Jasen and I originally dated in high school. He was my first "real boyfriend." The first boy my parents let me ride in a car with, yadda yadda yadda.
The first time he picked me up in his 1973 white-with-blue-interiour220D Mercedes I felt smitten. I loved that car already. It smelled like vanilla sex wax. With maybe a hint of beer.
Young redneck took me to a nice restaurant, Carvers, in Greenbrier. He ate like he'd grown up with 12 older brothers, guarding his food like a pit bull. I was half-way through picking at my food when he sat back, grabbed his non-existent belly, and let out the loudest belch I'd ever heard.
It's important to note a little tidbit about my upbringing at this point. I took manners classes. We're talking enough silverware to make you dizzy, walking with a book on your head, and learning the exact way to cross you ankles and let your server know you're finished with the salad plate. Insanity. But educational.
So imagine my surprise when my date, the boy I'd stared at for years, burped, and then smiled "Sorry. Had to make room for more." He then took my plate, and scarfed it down. Nice.
Before we left, Jasen began eyeing the leftover bread in the center of the table. "Hey. Put these in your purse."
Who IS this guy? "Are you kidding me? You must be kidding me. Absolutely not!" I remember the tingling heat on my cheeks. The urge to run away. No wonder my dad took one look at him and handed me a $5 for a taxi home.
Apparently Jasen didn't need my purse. His pants would suffice. He stuffed countless rolls down his Ralph Laurens, left some cash on the table, and hobbled to the door. Lovely.
It was chilly that night, and the car wouldn't start. He was the first person I knew to have a cell phone. That sucker was so big it pulled the back of his pants down. But he refused to call my dad.
"It's no problem. Listen...I'm going to spray some ether under the hood. You hold this button until the car starts." Excellent. We're going to blow ourselves up, right here in the parking lot. And I'm freezing in this skirt.
Apparently, I didn't know when to let my finger off of the button. He yelled at me. My dream boy friggin yelled at me! After that night I realized no one in perfect. Even the boy I stared at. He wasn't perfect. Best date ever.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Perspecitve
Gaining a bit of perspective seems to whack me in the head when I least expect it. I spent last night tossing and turning, worrying like only a mother can about Juni's impending upper GI study this morning at CHKD. I worried that he'd be scared, wouldn't drink the chalky goo, and what they'd find. I was worried we'd oversleep.
He's had tiny, intermittent belly aches for months. The pediatrician wants a definite diagnosis of reflux before he begins treatment. Not a big deal.
I rushed into the childrens' hospital, and stopped dead in my tracks. The first hallways read oncology. Then a sign for the neonatal ICU. My life, and my child, it seems, is charmed in comparison. We headed to radiology.
Juni bounced off the walls, alone in the waiting room. My worries erupted into stress about Juni not behaving. I know. Ridiculous. Before his appointment a 5-year-old girl entered, grasping her mother's hand while she struggled to lift her toes off of the floor while she walked. She pushed a hand-me-down wheelchair. She was waiting for a CT.
Another mother came in with an infant; maybe four months old.
A father brought his son, a teenager, who couldn't speak.
Juni had an 18-month-old little girl attach herself to him. I don't know what procedure she and her parents waited for, but Juni and I could both hear her screaming down the hall.
All Juni had to do was drink apple-flavored chalk goo. And watch it go through his tummy. He thought it was cool. For Juni, it was a special trip. For many children, it's their way of life. Hospitals. Rehab. Worry.
I left CHKD with a new perspective: I am now unequivocally grateful that my child can talk to loud, bounce too much and move too many toys in the radiology waiting room.
He's had tiny, intermittent belly aches for months. The pediatrician wants a definite diagnosis of reflux before he begins treatment. Not a big deal.
I rushed into the childrens' hospital, and stopped dead in my tracks. The first hallways read oncology. Then a sign for the neonatal ICU. My life, and my child, it seems, is charmed in comparison. We headed to radiology.
Juni bounced off the walls, alone in the waiting room. My worries erupted into stress about Juni not behaving. I know. Ridiculous. Before his appointment a 5-year-old girl entered, grasping her mother's hand while she struggled to lift her toes off of the floor while she walked. She pushed a hand-me-down wheelchair. She was waiting for a CT.
Another mother came in with an infant; maybe four months old.
