I don’t remember what causes most of the arguments I have, so I’ll go with one of the few I do remember. It was while I was pregnant with Coraline. Rich thought it would be a good idea to share with me some artwork he was working on of his ex-girlfriend, as well as the (sweet, he alleged) story behind it. I argued that maybe that wasn’t what his pregnant wife cared to see. He didn’t get it. It took him a few days to come around and agree that maybe it wasn’t the best idea in the world to show his pregnant wife artwork featuring his ex-girlfriend. And yes, he did apologize. Also, no I never bothered to ask to see that artwork.
This is, I think, a stupid prompt. Unless you have the world’s worst parents, they deserve at least some respect. I say this from the point of view of someone who is now a parent: I (along with the spouse) do what I think is in Coraline’s best interests and hope she doesn’t end up screwed up down the road because of those decisions. Knock on wood, so far, so good. At least she respects me right now. As much as a 5 1/2-year-old can, anyway.
Ah, this list could go on forever. I already wrote about the horrific political climate. In addition to that, there are plenty of other real-world things that scare me: terrorism, health epidemics, the possibility of economic and social collapse, my recurring nightmare of being in a car accident, home invasions, being terrified of dying young and leaving Coraline without a mom, family and friends dying. Real, legitimate fears.
There also completely unrealistic things that scare me. Which is largely where my love of horror movies bites me in the ass. Despite knowing better, I usually end up watching scary movies when Rich is out of town. Which then makes me paranoid and reminds me of other scary movies, all of which basically are about the worst possible kind of home invasion: The Purge, You’re Next, The Strangers. I won’t get into how horror movies have also made me worry about camping and trick-or-treating.
Finally, there are these fuckers:
Wavy tubes are the devil’s advertising. Image found via Google search and Satan’s guiding hand.
I’m going to go with something I do that never fails to gross out the spouse: I snack on Pringles with ketchup. Which I LOVE. And the very idea of which makes Rich want to barf, which I don’t understand — to me it’s the same principle as fries with ketchup. He vehemently disagrees with me on that point. No matter what he thinks, though, this is still one of my all-time favorite snacks.
Most of my and Rich’s dates consist of dinner and a movie. Assuming money wasn’t an issue, I guess a dream date would be somewhere far away from everyone and everything, and where we didn’t have a set agenda and could take our time deciding what to do. I’d also love to do something we’ve never done before: a hot-air-balloon ride, renting a boat for a weekend, visiting a new-to-us country (Spain, anyone?). Needless to say, this date would also involve Coraline overnighting at my parents’ house.
Since those kinds of dates are literally just dreams, I will continue to enjoy and appreciate the rare dates we enjoy these days, which are often dictated by a big Marvel movie release. That’s right — our next date night might very well be the day Captain America: Civil War comes out.
I’ve talked a little bit before about having grown up with an alcoholic father. Which is where I should stop and give him a shout out for his 24th year of sobriety. But the years he was a drinker definitely screwed up my views on alcohol — how could it not? I didn’t really try drinking until I was 25. I still don’t drink very often. Rich likes to tell me my vice is not having a vice, and it’s true. You know how at the doctor’s office you always have to check the box detailing your alcohol consumption? There’s not an accurate option for me, which would be less than one drink a month (on average). The way this week has been going, though, my monthly quota has already been met and will likely be surpassed.
I joke a lot about drinking or getting drunk. I don’t know if that’s normal for someone who grew up in my situation. I’m guessing it’s a coping mechanism. It lets me show that I’m in control of how much and when I drink, that I don’t routinely grab the nearest bottle when things get too rough or to take the edge off. So what is my view on alcohol? Seeing as how it’s still America’s drug of choice, honestly, if Prohibition made a comeback, I’d be OK with that. Although I would miss having the occasional wine cooler.
As for drugs? I’m not a user of, well, anything. Never have been, never will be. I did try some “magic” brownies once, and I’m glad I never tried pot in college. I would’ve gained the freshman 1500 based on the epic munchies I got; I wanted to basically eat all the food on the planet after those brownies. Then I fell asleep. But did I get some euphoric high, a relaxed feeling, feel the stress melt away, whatever it is pot is supposed to make you feel? No. As for anything harder than that … Narcotic painkillers make me barf. When I’ve had to be on them, it’s been miserable. Doctors would have to prescribe an anti-nausea medicine for me at the same time, which combined with the painkillers would just knock me out for a day. No fun.
I don’t understand why people turn to drugs when things get so horrible. OK, I do — they want an escape, to numb themselves to whatever is going on, but knowing that the hard stuff like heroin/oxy/cocaine/meth is addictive? Why willingly open yourself up to that kind of addiction? Have I struggled to find coping mechanisms over the years? Absolutely. And I still do, which is where therapy came in handy. Did I want to escape, numb myself to what was going on? Yes. But never once did I think drugs were the answer. Probably because I know the likeliness of addiction thanks to my soused genes.
I have mixed feelings about the legalization of pot. While it doesn’t do anything for me — and I never plan to try smoking it (or anything else, for that matter) — I think it can be used recreationally. I think it does some good for legitimate medical reasons, which it seems like a lot of people can’t claim. But, like with alcohol consumption, I worry about how many people would drive while impaired. And I hate the smell of pot. That was one of the worst things about being in Colorado last summer, walking through clouds of it and trying to shield Coraline from it. It’s enough that I have to deal with regular cigarette smoke when I’m out and about. I don’t want to deal with pot stink, too. But could I live with pot being legalized? I think I could.