I admit, I'm kind of a geek. So, I spend time online reading other people's blogs. This entry, which also won a Diarist Award for best rant, cracks me up:
http://i-girl.diaryland.com/040407_96.html
Let's just say, she inspired this entry.
See, I've been watching porn lately and I have to admit I just don't get it.
What I-Girl said really jumps out at me (no pun intended). In particular:
the precious slap, the spitting and the EXTREME closeups.
Let's start with: the slap.
What is that! When I see the guys do it to the woman it's one thing. Not that it's right, or remotely sexy, but I'm guessing that this guy is just clueless and just has no idea what to do. BUT, what really gets me is when the woman does it to herself or to another woman.
I don't care how much fucking money you want to pay me, ain't no way I'm going to slap my own pussy.
It just doesn't feel good. It's a slap.
Would I slap another woman's pussy? Aw HELL no! I like my eyes, I don't want to risk my partner in porn scratching my eyes out with her GED nails . . . thaaaaaanks. Tell you what, start showing the women slap a man's dick or balls and then maybe, maaaaaaaaaaaaybe I'll change my mind.
The spitting.
Look, I know that films work under a budget, but get some ID. Christ, K-Y in a pump bottle would do. I'm tired of watching guys spit in a woman's pussy. Y
ou know what dude? You gotta spit in it, ya probably ain't doin' a good job.
Conversely, I really hate watching a woman hawk a loogie on a guy's dick. That's just nasty.
The close-ups. NO, just - no. Aside from being too up close and personal for me, it's boring.
In and out, in and out . . . there's no variation.
I like face, I like reactions. I think the close-up is a result of a director who thinks it's naughty to make the "ok" sign with the thumb and forefinger of one hand while sliding the forefinger of the other hand in and out of the "o."
Want to know what frightens me about porn?
It's not the potential for degradation, it's not the unrealistic body images and it's not the sex. Dude, I like sex.
It's the fact that somewhere, there's young guys somewhere studying the oral sex scenes and taking notes.
Step away from the monitor little one's. Put down the pad and paper and erase from your mind what you've just seen.
We do not like the fast tongue flicky thing. You are not a vibrator and you never will be: I'm sorry, but get over it. Slow and steady wins the race . . . believe me. Tease it a little, go slowly, change your pressure and don't forget to use your hands.
Again, forget what you've seen in the movies. I don't want you to pump your fingers in and out of me like a plunger. Slow, steady strokes and for christ's sake watch my hips and listen to my breathing. You don't have to actually ask, "Did you come?"
If you gotta ask . . .
And before I wrap things up to go look at porn: should you ever actually get lucky enough to get near a real live vagina . . . don't drill it like a jackhammer.
At least . . . not from the getgo.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Friday, May 13, 2005
Sing - Sing A Song . . .
I was sitting at my desk this morning working on some articles for our quarterly publication when Pearl Jam's Daughter started playing on the radio. I reached over and cranked it up because I used to love that song.
It came out when I was a freshman in college and I remember playing it over and over in my car's tape deck during the ride between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. I'm sitting in my office feeling these feelings I felt over ten years ago and they hit me like a brick wall because it's been so long since I was silly and irresponsible. I miss those days.
I miss not having to be anywhere until noon. I miss hanging out, dancing and drinking until the bars closed. I miss the fried mushrooms from The Chimes restaurant and the hash browns from Louie's. I miss feeling like every day held a new adventure.
When it comes to music, nothing takes me back like the songs I listened to during the Summer of 1993. That was right after I graduated high school, I had my first job and I was dating a ridiculously silly guy that was two years younger than I.
I remember being in the back seat with R and making out to Tony! Toni! Tone!'s If I Had No Loot while R's best friend C drove. PM Dawn's Looking Through Patient Eyes, Duran Duran's Ordinary World, Whitney Houston I Have Nothing, Spin Doctor's Two Princes, SWV's Weak. All of this music played over and over on the musak at our job.
None of those songs are fantastic in their own right, most of them are pure crap, but when I hear them they take me back. I can close my eyes and instantly be back in R's car, leaning against the seat and feeling like his girl.
I still talk to R. He's married and has two adorable little kids. Sometimes we reminsce about our relationship and laugh and sigh. The thing is, it really wasn't the healthiest relationship. He's quite possibly the only person that's ever brought me to yelling during an argument. He liked to push my buttons because I could give it right back. We were like cats and dogs most of the time.
But, it was the easiest relationship I've ever been in because we didn't put any expectations on each other. It was just a summer thing and we were always clear about that. So, we hung out, had a good time and made each other laugh.
Sure, those songs from the summer of 1993 still make me feel all giddy and girlie, so I go with that and love the memories that they produce. It was an awesome time.
It was perfect for me at 18, but that's where I'd like to keep it.
It came out when I was a freshman in college and I remember playing it over and over in my car's tape deck during the ride between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. I'm sitting in my office feeling these feelings I felt over ten years ago and they hit me like a brick wall because it's been so long since I was silly and irresponsible. I miss those days.
I miss not having to be anywhere until noon. I miss hanging out, dancing and drinking until the bars closed. I miss the fried mushrooms from The Chimes restaurant and the hash browns from Louie's. I miss feeling like every day held a new adventure.
When it comes to music, nothing takes me back like the songs I listened to during the Summer of 1993. That was right after I graduated high school, I had my first job and I was dating a ridiculously silly guy that was two years younger than I.
I remember being in the back seat with R and making out to Tony! Toni! Tone!'s If I Had No Loot while R's best friend C drove. PM Dawn's Looking Through Patient Eyes, Duran Duran's Ordinary World, Whitney Houston I Have Nothing, Spin Doctor's Two Princes, SWV's Weak. All of this music played over and over on the musak at our job.
None of those songs are fantastic in their own right, most of them are pure crap, but when I hear them they take me back. I can close my eyes and instantly be back in R's car, leaning against the seat and feeling like his girl.
I still talk to R. He's married and has two adorable little kids. Sometimes we reminsce about our relationship and laugh and sigh. The thing is, it really wasn't the healthiest relationship. He's quite possibly the only person that's ever brought me to yelling during an argument. He liked to push my buttons because I could give it right back. We were like cats and dogs most of the time.
But, it was the easiest relationship I've ever been in because we didn't put any expectations on each other. It was just a summer thing and we were always clear about that. So, we hung out, had a good time and made each other laugh.
Sure, those songs from the summer of 1993 still make me feel all giddy and girlie, so I go with that and love the memories that they produce. It was an awesome time.
It was perfect for me at 18, but that's where I'd like to keep it.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Random Thoughts
The thing is, right now I don't really have a whole lot going on. There's no drama in my life so I don't have much to post.
Things are going well with S. I have just discovered the Gilmore Girls' marathons on ABC Family so I've been watching a lot of those. Last weekend S said to me, "You know, I downloaded a bunch of those for you. If you want I can save them to disk and we could curl up in bed and you could have a Gilmore Girls day."
Best. Boyfriend. Evah!
That's what my life is most of the time: all sweet and shit. I dig it.
S is currently going through a rough bought with an allergic reaction to Virginia Creeper. It ain't pretty folks. But, he's through the worst of it.
I watched Closer last night and man was that depressing. Just a reminder of how much we can rationalize having an affair and telling/not telling our partner. I was laying in bed watching it with S and I looked up at him and without even looking at me he squeezed his arm tighter around me. It felt reassuring and it was exactly what I needed.
I know that S isn't perfect, so occasionally I do realize that he's likely to cheat. He's just as likely to cheat as I am. I don't preoccupy myself with the thought of him cheatng, but he's human.
Lately I've been having some really upseting dreams. In one, S was packing up his clothes and leaving me. He didn't even talk to me . . . just kept packing while I tried to get him to talk to me.
I had a dream this weekend that really sucked. S' sister J invited me out to go shopping only she left out one small detail: S' ex girlfriend B was joining us. It was wretched because J just kept going on and on about how B was better match for S. How I'd never measure up and that I should leave S because it was only a matter of time before he leaves me. That S has only ever loved B and will always love B. The part that made this dream so rough was that J wasn't letting me say a damn thing. It was Mean Girls with grown up women and it sucked.
I woke up very pouty the next morning and when I padded into the living room to find S I was on the verge of tears when I said, "I need you." He held me and let me tell him about my dream. He rubbed my back, kissed my head and whispered, "It was just a dream." It's so simple but that always makes me feel better.
Things are going well with S. I have just discovered the Gilmore Girls' marathons on ABC Family so I've been watching a lot of those. Last weekend S said to me, "You know, I downloaded a bunch of those for you. If you want I can save them to disk and we could curl up in bed and you could have a Gilmore Girls day."
Best. Boyfriend. Evah!
That's what my life is most of the time: all sweet and shit. I dig it.
S is currently going through a rough bought with an allergic reaction to Virginia Creeper. It ain't pretty folks. But, he's through the worst of it.
I watched Closer last night and man was that depressing. Just a reminder of how much we can rationalize having an affair and telling/not telling our partner. I was laying in bed watching it with S and I looked up at him and without even looking at me he squeezed his arm tighter around me. It felt reassuring and it was exactly what I needed.
I know that S isn't perfect, so occasionally I do realize that he's likely to cheat. He's just as likely to cheat as I am. I don't preoccupy myself with the thought of him cheatng, but he's human.
Lately I've been having some really upseting dreams. In one, S was packing up his clothes and leaving me. He didn't even talk to me . . . just kept packing while I tried to get him to talk to me.
I had a dream this weekend that really sucked. S' sister J invited me out to go shopping only she left out one small detail: S' ex girlfriend B was joining us. It was wretched because J just kept going on and on about how B was better match for S. How I'd never measure up and that I should leave S because it was only a matter of time before he leaves me. That S has only ever loved B and will always love B. The part that made this dream so rough was that J wasn't letting me say a damn thing. It was Mean Girls with grown up women and it sucked.
I woke up very pouty the next morning and when I padded into the living room to find S I was on the verge of tears when I said, "I need you." He held me and let me tell him about my dream. He rubbed my back, kissed my head and whispered, "It was just a dream." It's so simple but that always makes me feel better.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Cry Baby
I read the following at Coleen's website: www.hussified.com.
For those of you who know me really well, you'll know that I'm a big cry baby. With that being said, you must understand that sometimes I cry at a really good comercial, but when it comes to movies there's one scene that always makes me well up.
It's a scene from Forrest Gump. Forrest and Jenny have just spent the day in DC and Jenny turns to Forrest and they exchange the following words:
Jenny Curran: Why are you so good to me?
Forrest Gump: You're my girl.
I know it doesn't read like much, but it's all in the delivery. Kills me every time I even think about Hanks' expression when he says, "You're my girl." Seriously, as I sit here typing this out I'm welling up a little.
The other scene (and this is from a TV show) is when Miranda and Steve are finally honest about their feeling on Sex and the City (Pulled from www.televisionwithoutpity.com):
[Miranda] stares at the cake, which only reads, "Happy Birthday, Brady."
