It's been awhile since I've written anything. I've been entrenched in some deeply personal work -- but more on the heart of that another time.
A small part of this journey has been to re-evaluate how I view myself and my place in this world. I've changed a lot from my 20s to my 30s and much of that is how I treat myself and what I give myself permission accept. Like every other woman out there, I have plenty of thoughts about my physical appearance -- many of which are negative and I would never even say them about my arch nemesis (who, by the way has an over-geled, nasty pube-like haircut and is dark and evil on the inside). In my 32nd year, I began to wonder why. I wish I could say I have this brilliant and original answer, but I don't. Although, I do have a few thoughts:
-I came of age in the '90s when Kate Moss and heroin chic were the standard of cool. Since I didn't intend to stick a needle in my arm, skipping meals and snacks seemed like the most reasonable way to achieve this. Like most 18-year olds do, I had a fantastic body. But all I saw were the flaws. Now I look at photos of myself and think, "GEEZ! Where's that girl now?" Well, she's buried under the pounds of someone who decided she loved food more than the starvation, malnutrition and hours on the Stairmaster it took to achieve that body. So why isn't that okay? Yes, I need to lose some pounds, but most of America does, too! And I now have a phenomenal personal trainer who supports me and pushes me to lose the emotional baggage weight -- not the curves of my natural frame. It's going to take some time to get where I want to be, and that's okay. I'm working on it.
-I was perusing PEOPLE magazine a few weeks ago and there was a picture of the beautiful Bar Refaeli in a story about various star beauty treatments. She had red stuff smeared all over her face and I eagerly read about what berry-based facial this could possibly be. Maybe I needed one. Only, it wasn't berries at all. She had her blood drawn, then the platelets were separated and smeared all over her face because...well, I forget why, but it was something about them being oxygen-rich and leaving her with a glow, or some such nonsense. And I sat in stunned silence for literally several minutes just thinking, "Is this really our new standard of beauty?" Shooting botulism in our faces to get rid of any sign of emotions wasn't enough? Being impossibly thin didn't cut the mustard? Seeing celebrities who are already the most unfairly beautiful creatures then photoshopped to an unachievable perfection didn't give us enough insecurity? Now we're supposed to have blood drawn, separated and then smeared all over our faces for that "extra glow"??? (OH! And the best part of that little article was that this facial costs $1500. Child, for $1500, it better come with a new Louis Vuitton to hold while they stick that needle into your vein.)
And then it hit me: this is ridiculous. This is the definition of ridiculous -- this might be the very 2014 definition of ridiculous, but it is the definition of ridiculous. How could we possibly ever keep up with women who have deeper pockets than anyone working a real job, who are genetically blessed, and who have personal trainers, personal chefs and a private hair and makeup team?
The answer is: we can't. And why shouldn't even want to try.
Being comfortable in my own skin is still something I'm working toward, but it took a platelet facial to push me that much closer to realizing how asinine it really all is. Because, even with my own blood streaked all over my cheekbones, I'm still not going to look like Bar Refaeli.
And that's okay.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Saturday, July 20, 2013
The Light and the Dark
After a lengthy period of home renovations, I was thrilled last weekend to cap off a trying couple of months with a concert and dinner with my pal, Anje. We drove out of town about 30 minutes to reach the old Mandrell Estate and the stage that was tucked neatly back in the woods. We grabbed some drinks and set up our folding chairs amongst the crowd of mostly 30- and 40-somethings, giddy with anticipation to re-live the '90s with Guster, Ben Folds Five and Barenaked Ladies.
Sidenote: Being a selective cheapskate, I smuggled in a flask of mid-grade vodka in the zipped pocket of my vintage Fendi and purchased a small bottle of Sierra Mist for the bargain price of $4. But, seated right next to the bustling sound booth, I turned into a complete chickenshit and was paralyzed by the fear of being caught. I handed over my purse to the more rebellious Anje, who mixed me a grown-up soda.
The last time I saw Ben Folds Five was in the mid-'90s in Atlanta. They were fantastic then and they did not disappoint this time, either. Ben Folds is a genius on the piano and, as Anje put it after a few drinks, "They're probably just too smart for most people." I think she's right. They had a few radio hits, of course, but songs like "Alice Childress" never caught on with mass audiences, which is a shame because it's both haunting and impressive in its lyrics and composition. But counting everyone's favorite abortion song ("Brick") among your credits is nothing to sneeze at. "Can't you see, it's not me you're dying for, and she's feeling more alone than she ever has before. She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly." Truly original.
One of my favorite moments that night came just as the sad, but overplayed ballad concluded. As the crowd cheered, Anje turned to me and said, in all sincerity, "What's that song about?" I love her.
When Barenaked Ladies hit the stage, their energy was palpable and I marveled that even 15ish years since the last time I saw them, their enthusiasm and ability to entertain the crowd had only improved with age. Despite the shock of Steven Page no longer being part of the band (where have I been???), Anje and I loved the improved songs and stand-up of Ed Robertson.They're such a talented group of men who seem to genuinely appreciate their fans sticking with them for so many years.
It was a surprisingly pleasant day for TN in July; the music was the perfect mix of old favorites and new ones; the setting was beautiful and the crickets serenaded the quiet between songs. Sitting beside my friend who has become my family, the world seemed so lovely and I was consumed more than once by a feeling of peace and incredible joy because life can be so very beautiful.
After dropping Anje at her house, I wound through the hills surrounding the now quiet mansions of Brentwood. It wasn't until about 20 minutes later that I finally came to a red light and decided to check the news and see if the jury had reached a verdict in the Zimmerman trial. Having been holed up in a crappy hotel room all week while my floors were being redone, I spent a lot of hours watching the trial and wondering how these slimy defense attorneys slept at night. (Attorney Don West's daughter tweeted a picture with her father the day Trayvon's illiterate friend, Rachel Jeantel, testified, saying "We beat stupidity," and there were a few hashtags, one of which read, "Dad killed it." Doesn't that say a whole lot about these people??? See for yourself here: http://www.wptv.com/dpp/news/state/don-west-ice-cream-photo-daughters-mollywestttt-tweet-we-beat-stupidity-dadkilledit) I'll give Zimmerman's team this: they managed to bury the most relevant piece of information -- George Zimmerman instigated this fight by stalking and pursuing this unarmed child.
Staring down at my phone while a few random cars passed in front of me, I felt sick to my very core. Not Guilty. Of anything. This man, who openly admitted to following and shooting this unarmed child, was excused without so much as a slap on the wrist. Tears immediately stung my eyes at the injustice of it all. What does it say about us as a society that in 2013 an African-American child can be "justifiably" shot just for walking home because someone thinks they look suspicious? He's black. He's wearing a hoodie that's pulled up (couldn't possibly be because it was raining, could it?). It's late. He must be a criminal -- a thug. I am so utterly horrified by this notion that the state of Florida just validated. I feel sick that Trayvon's parents were sent the message that their child's life didn't matter, that he was somehow a second-class citizen. How are we not past this?!? How is it that we took a big step forward for gay civil rights, but we're taking another leap backwards when it comes to race?
A week has now passed since the verdict, and the country, thankfully, has not moved on. I think each day brings a new question as to what we're going to do about this. Even the President weighed in, though somewhat gingerly. The only people who seem not to be outraged are the people also anxious to distort or misreport the facts. (For example, Hannity said that even Trayvon's parents said this was not about race. That's actually a complete disregard for the truth, but who's surprised?)
I don't know what better way to illustrate what's still wrong with our country than this tragedy. Zimmerman is now in hiding and his lawyers say he'll have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life, implying that we should somehow feel sorry for him. But what they are ignoring is that the uncertainty of his future is the direct result of his own vigilante actions. And even that bleak future is more than Trayvon will ever get to experience.
One moment, everything is beautiful and peaceful and the next a sense of right and wrong comes crashing down and justice seems to exist only for the few. There's so much I could say about this case, but nothing that hasn't already been said. I only hope that Zimmerman's legal battles continue and that there can, someday, be peace for Trayvon's family.
Sidenote: Being a selective cheapskate, I smuggled in a flask of mid-grade vodka in the zipped pocket of my vintage Fendi and purchased a small bottle of Sierra Mist for the bargain price of $4. But, seated right next to the bustling sound booth, I turned into a complete chickenshit and was paralyzed by the fear of being caught. I handed over my purse to the more rebellious Anje, who mixed me a grown-up soda.
The last time I saw Ben Folds Five was in the mid-'90s in Atlanta. They were fantastic then and they did not disappoint this time, either. Ben Folds is a genius on the piano and, as Anje put it after a few drinks, "They're probably just too smart for most people." I think she's right. They had a few radio hits, of course, but songs like "Alice Childress" never caught on with mass audiences, which is a shame because it's both haunting and impressive in its lyrics and composition. But counting everyone's favorite abortion song ("Brick") among your credits is nothing to sneeze at. "Can't you see, it's not me you're dying for, and she's feeling more alone than she ever has before. She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly." Truly original.
One of my favorite moments that night came just as the sad, but overplayed ballad concluded. As the crowd cheered, Anje turned to me and said, in all sincerity, "What's that song about?" I love her.
When Barenaked Ladies hit the stage, their energy was palpable and I marveled that even 15ish years since the last time I saw them, their enthusiasm and ability to entertain the crowd had only improved with age. Despite the shock of Steven Page no longer being part of the band (where have I been???), Anje and I loved the improved songs and stand-up of Ed Robertson.They're such a talented group of men who seem to genuinely appreciate their fans sticking with them for so many years.
It was a surprisingly pleasant day for TN in July; the music was the perfect mix of old favorites and new ones; the setting was beautiful and the crickets serenaded the quiet between songs. Sitting beside my friend who has become my family, the world seemed so lovely and I was consumed more than once by a feeling of peace and incredible joy because life can be so very beautiful.