A father brought his son, a teenager, who couldn't speak.
Juni had an 18-month-old little girl attach herself to him. I don't know what procedure she and her parents waited for, but Juni and I could both hear her screaming down the hall.
All Juni had to do was drink apple-flavored chalk goo. And watch it go through his tummy. He thought it was cool. For Juni, it was a special trip. For many children, it's their way of life. Hospitals. Rehab. Worry.
I left CHKD with a new perspective: I am now unequivocally grateful that my child can talk to loud, bounce too much and move too many toys in the radiology waiting room.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The Top 10: A Couple's Resolution
The Redneck and I have made a resolution we can stick with: Eat at the Hampton Road's Magazine's Top 10 Restaurants. Both of us love to eat. And cook. And eat some more. So why not combine eating with a relationship renewal? We decided to begin at No. 10 and work our way up.
Last night we declared game on with Salacia, in the oceanfront Hilton. Here's what dining at the No. 10 restaurant is like with a partially reformed Redneck...
It began by Jasen climbing into my 4Runner with three beers down and one in hand. Twenty minutes later we're stuck in unmoving traffic headed from Chesapeake to the beach. Not exactly the best beginning with a man whom cusses at someone driving a half-mile under the speed limit.
So we ditch the interstate and opt for Shore Drive. I can't help but think about all of the fatal accidents on that road, and wonder why. Jasen decides he has to pee. Immediately. I tell him he's a 34-year-old man, and can hold it for 10 minutes. Our reservations are at 6:30 p.m. We're 15 minutes away from the Hilton. It's 6:28 p.m.. You do the math, because apparently he couldn't.
Apparently my husband cannot hold it, because he takes my perfectly good bottle of Dasani and dumps it out the window, preparing it for a true Redneck potty break. I will absolutely not have my husband urinate in my water bottle, in my new car. Especially after he's lost the top.
So I pull over. And he hikes it into the woods. Nice. Predictable. Hilarious, and much better than the last time we visited the Hilton for a formal event, where he peed in the parking lot. And on his suit. But I digress.
we're a bit late, but no worries. We're sat between two couples. Jasen has no idea the matre' d will place a napkin in his lap. Too funny. I'm pushing him to try the Kobe. But at $65 for a piece of meat with no sides, he's just too chicken. So cowboy steak it is. I'm up for the rockfish, since I'm still trying to lose a few pounds and really don't cook anything but salmon at the house. I, too, am a chicken every now and then.
One absolutely, perfectly indulgent martini later, and I'm a happy girl. the couple to my right receives their appetizer, and Jasen begins to lean over.
And when I say lean over, we're talking crossing the 3-foot personal space line, here.
"Whatcha got?" "Jasen, let them eat their dinner." "Babe! Let me talk. I wanna know what they got." I blush, and he continues. "Whatcha got? Whatja order? Whya here...what's the occasion?" Good lord. Here we go.
This lovely couple is wearing a Christmas tie, and Christmas sweater. They're here because they have $65 in coupons. I'm looking at the menu, and wishing I had $65 in coupons. And they're awesome.
Before I know it, the younger couple to my left has their dinner. The wife is talkative like me. Her husband, quiet, staring down, his face inches from his plate. Obviously blind. Unfortunately, not obviously blind to Jasen. Wait for that one to bite me in the ass later.
"Whatcha got? Whya here?" "Jasen! seriously! What the hell, man?" "Babe! I'm just making conversation!"
Again, this couple rocks. The wife actually hands Jasen a plate with a bite of creamed spinach on it. Which he later orders. They're from Connecticut. Her father has had a stroke, and they're taking a break from the hospital.
By the end of the dinner, I have shared my swordfish with her, hugged her, and told both couples about my grandparents, how Jasen and I met, and know so much about each couple I feel like I've known them for years. it didn't matter that my fish wasn't the best I've ever had. That my S'mores cake was absolutely awesome and now sitting on my thighs. That the check was $135. Our dinner was one of the best we've ever had, because my husband didn't listen to me. We had a party of six. And it was amazingly unforgettable.
We're all ready to leave, and the couple to my left, the younger one with the quiet husband, get ready to leave. She hands him his folded cane, which Jasen doesn't notice. He whips it into place, and my husband basically jumps into his new friend's lap. "What the hell is that? What the hell are you gonna do with that?"
