♥ So many things to pontificate about, so little drive to type it all out...

First and most importantly, for those of you who don't already have an action plan in place, May is evidently Zombie awareness month. The linked article is disturbingly sincere, with suggestions about showing awareness by wearing a grey ribbon and buying a book with clever verse entitled "That's not your mommy anymore." Weird. Even so, I'd like to point out that I'm ready, should the zombie apocalypse ever happen. *cough*

♥ The show is going really well, thought it's hard to tell because I'm working too hard in the scenes I'm in to be sure.

Pictures of the Scoundrels... )

I'm still the chubby girl, but at least I'm owning it.

♥ I've been mainlining Modern Family episodes. This is the funniest show on television. It's hysterical. All of the characters are believable and well written, even the kids! And I'll be honest, I sort of want to be Sofia Vergara.

♥ Many of you know I'm a bit prone to fits of literary hyperbolic violence. For instance, today I actually said out loud, "If I miss one more important text I'm going to shiv someone with an icepick," which led to the question, 'Can you use shiv as a verb?' and if you can, can you also exchange the word for a makeshift prison weapon instead of a kitchen tool to break up ice ... All that to say, I need a text plan. I'm not going to use it obsessively, dear husband, but I will USE IT. Aaaaand I think I just found the first topic of our new marriage blog. Which can be found at [livejournal.com profile] nolanandcarrie, if you're interested. When we're in the same room for more than half an hour at a time, we'll bang one out. We've got all the material in the world, but agreeing on a topic has been, oddly enough, a challenge. Marriage. Go figure, right?

♥ Also, on a completely unrelated subject, it's sometimes hard for me to be a recovering bitch instead of a very current and clearly present one. By being manipulatively bossy, I could totally get pretty much anyone to do whatever I wanted or make them cry, whichever comes first. I've been trying, for the last few years to be a nicer person. Unfortunately, 'nice' it not my fallback emotion. Or even an easily accessible one. Still, I try. (Sometimes I try harder than others, but I digress.)

♥ I'm off for a weekend of baby showers and musical performances and a visit from my mom and Tom, so I'm off to scour the house and myself in preparation. Have a great weekend, everyone!
We're doing it.

A marriage blog.


We can be found at [livejournal.com profile] nolanandcarrie. Friend us if you like. :)

Man, I would have been hacked if that username was already taken.

Anyhow, we're gonna do it. But first we have to agree on what to talk about.

Hoo, boy. That may take a while.

I'll keep you posted.
I stumbled across this Marital Rating Chart from the 1930's the other day, and Nolan and I are sort of whimsical, and because I have a compulsion to complete every test with which I come into contact, we both took it.

The mind reels as to how these were used. Were they circulated in a magazine? Where the husband comes home, licks his pen, looks over his glasses at his wife and scores her worth on a sheet? How messed up is that?

Nevertheless, I think just by glancing at this, you can see I would have sucked out loud as a wife in the 1930's.

A complete an utter failure. *sobs* )

But man. I'm glad we're not in the 1930's. Yikes.

*waves red fingernails around*
persephone33: (pot kettle)
( Mar. 10th, 2011 06:19 am)
If you've ever asked me this question, you know what my answer is.

No. No, dear heart, I did in fact NOT get your text.

I don't get texts.

*waves my hands at the collective gasps*

Nolan didn't sign us up for a text plan. He doesn't think it's going to catch on.

... I'll wait here while you make flabbergasted/hysterical noises.

That's what I tell people, anyway. Because they just don't understand WHY I don't have texting on my phone. Or internet access. Heck, right now, since I lost my fancy schmancy POS Blackberry (I couldn't ever hear that thing RING), I don't even have more than one ringtone.

I was without a phone for half of January and most of February, in fact. I lost my phone (in the HOUSE, of all places, and then I let the battery die before I could CALL it to find it) and at first I was irritated beyond belief. Not having a phone at my disposal whenever I had the whim to place a call was maddening. Spoiled, rotten brat, right here. *waves*

Then I got to LIKE it. I'm enough of a misanthrope that I LIKE being unreachable. I enjoy retreating into my cave and knowing that I'm cocooned until I do something to change that fact. It's dangerous, though. That isolation. But I digress.

