And To All A Good Night...

Well it's Christmas Day and I feel this unmistakeable drive to wish you all a  very Merry Christmas.  This has been a lovely holiday season, filled withed with happiness and gratitude, regardless of what religion we practice.  I spent this holiday painting my bedroom, because we recently had our master bathroom remodeled and we needed to paint the bedroom to match.  Needless to say (for most of my readers), the bathroom remodeling has been a debacle.  I'll follow up with more on that once it's completed and I don't need to live in fear of retribtuion.  For now I'll just say that if you're considering hiring a well-known bathroom contractor to remodel your bathroom DON'T DO IT. 
So we spent the day repainting our bedroom and it turned out great  Then I made chili this evening and drank a bunch of wine so i'm a little buzzed as I write this so it won't be eloquent or even probably enjoyuable to read. 
So as I sit here, I'm thinking of Christmases past.  Of lasagnas at my grandmothers house.  Of playing an obsure game called "Password" and toying with homemade outfits for homemade Barbie dolls.  Of fixing twice-baked potatoes and traveling to downstate Delaware to celebrate with my Sussex County family.  Of home-grown gag gifts and name labels on the bottoms of plates at Mom-Mom's house.  Of being jealous of the sheer number of gifts my cousins received every year.  These are the memories that jump out at me for all the Christmases that linger in the past.  My husband often wonders aloud why I can't fix a big family meal without providing bread (even if it's just wonder bread with butter) and my answer is unfailingly that my Mom-Mom never served a meal without bread.  Why would I? 
I offered to make ham this Christmas and my husband offered, instead, that we make chili and cornbread.  And I realized how far away from home I am, that chili is the meal of choice over ham and potatoes.  And I'm okay with that except that ham and potatoes is my holiday meal of choice and I sort of miss it.  And so next year we will board a plane and head home to Delaware to enjoy ham and potatoes and ice and snow for Christmas.  And while we are there we will see my niece, who will be 2, and nephew, who will be 7, and my friends' children who will be a range of ages, from 5 to not yet one year old.  I savor the idea of being there for a Christmas with my family, after 4 years away.  And we will embrace the most precious of holiday traditions.  Not the day off from work or the enjoying of presents and wine; instead we will enjoy family and friends and the true wonder of Christmas.   Until then, and likely after that, my husband and I will continue our little family traditions on our own, hoping that we will not disapppoint our family too much by continuing our lives without the blessings of children.

A Really Good Life

These lyrics are resonating with me today:

"Sometimes there's airplanes I can't jump out
Sometimes there's bullshit that don't work now
We are God of stories but please tell me
What is there to complain about?"

There are times when you're stuck in a bad situation and don't know how to fix it, when you just want to run and hide and escape but you can't because there is no escape or easy answer.  It's just the way it is.  There are times when the inherent suckiness of life takes over and you can't see through the muck.  But those times don't last as long as you think they will.  And when they're over, they feel like distant memories that, hopefully, left you with some good perspective and life experience.  Even so, life is really really good and you can't give up. 

I need to be reminded of this every once in awhile, when I sink into periodic bouts of depression that make me want to curl up and disappear.  And then something happens, like a dinner party that reminds me of the amazing caliber of people I am lucky enough to call my friends, that turns it all around and helps me out of the funk. 

Despite the times that make you want to scream and cry, the good moments do happen.  They will happen.  And when they do, you'll be so glad that you're able to enjoy them, so appreciative that you can share them with people you love.

Somebody Needs to Buy Me Patience for Christmas

Fury.  Blind Rage.  Debilitating frustration.    If you would like to have these feelings on a daily basis for at least 3 weeks straight, you should ---

I plan to finish this post in approximately 1 week.  Check back later.   Perhaps by then I will have calmed down and I won't feel the need to write the things I so badly want to write now.

God, I'm Lucky (in a guilt-ridden sort of way)

Today I had to think about what things I don't like about my job and/or my boss.  And the reason I'm takling about this is because I had to really grasp at straws to think of something.  And that made me grateful for how happy I am in my job.  For the first time in my life I feel like I'm one of the people making things happen as opposed to just another paper pusher sitting in the part of the building that no one wants to visit.    In a world where there are far too many people who have no jobs at all, I feel like my cup runs over an unfair amount right now.  In order to assuage my guilt I am going to have to do something to compensate for my undeserved good fortune.  Adam and I dumped about a thousand dollars worth of clothing, shoes, and blankets in the clothing donation box over the weekend, but it still doesn't feel like enough.    When you read about Toys for Tots they say that this time of year results in so many donations that they can't even use them all and they store them in a warehouse for next year, so I just feel like I'd rather focus my efforts on a more forgotten charity... something that still needs help.  Any thoughts?

Two Things.

1.) My dog had paint on her ear today when we got home.  It's just so darn cute when that happens. 

2.) Please tell me you all get it that I exaggerate a lot on this blog because if I didn't try to make it entertaining, it would just be a rote description of my daily activities, punctuated by periods of PMS-induced fury.     Seriously, no one wants to read that.    I don't even want to read that.     So, like, if it makes you laugh it probably has a little imagination dust on it.   And by imagination dust I do not mean alcohol. 

Ugly Tree Topper

I should clarify this actually looked pretty cute in the store.  Of course, the horrible multi-colored lights weren't turned on at the time so all I was looking at were the multi-colored strands of tinsel.  I do take full responsibility though, as I pushed for this one  because Adam was suggesting a rather more expensive model and I'm cheap.  This is what cheap gets you, people.  Our house is where Christmas comes to die - or take meth, apparently.

Sober Sunday Update

Something must have gone right last night because today at the grocery store Adam dumped about 10 bottles of Naked Grape wine in the cart. Too bad I can't remember what I did to make him so supportive of my habit, 'cause I've got a few more vices I'd really like to take up.

In other news, I played wife this morning and made a breakfast of burnt pancakes and more delicious fatty bacon.  Then we hopped in the vehicle and headed off to do Christmas shopping.   I think we finished it all - the most fun part of course is buying the toys for the kids.  It's a good thing we don't live near my niece and nephew or else I would go totally off the reservation buying them presents.  The only thing stopping me now is the thought of having to ship all that crap.  Sorry kids.   Luckily you're not old enough to care yet, but I suppose one day I'll have to anty up if I want you to remember your weird Aunt Jill and Uncle Adam.

We also purchased a new Christmas tree topper, since ours was huge and elaborate and therefore fell off the tree the other night and took about 18 ornaments with it to a shattery death on the floor.  So the new ornament was $5 - and it is the most ghetto tree topper in the world.  I'll post pictures later.  I mean it is horrific.  And the best part is that even though it is very ugly, it's been on the tree for at least 4 hours now, and will likely remain there until the day we take the tree down.   Between that, our dismantled bathroom, dirty floors, and dangerous air quality - I would say we are well on our way to having a "Very Camden Christmas" this year.

The Naked Grape Pinot Grigio

So.. as you all know, last night I drank enough vodka to sterilize a small village and therefore today I felt like total garbage all day long.  Despite my long-lasting hangover, I grabbed some wine and took it to a friend's birthday party tonight - fully expecting that I would drink a glass or two and then leave the rest for the other party-goers.   I only took it because it was a party, and my poor husband was also still hungover and didn't want anything at all

So I took The Naked Grape Pinot Grigio - which I've never had before.  It is delicious.  I didn't get any of the weird chemically aftertaste that my usual Barefoot pinot grigio causes.  I don't have a headache or anything and - surprisingly (embarrasingly?) - I drank the entire bottle.  It was a small bottle but still.  I can't usually get through half a bottle of Barefoot without feeling like I"m falling off a cliff.  An entire bottle of Naked Grape and I only feel a little happy fuzz.  So I think I know what my new wine is.

The Only Reason I Haven't Posted Lately...

... is that I'm so furious I don't want to write anything that I will later regret when I find out the bathroom guys read it and then rubbed my toothbrush on their junk while my husband and I were at work. 

Actually I don't honestly think that will happen since my 4 readers don't include the bathroom guys.  But it could happen and, because of that, I'll keep my mouth shut until this job is finished.  Which is now scheduled to be Friday.  Not, of course, the Friday that just passed - which was the original completion date.  Rather, next Friday which is the newly estimated completion date and most likely just as bogus as the original one. 