The wife chuckles "he's blind." "Seriously, Jasen. Good lord." But the husband smiles sweetly. And say they love us.
They leave, and the couple beside us burst into laughter. The wife knew he was blind. The husband, no idea.
We picked up Juni, and both of my men were asleep before we hit the interstate. I drove home, smiling and listening to Enya. It was a perfect night. And worth every penny, because of my Redneck Husband.
Last night we declared game on with Salacia, in the oceanfront Hilton. Here's what dining at the No. 10 restaurant is like with a partially reformed Redneck...
It began by Jasen climbing into my 4Runner with three beers down and one in hand. Twenty minutes later we're stuck in unmoving traffic headed from Chesapeake to the beach. Not exactly the best beginning with a man whom cusses at someone driving a half-mile under the speed limit.
So we ditch the interstate and opt for Shore Drive. I can't help but think about all of the fatal accidents on that road, and wonder why. Jasen decides he has to pee. Immediately. I tell him he's a 34-year-old man, and can hold it for 10 minutes. Our reservations are at 6:30 p.m. We're 15 minutes away from the Hilton. It's 6:28 p.m.. You do the math, because apparently he couldn't.
Apparently my husband cannot hold it, because he takes my perfectly good bottle of Dasani and dumps it out the window, preparing it for a true Redneck potty break. I will absolutely not have my husband urinate in my water bottle, in my new car. Especially after he's lost the top.
So I pull over. And he hikes it into the woods. Nice. Predictable. Hilarious, and much better than the last time we visited the Hilton for a formal event, where he peed in the parking lot. And on his suit. But I digress.
we're a bit late, but no worries. We're sat between two couples. Jasen has no idea the matre' d will place a napkin in his lap. Too funny. I'm pushing him to try the Kobe. But at $65 for a piece of meat with no sides, he's just too chicken. So cowboy steak it is. I'm up for the rockfish, since I'm still trying to lose a few pounds and really don't cook anything but salmon at the house. I, too, am a chicken every now and then.
One absolutely, perfectly indulgent martini later, and I'm a happy girl. the couple to my right receives their appetizer, and Jasen begins to lean over.
And when I say lean over, we're talking crossing the 3-foot personal space line, here.
"Whatcha got?" "Jasen, let them eat their dinner." "Babe! Let me talk. I wanna know what they got." I blush, and he continues. "Whatcha got? Whatja order? Whya here...what's the occasion?" Good lord. Here we go.
This lovely couple is wearing a Christmas tie, and Christmas sweater. They're here because they have $65 in coupons. I'm looking at the menu, and wishing I had $65 in coupons. And they're awesome.
Before I know it, the younger couple to my left has their dinner. The wife is talkative like me. Her husband, quiet, staring down, his face inches from his plate. Obviously blind. Unfortunately, not obviously blind to Jasen. Wait for that one to bite me in the ass later.
"Whatcha got? Whya here?" "Jasen! seriously! What the hell, man?" "Babe! I'm just making conversation!"
Again, this couple rocks. The wife actually hands Jasen a plate with a bite of creamed spinach on it. Which he later orders. They're from Connecticut. Her father has had a stroke, and they're taking a break from the hospital.
By the end of the dinner, I have shared my swordfish with her, hugged her, and told both couples about my grandparents, how Jasen and I met, and know so much about each couple I feel like I've known them for years. it didn't matter that my fish wasn't the best I've ever had. That my S'mores cake was absolutely awesome and now sitting on my thighs. That the check was $135. Our dinner was one of the best we've ever had, because my husband didn't listen to me. We had a party of six. And it was amazingly unforgettable.
We're all ready to leave, and the couple to my left, the younger one with the quiet husband, get ready to leave. She hands him his folded cane, which Jasen doesn't notice. He whips it into place, and my husband basically jumps into his new friend's lap. "What the hell is that? What the hell are you gonna do with that?"
The wife chuckles "he's blind." "Seriously, Jasen. Good lord." But the husband smiles sweetly. And say they love us.
They leave, and the couple beside us burst into laughter. The wife knew he was blind. The husband, no idea.
We picked up Juni, and both of my men were asleep before we hit the interstate. I drove home, smiling and listening to Enya. It was a perfect night. And worth every penny, because of my Redneck Husband.
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