After dropping Anje at her house, I wound through the hills surrounding the now quiet mansions of Brentwood. It wasn't until about 20 minutes later that I finally came to a red light and decided to check the news and see if the jury had reached a verdict in the Zimmerman trial. Having been holed up in a crappy hotel room all week while my floors were being redone, I spent a lot of hours watching the trial and wondering how these slimy defense attorneys slept at night. (Attorney Don West's daughter tweeted a picture with her father the day Trayvon's illiterate friend, Rachel Jeantel, testified, saying "We beat stupidity," and there were a few hashtags, one of which read, "Dad killed it." Doesn't that say a whole lot about these people??? See for yourself here: http://www.wptv.com/dpp/news/state/don-west-ice-cream-photo-daughters-mollywestttt-tweet-we-beat-stupidity-dadkilledit) I'll give Zimmerman's team this: they managed to bury the most relevant piece of information -- George Zimmerman instigated this fight by stalking and pursuing this unarmed child.
Staring down at my phone while a few random cars passed in front of me, I felt sick to my very core. Not Guilty. Of anything. This man, who openly admitted to following and shooting this unarmed child, was excused without so much as a slap on the wrist. Tears immediately stung my eyes at the injustice of it all. What does it say about us as a society that in 2013 an African-American child can be "justifiably" shot just for walking home because someone thinks they look suspicious? He's black. He's wearing a hoodie that's pulled up (couldn't possibly be because it was raining, could it?). It's late. He must be a criminal -- a thug. I am so utterly horrified by this notion that the state of Florida just validated. I feel sick that Trayvon's parents were sent the message that their child's life didn't matter, that he was somehow a second-class citizen. How are we not past this?!? How is it that we took a big step forward for gay civil rights, but we're taking another leap backwards when it comes to race?
A week has now passed since the verdict, and the country, thankfully, has not moved on. I think each day brings a new question as to what we're going to do about this. Even the President weighed in, though somewhat gingerly. The only people who seem not to be outraged are the people also anxious to distort or misreport the facts. (For example, Hannity said that even Trayvon's parents said this was not about race. That's actually a complete disregard for the truth, but who's surprised?)
I don't know what better way to illustrate what's still wrong with our country than this tragedy. Zimmerman is now in hiding and his lawyers say he'll have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life, implying that we should somehow feel sorry for him. But what they are ignoring is that the uncertainty of his future is the direct result of his own vigilante actions. And even that bleak future is more than Trayvon will ever get to experience.
One moment, everything is beautiful and peaceful and the next a sense of right and wrong comes crashing down and justice seems to exist only for the few. There's so much I could say about this case, but nothing that hasn't already been said. I only hope that Zimmerman's legal battles continue and that there can, someday, be peace for Trayvon's family.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
In Defense of Rationalism
Before you start reading this, I have two pieces of advice for you:
1) Stop reading right now if religion is so sacred in your life that you never even gave it a second thought because you never wanted to doubt what you'd always been taught. I'm really serious that this is not for you if you are double-dipped in Catholicism or Mormonism or something because there are many platforms for your beliefs, but very few for mine, and I'm through apologizing for them.
2) People who make the decision to read this (thank you, by the way) might be upset because I will be the first to admit my views are pretty extreme, compared to the mainstream. If I offend you, I'm sorry, but not really because you did this to yourself. It's like ignoring the warning at the beginning of The Human Centipede when Comcast tells you this movie is really gross and weird and are you SURE you want to order it anyway? You said yes. Just remember that...
Religion? I'm over it. Sure, I feel the need to offer the immediate disclaimer that I love/respect many people who identify themselves as Christian, Jewish, whatever, and I think everyone has the right to believe whatever they want to believe. What I am NOT okay with, however, is when your beliefs bleed into my everyday living space. I'm not talking about you going to church on Sunday or you volunteering your time at the annual church coat drive. That's all well and good because what you do on your own time is your business. The problem arises when two ladies (one who's a tween, and one who's old enough to know better) show up on the doorstep of my home and ask me if I believe in miracles. Well, little girl, I don't want to be rude, so what if I just say I think I see Justin Bieber over there and quickly shut the door when you turn to look? That way I'm not slamming the door in your innocent face, but I AM slamming it in the face of the 40-something woman wearing a sack-dress who's shilling religious propaganda to people who are just trying to watch The View. Instead, I say, "You know, I really appreciate you stopping by, but we're atheist, so I wish you the best of luck and have a great day." You could tell the young one didn't know what that meant. Judging by the somewhat sour expression the older one had, I'm guessing she did.
Or let's say you're at work and this nice person you've just met comes over to thank you for your help on something today and she ends the conversation with "Have a blessed weekend!" -- and you freeze like the proverbial deer in headlights because they must have forgotten to teach the polite response to that in Cotillion. So you just say, "OkayhaveagoodoneBYE!" in the nervous, squeaky voice of Jennifer Tilly all of a sudden.
Or what if you're in the copy room and the same otherwise nice individual is asked how she is today and her response is, "I am blessed!" and you know your whole day is just shot because you've had enough of this being forced down your throat?
If you're asking yourself why this one little statement would affect me so much, let me break this down for you:
The word "blessed" is just a shortened way of saying what? "Blessed by God" or something otherwise not secular, right? Okay, glad we can at least agree on that. So, if you take that seemingly benign response (benign to other people who already think like she does), it's quite offensive to me on many levels. First, she's already decided that I must think like she thinks and believe what she believes, or she's being even more offensive, right? But what I think is more likely (and even more frightening to those of us living in Logical Land) is that she hasn't even considered that anyone else might have different religious affiliations -- or, worse, NONE AT ALL! (GASP!) -- where that might not be an innocent little answer to what was only polite chitchat to begin with. Next, we are in the workplace. BIG TIME no-no there because god, your affiliation, my thoughts, etc. should never, ever, ever, ever be mentioned, unless you work for a church or some other religious network of some sort. That's just the way it is and I'm pretty sure it's in most employee handbooks across the nation to avoid lawsuits, if nothing else. It's just not appropriate to discuss such things -- in any context -- in an office. And it could have been avoided so easily by just saying, "I'm fine, thanks." "God" had no place in this conversation, so why'd you bring it up???
If you're still not sure why I'm offended by this, I'm a little puzzled by that, but okay. Look at it this way: If she's just innocently answering this question while simultaneously stating her beliefs, please consider what would happen if I did the same. Imagine this scenario:
"Hi, how are you today?"
"I am happy! There is NO god to bless us!"
I would be fired, or at least written up. But there is nothing different about me shoving my beliefs in someone else's face that way, except that my beliefs are not yet as widespread and accepted.
Think that's a little crazy? Okay, how about this one?:
"Hi, how are you today?"
"Praise be to Allah."
Ooooooooooooooooooh no. Don't say that! You're in the bible belt and they must be terrorists, right? NO! (In fact, let's all line up to protest the new mosque that's being built, and stall its construction every chance we get because it's a different god than we accept...true story in TN.) That's ridiculous, but again proves my point that if your beliefs are not the mainstream, you better keep your mouth shut.
Just think about that for a minute...I'll wait.
I can't speak for all atheists, but I can speak about my own experiences. For years, I have been bullied (there's that buzzword again) into just shutting up in casual social circles, or accepting the fact that some people might think I'm a bad person if I speak up in support of my beliefs when theirs are being thrust in my direction. I don't think I'm going to do that anymore. It's not my responsibility, nor my duty, to protect your thoughts about something just because you've decided it's sacred. Richard Dawkins points out that just because something is sacred to a group, the "non-believers" are then required to hold their tongues, rather than talk through why they don't believe the same, or why that belief may not hold water in a logical world. He reminds us that political discourse is healthy, but when it comes to religion, it's widely accepted that you can't pick it apart because you will offend someone. End of story.
So a lot of people just go along with mainstream religion and cherry-pick what they like and leave the parts they don't. I think that's even more messed up. Don't label yourself a part of a group, unless you actually follow (at least) the majority of its rules. For example, you wouldn't label yourself a triathlete just because you took swimming lessons when you were a kid, but haven't been in a pool in 26 years. So don't call yourself a Christian unless you're following the bible to the letter...and please don't do that because it would be:
a) impossible due to the crimes and mysticism
b) ridiculous.
(I'm just using Christianity as an example since it's the one that's prosthelytized the most.)
That being said, if you choose to go to church once a year and still label your beliefs "better" and "higher" than mine, that's cool, provided you don't mention them to me. (And I will grant you the same respect.) In that case, your religious world has nothing to do with me. But when it's brought up on a daily basis and others are able to just dismiss it, it's likely because they're already on board with some part of what you've said. And you need to know that that is offensive to me at my very core. It's offensive to my rationality and logic. It is offensive to my intellect.
If you think I seem pretty angry about this subject, but you're still not sure why, let me offer this last story. I was a sophomore at this small, private and very conservative college in MO. It was filled with really great, salt-of-the-earth kids from small, farm towns. The problem was that only about half of them were excited for new experiences and to learn from meeting people who were really nothing like them. The other half was only interested in beating their bibles and talkin' god and how many potato chips it would take to feed a cow. (I wish I were making any of that up.)
In the interest of keeping a long story short, I'll skip ahead a bit...
We were all required to take this religion class that was filled with great discussions and new ideas, if you were open to them. It came out that, along with only one other person in there, I was an atheist. I swear you could hear the gasps in this tiny room, and I knew immediately that I was never going to be viewed the same way by particular individuals. I honestly didn't care until I realized that I was now going to be treated like the Hester Prynne of this tight-knit campus. I suddenly had a Scarlet A of my own and it was all because I had been honest -- in an appropriate setting -- about my beliefs.
