2011 is about to become 2012's bitch

Big exhale. The year's about over. It's been a rather eventful one, as I may have mentioned a few times before. And it looks like 2012 might be on track to rival the events of 2011 on some levels. But more about that in a few days...
I'm pretty exhausted. In fact, tonight I'm really tired. Seemed like the day was going to be great this morning and I suppose it was (got to see some old friends and spend some time with some I get to see practically every day). But it's not ending all that well and I guess I'm reflecting on some of the things that I've learned over the past 12 months. So, in no particular order, here they are:

• Health is a gift. I jacked up my back and lived a few months in the body of an 87-year old woman. I did not like it. Also, I see how people could very easily get addicted to prescription painkillers. They're awesome...but it's not when you need them just to be barely functioning above the level of a creative person at a math competition -- so, not well. But they've pretty much been the only reason I wasn't flat on my back for a long period of time...which sounds a lot more fun than it is. TV gets old after awhile. (WHO SAID THAT??)
• There are certain things you say that you can't un-say. Never has that been more apparent to me than in marriage.
• Thirty really isn't bad. I don't know what all the dramatic "anti-30 campaign" fuss is about.
• I like stuff. But I like my mental serenity more. Money's nice, but a few killer vacations a year can't make up for the misery of feeling stifled. "SERENITY NOW!"
• Some people matter and some people don't. Before you go, "But EVERYONE has a purpose," hear me out. Yup. I'm sure the miserable woman I have in mind right now was put here to do something -- perhaps to create a lovely child or to be a supportive daughter to an ailing parent -- but she serves no purpose in my world. I don't think I'll spend any time in 2012 making room  in my existence for people who treat others poorly or who think it's okay to step on others to get what they want. Because guess what? It isn't. I know there is a lot I have yet to learn, but I know this much: you can get just as far in life by doing the right thing the right way as you can by doing things the nasty and condescending way. So I'm just not going to allow those kinds of people in my head anymore. Some people matter and some people don't.
• When in doubt, compassion out! Okay, that's just something I strung together, but I think that's a nice little way to think of things. A co-worker and outstanding human being (and, more importantly, a friend) shows me on a daily basis that being kind and asking about someone's day -- even if it's someone you typically find annoying -- is never a waste of time. So, following in the footsteps of his saying in favor of wearing sleeveless shirts when it's hot ("Sun's out, guns out!"), When in doubt, compassion out!
• Everyone's miserable. On some level, every single person deals with misery and those who say they don't should check their pants because they're probably on fire. It might be a health problem, a relationship problem, an addiction, feelings of isolation, a job they hate...there's always going to be something. So hug your pet; go for a run; get a smile out of your nephew; have a drink...talk it out. Whatever. We're all in the same boat. Honestly, that realization kind of sux.
• Being in a toxic environment can make you toxic. If people keep telling you that YOU ARE something that you're not, eventually you'll likely become that and not even realize it. It kind of sickens me that I've gotten as negative as I have, but there's a very short list of people to thank for that. I wonder if I have any postage stamps because I really should get on writing those thank yous.
• Men's brains function differently. It's not better. It's not worse. It just is. I have to stop expecting them to think the way I do. It will never happen.
• I'm a detail person. And I like to plan things. Life ain't gonna show up for my schedule. Shit.
• Maybe asking for help is okay. I know I don't mind when people ask it of me, so I shouldn't be so apprehensive to lean on the ones who've offered help.
• People can only love you if you let them. That's a big one.
• Stubbornness is almost never worth the effort...but I think I have a gold medal in it, so why quit now?
• Just because you don't like something it doesn't make it bad. Think about that. This could be tattoos, NASCAR, football...
• A partnership is never going to be equal. It's never going to be fair and 50/50, no matter how much you wish it would be or how hard you try. I probably shouldn't spend so much time trying to make it that way.
• There's a Justin Bieber singing toothbrush...just thought I'd share that.
• And just as it's mysteriously been able to do since I was in high school, Counting Crows' "A Long December" manages to pop on at just the most perfect, significant moments in my life. Love that song. Love the lyrics. I believe it.
• Finally...it's okay to let some people go. You should put in effort when it comes to relationships. You should let people know that you are there for them -- even if you don't know them all that well. But there's a time when it's okay to stop trying to hold on to something that isn't there anymore. Cut them loose and everybody can go live their own lives and be happy in circles that no longer intersect. It doesn't even have to be a sad thing. Just savor the times you had, open your hand and let them go. We don't all have to hold on to each other forever just to say someone was a good friend.

