Tuesday, June 30, 2009


So the infamous reunion is just days away. Surprisingly it's been a quick couple of work days - yesterday frantic and non-stop, today steady and easy. Cece in Orenco can always tell how stressed I am by the size of my hair - apparently it gets bigger right along with my irritation level. I'm guessing yesterday it was pretty big. Tomorrow I am still in Beaverton, but on a different desk than today, a totally different one. And that's all I am going to say about that. I think my karma needs some work.

Anyway, I always seem to be a little bit more cranky in the days leading up to my vacations. Probably because I wait until the last minute to do everything. Like right now, for instance, I should be cleaning out my trunk or cleaning off the dining room table. But I'm not. Because it always gets done anyway, I figure this evening I'll just do laundry and chill out. It doesn't seem as hopeless if I plan the procrastination.

I'm having a hair issue right now, though. My regularly scheduled cut and color is set for this Friday - about the time I'll be drinking beer with blood relatives I haven't seen since the last funeral (and let's face it, chatting up my own siblings instead of them). My colorist isn't exactly the kind to be available at the last minute, so I called Evolution this morning to get some options. Because as much as I don't want to believe it, my gray is showing.

My colorist told me last time (when I asked her) that I am 70% gray, so now every hair on my body (well, not EVERY hair; so far some of it is still ... NOT gray) is coming in gray - the little hair that comes out on one part of my wrist (and has since forever), my eyebrows, my scalp (of course), the little random chin hair I have been getting since I was 26. It's pretty much all I see. I discussed my issue on chat with my sister in law Jill last night, and she told me there is some sort of crazy hair mascara situation that you can buy at a beauty supply store that is temporary color and hides the gray in a pinch. Because I have secretly been hoping that THIS time after 5 weeks I wouldn't have roots. But they're there. Turns out, my hair grows roughly 2 inches in that last week before color.

So at lunch today I ran down to the Sally Beauty Supply in Beaverton (oh my hell, it's ghetto) to see about this hair mascara. They had it, but it was like $20. I opted instead for the $6 kind that looks like lipstick. Brought it home. Tried it out. It's bad. It's like paste. It doesn't cover anything. And I am just going to have to live with the fact that I can't home-remedy my hair. I'll be calling Evolution tomorrow for Plan B and begging to get in for a root color.

And then Wednesday morning I'll pack up the lizzie, pick up my nephew, pick up Tom, and drive over the mountain toward Burns and beyond. Drink beer with blood relatives and get back to my roots for a few days.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

No regrets

Somewhere around age 31 I decided to live with a "regret nothing" policy. My late teens and twenties were pretty whacky, if I have to use a word to describe them. I wasn't one of those kids that had a real clear direction for my life; I started working for real money after classes at PCC and decided I liked real money and the things it would buy me. That was it. After that I pretty much went where the Universe threw me.

Over the years I have had friends who have, after a few months of friendship and probably many beers, confided that they don't want me to know about their past because it might change my opinion of them. My answer to that was, and remains, your past is what shapes you, and if you had done anything differently, you would not be the person you are today, and therefore, perhaps not someone I would have wanted to be friends with.

I recently interviewed for another position within my company. One of the questions that my interviewer asked was if there is anything that I regret having done, professionally or personally. He stumped me, and I admitted that I couldn't think of anything because of this policy that I had embraced years ago - regret nothing. I told him I would really have to think about it, because I have conditioned myself to not dwell on poor choices and to go forward and make the best of them, adapt to their outcome, and move forward (I think he liked my answer, he seemed somewhat stumped himself. Looking back, actually, it's a pretty good interview question. You can tell a lot about a person by their answer, which is pretty much what all interview questions are about - not the answer, but your reaction to the question. But I digress. Imagine.).

There are plenty of things I might have done differently, I think. Not that I WISH I had done differently, just things that might have changed my future if I had made different choices. Those choices I made are what they are, and ultimately, here I am because of them.

Have I made mistakes? Have I hurt people along the way because of my actions? Sure, because that's human nature. I don't think I ever meant any deliberate harm, I AM a good person, I think. There are casualities along the way, but that's not anything to regret - that's just life.

But sometimes I wonder where I would be now, what I would be doing, if things had been a little different along the way. Lately I have been wondering about one thing in particular, from a long time ago, and if things had been just a little bit different back then, one little situation tweaked a little bit more to the right or left, maybe this one thing would have turned out the way I wish it did.