Steve walks in, with a candle shaped like a number one. He's all, will you look at that?
[Miranda] says, "I love you. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have said it! I fucked it up! But I love you!"
[Steve replies that it's okay]"I mean, come on! You're the one."
Again, it's all in the delivery, the look in his face and the tone in his voice when he says, "You're the one."
That one actually makes me cry when I watch it.
What scene in what movie always makes you well up (want to cry), even just thinking about it? If they are too numerous to mention, then what one is the saddest and why.
For those of you who know me really well, you'll know that I'm a big cry baby. With that being said, you must understand that sometimes I cry at a really good comercial, but when it comes to movies there's one scene that always makes me well up.
It's a scene from Forrest Gump. Forrest and Jenny have just spent the day in DC and Jenny turns to Forrest and they exchange the following words:
Jenny Curran: Why are you so good to me?
Forrest Gump: You're my girl.
I know it doesn't read like much, but it's all in the delivery. Kills me every time I even think about Hanks' expression when he says, "You're my girl." Seriously, as I sit here typing this out I'm welling up a little.
The other scene (and this is from a TV show) is when Miranda and Steve are finally honest about their feeling on Sex and the City (Pulled from www.televisionwithoutpity.com):
[Miranda] stares at the cake, which only reads, "Happy Birthday, Brady."
Steve walks in, with a candle shaped like a number one. He's all, will you look at that?
[Miranda] says, "I love you. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have said it! I fucked it up! But I love you!"
[Steve replies that it's okay]"I mean, come on! You're the one."
Again, it's all in the delivery, the look in his face and the tone in his voice when he says, "You're the one."
That one actually makes me cry when I watch it.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
'Til Death Do Us Part
A friend of mine asked me the other day if I wanted to get married. It wasn't a proposal or anything, it was just a question.
I've been thinking about this for a while and the truth is I don't think I need to get married. Maybe it's like skydiving in that I've done it once, it was thrilling, but I don't feel the need to do it again because I know I can attain that thrill through other means.
I know that as a divorcee any comments that I have on marriage may just be referred to as bitter mutterings, but I think that marriage is a beautiful sacrament not to be taken lightly. I also know that while there will be downs, the ups are amazing and rewarding. However, that doesn't mean you have to be married to experience the blessings of love, commitment and loyalty.
Here's the thing, I don't think I need to get married to be in a loving, committed relationship. I don't think marriage will deepen our commitment to each other because I'm already committed to this man and only this man, as he is to me.
I don't think marriage will make me feel like S and I are more of a unit or team: the two of us against the world. I feel that we already are and I wake up every morning feeling blessed that every day this man chooses to love me with the same commitment and intensity that I choose to love him.
Steve is my family and I am his, we know this with every certainty.
So, why not get married anyway?
I think that once "'Til Death Do Us Part" is uttered at a ceremony the blessing of this person choosing me every day gets lost along the way. The permanence that a marriage ceremony implies makes it easy for us to take each other for granted. I'm happy with our relationship and I can't imagine it getting deeper or more committed than it already is. I simply don't need marriage to move my relationship to "the next level" because it's already there.
I recognize the great privilege it would be to be S's wife, but I don't need that to feel validated.
Some might say what Carrie Fisher said in When Harry Met Sally about divorce, "At least you can say you WERE married."
But, what the hell does that mean?
I've been thinking about this for a while and the truth is I don't think I need to get married. Maybe it's like skydiving in that I've done it once, it was thrilling, but I don't feel the need to do it again because I know I can attain that thrill through other means.
I know that as a divorcee any comments that I have on marriage may just be referred to as bitter mutterings, but I think that marriage is a beautiful sacrament not to be taken lightly. I also know that while there will be downs, the ups are amazing and rewarding. However, that doesn't mean you have to be married to experience the blessings of love, commitment and loyalty.
Here's the thing, I don't think I need to get married to be in a loving, committed relationship. I don't think marriage will deepen our commitment to each other because I'm already committed to this man and only this man, as he is to me.
I don't think marriage will make me feel like S and I are more of a unit or team: the two of us against the world. I feel that we already are and I wake up every morning feeling blessed that every day this man chooses to love me with the same commitment and intensity that I choose to love him.
Steve is my family and I am his, we know this with every certainty.
So, why not get married anyway?
I think that once "'Til Death Do Us Part" is uttered at a ceremony the blessing of this person choosing me every day gets lost along the way. The permanence that a marriage ceremony implies makes it easy for us to take each other for granted. I'm happy with our relationship and I can't imagine it getting deeper or more committed than it already is. I simply don't need marriage to move my relationship to "the next level" because it's already there.
I recognize the great privilege it would be to be S's wife, but I don't need that to feel validated.
Some might say what Carrie Fisher said in When Harry Met Sally about divorce, "At least you can say you WERE married."
But, what the hell does that mean?
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Hey Shorty . . . It's Your Birthday
We're gonna party like it's your birthday . . .
Seriously though, my 30th birthday was last weekend and it was awesome!!!!
I was a little bummed at first because I didn't think my dad would be able to make it to dinner on Friday night. He was flying back to N.O. from a business trip and wasn't due back until 7 pm. We were having dinner at 5:30 because everyone was tired from the week. S, J and I were hanging out on my mom's back porch when I see this shadow through the sliding glass doors . . . it was dad!!!!
He'd taken an earlier flight and surprised all of us!!!!!
On Saturday we all went to breakast and I got to hang out with my mom. She took me shopping and even bought me a birthday outfit. Later that afternoon we went back to the house and my longest-lasting friend Mischa was there.
I've known Mischa since we were in third grade and although our friendship has had lots of ups and downs she is the only woman I have ever known that will tell me when my face is dirty and help me clean it up.
She drove in from Baton Rouge at the last minute to help me celebrate my birthday. She left her three girls (three under six years of age) and her husband to party with with me.
S, J, Mischa and I met out with my brother and his partner. We started out with a really long dinner (due to the tragic waitress) that didn't need to be as long as it was, but man was it fun. Then, we went over to Parade (a gay bar in New Orleans) and were fortunate to get in before they started charging a cover (we got there at 9ish or so) AND it was still happy hour.
And then something truly wild happened. I'm sitting on a stool (yes, we even had bar stools to perch on) and I look over J's shoulder and see this guy. This guy that looks really familiar and I ask J, "Hey, is that Ty?"
So, always the forward person, J goes over there and asks, "Hey, is your name Ty?"
And, it totally was. Ty was a guy that I new at LSU. He was an aerobics instructor back in the day so I didn't really know him, but then he sort of fell into my circle of friends through another friend so we really go to know him really well. The amazing thing was that in 1994 Ty was HIV positive and we just never knew how much more time we'd have with him. 11 years later he's still around (although he did have a close call two years ago) and as crazy as ever.
We did a lot of drinking and a lot of dancing and on the ride home I realized how truly blessed I am. J flew across the country to help me celebrate my 30th birthday, Mischa dropped her plans at the last second to hang out with me, S took time off to drive in with me and my dad caught an earlier flight to make it for dinner . . . how did I get so lucky to have all of these wonderful people in my life?
I'm not going into 30 with that sense of dread that most people seem to when they hit this age. I'm embracing this new decade with all of the joy and energy that is humanly possible and with these amazing people in my life I can't wait to see what's next.
Seriously though, my 30th birthday was last weekend and it was awesome!!!!
I was a little bummed at first because I didn't think my dad would be able to make it to dinner on Friday night. He was flying back to N.O. from a business trip and wasn't due back until 7 pm. We were having dinner at 5:30 because everyone was tired from the week. S, J and I were hanging out on my mom's back porch when I see this shadow through the sliding glass doors . . . it was dad!!!!
He'd taken an earlier flight and surprised all of us!!!!!
On Saturday we all went to breakast and I got to hang out with my mom. She took me shopping and even bought me a birthday outfit. Later that afternoon we went back to the house and my longest-lasting friend Mischa was there.
I've known Mischa since we were in third grade and although our friendship has had lots of ups and downs she is the only woman I have ever known that will tell me when my face is dirty and help me clean it up.
She drove in from Baton Rouge at the last minute to help me celebrate my birthday. She left her three girls (three under six years of age) and her husband to party with with me.
S, J, Mischa and I met out with my brother and his partner. We started out with a really long dinner (due to the tragic waitress) that didn't need to be as long as it was, but man was it fun. Then, we went over to Parade (a gay bar in New Orleans) and were fortunate to get in before they started charging a cover (we got there at 9ish or so) AND it was still happy hour.
And then something truly wild happened. I'm sitting on a stool (yes, we even had bar stools to perch on) and I look over J's shoulder and see this guy. This guy that looks really familiar and I ask J, "Hey, is that Ty?"
So, always the forward person, J goes over there and asks, "Hey, is your name Ty?"
And, it totally was. Ty was a guy that I new at LSU. He was an aerobics instructor back in the day so I didn't really know him, but then he sort of fell into my circle of friends through another friend so we really go to know him really well. The amazing thing was that in 1994 Ty was HIV positive and we just never knew how much more time we'd have with him. 11 years later he's still around (although he did have a close call two years ago) and as crazy as ever.
We did a lot of drinking and a lot of dancing and on the ride home I realized how truly blessed I am. J flew across the country to help me celebrate my 30th birthday, Mischa dropped her plans at the last second to hang out with me, S took time off to drive in with me and my dad caught an earlier flight to make it for dinner . . . how did I get so lucky to have all of these wonderful people in my life?
I'm not going into 30 with that sense of dread that most people seem to when they hit this age. I'm embracing this new decade with all of the joy and energy that is humanly possible and with these amazing people in my life I can't wait to see what's next.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Oh, How the Blush of New Love Quickly Fades
See, I told you that eventually I would quit writing with any regularity.
I was thinking the other day how March 3 is my anniversary date. My work anniversary date, and as you all know, a yearly anniversary usually means a review and maybe a raise.
I really wasn't thinking about that though, as much as I was thinking about how much I've changed in the last year.
Right before I started this job, I'd left a job in advertising that left me completely destroyed.
So destroyed that I just walked in one day and quit . . . WITH NOTHING LINED UP.
You have to understand how big that is for me. I graduated college in 1997 and in the intervening eight years I've had six jobs. That might seem like a lot and might even lead you to believe I'm flighty, but I've always had a reason for leaving a job, and I always had a better job lined up.
Sure, some of those jobs I left because I had a boss that was batshit crazy and one of those jobs I left because my ex was military and it was either follow him or forget our marriage, but for the most part I left to expand my professional experience and earn a bigger paycheck.
I never just walked out without a safety net.
But the design house, I left because after a year I was so broken I felt like a total loser. It was a constant uphill battle for me because as it turns out, I hate advertising. In all fairness, I'm pretty sure I hated it because I sucked at it.
It was a vicious cycle because like many things in one's professional life, you actually have to care in order to do a good. Whether that's as a sales clerk at a shop, or selling someone's corporate image or enticing folks to shop at the new mall.
