Swish

I've Moved

2005-03-28T05:24:00.000-08:00

I finally have a permanent address.

Here it is: www.imsosure.net

Please come see me, and update your links.

So Much Old

2005-03-24T05:00:00.000-08:00

I went to the mall after work yesterday. Well, first I got on the highway and drove in the wrong direction for about ten minutes before realising my mistake. I don't know what tipped me off, perhaps the signs for Richmond. In Virginia. When I live in North Carolina.

So I turned around in a very convoluted way, taking back roads to a completely different highway. I blame exhaustion and hunger. I need to start keeping nutrigrain bars in the car. Or maybe one dangling on a rope from my neck.

I arrived at the mall and ignored the hunger, jumped right into shopping. I hated everything. Nothing fit well, everything was ugly. I began to get mall desperation. It was that desperation that made me attempt an Abercrombie breach, only to be repelled by some sort of bubbleshield put in place for anyone over 18. Someone was looking out for me, that's all I know.

Then I ate and things got rosier. Ann Taylor Loft embraced me with open arms and I put the blinders up to the sweater sets and found some things. I should just skip 29 and dive right into 30 because I've already made contact with the mother ship.

In rebellion, I am wearing low rise cords and a t shirt to work today. With sparkly flip flops that may or may not smell. A messy ponytail and large coffee to go later and I dare you to mistake me for an Abercrombie girl.

And with that, she laughed all the way home.

I'm All Over the Place

2005-03-21T06:08:00.000-08:00

I wish I had a group of little singing birds and mice to dress me in the morning. I really do. This whole process is getting much too difficult. How many outfits can you get from 2 pairs of pants, 1 pair of jeans, a skirt and four shirts? i'm not doing the permutations, but I'll tell you, NOT MANY. Looking like the office pauper is getting old.

I know the gates are going to burst and I'm going to go shopping and then watch out. I don't know how I'll be able to control myself. The Plan will be set back a couple of months but maybe I'll be cute and won't mind so much.

I did a lot of work at home this past weekend. I complained about it to my sister who was apparently in one of her tough love moods because she told me to stop being a baby, everyone works from home. Is this true? Most people take work home on a regular basis? How do you relax at all? I don't know, I think it's messed up.

Speaking of messed up, Tom and I drove and walked around town yesterday, looking at houses for sale. Just for fun. Just for fun turned into me becoming crazily excited, throwing everything out the window, screaming yes! we'll stay here! Let's buy a house! One that is much too expensive! And then plunging to the depths when I realized that we are not there yet.

Patience is a virtue, they say. Stupid they.

There is a plastic surgeon on Regis and Kelly who looks like he's wearing a plastic, shiny mask. This to me is not a good endorsement for his practice. I'm just saying.

Come Out, Come Out

2005-03-18T05:16:00.000-08:00

I leave the week with a book read and a green knit rectangle the length of my thigh. I think it's the tangibles that are going to get me through in the long run.

I'm thinking of my sister, Laurie, who is and has been home alone all week with four children while her husband is out of town on business. She has an 8 year old, 6 year old, 2 year old, and 3 month old baby. The 8 year old has been home with strep throat all week and the two year old won't eat anything without ketchup all over it. The 3 month old is permattached to her boob and her voice on the other end sounded oh so overwhelmed. And tired. Very, very tired.

And she doesn't even have Internet. Let's all think supportive thoughts.

Alright, I'm off. One more to go. I must have it in me somewhere. It's just hiding right now, that's all.

To Small Successes and Saffron

2005-03-16T05:15:00.000-08:00

I had a small success at work yesterday and decided the only responsible thing to do was leave immediately after. I needed a good day.

After I left, I drove to the megagourmet store in the next town over to meet my friend Heather for drinks and appetizers in the adjoining restaurant. As I was early, really early, I decided to wander the aisles and stare at all the pretty food. And it was so pretty. And I remembered that I loved it and how much I missed working at the smaller gourmet store in my own town, how tangible everything was right down to the sample you tasted and the wine you sipped. (I'm pretending customers don't exist and never did because that was a major downside.)

I loved the excitement of getting in something new, trips to the farmers' market where I bought the produce for the store, the colors and sounds, explosions of flowers and birds in the rafters. I loved starting something that morning and finishing it that afternoon, and starting it all over the next day.

It was simple. Hard work, but uncomplicated.

I left my food reverie for drinks with my friend. Time with Heather was just what I needed. I needed to laugh, something which my diet has been sorely lacking. Heather's hilarious and fun. Smoked duck quesidillas and parmesan encrusted scallops are good. That has to happen more. To more!

I left with two presents for Tom: amchur powder and a tiny package of saffron. He was disproportionately happy, which I love.

I've decided to be disproportionately happy, too.

Pretty Needles

2005-03-14T05:18:00.000-08:00

Alright, I did it. I bought two size 11 pink knitting needles and a ball of green yarn. Now what?

As an aside, I find it interesting that in times of stress, when work is completely overwhelming me to the point where I'm bringing it home on a regular basis, something that falls well outside the lines of what I think maintains a healthy happy life, that I choose this time to begin hobbies. To begin hobbies, to decide to learn css/html, to take out six library books at a time, to recommit to speedy Netflix consumption, to start running again.

No wonder the clothes I'm in are less then clean and far from ironed.

No wonder.

The Good Things

2005-03-11T05:16:00.000-08:00

Wow! That first entry back was light and breezy, showing everyone just how refreshed I am! Just as I intended! Let's turn this around.