But I know it doesn't work like that. You can't spend your life wondering "what if" - you pretty much have to believe you are in control of your destiny. Fake it, if you have to. That means trusting your decisions today and being content with the tomorrow those decisions create. Regret nothing, because it makes you the you you are today.

Sure I wish I didn't have so much debt, or that the clean-freak gene had been handed down to me, or even that I had someone to take out the garbage and kill the spiders. But every choice I have made over the years has placed me here, in this life, doing these things I do. And really, that's just fine with me.

Because I mostly like the me I am today.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009


I think I am ready to tell you about my Friday.

It started out well, like any Friday. Though I was at the KOIN and COULD have worn jeans, I decided against it. Still casual, just not jeans. And a black tshirt (this matters). And like any Friday, I drove through Starbucks for my Friday drink - iced venti half decaf peppermint white mocha with no whip (please)(this matters, too). The first couple of hours went well enough, too, though at that time I was sensing something was wrong in my not-work-related life (at that time I was only sensing it, now I know it to be true. But this isn't about that). Two hours in, and I still had about half of that coffee finished, I'm a slow sipper. I had an 11:00 signing and was just responding to an email from my friend Brianna when I picked up that drink and the rest of the day went horribly south.

So when the lid came off it was sort of in slow motion. What I did realize, seconds later while coffee was dripping down my chest, onto my shirt, INTO my shirt, and out of the bottom of my shirt, all over my pants, shoes, the floor in front of my chair, and the desk, was how little I must have actually drank. It was flipping everywhere (except, oddly enough, the keyboard and the hard drive on the floor). I calmly called out to Sheree if we had any paper towels, and when she finally looked at me it was clear I should have been in full panic. Oddly enough I wasn't. It was pretty much just shock. But seriously, I was covered. I was bathed in it. You know, milk, syrup, maybe a little bit of coffee. While Sheree and Whitney cleaned up the floor and the desk, I ran to the bathroom, stripped to the waist (I really had no choice) and gave myself a cowboy bath. I managed to clean up my clothing, but that wet wasn't going to dry in the 40 minutes before my signing. And I certainly couldn't run home to change or even get to the Nordstrom or Macy's. Fabulous.

The office smelled pretty fresh afterward though, so there's that.

I was having a bad ear day, too. My left ear has issues and some mornings it's practically deaf, but I deal with it. This Friday, too, though I was having contact lens issues in my right eye, so after my signing I decided to take it out and see what I could do with it. The culprit? A kitty hair. Under the lens. Not sure which kitty it belonged to, but there it was. With no contact lens solution, I made do and put the contact back in, but my eye was already irritated enough and as the day wore on I just slowly lost more and more vision.

Now, I don't know about you, but when I am hearing- and vision-impaired I tend to lose my equilibrium and run into things. It's not really anything new, but it's still annoying. I made it through lunch and most of the afternoon, but I also get kind of groggy when I lose my equilibrium, so the afternoon (devoid of all entertainment, I might add) kind of dragged on. I had a thousand things to do before Marsha's shower on Saturday (because I am a procrastinator), so I told Sheree I was leaving a little bit early.

On my way past her desk my sleeve caught on her name plate and tore. Not just a snag, or a little rip, but a big gaping hole in my elbow. Like beyond repair. So now I smell like milk and I look poor, I can't see, I can't hear, and I have to go to Party City. Oh, and drive. Somehow that wasn't the part that scared me.

I did leave around 4:30, and made it out of downtown and into the general Beaverton area unscathed. Even Party City and the Dollar Store weren't that bad. I thought I was home free when I pulled into my parking spot and made it to the front door. When I reached over to turn on the lamp, however, I knocked it over and in an effort to save the lightbulb that has been in my life literally since 2003, I dropped everything on the floor and grabbed the lamp's cord. Scared the kitties, but saved the lamp, and decided to NOT leave the house again.

Friday sucked. I'm guessing it's karma related, but if it is, I don't want to think about it.

Oh and PS. I was going to rant about something my brother in law shared with me today, but I don't think I will tonight. I've been power-tanning and I am a little bit worn out. I may have more energy in the morning. Because I do have an opinion. Oh yes I do.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Just another adventure tale to tell

The last couple of days I've seen Bernie Kosar in the news - not for anything great, apparently he is filing bankruptcy. And apparently that's news. Be that as it may, it brought back memories of my time in Cleveland.

