Mostly Shopping. And Some Poop.

• I'm not entirely sure, but I believe it's possible that I may need a nickel plated toaster.  How could I not need this?  $90?  All day!  Ahem....oh....mygawd, how much money do you need to be swimming in before you would piss away $90 for a toaster?  How shallow your love for toast must be if you can only eat toast from a ridiculously expensive toaster.  And that thing is on clearance!  Normally $140.  Yikes. 
• However, I would like it known that I would have no problem whatsoever spending full price for that countertop wine cooler. 
• Oh, what the hell, since I'm all Smart Bargaining today, here's another--effing love this. 
• Had to check the calendar this morning when I walked into the ladies room here at the office and the whole place reeked of Aqua Net--thought I was back in the '80's.  Never mind the fact that it was Aqua Net, let's just focus on the fact that someone was engaging in extensive personal grooming, right there in the public bathroom in an office building--make-up bag open and spilled all over the sink and everything.  Again....yikes.
• I took the cat to the vet the other day, because he was acting all "I'm fixin' to die" and honestly, I was prepared for someone to tell me it was time, but the vet was quite optimistic in spite of the fact that Bailey was a complete and total ASSHOLE for the entire visit.  (Seriously, I walked out of that office and was on the phone to my daughter before I even made it all the way to the car, just so I could express to her what a fucking jerk her cat was, with the howling and the growling and the hissing and the spitting and the biting and scratching...THE ENTIRE TIME WE WERE THERE.  What a good sport that doctor was.)  Anyway, one steroid shot and food change later, Bailey has gone from "I'm fixin' to die" to "I'm FINE, already!  Stop watching me poop!"  Jerk.  Yeah, that's right--I said it.  I saved your life, you fucking jerk.  That poop cost me $150--don't think I won't be inspecting it.
• Thanks to my friend Mellie Mel for sharing what is essentially the final Alexander McQueen--I'll link to her post for the pics rather than putting them here, so go there if you want to check out the cool-ass clothes.  The man had an incredible brain, and an enormous talent for making Wow.  It is hard to fathom, with a talent like that, and a vision so strong, that ending his own life would have ever made sense to him.  An absolute tragedy.  It occurs to me as I look at the clothes that a lot of people would look at that and think, "I could never wear that" and maybe you wouldn't--maybe I wouldn't either.  But in ALL THINGS, it is the visionary that gives the rest of us permission to move forward.  To introduce new shapes, new colors, new technique, new sound--to be the one that says, "Fuck it, I'm going to try _____".  That's where the true beauty lies.  In fearlessness.  Without it, not a one of us will ever go anywhere but backwards.

Did Anyone Notice?

That the blog is starting to match the rug in my living room?

Here's a refresher photo...



One line at a time, you know....this is what happens when it's slow at work and you're stuck in front of a computer....

What I Know

How come when somebody sits down and reads a year's worth of archival material from this blog, I don't automatically think "Gee, I must be pretty interesting," but rather, "What do you WANT, Crazy Stalker???"

 

 

Of course, there is always the brief mental review to make sure that there is nothing in there for which I could be sued.

 

 

Then I have to go back and actually read it all, just to make sure it's not too embarrassing.  Good thing I nuked most of that archive. 

 

And, probably that thing about Tom Cruise won't come back to bite me in the ass.

 

 

Can I just say, that as much as I enjoy reading other people's stuff that I have never, and I mean, NEVER thought anyone's writing was so awesome that I spent a day archive diving on their blog?  If I read your stuff, and I read ALL of your stuff, trust me, I was looking for specific information.

 

 

Not that there aren't incredibly wonderful people and writers out there, just...you don't do that, you know?  You don't dig that way just trying to read my boring-ass day-to-day observations, or anybody else's, even if their lives are a million times more interesting than mine.

 

"Ouch" if you did, though.

 

 

I may be the Queen of the Ridiculously Obsessive Internet Search.  Well, I thought I was.  I mean...can find out a hell of a lot of stuff about someone because I'm what you call "determined", but, I've never plundered any "outside the public domain" stuff, never paid for someone to find Vincent D'Onofrio's home address or any other stupid shit like that.  Why would I?

 

Recently, a random person told me a micro-factoid about someone and all I could think was, "How in the hell do you know that?  Or, more importantly, WHY in the hell do you know that?"  I mean, at what point would somebody think that the name of some celebrity's kid's school, or anything pertaining to their family, was going to be useful? 

 

I don't mind telling you, it kinda creeped me out...

 

 

Because I am a digger myself, I recognize digging.  Because my family is a part of my "product", I accept a certain level of risk, but I only do this because, like I said, we're interesting, but not interesting on a national scale, or even a regional one.  Probably nobody cares enough to show up on my front steps to tell me that they've just come from the grave of my maternal grandfather and what an incredibly moving experience it was.  And probably my days of random strangers acting like I'm their best friend are long gone.

