Cheesesteaks and Soft Pretzels

It's True

Baby on the way for T&D, due July 10. I'm numb. I don't have any idea why, but I can't even function. I don't think I could be more shocked. It wasn't planned, but they seem happy. I want to be happy, but I don't think I would be more dazed if I was the one that was pregnant. This really threw me off. Thank god I got advance warning, or else I might have burst out crying when they told me. I can't explain why.

Wing Bowl

Ah, Philly. Gotta love the annual Wing Bowl. A guy from my high school was competing this year, and all of the big guys were beaten by this tiny little woman.

http://www.philly.com/mld/philly/sports/special_packages/wingbow/

Crisis

Word has just come through the grapevine that good friends of ours are pregnant. So far my only response has been a burning desire to burst out crying. What the hell is the matter with me? I love them dearly and I'm sure they'll be good parents, so it's not that. I swear it's the fact that I'm once again forced to confront my own fertility. Mortality I can handle. It's inevitable. Fertility is my choice, and the older I get, the more freaked out I get by the fact that it's a choice that I have to make every day when I take the pill. And I think of how quickly everything could happen if I just stop taking it, but I can't stop. It's not practical. It's a commitment for the rest of my life. I can't make that kind of commitment, can I?

But at the same time, I don't want to keep postponing the decision and suddenly decide that I can do it when I'm pushing 40. I don't want to be an old mom. If I have kids, I want to be a part of their lives, not some overworked exhausted wrinkled old woman who can't handle the task. But I'm not ready. How the hell do people reconcile this? How can people give their entire life to another person? If you think about it, how can anyone in their right mind ever decide that they can handle the responsibility of bringing another human being into the world? All I really want is a puppy, and I'm not even cut out for that. I can't even keep houseplants alive.

And I know that the minute I see the tiny, shriveled-up red face of their new baby, I will completely melt and love it unconditionally for the rest of its life, just like I have with Ryan and Ashley and Juliet and Ben and Emily. Normal people would want that for themselves. I'm not normal. I'm paralyzed by fear of my own inadequacies and a horrible feeling that I would be guaranteed to fail at the raising and development of this new life. Does everyone feel this way? Do they ever get over it? I don't want to be like Cyn and realize after I have two of them that I never really wanted them in the first place. They deserve better than that.

Shit. I'm a mess.

My Mother

She calls me today and starts this conversation:

MOM: Don't let your father's new wife take my jewelry.
ME: Dad has a new wife? I thought he still had an old wife.
MOM: Not yet, but he will. Don't let her have my jewelry. She'll give it to her kids.
ME: Why would she give it to her kids? It's not like you have an extensive collection of diamonds or anything. You mostly only have things that are significant to you.
MOM: I don't care, she'd do it out of spite. Throw it all out if you want to, but don't let her have it.
ME: Why the hell are you obsessing about some new wife? You have to either die or divorce for that to happen.
MOM: I'm not doing either.
ME: Then why are you calling?
MOM: (exasperated sigh) Because I don't want her to have the jewelry. How hard is this to understand?

Leave it to my mother to waste time and long-distance money worrying about some new wife off in the future. If mom dies first and my dad has any sense, he'll be living a very happy bachelor existence without anyone in the house to nag him.

Give Me More to Go On

C's cousin fell while ice skating and has had really bd pain in her side ever since. She goes to the doctor and learns that where she's having the pain could be her liver, and maybe it's damaged. She says, "How would I know if it's damaged?" He says, "You'll be tired all the time." She looked at him blankly. "Not enough detail. I'm already exhausted. Can you give me anything else to go on?" Nope, sorry, that's it. We've determined that we've both damaged our livers if that's the only warning sign.

Massage

After last night's flight, I could really use a massage. Unfortunately I'm too cheap and too busy to go and actually schedule one. I need some kind soul to volunteer to give me one. I've got knots in places I didn't know I had muscles.

I'm once again trying that whole wheat-free for a week thing. This will kill me on Super Bowl Sunday. But I have to admit, the last time I did it I felt really good. If only I could find a way to moderate my intake of baked goods. But that's not my style. I could very easily eat a huge plate of pasta and a giant loaf of bread -- not because I was hungry, but because it was there and with every bite I want more and more. Hopefully if I make it through the week it will reduce the cravings.

I'm so tired from the trip. I try to keep a grip on things, but what it comes down to is the fact that I can't do the abusive traveling that I once did. Between the Monday night redeye and the quick return flight home, I just feel dead to the world. On the bright side, though, I did get to spend some quality time with my in-laws' dogs. C's parents have a very sweet black lab who thinks he's a lap dog (I can assure you that at 90 pounds, he's not). J&K have a cavalier king charles spaniel who is just the most loving animal I've ever met, and I give her equal amounts of love in return. I'd pack her in my carry-on luggage if I could. She's the best dog in the world.

Recently there have been many stories about the poodle-breed dogs. Labradoodles, schnoodles, etc. My dog growing up was a cockapoo (part cocker spaniel, part poodle), just an ordinary mutt. Now she's one of the hottest breeds around. Who would have guessed?

It's still only 3:13. I have a hair appointment at 5pm. It will be good to get my color touched-up, but I hate the smell. I can't rinse that dye smell out for at least two days. Blech. Why do we pay this price for beauty? Why can't I just age gracefully and not care about the grays?

C leaves on Tuesday for Europe. So far this month it was four days in San Antonio two weeks ago, Palm Springs last week and back to NJ this week. Throw in Europe and he's been in the office for four days since January 9. My sister-in-law J thinks that we should all go to Europe together for vacation, but I don't know when. They won't have time before they get married in June, and she wants to have kids right away. When will we all find the time? And where can we go that she and C haven't been to? She suggested Scandinavia or Russia, but there are many more mainstream places that I'd like to see. Can you believe that I haven't been to London yet? Neither can I. I have to get there eventually. Maybe I should go after J&K's wedding in June, but I really had my mind made up that I'd be going to New England, not old England.

I Want Her Trainer

Damn, I wish I could have Halle Berry's trainer. Look at those abs. I work out four times a week and don't have abs like that.

Home at Last

I'm finally back home, although my week of hell has carried over into work today. I'm considering hiding from the universe.

Funny story from the trip. So we're at the viewing (which wasn't remotely somber or solemn, and really freaked me out) and everyone is chitchatting about whatever is going on in their lives. I'm telling a story that involves my neighbor, Jeff. So I'm telling the story and my mother-in-law comes over and interrupts and says, "Who's Jeff?" C, with a totally straight face, says, "He's her boyfriend, mom. She's with him every other weekend." The whole crowd reels with shock. My mother-in-law is practically sputtering. "C! How could you let this happen?" The rest of the crowd is staring, transfixed. He replies, "Oh for christ's sake, it's only sex. What's the big deal? Go on, finish your story." So I go right back to telling my tale, but of course no one is listening because they're all freaking out at this revelation. He waited about 10 minutes before he told her the truth, but it was funny to just watch her brain shorting out as she realized that I really was the whore that they thought I was.

Ah, the joys of family.

Hell Has Frozen Over

I'm in hell, and I can assure you that it's frozen solid. No, really. Waterfalls have stopped falling. Snowbanks have grown to amazing heights. I froze my ass off. I headed upstairs and my ass fell off and rolled down the stairs with a crash.

We've been in NJ since 6:30AM Tuesday. They tell me that this was yesterday, but after a redeye flight, I'm so thrown off that I couldn't even begin to tell you what day it is.