I was matched up with a frat boy friend for their Oktoberfest activities. I had met him several times, but we didn't know each other well. A friend asked me to go with him as a favor, and I just wanted to go to the weeklong party, so I accepted. Said frat boy's small-town-haired brother (small-town-hair is when boys comb those front pieces forward with extra gel in the comb, making them infinitely less attractive to anyone who's been to a city with a population larger than 700) was also in this frat and I was chatting with him late one night at a gathering. He said, "You've been quite the topic of conversation at my house lately!" I was shocked since his brother and I were just acquaintances, so I asked why and I will never forget his response. He said he's been talking to his mother and he said, "Mom, [brother] is going to the dance with an atheist." She cried, which is exactly what I did when I got back to my dorm late that night, but not because I was ashamed of the way I thought. I was ashamed of the way she thought. I'd never thought my whole person could be summed up in just one word: atheist. But that is what I had become to these people. I was the person who was SUCH A BAD individual that I couldn't even welcome "god" into my life. So that was that. That was all I'd ever be in their eyes, and I'd be lying if I said that didn't play a role in my decision to transfer schools the next year, because I never wanted to be around such closed-minded people again. It still sickens me and I honestly pity that guy who probably doesn't even remember any of this. I think he lives in Chicago now, and I hear he's king of atheists these days, from mutual acquaintances. ...isn't it interesting that exposure to "different" things educated him and he's now moved away from the indoctrination of his youth?
But it still stings, so excuse me if I've run out of patience for hearing everyone else's religious voices while mine stays silenced.
So, here's the moral of the story:
Religion is like teenage hands: better kept to one's self. Just trust me on this.
1) Stop reading right now if religion is so sacred in your life that you never even gave it a second thought because you never wanted to doubt what you'd always been taught. I'm really serious that this is not for you if you are double-dipped in Catholicism or Mormonism or something because there are many platforms for your beliefs, but very few for mine, and I'm through apologizing for them.
2) People who make the decision to read this (thank you, by the way) might be upset because I will be the first to admit my views are pretty extreme, compared to the mainstream. If I offend you, I'm sorry, but not really because you did this to yourself. It's like ignoring the warning at the beginning of The Human Centipede when Comcast tells you this movie is really gross and weird and are you SURE you want to order it anyway? You said yes. Just remember that...
Religion? I'm over it. Sure, I feel the need to offer the immediate disclaimer that I love/respect many people who identify themselves as Christian, Jewish, whatever, and I think everyone has the right to believe whatever they want to believe. What I am NOT okay with, however, is when your beliefs bleed into my everyday living space. I'm not talking about you going to church on Sunday or you volunteering your time at the annual church coat drive. That's all well and good because what you do on your own time is your business. The problem arises when two ladies (one who's a tween, and one who's old enough to know better) show up on the doorstep of my home and ask me if I believe in miracles. Well, little girl, I don't want to be rude, so what if I just say I think I see Justin Bieber over there and quickly shut the door when you turn to look? That way I'm not slamming the door in your innocent face, but I AM slamming it in the face of the 40-something woman wearing a sack-dress who's shilling religious propaganda to people who are just trying to watch The View. Instead, I say, "You know, I really appreciate you stopping by, but we're atheist, so I wish you the best of luck and have a great day." You could tell the young one didn't know what that meant. Judging by the somewhat sour expression the older one had, I'm guessing she did.
Or let's say you're at work and this nice person you've just met comes over to thank you for your help on something today and she ends the conversation with "Have a blessed weekend!" -- and you freeze like the proverbial deer in headlights because they must have forgotten to teach the polite response to that in Cotillion. So you just say, "OkayhaveagoodoneBYE!" in the nervous, squeaky voice of Jennifer Tilly all of a sudden.
Or what if you're in the copy room and the same otherwise nice individual is asked how she is today and her response is, "I am blessed!" and you know your whole day is just shot because you've had enough of this being forced down your throat?
If you're asking yourself why this one little statement would affect me so much, let me break this down for you:
The word "blessed" is just a shortened way of saying what? "Blessed by God" or something otherwise not secular, right? Okay, glad we can at least agree on that. So, if you take that seemingly benign response (benign to other people who already think like she does), it's quite offensive to me on many levels. First, she's already decided that I must think like she thinks and believe what she believes, or she's being even more offensive, right? But what I think is more likely (and even more frightening to those of us living in Logical Land) is that she hasn't even considered that anyone else might have different religious affiliations -- or, worse, NONE AT ALL! (GASP!) -- where that might not be an innocent little answer to what was only polite chitchat to begin with. Next, we are in the workplace. BIG TIME no-no there because god, your affiliation, my thoughts, etc. should never, ever, ever, ever be mentioned, unless you work for a church or some other religious network of some sort. That's just the way it is and I'm pretty sure it's in most employee handbooks across the nation to avoid lawsuits, if nothing else. It's just not appropriate to discuss such things -- in any context -- in an office. And it could have been avoided so easily by just saying, "I'm fine, thanks." "God" had no place in this conversation, so why'd you bring it up???
If you're still not sure why I'm offended by this, I'm a little puzzled by that, but okay. Look at it this way: If she's just innocently answering this question while simultaneously stating her beliefs, please consider what would happen if I did the same. Imagine this scenario:
"Hi, how are you today?"
"I am happy! There is NO god to bless us!"
I would be fired, or at least written up. But there is nothing different about me shoving my beliefs in someone else's face that way, except that my beliefs are not yet as widespread and accepted.
Think that's a little crazy? Okay, how about this one?:
"Hi, how are you today?"
"Praise be to Allah."
Ooooooooooooooooooh no. Don't say that! You're in the bible belt and they must be terrorists, right? NO! (In fact, let's all line up to protest the new mosque that's being built, and stall its construction every chance we get because it's a different god than we accept...true story in TN.) That's ridiculous, but again proves my point that if your beliefs are not the mainstream, you better keep your mouth shut.
Just think about that for a minute...I'll wait.
I can't speak for all atheists, but I can speak about my own experiences. For years, I have been bullied (there's that buzzword again) into just shutting up in casual social circles, or accepting the fact that some people might think I'm a bad person if I speak up in support of my beliefs when theirs are being thrust in my direction. I don't think I'm going to do that anymore. It's not my responsibility, nor my duty, to protect your thoughts about something just because you've decided it's sacred. Richard Dawkins points out that just because something is sacred to a group, the "non-believers" are then required to hold their tongues, rather than talk through why they don't believe the same, or why that belief may not hold water in a logical world. He reminds us that political discourse is healthy, but when it comes to religion, it's widely accepted that you can't pick it apart because you will offend someone. End of story.
So a lot of people just go along with mainstream religion and cherry-pick what they like and leave the parts they don't. I think that's even more messed up. Don't label yourself a part of a group, unless you actually follow (at least) the majority of its rules. For example, you wouldn't label yourself a triathlete just because you took swimming lessons when you were a kid, but haven't been in a pool in 26 years. So don't call yourself a Christian unless you're following the bible to the letter...and please don't do that because it would be:
a) impossible due to the crimes and mysticism
b) ridiculous.
(I'm just using Christianity as an example since it's the one that's prosthelytized the most.)
That being said, if you choose to go to church once a year and still label your beliefs "better" and "higher" than mine, that's cool, provided you don't mention them to me. (And I will grant you the same respect.) In that case, your religious world has nothing to do with me. But when it's brought up on a daily basis and others are able to just dismiss it, it's likely because they're already on board with some part of what you've said. And you need to know that that is offensive to me at my very core. It's offensive to my rationality and logic. It is offensive to my intellect.
If you think I seem pretty angry about this subject, but you're still not sure why, let me offer this last story. I was a sophomore at this small, private and very conservative college in MO. It was filled with really great, salt-of-the-earth kids from small, farm towns. The problem was that only about half of them were excited for new experiences and to learn from meeting people who were really nothing like them. The other half was only interested in beating their bibles and talkin' god and how many potato chips it would take to feed a cow. (I wish I were making any of that up.)
In the interest of keeping a long story short, I'll skip ahead a bit...
We were all required to take this religion class that was filled with great discussions and new ideas, if you were open to them. It came out that, along with only one other person in there, I was an atheist. I swear you could hear the gasps in this tiny room, and I knew immediately that I was never going to be viewed the same way by particular individuals. I honestly didn't care until I realized that I was now going to be treated like the Hester Prynne of this tight-knit campus. I suddenly had a Scarlet A of my own and it was all because I had been honest -- in an appropriate setting -- about my beliefs.
I was matched up with a frat boy friend for their Oktoberfest activities. I had met him several times, but we didn't know each other well. A friend asked me to go with him as a favor, and I just wanted to go to the weeklong party, so I accepted. Said frat boy's small-town-haired brother (small-town-hair is when boys comb those front pieces forward with extra gel in the comb, making them infinitely less attractive to anyone who's been to a city with a population larger than 700) was also in this frat and I was chatting with him late one night at a gathering. He said, "You've been quite the topic of conversation at my house lately!" I was shocked since his brother and I were just acquaintances, so I asked why and I will never forget his response. He said he's been talking to his mother and he said, "Mom, [brother] is going to the dance with an atheist." She cried, which is exactly what I did when I got back to my dorm late that night, but not because I was ashamed of the way I thought. I was ashamed of the way she thought. I'd never thought my whole person could be summed up in just one word: atheist. But that is what I had become to these people. I was the person who was SUCH A BAD individual that I couldn't even welcome "god" into my life. So that was that. That was all I'd ever be in their eyes, and I'd be lying if I said that didn't play a role in my decision to transfer schools the next year, because I never wanted to be around such closed-minded people again. It still sickens me and I honestly pity that guy who probably doesn't even remember any of this. I think he lives in Chicago now, and I hear he's king of atheists these days, from mutual acquaintances. ...isn't it interesting that exposure to "different" things educated him and he's now moved away from the indoctrination of his youth?
But it still stings, so excuse me if I've run out of patience for hearing everyone else's religious voices while mine stays silenced.
So, here's the moral of the story:
Religion is like teenage hands: better kept to one's self. Just trust me on this.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
When Life Continually Kicks You in the Ass, it Better Be Wearing Louboutins
It's been a helluva month. I'm pretty sure my ass is bruised from all of the kicks it's received from that bitch-goddess called life. I'm about ready to ultimate-punch it right in the beak.
First, I want to punctuate the chapter that I described in my last blog. My sweet Rilo girl is at peace now. I wish I could say the same for myself. A few weeks ago, I held her paw and looked in her eyes as she drew her last breath. It was the single worst day of my entire life and the guilt I felt (still feel) was unlike anything I've ever experienced. My heart thumped in my chest and knowing it was the right choice didn't do anything to make the tears subside.
