Dress Drama

"I wish you were here!!!!" was the wail I got when I answered the phone on Saturday.

"I am going insane trying to pick out this damn dress. Why, oh why did I want another wedding ceremony? Why didn't I elope and take the money and run??? Why Wenderina Why???"

Yup. You guessed it. Bridal meltdown.

I am the MOH in my cousin's wedding (her 2nd and I believe her last...either way) and after months of talking about stuff and thinking how much easier it is to do this the 2nd time after you learned what you DID NOT want to do from the first, we realize...we were totally fooling ourselves.

We still had to get a bunch of different size, different type, different opinioned women, and teenage girls (yeah...that wasn't too tough) to agree on dresses. Of course, after we all agreed, one of the ADULTS in the ceremony actually revolted and "requested" that she be able to buy a different dress in the same color. After I calmed the bride down from her homicidal temper (Does she remember what she made me wear? a strapless gown with my hair in an updo and my nails in a french manicure? I am a G-cup - strapless??? I have 16 lbs of hair - in an updo?? and I HATE french manicures....I never said BOO!) the rebel was allowed her dress and one of the other bridesmaids was also given leave to change hers as well.

Then came time to plan the shower. I asked each member of the bridal party to think about planning on $200/person for the cost of the shower (60 people to come) and we would also include the gift in that. End result: panic! They are all hurting for money. So, we cut it in half. Hopefully we can make it all work for that.

Let's not forget the men in this scenario. First, the groom is barely speaking to his three brothers right now and yet they are all in the wedding party. Then, the men are not happy that they are included in the whole shower fiasco. I keep trying to bill it as a picnic/party, but they aren't buying it at all. No alcohol is planned for the shower....I'm thinking this could be an issue.

Now the bride (having gone from a G to a C thanks to surgery, and down 30 pounds) is shopping for her dress. Did I mention the wedding is less than two months away? And she isn't happy. Not one bit. About the choices she is finding.

So after three phone calls yesterday and one today, some scrambling on the internet to try and see what she has tried on (since despite my begging she didn't take any pictures) I think she's closing in on a choice.

There is a reason that Lifetime has a couple of shows about this - Bridezilla and Say Yes to the Dress - there really is drama in the whole process.

God save me from EVER doing this again.

Still Going...

Like the energizer bunny (but maybe with a few more stops, starts, and writer's block), I've been going at this blog thing for 2 years now. I often wonder who is out there reading this (if anyone), and what they might think of my random little life moments. But no matter, lurk, de-lurk...I started this for me and continue it for the same reason. It's an outlet, an interest, and a hobby that takes me away from my regular daily grind and forces me to take a look at my life from an outside angle at least a couple times a week.

Let's see if I can make it another year...next blogoversary in 2010...hard to fathom, but time marches on.

Random Letters to the Universe

Dear Employee:

Please do not leave me a voice mail, an email, and an instant message all within 30 seconds with the message, "Please give me a call when you get a chance." Pick one medium and stick with it. I'll get back to you.

And? When I call you? Please don't use the time to whiningly defend why you couldn't do your job right. It does not improve your situation.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Hear that? It's your career dissipation clock and it's about to explode.

Your Boss,
Wenderina
---

Dear Bagel Shop:

You are wiley bastards. Not only have you figured out a cattle herding space plan that allows for 52 people in line in your 10x20 store space, but you have also lined that maze with every conceivable pre-packaged treat imaginable. I see exactly what you are doing, and yet I am helpless to resist, and must reach out and grab the muffin sample tray, the candied fruit, and the gourmet bagel spreads.

You should teach a class in successful marketing for a down economy.

In respectful awe,
Wenderina
---

Dear Al Gore:
I'm trying, I'm really trying. But this heat is a killer so my A/C will be running all day until it stops.

So sorry. Hopefully the fluorescent bulbs in every light in my house offset it a little.

It ain't easy being green,
Wenderina
---

Dear Calendar,

While I hate to wish my life away, please please please hurry to August 29th. I must get out of this office and find the beach right now.

Anticipating the Cape,
Wenderina
---

Dear Penny Kitty,

You are a potato head. At first I thought you were just batting the potatos off the counter and rolling them around, but since we found one on the 2nd! floor this week and you have now been observed carrying one around in your mouth, I'm convinced. You are truly insane.