To review the plan for the visit: arrive Tuesday, two phases of viewings on Wednesday (one afternoon and one evening) and then a funeral mass, burial and afterparty on Thursday, all in northern NJ. Complicating matters is the fact that there was an enormous snowstorm last night -- technically an ice storm followed by a snowstorm -- so the roads were treacherous and hellish. Sensible people who live in south Jersey (1 1/2 hours away) would have made plans to stay in north Jersey with any one of the half-dozen people who volunteered, or maybe even at a hotel. No. My father-in-law will not be a guest in anyone's house, and wouldn't pay for a hotel because, as he said to me today, "I've paid enough for this goddamned funeral already."

So C, of course, is here to be with his mother in her time of mourning. So of course, we had to drive down to the south Jersey homestead and brave the weather with his parents. The storm hits. The situation is ugly. There is much battling and fighting and arguing. No one gives in.

Morning comes. C tries to get his father out to shovel early in the morning to get a head start on things so we can guarantee that we'll be on time for the viewing, knowing that we need to leave four hours early. His father wants to take his time and have a leisurely cup of coffee and a few dozen cigarettes (the best part of their house is awakening to the smell of cigarette smoke in the morning... I could gag... never do I feel more asthmatic than I do there). C pushes about the shoveling. His mother pushes about the shoveling. A battle royal brews, culminating in his mother telling me that his father doesn't really love her and thinks about nothing but himself. Yep, things are going great.

The viewings go on endlessly. People say inane things like, "she looks so good," or, "look how thin she is... she finally lost that double chin!" as though this is a positive thing for someone who starved to death?

Between showings of the body, we go to his aunt's house for the halftime party -- a big feast of food. What makes this special? Why, a major fight between her pit bull and her mutt that leaves both dogs bloody and cousin Stacy shredded and bleeding. Meanwhile, my brother-in-law went to his fiancee's office to pick her up for the evening showing, and they get stuck in a traffic break for plowing on I-80. My mother-in-law is standing by the window, panicked that they're not there, saying, "Look! I see lights at the end of the road! Is it an ambulance? Oh my god, they've had a terrible accident!" This went on for 45 minutes until they finally showed up.

Back for round two. It went on forever and ever and it seemed like the room kept getting hotter and hotter and spelling more and more like the formaldehyde embalming fluid. I really wanted to run screaming.

Through all of this, I had the added joy of having the freak-out moment of having a minor breakdown because this whole thing happened so close to my grandmother's death and made me so sad.

So now we're back at my sis-in-law's place, while C's parents have driven all the way back down to south Jersey, only to turn around and have to do it again tomorrow morning at 6AM. We, on the other hand, have the good sense to rest here.

Tomorrow should be just as delightful. Shoot me.

Stranded and Frozen

I sit at the in-laws, unwanted. We're at their house in S. NJ because my father-in-law will not stay at a hotel or with friends or family up north for the funeral. The problem? Icy, dangerous roads tomorrow will make the 90-minute trip a three to four-hour hell. Help me.

Ugh

This is wrong on so many levels.

Let it Snow

Oh god, the weather back east is nasty. Snow, sleet, freezing rain... there's supposed to be more than a foot of snow on Wednesday morning, so they've postponed the funeral to Thursday. Any more delays and we'll have to miss it entirely. We should be able to leave California, but there are some questions as to the weather at landing, or our safety on the roads once we're on the ground. I can't imagine what a mess it must be to dig the grave through snow and frozen ground.

Bond. James Bond.

Women aren't supposed to like Bond movies. They are supposed to be totally guy domain. I can't help it. I think they're great. Every one follows the same formula: sex, sarcasm, formalwear, cool gadgets. How can that not be enjoyed by all? I swear it's the whole Goldfinger thing (a character named Pussy Galore? how can that be anything but hilarious?) that turned off the feminist set. It's even better to go back and watch the old ones now after Austin Powers. You really start to pick up on all of the plot elements that were borrowed.

My Journal

So I write this thing as a journal: uncensored, unapologetic, just whatever comes into my head on any given day. I write it like I would write a diary. Even though it's technically in the public domain, I can be reasonably certain that no one is going to read it. But then again, I know that you're reading it. I know that you're seeing all of my weaknesses as a person and as a writer. I could be writing to you or for you, but, with the exception of this post, I don't. I wonder why I let you into this world. It's like letting you into my head (that phrase suddenly prompted an image of John Malkovich screaming, "It's my HEAD!"... but I digress...). You've learned more about me than most people do. This should probably bother me, but it doesn't. For some reason, with you, it's all an open book. We joke about things, but the fact of the matter is this: I could send you lingerie photos. For some reason that wouldn't bother me. God help me if anyone else saw them. I'd be mortified. But not with you. Try explaining that. Why, when sitting at a bar in Palm Springs, do I wish that you'd walk in so I'd have someone to laugh with? I let you in on the random musings that I share with no one else. And you haven't run screaming yet. What are you thinking? You must be some sort of magnet for weird chicks. :-)

Postings will be minimal for Tuesday to Thursday. I've got DSL access at my sister-in-law's place in NJ, but I lack the privacy to write (unless, of course, my sweet puppy Tinkerbell and I go hide upstairs and write for a while, but I doubt that would work since I can't pet her and type at the same time). Just think of me as I spend six hours on Tuesday and who knows how long on Wednesday as we go through Catholic mass and graveside service surrounded by C's family and the lingering smell of cheap beer and nicotine. Let's take bets now: will Victor try to look down my shirt at the viewing, the funeral or the after-funeral lunch? Knowing what I'm wearing, his best chance is at the viewing, but he'll be sober then. It won't be until the lunch that he'll be kicking himself for not trying something the night before. The sad part is, he's a good guy. I like him a lot. But when he's been drinking he really sinks to a different level, checking out his fiancee's cousin-in-law while standing there with his arm around her. That always makes me feel awful for her. And what's he checking me out for, anyway? She's beautiful.

Things That Piss Me Off

If I want to shop for porn, it's not anyone's business from the local church. They really ought to focus their attentions on something that might actually be dangerous and damaging. But god forbid people show an interest in sexual things. The god-fearing types don't like that. I would send them a postcard in return: "Wasn't aware of your church. Much prefer my bedroom for achieving religious experience."
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=2026&ncid=2026&e=1&u=/latimes_ts/20040125/ts_latimes/texaschurchcardspeoplewhopatronizeadultstores

Things That Cause a Crisis

We leave for Grandma Helen's funeral tomorrow. Today I try on all of my black clothes, knowing that I'll need two outfits, one for the six hours of viewing on Tuesday and one for the funeral on Wednesday. Absolutely none of my black skirts fit, with the exception of my miniskirt, which looks great with black boots, but isn't exactly a respectful funeral look. And of all of my black pants, I only had two pairs that fit, one very casual and one sort-of-dressy. This is awful. I don't understand how I can work out all the time like I do and still be gaining weight around my formerly tiny waist, even if it is partly due to the Celexa as I suspect. I definitely need to start focusing on cardio workouts. Only cardio will burn fat. I'll just try to ignore the fact that I hate cardio workouts. After all, I did just purchase a bikini and I am going to Kauai in April. I really ought to do something so I'll be able to wear the darned thing.

I can't believe we're flying back east in 14-degree temps and snowy conditions. This is probably the worst possible time to have to go back to NJ. Fashion be damned, I swear I'm wearing my parka for this thing. I can't handle the thought of freezing my butt off graveside.

It's hard to be so close to home and not be able to see my parents. Ok, mom would probably drive me nuts if I did see her, but I still feel really guilty for not finding a way to make it over there. I should make them come out here for a visit the next time. Rather than me flying home in March, they can come here. I know I have to be back east in June for K&J's wedding, so they'll see me then. I wonder if the same must-be-home-in-September rule still holds true now that I don't have to be there for grandmom's birthday?

I Just Want to be Loved...