I lived in Cleveland for about three and a half years, in the early to mid 1990s. Seems like I lived there longer than that... but I guess not. I'm pretty good with remembering landmark years. Anyway, I loved it. It was completely and totally different than the west coast. Things were older, more established. People talked about century homes. They had funny accents. And they looked at me and my then-fiance as some sort of crazy novelties. Of course, I dug that.

Why Cleveland from sunny Southern California, you ask? Well, Bernie Kosar, of course.

So my ex Gus was just this gigantic Cleveland Browns fan. Raised in Orange County, at the time he could have been a Rams fan, or even a Raiders fan (thank God he wasn't one of those, though). But he always liked Bernie and so the Browns it was. Gus and I worked together at a captive auto finance company in Costa Mesa. On the top of his computer were Browns action figures; he had a couple of Browns neckties he wore to work; his car had a Browns novelty plate on the front of it. He was totally down with them. It fascinated me, so when we first started dating I guess I jumped on his bandwagon (this was in the late 80s, when the Browns were actually winning games here and there).

When we moved in together and wallpapered the spare bedroom in Cleveland Browns wallpaper, I thought I might try to plant a seed. I've always been a big fan of sending away to various chambers of commerce for the newcomers' packets - I've always had itchy feet, wanting to move here or there to see what it's like. If you don't make a ton of money, newcomers' packets are a good way to while away the hours, imagining yourself in this strange new city (this was pre-internet, so I still had an imagination). I called the Cleveland Chamber of Commerce and found out they wanted $10 for the packet. $10! That was like $75 back then, and I thought there was no way I was going to convince Gus to go for it. So I opted for subliminal messages in the middle of the night. Seriously. When he was deep asleep (and snoring crazily, I might add), I'd whisper in his ear "Cleveland. You want to move to Cleveland." I was kind of tired of Southern California and the traffic and the not being able to wear sweaters that often, not the big bulky wool ones I love, and my job was getting boring and I wanted an adventure. Why not try to move somewhere new?

Apparently it worked. After about a week of waking up in the middle of the night and using my system, I asked him one morning if we could send off the $10 to Cleveland's chamber. He agreed (seriously, this was no small task. I was quite proud of myself), so I did. I remember when it came and how exciting it was to go over all the maps and brochures and demographics and other fun stuff included. We spent most evenings looking at neighborhoods and apartment complexes and wondering where, if we did move, we would find ourselves.

A few months later, a woman came in from Progressive Insurance to give a seminar to the collection staff about their skip-tracing unit. I did not attend - I wasn't a collector, though I was in the department as a supervisor of the repo, bankruptcy and customer service units. Turns out, Progressive is located in a suburb of Cleveland and this pretty much made Gus the happiest guy on the planet. After the seminar, he chewed this woman's ear about how much of a fan he was and how he was interested in relocating if he had a job. Was she hiring? She said no, but she knew a bank that was. He raced down the hall to tell me.

So here's how it works in my life: earlier that morning while on the way to work, I heard an ad on the radio that airlines were having a fare war - airfare deals to everywhere were very low. I remember hearing LA to Cleveland was in the neighborhood of $69 each way (sick low, and none of the ridiculous taxes you see on them these days). When he excitedly told me this woman could get us interviews at the bank, and I told him about the fare war, he was even more excited.

At lunch we had Chinese. My fortune cookie told me something along the lines of You are about to embark on a great adventure. Seriously. We got back to work and called our SCBBA president (Southern California Browns Backers Association) (duh) (he was from Cleveland) for some advice (I guess kind of like some people would call their priest for advice...) and Jeff told us that Bernie Kosar, his good friend, by the way, was hosting a golf tournament, and one particular Friday evening (wait. I'm just thinking back, and it could very well have been THIS VERY WEEKEND) (but 17 years ago. Wow. Is that weird? That's kind of weird.) was a benefit dinner where all manner of local celebrities and Browns would be in attendance. Jeff himself was going to be there. He could get us in for free at Bernie's table.

After I picked Gus off the floor (seriously, this was like the greatest day of his life, ever), I called a travel agent and booked the fare. The next day, a woman from National City Bank phoned us about interviews and we scheduled them. Isn't it funny how the universe sort of aligns everything for you? I mean everything was just in place. It was trippy and kind of scary but crazy exciting (and it was 1992 and I was 25 years old, not yet as bitter and jaded as I have since become). We booked a hotel on the west side and packed bags.

