Breakfast for Dinner

Two Months

2011-11-07T19:37:00.000-08:00

I'm creeping up on two months of unemployment. It doesn't get easier because every day that ends is another reminder that no one wants someone with my skillset. It is disheartening.

In other news: it's getting all Real Housewives of Montgomery up in here!!! Seriously, I wake up, work out, clean house, make dinner ... its crazy. Also, I'm kind of liking it a little!

Shh, don't tell anyone!

Mostly I feel displaced. But, my life thus far has proved to me that everything does indeed happen for a reason. It's just that I won't know that reason until I can look back.

So, for now I keep moving forward.

Curses Facebook

2011-10-23T21:18:00.000-07:00

(NOTE: Carlos, you should not read this post.)

Damn that Facebook. See, one of my ex boyfriends has finally joined Facebook. I won't lie, I'd been keeping an eye out for him because he keeps turning up in my naughty dreams.

(Carlos, I'm serious! You should stop reading this NOW.)

Here's the thing: I didn't date a lot in high school, and I certainly never got very far with the boys I dated. I had a fucked up self-image. I thought I was a big fat cow. A friend of mine posted the following and it made me laugh and cry.

Of course, when I look at say my senior prom picture I realize I had a SMOKING body! In fact I'm certain that if I had been aware of how good I looked, I would be riddled with STDs. I would have been much more promiscuous.

As a result, I didn't even get to third base until I'd already graduated high school. AND, it was with a boy two years younger than I. I was 18 and he was 16 - SCANDAL! But oh, his fingers played me like a violin. He'd have me breathless in minutes. And after . . . he'd hold me, kiss me and make sure that I felt safe. Looking back on all the times we fooled around, what I remember most is that he never pushed me. He let me decide how intimate I was ready to be with him. The perfect boy for a nervous virgin.

This guy was built like a big teddy bear, but that is where the warm and fuzzy stopped. We were both very headstrong so when we fought it was no holds barred. It never got physical, but there was a lot of yelling and screaming. A lot of fights that ended with slammed doors and cars screeching out of driveways.

His sister and I still keep in touch and she says that I was her favorite of his girlfriends because I didn't take his shit. It's true, I called him out in front of his friends, and if I didn't like something I'd tell him to call me when he quit acting like an asshole. I told her, "I would have loved to have been your sister-in-law, but he and I would have killed each other." She said, "Oh yeah, you're both Alphas."

It was the most exhausting relationship I've ever been in, and so when I left for college I ended it. Also, I didn't want to be the college girl coming back for prom. That just seemed weird.

Of course, now he's on Facebook so my naughty dreams seem to be amping up. I prefer this fantasy version of him. He does all the right things.

In my dreams he is the perfect partner: quiet.

Soul Mates

2011-10-14T20:30:00.000-07:00

I was having a discussion about soul mates with a girlfriend of mine. She raised an interesting point: if everyone has a soul mate, then what happens if you marry the wrong person? Have you thrown the soul mate theory off of its axis by marrying someone else's soul mate. If that's the case, she said, then this soul mate business is crap.

I don't believe in soul mates. I think that in your lifetime there will be a handful of people with whom you are sufficiently compatible with to spend the rest of your life. You're lucky if you meet one of them. Maybe that person is taken away from you (divorce, life, death, who knows), well you're super lucky if you meet someone else with whom you feel you can spend the rest of your life.

This idea of one person for everyone? I just don't buy it.

There is a phrase that was popular years ago: there is a lid for every pot. However, I happen to have a couple of lids in my kitchen that fit several different pots quite nicely.

So, there you go.

Resumes

2011-10-07T22:00:00.000-07:00

I'm really struggling with this resume thing. I've written several different versions for different job posting, but I keep wanting to just say, "I am what your looking for and then some.

My strengths are in instructional design and technical writing. I truly enjoy taking complicated technical jargon and translating it into a user friendly format. It doesn't sound exciting, but there is a deep sense of satisfaction from knowing that I'm making someone's job easier.

Unemployment - being without a job is disconcerting.

The Strange History of Don't Ask, Don't Tell

2011-09-26T10:43:00.000-07:00

If you haven't seen the documentary: The Strange History of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, then you should.

Am I a lesbian? It makes no difference.

I don't agree or disagree with issues of basic human rights based on how I'm personally affected. I look at the "issue" of gays in the military and ask myself, "Well, they are already there . . . why should they have to hide?"

They make other people uncomfortable.

I live in the deep south . . . my marriage to my white husband makes other people uncomfortable. Yes, in 2011 this still happens. I see it. It's not in my head. So, we shouldn't be allowed to be married? We should have to hide our relationship because it makes other people uncomfortable?

But that's different! How?

Because I can't help being hispanic and he can't help being white. I have a lot of gay friends, belive me they have no choice in whether or not they are gay.

What about group showers?

Now, I can't speak to the military here so I don't know how often service men and women have to shower together in a group. But, I do know that your beer belly, saggy ass having self is in no danger of being on the receiving end of an unwanted advance.

Can't they just serve quietly?

No. "They" won't keep trying to make sense of how to serve with dignity and honor while being asked to lie.

The Pentagon formally repealed its ban on gays and lesbians in uniform on Tuesday, September 20, 2011 at 12:01 a.m., allowing soldiers for the first time to reveal they are homosexual without fear of official retribution.

I regret not marking this on the date it happened.

I know one thing for sure. I don't have the courage it takes to volunteer for military service, but I'm damn thankful for our service men and women who do: straight, gay, lesbian, bi or transgender.

Now With A Lot Less Crying

2011-09-22T07:46:00.001-07:00

Being unemployed is weird.

I don't have to get up at the same hour I used to, but I still do. Then I lay there wondering where it is that I have to be and it's nowhere. I thought about pulling a Costanza and just show up where I used to work. Communication isn't exactly their forté so I bet I'd only get a few raised eyebrows.

But alas, I am not crazy so I'm not going to do that.

I've sent out countless cover letters and resumés. There are a few jobs that I'm genuinely interested in and a few others that would pay the bills. I am waiting to hear back on a few other leads as well.

Nothing new to say here, but the good news is I'm no longer crying once an hour. Yay!

Dog Park and Friends

2011-09-15T22:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I spent most of the day crying and fretting over how we're going to pay the bills in a few weeks. Then Steve came home and reminded me that we are in this together and we are going to get through it. After a shaky inhale I nodded my head and said, "I'm going to Zumba."

So, I called my good friend Heather and said, "Let's do this!" When I arrived at the gym Heather said, "I can't believe you're here. I'd be in bed." I laughed and said that was a pretty accurate description of most of my day. The thing is, I have been severely depressed before and I don't want to go down that road again. So, even when I don't want to I have to haul my ass out of bed and rejoin the living.

After class Heather and I made plans to meet the following moring with our dogs at the dog park. My dogs are a bit neurotic and Heather's dog is a tiny bit skittish. Heather and chatted and the dogs chased, peed and chased.Again, this activity made me haul my ass out of bed. I'm grateful to friends like Heather who are encouraging without being overwhelming.

When I returned home the dogs crashed and I worked on my resume. Making yourself follow a schedule will give you something for which to stay motivated.

Up in the Air

2011-09-14T19:03:00.000-07:00

It's been said that women write more in there diary when life changes are happening.

Lucky you!!!

So yesterday I was laid off due to a reduction in force. I did not see it coming as my performance was always regarded highly. Pardon my language, but I felt dick slapped.

The Director of HR and my supervisor walked into my office and closed the door. It is never good when they close the door. C said, "This is not going to be easy." My my supervisor, we'll call him The Albino, said, "No, it's not." I just said, "Oh."

And I thought to myself, "This is BULLSHIT." It was as if the adults from the Peanuts cartoons were talking to me: wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk, wonk.

I was given the option to pack my desk right then, or return the next day to do it. I just wanted to leave so I did. I grabbed my purse and got the hell out!.

Ahnalise Caedon Cabus - September 4, 2011

2011-09-11T18:03:00.000-07:00

My cousin D was raised with my parents. His mom lived in our house as well so we were definitely a different kind of family. I was eight when he was born so for me, D was really more of a little brother than a cousin. I even remember at one point overhearing him tell a friend that I'm his big sister. I've been lucky to have a little brother.

D is 28 now and he is at least six feet tall. He's built like a linebacker and he has the heart of a Care Bear. He and his girlfriend just had a tiny little baby girl. She weighed 5 pounds and 18 ounces at birth. She's a wee munchkin.

All of the clothes bought for her are for a much larger baby. I went out this weekend and purchased some swaddling cloths, 5-8lb onesies and a princess blanket for her crib. I have to admit I'm not crazy about her name: Ahnalise. I think Anne Elise or even Analeigh would have been lovely. But, she's adorable no matter what her name.

Newborns make my heartache. I look at their sweet little faces, and I hurt for the unknown challenges they'll have to face. The bullies on the playground whose asses I want to kick. The mean girls who will make middle shool a nightmare. But mostly I want to keep her from getting her heart broken for the very first time. I want to tell her she's beautiful and perfect and that stupid boy has no idea of the big mistake he just made.

Sweet Ahnalise I hope your years are filled with sweetness and light. I hope you know what a strong woman you're going to grow up to be one day. And never forget, good girls don't make history.

Love,

Your Aunt Melissa

Dem Damn Bones

2011-07-23T20:25:00.000-07:00

More than a decade ago I broke my kneecap. I was running, tripped and hit my kneecap straight on the sidewalk. It was rush hour and I fell behind some shrubs. I remember not wanting to get up because I was embarrassed. I wanted anyone that may have seen me to keep on driving by. I got up and hobbled home. What would normally have been a 10 minute walk took me about an hour. It was my right knee, and I knew I probably couldn't drive myself. I called a friend to take me to the emergency room and while I waited for her my knee doubled in size. It wasn't until the doctor told me that my knee was broken that I realized how seriously I'd hurt myself.

So, of course, six weeks ago when I rolled my right ankle I thought it was just a nasty sprain. I immediately went with Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation: RICE. I already had two drugstore ankle braces from previous sprains. I took some naproxen and called it a day.

Yes, I have sprained my right ankle several times. My feet turn out naturally, and combined with my clumsiness it is just a recipe for disaster. Typically though, the RICE method is a sure fix. This last time I took a week off from working out and when I did go back to the gym I started back with water aerobics. I didn't go back to Zumba because I didn't want to do all of that side-to-side motion. My ankle still felt vulnerable.

So, why did I finally go to the doctor? I had a deep pain in my foot that just never went away. See, I didn't connect this with the initial sprain because I thought that only involved my ankle. The pain I've been experiencing was more on the top of my foot and down by my heel. It wasn't even a constant pain. It would flair up when I was walking barefoot on the concrete at the pool, and the few times I pulled myself up the pool ladder with my right foot first. That last one there made me want to cry. I'm no waif, and hauling myself up by my injured foot (pretty much putting ALL of my weight right over the exact spot that hurt) practically made me pass out.

So, earlier last week I made an appointment to see a podiatrist. The night before my appointment I took a spin class. Even when the doctor was examining me I had a hard time pinpointing where my foot hurt the worst. Then she looked at the x-rays and said, "Hmm, does it hurt here?" She wrapped her hand around my foot and placed her thumb directly over the spot where I'd felt the most pain: then she squeezed.

HOLY SHIT! I may, or may not, have said that loud enough to be heard in the lobby.

Diagnosis: chipped bone in my heel.

I'm not sure how I was able to go six weeks before deciding to see a doctor. It might be that I have a high tolerance for pain (See walking home, albeit slowly, on a broken kneecap.) It also could be that the chip is in a location that is tucked up a little high and not always flexing like the toes. I know for sure that I've been favoring my left leg and making small adjustments to compensate for the injury.

Anyway, now I'm in an air cast that I have to wear for two weeks. I can take it off to sleep, shower and drive. Oddly, my foot seems to hurt more now. Is it because now I KNOW there is a chipped bone?

Too Much Information

2011-06-26T06:07:00.000-07:00

Last night as I was flipping channels I came across a soccer tournament. I most definitely did not stop to watch. I've just never gotten into soccer. However, every time I see a match on tv I think about my mom.

My mom has been a lifelong soccer fan. Her youngest brother played for a team in Honduras. I think this is how we fall in love with something. Someone we care about is involved in an activity, so we attend their events. A fondness for the activity just seems natural. (It's marching bands for me.)

I knew my mom liked soccer, but only recently did I realize she loves soccer.

When my mom started dating my father, going to soccer matches was definitely one of the things they did together. In fact, when my mom was seven months pregnant she was still attending matches.

I'm not surprised because I remember while we were growing up she watched televised matches; specifically the FIFA World Cup. The World Cup only runs every four years during the summer and since its location changes sometimes the matches are televised late at night or early in the morning. My brother and I would be on summer vacation and we'd be woken up by the sound of adults screaming at the tv. It was startling, and it was annoying.

The FIFA World Cup is set up like most tournaments. There's a bracket and you have to keep track of what happens in all of the matches to know who is going to move to the next round. You also have to track the point table. During the last World Cup I realized my mom was keeping track of the bracket and point table . . . in her head.

To say that I was impressed would be an understatement.

My dad was watching the matches, but I think he was just watching each match. Meanwhile, my mom had this computer in her brain telling her who had how many wins and losses and what this meant for the teams she was watching play.

My mom always undersells her intelligence. And this was a great reminder of what a smart cookie she is. Two years later I still can't sort out the point system.

Kicking Ass with the Paddle Board

2011-06-09T18:44:00.000-07:00

Today I had an Ah-Ha moment. I tread water in the deep end. I'm slowly but surely getting comfortable in the deep end.

After that I grabbed a kick board and did a few laps. For thirty minutes I kicked and kicked and raised my heart rate as I moved from one side of the pool to the other.

I loved it. I don't know that I will ever be skinny, but I'm definitely in a better place with regards to my depression.

Hydrocize - Water Aerobics is NOT for Sissies!

2011-06-05T20:24:00.000-07:00

I walked into the pool for my water aerobics class and took note of the instructor. She looked close to seventy. The other attendees looked just as ancient. My friend Heather and I felt this was going to be a cakewalk. Then I looked toward the deep and and saw one of the attendees doing pull-ups on the diving board . . . Fuuuuuuuuck. Needless to say, those
ladies smoked us. We very well may have wandered into one of those cocoon pools!

Summer is here!

2011-05-31T19:05:00.000-07:00

I really don't have a thing to blog about. The sad thing is, I know even that is not an original blog idea.

I read a couple of different blogs and most of them have at least one post about being unable to write. I don't even think it's writer's block. I think it's some sort of Facebook related degeneration.

See, even that is not original. I, like most bloggers, have been using Facebook as a substitute creative outlet. It's so convenient. Also, it doesn 't require much preparation and I know I have an audience.

As I mentioned in the title: summer is here! I say that because I struggle with depression and the dark winter days really wear me out. By the time Spring peeks around the corner The Bell Jar has a vaccuum seal. But, I feel good right now. The vegetable garden is full of ripening vegetables, and the pool at the Y is open. I am determined to get my money's worth out of the pool this summer.

I was there this afternoon for an hour, and it was delightful. I bailed on Body Pump (lifting free weights in an instructor-led environment), but a friend of mine was in there. It turns out her instructor skipped, and one of the "woo girls" tried to lead the class. I call them that because there is a group of women in every class at the Y. You know, when the instructor asks,

"How is everyone tonight?"
Response: Woo!

"How are ya'll doing out there?"
Response: Woo!

"Can ya'll here the music?"
Response: Woo!

The Woo Girls - from How I Met Your Mother:

What's a Woo Girl? A Woo Girl is a type of young woman, who like the cuckoo bird or the Whip-Poor-Will, gets get name from the signature sound she makes.

"Wooooo!"

A woo can be elicited from a certain song coming on the jukebox ("Sweet Home Alabama" plays); to half-priced shots; from a ride on a mechanical bull; to, well, pretty much anything.

The world absolutely needs Woo Girls. If there were no Woo Girls, there would be no 'Girls Gone Wild,' no bachelorette parties, no Las Vegas poolside bars. All of the things that you hold dearest would be gone.

The souvenir shot-glass industry would collapse; so would the body-glitter industry -- and, the stretch Hummer rental industry. Tiny cowboy hats would be worn only by tiny cowboys. And when 'Brown- Eyed Girl' would come up on the jukebox, all you would hear ... would be silence .... and 'Brown-Eyed Girl.' But who would "woo"? Who would "woo"? Would you? Would you ... "woo"?

I tried to define The Woo Girls to a woman I know her response was, "What's wrong with being a Woo Girl?"

Unsurprisingly, we're not close.

Stolen Glances

2011-03-14T22:40:00.000-07:00

For the most part we see people for who they are now. But sometimes, if you're paying attention, you can see a flash of who that person was as a child.

A few months ago I was having a conversation with a co-worker and I made him laugh. It was a head thrown back, mouth wide open laugh that doesn't hold anything back. In that instant I saw what he looked like as a 10-year-old boy. For that one moment he was free.

This happened again recently. I saw a video of a man I knew as a boy. He has grown up to be a fine specimen of a man. But in this video, he was trying to set up a video conference with his parents. There is a moment where he's struggling with where to put the camera. His eyes shifted from left to right and you could see the frustration/worry in them. It caught me off guard because in that second I saw the boy I once knew.

I don't know if anyone ever sees the girl I was once. I've got to start looking for her.

Funky Feet

2011-03-11T20:40:00.000-08:00

A friend that works with me has stanky feet.

Right, not stinky feet . . . feet so rank they are stanky.

After sloshing through the puddles in the parking lot, she walked into my office\and said, "My feet are stinky." I said, "You didn't have to announce it. I was well aware."

So we got into this argrument trying to determine if it's her feet that stink or her shoes that stink. She said, "No, it's because I don't wear socks with my shoes (women's dress shoes), and that is why my feet stink."

"Okay," I said, "So all of the shoes that you put your feet in are stinky." She said, "Yes, it's the shoes."

I said, "Girl, if all of the panties that you put on were stinky would you blame it on the panties?"

Her, "No, that means my pussy stinks. Wait, what . . . oooooooooh."

Me, "Yeah girl, it's not the shoes."

Crazy Train

2011-02-22T20:25:00.001-08:00

Lately I've felt a bit manic.

My emotions are all over the place, and I've fallen back on some old, unhealthy behavior patterns. I've written about my history of trich, and I've recently relapsed. I'm even pushing my sweet husband with my cray-cray mood swings.

I'm working hard to figure out the source of this latest episode, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Is it work stress? Is it my 36th birthday looming before me? Is it the epic fail that was Valentine's Day? I don't know.

I know I need to figure this out before my sweet husband runs out of patience.

C - please don't go blabbing about this to mom and dad.

I Am What I Am

2011-02-15T21:19:00.000-08:00

No mother fucker, you are who you choose to be. Who the hell do you think you are? Popeye!