So I will stick to safer topics, such as - I spent the better half of this morning concurrently fighting a hangover and dusting my house.   The hangover was due mostly to the copious amount of vodka I consumed at our work Christmas party last night.  Combining the vodka with juice, water, and fruit doesn't make it any less dangerous - hence the strange display of unskilled country line dancing and even worse misguided experimentation with getting crunk on the dance floor.    I'm actually not even sure if that's the right term, but that's what it felt like at the time.    Then I came home and ate an entire bag of salt and vinegar chips before passing out and waking up this morning with terrible stomach pains - I can't imagine why.  Despite the side effects of being so much fun, I had a blast last night with my work peeps.  I'm lucky to work at a place where you can let your hair down - our Christmas parties are never the sort of stuck-up, stuffy affairs where everyone is just sitting around trying to impress each other.  Unless of course my dancing skills impressed anyone.  In which case, it was totally on purpose.   

Luckily I have the sort of wonderful husband who can predict my morning-after misery and woke up early to make me coffee, eggs, toast, and bacon.  The real bacon, not the turkey bacon we've been trying to get used to choking down lately.    I suspect, though, that the problem with the turkey bacon is the chef (usually me) not understanding how to cook it differently than regular bacon.  I digress.  The food did wonders and then I spent the rest of the morning wiping off the 2-inch-thick layer of construction dust covering every inch of my house.  I'll spend the rest of the afternoon vegging out until it's time to go out and do the partying thing again tonight - except this time I'll probably stick to wine.    And I'll probably buy a bunch of extra toothbrushes too.  Just in case.

Should be Called "Snails Pace Bathrooms"

Good grief.  It's the end of the 3rd day and we still haven't moved out of the back corner of the bathroom.  What the hell, I feel like I could have done as much by now.  Now we have what I believe is called a "sub-floor" in the bathroom, a hole for the toilet with some sort of contraption screwed in to it, a shower "pan", some woodwork for the bench, and maybe some plumbing work done.    Okay so I couldn't have done any of it.  But after four beers, I am feeling like I could finish the job tonight if I had to.

What is left to be done you ask?  Walls, floors, rest of shower, toilet, electrical, vanity, mirrors, lighting, french doors, new walls... the list goes on and on.   So basically, like... everything. 

The living room carpet continues to be semi-clean when we return each day, maybe a little less clean each evening.  Adam finds this infuriating - I am not bothered by it as long as they're not tracking im mud.  I think it could be a lot worse, and as long as it's made right at the end I"m cool with a little construction mess.  Not much though, "Brad", if you are reading this!   Lights are always left on - no big deal to me really but I find it amusing.   Bonus points to the team for locking the gate every morning the way we do to make sure Pandora doesn't masterfully open it herself and escape.    She must be getting really worked up by all the activity because her feet are disgustingly muddy/dirty every night when we get home.    I think she must be out there digging holes to get out her anxiety.  And I"m doing a piss poor job of cleaning her feet before I let her in because its 4 degrees outside and I just want to get in the house and under my comfy blanket.  This carelessness results in Adam "checking my work" and then us having to dig extra dirt out of her toenails in the kitchen while she squirms and gives me that "why are you torturing me, i do nothign but love you" look.  Nothing gets my goat more than Adam checking to see if I did something up to his incredibly high standard and then finding out that I didn't.  Probably on purpose. 

Anyway, so I'm seriously unimpressed, a little tipsy, and stuffed on steak from Prime Steakhouse in Killeen (terribly tasty and nice atmosphere).  More updates tomorrow.    Cross your fingers, particularly for Adam that he doesn't contract typhus from all the horrifying tiny particles of dirt that were left in our carpet today.

Every Kiss Begins With "I'll Take the Garbage Out"

I love the Every Kiss Begins With Kay commercials, mostly because they aggravate the bejeezus out of my husband.  It's even better that they are a Sunday and Monday staple during football season, also known as the Christmas season.    (sidenote: for the first time, Adam just asked to see what I was writing and I had to show him this.  So now I probably won't get any diamonds for Christmas.  Good thing he asked now and not 20 minutes ago when I was working, though.  He really really hates that.)

So I think those commercials are just as annoying as my husband does, but I pretend that I love them just to make it worse on him.  I make kissy faces and ooh and ahh at the TV when they show all the corny looking jewelry and manufactured love scenes.     It's like Christmas come early every time I get to watch one with him in the room, paritcularly if I have done something to earn love that day, because then I can whine about how I never get any kisses beginning with Kay. 

Most of my kisses begin with something much less expensive.   I'm being facetious when I say every kiss begins with household chores (although plenty of them do).    Love lives in my house, and it doesn't need Kay Jewelers to keep it growing.  I don't know any other houses that need it either.    Kisses in real life are born of the life two people are building together.  They begin with a lost girl and a lost boy, finding each other in the dark of their lives and coming out together in the long-forgotten sunshine.  With a rough year in Tennessee, the first year of marriage.  With a spontaneous move to Texas and the following 4 years of building a life together in a place new to the both of us.  

Sure, life isn't always romance - it isn't always log cabins in the woods with sparkling wine and glittering diamonds.  It's messy, it's scary, it's funny, it's sad, it's wonderful.   I would ten-thousand times prefer a years' worth of "let me give the dog a bath tonight, honey" over a necklace.  

I also think that Lexuses wrapped in huge red bows are a little overdoing it for Christmas.  Who are these people....?  So the moral of this story is really just to remember what this season is really about as you are being bombarded with commercials that (frankly) I suspect miss the mark big-time.  There are families out there who are actually suffering just to put one toy under the Christmas tree for their children.  Worse, struggling to provide a decent holiday meal.  As you shop for your loved ones this year, consider purchasing a toy and donating it to Toys for Tots, or purchasing a meal to be provided to a local family from your grocery store.  Also don't forget your local dog shelter, which is most likely in need of blankets and toys to keep our furry friends warm and happy during the winter season.   These gifts will be appreciated so much more than any of us can imagine. 

Short Update on the Empty Hole Formerly Known as My Bathroom

Re-Bath was here promptly at 0830 this morning, in the form of two very polite young men who were here to start Phase I, also known as DEMO.  Adam and I both liked them; they won brownie points by offering to put drop clothes on the floor when they saw our pile of shoes by the door.  More brownie points by recognizing Pandora's breed of dog and petting her.  Some points deducted when they didn't seem sure of the overall plan of the bathroom and were agreeing to demo this and that willy-nilly, without so much as glancing at the plans.  I'm sure they knew what they were doing though.  We returned to the house today to a very cleanly demo'd shower/bath area and a freshly vacuumed floor.  Bajillions of bonus points there, though that didn't stop Adam from pulling out the dust buster. 

All in all, first day turned out well.   Tomorrow begins the second half of Phase I, where demo will continue.  Supposedly Wednesday will begin Phase II - actual progress.  Will keep ya posted!

The Great Finger-Cross of 2011

So this week, Re-Bath is coming in to re-do our bathroom and I am freaking out. 

Not in the least because I am paying an exorbitant amount of money in an already tightly budgeted atmosphere to get this done, but mostly because I am nervous about ending up with some shoddily assembled room that looks like it consists of rubber and plastic.  

I felt at home with the sales guy because he had a very prominent Philly accent and was very vocal about what choices he felt would be bad ideas when he came over to design the concept.  However, as is typical - I haven't dealt with the sales guy since and have heard mostly from a guy named "Brad" who seems to have very little time for his customers who have already paid 1/3 of the price and signed a legally binding agreement that can't be backed out of.  Which I now realize is the genius of Re-Bath - because they custom-make all their materials, they are within their rights to tell you that you're not getting out of it.  At the very least you're going to pay for all the stuff they've built for you - so you might as well go through with the rest of it too.  There's no changing your mind, in other words; and this makes sense to you when you are in the throes of designing the bathroom of your dreams. 

So I'm told they're in on Monday morning and out by Friday afternoon, which is very appealing.  So on Friday I called over there to find out what time I should expect them on Monday morning - because I'm going to stick around until they get here so I can show them where the water valve is, etc.  The first answer I get is "I don't know, call back at 10 when Brad is here.".  So I wait until 2 and call back and get Jeff, the elusive salesman.  He tells me between 7 and 8, which works well because I"m a workaholic and want to get to work.  Then Brad calls me at about 4 to find out if it's okay if the guys come at noon.  Already I am unimpressed.

So I said, no it's not okay.  Both my husband and I planned our entire schedules around this and we can't change them now.  And he says "oh okay, then we'll see you around 8" just as easy as pie and gets off the phone.  Which makes me wonder, what the hell was the issue that made you want to send your guys in to work in the middle of the damn day?  How much work can they possibly get done between noon and five?  Are they even going to stay until five?  I might come home early on Monday just to see if they're still here.   Or heck, I might still be here waiting for them to show up.

So, yeah.  I'm worried. 

Also I should note that since my husband oversees most of the construction work at Fort Hood, Re-Bath should also be worried.  If one thing makes me feel any better, it's that he is an even bigger stickler for perfection than I am and he is much less nice.