The interviews went well and the benefit dinner was an absolute blast. If Gus didn't recognize someone but thought he could be one person or another, he'd send me up to talk to them and then join me moments later once I had established who he was. I remember pissing off Ozzie Newsome by calling him someone else, but I was giddy and stupid and white so I didn't care, and neither did Gus, because we got to engage Ozzie in conversation (I was charming then, too). We met Bernie and his wife, and the whole evening was just a great night. After that we hit The Flats and more merriment ensued. The next day we walked all over the dang place, and found an apartment, in Strongsville, that we thought we would like to rent. We put in an application, and were told that a lot of Browns players lived there in season. Bliss. We also got tickets for an Indians game at Municipal Stadium, for free, from Steve Olin, who I went to high school with, and got to meet up with him after the game. It was a fantastic weekend.

A couple of days back in California, National City called and offered us jobs. We gave a month's notice and went about tying up loose ends and packing up house. It was fun and adventurous and God I miss that kind of stuff (wow this is getting really long).

The drive across country was just the beginning of a very fun time in my life. But I'm not going to tell you about that now. But I'm thinking that there is a reason for remembering and writing all this out, 17 years later. A lesson? Some sort of sign? I don't know. I'll keep you posted.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Because it's Friday, some light entertainment for you

I love Pandora Radio. I play it in the morning while I'm trying to paste myself into some semblance of presentability for the masses. I made a Gloria Estefan channel and I like it a lot.

It's Friday finally for the love of God and I'm feeling all relaxed and shit. So here is a little light entertainment for you. I love this song (not the vid so much, but the song). Enjoy.

Here's the English version, for those of you who prefer.

I just love her voice. I would almost give up my fabulous personality to have a voice like that.

Happy Friday to all of you who made it here with me!

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Middle of the week

And it feels like there is no end in sight. What's the difference between waking up on a Wednesday morning and waking up on a Thursday? It's still not Friday. Wednesday morning and the week still yawns ahead of you like it might as well be Tuesday.

I had a major (to me) bank card debacle this weekend. I don't know why me and bank cards don't get along. I mean, we have a perfectly good relationship when it's current and valid, but forget to change your address on line or throw the damn thing out a window when you're on hallucinogenics and the bastards turn their back on me.

The last bank card debacle happened to me while in Mexico. I think it was right around the time I started this blog. If I recall (and you go back to June 2005), I was just on the verge of finally receiving a replacement card from my bank (no small feat in Cancun, considering Federal Express is a privilege, not a right). I'd been without it for weeks. I never told the story of how I came to be cardless, so I will now. Maybe at the time I was still thinking (hoping) you all thought I was saint-like and spent all of my time down south volunteering (I did do a lot of that, I just did other things, too).

It all started with accepting an invite to go out with my friend and fellow blogger (I won't incriminate unless she chooses to acknowledge herself). It should be mentioned that I do not club. I think I used to go to Dakota's in the '80s and stand in line for hours to get in, but I was in my early 20s, so don't judge. Cancun has some clubs. I never liked to hang out in the hotel zone because there was no point to it, for a non-clubber. However, every now and again, I could be convinced to go do it. I've been in two clubs in Cancun, for as many times as I have been there/lived there, and one of them is out of business now.

So me and my friend went with her boyfriend to a club called La Boom. We didn't have to pay to get in because he knew people, which is one of the reasons I agreed. He also scored some shit ("Shit" is what I will call this particular party favor from here forward). I was somewhat fired up because I've done shit before, along with other experience-enhancing pharmaceuticals, and I wasn't worried about being in a controlled environment or if the shit was bad shit. I was looking for some fun.

And found it. We had a really good time. Until it really kicked in, coupled with the copious amounts of alcohol we didn't have to pay for and I needed to take a little break in the bathroom. We'd been at the club for a while, I believe, and I was really tired... anyway, I remember seeing my neighbor doing fake tattoos in there, on my way to the john, and I remember being in the stall for a while. I'm famous for houdini-ing (leaving without telling anyone), so after my little break I decided it would be a good time to get the hell out of there. So I did. Made my way to the taxi stand and "negotiated" a fare (it was at the beginning of the hotel zone, so how much could it be? Frankly, I have no idea).