And thanks for beating up those home grown tomatoes that were ripening on the window sill. God forbid that we got to eat anything so healthy and organic. You really saved us there.

Marley's got nothing on my kitty,
Wenderina
---

Dear Yaz Kitty,

There is no need to take after your young crazy partner in annoying me. I heard you meowing at me at 5AM even before you stuck your paw in my water glass and shook it in my face. Good thing you are cute or you might be out on your sweet little furry ass.

Sleepless in Suffern,
Wenderina

(Not so) Skinny Dipping

Last night was the night I wait for all summer. The perfect blending of hot summer night, warmed pool water, and a quiet neighborhood. At midnight I stealthily exited my kitchen door and was pleasantly greeted by that night air so heavy you can cut it with a knife. I dipped my toe in the water and checked the temp...finally...after hovering around 70 for most of the season, a few hot days and nights in a row had raised it to about 78 degrees. With the air temp still hovering at about 85 it was the perfect difference to be refreshing and relaxing.

My nightgown hit the ground with a soft swish and I stepped into the pool. Gliding back and forth, the silence was only broken by the lapping water and the crickets call. All around me the fireflies were dancing and their glow was intensified by the darkened cloudy sky, providing the only light source except what softly spilled out from our windows.

I glanced over to the kitchen door and saw both cats silhouetted with their heads swiveling back and forth like a slow motion crowd shot at Wimbledon, watching me as I swam slow laps.

Everything was perfect.











Until I reached for a towel and realized I had none.

Kitty Potato Head

We continue to adjust to our new cats and their quirks. My pick of the litter - Yaz - is the sweetest best kitty. She even let me cut her nails this weekend. She has her own stuff, of course, like any self-respecting female....but I get her.

Penny, on the other hand continues to astound and confound me. She enjoys chasing her tail in circles while I clean up the kitchen. She literally twist in a circle trying to bite her tail until she falls down exhausted. After catching her breath, she's up and spinning again.

Just being a kitten right? Just a little adolescent nonsense, you say. Insanity I fear.

Today, I came home and spied what looked like a large rock in the middle of the living room floor.

After cautiously creeping up on it - I couldn't believe my eyes. Can you tell what this is? Can you guess what large rock-like object Penny had stolen from a bowl on the counter to play with? It's pretty obvious from the title I know.

What am I going to do with this cat?

Separate but Equal

This post is not about what you think it is about. This is about one day. One day in a solid and happy marriage. Specifically it is about this Saturday in my marriage.

When we awoke on Saturday we saw, an unusual thing stretched before us. A found day. Yes there were errands to run. Yes, blackberries needed to be monitored. But the sun was shining. Work needs were less than anticipated. And we had no real obligations except to our own purposes. We sat eating breakfast and thought about what we wanted to do for the day.

Hubby was keen on finding a cave called the Stone Church and photographing it. Wenderina was focused on finalizing her bridesmaid duties by ordering dress, slip, sash, shoes, and then checking out some end of summer sales for seasonal clothing.

We went our separate ways and promised that the first one headed home would take care of picking up groceries for dinner.

For a day spent completely separated - by 10AM we were both on our way in opposite directions - I felt very in tune with Hubby. It was a cheerful and relaxing day for both of us. By mid afternoon we figured out I was closest to grocery store so I took that on. Hubby arrived home after 5:30 and took on the cooking duties while I lounged by the pool. We sat down for dinner and talked about our day and it was lovely.

I thought about how the day might have gone if one or the other of us had been dragged into the agenda of our spouse for the sake of spending some found time together. I doubt it would have ended so well. So even though we spent many hours apart, we were equal in our enjoyment and in sync with one another.

I accomplished my goals - the dress and duties are done. Hubby accomplished his (check out his photos!). And in the end we came together to share the happy results of our day. Sometimes separate but equal works.

More Shoe Stuff

You doubted my story, I know you did...but the proof is right here in this photo! Since my boots went the way of used kitty litter (literally), I'm now trying to find out where the "worn once" pair this visiting dignitary has on are hiding in our office.

Baby needs a new pair of shoes.