So, here's how things would go: I'd get this assignment that seemed fairly easy and I'd crank it out as quickly as possible (the more jobs we passed through the shop meant the more money we made) only to get them back from my incredibly disappointed boss.
There were times where I wrote things that were really good. My particular forte, as it turns out, was writing radio scripts. Which really comes as no surprise to me because writing dialogue is something that's always come easily to me.
Writing a great headline though? Not so much.
This just killed my boss. For one, my inconsistency lead her to rightfully question my dependability. Sometimes I could knock something great out in 15 minutes, but other times I'd agonize for hours over a seven word headline.
I think it also killed her because I wasn't becoming what she wanted me to be. See, she has this thing for hiring the young and inexperienced. Not only can she pay them squat, but she can also mold their young minds to her style. So, she'd get personally vested in all of her creative staff because it was a direct reflection on her and her company.
I can understand that, but in time I really lost respect for her.
First, there was the "meeting" she called me in for when she heard that I'd been talking about her with people from her church. That's a long story that I'll save for another day, but let's just say I just said, "A is a very driven woman who knows what she wants from her company and she works hard to get it."
So, in our "meeting" she wants to discuss what she heard from a third party (an ex-employee). He'd been busted for sleeping in his car on lunch breaks. Mind you, he no longer worked with A when he learned that she knew.
I told her the gist of the story and she gets TEARY-EYED and says to me, "I just don't like thinking that the people that work for me think I'm a bitch."
Me, "No, never at any point in that conversation did I even discuss what it was like to work with you, or what I thought of you personally. The word bitch didn't even pass my lips."
(Hmm, reading that sentence back to myself I realize I sort of implied that while I thought she was a bitch, I wasn't stupid enough to say that to someone that attended her church.)
I walked out thinking, "Suck it up." You started a business to make money, not to make friends. Whether or not someone thinks your a bitch shouldn't be your concern. Get over it.
With that conversation behind us, we continued to work and produce. But, then we had this weird discussion one day. It's been so long that I don't even remember it now.
See, I'd go into her office for "mentoring," requested on my behalf. I really wanted to make this thing work and she really is the best in town so I wanted to learn from her. The truth is, I am amazed by her talent and really felt like I was working under someone that would go on to do something really big.
What it all boiled down to was that she couldn't understand why I wasn't as passionate about the work as she was. And, in this later meeting she teared up again and said to me, "When I think about everything I've given up to make this company work (sniff, sniff)."
I was disgusted by this whole pity me routine.
She chose to move to our small town and start this company (and let's face it, it's a lot easier being a big fish in a small pond), she chose to work weekends, she chose to sacrifice her social life . . . no one asked her to do it.
In my mind, I dismissed her at that point because I really didn't care to work harder for her. If I cranked out more jobs it meant more money to the company and more money for our paychecks is what we were told. But, uh . . . no. If I worked harder it meant I improved her bottom line and would only see a tiny cut of that. We didn't even have 401ks.
So, I started to care less and less, my work suffered, she let it be known and eventually I got to feeling like I couldn't do anything right and she let me know I was always disappointing her.
I left because I started to feel like a talentless joke.
So, I went back to corporate training because it was something that didn't require me to be creative. I at least learned this about myself: working 40 hours a week at a desk job is not for me.
You know what makes me feel better about having felt like such a loser? Everyone that has worked for her and quit feels the same way.
It's not that we are talentless. It's that she sets the bar so high that most of us keep banging our heads into it.
I am talented, just not in the way she wanted/needed me to be.
I was just not talented enough for her.
So, here I am a year later, working at a job that I love where people appreciate my skills.
A job that makes me feel good about myself and I wouldn't trade that for anything.
I was thinking the other day how March 3 is my anniversary date. My work anniversary date, and as you all know, a yearly anniversary usually means a review and maybe a raise.
I really wasn't thinking about that though, as much as I was thinking about how much I've changed in the last year.
Right before I started this job, I'd left a job in advertising that left me completely destroyed.
So destroyed that I just walked in one day and quit . . . WITH NOTHING LINED UP.
You have to understand how big that is for me. I graduated college in 1997 and in the intervening eight years I've had six jobs. That might seem like a lot and might even lead you to believe I'm flighty, but I've always had a reason for leaving a job, and I always had a better job lined up.
Sure, some of those jobs I left because I had a boss that was batshit crazy and one of those jobs I left because my ex was military and it was either follow him or forget our marriage, but for the most part I left to expand my professional experience and earn a bigger paycheck.
I never just walked out without a safety net.
But the design house, I left because after a year I was so broken I felt like a total loser. It was a constant uphill battle for me because as it turns out, I hate advertising. In all fairness, I'm pretty sure I hated it because I sucked at it.
It was a vicious cycle because like many things in one's professional life, you actually have to care in order to do a good. Whether that's as a sales clerk at a shop, or selling someone's corporate image or enticing folks to shop at the new mall.
So, here's how things would go: I'd get this assignment that seemed fairly easy and I'd crank it out as quickly as possible (the more jobs we passed through the shop meant the more money we made) only to get them back from my incredibly disappointed boss.
There were times where I wrote things that were really good. My particular forte, as it turns out, was writing radio scripts. Which really comes as no surprise to me because writing dialogue is something that's always come easily to me.
Writing a great headline though? Not so much.
This just killed my boss. For one, my inconsistency lead her to rightfully question my dependability. Sometimes I could knock something great out in 15 minutes, but other times I'd agonize for hours over a seven word headline.
I think it also killed her because I wasn't becoming what she wanted me to be. See, she has this thing for hiring the young and inexperienced. Not only can she pay them squat, but she can also mold their young minds to her style. So, she'd get personally vested in all of her creative staff because it was a direct reflection on her and her company.
I can understand that, but in time I really lost respect for her.
First, there was the "meeting" she called me in for when she heard that I'd been talking about her with people from her church. That's a long story that I'll save for another day, but let's just say I just said, "A is a very driven woman who knows what she wants from her company and she works hard to get it."
So, in our "meeting" she wants to discuss what she heard from a third party (an ex-employee). He'd been busted for sleeping in his car on lunch breaks. Mind you, he no longer worked with A when he learned that she knew.
I told her the gist of the story and she gets TEARY-EYED and says to me, "I just don't like thinking that the people that work for me think I'm a bitch."
Me, "No, never at any point in that conversation did I even discuss what it was like to work with you, or what I thought of you personally. The word bitch didn't even pass my lips."
(Hmm, reading that sentence back to myself I realize I sort of implied that while I thought she was a bitch, I wasn't stupid enough to say that to someone that attended her church.)
I walked out thinking, "Suck it up." You started a business to make money, not to make friends. Whether or not someone thinks your a bitch shouldn't be your concern. Get over it.
With that conversation behind us, we continued to work and produce. But, then we had this weird discussion one day. It's been so long that I don't even remember it now.
See, I'd go into her office for "mentoring," requested on my behalf. I really wanted to make this thing work and she really is the best in town so I wanted to learn from her. The truth is, I am amazed by her talent and really felt like I was working under someone that would go on to do something really big.
What it all boiled down to was that she couldn't understand why I wasn't as passionate about the work as she was. And, in this later meeting she teared up again and said to me, "When I think about everything I've given up to make this company work (sniff, sniff)."
I was disgusted by this whole pity me routine.
She chose to move to our small town and start this company (and let's face it, it's a lot easier being a big fish in a small pond), she chose to work weekends, she chose to sacrifice her social life . . . no one asked her to do it.
In my mind, I dismissed her at that point because I really didn't care to work harder for her. If I cranked out more jobs it meant more money to the company and more money for our paychecks is what we were told. But, uh . . . no. If I worked harder it meant I improved her bottom line and would only see a tiny cut of that. We didn't even have 401ks.
So, I started to care less and less, my work suffered, she let it be known and eventually I got to feeling like I couldn't do anything right and she let me know I was always disappointing her.
I left because I started to feel like a talentless joke.
So, I went back to corporate training because it was something that didn't require me to be creative. I at least learned this about myself: working 40 hours a week at a desk job is not for me.
You know what makes me feel better about having felt like such a loser? Everyone that has worked for her and quit feels the same way.
It's not that we are talentless. It's that she sets the bar so high that most of us keep banging our heads into it.
I am talented, just not in the way she wanted/needed me to be.
I was just not talented enough for her.
So, here I am a year later, working at a job that I love where people appreciate my skills.
A job that makes me feel good about myself and I wouldn't trade that for anything.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Baby Machine
Again?
That was the first thing I thought when one of my university friends sent me an email announcing that she's having a boy, let's call her Crafty.
This is Crafty's 3rd child, and if my calculations are correct she will have three children under the age of six in her house. All I can think is, "STOP!" Look into some birth control, some hobbies . . . I don't know, anything.
Crafty is a year younger than I am and has been married for (I think) nine years now. She married her high school sweetheart even. In fact, I think I was Maid-of-Honor in her wedding.
I don't really remember now because it seems it was such a long time ago and Crafty and I have really lost touch.
We just email occasionally now.
Anyway, she graduated from school with a degree in Human Ecology (Home Ec) with an emphasis in Fashion Design.
This is what I remember about Crafty the most.
See, she made a dress for me once. Such a cute dress that I got a zillion compliments on it the first time I wore it. People who didn't even know me were whispering, "Oh my god, look at that cute dress."
I heard them, even.
I graduated a year before she did and so did her spouse.
Being military, her spouse took off for training and then his first assignment, which meant that Crafty had to stay at university for 6 months without him.
Crafty was lost without him. She was so upset that she wanted to just quit school. Actually said, "It's not like I plan on ever really using my degree so I don't see the point in staying here without him."
Now, even though she was married her parents were still paying for her tuition, and having footed my own bill (partially) through college this really annoyed me.
The thing is, Crafty only went to university because her parents "made her." She went with the whole Fashion Design thing because she loved to sew (even though, she admitted, that in high school she was super competitive and always felt a small victory when she'd get a slightly higher grade than Sweetheart in Calculus). By all means, Crafty could have gone into the "hard sciences" and done really well.
In general, when I think about Crafty I get kind of annoyed.
Why? I have no idea.
As far as I know, she's thrilled being a stay-at-home mom, and I know that's what she's always wanted. She always used to say that she just wanted to be a wife and mom, but deep down I want more for her.
Maybe some part of me wants to validate my choices to work and forego children.
There's also a little part of me that thinks, "Why did she even bother with school?"
What was the point of having your parents shell out, out-of-state tuition when you had no intention of using your degree whatsoever?
To that, I think I have at least one answer.
Crafty's parents pretty much told her it was university or she was on her own.
And, I think, good god . . . why did all those women before us fight so hard for equality and opportunity when there's the likes of you running around?
You with your education and your decision to just pass GO and collect your MRS.
Then I realize, they did it for her.
They did it so that she could have that choice.
So, thanks Crafty for exercising your right to choose motherhood with no apologies to bitches like me who sometimes forget that it was about choice.
Congratulations on Baby 3!
