Conversations with my husband, text edition

Status update seen on Facebook: Never, ever apologize for anything that makes you happy.
I immediately text Buddy Holly.

Me: I wish I knew [Facebook acquaintance] better. Her status says, "Never, ever apologize for anything that makes you happy." And I REALLY want to respond, "Except maybe rape. Or Necrophilia."
Buddy Holly: lol. Ya.
Buddy Holly: Or if you're addicted to said thing.
Buddy Holly: Or if what makes you happy is infidelity.
Me: Or incest.
Me: Or genocide.

Roly-Poly

I woke up at 5:45 this morning (blerg) to take the dogs for a walk (what was I thinking?). It was actually quite nice, cool and quiet. Well, mostly quiet. We have a lot of dogs in our neighborhood and raised something of a fuss. Anyway, it was good even though I am now regretting it. What was interesting to me was that I saw a BILLION roly-polys on the sidewalk. Maybe not a billion. A lot. All of them were hurrying across the sidewalk and I got the impression these were the drunks of the roly-poly world, staggering home from the local bar. God knows what they were up too all night but they're going to get it from their roly-poly wives when they get home. I'm sorry, that was sexist. Women can be addicted to alcohol too. Maybe some of them were women. Er, female. Roly-polys aren't asexual are they? Maybe there were some roly-poly prostitutes among them. I couldn't really tell and didn't think to ask. Anyway, roly-polys live much more exciting lives than I previously thought.

UPDATE: Wikipedia's entry for roly-polys is sorely lacking in any information regarding their sexuality or family life. It also makes no mention of the epidemic alcoholism to be found in the roly-poly community. Silence is the enemy, Wikipedia.

Home, Home on the Range

Home is a tricky word. Is it where you were born? Where you grew up? Where you've lived the longest? Where you live now? Home is where your heart is, so your real home's in your chest (Captain Hammer). I think it's easy to accumulate homes but it's hard when your current plot just doesn't make the cut. Despite having lived in the prairies for nearly three years, I find myself referring to Ohio and Southern Indiana as home. I've had a hard time grafting myself into this clay soil. Maybe it's how many times Buddy Holly and I have moved in those short three years. Maybe it's the fact that I never really imagined myself here to begin with. It is taking time but I am coming to call this home. I find myself saying "ya'll," I talk to my house and genuinely miss it when I'm away, and I'm beginning to think only mountains could improve on those sweeping sunsets.

But really, I think it's people that make your home. It's challenging for me to be so far from my natal family and I dearly miss my Belle and Pocahontas. But Buddy Holly, Drake, and Elena are my home. I will follow him, follow him wherever he may go. And I have had so many wonderful individuals make this patch of the Plains more homey. It's hard being a forward-thinking, progressive, bleeding heart liberal in redneck territory and I really don't think I could claim this land as my land without the likes of other like-minded folks. Where would I be without Miss Right? How could I survive mundane Mondays without coffee time with Charlotte and Esmeralda? With whom else can I share elucidating conversations about Mao Zedong, Sarah Palin, Henry VIII, and Downton Abbey - all before ten in the morning? And though she's gone to God's Country (apparently that's in Ioway), my first years in the Plains would have been rough ridin' without Kari.

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to get around to is that my mother always told me to bloom where I'm planted. I'm just thankful for the companions that make this garden more lovely.