I've met so many people who try to excuse their shitty behavior by trying to say they just can't help it. It's who they are. Assholes.

My dad is a gruff, rude, son-of-a-bitch who has rarely said an encouraging thing to me. He says he doesn't mean any harm, it's just who he is.

I work with a woman who is an attention whore that likes to throw shade. But you know, that's just the way she is.

Listen up people: YOU ARE WHO YOU CHOOSE TO BE.

I'm not perfect. There is shit I say and do that I'm not proud of, but I don't ask you to accept it because that's just who I am, and I'm not going to change. I work every day to make conscious decisions that affect my behavior. Being a bitch comes easily to me. Remarks that can cut you to your core are always geing formed in my head. But I'm an adult and I don't just come out and tell you, "Honey, I've known dozens of girls like you and you all think you're special. Your laugh is brash and your looks are flashy, but there is at least one of you at every trailer park. Get a ladder and use it to get over yourself."

I think these things, but I don't let myself be that heinous person because then I'd be Janice Dickinson.

I'm just so tired of this "I can't change" attitude.

It's bullshit.

We'll Have a Gay Old Time

2011-02-09T17:21:00.000-08:00

I didn't intentionally set out to marry a closeted man, but I do have a long history with gay men. I have in fact been referred to as a f@g h@g. I hate that term.

I hate the word f@g, and I would definitely never refer to myself as a h@g.

Instead, I prefer to think of myself at the center of an amazing coterie of men.

It's My Life

2011-02-01T21:06:00.000-08:00

If this blog were my child, I would have been reported to Child Protective Services a long time ago. The charge? Neglect.

When I started this blog I was a fucking mess. I had left my ex and I was falling in love with Steve.Oh, and yeah, I'd just quit my job and didn't have anything lined up. I had a lot going on, but things have calmed down considerably: thank god. However, I'm going to try to be a better momma and check in more often this year. So - every Tuesday evening I'll submit a new post.

I'm in a better place now. I'm married to my dreamboat husband, and I have a job that I absolutely adore. No really, I am thankful every day that on my drive to work I don't burst into tears. I've done that before and it's no fun.

I still deal with depression. It's something that I'll always have to fight. I don't just take meds. I try to get plenty of sleep, eat well and exercise. I still engage in bouts of trichotillomania. If I let things slide at work for too long I get anxious and I start to pull at my hair. I know my triggers at least so I'm managing my time better and lessening the frequency with which I feel behind at work.

When I'm not at work I'm kicking it at home. Steve is the best match for me. He appreciates laying in bed for hours on Sunday morning. We wake up, have breakfast and sometimes crawl back into bed with our coffee. He watches Headline News and I eventually fall back asleep with my head on his chest.

On Saturdays sometimes we go to estate sales - he looking for antique tools and me looking for vintage kitchenware. If the weather is nice we'll go to the Farmer's Market and take the dogs to the park. If we have a little extra in the account we take another step towards completing our kitchen remodel.

We live a quiet life, but it is our beautiful life.

Choosing a Major, Making a Life

2010-12-12T21:50:00.000-08:00

This is only tangentially related to my minor.

I majored in English in college because it was the coursework that I felt I could pursue without failing. I enjoy reading, and I enjoy discussing what I've read. I knew for sure that I didn't want to teach. Maybe somewhere along the way while watching Thirtysomething I thought, "I could go into advertising." My family never ]encouraged/acknowledged our adolescent career desires so I kept this to myself. I never actually thought, "There are industries where good writers are needed."

Hell no! I literally thought I can read and write . . . English it is!

Of course, you aren't allowed to take classes in only your concentration. Part of the benefit of being college educated is that you have a well-rounded world view and take courses that challenge and push you. But, I tried my damndest to choose electives that would just let me keep reading, writing and talking.

Once I got through the Requirements I was free to take the classes I wanted as long as they fit under my curriculum. My last two years of school were the best ever. I had to take an ass load of electives in an area of approved concentration. The feminist in me gravitated towards Womens' and Gender Studies. Also, this program cross-referenced a lot of courses with the English Department. As a result, I graduated with a Women's and Gender Studies Minor.

I loved it!!! I was with a group of women who revelled in their femaleness. They WERE NOT MAN HATERS, they simply refused to be seen as "lesser than" because they had ovaries. It was a wonderful time to be a young woman in my 20s. We weren't Gloria Steinem or Betty Freidan or Belle Hooks, but we sure felt we had the potential to be.

So here I was surrounded by all of this amazing female energy and I don't ever remember being exposed to: L7, The Indigo Girls, Lucinda Williams, Ani DiFranco . . .

What the fuck happened to my musical education?

Things you never forget

2010-11-02T19:04:00.000-07:00

In 2004, New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey held a press conference to announce that he is a gay american. That wasn't really the BIG bombshell.The issues here were that he was married to Dina McGreevey and McGreevey had given his Israeli lover, Golan Cipel a key position as New Jersey's Homeland Security Advisor. Ruh roh.

What I remember about McGreevey's coming out is that his wife Dina was on stage WITH HIM during the press conference. From the look on Mrs. McGreevey's face you KNEW that even she hadn't had enough time to process the information. Maybe she was thinking, "Is this really happening? Am I in the middle of an awful dream?" There were allegations that Dina willingly engagned in threesomes with her husband.

Here is Dina's statement regarding how she felt when he told her privately: Dina says she was in shock after what Jim had told her. "It was all so new, and it just hit me like a ton of bricks, and I wasn't absorbing it," she says. "I just started to cry, and I said to him, 'What does that mean for us?' And he said, 'I need you more than ever.' … He had tears in his eyes, and I was just sobbing."

This is how I remember finding out about my ex-husband. He's there saying these words and you just sort of here this buzzing sound that you hope is not a warning sign that you are about to pass out. You hear it and you think, "I can't handle this right now." You can't handle what you are hearing, how you have to process it, or how you have to react to it. It's impossible.

In an interview given on Good Morning America Dina McGreevey says, "You know he had the entire day [that he resigned] scripted. His entire life had been choreographed, and even as his world was falling apart, he was still trying to script everything and making sure that day went as he wanted it."

This infuriates me. You are, after all, still an actor in his play so he is going to tell you how this is going to go. And you go along with it. Maybe because he is a master-manipulator, but mostly because you are so shell-shocked you don't know what to think. You ask yourself, "How can I handle this with dignity." What you really want to be doing is beating the mother fucker on the back of the head with an iron skillet.

I've been in Dina's shoes. I wonder what she was thinking while she stood next to him on that stage. Was she thinking, "Awwwww, helllllls NO! Somebody better come take my earrings cuz this here is about to get nasty!" I really thought she looked frightened. But now, she's been asked to stand by him and that she has to be "Jackie Kennedy" during this. I love the occasional pictures of Dina off to the right and just behind McGreevey. She is totally giving him the side-eye!

Oprah asks Dina: Did Jim apologize? "If that's what you call it," Dina says. "It was a pathetic attempt at an apology."

A few days after the news conference, Dina says she and Jim went away for the weekend to escape the press. "I had complained to some of his friends that he had never apologized," she says. "And he came back into the room and said, 'For the record, I apologize.' And that was like a slap in the face. I mean, I rather would have had him not say anything."

I did this. I asked, "Are you sorry?" He said, "Yes." I said, "But you're really sorry you got caught, not that you did it." He said,"Yes." A slap in the face indeed.

At some point my ex made some sort of remark about how he had never allowed me to get to really know him. That he had hidden such an essential part of himself that he had never really been himself with me.

I can look back at this time in my life and see that the "essential part of himself" is pretty clear to me now. If I had known he was so incapable of remorse I would never have entered into that relathionship much less that marriage. But a good manipulator never lets you see his tricks. You just fall for the illusion.

Why write this now? Because this is a difficult time of the year for me. Without realizing what is going on, I start to feel this nebulous anxiety. As if at an moment I'm going to crash into another brick wall. I'm just trying to acknowledge the feelings, process them and move on.

First Anniversary

2010-10-26T19:36:00.000-07:00

It's the first anniversary of my employment where I work. I'm excited, but mostly relieved because I work at a place where people like and respect me. I'm also comfortable there. I really do love my job, but I'm still asking myself, "Is there more?" What am I waiting for? Is it passing me by without me realizing it?

I think I may have mentioned this in an earlier post. When I was in college I did a research paper on women's diaries. It was interesting. What I found was that:

* Women write in their diaries in spurts.
* If there are significant life events happening, a woman will write, write write
* If life is plugging along at a normal pace then women don't pick up their diary as much.
* Women don't tell the truth in their diaries. Not the entire truth.

The thing of it is, if you write it down then you have placed yourself in a vulnerable position by committing to paper your private thoughts.It's worse if you are using something that looks like a like a diary or journal. What's more tempting for a snoop that someone's deepest darkest thoughts.

So, even in a journal women still feel too inhibitied to speak the truth. Writing our thoughts means it's out there for someone to find. It's no longer theirs.

What do I do now? Really tell the truth? Mention that sometimes I really do wish I could just lay down and die. I'm not suicidal, I don't think. But I do just want to check out.

I look at my fat body and even though it continues to amaze me in its adaptability, I wish I was in someone else's skin. I hide when I see a camera or mirror. Is this really what you want to hear? That sometimes just the thought of dishes in the sink or laundry in the basket completely overwhelms me.

2010-09-19T22:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I don't feel like my life fits me. I love my husband, I enjoy my job, but I'm itching to do something else.

Some friends would tell me it's time to write my novel . . . I don't even know what I'd write. I can barely put words together for this blog.

This blog . . . blogging . . . it feels so over. I guess it matters. Sometimes it gives me a little sanity by letting me empty out the worries that are cluttering my brain.

I just don't know who where I'm supposed to be right now.

Should I be writing more? About what? Just writing?

Blergh!

Making Friends is Hard.

2010-07-11T18:03:00.000-07:00

I don't go out of my way to make friends at a new job. Not because I'm unfriendly, but mostly because I want to make a good impression and keep my head bent to get the job done. I'm also pretty introverted around people I don't know well. Which, I guess is the problem, how will you ever get to know anyone well if you keep to yourself.

People who don't know me very well usually describe me as sweet or nice. The thing is, I'm really more acerbic than sweet. I get along with other people just fine, but my internal monologue is not for the thin skinned.

When I first started my current job I found out they offered a "boot camp" workout. I guess being in a new environment made me brave because I signed up for the damn class. It was eight weeks of intense workouts with people I didn't know. I did it to network with a small group of people. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. It's hard to have a conversation when you're gasping for breath. Also, the boot camp people were so damn wholesome.

I still don't have a huge circle of friends at work, but there are a few people who pop their heads into my office just to chat. The two people I'm REALLY close with I cyber-stalked on Facebook before approaching them in person. That sounds a lot creepier than what I actually did, but if you're really an introvert I think you know what I mean.

I hope.

One person I "friended" on FB and realized that he and I have a lot of the same friends, but we've never met. He even knows my neighbors! We'd chatted a few times at work and gone to lunch together when one day he stopped by my office and said, "I'm always at ___ on Friday nights, so if you and your husband want to stop by join us! It's a standing invitation!" I know this sounds infantile, but I was really excited because it means he really likes me! We've since met him on Friday nights and had a fantastic time.

The other person I'm close with at work has been a pleasant surprise. There was a woman I kept running into around my side of town. I mean at the gym, Wal-Mart, the flea market . . . I figured it would be good to know her because she must live near me and it's good to know someone who can give you a ride to work if you need it. It turns out she lives less than five minutes away from me, and she's awesome!

We have the same sense of humor, and we're both wretchedly inappropriate. If we're together you can bet we're giggling. She's also got a foul mouth, so you know I feel right at home! We've already gotten together after work to share a bottle of wine and kvetch about work.

So, that's what's been going on with me. Working and making friends.

Let's Talk About Sex

2010-06-16T20:44:00.000-07:00

I watch a lot of teen dramas and the way the "first time" is approached always interests me.

I saw Little Darlings a few days ago and the way Kristy McNichol looks after her character has had sex for the first time just makes me want to hug her. She just looks so awful. As a girl, you're force fed this line that sex is beautiful and amazing.

The first time though it just isn't. It's awkward. It's uncomfortable. It feels like a violation. Someone has literally been inside of you.

Don't get me wrong: I like sex now. I even think sex isn't really a big deal once you've done it. But why does it have to be so weird in the beginning.

The other thing I don't get about tv is that young couples always go from making out to sex. There is never any in-between. There is no third base - just sliding into home plate. I had a lovely boyfriend when I was 18. He was younger, but let's say he'd had a lot of girlfriends. He never pressured me to have sex with him, but we fooled around.

He was the best boyfriend a virgin teenage girl could ask for. He was sweet, kind and gentle. He taught me the importance of intimacy. I never slept with him, but I wish that I had. I wish my first time would have been with someone who made me feel safe in his arms. Someone who would have held me afterwards and made sure I was okay. But, I ran from him. Probably because my feelings for him were so big they scared me.

Instead I slept with the wrong choice in a nasty boy's dorm. I desrved better.

If I had to speak to a class full of high school girls I would tell them: in the end, sex isn't really a big deal. Make sure you're safe and that you know what you want. But that first time, don't just do it to get it over with. Do your best to make sure you feel secure and respected that first time.

Happy Easter! Bock, Bock

2010-04-04T16:11:00.000-07:00

I don't live FAR from home, but I live far enough away that visiting is considered a trip. This is the first year in a number of years that my parents haven't visited me for Easter. I am lucky that my parents are still able to make the 4.5 hour drive, and while I love them with all my heart sometimes it's nice to celebrate a holiday on your own.

On the downside, I don't have an Easter basket this year. I know! I'm 35 and I can get my own damn basket, but it's sweet getting one from mom.

I celebrated Easter in the garden this year. I keep thinking the butterfly garden is DONE and then another plant catches my eye. Today it was Joystick Lilac. Ages ago I told my therapist that I didn't think suicidal people gardened. Maybe I was saying it to reassure myself that while I was depressed, I was okay.

I still think this though. Sure, it overly simplifies a complicated issue but think about it. Planting a garden means that you are looking forward to watching something thrive. Not only are you looking forward to it, you're planning to stick around and help it.

I finally got around to weeding and planting the vegetable garden, too. I have the worst farmer's tan I've ever had in my life, and I'm really tired. Even though I want a nap something awful, I had a great time today.

I love this time of year. The dogwood is in full bloom and the azalea bushes are loaded with buds. A lot of the things that I planted last year are coming back to life.

I didn't spend Easter Sunday in church, but believe me when I tell you I was surrounded by the power of resurrection.

Gardening

2010-03-29T20:23:00.000-07:00

I didn't grow up working in the garden. My mom had a small bed where she'd plant impatience and we had a lot of potted plants in our house.

It hasn't been until the last few years that I've really enjoyed getting in the yard and planning what I'm going to nurture and grow.

I have huge plans for the front bed. The pink azaleas will be blooming soon. The purple and gold pansies are teasing my Alabama neighbors. I split the double-bearded irises so I don't think they will bloom this year, but I'll wait. It will be worth it. The lilies are also doing something a little different this year, too.

I've also put in some lantana, petunias, electric lime coleus and caladiums. I can't wait to see what happens!

2010-03-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

Recently I found out a girl I was friends with in elementary school committed suicide.

We weren't best friends, but she did spend the night at my house at least once, and since we lived down the street from each other we hung out some.

I hadn't seen her since the eighth grade, so this isn't aobut how I wish I could have saved her.

I found her obituary and went to the website for the funeral home. There is a place there where you can leave condolences for the family. A lot of them referred to her "being released from her pain" and that she was "lost." Friends that I have talked to have said that she was bipolar. There are medications for bipolar disorder, but those who have this disease have an awful time staying on it. As excruciating as the downs are, the ups are so fantastic they seem worth the downs. It's really an incidious disease.

It breaks my heart that this beautiful young woman, with her dark bouncy curls and sparkling green eyes, was in so much pain that suicide seemed like the only viable answer. After you've been depressed long enough you know how to play at being "normal." My own therapist didn't even know how badly I was doing until I let it slip that I'd been getting home every evening and crawling into bed. I knew it was bad and I didn't want him to know everything. Was she play-acting up until her final days?

I'm better now. I don't just walk through the door and go straight for the bed. When I get home I go in the backyard and play with the dogs. I take the time to enjoy the feeling of the warm sun on my skin. I walk around the garden to see what's coming up. But, when things were bad I did find myself in a spiral of negative thinking, "Is this all there is? I just wake up, go to work, come home, go to bed and start it all over again. Day after day, after day . . . " But that's NOT all I do, it's just all that I could see then.

I just wish she had been able to stop the spiraling. I wish she'd been able to get off the ride without unclipping the safety harness.

Jinkies!

2010-03-09T21:50:00.000-08:00

35

2010-03-08T18:19:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine from high school turned 35. My friend Michelle turns 35 on the 11th and I turn 35 on the 18th.

When I turned 30 it didn't bother me. In fact, I celebrated it. Maybe though it's because I was free of my ex.

But whatever, you know.

I don't even want children, and yet I envy my friends that have had them. At least they can look at their children as something they created. An indelible mark that they existed. Proof that they were here.

What have I done? What will I leave behind?

'Cause You Gotta Have . . . Friends

2010-02-19T22:13:00.000-08:00

The last three days have been AWESOME!

My friend B has been in Montgomery, and it's been almost a decade since I last saw him. We chat on Facebook, but it's not the same as getting to hang out with someone.

Steve, B and I hung out at the house tonight, ate homemade jambalaya and watched a movie. 10 minutes after sitting on the sofa and tucking into a bowl of jambalaya, B relaxed into the sofa, kicked off his shoes and propped his feet up on the steamer trunk. Just like old times, but better.

My heart grew three sizes.

Aww Baby . . .

2010-02-07T19:05:00.000-08:00

Come here sugar . . . mama's got her arms wide open!

Just a Man

2010-01-29T16:34:00.000-08:00

At some point you realize your parents are just people. Real people with flaws who don't have any special powers. It's a normal part of growing up.

But, I don't even like my father as a person.

What now?

" .... go marching in."

2010-01-24T23:27:00.000-08:00

As Hartley's kick headed straight at the center of those uprights I remained silent. I just waited because even though it looked good you just never know. It could be short. I've seen that.

And then it happened: THE SAINTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!

Those boys made me cry again, only these are tears of joy.

I want to believe. I want to say, "They have really changed. This time it really IS different."

I want it to be.
Please let it be.

Who DAT!!!!!

Oh When the Saints . . .

2010-01-24T16:12:00.001-08:00

I've been a Saints fan since elementary school.

I wanted so much to be the apple of my father's eye that I'd watch the games with him. I didn't get what was going on, but I'd listen intently as he absent-mindedly explained the game to me. It took me years before I really understood what was going on.

