Category Archives: hot husband

The idea of home

When I explain my past, its hard to really pinpoint a home.  I have homes, but they mostly exist in my mind.  As a kid, I moved so much that getting attached to a place wasn’t really something that I could do emotionally.  More often than not, I don’t think of home as a place because home is not permanent.  Is home a structure, a feeling, a moment, a person, or that warm feeling in your chest in the middle of the night when you feel safe? I’ve always felt like an outsider – which might just be my personality or a survival mechanism to keep me from getting too attached.  Sometimes it is easier to maintain a certain level of distance in order to keep your sanity than to take a chance, but then you meet those people.  Those people who strip the rust from your heart leaving you open and vulnerable just by not allowing you to stay far away.  I can count on one hand how many of those people have walked into and out of my life.  I’m not particularly fond of being noticed, but these people don’t give me a choice and it teaches me something every time.  Each of these people represent a home to me.

Maybe home is just a moment crystallized in time.  Just one perfect day where the dreams are allowed to exist and we speak our truths without so much fear and it is okay.  We aren’t so scared of sharing our demons, because we all have them.  In those 12 hours, life doesn’t really need to make sense and we don’t feel so damn overwhelmed by our brains.  I had one of those days recently and I want to crystallize this day in amber so that when the darkness comes back – I can remember.

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Fuck me, I need therapy

Again.

If you are anything like me, I know you’ve had that thought. Your perfectly respectable (also perfectly fucking annoying) mental illness is acting up again and you get to a point, after you’ve cried 12 times in one day, had vicious mood swings, and have the anxiety shits for three days, where you are contemplating handing over $175 for 50 minutes to someone you love but can’t afford.

I’m sitting here with her email address up, wondering if I should take the plunge. Deep down I know what she will say. In fact, I can name them:

1. You’ve gotten married, moved, and basically have no job. That’s a lot of personal stress.

2. Do you have a routine? (In case you are wondering, no I don’t because I’m a fucking child and I’m floundering in some level of personal crisis.

3. Are you taking your meds appropriately? No, because once again clearly I can’t be trusted with my own well being.

4. Are you eating? Yes, I’d like to eat a gallon of ruffles chips right now, but this motherfucker resisted.

5. Are you pregnant? No. Not unless my unborn child is a ninja. (No, really. I checked because I’ve been convinced I’m losing my fragile little mind. Yes, my ass actually took a test out of sheer desperate in a weird parking lot bathroom).

6. This is a lot of transition and change for you to deal with. Do you have a support system? I can’t really bring my anxiety and depression with me to dinner. Unless they were wine bottles named anxiety and depression, then I could do that. I’m trying with people. I generally kind of suck at peopling. I’m trying with people. I generally kind of suck at the social scene. If I’m trashed, I’m wonderful but I don’t think that’s a great way to handle things that make my brain shake.

7. Are you going outside? Yes. I have to walk everywhere. Yayyyyy, physical activity.

8. What’s acting up? Well, I’ve had five anxiety attacks in four weeks (did you know there is a differenxe between an anxiety attack and a panic attack? I did not. I’ve been using the wrong vocab all this time). Then the depression sucks the air out of this windbag and promotes pathetic amounts of slouching.

9. Do you think this has anything to do with returning to a similiar country as the one you were physically attacked in 2012? Probably, but I wish it were more obvious. I try not to let it stop me from doing stuff. Then this guy touched me unnecessarily last week (because stroking my side is a great way to flirt with a random pedestrian) and I just turned around and walked back home. We got stopped by the police and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. So, maybe its acting up more than I’d like to admit to myself. I don’t want it to act up. That’s the thing about someone using a metal pole to hit a home run with your head, it doesn’t really matter if you want it to act up or not. It just does. The other night I was at a function and it was outside so it was pretty dark. The shadows reminded me of people running across the highway in Nigeria and for some reason I couldn’t handle them.

10. How’s this effecting your marriage? It makes me hard to deal with. It’s exhausting. I feel guilty. I’m trying to bury it in the backyard but then the bitch floods.

That’s probably covers a lot of questions she would ask. She’d probably tell me to not be so hard on myself which is generally not my greatest talent.

I guess the thing that makes it worse is feeling like I need to pretend to be ok. Generally, people want to hear that you’re good and life is instagram level fun and move on. I understand that. But, life is messy, people are complex, and joining yourself with another human is an ongoing series of unfortunate events with little peaks of nice-nice.

I guess I don’t have to pretend, but at the same time no one wants to be the debbie downer in a conversation. I mean, I don’t even want to feel like this so no one wants to hear my shit.

Also, I’m pretty sure there is no Wi-Fi on this flight which will severly impact the next ten hours of my life.

Update: I survived.

Joburg Zoo & Constitution Hill

In this edition of Lindsay (+ hot husband sometimes) does South Africa, I’ll share my photos of Constitution Hill (with sad feelings) and the Johannesburg Zoo (with not so sad feelings). Choose your poison. Also, I wrote them in reverse order.

