Sunday, October 27, 2013

Bluesing to Adoption While DINKs Take on the Zombies

Previously on A&A's Adventures in Cohowloweenitation: Love wasn't the only thing biting when treadmills attacked, and orange barracudas smiled. Only Aragraconiselcius the Third and a prayer or two could sweep in to the rescue and pluck our heroes from the gaping maw of eternal nullity. Groundworks were laid to build (other people's) families after so many demolition jobs and good omens from a flaxen trio from the mystical lands of baby yogaquazumbananaoramdingdong. 


Coming Up: Orange deepens and roars as the crazy man and his army of Jovaviches charges forward? Do the plucky couple have any chance of survival? Will they willingly enter and survive a Fred Meyer's grand opening? Relationships of the soul are forged in paper and ink. Adoption Day arrives! Will Adella arrive in German Leiderhosen throwing glitter? A blues night opens portals to the past and memories flood in. Will they carry in their currents the final untwisting of a very hard massage? Will Blue battle Orange for supremacy? And another week, another weigh. Postive results show promising signs of future domination (of Krispy Kremes, perhaps). Will they stick? 

Read on for the answers and more...


Super Socktober Date Night: Let the Zombies In -

 It's a week and counting to Howlowhooopeeeen and time to start celebrating in earnest (if not in Earnest, than in Frank and/or in Bernice). Not that wandering around hummming ghost noises and screaming into echoey chambers isn't a start, but at some point, you've got to fall back on the film marathons and glitter. Glitter has been purchased, so on to the movies! I was feeling a bit off-kilter (nothing new these days, as I'm not sure I even distinctly remember the sensation of being atop kilter) and unfit for public consumption.

So for our date night, let's say that I dressed up like  a leopard (leopard print pjs totally count meeeeow) and surprised my husband with some no-longer-frozen burritos and the beginning of what we hope might be an appreciable Resident Evil marathon. Of course, as we've learned from canistream.it, the only Resident Evil movie available for the lazy online streamers is the first one. This worked just fine last night, but may in fact necessitate an actual trip to a... qu'est qu'il dit... movie rental place?? Something like that. I imagine these are hot commodities for this season, so we'll see what gales of fortune gust into the sails for our journey through the years of Umbrella Corps waltzes with semi-nude Milla. 

This morning is Adoption Day! Like all days in which a new test arises, I have mostly been fretting over potential logistical gaffes. In law school, it was the crippling nightmares about computers exploding mid-essay and/or some kind of difficulty making it to the testing site. At the bar exam, well, the same. This is less computer-centric of a procedure, so the mild suggestions of panic dreams left unexplored are mostly of the exploding briefcase and/or tsunamis interfering with my five minute walk to the courthouse. So far, the weather forecast looks good, although time appears to be travelling backwards, if you trust my "trusty" atomic clock (currently claiming that it is 10:36 p.m.). Never a brilliant sign.  But I've got a few incantations and fairy dust (I did buy glitter after all) to throw in the face of a smirky Norn or two. 

Once this hearing nonsense is completed, I've got a single ladies night, since my husband is going to Seattle to try on clothes. He's chic and only a touch epicene in that fashion (har har). No, really, it's for his new team "kit" order for 2014. Since the cycling uniforms are made in Europe the extent of vanity sizing is minute and it takes some trial and error to identify the correct size.

 I shall be celebrating by watching episodes of Face Off and possibly staring into the vacant vortex behind my conscious awareness.


But for now, load up the glitter guns, I'm off to the adoption! 




Adoptalypse Now! A Very Happy Family Law Moment - 

Yesterday was Adoption Day 2013. Not the technical national holiday one. The personal one for me and my bestie-clients. Marcus is now Dylan's dad! Like legally and stuff! I can't say how much of an honor it's been to be a part of this process, edifying a longstanding relationship after many years with a bunch (and I mean a bunch) of paperwork. 

Adoptions are cool, albeit fairly anticlimactic. The "final hearing" was in judge's chambers (i.e. the judicial batcave). It took roughly five minutes. Dylan spent the "hearing" playing with a magnetic desk toy (the toy was magnetic, the desk was not). When asked if he wanted to be adoption, Dylan was temporarily distracted just long enough to say "sure" (oh he is so ready to be a teenager, which despite all appearances he's not quite yet). Emma spent the time giggling and blowing epic snot bubbles (better her than me). She did not give her opinion as to the adoption process, but chimed in anyways with a rousing chorus of "mamamamama" that I think might have been directed at the judge.

 And in the grand traditional of legal realities, we spent more time in the clerks' office getting copies and filling out paperwork for the Department of Health than we did in chambers. 

 Dylan is definitely an inch plus on me when I'm holding myself upright. How on earth that happened, I'll never know, but since we're inundated with GMO labeling debate right now, I can only assume he'll soon be labelled as a genetically modified organism. I'm practicing my neck crooks for looking up at him when he hits his apex. I did mention he's not even officially a teenager yet, right?