 

 

Or are they?

 

 

By the way, if you're looking for anything useful about some celebrity, the blog isn't going to be of much help to you, considering that the only person about whom I speak extensively is me.  Write what you know, right kids?

In Which She Whines About Her Inability To Create Web Pages

I suppose if a girl sat down and really paid attention and studied, that she could make a really cool space out of a blank canvas, right here on the internet!

 

 

I can't tell you how not interested I am...

 

 

I mean, I'm interested, but, I'm not.  Not really.  If I were stuck in a hospital bed and there was nothing to do all day but fiddle with a blogger template to get it past the point of recognition, then I probably would do that, but....who cares, really?  It's a blogspot blog.  How much do I have to pretend that it's not a blogspot blog?

 

 

Anyway...while it looks mostly the same, you may note some stuff missing--just trying to clean my room.  I'll get things back where I want them eventually.

Ask Your Friends

It seems Facebook has stopped loading my blog posts. 

 

 

Er....I mean...feeding...or...some....highly technical stuff of which you can tell I'm an expert... 

 

 

Importing!  Yes!  That's the word I want....Importing.  Facebook has stopped importing Barely Contained to my Facebook page, for some reason. 

 

 

I'm sure it has nothing to do with me personally. 

 

 

Probably.

 

 

I bet if we talk about something utterly filthy, they'll start importing it again, just in time for my mom to read it.  Shall we?

 

 

 

 

 

Never mind...we'll save that for later.

 

 

 

But if you want to, we can spend this time together having a little Facebook discussion behind their backs.  I mean, they'll never know!  They stopped importing, remember?

 

Did you ever notice how I do that bad thing of giving someone crap about something BEFORE I rescue them from their ineptitude?  I'm sure that if I would bother to contact FB and tell them that my importer-thingy is broken that they'd probably fix it, but instead of doing that, I'm letting it stay broken so I can have some fluke thing to write about.  There is a special place in hell for people like me.  We're the ones that tell everyone but you that there is a gigantic, noticeable stain on the front of your shirt.

 

Is there such a thing as "tech support" at FB?  Usually all I ever see is people complaining that they don't like their home page layout and a bunch of their well-meaning friend tell them to click the Status Updates view (or whatever).  What if I contact Facebook "tech support" and they answer my question by telling me to post it on my status so my well-meaning friends can have a crack at it?  What if that IS Facebook "Tech Support"?  What if the entire department is just "Ask Your Friends"?

 

Maybe Facebook has a limit on the number of bullet points they will import.  That would certainly explain a lot.  Maybe April 2010 put me over my limit of allowable bullet points on Facebook notes and I'm banned from further Noting.

 

Not that any of this is so awful...I cannot tell a lie:  I'm not a big fan of the blogs importing to Facebook, anyway.  It's not that this is high art--we're just throwing things to the wall and seeing what sticks--but if it's not formatted correctly (as it almost never is on FB), some of the intent goes right out the window.  The same is true of Twitter, when all of my texts dont' make it--you're three posts into a joke wondering why in the hell I'm talking about left turn signals and meanwhile, I'm somewhere patting myself on the back for that clever observation which, unbeknown to me, nobody actually read because my phone and my Twitter account were not playing nice.

 

Never mind my "Pick Me!  Pick Me!" Middle Child Vying For Attention level of postitude.  Most people, even people who's job it is to be looked at, don't wave their arms and jump up and down and scream, "Over Here!" as much as I do, a trait which happens to make me particularly good at my job, because by the time you've cleared your throat, I've already slammed you with 10 lines of my employer's agenda, BUT...Ultimately, it can be difficult to try to keep up if you don't pay attention, and I'm guessing that most people who read this on FB, don't.  Not that they're not lovely people, it's just, if you show up here, you're actually making an effort.  If you read it over on Facebook, you probably just happened to notice it pop up on your home page as you just happened to log in at the time it was imported and you hadn't previously requested all of my bloggy drivel be hidden.   Lots of big ifs there.  And then you click on the note and discover that due to formatting issues, all of the words and sentences are running together and you love me and everything, but, you don't love me that much.

 

The other part of that equation is the fact that the people on FB actually DO love me that much--or, at least actually know me in real life in most cases, and know me enough to know that no matter how much STUFF I'm yammering on about online all day, that I don't actually talk this much in real life (Can you imagine?) and that I usually save the snark for the printed word or a live microphone--the rest of the time communicating through a series of grunts and clicks.

 

Reminds me of a story...