Here are some good things I did over the past few weeks:

1. I'm taking a CSS class, online through a local college. It's good. I'm getting it. Sort of.
2. I've gotten to do some website stuff for work, with the promise of more once my Big Bad Thing that I'm working on is over.
3. Took a yoga class in which I learned just how tense, tight, and unflexible I am. Judging by the reaction of my teacher, this is a huge character flaw that I need to work on. It's a wonder that I'm functioning at all. After reading over my last post, she may have a point. This class left me relaxed for all of five minutes and sore for days. With the added bonus of doing none of the poses correctly, most of them backwards! Soreness plus humiliation! Oh my! If I had a therapist, she would know that I hate to do anything wrong in front of anybody and we would discuss why this might be.
4. I had a dream about Fish. We were on a subway in New York and were laughing and talking about tampons. Then I told her she should write more subway stories because I bet there are some funny things happening on that subway. Then she turned into my sister and my camera was stolen and my sister threatened to mangle the girl who stole it and we got it back.
5. I got a library card. First time since I was 7. This time I will not keep all the books and have anxiety over fines that surely must have been thousands of dollars big and kept me away from the library for the rest of my life. This is good on so many levels, but since most of my disposable income (insert hysterical laughter) goes to buying books, I'm hoping for a significant financial improvement (again with the laughter).
6. I hiked in Nepal for 3 weeks and discovered the meaning of life.

Just kidding on that last one. But wouldn't that be cool? I'll do that next sabbatical.

Excel's Bitch-That's Me

2005-03-10T05:38:00.000-08:00

Hi.

I missed blogging. I feel rusty now, not in my groove. I want to tell you the cool new things I've been doing since I last wrote, but I'm afraid that if I open my mouth a big ball of stress will come out and really mess up your screens. Think "hair ball". That's what my stress looks like.

I always thought I was a go with the flow type of gal. It turns out that that is not the case. I'm obsessive and neurotic. When I'm doing something that is hard, not something I like, but something important that shouldn't be screwed up, I think about it incessantly. I lose sleep. I make Tom miserable. It extends, touches everything, swallows me up. It takes away my funny.

I have not been funny in weeks, maybe months. It's like being blank.

Take that blank, and add a huge guilt complex. I don't feel like I'm doing much right, and that makes me look even more for the wrong. Is he mad at me? Do they think I'm not doing enough? That type of insanity.

Did I mention that I wasn't going to smear the hairball on your screens?

I have also been engaged in a three day battle with excel timesheets and had to ask that everyone at work do their last two months over. I've taken my work home and cut and paste and cried and swore and had stomach aches because excel hates me. Oh, and asking overworked people to do work over because of something I did really helped. I think I'm the most popular girl at the office.

I need a massage, massive quantities of alcohol, and for it to be June. I think things will be better in June.

So.

2005-02-08T16:38:00.000-08:00

So. Here's the thing. I don't think I've been a very good blogger lately. I'm in some sort of rut and every entry has screamed it at me: RUT! You're in a RUT! Ruttity rut rut. Rut.

Like that.

The Rut is bigger and beyond my blog. I've been considering, and I think I need to take a few weeks, a month perhaps, to address it. Try some new things, let it marinate, and come back. When I have something to say again. When I'm not so depressing to myself.

Some time off, followed by a Grand Reopening sounds like just the thing.

Ta for now.

Stacked

2005-02-04T05:12:00.000-08:00

My Friday is stacked a bit heavier than I normally like. I mean, it's Friday. I've got about 3 good hours in me before the day slides into a pre-weekend drool. I generally don't fight this. Rather, I schedule things to do that don't take a lot of talk or finesse, like vacuuming my office or organizing my desk.

But today, we have a staff meeting. And then, I have my first annual evaluation. I'm not nervous, but still. It's asking a lot of a Friday. I hope Friday doesn't get pissed and refuse to come back. That would be tragic beyond measure.

I think we'll go out to dinner tonight and to see a movie tomorrow. Million Dollar Baby, perhaps. I've never seen Hilary Swank in a movie and I don't know why, but I don't find her to be all that intriguing. I like me some Morgan Freeman, though.

Ps. I'm really sick of Donald Trump. Really, really sick of him.

Please, Mika. Please.

2005-02-01T04:42:00.000-08:00

Dear Motherfucker who called at 5:00 am this morning:

You made me lose my last two hours of sleep for the night. The phone rang, and I woke up with heart racing, convinced someone I loved was maimed or dead. I wasn't able to recover and am now operating on a two hour deficit. If you knew me, you would know how wrong that is.

You didn't leave a message this time, but if you had, I'm sure it would be similar to the last couple you've left, where you say something like, "Mika. Mika. MIKA. Come on, girl. You know I love you. You did me wrong, but thas alright, Mika. It's alRIGHT. We cool. Call me, Mika. Jus call me. Why don't you call me?"

Um, I'm not Mika. Thank god, thank god, thank god. But if I were Mika? I would tell you to please fuck off and never call me again.

And to Mika:

Mika, wherever you are, do NOT call him. Whatever your life is like, Mika, I have no doubt you're better off without him. Don't look back, that's my advice.

In other news, I had planned on wearing a really cute outfit with a skirt and tights, but then my PMS smacked me right across the face and handed me my baggy jeans. That PMS. She always knows what's good for me.

I Need It, But Not That Bad

2005-01-31T04:59:00.000-08:00

I judge my need for a vacation by the difficulty with which I get out of bed each morning. I'll let the random hard day slide, but get too many in succession, and I begin to realize that I need a break.

I never leap out of bed, ready to face the day. But once I'm in the shower, I accept my fate and stop flailing. I calmly get dressed and eat my oatmeal.

Well, we're on something like day 25 of the kicking and screaming (mostly in my head) and it's getting very tiring.

Financial situations and otherwise being what they are, I don't see a vacation happening any time soon. Unless you count this: my mother, in an excited voice, offered me a free ticket to........the largest indoor water park in the country/world in Erie, PA. I'd have to fly there on my own, but then! Then, I'd get to share a hotel/motel room with at least four other people! And there will be at least eight kids! And we'll all go to the indoor water park, for two days straight!

Sometimes I wonder if my mother and I have ever met.

I said, no. Then I softened it with a little laugh and said no. No way.