Wasn't that a skit from SNL? "I just want to be loved, is that so wrong?" I feel like I really need something now. I'm in high anxiety mode. Maybe it's because of Grandma Helen's death, maybe it's the travel, maybe it's the knowledge that I'm going to be that much further behind with work and the studio and everything. I just want to spend the weekend cuddled up on the couch and feeling safe and secure. I don't feel that way right now. I feel alone and anxious. Playing with my little Emily next door helped a bit -- that child has the most contagious laugh -- but now that night has come it just feels dark and cold and lonely.

Helen was never alone. Five kids, 14 grandkids and 21 great-grandkids. Not a bad legacy. C says that's real immortality. So what does it say about me if I never have kids? What does it say about my grandmother with only one child and one grandchild? She would have loved it if I'd had kids. She would have loved to see that. But because I'm selfish I denied her that privilege. I never even gave her a granddog. She probably would have loved it just as much.

I've been told that women who say they don't want kids really do want them, they just don't want them with the person they're with. Is that true? Is it somehow my feelings toward C? Or some sort of fear that our relationship couldn't handle that? What happens when my body shuts down and the decision is made for me. Will I regret anything?

I can see a need for therapy resulting from that line of thought.

Who Am I Living With?

We got word last night that C's grandmother died. Since then, he's been wandering the house seeming completely distraught. This morning I said something about being sorry that she died and he responds with, "She was 91. What do you expect? It's just crappy timing. This means I have to miss the board meeting on Tuesday. I don't know what I'm going to do about that. Christ, this sucks."

Who is this man? He's not someone I know. He's not the guy I married, nor is he the same guy who lived in my house six months ago. What the hell is happening to him when missing work becomes more of a reason to be bummed out than the death of a family member?

Another

We just got word that C's grandma Helen has died. It wasn't unexpected. The irony is that she essentially died from the same thing that killed my grandmother, digestive system failure leading ultimately to starvation. It's sad, really. It's such a slow, lingering death. But, on the bright side, she didn't suffer as long as my grandmother did, plus her mind seemed to be going at the same rate as her body. She didn't realize that she wasn't eating or couldn't eat. I guess there's something to be said for blissful ignorance when things get bad.

Of course, it's hard on C's mother. She'd had Helen in a nursing home for more than a year, which alleviated some of the pressure, but it was still very traumatic and draining. Of course, I can sympathize because I watched it with my own mother and grandmother just three months ago.

Mary Kay

I went to a Mary Kay consultation tonight. No, it really doesn't seem like something I would do, but they have really good products for dry skin and I really need something for dry skin. So there's this group of four women and Gina, the consultant. The other three are makeup women. They do this regularly. I am the epitome of cosmetically inept. So as we go through things, Gina has to apply my makeup and do stuff for me. She gets me all done up and gives a little "ta-da!" All the women look up from what they're doing at their own individual makeup stations and they just stop talking. I'm starting to worry that she's done me up like a clown. Finally one of the women says, "oh my god, you're gorgeous." I must have blushed my way right past red, straight to purple. I didn't even know what to say, I just felt totally awkward. But when I looked in the mirror, I did look nice. A little overdone for my taste, but nice.

Politics

Since the 1998 death of my friend and Political Science professor, Chuck, I've largely abandoned political observation as a hobby. But there are times when I look at the current state of political affairs and I'm reasonably certain that he's pitching a fit in his grave.

I will try to keep my personal feelings about the current president to myself, except to say this: Barbara Bush, you seem like such a lovely lady. How could you have given birth to such a schmuck?

I won't dwell on the fact that the 2000 election was decided by the Supreme Court, a group of political appointees leaning in favor of the Republican presidents who nominated the majority of them. What I can't begin to imagine is how the election was so close to begin with. Gore had his flaws, I know, not the least of which was picking a man who believed deeply in his Jewish faith as his running mate. It's politically incorrect to say it, but we're an anti-Semitic nation. Lieberman wasn't going to make the cut, in spite of the fact that he's a smart guy. I don't know how that could still be relevant in 2000, but I really think it was, in much the same way that it's affecting the Lieberman campaign this time around.

What I will dwell on is the war. I thought that there would be moves towards an Iraqi invasion long before September 11. Unfortunately, the superbly well-executed plans of a group of terrorists opened the door and practically rolled out the red carpet for these plans. I don't believe that there was ever a threat from Saddam Hussein. Sure, there was undoubtedly a threat to his own people, but we're not typically in the business of toppling dictatorial regimes for the sake of the poor, starving souls within the borders. If we were, we would be constantly busy throughout the world. No, this was an excuse to avenge his father's unfinished business, and as long as we already had troops in Afghanistan... well, what harm would a little side war in Iraq cause, especially if we could convince the American people that this was all part of our grand War on Terror. Well guess what, boys and girls: we just barged in there, dropped bombs and made terrorists of ourselves. We have lost lives on both sides for no reason. We have lost the support and sympathy of nations worldwide. We have lied about weapons of mass destruction. And to what end? Every morning I wake up to NPR to hear the number of dead soldiers from the night before. This is wrong. I believe in the value of military sacrifice for the defense of your own country. I do not believe that it's worth losing your life to defend another's country.

Meanwhile, we have North Korea jumping up and down like a lonely child, desperate to prove that they have weapons of mass destruction to get just a bit of attention, and we're completely ignoring them. Is it because they don't have any oil reserves? Is it because Americans just assume that only people from the middle east are terrorists and must be destroyed? Are we, as a group, so narrow-minded as to just believe that the only bad people in the world are Arabs? I'm almost afraid to think that the answer might be yes.

So now it's election year again, and what have we got? A president who claims in his State of the Union speech that Iraq was thinking about developing a plan for WMD (which sounds to me like telling your boss, "I'm thinking about developing a plan to do some work"). We have an American electorate that doesn't have the interest or the savvy to understand that these words are bull. We have a handful of Democratic candidates, none of whom seem terribly strong. Dean is a hotheaded wild card, which brings to mind John McCain's candidacy four years ago, but without McCain's experience and political savvy. Edwards seems bright, personable, and young, almost on a JFK level... but that trial lawyer thing might be his downfall, since everyone universally hates lawyers. Kerry's a smart guy with military experience, but between his hair and his outspoken wife, he might be doomed. Leiberman: see above. Kucinich: trailing too far in the polls, but hopefully he'll find a wife as a result of his online contest. Clark: boy, that looked positive at the start, but he's been largely below the radar throughout the campaign. And the Rev. Al: man, you've got a sense of humor... you're not cut out to be president, but you can definitely get the rest of them talking. So it looks like the donkey has no head, and the party is just running in circles to try to find a leader.

I fear a Bush re-election. I worry that there are other places he might want to invade. I don't want to see him barreling his way through Cuba or Colombia, or god forbid, deciding to invade France because they don't agree with us. This is just perpetuating the image of our national arrogance. How can you explain to the rest of the world that you just don't agree with the direction our leadership has taken? That you're afraid of enduring a lifetime of backlash for one president's misguided visions of world domination?

I Thought I Was Bad

I was feeling sort of guilty about going to McDonalds for a Big Mac today, but when the guy next to me ordered the supersized double quarter pounder meal, two orders of McNuggets and a crispy chicken sandwich -- all for himself -- I didn't really feel so bad anymore. That's just an astonishing amount of food, especially when you consider that the supersized meal alone has a soda so big you could swim in it.

Hawaii

I finally went ahead and booked the trip to Kauai for April 9. I'll state for the record that while I am a practical girl, and I did get the cancel/change waiver with the trip, I will inflict great harm upon C if he tells me that he's too busy with work to go. I also did it the cheap way, staying away from the fancy resorts. I may kick myself later, but what am I in Hawaii for? The island or the room? It's nothing more than a bed and a shower for me.