So here's how it went down. I'm in the front seat babbling on and on to the taxista, which is what I do, when I started to prep my money situation. Mexican money feels different than US money. It would almost feel fake if you hadn't been living there and dealing with it for 7 months already. Or on some shit. I suddenly had it in my head that someone had gotten to my purse, taken all my real money and replaced it with fake money. I started throwing it out on the floor, saying, Oh my hell all my money is fake! I'm so sorry, I can't pay you! Somebody replaced all my money with this fake stuff! And then I found my debit card, which feels the same in the states as it does in Mexico, for the record, and proceeded to toss IT out the window. Yes, folks, I threw my debit card out the window. I didn't lose it, like I told my friend who had to facilitate the replacement card. I threw it out the window driving 70 km down Kukulkan Blvd.

The poor taxista was already freaking out because all of my money was on the floor of his cab. Now he was just dumbfounded. Couldn't get to SM 31 fast enough. When we did, he picked up all my money, took $15 MN (the fare for driving around centro), and shoved the rest back into my purse. Apparently I made it upstairs, took off my makeup, got ready for bed and even chatted on the phone with that same friend for a while.

The next morning I woke to realize my stupidity, and swore off mind-expanding drugs forever (but really, never say "forever"). Thus started the gigantic pain in the ass of me getting a replacement card. I had something like $1000 MN to my name and no way to get more until the new card came, and it literally took three weeks for that to happen. Maybe even a month. I can't remember anymore. All I know is that I had to do it twice and then pay for a Federal Express delivery, and then wait in my house forever for the delivery guy to show up. Which he did. And all was right with the world.

Because in Mexico, if all you have is $1000 MN, you can still do stuff, buy some things, eat, be fairly normal. Here, on the other hand, if you change the address online for your Visa cards and assume it means that changed your checking account address too, and don't look at it for a year, until your card is due to expire, and then find out that they already mailed it to your old address, and it won't forward, and you have to re-order it and don't realize that that will block the card in your wallet, you have to look like an idiot at the Babies-R-Us and just not do anything all weekend because you have no access to your cash. It's a nightmare. Fixable, but never the less, a nightmare.

I'm not sure where all this came from this morning, but here it is. Maybe I'm just looking for something to do other than go to work. Because it's a long way to Friday.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Not to beat a dead horse, or anything

but I rented "He's Just Not That Into You" last night. I guess it was kind of a stupid choice for me to begin with, but I wanted something light where I didn't have to think. I think you guys pretty much know the premise - dating in the oughts and how challenging relationships can be, yadda yadda. Seriously I won't get up on a soapbox about how ridiculous the whole theme itself is in terms of its target audience, but you probably know what I would say if I did.

For those of you have not seen it and plan to, I'm going to talk about it now, so you can choose to keep reading or not.

I will say this - it was a pretty A-List cast, which means that a lot of people really bought in to the whole premise, though I really felt pretty much everyone in it over-acted. I mean they could have done better. It was collectively too forced. Like maybe the idea of the script (based loosely on a non-fiction work that did pretty well and had some good basic things-to-keep-in-mind-when-you're-obsessing-over-a-man kind of advice) attracted these actors but by the time they actually committed to it and read the script they were sort of like, Okay, let's just get this over with.

Anyway I think they covered the gamut of situations in it, relationship-wise: the married woman, the single (oh so desperately single) gal terrified to be alone forever (I am not going to say the "s" word), the girl whose significant other refuses to be a husband, and the almost-trampy yoga instructor who is simultaneously stringing along a barely-male career guy and seducing a married guy for no real reason beyond because she can. Oh. And Drew Barrymore. I'm not sure what all that was about, except to tie up the loose end that is Eric from "Entourage" after the almost-tramp dumps him (neat and tidy, just like life.). You may now fit yourself into a category and enjoy the show.

Because after all, doesn't EVERYONE want to be married?

Wait. I said I wasn't going to get on a soap box OR beat a dead horse.