So let's start anew. Let's send 2011 to jail for the weekend and Scare it Straight into becoming a more functioning 2012. I've seen it work with sassy teenagers.

I'm not saying...I'm just saying!

Last Friday I spent the evening with George Clooney. Yup, that George Clooney. But before you grab your phone to ask me how I've witheld this information from you for a full week, don't get too excited, Jessie Spano. I was at the movies to find out whether "The Descendants" was worth the hype. It was. And though I'll do my best not to give away any plotlines that aren't already disclosed in the previews, I make no promises that a few minor surprises may not be revealed...but I'll try.
I feel like Stefon from Weekend Update right now, but "This movie has it all: big beach hats, Beau Bridges, an emotional arc, a couple of weed references and midgets in hula skirts." Okay, maybe I made up that last one, but it's really freaking good. The only problem is that I didn't quite know what I was in for when I settled in next to my hubby for a date-night movie. And by the end I was doing that really ugly I'm-crying-so-f'ing-hard---much-harder-than-anyone-else-in-the-theater---but-I'm-trying-not-to-show-it-so-my-face-is-all-contorted-and-I'm-trying-to-subtly-wipe-away-tears thing. I looked like Farrah from "Teen Mom." (Seriously. Google "Farrah Abraham ugly cry." You'll also get some Heidi Montag image gems in there. Bonus!) It wasn't pretty. Anyway, I think it was 74% that it was just seriously that good, 8% because I'm married now and watching stories about infidelity (revealed in previews!) affects me so very much more than it ever did before, and 18% because it occurred to me (for only the second time that day -- we're making progress!) that that day, December 9th, was the anniversary of the death of a beautiful soul and lovely friend of mine...no, not the one I previously wrote about. Unfortunately, this friend was taken by a drunk driver...
And it had been 10 years.
10 whole years. Damn. It still feels like yesterday -- I mean, I can remember exactly what I was wearing, who was in the car I shared to her parents' house the next morning, crying until my entire face literally ached for days, calling my mom and barely being able to get words out...living by myself that year and being so unable to handle any human interaction for so long after that. Man. I tear up now, just thinking about it.
So, yeah. The movie made me cry, even though it had nothing to do with drunk driving, nor were there any characters named Andrea. I did my best to hold it together until the last frames, when we navigated the exit, the parking garage and were safely sealed in my little Civic. Then the radio transitioned songs and David Gray's "Please Forgive Me if I Act a Little Strange" came on. And I lost it. Since I have yet to share the ghost stories I once promised to divulge, that means nothing to you. But it was significant. It was perfect and tragic and eery all at the same time. At once I was crying and laughing simultaneously. Sean looked at me and said, with a half-worried smile, "You okay?" And I somehow got out, "Yeah. Yeah I am. I know you don't believe in any of this and that you think I'm crazy, but I swear she's here right now. I swear it...and she's telling me that I've got to let this go. I have to let this go. I need to be celebrating her life, not marking how she died...it's time to move on." And I realized I remember December 9th every year, but I don't even know when her birthday is. Andrea was that birthday, not the sad fate that befell her in December. Shame on me for getting it wrong for all these years.
And that night when I peeled back the covers to get in bed, something caught the light and my eye.
"What's this?" I asked Sean, holding up a small gold foil heart that people often enclose in birthday cards.
He shook his head. "I don't know. That looks like it's more your department than mine."
I just smiled, shook my head a bit and tucked it safely in the eyeglass case perched on the windowsill above my bed.
Who knows?



And every time I feel like she's a million miles away, I have a beautiful tribute CD that another extraordinary soul made for me right after our loss. And, even though I have no idea if she ever even liked any of these songs, it reminds me that she's not so far away that she can't reach down every now and again and remind me that I'm living for two of us some days. So don't forget that.