On Sunday, we trekked to the Johannesburg Zoo.  By trekked, I mean we walked a mile to the train then got off the train and walked what was supposed to be another mile, but was probably more like two miles because google maps IS A DIRTY LIAR sometimes. Because we walked google maps took us through this fancy neighborhood which was not at all creepy and if my mom was here she would be trying to climb walls to see the houses because she’s nosy.  Then she’d get electrocuted by one of those fences and hopefully it give her super powers or something.  Or we’d get arrested for burglary.

(Also, burglary does not sound like it should have two r’s. Thanks english language.)

We finally arrived at our destination despite the lack of appropriate signage and google maps FAILING.  This zoo was clearly not the best zoo. I mean, it was nice…but weird?

Upon entering we were accosted by a nice gentlemen who wanted to take our picture (the kind they take and then you pay for) and I said oh no thank you (because I wasn’t emotionally prepared for this interaction).  His response was ever so tersely “IT’S PART OF THE EXPERIENCE. LET ME TAKE YOUR PICTURE.”  Did you just imagine him talking in a demon voice? I did.

Hot husband being one big muscle was, of course, hungry, because cardio. He went to the snack truck which was, again of course, out of everything.  Including water. No water for you.

We began our promenade around the turtle enclosure where a young family was VIOLATING THE RULES BY TRYING TO FEED THE TURTLES. WHY DO YOU DO THIS HUMANS? WHAT CAN’T YOU FOLLOW THE RULES? Hot husband noticed this immediately and I gave them the benefit of the doubt.  Clearly, I was wrong again. Don’t tell him I said that.

We then saw Violet the Turtle try and fight Buttercup the Turtle.  Turtle fights don’t really show up well on camera.

P1030838
Turtle fight:  evidence or lack thereof

Photos from our adventure

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Then, we had to trek back and beat the rain.  Oops. Overall successful event despite walking 9 miles.

The next day, I took myself to Constitution Hill where the Constitutional Court of South Africa sits and the historical prison #4 sight.  Initially, I was hopeful because I managed to leave the house and do a thing – always a feat of strength if we are being honest. Then, I asked some guys where I go to pay for a tour (to be fair to myself, they were at a desk in what I didn’t know was the Constitutional Court welcome center.  I was then promptly told that I “shouldn’t go places alone because then I ask the wrong people the wrong questions.”

I feel as though this is a philosophical statement, because it is clearly not based in any level of reality.  Am I not supposed to go anywhere unless I have someone to go with? How do I know I am asking the wrong person? WHY DON’T YOU HAVE APPROPRIATE SIGNAGE FOR THESE HISTORICAL SIGHTS? IS THAT NOT A REASONABLE REQUEST?

Anyway after I was verbally dressed down by a very mean bus tour guide – I found my way to the further spiral into situational depression.  Photos are no substitute for experience, but Prison number four was a horrible place were people were treated very badly for crimes, political activism, and for simply breaking curfew until 1983 during Apartheid in South Africa.   The guide showed us the solitary confinement cells and after she finished discussing the conditions and various stories, she allowed us to look around.  I walked into the entrance of one cell which was the size of a small half-bathroom covered in writing and swathed in darkness from the lack of light through the tiny peep hole door, and I felt terror.  The tiny room was so loud, violent, sad, and I felt like my chest was going to explode.  There are not many places that make me want to hyperventilate while simultaneously ugly sobbing, but this is definitely number one.  There’s not much more I wish to write about it, but I suggest you google it.

Following the tour of the prison we visited the constitutional court which was full of symbolism for traditional South African justice.  Twas beautiful.

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Am I sitting in a recliner on my husband’s patio?

Yes.

Was the recliner always there? No, I just moved it because patio chairs are universally uncomfortable and I want to be comfy as fuck right now.

Am I wearing storm trooper socks? Yes. They are at target in case anyone is interested.

This is heavenly.

Today is Friday and I am in South Africa with my dogs and hot husband. Well, he’s at work. In any other time and place during my adult life, I would have been working. I’m actually mildly petrified about not working. Not working leaves a whole lot of time for me to think, which means I am really good at it in the worst way possible.

You may be asking yourself, “Well, why don’t you work?” The answer, as with all things in my life, is complicated. I am taking some extended leave and going back to my other job every sixty days. Teleworking wasn’t an option and being apart from hot husband was probably going to give one of us a nervous breakdown (by one of us, I think we can all agree, I mean me). I love working, but I wasn’t happy and we are financially stable enough to afford this situation temporarily.

I am probably on the cusp of taking a two year leave of absence because hoorah, marine corps. Part of me has a sinking feeling about this, but the other part thinks that maybe it’s time for some changes. Or something different. Maybe its time to do the things I want to do. All those things I put off or didn’t do because I was focused on work.

So, I made a list and I’m going to do the things I want to do. Except go shopping because let’s face it I have a minor obsession with clothes and shoes. And stuff.

Sometimes it’s not even big stuff. It’s just putting the recliner on the patio because I can. Or insert any other thing you want to do here. Write. Photograph. Go see things. Eat good food. Have fun.

I know this is coming from a place of privilege. I know many people do not have this option. I am lucky. I also need some time to figure out who I want to be when I grow up separate from the ideas of others.

