Category: Life

Breaking Barriers by Breaking Wind

Posted on by Kristine

“Oh, by the way, you farted last night.”

If you ever want to know what married people talk about first thing in the morning after waking up. It’s this. “What?” I asked. “Really I did?”

“Yeah,” Craig said nonchalantly. “I was so shocked. Not only did you fart once, but you farted twice. In your sleep.”

I started laughing. See the thing is, for Craig, passing gas is like breathing. It’s the part of the Vegan/Vegetarian creed. You know, “Thou shalt not eat meat. Thou shalt not eat dairy or eggs. Thou shalt fart every hour of the day or at least when no one is looking.” So he is shocked that in the two years we’ve been together that he’s never heard me lay one. In fact, he was beginning to think I was an alien or some kind of android. “It’s unnatural!” he would say.

It’s not that I never farted, it’s just that I farted discreetly. And I never have to fart as often as Craig does. So to learn that Craig finally heard me pass gas was a relief (no pun intended).

“So I farted, huh?” I said. “What did it sound like? How did it happen?”

“Well, it was shortly after you got into bed. You immediately fell asleep,” he said. “Then I heard this ‘pff..fft!’ Wait, no it was more like ‘pffffft!’ Yeah that’s exactly how it sounded. And I thought, wait what was that? Surely that wasn’t me. Then, it came again, ‘pffft!’ You tooted a second time! It was glorious!”

I was literally rolling around in laughter at his story. “I was so excited I finally heard you fart,” he said, “that I couldn’t even go back to sleep. I couldn’t wait to tell you about it!”

So that’s it. That’s my story about the night Craig finally heard me fart. In a way, it’s made our relationship stronger.

“We’ve reached a milestone, honey,” he said. “Then the day will come when we’ll be farting… together.”

Ok, that’s way too far. But he’s good at making me laugh and that’s what matters.

An Ode to the Man I Married

Posted on by Kristine

Friends, let me tell you a story.

I know this man who has a magical power. It is a keen ability to wedge his way into the cracks of a person’s wall and turn their frown upside down. This man just happens to be my husband.

Now I am not talking about people he knows. I am talking about complete strangers. Let me give you an example.

This morning, we were leaving the gym when they started playing one of his favorite songs from A Tribe Called Quest. “Hold on one second, let me chat with the front desk,” he said.

I wonder what people think when they see a guy like Craig approach them. He’s not very intimidating when you first meet him, but I suppose in the right setting he could look like a customer about ready to whine and complain about something. And I’m sure considering this girl was working the front desk of a bare-bones gym, complaints were probably all she ever dealt with.

He asked her a question about the equipment, and she responded with a cordial answer. Then he asked what station they were playing today over the sound system.

She was a little hesitant to answer. “I don’t know really. We don’t control the music. It’s set to whatever the managers leave it on. I just press the power button and that’s it.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to say this is a funky mix you guys have on,” he said. “It really got me going during my workout. Great choice.”

And as soon as she realized this dorky, middle-aged white guy just used the word “funky” in a sentence, her face just lit up with a smile at his silly banter and she laughed. “Well, I’ll be sure to let her know,” she said, and she wished us a good day as we left.

It is hard to believe that Craig was once painfully shy all throughout his childhood as well as a majority of his adolescence. He told me he used to be terrified of talking in public. Although I don’t see him running for public office anytime soon, I think he’s come out of his shell since then. Seeing him interact with people is such a delight. I found a good man with a good heart who’s a good person to be around.

Photo: Adobe Stock.

The Other Side

Posted on by Kristine

For the first time in about 10 years, I was summoned for jury duty. This time it wasn’t the dreaded Frank Crowley Criminal Courthouse. It was the slightly more refined George Allen Civil Courthouse on Commerce Street. And not to say that Crowley is the bad seed, but let’s face it. It’s on the other side of the smelly tunnel. The trains don’t even stop there so you have to take a bus. And it just looks oppressive with Lew Sterritt looming right next to it. Oh and did I forget to mention all the scary looking bail bond places across the street. Get a bond your family requires with Danville bail bonds. Now I can say I’ve officially been to both courthouses.