 

...when I first started dating my ex, we had a dinner date with his best friend and his best friend's wife and about half-way through the night, the best friend's wife commented on how quiet I was, to which I replied, "I usually only speak if there's money involved" (or some other equally ridiculous comment).  Years later, the woman continued to bring that up as one of most insane things she'd ever heard (and, she was a psychologist, by the way...) only by this time we were good friends laughing about it over bottles of Riesling. 

 

OK, actually SHE thought it was the most insane thing, ever, and I just let her think that I thought it was insane.  Whatever.

 

 

 

I've gotten slightly better at dinner conversation, by the way. 

 

 

Slightly.

 

 

If the import-thingie stays broken, I'm not so sure I'm going to contact Facebook tech support, if there is such a thing, or even ask my friends how to fix it.  I'll just share more videos of fabulous men on FB so it looks like I'm posting content, and we'll save the crazy ramblings for the hard-core masochists who actually make the trek over to blogger.  You've earned it.

Ease Of Operation

Instead of apologizing for bullet points, I have decided to put a positive spin on them and say that they are designed with your happiness in mind.  User friendly!

• Today is 4/20.  I remember when I worked at a high school, how dumb 4/20 was, and why?  Because teenagers are already stupid--no need for enhancements.  I have no quarrel with people wanting to un-brain themselves for the purposes of occasional relaxation, but you and I both know that very few people under the age of 30 can really afford to knock off for more than a minute.
• I accidentally took a day off yesterday.  My car was being fixed in the morning, so I figured I would go into the office around noon....no such luck, since I didn't get the car back until 5, but WOW do my closets look amazing!  Wooo!  See what happens when I'm sitting around, bored?  I'd like to do that again, please, minus the "Hand over all of your available funds or the SUV gets it," part.
• I think that when someone tells you how much your car repair is going to cost, they should add some perspective-builders to it, like saying, "That'lll be _____ dollars, which, by the way, is $300 more than your monthly grocery budget."  Just a thought.
• My daughter, who is vegetarian, is now taking it a step further and committing to a vegan diet.  Here's a little something I found out while digging around online for vegan recipes--there are people out there who are vegan who pass judgement on other people who choose vegan because they are apparently not vegan enough, or they are vegan for the wrong reasons, or they are eating the "wrong" vegan food.  Seriously?  Seriously?  Way to go, militant vegans!  Way to make nobody want to join you!  I mean, if there's no way anyone can do it to your satisfaction, then why bother?  At some point, they'll have the rib-eye, just to spite you.
• Don't you just love it when a business screws something up, doesn't fix it until you've got them at knife-point, then acts like they were going to do the right thing all along?  Yeah, I'm talking to YOU, Ticketmaster....and just so you know, you're still on my shit list until those JC tickets are in my hands.
• Friday night, I ate at a restaurant with friends, and when I handed the waiter my bank card, he asked me if I needed change.  Yikes.  How about you just give me back the card, there, Skippy?
• Sunday afternoon, I ate at an Italian restaurant where the waitress performed a miracle and got the chef to create a dish that didn't have cheese on it, just for my kid.  That's quite a feat at an Italian place.  Meanwhile, the rest of us at the table merrily stuffed our faces with as many kinds of cheese as we could name.  Excellent.
• My friends that I ate with on Sunday act like they don't get out to restaurants, much.  Everything about somebody handing them a menu was impossibly novel to them, which means that either they need to get out more, or I am horribly spoiled.  If I am spoiled I do not wish to change--even though I love to cook, I love to more when other people do it.  Restaurants might be my favorite places in the world.
• Attending my daughter's softball games makes me really want a little doggy.  Something about sitting on a blanket behind left field just begs for canine companionship.  Yeah, softball season doesn't last as long as a commitment to dog ownership, but I'm sure I can think of other things for us to do for the rest of the year.  It will have to be an Action Dog--ready to hop in the car and go at a moment's notice.  Actually, I think all dogs are like that, or want to be.  The only question is, how many adventures will the dog need under their belt before the children dress them in a super hero cape?

Stupid Car

I'm sitting quietly, waiting for the auto repair shop to open so that I might limp over there...transport myself to my own financial ruin...

What a lovely opinion I have of car repair! But seriously, when the guy says "that'll be $800", what am I supposed to do? Grin?

Oh, all right! From all indications, it probably won't be $800. But still...I wish I could reserve the right to call "Helpless Female!" in this situation, but alas, there is no one in the house to do this dirty work. What I wouldn't give to be able to bat my eyes at some sweet man sitting next to me and say, "Honey, my car is making a hideous noise. Would you be a dear?"

Some might say I'm setting the women's movement back several years by doing this--I say, I'm just being thrifty. A guy gets a better deal in a repair shop, don't deny it!