My patience paid off because as I got older my dad would take me to the Superdome to watch the games. Being the world's biggest cheapskate we only went when someone in his office decided not to use his tickets. The Saints were not a winning team at the time so we went to a number of games.

I can still hear the crack of the helmets when they smack against each other. The sound of a perfectly kicked field goal. Morten Andersen was our only hope: The Great Dane.

You learn a lot of lessons as a Saints fan.

You learn about persistence, loyalty, hope. If you've been a fan for any length of time you realize you can't be a fair-weather fan. Loving the Saints also means learning to accept disapointment, loss and heartache.

Even knowing that, I let myself dream. The 2006/2007 season felt like the payoff after all those years of being a fan. We were so close and then on January 21, 2007 when the Saints lost 39–14 to the Chicago Bears in the NFC Championship game something happened.

I was running errands near the end of the game, and I was listening to it on the radio. Parked in the lot of Petsmart I laid my head on the steering wheel, and I cried like a baby.

I am not even kidding when I tell you that up until that point I fantasized about the announcer yelling, "And the SAINTS have won the Super Bowl."

I felt like a fool for crying over a game, but even worse I felt like a fool for allowing myself to even think WINNING the Super Bowl was a possibility. Since then I've taken the whole "Fool me once . . . " attitude towards the Saints. Then this season happened.

I told my mom that I broke up with the Saints because it's too much like staying with an abusive boyfriend. Year after year you tell yourself, "This time it will be different," and then they go and break your heart again. Even with the score at Saints 45-14 with a two-minute warning I was certain the Saints would blow it last week. But they didn't.

Now here we are.

Fashion Faux Pas

2010-01-04T20:44:00.000-08:00

I grew up in the 80s and started to care about fashion in the 90s. Please understand that when I say "care" I really just mean I became aware that clothes were for more than just covering up.

I loved Madonna's Like a Virgin look, but I knew I couldn't pull it off. Sadly, I tried. Then I saw Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink. In Sixteen Candles she had that great hat and the navy blue shirt and long skirt. I tried to pick clothes that had similar silhouettes, but they just made me like I was on a day trip from "the home."

Then I really wanted to look like her in Breakfast Club. Of course, she was covered in head-to-toe Ralph Lauren. But . . . oh . . . those boots she wore in that movie: I still covet them.

Or course, who can forget the wardrobe she had in Pretty in Pink. Andy was living Project Runway. The prom dress though? Yeah, not so much. Still though, I wanted to wear those cute little thrift store outfits, but I just looked homeless.

I'm still trying to figure out my

Why I Want a Wife

2009-10-20T20:51:00.000-07:00

First off, I totally ganked this off the internet. My SIL and I were talking about how I would like a wife to cook me dinner and she'd like a wife so that she can have a designated driver.

By Judy Syfers (1971)

(Editors Note: This classic piece of feminist humor appeared in the premier issue of Ms. Magazine and was widely circulated in the women's movement.)

I belong to that classification of people known as wives. I am A Wife.

And, not altogether incidentally, I am a mother. Not too long ago a male friend of mine appeared on the scene fresh from a recent divorce. He had one child, who is, of course, with his ex-wife. He is looking for another wife. As I thought about him while I was ironing one evening, it suddenly occurred to me that I too, would like to have a wife. Why do I want a wife?

I would like to go back to school so that I can become economically independent, support myself, and if need be, support those dependent upon me. I want a wife who will work and send me to school. And while I am going to school I want a wife to take care of my children. I want a wife a wife to keep track of the children's doctor and dentist appointments. And to keep track of mine, too. I want a wife to make sure my children eat properly and are kept clean. I want a wife who will wash the children's clothes and keep them mended. I want a wife who is a good nurturing attendant to my children, who arranges for their schooling, makes sure that they have an adequate social life with their peers, takes them to the park, the zoo, etc. I want a wife who takes care of the children when they are sick, a wife who arranges to be around when the children need special care, because, of course, I cannot miss classes at school. My wife must arrange to lose time at work and not lose the job. It may mean a small cut in my wife's income from time to time, but I guess I can tolerate that. Needless to say, my wife will arrange and pay for the care of the children while my wife is working.

I want a wife who will take care of my physical needs. I want a wife who will keep my house clean. A wife who will pick up after my children, a wife who will pick up after me. I want a wife who will keep my clothes clean, ironed, mended, replaced when need be, and who will see to it that my personal things are kept in their proper place so that I can find what I need the minute I need it. I want a wife who cooks the meals, a wife who is a good cook. I want a wife who will plan the menus, do the necessary grocery shopping, prepare the meals,serve them pleasantly, and then do the cleaning up while I do my studying. I want a wife who will care for me when I am sick and sympathize with my pain and loss of time from school. I want a wife to go along when our family takes a vacation so that someone can continue care for me and my when I need a rest and change of scene. I want a wife who will not bother me with rambling complaints about a wife's duties. But I want a wife who will listen to me when I feel the need to explain a rather difficult point I have come across in my course of studies. And I want a wife who will type my papers for me when I have written them.

I want a wife who will take care of the details of my social life. When my wife and I are invited out by my friends, I want a wife who take care of the baby-sitting arrangements. When I meet people at school that I like and want to entertain, I want a wife who will have the house clean, will prepare a special meal, serve it to me and my friends, and not interrupt when I talk about things that interest me and my friends. I want a wife who will have arranged that the children are fed and ready for bed before my guests arrive so that the children do not bother us. I want a wife who takes care of the needs of my quests so that they feel comfortable, who makes sure that they have an ashtray, that they are passed the hors d'oeuvres, that they are offered a second helping of the food, that their wine glasses are replenished when necessary, that their coffee is served to them as they like it. And I want a wife who knows that sometimes I need a night out by myself.

I want a wife who is sensitive to my sexual needs, a wife who makes love passionately and eagerly when I feel like it, a wife who makes sure that I am satisfied. And, of course, I want a wife who will not demand sexual attention when I am not in the mood for it. I want a wife who assumes the complete responsibility for birth control, because I do not want more children. I want a wife who will remain sexually faithful to me so that I do not have to clutter up my intellectual life with jealousies. And I want a wife who understands that my sexual needs may entail more than strict adherence to monogamy. I must, after all, be able to relate to people as fully as possible.

If, by chance, I find another person more suitable as a wife than the wife I already have, I want the liberty to replace my present wife with another one. Naturally, I will expect a fresh, new life; my wife will take the children and be solely responsible for them so that I am left free.

When I am through with school and have a job, I want my wife to quit working and remain at home so that my wife can more fully and completely take care of a wife's duties.

My God, who wouldn't want a wife?

'Cuz You've Got to Have Friends

2009-10-01T20:25:00.000-07:00

I love Facebook. I'm not the best person on the phone because the silences make me squirm. But texting I love and Facebook is perfect for that means of communication.

I love my Facebook girlfriends because they all elicit from me big, brassy, raucous laughs.

I just had a septoplasty done to correct a deviated septum. I've always known I have a deviated septum. The first ENT I ever saw was when I was in HS and when he looked up my nose he said to my dad, "Wow! You've got to see this!" My septum started out straight and then took a 90 degree turn. He said one day I'd probably have problems with it, but why do the surgery when it isn't necessary now. That was in 1992.

A normal septum and turbinates look like this:

This is not my cat scan, but this is what my cat scan looked like:

That white bright piece down the center does what mine did. It was a deviate septum with a bone spur. Now look at the color picture. See where the Middle Turbinate bone is? It's yellow-orange and looks like sponge cake. It's bone covered by tissue. My nasal spur was pressing against the middle turbinate bone.

Over the last two years this has caused me debilitating pain. Pain that was so severe I was missing work. Since becoming aware of this I'v really started to question my history of migraines and whether or not they were really migraines. During my last two headaches I noticed the migraine meds weren't doing the trick at all. So I went to my ENT because I thought maybe I had a sinus infection.

He reviewed my CAT scan. No sign of an infection. He did see that my septum and turbinate bones were awfully clost to one another. After blowing some sort of numbing spray up my nostril I had instant relief from the headache. This led him to believe my headaches were being caused by the bones rubbing together.

Stop for a minute and think about that.

I had bone rubbing against bone IN MY FACE.

I had the surgery on Friday and went back to work on Wednesday. The worst of my pain was on Sunday. My post-surgery pain was so severe I said to my husband, "I don't know how women do it? I don't know how they have babies!"

I told my friend Nicole, a mother, this same story and she said, "Now remember, a vagina is bigger than your nose."

Doing Better

2009-09-26T13:48:00.000-07:00

Some days are good and some days are bad. Lately though I'd found myself having more bad ones than good ones. However, like most downward swings do . . . hopefully, eventually they move upwards again.

I found a new job!!!!

There's a part of me that thinks I was damn lucky because sometimes finding a job takes luck, but the honest truth is that finding a new job takes a lot of hard work. So I really want to shout Oprah-style, "IIIIII DIIIIIID ITTTTTT!"

I hustled.

I sent out a ridiculous amount of resumes to job openings, recruiters, former bosses . . . former bosses that I would rather have rather used my tongue to walk on hot coals than to ever speak to. I made a pathetic, ineffective plea to a former trainer I used to work with whom I hadn't spoken to in months. I did a little worst case scenario thinking, but I didn't get mired in it.

From the time the FDIC took over Colonial to the time I got my job offer it took five weeks. A few days after the shock wore off I updated my resume and created two different versions of it. A functional resume and a regular chronological resume. I wrote cover letter after cover letter, cold-contact prospecting letters, I made finding a new job my full-time job.

Did I get lucky?

I got lucky that in this economy I found a job doing what I want to be doing at a slightly higher pay. But, I was ready for it when I found it.

I DID THIS.

Budgeting

2009-09-04T19:09:00.000-07:00

The bank I work was seized and sold, and while right now I have a job there is the possibility I will be let go. I'm not entirely sure what my department's odds are, but just in case I'm sending out resumes and talking to everyone I know about finding a new job.

In light of this, we have temporarily stopped working on the kitchen renovation. Steve and I have agreed that right now it's more important for us to save money rather than spend money it on home improvement.

Then I went out and got a pedicure.

Because I suck.

Push, Push, Push

2009-08-29T05:30:00.000-07:00

Ever since my friend B started reading this blog he's always pushed me towards writing a novel.

I always just roll my eyes and blow off the idea. I know I keep this blog and I know a lot of bloggers want to be "discovered," but I don't have those aspirations.

Now, as an English major in college I'm pretty sure I harbored dreams about being a published author. But, I've never wanted to be Milton, Chaucer, Welty or even Danielle Steele. I wanted to be Judy Blume, Lois Duncan or Paula Danziger.

The trouble is . . . I don't feel like I have much to say.

I don't even blog very regularly anymore.

I was diagnosed with clinical depression 18 months ago and while most days are okay days a lot of days are a struggle. It's a fight to get out of bed to go to work. forget about me getting on the blog to say something entertaining. I haven't had it in me to do that for a while. Funny things happen in my life, but the white noise of depression drowns those things out quickly.

And God, I've never been able to get a handle on how to respond to my well-meaning mother when she says, "Oh, I've been depressed, Melissa. You just have to pick yourself up and decide to be happy."

This makes my blood boil and I want to get in her face and scream, "You don't fucking get it!"

It's not her fault.

Maybe she's had the blues in her life, but she doesn't know the way depression is like quicksand and the more you try to fight the more it feels like it's pulling you down.

Then this year while watching the Tony Awards I saw the cast of Next to Normal perform the following:

Next to Normal

DIANA (spoken)
You know, really?
What exactly do you know?

DAN (spoken)
I know you're hurting. I am, too.

DIANA
Do you wake up in the morning and need help to lift your head?
Do you read obituaries and feel jealous of the dead?
It's like living on a cliffside not knowing when you'll dive.
Do you know, do you know what it's like to die alive?

When the world that once had color fades to white and gray and black.
When tomorrow terrifies you, but you'll die if you look back.
You don't know.
I know you don't know.
You say that you're hurting, it sure doesn't show.
You don't know.
You tell me let go.
And you may say so, but I say you don't know.

The sensation that you're screaming, but you never make a sound.
Or the feeling that you're falling, but you never hit the ground.
It just keeps on rushing at you day by day by day by day.
You don't know, you don't know what it's like to live that way.
Like a refugee, a fugitive, forever on the run.
If it gets me it will kill me, but I don't know what I've done.

End Scene

I was devastated when I saw this scene because I felt like I'd been broken open and all of my secrets had tumbled out.

I wanted to stand up and say, "There . . . that is what I feel like every fucking day so don't tell me I can just pick myself up and shake this thing off."

Maybe I have things to say, but it feels futile when others have already said it so much better than I ever will.

Whatevs

2009-05-28T16:05:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about why I don't post, and I don't really have a reason.

I just don't.

So, here's a little story my dad tells proudly. When I was six I had a crying fit in the middle of a store. You know, I was THAT KID. The one that starts to scream because she doesn't get what she wants.

My dad snapped off his belt, spun me around and gave me a few stinging licks on the back of my bare thighs.

I never again had another crying fit in the middle of a store.

That last part there is when you can see the pride gleam in his eyes when he tells this story.

I don't actually remember this happening, but it sounds like my dad. I think what really must have stung was the humiliation.

That's just how my dad worked.

When my mom wanted to learn how to drive a car he told her, "You'll never learn how to drive. You're incapable."

My mom has told me that after a few weeks of replaying his words in her head she called up a driving school, and set out to prove him wrong.

She did, too.

After years of taking the bus with my mother she finally got her driver's license.

After years of being a mediocre student (As, Bs and Cs) my dad said to me, "You know you'd get better grades if you weren't so lazy."

My response wasn't as motivated as my mom's. I just thought to myself, "I'm lazy."

I know I've written about my dad spanking me before, and every day I forgive my father a little bit more.

But every year around Father's Day I think about these things, and I struggle with the task of picking out a card. Typically, I go for the "thanks for doing the best you could do" card.

A Good Example

2009-03-09T19:17:00.000-07:00

This past weekend Steve and I were driving home down a six-lane highway. He was driving, and I was in the passenger seat.

I looked out my window and noticed a car waiting to merge into traffic.

I said to Steve, "Oh my God, look at that guy's car!"

The car itself wasn't spectacular, but there was a foot-tall stack of papers on the car's roof.

I said, "That's gotta suck."

The next thing I know Steve is swerving our car onto the median. I looked forward and thought Steve was trying to avoid an accident.

No.

Steve pulled up onto the median and ran back towards where the car was still waiting to merge. He started waving his arms to get the driver's attention. Surprisingly, the guy took a split second to stop looking for a place to merge and saw Steve.

The guy looked at Steve like he was thinking, "What the hell does this crazy want?"

Then Steve started pointing at the guy's roof, and it was like a lightbulb went off over the driver's head.

I saw the guy get out of the car, retrieve his papers and thank Steve for making him aware of the situation.

When Steve got back into the car I was still sitting there with my mouth hanging open.

I looked at him and said, "Thank you."

He asked, "For what?"

I said, "For showing me how to be a better person."

Dated

2009-03-04T22:40:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I look at this blog and wonder why I even bother.

It seems like lately most of my online time is spent of Facebook. Tonight I IM'd with my second cousin for almost an hour. I haven't seen her in over a decade, but there we were "talking" about our crazy families.

I get instant satisfaction from Facebook.

I know: fast food generation. We want it and we want it NOW!

I also wonder whether or not keeping a blog is just dated. I'm just another loser who thinks people want to know what she's thinking.

These days I'm thinking, "Will I still be employed next week?"

Working for a bank is not for the faint of heart.

So, if you know of anyone looking for an instructional designer . . . call me!

Betrayal

2009-02-22T19:33:00.000-08:00

Imagine if you will a world where no one tells the truth.

No, this entry is not about the Bush Administration. This entry is about a horse I can't bring myself to let die.

In life, if we are lucky, there are a handful of friends that we can count on take care of us.

I haven't always been that friend.

When a close friend of mine got married I did everything I could to miss the wedding. But, no matter how hard I dug my heels she yanked even harder. So, I went to the wedding even though I didn't think she was marrying the right guy. I didn't have the courage to tell her that. Not before the marriage, a few years after the marriage I finally told her how I felt about her husband.

She was rightfully pissed. If I recall correctly she slammed the phone in my ear. I don't blame her. I didn't speak to her for two years after that and you know what happened?

Out of the blue she called me and said, "I can understand why you didn't want me to marry XX. Whenever you and I talked I was always telling you about the fights we had or whatever shitty thing XX had done. I never told you any of the good things. I completely understand why you didn't like him.'

That is friendship. Being able to get pissed, cool down, re-evaluate, hold out your had again and say, "I understand."

The same goes for a another friend who once accused me of sharing an embarrassing secret. I didn't do it, and I knew who had. When I told said friend the identity of the blabbermouth she vehemently responded,

"She wouldn't do that . . SHE'S my best friend."

It felt as if I'd been slapped. I stood up and walked her to the front door. I said, "I'm sorry that you feel that way." I opened the door, and I didn't see her for five years.

Then one day, four years later, out of the blue, she showed up at my front door. She said, "This won't take long. Remember when I accused you of telling WW about WW?"

Me, "Yes, I think that was the last time we talked."

Her, "Well, I'm hear to tell you I'm sorry. I recently found out it was who you said it was."

I was shocked. I was 18 when T showed up at my door to apologize . It was the first time in my life that a peer had said to me, "What I did was shitty and wrong and I'm very sorry."

She taught me a lot in that one moment.

Our friendship was beyond the point of no return, but I've always respected T for having the stones to own up to that when the average teen would probably have kept such a thing to herself.

I've been thinking about these two events recently because there is just one thing I've never really gotten over. If you've read the early entries of this blog you know my ex-husband is gay. I didn't know when I married him. In fact, I didn't know until we'd been married for five years.

What I also didn't know was that a friend of mine knew years befoe I did. She and I had met in my dorm room when I was a freshman. We used to go out, drink and fall asleep in each other's bed. I thought we were close. Near the end of my freshman year she came out to me. She made such a big deal about it that when she finally said, "I'm a lesbian" I was relieved. She was so tense I thought she was about to tell me she was in the witness protection plan.

My response to her coming out was, "Oh, okay." It was fairly understated, and I wasn't scandalized or clutching my pearls. I really didn't care. Jen was still the same Jen she'd been five minutes prior to coming out.

About six months after this admission I start hanging out with J. We'd all go out in groups, and I'd occasionally find Jen and J huddled together in the corner of the bar. In hindsight I can admit they always looked busted. I never knew what they were talking about, but it seemed pretty intense. I never stuck my nose in it. I just figured they were friends, too.

I distinctly remember a moment when Jen turned to me and asked, "What do you think about a woman in a committed heterosexual relationship sleeping with other women."

