An update...I am feeling better. Doctor says everything is good; my body did exactly what it was supposed to. When I think of it now it isn't a surprise to my mind anymore. For days before I kept realizing it and it was like I was finding out all over again. I guess my mind has accepted it now. It is something sucky that happened; but it is so not the end. Thank you all dear friends for your kinds words and your support. We have felt very supported, cared for, and loved. We are thankful for you guys.
Some women love handbags, diamonds, or chocolate. Not me; I love shoes.
The more outrageous the better. The people who actually know me can see that I am really more of a "brown" person. I don't wear a lot of prints or geometric shapes. I don't really own anything with flowers or decoration (unless they are PJ's which is my one other obsession). But when it comes to shoes I can't help but want the bright patent leather 4 inches that happen to be teal (which I own- they have a bow) or fuschia (which I am looking to own). I have heels with bows, buckles, zebra stripes, beads. It is almost personal to let someone look at my more bizarre shoes like somehow I am telling you a secret about myself that only Husband and a few select people know. Yes, my name is Erica and I am addicted to hot shoes.
The not so surprising thing...it is all my Mother's fault. I mean it really isn't, but talk about a women who loves her shoes. I am actually unaware of how many different pairs of black pumps my Mom has; let alone other colors. She has the dazzling red shiny pumps that I have coveted for years. I really don't know how my Sister turned out to be a purse girl seeing as how she had two shoe women as examples. I guess you can't teach everyone right? :) (She is probably sticking her tongue out at me right now).
So all of this to tell you that Husband bought me one of the hottest pairs of shoes that I am proud to say that I now own on Monday night. They are high, gold and brown, shiny, and they even have some areas of dark gold snake print. They are just crazy enough without looking super trashy. You may wonder why this is a big deal. Well I'll let you in on the scene of almost every shoe acquisition I have ever had while Husband was present:
H: Seriously...do you have room for those?
Me: Of course! I have room for like 5 more boxes high and 6 across on the top of my closet and when I run out of that room there is plenty of room in one of the three other closets in our house that is hosing piles of paper and crap that can be moved.
H: We are not moving my stuff out of closets for shoes.
Me: Well we dont have to there is plenty of room in my closet.
H: Ok well don't you already have a black pair of shoes?
Me: Well yes babe but the black ones that are short only go with long jeans and the tall ones with the buckle go well with skirts but not pants because then you can't see the buckle. But not all skirts because they are not exactly super conservative....etc. After about two explanations of this he is usually laughing or giving me the, "are you shitting me" look.
This time he was like those are great you should get them. It was an incredibly sweet moment and I felt understood and loved. I told him he doesn't need to buy me shoes to be a good Husband but he said he wanted to score some points. If you hate them just don't tell me.
I am feeling pretty damn lost this morning. As I write this I am still in bed at 12:38 on a Saturday afternoon. It is a gorgeous day all cloudy and gloomy outside. I have to say that growing up in California I love to have a break in the sun now and then and see the gloom. It normally makes me even more happy, but today it is just wonderfully complimentary to my mood. Because you see I lost something yesterday; my first baby. The one that I have been waiting for my whole life.
I have always wanted to be a mother, always. I don't even know how to explain that this would just always be a part of my life. I guess a part of me just always assumed that it would be so easy since I knew that I was supposed to be a mother. I have always been the type to just persevere and do whatever it is I put my mind to. That has often helped me with things in life like finishing college when I wasn't always sure that I could; but I can't make this happen. I can't just do this because we decided to. That was difficult for me when we were trying; and even more difficult for me today. Seeing that second pink line was absolutely one of the coolest moments of my life. The day I read that my baby had a heartbeat made me feel like my own heart would explode. If it even did. Some of the tests suggest that things weren't going well even back then; we just didn't know it yet.
Fast forward to the news; just at 7 weeks and there is nothing I can do to make it better. And it hurts. Everything hurts. My Mom and Step-Dad drive home from L.A. my Sister comes to Erica sit, they cook and clean and take care of me. And why they are here I don't think too much. It's hard because I still feel pregnant. I woke up on Thursday and everything was fine and I went to bed on Thursday knowing that I was losing it-our baby; my body fails me. I hear that this doesn't really mean anything and that it doesn't mean that it will happen again, but now I am afraid. Even more than I was before. What if I am one of those people who this always happens to? Will I get to my dream of being a mother?