Big Bullies

I am increasingly disappointed in the amount of people I encounter on a daily basis who are just grown-up versions of the bullies they undoubtedly were as adolescents.  This afternoon I got bullied by a guy my own age who I can only guess assumed that if he pushed hard enough I would just do what he wanted.  A year or two ago, maybe I would have because I would have been trying to appease him, trying to be the people-pleaser that I am by nature.  Now I just don't give a shit.  So hate me.  I really don't care.  Think I'm a bitch.  I'm glad you do.  That probably means I've done something right.  I spent the better part of my early career making decisions primarily to make other people happy and it got me nowhere.  Those people I went out of my way to help didn't reciprocate my efforts; they took advantage of my good nature and then promoted complete strangers into the jobs I wanted.    And all these years later I can finally admit that they probably did the right thing, because they probably saw in me a tendency to appease other people that would eventually translate to doormat status.  I probably wouldn't have hired me either.   It's taught me a valuable lesson about learning to think before you agree.
So today I was very rude to the guy that tried to bully me.  And he told me I was being rude, which was maybe the first time in my entire life that a person has told me I was being rude.  And, actually, I feel sort of proud of it.  I did the right thing and, if anything, he deserved way worse treatment than what he got at my desk.  I hope he comes back and tries again because I'll be prepared.
The moral of this story - if something makes you feel icky, that is probably because it IS ICKY.   DON'T let someone push you into doing something you don't want to do - they are trying to make you feel bad in the moment so that you will give them what they want, but the result will only be that you feel even worse about it later if you give in!   Instead - stand your ground and realize that anyone pushing that hard for something without letting you think about it beforehand knows exactly what they're doing and it's probably not good.

...and the Downside of Fall Traveling

After reading my last post you may imagine that I am back to Texas which must mean that all is well and things are perfect.  Not so, because as anyone who makes the mistake of getting on an airplane in November knows, now one of us is sick.  And it's not me, which is worse.  Because obviously when I am sick I am a pillar of dignity and willpower.  I power through all the aches and pains, ensuring the house is clean and the laundry is done despite my raging fever.  I complain to no one and stifle my coughs so as to not disrupt my husband's gentle slumber.  I rise from bed early to do my hair and makeup.  He, on the other hand, is coughing up a storm and is leaving his germy juice glasses all over the place. 

Just kidding.  He is sick but I feel really bad for him.  We thought he was getting better while we were in Delaware but it all came back with a vengeance yesterday while we were en route to a hellish day of  surly flight attendants and backed up airplane lavatories (not our fault).    Keep my poor sickly husband, and his poor wife, in your thoughts please.  Thanksgiving is no fun when you can't even taste your pre-ordered turkey and stuffing.

Hello Again

Well, I've been gone a week because I went to visit my family in Delaware to celebrate my brother's marriage to a wonderful woman.  Here are the things I wasn't able to write about while I was gone:

1.) Continental Airlines is total garbage.  The slightly reduced ticket price did nothing to make up for the terrible customer service and inefficiency.  Adam and I have grown used to our using our control issues to create easy and well-organized situations whereever we go and this week proved that even the most controlling and OCD people cannot ensure that everything will go smoothly all the time.  Which is perhaps more disappointing than the terrible customer service and inefficiency of Continental Airlines.   This led me to the scary realization that we have put so much emphasis on creating an easy and smooth life that we may no longer be able to navigate tough situations without getting seriously put out.   

2.)  My brothers have married the two nicest women in the universe.   Along with that, they have added the cutest little girl and the cutest little boy to our family.   They deserve every happiness that life is able to bestow upon them. 

3.)  The Wii "Just Dance" game could be a one-time-use game and it would still be worth the $40 price tag.    Never ever will I forget the site of my mom and dad dancing in the living room to old school hip hop.  Especially since I have it recorded on my camera.

4.)  Just becuase the wine bottle is there doesn't mean you have to open it.  Just because the wine bottle is open doesn't mean you have to pour a glass.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Nuff said.

5.)  Despite the fact that I felt a palpable sense of homesickness upon arriving in Philadelphia for the first time since I moved away (meaning that I missed Texas instead of vice versa), I will never be able to be in the Philadelphia airport without feeling melancholy about knowing that I have to leave.  Actually breaking down in the airport bar and crying before my departing flight was a first though.  But that had more to do with #4 than anything.   

6.)  Breaking down in an airport bar while the bartender and stranger next to you stare in disbelief, and knowing that your husband isn't worried about what either of those two people think about you because he only wants to make you feel better, creates an enormous sense of intimacy that I can't quite put words to.   Though the moment was painful, I'm grateful for it.  I wasn't missing anything with him before that moment, but afterwards, I felt something had been added to our relationship that can't be manufactured or prepared for.

7.)  And finally, although I miss my family and although I will forever complain about Continental Airlines, I am thankful I was able to celebrate my brother's marriage to a wonderful woman and hopefully one day a close friend.  I am also thankful I was able to spend time with my other brother and his wife and their child, and to see my parents thrive as grandparents.  I'm thankful I was able to see my grandmother and grandfather, and my aunts and uncles and cousins - all are special beyond words to me.  For every tiny moment that made me sad this week, there were a hundred that made my heart swell with pride.  For each tear of regret that I shed in the airport bar, there were a hundred laughs throughout the week that will echo through my mind long after the regret fades. 

The great gift of being able to visit your home is being able to appreciate, fully, what awaits you there.

Questions that Confound Me: Part 1

Would it be considered suicide
If a meteor was heading for Earth
projected to hit in 5 hours

And while your neighbors looked for bomb shelters
and tornado cellars
to hide in with their survival gear,

You got a bucket of fried chicken and sat out on your patio
with some margaritas and listening to Bob Marley,
Waiting for it?

Inspired By a Recent Self-Googling Episode which prompted me to wonder...

I Googled myself out of vanity
and curiosity

I Googled my married name second, my maiden name first

Not very many people have my maiden name
And mostly it was Twitter and Classmates.com and someone doing fashion design.
Boring, really.

But I found myself under my married name with my middle initial,
I found myself staring at my name under the words "Presumed Recovered"
And clicked on the link
believing it was someone else.

It says I was admitted
just months ago
and released to my husband after a week of rest.

No one at home will tell me what it means
they say I'm acting crazy
which perhaps I am

And no one at the hospital will tell me about the webpage
they say I should come in
which perhaps I have.

It's scary out here.  In La La Land.

Uh... Yes it is.

Today I spent 13 hours spraying Round Up in our yard (more like 2 hours) and got some blisters and a sore back in the process. 
When I came inside, I complained to my husband (who had been working on our very steeply pitched roof all day and also made me waffles and bacon for breakfast) about having to spray Round Up. 
What I said was "This body wasn't made for labor." 

And then I realized haflway through saying it how stupid that statement was. 

Another Title Could Be: "At Least Try Not to Kill Anyone."

 
Right - now that's a bit of realism for you.  I would buy this cookbook just for its frank honesty about my ability to follow instructions.

Wine'ing

So, many years ago I had a college friend who told me that her mother bought a case of wine every week not to save it in some fancy wine cellar but because that's how much she drank.  And at the time I found it shocking that a grown woman, a mother at that, could drink a case of wine per week and not spend the majority of the rest of her free time either passed out or chugging bottles of water and swallowing aspirins in an even ratio with the amount of booze she was consuming. 

Now, I am a grown woman with a real job and a family of sorts - by that I mean a husband and a dog who occassionally barfs on the floor with no warning, in the same manner as a baby who recently visited this establishment.  By all this I mean I have responsibilities and can't afford to get wasted every night and then sleep til noon like I did in college.  Also it's not fun any more because now my body rejects all that alcohol at about 7 am in the form of a skull-crushing headache accompanied by a violent upheaval of my intestines. 

The point of thsi story is that this afternoon, Adam and I went to the new grocery store in town and I steered us down the wine aisle where I picked up my usual small bottle of pinot grigio and put it in the cart, and he promptly removed it and replaced it with the gigantic bottle of the same pinot grigio, the one that could get the entire cast of Glee wasted.  And then he said "here you boozer, just open it and chug it right here in the middle of the store already - you know you want to". 

No he didn't.  He actually said something like "well you'll drink it all."  but what i heard was closer to the first one.  So now I feel bad for thinking badly of my friend's mom who drinks a case of wine per week, because at least she had three kids to justify her drinking.  I only have a dog with a mild case of upset stomach.

A Great Big Thank You to Veterans

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day - a day dedicated to appreciating veterans for their patriotism, love of country and willingness to serve and sacrifice for the protection of the common good.