Now that I have a replacement phone (a GO phone. It's the AT&T disposable model), I'm reachable, again. It doesn't have any cool features, but people can call (and I can hear the bloody thing RING). I can't call anyone, though. Why, you ask? Because of modern technology, no one has to remember phone numbers, anymore. I had every phone number of anyone who'd ever called my cell programmed into that little puppy that got lost, and never thought to write any of them down anywhere.

So when the phone doesn't ring, folks, it's me. I don't know your number. Sorry. I really am. No, honestly. I might like to call you, but it's not in the cards.

Speaking of modern technology, I'm not convinced that making everything so easily accessible and digital isn't Big Brother's way of turning our minds to collective mush. On purpose. But that might be the paranoia, talking.

In any case, some of you might be wondering, "Carrie? You have a credit card and a car. Why don't you go down to the store and get yourself a phone with some action on it?"

Because quite frankly, it isn't worth the litter of kittens that Nolan would have to do it. The noise. The screeching. The eyes rolled back into my head lectures about how it isn't necessary and how it's money we don't need to spend.

And we don't. Not really. But I remember him saying something similar back in 1999 about getting a computer. And email. We didn't need it.

Now, however, a good portion of his business is done online. So now it's just a waiting game, really. And I'm patient, baby. I'm more patient than you can imagine. I'm going to outlast him, by golly, and in August, when we get a new phone plan, I'm going to have worn him down to so stumpy a nub that he'll be begging ME to get the texting plan.

Those of you who know him can stop laughing now.

But seriously, folks. It you ask me the title question, "Did you get my text?" in August, I can answer differently.

I won't, though. My answer will remain the same, because chances are, I won't be able to find my phone.
Oh, my word. Pull up a chair and grab a glass of wine. This one's a doozie.

So after a day of deep cleaning in preparation for having folks over for the holiday, I made dinner this evening, a lovely pesto filled pasta in a creamy red sauce. After dinner, Nolan and I retired to the boudoir to watch television and have a glass of wine, and I, like the whimsical girl that I am, decided to paint my nails.

So far a pretty mundane evening at Carrie's house.

But then, I sweetly ask my husband if he would "go and get the clothes out of the dryer, and move clothes from the washer to the dryer," I asked, blowing on my nails, "so I don't mess up my polish?"

He grumbled as he got up, muttering something about "what have you done for me lately?" and reluctantly walked through the living room and kitchen, and into the laundry room.

When he got there, the noise he made can only be described as sonic boom-like.

Kids do the darndest (read: most dumbass) things... )
It's day nine of being thankful, don'tcha know.

I hear you; you're sitting there and thinking, "Hey! I didn't see her first eight days of being thankful!"

Yeah, you'd be right. Because I did those eight days in my head. And unless Big Brother has figured out how to do the mind control/reading thing, you won't get to see those.

That reminds me, I need to dig out my foil hat. All this talk about mind control is making me paranoid.

Anyway, over at the Christian devotional and prayer community that I'm a part of, they're doing a little thang about being thankful in the midst of Thanksgiving season.

Which is totally something I can get behind.

Day Nine Of GreaThings 2010 is "Difficult experiences you’re now thankful for."

I shared our abridged marriage testimony a few years back. If you want to read it, you can go here. It's unlocked for just this occasion. The short version is that I'm thankful that Nolan and I had those first few rocky years, so that I can fully appreciate what God's given me, now.

And if you want to share what you're thankful for, and maybe win a cute Starbucks cup, you can click here and join in all the thanksgiving.

Have a great weekend, all! I'm thankful for all of you!
Mine's not, literally.

I don't post a whole lot about my marriage, I've realized. First of all, it's sort of a private, personal thing, and second of all, it's a work in progress.

Speaking of works in progress, If ever there was one, my sweet and handsome husband is IT.

When we were first married, and I mean within the first month, when the blush of love was new and fresh, and we moved through life with cartoon birds singing 'round our heads, one of his favorite pastimes was scaring the daylight out of me.

I'm serious.

Within the first month of marriage, I didn't have a job, so I was home in the middle of the day, minding my own business. I was doing the dishes, thinking about how much I loved my husband (or thinking about how Amarillo was drastically different from Dallas, one or the other) and Nolan sneaked in - I still don't know what he was doing home in the middle of the day - quietly stood in the back doorway of the kitchen, raised his arms above his head (making his presence over eight feet tall) and yelled in a deep and resonating voice the scariest and most menacing thing I've ever heard.


I freaked out, screamed, was frightened out of my wits, and then true to my twenty-five year-old self, burst into tears. This baffled my new husband beyond belief.