In the weeks since, I've watched my other pets mourn (each in his own way), though I see a level of calm in them I haven't observed since our little girl joined our family almost 3 1/2 years ago.
Now her ashes sit in a little wooden box, on a shelf in our living room, so she can be with us as we relax at night -- just as she always preferred. When the time is right, we will let her join my husband's grandfather and uncle up at the family cottage on the lake. I think she would have loved it there.
I will remember her as a sweet, snuggly girl who would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect the two of us. I just wish we could have done the same for her.
So that was a giant finger from the universe. We are both still struggling with the quiet and the knowledge that she won't come barrelling around the corner at any second. But I know there will eventually come a day when I lie down at night and realize I haven't cried at all. Looks like once again today's not that day...but someday!
Next, I was rejected for a job for which I was ridiculously qualified. I thought I was tailor-made for it, so how could I not get it?!? I knew I was one of two candidates still up for it. I clicked with the people I needed to click with and my resume definitely supported that I could do this job quite well.
Despite being told they wanted to get this done quickly, the process drug on and on. And then they chose neither of us (Again, universe, I see your finger. No need to come any closer.) and are continuing their search. After the initial sting of "What the what?!? How did I not get this job???", I had the distinct realization that I wasn't upset. I lost out on a lucrative opportunity that I'd only really been excited about because of financial gain. There were some pretty major red flags (red flags for ME, but probably not for most normal folks who can get along in more conservative, religious environments) along the way, and I PROMISED myself that this move would be my pass to start something completely different in my career. It's time to start taking some risks if I'm ever going to attempt to get anywhere outside of the normal pitstops on the roadmap of life. Nothing against that company -- I actually think it's probably great for a particular type of person, and they were very nice to me -- but it wasn't for me. It's time to step up and really start going after the things I want in my life. The biggest risk takers are the ones with the biggest rewards. I'm a risk taker who's been masquerading as the safe 8:30-5 girl, and the timestamp on that persona has expired.
So I'm in a new job with a fantastic (and familiar) company, and I'm working three days a week. I have two days a week to take risks and see what's out there and to try it on for size. You never know what will happen and I'm feeling relaxed and grateful to this corporation for giving me the chance to continue to work with them in a different capacity.
But, seriously, universe, knock it off. I have Chuck Norris on speed dial and I'm not above calling in a favor if you can't stay in your own dance space. I've had enough of your spaghetti arms and I'm ready to dance the Cuban soul dance Johnny Castle suggested. I don't want any more of your Pachanga, thankyouverymuch.*
*If you do not have an unhealthy obbsession with Dirty Dancing, please disregard the last paragraph until you step up and take some responsibility for the cinematic influences in your life. Seriously. Turn off the superhero movies and watch this 1987 classic.
First, I want to punctuate the chapter that I described in my last blog. My sweet Rilo girl is at peace now. I wish I could say the same for myself. A few weeks ago, I held her paw and looked in her eyes as she drew her last breath. It was the single worst day of my entire life and the guilt I felt (still feel) was unlike anything I've ever experienced. My heart thumped in my chest and knowing it was the right choice didn't do anything to make the tears subside.
In the weeks since, I've watched my other pets mourn (each in his own way), though I see a level of calm in them I haven't observed since our little girl joined our family almost 3 1/2 years ago.
Now her ashes sit in a little wooden box, on a shelf in our living room, so she can be with us as we relax at night -- just as she always preferred. When the time is right, we will let her join my husband's grandfather and uncle up at the family cottage on the lake. I think she would have loved it there.
I will remember her as a sweet, snuggly girl who would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect the two of us. I just wish we could have done the same for her.
So that was a giant finger from the universe. We are both still struggling with the quiet and the knowledge that she won't come barrelling around the corner at any second. But I know there will eventually come a day when I lie down at night and realize I haven't cried at all. Looks like once again today's not that day...but someday!
Next, I was rejected for a job for which I was ridiculously qualified. I thought I was tailor-made for it, so how could I not get it?!? I knew I was one of two candidates still up for it. I clicked with the people I needed to click with and my resume definitely supported that I could do this job quite well.
Despite being told they wanted to get this done quickly, the process drug on and on. And then they chose neither of us (Again, universe, I see your finger. No need to come any closer.) and are continuing their search. After the initial sting of "What the what?!? How did I not get this job???", I had the distinct realization that I wasn't upset. I lost out on a lucrative opportunity that I'd only really been excited about because of financial gain. There were some pretty major red flags (red flags for ME, but probably not for most normal folks who can get along in more conservative, religious environments) along the way, and I PROMISED myself that this move would be my pass to start something completely different in my career. It's time to start taking some risks if I'm ever going to attempt to get anywhere outside of the normal pitstops on the roadmap of life. Nothing against that company -- I actually think it's probably great for a particular type of person, and they were very nice to me -- but it wasn't for me. It's time to step up and really start going after the things I want in my life. The biggest risk takers are the ones with the biggest rewards. I'm a risk taker who's been masquerading as the safe 8:30-5 girl, and the timestamp on that persona has expired.
So I'm in a new job with a fantastic (and familiar) company, and I'm working three days a week. I have two days a week to take risks and see what's out there and to try it on for size. You never know what will happen and I'm feeling relaxed and grateful to this corporation for giving me the chance to continue to work with them in a different capacity.
But, seriously, universe, knock it off. I have Chuck Norris on speed dial and I'm not above calling in a favor if you can't stay in your own dance space. I've had enough of your spaghetti arms and I'm ready to dance the Cuban soul dance Johnny Castle suggested. I don't want any more of your Pachanga, thankyouverymuch.*
*If you do not have an unhealthy obbsession with Dirty Dancing, please disregard the last paragraph until you step up and take some responsibility for the cinematic influences in your life. Seriously. Turn off the superhero movies and watch this 1987 classic.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
This One's Different
I haven't posted in awhile. But this one's different. I need your help. In fact, this is a desperate plea. And I know no matter how I phrase it, I'll still be that person, giving away her dog -- something I have never understood and have always found utterly disgusting. But here we are.This is Rilo. She's a Basset Hound/Pit Bull Mix. We think she's about three years old, though she's a rescue, so we don't know for sure. She found us a little over three years ago while we were still in Denver. From the beginning it was clear that she had some problems that just weren't her fault. When she came to us, it was clear we were her first proper home. She didn't know how to do anything -- our older Lab had to teach her how to go up and down stairs, how to squat to pee...everything. And she was probably one when she came to us. And she was terrified of the car, which makes me think she was just dumped by the side of the road somewhere, like she didn't matter. My husband (then boyfriend) and I were resolved to show her that all of that nervous energy could finally be let go and that she would always be safe and loved with us. It took a long time, but she learned to fully trust us and she started rewarding us with snuggles and good behavior whenever her overwhelming energy level would allow. She was a wild one in this previously mellow household (Lab was about 9 and Cat Cat was about 8 at the time), but she was sweet.
We knew we'd need extra training and patience because she's a different dog than either of us (longtime dog owners) had ever had. We housebroke her. We taught her to sit. We taught her that Cat Cat was not after her and, while it's okay to sniff, it's still best to let him do his own thing because she's like a bull in a china shop with all that muscle and force packed into such a compact 55-pound body.
We'd wake up at night to find Rilo snuggled in between us (Cat Cat on the pillow above me), on her back, feet in the air. And no matter how many times we'd politely wake her and tell her to get down, she'd be back up there again the next time we awoke. She was settling into our home, but there was still a lot of nervous energy we were working through, so we hired a highly recommended trainer. She came into our home and showed endless patience and understanding with this special doggie. She helped us understand what traits were just Rilo and which things we could work with her on. She gave us very detailed and specific instructions on how to get her used to car rides...and pretty soon, she loved them. We even drove about an hour down to this trainer's facility, where Rilo completed training courses and worked on not spazzing out while walking past other dogs. (I phrase it that way because she LOVED playing and running with our friends' dogs who would come over for play dates. But that was in her own backyard.) She did great. She was becoming our baby and everyone was getting along great. We still had to be cautious when people came into our home because her nervousness would surface sometimes, but we found that if we just let people know they should ignore her until she approached them, all was well.
Well, things have changed. Dramatically. We moved several states away about six months ago and Rilo's world shifted. I'm going to cut to the chase because my husband has made me painfully aware lately that I might talk too much for some people's taste: She's all of a sudden an adult dog and her Pit tendencies are showing more than ever before. She's going after the previously social and ALWAYS around Cat Cat, who now hides in the closet. She now splits her time between playing with the Lab and asserting her dominance by biting his neck. She's not broken skin, nor injured anyone, but she's showing us that she plans to -- I believe. She recently had a full bloodwork panel and is in good health, so it's not a medical issue. She's just doing what Pits do. And I believe we are in an imminently dangerous situation, having two other older and therefore vulnerable pets in the home. It's sometimes fine and sweet and sometimes really not. I know very well that if she really wanted to hurt them, she would have. But her warnings are not falling on deaf ears and I am frightened for the other two pets' safety...not to mention what could happen with strangers in and out of the house (everyone's a stranger in a new city...didn't mean for that to sound weird.).
So, after lots of conversations with anyone who would listen (vets, shelter managers, behaviorists, fellow animal lovers, the homeless guy on the corner who just didn't run away fast enough), we're at the end. WE NEED HELP. I can't wait until she does something to our other babies -- I could never live with myself. She needs a new home and she needs it within the next few days. I really believe she'd be fine in a home with only adults (as she is now), but no other pets. This home would have to be active (she's heavily terrier, so she has energy that has to be channeled.) and have NO POSSIBILITY of children because I don't think that would ever be safe with these new tendencies, and that's not something worth risking. She's a sweet girl and I would never ever ever just want to pawn her off on someone else to make this their problem. If I didn't believe that she could be okay in another home, I would never even ask for help. But I want to give her every chance (let's just say every freaking Pit rescue in this country is so overwhelmed and unable to help. And shelters can't take her if she's shown aggressive tendencies, for liability reasons.) for the happy life she could possibly have. We just have to try to create that somewhere else for her because she is practically screaming that she has to be the only baby in the house.
