I'm sore today. I mean, REALLY sore. My back hurts like a mofo, and my right arm and shoulder are throbbing. I realized this morning that while I can run a half marathon without any huge problems, I can't spend an hour at a driving range without showing my age.
Yesterday, I took the 13-year old to the driving range, attempting to do some sort of maternal'esque duty while S.O. was buying a new car for his teenage daughter. I think maternal'esque may be even too kind, really, as I allowed him to have a venti Starbucks frappe as a pre-dinner snack. As he filled up on it, I realized that this is probably why I have not yet given birth and mothered any children of my own. I'd more than likely feed them ice cream for dinner. I fully admit this.
We ventured to the golf club, and I held my own. I even managed to smack-talk back when smack-talked to. I mean, I don't think he was expecting me to be able to whack it 200 yards, but I still can, despite my own reservations. It's been a while, but I proved to myself that I still got it. It just hurts a hell of a lot more the next day.
I woke up this morning in excruciating pain and soreness, which reminded me that I am indeed getting up there in age whether I like it or not. Additionally, I had to work. And, even on top of that, it was 80 degrees here in the cornfield today. The first 80-degree day in God knows how long. I can't even remember. Needless to say, I was a little bummed that I couldn't enjoy it fully. So, I tried to be positive and remember what made me laugh as a kid. I laughed a lot as a kid. Mainly because I was really a goofy-ass kid.
While perusing You Tube for old Muppet Show bits and 70's and 80's sitcom theme songs, I came across this fabulous clip from Sesame Street. It's the "Manah Manah" song - perhaps the best Sesame Street skit of all time. It made me laugh then, and it almost made me pee my pants today (no, I'm not old enough to even think about being incontinent yet, so shut it):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wMHcpMmV9g
Watch it all the way through without cracking some semblance of a smile. I dare you. If you can, then I don't even want to know you. Seriously...you need help.
Pass the Ben-Gay.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Getting in touch with my inner Gwen.
I was watching one of those cheesy entertainment shows the other night and avoided changing it mainly because Gwen Stefani was on. If I could be anyone in the entertainment business for the day, it would be her. When asked about a reunion with No Doubt, she said that they were probably going to get back together after her current tour. I'll be first in line for tickets.
For all the die-hard No Doubt fans, this is a pretty cool "evolution" video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-XaBRl4XdOc&mode=related&search=
And of course, one of my many recent life mantra songs:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zEAzxDMYrWU
It's Thursday. Let's all get in touch with our inner Gwen...
Friday, March 16, 2007
Happy Green Beer Day.
It's St. Patty's Day here in Indy. Well, it's actually tomorrow, but today is the big parade here in town. The bagpipes are warming up, and the loudspeakers are already going. My office is in the center of downtown, on the eighth floor of an old building on a very pivotal street for the annual St. Patty's Day parade. The green and white beer tent is right outside my window, and I'm sure my coworkers and I will walk downstairs and partake a bit at lunch. It's one of the perks of working downtown. History and festive events galore. It's cold and windy out there, but that won't keep us from watching and enjoying it from our view from the top.
I was once married to an Irish dude, and one of the fond memories I have of the institution was the great shepherd's pie he made. I also gained a true love for Guinness during those years. Partly to drown him out, but also because I just like the stuff. It's good for you, you know. I suppose a lot of that could be because of the fact that I, myself, am a quarter Irish, so I have a penchant for good beer running through my veins. I'm a strawberry blonde, green-eyed chick with pretty pale skin. Let's just say I'd fit in at a bar in Dublin if I kept my mouth shut. My Dad's side of the family was raised across the street from the almighty Notre Dame, so that was crammed down my throat a lot as a kid. And, even though I'll root for Tennessee every time they play the Irish, I'll always have a soft spot for the tailgates in South Bend. It's a family thing, after all.
In the spirit of the fact that it's both Friday and the day before St. Patty's Day, I'll have my obligatory green beer and try to keep it light today. No major things to spew. No worries. Nothing but cheer and some Cranberries lyrics to top off my entry. Here's one of my favorite songs from Ms. Dolores O'Riordan and the Cranberries.
Top of the afternoon to ya.
DREAMS
oh my life is changing everyday
In every possible way
And oh my dreams
It's never quite as it seems
Never quite as it seems
I know i felt like this before
But now i'm feeling it even more
Because it came from you
Then i open up and see
The person falling here is me
A different way to be
I want more,
impossible to ignore
Impossible to ignore
And they'll come true
Impossible not to do
Impossible not to do
And now i tell you openly
You have my heart so don't hurt me
You're what i couldn't find
A totally amazing mind
So understanding and so kind
You're everything to me
Oh my life is changing everyday
In every possible way
And oh my dreams
It's never quite as it seems
'cause you're a dream to me
Dream to me
I was once married to an Irish dude, and one of the fond memories I have of the institution was the great shepherd's pie he made. I also gained a true love for Guinness during those years. Partly to drown him out, but also because I just like the stuff. It's good for you, you know. I suppose a lot of that could be because of the fact that I, myself, am a quarter Irish, so I have a penchant for good beer running through my veins. I'm a strawberry blonde, green-eyed chick with pretty pale skin. Let's just say I'd fit in at a bar in Dublin if I kept my mouth shut. My Dad's side of the family was raised across the street from the almighty Notre Dame, so that was crammed down my throat a lot as a kid. And, even though I'll root for Tennessee every time they play the Irish, I'll always have a soft spot for the tailgates in South Bend. It's a family thing, after all.
In the spirit of the fact that it's both Friday and the day before St. Patty's Day, I'll have my obligatory green beer and try to keep it light today. No major things to spew. No worries. Nothing but cheer and some Cranberries lyrics to top off my entry. Here's one of my favorite songs from Ms. Dolores O'Riordan and the Cranberries.
Top of the afternoon to ya.