I suppose if my skirt is short enough, it could work the opposite way....hmmm.

Never mind...I'm not really up for getting trampy on a Monday. Or ever.

Stupid car...

Don't Think Less Of Me

My daughter and I fed the homeless on Saturday.  

I say that with a bit of sarcasm in my voice, not because there is anything funny about homelessness, but because....once upon a time, my BFF met this guy that she thought was awesome, and he was (is) a doctor and a super nice guy, loved kids, etc.--almost too good to be true, and single too.  

Of course, he peaked her interest right away....she aimed to fix that problem of nobody snapping him up yet.

One time around Thanksgiving she asked Mr. Pert-Near Perfect if he spent the holiday with his family and he said no, that they lived too far away and what he usually did was volunteer and "feed the homeless."  

When she heard this, my friend replied, "Oh shut the hell up!"  I mean, she literally told the guy to shut up.  Seriously?  Feed the homeless?  Who does that?  It was just another item in the long list of things that made this guy too saintly to be real.

As further evidence of his perfectness, it should be noted that he was not offended when she told him to shut the hell up.  

Fascinating man.  Too good to date, however.

Anyway...

Because we are, well, us, it became a running joke--

One to The Other:  "What are you doing this weekend?"  

The Other:  "Why, I'm feeding the homeless--and what are YOU doing, you low-life scum-sucking loser?  Probably nothing as good as feeding the homeless."  

Saturday afternoon, I was driving in downtown Minneapolis, and my BFF calls.  She asks what I'm doing, and I say, "I'm on my way to feed the homeless."

Of course, she laughed.

I laughed, too.  And then I said, "No, really, I'm actually doing it.  I hope you don't think less of me."  I explained that my daughter had some service requirements for school, that she opted to earn them by taking some turns helping out at People Serving People, and that's where we were going.

Is taking a few Saturdays to drive downtown and put food on a tray a big deal?  No.  Not really.  Actually, not at all.  Doing it regularly for 20 years, however, is a pretty big deal--that was the lady standing next to me, dishing up the baked fish.  We got to talking...

To say that she's seen a lot would probably be understating things, but for me, the most telling moment of the entire experience was when she, a retired school administrator, made up a tray of food for a lady living at the shelter who had once been a teacher at a school at which the server had been a principal.

There's some perspective for you.

You walk away from experiences like that wondering if your tiny contribution matters much.  A few Saturdays spent spooning peas on a plate compared to 20 years of voluntary service?  Yeah...I'm feeling pretty low-life scum-sucking loser by contrast, but that's because "Feeding the homeless" is the thing that you say.  It sounds like something.  What you actually do, or what you CAN do, can be a much larger thing than that, and, it's OK not to talk about it.  That is to say, if you think that donning a hair net for an hour and a half is a monumental sacrifice, then by all means, volunteer, but, for me, the bigger thought is that someone actually pays for all this stuff, and makes this small bit of humanity possible for the people who find themselves living in a shelter.  Is that you?  If you think more in terms of "I have money, and I can help buy food or other things they need" rather than "Yay me!  I can scoop vegetables!", you may be on the right track.  Changes are coming to this and other shelters because of changes to the state budget, so, now is a good time to be serious about actually feeding the homeless.

To that end, I invite you to visit the People Serving People website, and find out what they're all about, or maybe just visit their Target.com wish list, make a purchase and donate it.  I promise not to think less of you if you don't brag about it after the fact.

Yeah! Meme! Wooooo!

You could qualify this as lazy and not be wrong--I just happened to see this in a Body and Soul mag and completely ripped it off because I thought it was a nice little meme...

If I could say one thing to myself 10 years ago: Walk away the first time it feels like you should. If it means anything at all, they'll follow.

My favorite place in the world: Anyplace that is free of judgement and full of laughter.

The movie I watch when I want to laugh: Hmmm.....good question. I can't think of one at the moment, but I'm sure there are many.

No one knows I: I'm not so sure that there are a lot of things that people don't know that I do--but I bet there are plenty of things that nobody ever imagined, that I do on a regular basis.

I feel healthy when: This is going to sound strange, but I think I feel best when doing yard work of some kind--shoveling snow, digging in the garden, etc. I don't currently have a garden or a yard or a sidewalk to shovel, and I miss it terribly.

If I could do anything else for a living, I'd: I would love to do just straight PR/Promotion or something less insanely confrontational than what I'm doing now--it just gets exhausting having to put up your dukes all the time, which is what happens when it's your job to defend something that people don't necessarily like. Some days it's like parenting or training a puppy--you believe in what you are doing, you know that it's the best thing and an important thing, and there is a feeling of urgency but it's so much f*cking work and it's intensive--the only thing keeping you afloat is the idea that "someday" it will have all been worth it. It would be nice to just have some vanilla actor for a client and all you do all day is tell people how wonderful they are and nobody ever tells you that you're full of shit, or threatens to sue.

