got home, eminem’s newest song was in my head…”it’s back to reality, oh there goes gravity oh he’s so mad but he won’t give up that easy…” I wanted to scream. But that would have hurt my head. It was the most miserable I’ve ever felt in my life. I don’t think I’ll ever feel the need to drink again…or at least to get drunk…well, okay, just not that drunk.

I’m super fucking depressed today, for no apparent reason. Probably hormones. Listening to depressing music and in the five minutes that I wasn’t sad, I started working on an idea for another book. I think it could be a good-ish one. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I am so god damn homesick—THAT’s why I’m depressed. Duh. I’m not very smart sometimes. I want to go home. Dammit.

Oh lordy—my parents’ yard...I am so being taken back to high school by the shudders that just ran up my spine!!! My Dad’s penchant for white-trash landscaping was the source of much social angst for my sister and me!! She went so far as to have dates drop her off at our neighbor’s house (their daughter was my best friend, so at least they knew us…) and then she would walk home. I was never quite that bad, but man I always dreaded having a guy see where I lived. I like to think I’m nothing close to white trash—what with the high I.Q., lack of Maine accent, and maternal grandparents who were doctors…but man I think that yard alone qualifies me in a big way!!

I have certainly not been keeping up with this, but i'm writing a novel right now, and that takes some time. did you like that little creative exercise last post?
So Christmas is over--thank the lord! I have a bit of a bah-humbug husband, so it's sort of a relief when it's all over. Looking forward to new year's eve, though. going to a border town, nevada--not quite Vegas, but should be pretty fun.
damn but Maine is cold...every time I think of it, I am glad for one brief moment that I live here, but then I remember where I am and the moment passes. I'd settle for year round winter in Maine, if I could only be there. Well...maybe not. Summers, as brief as they are, make it all worth it.
I need to start looking for an agent to sell my book for me. I think it's good. Much better than that stupid thing i wrote last week. i was just testing out an idea--using this blog to write fantasies. I may continue with that idea, at leat on occassion, but for now, no. I love writing to hear myself type.