Put on Your Red Hat

A friend introduced me to a new restaurant which is destined to become a favorite location for me. It's pricey...of course...but unlike many waterfront restaurants, it doesn't rely upon its river view but stands on its own merits. I'm speaking of the Red Hat Bistro in Irvington-on-Hudson, NY.

It was a Monday night and about 95 degrees in the shade at 6PM and yet the restaurant's main room and bar were packed. I soon realized why - the service, the food, the ambience, and the jazz trio were exquisite. Put all together with a nice dinner out with a good "new" friend, and it couldn't have been a better night.

I enjoyed a house special (fresh squeezed) Cosmopolitan. So Yummy. Then decided on a meal made up of two separate appetizers. A simple spinach and endive salad with sliced pears and a crabcake. Simply delicious. In between courses, perhaps because my dining companion knew the owner and used to have her own restaurant, we got little mini samplers of appetizers. The asparagus and prosciutto was spectacular and I don't even like asparagus or prosciutto! Together they were a perfect blend of flavor and so so so...well...yummy. At the end of the meal we split the profiteroles and enjoyed a cup of tea and watched the thunderstorm work its way down the Hudson River. Great show through the large floor to vaulted ceiling windows overlooking the waterfront and the Tappan Zee bridge.

I simply can't say enough about this great restaurant. If any of you are within driving distance - I highly recommend you take some respite here - even if only for a drink on their rooftop bar at sunset. Quite the show that mother nature puts on, when you bother to set the theater up just right for her.

In the words of Julia Child, so much in my mind these days, "Bon Appetit!"

Julie and Julia

Ok. I don't know where I was when the Julie/Julia Project blog was birthed and gave life to a writer's career for Julie Powell, and I don't know where I was when the blog grew into a best selling book. But the movie finally woke me up.

Previews for the movie got me interested in the story and I found myself at the bookstore and couldn't resist picking up a copy of the book. Like most blogs (and most books that come from blogs) it was unrelentingly self-absorbed. Duh. I mean we are writing about ourselves for the most part, unless we get lucky enough to get paid to write about something else that people want our opinion on. But there was something in the way Julie Powell acknowledged her self-absorption (and tendency toward hysterics) that helped you get past it.

I blew through the book in about 4 days (even with the hordes of relatives visiting my house...okay so it was only 4 adults and a 2-1/2 year old, but you know, that fills my house to the brim) and I really enjoyed it. I was particularly touched by the honest way she portrayed her relationship with her mother - far from a major part of the book, but it resonated with me. Acknowledging the stressors between the two women, but appreciating that nagging comes from caring (regardless of how it is delivered), advice comes from love (regardless of if it is wanted), and in the end, if you can step back a moment, you can admire the woman who is your mother/daughter and be thankful of what she has brought to your life.

The relationship Julie has made with her own mind's construction of Julia Child is kind of like a mother/daughter model as well. Julia Child represents some kind of guiding light to her through her life's choices and her cooking. The moments in the book when Julie feels she cannot live up to the expectations of her role model, and also when these shaky character constructions come tumbling down, are some of the most poignant.

We all, as bloggers, even if we don't have the INTENT to be writers, still must admit to the smallest of hopes that we might be discovered for our talent and whisked out of our hum-drum every day existence. We feel we are putting ourselves out there and we just know, even if we're only getting a few comments a day those commenters represent dozens or maybe hundreds of non-commenting lurkers. Julie Powell is living our non-specific and ill-pursued dream. From dead-end job to literary giant. From obscurity to fame. From sad, depressed, self-obsessed blogger to entertaining, witty, self-supporting author.

As I sat in the movie theater watching Amy Adams play the role I wondered what Julie Powell must have thought on her first viewing. It must have been a totally surreal experience. Is she prepared, I wondered, to become the "Julia Child" to someone else's Julie Powell existence? It must certainly be a side effect of her transformation that those (we?) frustrated self-indulgent bloggers will now see her as the model for their (our?) own escape. But the odds are against them (ok, us!). I mean, really, we need to face the truth. There is probably less chance of a discovered and sustained success story for a blogger/writer than there is of winning the lottery!