That aside, I was quite happy to hand certified copies of the adoption to decree to Molly, Marcus, and one to Dylan. I told Dylan to keep his copy for future reference when deciding whom to blame for any psychological problems he may develop. Might be a useful tool as he sidles towards driving (and motorcycling age) as well. So far, he's contended with his active schedule of musical instruments, track, and - of course - heavy Xbox practice. But it's only a matter of time... I hear in his more private moments, he has already demonstrated some skill in the requisite teenage qualities of "being a bit fat pill" to match his newly developing second tenor timbre.  

Molly's mom and step-dad showed up just after the official document signing and well in time for the exciting waiting and/or galloping around the clerk's office (galloping courtesy of Emma, who'd held still and been child of secondary attention for far too long).

While the family loaded up into Molly's  new minivan, I said my farewells, blinked back a sprinkling of moisture, and strutted back to the office. My saunter was far less prideful than relieved, because somehow I did manage to avoid singing any German drinking songs while jigging on the judge's desk. After the paperwork has been properly filled and filed, the attorney's job (thank goodness) is mostly to stay out of the way and let things run their natural course. Possibly to smuggle any beepable contraband past security if clients are running short on time. Fortunately, Marcus had time to return the knife in his pocket to the car, so I didn't have to stash such a thing in my briefcase.  

Apparently the witching hour leading into adoption extravaganza has faded and time is resuming to normal in atomic clock land. Thanks goodness. The world returned to some semblance of normal in time for me to run down to the Y to run a bit more and then make funny faces and slight groaning noises atop several silver sneaker machines. I may have been a little wired between the morning's festivities and the intervals I choose to pepper into my "warm up" on the treadmill. 

And for true celebration of familial formation, I went home and had a single lady night! The darling boyfrianceband was off trying on silly clothes and eating pizza. Yes, I might be afraid of shopping and sartorial consumerism, but he has no qualms about socializing at events that involve in depth discussion of inseams and chest measurements... and a fair amount of spandex to boot. 

Andrew is soon to be the proud owner of a medium sized team kit (ooooooh medium in those teeny tiny Italian cycling clothes, so you know that weight loss goal really is coalescing). And... drum roll please... a skin suit!! He is one step closer to Captain American. I suggested he would need the time trial helmet and a small cape, and then he could endue himself in such before the next Avengers movie. Of course, I'm not sure Thor (the next Avengers movie) quite gels with Andrew's brand of supercyclist vestments, but then again he might look quite strapping with some Loki thorns added to his helmet. This suggestion has lathered up quite the internal dialog about aerodynamic properties of Loki horns. I think there's a good chance, the boyfrianceband will end up racing in a large horned headdress by the end of the year!

Ever wild, my single lady evening consisted of swearing at netflix for not working when I wanted to watch House of Cards. I fell into the solace of amazon prime and old episodes of Are You Afraid of the Dark, including one of several episodes of this 1990's Snick (echo-boomers unite in nostalgic pop cultural references!) that presaged the supposed "twist" to 6th Sense. I also - hang onto your hats here - took a shower and (promise you won't report me to the ABA ethics committee for this craziness) went to bed early!! And, I must hang my head and admit to even experimenting with a few complicated crosswords that were explicitly labeled as "weekend crosswords" Oh my! Did I just admit all of that publicly?? I must be giddy. 

Anyhoo, it's been a big ole' week and I'm surfing right through the orange barracuda towards whatever comes next. I'm going back to just-estrogen in a couple of days per the tenebrous Rx regimen that seems hellbent on whipping my internal cycles back into some kind of regularity despite their sniveling and chaffering at the thought (yep, my entire endocrine system might just be a teenager, which would explain why I feel a bit like I'm going through puberty yet again!) One fewer pill sounds good, but since progesterone balances estrogen out, well we could be seeing a situation of all yin with no yang coming up! 



Show me the Weigh to Go Home, Go Home

 Actually, I kind of know how to go home, so you can just show me ... well I don't know, what do people want to be shown? Say, that state? You know. The "Show me" state. What do people in Missouri want to be shown exactly. This has frequently perplexed me. 

But as I have successfully found what I feel comfortable dubbing "home" I will turn my furrowed brow to other concerns. I am officially of the ranks of millions of Americans on the weigh up, poundage speaking. I'm happy to report that my weekly weigh-in showed positive (literally and otherwise) results. While I continue to demonstrate a healthy skepticism (unlike my generally questionable reflexive skepticism of all things that move and breath - or do they?) about the objective quality of the body fat reader, I will happily report having my first reading in the 20% zone. And, but for about half a pound, I am ten pounds heavier than I was two months ago. 