I guess I am just looking for something that will make me feel better, something that will make our pain go away. I thought writing about it might help. It just hurts emotionally and physically; and I am so exhausted. Thank you dear people who knew; for your kind words and hugs if you were close enough to give them. We are blessed to have such great people in our lives. I have to say of all the things this weekend has made me feel- incredibly loved was surely one of them.
So lately Husband has been taking a liking to calling me Eyebrows. No it is not because I have big busy ones or none at all. Apparently I have developed a habit of furrowing them together for all reasons: the sun is bright, I am thinking, I am scowling, I am giving a look of total bewilderment (something I have to say the Husband brings on quite frequently).
So all this thinking about eyebrows has got me thinking about how important they are. I think most ladies will agree that eyebrows are VERY important. Especially any woman who has trusted her face (yes it affects your WHOLE DAMN FACE) to someone who has been state certified, yes state certified, who went to school to learn exactly how to pluck and wax away little hairs and make some art on your face.
This, of course, has happened to me a number of times; thankfully all of them were as bad as the two I am about to tell you about.
Bad eyebrow wax #1: Husband decides that he needs to get a haircut so we head off to Supercuts before we head to Olive Garden for dinner (I know we seem so middle-aged sometimes). I am standing there thinking I really need a wax and I had a good one from that Australian girl at the other Supercuts that time I’ll give it a whirl. Now let’s take into perspective that I have been receiving eyebrows waxes since I was roughly 17; so we are talking almost 10 years of receiving waxing experience. So she sits me back (her eyebrows are a little thin but that’s ok right it is just her preference is running through my head) and starts to apply some wax. She puts some wax in between my eyes and puts a little strip down, ok good so far. Then she leaves it there. She does not push down grab and pull which is normal wax procedure. She keeps pushing down nice and hard making sure it is forever bound to my skin. Then she applies wax under one arch and applied strip and repeats while never pulling off my other strip. It is at this point that I am starting to sweat enough to fill a shot glass and noting that I am going to need one large vodka once this is over. I am thinking at this point that I need to say, “ok no thanks, may I please have some solvent please because there is no way I am letting you pull these off my skin; you will take my face with it, where in the hell did you receive your training you eyebrow waxing hack.” But I didn’t. I laid there and took it. Sure enough she removed at least 2 layers of skin on both sides of my face and left me with a gaping hole in my right eyebrow that I had to pencil in until it grew back.
So you would think that after that experience I would on let someone who had previsouly wax me do it again, of course not! You see we smart girls sometime we just ain’t that smart. We have off days; we get desperate. Not to mention the lady who normally waxed my eyebrows (and usually did a good job) started giving me attitude. It seems like in the last few years I am so bothering her to call and ask if I can get an eye wax. I mean seriously it takes like 3 minutes and you make 15 bucks I don’t see the problem, but whatever.
Which leads me to Bad Eyebrow wax #2. I was getting a pedicure at this little Asian place around the corner from my house. (I know you can already feel where this is going) I needed a touch up; we are talking no shaping of any kind. There were just a few big dark ones that were growing in faster than the others and I wanted them taken care of. My favorite pedicurist also does wax. So I thought well I can check it out I don’t need shaping or anything so I will try her out. It is like a super simple wax. So she takes me back, I lie down, she asks and I say “just a little clean up here [I point] no shaping.” She takes this to mean please remove my whole eyebrow. It doesn’t feel like she takes too much off really as she applies the knowing wax, strip, press, then off maneuver I know and trust. She even does the thing where she brushes the hairs up with a comb and then trims the hair (all fine I know some very expensive people who do this). She gives me a mirror I am thinking ok a little thin, I go to my car and look in the mirror and am horrified by what is staring back at me. I mean we are talking Asian hoodlum BIG TIME. I look like I belonged in China town and pissed off at something at that. Not exactly a good look for a Portuguese girl. I have to say I have seen some beautiful Asian girls with super thin eyebrows by us chicas the Portugies- we don’t do thin eyebrows. So I go home and my Mom calls which means I immediately start bawling and she is like what is wrong with you. I tell her my story she laughs and says how bad? Can you comb down and me, “nope we are in a drawing on situation only.” She says, “Aw honey I am sorry. I was just calling to tell you that Grandma is in the hospital and she is going to have to have 1 maybe 2 toes removed on Monday.” Me: Total and complete silence. Mom: Now that ought to give you some perspective. At least yours will grow back. And don’t you ever tell your Grandmother I said that; something tells me she won’t think it is as funny as we do.