In the meantime, we continue to search for meaning in our writing, for models and examples of other more exciting lives, and for escape. I just hope, in the meantime, we remember that Julia Child and Julie Powell certainly had their own challenges in life, and while they may have risen to fame through their cooking and their writing, they aren't really so different from us. They likely had/have disappointments, frustrations, fractured dreams, and unfulfilled wishes. And wanting to be them - in their most bright and famous moments, could make us forget how good it actually is to be just who we are - blogging here - self indulgently - every day.

Moms' Birthdays

Yes - that's right, it's not a typo - I meant Moms to be plural. Both Hubby and I have mothers with a birthday on August 5th. (Like it isn't enough to figure out how to fairly split holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas and Mother's Day - we have to pay attention to August 5 as well.)

Luckily, neither Mom pulls us in one direction or another and my Mom in particular is happy to make the trek to our house each year so we can all celebrate together.

This year, Mom arrived the day before her birthday and we teased her unmercifully about the last night of her 60's. Yes, my Mom is now a septogenarian. I can only hope that when I am 70 that I am in as good a shape. What does this septogenarian talk about? She talks like a 40-something like me. She worries about her weight, she talks about meeting friends for weekend trips and dinner, she is meeting with contractors to get new windows and siding for her home. She wears clothes cuter and trendier than mine. Other than the fact that she still refused to get her ears pierced (some kind of phobia), she is pretty fearless and is talking about trying parasailing in Florida this winter.

My Mother in Law? She is like the smart and savvy IT person in your company who is always reading about some new gadget and figuring out how to make it work. She knows more about the latest electronic toys and tools than I do AND knows how to use it. Other than helping her in digging the hole, she has worked on her own and built, stocked, and cared for a complicated Koi pond in her backyard that is a showpiece and requires some significant engineering and horticultural skill to maintain. The woman can barely see out of one eye, yet she can paint a pretty watercolor and read blogs and internet content for hours.

Of course we do not always see eye to eye. Have you ever known children and parents who do? But I have to say, I won the lottery on having women to admire as my Mom and Mother in Law.

Two active, interesting, smart, savvy, ladies who raised a couple of great kids (if we do say so ourselves)...

Leakage

This morning I awoke to the return of two journalists who had been held in captivity in Korea for the past 4 months. While initially the coverage was like watching paint dry as the stewards carried luggage up and down the jetway stairs, when the two women emerged and embraced their families my eyes began to leak. And I felt like I wouldn't be able to stop it. Every time I dashed away an overspilling tear, more rushed in.

Are you familiar with this syndrome? Where something touches you - something so not of your own life, family, or situation - and you cannot stop the emotions flooding through you? I've always been a sucker for this. I think this first came to light during the movement of emotional commercials on TV. Remember the Kodak memories commercials? Or how about the Coke and a smile series where they sang, 'I'd like to teach the world to sing..." One of the worst was that damn Folger's commercial with the guy comes home from college and makes coffee surprising his family at Christmas. And did all of that really start with the old Indian crying over pollution? Any one of these can still start my own personal water works show.

I am THE person they make tearjerker movies for. No matter how bad the movie, if there is a dramatic turn that is meant to pull the heartstrings, they will find mine and the eyes will tear and not stop until I allow a full-blown cry.

Most people who know me in person wouldn't guess this.

Neurotic?
Yes.

A little manic?
Sometimes.

Cynical?
Probably.

Sappy?
No (I don't think...)

But I am.

I can curl up with a horrible romance novel or an Oprah book club pick (although mostly I bypass those because they are truly depressing, not just emotional), and be transported. Recently I picked up an audio book series by an author I like and realized in the first chapter it was about vampires. Not my usual fare at all. But there was romance, drama, time travel, and I was hooked. Soon I was tearing up as the sidekick was bitten by the vampire and had to suffer a horrible fate worse than death (blah blah blah blah blah...) I know - sounds awful doesn't it? I mean who gets dragged into these things?

Me...obviously.

So now you know the dirty little secret of this hard-nosed marketing professional workaholic English major. I seek trash in books, movies, tv, and even commercials - and I leak...a lot.

A woman and her shoes

Last week, one of the VPs came to us with an odd question.

"What size shoe do you ladies wear."

Boss Lady and I exchanged a look and then I said...

"Whyyyyy??" (severe elevation of tone at the end of that one word question)

Blushing, he replied, "Well, I have to take a woman from [Merger Company] to a site visit and safety rules require that she wear hard soled shoes. She didn't bring any with her and I was hoping you might wear the same size."