I wouldn't even do that if I had a kid. Holy crap, no.

I suddenly want to go to work.

My Dream

2005-01-28T04:48:00.000-08:00

I had a dream last night that I got a part-time job to help pay off credit card debt. A job in addition to my regular job.

The hilarity.

But in my dream, I was so serious about it. I was going to pull us out of this! I was going to take one for the family!

Maybe this is something I should consider. I mean, really, what am I doing with my time after work? Eating and watching tv, both of which I could do with less of.

Yeah, but working? More work? That really blows my "Work is for Suckahs" philosophy, and if you can't stick to your beliefs, what do you have? Who are you, anyway?

I've stumbled onto an ethical dilemma. Well, not dilemma so much as a funny story to tell Tom.

Too Lazy to Think of a Title

2005-01-27T04:52:00.000-08:00

This has been a week of sloth. It is mindblowing how lazy I've been. I have two choices: I can feel bad about it or I can luxuriate in it. Which would the lazy person choose?

Things I've excelled at this week:

1) Sleeping.
2) Watching tv.
3) Keeping the couch company.
4) Reading.
5) Eating.

Things I've struggled with this week:

1) Getting out of bed.
2) Moving.
3) Going for more than an hour without eating.

Plus, I'm wishing on that I was on to the next part of my life and I told myself that I would never do that. I give myself until Saturday to be this way. Then, it'll start happening. Oh, yes.

Decision Making Season

2005-01-25T05:39:00.000-08:00

There's something really nice about going into work at 11:30 in the morning. And there's something really crappy about staying until 8:00 at night. At least the good part is right now, at quarter to nine, the time I normally begin my drive. I'm in my pajamas drinking coffee. I'm thinking about having scrambled eggs and toast with jam.

I've been preoccuppied lately. We're entering Decision Making Season. With that comes much excitement and angst.

Some decisions completely belong to Tom, like what kind of doctor he wants to be.

But most belong to both of us. We have to start thinking about where we want to live for at least four years. Do we want to live somewhere big and exciting, like New York? Or do we want to live somewhere where we can have a house and put down roots?

I'm ready for roots.

I tried hard not to think of living in North Carolina as temporary. At the end of this, eight years will have passed and that is way more than temporary. I really didn't want to think of this time as "waiting". I think I succeeded, for the most part. Life moved on. We've made friends. We got married. We worked and made a life.

Still, I think I've been holding back.

To be perfectly honest, I think I'm ready to be near my family. I think I'm ready to start a family and I can't see that happening anywhere other than near my mom, near my sister.

So, as I read emails from my best friend telling me she's stuffing blankets under doors and balled newspaper near windows to keep out the cold, I think, that doesn't sound too bad. Alright, it sounds horrendous.

But I want it anyway.

Tease This

2005-01-21T04:53:00.000-08:00

The last thing I needed today was a snow day tease. If you say it's going to snow, it better fecking snow.

I had visions of the city being closed for the day and me making soup in my kitchen, walking my dog, and watching more tv because I don't think the 17 hours (approximately) of my life that I gave to The Box this week was enough. At least I'll have the warm and fuzzy memory of Simon Cowell telling everyone just how fat they are while lying on my deathbed. That's a comfort.

I'm just pissy, is all.

Instead of dwelling on what I don't have, I should consider the fact that it is Friday, and that I have two days of breakfasts and dinners with friends and books to read all before me. That if I'm my typical party girl Friday night self and clean the house this evening, I will have nothing hanging over me for the next couple of days and how great is that. Really great, I tell you.

So, as I compose hate mail to the local weather people, I will keep in mind that it could be worse. It could be Monday, a snowless Monday. Shudder and gasp.

Not Interesting If You Don't Watch the Amazing Race

2005-01-19T04:57:00.000-08:00

My favorite thing about my favorite show, The Amazing Race, is how adept all of the players are at communicating in countries in which English is not the spoken language. I'm thinking about the wrestlers andn John and Victoria in particular, but they are not the only ones.

The way they slow it all down shows a real appreciation for our differences in this great, big world. I like how they drop all words but the most important, such as "Fast! Fast!" or "We in race! Race!" Much more efficient.

But I think the best thing they do, and it's so inspired, is the accent from the make-believe country in their heads that they apply to everything, everywhere. It is the universal accent.

So next time you're in a foreign country and don't know the language, simply add "uh" to the end of every English word and you'll be set: "Fast-uh! Fast-uh!" or "We-uh in-uh race-uh! Race-uh!"

Trust me, they'll love it.

This Is Not a Clam Scam

2005-01-16T07:31:00.000-08:00

Ach, I slept too late and now I'll never sleep tonight. All people with children may now politiely tell me to go screw.

Friday night, in lieu of party plans that fell through, Tom and I went to dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. It was a splurge, but deserved, I felt. There is nothing more relaxing to me than sitting at a dimly lit table, sipping wine and waiting for the good food to be brought to me. Ah.

Everthing was great until the entrees arrived. Tom's dinner included clams. The waiter had failed to mention that clams were a part of the special, but we both like them and were happy. Yay, clams! This was our thought.

I waited until Tom had eaten two before I asked for one. I unstuck it from the bottom of the shell and slurped. And chewed. And crunched. A lot. I had just eaten a teaspoon of sand with my little clam.

Tom ate four more, all full of sand. He kept eating them because we do not complain at restaurants. We would rather eat sand than make trouble or draw attention to ourselves. I believe I said, "Just eat everything else and leave the clams."

But when the waiter asked if everything was alright, we told him about the sand. About how the sand was more than just a little-we would call it excessive. We also said we weren't upset, God no, but just thought the kitchen should know.

He looked at our pile of six empty clam shells and I knew what he was thinking: Clam Scammers. But he took the dinner away and brought a new one.