So I had just put my kids on the bus to afternoon kindergarten today, when there was a knock on the door. I was not expecting anyone, so I was prepared to be annoyed by a door to door salesman. When I opened the door, I was faced with the most handsome young man i'd ever seen. His cheeks were rosy and his breath steamed from the cold. He looked cold in his leather jacket, and jeans and I noticed a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. My mood was shifting so quickly from annoyed to intrigued that I nearly lost my balance.
"Hi." I cocked my head, and smiled at him, inviting him to explain his presence.
"Hi, um, I'm sorry to bother you, but could I use your phone? My bike just quit on me and I need to call my buddy to bring me some tools." He was soft spoken, almost shy, which contrasted with the bad-ass image of a biker. He was only a few inches taller than me, and had a wiry frame. He looked to be no more than 18 or 19.
"Sure, come on in. You must be freezing." I glanced up and down my suburban little street, wondering where this marvel of sexiness had come from. I saw his bike, a Honda Shadow, right at the end of my driveway. As I closed the door behind him, and turned to get the phone, I noticed the blond ponytail hanging halfway down his back. I led him through my cathedral ceilinged living room to the kitchen where the phone was. I couldn't think of anything to say to him, but I didn't mind. I handed him the phone then put on a pot of coffee. He looked like he could use some, and nodded appreciatively when I gestured with the pot.
"Damn. No answer." He was mostly talking to himself, and as he put the phone down, his brow furrowed, his finger tapping impatiently, I spoke
"I have plenty of tools in the garage, and you're welcome to bring the bike inside to work on it, out of the cold." I handed him a cup of coffee and we both sipped silently for a moment.
"Really?" He looked suspicious of my kindness, and I realized he was probably a punk kid who wouldn't expect a 25 year old housewife in a nice neighborhood to be so solicitous. "I mean, that would be great, but I don't want to be any trouble." He seemed a little nervous, so I smiled reassuringly.
"No, it's no trouble. come on." I led the way, and opened the garage, turning up the heater first, then pulling out various tools while he pushed the motorcycle inside.
I assured him that he was welcome to use any and all of the tools he needed and went back inside to get his coffee. I started to realize that I was alone in my home with an extremely attractive man. I decided to check my appearance before going back out to the garage. My black waist length hair was clean and shiny and I had never been one to need, or enjoy, makeup, so that was a check, then there was my choice of wardrobe....hanging out with my kids never inspired me to wear my nicest clothes, but I decided that what i was wearing was just fine--comfortable jeans and a tight t-shirt, rather sexy actually. So I took a deep breath, grabbed that cup of coffee, and went back out to the garage.
"How's it coming?" I had hoped he would find everything he needed, but not finish the job too quickly, and it looked like that's what was happening. He had taken apart something and was looking pretty pissed off.
"Not so good. I thought I knew what was wrong, but it's something different this time. Piece of shit." He kicked the tire, then looked up at me with a smile. "Sorry. My name's Jesse, by the way." He held out a greasy hand for me to shake, and I didn't hesitate. Touching him sent chills up my spine, as I knew it would.
"Lisa. And don't worry about it. We'll get her running." I walked over to the bike, and started looking at what he had done so far. My first boyfriend had been a mechanic, and I had learned a lot about bikes from him. I picked up one of the pieces he had detatched and laid on the floor.
"This is your culprit, right here. I bet you fifty bucks." I winked at him, then turned to go inside. "Let's go call a parts store and see if we can get you another one, huh?" He was looking at me in awe, as he caught up to me in the kitchen.
"You know bikes?"
"Damn straight. Just because I look like a snotty bitch doesn't mean I'm not cool underneath it all." I laughed then started flipping through the yellow pages.
"No, you don't, I mean...I just..." He wasn't sure how to take me.
"Here's one. What year is your bike?" I got the info i needed from him and made the call. The first store i tried had the part he needed and would send a driver over within the hour. "You don't have anywhere you need to be, do you?" I dared him to disagree.
"Uh, no. I"m good." He was starting to look nervous again. There was no way he could not sense my intense interest, but seemed unsure of how to read it.
"Great. You can wait here." I took his coffee cup, to refill, and used that as an excuse to touch his hand. He dropped the mug before i grasped it, and it hit the tile floor with a loud crash, breaking into a dozen pieces.
"Oh god, I"m sorry...I uh,..." he was on his knees, scrambling to pick up the pieces, and I joined him.
"Hey, relax, I'm not going to bite." I put my hand on his, to steady the shaking. He looked up from the pieces of pottery he was holding, and into my eyes.
"Are you really....?" He had a half smile on his face, his head cocked in disbelief. I didn't answer, but that was enough. He reached for me, and our lips met in a rush of excitement and insecurity. He was soft and sweet and I wanted to rip his clothes off right there. We kissed for a while, surrounded by broken pottery, and then there was a knock on the door. We both jumped, and I scrambled to my feet and nearly tripped over my own feet trying to get to the door. It was the parts delivery guy, miraculously quick arrival. Curse him! I paid him and thanked him, and headed back to the kitchen. Jesse was looking guilty and shy.
"here's your part. where were we?" I pushed him onto the couch and we continued kissing for a long time. I felt like a kid again--partly because he was a kid, and partly because i hadn't simply "made out" with a guy for a long time, even before i was married. i tried not to think of my husband who was on one of his abundant business trips--which he had used to have several affairs during our brief marriage. I slid my hands under Jesse's shirt, and felt his smooth skin stretched over the muscles that young men have without trying, his hairless chest reminding me that he was too young. Soon, my shirt was off and his pants were off and he was smiling at me like a kid in a candy store.
"I can't believe I'm here. I've seen you, working in your garden or whatever, and that's why I picked your door to knock on." His breath was hot against my neck and I was thrilled with the knowledge that he had been checking me out before.
"You're at least 18, right?" I asked insistently. I didn't exactly want to be breaking the law.
"20, actually." He was tugging at the waistband of my jeans, and I decided to help him by removing them as quickly as possible. It felt so good to be with someone again, the heat of passion, just sex for the sake of sex. No strings, no expectations. We stayed naked for the rest of the afternoon, and defiled several rooms of my house. I finally noticed the clock at 3:15.
"Oh shit! You gotta go. My kids will be off the bus any minute! Hurry!" We ran around, gathering his clothes, then he scrambled into them. I shoved him into the garage just as the bus pulled up. That's when the guilt hit.