Men don't get women and shoes. They don't get the fact that most women would NEVER loan out their shoes. Even ugly hard sole hiking shoes. They are OUR SHOES you know?? Also - asking a woman her shoe size - unless she is a perfect sample size 7 or smaller is like asking her weight or her age. Who's f-ing business is that anyway???

But, ever helpful Wenderina took a breath and proclaimed proudly, "I'm a 9...well maybe a 9 1/2. Ok....mostly I'm a 10." (and not in a Bo Derek kind of way).

"Good - she's a 9...that should work...can you bring in some shoes."

Well now I'm boxed in. Boss Lady had raised eyebrows and I could hear her projecting into my mind - "You got yourself into this....you get yourself out."

Needless to say, I didn't get myself out of it. So I came home, dug out my hard-soled hiking boots and realized they were dusty and grimy. I cleaned them and since they were a little damp put them out in the sun to dry.

This was a fine plan, until I went to sleep Saturday night and awoke to a Monsoon on Sunday. I grabbed the shoes and dried them with a towel and left them to dry....again. By Monday morning - the day of delivery - they were still damp but I determined leaving them in the car on a hot sunny day would quickly finish the drying job.

I reported to the VP I had, in fact, managed to remember the shoes and we could transfer them to his car later that day.

(you just know there's a kicker to this story right....oops no pun intended)

When I went out to my car later that day I opened the door and WHOA NELLY...I was knocked over by a noxious odor. I opened the bag with the shoes and took one out - it seemed fine....then I took the other out....

HOLY CRAP....or HOLY PISS is more like it.

Something had pissed in my shoe.

I debated about how to get out of this rather embarrassing situation. I had already reported I brought the shoes in. So - honesty was the policy of choice.

After relating my story, VP said, "Um...ok...I guess I'm going to Payless."

Why didn't I suggest that in the beginning? I don't know. But since he got ME to bring in my shoes...I said, "Since she's only wearing them once, you can bring them in and I'll take them when she's done."

A woman and her shoes, you know?

Cooking Up a Storm

The title of this post was inspired by both today's horrific weather as well as two other timely media inputs to my life - the first the rapidly increasing commercials for Julie and Julia - which looks absolutely fabulous (thank you as always Ms. Streep) and the hilarious post today by the Matron over at Minnesota Matron.

Like the Matron, I was lucky enough to marry a man who cooks, and cooks well. Also like the Matron, I do not...not at all...or at the very least not at all well. When Hubby was doing the work/school thing and was rarely home, I was known to survive on several nights in a row of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or maybe a can of Campbell's soup. Unlike Julie and Julia, I neither have the desire to learn to cook a different dish every day, nor do I savor good cooking enough to excel in eating or ordering it. I'm usually about the convenience. Is it in the house? Can it be cooked in 15 minutes or less? Do I know all the names of the ingredients? Can it be savored sitting on the couch in front of the tv or is a tablecloth required?

In fact, one of the toughest questions I face each day is Hubby's email at mid-afternoon.

Re: Checking in.
Hi Babe - how's your day going? Any thoughts on what you'd
like for dinner tonight?

Ugh.

Can you believe I married a man who is willing to not only cook whatever I ask for, but also stop at the store on the way home and get any missing ingredients he might need, and I dread answering the question of what I want to eat?

I'm resolved, after reading the Matron's post and catching some of the reflected inspiration of Julie and Julia, not to mention feeling after nearly 20 years of marriage, Hubby deserves a break, that I will start to study cook books.

Don't get excited.

I will not be cooking.

But the least I can do is improve my ordering, right?

Next time he asks the question? I'll be ready with a more inventive answer.

How about Pretzel-Crusted Chicken with Honey Mustard Sauce p. 146 in the Sandra Lee Semi-Homemade Cooking Made Light cookbook. A spinach salad would be a great starter or side with this. Dessert can be just some simple berries with a little vanilla ice cream.

Then maybe Citrus Snapper with Orange Relish (p. 126, same cookbook) and some wild rice and cucumber salad on the side. Dessert could be fresh orange sherbet.