That was the first thing I thought when one of my university friends sent me an email announcing that she's having a boy, let's call her Crafty.
This is Crafty's 3rd child, and if my calculations are correct she will have three children under the age of six in her house. All I can think is, "STOP!" Look into some birth control, some hobbies . . . I don't know, anything.
Crafty is a year younger than I am and has been married for (I think) nine years now. She married her high school sweetheart even. In fact, I think I was Maid-of-Honor in her wedding.
I don't really remember now because it seems it was such a long time ago and Crafty and I have really lost touch.
We just email occasionally now.
Anyway, she graduated from school with a degree in Human Ecology (Home Ec) with an emphasis in Fashion Design.
This is what I remember about Crafty the most.
See, she made a dress for me once. Such a cute dress that I got a zillion compliments on it the first time I wore it. People who didn't even know me were whispering, "Oh my god, look at that cute dress."
I heard them, even.
I graduated a year before she did and so did her spouse.
Being military, her spouse took off for training and then his first assignment, which meant that Crafty had to stay at university for 6 months without him.
Crafty was lost without him. She was so upset that she wanted to just quit school. Actually said, "It's not like I plan on ever really using my degree so I don't see the point in staying here without him."
Now, even though she was married her parents were still paying for her tuition, and having footed my own bill (partially) through college this really annoyed me.
The thing is, Crafty only went to university because her parents "made her." She went with the whole Fashion Design thing because she loved to sew (even though, she admitted, that in high school she was super competitive and always felt a small victory when she'd get a slightly higher grade than Sweetheart in Calculus). By all means, Crafty could have gone into the "hard sciences" and done really well.
In general, when I think about Crafty I get kind of annoyed.
Why? I have no idea.
As far as I know, she's thrilled being a stay-at-home mom, and I know that's what she's always wanted. She always used to say that she just wanted to be a wife and mom, but deep down I want more for her.
Maybe some part of me wants to validate my choices to work and forego children.
There's also a little part of me that thinks, "Why did she even bother with school?"
What was the point of having your parents shell out, out-of-state tuition when you had no intention of using your degree whatsoever?
To that, I think I have at least one answer.
Crafty's parents pretty much told her it was university or she was on her own.
And, I think, good god . . . why did all those women before us fight so hard for equality and opportunity when there's the likes of you running around?
You with your education and your decision to just pass GO and collect your MRS.
Then I realize, they did it for her.
They did it so that she could have that choice.
So, thanks Crafty for exercising your right to choose motherhood with no apologies to bitches like me who sometimes forget that it was about choice.
Congratulations on Baby 3!
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Too Happy To Write?
That was the title of an email my friend B sent me.
I read it, thought for a second and realized, "Kind of . . . "
But, the truth is that I just haven't had a whole hell of a lot to say these days.
Maybe it's February.
It's the shortest month of the year, but it seems so long to get through. What with the crummy weather and the promise of Spring right on the other side.
Plus, you know, fucking Valentine's Day is in February.
In year's past, Valentine's Day has never really been very special for me. J would always bring home flowers or something and we may have gone out to dinner somewhere, but there was never anything really special about the day.
It just felt like another date night only with flowers.
This year, I got a wild hair and some months ago asked S if he'd like to spend Valentine's Weekend in a cabin in the mountains. He sounded excited about it so that's what we did and it was awesome.
You don't need all of the details, but I will say that we went on some lovely hikes, there was a beautiful fire in our fireplace and everything felt right.
S took a walk to the park's general store at some point and when he came back he'd bought a blanket.
He held it up and said to me, "I know that we don't need it, but I thought that every time we used it, it would remind us of this weekend."
Ya'll, am I not supposed to fall in love with this man?
Other than that lovely weekend, February has dragged on like Britney Spears' career.
Also, I think February is a huge drag because my birthday is in March, and having to wait a whole month before I get presents again seems like a really long time.
I read it, thought for a second and realized, "Kind of . . . "
But, the truth is that I just haven't had a whole hell of a lot to say these days.
Maybe it's February.
It's the shortest month of the year, but it seems so long to get through. What with the crummy weather and the promise of Spring right on the other side.
Plus, you know, fucking Valentine's Day is in February.
In year's past, Valentine's Day has never really been very special for me. J would always bring home flowers or something and we may have gone out to dinner somewhere, but there was never anything really special about the day.
It just felt like another date night only with flowers.
This year, I got a wild hair and some months ago asked S if he'd like to spend Valentine's Weekend in a cabin in the mountains. He sounded excited about it so that's what we did and it was awesome.
You don't need all of the details, but I will say that we went on some lovely hikes, there was a beautiful fire in our fireplace and everything felt right.
S took a walk to the park's general store at some point and when he came back he'd bought a blanket.
He held it up and said to me, "I know that we don't need it, but I thought that every time we used it, it would remind us of this weekend."
Ya'll, am I not supposed to fall in love with this man?
Other than that lovely weekend, February has dragged on like Britney Spears' career.
Also, I think February is a huge drag because my birthday is in March, and having to wait a whole month before I get presents again seems like a really long time.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
An Actual Conversation on Instant Messenger
The following is a conversation held with my dad via IM:
Dad says:
Hola hija que tal estas?
Translation: Hello daughter, how are you?
Trixie says:
Good, oooh it's Mardi Gras day. You have the day off.
Trixie says:
Is it raining?
Dad says:
Hay 60% de chance pero no esta lloviendo.
Translation: There's a 60% chance, but it is not raining.
Dad says:
Como seguiste,dice tu Mami si ya estas mejor.
Translation: How have you been, you mom says you are better.
[I've been getting over a head cold.]
Trixie says:
Yeah, I feel good. I am still blowing my nose and coughing but I'm not tired anymore.
Dad says:
Ok that's a good sign.
Dad says:
Estas tomando medicina?
Translation: Are you taking medicine?
[Any time one of us coughs or sniffles my mom's first response is, "Are you taking medicine." So, the running gag at our house is to ask if you are taking medicine with varying degrees of panic in our voice.]
Trixie says:
No, I sleep well at night.
Dad says:
OK, Jason va a recibir su K. Cake hoy, ojala le guste.
Translation: Ok, Jason will recieve his King Cake today. I hope he likes it.
[It's Mardi Gras and King Cake is a sweet sugary confection sold only during carnival season and only regionally. Read more here: http://www.mardigrasunmasked.com/mardigras/king_cake.htm The first year J and I moved to CO, mom and dad sent us a king cake. It was a complete surprise and they did it every year until I moved to AL because they figured I could get it now that I was back in the South. Boy did they rue the day they quit sending one. We got one the following year. Yes, I am "the baby." ]
Melissa says:
Will they deliver it if he isn't home I wonder? I know he'll love it. That was very nice of you guys to do that for him.
Dad says:
You know we like him.
Dad says:
I think he is a good man.
Trixie says:
Well, you're certainly nicer to him now that he's not my husband.
Dad says:
I don't think so.
[I call bullshit and if J is reading this, he's probably just let out a loud, "HA!" and is also calling bullshit.]
Trixie says:
I do. Mom was always nice but you were different.
Dad says:
You know I'm overprotective when it comes to you, I'm thinking always of abusive men.
[Which, I misread as, "I'm thinking always of abusing men."]
Dad says:
I know that was not the case with him.
Trixie says:
Oh god, that's so funny. You know, there are certain red flags when it comes to abusive men.
[Read more here: http://www.acadv.org/abusers.html#characteristics]
Trixie says:
I used to work for the Coalition Against Domestic Violence. I remember the warning signals.
Trixie says:
I know what to look for and if I ever suspected anything like that the guy wouldn't be around for long.
Dad says:
I know.
Trixie says:
And, don't worry about that with S. He treats me with a lot of respect and gives me a lot of room to do what I need to do.
Dad says:
Ok, it is good to hear that.
Trixie says:
He's actually a lot like J in some ways only better because, you know . . . not gay.
Trixie says:
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Jesus says:
jajajaja
Translation: hahahaha
Trixie says:
Seriously, be nice to S. He's a good man.
Dad says:
Ok I'll try.
Trixie says:
And, most importantly, S treats J with a lot of respect.
Dad says:
Yes I have noticed that.
Trixie says:
Not a lot of straight men are comfortable with gay men, and I honestly think that S doesn't think of J as gay.
Trixie says:
He just thinks of J as . . . a guy.
Trixie says:
And, J treats S with a lot of respect. Trust me, if J didn't like S he would tell me. That is what best friends do.
Dad says:
Ok, we are going to the parades this afternoon, weather permitting.
[This is dad's not-so-subtle way of changing the subject. Yes, he is this abrupt in person as well.]
Trixie says:
Good!!! Mom will like that!
Trixie says:
Are you taking T?
[My mom's sister, my aunt.]
Dad says:
She is going with Shero to the Casino.
[This was funny to me because it's become family folklore. My aunt's boyfriend has been around for years, but my aunt's first language is not English so she has always called him "Shero." When I was filling out wedding invitations I asked my brother, "How do you spell Shero?" And my brother ask me, "Are you serious?" and then proceeds to laugh like a hyena. He finally composes himself and says, "It's Sheryl." Me, "Ohhhhhhhh . . . "]
Dad says:
WE might end up going too, we'll see.-Talk to you later.
Trixie says:
Have fun!!!
Trixie says:
Don't let mom flash for beads.
Dad says:
No, I wont.
Dad says:
Hola hija que tal estas?
Translation: Hello daughter, how are you?
Trixie says:
Good, oooh it's Mardi Gras day. You have the day off.
Trixie says:
Is it raining?
Dad says:
Hay 60% de chance pero no esta lloviendo.
Translation: There's a 60% chance, but it is not raining.
Dad says:
Como seguiste,dice tu Mami si ya estas mejor.
Translation: How have you been, you mom says you are better.
[I've been getting over a head cold.]
Trixie says:
Yeah, I feel good. I am still blowing my nose and coughing but I'm not tired anymore.
Dad says:
Ok that's a good sign.
Dad says:
Estas tomando medicina?
Translation: Are you taking medicine?
[Any time one of us coughs or sniffles my mom's first response is, "Are you taking medicine." So, the running gag at our house is to ask if you are taking medicine with varying degrees of panic in our voice.]
Trixie says:
No, I sleep well at night.
Dad says:
OK, Jason va a recibir su K. Cake hoy, ojala le guste.
Translation: Ok, Jason will recieve his King Cake today. I hope he likes it.
[It's Mardi Gras and King Cake is a sweet sugary confection sold only during carnival season and only regionally. Read more here: http://www.mardigrasunmasked.com/mardigras/king_cake.htm The first year J and I moved to CO, mom and dad sent us a king cake. It was a complete surprise and they did it every year until I moved to AL because they figured I could get it now that I was back in the South. Boy did they rue the day they quit sending one. We got one the following year. Yes, I am "the baby." ]
Melissa says:
Will they deliver it if he isn't home I wonder? I know he'll love it. That was very nice of you guys to do that for him.
Dad says:
You know we like him.
