Saturday, May 17, 2008

Random Thoughts

1. I meant to link to this post over at Shapely Prose last week. It gave me chills and I immediately printed it out and posted it up in my cube.

Check this bit:
"Can I speak to the experience of living in a much larger body? No. Am I fat enough to have faced discrimination and hatred, and to be motivated to fight against those things on behalf of all fat people? Hell, yes.

Exhibit A. I’m walking home from Pilates this afternoon, and I stop for a red light. Light turns green, I start walking across the intersection, and some asshole barrels around the corner, clearly not seeing me. I stop walking and he hits his brakes–with a resounding skreeee–at approximately the same time. We exchange dirty looks, and I take another step–just as asshole hits the gas again, intending to blow past me.

Me: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? IT’S A CROSSWALK!

Asshole: WELL THEN WHY DON’T YOU FUCKING WALK, YOU FUCKING WHALE?

Woman sitting at outdoor cafe across the street: WHAT THE–?

No kidding, lady.

Let’s review. This asshole didn’t look where he was going and nearly hit a pedestrian. Therefore, I deserve to be shamed for the size of my body.

Of course. That’s how it works.

Assholes like that do not look at me and think, “Hmm, she looks only slightly bigger than the average woman.” They do not yell, “YOU FUCKING MILD TO MODERATE CHUB!” They think, “fat chick.” And they yell, “YOU FUCKING WHALE!”


The whole piece is brilliant and spoke to me, as I get a lot of the "but, you're not fat" comments.

2. I mentioned in the wedding post that I felt really lovely and pretty that day and that people were very complimentary. Imagine how disappointed I was IN MYSELF when I saw some of the pictures and the FIRST thing I thought was "my arm looks so fat"????? Not, "wow, we look so happy" or "wow, that dress looked so great" or not, my old reliable, "hey, fab tits." No, the first thing I thought was, "my arm looks so fat." I did pull myself out of it, but I was disppointed that these are still the first things that fill my mind -- and that 59 people can tell me I look fantastic, but the one person who thinks I look like shit is me. It's all a process, but shit, man, this stuff is LONG.

3. Rather than totally beat myself up, I can say that I am 100% proud that I never dieted during the lead up to the wedding. I ran like a maniac and I went to the gym, but I ENJOY that. So, some parts of the process are working.

4. In other links, one of my favorite bloggers is getting married and she wrote the best fucking post about it. YG read it and said, "hey, that's totally us."

5. This was the first Saturday since December, maybe, that we didn't have anything to do. I ran some errands in the morning and then we went for a long walk around Fresh Pond and enjoyed some chips, guacamole and wine while reading magazines and lounging on the couch. I also caught up on two hours of Grey's Anatomy this morning when YG dropped the MG off at her mom's. It was a great day.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Funnies of the Evening

1. YG, upon hearing about the latest scandal on America's Next Top Model: "I didn't even want to watch this season and you sucked me in with the last three episodes. It's like watching the old Red Sox. You watch it, expecting it to be different, and then they only disappoint." You heard it here first, folks: ANTM...just like the Red Sox.

2. The MG is reading a "kid-friendly" version of Little Women where, get this, Beth doesn't die. WTF? We watched the movie with the MG so that she could see that Beth does indeed die and she was still confused and convinced it was a mistake. YG: "Look, she dies, okay? BETH DIES."

3. On discussing the scariness of a "kid-friendly" "classic" that elmimates major plot points, I told YG about the kid friendly versions of books I read when I was a kid. He asked what ones, and I mentioned The Prince and The Pauper, The Man in The Iron Mask, and The Count of Monte Crisco. "Monte Crisco?" he asked. And then we laughed and laughed. "Yeah," I said, "It's about this guy. He really likes fried sandwiches. With jam."

Topics for Discussion before Sex

YG: Remember that episode of South Park with Michael Jackson and Blanket?
Me: I can't believe he named his kid that. That kid's gonna be pissed when he grows up. 'Wait, you're Prince, and you're Paris, and I'm....Blanket?"
YG: Yeah, he's going to want to change his name. To Tito.
Me: Or Jermaine.
YG: I saw Jermaine Jackson in concert once.
Me: Seriously? Jermaine Jackson.
YG: Uh huh.
Me: Ha. Can I blog about that?
YG: Yeah, but you have to make sure that people know I didn't just go see Jermaine Jackson. He was the opening act for Cameo.
Me: Oh, don't worry. I will make CERTAIN that everyone knows you really went to see Cameo.
YG: Word up.