DREAMS
oh my life is changing everyday
In every possible way
And oh my dreams
It's never quite as it seems
Never quite as it seems
I know i felt like this before
But now i'm feeling it even more
Because it came from you
Then i open up and see
The person falling here is me
A different way to be
I want more,
impossible to ignore
Impossible to ignore
And they'll come true
Impossible not to do
Impossible not to do
And now i tell you openly
You have my heart so don't hurt me
You're what i couldn't find
A totally amazing mind
So understanding and so kind
You're everything to me
Oh my life is changing everyday
In every possible way
And oh my dreams
It's never quite as it seems
'cause you're a dream to me
Dream to me
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
From Chivalry to Jong-il to Generation Me...
It’s been a while since I’ve written. Same excuses, different day. In fact, I have another deadline today. And, I’m working on getting permits for my new home. In light of these facts, my time crunch, but my yearning to spew the many things floating around in my head, I shall do this blog in another list format. Life is about learning, after all, and I’ve learned a lot in the past few weeks. What have I learned? Well, here’s my list:
Chivalry is not quite dead yet.
I learned this when I had a meeting with a man, about 60’ish, who my company was wooing for a position in New Orleans to assist in rebuilding the city with the Corps of Engineers. He was your typical, old-school, flat-top sporting man's man. Complete with Marlboro-stained teeth and vocal chords to go with the flat top. I resisted my urge to complain about the temperature in my cushy little office; after all, this guy probably crawled inside a dead cow once or twice to stay warm while in the fields of 'Nam. He had a handshake that only a Marine should have. Our meeting included him, myself, and two of my male coworkers. I was the first to greet him. And, when I entered the room, he stood up at attention, shook my hand, called me ma’am (keep in mind that I’m about half his age – O.K., almost), and then showed me singlehandedly that chivalry isn’t dead. He waited. The man would not sit until I was seated. Totally old school. I have to admit…I loved it. In fact, I'm contemplating going on a one-woman campaign to bring that shit back. S.O.’s 13-year old son has started to occasionally open a door for me here and there, so maybe there’s hope yet…one male at a time.
The Amish aren’t taxed.
Maybe my head has been in a hole. I don’t know. But, I just learned that the Amish don’t pay ANY taxes. Maybe sales tax - that hasn't been confirmed yet - but I'm still irritated. This came up in a conversation at work yesterday where one of my coworkers was comparing them to a non-profit organization. Here’s my take on that. April 15th is approaching, I’m taking it up the proverbial ass again in many respects, I’ve never gotten a break on taxes, I work my tush off, and I don’t think they should be exempt just because they have different religious beliefs than I do. No one should be exempt from taxes in this country. OK, maybe just the Native Americans, but that’s it. Amish kids go to public schools until the 8th grade, they shop in our stores, and I’ve even seen them using cell phones. Nice scam, people. Now how can I get in on this action? I refuse to wear the bonnet, but if it keeps me from getting screwed every April 15th, I need to know how I can get a slice of that homemade-from-scratch-but-not-from-electricity pie.
If you’re a skanky ex-stripper that sleeps around shamelessly, peddles diet drugs, and then perishes due to your reckless lifestyle, you are worthy of Presidential funeral coverage.
Welcome to America. Someone pinch me, because I’m in slight disbelief. I know Anna Nicole has passed away and we should have respect for the dead, but come on. Honestly. I can't stop shaking my head.
"Generation ME."
I read this article the other day about how kids nowadays are complete narcissists. The current generation of teens and 20-somethings are called “Generation Me”. I’ve seen it first hand, actually. Now, I know teenagers are by nature somewhat self-centered, but the article’s argument was that this generation is the worst ever. They have been told that they are “special and can have anything” from birth. And this has proven both dangerous and unhealthy. Now we have a bunch of spoiled brats walking around expecting life to hand them everything on a platter encased in bling. It’s an epidemic. It’s nauseating. It makes me either want to not have a kid at all or it presents a true challenge to me to make any kid I ever do have more sensitive to others. I've actually heard a kid say, "If you can't buy nice things for your kids, then you shouldn't have them." Another head-shaker. Our media doesn’t help, either. The other day, I overheard S.O.’s 13-year old watching a show on MTV called My Super Sweet 16. These girls are getting Range Rovers for their birthdays, acting like they’re celebrities. It wasn’t a joke. This is the new generation. Mark my words - basements all over the country are going to be filled with disgruntled “Generation Me” kids in the next 5-10 years because the real world - with its credit card bills (you mean I have to PAY for the stuff I charge?) and that dirty word "work" was just too much to bear. All those child psychologists who invented “you are special no matter what” and “time out” should be shot. Bring back spankings and the fear of your parent's smackdown if you don't shut up and behave, I say. It worked for my generation. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Kim Jong-il. Satan’s new bitch.
This dude scares me. I’ll admit it. Not his stature or his little smirk I want to smack off his nasty little beady-eyed face. But the evil that sums up who he is. The dude is evil personified, and I suppose it’s scary for anyone that has half a heart to see this guy in action. I watched a documentary on the National Geographic channel about North Korea a week ago, and cameras showed just a portion of what goes on over there. A very passive and secluded country, Jong-il keeps what he does there under wraps. People there are prisoners, plain and simple. Half are starving, most never receive medical care, and none will ever know what freedom is as the country stands right now. It’s a place of brainwashing and concentration camps. The only religion – the only faith these people have – is the religion that is Kim Jong-il. I just can’t believe this crap still occurs in the year 2007. We've been overly concerned about the Middle East, but we really need to pay a bit more attention to this freak. I’ve been saying that for a while now, but that documentary solidified it for me. He’s Hitler all over again – but worse.
Size 00.
I was on BananaRepublic.com the other day, perusing the new spring and summer fashions, and lo and behold, there’s a new friggin’ size. As if being a size 0 just wasn’t thin enough, there is now a DOUBLE size zero. A 00. Yep. Something more for all those wannabe anorexics to aspire to. How many celery sticks do I have to forfeit now to get into a size 00? I really WANT to look like a heroin addicted 9-year old boy. Pleease? Wow. Pass the size 4 skirt and the pudding, please. Real boys like curves, ladies...
Chivalry is not quite dead yet.