Exercise Routine: My daughter likes to force me to get out and walk around the neighborhood sometimes, and that's the current "routine". I figure it's an upgrade from this time last year when all I ever really did was walk out to the back porch to smoke, so, there you go...

Proudest moment in my career: Cannot be shared because of proprietary info! Trade secret! HA! But, I will tell you that I was AWESOME! (what did you expect...that I had a mediocre day?)

My Dad always told me: Always? Always? Dad told me a lot of things--lots of good things, but to be honest, I think the thing that he told me most while I was growing up was "Grab me a beer".....that sounds a lot worse than it actually is.... ;-)

My Mom was right about: Anything having to do with sewing or plants. Expert Level knowledge on those things. For everything else, she's just like me and attacks life with a fair amount of trial and error. She's pretty fearless--knows a LOT of things.

The lesson I keep learning over and over: That not everyone is as enthusiastic or idealistic or optimistic as I am. As lessons go, it is my least favorite of all.

I wish I had more time for: All of it! I hate prioritizing--just want to give everything my full attention all the time.

My great unfulfilled dream: I'm only 43....just getting started...

Real Contentment is: Currently, it's just not having to be anywhere, or have any kind of project hanging over my head. When it is possible to just "hang out" and not have to do anything, it's the best feeling, ever.

One of my favorite quotations: Not my all time fave, but I like this one...."A mighty oak tree was once just a nut that stood their ground".

I always feel saner when: I'm exposed to really crazy people. Not like "Oooo, you're so crazy!" Crazy People, but like "That person is freaking DAMAGED," Crazy People. While dealing with these people does have the effect of scaring the living hell out of you at first, after you get your bearings, and if they don't kill you, there's a wonderful feeling of "Thank G*d I'm ME!"


Go ahead and steal it....I did, after all.

I'm Still Lobbying...

...to get bullet points considered in the same arena as "actual writing".  I'll let you know how that goes.

• 15-Grain bread.  I buy it, and I eat it and I love it, and also?  I have to ask, how many grains are too many?  How many can you fit?  15 is a LOT.  15 Grain Bread is a bunch of seeds, barely held together by some variety of whole wheat flour and water paste and then baked.  If I could spread peanut butter on the seeds alone, I'd skip the "bread".
• No I wouldn't.
• Farnoosh Brock wrote a nice article about 10 things to do to get over your fear of public speaking.  I started to read it, then realized that I've never, ever had a fear of public speaking so I don't really need the article, but I thought I would share with those of you who lack my foolhardiness--check it out here. 
• My co-worker and I are both wearing orange sweaters and black capri's today.  What are the chances?  We'd be twins if, uh, if she wasn't from Ghana, Africa and I wasn't sickly Scotch-Irish pale.  Her orange looks quite dramatic and lovely next to her skin and mine looks like the novelty that it is.
• I must tell you, I may be irrationally excited about the sweater.  I've never owned an orange....anything.  That may be the reason I had a sort of orange lust when I found it on a clearance rack for all of 4 dollars.  I bought it, then brought it home to wave it in front of the children with the excitement I usually reserve for chocolate cake.  I'm sure they'd be jealous if they only knew how exciting it was to be wearing orange.
• Can you hear my mother laughing?  I yelled at my kid to "Turn it down please!"  Oh yes, I did.  While it is a decidedly rare occurrence in my house, yelling at a kid to turn down their stereo made me feel incredibly old.  I tell myself that I didn't yell because I didn't like the music she was playing, but rather that Justin Bieber singing, well, anything, really sucks the life out of scene when you're trying to watch House. 
• Speaking of music, I have yet to get sick of that Panic At The Disco CD, Pretty. Odd.  I've been trying to reach my capacity for enjoyment of this CD for two years.  Two Years.  Two years it's been riding around in my car with me, (Disc 6 in the changer at the moment...), rolling through regular rotation, and I listen to it, and listen to it, and listen to it, but the damn thing just doesn't suck.  What the hell?  I'm at a loss to explain it.  Please feel free to take on this experiment and let me know if you have different results.

Goldilocks

I was having a serious case of the "Somebody Has Been Sitting At My Desk" feeling this morning.

My papers are all neatly stacked, pens in order, and the settings on my phone have changed from the usual.


Don't they realize that Messy is a part of my process? That the 75-page document was flung open to that exact page and sitting in that exact spot so if somebody asks, I can pretend I was just looking at that exact thing and pretend I was studying it instead of, uh, goofing off with a sudoku puzzle in between online shopping?

