Seriously. What IS that?

My eerily-similar new coworker/friend, Mockdocker (www.themockdock.com), sent this to me today in response to my butt lift entry yesterday. In honor of my birthday, it's from the Sweetest Thing, one of my favorite chick flicks of all time. Enjoy, and seriously....what IS that?

Looming 37...

My 20-something buddy Scott wrote me today to wish me a day-early happy birthday. He's sort of like my really cute little baby brother that I never had. He dresses like a J.Crew model, and I believe his perfectly gorgeous wife is the sister of Heidi Klum, only she's brilliant and not at all stuck up and she's just as sweet as can be (I want to hate her...I really do). Upon receipt, I replied with this and thought I'd share, as it reflects where I'm at mentally for this year's birthday:


Thank you for the birthday wishes. Yes, I'm 37 tomorrow. They say that 37 is the new 27, but I know that I'm quickly approaching the downhill slide to 40. I'm f*cking old. When did that happen? It's like I was 23 yesterday, then all of a sudden, I'm 37.

You should really go get naked tonight and stand in front of a mirror and appreciate your 20-something body. I'm serious. Take a picture, and then go, "God, dude...you're so young and virile and still have abs." Because tomorrow, you're going to be 37. I'm just sayin.


Sometimes, when husband-man and I are alone and I'm sans clothing, I'll grab my butt with both hands and hold it up just right so it looks like it did when I was 27. Then I'll let it drop and say, "37." Then I'll lift it up again and say, "27." And drop. And lift. And repeat. And repeat again.

I do this until my husband shakes his head and leaves the room. I really do love that man...

If I was ever going to be arrested, this is exactly what it would be for....

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,409382,00.html

Mi padre y el tempestad mal...

My Dad and stepmom live in Jacksonville, Florida, and I fear that they are being washed away by the storms down there. So, as any nice daughter would do, I'm sending Farley cheer in lieu of an ark, raft, or other flotation device.

Enjoy, Dad. Oh, and that minor in Spanish really has come in handy. I'm so glad no one forced me to study something useless like International Business or Economics.

:-)

September Vogue and the Countdown to 37.

Today, September Vogue finally came. I mean, I'll be honest. I consider myself somewhat intellectual, but I am like a friggin' 5-year old on crack when I find September Vogue in my mailbox. Because we live out in the boonies, we usually get the mail while driving the car (God forbid we walk the acreage to actually get the mail...the horror). So, when I grabbed it out of the mailbox today, I turned around to the backseat of the car, where my stepson was sitting, and I said, simply, "this is my bible."

After three years, I think he finally understands it. It used to be as if he was looking at an alien. Today, though, he looked at me as if to pat me on the head and say, "that's nice, stepmonster lady. That's nice."

This was my last weekend as a 36-year old. I am pensive. I'm freaking out a bit, even. I mean, I didn't mind 30 at all. Most people do, but I didn't. I was excited to turn 30, as if it would instantly give me both professional and personal credibility as a REAL adult. 31 was a little bit weird, but for the most part, I was still a spring chicken in my own right. 32 through 36 just flew by, largely in part to changing residences, men, jobs, and ways of my life. Fun years, but damn, they were slightly a blur of falling in love mixed with bloody heartache mixed with vodka mixed with friends, fun, U-Hauls, and the constant changes galore that my life seemed to bring me...just a huge tornado that seemed to land me in an Indiana cornfield with three dogs, two grown kids, and a husband.

37 does not excite me. I'm saying this out loud, as if to let everyone know that yes, it'll be grand if you wish me a happy birthday, we can eat some wings and drink some beer at my favorite south side white trash place, but then let's drop it, OK? This is a first, as I've always been a welcoming fan of birthdays. It's perplexing, as I can't seem to pinpoint the reason why.

I spoke to my best friend in Atlanta yesterday. "T" is my hippie-Democrat-tell-it-like-it-is, happy-go-lucky-but-don't-you-dare-fu*k-with-her friend. She's working on her doctorate in Psychology and has been doing private practice on the side for years now. I've been to several therapists. Most of my 4 readers know my stance on therapists (women only need two doctors: a good gynecologist and a good therapist). I truly believe in them. I'm hyperanalytical, so it appeals to that side of me and the fact that I just like to talk. I have no problem paying someone to listen to me gab. And, after seeing a big handful in my lifetime, T. is still the best damn therapist on the planet. She's brilliant and beautifully blunt with me, which I love. I've heard "Get your head out of your ass!" a few times, followed by, "So, yeah, that's your fault..." Equally, though, she's pointed out that I'm a classic codependent pleaser, even though I have this independent exterior about me. She has this amazing way of pointing out my flaws while simultaneously making me feel like I'm the hottest, most intelligent, fabulously stylish bitch in my age bracket. A true gift.

She was telling me how she got this gorgeous new convertible and a new motorcyle and took lessons and got this black and pink leather jacket and gloves and has a kickass helmet on order now. A adorable doctoral candidate that chooses to work in the school system full-time, counsels underprivileged children, does private practice part-time and has a hot convertible, a smokin' motorcycle, and about three men trying to date her simultaneously. My friends are cool.

She snapped me out of my "37" funk a bit, as her material goodies made me think that she's a year older than me and getting younger-in-spirit every year. She almost made me conjure up my Daisywriter standard, "what I want to do with my life this year" list. But, tonight, I'm going to think about it. Just ponder a bit on the precipice that is 37. That downhill slope to 40. I shall do what many do - turn to religion - as a comfort. For this particular milestone, I'll turn to my bible - the September Vogue. Just me and Ms. Larue on the couch for the night.

Countdown to the downhill slope. Someone please pass the vodka. :-)

The best damn blog EVER.