I learned this when I had a meeting with a man, about 60’ish, who my company was wooing for a position in New Orleans to assist in rebuilding the city with the Corps of Engineers. He was your typical, old-school, flat-top sporting man's man. Complete with Marlboro-stained teeth and vocal chords to go with the flat top. I resisted my urge to complain about the temperature in my cushy little office; after all, this guy probably crawled inside a dead cow once or twice to stay warm while in the fields of 'Nam. He had a handshake that only a Marine should have. Our meeting included him, myself, and two of my male coworkers. I was the first to greet him. And, when I entered the room, he stood up at attention, shook my hand, called me ma’am (keep in mind that I’m about half his age – O.K., almost), and then showed me singlehandedly that chivalry isn’t dead. He waited. The man would not sit until I was seated. Totally old school. I have to admit…I loved it. In fact, I'm contemplating going on a one-woman campaign to bring that shit back. S.O.’s 13-year old son has started to occasionally open a door for me here and there, so maybe there’s hope yet…one male at a time.
The Amish aren’t taxed.
Maybe my head has been in a hole. I don’t know. But, I just learned that the Amish don’t pay ANY taxes. Maybe sales tax - that hasn't been confirmed yet - but I'm still irritated. This came up in a conversation at work yesterday where one of my coworkers was comparing them to a non-profit organization. Here’s my take on that. April 15th is approaching, I’m taking it up the proverbial ass again in many respects, I’ve never gotten a break on taxes, I work my tush off, and I don’t think they should be exempt just because they have different religious beliefs than I do. No one should be exempt from taxes in this country. OK, maybe just the Native Americans, but that’s it. Amish kids go to public schools until the 8th grade, they shop in our stores, and I’ve even seen them using cell phones. Nice scam, people. Now how can I get in on this action? I refuse to wear the bonnet, but if it keeps me from getting screwed every April 15th, I need to know how I can get a slice of that homemade-from-scratch-but-not-from-electricity pie.
If you’re a skanky ex-stripper that sleeps around shamelessly, peddles diet drugs, and then perishes due to your reckless lifestyle, you are worthy of Presidential funeral coverage.
Welcome to America. Someone pinch me, because I’m in slight disbelief. I know Anna Nicole has passed away and we should have respect for the dead, but come on. Honestly. I can't stop shaking my head.
"Generation ME."
I read this article the other day about how kids nowadays are complete narcissists. The current generation of teens and 20-somethings are called “Generation Me”. I’ve seen it first hand, actually. Now, I know teenagers are by nature somewhat self-centered, but the article’s argument was that this generation is the worst ever. They have been told that they are “special and can have anything” from birth. And this has proven both dangerous and unhealthy. Now we have a bunch of spoiled brats walking around expecting life to hand them everything on a platter encased in bling. It’s an epidemic. It’s nauseating. It makes me either want to not have a kid at all or it presents a true challenge to me to make any kid I ever do have more sensitive to others. I've actually heard a kid say, "If you can't buy nice things for your kids, then you shouldn't have them." Another head-shaker. Our media doesn’t help, either. The other day, I overheard S.O.’s 13-year old watching a show on MTV called My Super Sweet 16. These girls are getting Range Rovers for their birthdays, acting like they’re celebrities. It wasn’t a joke. This is the new generation. Mark my words - basements all over the country are going to be filled with disgruntled “Generation Me” kids in the next 5-10 years because the real world - with its credit card bills (you mean I have to PAY for the stuff I charge?) and that dirty word "work" was just too much to bear. All those child psychologists who invented “you are special no matter what” and “time out” should be shot. Bring back spankings and the fear of your parent's smackdown if you don't shut up and behave, I say. It worked for my generation. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Kim Jong-il. Satan’s new bitch.
This dude scares me. I’ll admit it. Not his stature or his little smirk I want to smack off his nasty little beady-eyed face. But the evil that sums up who he is. The dude is evil personified, and I suppose it’s scary for anyone that has half a heart to see this guy in action. I watched a documentary on the National Geographic channel about North Korea a week ago, and cameras showed just a portion of what goes on over there. A very passive and secluded country, Jong-il keeps what he does there under wraps. People there are prisoners, plain and simple. Half are starving, most never receive medical care, and none will ever know what freedom is as the country stands right now. It’s a place of brainwashing and concentration camps. The only religion – the only faith these people have – is the religion that is Kim Jong-il. I just can’t believe this crap still occurs in the year 2007. We've been overly concerned about the Middle East, but we really need to pay a bit more attention to this freak. I’ve been saying that for a while now, but that documentary solidified it for me. He’s Hitler all over again – but worse.
Size 00.
I was on BananaRepublic.com the other day, perusing the new spring and summer fashions, and lo and behold, there’s a new friggin’ size. As if being a size 0 just wasn’t thin enough, there is now a DOUBLE size zero. A 00. Yep. Something more for all those wannabe anorexics to aspire to. How many celery sticks do I have to forfeit now to get into a size 00? I really WANT to look like a heroin addicted 9-year old boy. Pleease? Wow. Pass the size 4 skirt and the pudding, please. Real boys like curves, ladies...
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Running Mix
It's Thursday. And, I count it as the end of the week, even though it isn't. Tomorrow will be a coaster. The past few hours have been the first time I've really breathed non-panic stricken air for four days. A $17 million proposal does that to me. But it was finally Fedexed and out the door at 3 pm, my wrap-up meeting was at 4, and I was home by 5:30. Ready to run.
When I'm stressed, I need to walk, run, or lift really heavy weights. It's just as good as meditation (although I'm working on learning how to sit for five whole minutes and do that, too). And, when I got on the treadmill tonight to finally expel some energy, I listened to my newest Running Mix on my IPod. You know, those songs that really get you going, and in my case, sometimes take me across finish lines. Case in point: Unchained (Van Halen) took me across the Disney Half Marathon finish line. The Foo Fighters got me across the Country Music Half Marathon finish, and I honestly can't remember what got me across the Chicago (whole) Marathon finish line. I think I was half looped and begging someone to kill me with a blunt stick.
I haven't made a list for a while, so I'm sharing my all-time favorite kick ass running mix songs. Many come and go, but these have always made the rotation in some way or another.