Dad says:
I think he is a good man.
Trixie says:
Well, you're certainly nicer to him now that he's not my husband.
Dad says:
I don't think so.
[I call bullshit and if J is reading this, he's probably just let out a loud, "HA!" and is also calling bullshit.]
Trixie says:
I do. Mom was always nice but you were different.
Dad says:
You know I'm overprotective when it comes to you, I'm thinking always of abusive men.
[Which, I misread as, "I'm thinking always of abusing men."]
Dad says:
I know that was not the case with him.
Trixie says:
Oh god, that's so funny. You know, there are certain red flags when it comes to abusive men.
[Read more here: http://www.acadv.org/abusers.html#characteristics]
Trixie says:
I used to work for the Coalition Against Domestic Violence. I remember the warning signals.
Trixie says:
I know what to look for and if I ever suspected anything like that the guy wouldn't be around for long.
Dad says:
I know.
Trixie says:
And, don't worry about that with S. He treats me with a lot of respect and gives me a lot of room to do what I need to do.
Dad says:
Ok, it is good to hear that.
Trixie says:
He's actually a lot like J in some ways only better because, you know . . . not gay.
Trixie says:
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Jesus says:
jajajaja
Translation: hahahaha
Trixie says:
Seriously, be nice to S. He's a good man.
Dad says:
Ok I'll try.
Trixie says:
And, most importantly, S treats J with a lot of respect.
Dad says:
Yes I have noticed that.
Trixie says:
Not a lot of straight men are comfortable with gay men, and I honestly think that S doesn't think of J as gay.
Trixie says:
He just thinks of J as . . . a guy.
Trixie says:
And, J treats S with a lot of respect. Trust me, if J didn't like S he would tell me. That is what best friends do.
Dad says:
Ok, we are going to the parades this afternoon, weather permitting.
[This is dad's not-so-subtle way of changing the subject. Yes, he is this abrupt in person as well.]
Trixie says:
Good!!! Mom will like that!
Trixie says:
Are you taking T?
[My mom's sister, my aunt.]
Dad says:
She is going with Shero to the Casino.
[This was funny to me because it's become family folklore. My aunt's boyfriend has been around for years, but my aunt's first language is not English so she has always called him "Shero." When I was filling out wedding invitations I asked my brother, "How do you spell Shero?" And my brother ask me, "Are you serious?" and then proceeds to laugh like a hyena. He finally composes himself and says, "It's Sheryl." Me, "Ohhhhhhhh . . . "]
Dad says:
WE might end up going too, we'll see.-Talk to you later.
Trixie says:
Have fun!!!
Trixie says:
Don't let mom flash for beads.
Dad says:
No, I wont.
Friday, February 04, 2005
History
Clearly, at this age we all have a little history and the baggage that comes with it.
This has been on my mind today because when S moved in he brought a lot of stuff. Not just clothes and such, but a huge bag of pictures.
I'd told him earlier in the week that I wanted to look at them sometime. His response,
"Go to town, baby."
So, last night after he left for work I pulled out a plastic bin (like the kind you're supposed to store shoes neatly in - HA!) and started going through his pictures.
I don't know the chronology on any of them, but I figured organizing them by size was better than them sitting in a plastic grocery bag.
It took me a few hours to go through them all and in the process I found pictures of one S's exes. THE ex.
We all have one, you know, the one that broke your heart into a million billion bits and then walked all over them on his or her way out the door.
And, it made me sad.
Sad because I know he loved her and it kills me that someone would take S's heart and break it into a million billion bits.
I was looking at pictures of the two of them, candids of her, thinking, "I wish S wouldn't have been so beaten down by that relationship. I really wish things would have been better for them."
Then I realized, "Fuck that!"
I wish his heart hadn't been broken just as much as I wish my heart had never been broken, but then who would we be today?
Would we even be together?
All the bad exes, the cheaters, the liars, the schemers . . . they have all led us to where we are today.
Sometimes I look at S and think, "Mayn, am I a lucky girl," and I think sometimes I see that reflected in his eyes (except for him thinking he's a lucky girl and all) and I realize we deserve each other.
For all the bullshit we have been through with our exes we are finally cashing in on our kharma.
Do I expect him to throw out the pictures?
Nah, all of that is part of his past.
I'm his present.
And, hopefully, his future.
This has been on my mind today because when S moved in he brought a lot of stuff. Not just clothes and such, but a huge bag of pictures.
I'd told him earlier in the week that I wanted to look at them sometime. His response,
"Go to town, baby."
So, last night after he left for work I pulled out a plastic bin (like the kind you're supposed to store shoes neatly in - HA!) and started going through his pictures.
I don't know the chronology on any of them, but I figured organizing them by size was better than them sitting in a plastic grocery bag.
It took me a few hours to go through them all and in the process I found pictures of one S's exes. THE ex.
We all have one, you know, the one that broke your heart into a million billion bits and then walked all over them on his or her way out the door.
And, it made me sad.
Sad because I know he loved her and it kills me that someone would take S's heart and break it into a million billion bits.
I was looking at pictures of the two of them, candids of her, thinking, "I wish S wouldn't have been so beaten down by that relationship. I really wish things would have been better for them."
Then I realized, "Fuck that!"
I wish his heart hadn't been broken just as much as I wish my heart had never been broken, but then who would we be today?
Would we even be together?
All the bad exes, the cheaters, the liars, the schemers . . . they have all led us to where we are today.
Sometimes I look at S and think, "Mayn, am I a lucky girl," and I think sometimes I see that reflected in his eyes (except for him thinking he's a lucky girl and all) and I realize we deserve each other.
For all the bullshit we have been through with our exes we are finally cashing in on our kharma.
Do I expect him to throw out the pictures?
Nah, all of that is part of his past.
I'm his present.
And, hopefully, his future.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Intuition
S works nights.
So, at around 6:30 a.m. he crawls into bed with me and I snuggle with him for about 30 minutes.
There is no better alarm clock ever invented.
This morning though, something felt . . . off.
I was laying on my right side and he curled up behind me and wrapped his arm around my waist.
I was groggy, but I stretched my left arm back and put it on his left thigh.
"Relax, " I whispered, "Your body feels really tense."
Normally, when he spoons me his body instantly relaxes. As if the second we make contact everything just goes away.
I dozed for another 30 minutes and when I rolled over to look at him he was on his back . . . eyes wide open.
I immediately asked, "What's wrong?"
And he preceeded to tell me what exactly was wrong.
I won't go into any detail regarding what was wrong because it's personal. Let's just say it has nothing to do with the two of us.
After he told me everything, he turned to me and asked, "How'd you know?"
Me, "Know what?"
Him, "That something was wrong?"
Me, "I don't know. Usually when you lay in bed you're out in two seconds. You never just lie there awake like I do."
Him, "No, you knew something was wrong before that. The second I touched you, you knew."
Me, "Oh, well you just felt different somehow. Usually when you curl up next to me you just sort of, I don't know, melt, sink in to me even."
Him, "Huh?"
Me, "Do you feel better having talked to me?"
Him, "Yeah, thank you."
Me, "No problem. Any time you've got something like this talk to me, okay?"
Pretty soon we were talking about ways to solve his problem and I said something silly and he was laughing. He shook his head, looked at me and said,
"I can't believe I'm even smiling."
Me, "I'm glad."
Him, "Thank you."
Thinking back on it, I don't really know what it was that lead me to believe something was up.
Yeah, we've been seeing each other for 10 months, but we haven't even lived together for a week yet.
Is it possible that I know him that well?
Was it intuition?
Whatever it was I'm just glad I didn't ignore it.
So, at around 6:30 a.m. he crawls into bed with me and I snuggle with him for about 30 minutes.
There is no better alarm clock ever invented.
This morning though, something felt . . . off.
I was laying on my right side and he curled up behind me and wrapped his arm around my waist.
I was groggy, but I stretched my left arm back and put it on his left thigh.
"Relax, " I whispered, "Your body feels really tense."
Normally, when he spoons me his body instantly relaxes. As if the second we make contact everything just goes away.
I dozed for another 30 minutes and when I rolled over to look at him he was on his back . . . eyes wide open.
I immediately asked, "What's wrong?"
And he preceeded to tell me what exactly was wrong.
I won't go into any detail regarding what was wrong because it's personal. Let's just say it has nothing to do with the two of us.
After he told me everything, he turned to me and asked, "How'd you know?"
Me, "Know what?"
Him, "That something was wrong?"
Me, "I don't know. Usually when you lay in bed you're out in two seconds. You never just lie there awake like I do."
Him, "No, you knew something was wrong before that. The second I touched you, you knew."
Me, "Oh, well you just felt different somehow. Usually when you curl up next to me you just sort of, I don't know, melt, sink in to me even."
Him, "Huh?"
Me, "Do you feel better having talked to me?"
Him, "Yeah, thank you."
Me, "No problem. Any time you've got something like this talk to me, okay?"
Pretty soon we were talking about ways to solve his problem and I said something silly and he was laughing. He shook his head, looked at me and said,
"I can't believe I'm even smiling."
Me, "I'm glad."
Him, "Thank you."
Thinking back on it, I don't really know what it was that lead me to believe something was up.
Yeah, we've been seeing each other for 10 months, but we haven't even lived together for a week yet.
Is it possible that I know him that well?
Was it intuition?
Whatever it was I'm just glad I didn't ignore it.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Bad Girl!
This weekend was fabulous!!!!
I met S on Friday night in NO at a bar that we've been frequenting lately. The atmosphere is okay, the lingerie show (that I've never attended) seems a bit skeevy, but they have the best hamburgers!!!!
So, we met up there, ate, drank, I got the key to the room and he headed off to work.
Ya'll, I didn't realize how tired I was.
I unloaded my car, took a scalding hot shower and climbed into bed. I fell asleep watching the second Harry Potter movie.
At some point, my cell rang and it was S:
"Hey baby! I'm gettin' out early. I'll be there in a little while."
Me, "Hmmwha . . . oh, okay, great!"
Him, "Ooooh, I'm sorry baby. I didn't realize you'd be asleep."
Me, "'sokay. I'll see you soon."
I clicked my phone shut, laid it on my stomach and fell back asleep.
I don't know how much later it was, but my phone rang again.
This time it scared the shit out of me because I wasn't expecting to hear the vibratine. So, I jumped and it must have slithered off of me because when I did a half-assed search for it I couldn't find it.
In the back of my mind I though, "That's probably S telling me he's in the lot."
And, I turned over in bed and fell back asleep.
Because . . . I am a bad girlfriend.
Ya'll, when you add the 4.5 hour drive to 4 consecutive 12-hour workdays and you finally shut down . . . you SHUT FUCKIN' DOWN!
I was OUT!
It turns out S was calling me from the other side of our room's door. Yeah, he'd left his key in his truck and wanted me to let him in.
I know, I know . . .
The whole weekend was kind of a blur. We lazed in bed most of Saturday morning and eventually headed out, but we were so tired we gave up on any grand plans we may have had for Saturday.