Perhaps Grilled Chicken with Grapefruit Salsa (p. 144) and some skewered veggies with balsamic vinegar. Dessert can be vanilla pudding with a dash of whipped cream.

And yes, Pork and Pear Saute with Lemon Vodka sauce (p. 109 Five Star Recipes from Weight Watchers) would go very nicely with an old fashioned iceberg lettuce wedge salad. Dessert could be a lemon sorbet.

Take that Julia! It may not have the butter content you would advocate, but I'm salivating already. Hope Hubby's ready for the challenge!

You're Right, You're Right, I Know You're Right

Despite nearly 20 years of working with the same VP with whom I admittedly share a love-hate relationship, I am constantly learning the same lesson over and over again. That is, not to put the effort in (or worse request OTHERS to put the effort in) until I know exactly what VP wants or needs.

Yet again, it came down to about 36 hours before our deadline before VP's thoughts gelled on what he needed. This was after I vehemently defended his request when I recruited Amybow for help in herding the cats in our organization around VP's needs. I was confident I was on the same page with him. I was sure that even if we ended up in a slightly different end point, the essence of the research we were doing would be of value - for this assignment as well as others. I was adamant that Amybow stop questioning my direction and just get people moving.

I was wrong. Wrong. WRONG.

This morning VP arrived at 7:45AM bearing pastries for the start of our ALL DAY MEETING and walked into my cubicle and said, "This is what I want my presentation to be....X, Y, Z. "

"VP" I said, "Let me show you what we've done and what we've asked others to provide by tomorrow AM. Here it is as we discussed - A, B, C."

"That's all fine," insisted VP "but I want X, Y, Z."

At this point I began to get irritated (especially given the fact we would be in a meeting all day which is not conducive to producing deadline work)...but we moved into our meeting and I tried to ignore the feeling that Amybow had been right all along. At 2PM, after 6 hours of non-stop discussions in our meeting (unrelated to VP's pending assignment), VP shot me a panicked look and said, "We really need to work on my presentation". We ditched the meeting early with apologies and as we reviewed the presentation it was clear A, B, C was NOT acceptable to VP. As we progressed to outline X, Y, Z, I'm sure I became shrill, short, and not a little pissy. At one point VP put his head in his hands (and I believe he was counting to 10) when I said, "Would have been much better for everyone if we had this discussion last week when we started this."

Finally, as I cooled and he calmed, we started to laugh. More because of how irritated we had become at one another than at the task at hand - which is now annoyingly difficult for an imminent deadline. Snarky but humorous barbs were tossed back and forth to vent our frustration to one another in a healthier way. Sometimes the guy is like a really annoying older brother and I've already got my share of that.

As things settled out, I sought Amybow and proceeded to eat my words of yesterday. Today's mantra is: "You're right Amybow. You're right. I know you're right."

Mastering the Graceful Exit

I've discovered that I have a brief window in my day where I might make for the door and get the hell out. Unfortunately, it is never the right time to leave the office, but rather mid-afternoon, 3:30ish. This brief window usually does NOT occur when my work is done, but rather when my patience is short and I find I'm more likely to be seeking a vending machine break, a blogging distraction, or some other nonsense.

When my mind re-engages, usually after a very short time, I find the next time I look up is about 7PM. Hubby usually calls around 6-ish and we talk about dinner menu and timing, evening errands, tasks, and plans. But then that inability to master the graceful exit rears it's head again. No matter what time I say I'm leaving, I'm nearly always off by 30-60 minutes...or more! Just one more task, just one more email, just one more list update...and on and on.

After several of these occasions, Hubby gave up taking me at my word (and I gave up giving it) and requested I call at the point where I am shutting off my computer and packing up. Then, after a few occasions where I ended up chatting with another late working colleague on my way out (usually Boss Lady), we now have a standing agreement that I call as I'm getting into my car.

I've tried the Franklin Covey approach. Have you ever taken one of their time management classes? They start with the whole jar with rocks story - you know the one.

"A teacher has a jar and he fills it with large rocks. He asks his students, can I get anything more in this jar? The answer from his students - No! He then takes out a bag of pebbles and adds them to the jar, proving them wrong. He asks his students again, can I get anything more into this jar? The answer from his students - Definitely not! He then takes out a bag of sand and pours it into the jar. Again, he asks, can I get anything else in this jar? The answer from his students - Not possible for sure! He then takes out a pitcher of water and pours it into the jar. What is the lesson here?"

