June 28, 2007

Two Truths and A Lie

The last three statements have relatively short answers, so I’m bundling it all into one post. 

Statement number eight is true, too.  I play the violin.  Although I haven’t actually played my violin in nearly 12 years, I started violin lessons when I was nine years old.  I really loved playing violin for the first six years, but when I got to high school, I despised the instructor.  Mrs. Something-or-Other.  See?  I hated her so much I purposely forgot her last name.

I had aspirations of becoming a fiddler, not a violinist, in a polka band.  But Mrs. What’s-Her-Face was awful to me.  She told me I didn’t practice as much as the kids who took private lessons and therefore I would probably never be in a first chair seat or get solos in the orchestra.  I promptly dropped out of orchestra class and played the violin at home only once in awhile.

It depresses me to think that I missed 12 years of playing time and I probably don’t remember how to tune my violin.  I’ve been toying with the idea of taking lessons now, as an adult, but my fear is that I’m too old.  Isn’t that crazy?  I should really do it.  I think I’m going to consider it some more.

Congrats to Cheryl, Nadine & Leslie!  You are absolutely right.

Number nine is false.  I was not a bartender in New York City.  I was a bartender at my father’s tavern, Frank & Ernie’s starting at age 16 through age 25.  If we’re going to be technical about it, I actually started my tenure as a beer server at age 14 (while my father was present of course!) which means that I spent nine years working in a tavern.  Through good times and bad times, I’ve seen it all.

When I graduated high school, I had no plans to go to college right away.  I wanted to experience life and move to the big, bad city of New York.  I planned to withdraw every last penny from my savings account, move to NYC, get a bartending job,  and live with my high school friend.  My father put a stop to this by threatening to break all the windows of my car.  (I was going to drive there, BAD idea.)

Dad simply cared about me and when I wouldn’t listen to reason, you know, about money and city life and where I’d park my car and how I’d afford the rent and how I would prevent myself from getting killed — his car wrecking threat worked.

I still wish I’d have done it, though.  In the end my father was right.  I’d have been back home in 3 months, penniless and with a broken spirit.

Congrats to Cheryl and Nadine!  You’re answers were correct!

The last and final statement is true.  I purposely speak in a southern accent when I go out to bars with my friend Amanda.

Amanda is from Texarkana, Arkansas and we met in seventh grade.  We’ve been great friends ever since.  After high school she moved back south to go to college in Texas but after several years returned home.  Her parents live here in Wisconsin.

Amanda still has her southern accent, just like her Momma (who happens to be named Dana, too) and when we go out to bars I end up talkin’ like a suthin wumin and sayin’ things like “y’all” and “fixin’ to” and “sugah” and “sweetay” and “fo’ sho’” and “thas a’raht” (that’s all right).  It’s contageous and everyone gets quite a kick out of how well I speak suthin. 

Cheryl, Leslie, Karen and Nadine, y’all gots numba tin raht.  Great job!

June 27, 2007

No Penelope for Me

The first lie!  Number seven is false.  When I was pregnant I did not think I was having a girl nor did I want to name a daughter Penelope.  At least not entirely.

From a very young age, say 10 years old, I knew that I wanted to be a mother someday.  Hell, if I could have had a child in high school, I very well may have done so.  Life would have been extremely difficult and my parents would have disowned me, but I couldn’t wait to have children.

My mother would scold me and tell me to stop wishing my life away.  She always said that things happen in our lives on their own time and that patience is a virtue.

I’m not a patient person.  I try to be.  I pray for God to grant me patience all the time.  That in itself is irony, don’t you think?

When Doug and I got engaged, I wanted my wedding to hurry up and be over with so we could work on the babymaking.  Needless to say, my awful fertility troubles didn’t end just because I told them to.  We tried everything the doctors suggested, even the fertility drug Clomid, in hopes of having a child.

After 2 unsuccessful years and no pregnancy, I had given up hope.  It was the Atkins diet that eventually got me pregnant and I won’t even tell you why I even tried it (food deprivation made me cranky) but I managed to lose 40 pounds on the diet and was pregnant after three months of cursing bread and pasta.  Coincidence or luck, who knows?  I was finally having a baby and life was perfect again.

In the first three months of pregnancy I was tired, cranky and suffered mild but frequent bouts of morning sickness and I had stranged dreams that I was having a girl.  But I knew deep in my belly,  a baby boy was growing.  I had always wanted a boy first. 

My mother had my youngest brother when I was 12 years old and I was familiar with changing diapers and making bottles and holding baby Frank.  I supposed I just expected that I would have a son.

Even when I had my ultrasounds, and little Dawson wouldn’t cooperate so we could find out his gender, I knew it was a boy.  I only chose boy’s names from the baby books.

It wasn’t until my 7th month that someone asked what name we had chosen if the baby was a girl.  I joked around and said Esther and that person offered the name Penelope.  I just laughed (and rolled my eyes when the person wasn’t looking).

I eventually found out I was having a boy in a last minute ultrasound right after I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia at 32 weeks.  My wish had come true and my little Dawson was born.

Congrats to Karen and Nadine.  You are correct yet again! 

June 25, 2007

True, True, True

Statement six is true.  I was a virgin until I was 20 years old and my husband is my first and only partner. 

I’d love to give you all the hilarious details of my first time, but some things are better left unsaid.  Afterall, it’s an intimate private thing and I respect my husband and all that we shared.  It would be wrong to write about it. 

Congrats to Karen, Nadine and Leslie!  You are correct yet again!

Daisy is playing at her blog.  Check it out.

I’ll be back tomorrow with Polish Fest photos and stories.  Stay tuned!

June 22, 2007

Age is Definitely a Number

But statement number five is false.  My husband is not twelve years older than me, only 10 1/2.

He was born in July of 1968 and I was born in March of 1979.  How our planets aligned is beyond me.  I can only say that our marriage works because I act like your average 40-year-old, mature woman.  He in turn, acts like a typical 21-year-old college boy.  It just works.

Truth be told, I met my husband for the first time at the age of eight.  That story can be found here.  It’s quite a long tale, I warn you, but definitely one of my favorite posts.

While Doug and I have been married nearly six years, we’ve been together for 9 1/2 and we’ve known each other for longer than that.  Please don’t make me count the years, I may die of shock.

I love that man more than I thought I could ever love any person.  Even when he’s a crabby, stubborn guy, I find it in my heart to love him until he’s happy again.  And I like to think he does the same.  Lord knows I’m not easy to live with.  But who the hell is?

Congrats Karen and Nadine!  You really know me well!

There’s still time to play.  Answer questions six through ten in the comments if you’d like!

Also, today is the last day to vote for me (and everyone else, of course) at Sk*rt!  Pretty Please?  With sugar on top?  And whipped cream, and cherries.  I’m craving cupcakes.  With white chocolate frosting….

Sorry.  So yeah, go vote!  Here!