Ok so back to my jury summons. I decided to take the train since the West End DART station was only 2 blocks away from the courthouse. My fare was free of charge on the way there (and yes, I said on the way there, more on that later).

Like the responsible little researcher, I planned my morning route adequately. I would take the 6:48 AM Red line and arrive at the West End station at 7:21 AM.

The morning commute wasn’t so bad. Getting out of bed at 5:00 AM was the worst. I prepared the night before by taking a shower and packing my things: some light reading material, my phone charger, my journal, assorted pens and pencils, and my Kindle. So really all I had to do in the morning was wake my ass up, drink my coffee, eat something light, change clothes and head out for the day. Craig was a darling and made sure I got out of bed on time.

I’m very fortunate in that the Arapaho station is really close to my house. The temperature of the air was mild but I could already tell it was going to be a scorcher. There were around 3 other commuters waiting on the platform once I arrived and it wasn’t long before our train arrived.

It’s not often these days that I get to explore and do new things by myself. Now that I’m married, I almost always have a husband in tow. In some ways, being able to take the train downtown by myself freed me from the burden of having to drive. It allowed me to just sit back, read my Kindle while listening to music and occasionally glance out the window to watch as the suburbs gradually changed into an urban landscape.

The West End station was my final destination. It was the closest stop to the courthouse, which was only about 2 or 3 blocks away. Although the train station was populated with what seemed to be loitering vagrants, the city sidewalks were practically empty. I guess no one else really walks through downtown.

I spent maybe 2 hours at the George Allen building before I was finally assigned to Justice of the Peace court in northwest Dallas. According to the jury clerk that our small group spoke with, JP courts don’t usually have trial cases but when they do, they usually call the county courthouse to send jurors to their district for the jury selection process (voir dire).

I was disappointed because I couldn’t spend more time exploring the city. I had to report to the other courthouse at 1:30. This gave me just enough time to grab something to eat, hop on a train back home to get my car and maybe catch a quick nap before going heading back out.

Rather than strolling into the closest McDonald’s, I decided I would serve the local economy better if I chose a restaurant that I’d never heard of or been to before. Something that wasn’t a chain.

I stumbled across this place called The Purple Onion. A quick Google search from my phone called it a Greek place, but when I walked in, it seemed more like a bar that served a diverse menu of cafe staples. Still there were a few people seated at tables throughout so it couldn’t be that bad. Plus they were open for breakfast and I was dying for eggs and home fries. After breakfast, I made my way down Field St. to the Akard Station on Pacific and began my trek home.

As I walked through the city and gazed up at the tall buildings, I realized there is a certain level of independence that I miss now that I’m married. Even though Craig does his best to give me space when I ask for it. I can’t just take a day trip on a whim by myself without having a good reason.

I remember at one point in my life, I wanted to move to a metropolitan area. I loved the diversity you can only find in urban areas. It inspires a sense of adventure. Now, however, I find myself looking forward mornings when it’s cool enough for me to enjoy my cup of coffee on the front porch. I think of plans for the yard and I look forward to the potential unfolding in the garden.

My day in the city was a reminder of a dream I used to have, but no longer yearn for. Because I’m happy now where I’m at, and even happier that I have someone to share it with.

Photo: Kristine Macabare.

Death and Taxes

Posted on by Kristine

When does a couple become one unit instead of two entities? Is it when they finally decide to cohabitate? No. Is it when two people exchange rings, and both take the vow of marriage? No, not even.

Most people think it’s either one of these, but in my experience so far, it’s when you both decide to see a financial planner together.