Well mine did grow back, slowly over 2 months. I finally went to get them re-shaped by someone very trusted and she was like “oh honey I can do my best but we can’t shape them normally; there are some bald spots under here.” Which sends me into an internal mutter, “Damn lady does not know how to wax a frigging eyebrow and I have to keep paying for it, I am never letting her or someone I don’t know, or wasn’t explicitly referred wax my eyebrows again.” At which point if Husband could hear my thoughts (thank goodness he cannot) he would have called me Homer and laughed his ass off yet again.
So it would probably help to tell you that I work on a college campus, and yes we do have Ag programs. This morning while furiously typing away my next cubbie mate told me that while her and her boyrfriend were driving home late one night last week she saw a sheep had been run over in the road.
I was in my zone and my response was, "what, a sheep?" Because when you hear sheep and ran over it permeates that brain fence you have around whatever it is that you may be doing. I mean it barrels right through and leaves you going huh, wtf? So she responds, "Yes a sheep, a sheep!" With such vigor I couldn't help but bust out laughing. So this is how the rest of the converstion went:
Me: What did you do? Cubbie Mate: Well we drove home. Me: OMG you didn't stop or call the police? CM: No, no the campus police were already there and there were people everywhere. We just went home; besides it wasn't dead [I don't think]. It was just sort of lying there. I think someone broke it's leg.
I think the police were there to probably arrest it and put it back into custody.
Ok so I have been having the most insane dreams. I mean we are talking the stuff that screeplay writers wished they dreamed of. So I thought I woudl share some of them with all of you. We are talking like I should be writing these down for posterity or for a serious look into my psyche.
This was last week. And this guy from my work (who is married to this girl that I talk to and is a supervisor for my dept) was like this super psychotic guy like Javier Bardem in No Country for Old Men. He was explaining to me why he had to kill me in some non-descript apartment somewhere with really white walls. I told him that I just didn’t understand because I didn’t think that I had done anything to deserve it. He took me into the living room and I saw the cow killer thing that he used in the movie but he moved away from it and pulled a big machete out of a suitcase and came at me. I ran to a bedroom and locked myself in and Husband was in the bed propped up and working on homework. Then I remember thinking that he was going to be more angry and make me suffer so I let him in and turned around. He slammed the machete into the back of my neck. As I was slipping into oblivion I could feel my back was in pain and then went all warm and numb and then I woke up. I wasn’t all the way awake and I swear I could feel the same feeling in my neck it was creepy. I remember lying there thinking I need to make sure that I don’t tell Anita at work about this because then her Husband will find out and know that I know and he will come after me.
So then Saturday I have this dream that Lola (my baby dog) is sick. She has a brain tumor and it needs to be removed. She had gotten like super mean and aggressive and somehow that is how we found out. So I start crying. I start thinking that she needs to have a CT scan. I am like she needs Derek he is nice and he will help her so I need to take her to Dr. Shepard for the scan. I go to the phone book to look up Meredith's phone number so she can convince him and I realize that neither of them are real. They are fictious people and I have no idea who to call so I sit there and cry.
Sunday... I apparently won a trip to the North Pole. So I had to go to New York where I was going to be outfitted with all of this warm weather clothing and these snow screen things to walk in and we were going to travel by hiking from NYC to the North Pole. It didn’t take very long, I wasn’t cold, and it was gorgeous. I also got to go ice skating. When I went to come back in knew that I was going to be late for work and I was really worried. Then Paul showed up and said that he didn’t want to fly his plane and that he would ride with me commercially. So I fly back home promptly get off the plane and omg "remember" that I am pregnant and am not supposed to fly in first trimester and get all worried that I screwed it up and I was going to lose the baby. It was strange. And oh NCY looked like San Fran the whole time.
Wednesday: I had a totally crazy one last night and I waiting for something to job my memory. When it does I am so posting a part 2 baby.
So I have basically been wanting to write my whole life. I mean I have had book ideas spinning through my head since adolescence; however, I lack discipline. How else did I manage to gain 35 pounds in almost 4 years of marriage? I'll tell you-no discipline.
So one of my themes that I was thinking the other day has been done time and time again. They say your first book is somewhat autobiographical seeing as how we all "write what we know." I have always wanted to write about a girl who is incredibly average (a lot like me) who eventually figures out that she is un-average and truly extraordinary. So I was going to start this book and then I was like fuck! I haven't exactly figured that out yet.