Top 20 Kick Ass Running Mix Songs, in no particular order:
When I'm stressed, I need to walk, run, or lift really heavy weights. It's just as good as meditation (although I'm working on learning how to sit for five whole minutes and do that, too). And, when I got on the treadmill tonight to finally expel some energy, I listened to my newest Running Mix on my IPod. You know, those songs that really get you going, and in my case, sometimes take me across finish lines. Case in point: Unchained (Van Halen) took me across the Disney Half Marathon finish line. The Foo Fighters got me across the Country Music Half Marathon finish, and I honestly can't remember what got me across the Chicago (whole) Marathon finish line. I think I was half looped and begging someone to kill me with a blunt stick.
I haven't made a list for a while, so I'm sharing my all-time favorite kick ass running mix songs. Many come and go, but these have always made the rotation in some way or another.
Top 20 Kick Ass Running Mix Songs, in no particular order:
- Unchained - Van Halen
- Cold Hard Bitch - Jet
- Baby I'm a Star - Prince
- In God's Country - U2
- All My Life - Foo Fighters
- Panama - Van Halen
- Crosstown Traffic - Jimi Hendrix
- Livin' Thing - ELO
- Just a Girl - No Doubt
- Alright - Janet Jackson
- Learn to Fly - Foo Fighters
- Rock and Roll - Led Zepplin
- Here it Goes Again - OK Go
- Never There - Cake
- Carry On - Crosby, Stills, and Nash
- Go Your Own Way - Fleetwood Mac
- Synchronicity II - The Police
- Highway to Hell - AC/DC
- Shambala - Three Dog Night
- She Sells Sanctuary - The Cult
At least these are the 20 I pick today. Ask me again in 10 years.
Monday, February 26, 2007
A shout out to one of my peeps...
This is a blog of my friend Ron. He and I were cubemates once upon a time at one of the many countless jobs I've held. He sent me the link to his new blog, and I believe it's cross-blog worthy - due primarily to the fact that he listened to George Carlin as a child and may be almost as weird as me.
:-)
http://twistedknottedandbent.spaces.live.com/
:-)
http://twistedknottedandbent.spaces.live.com/
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Fluff and Substance
I was reading Glamour tonight while watching South Park. I know...fluff. I require my fluff, thank you very much. While perusing Glamour, I was shocked to see a small snippet that mentioned a previously unpublished poem of Sylvia Plath's. Written in 1955 while she was in undergraduate school, the Blackbird online journal has the primary rights to publish...
http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v5n2/poetry/plath_s/typescript-final.htm
It's very Plath. Notable enough for me to stop watching South Park, put my Glamour down (I dog-eared my spot, of course), get up off my ass and put the link in my blog.
http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v5n2/poetry/plath_s/typescript-final.htm
It's very Plath. Notable enough for me to stop watching South Park, put my Glamour down (I dog-eared my spot, of course), get up off my ass and put the link in my blog.
Kermit Wisdom
When I was a little kid, I was obsessed with all things Muppet. I loved them all, really...Gonzo, Fozzie, the Swedish chef, and Beaker. Even those old guys in the balcony. But, I especially loved Kermit.
On my 8th birthday, I remember my entire party centered around Kermit. I got a Kermit puppet doll, I had a Kermit cake, and me and my four best girlfriends ventured out to see the Muppet Movie. I was a buck-toothed, skinny, awkward little girl with a bad haircut and I clearly remember wearing rainbow suspenders. And, yet, I was so cool. Very Mork from Ork. It's my most memorable birthday to date.
My sudden flashback to all things Kermit was jogged by my sister's Valentine's Day gift yesterday. A book called, It's not Easy Being Green, and Other Things to Consider. I read it from cover to cover last night, and I felt obliged to share my two favorite quotes from the book today. So, here goes.
The words say, "It's not easy being green," but the song is about knowing who you are. And in it you hear Jim's (Henson) message most clearly. He believed that people are good and that they want to do their best and that no matter how or why we might be different from anybody else, we should learn to love who we are and be proud of it."
~Ray Charles
Preach on, Ray.
Looking back, I think I liked Kermit because he was the unassuming leader of the bunch; he was just a good, quietly confident, sincere little green dude. Plain and simple. Kermit was the sound of reason in a world of chaotic whimsy and fun. He had fun, but kept it all in perspective. He soaked in the crazies around him, and he loved someone who was completely opposite of him. Because some things defy explanation. He loved the simple things in life. And, as a kid I adored him, but as an adult, I just plain get him and his little Zen-like philosophies. It's amazing how perceptive we are in our youth. It's amazing the things we latch onto without really knowing what we're latching onto, but we do it because it just feels good. Something all "grown-ups" should take heed of.
"Life's like a movie, write your own ending
Keep believing, keep pretending
We've done just what we set out to do
Thanks to the lovers, the dreamers, and you."
~Kermit
On my 8th birthday, I remember my entire party centered around Kermit. I got a Kermit puppet doll, I had a Kermit cake, and me and my four best girlfriends ventured out to see the Muppet Movie. I was a buck-toothed, skinny, awkward little girl with a bad haircut and I clearly remember wearing rainbow suspenders. And, yet, I was so cool. Very Mork from Ork. It's my most memorable birthday to date.
My sudden flashback to all things Kermit was jogged by my sister's Valentine's Day gift yesterday. A book called, It's not Easy Being Green, and Other Things to Consider. I read it from cover to cover last night, and I felt obliged to share my two favorite quotes from the book today. So, here goes.
The words say, "It's not easy being green," but the song is about knowing who you are. And in it you hear Jim's (Henson) message most clearly. He believed that people are good and that they want to do their best and that no matter how or why we might be different from anybody else, we should learn to love who we are and be proud of it."
~Ray Charles
Preach on, Ray.