And then I remember that all of this comfort is something I'm giving myself. But, hey...what's the harm in that?

A disturbing realization

They say that video killed the radio star. Well, as I'm sitting in my living room, listening to music and wrapping gifts, I realized what my "radio" is: TV. Every time I wake up on the weekends and feel like I'm just bursting with creative energy, I make a mental list of all the things I'm going to do that day (get out the sewing machine and finally make that baby blanket for my friend's kid...who's now 2. Or play that piano I insisted I HAD to have, but have only played maybe a dozen times...). And you know what actually happens? I watch TV. Or I watch a movie. On my TV. And I don't even think I realized how much it was hurting me on the inside. Since I definitely don't get to be creative at my job, it's up to me to pursue those interests outside of work hours. But I'm so drained from my dead soul that I just watch TV and get ready to go through the exact same motions again the next day.
I'd like to say that I watch so much TV because I'm a pop culture whore who MUST keep up (just not with the Kartrashians...Jesus, enough already. It's like Kathy Griffin said, "Remember when Bruce Jenner was BRUCE fucking JENNER???"), but I think that's maybe only 50% truth.
So what am I going to do about it? Well, I might just challenge myself to a day of creativity where I can do whatever I want, as long as there is no TV (or computer streaming) involved. Maybe I'll actually go through with half that mental list of stuff and see how I feel.
...but if I do, can someone please tell me what happened on The Real Housewives???

My soul currently resembles the piece of coal I am bound to find in my stocking

Tonight I think I can actually hear a bottle of wine calling my name from two rooms away. My day started out cleaning up six (yes, six) piles of cat vomit and fighting back tears in my car for what was bound to be another very creative and FUN day of freedom! Unfortunately, I'm only serious about the tears and cat vomit.
I want to know when the whole world just gave up and boxed themselves in. I'm curious about when it was determined there was a "right" or "wrong" way to be creative. And I'm wondering when it became so hard for me to lean on people. My yapper flaps a lot, but I'm hardly ever really saying anything. God love the people who must endure it each day. Perhaps my Christmas present to them could be official sainthood? They've earned it.

And then there's a moment (as a friend pointed out to me today) when you realize you don't really know the people who sit around you at all -- at least not on a deeper level -- which is strange considering we spend so much of our lives sharing each others' space. And from there you can only see more layers of beauty and compassion and humanity from people whose kindness already impressed the hell out of you.

I guess I don't really have anything clever or funny to share with you tonight. This post is really just me trying to talk out what's troubling me right now. And to share with you a piece of another friend who's been by my side since I got home...somehow they always know what you need.
Now, if you'll excuse me, that "calling" has turned into yelling and I can no longer keep the Pinot waiting.

I-I don't want to buy anything from you.

I love you. Honestly, I think you're great. And I'm super thankful you're reading my blog, so please forgive me in advance because I'm about to tell you something you're not going to want to hear, but I can't contain it anymore. And I don't want to offend you, but...I don't want to buy anything from you. I want to hang out with you and I want to support your ventures, but I don't want to come to an awkward party at your house where I'm expected to buy something at the end and I feel poor if I don't. The stuff is probably cute, but also overpriced, even with the "special discount" everyone gets for coming to the party. I really do want to help you get free stuff, but not if it costs me $50.
Once more, I think you're really neat, but the worst thing you can do to your friends who know you're trying to make extra money is ask them to cough it up. If times are tight for you, they're probably tight for your buddies, too. And it makes things really weird.
So, tell me: can we keep our friendship strictly non-commercial or do you accept checks?