Some Background on Preparing Clams: There really is no way to remove sand from a clam after it's been cooked. It has to soak before being cooked for a long time and spit the sand out on its own. And then, it has to soak again. If the soaking didn't happen, there's nothing to be done later. So we didn't have high hopes about the clams in Dinner Number Two.

Tom put the first clam in his mouth and the entire restaurant could hear the crunch. The waiter asked and we told.

Luckily, we live in America where portion sizes are so gigantic that we could easily share my dinner and have dessert and espresso on the house and still leave feeling like we had a good meal.

The moral of the story is, order the clams, hope for sand, and get free desserts and coffee.

Yep.

Good Morning! Credit Card Debt Rocks!

2005-01-14T05:00:00.000-08:00

Nothing says good morning like a lighthearted discussion of your massive credit card debt. Good morning! Try not to suffogate from all the debt on your way to work! Have a nice day!

It actually used to be much worse. The debt, and how we dealt with it. It used to go something like this: Emily tra la las around town, blissfully unaware of all the credit card debt. Knows it's there, but has no idea how much or what is going to be done about it. Tom, meanwhile, is developing ulcers along with Excel Spreadsheets and Budgets and Plans. He is lying awake at night churning in a big vat of guilt, anxiety, and fear.

I have to stop the third person crap now.

Basically, I didn't understand how bad it was. It started when we moved here at 22 years old, with nothing, no start up money, just some hand-me-down furnture and a couple of pots. I worked at Starbucks making 6 bucks an hour while Tom was making the big money as a med student. We were broker than broke. But, having been broke all my life, coming from broke parents, this didn't really stress me out too much. I figured we'd have plenty of time to pay things off when we were grown up, or at least when I no longer was Barista of the Month. I subsequently took jobs that paid more, had better health insurance, benefits, etc., but sadly, didn't have us rolling in it. We made some headway, but much of it was obliterated while we helped pay for our wedding and honeymoon.

This is a long and boring story that leads to this-over the past year, I have educated myself on our credit situation. I have come to understand that getting rid of the debt sooner rather than later will give us the freedom to make certain choices later on in how we live. We have come up with The Plan and The Plan is working. We are down to two cards with large sums of debt on them, but still, it's down to two. Tom does not lie awake, churning, anymore. We think we'll be down to one by the end of spring and have average American credit card debt. Oh, to be average! That milestone will make me want to go buy us a BIG present.

Just kidding!

But man, do I love buying presents.

We just had our first unstressful credit card discussion of maybe ever. It was nice.

We're going to make it after all. (You have to sing that in your head or just isn't the same.)

Solid 7

2005-01-12T05:02:00.000-08:00

If I had to give this week a name, so far I'd have to go with Keep Your Head Down and Barrel Through: An Exercise in Just Getting By. I would rate Work Difficulty/Busy-ness at a 7 (using a scale from 1 to 10, 1 being least difficult) and Cleanliness of House as somewhere in the 4 range, which as you can imagine, is not very clean.

Extracurriculars-such as writing, reading, going for walks, talking on the phone-are at about a 3 right now, and that's just because neither one of us could think of a decent dinner and went out on Monday. This is almost unheard of and shook things up a bit, thus saving us from a disgraceful score of 0.

As you can see from my intricate and scientific scoring system, my life is heavy on the work side, heavy on the disorganized house front, and light on the fun and interesting. Which is directly reflected in the quality of my posts lately, that coming in at about a 4, and THAT'S only that high due to my Buffalo picture link in my last post.

I will devote the rest of the week to balancing this shit out. My tremendous need for balance might be why I'm not CEO of Something Great, but it is why I'm generally a happy person.

I'm just shooting for a solid 7 in all things.

Remember to appreciate the Wednesday 1:00. It's a magical moment when the work week is exactly half over. I can actually feel it tipping at 1:01.

Home is Where the Cheap Houses Are

2005-01-10T04:44:00.000-08:00

I have here, sitting before me, what looks to be a stressful work week. It was very hard not to keep the covers of my head and do "5 more minutes" ad infinitum.

At least I had a really good weekend. We had dinner at a cute little tapas place on Friday, then watched two movies-Saved! and Supersize Me.

Saturday, I hung out with my pal, Heather.

Sunday, I hung out with my pal, Anne.

And in between, I searched the Internet for houses for sale in Buffalo.

Buffalo is undergoing a renaissance, which may be only in our minds, but is taking up a lot of conversation and free time. It's where we're from, and before too many people wrinkle their noses at the thought of choosing to live there after so long away and with so many other possibilities at our disposal, check these out.

Many if not most of these gorgeous homes sell well under $200,000. One woman's depressed economy is another's cheap, sweet house, it seems.

Moving anywhere is over a year away. But it's fun to start the dreaming now.

Friday, Thanks for Coming

2005-01-07T04:56:00.000-08:00

Thanks, Friday. You always show up when I need you most.

I had a good night last night. Here's a tip: whenever you need some happiness, bake a chocolate cake.

Tom and I baked the real deal. There's something about finely chopping the chocolate that really does it-the smell, the resistance and slide of the knife, maybe. I like sifting flour, too. I like how it goes from a silky dense pile to an silky airy pile. I think I might like to bake. Who knew.

Baking, drinking wine, other nice nices, not a bad way to spend the evening. Eating some of it wasn't bad, either.

I'm the rockingest old person I know.

Green is the new iPod

2005-01-06T05:00:00.000-08:00

Like many in privileged white America, I got the coolest Christmas gift ever. I love it and especially like to take it when I go for walks or runs.

Except. I'm afraid whenever I do. Where I come from, it's really not a great idea to advertise the fact that you have an expensive new toy. It's probably an even worse idea to attach it to your belt, where it sits prettily facing anyone walking toward you screaming, "Take me! Look at her! What's she going to do? Reach out and take me. I'm attached by a belt clip. That's it. It couldn't be any easier. In fact, you could probably just tell her to give it to you in a mean voice and she would. Do it."