I started a new job this week. I know you're shocked, as I do this about every six months. I'll write more about my fabulous new office with a door and a plaque with my name on it in another entry. But for now, the most fun discovery I've had in the past week is that my HR Director (hysterically funny) has a blog that simply mocks. It just mocks everything, but mostly celebrities, which I find pee-your-pants funny at times. I have already started commenting - which will take even more time away from my own yawnfest of a blog (that I will continue to write, so get over it) - and I can't seem to stop mocking.

For example, Gwen and Gavin have named their new baby girl Zuma Nesta Rossdale. All my loyal readers know how much I adore Gwen. She's flawless. But the name Zuma? WTF? Seriously.



For my three readers, you have now been informed and are instructed to share the mockery:

http://www.themockdock.com/

Dedication for a Freshman Female

I sent this video to my stepdaughter the other day and thought I'd post. As she goes off to college in a mere three days, I thought it was apropos...plus, I love Ms. India...

Postcards revisited...

I posted this site as one of my first entries for this blog about three years ago...

It's still pretty cool today. Poignant stuff.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Three-year-old wisdom...

When in doubt, just kick the monster's ass. Really.

Indiana State Fair

This past weekend was the Indiana State Fair with my BFF and goddaughters coming in from Nashvegas. It was a full house...a good time was had by all. There's nothing more soothing for the soul than Fried Pepsi and corndogs. Oh yes.

Facebook and Flying Forward...

I just joined Facebook. I know, I'm about 12 years old. Quit making fun of me. I joined it a few weeks ago, actually, as it's the place where my 20th high school reunion is being planned. Will I go to that reunion? Well, that's still up in the air. I could think of about 20 other things just off the top of my head that I'd rather spend money on than a plane ticket to and hotel stay in Atlanta. I'd probably end up skipping it and shopping anyway. But, it's unbelievable to see the people come out of the woodwork on this thing. It's pretty sterotypical, actually. The ones who were kind of nerdy, quiet, and not entirely "cool" in 1989 are doing these amazing things. And the party crew who thought they were the shizzat - they're all bloated and still living in the same place, doing the same things, hanging out with the same people.

They say that people between the age of 35-55 are the fastest growing demographic for Facebook. It's a networking tool, and it's how I secured my new job, actually. Facebook itself is perplexing...so many little gadgets. People are throwing sheep at me and asking me to take this quiz and do that survey. It's quite addictive, though, so I've had to really watch myself and keep my time on it to a non-problematic minimum. So far, I'm not yet at the intervention stage. I believe my sister may be, though. I fear for her adulthood as she slings polar bears and virtual booze at me.

I'm breathing a sigh of relief today. It's my first real "day off" since I quit my job last week. The job that sucked more than any job I've ever had...the job that had me so stressed, I thought I was going a bit, well, cuckoo. For six months, I had a disease and no company seemed to want to bite at my resume. I thought I was washed up...done....kaput. But, I persevered, and right at month six, I got an offer and took it without much thought at all. Beggars can't be choosers, and I knew that my existing job would be the end of my sanity. Three days before my start date for said new job, I got another offer (because of that Facebook thing...go figure). It was better than the first. So, I told number one buh-bye with my sincerest of regrets. Within the same HOUR of doing that, I got another call about a possible THIRD opportunity. That one is still looming, but it may very well be the Holy Grail, as far as I'm concerned. We shall see.

It's weird. Job number two really wanted me. For the first time in my professional life, I was being offered a career - not just a job. They actually looked at my resume and instead of saying, "Holy shit, you have 14 years of contracting on here....this thing is HUGE," they instead loved the fact that I was entrepreneurial. Adaptable. Experienced. SEASONED, I think is how they put it. I remember thinking to myself..."seasoned...OK...you mean OLD."

Job number three - the one still looming as I start job number two and see how it goes - it was a result of good karma. Nothing more, nothing less. Many people don't believe in good karma, but I do. Last year, in a miniscule freelance gig, I helped a company win a really big contract worth millions - I wrote the proposal for them. And, who would've thought that the good fortune of the CEO would come back to call me on the phone and say, "our success is partly due to your expertise...we'd like you to think about coming on board full time." When you do good things, they sometimes come back to you ten-fold. Huh.

So, just when I thought things couldn't get worse for me professionally - just when the clouds seemed SO incredibly dark - the sky opened up. The big man upstairs really does listen...sometimes he just takes his sweet damn time. And, I suppose he wanted to toughen me up a bit more. Job done. Check.

Just as I venture into a new professional chapter, my stepson starts high school TODAY and my stepdaughter leaves for college this week. They're both scared of the new, and rightly so. My stepson would never lead on to the fact that he has trepidation. He's way too cool for that. My stepdaughter, however, is frightened. I can see it when we talk about orientation activities and moving her in and the absolute newness of it all. It's as if she's been a caterpillar her whole life, and she's about to get her wings, but there's a huge part of her that doesn't want to fly. I think she'd rather stay in the cocoon. I look back on my college experience, and I tell her to really soak it all in...do as much as she can...enjoy every single minute. Four years flies by. I'm only a stepmom, but there's that small shred of maternal instinct that wants to tell her all the mistakes I made and have her not make them herself. But I know I can't do that. I know we all must live, let live, and realize that by protecting someone from the world, you stunt them. It's the sheer crap in life - the heartache, the pain, the people who have trampled on my heart - that's made me resilient. It's definitely not the good stuff.

Speaking of flying forward, my birthday is coming up. 37. On that downhill slope to the big 4-0. What do I want? A kelly green Prada purse and a beautiful new deck that my husband has so lovingly offered to build me so I can relax and look at the back five. That's the material portion of the wants. The other wants I'm keeping close to my heart, but I can see them within reach now. Just like my stepson, my stepdaughter, and that butterfly.