Cue the porny bass.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Recap: Wedding, Honeymoon and Yeah, Some Other Shit

So this is basically going to be a cut and paste from a bunch of stuff I wrote in my journal. I had grand plans of writing a brilliant piece about how wonderful everything was, and what it all means and the meaning of life and all that shit, but I don't work for Hallmark. And I've been busy. Note: this is why I am having trouble being a "working writer." Other note: it's because I'm lazy. Other other note: I must be having a good day because I refrained from adding, "and not that talented." Thank you, therapy.

Anyway.

Pre-Wedding
My last day in the office was the Thursday before the wedding, which also coincided with Take Your Kids To Work Day. I brought the MG to the office and let her see the magic shows, face painting and petting zoo that we totally have every single day in Corporate America. The folks at work had a sup rise shower for me which I totally didn't expect. It was really nice and sweet and like all showers, totally awkward because I don't know how to say "thank you" without sounding cheesy or insincere. I later thought about how I didn't know ANYONE when I first moved up to Massachusetts and how I've made really good friends at work and it was really nice of them to celebrate and how I should tell them that. But I didn't.

RS graciously took the MG for a play date that evening so that YG and I could pack and finish everything we needed to do. We did a lot of packing and celebrating (8 days off from work! Woo hoo!) and internal freaking out on my part (OMG -- tonight! Tonight is the night he realizes what a freak I am and calls this all off! Quick! Act normal).

On Friday, YG went bike riding and I took the MG into Boston for manicures and pedicures and had any and all hair removed from my body. This is important because I decided that later that day would be the best time to try out my new "no rub" running shorts. No rub? Mucho chub rub. And on already red, raw waxed chubby thighs? Not good. I spent the last mile of my run alternately yanking the shorts out of my crotch and pouring cold water on my thighs. Wicked hawt. I was whimpering (for reals) and limping around the corner when I saw that my parents and grandparents had already arrived to pick up the enormous boxes of flowers that had been delivered that morning. And then we were off! There is absolutely nothing relaxing about my family. Nothing. I was happy to see them, but their arrival signaled that the frenzy was officially beginning.

I took a shower, iced my sexy thighs, free based some Advil and then we dragged all the flower boxes across town to The Marlowe set up, and to partake in the hotel's free happy hour. I spent about 3 seconds with my folks listening to them argue about the best way to unpack boxes that all come packed with a sheet that says "Best Way to Unpack This Flower Box" and went downstairs for my wine. YG's friend, MCubed, joined us and got to witness the frenzy and VOLUME that is Mcmani. And there was more arguing about the best way to get to the Back Bay train station when the hotel had already laid out, "here is the best way to get to the Back Bay station" and then more wine and then more arguing. You get the picture.

The MG and I went home and she played on the computer and I watched Grey's Anatomy and then we took the bus and met everyone for dinner at Henrietta's Table . My aunt, uncle, mom, dad, nana, brother, sister, brother's SO, and cousins were there, along with some family friends. I had the polenta. It was awesome. I had Seven Deadly Zins. It was also awesome. We had a Kids Table and an Adults Table. I ended up at the Adults Table. I blame this on YG's advanced age. We had a good time and then retired for the evening.

Wedding Proper

For whatever reason, I felt the need to catalog the entire day in my journal, right down to what we ate. BORING. But I guess I wanted to remember all the details of my SPECIAL DAAAAY.

We all woke early and hung out at home, eating breakfast as usual. The MG and I went to get our hair done at Carriage House while YG went to Diesel for coffee and to read and write in his journal. I'm sure his journal is filled with all sorts of deep thoughts and not all "and the oatmeal was good." It took almost two hours to do my hair, pincurled, fluffed, and then tiara-ed. The MG got a blow out and a cute updo and then sat reading US Weekly and all the kinds of women's magazines that will give her hang ups later on. I am starting my positive parenting early.