But the whole booking process reminded me of our honeymoon, specifically the trip to Lanai.

If you haven't ever been to Lanai, it's deserted. The entire island used to be pineapple plantations, so there are these enormous expanses of nothingness. There are two resort hotels and a small town. Inspired by some sort of urge, we rented a Land Rover to explore off-road (there are only two roads: one between the resorts and the other to the airport). So we head up into the mountains on this rugged trail. It was foggy up there, as it tends to be, but being out in the middle of nowhere was really cool. We head up a little further, nearly through the cloud line, and we hit a puddle (no one had mentioned that it had been raining up there for two weeks straight, so we didn't know the depth of the puddle). We made it most of the way through, and then our mud-caked tires hit this mudslicked part of the road. The Land Rover started to slide to the side of the narrow trail, which dropped off into foggy nothingness pretty rapidly. So C starts to try to rock the Rover back onto the main aprt of the trail, but when you're dealing with a manual transmission in mud, things can get ugly pretty quickly. We kept sliding further and further towards the edge. I remained outwardly calm, but internally I was freaking out. It looked bad. One wheel was hanging off the edge, and the Rover kept sliding sideways. C kicks me out of the Rover with the gentle suggestion that perhaps I could gather twigs to stick under the wheels for traction. He told me later that he wanted me out because my side was the first to go over the edge, and I wouldn't be able to leap out to safety as he would.

So I go wandering off to gather sticks, all the while thinking, "How the heck am I going to call his parents and tell them that he went over the cliff and died?" and "For the rest of my life people will be speaking about me in whispers. 'There she is,' they'll say, 'married five days and already a widow.'" C gets out of the car to try his luck with the winch on the front of the Rover, but of course that's somehow stuck and won't unroll to be useful. We are, as they say, screwed. But I keep gathering and trying to find anything that we can use to help the cause (I did end up finding an abandoned rope, which we tied between the back bumper and a tree in the hopes that it would slow the Rover's fall and give C enough time to leap to safety).

We must have been up there for two hours, rocking the Rover back and forth millimeter by millimeter, tires spinning and exhausted from pushing. Finally it's back on the center of the trail. We're covered in mud, and I do mean covered. Spa treatments don't cover you in this much mud. But now, we have to go back through the puddle to get down. How the hell are we going to do that? This was when I learned that it was handy to travel with an engineer. He pulled out a folding shovel from the toolkit and started to build a channel to drain the puddle down the side of the hill. It wasn't until we heard the water running over the edge and cascading a jillion feet below that we realized the level of danger that we had faced (a later look at a brochure we found on another island mentioned that "people have fallen to their deaths off the 2,000 foot drop from the top of Munro trail." Oh shit!) The puddle eventually drained itself and we proceeded slowly down the hill and spent the rest of the day exhausted on the beach. I wonder if they were curious about what had happened to us when we returned the Rover, caked with mud on all surfaces inside and out. They must have had a beast of a time getting that thing clean.

C says that was the day he knew with ultimate conviction that he picked a good wife. It's always good to have one who stays clearheaded in times of crisis. For example, his mother would have sat there and cried. Mine would have complained about everything that was being done. I suppose I'm a good catch after all.

Morning Mail

Sifting through my inbox this morning, I realized that I got nothing but messages telling me that I needed to enlarge my penis and that I really need Viagra. Am I supposed to have a penis? I think women have the best deal: we can just go out and get one whenever we want it.

Adjustments

Just as I get used to being home alone, C comes back from his business trip. It's not that I want him to stay away, it's just that all of the coming and going throws me off.

Monogamy

If you ever have time, go to the website for NPR's This American Life and search for the monogamy episode. It's worth listening to. Istanbul.

Is it Possible?

Do people really lack the understanding that plastic surgery is still surgery? I don't get it. I'm personally putting off my wisdom teeth and lasik until I can find a really good medical necessity for it to be done. I just can't justify the anesthesia and the pain and the risk. Which is why liposuction, tummy tucks and boob jobs are completely out of the question for me. I think that the only way I'd get my boobs done is as part of reconstructive surgery after a mastectomy. That's the closest it can come to medical necessity. And while I'm starting to notice the downward slide into wrinkles and crows feet, I just can't imagine that I'd ever willingly have a face lift. I think I'm just going to have to be an old hag with boobs to my knees and a face like a prune.

"The Lack of the Tumor Really Suits Her"

I can't even begin to wrap my brain around the concept of a tumor weighing 175 pounds.

The Food Pyramid

Ok, I'm trying to eat a little healthier -- more fruits and veggies, less chocolate and cheeseburgers. Have you ever looked at the food pyramid? I can't possibly eat according to its plan. I would need three or four extra meals in my day to fit in all of these servings. 2-4 fruits. Ok, yesterday I did 4. But I'm also supposed to be eating 3-5 veggies. I managed 1. How the hell is this supposed to work out? And the brad/rice/cereal group is really supposed to be whole grain, not the refined white flour that everything is made of. It would really take a tremendous amount of effort and focus to make it happen. I don't think I ever realized that before. I want to be healthy, but I don't want to be obsessed with food. No wonder dieters freak out.

Listening to the Lyrics

I was coming back from the accountant's office and actually listened to the lyrics of White Flag. I really like it.

I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,
I'll tell you that.
But if I didn't say it, I'd still have felt it
where's the sense in that?
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were

I will go down with this ship
I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be....

And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
All that was then
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on....

The Patch

C's grandmother is dying, a slow, prolonged death like my grandmother's was. Today they finally gave her a morphine patch to make her more comfortable. Why haven't they come up with a patch for the families?

When I went to the psychologist a few years back, she told me that stress -- emotional stress, job stress or whatever you might be experiencing -- actually triggers the same adrenaline-pumping fight or flight response as being chased by a tiger. The only difference is that in the old days, either you escaped the tiger or it ate you, but the moment would pass. Today, we go through much more prolonged responses, which our bodies are not designed for. When the adrenaline kicks in, it completely blocks the feel-good serotonin receptors, resulting in depression. This is why so many people are on antidepressants, to counteract the prolonged stress response. Of course, the better answer for your health would be to avoid the source of the stress, but I don't think that's practical in most situations.

Startled Awake

It's possible that I'm the only one that this happens to, but.... When I'm first dozing off at night, the sounds of things going on around me convert into really vivid half-dreams. For example, if you're talking to me while I'm falling asleep, I will completely incorporate what you're talking about into my drifty subconscious.

Last night I went to bed around 11:45. I was evidently just in that drifty state when midnight hit and brought with it the celebration of the lunar new year. Firecrackers were going off all around to chase away the evil spirits, and in my subconscious I was convinced that we were being attacked (this is what I get for reading Iraq war news right before bedtime). I woke up completely freaked out by it, as though I seriously thought that there was some sort of rebel army about to crash through my bedroom door. It took me a while to make sense of it all. When I finally started to fall asleep again, I remember thinking that I needed to wrap myself in the blankets really tightly for security, and when I woke up this morning I was completely tangled in flannel sheets and down comforter. The mind is a strange thing.

It Just Seems Wrong

There is a little girl at the school I volunteer at. She has a hyphenated last name. It's Honey-Beaver. Is that someone's idea of a cruel joke?

The Bitch

I'm having a real problem with a bitchy customer. She's driving me nuts. She left three voicemails at the studio this weekend, starting with mild abuse and ending with downright harassing. She was complaining that she didn't get a call back in spite of the fact that the outgoing message specifically says that messages are retrieved and returned during normal business hours (would you take that to mean Sunday morning?) She practically screamed at the voicemail that "the only reason you're not calling me back is because I'm fat!" Yeah, I have that voicemail that imprints every message with a date, time and weight of caller. As though that would be an issue for me. Even if I knew she was overweight, I'd be encouraging and supportive because I would be delighted if my own mother, also overweight, would have the nerve to come to the studio and take a class.

