A Really Weird Lindsayism.

Okay, I have to say this here because it has to be said:

It's not you.  It really isn't.  I just genuinely hate the phone.

Let me tell you how much I hate the phone.

• I'm really cheap when it comes to my cell phone.  Also, voicemail and call display come together, and voicemail is a waste of money because anybody can just text you a message, or since you have call display anyway, you can see who's called, and because most voicemails are just like "hey, it's me, call me back".  I hate that.  Stop leaving those voicemails.  Anyway, I'm cheap with my cell phone and have no use for voicemail, so I don't have call display.  And when my phone rings I feel like I'm taking a real gamble when I answer it.  So I never do.  And nobody can leave a voicemail.  
• Jamie is the only person who ever calls me, because she is the only one who can't get it through her head (or just plain doesn't give a shit) that I really don't like talking on the phone.  We have an understanding: I will answer once in a while and if I don't answer, she doesn't take it personally.  Good friend.
• I once had a job where I had to answer the phone all day long.  (I got fired from this job, incidentally).  Every time it rang I had a tiny panic attack.  Every single time.  I even cried over it.  I don't know what's wrong with me.  Lots.  Obviously.
• In fact, I get such terrible anxiety when the phone rings at the bar I work at currently, that everybody that comes to the bar is aware of this neurotic tick and so I get a ton of prank calls at the bar.  And I think those prank calls are going to give me a stroke.
• Technology has allowed me to rely 99% on text messages and IM's.  Or the good old fashioned e-mail.  I'm comfortable with writing because I am a writer.  A person who writes.  I've never been much of a talker.  Well, unless you get me drunk, in which case I can have a conversation with just about anybody.  Except pretty girls.  I've always had trouble talking to pretty girls.  I don't even know.

In conclusion, just accept that this is another one of those things that you'll never understand about me.  Accept me for all of my shortcomings and only call me on the phone if it is absolutely necessary.

dirty little confession:

Okay it's not that bad. But it is a confession noner the lesser.

I really really don't want to plan a wedding.

I feel weird about it, because I know I should be super excited about centerpieces and cupcakes. I know most women love planning their wedding and even have more than one because they love it so much. Or something. But I really don't want to do it.

See, I spend all of my time either on the internet instead of doing something I actually like doing, like a retard; or with Carter. Doing Carter things. Like cuddling or carrying him around whenever he wants. So after my long boring days of internet and Carter, I sometimes like to go out and spend money. Or read a magazine. Or a book. Maybe I might even one day perhaps paint again. I do want to try water colours...

Anyway the last thing I want to do is take time to go to a place and try on dresses and stress out about money (because we'll never have enough) and crying because nobody is doing it for me.

I love Mike. I love him so much that I don't even care about a wedding. I'd actually rather not bother with the whole affair, to be quite honest. I do want to celebrate getting married and I do want to wear a pretty dress and stuff but I really don't want to give up the very little me time that I have and spend it on doing something as awful as planning a wedding. Am I crazy? If only somebody could just do everything for me. Like a wedding planner that worked for free and didn't bother asking you to do anything, she just reads your mind instead. That is the future!

I don't want to plan a wedding. I just want to elope.

mum jams: fool on the hill - bjork

Save the date Cards, or "Lindsay has another meltdown"

So! Our wedding plans change more often than my panties. I mean that. BUT we finally decided to be frugal. We are going to have our wedding and reception where we met - which is where mike's best friend and my cousin had their wedding. AND I have figured out that my colour scheme is going to be brown and pink. Sounds reasonable enough...

But it's not!

Today we went out (I know, I was excited too!) to look for some save-the-date cards. We went to more than a few places. All of the super expensive make-them-yourself invitation kits were crappy silvery gold with ribbons garbage that people with no imagination buy. And they're so expensive because - why? - because Bridal magazine has their name on the top? Women can be so stupid.

Anyway, I didn't find any that I liked, let alone any that I liked that suited the colour scheme I've chosen. So I have to get creative here. I will buy some plain card stock, some fuschia and some chocolate brown, and some cheap embellishments from the dollar store or something and give them a personal touch - maybe handwrite them? I don't know yet. But the final decision was that I am going to be as hands-on with this wedding as I can.

And after the event is over and done with, we are heading to Cuba and inviting all of our closest friends to come along and party on the beach with us and stay drunk for 7 days. Bliss.

Anyway, I keep going off on a tangent. The point I'm trying to get at is that after all of this card hunting, and finding nothing, I was absolutely crestfallen. I was in a bitter mood for a couple of hours afterwards, but then I gave the baby a bath and he cheered me up. But I am so bloody sensitive about everything that I let these frigging pieces of paper send me flying off the backswing. There's a figure of speech I haven't heard in too long.

The moral of the story? I really need to get out more.

calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean...

In other news, the difference between a Harvey's veggie burger and a Harvey's angus burger are completely undetectable to me. This is a very good thing. Booya!

mum jams: Humming Bird - Born Ruffians