Here are some things that kind of bugged me throughout and caused me to pause the TV and go feed the cats or have a cigarette (never a good sign when I'm watching a movie):
- When the Jennifer Aniston character decides to break up with Ben Affleck because he doesn't believe in marriage, then goes and hangs with her sisters who are either already married or getting married, and they clearly pity her and her situation. And the rehearsal dinner where the creepy cousin is basically giving her all manner of shit for being single. Over a microphone. And everyone at the dinner looks all uncomfortable, like he's just announced that she's a felon or something, and she can't take it anymore and leaves the table. Come on. What kind of message is this sending?
- When the Jennifer Connolly character decides on divorce not because her husband is banging the tramp, but because he's been smoking behind her back. I mean, I know it's supposed to be all symbolic and shit, but there probably aren't a whole lot of cerebral people in the audience and by this time those that are have probably completely checked out mentally.
- Literally every scene with that chick from "Big Love". Her character was just painful to watch. Somebody, please, beat me over the head with something heavy if I ever get that desperate or pitiful (oh wait, I won't. Ever.).

Okay, so overall it wasn't TERRIBLE, it was just forced and a little all over the place and sent the message that being alone is a horrible, pathetic thing, so avoid it all costs. Oh and while you are out there trying to hold on to (or search for, or settle for) coupledom, remember that guys are wired differently than girls. Lesson delivered.

But I'm not going to beat a dead horse and tell you what I really think about THAT.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Sometimes, though, going out is good

Last night was way different than last Friday. I'll start by going back to last Monday at work - that Marsha sent an email out saying she had all manner of leftover burgers and stuff from a softball tournament that she has volunteered for almost forever and she and her man were hosting a barbecue on the coming Friday night. Would we (those of us that were emailed) like to come? And I, as I will routinely do at the beginning of a week, said, Sure! Why not? Marsha moved to Scappoose to live with said man, and I had yet to see her new digs. It was Monday, it sounded like a good idea at that time.

But because I am me, as the week grew shorter and filled itself with some of the exhausting things that it does (some mundane, some FANTASTIC. Simply FANTASTIC. Really. I'm just not going to get into it here but yeah, I couldn't have asked for better.), I started thinking, wow, I really would rather stay here with the kitlets and chill. It was tempting.

But instead, I grew a pair and went out.

I decided early in the week that I would never be drinking again (oh, relax. It's a figure of speech.), so I offered to drive anyone who thought they might imbibe. Scappoose is out there. So Friday it was arranged that I would drive out to Hillsboro, pick up Karen, and take the twisty-turny Cornelius Pass Road to Hwy 30 and points west.

The evening was actually really fun. I mean, I'm not surprised at all, these are good people, but it's just a really good thing to laugh (remember when it was a really great evening out when you got to make out with somebody? Well, if you're not drinking, then laughing really hard for a long time takes its place. Not that laughing AND making out with somebody isn't fantastic, it is, but at this stage of the game laughing is pretty awesome on its own). Was it far? Oh my hell it was far. I mean, it was like FURTHER than Scappoose. Was Cornelius Pass Road a hard road to drive on for someone as skittish as me? Um, yeah, especially on the way home in the dark (and I'd like to ask why you can't drive an 18-wheeler on Beaverton Hillsdale Hwy but you can sure as hell drive one on Cornelius Pass Road. Are you kidding me? It was like "Ice Road Truckers" minus the ice, and that was only because it's June. That is the most ridiculously dangerous road around here. I just don't get it.). But it was just a really fun evening, replete with good food, great conversation, stealthy goats and in the end more than a few mosquitos (but that just means it's Summer).

So there's a reason why I WILL go out again. Thanks to that Marsha and Stan for the hosting, and to one of the Steves for being so God damned funny about those goats.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

A word about spinsterhood

A long time ago, on this blog, I mentioned that I am a spinster, a "woman past the age of marriage", I do believe is how Websters defines it. When I used to tell the taxistas I was soltera, they would be shocked (or fake it, who knows, but it's not really culturally normal to have never been married by the time your in your 40s down there). I will quantify this by saying I have shacked up a couple of times, and it's not like I never get any action, but I like my life, and I don't think there is anything wrong with having never married.

I was engaged once, but honestly, when the subject came up about me either keeping my last name or making it like a middle name (hyphen-free), it pretty much was a deal-breaker. I'm all for tradition, but for God's sake, what was he looking for? A wife? Or me? We didn't break up because of that, but it has obviously stuck with me, so I imagine it bothered me enough to help along with the break up decision.