Looking back, I think I liked Kermit because he was the unassuming leader of the bunch; he was just a good, quietly confident, sincere little green dude. Plain and simple. Kermit was the sound of reason in a world of chaotic whimsy and fun. He had fun, but kept it all in perspective. He soaked in the crazies around him, and he loved someone who was completely opposite of him. Because some things defy explanation. He loved the simple things in life. And, as a kid I adored him, but as an adult, I just plain get him and his little Zen-like philosophies. It's amazing how perceptive we are in our youth. It's amazing the things we latch onto without really knowing what we're latching onto, but we do it because it just feels good. Something all "grown-ups" should take heed of.
"Life's like a movie, write your own ending
Keep believing, keep pretending
We've done just what we set out to do
Thanks to the lovers, the dreamers, and you."
~Kermit
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
The happiest place on earth...
It's been a few weeks since my last confession. Or entry. Whatever.
I spent two weekends ago in sunny Orlando, Florida, where I ran the Disney Half Marathon with one of my best girlfriends. "Ran" is a very subjective term, as we sort of ran/walked it. You have to do that at Disney, I've learned. They have characters along the route with which you can get your picture taken. We stopped around mile 6 - right around the Magic Kingdom - and waited in line to get our pictures taken with Prince Charming and Cinderella. It's definitely different than any other race I've done. While I did it in under three hours, I wasn't so concerned about my time or beating any records. I mean, I had friggin' Chip and Dale cheering me on at the finish. Time? I don't need no stinkin' time.
I did wear Tinkerbell wings throughout the whole race, and I'm most proud of that. S.O. was there to cheer me on at miles 3, 8, and the finish. He even got a movie of me finishing, and you can hear the announcer over the microphone in the background saying, "Here comes Tinkerbell!"
You gotta love that.
On the way home from our weekend, we had a few travel mishaps, to say the least. Long story short, it took us 12 hours to get back to the cornfield. Weirdly enough, that particular day of traveling hell ended up being a good day. Not only did I get to see my Dad - he drove from Jaxvegas to Orlando and BACK to Jaxvegas just to get us on a plane that would get us back home, but I learned something about S.O. that day as well. I learned how the man I live with happens to be the most patient, calm, and accommodating man I've ever known. It astounded me, really. You think you know someone. I mean, you live with them. You share toothbrushes with them occasionally. You witness them scratch their ass when they think you're not looking. You take it all in stride, and you smile at those things. The little things are what make people interesting when all the hoopla is taken out of the daily equation. And, then there are those stand-out little things that seem to shine above the rest. Like a hand on your shoulder when you need it, a pat on the ass when you really need it, or a surprising, "It's all right, hon. We've got some cash, we have credit cards, and we have each other. We'll be O.K." And, with that, your eyes are opened to something you've never experienced before. With that, you realize that past baggage is a powerful drug in shaping your perception. You can continue to believe that life won't change. Or, you can choose to accept the change and be happy that you're where you are. Just like that.
I'm back home in the cornfield now; back in the 20-degree weather. Today was our first day of snow. That beautiful, flaky white stuff (before the gray sludge of February). It's about damn time. I become a kid in a Toys-R-Us when I see the first snow. People in my office think I'm completely mental, but I know that it's just their perception being the opposite of mine. I think when you're raised in the south, snow becomes a hot commodity, so to speak.
They say Disney is the happiest place on earth. While the rollercoasters are pretty fun, I don't know if I agree. Groucho Marx once said, "I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it." The happiest place on earth?
Wherever I am, whenever I decide.
I spent two weekends ago in sunny Orlando, Florida, where I ran the Disney Half Marathon with one of my best girlfriends. "Ran" is a very subjective term, as we sort of ran/walked it. You have to do that at Disney, I've learned. They have characters along the route with which you can get your picture taken. We stopped around mile 6 - right around the Magic Kingdom - and waited in line to get our pictures taken with Prince Charming and Cinderella. It's definitely different than any other race I've done. While I did it in under three hours, I wasn't so concerned about my time or beating any records. I mean, I had friggin' Chip and Dale cheering me on at the finish. Time? I don't need no stinkin' time.
I did wear Tinkerbell wings throughout the whole race, and I'm most proud of that. S.O. was there to cheer me on at miles 3, 8, and the finish. He even got a movie of me finishing, and you can hear the announcer over the microphone in the background saying, "Here comes Tinkerbell!"
You gotta love that.
On the way home from our weekend, we had a few travel mishaps, to say the least. Long story short, it took us 12 hours to get back to the cornfield. Weirdly enough, that particular day of traveling hell ended up being a good day. Not only did I get to see my Dad - he drove from Jaxvegas to Orlando and BACK to Jaxvegas just to get us on a plane that would get us back home, but I learned something about S.O. that day as well. I learned how the man I live with happens to be the most patient, calm, and accommodating man I've ever known. It astounded me, really. You think you know someone. I mean, you live with them. You share toothbrushes with them occasionally. You witness them scratch their ass when they think you're not looking. You take it all in stride, and you smile at those things. The little things are what make people interesting when all the hoopla is taken out of the daily equation. And, then there are those stand-out little things that seem to shine above the rest. Like a hand on your shoulder when you need it, a pat on the ass when you really need it, or a surprising, "It's all right, hon. We've got some cash, we have credit cards, and we have each other. We'll be O.K." And, with that, your eyes are opened to something you've never experienced before. With that, you realize that past baggage is a powerful drug in shaping your perception. You can continue to believe that life won't change. Or, you can choose to accept the change and be happy that you're where you are. Just like that.
I'm back home in the cornfield now; back in the 20-degree weather. Today was our first day of snow. That beautiful, flaky white stuff (before the gray sludge of February). It's about damn time. I become a kid in a Toys-R-Us when I see the first snow. People in my office think I'm completely mental, but I know that it's just their perception being the opposite of mine. I think when you're raised in the south, snow becomes a hot commodity, so to speak.
They say Disney is the happiest place on earth. While the rollercoasters are pretty fun, I don't know if I agree. Groucho Marx once said, "I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it." The happiest place on earth?
Wherever I am, whenever I decide.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Otis
For the past two weeks, I've been both traveling and then in deadline mode. Today I turned in a proposal - the last one due before the Thanksgiving holidays. I had planned on writing tonight about my trip to San Francisco. I have a lot to say about it...things I did, people I met, unbelievable sights...