I hate myself. I'll just put that out there. I hate that I've reached the end of my rope and that I know this is a problem that more love and hope cannot fix. We've done everything from Melatonin pills everyday (recommended by her trainer. Human strength...they just make her slightly more mellow, not go to sleep.) to throwing the dang tennis ball (which excites her the way Chanel excites me) for an hour, thinking it will wipe her out. It does sometimes, but her wiring makes her the way she is, activities be damned.
Look, I don't want to paint her in a negative light. I hope it's painfully obvious how much my husband and I love her. But I have no interest in lying about the situation just to get someone else to take her. The bottom line is this: She is a good girl. She is hyper. She is a breed that needs to be on its own, which means she'll require extra attention from her new mom or dad because she very much likes to be right where you are. I think it's her way of protecting and feeling like she's doing her job, which she obviously values very much.
If you have knowledge of Bully breeds and are an adult-only household and might be able to help, PLEASE please please comment asap. We have to do something very soon because this is an escalating situation.
I have made peace that there may only be one solution left, but I want a happier ending. And I want to know if/when that day comes that we have left no stone unturned.
Please help, if you can.
Friday, April 20, 2012
This post won't give you pneumonia, but inhaling vodka-laced Jell-o can...
It's Day Four of feeling like a lung is going to pop out of my mouth at any moment. It all kind of started Saturday when I felt a little out of sorts, but put on my party face for another rousing Supper Club, only to spend all day Sunday on the couch, being lectured by my liver on the differences between 21 and 30. Monday was a bit crappy and Tuesday was full on miserable. Cut to today. It sux, too. I'm rocking some Betsey Johnson PJs, slippers from Restoration Hardware that just about have this atheist convinced that heaven does exist and it's manifested in unattractive, but dreamy footwear. I've showered, but I'm breaking my cardinal rule of "never be without mascara." I think one is less of a person without proper lash coating, don't you?
Half-hearted jokes aside, all this time on the couch has gotten me thinking about the differences between men and women when they're sick. I'll be the first to admit that I don't get sick all that often, so when I do, I may get just a teensy bit whiny. You know why? Because I really don't feel well. There are tons of days throughout the year when I feel less than my best and have the sniffles, but I don't say anything about it other than, "I'm tired," so when I do say I'm sick I guess I expect to be taken seriously. I'm not asking to have a private doctor on call, but a little "time off" is in order. Since my current job title is Domestic Goddess, let me explain what I mean.
I want time off from The Details. Every single day, a woman's life is immersed in details. It could be the details of knowing which kid has which practice at which time, or the smaller stuff like knowing when the library books are due and which pet needs which treatment or appointment booked. It could be mailing the birthday cards or actually booking the service appointment for the air conditioner that broke the day before you went out of town...and your spouse just sweated until you got back, rather than making one simple phone call. (Can you tell how confident I am that he doesn't read this?) Details could be planning your menus for two weeks, then buying the groceries and making those dinners each night. Details could be looking more than five minutes ahead to actually plan something. They could be thinking about what everybody else needs before thinking about what you need. They could be remembering to get your wife's medicine that she sent you to the store for, or at least bringing them to her at lunch, so she's not at home, miserable all day.
Let me tell you, dear reader, I need a break from The Details. And I do not want to hear a damned word about those details in the week that I skip them. I don't want to see you pile a dish on the counter because you think I should have unloaded/reloaded the dishwasher today. I don't want to hear about ANYTHING other than my resting, feeling better and highly medicated state. And I don't want you to try to make me feel guilty about it. I'm sick. I've barely eaten in like five days! And, yes, I've been lying on the couch all day, watching TV and napping because that's what sick people do. They do not jump up to do laundry or to take care of household duties that are not dire. And in between coughing so hard I threw up today (twice), I did not clean the kitchen, nor pick up and put away the broom you left in the kitchen a week ago. And I'm not going to feel guilty about that.
Give me a break from The Details. Feminists forgive me for what I'm about to confess on behalf of us all, but: SOMETIMES WE WANT TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. I said it. The cat's out of the bag! Sometimes, after taking care of husbands, pets, children, friends, careers, households, we just want to be taken care of, too. And there's really no better time to show us that you're capable of being a partner than when we are sick. How about instead of acting like we're being lazy, you pitch in and do some cleaning since it seems to bother you so much? How about instead of coming home and expecting the household to be functioning as normal, you take a moment and remember how you are when you're sick? Men are babies when they have the slightest cold. (Bone breaks are another story. My husband walked around with a broken, swollen finger for a month and I once saw a friend break his collarbone while playing softball, but put off going to the hospital until he finished his almost-full beer.) All of a sudden, not only are you Florence Nightengale, but you're also his mommy, making him grilled cheese sandwiches and renting him movies...and cleaning the house, and doing the laundry, and making the phone calls and dropping everything just to run to the store for more cough drops. But you know what's weird? I honestly don't think we mind because we know how crappy it feels to be sick and to still have to take care of everything by yourself. Maybe it's the caretaker instinct in us, but I think taking care of your partner when they're sick is a great way of showing them that they can depend on you when the chips are down...or whatever that expression is.
So, men (all four of you who actually read this blog), please hear this: I'm not ragging on you. I'm trying to help you because women don't want to have to ask for the same courtesies we show you when you're sick. Just help us. Just fuss over us for a few days or a week or whatever it takes for us to seem back to normal. And believe us when we say that we feel like hammered dog crap because if she's couch-bound, sans makeup, coughing and her eyes are watering, I highly doubt your lady's just trying to get you to run the vacuum.
Half-hearted jokes aside, all this time on the couch has gotten me thinking about the differences between men and women when they're sick. I'll be the first to admit that I don't get sick all that often, so when I do, I may get just a teensy bit whiny. You know why? Because I really don't feel well. There are tons of days throughout the year when I feel less than my best and have the sniffles, but I don't say anything about it other than, "I'm tired," so when I do say I'm sick I guess I expect to be taken seriously. I'm not asking to have a private doctor on call, but a little "time off" is in order. Since my current job title is Domestic Goddess, let me explain what I mean.
I want time off from The Details. Every single day, a woman's life is immersed in details. It could be the details of knowing which kid has which practice at which time, or the smaller stuff like knowing when the library books are due and which pet needs which treatment or appointment booked. It could be mailing the birthday cards or actually booking the service appointment for the air conditioner that broke the day before you went out of town...and your spouse just sweated until you got back, rather than making one simple phone call. (Can you tell how confident I am that he doesn't read this?) Details could be planning your menus for two weeks, then buying the groceries and making those dinners each night. Details could be looking more than five minutes ahead to actually plan something. They could be thinking about what everybody else needs before thinking about what you need. They could be remembering to get your wife's medicine that she sent you to the store for, or at least bringing them to her at lunch, so she's not at home, miserable all day.
Let me tell you, dear reader, I need a break from The Details. And I do not want to hear a damned word about those details in the week that I skip them. I don't want to see you pile a dish on the counter because you think I should have unloaded/reloaded the dishwasher today. I don't want to hear about ANYTHING other than my resting, feeling better and highly medicated state. And I don't want you to try to make me feel guilty about it. I'm sick. I've barely eaten in like five days! And, yes, I've been lying on the couch all day, watching TV and napping because that's what sick people do. They do not jump up to do laundry or to take care of household duties that are not dire. And in between coughing so hard I threw up today (twice), I did not clean the kitchen, nor pick up and put away the broom you left in the kitchen a week ago. And I'm not going to feel guilty about that.
Give me a break from The Details. Feminists forgive me for what I'm about to confess on behalf of us all, but: SOMETIMES WE WANT TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. I said it. The cat's out of the bag! Sometimes, after taking care of husbands, pets, children, friends, careers, households, we just want to be taken care of, too. And there's really no better time to show us that you're capable of being a partner than when we are sick. How about instead of acting like we're being lazy, you pitch in and do some cleaning since it seems to bother you so much? How about instead of coming home and expecting the household to be functioning as normal, you take a moment and remember how you are when you're sick? Men are babies when they have the slightest cold. (Bone breaks are another story. My husband walked around with a broken, swollen finger for a month and I once saw a friend break his collarbone while playing softball, but put off going to the hospital until he finished his almost-full beer.) All of a sudden, not only are you Florence Nightengale, but you're also his mommy, making him grilled cheese sandwiches and renting him movies...and cleaning the house, and doing the laundry, and making the phone calls and dropping everything just to run to the store for more cough drops. But you know what's weird? I honestly don't think we mind because we know how crappy it feels to be sick and to still have to take care of everything by yourself. Maybe it's the caretaker instinct in us, but I think taking care of your partner when they're sick is a great way of showing them that they can depend on you when the chips are down...or whatever that expression is.
So, men (all four of you who actually read this blog), please hear this: I'm not ragging on you. I'm trying to help you because women don't want to have to ask for the same courtesies we show you when you're sick. Just help us. Just fuss over us for a few days or a week or whatever it takes for us to seem back to normal. And believe us when we say that we feel like hammered dog crap because if she's couch-bound, sans makeup, coughing and her eyes are watering, I highly doubt your lady's just trying to get you to run the vacuum.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Tennessee -- who knew? (This one's a meandering mess)
"Tennessee: It's not just for rednecks!" I'm going all Greenburg and writing a letter to the Tennessee Chamber of Commerce to suggest the above as the new state motto. Let me tell you, I would have found that information helpful before we moved here. Frankly, I don't think I had any idea what this place would be like and now I understand what my friend, Darbi, has been raving about for years. But, in the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I've really only lightly explored the Nashville/Franklin areas of TN, and that's about it. Of course, I did drive through a little chunk of some of the rest of it on my move out here. And aside from the young man in the purple car who was driving in the left lane and going about 50 when the speed limit was 70, who flipped me off while finally changing to the right lane, I found it very pleasant. It was pretty, green (After about seven years in Denver, I'd forgotten that grass is supposed to be GREEN and not brown.) and reminded me a little bit of my childhood and college days in Missouri -- and it gave me that warm, humid feeling in my heart.
