Tiny Panic Attack

What you see here are my engagement ring, wedding band, and another thin band. Now, guess which one is most important. The platinum one with diamonds? No. The diamond band? No. The thin, plain, white gold band. Why? Because it belonged to my aunt Noel who is no longer with us. (long, tragic story, I'll spare you since it's the holidays and all) Anyway, somehow it came to be in my possession, and I've worn it off and on for years. It was her wedding band, with a strange inscription inside: "LB to FB 23-25" I was told they'd gotten it at a pawn shop, which would explain why no one understands it.
Anyway, this morning I pulled off my rings so I could apply some hand lotion, and I dropped them. The other two were right there, and I couldn't find Noel's band. My heart started pounding. I crawled around under my desk, moved my file cabinet and started to panic. Eventually I found it under a sticky note. All I could think of was how it was truly the only thing I had left of hers, and how heartbroken my mother -her sister- would be if it were lost.
I've said previously that I try not to attach too much meaning to "things" but sometimes you just can't help it.

That Old, Familiar Itch

You see, my schedule usually allows me to hit the tattoo shop about once each year. Last time was in February for my birthday. I can feel that itch coming, the one that will have me rearranging plans so I can spend a day feeding my one and only vice.... body art. Here's the thing - I've got a half sleeve on one arm, and various other easily covered pieces. Where am I feeling that itch now? My chest. Yes, that symbol of femininity, that open spot in between your collarbones. Now, my current company is very relaxed and accepting of me and all my artificially colored skin. But with the economy and job market in a serious downward spiral, I can't take the kind of risk associated with a chest piece :( It would be different if I had an advanced degree in some highly specialized profession. But my 2 years in community college do not afford me that luxury. It would be different if I was already working in law enforcement (see what community college prepares you for?!) but that's sitting in an indefinite holding pattern.
What's a girl to do? Suck it up and wait, I suppose.

Little Reminders

Last night as I was getting Belly ready for bed, he was asking me if I went to the same pre-school as him. I explained to him that I didn't get to go to pre-school. Told him he's very lucky to have that opportunity. He looked at me and said,
"You're lucky, too, Momma, because you go to work. You don't have pre-school but have a job."
I smiled and said, "Yes, you're right. I am pretty lucky."

Here's to counting all the little lucky reminders in your life.

Throwin' Shoes

So, this morning I was told by many people to watch the video of shoes being thrown at GW. So I did, and a funny thing happened. I actually felt BAD for the guy. Yes, a person throwing shoes at a press conference is funny as hell, but how terrifying must that situation have been? To now know what's coming next? I mean, the guy only threw shoes, but he could have done something much worse. As far as insults go, I'd say he gets the top prize. Throwing your shoes at the president of the US and calling him a dog? And he had damn accurate aim, too. Was it just me, or did anyone else wonder if there was a Puerto Rican mom in that audience, whippin' chanclas? Or um, is that something that we're not supposed to tell other races?