Thank you Veterans.  My life is enriched by you, my life is mine and mine alone because of you.  In ways I cannot even comprehend, you have paid for my freedoms.  You don't know me but you fight for me.   We are not related, but you will leave your family behind for months at a time for me.   Your life is changed forever because of the sacrifices you were willing to make, for me.  For my relatives.  For my friends.  For our country.   My gratitude will never be enough, but I thank you. 

 

Always trust your instincts when it comes to movies and food.

1.)  I gave in and went to see the Footloose re-make, despite my better instincts which were screaming at me to not pollute my mind with images of a new and inferior cast of characters.  Several people vehemently insisted the re-make was a feel good movie that was fun to watch with good music, dancing, and acting.  I am here to tell you that, being the Footloose aficianado that I am, those people are wrong.  (Sorry Mom.)  That movie was garbage.  Julianne Hough's voice alone was enough to make me consider leaving the theatre after 10 minutes.  The only two redeeming qualities were Dennis Quaid and Willard, Quaid because he's gorg and Willard because no matter who plays Willard he'll always be the best character in the movie.  So I learned to trust my instincts when it comes to movies.

Then I was thinking about other things I have ignored my instincts on and lived to regret it.  Point #2.

2.)  Oldie but a Goodie and topical - A couple of years ago I went to lunch with my boss at the time (who hated me) and a work person who I didn't really know.  I ordered a cheesesteak.  When it came out something seemed wrong, but I really wanted a cheesesteak.  Two things here - 1. - I should have known better than to order a cheesesteak in Texas and expect it to be anything besides not good.  2. - I chalked up the wrong feeling to the fact that I was out to lunch with my boss (who hated me... did I already say that?).    So I ate that cheesesteak and I ate it up right.  And a few hours later I was lying on the floor of my bathroom praying to any God I could think of to just let me live or let me die but remove me from the misery of food poison whatever way possible.  3 days later I think I finally mustered the courage to eat a cracker or something, and I gagged every time we drove by a McDonalds.  So then I learned I should trust my instincts when it comes to food, and so whenever Adam makes fun of me for smelling the milk, the cheese, the bread, the cereal, the lettuce, the Ranch dressing, the ketchup etc etc etc - I remind him of how I had to fight Death because I wasn't dilligent about my food. 

So what should you take from this story - you may ask?     Well - first, you should feel comfortable coming to my house to eat, secure in the knowledge that I will not let you eat anything I haven't already smelled; secondly I am a movie hypocrite because even though I say I hated that movie I bet you I will watch it when it comes out on HBO.  Like, every time it's on.    

Marriage Bets

Apparently there is such a thing as a marriage bet which, if you are ever offered one DO NOT take it.  Or at least, if my husband ever offers you one, DO NOT take it.  If you do I guess I will have to come teach you a lesson, so that's reason #2 (and the less-compelling one) for you to not take the bet.  The real reason is that a marriage bet consists of your spouse offering up "anything you want, once" if you win the bet.  Which sounds great, except that it works both ways.  And if you are notorious for losing bets with your sneaky gambler of a husband, then he will take advantage of this by offering one up when he knows you think you're right (and he has coerced someone to make you think you're right). 

I'm not going to go into details about what the bet entailed, because it doesn't matter  - but basically I was 100% positive I was right and he knew it, so he made me a "marriage bet".  And when he explained what it was, I was ecstatic, because I have a writer's mind and if someone offers me "anything you want, once" - I can figure out all sorts of ways to reword that later on and drag it out for eternity.  

Instead, I lost the bet.  Because he cheats.  But he still won.  So guess what he is honestly considering.  With "anythign you want" on the table, he is considering making me eat a McRib and a Filet o' Fish in one sitting.  This is what my HUSBAND wants for his one-time-only, anything-you-want bet.  Which is, like, incredibly insulting. 

Love and Hugs Don't Come Free 'Round These Here Parts

On Thursday, I was feeling needy and flailed all over my husband looking for affection, so he told me that I had to earn love and hugs, and that on that particular day I hadn't earned any.  Does this count as spousal abuse?  So that night I made him chicken and then poisoned it. 

Just kidding.  I did make chicken though.  After which I believe I earned one hug. 

Today I said "we need to put some Round Up on the rocks because they're getting clover" after which he stared at me in awe and wondered aloud why I didn't say "I need to put some Round Up on the rocks because they're getting clover."

The moral of this story is that in these sort of situations if I had a kid I would simply arrogantly proclaim that I carried his effing child for 9 months and then birthed it out of an orifice 1/8th its size - upon which he would bow down to the awesome miracle of life-giving beauty that is ME and then bring me some sort of frosty beverage.  In reality, I had no answer and simply said because I need help figuring out how to work the container.  Which, sadly, is true.

Texas is "Manly"

Best visitor review ever - "Texas is manly".  Because apparently at the Jersey Shore there are no such things as:

1.) Concrete suppliers
2.) Heavy Equipment rental stores
3.) "Dual-y" trucks
4.) Big burly men with cowboy hats (obviously)

Yes, Noreen.  Texas is, in fact, manly.    How can we get this on a Welcome to Texas billboard sign?  I would like for it to say - "Welcome to Texas - Now Man Up and Build Something"

Subliminal Messages Piss Me Off

I was just subjected to the usual ridiculousness of a Cialis commercial, in which a couple hooks up at  grocery store and then partakes in a picnic that magically appears in the middle of the healthiest orange orchard on the face of the Earth.    Which would be annoying enough but for the 10-second close up on their wedding rings halfway through the commercial, which leads me to believe that the makers of Cialis want to ensure that all their viewers understand that they only condone sex enhancing drugs when taken by married folks.    After which, we all know the couple is to sit side by side in separate claw-footed bathtubs, outside and holding hands.  Because you can have sex (outside, in a public place) but you can't share a bathtub.   And when you do take a bath (in a public place), it ought to be outside.   Explain that. 

OMG, a baby is coming to stay

So, there's going to be a baby living in my house for 4 days this weekend and I am terrified.  Like as terrified as one might be if they were told there was going to be a werewolf living in their attic for a weekend. 
Here are the ways in which my house is not prepared for a baby:

1.) You can't even get in my house without climbing a flight of wooden stairs with great big gaps between each step, big enough for a baby to fit through.
2.) There is a big hole in my door that a baby can fit through, even though it's meant for a dog.
3.) There's a dog.  Who doesn't understand what babies are.  Because she's only seen one, like, once.  And she licked its face.  Which I fear was a big party foul for my dog, she has no manners I swear.  Perhaps indicative of the sort of manners my future child would have if I ever had one.
4.) No diapers.  We do have baby wipes though.  (plus 1 point)
5.) Too much alcohol.
6.) Not enough other stuff.
7.) Me and Adam live here.  Which, let's face it, means there's not much besides books and electronics in the house.  And we're OCD. 

Despite all this, I can't wait to see my friend and her son.  They haven't been to Texas yet so it will be great to show her where we live and get to spend time with her.  I just hope that they can survive a weekend in my family-free house (I think Adam referred to it as a love-free-zone the other day) without getting too frustrated with our complete lack of know-how. 

More updates on this later.  Can't wait though!

Tempers, and Sometimes Nostrils, Flare at Work

So I hardly ever get mad.  I mean hardly ever.  Especially at work, because I am cursed with this temptation to see other people's viewpoints as having more merit than my own.  So generally when I am met with confrontation at work I tend to lean in the direction of complacency because I find it hard to justify arguing my own point - something that I know is wrong and that I am working on fixing. 

But yesterday I got in a bona fide fight with one of my closest work colleagues - my "best friend at work" to quote Fortune Magazine.    Complete with raised voices and red faces and evil eyes.  Ending with each of us employing our favorite escape route - her grabbing her keys and leaving and me picking my shit up and walking out of her office without saying good-bye.  Pure passive aggressive behavior in its worst form. 

It's important to maintain perspective when these things happen.  It would have been easy for both of us to allow bitterness and anger to negatively impact our normally very good working relationship.  Women are notorious for allowing personal feelings to interfere with business.  I'm sure I have feminist friends who will argue that I am damaging the female species by even daring to write this, but I think it's a pretty accurate statement.  I've seen it happen enough, whereas I regularly see men get into very vocal arguments at work and then turn around and go to lunch and joke about it immediately after.

However, this post is not about gender equality or feminism - women have very many good qualities in the workplace and all of us, male and female and individually, come with our own treasure trove of abilities.

This post is about the importance of remembering that we can argue with one another, as me and my co-worker did yesterday, but demonstrating the ability and willingness to sit down and talk through it and work it out together, even after tempers have flared and feelings have been hurt, is key to success in the workplace.   And that is just what we did, via a heated phone call directly after work wherein we argued more and finally came to the sort of "agree to disagree for now" solution that is sometimes the only one that makes sense.