#yolo

I was going to write about self-care then I stabbed myself in the eye with a toothbrush

Hello. 

As you may know, self-care is important. Today, in an effort to feel less like death warmed over, I decided I was going to put on a dress, do my makeup, and take myself out to lunch. 

Everything was going well until I looked at my face from another light source. I had done my makeup and went out onto my balcony to make sure I looked ok. I did not. I looked like that drunk white girl at a frat party who was stumbling about telling everyone how much she loves everyone. She’s annoying. Her face is falling off and her chaperone needs to come get her. 

(I can’t claim to be that different because I get drunk and tell people I love their eyebrows. In my defense, fancy eyebrows might as well be art.)

Anywho, I tried to fix it. Changing lipstick or toning it down. I only proceeded to turn into the drunk aunt with drifting lipstick. (Or that one time at the ball where I drank tooo much gin then got belligerent. I’m sorry hot husband.)

Not to self: GIN DOES NOT SAVE LIVES
So while de-makeuping I was brushing my eyebrows out with a tooth brush which is separate from my actual tooth brush and somehow stabbed myself in the eyeball.

When I say that I would rather go blind then ever feel that again I’m not joking. That shit felt like getting an angry tattoo on my cornea. 

My eye still hurts and its been an hour.  

So I can’t talk to you about liking yourself today. I dont like myself at all. But, collectively, we should hate ourselves a bit less. Even if you fail at becoming an instagram level make up artist. Maybe its not so much even liking yourself as it is accepting yourself in your current state.

So, here is an effort to hash out the things that make me weird and awesome. You should make a list too, because I bet you’re wicked cool. 

1. One of my eyelids droops more than the other. And if I’m tired or drinking it’s even worse.

2. Pretty sure my lips are uneven. Also I’m pretty sure I get lipstick on my teeth MORE THAN ANYONE. JESUS CHRIST.

3. I have scars on my knees that look like bruises. They are all from tripping over my own feet which leads me to my next point.

4. I’m pigeon toed as a motherfucker

Ignore everything else and look at my feet in this picture.

AS A MOTHERFUCKER.

5.  My lip hair has gotten darker in recent years so I have to try and make it look like I’m stashe-less in makeup. For some reason that just makes it worse. 

6. I’ve been overweight most of my life except for a handful of times. I’m overweight right now, but I work out and try to be healthy. I spend a lot of time trying to teach myself that I don’t need to be a certain weight. 

7. I hate bras. I’d rather freeboob life. I don’t really care if my nips bother you

8. My feet remind me of when the Beast from beauty and the beast gets turned back to a human at the end. 

Yea, that guy. Actually in pretty much all of his lower body is me. 

9. I get rando dark hairs in strange places. Not to sound cliche, but I blame the entire French Canadian side of the family.

10. I legitimately have a hereditary mole on my ass. Yes. I shit you not (PUN). Three generations.

11. I suck at every sport except running and maybe yoga. When I was on sports teams, I was generally the resident fuck up.  Zero coordination. 

12. I tap my head when I have a panic attack. 

13. When I cry, I get snot everywhere. Its like my body is producing phlegm just for fun. Hot husband has gotten alot of snot on him. 

14.  I hate spandex underwear. They give me wedgies because of my big ass. 

15. I’m obsessed with my hair. For this reason, I literally can’t stop buying shampoo. Its an addiction. I have like five different kinds not including conditioner. WHY DO I FALL FOR THE MARKETING PLOYS EVERY SINGLE TIME?

In closing, I hope this brightens your day and makes you laugh. I’m going to continue eating this hummus thats going to my ass. 

No, pet shipper you are incorrect

I am trying to ship my dogs to South Africa and let me just say shipping dogs is still a pain in the ass.

However, its not a pain in the ass because its difficult. Its a pain in the ass, because I keep talking to people who know nothing about dog shipping or think I know nothing about it which is fair. I know many companies deal with people that have no idea how to ship dogs, but I’ve done this three times. Its not my first rodeo. 

As I have to use a pet shipper to import my dofs to south africa and a cargo company to fly my dogs, I have spent much of the last month talking to people about my dogs. The person I am using to import my dogs to south africa is great. He clearly does this all the time and is an expert which is why I am happy to give him all my mineu. However, trying to get my dogs out of Moldova and in the air is proving difficult. Yesterday, a company told me that they could only fly my dogs out of moldova one way through Romania which would have been ok if they were willing to work with me on driving the dogs to the airport in Romania, but they were like no we can’t do that. I know it’s difficult because we have small planes in Moldova – but I know that there’s more than one way to move animals.  

Any company that says there is just one way to get dogs out of a country is usually wrong. Maybe not, but they are wrong in this case and it irritated me. Now that I think about it, maybe it’s not really their wrongness as much as their inability to look at this problem from a different perspective. That’s usually something that bothers me about having to pay someone for something I know I can figure out but I need them to do something simple like book a ticket. 

But, I think I finally found a company through Turkish cargo that will give me the flight stuff I need to get the dogs there. 

All in the name of love. And family. And trying to get back to this guy. 

I am reminded someone who once told me, “you can have anything you want, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy.”