So she showed up for the class she wanted to take on Monday night and ripped into Mercy, who did her best to calm her, but mostly just got out of her way. I returned a call to the number she left three times on my voicemail and left a message.

Today I get another scathing voicemail about how I'm so unprofessional for not having called her back, blah, blah, blah. She leaves the number again and now the last digit is different from the other three messages. She's totally been fucking with me. I call back and this time get her voice and attitude on her machine, so I know it's the right one (how would I have thought before that she might have a husband whose voice is on the machine). I leave a message explaining the number issue (even taking the heat on it and claiming it to be my own mistake) and asking her to call me back if she has any questions. We'll see if she does. I'm dreading it. I don't really need to be yelled at.

I don't really care that she's giving me shit, and I know that Mercy can hold her own. However, if she makes things difficult for anyone else in the class, I'll be sure to throw her out in a heartbeat. Like that won't open me up to a "you kicked me out because I'm fat" lawsuit. No, I kicked your ass out because you're a verbally abusive bitch.

Sarah MacLachlan Is In My Head

I can't get "Fallen" out of my head. It's been there since Sunday.

We all begin with good intent
When love is raw and young
We believe that we could change ourselves
The past could be undone
But we carry on our backs the burden
That time always reveals
In the lonely light of morning
In the wound that would not heal
It's the bitter taste of losing everything
I've held so dear.

I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I've messed up
Been irrational
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so...

Valentines

Do you remember being a little kid and the great Valentine exchange at school? Everyone had those tiny little Valentine's cards that they handed out to everyone, and of course it meant absolutely nothing, although you'd be sure to send the coolest valentine from the box to the boy that you liked.

A friend and I were just discussing that and we've decided that we should go back to sending them again. Buy a box and mail them to distant friends. Or, even better, make your own from construction paper. Just be silly. Tell all your friends that you love them. I'm tempted to do it just for a laugh.

Of course, she's also suggested that perhaps there should also be a plan to send out formal invitations for sex:

"I, , cordially invite you to a weekend of fun and sex. No additional commitment or follow-up phone calls necessary. This is sheerly about the enjoyment of sex as a sport. Additional elements of the weekend may include home-cooked meals, long showers, silly movies on DVD and a significant amount of flirting. I will boost your ego and make you feel like the most powerful man in the world if you are so kind as to neglect to notice my cellulite. Please RSVP for this guaranteed action by ."

She thinks that she'd get some takers if they knew sex was guaranteed, although she also suspects that she'd get more than a few funny looks.

# posted by Ali : 11:41 AM

Duck

A couple in the waiting area for my flight received word that their good friend was killed in a plane crash on his way back from duck hunting. I thought it seemed like a bad idea to call anyone at an airport to tell them about a plane crash. But I felt really bad for these people, who were obviously completely distraught by the news. There's no place worse suited to shocking news and grieving than an airport lounge.

Fears

Over the last few days I've been very overwhelmed by money fears. I know I'm spending a fortune on the business and I'm starting to fear that I might not be able to ever make it back. There's so much I want to do with my life, so many places I want to see, and now, because of this foolish escapade, I probably won't have the money to do it. I just cashed in some stock options that I probably should put towards the business, but instead I'm going to blow it on a vacation to Kauai, if I can. I really need it. I'll ditch the plans for the fancy spa in Austin.

I'm also considering selling my car, if I can get decent money for it. I know that with all of the deals that new car dealers are offering, used car sales are down. But since my car is sort of hard to come by (red with a manual transmission), I'm hoping that someone will really want it. Maybe. But I'll be very disappointed to have to part with my heated seats that I love so much.

Anxiety -- especially money anxiety -- sucks.

I was shopping in Palm Springs this weekend and wanted to buy a ring. It wasn't anything fancy, just a thin sapphire and diamond channel-set band. I'd had a dream the night before that my grandmother's wedding ring sprouted this second ring (significant that sapphire is her birthstone and diamond is his? possibly). Anyway, I found one at Zales, nothing fancy. $240 on sale with an extra 40% off. I didn't buy it because I couldn't justify spending the money. I don't want to feel like this, especially when C just went out and spent $1000 on the new Canon digital Rebel SLR camera. He certainly isn't worrying about money, but I always do.

Palm Springs

So I accompanied C on a business trip this weekend. I'm in Palm Springs.

Let me explain the situation. C, an engineer, gets to participate in the national sales meeting every year. Why? I don't know. Why did I get to go as a marketing manager? It's just one of life's mysteries. Anyway, he invited me to come. For a few weeks he was nagging me to accomplany him. I said no until I realized that this was a long weekend (we have off for MLKing day), so I decided to drive down with him and fly back Monday night. I knew in advance that I'd be spending basically zero time with him because of his schedule, but I didn't care. It's warmer and sunnier here than it is at home, so why would I pass up a basically free weekend?

Midway between LA and Palm Springs, he says to me, "You know that you can't be seen this weekend, right?" I joked that I'd be part of covert ops and I'd wear camouflage and face paint. Nothing was said again until I was pulling into the driveway of the resort. As I headed for the registration area, he practically shouts, "No, no! Park over there!" I said I would as soon as I dropped him off with the bags and he says, "No, you have to park there now, before anyone sees you." I'm starting to get pissed. There are only 6 people here that know me, and all six are people who would, on occasion, hang out at my house, so it's not like any of them would care.

I park and wait while he checks in. And wait. And wait. Finally he comes back to the car and says, "I found a back way that you can go in so no one can see you." Now I'm REALLY getting pissed. Why the hell did I drive seven hours just to be treated like this? So we get to the room, he checks his agenda and (this nearly killed me) he says, "Ok, my first meeting starts in 20 minutes. Then there's a break from 5-6:30. Try to stay hidden during the break." It's at this point that I want to drive the cheap hotel pen through his chest. So I wait until he leaves for his meeting and promptly head for the gym to work out some aggression. This made me hungry, so I was out and away before I was in any danger of being "spotted".

Today, again, he lays out my schedule for me. I can be here at this time but not at that time. I should go out to a restaurant for breakfast rather than the lobbby coffee shop, "for obvious reasons." See, I don't think the reasons are quite as obvious as he does. He says, "but what would happen if I got busted?" Busted for what? For being married? I'm not costing them a cent. They're already paying for the room. I'm ordering no food, eating nothing from the minibar, paying for my own flight. What would there possibly be to bust him for? I mostly think that he's become a raging psychotic.

Next time I have a long weekend, I'm flying out of town to stay with friends. Any friends who want me. I'm taking volunteers. This is just ridiculous.

Let's hope that the spa day tomorrow makes it all worthwhile.

Found: One Mini Cassette Tape

I found this tape from V's mini cassette recorder from college. I have no idea why I have the tape, but listening to this snippet I can remember it like it's all happening around me again. I can see every expression, every gesture. Allow me to transcribe so I can toss it but still have a record of its existence.

To set the scene, it's the 20th birthday party of Kenny, which means that I'm still 19... maybe 18. Nearly everyone I know is there, including B. I'm talking with Birdman and that short girlfriend that he went out with for a few weeks. And V. Roll tape....