So now that I have the page up and running, I have run out of things to say. No, it can't be. I have never before run out of things to say. I think the pressure's just on. Let me introduce myself, just in case anyone decides to read this. My name is Lisa and I'm a housewife in the western United States, Utah, to be precise. I'm a New England native, and frightfully proud of it. Utah is pretty fun, but I miss the ocean, good seafood, good bars, and, well, lots of other things--including Dunkin Donuts...yum. I have 2 year old twin boys, which is why I get to be a housewife. They are so much fun, and you'll probably end up hearing about them from time to time, but not to a Kathie Lee extent, I promise. The only other thing I have going on in my life is daily trips to the gym--trying hard to get my pre-child-bearing body back...going pretty well, and I enjoy the diversion, so it's a good thing. Also, I'm writing a novel. That is a trip. Okay, so I guess that's all you need to know for now. I'll get on to the good stuff.

Since it's the middle of the night, and I'm not even sure if this is going to work, I'm going to be lazy today. I'm going to post some excerpts from emails i wrote earlier today. yes, I'm lazy. It's 1:32 am and i have to get up in while. i'll be less lazy next time i post. i swear. a lot, actually.

Going out is pretty lame around here, anyway. Try living in the fucking bible belt of the rockies. There are about 100,000 people in this county and guess how many bars? Just guess. I want to hear a number, god damn it. No, you’re wrong. There are 8. Yup. Most of them are total red-neck, cowboy dives, too. And live music? Shit. That’s what there is for live music. It’s a sad, sad thing. The other sucky thing about going out here is that there are virtually no restaurants that are not national chains. Except for Mexican—there is definitely good Mexican here. Perhaps that’s because there are lots of Mexicans here. Uh, anyway, the food here sucks and so do the bars, but we manage to have a great time anyway. Like, last weekend we went to some Elk’s club function (talk about rednecks and cowboys—and OLD PEOPLE!!!!) to see a friend of a friend do some belly dancing. That was a good time. And there are some truly phenomenal outdoorsy things to do. Like the hot springs—nature’s hot tub nestled in the top of a mountain, bubbling up from a river, with a waterfall pouring in…It’s so amazing. That is probably my favorite thing to do here. Especially since there are usually a bunch of fat, 40-ish naked white guys enjoying the soak with you…the funniest part about that, since we live in the aforementioned bible belt, is that there are signs all the way up the 2 mile trail warning of possible nude bathers. I ruefully laugh every time I see those signs. To me they mean, “If you don’t like it, leave!!!” Prudish assholes.

It doesn't usually get as cold here, and there has never once been a blizzard. It cracks me up, though, because anytime there's a snowstorm people will say it's a blizzard, and really it's just snowing. That's all--32 degrees, no wind, and a lot of snow gently falling. Blizzard? Shoah. No one drives right in the snow either. They tailgate and speed in the middle of a snow storm. It makes me very nervous. They don't put sand down, either. They plow, but there's tons of roads and not enough snowplows (in my opinion), and they always wait until it stops snowing. So, no, we don't get storms like Maine. No ice storms either, which I LOVE!! Nothing is more beautiful than the morning after an ice storm with the whole world sparkling. The skiing is good here, and it's nice to have mild winters.

Okay, I guess that's it for now. Not much in the way of a great first post, but hey, I gotta set the bar low, so I have somewhere to go.