Thus far, every single person I've encountered here -- and I do mean every single person -- has been incredibly nice. People thank one another about ten times in a single transaction. It was a little bizarre to me at first, but now I'm falling into it and it's almost becoming second nature. Don't look for any Southern accents in this household anytime soon, but maybe living in the South will make me a nicer person??? (Mom, I can hear you laughing.)
I have to say that it was a strange realization last week when I went, "Hmmm...maybe I can do the South. I might even like it this time." (A large part of why I didn't like it before was most likely thanks to the fact that we moved at the beginning of my seventh grade year, when I was sporting big glasses, big cheeks and frizzy hair. Seriously, Mom, I'm sure there was no polite way to transform my look without giving me an eating disorder, but holy guacamole, Batman! Nerd alert!!!
My life is really different at 30 than it was at 12 - thank hey-zeus. I (willingly) live in the suburbs (Never thought I'd say that.); I'm married; I'm trying to spend less time being so self-conscious; I'm no longer concerned with being "cool" or making tons of friends. I'm happy with the people I have in my life and anyone else who comes along is just a bonus.
And while it was a hugely important time in my life that I wouldn't trade for anything, I realized something about my NYC days: I loved it, but maybe it wasn't always good for me. I'm not going to elaborate too much on that because there were lessons learned that probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone but me. But it hardened me and threw me into a fast-paced frenzy that's lasted for quite a few years. I left that city in 2005 and I think I'm just now starting to shake that -- mostly because I've never wanted to until now. I think my blood pressure went up and just stayed there for 7 years. On the positive side, though, that city taught me how to be self-sufficient, the importance of being direct (people who don't like honesty are hiding something about themselves), and that if you want something in your life, you have to go get it yourself -- no one's going to bring it to you. They were the best days of my life, but maybe I need to create those days all over again, this time under the banner of being a 30-year old who's somewhat found her way.
Which brings me to my next point: I'm paraphrasing this, but I recently heard the following saying, "Decide you want something more than you're scared of it." I think that's where I am at the moment. I'm at a fork in the road and one direction is starting all over and pursuing new career dreams, not settling for misery, just because the security is appealing. No more being talked down to, no more passive aggressive digs that are absolutely not okay from someone who doesn't know how to do their own job and therefore looks to tear others down. No more backstabbing. No more muddling through. START ANEW and take the plunge. I'll make sacrifices; I'll work really hard and get cray-cray stressed. But I'll be working toward something I actually care about.
The other direction is going back to what's familiar and never really making an effort to see what's on the other side of that door. It's so tempting to plant yourself back in the middle of stability and complacency...but I'm hoping I have the strength to walk as far away from that as possible because it's just not me. The greatest risks produce the greatest rewards.
Of course, these are all "hypothetical phrases," but let's just say I never want to hear any of the following from someone in authority again:
"I could be in a meeting with 'the big man,' but instead I'm here with you guys."
"No seriously, no one cares what you think."
"I know you guys have put in a lot of hours on this project, but we're just going to present this, so you don't need to come to the meeting today."
"You focus too much on what everyone should be doing."
"You need to learn how to care less about your job."
"I've already heard this -- I don't want to hear it anymore."
"Sit down and shut up."
"You work for me."
"You speak with so much confidence -- I don't know where it comes from."
"Maybe you should ask your husband what you should do with your career. You seem a little lost."
I'm not saying I've ever had such ridiculousness spouted at me in a meeting with other people as witnesses, nor in a private conference room in an effort to hide the potentially lawsuit-friendly nature of these types of comments. (Of course not! Who would be stupid enough to say such horribly reprehensible things to their employees???) Of course, there are plenty of leaders who would never ever say these things. And there are a handful of people out there who even conduct themselves with integrity in the workplace because they know it's completely unnecessary to step on others or to lie just to get ahead. And I've had the good fortune of learning from a bunch of folks who prove that every single day they go into work (my dad probably being number one). I've learned tons of valuable anecdotes and skills from them and just as many crucial lessons of how not to conduct myself from people at the opposite end of the spectrum. But over my admittedly somewhat brief career, I've come to the conclusion that I just don't have enough seconds in my short lifetime to waste on people who, despite being full-blown adults, still haven't figured out the definition of integrity. And I'm not going to work for, nor with them.
But I digress. This entry really isn't about the bad behavior of others from past hypothetical jobs. It's about my new, fresh start and the beauty of having a blank canvas in front of me to paint however I choose.
My mind is a little cloudy at the moment because I'm bored and, frankly, pretty tired of not using my brain much during the day (needless to say, watching reruns of 90210 on SOAPNET and folding laundry or unloading the dishwasher doesn't exactly giving my synapses a trip to Jazzercize.). But my boredom is tempered by my gratitude for not having to take another potentially mismatched job that doesn't fit into my greater career goals. I'm taking my time in the hopes that I will find the perfect (or at least enjoyable) job. Let's hope it's out there! Because, in the end, no matter how great the company is (and there have been some...), you can't fit a creative peg into a Brooks Brothers hole. (But if you can figure out how to still collect the BB paychecks, let me know because that part's great!)
Side note: Just did a little research on General Nathan Bedford Forrest, for whom our neighborhood is named. Apparently, he made a shit ton of money selling other human beings and running his plantation. Like $1.5 million waaaaaaaaaaaay back before the Civil War. Then he was a General. For the Confederate Army, of course. And he slaughtered a bunch of African American soldiers. And then he was an early leader in the KKK. Outstanding choice of a person to memorialize through little boxes made of ticky-tacky.
Thus far, every single person I've encountered here -- and I do mean every single person -- has been incredibly nice. People thank one another about ten times in a single transaction. It was a little bizarre to me at first, but now I'm falling into it and it's almost becoming second nature. Don't look for any Southern accents in this household anytime soon, but maybe living in the South will make me a nicer person??? (Mom, I can hear you laughing.)
I have to say that it was a strange realization last week when I went, "Hmmm...maybe I can do the South. I might even like it this time." (A large part of why I didn't like it before was most likely thanks to the fact that we moved at the beginning of my seventh grade year, when I was sporting big glasses, big cheeks and frizzy hair. Seriously, Mom, I'm sure there was no polite way to transform my look without giving me an eating disorder, but holy guacamole, Batman! Nerd alert!!!
My life is really different at 30 than it was at 12 - thank hey-zeus. I (willingly) live in the suburbs (Never thought I'd say that.); I'm married; I'm trying to spend less time being so self-conscious; I'm no longer concerned with being "cool" or making tons of friends. I'm happy with the people I have in my life and anyone else who comes along is just a bonus.
And while it was a hugely important time in my life that I wouldn't trade for anything, I realized something about my NYC days: I loved it, but maybe it wasn't always good for me. I'm not going to elaborate too much on that because there were lessons learned that probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone but me. But it hardened me and threw me into a fast-paced frenzy that's lasted for quite a few years. I left that city in 2005 and I think I'm just now starting to shake that -- mostly because I've never wanted to until now. I think my blood pressure went up and just stayed there for 7 years. On the positive side, though, that city taught me how to be self-sufficient, the importance of being direct (people who don't like honesty are hiding something about themselves), and that if you want something in your life, you have to go get it yourself -- no one's going to bring it to you. They were the best days of my life, but maybe I need to create those days all over again, this time under the banner of being a 30-year old who's somewhat found her way.
Which brings me to my next point: I'm paraphrasing this, but I recently heard the following saying, "Decide you want something more than you're scared of it." I think that's where I am at the moment. I'm at a fork in the road and one direction is starting all over and pursuing new career dreams, not settling for misery, just because the security is appealing. No more being talked down to, no more passive aggressive digs that are absolutely not okay from someone who doesn't know how to do their own job and therefore looks to tear others down. No more backstabbing. No more muddling through. START ANEW and take the plunge. I'll make sacrifices; I'll work really hard and get cray-cray stressed. But I'll be working toward something I actually care about.
The other direction is going back to what's familiar and never really making an effort to see what's on the other side of that door. It's so tempting to plant yourself back in the middle of stability and complacency...but I'm hoping I have the strength to walk as far away from that as possible because it's just not me. The greatest risks produce the greatest rewards.
Of course, these are all "hypothetical phrases," but let's just say I never want to hear any of the following from someone in authority again:
"I could be in a meeting with 'the big man,' but instead I'm here with you guys."
"No seriously, no one cares what you think."
"I know you guys have put in a lot of hours on this project, but we're just going to present this, so you don't need to come to the meeting today."
"You focus too much on what everyone should be doing."
"You need to learn how to care less about your job."
"I've already heard this -- I don't want to hear it anymore."
"Sit down and shut up."
"You work for me."
"You speak with so much confidence -- I don't know where it comes from."
"Maybe you should ask your husband what you should do with your career. You seem a little lost."
I'm not saying I've ever had such ridiculousness spouted at me in a meeting with other people as witnesses, nor in a private conference room in an effort to hide the potentially lawsuit-friendly nature of these types of comments. (Of course not! Who would be stupid enough to say such horribly reprehensible things to their employees???) Of course, there are plenty of leaders who would never ever say these things. And there are a handful of people out there who even conduct themselves with integrity in the workplace because they know it's completely unnecessary to step on others or to lie just to get ahead. And I've had the good fortune of learning from a bunch of folks who prove that every single day they go into work (my dad probably being number one). I've learned tons of valuable anecdotes and skills from them and just as many crucial lessons of how not to conduct myself from people at the opposite end of the spectrum. But over my admittedly somewhat brief career, I've come to the conclusion that I just don't have enough seconds in my short lifetime to waste on people who, despite being full-blown adults, still haven't figured out the definition of integrity. And I'm not going to work for, nor with them.
But I digress. This entry really isn't about the bad behavior of others from past hypothetical jobs. It's about my new, fresh start and the beauty of having a blank canvas in front of me to paint however I choose.