Isn't that a sad problem? Having a cute new ipod mini and worrying about it being stolen so much that it takes away from the enjoyment of it? That's what things do, man. They end up owning you.

Ha! Whatever. The angst is outweighed by the pure sugary goodness.

(I feel like I've done two really obnoxious posts in a row. This is the last time I'm going to talk about something I own. Or my skinniness. Thank you.)

She Said, See You Later Boy

2005-01-05T04:49:00.000-08:00

You know how sometimes when you just wake up but your brain hasn't acclimated to being conscious yet, how you can hear songs in your head? Not just "hear songs", but hear every chord, every pulled guitar string, every harmony, every drum beat. You hear it better and in more detail than you've ever heard it while awake. You hear it like you're a musical GENIUS.

This has happened to me every morning at approximately 3:00 am for the last week, when my body decides to reject a lung. This morning, I treated myself to Skater Boy by Avril Lavigne. I'd like to send a shout out to my nieces, Saige and Serena, for planting that in my subconscious. It was a bad subconscious and needed to be punished. Thanks, ladies. Now he's a superstar, ssssLAMMING on his guitar...

I just heard a commercial about joining a gym for the new year and thought of this: I didn't make any resolutions this year, but a while ago, I decided to never go to a gym again. Mostly because I don't like them.

I remember when I belonged to a gym. I would go, use the treadmill, watch everyone and think "this is really weird." Everyone hooks themselves up to a machine, and goes goes goes. Like so many mice on so many wheels, each in their own artificial world, not really talking to each other. Just one more thing to get done on our gigantic to-do lists.

That doesn't mean I don't exercise. I do and I love to. But my version is more about walking Finn, taking the stairs, dancing around the house. The occassional run. I like making it a piece of my already life, more of a pleasurable thing than a must do thing.

That works for me thanks to skinny genes and a love of cooking. And also a love of pretty ingredients. And eating only until satisfied, while eating things I like.

Emily, you say, you should write a book! About how great you are with the eating and the unobtrusive pleasurable exercise!

Not necessary, my friends. It's already been written and I read it last week. It was my I'm Sick So I Get to Read an Embarrassing Book and Then Tell the Internet About It book. I greatly enjoyed French Women Don't Get Fat.

You can commence the mental beating of me now. I don't care. Those french women know how to live. And it reinforced my feelings about living small, not always needing more or to do more or see more. To slow down and enjoy the moment.

So there's a resolution in there after all. Thanks, french people.

Somewhere, in the Land Between Dayquil and Nyquil, I Remebered What I Wanted to Say

2005-01-02T13:30:00.000-08:00

Which is this: I have spent approximately zero minutes reflecting on this past year. I have spent almost as much time looking ahead to this next year.

Why so little interest in this marker of time's passing? I think it has a lot to do with the sassy combination of the 'Quils I've been balancing-I haven't quite figured out when Nyquil's reign ends and Dayquil's begins, resulting in serious overlap and a strange tingling sensation in my skin and a humming in my ears.

The truth is, 2004 wasn't the greatest year ever for me.* I mean, it wasn't terrible; it had, like, two seriously bad things, one sad thing that hasn't been dealt with at all, um, a couple of scary things thrown in right under the wire, and no really spectacular things to balance any of it out. Some lovely moments, good company, but considering the two seriously bad things, I feel there could have been something especially good in there somewhere(I likes my symmetry).

Which could mean the especially good may be waiting in 2005. Which is nice to think about.

And to be fair, 2004 really had a tough act to follow. 2003 was AMAZING. We got married, went to Europe, I spent a fantastic and remarkably unfretful three months unemployed, I wrote a lot...I was feeling positively gigantic with possibility.

Obviously, 2004 didn't stand a chance.

Hey, I have a question-that hanging thing at the place where your tongue ends (or starts, I don't know) and your throat begins? That punching bag-looking thing? Should I be able to feel that just resting on the very back of my tongue? I don't think I should. I think everything in my throat/mouth region is swollen and gross.

I'm pretty.

Happy New Year.

* That being said, I am very grateful for all the good things, all the love. I say a little thank you every day. It seems wrong to complain about anything right now, but I did anyway.

When Coughing Hurts

2004-12-31T07:22:00.000-08:00

I have coughed so much and with such force for three straight days that I am certain I've fractured several ribs from the inside. Now, every cough is followed by the most pathetic whimper, annoying to even myself. I finally asked Tom to please buy me a cough suppressant, even though I am a horrible medicine taker. But it has to happen, my organs are tired of being bashed against bone. They told me so.

This illness is a result of many smeared niece kisses, so worth it at the time. Also amazing was holding my brand new nephew, Jake. He is so small and sleepy and warm. I held him to my neck and felt his tiny breaths, heard his baby snores...such goodness.

But his birth was scary and made me rethink my midwife idea. My sister, who has had only healthy pregnancies and deliveries, never expected that she'd have to have an emergency c-section because they lost the baby's heartbeat. She never imagined having to hear her doctor shouting at everyone to move, move, seconds count! She never thought that her husband would have to lift her onto the operating table because no one else was moving quickly enough.

What if that had happened with a midwife? Can midwives operate? What if the birth had been at home? I don't know. All I know is that the hospital is where she needed to be at that moment.

I just drank some Nyquil. Maybe I'll try posting when it makes me all loopy. For fun.

Happy Holidays

2004-12-23T09:08:00.000-08:00

I'm here, in Buffalo. Home. I'm just popping in to say Happy Holidays. Oh, and this too: if your pregnant sister ever decides to have an emergency C-section because the baby's heartbeat is dropping very quickly, and all of the doctors and nurses start running and yelling things in an urgent manner, tell her and them to cut that shit out. Very scary, very not funny.

But baby and mama are doing well. We're visiting again today.

Later, gators.