We went home and had some cardboard (read: whole wheat) pasta for lunch, and I sexed up my special day by paying bills and playing with the cats. The thing I remember most about that day was how SLOW the early part was moving -- it seemed liked the weeks and months before had flown by and then that morning, time was just stalled. I wasn't feeling nervous, just sort of out of my body and like I should be doing something to recognize "the moment." I suppose procrastinators would be using that time to pack, but we were essentially ready.

YG bought us presents -- a ring for the MG (one of his rings that his dad had given him) and new journal for the house for us. When we were long-distance, we used to send snail mail letters and cards all the time. That evolved into a house journal where we write things to each other whenever the mood strikes. The new one is Japanese-inspired and was wrapped in paper with the Eiffel Tower on it. I'm pretty lucky.

The Marlowe called around 1 to tell us that our room was ready, so we trekked across town again with all of our stuff and to get our room. As we were pulling up, we noticed two people lounging outside in the sun on the chaises -- that would be my mom and nana. We ended up with one of the Marlowe's fancier suites. Check this out:




I went downstairs to help my mom get the centerpieces prepared and help everyone "manage." Our event manager told me, "your mother seems to have a very ....artistic temperment" which was a nice way of putting it. Heh. We ate some potato chips and I had the first caffeine I had consumed in over a month (oh Diet Coke -- how I've missed you!). Then hair, make up, and meeting the photographer.

We took a bunch of inside and outdoor shots. It was a gorgeous day and scads of walkers and runners congratulated us as they passed by on the running path. We ran into a bunch of our guests on the way back in and then met with Dan, our minister, to calm down and focus before the ceremony.

I went back to my room to get my flowers and reapply lipstick and put on different underwear (note to future brides: underwear is important. Don't wait until the day of the wedding to find out the only beige underwear you have is some big ass granny pair and the smallest thong ever that you probably bought circa 1996). YG went down to meet Dan, and the MG and I waited for my dad who was already crying when he got to the door. Thank you Jesus for waterproof mascara. We went downstairs and milled about a bit waiting for my aunt is who is ALWAYS late, and my dad and my brother tried to help my cousin put on his tie. I was moderately sweaty. Then the music started.

Birds and Ships was first because it's our song in a way. And then the MG's entrance. And then me. It's kind of blurry from there. The music was perfect, and Dan was awesome as usual. Our siblings did great with the readings. And then we were married. Holy shit!

We did the whole receiving line. Tyra-Fierce photo courtesy of SKB:



Lots of people told me I looked pretty, which was all "aw shucks" and awesome since I had been worried about the dress for weeks. It didn't fit before I went to San Francisco so I ran like a maniac for a month to ensure that my jugs would be probably encased. Plus, I felt very pretty and happy and glowy too. And YG looked fantastic. But he always does. He's a cute one.

The cocktail hour was fun, although the socializing part seriously cut into the "let me stuff my face" portion of the evening. I had a few gin and tonics, and will be forever grateful to NN for bringing me the plate of Italian meats because mmmmm...salted pork. I'm glad I talked to everyone during cocktail hour because I didn't do much beyond eating and dancing after that. The toasts were great. My mom was my mom. YG's dad was his dad. And the MG surprised us all with the best, and most unexpected toast, of the night about how happy she was that we were together and that I was going to be her stepmom. Awesome.

Other things that were awesome:
* The cake.


* The food.
* The super expensive champagne for YG and I.
* All of friends from all aspects of our life in one place.
* All the dancing.
* And more dancing.
* And MORE dancing.
* Both sets of siblings meeting each other.
* My sister's karaoke version of "Pour Some Sugar on Me"
* The fact that my parents like to dance to "Sexy Back"
* Journey? Seriously, WTF? Awesome.
* Phil's lap dances, and the Syracuse crew back together again.
* SKB's impromptu operatics. Or drunk SKB in general.
* All of my "Internet friends" -- AG coming from Ireland, and RK and APL respectively trekking up.
* All our fun work friends.
* Did I mention the dancing?