Me, "Well, does the husband know?"
Jen, "I don't think so."
Me, "If the husband doesn't know then it's cheating. I don't care if she's sleeping with another man or another woman. That's cheating."
Jen, "Well, what if all of the people involved know?"
Me, "Well that's between them I guess."

Pause . . .

Me, "Jen, you don't want to sleep with me do you?"
Her, laughing . . . relieved, "NO . . . I was just posing a question."

We were Women's and Gender Studies girls so these kinds of conversations weren't all that bizarre for me. After J and I split up Jen called me and my heart hit he floor. I said to her,

"Oh Jen, honey, I can't be friends with you."

Her, "What?"

Me, "You knew, you knew what Jason was up to all that time. You should have told me. I wouldn't have married him. I wouldn't have gotten sick."

Her, "Oh Melissa . . . "

Me, "Oh don't worry, it's nothing that will kill me . . . "

Yeah, I'm still pissed because on top of having had to deal with my husband's betrayal I also had to deal with my friend's betrayal.

I've tried to justify her behavior. Is there a gay code that I don't know? Do you foresake your straight friend, and protect your closeted friend because you understand the pain of living a closeted life?

I really don't know.

I can tell you that if I was certain my brother's partner was playing the field I would call Carlos up and say, "Carlos child, you in trouble!" He'd probably be pissed at me, and he might not even believe me, but you can bet your ass I'd tell him what's going on. I love my brother and I want what is best for him. Or, if I knew my friend M's fiance was creeping around I'd let her know. That's what you do when you care for someone. You do your best to protect them from getting hurt.

So I guess it was that simple: Jennifer was never really my friend.

To Breed or Not to Breed

2009-02-11T14:01:00.000-08:00

Steve and I have decided not to have children. If you know me well, you are aware of this already.

I guess I'm addressing this here because in previous entries I've said that I might want to have children someday. I think I only said those things because it was the right thing to say.

Or, maybe I'm just a flip-flopper.

The truth is I have never wanted children. When I was a child I knew girls who would pretend their baby dolls were realy babies. They would change them, feed them, put them in a toy stroller and push it along the sidewalk. I never did that.

I clearly remember that at one point I set up a daycare in my bedroom closet. I'd dress my dolls, carry them around, and then I'd drop them off at daycare saying, "Okay, it's time to go to daycare." I'd leave them there for days at a time.

I could understand if this behavior had been modeled for me at home, but my mom was an at-home mother, and my brother and I never went to daycare. I've just never been the mothering kind.

Last fall I told my mom that I didn't want children, and she was not happy. I said that I was sorry I wouldn't be providing her with grandchildre, but that Steve and I are happy and don't want our lives to change.

She said to me, "Children won't change your life."
I smirked and said, "Mom, come on . . ."
She started laughing and said, "Okay, yeah, you're right . . . "

My not wanting children always gets misinterpreted as me not liking children. That's not true. I love the smell of a clean baby's head, and the way smile at you like you're the only person in the world. I get the appeal, I just don't want a child in my life. Neither does Steve.

I've asked him because sometimes I worry that he just doesn't want to rock the boat. But, he said, "No, I really like being selfish. I couldn't buy the antique tools I've bought or the scooter. I'd have to save all that money for diapers and formula. Not to mention saving for college."

Thank God.

Police Blotter - Sunday, January 18, 2009

2009-01-18T20:00:00.000-08:00

Two dog chains, a tree pruner manual, a lawnmower and a weedeater were stolen from a home in the 3100 block of Wxxxxxxxxx Road at 1p.m., Sunday.

I think what amuses me the most is the tree pruner manual.

Police Blotter

2008-12-22T10:28:00.000-08:00

I don't always read the Police Blotter, but I think it's good to stay up to date on the goings on in your town. Plus, you want to know what criminals are stealing these days:

A pair of earrings and a bottle of lotion were reported stolen from 6243 Woodmere Blvd., Sunday afternoon.

Someone stole 17 bags of sugar from a service station in the 900 block of W. South Blvd., at 12:38 a.m. Sunday

I get the earrings, but a bottle of lotion and 17 BAGS OF SUGAR.

What?

Holiday Cheer

2008-12-09T18:11:00.000-08:00

The last time I was with my brother he turned to me and said, "I have no idea how to deal with in-laws. What are the rules?"

I replied, "The first rule of in-laws is you don't talk about the in-laws."

Yes, it's an old joke but it's true.

One has to be careful when it comes to in-laws. I think as a general rule you shouldn't initiate any discussion about your in-laws unless your partner introduces the conversation. Even then you have to tread carefully.

You don't just hop in the car after a family dinner and say, "Man, you're sister's kind of a bitch isn't she?"

You save that for your rage diary.

No. You hop in the car and say, "Dinner was really good wasn't it?"

If say, your partner turns to you and says, "It was good. Hey, did you notice anything about _______?"

You ask, "Like what?"

Then he's free to elaborate and you can comment, but only on the issues he brings up.

Don't try to add in your own colorful observations.

Apply these rules to any in-law: mothers, cousins, brothers, sisters . . .

However, if your partner's sibling wields a knife at you, or your mother-in-law flat out accuses you of being a snob then have your partner hold you back and let you go when they least expect it.

Thrift Store Find

2008-10-13T18:16:00.001-07:00

After having spent two hours on this guy's website last night, I got inspired to do a little thrifting of my own.

I now have my own Betty Draper.

She's a 1950s Napco Head Vase and she's not perfect (one earring is missing and part of her bow is broken off), but neither is Betty.

I got also found a six-piece bar set for $1 that includes stainless swizzle sticks and a spear for digging up that last olive out of the jar. They are very plain in design, but exactly what I've been looking for to stir my Sunday morning Bloody Mary.

Thank You

2008-10-13T17:54:00.000-07:00

Big thanks to everyone who donated to the Montgomery Humane Society Walk-n-Wag! You helped me raise $160 online and in these tough economic times that really means a lot. My co-workers were also generous as well as some friends and neighbors, and I raised a grand total of $280!

There were booths filled with pet products and there were some large dogs.

There were also some small dogs.

Some dogs wore costumes.

Dean made a new friend.

Max made a new friend, too.

We had a great time and all of the excitement wore us out.

Please Help Support the Montgomery Humane Society

2008-09-25T15:47:00.000-07:00

Max, Dean Martin and I are participating in this year’s Walk-n-Wag. The Walk-N-Wag is a fundraiser that benefits the Montgomery Humane Society.

What some of you may not know is that Dean Martin is a rescue dog.

Sure, Dean is living the high life now but not all dogs are that lucky.

This is why I’m asking you to support my efforts by making a pledge to the Montgomery Humane society.

I’ve even made it really easy.
Follow this link to the MHS Walk-n-Wag website.

Under Give a Donation select my name: Melissa Martinez.

The following page allows you to type in whatever amount of money your comfortable donating.

Click Continue.

The following message will appear.

Click Continue to PayPal.

Your PayPal Shopping Cart will appear to confirm your payment.

Click Proceed to Checkout.

The Pay with Credit Card Page will appear.

On the Pay with Credit Card page, provide the following information.
1. County
2. First Name
3. Last Name
4. Credit Card Number
5. Payment Type
6. Expiration Date
7. CSC: For your safety and security, PayPal requires that you enter your card's verification number. The verification number is a 3-digit number printed on the back of your card. It appears after and to the right of your card number.
8. City
9. State
10. Zip code
11. Home Telephone Number
12. Email

Click Review Order and Continue.

PayPal will provide you with a final screen that will confirm your donation.

If you have trouble completing your online donation please contact Lea Turbert with the Montgomery Humane Society at 334-409-0622.

Follow-Up:Has anyone actually donated anything? Nothing is showing up under my pledges with the Humane Society. I'm asking because if you are donating under my name: Melissa Martinez and it's not showing up then I need to contact the Humane Society.

Thanks!

A Conversation Between Siblings

2008-09-17T16:59:00.000-07:00

Scene: On the phone with my brother shortly after watching an episode of the L-Word.
Note: We watch a lot of the same shows and then caucus afterwards.

Carlos: I could never be a lesbian.
Melissa: Oh I know, me neither. Women are crazy!
Carlos: It's not just that . . . it's so much work.
Melissa: Hee, you're totally a lazy bottom.
Carlos: Well, so are you.
Melissa: True, plus I have this whole carpal tunnel thing . . .
Carlos: Pfft, whatever.
Melissa: Well, yeah. Plus, you know, eating pussy . . .
Carlos: OH - don't EVEN go there.
Melissa: I know, right.

Philadelphia

2008-09-15T12:57:00.000-07:00

It's amazing to me how much the movie Philadelphia still affects me. Mostly it's Tom Hanks' portrayal of the main character, Andy and Jonathan Demme's decisions as a director.

My favorite scene is the one right after Denzel Washington's character turns down the opportunity to represent Andy. Jonathan Demme slowly zooms in on Andy's face and Hanks goes through a bunch of different emotions in about five seconds. There's Andy standing in a doorway on a cold Philadelphia day and he's just been turned down by the 10th lawyer he's visited.

He's cold, frustrated, sad, alone, crestfallen, broken . . . and it's all there in Hanks' face. No tears, no teeth gnashing . . . and thankfully, no wailing at the heavens with open arms. I applaud Hanks and Demme for for approaching that scene and the character with dignity.

There is one think I really don't like and it's the way Washington's homophobia is handled. I get that we have to see his transformation from scared homophobe to understanding advocate, but do we have to keep hearing how much he hates gay men, how they make him sick and that what they "do" makes him sick.

There's a reason Atticus Finch never says, "Look, I don't like niggers either but the fact of the matter is a law's been broken here."

It's unnecessary.

I've never self-identified as a homophobe. From the start of the movie I rooted for Andy, so this movie breaks my heart in a million different pieces for a million different reasons.

The main reason though?

I remember this:

Every time I see this:

Moment from a Marriage

2008-09-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

Scene: Steve and I are standing in the living room having just rolled up the area rug that has been in there for six months.

Me: Baby, why does the floor look so dark right here?
Steve: Where ...
Me (Pointing with my right foot): Here.
Steve: Where ...
Me (Sighing): Well, here . . . (Tracing the area THAT IS CLEARLY VISIBLE with my foot).
Steve, now annoyed: Well, where ...
Me, now visibly annoyed: Seriously, do you not see this?
Steve, smirking: W.E.A.R.
Me, slackjawed: Oh.

Say A Little Prayer

2008-08-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

On Friday, August 29th Steve and I celebrated our three-year anniversary of homeownership.

My parents, however, remember August 29, 2005 as the day Katrina hit. This year all any of us can do is shake our heads as we watch computer modules showing Hurricane Gustav and his New Orleans or Bust sign.

My family will evacuate on Sunday, tomorrow. My brother is heading to Atlanta to be with his partner and his family. My parents and in-laws are heading to Montgomery. I know that my loved ones will be out of the path of Gustav, but I'm still worried about their stuff.

My in-laws weathered Katrina with hardly a scratch. The water stopped one inch before their doorways. My parents however got two feet of water. I know it's just stuff, but my mom just finished her house thanks to Katrina.

She was finally feeling like she lived in a home and not a construction site. I hope that they are spared the worst of it. I know that my mom is strong, but I'd hate to see her go through living in a trailer again. She put a happy face on things, but I know she felt out of sorts.

Since Katrina they've jacked the house up a good four feet so we're all hoping flood waters won't be a problem, but you just never know. They also got fancy new hurricane grade windows so I guess we'll get to see how well those work. My mom said she scoped out the trees around her house and they were all leaning "away" so I've got my fingers crossed.

If you're religious, say a little prayer for them. If you're not religious then send good vibes or whatever.

Sexual Fluidity

2008-07-07T21:08:00.000-07:00

Just assume that anytime I refer to a conversation between my brother and I that it was recent and on the phone. We talk a lot.

Anyway, we got on the subject of sexual preference. We were discussing "queer by beer" and girls kissing girls for attention. I think we finally worked our way to the more conventional gay and bi labels.

See, we do talk about more than just Tyra, The View and Swingtown.

Very casually he mentioned that he thought today those definitions were prehaps too confining and that the younger generation (high school and college students I presume) see sexuality as more fluid.

In other words: Bi Now, Gay Later . . . Maybe not.

I get what he's saying, but there's a part of me that worries about this new label because I fear it gives credence to those who believe being gay is indeed a choice.

It would be easier to argue that if sexuality is indeed fluid then you have the power to change the tide.

Let me just add that I don't think one chooses to be straight, gay or bi.

Am I wrong?

I Am So Ashamed

2008-06-19T16:51:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid I had a lot of celebrity crushes. The other day I was flipping channels and I came across this:

When I was 11 I thought this movie was awesome! The other day I could only watch 5 minutes of it because it was so awful, but damn I loved me some Jason Gedrick. (Poor Lou Gossett Jr. To this day when I see him in a movie I internally shout "CHAPPY!")

I'll admit I still nurse a crush on Jason Gedrick. Does anyone even remember Windfall?

It was a crappy show and the fact that Luke Perry was cast in it should have been my warning, but the Gedrick magic still has its influence.

I was so excited when he turned up on Desperate Housewives.

I realize I probably still sound like an 11-year-old girl, but that really doesn't surprise me. My favorite shows? Degrassi: The Next Generation, Gossip Girl . . . oh and you can bet your ass I'll be watching the new incarnation of 90210. HELLO . . . Darcy from D:TNG is playing the Brenda-like character. Those are some big bangs to fill.

Lazy Blogger

2008-06-01T13:39:00.000-07:00

The other night my brother gave me a hard time for not updating my blog.

He is completely right, but a lot of times I just don't have much to say. Right now I'm sitting in my living room watching Evening.

One quick side note: what must it be like to be Claire Danes? To have casting directors sit back and say, "We need a woman beautiful enough to make all the men in this movie thow out all reason. We need Claire Danes."

I've got a really gross cold right now so a Sunday afternoon with a chick flick on, even a mediocre one, seems perfect.

I hate summer colds. In the winter you can bundle up and drink hot tea and steaming soup, but in the summer a cold is just a nuisance. It's hot out, your nose is runny and you're sweating and it's just blegh!

In other news, we are currently enjoying all our hard work right now and harvesting tomatoes, cucumbers and herbs practically every day. I kid with my brother and jokingly refer to our garden as Turkey Hill.

I put on my Martha Stewart voice as I go on about the delicious pesto I whipped up from our organically grown basil. It is organically grown basil, but I'm really not that unbearable about it. One of the guys I work with calls us hippies because Steve has his own compost pile and I don't use pesticides on the red ants in our yard, but rather chase them off with the free coffee grounds I get from Starbucks.

Okay, maybe I am getting a little annoying.

Memorial Day Weekend

2008-05-21T21:00:00.000-07:00

This weekend Steve and I are heading to Gulf Shores and while I love the beach I am both looking forward to and dreading this weekend.

The thing is: I'm fat.

My brother is probably reading this nodding his head agreeing with me right now.

Which, you know, whatever . . . I don't blame him.

He's smart enough though not to pull me aside and say,

"Girl, what is up? You look like you ATE Tyra?"

My mom on the other hand is driving me crazy.

She keeps making these little comments about my recent weight gain and really it does nothing to motivate me to lose weight.

I KNOW I'M FAT, MOM . . . DEAL.

I don't know what she thinks, but I can't stand the look of disappointment in her eyes when she looks at me.

The other day we were on the phone and as we were hanging up she said,

"Okay, I'll talk to you later. Donteattoomuch."

She sort of threw in that last comment like it was supposed to be some sort of subliminal message. I guess she thinks its helpful, but it really hurts.

During another phone call she totally non sequiturs, "Do you know that every day for breakfast I have plain corn flakes with some fresh fruit? It's very light."

It was so weird. Like I was reading one of those 1950's diet books on how to obtain a trim girlish figure. Next thing you know she'll be advising me to drink a G&T before dinner in order to curb my appetite.

Her all time low was when she tried to get away with calling me "gordita"! Which, HELLO, translates to "Little Fatty."

Not cute.

That one I forcefully objected to and she tried to pass it off at as a cute nickname. I said, "No, absolutely not. You will never call me that again." The diminutive use of a word does not immediately make it cute.

Yesterday I went back to the gym for the first time in ages. This is going to be a regular thing in my life. I can't keep ignoring my expanding waistline. Ive started packing healthy snacks for work and I'm committed to working out three days a week and avoiding the snack machine and cafeteria at work.

I didn't get this size overnight and conversely I'm not going to drop the weight overnight.

I just wish my mom understood that.

Sometimes I wonder if my mom is just a product of her generation and she equates her looks with her self-worth. Maybe if I'm not a perfect size 6 my husband will leave me.

My ex-husband once said that my weight gain made it easier for him to cheat. Ya'll I was fucking small when I was with him. I don't think I ever told my mom that he said that, but it did mess me up for a long time.

I realized recently that Steve doesn't feel that way. Of course he doesn't.

Not every man is a narcissistic sociopath.

Anyway, yes mom I know I'm fat but don't despair. I'm more than the sum of pounds on the scale.

Working from Home

2008-05-12T09:13:00.000-07:00

Due to the ridiculous cost of gas and my employer's inability to up my pay, my department is being allowed to work one day a week from home.

Today is my day.

I do a few hours of work and take a ten minute break to run a load of laundry, unload the dishes or just cuddle with the dog. I get to spend my lunch hour at my favorite place: my front porch. This morning while people were gnashing their teeth over the morning commute I decided to take Dean on a 30 minute walk.

Sure, I'd like to make more money, but this is definitely a nice perk.

My Twin

2007-11-21T18:24:00.000-08:00

Men Beware: This entry deals with my female parts and the things that can go wrong with them.

On Monday I had surgery and it was no fun.

Well, riding the morphine dragon was a little fun, but overall getting your belly button cut open is just not a good time. There are three small incisions including the one on my belly button, but damn does it hurt!

I was having some pelvic pain on my right side a few months ago. My doctor recommended that I go ahead and come in for am ultrasound.

I've never had a child, but I've seen plenty of ultrasounds on ER so I knew what to expect. If you've never had a pelvic ultrasound, know that you have to have a full bladder in order for them to get a good picture. I'm adding that in because ER never told me that and neither did my doctor. Consequently, my visit was made longer by the fact that I had to fill my bladder first. I finally get to the point where I'm ready to burst and the technician agrees with me that I'm ready.

There is no talking during an ultrasound. The technician just takes pictures while you lay there wondering why you're in pain. The tech finally speaks to me and says, "Okay, now I need you to go in the bathroom, empty your bladder and remove your clothes below the waist."

Me, "Uhm . . okay."

I go in the bathroom, do as I'm told and when I come out the technician says to me, "Okay, I need you to lay on the bed again."

I lay on the bed and I realize she's taken out a "wand" and is covering it with a condom and lubing it up with KY.

I didn't even know her name.