Just as it was on the way down, I have to laugh at how minimal the difference in appearance is. Even most of my body measurements are hardly different. With the exception of a few snug pants, it seems that "my size" so far comfortably straddles at least ten pounds. In fact, the most noticeable change in size seems to be due to the sudden and extraordinary chiseling of calf muscles I'd commented on earlier. Incidentally, all this definition definitely complicates shaving. Somehow I'll survive. Needless to say, ask yourself if you feel no different and you cease to do so. I've spent the rest of the day feeling that I am bursting the seams of all clothing that was ever the slightest bit fitted. On the bright side, I've deluded myself into thinking I'm brimming over with decollatage and rounded edges. 

To celebrate, or just because it's Saturday, +Andrew Wright and I hit the domestically blissed out "trail" (and tread) for our Saturday DINKStravaganza. We ran a bit further today than the mini-run last week, but since our official run only went about 50 minutes, I again hopped on the treadmill for another 20. It works pretty well, since Andrew takes far longer on his weights and it saves me the wait (oh homophones, how I will use you like the tawdry trollops you really are). 

Having survived a post-workout Fred Meyer's battle (it's their "grand opening" which means "one last surge of horrific before hopefully things stay where they're supposed to and every one chills back out") and scrubbed myself down to some semblance of squeaky, I'm ready for a looong and deep massage. And, thank goodness, I actually get to have one of those in about an hour. 





Crazy Mike Gave us His Video Collection! 

Actually, this "mike" gentleman gave them to my mother and David. I know this because she texted me saying she'd acquired the rest of the Resident Evil movies from this barmy gentleman. We arranged to meet somewhere between the perdition of the produce section (sample and surly celebrant central) and the relative quiet of the men's athletic clothing section (naturally, having tried on some athletic clothes on Thursday, Andrew is unstoppable in his quest for more more more). Thus Halloween was saved and Resident Evil movie marathon could commence. Well, for a marathon, we really do pace ourselves. We watched one Wednesday. And one yesteday. Fortunately, they aren't due back to the store until Thursday so there's plenty of time to watch armies of naked Milla Jovovich's kick various undead butts. 

We might have watch two whole movies, except that there was actually a chance for me and Andrew to go blues dancing last night! And we were both up for it! And and and... it happened. It's going to be a new fourth week of the month dance, so there may be a chance for a repeat. While tango is my baby in some regard, there's a poignancy about my time blues dancing, perhaps more concentrated as it seemed to have mostly culminating in meeting my future husband. Blues was actually the last dance I learned, and I did so just after graduating from Western. A sweet smelling reckless self-styled James Bond tanguero was mainly a blues dancer and there was an alluring madness and vulnerability to his dancing that surely whetted my appetite after many months of another partner encouraging me to try it. At the time, Blues didn't exist in Bellingham and the scene was focused on one or two major events in Seattle. When the next guy I met reported a history of going to Blues Underground, I couldn't help inviting him to go to the next one. I immediately fell into full infatuation (in several regards) that first evening out. For the next couple of years, blues hit my life in several strange ways. There were the highest ups and downs and some incredibly long sleepless trips and festivals. Moments of crystalline spiritual lucidity and the murkiest confusions between on the floor and off the floor sensations of intimacy that had only been hinted at in my prior tango experiences. And there were house parties. Oooh the house parties. When I went to bed at 5 a.m. instead of rising then, how they did delight me. 

And in the end, I met Andrew. Our first kiss was just after our first dance at Wade's. I won't say that ended my blues dancing run, but things began to expand and fragment in the blues world in Seattle around that time, so it was harder to track down my cadre of reliably ooey gooey incredible leads. School got harder. I was less starved for that emotional and physical comfort. And schedules got in the way. 

There is more blues in Bellingham, but the biggest event starts at my bedtime on a weeknight. And I just don't travel to dance like I used to. At this point I'm so rusty that I'm a little nervous about putting my bare hips into the hands of some stranger without some lathing of rust and wear.  

Still, it was fun to feel that rush and energy again - every moment exploding into a single shared second on the dance floor last night. I even had a blast of a west coastish dance with a fellow I'd met a while back named Jared. I almost asked the guy who was teaching that night to dance, as he looked fun, but wussed out in the name of a bum knee. Andrew and I danced for the better part of an hour and shared some moments of utter newness - like strangers having an affair on the the dance floor. So it was all a delight. 

Needless to say, I've undone all of the toil my poor masseur put into untwisting me (apparently, I'm twisted - I guess he knows me better than I think!) Yes, speaking of intimate experiences, I had quite the massage yesterday. You know you're in for something when your masseur croons "you will thank me for this later, but you're going to hate me right about now." I didn't hate him, but boy did I discover all kinds of interesting things going on in my hip flexors. I only almost cried and thrashed. In other awkward massage experiences: sheet wedgie. Only a little one, but I really hope they actually change out all the linens between clients, because... well, sheet wedgie. Also, having a runny nose while face down is an interesting impediment to relaxation. 

Somehow I survived. And then resnarled my body for the cause of blues. It was well worth it!


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