Closing it up and setting it neatly in a pile with all of the other pages I'm ignoring was incredibly rude.


Anyway...I am a little creeped out, even though the three bowls of porridge remained untouched. People who read the blog would know...any place in which I spend more than a few minutes of time every week has got to contain a notebook, right? Without something upon which to pour ink when I so desperately need to vent, my brain would explode. And, there it is, in a drawer--yellow, with bent-up spiral, and full of brain-dumping scribbles.

This blog might seem like a mess (it is) but I can assure you, it's OCD orderly, compared to the notebooks. That's OK, because the notebooks are not meant for public consumption. Unless some random stranger sits at your desk over the weekend. ((shudders))

The one saving grace about the work notebook is that, much like this page, it does not name names. I do leave it at work, after all, so, I have prepared for it to be seen by someone other than me. I just figured that someone would be a nosy boss or bored custodian, not someone who would spend enough time sitting here that they would also be inspired to tidy my never-referenced reference materials. What can I say at this point, other than, "I hope it was entertaining"?

Most of it was NOT entertaining, by the way....


I did find a passage that I liked, however--some porridge neither too hot or too cold--and I thought, since that bitch Goldilocks probably already read it, that what's the harm in you reading it, too? And what was I writing about that day? Aaah, love. A many splendored, and usually completely fucked up thing...by the way, the X's that you see here are exactly as I found this in the notebook--I actually didn't name names. ;-)

10/27/09--"I spent a fair chunk of the end of 2008 and all of 2009 thus far knowing only one thing for sure, and that thing was this: Not being with the man I wanted was the saddest thing my heart could imagine. THE saddest thing. And I let myself get sad sometimes, and have a good cry, but for the most part, it was a huge motivating factor in my life, and he, in turn, became very much a muse. A reason to get up and kick ass every day, a reason to always feel hopeful. No matter what stupid shit was going on, there was always "X" to return to for calm, serenity and focus, even if only in my head. It didn't matter if my boss was a dope and didn't appreciate me because in my head, X always did. It was OK if my teenagers were acting like teenagers and completely disregarding me because, in my head, X would never do that.

Time and evidence prove otherwise and I'm alone as I always was, with X never actually materializing, and I'm thinking I should focus my energy on underwater basket-weaving or really anything with a measurable result because love is quite the opposite of that--completely UN-measurable. While one cannot put a number to hopefulness, eventually, if enough time passes without the desired result, you can give it the title of "denial". Not the healthy, "nothings gonna keep me down" denial, but the flat-out unhealthy kind.

And...I knew that it would come to this. I knew that one day I would stop feeling, stop believing in it. In fact, many times, on days in which believing in love and potential was damned painful, I prayed for that belief to end. I wished for reality to be more appealing than my hopeful dream, so I wouldn't want it so much. After all, I was alone, wasn't I? Was that not evident? But I kept acting as if I wasn't, like it was just a matter of time before all of the things that I knew in my heart to be true, those things that I attributed to the random male, suddenly became a reality. I knew that all naysayers were simply wrong, and that glimpse of perfection in my head trumped them all. This is the better thing--this FEELS better, therefore, fuck everything else. I'm not really waking up alone. Not really.

But I woke up this morning, for the first time in over three years without thinking that hopeful dream was true. I didn't think, well, X believes in me and trusts me and loves and appreciates me. I just felt nothing. No love for him, none from him.

And wow, did that ever suck.

In truth, there was never any love from him, as I knew--it was all just a lofty thought. It was all me. As they say, that which we love in others is just a reflection of things we love about ourselves, and that made him so much more than a muse, or someone for whom I wanted my life to be better. Turns out, he was Me. A secret, silenced Me. No one to blame for any of life's craziness, no one for whom I could ever say, "He was such an asshole". That was me. Also? It was Me. Wanting my life to be better, wanting to feel better about myself, look better and expand my horizons--that was all me, too, and what a glorious thing that was!

So what of the nay-sayers, the ones who would deny that I ever stood a chance with X or dismissed the entire notion of that bliss in my head? Are they as quick to poo-poo me as they were to disregard the notion of X? One wonders about their 'friends' sometimes. Because it wasn't the Man, X, that they were dismissing, so much as it was the notion of my potential for happiness. That ideal in my head, fantastic, soul awakening love, was just beyond the reach of their imaginations. A pity, for them. As personal realities go, I do prefer the blissful state, or at least a self-assuredly sane denial."



Exhale.

Kinda heavy. I remember that day, missing my muse so intensely. It was quite devastating. Apparently I was still able to pull a rabbit out of my hat and write about it, though, so, what does that tell you?