But, I've been sidetracked by a piece of my past that has remained with me more than I ever realized until tonight. I'm absolutely wrecked, and while I usually don't blog when I'm slightly under par (OK, most of the time), I felt obliged to do so tonight. I'm not really sure where else to direct it, actually.
After I got home tonight, I did my usual...I put my laptop case and purse down, let Miss Tess Larue out of her cage, did the "good girl" dance with her and let her out to play a bit. Then, it was feeding time for her, and I sat down to read my email while listening to her munch. Just like I always do upon my return home from work. Much to my surprise, there was an email in my Inbox from my ex-husband. It's been a while since I've heard from him. And, it was titled, simply, Otis.
Otis was the very first dog that I got on my own. I got him in 1993 in Boston, while I was attending Harvard that summer along with my ex-husband. It was the best summer of my life, actually, that I can recall before I divorced. Boston is just one of those places that I loved instantly. I lived at 127 Commonwealth Avenue in the shittiest of student housing apartments. It was one of the hottest summers on record, and we had no air conditioning. We didn't have a kitchen. And, the linoleum on our apartment floor was cracked and aged - God knows it probably came with the place and was built in the Depression. But, I loved every inch of it, because it was in the best part of town - and it was Boston, for chrissake. There's nothing like that place. I was just 21 years old that summer, and it seems like it was yesterday.
One day, while strolling along Newbury Street (the Rodeo Drive of Boston), my ex and I walked into a pet shop. I remember looking through the cages and seeing Otis. I truly believe that animals pick us, and Otis definitely picked me that day. My ex had his eye on a little Shitzu, but I didn't notice any other dogs besides Otis. I had the owner take him out of his cage, and he ran around for a while before landing on my lap. His little puppy feet smelled like Fritos, and I knew I wouldn't be leaving there without him. So, I shelled out 150 bucks for the mutt (future vets would say he was part coonhound, part cocker spaniel, but we never really knew nor did I ever really care) - 150 bucks was steep, yeah, but it was Newbury Street, after all. And the rest was history.
We named him after Otis Redding. Being from Georgia, I had a sordid affair with Redding's music when I was in my early 20's. This was post-Bob-Marley phase and pre-Dave Matthews phase. Otis just looked like an Otis, too. There was never another name in the stars for him.
If someone asked me to describe that dog in one word, I'd have to say warmth. He was unconditional love...absolute joy...wrapped up in a dog. He was selfless, brilliant, and loyal to a fault. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. He had a wicked-unbelievable vocabulary by a year old. He was tolerant and gracious and unbelievably patient as a dog. He let children pull on his ears and adults pose him at will as he laid there, trusting and always docile. He was definitely part hound, and hounds in my experience are like my favorite type of person. They're just real in every sense. No frills, no bullshit.
I didn't have kids, and Otis was my kid. He was my first baby, and so today, when I got the email titled with his name, I just knew what it was going to say. I suppose it's like when a mother gets bad news about her kid. She just knows. And, I knew. So, I hesitated, took a deep breath, and opened it.
My ex wrote simply, "Otis was put to sleep today. I thought you should know."
I would go on and on about Odie...what he meant to me, but I think I've said enough. In fact, I dealt with it the best way I could at this point. After a few glasses of vodka and a river of tears, I had to write something about the dog I loved so very dearly. My blog is the only eulogy he'll ever get.
If my faith in God ever wavers, I remember that dog. And, I know, in an instant, that there is a God. Because that dog was truly an angel sent from him.
I'll miss you, sweet little Odie.
But, I've been sidetracked by a piece of my past that has remained with me more than I ever realized until tonight. I'm absolutely wrecked, and while I usually don't blog when I'm slightly under par (OK, most of the time), I felt obliged to do so tonight. I'm not really sure where else to direct it, actually.
After I got home tonight, I did my usual...I put my laptop case and purse down, let Miss Tess Larue out of her cage, did the "good girl" dance with her and let her out to play a bit. Then, it was feeding time for her, and I sat down to read my email while listening to her munch. Just like I always do upon my return home from work. Much to my surprise, there was an email in my Inbox from my ex-husband. It's been a while since I've heard from him. And, it was titled, simply, Otis.
Otis was the very first dog that I got on my own. I got him in 1993 in Boston, while I was attending Harvard that summer along with my ex-husband. It was the best summer of my life, actually, that I can recall before I divorced. Boston is just one of those places that I loved instantly. I lived at 127 Commonwealth Avenue in the shittiest of student housing apartments. It was one of the hottest summers on record, and we had no air conditioning. We didn't have a kitchen. And, the linoleum on our apartment floor was cracked and aged - God knows it probably came with the place and was built in the Depression. But, I loved every inch of it, because it was in the best part of town - and it was Boston, for chrissake. There's nothing like that place. I was just 21 years old that summer, and it seems like it was yesterday.
One day, while strolling along Newbury Street (the Rodeo Drive of Boston), my ex and I walked into a pet shop. I remember looking through the cages and seeing Otis. I truly believe that animals pick us, and Otis definitely picked me that day. My ex had his eye on a little Shitzu, but I didn't notice any other dogs besides Otis. I had the owner take him out of his cage, and he ran around for a while before landing on my lap. His little puppy feet smelled like Fritos, and I knew I wouldn't be leaving there without him. So, I shelled out 150 bucks for the mutt (future vets would say he was part coonhound, part cocker spaniel, but we never really knew nor did I ever really care) - 150 bucks was steep, yeah, but it was Newbury Street, after all. And the rest was history.
We named him after Otis Redding. Being from Georgia, I had a sordid affair with Redding's music when I was in my early 20's. This was post-Bob-Marley phase and pre-Dave Matthews phase. Otis just looked like an Otis, too. There was never another name in the stars for him.
