Hey, A Cemetery Post

So finally, a cemetery post. On my birthday I had planned on hitting a couple of Chicago cemeteries, but being the straight edge lady I am, I forgot what happens to the city for St. Patrick's day. So instead, Chris and I hit up a couple closer to home. Rudy also had his first adventure in a cemetery, and judging by the amount of mud he had on him, he enjoyed himself too.

Dirty Thirty

When it hit me this year that I was turning the big three-oh, I felt like I had to do something big. There were talks of Vegas, then maybe a little time away in a cabin on a lake, or even just a weekend in Milwaukee. As time grew closer and real life settled in around incomplete plans, I realized that the where didn't matter.

What matters is that I'm spending my birthday with a man I am very much in love with, who has turned into my best friend. There was a time that I never thought my best friend could also be the one I'm in love with, that they would always be separate entities. I like how life can really say, "In your face, you were way off on this one."

I wish I could see all of my friends within this 24 hours, but the world doesn't spin around me like I like to wish. Accepting that I am not a priority to others is kind of a punch in the stomach, but also a fair and realistic one. To put it bluntly, no one should have their heads up my ass. It's about being equal, not who can ass kiss the other the most. /end butt talk.

So yeah. I'm thirty. I'm happy, living life my way, and being an adult that stands on her own two feet.

Mastering Sharing a Bed

Sharing a bed on a regular basis, let alone daily is completely weird to me. Chris and I generally see each other for 2 or 3 overnights a week, but 24/7 is going to be much different. As we get closer and closer to our move in date for our very first shared apartment, things like this creep into my weird detail obsessed mind.

I've always assumed the unspoken rule is that you share the bed half and half. In my mind I've always figured that where the pillows meet is the center, the invisible line. When I sleep in bed with a friend, this is the general rule. Now I know boyfriends are a but different, as there's actual wanting to touch or cuddle (ew) at times, but that still doesn't constitute bed hog-ery.

Chris is so slick at stealing the majority of the queen size bed. He has this knack for sprawling out with his arm going one way, butt going the other. Throw Rudy into the mix and I'm left with half a butt cheek's length to squeeze in to. Right now I'm laying with my left hip smushed on his his butt and my right side balancing precariously on the edge.

So how do I retaliate? I go in for a snuggle and try to roll my way in. I pretend to "sleep move" around and be so smushed onto him that he's forced to move over. Ive tried to poke him in the ribs, but the last time it ended with him elbowing my face in his sleep. There's always the old safety as well, the "pretend to be sleeping" fart. Unfortunately farts = laughter for me so I can't pull this one off very well.

Tonight's technique will involve a roll and push cuddle move. If Chris wakes up and wonders what I'm doing I can always fake sleep. Wish me luck.

A Small Town Trial

For just over 4 years of my life, I lived in small town USA, located just off interstate 80 in the midst of cornfields and nothingness. Why oh why would I live there? My career. I had an opportunity to forge ahead and I grabbed it. Little did I know that this would be one of my most interesting journeys to date.

Oh, small towns. They have their charm. The little one off food joints that taste like heaven, the shops that sell anything from darling necklaces to deer antlers. I knew where the best food was, where not to shop, and exactly where all the best cemeteries were.

I began living the small town life in an apartment from hell, complete with giant spiders and a neighbor making meth. Then I hit the jackpot and had an amazing apartment for dirt cheap. I'm paying double for something smaller here in the burbs.

Unfortunately with every small town comes the usual weirdness. Everyone knows everyone, so I stuck out like a punk in a prep school. During the first couple of weeks I lived there, I had women talking about me while I shopped the local craft store, and a lot of customers point blank ask me who I was and where I came from when dealing with me at my job. Needless to say, not exactly a town full of tact.

I was cast as an outsider at work, and considered an oddball for being in my mid 20s, unmarried, and childless. Most were horrified when I told them that I had no plans to have children. I had to deal with a workplace that was a clique of older people that disliked me not only because I was new to their routine, but I was also a young woman that was in charge. The horror!

As time went by, I grew thicker skin and learned not to take the small minded comments and perception personal. I dealt with the most difficult co-workers I have yet to come across, including a 50 year old mom who tried desperately to be young, an assistant that had an incredibly mean, selfish spirit, and a few men that hated me because I had a vagina that wasn't old and decrepit.

There were days I went home and shut out the world. I didn't care about the small town functions, who beat up who at the local hole in the wall bar, or who drove drunk but got off because they were friends with the cop.