I appreciate that I am close enough to this co-worker that I can argue with her one day and approach her the next with questions and conversation about the same and other important topics.  This reveals not only a solid working relationship but also a friendship that appreciates and understands the value of individuality and conversation.    It's important to appreciate the relationships you have that allow you to speak freely with the reassurance that your voice will be heard.

Remember to take with you to work, every day, a mind that is open to questions and debate and a soul that is predisposed to teamwork and collaboration.  As I saw written on a colleague's blackboard, seek first to understand, then to be understood.

Mean Girls

Today someone at work found out I was a cheerleader in high school, and determined that I was a snotty, popular mean girl when I was a teenager.  Which made me laugh because I was much more like the out-of-place girl trying too hard to be a part of a group that didn't really want me.   Don't get me wrong, I had the core little group of best girl friends - Dorothy, Juli, Lori - but by no means was I popular.  And I definitely wasn't cool enough to be a "mean girl" because that would imply that I had any sort of power.  I'm pretty sure I had stonewashed jeans at one point.  So... yeah.

This conversation with my friend at work unleashed this memory I have from elementary school, proving that I was no "mean girl" but was instead terrorized by the "mean girls" - who exist even in grade school and who are possibly even worse at that age because somehow they manage to shape who you are for the rest of your school-age years. 

I'm not sure what grade I was in but it was young - maybe 3rd or 4th grade.  Recess still happened, so it was young.  I remember playing on one of those big metal ship things with a group of girls whose names I will not disclose but who to this day I feel bitter towards in completely irrational ways.  I don't know how it happened other than they needed no reason to gang up on the weak one of the group but they did it anyway - because that's what mean girls do their whole lives.  They pinpoint the weaker one and gang up, picking that person apart until they are left a sniveling and insecure shell of their former self.  And so, while I don't remember exactly what happened, I absolutely remember every one of these four girls pulling my hair and kicking me but mostly pulling my hair while I crouched on the ground crying and begging them to stop.  If it happened today they would probably take a video on their iPhone and post it to Facebook, after which I would find it online and sue them for brutality and win and then make a Lifetime movie about it to teach young girls about the dangers and injustices of bullying. 

Instead, they grew bored and left me laying there and when I recovered, I got back up and spent the majority of the rest of my school-age days trying to fit into the popular crowd with this group of back-stabbing bitches who never got nicer and only got meaner and uglier and more powerful.    Years later after it no longer mattered to me if I ever gained any of their approval, I saw one of them post on Facebook that she just hated high school because the memories were so painful for her, because everyone in school made her miserable, etc etc etc.  And I had to laugh because although I don't remember her being anything but pretty and desired by all the boys, she clearly had some issue that she can't get past either.  And I so badly wanted to reply to her post that she was beign ridiculous and she ruined my life by making my youngest grade school years miserable with her bullying, contributing in large part to the insecurities from which I would suffer for years and years to come.

And then I had to really really remind myself that I'm past all that and I'm a better person and all that.    And I'm still reminding myself, because every once in awhile I run into someone who thinks I was some popular cheerleader in school who had it all - some little rich girl who never wanted for anything - and I have to remember how much hard work it took to get to the point where I could stand up straight and look people in the eye and how long it took me to look myself in the mirror and see anything but pimples and glasses.   But the most important part is that now I can. 

And I hope, oh I hope, that there isn't some girl out there who is remembering me as her "mean girl" because I don't remember being mean, but maybe I was.   And if I was, I'm so sorry.

Regrets Come Easy

I don't consider myself a depressed person, or someone who suffers from depression or mental illness as a rule.  I do think, however, that all of us suffer with bouts of depression from time to time, whether our chemicals are imbalanced or not.  And a lot of it has to do with some repressed regret about your life, in my completely unprofessional/unlicensed opinion.   I'm a firm believer that if you have navigated your whole life truly with no regrets and always happy go lucky, you're either lying to yourself or doing something wrong. 

The people who live by a "No Regrets" rule are feeding themselves a crock of shit soup if you want my honest opinion.  To be for real - you truly can manage to navigate your life without feeling regret for one thing or another?  I have regrets from when I was, like, 9.   No one has the presence of mind to decide on a regret-free life at any early enough age to actually make it happen.

So while we can all do everything possible to live a "regret-free life" after we have done many things worthy of regretting that perhaps we just don't want to admit to ourselves were regretful, despicable ideas, certainly I'm not the only one who has a whole slew of memories from my younger years that I wish I could forget.  Because these memories, not the more recent ones from years of bad decision-making in my 'should have known better years', are the ones that genuinely make me cringe.  These are the memories that visit me in the dark of night and keep me from falling asleep for the sadness I feel after I relive them.   They probably seem really trivial to anyone else, including the people that I believe I hurt, but I feel genuine angst for my younger self, who couldn't have known any better.  

One such memory - I was young, I don't know how old, and I had gotten my ears pierced.  They mildly hurt, and I had to keep twisting those little gold studs to keep the holes from getting infected.  I was scared to take the studs out of my ears, but the time had come where it was safe to take them out and replace them with cute earrings.  I was too embarrased to tell my mom that I was scared, so when she came home from a special trip to the store to buy me cute new earrings, instead of being excited and happy which is surely what she was expecting I cried and locked myself in the bathroom (or clost? memory is fuzzy).  She tried and tried to get me to come out and change my earrings but I stayed in there forever, refusing to come out.  I dont' even remenber if I changed out the earrings afterwards.  What I regret is that my mom did somethign really nice for me and I didn't appreciate it at all, and I feel bad that she was probably excited to come home and show me the present she bought for me and instead she was met with a screaming, crying little brat. 

So this is the sort of thing that keeps me up at night - not the normal regret like being angry about sleeping with some guy or missing out on a great promotion.   

Internet Speed Bumps

Okay so I hate, no... despise, the practice of websites forcing you to prove you're not a robot by entering a word or combination of characters displayed on a screen before it will let you proceed to the next page.  Some of them tell you that such practices serve a dual purpose by using what you enter to help turn real live books into digital books.  I mildly approve of this practice so up until recently I haven't minded terribly entering a copy of the characters I see on screen in order to advance to the page I wish to go to.  LIke I said, until recently.  Now they're making them so difficult.  First off, how are we supposed to get past this virtual speed bump when you can't even decipher what characters are on the screen?  They're working so hard to make sure we're not some sort of hacker that they're making it impossible for us to get to where we want to go.  Plenty of websites have missed out on getting my money because I haven't made it past this step on the first try, and I refuse to try more than once.   The other day I did try more than once and it was so cryptic that after no less than FOUR tries I still couldn't get past, so I had to give up 

This really pisses me off.  I suppose that what pisses me off is that we as a people have backed ourselves into this impossible corner where we rely on technology to the nth degree and yet we are also terrified of it at the same time, and this presents a major inconvenience to those of us who are just trying to innocently navigate our lives using the means which are expected of us by the corporations and employers who provide us our livelihood.  Which just really annoys me.  If we didn't want to be dependent on this shit, why did we allow it to take over our lives in the first place?  And why are we allowing it to become even more integral to our daily operations?  Who of us can imagine a day without iPhone or our digital camera or the least our plain old cell phones?

I watched "I Know What you Did Last Summer" this morning, which is not all that old, and all I could think the whole time was "why don't they just call each other on their cell phones?" until I realized that cell phones weren't really popular then and not everyone, including me, had one when that movie was popular. 

So anyway, I'm sick and tired of these internet speed bumps and am considering boycotting every operation that requires you to pass through one.  No more internet shopping, no more internet reservations.  I do not want to play into the hands of the people who believe that no matter how impossible they make it for us to use their websites, we will just accept it because we have no other choice.  We do have a choice and that is to remember what we did 10 years ago, when life was a tiny bit simpler and we were all surviving just fine. 

Just When I Was Starting to Get Homesick...

It snowed in the Northeast.  In October.  So yeah... nevermind. 

In other news, went on a helicopter ride last week that may have changed my mind on rollercoasters.  I have never been so thrilled as I was on Tuesday when the pilot starting bobbing and weaving and all manner of fun stuff in air that I would have expected to send me into a tailspin of vomiting and crying.  Instead I wanted more more more.  After that I'm thinking maybe I would like roller coasters after all.  But probably not.  But this is enough to convince me to maybe try.  Maybe.  Don't tell my husband.  

Finding a Voice You Feel Comfortable With

Perhaps not everyone struggles deeply with finding an outer voice that fits them.  I am sure there are certain personality types, certain types of people, who feel more comfortable speaking out than others.  I am of the variety who must analyze every word I say before it escapes through my lips, who worries for hours after I have spoken up that what I said was stupid or wrong or silly. 