He was chastened, though it did not, as it turns out, stop him from perfecting his craft over the years. For instance, just yesterday morning, he sneaked past the dogs, both kids, and stood behind me while I was working on the computer yesterday morning, finally whispering, "What are you doing?" in my unsuspecting ear. This makes him profoundly proud and more giddy than any forty-one year old has a right to be.

When he attacks, I normally just startle, now. I very rarely cry. Though, I won't lie. Sometimes bladder control does play a part. The difference is, now, even though I still don't love being scared, I admire the commitment Nolan has to his work. He's a big guy; he's 6'3 and 205ish, and that's not a package that's easily sneakable, if you will. I'm more aware of his presence, most of the time (well, fifty percent?) and truly delight in thwarting him when he's trying to sneak up on me. Sometimes he shows mercy, and sometimes (okay, maybe three times) I've scared him. Once involved hiding in his closet for nearly twenty minutes.

If you want to play, you have to pay the price.

Luckily, most of the time the dogs or the kids give him away. Most of the time I laugh, because it really is funny. And most of the time, I'm glad that Nolan brings fun into our marriage, makes things into a game, and even gets the boys in on it.

Bust sometimes I just want to knock the snot out of him for scaring me.

This is a story about the differences between women and men. Wait, not that kind. If you need that, go find another website. This will be safe enough for the kids at home.


Let me preface this by saying that my husband is a brilliant man. He's an Electrician and Electrical Contractor, runs a business and manages the forty employees or so in our company, and he can do math in his head that for me would require a pencil, paper, calculator and I'd also have to remove both my shoes so I could count on my toes, too.

Words, though, aren't his thing. He likes to read, but don't expect him to read anything quickly. I, on the other hand, took speed reading as an elective once upon a time, so rarely do I read everything word for word. I have to make myself slow down and take extra pleasure in a book that I'm reading for fun. The result is that Nolan's retention of what he reads is nearly 100% where mine somewhere around the 50% mark.
or 'You can't Put That Shark In That Cage.' )

I don't know if this will be funny to anyone else but me. :D But I think it's stinking hysterical.
There are things Nolan does that drive me nuts. Three things, to be exact. I don't liked to be yelled at from all the way across the house, I don't like it when he leaves his stuff in a heap on the bar when he comes home from work, and I don't like it when he tickles or jumps out of the corners to scare me. But so, so, SO many things I do annoy the hell out of him. Too many to be enumerated here. Honestly? It's because he cares about everything. And that's a good quality, sometimes. But it does tend to wear on one a bit. Also, I don't care enough about things. It's one of the reasons we work so well together.
If marriage weren't an adventure, not as many people would do it. )

You won this battle, Nolan Kyle. But the war isn't over.
Sometimes, when I forget where I am and have had more than one glass of pinot noir, I confide in my husband about some of my fannish pursuits. I know this is a Very Bad Idea, because although he thinks it's amusing at the time, he teases me about it later something fierce. And although he admits to playing Dungeons and Dragons at age fourteen, somehow what I do is dorky.

I'll describe one such time.

(I'm blathering on about my exchange fic, telling him the dramatic structure behind it and the plot that I thought was pretty good, considering, and he looks at me with a blank expression.)

Him. What? I don't know what you're talking about.

Me. (Indignant) Yes, well, there's a whole subculture out there of people who DO know what I'm talking about.

Him. Mmmhm. We have words to describe them. Twelve-step programs, restraining orders, ankle monitors, offender lists, therapist's couches...

Me. Shut UP.

Grab your torch and pitchforks, girls. He's talking about US. ;)
Ten points if you can tell me what the title is in reference to.

Does anyone out there "get" me? Or am I doing this only to amuse myself?


So most of you know my husband, who is not only handsome and the love of my life, but also, hands down, one of the funniest people I have ever met. I giggle constantly around him. In fact, one of his nicknames for me is 'giggles.' Along with 'baby,' 'sweetie,' and 'beautiful bride.' (Sidenote: He never, EVER calls me Carrie. So when he actually says my name, I go into Panic!Crisis! mode wondering if A) The house is on fire and I need to evacuate immediately, or B) I've made a mistake while amending the checkbook. P.S.? It's usually B.)

Anyhow, Nolan and I were having one of those discussions last night... He'd lured me into the bedroom under false pretenses, I might add, and we were discussing the very BANE of my existence when it comes to Very Important Marriage Issues: Money.