On Sunday we went to the Quarter where S bought me the prettiest ring ever (not that kind of ring)and a groovy shirt. I also picked up some earrings and a Valentine's Day gift for J.
Then, we headed to Canal Place to catch Sideways. I liked it because it appealed to my, "I'm almost 30 and what have I really done with my life" crisis that I'm going through.
Before the movie started, S slipped his arm around me and I cuddled against his chest and I said, "You know, House of Flying Daggers is playing at the Capri [Montgomery indie theater] this weekend."
S, "You want to go see it when I come up?"
Me, pulling away from him to look at his face "You're coming up to visit this weekend?"
Him, eyes narrowing and peering at me, "Noooo, I'm moving up this weekend."
Me, eyes darting around like the busted doofus that I am, "That's THIS weekend?"
That's right folks, S is moving up and I completely forgot about it.
I lost track of the dates. I thought there was another week left in January or something.
Because . . . I am a bad girlfriend.
I met S on Friday night in NO at a bar that we've been frequenting lately. The atmosphere is okay, the lingerie show (that I've never attended) seems a bit skeevy, but they have the best hamburgers!!!!
So, we met up there, ate, drank, I got the key to the room and he headed off to work.
Ya'll, I didn't realize how tired I was.
I unloaded my car, took a scalding hot shower and climbed into bed. I fell asleep watching the second Harry Potter movie.
At some point, my cell rang and it was S:
"Hey baby! I'm gettin' out early. I'll be there in a little while."
Me, "Hmmwha . . . oh, okay, great!"
Him, "Ooooh, I'm sorry baby. I didn't realize you'd be asleep."
Me, "'sokay. I'll see you soon."
I clicked my phone shut, laid it on my stomach and fell back asleep.
I don't know how much later it was, but my phone rang again.
This time it scared the shit out of me because I wasn't expecting to hear the vibratine. So, I jumped and it must have slithered off of me because when I did a half-assed search for it I couldn't find it.
In the back of my mind I though, "That's probably S telling me he's in the lot."
And, I turned over in bed and fell back asleep.
Because . . . I am a bad girlfriend.
Ya'll, when you add the 4.5 hour drive to 4 consecutive 12-hour workdays and you finally shut down . . . you SHUT FUCKIN' DOWN!
I was OUT!
It turns out S was calling me from the other side of our room's door. Yeah, he'd left his key in his truck and wanted me to let him in.
I know, I know . . .
The whole weekend was kind of a blur. We lazed in bed most of Saturday morning and eventually headed out, but we were so tired we gave up on any grand plans we may have had for Saturday.
On Sunday we went to the Quarter where S bought me the prettiest ring ever (not that kind of ring)and a groovy shirt. I also picked up some earrings and a Valentine's Day gift for J.
Then, we headed to Canal Place to catch Sideways. I liked it because it appealed to my, "I'm almost 30 and what have I really done with my life" crisis that I'm going through.
Before the movie started, S slipped his arm around me and I cuddled against his chest and I said, "You know, House of Flying Daggers is playing at the Capri [Montgomery indie theater] this weekend."
S, "You want to go see it when I come up?"
Me, pulling away from him to look at his face "You're coming up to visit this weekend?"
Him, eyes narrowing and peering at me, "Noooo, I'm moving up this weekend."
Me, eyes darting around like the busted doofus that I am, "That's THIS weekend?"
That's right folks, S is moving up and I completely forgot about it.
I lost track of the dates. I thought there was another week left in January or something.
Because . . . I am a bad girlfriend.
Friday, January 21, 2005
So Tired
I'm tired.
So tired I'd like to just crawl into bed and sleep for days.
See, the place that I work for has a lot of members and lots of business to take care of. So, about once every quarter we throw a conference.
I don't know if any of you have ever hosted a conference, but typically it means 12-hour days. So yeah, I'm pretty tired right now.
The good news is that this weekend I'm going to be in New Orleans. That's right, I'm spending this weekend in S's arms and I can't think of any place I'd rather be.
But, before I sign off for the weekend, here's a song that is a few years old but I only listened to for the first time the other day (because, yeah, it's clear that I DO in fact live under a rock).
So cheesy, right?
So tired I'd like to just crawl into bed and sleep for days.
See, the place that I work for has a lot of members and lots of business to take care of. So, about once every quarter we throw a conference.
I don't know if any of you have ever hosted a conference, but typically it means 12-hour days. So yeah, I'm pretty tired right now.
The good news is that this weekend I'm going to be in New Orleans. That's right, I'm spending this weekend in S's arms and I can't think of any place I'd rather be.
But, before I sign off for the weekend, here's a song that is a few years old but I only listened to for the first time the other day (because, yeah, it's clear that I DO in fact live under a rock).
I Could Not Ask For More
Lying here with you
Listening to the rain
Smiling just to see the smile upon your face
These are the moments I thank God that I'm alive
These are the moments I'll remember all my life
I found all I've waited for
And I could not ask for more
Looking in your eyes
Seeing all I need
Everything you are is everything to me
These are the moments I know heaven must exist
These are the moments I know all I need is this I have all I've waited for
And I could not ask for more
Chorus
I could not ask for more than this time together
I could not ask for more than this time with you
Every prayer has been answered
Every dream I have's come true
And right here in this moment is right where I'm meant to be
Here with you here with me
These are the moments I thank God that I'm alive
These are the moments I'll remember all my life
I've got all I've waited for
And I could not ask for more
Chorus
I could not ask for more than the love you give me
'cuz it's all I've waited for
And I could not ask for more
I could not ask for more
So cheesy, right?
Monday, January 17, 2005
Bounce
I've grown up in a family of bouncers.
Not bar bouncers, car bouncers.
Car bouncing is this thing that my dad does when he gasses up the car.
The gas pump shuts off and my dad proceeds to bounce the car two or three times.
His theory is that this makes the gas settle and so you can top it off just a little bit more.
I know, I know . . .
The thing is, as crazy as it sounds, I bounce the car, too.
I kind of lean into it and give it a bounce.
This was an ongoing argument with J and I. The validity of bouncing and the dangers of topping off.
Not to long ago, I was riding around with S and realized I was low on gas (like, my light's been on for a while now so I guess I should get gas kind of low) and I decided to pull into the next gas station I found.
I pulled up to the pump, turned off the car and reached for my seatbelt and he said, "Stay, I'll do it."
I thought, "That's nice, cool."
So, I leaned in and gave him a kiss and off he went.
I sat in the car fiddling with the radio station and just as I heard the pump click off I felt the car bounce.
Once, twice . . . three times.
He got in the car, I grinned and asked, "Did you just bounce the car?"
Him, "Huh? Oh, yeah. You know you can add just a little bit more gas that way."
Hee.
Not bar bouncers, car bouncers.
Car bouncing is this thing that my dad does when he gasses up the car.
The gas pump shuts off and my dad proceeds to bounce the car two or three times.
His theory is that this makes the gas settle and so you can top it off just a little bit more.
I know, I know . . .
The thing is, as crazy as it sounds, I bounce the car, too.
I kind of lean into it and give it a bounce.
This was an ongoing argument with J and I. The validity of bouncing and the dangers of topping off.
Not to long ago, I was riding around with S and realized I was low on gas (like, my light's been on for a while now so I guess I should get gas kind of low) and I decided to pull into the next gas station I found.
I pulled up to the pump, turned off the car and reached for my seatbelt and he said, "Stay, I'll do it."
I thought, "That's nice, cool."
So, I leaned in and gave him a kiss and off he went.
I sat in the car fiddling with the radio station and just as I heard the pump click off I felt the car bounce.
Once, twice . . . three times.
He got in the car, I grinned and asked, "Did you just bounce the car?"
Him, "Huh? Oh, yeah. You know you can add just a little bit more gas that way."
Hee.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Baby Mine
Last night I worked late.
Really late. So when I got home I just wanted to veg out. I reheated some Chinese food and settled down in front of the tv. I was flipping channels and I ran across this:
"Cindy Margolis Inside Out"
I didn't know who Ms. Margolis was prior to watching this show. But, here's a link to her website: http://www.cindymargolis.com/ so from the looks of her I kind of thought Inside Out was going to be something about her rise as a porn star or something.
As someone who harbors a secret ambition to be a porn star (or at least a stripper, because . . . how fucking cool would that be!), I was immediately compelled to watch. (My strpper name would be something along the lines of Brown Sugar or Hot Mami.)
Imagine my disappointment when it turned out to be a special on Ms. Margolis and her hubby's struggles with infertility and their attempt to conceive through In Vitro Fertilization (IVF).
Maybe it's because I'm 29 and childless with no spouse to father my children. Maybe it's because I have friends who've been unable to have babies, but this show thoroughly sucked me in.
I sat there for an hour, watching her spouse shoot her up with hormones, listening to them argue about the need to get the shot at the exact time every day (which, you don't but it gave her peace of mind so shutupyoubigtool because if it makes her feel better and she's all hormonal anyway so you'd better fucking just suck it and be late to that goddamn Laker game. JACKASS!)
And then I cried.
SPOILER ALERT!
First I got upset because she didn't have enough embryos to put a couple on ice in case this didn't work.
Then, it started out with this lump in my throat when she told her spouse that she didn't want to go to the clinic and get the pregnancy test. As if she was trying to hold on to the ignorance of not knowing and believing in possibility.
I sniffled because she knew that emotionally she couldn't go through the weeks of shots again if it didn't happen this time.
Then I cried because her pregnancy test came out negative.
And then I kind of freaked out because . . . HELLO!
I'm 29 with no children and no spouse. I want children someday dammit.
What if I can't have any!?!
When I look at family history, it would appear that I will be able to conceive until my early forties. But you know what, that sometimes doesn't matter. My friend C's sisters all easily conceived well into their 30's, as did their mother, but it just wasn't a go for C.
She started going through perimenopause at 29!
I realize I'm overreacting and the fact that I'm due to start my period soon isn't helping matters, but I get sad at the thought of not having my own child.
I know adoption is an option, but I actually want to go through the experience of being pregnant, labor, delivery and nursing. (I know it's not going to be a picnic, but I walked home on a broken leg once so I figure I might have a reasonably high pain tolerance.)
I get sad at the idea of not being able to tell my husband, "Honey, I'm pregnant!" and then watching his face break out into a huge grin.
I want to feel him put his hand on my tummy, lay with my head on his chest and ask, "So, do you think it's going to be a boy or a girl."
I want him to help me fight the good fight against stretch marks and help me slather cocoa butter on my growing bump.
I want him to kiss that bump and hear him say, "Come on little one, I can't wait to hold you."
I want him there with me on the big day, when I'm cussing him out and telling him I'll never allow him to touch me again because the pain is so consuming, helping me bring into this world the lovely little baby that's about to change our lives forever.
If it doesn't happen, I guess I can always try and make that whole porn star/stripper thing work.