A dog-pile of things that are "the worst"

You can't see me, but I'm waving a white flag. I give and the only thing that's going to revive me is going to be a very stiff drink this evening.
Honestly, I'm so wrapped up in my own overwhelming life at the moment that I just don't have anything left to give to anyone else. Crappy quality in a friend? Yes. Reality, though? Also yes.
Since I feel like I'm required to announce the silver linings of all the dark clouds before the universe yanks the proverbial vintage Versace rug out from under me, here they are, in no particular order:
-great husband
-awesome family
-supportive friends
-off-the-charts cool pets
-DINK status

Okay, now that that paperwork's out of the way, here's what I really care about today: the suckiness of inconsiderate people. There's nothing worse than someone who overpromises and underdelivers. In fact, I've had just about enough of it from one particular individual and if I didn't think my husband would personally rip me a new one for saying so, I'd call this person directly and ask to borrow his ego for the day just to know what it feels like to be a complete cock.
And last night I heard a news story about someone STABBING A PUPPY and only getting probation. Probation! How could you ever feel you have the right to bring physical harm to another living being (newsflash: YOU DON'T), let alone a freaking puppy?!? And then he gets probation? UGH! Right now, our justice system seems all kindsa f'ed up. I'm not into this book of stories, but what happened to "an eye for an eye"?
And while we're on the subject, every time I see the scum of the earth (Vick) on the TV, I list all of the horrible, violent things I hope happen to him. I'm not a violent individual (though I will rock your planet like the asteroid in Armageddon with some seriously not-nice words), but if I met this person on the street, I'd have no problem turning that way. I can never forgive someone with that much evil in his heart. I guarantee you that people like him don't change. Don't be fooled by the smoke and mirrors of his PR people. I hope he loses his livelihood and a horrible, karma-like fate befalls him.

So maybe that tangent lends a little perspective to my own situation (which I wish I could elaborate on) and how even though it seems like we are totally not in control of our own lives and futures, we still are because we can always choose to say, "Sod 'em," and move on from the whole thing in a totally different direction.

While I'm in the moment, please do me a favor. Go see "Machine Gun Preacher," or at least visit the website: www.machinegunpreacher.org
I know it sounds like an obscure Quentin Tarrantino/Robert Rodriguez (and therefore terrible) film, but it's not. It's based on the life of a man named Sam Childers who gives a damn about people thousands of miles from wherever you are right now. I saw the film nearly a week ago and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. Chris Cornell's "The Keeper" punctuates the film beautifully and I'd recommend that download, even if you haven't seen the movie. Go to the website. Read his story; but more importantly, read the kids' stories. It will put things in an eery perspective for you.

So to recap: My head is totally Linda Blair-ing right now and the stress is pushing me over the edge. There's a special place in hell for puppy stabbers and Vick.
...and a "hillbilly from Pennsylvania is changing this world and proving that good deeds know no bounds.

As Donnie Wahlberg said on my New Kids on the Block bedsheets (that I still have), "Peace out on the strength." Yes, Donnie. Yes, indeed.


*Legal Disclaimer: my non-practicing attorney (me) has advised me to disclose that I actually have no plans to bring physical harm to anyone, no matter how much they absolutely deserve it.

She Wore Diamonds on the Inside

I was having some phone trouble while on vacay, so here's a belated blog entry from it:

Thirty is starting out pretty great. In fact, I'm flat-out happy about life right now and that's not because of the slight buzz I'm still sporting from last night's post-dinner drinks...okay, maybe it's not so slight.
It's strange to think that I had to come to Vegas to learn something about my own sensibility, but I guess you can't predict how you'll learn certain things about yourself.
I have been talking about Chanel flats since before our honeymoon. I said I was going to get some as my big wedding/honeymoon present to myself, but when we were in a Paris department store, I picked one up and flipped it over. I immediately set it back on the shelf and did an about-face. Sean was sick of hearing about these damn shoes so the first thing out of his mouth was, "Where are you going? How much were they?" I continued walking and replied, "I can't tell if the first number is a 4 or a 9, which means we can't afford them." I'm pretty sure his jaw probably dropped, but I couldn't say for sure because I was high-tailing it out of there.
On my birthday, I decided to get myself those flats. I was so excited. We walked to the Bellagio's luxury shops and I had my moment outside of Chanel where I told myself I was ready to become a full-blown fancy lady. I paused before I walked in and drank in the moment of appreciation of abundance in my life. I walked in, strode over to the flats and excitedly looked around. I found the ones I have been dreaming about and casually flipped them over. Let's just say they were $50-$75 over the already absurdly high heart-attack limit I had set for myself...and I couldn't do it. I grabbed Sean and once again left that Chanel behind. Once outside the store, he asked how much they were and when I told him, his jaw dropped. I teared up because it was my birthday and I just couldn't believe I would have enough sense (even after a few cocktails!) to walk away from baby's first Chanel (I'm not counting my glasses...though I probably should.). I hated myself. But that f'ing Midwestern sensibility (thanks, Mom and Dad) kicked in and all I could think about was that no matter how much success I eventually have in my life, I'm just not going to be able to shake that little voice of reason that reminds me there are millions of animals in need and how much good I could do with that selfishly extravagant "budget" I set for myself.
Dammit. Even with alcohol, the sense is there...and I think it's because I'm getting older.
Seeing my disappointment, Sean grabbed my arm and said, "You need to buy something IMMEDIATELY!" We found more cocktails and an H&M and suddenly, all was well again. And later that night, I ended up with a gorgeous Max Azria bag and a new gay bestie named Sammy. I love that bag so much that I carried it around our hotel room for three days. It's insanely beautiful and I am so fortunate...even if I am cursed with good sense.