It turns out when they spot something on the ultrasound they have to then go in with what I've affectionately called the "dildo cam." That ultrasound detected a fibroid growing on the outside of my uterus . . . on the left side of my pelvis. Weird because I came in for pain on the right side.

My doctor and I decided to take the wait and see approach so I returned in six months and it had doubled in size. When they took the fibroid out it was the same size as my uterus: about the size of a large chicken egg.

My brother has been keeping my spirits up by calling this thing "my twin." I know that sounds gross, but it's actually a reference to My Big Fat Greek Wedding. He kept teasing me that if it was a dermoid cyst with teeth and hair he wanted me to bring it home in a jar so that he could keep it. My cyst's lore eventually grew to include painted finger nails.

My cyst did not have any of those things, but weirdly when I told my cousin D about it post-surgery he asked me, "They let you keep it?" My brother and D don't chat it up on a regular basis so I know they come up with this independently of each other. My family is crazy.

I was lucky with this whole fibroid thing. It was attached by a stalk and that meant they could take it out by making three small incisions. They had to cut the fibroid up in small pieces to take it out (thus rendering impossible for me to give it to my brother as one large mass in a mason jar), but they got all of it.

The ultrasounds I had couldn't detect what was causing my original complaint: pain on the lower right side.

The laparoscopy done on Monday showed that I've got endometriosis on my bladder as well as across both of my fallopian tubes. I've never tried to get pregnant, but my doctor is fairly sure that the endometriosis on my fallopian tubes would have made that pretty difficult.

The fact that it's on my bladder was interesting though because I kept having pain while I urinated (at times excruciating pain) and my former GP kept testing me for UTIs that came up negative. He eventually came to the conclusion that this pain was in my head and that maybe if I lost a little weight and exercised I would feel better. I was angry about it then, but now I'm furious. I hate that he made me feel crazy and that maybe I was imagining this pain.

I no longer go to that doctor.

I'm still a little freaked out that I had something like that growing inside of me, but I'm, glad it's out and I'm glad I have some answers.

My doctor is optimistic that it's benign, but we'll know for sure next week.

I'm not scared because at this point I'm leaving it in God's hands.

What else can I do?

Who Saw Britney at the VMAs?

2007-09-09T20:20:00.000-07:00

Seriously.

Remember when Paula Abdul was an "it" girl? She had the cute Laker girl with huge hits: Straight Up, Forever Your Girl and she looked awesome slinking around in the Cold Hearted video?

Then she followed that up with Blowing Kisses in the Wind, The Promise of a New Day and Rush Rush and while we still loved Paula, because she wasn't the crazy Paula that she is now, you know you were thinking, "Damn Paula . . . you gotta lay off of that home cooking before you split a seam!"

Honey, that's how I felt watching Britney "sing" her new song Gimme. I'm not saying she looked fat because you're average size 12 American woman is thinking, "Shit, I wouldn't mind looking like that," when Britney comes traipsing across the stage, but Britney isn't normal.

She's a celebrity and I want my celebrities looking fabulous, not running around with a jiggly ass and a flabby stomach.

Hell, I'd be running around my house naked if I wanted to see that.

Gimme? Nuh, uh girl . . . you've got to push away from the table.

Dear Britney,

You can't wear outfits that bare your midriff right now. If you do choose to bare your midriff it's not advisable for you to turn to the side and pop your pelvis. It just makes us think, "Oh no . . . someone needs to lay off the Cheetos." Slap on your Kabbalah bracelet and have Madonna put you in touch with her Pilates instructor.

P.S. You also shouldn't wear short, shorts if you've got to wear them with pantyhose. You just look like Kirstie Alley that time she was on Oprah in a two-piece.

Sincerely,
Someone Who Knows Better

Tim Gunn - Call Britney STAT!

Tina Knowles - Call Britney! You may have designed some tacky ass shit for Beyonce, but you know how to sexily dress a woman with curves.

J-Lo - Call Britney! You know how to look hot and work the curves and you both "sing."

Sardonyx

2007-08-21T00:04:00.000-07:00

I've always wanted to be a writer. I've never actually said that I wanted to be a fiction writer, a reporter or even a poet. I've just always known that I wanted to somehow make a living by stringing words together. Except for the 2.5 years when I was working as a training director, I've managed to do just that so I've been pretty lucky.

My first experience as a published writer was in high school.

My friend Janine and I were both on the yearbook staff. I think in my four years I took my sophmore year off because I was petty and immature, but for three years I was on the yearbook staff. I could have joined the newspaper staff, but for whatever reason I thought it was lame.

I think that I was more attracted to the yearbook because for me it had more of a sense of permanence than our school newspaper.

Think about it: the yearbooks were over 200 pages long with nice hardcover bindings. Our newpaper was an over sized glossy that maybe topped out at 8 pages.

If I remember correctly, I didn't actually get to write until my senior year but I did get to select pictures for the yearbook and crop them to fit. Mayn, that was back when dinosaurs roamed the earth because I remember hand cropping pictures with rulers and pens and scissors. Now I'd guess everything is done on a MAC.

Anyway, I think maybe it was at my 10 year reunion that Janine reminded me why we were in yearbook all along.

She said to me, "Don't you remember, we came in for a yearbook meeting and B____ and all her little friends had picked photos with them in it so the yearbook was nothing but them?"

I said, "Huh, not really."

Then Janine said, "Yeah. We looked at them and thought 'OH! UH,UH!' and took out there pictures and added pictures of us and our friends!"

My response, "Hmn, I don't remember that, but it definitely sounds like something I would do."

At which point I thing we burst into giggles because it really was the bitchy kind of retaliation that I still enjoy! We probably even asked ourselves, "Who do they think they are?"

Honestly though I don't remember when that was, but I get the feeling it may have been our junior year because I just flipped through that yearbook and our class candids are really fairly balanced between the student council girls and everyone else.

It's crazy to me how much time we spent worrying about face time in the yearbook, but I like to think Janine and I had a fair and even-handed approach.

The truth is, a lot of those girls that were trying to be on every page are still heavily involved with my alma mater.

Heavily involved: like they work there as adults kind of heavily involved.

I guess you have to have some with that sort of dedication to keep the school and the tradition going, but some part of me wonders if those four years of high school were indeed the best times of their lives.

That's just sad.

US 127 Corridor Sale - Day 2

2007-08-03T18:09:00.000-07:00

We are both tired, sunburned and sweaty.

Regardless, we had a wonderful day. It's pretty much just like your typical Saturday yard sale excursion only absolutely everyone in your neighborhood is having a yard sale. You drive along HWY 127 and there are some folks who have houses on the highway so there are a few tables set up in the yard.

Then you drive along and suddenly it's tent city:

What you're seeing is typically just the front row of "booths." Items range in price and style. Some people specialize in niche markets:

Buttons.

Buttons.

A table full of buttons.

One tent was nothing but sewing notions. She even had old sewing advertisements. I immediately thought of my friend Jen. Now, Jen is currently in Korea enjoying the wonders of Fabric Mart, but I know she would have loved this booth.

Steve was kept very busy with all of the old tools. Here are today's finds:

He showed a lot of restraint.

In all we traveled about 60 miles north of Chattanooga today. The traffic isn't bad at all. As a friend of mine put it "you're treasure might be right there" so you have to stop every few feet to check out the "booths."

Here are a few more shots of the "treasures" we found today.

This cute little guy that Steve and I are convinced is from The Land of Make Believe, but we can't confirm it.

This cool Therm-a-Chest metal cooler that you can see is already being put to good use.

This cool new vase that's going to look nice in our living room.

The glasses are for my brother: they are from Disney's 25th Anniversary.

Right now I'm really loving bangles.

It's been a really fun day, but tomorrow I'm going to have to take more pictures.

US 127 Corridor Sale - Day 1

2007-08-02T20:24:00.000-07:00

It hasn't been too exciting, yet.

I got off of work at noon only to find that the gas company decided to choose today to move our gas meter. So, we didn't get on the road until 4pm. We made pretty good time though and arrived in Chattanooga at around 11pm EST.

We are really flying by the seat of our pants so we stopped at the TN Visitor's Center and picked up a coupon book. I was a little worried because we didn't have reservations anywhere, and I know there are a lot of people attending this masssive yard sale.

Those coupon books don't really give you a lot to choose from and some of the places in there I just didn't recognize. So, I picked a mid-range hotel that isn't outrageously expensive ($59.95/night), but also isn't so cheap I might get scabies from the mattress. It's not gorgeous, but having spent the better part of two years in hotel rooms you really can't distinguish one from the next.

I mentioned that we didn't have a plan, right? Thanks to Steve we have one now.

We booked this room again tomorrow night so we are going to wake up early and head north a few more hours. The idea is to work our way back down to Chattanooga and spend the night in the same room tomorrow night. Then Saturday morning we head back to Montgomery from Chattanooga and hit the southern end of the corridor sale.

This way we a.) guarantee having a place to stay Friday night and b.) have more room for all the junk we're going to buy during Friday's leg of the sale.

It's a simple plan, but genius in its simplicity.

Tomorrow night: Day 2 - In the Thick of It (with pictures)

New Orleans

2007-07-25T20:38:00.000-07:00

Steve and I were in New Orleans this weekend.

We were lucky that Steve's schedule allowed him the time off this weekend so we took advantage of that to go to New Orleans to visit with our parents.

I apologize to any of you who read the site and have emailed me in the last few months and said, "Call me when you're in town and we'll get together."

We were only in for two full days and between Steve's 4 siblings, parents and my family we were kept busy the entire time.

The last time we visited was Mardi Gras so we didn't do a lot of hanging out with either of our parents so on this visit we made it a point to hang out with our parents.

Some exciting news from home: my parents are getting there house shored by this guy. For those of you not familiar with this process, a bunch of guys dig a trench around your house, dig tunnels under your house and then jack the whole thing up with a pneumatic jack.

I called my parents on Tuesday to let them know we'd be in town and to ask them if we could stay at Casa Martinez. The said, "Sure! We'd love to have you!"

So, we show up late Friday night and as we're moving around the house on Saturday morning my mom says, "Oh, by the way, they cut the gas lines so there's no hot water."

Steve is still hoping his scared testicles will someday descend as currently he thinks they might be hiding somewhere near his liver.

I personally didn't find the water to be that cold.

Yes, at first my nipples could have cut glass but after a while your body kind of adjusts to the cold and you can almost convince yourself that the water is scalding.

It was a lot like camping on a primitve site only with a nice comfy mattress at night.

In other family news: the real reason we visited New Orleans last weekend.

Steve's mom is scheduled to have knee surgery today. Anne is an active senior, but once you're in your 70s surgery is always a risky thing. The last news we heard the surgery went well and she was in recovery.

I love home: I love my mom and dad, I love my in-laws, I love The Swamp Room Burgers and beignets, but there's nothing drawing me home.

Sure, my parents are there but if I were home I would stop being me and go back to Melissa - child, daughter.

I once told a former co-worker that I don't live near my parents because they'd always be calling me to handle stuff. She looked at me contemplatively and then said, "I can see that. You're very capable."

When I say "handle stuff" I don't mean helping them by picking up their dry cleaning or buying a gallon of milk on the way to their house. I mean I think they'd call me to say, "Melissa, your father hasn't handled _____________, I need you to (handle it, talk to him, convince him it's his idea . . . )" Or, "Melissa we need reservations at XX hotel, can you call them and make them?"

Now look, English is a second language for my parents but my mom manages to function at the store and with her English-as-a-primary-language friends and employers and my dad speaks English fairly fluently so it's not like I'm hanging them out to dry.

Then there's my brother. C, you know I love you but in a weird way I think your crazy competitive side would come out if I moved home.

Shortly after my divorce I told C that I was interviewing for a job in LA and his immediate response was, "No, you can't move home . . . " in this sort of horrified whine.

I think that while mom and dad might bug him as much as they would bug me, he sort of enjoys being their go-to child.

He can have it.

In AL I just get to be Melissa - homeowner, wife, co-worker, cycling class attendee and most importantly: adult.

Living in a Cube, Cube World

2007-07-19T18:47:00.001-07:00

I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work.

Office Space, 1999

I work in an environment where the only people with offices are managers. Fine, whatever, they get to make the hard decisions so they deserve walls that go all the way up to the ceiling and a door that shuts. The rest of us are in cubicles.

Take a look at this site and you'll get an idea of what it's like at the bank.

DON'T GO PASSED THE HOME PAGE.

You'll see some text that says "Or Create a Corporate Labyrinth One Cube at a Time," and then the camera will slowly pan out to give you an expansive look at what my floor at the bank looks like.

As you can see there isn't a lot of privacy and sadly we do not get to choose our neighbors. I currently sit next to a woman who would fill (or overfill) Dolores Umbridge's shoes quite nicely.

Aside from her condescending tone I am blessed with the fact that this woman does not know how the phone works.

She is so loud that I recently turned to a co-worker and said, "Jesus! What . . . does she think she's using tin cans and string?"

Which led to some emails between a co-worker of mine that started with me writing:

Tin Cans and String - that is so going to be the name of my first album.

E replied: Oooh, tell me it's going to be some pissed-off, spoken word shit.

From there E and I started writing "poetry" for said album.

I came up with:

Your voice accosts me.
The listener is helpless:
Until you are stabbed.

E's contribution?

Lotus Blossoms

Ding Dang haunts my dreams
cramped in smoky rooms she sounds
pop, pop, click, ping pong.

EA

Genius.

Thanks E for making my days at the bank a little more bearable.

BFF

2007-07-11T19:07:00.000-07:00

If you asked me who my close friends were in high school I'd say Janine and Nicole. If you asked me who my best friend was I'd say Janine.

Some of that was proximity (She lived closer to me and for at least three years we were in the same Spanish class.) and part of it came down to similiarities (We are both Hispanic, similar economic backgrounds, similar sense of humor.)

I was digging through some old boxes recently and came across a notebook that we kept when we were freshman. I don't really know how our system worked, but it looks like I started it and then maybe we passed it off to one another in the halls between classes.

It's a 60 page Lisa Frank notebook and from the looks of it we filled it up in like a month.

I think we devised this plan because we could:

1.) Write in it in class and still look like we were doing classwork, and
2.) Discuss boys and sex between the covers of a notebook that looked like the rest in our backpack so our parents were none the wiser.

So much better than an origami folded note that just screamed: READ ME!

Clearly we were diligent students from the following entry:

Me: Guess what? I'm seeing Chris tomorrow night. He's coming over to give me my Valntine's Day present. How do you get genotype and how do you get phenotype?

Janine: Don't ask me, I don't understand it. Listen do we have a quiz? Forget it she answered my question already. Good luck with Chris.

That entry cracks me up because it's so 15, but what is worse is that my nonlinear way of thinking was clearly established at an early age. This also cracks me up because Janine and I had somehow gotten stuck in this honors biology class and neither one of us belonged in there. It was our lament all year long: Why are we in this class??????

This one is the best:

"Don't laugh: what do you actually DO when you're making out?"

We were also kind of bitchy:

"GOD! The barrett DANA made looks like shit. I don't like the lettering, how about you?"

Ooh, and I refer to some guy as "leper."

Damn, I was bitchy.

And, the little feminist in me started waking up:

He said, "I hope you don't want to go out next weekend," and I'm like, "Why?" So, he said, "Because I won't be here," and I said, "Hey, if I want to go out I don't need your permission."

And you know, I underlined the need three times so I totally meant it.

Sometimes I miss the simplicity of being 15 but there isn't enough money in the world to make me relive those years.

LYLAS

The One

2007-07-10T23:50:00.000-07:00

I moved to Montgomery in 2001 (I think - it all runs together after a while) and it was then that I heard about this. At the time I was married to J and I said,

"Hey, I'd really like to go to this! Can we?"

He thought I was insane as the last thing he wanted to do was attend a multi-day yard sale that would involve taking at least one day off of work. That was the last time I mentioned it and I moved on.

Now, after my divorce I still wanted to attend the 127 Sale, but like most things in life I'd think about it from time to time and by the time I'd look up the information it had already passed.

So, yesterday Steve calls me up at work and asks,

"What are you doing August 3?"

Me: "You tell me . . . "

Him: "I was doing a search for flea markets and I saw something about the longest yard sale . . . "

I literally could not hear the rest of what he was saying for there was a chorus of angels singing in my ears.

See, Steve has really gotten into collecting antique tools. Stuff that he can display in his workshop and decoratively (after consulting with me) in the house. Right now he's obsessing over a double-claw hammer. I'm cool with this because

1.) It gives me an excuse to go to yard sales
2.) It gives me an excuse to attend flea markets, and
3.) I never have to worry he's bored when we go to yard sales and flea markets.

I think in some way I'd given up the desire to go to the 127 Sale, but Steve reignited that spark and further reminded me of why he's the one for me.

It's right up there with the time he took a detour on our way home from our honeymoon so that I could finally go here.

He just gets me.

Credit Where Credit Is Due

2007-04-22T20:20:00.000-07:00

cancion jamas de lidia handal

quiero la letra de la cancion jamas compuesta por lidia handal

Zona: Honduras
Responder a: hercilia20042000@yahoo.es
Fecha: Jueves, 27 de Abril del 2006, 17:14:48
Más anuncios con: cancion jamas de lidia handal

I found this request while looking up the song "Jamas" and I got steamed. What they are looking for is:

"The sheet music for the Lidia Handal song "Jamas."

This made me nuts because according to family lore - Jamas is not a Lidia Handal song. My grandfather wrote that song and then sold it to Ms. Handal and she passed it of as her own. My grandfather Jose Maria Cabus composed the piece, not Ms. Handal.

I Can't Stand Elizabeth Hasselbeck!

2007-04-22T11:47:00.000-07:00

A few episodes ago, the women of The View were discussing Valerie Plame and Elizabeth says, "How could a woman that cute go undetected?"

The inital knee-jerk reaction is to assume that Elizabeth is saying a woman that attractive can't be smart enough to go undetected. I don't think that's what Elizabeth is saying.

I think Elizabeth is saying, "How could a woman that attractive go unnoticed?"

This just gets my feminist panties all up in a bunch because it's so looksist.

Regardless of Plame's ability to get the job done, Elizabeth thinks it's impossible for her to be a convincing CIA operative because she's just too pretty. I suppose in EH's mind, only an average looking woman (a brunette of course) can pull off being a CIA agent.

In general I don't agree with EH's politics, but that's not why I dislike her.

I dislike her because she's unable to have a coherent argument. She just gets all high-pitched and emotional so whatever her point is gets lost on me.

I tend to get annoyed with all of the women on The View because watching them argue is like watching me argue with my brother and father - you only when if you have the loudest voice.

But, I bet EH the kind of person who cries to win an argument with her husband.

In all of her political views, EH is such a throwback. She's a huge Bush supporter, she's pro-life, pro-NRA.

Geez - the only issue she doesn't take on is working mothers.

OH NO - instead little miss pro-life-conservative-on-most-issues sympathizes with working mother's guilt.