Work is for Suckers

2004-12-17T04:49:00.000-08:00

One more day at work. Just a few hours to get my twenty loose ends comfortably under the label of "Somebody Else's Problem". From now til then seems like a long time.

I'm feeling a little too busy at the moment. I don't like it.

I'll post something else over the weekend that's full of happiness.

Not Eloquent Enough, But I Fucking Mean It

2004-12-15T04:57:00.000-08:00

When I miscarried my first and only pregnancy in October, it was horrible. I didn't know I had so many tears, or how they would burst from me at any moment. I had so little control through the whole thing.

I grieved. While I grieved, I was amazed to find that no matter how much I tried, I couldn't think of a next pregnancy. I would ask myself, "When do I want to try again?" and the answer fell away like tiny pieces of paper ripped into a thousand pieces. I had nothing to hold on to. My brain wouldn't let me.

That's changing now. The thought doesn't fly away anymore; it's there for me to examine and touch.

I am optimisitic about my next pregnancy. I can afford to be.

But then there are those who have just been beaten down, time and again. Who have had their hearts broken more than I knew was possible. Yet, somehow, they are able to keep and share their grace, love, and humor with the rest of us lesser beings. These are the good ones, folks.

I just read chez miscarriage, and every fiber is reaching out to her and her family, and to Sarah, her surrogate. Sometimes, life is beyond not fucking fair. Sometimes it is cruel. I don't abide cruelty.

So send love and prayers to them all. Maybe we can balance this sucker out.

Tra la la

2004-12-14T05:04:00.000-08:00

As I stare at the bags and bags of unwrapped Christmas gifts under the tree, I quietly turn down the panic knob about how much I spent and resolve to learn how to make things by next year. Everyone will be getting one made thing, and one small bought thing, like a book. Or a candle. Or jelly bracelets.

If all goes according to plan, I will be 6 months pregnant at this time next year and nesting like a fiend. (Isn't that what pregnant women do? Clean and rearrange, make things, call family a lot? If that's not what they do, you'd better tell me now while there's still time to initiate Plan B, with the drinking and the sex and the swearing.)

Undoubtedly, during this period of nesting, I will be full of love and light and the urge to create beautiful and nurturing things for loved ones. I will be cooking casseroles to freeze and washing and fabric softening all the baby's new clothes and toys, and just basically sending out loving, warm thoughtwaves to anyone within a five mile radius at all times.

Complete strangers will walk by my house and find themselves lingering, so unexpectedly wrapped in mother love that they don't want to move on.

And then, all the little cartoon birds will fly through the window and completely decorate the nursery.

This is called Disassociation, folks. Disassociation.

For the Love of Jesus

2004-12-12T07:52:00.000-08:00

This is a true and actual phone conversation I had at work the other day:

Me: (Agency Name), how can I help you?

Her (in a soft, well-modulated voice): Hello. This is so and so from such and such church. Last year at this time, we donated baby items to your shelter. We'd like to do that again this year.

Me: Wonderful!

Her: The way we did it last year, and the way we would like to do it again this year, is we had one of your staff dress as the Virgin Mary. Then we all sat around in a circle and handed her gifts to open. Gifts for Jesus. We threw a baby shower for Baby Jesus and gave the gifts to Mary. Is that something you would like to do again?

Me: Um, hold please?

Does this mean the only way we get these baby items for women in need is if one of us agrees to dress like the Virgin Mary and accept gifts from a bunch of INSANE, clearly insane, church women?

I do not consider myself to be a Christian, but I know some, and I'm pretty sure they would all say, "Sick bastards."

If the World Were Made of Cafe con Leche

2004-12-09T16:24:00.000-08:00

My writing feels like picking at a scab. Yeah, that good.

I've been trying. Little blurbs here and there in an old notebook. I'm embarrassed and excited at the same time. We shall see.

I sat on a porch swing today with a two year old in a Parisian dress. It was misty out. The clouds hung low, softening the blinking of the light on a television tower across the street. I said, Oh Isabel, it's hard to see the light because of the rain and fog. She watched the sky, nodded and said, The sky is rough.

The sky is rough. If I use that, is it the same as taking candy from a baby? She won't miss it, I swear.

I've been working at full throttle lately. I'm stretched my friends, with my bony fingers scratching at a Friday that's full of promise but short on delivery. I need a long sleep-in and a croissant with jelly.

While we're dreaming big, why don't we throw in a vacation. A non-holiday kind of vacation. Where there is no visiting of anyone. No obligations of any kind. Just me, a luxurious hotel, a glamorous city to explore, and many many days with which to do it. And Tom. He can come, too. And cafe con leche.

I love cafe con leche.

Noodles and Porches

2004-12-07T16:02:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting on my porch in a skirt and a light sweater, on my red, chipped and peeling glider. It's December 7th. There is a breeze, warm and gentle. Everything is dark except for my porch light and the neighbor's Christmas lights across the street.

I am never moving north. I am only staying here.

I'm happy. Home is good today. We had a quiet dinner of chicken cacciatore and pasta. A long neighborhood walk in which only two trucks slowed down to freak us out, and now this porch sitting. Finn is lying on the top step like a normal dog.

It's over. Tom and Finn went in and I will probably be robbed of my laptop shortly, signifying the end of this utopian moment. Nothing's perfect, not even the neighborhood gang banger.

TV will be good tonight. One nice thing about not watching much anymore is how happy watching my favorite shows now makes me. Charlie Brown Christmas and The Amazing Race are tonight. I will lay on that couch drunk on the non-guilt of it all.

I'm boring today. You may now move on to another blog.

I'm Fine. Really.

2004-12-06T05:01:00.000-08:00

And that's as whiny as I'll get. I look at that last post and think chill, please. Or do something about it. But for god's sake, don't lament having too many choices.

Hm, what does it say about me that hours after I express real feeling, I want to yank it all back and say, "I'm fine, I'm fine. It's all fine."

I gots issues.