[background laughter and someone yelling something, probably "chug!" It picks up in the middle of something I'm saying. I remember being drunk, but I don't really sound like it.]
ME: ... come right over here and lie to my face again, like he always does.
V: [sort of talking over the last part of what I said] How can you be so sure he's lying?
ME: [laughing] Body language, babe. Look... look at him. He can't take his eyes off Katie. He just wants to score with her for the thrill of the chase.
BIRDMAN: So why are you with him?
ME: I'm not with-him with him. He's still trying the chase with me. It's...
BIRDMAN: It's been two years...
ME: ... off and on, a day or two here and there whenever he visits V, yeah.
BIRDMAN: And nothing?
ME: I'm waiting to see how long this can go on for.
V: [muttering] Heartless bitch.
ME: Why? Because I know that he's just looking for another name on his list? The only reason he keeps coming back is because...
V: He says he loves you...
ME: ... he thinks that maybe this time he'll get laid...
V: ... and why would he say that if he didn't...
ME: Because he thinks that's what I want to hear.
BIRDMAN: He drives you crazy
GIRL: Is this that blonde guy?
BIRDMAN: Yes
ME: He's like a really bad drug.
BIRDMAN: How?
ME: He wants me to be addicted. He wants me to fall for it.
BIRDMAN: What if he loves you?
ME: He doesn't. [you can hear me turn away from the recorder] Jesus, look at him casually brushing up against Jenn. He'd do her in the bathroom right now if...
V: No he wouldn't!
ME: ... he had the chance. Ooh! [you hear me smack Birdman on the arm] Look, they're going outside together. [editorial note: I remember watching him walk out, trying to look casual, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was looking. I turned my back. Why I wanted to perpetuate the illusion is beyond me.]

[insert several minutes of chatter, about how he calls me at 4am drunk and tells me he loves me, about how he knows that our kids will have my eyes, that he's got all of these plans for where we'll go and how he'll "treat me like a lady"... that was one of his favorite phrases. V defends him, as friends do, and says he's just confused, product of a broken home, that he really loves me and would be committed to me, that he knows I feel strongly about him too. I reply with something about adrenaline not being love, it's a fight or flight response, and I preferred to run than to fight.]

GIRL: He's back.
ME: That was quick.
V: He didn't do anything.
ME: Shirt's untucked.
V: It was before.
ME: Nope, you could see his pager before. [I remember V looking sort of startled that I noticed that] Now he's going to come over here and tell me that he loves me. Lying shit.
V: But he does...
ME: No. He doesn't. Not in the way I need to be loved.
BIRDMAN: How do you need to be loved?
ME: I need to trust that my boyfriend isn't getting fucked in the hallway by a Kappa with big tits.
GIRL: He's coming this way. [I make this strange laugh noise that sounds sort of like a snort]
B: There's my girl. [I laugh again, but this time it's really weak and phony. I was really hurt. I wanted him to love me, even though he was the worst possible guy on the planet for me]
BIRDMAN: What's up, B?
B: [wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, kissing my neck. bastard knew my weaknesses] Isn't this the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?
BIRDMAN: Well... [elbowed by Girl] I think I'd have to go with my Girl here...
B: Is there any wonder why I love her. Look at her. [I let out a noise that now sounds more like a pathetic whimper... get away from my neck before I lose my ability to stand, you jerk!] Lee, you're gorgeous. [another odd note: he never called me by my real name]
V: Anybody want another beer?
B: Get one for each of us. Come here. [he's kissing me] I love you.
ME: [a little too loudly] What did I tell you?
B: What did you tell who?
ME: I told them that you'd come over and say that.
B: It's true, baby, it's true. I love you. You're going to be my wife someday.
ME: Nope.
B: Oh yes you are.
ME: [weak laugh] What, do you need someone to stay at home with the kids while you go out and fuck anything that walks?
B: Heeeyyyy... what's going on?
ME: Like we don't know what just happened with you and Jenn.
B: What happened? I was out in the hall having a cigarette...
ME: Liar. You lying shithead. You haven't had a cigarette in nearly an hour....
B: Oh yeah? You sure about that?
ME: Yeah, I'm sure.
B: How do you know?
ME: I'd be able to taste it. You haven't been smoking. But you do have a lovely perfume on... is that Chanel No. 5?
B: What perfume?
ME: Jesus CHRIST, you lying piece of shit. Do you think I'm that stupid? Do you really think I don't know about Deb? And Carrie? And Anita? What about Beth?
B: That doesn't mean anything...
ME: Not to you maybe, but it does to me.
B: You're the only one I want...
ME: I can't trust you! I can't even trust you in a crowded room at a party! God forbid if I ever left you alone without supervision...
B: I didn't fuck her!
ME: Yes you did! [I'm really loud now. You can tell that the party has basically stopped to watch the show.] I'm not that stupid! [a voice says something in the distance]
B: Jesus fucking christ...
ME: What was that? [my voice has that singsongy tone of self-righteousness and beer] Can you repeat that?
VOICE: [quiet on tape, but audible] It was a blowjob. I nearly stumbled over them when I opened the door.
ME: [extremely self-righteous] Oh honey! I'm so sorry! How thoughtless of me to accuse you of fucking her. Now that I know it was just a blowjob...
B: Just shut up
ME: ... I mean, here I was thinking that something was going on...
B: SHUT UP, you fucking bitch.
ME: Oh, obviously you have every right to be angry...
B: Shut up!
ME: ... because after all, it must be deeply hurtful to be caught like that...
B: SHUT UP!
ME: ... especially after protesting your innocence...
B: Will you listen to me for just a minute?
ME: Oh, I'm listening.
B: [down on one knee] I'm willing to change for you...
ME: Get up.
B: I want to be the man you want me to be...
ME: As in not a liar?
B: I want to grow old with you...
ME: The way I feel right now you'll be lucky to grow old at all.
B: I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me? [the room falls silent, waiting. I reach down, touch his face.]
ME: B. Sweetheart. Darling. [I actually sound touched]
B: Anyone have champagne?
ME: Not so fast! [you hear a slap]
B: Jesus christ, you crazy fucking bitch!
ME: Let go of me! [he had my wrist]
B: What the fuck are you thinking?
ME: [practically growling] Let. Go. Of. Me.
B: No. [not taking no for an answer, I wrench my arm away]
ME: Fuck you. Fuck. You.
B: I love you. I don't know why, but I do.
ME: Too fucking bad. [there's a brief pause] Gentlemen, I'll be heading home for the evening. I'll see you tomorrow.
V: Do you want me to walk you home?
ME: No, I'll go alone.
B: You're not going anywhere.
ME: V, shut him up before I hit him again.

# posted by Ali : 9:20 PM

Why?

The question is not why they're still on the menu, but rather why they were on the menu in the first place.

US Arrogance

How irresponsible of the UN to release a report suggesting that fat and sugar can contribute to obesity. Clearly they don't know what they're talking about. I can see why the US Department of Health and Human Services would think that this was based on "faulty science". The fast food lobby must have been campaigning hard against this one!

Italian Vanity

I love the Italians. Really, I do. There's just something fabulous about a country where the leader vanishes for a month to have plastic surgery. The entire country is disorganized, but they care enough about beauty to keep their faces in proper order. There's something fabulously delightful about that.

The Shower

I just don't regard the shower with the proper level of reverence. Usually it's a means to an end, a rushed morning experience. But tonight I stood there until the hot water ran out. I actually shaved my legs, even the backs of my thighs (which typically fall into the category of "why should I bother with something I can't see?") I let the steam open up my cold-stuffed nose. Granted my head still feels like a pressure cooker ready to blow, but I'm warm and relaxed. There's an incredible value to that sort of thing, especially at the end of the day. I could make a habit of this.

Can't Say I Miss It

I don't miss the ugly weather of the northeast. I know it's hard to imagine, but it's true. While I'm sure I seem like the kind of girl who would revel in frostbite-producing weather, I'd really much prefer a tropical climate.

I'd Know That Voice Anywhere

Of course, whenever I'm walking through a department store and hear voices in my head telling me to kill the foreign minister, I automatically know that it's the voice of Jesus talking.