This evening I was at a jewelry party at Nicky's house, and we were laughing about how ridiculously conservative a couple of us are, and I (being the only single one there, and most definitely the only one who had never actually been married) mentioned that I have a whole structure of routines that I go through in the morning when I get myself ready to face the world. I wear the same jewelry every day, though I alternate between two necklaces (apparently I thought you should know this...), but, I explained, I can do that, because I'm a spinster.

I might as well have cursed. The reaction of these women was like I said a nasty word. Of course I laughed it off, like, come on, I didn't say the "C" word.. and then Christine proceeded to tell me a story about a friend of hers that also had never married and is in her mid-50s. She said, in a normal toned voice, "Suzy is also a spinster (the "spinster" part being completely whispered in my ear) and she's just loves her life!" Like I'm worried about this?

Sometimes I think when people find out I never dropped the hammer that I am bummed out about it or something. Or that I am just waiting, like any good spinster, crocheted afghan over my lap, for my knight in shining armour to knock on my door and take me away from all this. I'm not. I don't have children so my money is my own; if I don't want to clean the kitchen or vacuum, I just don't; if I run out of chonies and am still too lazy to do laundry I can run to the mall and get more. I have no obligations besides those I have to myself, and I am a pretty reasonable customer.

Do I want a man around? Sure, sometimes I do. I mean, I hate taking out the trash and always have, I can't kill spiders or bugs, and I tend to not change lightbulbs right away when they burn out. I have "needs" but I'm doing all right for the most part in that department. But nobody gives me shit for leaving my shoes all the hell over the place, and nobody gets irritated with the fact that I have to have the TV on to fall asleep, or that I like to listen to Barry Manilow now and again. If I don't want to shower on a Sunday, I don't have to impress anyone (and really, I was like that when I was shacked up too, so that isn't really a check on the single-side, it's just pretty much what you get with me). So having a man around would be good for a lot of reasons, I know, but there is an awful lot to be said for living life on your own terms.

So the next time you meet a woman who is older than 38 and has never taken the plunge, don't feel sorry for her. And don't be afraid to throw that spinster thing around. It's really not as bad as it sounds.

Monday, June 08, 2009

One less thing off my chest

I've been meaning to tell someone about this issue I've had for a while now, and since you're the only ones around right now, well, you'll have to hear it.

I hate that song by Fergie, "Big Girls Don't Cry". Motherfucking hate it.

And probably not for the same reasons most people do. I mean, it's sappy, sure, and her voice grosses me out just in normal music life. I am not a fan of her, I don't get her, I don't get why she's around or even know where she came from. I see pictures of her and it scares me and I have to change the channel/x out of People.com. But this song. Oh my hell.

First of all, she's all over the flipping map. It doesn't make a ton of sense, to me, because seriously, she goes from one end of the situation to another. Okay, I get that she, what? Just fucked this guy that doesn't like live where she does and he just left but she's glad because she needs some me time? Then why does she say "it's time for me to go home"? I thought HE was the one who left.

But I think the biggest issue I have with her is how she just keeps adding words to the end of her sentences. That whole "center gravity" thing would have been fine if she just stopped there. It rhymes and everything. But no, she has to add "peace serenity" and they aren't even necessary. My AP English teacher told me 26 years ago to cut out the "dead wood", unnecessary words have no value in anything worth reading. Or singing. She carries this theme of adding words to perfectly good, rhyming sentences throughout the whole song. "Like a little school mate in the school yard, we'll play jacks and Uno cards (okay, what?) - I'll be your best friend and you'll be my valentine - " Seriously. There is just WAY too much going on there. Way too much. It would have been completely fine without half that shit in there, and Uno cards? What the hell? I just don't get it. It drives me crazy. All the references to being a child, frankly it creeps me out. And though she's talking about him leaving, or her leaving, or whoever the hell it is that isn't there anymore, she suddenly launches into this whole thing about them being playmates and lovers, and oh my hell. Seriously creeps me out.

The hook ("I'm gonna miss you like a child misses her blanket but I've gotta get a move on with my life") is annoying enough, but if you listen to the song for any amount of time you'll see what I mean. Just nonsensical rambling (um, kinda like this blog) meant, clearly, to drive me out of my head.

Before you say, just don't listen to the song, you fool, let me just say that like any good train wreck, sometimes you just have to. And sometimes you have to because all the other stations are playing ads or news at that time, and I would much rather bitch about a poorly written pop song than listen to the news. You can rest assured that when it DOES come on, and I do the obligatory lap around the radio dial, and have no other choice but to listen to it, I'm bitching the entire time. Yelling at her. Yelling things like, "What are you getting at?" and "Stop talking!" in the general direction of the car stereo. Yes I look crazy. But I'm trying to make a point. Don't the other drivers see that?