Today at work, we will be stuffing envelopes. Stuffing, stuffing, all through the livelong day. I took mountains of envelopes home and worked through the weekend, but only made it to F. Which, as we all know, is not even the middle of the alphabet. I'm hoping it becomes an envelope stuffing party and someone brings cupcakes.

Complacency is A-OK by Me

2004-12-05T11:32:00.000-08:00

The Bills just fumbled and our house is immersed in darkness. Oh, how will we go on, I just don't know.

As Tom nervously chews on his fingers while sitting inches from the computer screen, our method of watching football sin cable, I am looking at our cute little Christmas tree and thinking about what I want to be when I grow up. Again.

This is my pattern: What should I do? What should I be? What do I like? How do I start?...complacency, complacency, months and months of complacency...What should I do? What should I be? What do I like? How do I start?

The complacency stretches are getting longer and longer.

It's easy to be complacent because, uh, what's hard about feeling satisfied? Nothing. It's so easy. And as I'm writing this, it's occurring to me that feeling content and satisfied is the accomplishment of the goal, right? So why the struggle? Why the big stirring of the Complacency? Why not let the sleeping Complacency lie and enjoy myself?

Obviously, there is something in me that needs an outlet, a more. Something of my own, that is just what I want it to be. Something other than the family that I know will give me joy. Something that will be there when the imaginary kids are grown and gone. Something to escape to when they're not.

Now that I've imposed a baby schedule on us, I feel more urgency than ever before. I need to have this whole life thing settled before bringing anyone new to the mix. Before so much of what is currently mine becomes ours. There is a little squeaky voice saying that this is the wrong way to look at it, but she's annoying and shall be ignored.

The Complacency has been poked awake after a dinner last night with a friend getting ready for a series of interviews to land an English Lit. professorship, and many discussions about what comes next for Tom in his quest to graduate and start doctoring, and a wonderful breakfast with my good friend Anne, another med student...All encounters and conversations with people doing EXACTLY what they want to be doing. I want a little bit of that for myself.

But ask me about this tomorrow and I will say everything is great and it will come when it will, no worries.

And there it is. Back and lulling me into taking a nap.

Maybe I'll just go live in a cabin in the woods somewhere and live off nature, where the only and most important thing to be accomplished is catching fish for dinner and a successful avoidance of being eaten by a bear.

A Four Topic Post

2004-12-03T04:47:00.000-08:00

I love how early it gets dark now. I love that the only way I know that Finn has pooped after dinner is by waiting for the sound of his crap to hit the leaves. Ker-plunk.

Good morning to you.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's Friday, once again. Usually, I just roll with the Friday, never trying to control or direct the Friday. Rather, I like following it's own natural rhythms. A little meeting, a little straightening of the office. Some answering of the phone and picking up the mail. Maybe type up some directions on the many intricate and fascinating things I do on a day to day basis for the next suckah. This has worked out to be an excellent way of doing things. I don't stress out the Friday, and it doesn't stress out me.

Until today. I have so much WORK to do. And there's not enough TIME to do it. I might have to stay late today. On a Friday. On a freaking FRIDAY.

But then, I was thinking, maybe a Christmas tree afterward would brighten things up. And some Rhapsody Christmas cheer, such as Mariah's "All I Want for Christmas". That's right-Mariah. She's a skank and I'm not a fan of her music in general, but if I ever met her, I would thank her for her Christmas album. Since it's not likely I will ever meet her, I'll take a moment to thank her right here and now:

Thank you, Mariah. Thank you for your Christmas album, and for "All I Want for Christmas" in particular, which I have choreographed for the next imaginary holiday party in which guests are asked to perform their favorite Christmas songs. I think you would be proud.

Since I don't have MTV, I was spared your TRL appearance with no pants on. I'm glad I didn't see that and that "All I Want for Christmas" was not tarnished in any way. So no worries.

Right now, Tom is showering with the bathroom door open so that it's not too steamy when I finish my toilette. I didn't ask him to do that-he just did it. He's very nice.

On Being an Ass, and Other Such Things

2004-11-29T16:55:00.000-08:00

On Saturday morning, I emerged from the bathroom after taking the longest shower ever in the world, amen. It was bliss: steamy and quiet, all family members separated from me by a wall of fog and heat. And a closed door, the best invention of all time, besides cream cheese frosting. Obviously.

As I was saying, I emerged, relaxed and ready to tackle day 843 of family. But the house, it was quiet. The people, they were gone.

Tom was fixing the front door handle, which had been sticking. I said, "Where is everybody?"

And he said, "They went for a walk."

They went for a walk.

Me: Hey, isn't that awesome? How I got to tell them what I wanted for Christmas this year? Now maybe I'll get something I actually like for Christmas.

Tom: (silence)

Me: You should really tell them what you want. Then maybe you won't get sucky Christmas presents, like usual.

Tom: I like my Christmas presents.

Me, loudly: Oh, yeah, you just LOVED that miniature punching bag that you suction cup to the table. You LOVED that. That was great. Best present ever.

Tom: I like the punching bag.

And then me, glowing with all the skills of perception much much too late, mouthing: Oh my god, are they here?!

And then Tom, mouthing: Your stepdad is in the spare room.

Then I ran out onto the ice cold porch in my bare feet, to freeze the Asshole right out of me. And I continued on with my day, as if nothing had happened.

What, now?

2004-11-29T16:43:00.000-08:00

Today, at a stop light, I found myself behind a pickup truck with four bumper stickers. They were:

Army of One
Free Tibet
Don't Mess with Texas
Kerry/Edwards for a Stronger America

Do they do these things to make me crazy? Do they?

Thank God It's Monday

2004-11-28T15:26:00.000-08:00

That was a complicated family visit. I don't want to talk too much about it; I don't talk to the Internet about things that I haven't or wouldn't say out loud to someone. Since I'm not ready for some big tv drama intervention type of thing, I'll just say that this past weekend leaves me with a heavy heart. Epiphany of the Day: Relationships are tough.