This bitch is still in her 20s for a few more hours

Big year. I got married. I went back to Europe. I'm turning 30 tomorrow. I'm doing a self eval. It's big stuff. And as I sit in my (home) office, typing my last blog entry as a 20-something, I feel like I'm having a Doogie Howser moment. And then I realize that many who read this won't even know who I'm talking about, which is really sad since Doogie was the shit 20+ years ago. Oh jesus, I'm old. But seriously, it was good. Netflix it.

Anyway, every asshole has a blog now. And every asshole thinks you want to know what he/she has to say. So I don't presume that my words have any more meaning to you than theirs, but they mean something to me. The lesson I've learned in the past few days is that for far too long, I've made the mistake of writing and just really hoping someone out there would like it. But I should never have been writing for them. I should always write for me. Because at the end of the day, despite what some know-it-alls may tell you, it's all subjective anyway.

SO my big close as a 20-something blogger is this:
I've lived a lot of life in these 29 years. I've made a lot of really bad decisions that turned into really good stories (some of which I'll never tell!). I've  (oh my god, I seriously just paused while typing and cocked my head up toward the ceiling. DOOGIE ANYBODY???) had my heart broken and I've been unkind. I didn't appreciate the hard work it takes to get things and I didn't know how hard my parents worked just to give me an education. But if there's anything I've learned in these 29 years, it's that I don't have all the answers. I don't even have a fraction of the answers. But I do know that you have to do what makes you happy and you have to have the drive to swim upstream when that's the hardest possible row to hoe. The good stuff comes from work--that much I do know.

So I'll say goodnight and leave you with this:
Know that you have my most sincere gratitude for giving my words even a few moments of your life.

29 Out.

Suburgatory is Real

The new ABC show Suburgatory is pretty much the best idea ever to sum up my childhood and adolescence...even if it's slightly misguided in its execution and will probably only stick around for one season. (Elton from Clueless should really start looking for other work.)
I know people work really hard--their entire lives--to buy a nice home in a homogenized neighborhood of freshly built cracker jack boxes with saplings in the front yard and Subarus in the driveway. And maybe when I'm older and wiser I'll decide that the best route for my kid is white-faced youth all vying for a seat at "the cool kids' table" and getting in line at the cafeteria for a future eating disorder. Maybe. And maybe I'll be right because it'll end up giving my kid the best education, safety or life expectations beyond a small studio apartment below 14th street. But who knows? I'll unintentionally mess that kid up in one way or another, of that I am sure.

Also, I wish I watched that new show Revenge. Not only is it set in The Hamptons, but it looks like a more grown-up version of Gossip Girl, which I think we can all agree was (at one point) the very best thing to happen to TV. Ever.

Also, now that there's another Paranormal Activity movie out, I've been hearing some weirdo noises in my home late at night. If anyone is even remotely interested in hearing any of my ghost experiences (and I've had several), I'll share. But at least two people have to leave comments on this entry! Is anyone out there??? I'm not even sure my mama reads this damn thing.

Breaking so Bad it brings tears to your eyes

Warning: this entry is a little more introspective than "I need a Louis Vuitton purse." (But I do.)

