All this week, Jamey has been out of town for business.
It’s always funny when he leaves and gives me the house to myself. For the first couple days, I am usually good at finding entertainment: I have time to watch all the t.v. shows and movies I have been wanting to watch (although I never got around to The Last Song like I meant to…bummer), the opportunity to throw my clothes everywhere, maybe not wash all the dirty dishes in the sink at once, and have ample time to do loads of laundry. Girls’ nights feel like they can last all evening, since I only return to an empty house, and later evening shopping excursions give me an excuse to get out and buy just what I don’t really need. (I may or may not have bought this scarf tonight…I am my mother’s daughter.)
That’s not to say Jamey pressures me to do any of the above chores or chains me to the kitchen sink when he’s home. (Or does he?) But our evening hours together are precious, since he’s not a night owl and sometimes likes to do his own thing. That’s fine, and I always respect it; I know we need our space and different activities here and there to relax and take our mind off of a long day’s work.
However, hours spent doing loads of laundry and dishes are not ever appealing (for the obvious reasons and others). I’d always rather spend time with him, no matter the activity. Evenings with Jamey are always a time of day that I wish lasted as long as some work days feel like.
But come Thursday after a business trip, I am always ready for his return. Even if it means that he makes fun of me constantly, like this…
…then nights sitting at home and mocking each other are the only evenings I need.
Every now and then Claire will say something that blows my mind.
Today’s example occurred in a brief chat:
Claire: I think I’m going to grow out my eyebrows.
Jamey: The implications of that statement boggle my mind.
I know that women do a lot of weird things to conform to the modern ideal of beauty. This is something that I know intellectually. But from time to time I’m confronted by the shocking difference between the lives of Women and Men.
This is an excellent example. It never crossed, for one second, my mind that women controlled the length of their eyebrows. I knew that there was plucking and waxing, but controlling the length? Whoa.
The implications that I referred to above are that Claire is constantly reviewing and critiquing her appearance. This review is done to such a minute degree that she’s questioning the length of her eyebrows. My mind is immediately racing:
Does everyone do this?
How can this be important?
Are MY eyebrows too long?
Luckily, Claire interrupted me.
Claire: Nevermind. According to beauty brow experts of the blogosphere, I have good eyebrows.
Taken care of!
Whatever she’s doing works.
I think she’s great.
I just need to put this out there from the beginning: this post is going to be a tad ridiculous. That said, I am now going to embrace the silliness wholeheartedly.
One of the fun, girly things that my girly friends have been asking me lately is if I have started to practice my new signature. Oddly, it’s been a few years since I’ve had a crush on a boy in this way and felt the need to daydream about our future love, marriage , and doodle my first name with his last all over my binder. I guess you could say the humiliation factor of someone potentially seeing my name with his intertwined all over my notebook was a little bit of a turn-off.
So, fast-forward 13 years, and here I am sitting at work doing the exact opposite.
Practicing the new signature.
I’ve reworked “Claire Monahan” in several different styles. One of the strangest things about this future new last name is that I will no longer end in an “i.” Nothing to dot, nothing to flip, just an “n” that drifts off. How do I finish a signature with this? Continue reading
These days, my commute to work has been pretty horrible.
The walk to work - pretty horrible, right?
Cobblestones, lush ferns, historic buildings – clearly, this kind of walk is not miserable by any means. In reality, the fact that I can walk to work is such a luxury that I’m happy enough to leave the house in the mornings (well, almost). I argue that it’s better than Jamey’s commute, which still has its fair share of red lights and too much traffic despite the breathtaking view the Ravenel Bridge offers of the Charleston Harbor in the mornings and evenings. Continue reading
Last night, Jamey and I fully entered this decade of technology.
Bat ear antenna. Or digital flat antenna, as the box describes.
Jamey hasn’t been one for cable television in quite some time. He voluntarily abandoned it several years ago when he realized he only watched one channel, and when your sole channel is playing shows liked UFO Hunters, it’s safe to say the channel has jumped the shark. (Then again, when said channel also has a show called The Nostradamus Effect, maybe your interests with said channel and said channels’ audience aren’t all that far off.)
Lately – as in the past few years – my television viewership has also lessened. I can on occasion while away several hours in front of the Food Network, but for the most part that’s the only channel I stick to. Any broadcast television I typically watch online or stream later.
However, there are only two times in the entire year I like to watch shows in their regularly scheduled hours. The Superbowl, you might guess? No, not this girl. Maybe the State of the Union address? I am flattered you think I am such an active, participating citizen. Continue reading
I got a video game for Christmas.
That paintbrush spraying action? WAY harder than it looks.
It’s Epic Mickey, which I play on the Nintendo Wii system. If you’re familiar with how the Wii controller works, it’s a handheld wireless remote that you wave at the sensor bar, which can be placed either above or below the television. How you wave or move the remote determines your character’s actions on the screen and in the game. High-tech? Possibly. Stressful? Way more than I like to admit.
Well, since I’ve been deemed the sentimental one around here (as in, I’m not discussing dying birds), I thought I’d share with you a little snippet of the early days of Jamey’s and my courtship.
What’s funny is that exactly one year ago yesterday, Jamey sent me a link to a video with which I am very familiar. It is the subject of a great historical event that I like to describe as one of the most tragic: for in one single moment, a great historical figure was lost – a Founding Father, mind you.
Yes, I am talking about none other than the duel between Mssrs. Hamilton and Burr.
When I met Jamey, this somehow became part of our early conversation. After all, what else are you supposed to say to a history major?
I leave you with the episode of Drunk History Vol. 1 (rated PG-13 by myself, so you are forewarned if you’ve never seen this hilarity).
I suppose you could say that with this video, the wooing began.