In addition, I am now sporting the Worst Haircut Known to Man. It is not a bad haircut, technically speaking. She showed some real skill with the cutting and razoring. That shampooing was heavenly. So I'm not saying my hairdresser is not a talented person. I'm just saying that there must have been a breakdown in communication somewhere. I will let you be the judge.

My Conversation with Erin the Hairdresser, Exact Words

Erin: So what are we doing today?
Me: I'd like something bob-like, but not a bob exactly. Not something you would ever see on a 6:00 anchorwoman. I want something with a little flip, a little sass.
Erin: Ok. About midneck in length?
Me: Yes.

I sit before you with the haircut of a 6:00 anchorwoman. There is no flip. There isn't the slightest bit of sass. This is a very serious looking haircut. As for the length, midneck would have been fine. I have a nice long neck, which I felt would give us some room to work. The reality is that Erin judged midneck to be my jawline and my hair is sadly short. And square. And unpretty.

I see a lot of intricate bobby pin work in my future.

Overlap

2004-11-26T05:21:00.000-08:00

Two more days left in the family marathon. I will work for a few hours, go out to lunch, do a little shopping and go for a walk. After that, we will all wait for my family to arrive. Then we will commence the Great Family Overlap of 2004.

Which is totally fine. Totally. Fine.

Tom's parents are sweet, gentle people. My parents are sweet, gentle people. Yet somehow? They are so unbelievably different. One set is orderly and practical. The other is crazy. So we'll just see how it goes.

That's it-I've hit the solution. Once drinks are handed out and we've settled on a dinner plan, I will step back and observe. It will be like a sociology project: How do two sets of people with completely different values interact when thrown in a teeny tiny house with a rambunctious 11 year old boy and a hyperactive dog?

I'll crack some windows and order pizza. It's all anyone can do.

The Pee Goes in the Toilet

2004-11-22T15:54:00.000-08:00

After some missed exits and proclamations of "We're never doing this again", my mom and stepdad and eleven year old brother arrived just before 7:00 on Saturday evening.

They are a funny trio, these three. Alex is my mom's sixth child, Bob's first, and my mom is so over it. It's sort of hilarious. While Alex talks a mile a minute punctuating everything with the word "Dad", my mom curls up on the couch to read. When Alex and Bob crash around the house and each other in battles over trombone practice and reports that are due, my mom does a puzzle. Alex won't get out of bed for school? That's Bob's problem. Mom's at spinning class.

That's not to say she's not involved. Having one child is much different than the five she had before; there is much more of her to be had. She's just a bit older, that's all. A little more tired. And a lot quicker to defer to a willing partner, something that wasn't around for us.

Anyway.

When they pulled into the driveway, I opened the door to my freshly cleaned little house with the roast just pulled from the oven, garlic and rosemary and freshly baked bread wafting, lights twinkling, and braced for the tornado of noise and stuff and size that nearly knocked me over. They are loud. They are messy. They don't always pay attention to who is walking near them and sometimes have to be yanked out of the way. They drip and spill. They let Finn escape no matter how many times you warn them to be careful. They come out of the bathroom holding four sopping towels after a bath that sounded like the earth was caving in and a tidal wave helped it along, repeatedly, and ask where the dirty towels go. Certain boys have certain problems aiming in certain toilets when they're half asleep.

They make me laugh.

This same boy thought, for like, thirty seconds that we had an elephant buried in our backyard. Tom said, "That hill is where we buried our elephant." And Alex said, "That doesn't make any sense. Why would you bury your elephant in the backyard?"

It was fun. We're in a sweet, sweet lull of quiet and orderliness right now. Tom sandblasted the bathroom. I'm in my pajamas on the couch. We're watching 6 Feet Under.

Thanksgiving is miles away.

The Main Part

2004-11-18T16:39:00.000-08:00

First, some housekeeping: I think I fixed it so that anyone can comment, not just slaves to blogger, I mean people who use blogger. So come one, come all. Yeah!

And lastly but most importantly, thanks SO MUCH to everyone who switched their links to me, and to everyone who found me. I am lost no longer.

Now, the main part:

Last night, I turned to Tom and said, "I really feel like something's missing. Like it's time for something, right now, that's not here and I don't know when it will be. And I feel like there's this big hole in my life where it's supposed to be."

And then I whispered, "Is American Idol ever coming back?"

Seriously, you guys, when? I'm ready.

I bet you thought the main part would have more to it.

Oh, wait, I have something. I had my eyebrows done today, professionally, and despite that fact I now have one skinny eyebrow and one fat eyebrow. I'm afraid there will be no front views of my face for the next couple of months. Only side comments from now on. This could be tricky, people might think I'm being snarky, talking out of the side of my mouth all of the time, never meeting anyone's eyes...

Trust me, it's better this way.

Hello, Blogspot

2004-11-17T17:01:00.000-08:00

This is lame. Lame-o in the brain-o. I feel the echo reverberating off of the pretend walls of the Internet. Helloooo out there! I'm OVER HERE! HERE! I'M-

Oh, forget it.

I am now a Blogspot. Blogspots are cool. I have Blogspot friends, you know. Don't even try to say I'm prejudiced against Blogspots, because I'm so obviously not.

But I'm a little sad that I'm away from home for awhile. And I'm a bit worried that my friends won't find me. So find me, alright?

Other than this blog mess, today was fine. I worked, made bean burritos for dinner, and am now watching Lost. I am in severe denial about my parents passing through this weekend on their way to Florida, or Tom's parents getting here on Wednesday. There has been no grocery shopping, no cleaning, no thinking of things to cook. Tra la la. Thanksgiving, what?

Time to wrap myself in something soft and lie on something lumpy. I mean soft.

Test

2004-11-17T07:08:00.000-08:00

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