For years, Sean and I have heard that Breaking Bad is, like, the best show to happen to TV since the Brady sisters got married. I looked at the premise and said, "Soooo, it's just Weeds, but with meth? Hmmm. Sounds like a hoot. No, thanks. I already have a drug show." But I love dark (Six Feet Under is one of my all-time favorite shows and American Beauty is brilliance in film embodied.). And people continue to rave. So yesterday, one of Sean's co-workers very kindly brought him season 1 on blu-ray and insisted he give it a go.
Last night, he gingerly approached me with, "I know you've been kind of reluctant, but would you want to check it out?" To say I was hesitant is pretty much the biggest understatement of the year. See, I didn't want to watch it for reasons much more deeply rooted than I think I'm a TV critic. I lost a friend in a very convoluted series of circumstances, one of which was meth. And even though it was 7+ years ago, last night made it abundantly clear that I've never really dealt with it. In fact, I'd definitely say I'm still in the grieving stage and I'm pretty convinced I'll never get out of it. Even just typing this, I picture her and what a kindred spirit she really was. So it feels pretty fucked up when you're barely out of college and you lose someone who could finish your thoughts and make you laugh until you're very nearly in need of a pair of Depends. And you know what? It still feels pretty fucked up. Maybe it's because I moved away (four times) and I wasn't there to know what truly happened. I don't think I'll ever really know. And I choose to remember her as the person she actually was, not the person Cosmopolitan magazine portrayed in their feature a few years ago.
All of that withstanding, just one episode of that show last night brought it all back to the damned surface and, man, I cried within about 5 minutes of the first frame. I can't help but watch it and think, "This isn't entertaining. These are peoples' lives." And I'm willing to bet that someone dies from this shit every single day. Most of them aren't bad people, either. They're people who've been preyed upon by uneducated pricks who cook up a bunch of chemicals so they don't have to actually work for their money. It makes me so angry that these people think they have the right to behave this way that I felt consumed with overwhelming sadness just by watching a 45-minute show. It's like I want to shake people and remind them that this ruins peoples' lives and it's not funny. It's not good.
Yes, I did say I watch Weeds, but smoking too much pot never killed anyone as far as I know. (But don't get me wrong--that's not my scene, either. Anyone who knows me will tell you I get all fired up if anyone tries to bring that shit into my house.)
The episode ended and Sean asked me what I thought. I had to pause because I just had tears streaming down my face. I was finally able to blurt out, "It just makes me sad...but you can watch another one if you want." I stood up and headed to the stairs, just shrugging when he asked me if I were okay.
I went to the bathroom, sat down on the bathmat and wept. And I knew that I finally have to deal with this shit because it's not going anywhere until I quit allowing it a space at the table in my life. But how do you ever let go of someone you loved so dearly and who died so suddenly? How do you explain to people who just don't get it that I can blame whomever I want; I can still be angry and sad and not want to talk about it; I can make her into a saint in my mind if that's how I need to deal with things? ...well, maybe I should start with just not watching a show that glorifies the devils she danced with in the end?
And if that isn't enough, I'll shop. Today, I went with both.


*In the interest of respecting not only her privacy, but also the privacy of her incredibly wonderful and strong family, I won't give any details about her other than that she was the bees' knees. She was "smart as a whip," as they say (and, in this case, "they" is probably your grandpa), and funny and as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside--and not in that, "Oh, you should meet my friend. She has a really great personality," kind of way. In that, "Is she a model?" kind of way.

And so it begins...

As you may have noticed, I'm never short on opinions and generally believe people should hear them, no matter how much they protest. So, I took the advice (of a few!) and started a blog. I'm not sure yet if there will be a common thread for all of them, but my suspicion is that they'll be random since I don't like to be boxed in.
Your first assignment as my faithful readers is to figure out how to make money doing this. Here are a few things to help you get started:
-I'm horribly witty.
-I don't like reporting to anyone.
-I prefer not to work in a traditional setting.
-The world needs my input, even if it doesn't know it.

That's my beginning. I hope you'll stick with me and leave me your thoughts, too!