Why?

Because she is one.

Wow - a conservative whose politics duck and weave to suit her needs.

Such a rarity.

DIY 2

2007-04-12T18:36:00.000-07:00

Before the renovation, this is how much room we had to cook and move around each other:

Right side of kitchen:

Left Side of the kitchen:

When Steve took down the left side of the wall between the dining room and the kitchen he exposed the backside of the fireplace in our room. I love the look of exposed brick and Steve agrees that it adds character so it's staying.

Once the cabinets and the wall came down:

About a third of the way up the chimney, this is what Steve found. We think that at some point there was a wood burning stove in our kitchen and this was part of the ventilation for it. If you're looking at this and you know what it is don't be shy: leave me a comment and fill us in.

Eventually, all that was left of the left side of the kitchen was plaster and lathe.

The lathe is then covered by drywall. Sasha, is totally unimpressed.

The glorious pantry that went up where the cabinets and fridge used to be.

One of the finishing touches will be to turn this into a custom built-in with walls, doors and fancy crown molding.

DIY

2007-04-11T21:29:00.000-07:00

I'm a great idea person, but when it comes to actually doing I tend to falter. So, like any great idea person, I've chosen to surround myself with do-ers. which is totally why I married Steve.

The thing with marrying a do-er though is that you have to be really careful with the things you say. Otherwise, your relaxing day off can turn into this:

That's me tentatively holding the hammer and probably thinking, "Yeah, I can totally help you out here . . . geez, this hammer is really heavy."

In December of 2005 this is what our living room, dining room and kitchen looked like if you were standing at the front door.

Then I painted.

(I love how Sweet Pea's turned away from me all, "Get that camera out of my face bitch!" She still hasn't forgiven me."

Then I said to Steve, "You know, we never actually dine in the dining room. Wouldn't it be awesome if we took down that wall between the kitchen and the dining room and remodeled the kitchen?"

And, I came home to this:

Yeah, the left side of that wall is just gone and there's just a tiny bit above the doorframe hanging from a single nail.

Now, if you'll look just past that counter on the left side you'll see what used to be a set of cabinets with red hardware and the refrigerator. Remember that because that area has been totally redone and will be shown later.

There were a lot of things I didn't like about our kitchen: it was small and only two people could fit in there comfortably, I couldn't hold a conversation with someone in the living room while I was cooking (or watch tv while I cooked) and I had no pantry. Remember that - no pantry.

So, that left wall came down and eventually Steve took down the cabinets around the refrigerator and temporarily moved the fridge. Check out this wall paper behind the cabinets.

(To Be Continued)

Memories

2007-04-01T22:24:00.000-07:00

I work at a bank. I don't talk about work because I am paranoid and I don't want to get "dooced."

Anyway, this isn't really about where I work now. Let's just say that I never realized that there would be this perpetual cloud of doom hanging over my employment status. It seems that banks are pretty volatile environments: need to make this year's projections? Fire 500 so management gets their big fat bonus checks. Possibility of a merger or buyout? Pray to Jesus the new owners give you at least a few weeks to find a new job.

So, that's what life has been like at my new job - FUN!

This entry though is more about a job I used to have.

I once worked for a non-profit that "seeks to educate and inspire young people to succeed in a global economy." I worked for the education team and my job title was "Editor." For the 10 months that I worked there, my job was to review participant evaluations and determine what curriculum changes needed to be made to our K-5 products.

We started at K as it needed a major overhaul.

What I didn't quite understand when I got hired was that I was going to actually have to re-write the entire curriculum: from step-by-step volunteer instruction manuals to activities and corresponding manipulatives.

I don't want to mislead anyone though.

I had a lot of input from a small review committee of educators around the country. They helped me develop a comprehensive list of learning objectives, concepts and skills that made sense for 5-6 year-olds. However, when it came time to create the corresponding activities - that was all left up to me.

The main component is a storybook with 5 short stories that introduce the economic roles of individuals - pretty heavy stuff, but I did my best to make it fun.

I keep listing this on my resume because it's one of the projects I'm most proud of. I even keep saying that it's still in use nationwide, and it turns out I'm right.

My friend C has a child in kindergarten and she came across one of the books created for this program. Incidentally, this was the first time this non-profit actually credited an author (yours truly) for the work produced. She just sent me an email asking if I was the same person listed in the book.

It's strange because with all of this instability at the bank I keep thinking about the jobs I've held in the past and which one's were my favorites.

Working at the economics-based non-profit was by far the best.

It's nice to know that what I created still holds up six years later.

Weeeeeee DID ITTTTTTT!

2006-12-19T21:13:00.000-08:00

The wedding was on December 8 and it was wonderful.

The house looked great, the oysters were tasty and the party was amazing.

Steve's family members came from as far as South Dakota.

Okay, now that I can Monday Morning Quarterback it, there are certain things I wish I could have changed. But, it's little stuff - I wish I would have twisted and turned a little bit more in front of the mirror with the seamstress. There were a few pictured where my dress gapped a little too much so you could see my bra strap.

I'd also have paid a little more attention to stuff that needed to be picked up around the house. In some pictures there are stacked bins that pop up in the background of some pictures.

What went wrong?

Our minister showed up an hour and a half late. It seems that even though we'd repeatedly told him the day, date and time he still managed to think our wedding was on Saturday. I know Friday isn't when most couples get married, but December 8th felt right. I knew that I wanted a December wedding. December 8th was my maternal grandmother's birthday and I'd always felt close to her. It was also the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and my grandmother's name was Concepcione. Now that I read that my reasoning seems kind of silly but whatever.

Also, planning this on Friday night threw my cake lady. I'd decided I wasn't going to have a traditional cake. I was going to go with a three milks cake - it's delicious and more typical of what you might find at a hispanic wedding. But, the closer we got to the wedding the more I started to hear my mother's voice, "It just won't look the same in pictures!" And, I had my mom and dad's cake topper from 35+ years ago and I just knew that wouldn't look right on a sheet cake. So, I tromped down to Publix and orded a simple two-tiered cake they call the Simply Devoted.

In the long run, it paid off because the cake lady arrived at my house on Saturday with the cakes. Fortunately, I hadn't paid for them and it was genuinely her mistake not mine.

What went right?

Everything else.

I was mostly surprised that I wasn't nervous. Ever - even when I was sitting in the chair at the salon getting my hair done I was really calm. I just left the house and said, "I'm going to get my hair done. I'll be back." I took off by myself and it was great just being able to enjoy the quiet moments I had leading up to the ceremomy.

The food was amazing.

The oyster bar was a big hit. It was cold outside, but as oyster lovers we braved the frigid temperatures and stuffed ourselves silly with oysters. The oysters were really all I ate, but I tried some of the hot food items and they were delicious as well.

The drink - we bought a lot of beverages, but by far the most popular was the cosmo punch. I watch a lot of the Food Network and during one of the commercial breaks Rachel Ray made a quick little alcoholic punch.

Ya'll, I've never seen people go this crazy over a punch before.

Here is the recipe for your upcoming holiday parties:

Cranberry Punch (also referred to as Cosmo Punch)

1- 750 ml CranFusion Vodka
1/2 Cup Cranberry Flavored Mixer (We used Rose's)
6 Cups Cranberry-Raspberry Juice
3 Cups Fresh Orange Juice
1 lemon - Juiced
1 orange thinly sliced
8 oz fresh or frozen raspberry
1 bottle of sparkling wine.

Except for sparkling wine, mix all ingredients in punch bowl. Add sparkling wine to individual glasses.

Cheers!

I Hate Oprah

2006-11-17T22:24:00.000-08:00

My brother has cautioned me against coming out about my Oprah hate, because he is concerned for my safety. He is sure that Oprah's henchmen are trolling the internets looking for Oprah desecrators.

So, if I turn up missing you'll know who to investigate first.

In the early days, I used to watch Oprah with alarming regularity. Then I graduated college and got a job that conflicted with my Oprah habit.

A few years ago, I fell back into the Oprah vortex. I started watching the show with great regularity only to find myself increasingly rolling my eyes.

Why?

OH MY GOD!

Every other comment out of Oprah's mouth is a tale about herself.

It's got nothing to do with the interviewee.

Take for example when she had Jerry Seinfeld on the show (Mind you, this is a dramatic recreation as transcripts from The Oprah Winfrey Show are locked up tighter than Stedman.)

Oprah: Tell me about the first time you went on Carson.

Seinfeld (as heard by Oprah): Woh, woh, woh, woh woh.

Oprah: Oh, I remember the first time I went on Carson . . .

Or, anytime an actor discusses his or he latest film.

Oprah: Tell me about what you did to prepare for that scene.

Actor (as heard by Oprah): Woh, woh, woh, woh woh.

Oprah: Oh, I remember when I was filming The Color Purple, Steven Speilberg . . .

The one that threw me over the edge was the interview she did with Annie Leibovitz on Thursday, November 16, 2006. The audience sees Ms. Leibovitz's powerful images throughout the interview and Oprah goes on and on about her talent and wraps up the interview with this:

"We haven't seen my favorite of Annie's images . . . (wait for it) . . . it's a picture of ME . . . "

I kid you not!!!!!!!!!!!!

This narcissism of hers drives me crazy. I realize it's her show, but I don't watch it because I want to hear the same tired Oprah stories. I watch it because I want to see her interview her guests.

It's like the magazine. Does she really need to have her picture on every cover?

As she's so fond of saying, "Weeeeee, GET IT! It's YOUR magazine!"

Even Martha doesn't feel the need to put her mug on every cover.

But, Oprah is like crack and I cannot break her spell.

So, what I do now is play a drinking game wherein I take a shot everytime Oprah brings the interview back to herself and everytime she makes a veiled lesbian reference about Gail.

I should need that new liver by Christmas.

Today's possible lesbian comment: I'm hear in Seattle with the cast of Grey's Anatomy and I called Gayle at "OUR" Connecticut home.

DRINK!

New Kid On the Block

2006-10-01T22:09:00.000-07:00

For fear of being "dooced," I won't ever talk about what I think about my boss or the company I work for. Quite frankly, it's all so new that anything I say would be superficial anyway.

I do feel comfortable telling you this: I hate being the new kid.

I spent my first week on my new job with the same upset stomach feeling that I would have whenever I met a new group of kids: first day of middle school, first day of high school. That queasy feeling that makes it impossible to even attempt eating a dry piece of toast.

And that's the bitch!

No matter how old I get I still walk into a new environment with the same worries I had when I was sixteen:

I hope they like me.
I hope I don't make an ass out of myself.
What if I don't fit in?

What's worse is that while my old boss drove me crazy, I was actually considering going back there because it was like a comfy old shoe.

Okay, it was like a comfy old shoe that had dog poop smeared on it, but even if it was stinky it at least fit.

Halfway through my first week I sat in my cubicle (MY CUBICLE - I gave up my corner office, with the windows that opened, for a cubicle.) and realized I can't even fart in private!

Also, what's with the "Ladies must wear pantyhose" dress code? It's as if I step into a time machine set to 1956 when I walk through the front doors.

Like I said, that stuff is superficial.

It's just a new environment and will take some time getting used to.

Soon, my assimilation will be complete.

You're So Vain

2006-09-17T20:40:00.000-07:00

I've consistently been using facial moisturizer for about a year now.

I didn't used to be this way. In fact, and at this admission my mother might disown me, I used to be the kind of girl that just washed her face with Ivory before heading out the door.

I've always had issues with acne, and I lived under the assumption that moisturizer would simply clog my pores and lead to more breakouts. This isn't true, but when you spend your teens with as much acne as I did you want as little as possible on your face for fear that it will worsen.

Anyway, I still have the occasional battle with adult acne so my dermatologist has me using Differin. Here is how it works: Differin® Gel normalizes the improper accumulation of skin cells that plug the pores, and effectively keeps them clear.

Before your pores begin to function properly, you first must experience "itching, dryness, redness, burning or peeling" so moisturizing is key.

In the last few weeks, I've even been using a "restorative" eye cream as part of my routine.

Aside from the acne, I was blessed with really good genes. I don't color my hair and I have yet to find a single gray hair (Thanks Mom!). I'm also relatively wrinkle frea. But, the skin around my eyes has always bothered me. I have dark circles that don't disappear no matter how much rest I get. So, I've been using this department store brand's under eye cream that lightens and brightens. It works fine, but I've been thinking I need to try a concealer when low and behold we recieved a flier in the mail advertising my brand's "free gift with purchase" offer.

For most of you, this is junkmail. For me . . . this is porn.

Those of you who know me, know that I don't wear makeup. My mother's last words to me will probably be, "You need a little lipstick." The truth is, my makeup drawer is more like a makeup trunk.

So, when the mailer arrived at my house you'd have thought it was Christmas. Not only do I get to buy makeup, but they are going to give me more makeup for spending $27.50+.

I already needed an eyemakeup remover, so that was $14.00. I just needed to find a good concealer for the dark cirlcles under my eyes, and that's when I saw it:
Clinique | Makeup | Concealers | All About Eyes Concealer

The perfect product: moisturizes, reduces puffiness and hides dark circles.

So, I headed out on a mission and when I got to the counter I couldn't find what I was looking for. I couldn't remember what it was called or what the packaging looked like. I hadn't thought to bring the mailer with me and, much to my dismay, they didn't have a copy of it at the counter . . . uhm, seriously?

All I could remember was that it was three products in one.

I kept telling one of the saleswomen, "I need an undereye concealer that's not so light it gives me that reverse racoon (when your concealer is lighter than your actual skin tone and it looks like you fell asleep in the sun with your sunglasses on) look . It's supposed to help with wrinkles (moisturize) and make me look more rested (reduce puffiness and hide dark circles).

She said, "But honey, you don't even have wrinkles."

To which I looked over my glasses at her and said, "Exactly."

With an, "Ahhhhhh . . . " she busily got to finding my product.

I know I was a huge pain in the ass.

I was one of those people in the library that tells the librarian, "I need help finding a book: it's read with black writing on the cover."

However, the Clinique girls handled it exceptionally well and an hour later I walked away with exactly what I was looking for AND my free gift with purchase.

Technical Support

2006-09-06T11:38:00.000-07:00

You know how when you work somewhere, there's usually a line in your job description that reads:

". . . and other duties as assigned."

In my time with the ASS I've found more and more of my time being taken up by offering tech support, and much to my surprise, I'm pretty good at it.

We offer our members the convenience of registering for courses online. That is to say, we thought it was convenient.

Here's how a typical call will go:

Receptionist buzzing my phone.

M: Trixie, there's a gentleman on line one having trouble registering for a class online.

(Me, internally, "Of course there is.")

Me: Okay (internal sigh) put him through. Hello, this is Trixie, how may I help you?

Member: I'm trying to register online and my computer won't let me in.

Me: Okay, sir. I'm going to have to ask you to clear out all of the information that you've entered in so far. Are you in front of your computer, sir?

Member: No (huge audible sigh) let me get to it.

Me: If you'll enter into your address bar . . .

Member: My what?

Me, huge internal sigh: See up at the top of your screen where it says "http . . . "

Member: OH! Huh.

Me: Okay sir, if you'll put your pointer on there and click on it then type in www.statenamespelledout.affiliationplural.com and hit enter.

Member: It's going now.

Me: Okay sir, just tell me when you get there, okay?

Member: Oh, okay.

Me - checking my cuticles and realizing I'm in desperate need of a manicure.

Member: Okay, what now?

Me: Sir, do you see where there is a picture of the capitol building at the top of the screen?

Member: Yes.

Me: Okay, underneath that, do you see where it says "Home" and next to that it says, "Education?"

Member: Yes.

Me: Put your pointer on education but don't click it. Do you see the menu that appears underneath it and says "Course Information" and then "Education Calendar?"

Member: Yes.

Me: Click on Education Calendar. Once the Calendar comes up you can choose the class you want to attend.

Member: I don't see the class I want.

Me: See where it says September?

Member: OH! Yes, I see it now!

Me: Okay, so click on the class that you want and then you can register for it.

Member: How do I do that?

Me: Sir, please select the class that you are interested in attending and once that comes up on your computer please let me know.

Me - wondering if I'll make it to the gym in time to catch a spinning class.

Member: Okay, now what?

Me: See where it says "Register for Event?"

Member: No.

Me, internally: Seriously?

Me: Scroll down to the bottom of the page, sir.

Member: I see it now.

Me: Click on that, sir, if this is the class you would like to attend. Once you click on that you'll be asked to login. Please let me know when you get to that page sir.

Member: It wants my login and password. What are those?

Me: Do you see right above that, sir, where it says, "Your login is your NRDS number and your password is your last name in lowercase?"

Member: Heh - I guess I didn't read that.

Me, internally: If I had a dollar for every real estate agent that said that to me . . . seriously, it's frightening.

Me: That's okay sir. Do you know your NRDS number sir? (Already looking it up because I know he's going to say . . . "

Member: No.

Me: Your NRDS number is XXXXXXXXX, Please enter that number and then your last name in LOWER CASE, sir. Then, click on login.

Member: It just sent me back to where I came from.

Me: What do you mean sir?

Member: It just sent me back to the event registration page.

Me: Sir, on the left side of the page, see where it reads: Events at ASS?

Member: Yes.

Me: Sir, above that what does it say?

Member: Hey, look at that: it says welcome myownname.

Me: Okay, that means that you are now logged in and can register for the class.

Member: How do I do that?

Me, internally: God grant me the serenity to accept the things . . .

Me: Sir, scroll down and you'll see a box that reads "Register for this Event" and click on that.

Member: Oh, okay. Now it's asking me if I want to continue shopping or checkout. What do I do?

Me - banging my head against my desk: Sir, would you like to purchase another class?

Member: No, I just want to sign up for this one.

Me: Okay, then all you have to do is click on checkout. From there, you'll be asked to provide us with the credit card information you would like to use and once you've entered that you'll want to scroll down and hit submit. Wait a few minutes after you hit submit because then you'll see a screen that reads "Thank You," and that will be your registration confirmation for the course that you have just paid for.

Member: (Huge audible sigh) Why is this so complicated?

Me: Sir, we find that it's more complicated for some of our members than others. Thank you!

Member: Uhm . . . thank you for your help.

Me: Your welcome. Have a good day!

Click.

Get Me to the Church on Time

2006-08-21T19:59:00.000-07:00

The wedding is coming along.

I put a deposit on my dress this weekend.

I'd kind of been putting it off and I was starting to think it was some sort of sign. Like maybe I was trying to forget that I'm getting married and my procrastination was a sign of something deeper.

But, I've realized that I just felt too fat to have the boutique owner wrap that fucking tape measure around my hips. I've been working out though and my "fat pants" have been starting to feel loose so I figured it was time.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I'm nowhere near done with the working out and healthy eating.

I just don't have a lot to say about the wedding. I'm excited and I can't wait to be married to this amazing man, but planning a wedding is boring.