Really late. So when I got home I just wanted to veg out. I reheated some Chinese food and settled down in front of the tv. I was flipping channels and I ran across this:
"Cindy Margolis Inside Out"
I didn't know who Ms. Margolis was prior to watching this show. But, here's a link to her website: http://www.cindymargolis.com/ so from the looks of her I kind of thought Inside Out was going to be something about her rise as a porn star or something.
As someone who harbors a secret ambition to be a porn star (or at least a stripper, because . . . how fucking cool would that be!), I was immediately compelled to watch. (My strpper name would be something along the lines of Brown Sugar or Hot Mami.)
Imagine my disappointment when it turned out to be a special on Ms. Margolis and her hubby's struggles with infertility and their attempt to conceive through In Vitro Fertilization (IVF).
Maybe it's because I'm 29 and childless with no spouse to father my children. Maybe it's because I have friends who've been unable to have babies, but this show thoroughly sucked me in.
I sat there for an hour, watching her spouse shoot her up with hormones, listening to them argue about the need to get the shot at the exact time every day (which, you don't but it gave her peace of mind so shutupyoubigtool because if it makes her feel better and she's all hormonal anyway so you'd better fucking just suck it and be late to that goddamn Laker game. JACKASS!)
And then I cried.
SPOILER ALERT!
First I got upset because she didn't have enough embryos to put a couple on ice in case this didn't work.
Then, it started out with this lump in my throat when she told her spouse that she didn't want to go to the clinic and get the pregnancy test. As if she was trying to hold on to the ignorance of not knowing and believing in possibility.
I sniffled because she knew that emotionally she couldn't go through the weeks of shots again if it didn't happen this time.
Then I cried because her pregnancy test came out negative.
And then I kind of freaked out because . . . HELLO!
I'm 29 with no children and no spouse. I want children someday dammit.
What if I can't have any!?!
When I look at family history, it would appear that I will be able to conceive until my early forties. But you know what, that sometimes doesn't matter. My friend C's sisters all easily conceived well into their 30's, as did their mother, but it just wasn't a go for C.
She started going through perimenopause at 29!
I realize I'm overreacting and the fact that I'm due to start my period soon isn't helping matters, but I get sad at the thought of not having my own child.
I know adoption is an option, but I actually want to go through the experience of being pregnant, labor, delivery and nursing. (I know it's not going to be a picnic, but I walked home on a broken leg once so I figure I might have a reasonably high pain tolerance.)
I get sad at the idea of not being able to tell my husband, "Honey, I'm pregnant!" and then watching his face break out into a huge grin.
I want to feel him put his hand on my tummy, lay with my head on his chest and ask, "So, do you think it's going to be a boy or a girl."
I want him to help me fight the good fight against stretch marks and help me slather cocoa butter on my growing bump.
I want him to kiss that bump and hear him say, "Come on little one, I can't wait to hold you."
I want him there with me on the big day, when I'm cussing him out and telling him I'll never allow him to touch me again because the pain is so consuming, helping me bring into this world the lovely little baby that's about to change our lives forever.
If it doesn't happen, I guess I can always try and make that whole porn star/stripper thing work.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Best Boyfriend Evah!
Reasons why S rocks!
1. The man knows his way around plumbing!
I moved into an apartment that's in a building that's being renovated. Well, I don't think my landlord expected anyone in there so soon, but when faced with the prospect of a rent check he let me move in.
When I looked at the apartment the water was cut off.
So, imagine my surprise when I moved in and learned that the faucet in the bathroom sink runs continuously . . . when it's in the off position.
I couldn't even use the cut-off valve under the sink because IT was a few twists from falling apart. S came up, replaced my faucet and cut-off valve. I've snaked drains and such, but I don't think I would have known what all to get to accomplish this job. That night, I slept in the quiet silence of my apartment without the sound of the gentle waterfall from my bathroom. I think the cats were a little disappointed.
2. He fixed my rocky toilet.
I told you, it's an old building.
When I'd lean forward the toilet would rock. In a way it was kind of nice and soothing to take care of business while gently rocking, but I was starting to feel a bit like Rainman.
3. He saved me from the heart attack I might have had if that scary ass Camel Cricket had jumped in my face.
4. When I got home from work he had the massage chair set up with a glass of red wine next to it.
5. He knows how to wake me up without unleashing my inner bitch.
6. He can set up my wireless internet connection.
7. He can fix my roommates internet connection when the fools at Knology can't.
That's just the tip of the iceberg . . .
1. The man knows his way around plumbing!
I moved into an apartment that's in a building that's being renovated. Well, I don't think my landlord expected anyone in there so soon, but when faced with the prospect of a rent check he let me move in.
When I looked at the apartment the water was cut off.
So, imagine my surprise when I moved in and learned that the faucet in the bathroom sink runs continuously . . . when it's in the off position.
I couldn't even use the cut-off valve under the sink because IT was a few twists from falling apart. S came up, replaced my faucet and cut-off valve. I've snaked drains and such, but I don't think I would have known what all to get to accomplish this job. That night, I slept in the quiet silence of my apartment without the sound of the gentle waterfall from my bathroom. I think the cats were a little disappointed.
2. He fixed my rocky toilet.
I told you, it's an old building.
When I'd lean forward the toilet would rock. In a way it was kind of nice and soothing to take care of business while gently rocking, but I was starting to feel a bit like Rainman.
3. He saved me from the heart attack I might have had if that scary ass Camel Cricket had jumped in my face.
4. When I got home from work he had the massage chair set up with a glass of red wine next to it.
5. He knows how to wake me up without unleashing my inner bitch.
6. He can set up my wireless internet connection.
7. He can fix my roommates internet connection when the fools at Knology can't.
That's just the tip of the iceberg . . .
Payback!
"When I was in seventh grade I transferred to a Catholic school from public school and it was a difficult transition.All of the kids had known each other since kindergarten and were super close. They let me in for maybe three months and then someone made up a ridiculous rumor about me and I found out because when I walked up to a group of girls chatting, they literally shut me out. I tried to take a spot where there was an opening in the group and they promptly shifted to shut it."
I know right, how cheesy that I'm quoting my own blog!! But, I didn't feel like linking back to an entry so deal.
So, this past holiday season I went to a friend's Christmas party. It's always more or less the same group, but I had a lot more fun this year. I think it was partly because it was the first time I wandered the room unattached so more people came up to me and talked to me.
In particular, this one woman I'll call Bitchin' (which she totally was!). So, Bitchin' comes up to me and says, "I've seen you at these get togethers before, but we've never talked. My name is Bitchin'."
We started doing the polite chit-chat thing and I bring up that I'm from N.O and went to LSU. And, she starts talking about how her hubby went to LSU Law School and they get together for the U of A game every year! Then, she started dropping random last names, and one of them made me ask: Chlorine?!? One of the BITCHES that made my life hell in 7th and 8th grade!!!!! (I might not have said that last part.)
I nearly fell out of my chair (of course, the killer punch may have had something to do with THAT).
I was all, "Oh, I haven't seen her in ages. Really not since '89, how is she?"
Of course, she's still perfect!!!!
She's a lawyer living with her lawyer husband in a super trendy part of N.O. where people like Sissy Spacek own homes!
Anyway, I kind of laughed and said, "You know, I didn't really know her all that well. I only remember one story that typifies how she was back then."
Bitchin' says, "Oh GOD! You've got to tell me!"
Me, "Okay, we were in eighth grade Algebra and our teacher got on Chlorine. She was all, 'If you don't learn how to do this then how will you be able to figure out how much gas you need to mow the lawn?" to which Chlorine wrinked up her nose, tilted her head and said, "I'll just let the gardener figure it out!"
Bitchin' laughed so hard she snorted.
At which point, Bitchin' says, "Oh, that's so typical. My spouse went to fancy private schools all his life and so did Chlorine. I went to the county school and Chlorine's husband went to public schools, too. Anyway, on our way back from one of the LSU games to N.O. all of a sudden there was this loud noise from one of the tires. I was all, 'Pull over, we need to look at this now.' So, Chlorine's husband and I are like, 'Get the jack and tire iron . . . " and Chlorine and my husband are standing behind us, totally afraid to get dirty asking, "Can't we just call somebody?"
Which, you know, made me just smirk and nod my head.
There's one other "moment" with Chlorine that I remember that I just couldn't bring myself to share.
We had to do some sort of poster. I don't even remember what it was now, but my brother helped me with it. So, she comes up to me, all sweet and nice and says,
"Nice poster! Did you do all that yourself?"
I was ridiculously shy then and quietly said,
"No. My brother helped me with some of the drawing."
She totally dropped the sweet act, squinted her eyes at me and said, in the snottiest tone,
"Yeah, we figured," and returned to her pack.
Ugh! It was little moments like that, that made me terrified of her.
She'd be so sweet and then cut you with the snittiest little remark.
What was worse was that it was a small school and all the teachers knew how much money her daddy had AND she was a straight-A student: so, all the teachers thought she was just a ray of sunshine.
Bitchin' admitted, "She's irritatingly perfect and happy, but she's really pretty cool now. She's really laidback."
Which was kind of nice to hear.
I realize that 7th and 8th grade (ages 12 and 13) are trying times for all of us. She was probably just as insecure as I was and we spent so much time hating ourselves that we took it out on those around us.
I'm big enough to forgive and forget.
Also, I promised to send them her eighth grade picture as it's huge and she's got braces and
PERMED BANGS in it!
Turns out Bitchin's husband handles the alumni newsletter for his law school.
AWESOME!
I know right, how cheesy that I'm quoting my own blog!! But, I didn't feel like linking back to an entry so deal.
So, this past holiday season I went to a friend's Christmas party. It's always more or less the same group, but I had a lot more fun this year. I think it was partly because it was the first time I wandered the room unattached so more people came up to me and talked to me.
In particular, this one woman I'll call Bitchin' (which she totally was!). So, Bitchin' comes up to me and says, "I've seen you at these get togethers before, but we've never talked. My name is Bitchin'."
We started doing the polite chit-chat thing and I bring up that I'm from N.O and went to LSU. And, she starts talking about how her hubby went to LSU Law School and they get together for the U of A game every year! Then, she started dropping random last names, and one of them made me ask: Chlorine?!? One of the BITCHES that made my life hell in 7th and 8th grade!!!!! (I might not have said that last part.)
I nearly fell out of my chair (of course, the killer punch may have had something to do with THAT).
I was all, "Oh, I haven't seen her in ages. Really not since '89, how is she?"
Of course, she's still perfect!!!!
She's a lawyer living with her lawyer husband in a super trendy part of N.O. where people like Sissy Spacek own homes!
Anyway, I kind of laughed and said, "You know, I didn't really know her all that well. I only remember one story that typifies how she was back then."
Bitchin' says, "Oh GOD! You've got to tell me!"
Me, "Okay, we were in eighth grade Algebra and our teacher got on Chlorine. She was all, 'If you don't learn how to do this then how will you be able to figure out how much gas you need to mow the lawn?" to which Chlorine wrinked up her nose, tilted her head and said, "I'll just let the gardener figure it out!"