My goal, my New Years Resolution (if I can make one three months before I'm supposed to) is going to be to become comfortable with what I have to say.   What makes human beings so exceptional is our capacity to think for ourselves and to have differing, and opposing, viewpoints.  This should not be looked upon as a fault if one person differs from others in a group, or if one person has questions about a topic that everyone else seems to feel comfortable with.  In fact, it is increasingly becoming my experience that, when I muster the courage to ask my question, I am met with a certain extent of uncertainty from the person who presumably should know the answer right away.   Our willingness to ask questions is an example of our ability for critical thinking and problem-solving, a virtue not a weakness. 

If any of us are in a situation where something gives us reason to pause, or we get that feeling that something is not quite right - we must speak up.  More often than not, your intuition will be right and some issue, be it minor or critical, will be uncovered because you dared to ask for clarification. 

Still, although I am learning this lesson it is a hard one to put into practice for me, because I am still getting comfortable with my own voice.   Yesterday I got cold-called from a lady who just jumped right into the conversation by telling me she was from the "Vote No to Charter Amendment 3 coalition" and could she count on my vote against this bill.   Before I would have probably said yes just to avoid any further conversation and hung up, after all - how would anyone know that I have zero intent to go vote either yes or no for this amendment.  And then I thought, no - how dare you call me demanding that I commit to vote no to this amendment without even offering to talk to me about it.  And I have actually wondered what it is when I drove by various Vote No signs recently.  So I asked her to tell me more about the amendment, and she rushed through an explanation that I didn't understand but it had to do with the local police force, which I actually happen to really care about.  So I asked again and she gave me the same boiler plate explanation and asked again for my commitment to vote no.  Before - I might have just said yes.  But this time i told her I would not commit to voting no for the amendment because I didn't know enough about it. 
And guess what.  Hail and locusts didn't rain from the sky.  I didn't die of a heart attack.  She didn't laugh at me or call me names.  She simply thanked me for my time, told me there is a Facebook site, and hung up, and I felt glad that I was honest with her about my intent.

It isn't easy - but we all must find our voice, our ability to use our voice.  Without it, we are just pawns playing in to other people's agendas.

Mystery Solved

Well, after tossing all of the food in the fridge, dumping the ice in the icemaker, and washing every assemblage inside, we discovered the source of the horrible egg smell.  The water filter had gone bad while we were on vacation and the nasty water sat there going bad all this time.  Problem solved.  Heading to home depot for a new water filter and then to stock back up on beer and frozen pizza.  Yay.

Fun and Sad Text Messages

Tonight I got a text message from my friend that said she was at a bar in West Chester celebrating WCU's homecoming and that the floor she was standing on was covered in broken Corona bottles and limes.  On the one hand, this was a fun text that made me laugh and text back something along the lines of "miss that!"  and then go raid my stinky refrigerator for a beer or five so that i could pretend to relive my college days - none of which featured Coronas by the way.  Where are these kids getting their money?  We were lucky to have Natty Lights - normally we hung out at the corner bar that sold 50 cent beers out of miniature sized beer mugs most likely washed in lukewarm day-old dishwater.   Even my present lifestyle doesn't include Corona beers seeing as I made the massive step up to Coors Light upon getting a job that paid marginally more than my rent and my car note combined.  Digressing... I am drinking Coors Light.

On the other, much more promiment, hand, this was a sad text that made me miss living in the Northeast where the majority of my friends are.    If I was there, I would be out at the bar pretending to be 20 again and celebrating Homecoming, the significance of which I have never understood.    But I don't, so I'm not.  Which is probably a good thing but I do miss my friends.    Maybe I would miss them a little less if stupid Hurricane Irene had not screwed up my plans to visit them this summer.   Speaking of which, I have a pack of 12 custom coozies that say "Anchor Splash 2011 - Avalon, NJ" on them sitting on my kitchen counter that I never got to give out - too bad my friend Paco does not have one to stick her Corona and lime in right now.

Should I or Shouldn't I?

My friend wants us to go see Paranormal Activity 3 tomorrow and I said okay, but secretly I am terrified.  Well, I guess I can't say secretly, since - after all - I'm stating it on a blog that is open to the entire world despite the fact that embarrasingly few people actually read it.  So ... semi secretly then?

Anyway, so she wants to see Paranormal Activity 3, or else her husband does and I am projecting that desire upon her.  Either way, as far as I know right now we have a plan to go see it tomorrow night.  At first I was okay with it because ghost movies don't scare me all that much since I don't really believe in ghosts.  But, then I saw a preview today and at the end it says "The Last 15 Minutes Will Mess You Up For Life".  Which terrifies me because - as anyone who knows me knows - I have already encountered the movie that would screw me up forever and it really genuinely messed up my life.  That movie being "The Strangers", which did not have "The Last 15 Minutes Will Mess You Up For Life" in the trailer.  So if a movie that has the capacity to keep me from sleeping for nearly 2 years until I finally convinced my husband to buy me both a home alarm system and a gun did not have that in the preview, what about a movie that does?   What will that do to my life?!?!? 

Yet, in spite of my fear and worry - I do sort of still want to see it because scary movies are a staple of the late October timeframe and what would the Halloween season be without scary movies?  Which is why I recorded "Halloween" on TV tonight even though I know it will scare me and keep me from sleeping for the next few days after I watch it. 

Which leads us to the burning question - why do I have it in for myself?   And also, what are the best scary movies for Halloween? 

What Smells?

So, there is an unsolved mystery in my house and it is called "what is stinking up the refrigerator"? 
It smells vaguely like egg salad.  It is definitely mayonnaise or egg based. 
We just got back from a week away, and honestly all the stuff in there could have been pretty old already, so I started throwing shit away.  First I threw away the eggs and the milk and the cheeses.  That was Sunday.  Monday it still stunk, so I threw away all the peppers and onions, even the stuff that still looked okay.  But the smell was starting to take on an oniony tone so I thought maybe I had got the eggy smell wrong. 
Tuesday it still smelled so I threw away the crescent rolls, hot dogs, turkey deli meat, and sour cream (thought okay maybe the sour cream was the culprit since I found it sort of hidden towards the back and I was too scared to open it to see what it looked like because although the name would have you believe that it is already as bad as it is going to get, I am here to tell you that sour cream can get really really ugly).  Wednesday it smelled better but not as bad so I opened a carton of baking soda or whatever and stuck it in there thinking I had found the source and now it just needs to clear up in there.  However this morning it still stunk so I threw away the mayonnaise, garlic, ranch dressing, and horseradish - all things that probably should have made the first toss.  I also found an orange from when my parents visited the first week of September so I threw that away too.
Today when we got home I optimistically opened the fridge and thought it smelled better.  However, horror of horrors - when Adam opened it later I got a whiff of the offending egg salad smell from all the way in the living room which is terrifying. 
This leaves the burning question - what the hell is stinking up my refrigerator? 
My refrigerator now resembles my college refrigerator - there is beer and ketchup and relish and Dr Pepper and that's about it.   
Horrible Fact - I can't possibly cook anything that currently resides in that refrigerator or freezer knowing that it may be the source of the gross egg salad smell or that it could have taken on the egg salad smell itself, which means that until we start over with all new food - I can't cook.     Did I say horrible fact?  I meant oh happy, happy, happy me.

Today is the National Day on Writing!! :-)

Who else is as excited as I am?!

What did I do to celebrate this momentous holiday, you may ask? 
Well, I went to work of course, where I proceeded to print a whole bunch of spreadsheets (see previous entry) and gather around a conference table to pour over dollar amounts and schedule projects into fiscal years.   I have a masters degree in English and a burning desire to write and share my literary vision with the world, but instead I go to work and plan a construction program because someone's got to earn that money, honey.  Well, in my household both of us have to.  So I went to work and then I got home and I was tired so I sat here staring at the curtains and twirling my hair (see previous entry) until now.  Then I went on Facebook which also does not count as writing and sharing my creative genius with the masses.  So, frustrated with my laziness, I decided to blog about how I wish I was writing a book,,, instead of actually writing a book.  Or even an outline would be okay.  Or, like, a character list. 

But let us not forget that today is the National Day on Writing and so should be considered a New Year of sorts for those of us who share a passion for writing.  Therefore, today marks the beginning of my New Year and my resolution is to actually try to write something substantial.  I will start tomorrow.    ;-)

Techy Challenged

I am technologically challenged ,but I make up for it in enthusiasm and a general refusal to allow these robots, ahem computers, to beat me.  But MS Excel is killing me, specifically pivot tables, without which I survived all of 32 years just fine until now, but without which now I wander aimlessly through my nonsensical spreadsheets trying to make sense of my gibberish.  And now it is midnight and I am working because I talked too much today at work and didn't get enough done so I brought my work home much to the dismay of my husband who I think secretly loves it because he gets to play video games without me complaining.