Yeah, it's always those major figures in religious iconography that are always encouraging people to kill. I'm sure that omnipotent beings have nothing else to do with their time.

These are the kind of acts and statements that make many people want to keep their distance from those who label themselves to be religious.

Sorry, Boys

Looks like you'll have to figure out your own techniques for wife beating. Lessons just aren't acceptable anymore.

Never Really Moved On

I can say, with absolute certainty, that I'm not the person that I once was, or the person that they remember. I can say that a thousand lifetimes have passed since then, and that none of it matters. And then, in a flash, something is said and I come rushing back. I can see Christine in her prom dress, laughing and happy with Chris, as though we're all there in the duPont at that moment. And then my mind screeches to a stop when I realize that her car spun out of control, killing her long before she had time to worry about turning 30. I can hear Jenn singing Johnny B. Goode on the bus ride back from basketball games -- I can actually hear her voice and see her face -- and wonder what her last minutes were like before she OD'd on heroin on Easter Sunday. I can feel the hard wood of the bleachers and the squeak of high-tops on the hardwood at basketball games, and the painful shyness I felt as the guys all walked past me to talk to the pretty girls. I can see the golden autumn sun setting behind the goal as Kevin kicks the soccer ball downfield. I can see Debbie slitting her wrists open in the girls' bathroom. I can hear Jen talking about her abortion in sophomore gym class. I can remember that first kiss with Lou which wasn't anything special except for the joy that someone -- granted, it was only Lou -- but someone actually liked me.

College was the same way. Porter. What the hell was that about anyway? He would never be seen with me outside the building, like he was ashamed of me. That was a winner. And Brian. If I knew, even for a minute, what went on in his head for all of those months... but I did know. It was all about the chase, and I could be enough of an ice princess to keep him at arm's length. But did he know how he got under my skin? Did he know that I practically melted when I heard his voice on the phone? I can feel the adrenaline now, just like it was yesterday. But each meeting, each phone call left me more dazed and confused than the last.

It's like some magnetic force that pulls me back and for moments leaves me as awkward and intimidated and nerdy as I always was, always watching from the outside like it was some sort of movie happening around me, but never to me. And when it happens it's like the last 15 years mean nothing. I've accomplished nothing, I've learned nothing. I'm just a lost teenager with braces and a bad habit of biting her nails from nervousness.

The psychic at the J&J picnic told me that I would find my happiness with someone who respected my intelligence, someone who was technical to complement my artsy side, someone that I could consider a friend first and foremost. I got that. But it's eight years later and my artsy side isn't so artsy anymore, and I'd like to be thought of as sexy as much as I'd like to be smart. And sometimes I feel as awkward and nerdy as the girl at the basketball games, as detached as the one who just stared silently, dispassionately when she heard the news of her classmates' deaths. So how far have I come, really? Do we ever really move on, or are we constantly treading water above the rising tide of experience that we can't ever really break free from that keeps pulling us down to the bottom.

I think maybe I forgot to take my antidepressants.

Am I Weird?

I called to schedule two treatments at the Palm Springs spa for this weekend. One is a sea salt body scrub or something like that, and the other is a facial. The scheduling lady asked if I had a gender preference for my salt scrubber. I said that I didn't. She was shocked and somewhat horrified. "Are you sure you don't want to request a woman?" I told her I just wanted it to be done well. Gender didn't matter. She seemed totally creeped out by the thought that I'd let a man touch me. Interesting. Maybe I'm just a weirdo. Granted, there are certain men I'd prefer to have touching me than others, but I'm willing to take my chances. It will be interesting to see who she sets me up with. Would I be lucky enough to get a tall blonde with nice eyes?

C thinks it's odd that I'd want to have a spa treatment done in the first place. It's not something I've ever done before, so I don't really know any better. I just thought it sounded nice. I had grand hopes to do a little more toning of my body before heading down to Palm Springs and spending two days in a swimsuit, but having this killer cold puts a damper on things. Oh well. I'll just look like this for this weekend and I'll work out to look better before the trip to Hawaii that I've only planned in my head but hope to take nonetheless. I just wish I knew where my abs went. I do pilates four times a week and can't find my abs. That's sad. I'll blame the excess weight on the Celexa. I never had this problem before I started on the antidepressants. Congratulations! You're no longer sad all the time, but your pants will all be tight around the waist from now on. Yuck.

Are You Cheating?

I like the thought that you could be cheating without knowing it.

Dreaming

Still dreaming of going here. It would be my first solo vacation ever. I really want to do that.

I actually have this fear that I'm going to end up pregnant and then my options are over. No long weekends alone at a spa. No chance to pick up a hot guy and have random sex. Life will revolve around diaper bags and Dr. Seuss. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just that it limits a lot of things that I still want to do. C will always be able to do what he wants. Men always can. It's the woman's life that changes permanently.

If only I'd known about the freedom of sex thing in past years. That would have made a difference. I would have felt differently about my ability to pursue other relationships.

Chicken Soup

Nothing like having a major cold to remind you of another major cold.... It was eight years ago and I'd just started dating C. I was up at the condo visiting him for the weekend, even though I felt like crap and really should have stayed home. He left me on the couch, tucked me in with a blanket, and told me he was going to the store so he could make me some chicken soup. I fell asleep before he got home. When I woke up hours later, he was putting the finishing touches on the soup... homemade soup. Like with a real chicken. I'd never had anyone make soup for me before. Even my mother was a Campbell's chicken noodle person. I was so amazingly touched by the whole gesture, even though I couldn't taste a thing.

Nostrils

Nostrils just don't get any respect for all the work that they do. It isn't until you develop the cold from hell that you realize how important and hardworking they are. I, for one, am currently singing the praises of the left nostril in particular, as it's now shut down completely. Without it, life is just a mess.

Dress

Maybe I should get a dress like this for my brother-in-law's wedding. Wouldn't that just send the family off the deep end?

Sex and Health

Time magazine says that sex can make you healthy. Since I have a bad cold today, does that mean I'm not getting enough? Damn. I'm going to have to do something about that. Right after my runny nose and sinus pressured head slam down on the keyboard from exhaustion.

What If?

It's recently occurred to me that it's entirely possible that there are some people in my life that I might never see again. Circumstances are such that distance and time zones might keep us apart permanently. This completely freaks me out. I know we've barely seen each other in recent years, but I always assumed that our next meeting could be right around the corner. But it isn't, and it might never be. What would I do then?

Lymph Nodes

Post-surgery information on Aunt Grace says that the breast cancer was also in her lymph nodes, just like grandmom's was. What I can't understand is why they didn't do a spot biopsy on the node while she was on the table and then remove them while she was there. Instead she's going to need chemo, and when you're 83 and have a pacemaker, chemo is really harsh (not that it's ever a picnic). I feel bad for her. I would have wanted them to take everything they could all at once just to avoid a series of slow poisonings at the hands of the oncologist, but maybe I'm biased because I really don't know that I believe in chemotherapy anyway. The cure is worse than the disease with that one. I'm scared on her behalf. I don't want to see her suffer, in spite of all the acrimony and disagreement we've shared over the years (there are some days where I'm almost over the fact that she accused me of making my grandmother "anorexic" when it turned out that grandmom had acalasia and couldn't swallow anymore... where does she get off telling me that it's my fault? but I digress...).

Amazing

I just talked to the lady at the Diabetes Society about tomorrow's open house. She shared a little fact with me. In my county, the average kid in the middle school and high school age range (12-18) consumes 5 full-sugar regular sodas a day. To hell with the impact that this has on health and weight. We both think that if you factor in the sugar and caffeine that's associated with this behavior, you might find the root of most of the attention deficit disorder you see in these age groups. Can you imagine how revved up they must all be? It's no wonder that the schools are filled with kids that can't concentrate.