My mind is a little cloudy at the moment because I'm bored and, frankly, pretty tired of not using my brain much during the day (needless to say, watching reruns of 90210 on SOAPNET and folding laundry or unloading the dishwasher doesn't exactly giving my synapses a trip to Jazzercize.). But my boredom is tempered by my gratitude for not having to take another potentially mismatched job that doesn't fit into my greater career goals. I'm taking my time in the hopes that I will find the perfect (or at least enjoyable) job. Let's hope it's out there! Because, in the end, no matter how great the company is (and there have been some...), you can't fit a creative peg into a Brooks Brothers hole. (But if you can figure out how to still collect the BB paychecks, let me know because that part's great!)
Side note: Just did a little research on General Nathan Bedford Forrest, for whom our neighborhood is named. Apparently, he made a shit ton of money selling other human beings and running his plantation. Like $1.5 million waaaaaaaaaaaay back before the Civil War. Then he was a General. For the Confederate Army, of course. And he slaughtered a bunch of African American soldiers. And then he was an early leader in the KKK. Outstanding choice of a person to memorialize through little boxes made of ticky-tacky.
Friday, February 24, 2012
What is Your Art?
If you can answer that question off the top of your head, count yourself lucky. "I'm a creative" is a sentence I've said probably a dozen times over the last six months and I'm not sure I have a response to that question that really sums up what in the hell that means when it's put in terms of actually creating.
I have to start, though, by saying that that's not my question. I wish I'd thought of it and asked you a long time ago, but I haven't allowed my brain to think that way in years. "Society stifles creativity with fear" and that fear can come in so many different forms: grey cubicle walls, smaller paychecks, being told to "sit down an shut up" (actual quote from someone who could have had a starring role in "Horrible Bosses".), having your work second-guessed because every writer has a different voice. It could be pretty much anything, and I'm willing to bet that it's silenced the vast majority of people reading this -- myself included.
Which brings me to my point:
About a year-ish ago, I had the incredible good fortune to get to know someone who struck me right away as a remarkably warm and comforting human being. His name is Jeremy Make and, as it turns out, we had more than just a vivacious friend in common: we both love film and the creative process. In fact, he loves it so much that he and his friend named Andy Raney decided to take a journey across the U.S. together and to make a movie about it. Oh, and have I mentioned that they drove in a souped-up golf cart? Well, they did, and the documentary is called "kArt Arcoss America." They met people along the way that you'd never expect to hold the jobs they do -- and to be so passionate about them. They turned their art into a living. They shared their perspectives on letting go of what you think art has to be or what the "artist" is supposed to look like. Andy and Jeremy simply asked, "What is your art?" The answers they got, and the self-discovery they seemed to drink in, were nothing short of inspiring. Plus, they're both hilarious, so there's never a dull or tedious moment in their voyage.
Those two guys turned their experiences into art. And it's really f'ing goooooood. Seriously. I can't say enough about how damn compelling and fun this movie is. And I dare anyone who sees this to walk away feeling uninspired or stifled. After a long and stressful couple of months, I now have the urge to create again because it should never be about someone else. It's about YOU and making time for whatever YOUR art happens to be. And if you can't answer the question, "What is your art?" then Sit down. Shut up. And think. and after that, never be silenced again.
As for mine, well...I'll get back to you.
I have to start, though, by saying that that's not my question. I wish I'd thought of it and asked you a long time ago, but I haven't allowed my brain to think that way in years. "Society stifles creativity with fear" and that fear can come in so many different forms: grey cubicle walls, smaller paychecks, being told to "sit down an shut up" (actual quote from someone who could have had a starring role in "Horrible Bosses".), having your work second-guessed because every writer has a different voice. It could be pretty much anything, and I'm willing to bet that it's silenced the vast majority of people reading this -- myself included.
Which brings me to my point:
About a year-ish ago, I had the incredible good fortune to get to know someone who struck me right away as a remarkably warm and comforting human being. His name is Jeremy Make and, as it turns out, we had more than just a vivacious friend in common: we both love film and the creative process. In fact, he loves it so much that he and his friend named Andy Raney decided to take a journey across the U.S. together and to make a movie about it. Oh, and have I mentioned that they drove in a souped-up golf cart? Well, they did, and the documentary is called "kArt Arcoss America." They met people along the way that you'd never expect to hold the jobs they do -- and to be so passionate about them. They turned their art into a living. They shared their perspectives on letting go of what you think art has to be or what the "artist" is supposed to look like. Andy and Jeremy simply asked, "What is your art?" The answers they got, and the self-discovery they seemed to drink in, were nothing short of inspiring. Plus, they're both hilarious, so there's never a dull or tedious moment in their voyage.
Those two guys turned their experiences into art. And it's really f'ing goooooood. Seriously. I can't say enough about how damn compelling and fun this movie is. And I dare anyone who sees this to walk away feeling uninspired or stifled. After a long and stressful couple of months, I now have the urge to create again because it should never be about someone else. It's about YOU and making time for whatever YOUR art happens to be. And if you can't answer the question, "What is your art?" then Sit down. Shut up. And think. and after that, never be silenced again.
As for mine, well...I'll get back to you.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Are all straight men disgusting?
I'm pretty torn about the answer to this question. On one hand: yes, absolutely. (I mean, take a shower for christ's sake!) But on the other: no. Is there anything more irresistible than a well-groomed man with a nice haircut in a suit and tie? (wait, I think I just described a page of DETAILS magazine, which is not straight at all...)
I ask this question because I recently wrapped up my time as a corporate minion at a very conservative company, where a lot of the men look like The aforementioned non-disgusting subject. Suits and ties are kind of the norm there and they pay people well enough for those to be NICE suits and ties. Almost all of the gentlemen would open and hold the door for you, and board the elevator only after all ladies were in. (Perhaps it's all of the etiquette training they have them take, in preparation for those $11,000 business dinners?) It's not without its faults, but it's a pretty civilized place.
And then there's THAT guy. I'm walking into work a few weeks ago and there's a dude about 30 feet behind me, coming from another direction. We'd made eye contact and smiled at one another. I turned around and took 3 or 4 paces when I heard the loudest belch come out of his mouth. As it's echoing off the walls of the parking garage, I hear the worst thing of all coming from him: nothing. No "Oh! Excuse me!" (even though it kind of would have been said to no one in particular.). No "Whoops-a-daisies! Pardon me." (This could have taken place in Victorian England...you don't know.) Nothing.
Now, I realize I'm not a "lady" in the strictest sense (I'm pretty sure taking on the F-word as your most favorite word ever excludes you from that category...but it's so versatile!), but I am still a GIRL. And when I'm at work, you'd probably never guess that I'm as much of a hot-mess express as I actually am. (Exception: all work buddies.) And, frankly, I do not appreciate a lack of basic manners. Maybe it's a little Colonial of me, but say "Please" and "Thank you" and "Excuse me," even when you don't necessarily need to -- and hold the door open for people...which I did not do for him because he was so blatantly rude that I was appalled and had to clutch my pearls and run in tiny steps far far away, taking care not to expose my ankles through the ruffles of my hoop skirt.
Okay, that last part didn't exactly happen that way, but I did not hold the door for such a disgusting human being (who was, actually, far enough behind me that it wasn't as rude as it sounds.). I did, however, not hold back and say, "that's nice" after he burped so rudely. My guess is that he may have heard me say something, but probably couldn't tell exactly what I said. It wasn't too loud, though I think I should have said it to his face. Something tells me his mother would have been embarrassed.
All I'm saying is this: things happen. But that's why the words "Excuse me" came along. Once you say that, it's like nothing ever happened and people don't hate you.
I ask this question because I recently wrapped up my time as a corporate minion at a very conservative company, where a lot of the men look like The aforementioned non-disgusting subject. Suits and ties are kind of the norm there and they pay people well enough for those to be NICE suits and ties. Almost all of the gentlemen would open and hold the door for you, and board the elevator only after all ladies were in. (Perhaps it's all of the etiquette training they have them take, in preparation for those $11,000 business dinners?) It's not without its faults, but it's a pretty civilized place.
And then there's THAT guy. I'm walking into work a few weeks ago and there's a dude about 30 feet behind me, coming from another direction. We'd made eye contact and smiled at one another. I turned around and took 3 or 4 paces when I heard the loudest belch come out of his mouth. As it's echoing off the walls of the parking garage, I hear the worst thing of all coming from him: nothing. No "Oh! Excuse me!" (even though it kind of would have been said to no one in particular.). No "Whoops-a-daisies! Pardon me." (This could have taken place in Victorian England...you don't know.) Nothing.
Now, I realize I'm not a "lady" in the strictest sense (I'm pretty sure taking on the F-word as your most favorite word ever excludes you from that category...but it's so versatile!), but I am still a GIRL. And when I'm at work, you'd probably never guess that I'm as much of a hot-mess express as I actually am. (Exception: all work buddies.) And, frankly, I do not appreciate a lack of basic manners. Maybe it's a little Colonial of me, but say "Please" and "Thank you" and "Excuse me," even when you don't necessarily need to -- and hold the door open for people...which I did not do for him because he was so blatantly rude that I was appalled and had to clutch my pearls and run in tiny steps far far away, taking care not to expose my ankles through the ruffles of my hoop skirt.
Okay, that last part didn't exactly happen that way, but I did not hold the door for such a disgusting human being (who was, actually, far enough behind me that it wasn't as rude as it sounds.). I did, however, not hold back and say, "that's nice" after he burped so rudely. My guess is that he may have heard me say something, but probably couldn't tell exactly what I said. It wasn't too loud, though I think I should have said it to his face. Something tells me his mother would have been embarrassed.
All I'm saying is this: things happen. But that's why the words "Excuse me" came along. Once you say that, it's like nothing ever happened and people don't hate you.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Snowpocalypse!
It's snowing -- like CRAZY snowing. We already have probably a foot, and they're expecting another 8" by the end of the day, though it could keep snowing until tomorrow morning. Schools are closed (both public and private), government offices have shutdown, many businesses are closed. And my office is open. Apparently, life insurance brochures are more important today than the safety of employees! Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for the very high-up decisionmakers at this place. They repeatedly demonstrate integrity and far more intelligence than I'll ever have, even if I hired Steven Hawking to follow me around and teach me stuff for a month. I'll give the company a lot, but I won't risk life and limb to edit an announcement. It can wait until Monday.