If someone asked me to describe that dog in one word, I'd have to say warmth. He was unconditional love...absolute joy...wrapped up in a dog. He was selfless, brilliant, and loyal to a fault. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. He had a wicked-unbelievable vocabulary by a year old. He was tolerant and gracious and unbelievably patient as a dog. He let children pull on his ears and adults pose him at will as he laid there, trusting and always docile. He was definitely part hound, and hounds in my experience are like my favorite type of person. They're just real in every sense. No frills, no bullshit.
I didn't have kids, and Otis was my kid. He was my first baby, and so today, when I got the email titled with his name, I just knew what it was going to say. I suppose it's like when a mother gets bad news about her kid. She just knows. And, I knew. So, I hesitated, took a deep breath, and opened it.
My ex wrote simply, "Otis was put to sleep today. I thought you should know."
I would go on and on about Odie...what he meant to me, but I think I've said enough. In fact, I dealt with it the best way I could at this point. After a few glasses of vodka and a river of tears, I had to write something about the dog I loved so very dearly. My blog is the only eulogy he'll ever get.
If my faith in God ever wavers, I remember that dog. And, I know, in an instant, that there is a God. Because that dog was truly an angel sent from him.
I'll miss you, sweet little Odie.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Columbus Day
It's Columbus Day, so I had to post this. It kind of made me laugh, and doing that on a Monday these days is a feat in itself.
My Business Development Director (the one who thinks that Shawshank Redemption’s main theme is “Bull Queers take by force”) just came into my office and said:
“Happy Columbus Day. In honor of this day, I hope you will go out and meet some interesting people that you wouldn’t normally meet on an average day. Then, give them yellow fever and kill them.”
Ah yes. Holidays bring out the best in people.
My Business Development Director (the one who thinks that Shawshank Redemption’s main theme is “Bull Queers take by force”) just came into my office and said:
“Happy Columbus Day. In honor of this day, I hope you will go out and meet some interesting people that you wouldn’t normally meet on an average day. Then, give them yellow fever and kill them.”
Ah yes. Holidays bring out the best in people.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Fresh Lipstick and the Unconscious Family Code
Right after I arrived at work yesterday - I got a phone call. It was my sister, telling me simply, "Mom is in the Emergency Room. I'm on my way there."
Since that phone call, my life has been seemingly on hold.
I know I've talked about my mother in other blog entries, but I'll still begin this with a slight preamble. My mom is the chick who works in a hospital as a Patient Rep, but seems to hate doctors from a personal health standpoint. She's the one who stays awake during procedures if at all possible, believing it's simply unnatural and she may die from being put under. She is the woman who has surgery on her eye and drives herself home (looking like a pirate and swerving as she sees double, I assume), only to tell us about it three days after the fact. She is the woman who, when they ask, "What's your pain level on a scale from 1 to 10?" she will answer, "Oh, it's a 4." We know damn well that her 4 is the rest of the world's 10. She's the mom, when I was a kid and I wanted to stay home from school because I didn't feel well, that would look to see if my eyes were bleeding. If not, I'd have to get my butt to school.
She's not the kind of Mom who goes to the E.R.
To back up even more, last week was one of female family drama, where many past emotional traumas had come to the surface. Basically, my sister, mother, and I were in the process of "having words," as I like to refer to it. It was one of those "we put the fun in dysfunctional" type of peaks in the rough terrain of that treacherous family mountain range.
So, when I got the call, after my helacious morning in traffic, I didn't hesitate. I packed up my crap and I got right back into my car to make the trek back to the south side of town. The drive - the action of me getting in the car - was like blinking.
I showed up at the hospital to find my sister already there.
After 2 and a half hours of waiting, my sister, the nurse, started getting irritated. I don't claim to know a damn thing about hospitals, so I just tried to find something besides "Saved by the Bell - the Vegas episode" - on the television in my mom's examining room (while cracking a joke every once in a while to lighten the mood). Apparently, a nurse is supposed to check a patient's pain every 30 minutes or so, and moreover, my Mom is a friggin' employee at the hospital. My sister was slightly put off by this and subsequently ripped the staff new buttholes. A surgeon was in the room within 20 minutes. I was beaming with pride.
A lot of things go through your mind when you see a swollen belly and understand that there's a level of pain. The worrying mind tends to think of ovaries and tumors and the "C" word. We all think that crap. Especially when it runs in your family. Much to our amusement, though, Mom was diagnosed with appendicitis, and it had to come out as soon as possible. We were relieved, because it was a tangible outcome. So, we broke into the "dance". You know...that sibling dance that's done on the "heavy" occasions. I assume all siblings do it. You divide and conquer. You decide, in a very short period of time, what needs to be done, who will do it and how. I take this, you take that, drop off that car, pick up those clothes, stock her fridge with those groceries for her recovery, prep the bed, get some lunch, make sure we get her pain pills and antibiotics, alert the family, man phone calls, and of course, pick up her lipstick. She asked for that specifically. I knew she would also require lip liner. I realized at that moment that no matter where I went or how far I strayed from her, I was indeed her child.
This is the time when I tend to thrive, and it makes me wonder if I wouldn't have been a good hostage negotiator or something that requires on-the-spot, adrenaline-rush decision making. But, it's that unconscious auto-pilot thing we all have when a family catastrophe, or a bout with appendicitis, ensues.
It's funny how her appendix became inflamed after several harsh words and a few days of female family drama. I could get all hippie about that, but I'll save it for another day. It's funny how when faced with a situation such as this, my sister and I just stepped up without even thinking. It's funny how you do things for your family in such an unconscious way. It's amazing how a little appendix - a useless, meaningless, piece of the human body - can bring out the good in people.
Back to normal tonight. Mom is safe in her bed, tucked away with painkillers, her pocket solitaire, and some cheesy Saturday night movie. And, it's comforting to know that the family code prevails over drama.
Since that phone call, my life has been seemingly on hold.