We wrapped up that discussion without any yelling, shedding of tears or gnashing of teeth (and it only took us twelve years of wedded bliss to achieve this!) and the conversation moved on to where it inevitably goes - because he's HIM: Sex.

Now, fear not, gentle reader. My mom reads this blog, and I think a couple of aunts and step aunts and various girls from church, so I'm not going to get explicit or anything. But for the more shy of you, or the ones that don't need too much information about my marriage, I'll put it beneath a cut.

Go ahead! Do the 'Too Much Information' dance with me! )

And don't forget about this month's friends list contest! For all you Angsty Annie Writers who want to win some bubble baths and Lush bath bombs, you can enter your effort in the comments to THIS post. A list of ships I'm particularly fond of can be found HERE. Go forth and give me an emotional catharsis! :D

Oh. And can I tell you this? Writing with other people spoils me. I just finished a rather lengthy story for the [livejournal.com profile] dgficexchange with a dear friend yesterday (who will remain nameless til the big reveal), and it felt effortless, with amazing results.
You think life is going along just fine.
Then you download the 100th Bones Episode, watch it, and the cycle of despair is started. You think Temperance Brennan is a FOOL.

You go and teach your class on Thursday afternoon, just like you always do. You meet your family at 575 Pizza and your nine year-old won't eat.

He won't eat? you ask yourself. The kid would gnaw on anything for a snack.

You split from your family, while they go home, you go to see a play about a boy who blinds six horses and is in therapy because of it. You are disturbed by this play. It causes you to feel a lot more than you normally do.

You shouldn't read this if you've a weak stomach, or stories of children and grossness bothers you in any way. )

You can't help but think this is all Temperance Brennan's fault. If she'd done what any NORMAL woman would have done, and thrown Agent Booth down right there in front of the J. Edgar Hoover building and had her wicked way with him, all of this could have been avoided.

Our church is having what they call resurrection week, a sort of revival thingy, and I have been doing worship art during the services.

(Worship art. I love it. I'm still not sure how to define it or how it all happened, but I get to paint and praise God at the same time. Currently I'm doing a series of watercolors on the fruits of the spirit. It's cool.)

But that's not why I'm posting.

So I'm at the front, sort of off to the side doing my art thang, and Nolan's at the back with the boys. The congregation's singing the song 'Jesus Paid it All,' in which there's a verse that says something like, "... change the leper’s spots... And melt the heart of stone." All of a sudden Nolan's right beside me, whispering in my ear.

Nolan.  Is that a misprint on the words?

Me.  What?

Nolan.  Is it supposed to be leopard?  Or leper?  Do lepers have spots?

(keep in mind here, reader, the congregation IS STILL SINGING)

Me. No. Leper. You know, like, (I make the Grr... Argh face and gesture)

Nolan. (mimics me)

Me. Not a zombie. A leper.

Nolan. is there a difference?

Me. Yes.

Nolan. They have spots?

Me. Yes.

And as soon as he'd arrived, he was off, back to his seat. But I was paralyzed for a good minute giggling about leper zombies in the middle of church. I still don't know if he was serious or not.
So we're going to a superbowl party tonight.

I'm all about being social. But I had to Google who was playing.

In my defense, I'll bet most of you can't name four plays by Henrik Ibsen off the top of your head. (Ghosts, Hedda Gabler, A Doll's House and...  okay three.  Three plays by Henrik Ibsen)

Anyway, football makes not even the least bit of difference to me, except that I wanted to make cute little snacks to take with us. :D I also had to Google what a football looked like so I could make these:
Seriously.  Are they cute, or what?

I also made turtles. How-to under the cut! )
A first happened in this, my (and Nolan's) eleventh year of marriage.

He took me shopping on my birthday.

I know.  I was as shocked as you are.

He didn't set limits or parameters, and except for being a little tight-lipped and pale of face about pulling out his credit card to pay for an admittedly pricey set of bejeweled hair combs, he was a peach. And he really did make the day about me; we lunched, spent an hour sniffing perfume, lolled around in many different shoe departments, he waited patiently as I tried on fifteen million pair of boots, and he only diverted into Johnston and Murphy once.  If you knew Nolan's shoe fetish like I do, you would have indulged him, too.  All in all,  I call the day a success.  I didn't find any boots I liked, but I ended up with a few pairs of tights, some new perfume, and THESE bad boys.  (I couldn't find the exact picture.  I think mine are even cuter, though.)  EDIT:  Nope!  HERE THEY ARE!