When you get married, you can plan on loving and cherishing each other, in sickness and health, till death do you part. But until you’re both sitting in a conference room with a view of the Dallas skyline in the background while a guy in a suit watches you both commit to each other’s financial well-being in both the present and future, you have no idea what it means to be part of a “we.”

Such is the case with Craig and me.

What’s Mine is Yours

Last week Craig and I met with our new financial planner Evan for the first time. After a brief courtship that comprised of a couple of phone calls and some emails, we finally decided to take the leap and go all in. We were ready to take a peek at our financial picture and start planning our future together.

We made it through the first step of the process, which was for Craig and me to come to a consensus about seeing a financial planner. That was the easy part. We both have similar views of what we want our ideal future to look like, and we both have similar opinions on money. The second step was to go through a complete financial analysis. It would help us understand what our current financial picture looks like compared to our goals.

Part of the process was filling out an extensive questionnaire. We answered questions about our fears, our short-term, and mid-term goals, and philosophical questions that post hypothetical situations about money. These questions were thought-provoking. It gave us some discussion points about topics we never really considered talking about before.

As we were filling out the questionnaire, all of the responses I typed out began with “we.” We wish this; we’re afraid of that… suddenly I began to realize my financial decisions were no longer mine; they were ours. It was a startling revelation, one that I mildly resented at first. However, the more I wrote it, the more I began to accept it.

I began to wonder if all other married couples went through this exercise. If not, is that why the divorce rate is so high?

Couples Who Finance Together, Stay Together

Financial incompatibility is frequently named as one of the most common reasons for divorce in the United States. It’s easy to forget that our decisions, no matter how small they are, can ultimately have an impact on our spouse. Explore their homepage and learn how to make this process as quick and painless as possible.

This exercise is proving to be a positive step in the right direction. Planning our future also means planning our inevitable death which, hopefully, will be far into the future. It’s forcing us to evaluate our current record-keeping system, our various insurance policies and coverage, and our estate plans. Some people find this process uncomfortable, but I find it logical and therefore right. To avoid it means to avoid one of life’s only certainties.

And now let me pose this question to you: when did you address the subject of financial compatibility? When did you discuss the subject of death and your legacy? Were any of these discussions before or after marriage?

Photo: iStockphoto.

I’ve Got a Secret

Posted on by Kristine

Psst. Hey, you. Yeah, you. C’mere. I have a secret to tell.

When Craig and I first met, I admitted to him that I’ve never tried marajuana before. He was floored. “Not even second hand smoke?” he asked. No not really, I said. It’s not that I’ve never had the opportunity, it’s just that I was never curious enough to want to try it.

Suddenly he had a mission in life: he was was going to get me stoned.

Almost 2 years later, after ticking off everything on our relationship checklist of things to accomplish (e.g. move in together, buy a car together, get engaged, get married), he texted me with, “I have something very special on the way for you. Something I promised you a long time ago.”

“Really?” I replied. “I usually remember those things but now I can’t remember what it was.”

“I will be getting some very special candy…”

Candy?! I instantly started thinking about all the different exotic candies I’ve been dying to try:  Violetas from Spain, Meiji chocolate from Japan, Turkish delight from, well, Turkey… and yes, I have memorized an unusually long list of exotic candy I’ve been wanting to try.

“…it has a very special leaf in it…”

“Leaf?! It better not be a salad!”

Turns out they were cannabis gummies. An acquaintance of his offered them when he told her I’d never gotten high before. Craig was so proud of his score, he had the entire evening planned out. He said I would ingest them before leaving for dinner Friday night since they’ll take a while to kick in. Then after dinner, we’ll do a Ben & Jerry’s run, then spend the rest of the evening being couch vegetables and listening to Bob Marley. It was the quintessential stoner experience. The only things missing were the black lights, velvet posters, and lava lamps.

So fast forward to our Friday evening, we were halfway through dinner and it had been 45 minutes since I ate the candy. So far all I felt was really sleepy. “Wouldn’t it be funny if the only effect it had on me was drowsiness?” I’d said.