I always praise The Crush--that spark of emotion that drags your whole body into a state of happy What If--puts a spring in your step and gives you a destination to skip to. I have written mountains of words under the influence of somebody--Thank God for that, and pretty much always without them being any the wiser. You hear that kind of thing, from time to time--some guy might say, "I saw this girl in a cafe and she looked like ________, which inspired this _________." and the girl was there and gone, never to know that some anonymous, low-life looking guy in a cafe just penned a Top 10 song about her, only, not her. His her. Falling in love is little more than that moment of idealism (His Her) turning out to be pretty damn close to what she's actually like in real life, or, a continued denial of what she's really like in favor of maintaining the illusion in his head. How could you not love that feeling and want to hold onto it as tight as you can? Of course you do. Of course you do. Feeling "in love" far surpasses the alternative, so, when it leaves you suddenly, with nothing to replace it, you definitely miss it. Crossing the expansive River "X" was my focus for such a long time, no wonder I didn't know what to do with myself when I finally found dry land.

I guess I'm glad that Goldilocks re-arranged my paperwork and sent me back into the notebook to make sure I hadn't left any incriminating evidence around. Looking over your shoulder to see where you've been once in a while is helpful, but honestly, next time, I'd rather she just break my chair.

Make No Mistake, It's All About The Shoes. Well, Mostly.

I notice (2 days later) that Random Wednesday was removed to make way for The Serious, so, since it's Friday, we'll just squish the Non-Serious into this space and see what happens....

• The Shoes. Le Cute, no? Stole them from my child. Well, she sort of volunteered them after hoarding them for a year, but, HA! I have them now! And for some reason, I'm walking like a dweeb in the shoes, even though they are not that tall. I'll be sure to update if I fall down a flight of stairs, or "accidentally" trip and land in some hot guy's lap.

• Confession time: I worked my entire outfit around the shoes this morning. Oh yes I did.

• More clothes stuff--I went to see the Jean Paul Gaultier for Target collection up close, picked it up and rubbed it between my little fingers, and yes, I love all of it. Style to the people! Woooo!

• Even more clothes stuff--I bought a really cute top and wore it to work without thinking much about it, though it was slightly va-va-va-voom. No cleavage, just, sort of low and clingy. Anyway, the weird thing is that after work, I went to see a band play and felt so exposed in the cute top that I'd been wearing all day that I had to cover up with a jacket. So it's decided then--office "hot" is safe in the workplace (full of women), but far too stimulating for the outside world.

• So I was at Best Buy....(HA! Usually the stories that start with "I was at Best Buy" involve someone trying to convince me that their product is about to break so I should buy the warranty, but, ANYWAY....) I was at Best Buy and there was a guy working there who I swear to God looked exactly like David Crosby--like, exactly enough to make me look, three times. In the end I realized that the most prominent NON-David Crosby feature on the guy (besides the fact that he was wearing a Best Buy uniform) was the fact that he never smiled, even once. I would venture a guess that the reason for this was because he was wearing a Best Buy uniform, however, I would have to ask to confirm.

• Also at Best Buy (where I was so dutifully covered up) I saw a BoDeans in-store appearance in which the people were standing so freaking close to the band that if I were them, I'd be all, "Bitch, Step Off!"...but that's just me. I mean, they were so close to the front of their faces that I was uncomfortable, 20 feet away. Did you ever try to do your job with someone standing three feet away, staring at you? Me neither. That must have sucked.

• Proof Positive that the nerdier your job is, the more fun you're probably having...I sent my sister a link to Atomic Cookies because I thought that would be a fun, cute thing for her to see, what with her being a scientist and all, and she emails be back, saying "cute - it'll go on the wall with the electrophoresis gel cookies and the white-lab-mouse cookies!" Who knew there were such things? Would you eat a thing called an "electrophoresis gel cookie"? I'd have to see it first....

There Are No Words, So Of Course, I Wrote An Essay

I'm so glad that the good people of Fulton, Mississippi have unified us in the importance of recognizing sheer ridiculousness. Let's face it--every once in a while, somebody somewhere has to do something incredibly stupid/mean or so over-the-top anti-nice that we all snap into consciousness with a collective "They did what?" It brings us together as a nation. It gives us something to focus on. It sparks our very humanity.

And....I know I'm right about this because I spent 6 hours last night, flipping through hundreds (and hundreds) of online comments about it. Yes, I'm insane, but in my OCD for detail, I did make a mental note of the fact that the majority of the people making comments or writing blogs were in complete agreement about what constitutes a complete and total asshole. So that's good. Since we can all agree on that, there is definitely hope for the future.