Anyway, so I am working.  And I spent hours inputting data with the intent to create a certain sort of pivot table out of multiple pivot tables.  Which - guess what - doesn't work.  Or else I couldn't get it to work and Helpy McVideoGame in there just told me it's really a pain in the ass and doesn't really work right, especially if you're not an Excel Whiz (which I am not), so I gave up and started over.  So I spent another hour inputting new data into a new spreadsheet because the way I did it originally was not conducive to having to starting over using existing spreadsheet.     Then I made said desired pivot table and it worked beautifully, thank the Internet.  Yay.  Was seriously proud of myself.  Creating a pivot table that works triggers the same delicious feeling I used to get when I would finish an English paper - sweet nerdy satisfaction.   So then I went to email it to myself at work, all proud and giddy and rewarding myself with a glass of wine.  Only I just got a new email address at work and I sort of forgot exactly what it is already.  So I thought well I'll email it to myself at Yahoo and get it tomorrow from Yahoo on my work PC.  But then I have been sitting here and typed this entire blog entry and it is - Wait let me look -   still uploading the attachment to my email.  Which is not right.  I mean it's been like several minutes.  I'm a fast typer but not that fast.  Still spinning. 

This is total Bullshit!   So yeah.  I'm techy challenged.  Or else my computer is.  Can a piece of technology be techy challenged?  I think YES.   

Breast Cancer Awareness

I dont' know a lot of people, or at least I don't think I do, who have been directly affected by breast cancer.  There was a sorority sister from college who lost her mother to it during college, which was very sad although I did not appreciate the enormity of her loss at the time, due to my own security in my mother being alive.  And another dear friend whose mother succumbed, long before I knew her.   And I have a friend who can proclaim she is a survivor, though I haven't seen her shouting it from the rooftops so perhaps for her it is a private victory, the details of which she chooses not to share - and that is perfectly within her rights.  A struggle like that - I cannot even imagine.   If I were to beat cancer I believe at that point I would do whatever the hell I wanted all the time.   Such a brush with my own mortality would be more than enough to convince me that my time was MY OWN and screw everyone else and what they think.   So many of us are so prone to worrying about what others will think of the way we live our lives - we don't even realize we're doing it perhaps until the end of our life flashes before our eyes.  I imagine a great reminder of our capacity to make choices to suit ourselves would be terminal illness, specifically beating a terminal illness. 

Anyway, for me, that's all that I know of, though I am sure there are many more who suffer with either their own struggle or their memories of those dearly departed in silence.   So today I am thinking of my dear friend who has beat this illness because she, and her family, are an inspiration to me.   Never did I see her begrudge her situation; never did I hear her angrily defile the power that put this afflication upon her.   Her family stood up and cared for her, and loved her, so much during her struggle.   Their story inspires me to appreciate my life and the love I have in my family.  The love I feel for my husband and our parents and siblings, and their children.  The love I have for our friends and their children.  All of us are at the mercy of our surroundings and our respective gods or, if we don't believe in God, our bodies.  Appreciating the love we have for eachother, appreicating the time we have together, is all we have.  The best way to combat our own mortality is to steadfastly hang on to the memories we make together and ensure that our love lives on, whether it be in pictures, in growing families, in our writings and letters.  These are the things that will live on forever, and we must remember every day to appreciate the time we have together and to throw our full selves into loving one another - afflictions and all. 

Our survivors, and those we have lost to illness, are proof that our memories live on and our love can make a difference in the world.   Take a moment to remember those you have lost, and those who have survived, and what it would mean if your life was not enriched with the memories you have with them.    Then tell them you love them.

What Song Speaks to You?

For me, right now, it's Kenny Chesney's "You and Tequila".   

Glad to Be Back from Vacation

Well, we just got back from a week on the Carnival Triumph, which was a blast.  I am glad to be home though.  Most of the past week has been a series of 'what-if' scenarios for me that usually result in me wondering if people would consider me suicidal if they could read my mind.  I really hope I'm not the only one who does this. 
For example, I spent an inordinate amount of time watching the water from my stateroom's balcony.  The water was beautiful and deep deep blue.  The ship cutting through the waves made peaceful-looking whitecaps 6 stories below me.  I couldn't help but contemplate what it would be like to climb over the balcony railing and take a swan dive into the water beneath me, and then how the moments that follow such a move would unfold. 
Would I flail around wildly and survive for a few minutes before becoming shark bait?
Would I die before the sharks got me or would I have to tread water waiting in vain for someone to rescue me, only to be eaten up anyway?
Would I die instantly upon hitting the water?
Would the water be icy cold or warm or somewhere in between?   Would I even feel it?
How long would it take before anyone noticed?
What if I did it while my husband was out getting us a drink?  How long would it take him to begin looking, panic-stricken, for his missing wife?   How long would he allow himself to believe that I had simply stepped out to use the internet cafe or play the slot machines in the casino downstairs.  Would he first assume that I had taken up with another man in another state-room, or would he assume that I had jumped overboard?  Which of these would I find more offensive, and which would be worse for him to have to believe?

These thoughts consumed whole chunks of time while I was on the cruise.  So I am glad to be back because now I am back to my normal routine in my normal house, where the temptation to come up with new and wild scenarios is less compelling. 

By the way, I'm not suicidal.  I believe this is just the morbid version of what kids do when they wonder what would happen if they stood up on the library table during study hall and shouted "I Hate My English Teacher!" or something like that.   It's fun to imagine outrageous scenarios and try to decide what you would do if they happened.  For instance I sometimes ask Adam what he would do if an airplane fell out of the sky and landed in the lake next to us while we are out on the boat, or what he would do if the dam collapsed as we drove over it, our only two options being drive toward the water and into the lake or drive away from the water and over the other side of the dam.   However, I'm glad that my imagination only stretches so far, because I've exhausted most of the crazy at home already, so I'm free to go back to just being my normal self for awhile, instead of being overwhelmed by all manner of opportunities for mayhem which surround you while on vacation. 

The Walk to End Alzheimers

On November 5th, a Saturday, the Alzheimers Association is holding a Walk To End Alzheimers in Bell County, Texas (Temple, to be exact) to raise funds and awareness for Alzheimers research and support.  This is a special cause, one near to my heart and to the hearts of many of my friends and family. 

Our team name is "Great Memories" and we are walking in honor of my dear friend Lori's aunt, who just recently passed away as a result of Alzheimers.  In addition we are walking in memory of my beloved late grandmother Alice and the beloved late grandmother of my dear friend Lisa. 

These women touched the lives of many.  I don't know near enough about my friends' loved ones.  I do, however, know my 'Grammy' - who was a strong and opinionated woman who loved her daughters and their families.  Her life was full - she had many adventures and a successful and important career in nursing.  She raised three successful and beautiful daughters.  She was wife to my dear grandfather, Jack, who loved her fiercely - more than any man in the love stories we all sometimes wish our lives resembled. 

She was funny and dynamic.  Her stories were full of suspense and heart.  Her home was alive with the sounds of friends and family.  She decorated the most beautiful Christmas tree and baked the most delicious sweet potatoes at Thanksgiving.  I would have given anything to get married in her backyard, with her and my grandfather standing next to my parents as I said my vows.

Now, I remember her and wish I could spend an evening with her as she was before she became afflicted with Alzheimers disease.   I would like to hear her stories again and soak them in the way I never did when I was younger.   I wish I could tell her about my husband and our friends, our life in Texas and the career path I chose for myself.  Mostly I wish I could hug her one last time and tell her, unequivocally, how much I love her and how much I regret that her life remains largely a mystery to me, because - as most young people - I didn't pay enough attention while I had her with me.   

Alzheimers disease destroyed my grandmother's mind and - eventually - her body, but it can never take away the fond memories we all have of her in our hearts and will never lessen the love I have for her.      Every year Alzheimers disease claims the minds of our loved ones.  Together, we can fight back and help further research efforts and support groups for caregivers who give up their lives, as they know them, to help their loved ones maintain their way of life as long as they can.

Ghost Stories

This evening I was reading this story (http://news.yahoo.com/clinton-road-jersey-most-terrifying-road-u-194000764.html?bouchon=504,pa) about the "most haunted road in America" which according to the author is in West Milford, NJ.    Apparently when one drives down the road, headlights appear out of nowhere and follow the car aggressively, only to disappear upon reaching a main thoroughfare or another car showing up.  Reading this story triggered some very fond (and scary!) memories I have of ghost stories and the fantastical tricks they can play on your mind and shape your opinions of certain places.