There are a lot of to-do lists and a lot of deposits being paid.

I hate to sound unromantic, but it just doesn't make for good writing.

I did have a moment where I could have kicked myself in the ass.

I was shopping for envelopes for our save-the-date cards and I had one of the cards in my purse to compare colors when I realize that the 50 cards Steve carefully cut for me were WRONG!!!! Our wedding is on December 8th, my grandmother's birthday, and the date of the cards was December 6.

Seriously, this is why you shouldn't edit your own work.

Well, Isn't that Special?

2006-08-18T18:41:00.000-07:00

I used to work with a woman named . . . let's call her Ashley, because that was her name and she worked my last nerve.

Anyway, we worked together at a "design firm," don't even get me started on that place. Our boss could have given The Devil Wears Prada's Miranda Priestly's thinly veiled Anna Wintour look sweet.

A (the boss) owned the firm so to some extent I figured, "It's her company . . . " and would often just brush off her "damn it, do it again" attitude. But, it did wear on me and after a while I got to feeling like I just couldn't get anything right.

Now though, I realize that A always knew exactly how she wanted the copy to read, and I never really had any sort of creative license. The big problem was that of all of my talents, mindreader was not one of them.

But this entry is not about A, it's about Ashley.

Anyway, Ashley was fresh out of college and in her first professional job as a designer. Except, designing for a business isn't quite the same as designing a class project. Most students in a university setting have at least a few weeks to develop a concept and execute it. In A's office we were often given a projects that had to be conceptualized and created, if we were lucky, in three days.

Ashley's first stumbling block was that she wasn't used to the pace. It is a shock, but most people would just deal with it. Work longer hours or take projects home (which we were allowed to do) to get the job done. But not our newest employee, Ashley preferred to complain.

I know I sucked at my job, but there were a few times when I did a damn good job on a writing project. So, I'd turn it over to Ashley to flow in the copy and she'd re-type it. Rather than just copy and paste what I had emailed her, she'd go through the trouble of typing it in, typing it in and not spell checking her work. Which, HELLO, made me look really bad because once copy was flowed in it would go directly to our boss.

I finally asked Ashley about it and she said, "Oh yeah, sometimes I do, do that." So, I asked her if that is what she wanted to do then could she at least spell check it. She said that it was no problem and that she'd start doing so. Except the next few projects that come through are again riddled with spelling errors. So, I get my hnds on one of them and ask her, "Did you spell check this?"

She replied, "Yes, absolutely."

To which I replied, "I find that hard to believe. I mean, I know spell check won't catch the difference between wear and where, but it would definitely catch that you mis-typed "the."

I was infuriated. Not because she'd made the mistake, but because she'd lied about it. Just flat out lied without having to because I wasn't her boss. It's not like telling me the truth would have gotten her into trouble. So, why lie about it.

After that, things swiftly went down hill.

She was miss Supa Christian, married to a youth pastor even, so she was completely a against using obscene language but, lying . . . totally okay apparently. Anyway, she didn't use words like ass, damn, shit or fuck, but was completely fine with calling our boss a whore when she'd piss her off.

Seriously? Fuck is off limits but calling someone a whore is okay?

Listen, I minored in Women's and Gender Studies and my feminist tendencies are always near the surface so I really didn't do well sitting by listening to her call another woman a whore. Don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to someone saying, I'm such a make-up (insert your own noun to descrive your vise- mine is shoe) whore."

I understand that, that calling yourself a "----- whore" is in jest, and maybe that doesn't make any sense to you, but to turn around and call another woman a whore because you don't like her management style (or whatever) is just not acceptable to me.

So, I asked her one day, "Could you please not use the word whore?"

To which SHE responded, "Are you kidding me?"

Me, "No, I think it's really offensive."

She smirked and said, "Okay, fine. I find it really offensive when you say fuck. Can you stop saying that?"

Me, "Okay."

You should have seen her face!

She was so pissed because I didn't get into an argument with her about how I felt the two were fundamentally different in their intent. Fuck, to me, just isn't as loaded as whore is.

Christians and two-year olds, as soon as you engage them in an argument you have already lost.

The sad thing is, I think I could have been friends with her if she hadn't been such a contradictory christian. I believe in God so it's not like I'm sitting around in my atheist basket headed for hell. I know with every fiber of my being that there was a higher power pusing me through some of the tougher times in my life, and every day I am grateful for the many blessings in my life.

Now, why am I even taking the time to trash this girl if I haven't seen her in years?

I just found her blog.

I was checking out the blog of a colleague and . . . surprise, surprise her blog is linked to his.

What I don't believe in is playing the good youth pastor's wife on Sunday and then turn around on your blog and trash overweight people in bathing suits, nice old people in the Wal-Mart parking lot that compliment your baby or the teenage girl you saw inappropriately dressed at the pool (at least SHE was thin).

It's bitchy.

It's judgemental.

Maybe even downright . . . unchristian.

The Waiting Game

2006-08-15T18:35:00.000-07:00

They made me an offer I couldn't refuse.

And then, of course, I countered it and they still wanted me.

I don't know if I've said this before, but this job is with a bank so they want to be absolutely sure I'm not going to go all Set It Off on their asses and are currently conducting a background check on me. I also had to go to one of their approved labs and take a drug test. Now I'm just waiting to hear back before I can quit my job.

I've never taken a drug test before, but I knew I was going to have to pee in a cup. In preparation, I drank my normal 64oz of water that day (32 oz by noon and another 32 oz by 5pm). My dad always comments that I must be in the bathroom all the time from all that water, but my bladder has adjusted so I just don't go that often: maybe twice in a four hour period.

Anyway, I finished my second 32 oz and topped it off with a caffeinated soft drink. My plan was to have the caffeine work as a diuretic to help me get that water moving. It totally did the job, but test anxiety is test anxiety.

I showed up without any cash or my checkbook and worried that I might have to pay. Fortunately, my friends VISA and Mastercard had their pictures posted in the office.

I walked in and there was a gentleman in their before me, but we were both called in at about the same time. I followed my lab tech into a refurbished walk-in closet with a sink and she instructed me to wash my hands. I did as I was told and then she handed me my cup and said, "The bathroom is right next door. Fill it to the line and when you're finished don't flush."

Me, "I'm sorry, did you say DON'T flush?"

Her, "Right, DON'T flush."

Me, completely thrown because not flushing just seems so wrong, "Okay . . . "

Then, just as I'm walking out of the room (sauntering really) she says, "You're being timed . . . "

That is when I became fully aware of the tick, tick, tick that must have been going the entire time I was in the room. Now, it was all I could hear: as if I was on some sort of urinary Beat the Clock.

I wasn't worried though, I was ready for this.

Except maybe a little too ready.

From the second I pulled my pants down it was like Niagra Falls. So I hurried up and stuck the cup down there with one hand. I waited a few seconds, cut it off and checked the cup to see if I'd filled it to the line. I was only halfway there and the clock was still ticking.

Finally, finally I hit the damn line, finished up, wiped . . . fuck, the toilet paper!

I'm standing there with an uncovered cup in my hand, my underpants around my ankles and a wad of soiled toilet paper in my hand. My eyes darted around the room and there were signs everywhere. Signs that I should have read when I walked in, but I was so eager to beat the clock that I just got down to business.

Finally, over the toilet I spot a sign that says, "Do not throw toilet paper into trashcan." Which, leads me to believe I CAN throw it in the toilet - which I do. I tell myself, actually have to tell myself, "DON'T flush the toilet." And, still with the unopened cup in my hand I single-handedly put my underpants and pants back on, fastened them and hustleed out to hand the tech my pee cup.

To which she replies, "Wash your hands."

Busted.

I always wash my hands after I pee, but people I was facing a deadline here!

I guess throwing the paper into the toilet was okay since I did not get called back in and it turns out I did not have to pay.

On my way out though, the gentleman that had walked in with me was also walking out and I heard his lab tech tell him, "Just wait a couple of minutes and maybe it will happen for you."

I felt bad for him you know, but . . .

I totally beat his pansy ass.

No News is Good News

2006-08-06T18:44:00.000-07:00

So, yeah, I don't know anything.

I WAS called in for a second interview, but unfortunately I am still in limbo. I felt that the interviews went well and we will see.

I had a job interview in New Orleans two years ago. It was for a position similar to the one I hold now, but it wouldn't have meant any travel. I would have been running an education department and not have had to drive all over LA.

Clearly, I didn't get it as I am still in AL.

I truly believe everything happens for a reason though because if I had gotten that job Steve and I wouldn't own our own home (home prices are high, high, high in NO) and God knows where I would have been living if I had moved home. I might have lived in a place that got flooded.

And, I love my house!!!

I will have to post pictures on here one of these days, but it really is a sweet two-bedroom, one-bath with french doors leading into the dining room from the living room and an 18' long, 9'deep covered front porch. I've spent hours on our front porch swing with Steve.

We've also decided to have the wedding at home, and our 1920s sweetie is perfect for a home wedding. It will be really small . . . just family and close friends. Having the wedding in AL is also allowing us to keep it on a small budget AND afford an oyster bar. Steve and I adore raw oysters so we are really excited that we'll be able to fit that in our budget. In fact, I joke with him that I knew he loved me because without fail he always offered me the last oyster when we'd order a dozen.

Anyway, not much going on her other than the waiting game.

I Hope I Get It

2006-07-23T13:17:00.000-07:00

For a few weeks now I've been scanning the local classifieds and online sites for a new job. People who have known me for any length of time won't find this odd. I have had a tendency to move on after a year or so at any one job. Part of it is that I get bored, but a larger part of it is that at a year you are familiar enough with a company's structure to know whether or not there is any possiblity of advancement within that organization.

Take my first job out of college: I worked as a copywriter for a national catalog company. I loved that job! I got to play with new products as they came in and then I got to tell our customers why this or that product was so fantastic. The writing was cheesy, but at least I was writing and for a lot of our products it was creative writing.

I learned one important lesson at that job though: don't pigeon hole yourself.

My copy editor had been at the catalog for 20 years, in fact it had been her first job out of college. She'd been there since the 80's, a time when catalog sales were through the roof. Her bloated salary was a result of those glory years, but then the 90's hit and a catalog scandal chopped them off at the knees. Here's a story my CE shared with me,

"Oh, I never thought the catalog was where I would be after all this time. But, the salary increases were so great I couldn't leave. Then, when I finally sent out my resume I got the feeling that employers in other industries felt that all I could do was write for catalogs, so here I am."

That story depressed me, but it made me realize that I couldn't let that happen to me. I also realized my only possibility for advancement with that company was for my CE to die of a sudden illness or for me to kill her as she wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Neither of which were realistic options for me.

So, after that conversation and an annual review that went like this, "We think you are doing a really great job, we just wish you were turning in perfect copy on your first draft. But, we really love you so here's $100 more a month for you! We wish we could do more, but it's been a hard year on the company. Thanks!"

Okay, first of all, a first "draft" is a draft right? Meaning, it's a preliminary version, and I swear to you, 99% of my copy was letter perfect, the most I would get as far as edits were "Change this word to this word, put this word here . . . "

Secondly, I realize that 4% is standard, but I knew I could be working for more.

So, I left and in an effort to diversify my experience, I went to work for a magazine. It was a quirky trade publication that was fun to work at. I was associate editor of the international version of the magazine so I wrote for the domestic issues and edited and handed out assignments for the international issue. I learned a lot of valuable skills at that job. I sharpened my writing and editing skills and I learned how to take and give criticism diplomatically. The only reason I didn't stay there longer than a year was because: a.) we didn't get bylines so or writing was never credited and b.) our publisher was batshit crazy c.) our editor-in-chief was great about taking credit when we'd done something well, but she'd throw us under the bus in an instant if it meant covering her own ass.

Off I went in search for another job and landed the best job of my professional career. I was a curriculum developer for a large non-profit focused on teaching school children the fundamental principles economics and the free-enterprise system. I had the best boss ever at a company that actively promoted from within. I can say without doubt that I would probably still be there if my ex hadn't been military and I had made the choice to leave with him.

We moved and I took a job that was the equivalent of being in an abusive relationship. Nothing I could do was ever good enough and when I did things the way I was told they needed to be, they still weren't right. It was the first job where I I was counseled on my performance. This is the equivalent of being called to the principals office and being given a warning. The last straw for me was when I broke my leg and had to take two weeks off because of the pain. My supervisor said to me, "You can't just take two weeks off and not leave things prepared for your colleagues," and then slid a written warning across her desk for me to sign. I was lucky enough that I'd already secured employment elsewhere so I told her, "I don't think it would be right for me to sign it since I'm only going to be here for two more weeks." To which she responded, "Well, this was just a huge waste of time then." I don't remember my response, something tells me it was just silence as I stood, adjusted my crutches and hobbled out the door.

My next job was in advertising. A job that I failed at miserably. I just wasn't very good at coming up with catchy headlines and the truth is I really didn't care. I was good at long-form copy and radio scripts though, so it's not like I totally sucked. I just think I'd been working for non-profits for so long that I needed to feel I was making a difference, and writing radio spots for the local mall just wasn't doing it for me. I sent out resumes and a friend of mine told me her organization was hiring. So, I interviewed with them and got the job that I am at currently.

I don't hate my current job, but recent events have lead me to realize that no one really cares what I do as long as I don't piss anyone off. It's not like I'm looking for a pat on the head, but I would like to be somewhere that my projects are worthy of notice. Somewhere that my work in our publication is actually, oh I don't know, read.

I've been at jobs that made my life a living hell, so I know that all I have to do is not make waves and things will be okay. That is what some people want I think: a job where they can fly under the radar and continue to get paid, but I want more.

My boss isn't even that bad. I had one manager that fucked me up so good I would spend at least 30 minutes of every morning before work crying. This wan't Holly Hunter in Broadcast News kind of crying either.

There are also nice perks to my current job: I travel a lot so I'm not in the office a whole lot, but I'm not at home a whole lot either. I haven't had a cell phone bill in two years since the company pays for that and this nifty laptop I'm working on is work-issued. But the truth of it is, I am tired of not using my brain.

My current job doesn't give me any chance to use critical thinking skills and it turns out planning corporate training just leaves me feeling like a well-paid caterer.

So, I'm searching again and here's what's happened so far.

I found an outdated job posting that I responded to anyway. I explained to them that since the posting was still online that maybe they hadn't found the right candidate for the position. I didn't get a reply and within two days they had updated their website.

I was a little bummed because I thought maybe that move made me seem genuinely interested and I was hoping the move was bold enough to peak their interest, but nothing.

Then while I was out of town without internet access (in one of Chicago's chi-chi hotels even) I'd received an email from a local bank. It turns out they found my resume on an internet job site. I had posted my resume on this board, but I only ever got contacted by sketchy companies that were looking for someone in "sales." My instructions were to apply through the bank's website to pursue this further.

Not only did I apply, but in less than 24 hours they called me back to set up an interview. It's definitely a position that would require me to use my brain again, so I'm really excited and really confident seeing as how they made the first move.

I've indicated I'm receptive to an offer. And I am, after all, me. (Hee, slightly edited, but bonus points if you can guess what movie that's from.)

I feel good about this, and I've always felt everything happens for a reason so I can only assume that first organization didn't contact me because this is how things are supposed to happen.

Keep your fingers crossed.

The Notebook

2006-07-09T16:25:00.000-07:00

It's 2006 and nothing makes me more giddy than the promise of a new notebook from The Dollar Store. My friend Melissa once shared the following story with me:

"When I was in eight grade, we had Career Day and my favorite presenter was the guy from the local paper. Not because he was from the city and not because of the exciting stories he had to tell, but because when this guy finished his speach he gave away sets of pocket-sized notebooks and golf pencils. I was seated in the back of the room as he handed them out and I remember thinking, 'Please don't run out, please don't run out . . . ' It's really no surprise I grew up to be a writer."

That 5 minute story runs through my head whenever I pull a new notebook from its shelf. It never fails to make me smile because I remember it was the first time I truly identified with a fellow writing geek.

So, I spent Sunday afternoon filling up the first page of my new single-subject, wide-rule Top Flight thinking, "This time it'll be different. This time I'll fill up the entire notebook with my witty prose.

That's the plan anyway.

I could avoid writing on the back of each page, but that's cheating isn't it?

Still, it would be so easy to justify it: writing on the back will just leave an imprint on the back of the cover, or worse, on the back of the previous back.

So?

SO!

Then the back of every page will look sloppy.

Yeah, anything to try to fill up a whole damn notebook.

Only once in my life have I ever filled up an entire notebook: my junior year of high school.

It was my first proper diary - covered in flowery fabric on the exterior and in teenage angst in the interior. It's an incredibly embarrassing tome: as it should be.

It actually starts on my 16th birthday (Technically, March of my sophmore year of high school.). In print, I immortalized my birthday wish,

"Please God, let me have a boyfriend this year."

Seriously, it doesn't get more cringeworthy, 16 year-old than that.

Oh, but it gets better.

For the next three months I whine about the following (not in any particular order):

1. Why wasn't I born with blonde hair!
2. I wish I was popular!
3. I wish I had blue eyes!
4. My parents JUST DON'T GET ME!
5. Please God - let me have a boyfriend this year!
6. I wish I was THIN!
7. SERIOUSLY - MY PARENTS - OH MY GOD!!!!!

That is only the beginning.

And yes, I was incredibly fond of exclamation points and bold print.

Oops, I Need a Stylist

2006-06-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

Her "look" was only the beginning of Britney's problems during the Dateline interview with Matt Lauer.

I finally got around to watching the Dateline interview with Matt Lauer and Britney Spears.

I’ve sat back, watching this girl self-destruct just like the rest of you: shaking my head at her thong displays, her barefoot romps through the 7-ll and the rest of her trailer trash behavior.

I’ve snickered at America’s Pop Princess’ fall from grace so this interview . . . this interview was like a hug from Jesus.

Here are some of my favorite excerpts, with a few editorial comments to fill you in on the gestures exhibited by Spears and Lauer

Spears: I think because I was pregnant with my son, I didn’t want to do interviews. I wanted it to be a little private. But I think 90 percent of the world would agree that the tabloids have kind of gone a little [inappropriate air quote] far[inappropriate air quote] with me lately. You try not to respond to trash . . .

Cut to a brilliant edit of Lauer not responding to Spears.

Spears: They like to have the person they [inappropriate air quote] pick on [inappropriate air quote]. I feel like I’m a target and I feel like other girls are. At a certain point in everybody’s career, they’ll get it.

The misuse of air quotes, which are annoying when used correctly, was AWESOME.

Spears: And I still have helicopters [hovering over my house] that come twice a day.

Lauer: Just trying to get a picture of you at the pool?

Spears: Just anything. And they put the captions on their magazines, “Baby in danger” and stuff like that—which is really silly. But I wouldn’t be in danger if I didn’t have like this impactful thing around me all the time.