“With you? That’s possible,” Craig said.

Not long after that I began to feel a little strange. I looked around at the dining room and all the fellow diners around us at their tables. It’s almost as if things began to move in slow motion, like we were under water.

“Are you starting to feel really mellow?” Craig asked.

I nodded slowly, continuing to look around. “Yeah… things are starting to look a little different. Like everything’s under water.”

He giggled like a schoolgirl.

Once we paid for dinner, we decided to head over to Kroger on Spring Valley. Now this is where it got a little scary. My trip slightly intensified while I was driving, so it probably wasn’t a good idea for me to be behind the wheel at the time. But it’s like as I was driving, it’s almost as if the fabric of time was gradually beginning to stretch out. Every second that passed seemed like ages ago. My inner voice became much more prominent, reminding myself of where I was, who I was, and what I was doing.

“Yeah, you’re going to have to drive home from here I think,” I told Craig.

As we walked through the grocery store, Craig said I looked mesmerized. “You look like a little girl,” he said, laughing. In a way he was right, I felt like I had put on a different pair of glasses and I was seeing things for the first time.

Standing in the ice cream aisle, I perused the assortment of Ben & Jerry’s. “I think I want this one,” I said, utterly pleased at my decision.

“‘Chunky Monkey,’” Craig recited off the label. He smiled at me. “My little stoner chick wants ‘Chunky Monkey.’ Ok, then. ‘Chunky Monkey’ it is.”

Since Craig drove the rest of the evening, that allowed me to fully immerse myself in the experience. Every sensation was magnified. I could feel every inch of my skin, from the top of my scalp to the tips of my toes. At any point I could zoom in on a part of my body and enhance what it was experiencing as if it was a separate part of me. Like my feet, for example, and how my flats just loosely hugged them and wrapped around them. Or how the car seat cupped the back of my thighs. I was suddenly hyper-aware of how my body was interacting with the space around me.

When we arrived home, Craig told me to get comfortable and relax and that he would prepare the ice cream. So I did. I changed into some comfortable lounge clothes and collapsed on the couch. I found myself staring most of the time. Staring and thinking. I know most of my experience was happening in my head because like I said, my inner voice had become more vocal.

As we were sitting there eating our ice cream, Craig would ask me questions about what I was experiencing. “It’s weird,” I said. “I don’t want to move because I feel like if I do, then I’ll forget the previous moment.” Every second, it was like I was waking up from a dream and I was trying to remember if the previous five minutes had been real or not. The entire day felt like it was far into the past. Time was already completely stretched out as far as it would go. And every once in a while, I would look at the clock and realize only 2 minutes had passed when it felt like it had been an eternity.

“I remember one time when I was high, everything I did felt like I was doing it for the first time,” Craig said. “Like I would be in the middle of something, like eating with a fork, and I would think, ‘Wow, I’m eating with a fork… And I’m doing this well.'”

I laughed, that’s exactly what it felt like. They were like mini bouts of amnesia. I would be sitting there, then I would realize, “Oh wait, where am I? Oh yeah I live here.” Then I’d see Craig sitting in the chair. “Whoa, who’s that?” I thought. “Oh, yeah, that’s Craig. We got married recently. He’s my husband.” And then Izzie would jump on the couch next to me. “Yikes, what’s that?! Oh that’s a dog. Yeah, that’s Izzie. I have a dog named Izzie.” I was reliving my life moment-to-moment. Some people might think that was scary, but in hindsight, I think that’s beautiful. In a way, it forced me to slow down and just experience my environment for once rather than blindly exist in it.

Craig, who was sober the entire evening, loved observing me. “We have to do this again,” he said. “Maybe not every weekend, but every couple months or so.”

Yeah, I thought. Just like wine connoisseurs love to indulge in an expensive bottle of wine at the end of a busy week, this might be our “occasional expensive bottle of wine.”