Okay. I'm done. I hope that was enough for me to move on.

Saturday, June 06, 2009

Nothing productive.

So last night I met up with some friends at a bar or three, and it was great fun. Really. We had beers, and shots, and laughed a lot and it had all the makings of a fun night out, reminiscent of the way I used to go out. I drove home (like an idiot) but I made it, thanking God the entire way. I FELT fine, but you know, it doesn't take much to blow .08 so really, I shouldn't have done it.

But that's not why I never go out anymore.

I never go out anymore because I am a complete wuss the whole next day. I got up at 7:30am and moved directly to the sofa. I then fell asleep again until, oh, I don't know, 1:30? I ate something, what I don't know since I don't really HAVE anything here, and then screwed around on the cracktop for about an hour, then went and laid back down again at around 3:40. Woke up at about 6:15pm. Luckily it's sort of shitty out, but that wouldn't have made a difference. I still feel completely out of whack and a little like garbage, and I am trying to psyche myself out to go throw my hair up, put on some real clothes and go to the supermarket. Because seriously I have no food here.

Yes the day has been wasted, but I don't feel badly about that part, I just don't like feeling like shit anymore. So there's my lesson.

That's it, that's all I've got for you today. Nothing of value, nothing productive. Pretty much like my morning after today.

Wednesday, June 03, 2009

From Becky, to Becky

Tonight I had dinner with my good friend, Becky, and I was reminded of this picture she sent me the other day that (she and) I thought/think is flipping hilarious. Don't know the source, but whoever you are, I like your humor.

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

A very Brady reunion

Did I mention that spray tanning is crack? It's the crack of the tanning world. I had one left and kinda forgot about it, but the kid at the Raleigh Hills store talked me into it this evening. Still freaks me out, but I like it. It's crack. And tomorrow I'll have the fucked up feet to show for it.

I was supposed to go to Barbie's on Saturday, Sunday, Monday and tonight to do the last flyer for the reunion. Didn't happen. We have some final things to iron out, food-drink-activities, and then it's pretty much go-time. I'm not sure if I mentioned it or not, but we have a cousin who is also helping with the planning of this gig (and well she should, considering she lives over there). She's a super-fantastic Catholic and I think that side of the Joyce family is a little bit more family-togetherness-Brady-Bunch than this side. They're getting hats made. We are not. What do I want with a trucker cap that has my first name on it? Not anyone else's first name, mind you. I'd just look like a jackass in any other situation. I suppose they are planning to wear them at the parade in Vail on the 4th - the one where she is planning for everyone to sit in front of the Catholic church and root on the ... walkers? Floats? Oh yes, there will be floats - she suggested we do one. I told Tom and he was like ABSOLUTELY NOT. As was I, when Barbie told me. Come on. Who does she think we are? We've obviously lived far away from there long enough for them to NOT know just how cynical our side of the family is.

She is also the one that suggested that her side wear blue shirts and our side wear red. My niece Katie pointed out that we were representing the bloods and crips, which is both hilarious and surprising to me (I can't believe I didn't realize it myself, what with my unhealthy love of old school gangsta rap). Anyway so far two brothers and a sister have indicated that there is NO WAY IN HELL they are wearing red, and I concur. I am simply not going to do it. Barbie suggested red accessories - I don't think anyone will buy into that either. What are the boys going to do, carry hand bags? The whole thing is exhausting.

So Thursday we will meet and finalize this thing and then we'll pay a whole bunch of money and drive across the state to the desert in July and lay out in the sun and burn the shit out of our Irish asses and drink a whole bunch of beer and Jagermeister (I have a 25 year old nephew and I don't think it's right that he drink alone) and hang out with the really Catholic side of the family and come back over the mountain and tell stories about it. That's the way it will go.

In ant news, I ran the dishwasher Sunday and so far nothing has shown up. But I got home from work tonight and found some in the bathroom so I hosed that area down with the Ortho (it's a love/hate relationship, you know) and now the kitties want in there simply because the door is closed. Such is my work week: I go to work, I get the shit kicked out of me, I come home, I treat for ants, I blog about it.

And slowly turn colors...