BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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Who WAS the First Guy to Eat Lobster?

Lobster_whitetablecloth_442Last night my sweetheart took me out for an early birthday dinner date. We went to this funky old seafood restaurant and I indulged. Every few years I have lobster for my birthday dinner, and this was one of those years. No, it’s not exactly on my diet, but it’s been a stressful couple of weeks, I reasoned, so I deserved it. Crazy talk, I know, but I don’t care. It was delicious. It always is. But how would you know that?

How would anyone know that within that weird and somewhat scary exterior a delicious bounty resides? Who took a look at a lobster and said to himself (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a woman), “hmmm, this looks tasty, think I’ll give it a try.” Who? Someone who was either an adventurer, or a lunatic, or on the brink of starvation. It doesn’t look like food, and it’s not exactly easily accessible without a rock or some other tool. It’s not like seals boil lobsters and eat them with drawn butter. Someone had to figure the whole thing out.

Whoever that guy is, I want to think him. As horrifying as I find the whole look of the lobster, I’m able to get past it as soon as the first sweet delicate morsel passes my lips.

I want to be like the guy who figured it out. I want to be able to see opportunities where other people see madness. I want to make a gourmet feast out of a weird and scary looking situation. I want to go beyond what is obvious and take it apart to reveal that which is magnificent. I want to be that explorer, that risk taker. I want to discover the next lobster dinner, but I don’t want to get food poisoning along the way.


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Moving Meltdown

Yesterday I walked through my house for the last time. By the close of business today it will no longer be mine, and I’m really okay with that. In fact, I’m glad. It took a long time to sell that house, and I’m ready to move on.

Why, then, did I lose it when I said goodbye to the house yesterday? You would think I would have been doing the happy dance out the door, but nope, I was boo hooing instead.

Maybe it was the heat. After all it was 107 degrees out yesterday (yes, literally) and we worked all day packing up the last odds and ends and cleaning up after ourselves. Two trips to storage with random items and then two carloads at the end to take to our temporary home took its toll in the heat, right?woman_crying_2

Or it could have been that I was just plain tired. Friday night I was up late preparing for the movers, who arrived very early on Saturday. The whole weekend was a whirlwind of activity with not enough rest. Maybe that’s what lead to my emotional state.

Then again, it could have been the relief that I felt that we were finally closing the door to this chapter so we could move on to the next. The development that is being built across the street is moving along, and I feel like we’re getting out in the nick of time. That’s not really the case, after all it’s not a detox center for psychotic baboons or anything like that, but it is an eyesore.

I’m sure that all of those factors came into play, but what hit me hardest were the memories that we made in that house. We weren’t there long, just two and a half years, but we lived there at a huge transitional time in my life. I was on my own after a long marriage ended, and I was starting a new relationship with the man I wish I had met twenty years sooner (but neither of use was ready for the other then, so it all worked out). My son and I moved in on our own and made the place ours. I wrote the manuscript for my first novel in that house. We celebrated birthdays and Christmas and even Thanksgivukkah there! That house was a haven and I will always remember it with fondness.

I guess it’s not surprising that the tears started flowing yesterday. They say that moving is one of the most stressful events in a person’s life. It seems silly in my case, since I moved by choice, but it still took its toll. Thankfully I have a little time to recover before we close on our new house and do it all again. Somehow, though, I don’t think there will be any tears on that particular moving day, unless they’re tears of relief and joy.


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Friday Freakout and Happy Blogday to BulgingButtons

first_birthday_cake_recipeMovers are scheduled to arrive in 25 hours. As I look around I wonder how we’ll make it happen, but I know that we will. The good news is that I don’t HAVE to be completely out of here until Monday, so after they take the big stuff I can still finish up any odds and ends on Sunday. Still, I WANT to be done on Saturday. Um, I mean tomorrow. Right now it just seems a little unlikely, but if I keep breathing maybe it will all come together.

Oh, and BulgingButtons is officially ONE YEAR OLD! Happy Birthday Blog! I’ve decided that a Blogday is something to celebrate, even if only by eating a Weight Watchers raspberry ice cream bar for breakfast (only 2 points). tumblr_l2d66aIow71qa27rco1_1280See, in my mind celebrations still equals food. Old habits and mindsets are hard to break. Maybe we should celebrate with a splash in the pool or a bike ride around the neighborhood? That would be more in keeping with the original BulgingButtons mission, I think.

As of this morning BulgingButtons has 999 followers. Perhaps the 1,000th follow will be our blogday present? That would be wonderful. Even better than a raspberry ice cream bar. Really.

Have a fabulous Friday and party like a rock star in honor of one year of BulgingButtons. If you have any whiz bang moving tips to make my life calmer, easier, or less crazy feel free to share. I always learn so much from you. Of course if you have any moving horror stories, feel free to share those too (I’m afraid they’re all too common). We will all read them and nod slowly or stifle a giggle, or gasp appropriately, and we will commiserate with you. Then we will secretly thank the powers that be that it happened to you and not us. No offense, of course. So bring on those moving stories,  I will try not to let them scare me too badly.