Contrary to my post this far, it wasn't all bad. I met a few of the kindest, most genuine people that I might ever meet. I even had a few moments there that I laughed so hard I had to run to the bathroom. I found one of my favorite tombstones there. I got addicted to pork tenderloin sandwiches from a little joint that had wood paneled walls.

I didn't keep the contacts I made when I moved. I keep in touch with one amazing lady who shares my fascination of ghosts and can decorate a cake like no other. Im not sure if I want to forget it all, but I sure don't want to keep the memories alive.

It's been a year since I've gotten out of that little town, and life has changed so much. I can see my boyfriend on a regular basis (hell, we're moving in together in a week), I have the love of my life Rudy, and I can go out in public without having to deal with people being socially weird to me. I feel good away from there. I'm happy.

Maybe I was too paranoid there, maybe I felt the hand of judgement coming down on me a little too hard. What I consciously did do was really become a strong woman that I'm proud to be.

Best Friends Aren't Forever, and That's Okay.

In kindergarten I met my first best friend. His name was Eric, and we bonded over backyard wiffle ball, dinosaurs, and sand pizzas. Later on in grade school, I met a best friend I still have to this day, and even made me godmother of one of her children.

What makes a best friend friendship? I think we all see it differently, and have different kinds of besties. One of my best friends I only see a handful of times a year, we can even go weeks without a text message, let alone a phone call. But when I do see him, it's like time hasn't passed us by, not even a moment. He's a BFF that I know is a lifer. I've had the BF that I was in constant communication with. We texted, talked on the phone daily, and really coexisted at times as one. As I've grown older and figured myself out, that type of friendship has faded. I've been accused of distancing myself, which I can't deny, but I also feel like I can stand on my own now, and prefer to just be me, not Lindsey and __________________.

Over the years we've all gone through the ups and downs of friendships, of best friendships. The times of our lives, like rolling in cow pies to get under an electric fence to explore Cemetery X or awkwardly coercing the caretaker of one of the most haunted houses in Kansas to let us snoop. Then there's the downs. Blah. Finding out a best friend has ill intentions or is just playing the using game, or not really having your back is such a blow.

Then there's the best friends that become toxic. How does this happen? One day everything clicks, and the next you can literally feel the resentment rising off the text message. We are constantly growing as individuals and together as friends, yet we can also head down completely different roads. I can't say I regret these, as I've learned a lot from them, but I wish the ill will that's felt would disappear.

So, in 9 days I'll be 30 years old. Thirty years holds a long line of best friends. This has molded me into my badass self, bullshit and all. I've had what I thought were BFFs, only to discover they were really BFUSCCA (best friends until someone cooler comes along). But I do have those BFFs that stick around, well, forever.

This isn't a high horse I'm riding around on. I'm not looking for validation for my life or how awesome I am. I'm not looking for judgement, though I'm sure there's people out there that have me on the stand as I type.

This is about my journey of best friends.

Tales From the Embalming Table

Chris and I love Tales From the Crypt, and tonight's ep of choice has become one of my favorites.

"Fitting Punishment" is about a shady mortician. As someone fascinated with death, I know a thing or two about a thing or two when it comes to the subject. All I could do was critique all the steps of embalming, and how horribly wrong they were doing them.

The finale of the episode included Air Jordan'd feet (unattached to legs) kick the shady mortician and a footless body walking down some stairs.

I do a lot of other cool stuff in my free time, I swear.

Between a Chicken Ring and a Hush Puppy...

In between a White Castle and a Long John Silver's (aka one stop heart attack block) lies a small cemetery not too far from my apartment.

My favorite resident of this cemetery is Johanna McCormick. Johanna was murdered in 1919 by a man that she turned down for a date. Her murderer stuck his shotgun through her window and fired away. Sounds like a level headed rational dude.

Once the snow clears, I think I'll go visit Johanna.

Take Two.

I've tried this before, and lose interest in mere months. More often than not, I got too wrapped up in trying to to write about bullshit like drama or trying to appease a friendship.

I've moved, so my blog should too.

2013 (and turning 30 on March 16th) is getting back to what I love, what I strive for, and what makes my life just that, mine. Strong friendships, an amazing boyfriend, and my little dog that rules my Instagram.

Will there be adventures in cemetery exploring? Oh, oh yes. This time Rudy will probably get to come along on the day adventures to make things that much more aesthetically pleasing. Because really, who doesn't love a cute wiener dog?