I'm not gonna lie.  They make me a little giddy.  And I had to leave them at mom's house due to space being at a premium in our luggage. * pitiful sob*

Maaaaybe that's why Nolan and I are so well suited.  We BOTH have a shoe thing.  Huh.  Go figure.

And I got not just one, but two awesome, HOMEMADE birthday cakes by two of the best cooks on Earth.  Mom made  my favorite cake in the world, and my sister Em made a dynamite chocolate raspberry with a ganache frosting that made me want to weep with joy a little because it was so fabulous. It got inhaled so fast I didn't have a chance to take a picture.  And many, heartfelt thanks to all of the people who sent good wishes on the day, or after.  I really appreciated them all.  You people make me smile.
persephone33: (Default)
( Dec. 18th, 2009 10:08 am)
Leave me a comment saying "Resistance is Futile."

• I'll respond by asking you five questions so I can satisfy my curiosity.
• Update your journal with the answers to the questions.
• Include this explanation in the post and offer to ask other people questions.

[livejournal.com profile] ticklethepear asked GOOD questions!

1. How do you manage to find time for yourself with such an active life and family? )

2. What is your secret for a happy and healthy marriage? )

3. How do you come up with fresh ideas for d/g fic? )

4. Would you become a professional actress? )

5. What is the best part of being a mom of boys? )

Very thought provoking, Sylvia. Thanks for the questions. :D
  1. tagged twice in d/g doc.
  2. saved $$ on Christmas gifts at Old Navy by standing in line in 23 degree weather for 50% off.
  3. had epic fight with husband in middle of day wherein I did most of the talking, for once.
  4. Signed up for NaNoWriMo.  I need incentive and accountability.  This is it.  Be my buddy, if you're doing it, too.
  5. washed hair
  6. ruined pair of contacts with crying.
To do:
  1. Clean house to get it "babysitter clean"
  2. Laundry.  ever present, multiplying, endless LAUNDRY
  3. pick up last minute costume stuff for halloween
  4. get prescription form freaking walgreens (I loathe those people)
  5. make self presentable
  6. go to dinner and theatre with husband
*big sigh*  I'm sorry I've not been a great commenting friend, lately.  Things will get better soon, I hope.

I have a LOT to blog about. So much STUFF has happened in the last few weeks, but I've not the inclination to put my fingers to the keyboard or upload the billion pictures that go with it. This week. I will.

For now: I'll just give you these.

It's kinda funny stuff. )
After a crapulous (personal) rehearsal last night, tonight's was much better. I DO not know how I'm going to do my 2 quick changes, though - I didn't even have time to change my SHOES tonight, let alone go from a dress to a negligee to a ball gown. Oi. It'll be tricky. Because unless I get naked for all of backstage to see, it's gonna be a tough one. And although I play a whore on stage, I am pretty modest in real life. If, indeed, you can call backstage real life.

In other news, we got a new mattress and box springs today. It's taller than our old one, so I feel like I'm perched up on a platform. I LOVED our old one - I mean LOVED it - so this one better not suck. Nolan got it for his back issues. He's currently snoring beside me, so so far, so good on that front.

When the mattress man (That's his name, by the by. He's got this mattress thing on the side; he actually owns a data forms business. I don't care if our mattress is black market or fell off a truck, as long as it's comfy, though.) took our old mattress, after I vacuumed up a spectacular amount of dust, I found my charm bracelet that I got for Christmas that's been missing since May. I thought I'd lost it in a hotel room, so that brought me a lot of joy. Woot! And I'd never told Nolan that it was missing. Dodged a bullet, there.

I should probably tell him that I ran into the garage wall last week, though, huh? And messed up the sheet rock and my car door. *nods* I'm just waiting for the right moment. Married girls, you know what I mean. *wink*

And, last but not least: I have minion(s) of my very own! My nine year old mowed the backyard all by himself today. I had to start the mower for him, but that's it. I cannot tell you how much that helps out. He was all proud (though trying to negotiate a salary) and I didn't have to haul my rear out there and do it. JOY all around.

That's it. I'm going into a coma-like sleep, now. See you on the flip side.
So we went to the cabin.

Y'all pull up a chair and have a glass of tea. This is a long damn story. )

You know what folks? THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME.

A truer word was never said.


persephone33: (Default)


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