So the question is how do you write about something you don't even know; that you are not even sure exists? I am sure that Husband knows what makes me special maybe even my Mother but how the hell am I supposed to know unless someone tells me? I mean is this supposed to be something that I just know? Do I get to figure out while I am still young enough to do something about it? I am not fishing for compliments here I seriously don't know. I think I may have to write my book on Sisters instead. My Sister, my only sibling, now she is where it's at. She has more personality in her pinkie finger than some people ever hope to have. Now I think I give her a run for her money but nevertheless she seems to embody it more. It must be more of the oldest child curse. You know, you oldest siblings, what I am talking about. WE GET SCREWED!!
So maybe someday I will write my book. The problem is that the truth always hurts a little bit. Even if you write something of pure fiction those around you will read it and see the things about themselves that they are afraid of in your characters flaws. How do you assure them that it isn't them? Especially if it partially is? Those around us inspire us and we couldn't do it without them right?
So yes I have been incredibly neglectful of my new little baby blog. It is a really good thing that I have dogs and not fish. Although Husband has a fish but I swear I have never fed it...not even once. I find it truly amazing that it is even alive. Especially since it has no name. I mean if I had not name who knows how much a will to live I would have. The second fish did totally commit suicide a few weeks back. It went thrashing about when Husband tried to clean out it's tank. Idiot.
So anyway Husband is in finishing school. We did the I work part time and he works full time while I finish school (I graduated a few years ago) and now he is finishing school and working full time, bless him. So he lovingly left all of his elective units until his last semester. So that means that this fall sucks royally. I mean royally. I hardly get to see him because he is always in class and when he is home he is doing homework. Like now he is doing homework, I am waiting for him to get to a stopping point so I can eat. Soon he will be done and then we will both be done and who knows what after that...
So I had an interesting conversation with Husband this week about my annual appointment. I got a "have fun." At which point I had a hard time not giving him the finger. My response was "naw babe why don't I send you in my place?" "We can get them to nicely insert a speculum in your ah hem place." You don't even want to know what he said then. Even so I would rather see her then my friggin dentist so there's that; and my dentist is even a nice guy; although I would totally protest him telling me to don a gown and then compressing on my uterus. I just don't think that is a place that dentists shoud be going.
Funny thing is that this was not an unusual conversation for us. Darling Husband does not get embarrassed and is actually pretty understanding about otherwise "taboo" topics. I guess every once in a while he may surprise me but for the most part it is par for the course.
So the Husband just asked, as I typed away while he was vacuuming, are you explaining how I am doing you a solid? My immediate thought was when did you turn back the clock to 18? Yes he was doing me a favor; because yes I broke a wine glass. No I was not drunk, and yes it was an accident. It involved me not wanting to hold it and trying to find space on the TV tray that has NO space. So it bit the dust, huge bummer. So now we need a new set of white glasses (Husband broke one months ago) and a set of red glasses in the first place. I am back on red after a few years absence...
Aunt Hilarious and Uncle Fun had us out to visit in one of CA's wine countries. We had lasagna the red wine was flowing. I drank it because I knew it was good stuff even though I was thinking probably not such a good idea. Aunt Hilarious thought it would be a good idea to have margaritas because cousin super young was gone at his first sleep over. So we attempted to watch Snatch and have margaritas. The story ends with Erica going down and Aunt Hilarious being well, hilarious. Bad night, worse morning, fun night. However, it resulted in my not drinking red wine for years without a stomach turn. Thankfully, I am cool now! :) We always had the most f-ng fun visiting Aunt Hilarious.
You will all have to forgive me as I am a blog virgin. In fact when my little Sister said something about a blog when she was in high school (I was in college) my response was "blog; what the hell is a blog?" My technical education has only grown since then. I can now, thankfully, update my own iPod thanks to several different tutorials by Husband. I told him I really didn't care and that I was perfectly fine with him doing it for me, but no. I get the "you are 23 years old and you have a college degree you need to be able to update your own friggin iPod." When you put it that way, how can I argue?
So why blog may you ask? I guess I am just looking for a place to get all this crap off my chest. You may from time to time hear about my crazy dogs, my hilarious Husband, my loveably wacky Sister, my hordes of blessedly appreciated friends, and apparently my opinions about just about everything.