West Chester, PA and the surrounding area is quite historic and, if one is inclined, it's not hard to believe in ghosts.  My roomates and I even believed our own house was haunted for a little while, following a drunken viewing of Donnie Darko, and then an even more drunken viewing of The Shining.  The doorbell doesn't ring itself people.   And balloons dont' just float up stairs on their own.  Well... okay maybe they do.  But the point is we were convinced we had a ghost named Frank, inspired by the creepy rabbit on Donnie Darko.  Once the word got out that we might be believers, all manner of ghost-story-telling weirdos showed up at our doorsteps - mainly my boyfriend-at-the-time and his creepy friend who lived in a "haunted" mansion up the street. 

Two ghost stories that stuck with me are the "The Twin Tunnels" and the "Gates of Hell" (which I will forever remember as the road that is so evil that trees grow away from it.      

Too many times, our morbid little group packed ourselves into a car and traveled to "The Twin Tunnels" - a remote road in an industrial area where for some reason the road become a tunnel for a couple hundred yards.  Supposedly, a girl was once walking home from work through this tunnel and was attacked and hanged from an exposed pipe in the middle of the tunnel.  The story was if you stopped your car in the tunnel, it would turn off (thanks to the ghost!) and you would not be able to turn it back on.  Being the brave adventurers we were, of course, we would gun it through the tunnel - not stopping - and occassionally turn off our headlights as we went through, for effect.  I don't think we ever mustered the courage to actually test the story and turn the car off in the middle of the tunnel.  Oh - and part of the story as it was told to me was that this was the location where a very popular 80s band recorded one of their very popular songs, where one can supposedly hear the very same woman being murdered in the background.  Really - a multi-million dollar rock band chose a rundown industrial site in Southeastern Pennsylvania for their insanely popular song recording and were lax enough about security that a deranged killer and a lone young woman could just be walking through it while they were in the middle of recording?  Doubt it.   Still can't believe I bought that one - but worse still is that to this day I listen for screams in the background of the song whenever I hear it on the radio.   At any rate, I don't care if it's haunted or not - driving through that tunnel in the dead of night, especially with no headlights, was downright terrifying.  Add to it the element of a few 20-something girls who are predisposed to drama and excitement, and you have the perfect "haunted house" vibe without having to do anything but fill up your gas tank.

On to the next... - the road that's so evil the trees grow away from it, also known as the Gates of Hell.  What a foolish notion to believe and yet we soaked it up like the truth it clearly wasn't.  Supposedly the reason the road was so evil is that at the end of it was an estate where a murder/suicide had occurred, and where frequent murders and cult gatherings occurred after the house was abandoned.  I was also told a baby had been stuffed into an opening in one of the petrified trees, and that the original murdered family had been dumped in the lake on the property and were still there.  The game was to drive the entire length of the very creepy and out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere road (which was only wide enough for one vehicle), pass the "gates", get to the house, walk up to the house, and then run back to the car.  Supposedly if you even got past the gates your car would stall and you would have to run up the haunted driveway and back.  Oh - and let us not forget the band of satanic motorcyclist killers who would be waiting in the woods to come after us on our way in and out (also part of the story).

Considering we wouldn't even turn our car off in the middle of the Twin Tunnels, it's a wonder we ever tested this story.  But we did - one October night we piled in and headed off to drive the evil road and visit the evil gates of hell.  Naturally it had to be October and was likely a day or two before or after Halloween.  What were we trying to prove I wonder?  Of course it was fun.   Nervous giggles were about all that could be heard the entire way there and back.  The road was narrow, with a steep drop off on one side and a forest on the other.  You had to make a 3-point turn to change direcction.  We didnt' even make it halfway to the supposed house of horrors.  Halfway there, I got nervous and decided I had to pee - right there in the middle of a road so horrifying that even the trees were actively trying to get away from it.   (take note - the trees did actually grow away from the road but of course that doesn't mean the road is evil - but you can see how it lent some credibility to the story and gave us all a cheap thrill)  We used that as our excuse to turn around and book it on out of there (after I peed of course).  We never even saw the rumoured blood red gates at the entrance of the murderous property.

What's astonishing to me is that I was willing to put my life into actual danger by traveling all manner of seriously dangerous roads in order to get the thrill of a haunting, but was too scared to go to a publicly sanctioned haunted house like the Eastern State Penitentiary??  Explain that!

Ghost Hunters we were not, but they sure were fun times and a good way to pass the cold fall evenings.   I cannot foresee a time in the future when I will drive through certain areas of southeastern PA without recalling the ghost stories we exchanged that fall.

What ghost stories will you remember (fondly, I hope) forever?

Manufacturers are Messing With Us.

Why Why Why ... when I want something to be filled to the brim - like a box of cereal or pasta - it comes less than half full but liquids packaging comes filled up so high that when you remove the cap it squirts out at you and gets all over your clothes and counter??    Plus I NEVER drink all of the milk but I REGULARLY eat all of the salt and vinegar potato chips.

No Kids - Lots of Fundraisers

My husband reminded me the other day that we get solicited a lot for fundraisers for our friends' kids.  He wasn't complaining, just commenting on the irony that because we have chosen not to have children of our own we must seem like good candidates to shell out money for others peoples'.  Perhaps because people assume we have a lot of disposable income since we're not pouring our paychecks into kids clothes and baby food and such.  Which is understandable. 

I wonder if this is something that all young, 'dual-income no kids'families experience, or if we are just such a charming and friendly couple that people feel comfortable to approach us with their kids' fundraisers (or in rare cases, have their kids do it themselves).  For those of you reading this who I have recently bought something from - don't get me wrong or feel like I am complaining!  I actually quite enjoy contributing to these fundraisers.  It makes me feel, in some tiny way, like I'm helping.   My choice to not have children does not make me a heartless ogre who hates kids.   It just means I don't want them around all the time and I suspect that I wouldn't enjoy it.  Instead, I get to hang out with my friends' and brothers' kids on occasion and buy them presents which I normally am too lazy to forget to mail.   Then I get to go home, sit down in my uncluttered house, and throw back a bottle of glass of wine in complete silence.    But seriously, I dont' want to spend my hard-earned money on overpriced wrapping paper.  I want cookies.  Or wine.  If there was a wine fundraiser, I would be all over that shit.  Take note, parents.  Take note.

I am just not cut out for manual labor.

 When my husband and I moved to Texas, we chose a house that was quite hideous on the outside, specifically because there was an empty lot next door that we hoped we could buy one day and make our own.  We did buy that overgrown mangy forest of a lot and 2 years later we (he) cleared all the trees and brush and assorted garbage on it in order to build a garage.  I got out of that because I was working on my masters degree.  A year after that, we (he) built a garage on that lot.  I got out of that because I was studying for the LEED exam.   Six months later we paid someone to come out and grade the rest of the lot, spread top soil, and broadcast seed it so that we can grow some grass and make it look nice.  I got out of that because this job was too big for us and we don't have a tractor or a five man crew, so we paid someone to do it.  So, as you can see, so far  I have been quite lucky to get out of all the hard work going on outside by pretending to study and actually watching Lifetime movies and drinking wine.

I should have known this lucky streak would end someday.

This weekend, I was forced to spend a torturous Saturday hunched over in the blinding Texas sun spreading stinky straw over my beautifully graded and seeded yard and then drenching it in water so that grass will grow.  This doesn't sound like hard work, which is why I didn't come up with an excuse to get out of it; also because I'm out of tests to study for and I really don't want to go back to school.    But it actually is very hard work, hauling bales of straw all over God's creation my yard and trying to make a nice even layer.    It actually didn't take that long, but then I had to go to a party, for which I had been baking bread all day (Damn I am good! - baking bread and yardwork at the same time?~!).     So all in one day I did backbreaking manual labor, made some lovely homemade baked goods, and visited with friends.  I'd say that is pretty rare impressive. 

However, today I can barely walk because my back hurts so bad from hunching over and carrying around those heavy loads.  I had to roll out of my car this morning at Target because I couldn't get out the normal way.  Of course, I still mustered the strength and physical capacity to go to Target.  Duh.  Also my arms are all scratched up in the manner of an addict and I sort of look like i have a contagious form of hives. 

So I think the moral of the story is that yard work, particularly the hard kind and not the kind I usually do which is arranging cute figurines in my flower beds, is no good.  Because the bread was awful and I had to leave the party early and my arms are going to look funky when I go on vacation.  Had it not been for the manual labor, my bread would have been kick ass and I coudl have stayed out all night.    At least that is what I tried telling my husband today when we left Target - to which he merely grunted and reminded me that getting home at midnight does not constitute leaving a party early.   Tiny silver lining - my tan got a little better and maybe I burned some calories.

Today I Shall Start a Blog

Because I have too short of an attention span to do what I really want to do and write a book, I decided to start writing on a blog.  We'll see how it goes.  Maybe I will post some of my short-lived writing or some poems.