My answer to that little parable was - "You can always fit more in the jar!"

Obvious right? I'm so brilliant, right?



WRONG!

No, the real answer is, the big rocks represent the important things. And if you don't put them in FIRST you'll never get the important things done"

um..yeah...
I missed that.

So anyway, sometimes after my 3:30 break, there's still those big rocks (and some pebbles, sand and water) to deal with....but somehow, someday, some way I'll figure out how to master the graceful exit.

Hazy Days

Looking up the Bartles & Jaymes ad for my last post sure took me back. All the way back to my college years and the many hazy memories I have from overindulging in those two gentleman's brew (and anything else I could get my hands on).

I was a good girl 'til I got to college. Never drank, never smoked, never broke curfew, never had sex... in fact, playing "I never" (the old drinking game) with me in college was pretty boring because I couldn't say "I never did [fill in anything interesting]"!

Imagine my surprise when my first night of college I began my drinking career. My roommate, who was stunned I had not ever consumed an alcoholic beverage, offered to mix me something easy and light. Her version of easy and light? Two-thirds vodka, one-third Sprite. One glass of that firewater concoction and I was on my ass.

After that, she suggested Bartles and Jaymes - soda pop "with a kick" and those wine coolers became my drink of choice. We spent more time that first year trying to get drunk than we did any other endeavor, including classes. My first semester I made it work. My second? My grades dropped to such a level that I found myself on academic probation and changing my major. I've never regreted leaving Accounting behind for a Liberal Arts degree in English/Psychology, but I do regret the damage that semester did to my overal GPA.

Friends who have met me in the last 15 years don't believe I ever was a drinker. Nowadays, the once a month single cocktail is about all I consume. And if I'm driving - I rarely even have that. They don't believe that without vodka and cherry kool-aid I never would have had the gumption to hook up with my someday husband. They don't believe I ever made out with a guy on a dance floor and had no idea what his name was, all I knew was the nickname on the back of his football jersey (Thumper). They don't believe I regularly slept through my morning classes. They don't believe I have a letter in my "permanent record" that came from a druken water fight that started with water pistols and ended with garbage cans of water that created cascading waterfalls 3 floors down in the dorm.

They don't believe that one night, a couple of years out of college, that I drove home from a party severely impaired, realized I shouldn't be behind the wheel at all and started crying halfway home, and got out of the car and kissed the ground when I somehow arrived home safely. They don't believe that I would ever have been so out of it that I couldn't have figured out pulling over and sleeping it off was a possible solution. They just don't believe that I ever lost my footing, my judgment, my senses, and could have lost my life or someone else's in a drunken haze.

But I did. Yessir, Mr. Bartles & Mr. Jaymes, I surely did.

Thank You Again, For Your Support

I have to say, if you want to have a pity party, start with the blogging community. They are such a supportive, caring bunch...they are almost enablers. I have a small readership (or at least a small "commentership" so I'm appreciative of the comments I do get supporting me in my stressful, sick, or downtrodden moments, but if you review some of the other blogs it can get really overwhelming!

Over the past two years that I have been blogging and reading other blogs, I've noticed a trend of writing I can only call NEEDY. And I've begun to wonder if blogging is so popular because people who normally don't feel heard, appreciated, cared for, commiserated with, etc. have finally found a place where they can complain and wallow and get all the support they desire from an anonymous gang of like-thinkers.

Don't get me wrong! In this cold world, it sure is nice to know there are absolute strangers out there caring about my vertigo, my late work hours, my stress, my angst, my cats, and my hubby. It's hard to feel alone when kind people take the time to read your random thoughts and add an "atta girl" to your life.

But for those of you who may worry about me (MOM this means you!)...don't. Despite my battles with anxious moments, which have at times driven me to a sleepless night or two, or to seek some heartburn medication, I'm in pretty good shape. I'm coming to terms with actually being content with my life. And I continue to find a little wry humor in my mental and physical reactions to anxiety....I mean it is really ridiculous sometimes you know?