I'm not going to write a whole lot about this, mainly because Dorothy Snarker has already done a beautiful job of expressing what needs to be said here, but I will say a couple of things: First, I know that in the South, Prom is a huge, huge deal, and people take it very seriously, but those of us who are 106 years old and had perfectly lovely times at our proms should remind you that it did nothing to shape our lives in any significant way, unless maybe someone got pregnant on prom night or something. Speaking as someone who did not get pregnant on prom night, I can tell you that I barely remember them. I remember the people, and a bit of the dresses, but I don't remember what anyone else was wearing or who their dates were, or anything else that happened that night. In fact, I'm going to go ahead and say the same about pretty much my entire high school experience. Lovely people, and I'm sure we did stuff, some of which I remember, and I'm sure there was drama at some point, but honestly, I don't remember any of it, and it means zero when you're out in the world. Zero. And, I actually LIKE all the people I went to high school with--they were all nice people. If I didn't like them, all of the things that happened back then would mean even less than zero. I have fond memories. If they were assholes like the people who organized and attended the Not-Prom Party in Fulton, Mississippi last week, I would have completely erased them to make room for good stuff. That's the trick...don't give it a foothold. *Poof!* LIke it never even happened.

Second, small-minded people will always find a way to put you down if they perceive you to be different from them. I know that it's hard not to take it personally, but make no mistake, they do this not because they actually are better than you, but because they are horrified by the prospect that they are much, much worse. They only know one way, and have too much fear to even think about the notion that the one way could be completely wrong. They will go to great lengths to preserve that one way--they stunt their own growth out of fear of the unknown.

There are two ways to fix this, one being to bring them gently forward, and that is what would have occurred if nobody had ever made a big deal about a girl wearing pants to Prom. The other way of bringing people out of their fear and educating them is a sort of shock treatment, which is what the people of Fulton, Mississippi are getting right now, as the subject of a story that went viral. Surprise! You know how, when you are a mom, and you see your kid reaching for the stove and you smack their little hands to keep them from burning their fingers? You do it with love, right? They have to learn, or they'll burn. Well, think of this like you think of that. Yes, swatting their fingers might sting a little, and they'll cry and maybe you'll feel bad for having to do it, but you're doing them a favor. After this, they should know better than to ever try anything like that again--they might not understand WHY they're not supposed to do that until they get a little older, but, someday, they'll get it. You've done your job. It had to be done.

To that end, here are some contacts for you--please use them with love.

Itawamba County Schools Superintendent Teresa McNeece:

tmcneece@itawamba.k12.ms.us
662-862-2159 ext. 14

Itawamba Agricultural High School principal Trae Wiygul

twiygul@itawamba.k12.ms.us
662-862-3104

Fake Healthy

Don't you hate it when a cold is kicking your ass?

 

 

I talk for a living. 

 

 

OK, actually I "argue" for a living but it involves speaking so, so....so there.

 

 

Anyway, I'm a total mouth-breathing, stuffy-nosed ick right now.  I don't know if I'd believe me when I said something, either.  I haven't lost any arguments, though, so I guess it means I'm Just. That. Good.

 

 

The thing about a stuffed up nose when you're trying to talk someone down (uh....I mean, calmly explain to them why they are full of shit...) is that by the time you get done talking, you notice that your heart rate is way up because you've been taking only shallow breathes so as not to sound like the gasping, wheezing, inflicted person that you are. 

 

The Fake Healthy act is exhausting. 

 

I wonder if this qualifies as aerobic exercise?

Rumbly

Oh, Company Store Guy....you don't have to ask, "Hungry?" if I'm standing in front of your cash register with a bag of beef jerky, a container of cottage cheese, a bag of sunflower kernels and a pack of gum.


There's no need to state the obvious.


And Yes, it is obvious...surely it is well known that the combination of beef, dairy fat, and seeds in my hands indicates that I was in a training meeting that everyone swore would only be an hour, hour and a half, tops, and it actually went on for two and a half hours and if I don't get the exact, perfect ratio of protein and fat in my body immediately, I'm gonna rip someone's head off.


Everybody knows this.


Please don't make me smile and be nice right now. There are rules.


Just like if it's a Saturday morning and I'm in line at BK buying an original chicken sandwich, and won't remove my sunglasses no matter what? You should know better than to ask if I got drunk the night before.


Duh.


And please note the subtle difference between Work Hungry and Hangover Hungry--most notably, Hangover Hungry allows carbs. Not potato carbs, though, just bread carbs. That is to say, hold the fries. Work Hungry allows only the carbs one would find in a piece of sugarless gum, and only after you've consumed all of the other stuff, and only because you forgot that you don't have a toothbrush in your purse and you just ate an entire bag of beef jerky.


OK....so....everyone got it now?


Good.


Carry on.