Uhm, no you self-centered twit, “Baby in Danger” is in reference to YOUR CHILD.

Lauer: You said a couple of times to me already you believe in karma. And as someone who is now several months pregnant, do you ever stop and think, “You know, he left someone else when she was a couple of months pregnant.” Does that ever cross your mind?

[Rapid blinking by Spears and you can almost see the dim bulb above her lighting up, but it never quite makes it.]

Lauer: What do you see in him? What is it about Kevin that makes you love him?

Spears: He’s very simple. Women complicate everything. He’s so simple. His simplicity and just he’s like a boy. He just, you know, and he cares. He cares so much and his—his heart is awesome. He has a really big heart [so that’s what the kids are calling it now] and I love that.

Oh honey, we know he’s simple. What I find so sad about her response is that even she's trying to justify this relationship at this point.

Federline: I have been paying for everything out of my pocket.

From the allowance he’s given, I’m sure.

Spears: You know, he has children now that he wants to support and not just let it be all me. He’s a man.

Sorry Shar, apparently only Brit’s children are important [read: rich] enough to support.

Spears: They make you feel like you have to have your transformation.

Lauer: Well—

Spears: Madonna reinvents herself. Right?

Oh Brit, Madonna may have gone around with a gold tooth and a wifebeater, but never at the same time. Sure, I remember thinking Madonna was just an attention whore during certain points in her career, but I don’t think anyone ever thought, “That Madonna girl, she’s just poor white trash that came into a little money.”

Spears: I like to cook, try to cook, and I like to clean. I’m obsessive like that. If I watch TV, I like to watch the home-redoing-the-house shows.

This bit of dialogue was disturbing to me because it was accompanied by odd Jack Black Kung Fu waving hands and weaving.

Lauer: How far along are you?
Spears: I don’t know.

How many pregnant women do you know that don’t know how far along they are?

Spears: That driving incident, I did it with my dad. I’d sit on his lap and I drive. We’re country.

As if we ever had any doubt about how "country" she is.

And just days after that photo appeared, on a visit to New York City, Britney stumbled again—this time literally.

Lauer: You’re walking with Sean in one arm and you tripped on—what was it, your pants?

Spears: Actually, I didn’t trip on anything. It was a New York street, and just cobblestones. [Uhm, no. I’ve seen the pictures of her stumbling and there were no cobblestones on that street.] And I was walking and I don’t think we were prepared with one security, ‘cause I’ve never had that much paparazzi ever on me in New York. So we didn’t even know there was gonna be that many people. So I think it was a mixture of so many paparazzi and how the road was all messed up [again, I’ve seen the pictures of this incident and it looks like a pretty level street], me just trying to get in the car.

Lauer: And there was a picture taken shortly afterward, I think you were in a store. And you appeared to be crying.

Spears: Oh yeah.

Lauer: Very upset. Were you upset because you just had a close call with your son? Or were you upset because the—

Spears: Because—

Lauer: —lenses were still on?

Spears: Well, because I got in the car and I was hungry.

I just couldn’t decide what to edit out of that because, it’s just ridiculous. So yeah, forget that the baby almost fell and could have busted his head open: she was hungry. Also, if you watch the interview, you can tell that Lauer is trying his best to prompt her towards the better answer, but she keeps interrupting him and it really does her no favors.

But it doesn’t mean she isn’t keeping busy. She found time to do a guest appearance on NBC’s “Will and Grace”.

Lauer: Was it fun for you?

Spears: It was awesome.

Lauer: Why? What was so great about it?

Spears: I hadn’t been out there for so long. So it was really exciting for me. And I just love funny people. Funny people are great. You know? And so hilarious.

Ya’ll know she’s a member of Mensa right?

And now, for Brits’ crimes against grammar: seriously, Momma Spears should NOT have pulled her out of school for her career.

. . . I didn’t have like this impactful thing around me all the time.

Nouns and adjectives – she just makes them up as she goes along.

So in my young mind I’m like, “I’m gonna just get married to someone of my home friends.

Actually, I didn’t know [regarding Federline’s relationship with Shar Jackson]. I didn’t know until two months later. But I don’t blame him because him and his friends—I’ve talked to his friends about this. They weren’t technically together when he came to me anyways.

I’m a motional wreck right now.

I just feel like the editors they don’t realize that there’s not just one magazine—there’s other magazines and they’re all paying to get a story. And I think that's where the energy from the people is coming from.

And I wanted to touch on some things with my husband because of the tabloids, that I try to keep my baby out of this whole thing. That’s what you know what I mean?
I think that’s cruelty when you judge people and—I’m not a Bible Belt.

What? Seriously, is this an anagram?

I kind of feel sorry for her because you can tell she's lost. She was given too much, too soon and didn't have any guidance.

But Britney, it's time to take this runaway horse by the reins and get yourself a team.

Get a publicist, get an image consultant . . . you can afford it.

And, I know it makes you sad to hear this, but ditch Kevin.

He is deadweight. I know he has a big "heart," but there are a lot of men out there with big "hearts."

Champagne Supernova

2006-06-20T08:10:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been in your car, or at work, listening to the radio, just minding your own business, when a song from a particular time in your past sneaks in and kicks you in the stomach.

Yeah: I'm sitting here at work and fucking Oasis comes on the radio with Champagne Supernova. It was getting heavy airplay during the summer of 1996. I was about to celebrate my first year of marriage, so I was still a giddy newlywed. I remember the song well because I spent a lot of that summer at the natatorium in LSU's pool, and that song played at least once a day on the loudspeaker.

But, I have this one distinct memory of it playing.

I was practicing the backstroke and J showed up at the pool with my friend Jen. I remember taking a break and seeing them at the other end of the pool (heads together in confidence).

I remember feeling really happy.

Happy because I was 21, young, pretty and my husband and best friend got along.

Now, 10 years later, I realize that J was probably telling Jen about the latest gaggly of guys he had fucked, and Jen was doing her best to encourage him to be honest with me.

So, now when I hear Champagne Supernova I feel incredibly sad.

Sad because I still mourn for that happy girl who thought nothing could go wrong.

Oasis - Champagne Supernova

How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?

Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky

Wake up the dawn and ask her why
A dreamer dreams she never dies
Wipe that tear away now from your eye
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you when we were getting high?

Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky

Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why

How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?

Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky

Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why

How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high

Three Guesses

2006-05-31T13:06:00.000-07:00

What do YOU think Tom is up to in this picture?

Meanwhile, Katie stumbles forward in a drugged stupor.

I'd Rather Be Dancing

2006-05-23T19:22:00.000-07:00

I don't usually talk about work because I don't want to get dooced, but I have a job that requires a significant amount of overnight travel. It's not glamorous and it's not fun. It takes me away from S, a set routine and my comfy bed.

But tonight, TONIGHT I discovered an exciting new perk to business travel: trying out new gyms.

This week I'm in a city I've been to a number of times and two trips ago I stayed at a hotel that partners with a club called the Riviera. Usually when I go to the gym I play it safe and do some freeweights and either job on the treadmill or hop on an elliptical. However, the last time I was here I went to the gym at the same time that one of the cardio classes was going on. I couldn't exactly see what they were doing from the machine that I was one, but I could hear the music: PDiddy, Nelly, Ludacris . . . I was intrigued. So I finished up my workout and peeked in - they were dancing! Dancing like they were at 'da club, ya'll.

I danced for 11 years and it's been a long time since I took my last class and at that I only took ballet, tap and jazz because the school I attended didn't offer hiphop. So, when I saw this class I made a mental note to call the gym the next time I was in town and I was in luck.

Tonight was my first night of "Cardio Jam" and it was AWESOME. I felt like JLo up in that joint. There were no mirrors in the class so I just kind of threw it out there and had a good time. In my head I looked awesome and kicked ass, on the outside I'm sure I looked like I belonged in a Rhythmless Nation, but I didn't care.

It's been a long time since I went to the gym and had this much fun and my only true sadness here is that my gym at home doesn't offer a class like this one. But, I'm here through Friday and they are offering another CJ class on Thursday night so you know I'll be shaking it.

I Touch Roses

2006-05-08T19:22:00.000-07:00

When we moved into our home (built in the late 1920s) we were pleased with the existing flora on the premises: camellias, fig bushes, lantana, azaleas . . . and a large, gangly rose bush. I don't know much about plants, but I know enough to live in a home through at least one calendar year in order to see what pops up in the yard. I know even less about roses, so I turn to the internets to help me identify this beauty:

Also, it appears to close up at night. I didn't know roses did that.

And, just in case there are any gardeners looking for some porn:

You Make the Call

2006-05-01T16:30:00.000-07:00

We are but a few months away from the wedding date and I need to turn to you the internets to help me make an important decision:

Goat

Or, No Goat:

You make the call.

Also, for those of you that I don't get to see on a daily basis, here is a picture of the ring:

Fat Bottomed Girls Were Not Born to Run

2006-04-26T08:35:00.000-07:00

At the beginning of the year, I posted this.

Ya'll saw the pictures I've posted before. I did train with the local group and by our race course practice run I was walk/running a pretty good 5K. Then, I went on some business travel and came down with amoebic dysentery. According to Wikipedia, this is something common when travelers visit "developing nations." I was in Alabama people, which admittedly isn't all that far along, but COME ON!

The plan was to run the Heritage Race through downtown Montgomery, but on the morning of the race I was still experiencing some cramping and discomfort. Not to mention, two weeks of persistent diarrhea can do some pretty effective dehydrating.

So, the race was a no go for me. I was pretty upset because I have a history of not following through. I figured if I'd skipped this chance, then I might just blow it off and not ever run a 5k.

Then, I saw an add for the Joy to Life: Walk of Life 5K Walk/Run.

Six years ago now, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was a post-menopausal woman at the time and her chances of recovery were incredibly high (in the 90th percentile), so I never really worried for her life because I knew that statistically her chances of survival were great.

More importantly, my mom became my biggest hero because her chances of survival were greatly improved by early detection. See, her cancer was detected during her routine, annual mammogram. It was so small that even a monthly self-breast exam wouldn't have found anything. Here doctors actually described the "mass" as being no larger than a grain of sand. My mom was very fortunate to: 1)find it early, 2)be a post-menopausal woman and 3)have a medical plan that allows her to afford annual mammograms.

Which is why Joy to Life: Walk of Life 5K Walk/Run was a no-brainer for me. All proceeds from the annual Walk of Life benefit the Foundation, which supports screenings and early detection of breast cancer for women in the tri-county area who are younger than 50 years old and cannot afford mammograms.

So, I strapped on my running shoes and headed to the race bright and early on Saturday morning. I picked up my number and filled out my "I am walking in honor of: Edna Martinez" form for the back of my shirt and I stood around. I was nervous and excited, but mostly I was scared that I'd fall or do something equally uncoordinated during the race.

Within minutes of arriving, I was approached by a few members of my original running club and our coordinator. I was relieved to see Mary because I'd been needing that validation. That whole, "SEE, I did show up. I did follow-through."

I didn't finish in record time: 00:46:09, but there were still scores of people behind me when I crossed that finish line.

But, as I ran up to the finish line and heard the cheering voices of survivors, current breast cancer patients and other runners that had finished before me, I realized it wasn't about that.

It was about my $25 registration fee helping save someone's mother, daughter, sister, friend.

That, in the end, was my reward.

Talk To The Hand

2006-03-09T14:02:00.000-08:00

I spent a large part of my weekend sacked out on the couch watching The Gilmore Girls Season 1 DVDs (Thanks Secret Squirrel).

I'm not ashamed to admit that I spent that much time loafing. Fuck it, I've earned it. I've been on the road for six weeks now so I think I've earned a little downtime.

What I am ashamed to admit is that I'm not so good with the remote control. I forget which button just rewinds vs taking me back to a previous scene. I also don't know when I can and can't hit certain buttons.

But, you can bet my bitchy DVD player doesn't let me get away with shit.

If, say, I'm trying to look at the menu that shows me the list of episodes before the DVD player is ready, she sassily replies with:

That's right: my DVD playes gives me THE HAND.

I try to fast forward through the FBI Warning to get my GG fix, but she's all:

"You want me to 'hurry up' so you can watch your show? Uh-uh, I don't think so."

Bitch.

Wish List

2006-02-14T13:25:00.000-08:00

We are a little over a month away from my birthday, and since I'm fairly certain the only person reading me these days is my brother (Hi Boo!), I'm going to put up my wish list:

1. A subscription to Real Simple Magazine
2. Yoga pants from Old Navy (Size L)
3. Girlmore Girls on DVD (Season 2) (My friend The Secret Squirrel surprised me with this. Thanks B!)
4. this baby.
5. I totally couldn't wait on this so I splurged this weekend and bought this my own damn self.

Check back in for periodic updates :)

Lez Be Friends

2006-02-14T12:50:00.000-08:00

Oooh, this is my 100th post. I'll wait while you roll out the big cake with all the candles and start my clip show.

Anyway, my brother has gotten me into watching The L Word. I've never watched this show before because I didn't used to have Showtime. I'm really cheap so I just didn't go for any of the movie channels, but then I moved and the cable company didn't catch on to the fact that they left me the "premium" channels (What?). So, now every Sunday evening finds me watching The L Word.

I love it.

Mostly because I am fascinated by the complexity of women's relationships. No matter how many hateful things they do to each other, they remain in the same web of friendship. Maybe it's that untangling themselves from it would be too complicated. I don't know, the truth is I've never had trouble cutting myself out of a relationship that is past it's prime, so these women fascinate me. Then again, I also have few people that would come to my side if I were diagnosed with breast cancer (as Dana was a few weeks ago).

Anyway, and I think this show has taken heat for this, I have never seen this many beautiful lesbians in one group.

While I may live in the South, where being out isn't exactly embraced, I have had lesbian friends . . . quite a few. I've also been to more than my share of lesbian bars packed with throngs of Sapphic sisters.

Now, it's not like all the lesbian gals down here are sporting mullets, driving beat up trucks and carrying a can of Skoal in their back pocket, but they don't look like that.

What I see a lot down here are fabulous gay men (many of whom I am blessed with their friendship).

Beautiful men that work out, are coifed within an inch of their lives and KNOW how to dress.

Where have all the pretty lesbians gone?

I Hear The Secrets That You Keep

2006-02-08T08:15:00.000-08:00

Anyone that's had to spend the night with me is well aware of the fact that I talk in my sleep.

It's usually random stuff, nothing that really makes any sense.

So, imagine my surprise last Saturday morning when I hear S say:

"Well, do we qualify?"

I had only just woken up, so I asked, "Are you awake?"

S, with eyes closed, "Yes."

I figured why not find out what we qualify may or may not for. So, I cut my eyes at him and thought, "Why not?"

So, I replied, "What do you want to qualify for?"

S, "Food stamps . . . "

Of all the things we could qualify for (home loan, as adoptive parents, car loan . . . ), he comes up with FOOD STAMPS!

My reply, "Why would we want food stamps?"

S, "If someone else is willing to pay for our food . . . "

At which point I stared at the ceiling and realized: dear God, I am marrying my father.

Me, "S, are you sure you're awake?"

S, still with eyes closed, "Why?"

Me, "You were just talking to me about food stamps."

S, "Hmm, I guess I'm not awake."

And in nanoseconds he was softly snoring.

Born to Run

2006-01-31T14:45:00.000-08:00

Except, not.

It is so clear in this picture that I am NOT feeling that endorphine rush.

You know what I love about that picture the most?

You can just tell that I'm thinking, "Dear God, why am I doing this to myself?" While the bitch in the background is all, "I love to run . . . weeeeeee!"

Also: my double chin is so massive I look like I have the goiter.

In my defense, I did not know they were taking my picture.

So, two weeks later, when I saw the camera aimed in my direction: I was ready. This, is what you call FIERCE.

I blame my father for cheeks that look like I'm storing nuts for the winter.

Book List

2006-01-31T13:15:00.000-08:00

S' parents gave me a Barnes & Noble gift certificate for Christmas. I'm rather deliberate in my purchases so it's taken me a while to come up with a list of reading materials worthy of my spending the gc.

On the top of my list was a new calendar. I know this isn't impressive, but I needed one and by the end of January they are 75% off - you know it was prudent of me to wait until after the new year to make this purchase, but I really limited myself. I had a choice of Cute Cats 2006, More Cute Cats 2006 and Dali. I went with the Dali. I don't have any particular affinity for Dali, but his work reminds me of a moment I had during the first spring I lived in Colorado Springs.

Springtime in the Springs is gorgeous. The skies our cloudless and the blue is the most startling shade of indigo. The sky looks even more stunning against the mostly barren terrain. I really can't do it justice. Anyway, this particular spring morning I was on my way to work, anyone that knows me is well aware of the fact that I am not a morning person, so my morning commute was usually my 30 minutes to wake-up and face another day at work. On this particular day, I remember glancing into my rearview mirror to check my eyeliner (what, like I ever look in there to see if I can switch lanes) and I saw this.

"Fuck me," I thought.

Mind you, it was early, I was still groggy and I couldn't make out the basket so for a brief time, on my otherwise boring drive, I truly felt as if I was living inside of a Dali painting. Alas, it was just a hot air balloon.

Later That Same Day . . .

My other purchases at B&N were the latest issue of Real Simple and Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking.

Didion's book has been on my wish list for a while now and it has been worth the expenditure. It's not a cheery book as she recounts for us the death of her husband and the year thereafter, which includes the touch-and-go hospitalization of her daughter, Quintana Roo. Roo, died of acute pancreatitis (not the reason for hospitalization in the boo) after the book's publication.

What moved me was how much her mourning period reminds me of what I went through when my marriage ended.

She opens the novel with:

Joan Didion starts her book:

"Life changes fast
Life changes in an instant
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends."

For me it was a phone call from my spouse and life as I knew it had ended. She goes on about how people always say, "It was just a normal day when . . . " My recollection of the day I found out about J starts out, "It was another beautiful spring day . . . " not unlike the one in which I unexpectedly found myself in a Dali painting.

I can't tell you what happened in the hours after I found out about J. I am only sure of the fact that I finished out my day at work as if it was any other day.

Didion is referred to as a "cool customer" by the paramedics at the hospital. Rather than falling to her knees in a mass of uncontrolled sobbing, Didion takes stock of the moment she is in and focuses on the mundane: I'll need my keys if we are going to the hospital. I don't think she's a "cool customer" as much as she's doing what she needs to deal with the situation.

I could do this with a lot of what Didion when through, but I won't. If you've read my blog, you know the story of J and I so I won't bore you with it here. It would also be awfully naive of me to compare the end of a relationship to the lose of a spouse.

But, the next time a friend, acquaintance or sibling, whatever, goes over their breakup/divorce for the 1000th time don't belittle his or her pain by saying, "Get over it already."

The loss of a spouse/partner is painful, no matter how it happens.