Bitchin' laughed so hard she snorted.
At which point, Bitchin' says, "Oh, that's so typical. My spouse went to fancy private schools all his life and so did Chlorine. I went to the county school and Chlorine's husband went to public schools, too. Anyway, on our way back from one of the LSU games to N.O. all of a sudden there was this loud noise from one of the tires. I was all, 'Pull over, we need to look at this now.' So, Chlorine's husband and I are like, 'Get the jack and tire iron . . . " and Chlorine and my husband are standing behind us, totally afraid to get dirty asking, "Can't we just call somebody?"
Which, you know, made me just smirk and nod my head.
There's one other "moment" with Chlorine that I remember that I just couldn't bring myself to share.
We had to do some sort of poster. I don't even remember what it was now, but my brother helped me with it. So, she comes up to me, all sweet and nice and says,
"Nice poster! Did you do all that yourself?"
I was ridiculously shy then and quietly said,
"No. My brother helped me with some of the drawing."
She totally dropped the sweet act, squinted her eyes at me and said, in the snottiest tone,
"Yeah, we figured," and returned to her pack.
Ugh! It was little moments like that, that made me terrified of her.
She'd be so sweet and then cut you with the snittiest little remark.
What was worse was that it was a small school and all the teachers knew how much money her daddy had AND she was a straight-A student: so, all the teachers thought she was just a ray of sunshine.
Bitchin' admitted, "She's irritatingly perfect and happy, but she's really pretty cool now. She's really laidback."
Which was kind of nice to hear.
I realize that 7th and 8th grade (ages 12 and 13) are trying times for all of us. She was probably just as insecure as I was and we spent so much time hating ourselves that we took it out on those around us.
I'm big enough to forgive and forget.
Also, I promised to send them her eighth grade picture as it's huge and she's got braces and
PERMED BANGS in it!
Turns out Bitchin's husband handles the alumni newsletter for his law school.
AWESOME!
Monday, January 03, 2005
Meant For Each Other
Ya'll know I just moved right?
Well, this weekend I was reorganizing my shoe rack and S walked into the room to see what I was up to.
I hear him quietly say, "Baby?"
I straightened up, turned to look at him and asked, "What's up?"
Him, still quiet, "Walk away from the closet and don't look back."
So, I did. And I, now whispering, asked, "Big bug?"
Him, still in sotto voce, "Oh yeah."
So, I slowly turned to look into my closet and expected to find this:
Which, yeah, would have freaked me out and I would have jumped on the bed like a big baby, but I could have sent in one of the cats and that would have been the end of that.
Those lazy asses might sleep most of the day, but you but a twitchy bug in front of them and it's ALL OVER! We're talking JUNGLE CAT baby!!!!
But, OH NO, what I saw, was THIS:
Which, made me go, "Huh?" And, I don't know if you can tell here, but it's got a really long, mean, looking horn or something coming out of it's butt: so, you know, the cats were not an option.
So I said, "Okay, let's just slowly take out the clothes and see if we can't catch it. Then we'll just let it go outside."
And S, bless his heart, gulped and really coolly said, "Yeah, okay."
So, I went into the kitchen, found an old jar and with S using a playing card (like standard size, not some big ass UNO card or anything) we popped it into the jar and closed the lid.
Now that it was contained, we both had the opportunity to take a better look.
Neither of us had ever seen anything like it before and when we had fulfilled our curiousity he offered to take it outside.
I said, "Okay, but let it go on the other side of the street. You know, in case it decides it wants to come back here it at least has to make an effort."
And, just, just as he's headed out the front door I called for him, "Hey S?"
Him, "Yeah?"
Me, "You know, while we've got him we'd might as well take a picture."
He grins, shows me the camera he's got behind his back and says, "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."
I smiled and said, "We gotta look that up!"
Him, now blushing, "Yeah, I was gonna check my bug book."
When he came back in from the release I asked him how it went and he said he had to tap it out of the jar and it stood there for a second and then just sauntered away.
I guess when you look like that you have very little reason to run away from anything.
(FYI: It's a Camel Cricket. Harmless to people, but it has been known to feast on fabric.)
Well, this weekend I was reorganizing my shoe rack and S walked into the room to see what I was up to.
I hear him quietly say, "Baby?"
I straightened up, turned to look at him and asked, "What's up?"
Him, still quiet, "Walk away from the closet and don't look back."
So, I did. And I, now whispering, asked, "Big bug?"
Him, still in sotto voce, "Oh yeah."
So, I slowly turned to look into my closet and expected to find this:
Which, yeah, would have freaked me out and I would have jumped on the bed like a big baby, but I could have sent in one of the cats and that would have been the end of that.
Those lazy asses might sleep most of the day, but you but a twitchy bug in front of them and it's ALL OVER! We're talking JUNGLE CAT baby!!!!
But, OH NO, what I saw, was THIS:
Which, made me go, "Huh?" And, I don't know if you can tell here, but it's got a really long, mean, looking horn or something coming out of it's butt: so, you know, the cats were not an option.
So I said, "Okay, let's just slowly take out the clothes and see if we can't catch it. Then we'll just let it go outside."
And S, bless his heart, gulped and really coolly said, "Yeah, okay."
So, I went into the kitchen, found an old jar and with S using a playing card (like standard size, not some big ass UNO card or anything) we popped it into the jar and closed the lid.
Now that it was contained, we both had the opportunity to take a better look.
Neither of us had ever seen anything like it before and when we had fulfilled our curiousity he offered to take it outside.
I said, "Okay, but let it go on the other side of the street. You know, in case it decides it wants to come back here it at least has to make an effort."
And, just, just as he's headed out the front door I called for him, "Hey S?"
Him, "Yeah?"
Me, "You know, while we've got him we'd might as well take a picture."
He grins, shows me the camera he's got behind his back and says, "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."
I smiled and said, "We gotta look that up!"
Him, now blushing, "Yeah, I was gonna check my bug book."
When he came back in from the release I asked him how it went and he said he had to tap it out of the jar and it stood there for a second and then just sauntered away.
I guess when you look like that you have very little reason to run away from anything.
(FYI: It's a Camel Cricket. Harmless to people, but it has been known to feast on fabric.)
Baby Got Back . . . and side, and middle.
I'm fat.
Now, from that one picture of my face I look okay, but trust me when I tell you it's all about angles.
Lately, I've just been feeling really fucking fat.
It was confirmed for me at my doctor's appointment last week. He didn't mention the weight gain, but I fucking cringed every time the nurse inched the scale towards a region that I'll refer to as, "Fat Ass."
I'm at a weight that I'm not happy with, AT ALL!
My whole life I've been up and down in weight. But lately I feel like I've been at a constant up.
And, I'm worried.
I'm worried that some day I'll hit a point where I get the courage to just decide to be fat and then let myself get yooooge!
But, it's not just that I'm fat right now.
I'm tired.
I'm tired of trying on clothes that look too tight.
And, you know, it's a new year and new beginnings and whatnot.
But, I'm not making any resolutions.
I'm not going on a diet.
I've got some of it down, it's not like I'm eating cheeseburgers, fried chicken, biscuits and fries.
The truth is, those things wreak havoc on my system.
I can't eat greasy, high fat foods, so for the most part I don't.
My problem is a general lack of activity.
The saddest thing?
I actually have a gym membership that goes unused most months.
I know! (I'm actually sitting here frowning and slowly shaking my head.)
Anyway, that's one of my life goals for this year.
To put my gym membership to good use and to run/walk at least one 5k this year.
This one year, I did the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer 5k and I shit you not: the bald, recovering chemo patients had faster times than I did!
So, not only do I want to finish a 5K, I'd like to do it with a respectable time.
Other personal goals?
To write more fiction.
To submit at least one piece for publication.
To procrastinate less.
To arrive at work ON TIME.
To give it one final push at going to the gym before work! (J! I can hear you! I can hear the big loud Chris, "HA!" all the way from Cali buddy!)
To celebrate 30 like I'm the first person to ever turn 30!
To write more letters. Real honest to goodness letters on my pretty, pretty stationery.
I've also got all these books that are wonderfully introspective and give you tasks to complete on your quest towards self-discovery. I know that sounds incredibly hippified, but I'm looking forward to working through some of them.
Anyway, that's it for the new year.
It's not particularly original, but it feels better getting it out there.
Tune back later on my weekend and why S rocks!!!!
Now, from that one picture of my face I look okay, but trust me when I tell you it's all about angles.
Lately, I've just been feeling really fucking fat.
It was confirmed for me at my doctor's appointment last week. He didn't mention the weight gain, but I fucking cringed every time the nurse inched the scale towards a region that I'll refer to as, "Fat Ass."
I'm at a weight that I'm not happy with, AT ALL!
My whole life I've been up and down in weight. But lately I feel like I've been at a constant up.
And, I'm worried.
I'm worried that some day I'll hit a point where I get the courage to just decide to be fat and then let myself get yooooge!
But, it's not just that I'm fat right now.
I'm tired.
I'm tired of trying on clothes that look too tight.
I'm tired of being tired.
I'm tired of flinching when my boyfriend run's his hands over my body. (And, God bless this man because he knew me back in the day when I was so small I could have turned sideways and disappeared and he still, STILL thinks I'm as sexy as day one.)
And, oh God, he wants to take nekkid pictures of me. Not dirty, dirty ones or anything, but I'm terrified. Terrified that when he looks at the pictures he's going to realize, "Trixie is fat!"
Because pictures don't lie people; they are hard evidence!!!
And, you know, it's a new year and new beginnings and whatnot.
But, I'm not making any resolutions.
I'm not going on a diet.
I've got some of it down, it's not like I'm eating cheeseburgers, fried chicken, biscuits and fries.
The truth is, those things wreak havoc on my system.
I can't eat greasy, high fat foods, so for the most part I don't.
Because the truth is, I don't eat until I sigh.
My problem is a general lack of activity.
The saddest thing?
I actually have a gym membership that goes unused most months.
I know! (I'm actually sitting here frowning and slowly shaking my head.)
Anyway, that's one of my life goals for this year.
To put my gym membership to good use and to run/walk at least one 5k this year.
This one year, I did the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer 5k and I shit you not: the bald, recovering chemo patients had faster times than I did!
So, not only do I want to finish a 5K, I'd like to do it with a respectable time.
Other personal goals?
To write more fiction.
To submit at least one piece for publication.
To procrastinate less.
To arrive at work ON TIME.
To give it one final push at going to the gym before work! (J! I can hear you! I can hear the big loud Chris, "HA!" all the way from Cali buddy!)
To celebrate 30 like I'm the first person to ever turn 30!
To write more letters. Real honest to goodness letters on my pretty, pretty stationery.
I've also got all these books that are wonderfully introspective and give you tasks to complete on your quest towards self-discovery. I know that sounds incredibly hippified, but I'm looking forward to working through some of them.
Anyway, that's it for the new year.
It's not particularly original, but it feels better getting it out there.
Tune back later on my weekend and why S rocks!!!!
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