blood gems and gold in 2013-2014

Thursday night, I got a fiance. :) YAY. I was full of delight and hugs and left work after class to go racing home. Friday evening, I got a BFF. The weekend commenced with silliness, zero wedding planning, and alcohol. And the SyFy original move Bermuda Tentacles, because tentacles. There is at least one picture on Facebook of Aaron trying to do full pushups while I'm straddling his upper back and making a really weird face as I try not to laugh and fall. I'm a mermaid. It's not the most flattering.

Friday night, as we made dinner and Heather was being her cackling ridiculous self, Aaron turned to me and whispered, "I like her." YAY!

On Saturday I slept in. Saturday afternoon I found a way to pirate the spring game, and then, with epic amounts of glowering, sulking, and spite, Aaron and Heather dragged me to get my ears pierced. At Claire's. Of course.

I told Aaron a year ago that if he beat the obsessive guilt part of his PTSD (read: stop fixating on it and giving yourself anxiety), I would pierce my ears and wear the shinies he bought me earlier. I think he spent a fair amount of that 'recovery' time window shopping online for earrings and engagement rings. At any rate, he cashed in this weekend. So I grudgingly allowed them to haul me in. Heather did not stop her manic giggles for one hot second. She has it on video.

(I have no idea if this link will work or not but have at: GLARE )

It was somewhat of an adventure. The piercing lady admired my keeping to my deals (I just said I lost a bet; it was the easy explanation and covered their cackles). She told me about the time that she had lost a bet and had to chase the mall Santa around the mall while wearing a yeti mask. I asked her to tag me in next time, because that sounds awesome.

Complicating things somewhat, because I can't have nice or simple things, my ears are tiny. I mean, tiny. I mean, Aaron can fit them in his mouth easily. I mean, can-only-fit-one-lobe-hole-and-even-then-just-barely. It took her more time to figure out where to mark the holes than to actually do it. And she warned me that my left ear is smaller, and therefore the back is thicker, and she was finding the thinnest possible place. Then she got the gun, which is more like an industrial stapler than a gun, and I reminded myself that it's still not a catheter or a ureter stent. Click, prick, click, prick, over.

She had me clean them the first time and then we checked out. Aaron handed me a cookie from Great American Cookies and paid. I have garnet and gold earrings now. They also bought me an Icee. And Chick Fil A. Per the agreement.

Really, this is kind of my own fault for not being on the ball and doing my own research, but six weeks of trice-daily cleanings and then six months of constant wearing? I can't sleep on my sides? UUUGGGHHH. Motherfucker. It's a damn nuisance. I went and bought a pack of 200 cotton balls and another box of q-tips. I prefer the cotton balls more. Squeezing them all over feels more thorough than trying to hit tender nooks and crannies with a swab.

Because tender, yes. I am aware of my left ear all the time. It actively feels stretched out. The right one doesn't bother me at all unless I hit it, and I can feel, at the bottom of the lobe, where the ear is distending to make room for the piercing in little hard bumps. They're not discolored or inflamed or painful beyond I-just-impaled-myself-and-it's-bruised occasional aches. But if I were wearing clip-ons, I would take off the left one. It's just... always there. First thing in the morning, after getting up, that cleaning is unpleasant. Hi tender thing I just probably laid on on accident, let me clumsily poke at you.

I have figured out earphones, though. Thank God.

However, the Blerch has found a weakness. I'm not too eager to go running and sweating with sore ears out of a barely partially reasonable concern that it'll hurt and get sweat in the wounds, and then shampoo, which is apparently frowned upon for a few days. So I've been sitting on my ass eating fast food. Today was tax day. Things are half price. I am weak.

I've probably told Aaron a dozen times: NOT PIERCING THE KIDS' EARS. If they want pierced ears, they can have it done when they're old enough to do the cleanings themselves. I can't imagine subjecting an already prone-to-fussing baby to this or coordinating cleanings with sleeping periods. NOPE. Not gonna happen.