Why am I writing about this today? I had some lovely comments in my last post about my Dizzy Dame situation. What I thought was kind of funny and kooky and all, generated some sweet - "feel betters" and some concern from my Mom.

All I can say is, you all are the best. Really. And when I REALLY need you, I expect you all to be there. But for now...be assured I'm doing just fine. I'll try to keep the whining to a minimum...and if I do whine, try and find the humor in it. I'd rather you laugh AT me, than cry WITH me.

And in the immortal words of those wise sages, Bartles & Jaymes, "Thank you again, for your support."

Dizzy Dame

So for the past week I've been experiencing some light twinges of vertigo. Not like Hubby's bout a while ago where he was nauseated and unable to stand upright without help, but just that kind of "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" - "Whoa Dude..." kind of feeling. Drunk without the drink. A natural high. Dizzy dame syndrome.

Dr. thinks I have a sinus infection that has congested my ear. I'm on meds and trying to clear it up....but knowing it isn't likely anything serious just makes it something I have to sort out each day.

I wake up and sit up...carefully.

Then I move my head in a number of different directions, turning, tilting, nodding, shaking until I figure out my new trigger positions for the day. Usually it is a position that I can easily avoid to make walking, driving, working, all very safe. Today's position was a straight tip forward of the chin...low enough that it is only if I am looking upward at the computer screen with chin tilted down toward chest that it generates a reaction.

It's actually been kind of a trip. To be able to know the right position that triggers it and check it out every so often and feel the world tilt, just a little. Kind of cool. I guess it's the coolest because I can set it right again with a smooth position change.

I feel it will be coming to an end sometime soon. Every time I yawn my ears crack, so things are breaking up in there. Just a few more days to be a Dizzy Dame....legitimately at least.

Hey - no comments from the peanut gallery.

It's a Movie, not a Book

On Sunday we got out to see the latest Harry Potter movie. We do love the series (book and movies) but we were concerned about this movie because of all the negative fan comments

I'm happy to say, probably in no small part due to the low expectations we had going in, we were pleasantly surprised to enjoy it thoroughly! As for all of the complaining fans, of course it isn't like the book people! It's a movie! The book is 700 pages long! Take it for what it is and enjoy it and stop going on and on about missing characters and the fact that page 542, Paragraph 3, is not in the movie.

The film was beautiful - a great marriage of computer graphics and cinematography - it made the film. The quidditch match, the Weasley joke shop, the Hogwarts grounds and castle - fantastic. And while, as usual, it felt a little choppy hopping from scene to scene because there is little time for segues, the scenes themselves were mostly little jewels. Jim Broadbent was very good, particularly in the one scene at Hagrid's house.

I'll be going back to the book now that I've digested the movie - just to remind myself of what was missed, but not to complain about it. Looking forward to the last movie (I hear there will be two to try and capture more of the 800 pages...and no doubt double the money too).

When a Friend is Sad

I have a friend that came to me through Hubby. In many ways she is like a twin to me. Our likes and dislikes, the very near overlapping of our birthdays, our careers, our love of theatre and old things, our love for quiet artistic men (like my Hubby and hers), and our enjoyment of an occasional fruit juice and vodka concoction. Because of schedules and well, just life, we see each other rarely - a few times a year, maybe a little more. When we are together we laugh a lot. Because she is funny and quirky and sweet and smart and all those things that make a great friend. But my friend often suffers. My friend is often sad.

She has burdens that are both physical and emotional. She has scars. She has pain. She has troubles. She never lets it overcome her - at least not in my presence - but she suffers and we see it. And I struggle, because I like to solve problems and she has problems I cannot solve.

Last night we talked. We talked medicine and theory. We talked stress and economy. We talked of work and life. We talked of weather and food. We talked of houses and gardens and chores. We talked of travel and music. We talked about baby showers and bridal showers and family.

Her voice spoke lightly, but I heard the strain.

Tonight we are going, with our sweet artistic hubbies, to see a local photographer's slide show under the stars. We'll talk and laugh and enjoy the art together. We'll grab a bite and a drink at a nearby tavern afterwards. We'll part at the end and see each other again in a few weeks, or more likely months. And I won't really have been able to help her. And she won't really burden me with her troubles. But I'll feel her pain.

We'll part as always with a long, lingering embrace. And all I can hope is she'll feel my support.