I know I've talked about my mother in other blog entries, but I'll still begin this with a slight preamble. My mom is the chick who works in a hospital as a Patient Rep, but seems to hate doctors from a personal health standpoint. She's the one who stays awake during procedures if at all possible, believing it's simply unnatural and she may die from being put under. She is the woman who has surgery on her eye and drives herself home (looking like a pirate and swerving as she sees double, I assume), only to tell us about it three days after the fact. She is the woman who, when they ask, "What's your pain level on a scale from 1 to 10?" she will answer, "Oh, it's a 4." We know damn well that her 4 is the rest of the world's 10. She's the mom, when I was a kid and I wanted to stay home from school because I didn't feel well, that would look to see if my eyes were bleeding. If not, I'd have to get my butt to school.
She's not the kind of Mom who goes to the E.R.
To back up even more, last week was one of female family drama, where many past emotional traumas had come to the surface. Basically, my sister, mother, and I were in the process of "having words," as I like to refer to it. It was one of those "we put the fun in dysfunctional" type of peaks in the rough terrain of that treacherous family mountain range.
So, when I got the call, after my helacious morning in traffic, I didn't hesitate. I packed up my crap and I got right back into my car to make the trek back to the south side of town. The drive - the action of me getting in the car - was like blinking.
I showed up at the hospital to find my sister already there.
After 2 and a half hours of waiting, my sister, the nurse, started getting irritated. I don't claim to know a damn thing about hospitals, so I just tried to find something besides "Saved by the Bell - the Vegas episode" - on the television in my mom's examining room (while cracking a joke every once in a while to lighten the mood). Apparently, a nurse is supposed to check a patient's pain every 30 minutes or so, and moreover, my Mom is a friggin' employee at the hospital. My sister was slightly put off by this and subsequently ripped the staff new buttholes. A surgeon was in the room within 20 minutes. I was beaming with pride.
A lot of things go through your mind when you see a swollen belly and understand that there's a level of pain. The worrying mind tends to think of ovaries and tumors and the "C" word. We all think that crap. Especially when it runs in your family. Much to our amusement, though, Mom was diagnosed with appendicitis, and it had to come out as soon as possible. We were relieved, because it was a tangible outcome. So, we broke into the "dance". You know...that sibling dance that's done on the "heavy" occasions. I assume all siblings do it. You divide and conquer. You decide, in a very short period of time, what needs to be done, who will do it and how. I take this, you take that, drop off that car, pick up those clothes, stock her fridge with those groceries for her recovery, prep the bed, get some lunch, make sure we get her pain pills and antibiotics, alert the family, man phone calls, and of course, pick up her lipstick. She asked for that specifically. I knew she would also require lip liner. I realized at that moment that no matter where I went or how far I strayed from her, I was indeed her child.
This is the time when I tend to thrive, and it makes me wonder if I wouldn't have been a good hostage negotiator or something that requires on-the-spot, adrenaline-rush decision making. But, it's that unconscious auto-pilot thing we all have when a family catastrophe, or a bout with appendicitis, ensues.
It's funny how her appendix became inflamed after several harsh words and a few days of female family drama. I could get all hippie about that, but I'll save it for another day. It's funny how when faced with a situation such as this, my sister and I just stepped up without even thinking. It's funny how you do things for your family in such an unconscious way. It's amazing how a little appendix - a useless, meaningless, piece of the human body - can bring out the good in people.
Back to normal tonight. Mom is safe in her bed, tucked away with painkillers, her pocket solitaire, and some cheesy Saturday night movie. And, it's comforting to know that the family code prevails over drama.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Wise women quotes for the day....
We were incompatible in a lot of ways. Like for example, I was a night person, and he didn’t like me.
~Wendy Liebman
I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.
~Willa Cather
Any woman who thinks the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach is aiming about ten inches too high.
~Adrienne Gusoff
Ted needs someone to be there 100 percent of the time. He thinks that’s love. It’s not love – it’s babysitting.
~Jane Fonda
It’s afterward you realize that the feeling of happiness you had with a man didn’t necessarily prove that you loved him.
~Marguerite Duras
When men do dishes, it’s called helping. When women do dishes, it’s called life.
~Anna Quindlen
Feminism is an entire world of gestalt, not just a laundry list of women’s issues.
~Charlotte Bunch
The only real elegance is in the mind.
~Diana Vreeland, Vogue editor
~Wendy Liebman
I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.
~Willa Cather
Any woman who thinks the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach is aiming about ten inches too high.
~Adrienne Gusoff
Ted needs someone to be there 100 percent of the time. He thinks that’s love. It’s not love – it’s babysitting.
~Jane Fonda
It’s afterward you realize that the feeling of happiness you had with a man didn’t necessarily prove that you loved him.
~Marguerite Duras
When men do dishes, it’s called helping. When women do dishes, it’s called life.
~Anna Quindlen
Feminism is an entire world of gestalt, not just a laundry list of women’s issues.
~Charlotte Bunch
The only real elegance is in the mind.
~Diana Vreeland, Vogue editor
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
"All your life you are told the things you cannot do. All your life they will say you're not good enough or strong enough or talented enough; they will say you're the wrong height or the wrong weight or the wrong type to play this or be this or achieve this. THEY WILL TELL YOU NO, a thousand times no, until all the no's become meaningless. All your life they will tell you no, quite firmly and very quickly.
AND YOU WILL TELL THEM YES."
~Nike ad
AND YOU WILL TELL THEM YES."
~Nike ad
Friday, June 23, 2006
My review of Nacho Libre.
I finally saw last night what I had been anticipating for over a month now: Nacho Libre. It was everything I thought it would be, and I’m not just saying that because I’m a big Jack Black fan. It had a sort of mentally-challenged-Napoleon-Dynamite-Rocky’esque thing going on – and I’m also a huge closet fan of Rocky (1, 2, and 3 – not 4 or 5, because, well, I have taste, people).
I attended the movie with my SO and his 12-year old offspring, and we almost peed ourselves several times - especially at the genius fart humor strewn throughout, which proves that I apparently have the mentality of a 12-year old boy (fart humor, much like chimps, is comic gold).
Cinematic genius. A must see.
I attended the movie with my SO and his 12-year old offspring, and we almost peed ourselves several times - especially at the genius fart humor strewn throughout, which proves that I apparently have the mentality of a 12-year old boy (fart humor, much like chimps, is comic gold).
Cinematic genius. A must see.
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