SO, I'm on my couch, immersed in my bad TV (There's a very angry son-in-law on Hoarders. I'm very angry about his wavy ponytail and his wife's Indian headdress t-shirt, but nobody asked me...) and trying not to mess anything up in my perfect house. Since it's now officially on the market I have to pick up anything I put down, arrange anything I move, wipe up any water that drips in the sink and put everything in a cabinet or closet so it's not sitting out. It's a pain in the ass, but I can definitely see that I have some natural OCD tendencies that could maybe be all-consuming and seriously annoying to someone else who may cross my path, if I let them. Good thing I'm kind of lazy and probably wouldn't end up wanting to put in all that effort, long term...
I'm kind of hungry, but I don't think I can eat for at least a half-hour after this episode of Hoarders. It's like swimming, but in reverse.
I really don't have anything to say...I'm just killing time, and, apparently, wasting yours. So I'll leave you with some random thoughts:
-A velvet portrait of wolves in an old wooden frame is a treasure, not junk, Hoarders!
-The only thing better than an Indian headdress tee is one with an Indian AND an Eagle...especially when you clearly have no Indian heritage.
-I'm having a hard time keeping my aloe plant alive. Apparently, I'm less hospitable than a desert. (Oh how I wish that were actually my joke. It belongs to Dimitri Martin.)
-Greyhounds look really awesome in their little racing sweaters...even though I am totally not okay with animal races of any kind...except maybe armadillo and chihuahua.
That's it. Have a happy day.
SO, I'm on my couch, immersed in my bad TV (There's a very angry son-in-law on Hoarders. I'm very angry about his wavy ponytail and his wife's Indian headdress t-shirt, but nobody asked me...) and trying not to mess anything up in my perfect house. Since it's now officially on the market I have to pick up anything I put down, arrange anything I move, wipe up any water that drips in the sink and put everything in a cabinet or closet so it's not sitting out. It's a pain in the ass, but I can definitely see that I have some natural OCD tendencies that could maybe be all-consuming and seriously annoying to someone else who may cross my path, if I let them. Good thing I'm kind of lazy and probably wouldn't end up wanting to put in all that effort, long term...
I'm kind of hungry, but I don't think I can eat for at least a half-hour after this episode of Hoarders. It's like swimming, but in reverse.
I really don't have anything to say...I'm just killing time, and, apparently, wasting yours. So I'll leave you with some random thoughts:
-A velvet portrait of wolves in an old wooden frame is a treasure, not junk, Hoarders!
-The only thing better than an Indian headdress tee is one with an Indian AND an Eagle...especially when you clearly have no Indian heritage.
-I'm having a hard time keeping my aloe plant alive. Apparently, I'm less hospitable than a desert. (Oh how I wish that were actually my joke. It belongs to Dimitri Martin.)
-Greyhounds look really awesome in their little racing sweaters...even though I am totally not okay with animal races of any kind...except maybe armadillo and chihuahua.
That's it. Have a happy day.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
It's amazing how fast your life changes when you're least expecting it. No, this isn't one of those sad entries about lost loved ones. This is about happiness and new beginnings and feeling reinvigorated for the first time in a very long time. I'm like Tova Borgnine with her fragrances -- excited and barely containing myself in a borderline-annoying fashion for those around me because there's so much to share!
First, a big move is coming up. I am Nashville bound in just a few more weeks (I think). I'm actually chuckling a little bit at that thought because I never thought I'd be saying, "I can't wait to move to Tennessee!" But guess what? Colorado is so 26 minutes ago and it's time to get this party freakshow circus on the road. I'm more than this little landlocked, dry state can contain. I need some culture that doesn't involve outdoor activity shoes, streets and streets of weed shops (although, whatever a person does on their own time is their business...it's still just weird to see) and the words, "Maybe we can get together at the park...throw the frisbee around." I mean, seriously, people, there are plenty of things to do INSIDE!
Next, I'm being given an extraordinary opportunity to start anew, if I want. And I want. I have the pleasure of being employed by an honestly GOOD and well-run company right now. I've gained tons of good experience, but it is time to move on. I think I make a much better "good little corporate wife" than I do a "good little corporate minion." This creative's wings are just dying to be spread. No regrets, just lessons learned and a fresh life ahead.
Also, some serious distance in my relationship right now (try three states) is just tough. It flat-out sux. I'd like to say that I'm using this time to remember who the old, uber-independent me was, but I'd be lying. In fact, I've been one big ball of stress who's trying to do everything by herself. And, frankly, I don't think my cat is all that interested in my stories anymore. He's like, "Enough, already! I just want a nap, some tuna water and a dirty Belvedere martini!" (My cat is very posh. His name is Frank Sinatra afterall.)
But I think the biggest and most exciting thing on the horizon for me is...my new closet. Ladies (and gentle-'mos), please take your seats because you're going to need them. My new closet...HAS A CLOSET! There. I gave you the best part first because I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it in until the end like a proper storyteller. So, I just gave you the climax of the whole tale. My characters reached their arcs, storylines have hit their peaks and we're on our way down again. But we still have a ways to go because this closet is badass. It used to be the fourth bedroom. The last owner converted it into a closet that has built-ins in the "bedroom" part and an actual closet since it used to be one. Yup. It's my Carrie Bradshaw closet. In fact, it's better than hers (minus several tens of thousands of dollars of Manolos and Cavalli pieces...well, I have ONE Cavalli.) because mine's going to have a chandelier, couch and table. I plan to take tea in there everyday at 3:30 in a big, chennile bathrobe (will somebody please get me one of thoses? It's kind of key to this plan...preferably pink, but I will also accept a cerulean blue.) and my pearls. (It is the South.) Anyway, it's going to be the most. It'll be my own sanctuary and my "man cave." (Boys, you can keep your pool and ping pong tables. Give me a full-length mirror and something that's shiny and I'll entertain myself all afternoon. It's almost more happiness than I could have ever fathomed at 30.
Yes, my needs are simple: just a room that's a closet with exquisite built-ins and a chance to finally re-hang my pink, snakeskin curtains. Uh-uh! Don't you judge until you've seen them. They're very chic, in that glamorously trashy kind of way.
So that's my life. Finally, my wish of almost seven years is being granted: to get out of this completely strange and foreign state where I've never exactly fit in. I've been begging for it ever since I returned for what was supposed to be a six-month stay. While those seven years have brought me good things, it's time to pick up my Stella wedges and move on to the next great thing where I'm going to do great things. I can just feel it.
First, a big move is coming up. I am Nashville bound in just a few more weeks (I think). I'm actually chuckling a little bit at that thought because I never thought I'd be saying, "I can't wait to move to Tennessee!" But guess what? Colorado is so 26 minutes ago and it's time to get this party freakshow circus on the road. I'm more than this little landlocked, dry state can contain. I need some culture that doesn't involve outdoor activity shoes, streets and streets of weed shops (although, whatever a person does on their own time is their business...it's still just weird to see) and the words, "Maybe we can get together at the park...throw the frisbee around." I mean, seriously, people, there are plenty of things to do INSIDE!
Next, I'm being given an extraordinary opportunity to start anew, if I want. And I want. I have the pleasure of being employed by an honestly GOOD and well-run company right now. I've gained tons of good experience, but it is time to move on. I think I make a much better "good little corporate wife" than I do a "good little corporate minion." This creative's wings are just dying to be spread. No regrets, just lessons learned and a fresh life ahead.
Also, some serious distance in my relationship right now (try three states) is just tough. It flat-out sux. I'd like to say that I'm using this time to remember who the old, uber-independent me was, but I'd be lying. In fact, I've been one big ball of stress who's trying to do everything by herself. And, frankly, I don't think my cat is all that interested in my stories anymore. He's like, "Enough, already! I just want a nap, some tuna water and a dirty Belvedere martini!" (My cat is very posh. His name is Frank Sinatra afterall.)
But I think the biggest and most exciting thing on the horizon for me is...my new closet. Ladies (and gentle-'mos), please take your seats because you're going to need them. My new closet...HAS A CLOSET! There. I gave you the best part first because I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it in until the end like a proper storyteller. So, I just gave you the climax of the whole tale. My characters reached their arcs, storylines have hit their peaks and we're on our way down again. But we still have a ways to go because this closet is badass. It used to be the fourth bedroom. The last owner converted it into a closet that has built-ins in the "bedroom" part and an actual closet since it used to be one. Yup. It's my Carrie Bradshaw closet. In fact, it's better than hers (minus several tens of thousands of dollars of Manolos and Cavalli pieces...well, I have ONE Cavalli.) because mine's going to have a chandelier, couch and table. I plan to take tea in there everyday at 3:30 in a big, chennile bathrobe (will somebody please get me one of thoses? It's kind of key to this plan...preferably pink, but I will also accept a cerulean blue.) and my pearls. (It is the South.) Anyway, it's going to be the most. It'll be my own sanctuary and my "man cave." (Boys, you can keep your pool and ping pong tables. Give me a full-length mirror and something that's shiny and I'll entertain myself all afternoon. It's almost more happiness than I could have ever fathomed at 30.
Yes, my needs are simple: just a room that's a closet with exquisite built-ins and a chance to finally re-hang my pink, snakeskin curtains. Uh-uh! Don't you judge until you've seen them. They're very chic, in that glamorously trashy kind of way.
So that's my life. Finally, my wish of almost seven years is being granted: to get out of this completely strange and foreign state where I've never exactly fit in. I've been begging for it ever since I returned for what was supposed to be a six-month stay. While those seven years have brought me good things, it's time to pick up my Stella wedges and move on to the next great thing where I'm going to do great things. I can just feel it.
Friday, December 30, 2011
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:
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.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
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?
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?
Sunday, December 4, 2011
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???
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???
Monday, November 28, 2011
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 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.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
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?
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?
Thursday, November 10, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, October 31, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
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.
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.
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