NPR

So on Forum, they're talking about women and uterine fibroid tumors. Evidently 1/3 of women have them, and there's been basically no research on the topic. Doctors just perform hysterectomies. A comment was made that this seems like gender inequality, that there's been no research on it. (My editorial comment: doesn't it make sense that since most researchers have historically been men, that the diseases they study are the ones that fundamentally affect them? Seems like an obvious situation to me. If we want research on women's illnesses, we need to have women researchers. End of story.) The male doc chimes in and says, "You better believe that if 1/3 of all men were walking around with giant tumors on their testicles, someone would have looked into it." Well, when you put it that way....

Which totally reminds me... when I used to go for private pilates lessons, my instructor's office was in a medical office building. There was a guy that I would sometimes pass in the hall. He was always wearing sweatpants, which only emphasized the fact that he had these enormously swollen testicles. Imagine two basketballs hanging out in your sweatpants and you've got the idea. Maybe they were tumors, I have no idea, but I couldn't even begin to imagine how uncomfortable he must have been.

"Absent an Armed Insurrection..."

This might be the best line ever by a secretary of state. Killington, VT wants to secede for tax reasons and join with the greener pastures of New Hampshire.

"Secretary of State Deborah Markowitz said Killington has little chance of secession 'absent an armed insurrection type of thing.'" There's something amusing about the thought of Killington skiiers staging a full armed revolt. Strange to think that this kind of behavior was how the US got started.

The Day From Hell

I have a headache. I've had it for 26 hours. This isn't your ordinary sinus headache. This is a light-sensitive, foul-mood, frightfully-intense headache. A friend suggested that an orgasm would fix it, but unfortunately he lives too far away to volunteer for the task.

So in this state, I go out to canvas the universe with open house flyers. I'm out in the parking lot of the Whole Foods, sticking these things under windshields, when the local law enforcement comes by and threatens to cite me $5000 (yes, that's five thousand dollars) for doing this. Lovely. In order to avoid my fine I have to collect all of the flyers from the parking lot. Of course, the bastard waited for me to have placed one on nearly every car in the lot. Thanks, officer. That was very helpful.

So with my raging headache and the fear of having to pay $5000 that I don't currently have, I went to my car and had a minor breakdown (it sounds pathetic, but at the time, crying was the only option). At that precise moment, C calls, and while he tried to be helpful, I didn't really want helpful. I wanted to cut my head off and make the pain stop. So now I have no idea how to advertise this thing since I'm now terrified of being busted and fined for my transgressions. It's possible that no one will show up. That will be depressing as hell.

Almost There

My open house to-do list is down to the following items:

1) buy tables and chairs
2) buy a TV/VCR combo
3) make copies of newly-revised schedule
4) distrubute flyers
5) find some sort of tablecloths for the display tables at the wellness fair

It's not that bad, really. The hard part is the distribution. It's raining, so the windshield distribution option isn't terribly practical. I could go door-to-door, but I don't have time to do that until tonight and I hate to be approaching people's houses in the dark. But I'll figure something out, one way or another.

Hanging by a Thread

Do I come by my depression and insanity naturally or what? Last night, I get a message on my machine from my mother. Keep in mind that my mother calls me two or three times a day, telling me minute details about crap that I couldn't care less about. So last night, I listen to this message. It was about three minutes long, so I'll summarize. "I just wanted to call and let you know that Aunt Grace made it through the surgery ok, although she did have problems with her blood pressure dropping in the recovery room. She's on the telemetry floor now. I just wanted to call and let you know, not that you care. Oh, and check in the pocket of that jacket I gave you for Christmas. There's something else on that receipt I have to return."

What's weird about this call? She never told me that Aunt Grace was having her surgery yesterday. I knew she had the mastectomy scheduled for January, but I never heard anything about an actual date. So I'm listening to this message absolutely shocked. I got really pissed about it. How can you talk to someone daily and neglect to mention that one of the key members of the family is having surgery? So this morning I leave a message for her about being shocked to hear her message the night before. She calls me back at lunchtime today and here's how the conversation goes:

Mom: I got your message.
Me: Yeah, imagine my shock.
Mom: Did you hear the second part of my message?
Me: What?
Mom: Did you find the receipt?
Me: Are you kidding?
Mom: About what?
Me: Christ, nothing. How's Grace?
Mom: Did you find the receipt?
Me: No! There's no receipt. How's Grace?
Mom: Shit. I thought you must have had it. I can't find it.
Me: It must be around your place somewhere. So how's Grace.
Mom: Are you sure you don't have it?
Me: 100% completely sure. There's no receipt. Could you tell me about Grace now?
Mom: What about her?
Me: Is she ok?
Mom: Oh, yeah, she's fine. I saw Dr. H today.
Me: Oh god, you didn't say anything did you?
Mom: I told him that I was very upset about the way he treated Mom.
Me: Oh god....
Mom: I just wished he had told me that she was dying....
Me: MOM! We ALL knew she was dying! You just didn't want to hear it!
Mom: (tears) No, I didn't know. I mean, I knew she wasn't doing well, but I had no idea that it was the end....
Me: (under my breath) Oh jesus christ....
Mom: ...because nobody told me anything, I just had no idea....
Me: MOM! Listen to me! There's just no way you couldn't have known!
Mom: ...and Dr. H said that he thought I knew, and I said I didn't know how it was possible that I didn't know....
Me: That's because you DID know. We ALL knew!

This conversation went on for nearly an hour, with her sobbing the entire time. I'm convinced that one of these days she's going to head into a full-fledged breakdown and won't be able to get out of bed anymore. It kills me to watch her revise history and come up with this strange fantasy world wherein my grandmother was perfectly healthy and just died suddenly. The whole thing frustrates me endlessly.

Goodbye

Philadelphia baseball legend Tug McGraw has died at the astonishingly young age of 59. I was never a fan of the Phillies, but Tug was such an all-around goofball that you couldn't help but like him. Philly is no doubt in a state of mourning that rivals the death of former mayor Frank Rizzo, which I recall as being handled with all of the seriousness of the death of a president or pope.

59 is just too young to die. Damned brain tumors.

What a Surprise

Let's see, stick around and be ambushed in the desert while sweating your ass off under two tons of gear, or get out and go home to your family in middle America. Is it any wonder that the Army can't keep soldiers? Honestly, in this sort of situation, I'll bet they're all wishing they'd enlisted as Navy. Nobody seems to be able to hit a carrier group with RPGs.

Bad Shoulders

Signs of aging:
1. Gray hair
2. Wrinkles
3. Falling asleep with your arm tucked under your pillow and waking up with a shoulder that makes you feel like a major league pitcher that's past his prime.

I have to go to the studio for a noon interview with the local paper. They're giving me some new year's press as a source of health and fitness in this era of resolutions. I guess it's a good thing. I just hope they don't bring a photographer.

I'm Easily Amused

To me, the Britney Spears news du jour is just too funny for words. Nothing says "drunk out of my fucking mind" quite like a Vegas wedding and annulment within 24 hours.

Can't Get My Ass In Gear

I've got something close to 100,000 things I need to do before my open house next Saturday, and I've accomplished none of them. I'm tired and hungry and mostly in a bad mood. This isn't how I want to spend my weekend.

Genealogy

I spent the last few days tracing family history and making lasagnas. The family history proved to be interesting. I learned that my maternal grandfather's father died before he was 7, and his mother remarried and was widowed again before the next census 10 years later. I also did some research for my in-laws and learned that her family isn't Polish, as thought, but is actually Czech and Russian. Regardless, they still have a damned good recipe for pierogies.