There was one weird side effect: lying in bed on Saturday night, realizing that it hurt too much to curl up and cuddle like normal, the awareness of the piercings reminded me of all the hurt on my side after those misadventures with PTSD. I haven't been holding onto it. It's forgiven inasmuch as I as a human can forgive, with a plentiful dose of godly power-ups. But, as I discovered, there are still a few tender spots full of scar tissue. So I guess when I'm praying that God prepare us for marriage and blah blah blah, I have a footnote to add onto that. I understand that some hurts take a long time to heal and there might always be marks, but I also understand that if victim families can forgive a murderer, if torturers and their genocide victims can reconcile in Rwanda, I can get over this. I don't want it hanging around. It's not a proud battle scar.

Both Aaron and Heather left Sunday, Heather in the afternoon and Aaron after a dinner at Steak & Shake. He didn't leave quite as late as I did the last time, but it was up there. These goodbyes are getting tortuous. Spoiler: they get harder, not easier. Full disclaimer: still better than airports. Fuller disclaimer: I'm still a bit miffed about that eight-year-old boy in the women's bathroom staring-judging me as I tried to control my crying. Fuck you, kid.

I tried to distract myself with studying for my Russian test. I was mostly successful. I gave maybe half a fuck. The test was Monday morning. I either aced or bombed it, but I'm hoping for aced. Also, because he made it easier and did us lots of favors. I specifically memorized the 21-letter word for extra credit vocab and it was the first question I answered. Historic marker, sight, notable place: достопримечательность

Also on Monday, I applied for a generic secretarial job in Charleston, which I've resigned myself to for the time being. At 4pm Monday, I found this.

Research Analyst/International Relations Duties consist of performing a variety of paralegal functions to assist several high profile international human rights and terrorism litigations. Under direction, the individual will help manage and participate in all phases of the litigation process, including supporting all facets of discovery and trial preparation. Additional responsibilities include substantive legal work that requires knowledge of legal concepts and current international political issues. Conducting legal and factual research and writing with a focus on Middle Eastern and South Asian issues and affairs Review and analyze discovery productions, depositions, FOIA requests, and other primary sources Organize documents and client database(s) to include coding, indexing and controls numbering and history of documents produced and received

Okay, a little more legal than a dream job, and I do former Soviet Union rather than the Middle East, but they DO overlap, and the office is right across the river from where we got engaged. I spent all morning on my application and cover letter. The HR woman who posted the ad on LinkedIn viewed my profile before the end of the day. My peace of mind could have gone without knowing that. :P

But do I want to do the research analysis to help sue terrorists? FUCK YES I DO. SIGN ME THE FUCK UP.

I have also joined Women in Defense, a professional networking organization that hosts pretty cool things and has a charter branch in Charleston. Because I'm currently employed by the government, it was free. $500 value. Feeling pretty smug about that one. Using WID and their parent group's sites, I've found a giant listing of defense contractors in the Charleston area, and I've spent most of the day systematically going through and looking at their jobs pages. I'm in the L's and have only found... one low potentiality. If I were a techie in Oracle, I'd have every job in the world, but I picked a relatively saner career field. Unfortunately, it's a field that tends to have quite stark pickings in places not named Washington DC... oh well.

So yes. The job hunt is on. I've got my move-out papers from my landlord. I have until the end of May to move out without having to pay an extra month's rent on top of the buyout feet (practically speaking, double rent). Next is the stuff purge. I'm kind of excited about that--I've scoped out places to sell both books and clothes before just dumping it all at second hand stores, so I'm hoping for a chunk of cash there. Oh, and we don't have a next visit planned. The next 'visit' will be for interviews and apartment-hunting.

IT'S ALL GETTING SO REAL. I'm delighted, excited, and peppered with anxiety about making it all work. Although theoretically I've dumped it all in God's hands, I can't help but occasionally try to tear it back. (Just so I can get rid of it again. I don't really want it.)

Next OCR: April 27, 5k, small. That should at least help me get my exercise crap together. I've figured that my ears should be fine. My ears don't take a lot of mud, and I now have an excuse to avoid the scary submerging obstacles if there are any. I can swim just fine, although not prettily. But the churning water and other people and occasional tread-here-and-wait minutes and the fact that at least one person has drowned because the water was too murky to find him... I'll pass.

kda;jlkdgjad life is doing stuff!

And the title refers to the fact that my engagement diamond is 100 years old and likely a blood diamond, and that I had my ears impaled with garnet-studded gold. So... blood gems and gold.