It went by quickly, but not too quickly. Afterwards we went to the bar in the hotel and hung out for a while before retiring upstairs, exhausted. We made fun of the fur-lined bedspread and the leopard-print robes. I promised YG that I would not post pictures of him doing model-y poses in said robe on said bedspread, but I didn't promise that I wouldn't write about it. Hilarity ensued!

The next day, my aunt hosted a breakfast in the hotel and we had some more "hang out" time with our out-of-town guests. It's sad that it takes a "life event" to get everyone together, but I'm grateful for the time that we had with everyone. We still don't have pictures from the photographer, but BB and Phil took a bunch of pictures so I'll just link to them for now.

Honeymoon

If you're still with me, I'm amazed. That's some long-ass details. Now I'm just going to copy and paste from my journal. Again, I did a lot of cataloging. I don't normally do that -- I usually just jot down notes about things that I'd like to write about later and then never do. But I wanted to remember this trip.

May 1,2008: 10:25 a.m. Balcony on Le Meridien in Nice, overlooking The Promonade de Anglais and the sea which always is an indescribable aqua blue color even when it's gray outside. The "beach" is gray and rocky, and beach chairs and blue and white umbrellas line up along it. There are lots of bikers, runners and walkers along the promenade and enormous palm trees. It is sunny today, in the high 60s, and you can walk around in a light sweater and jeans. Yesterday, it poured. On Tuesday, we laid on the beach on yellow and white striped towels and dipped our feet in the sea. Then we swam in the pool on the hotel's rooftop and read and drank coffee and win. We met two waiters named Julien which is maybe a sign that I may someday have a baby boy as that's my favorite boy name. We watched some sort of student protest -- hundreds marching down the promenade -- from our balcony. I ate crepes with nutella. We ate Italian food at Taverna Massena twice -- pasta arrabiata and aubergine pizza. Someone is on the promenade with a megaphone right now. Everyone -- with the exception of one guy at the airport -- knows that we are Americans right away. We found a small bistro yesterday in old town and had tapanade and ratatouille, and walked up to the Russian Cathedral. We went to Monte Carlo and lost money on the slot machines and ate dinner at the Cafe du Pari -- steak and saffron risotto. Every morning, we ate french bread and jam that you bought at a nearby grocery door. We bought champagne at a wine shop and drank it in our room. We ate pizza at Queenie and read. We people watched. And now we are off to Paris. It still feels a bit unreal to be in France. With my HUSBAND. Hold shit. We are married now. I do feel very, very lucky and am grateful for the chance to make a marriage work.


That was Nice. Then we were off to Paris.

"May 4, 2008: 9 p.m. Sitting on Avenue es Champs Elysees in Paris on our last night here, watching the people -- mostly tourists-- stroll by. We arrived on Thursday to rain and checked into our hotel -- Hotel de Sers of the 25 Euro cocktails. We strolled up to the Champs, drank wine in a sidewalk cafe with pommes frites and walked to the Arc de Triumph. We decided not to walk up and to just people watch. It was freezing and I worried about not having warm enough clothes. We at dinner at a Chines restaurant, of all places, and drank more wine. Some French douchebag and his tacky titted girlfriend complained about everything from the food to the wine to the service. All were fine. On Friday, we slept until 10:30 and took the metro to Monmarte which was way more crowded and touristy than I remembered. I pointed out the carousel we recognized from Amelie and we climbed the stairs. We visited the church. We did not punch douchey tourists in the groin when they took pictures of people praying even though it says explicitly in 5 languages, "no photos." We had crepes and wine for lunch and talked with the multilingual shop owner of a tourist knick-knack joint. I bought postcards. You bought MG some chocolate. We tired of the crowds and walked down the stairs and Saw an old lady in her window people watching us. We walked to Pigalle and found lots of sex shops. Like old Times Square with better architecture. We walked some more and ended up at Galleries Lafayette where I fought the crowds to try on designer shoes, buying none. You wisely read your book and had cappuccino at the tea room. We went out on the roof, took pictures and then walked to the Opera House and Madeline(spelling) and toward Concorde. We stopped at Maxim's for wine, but the service sucked, so we left. Then we walked down the Champs back to our hotel where Guillerme, the concierge, recommended the best (and most expensive) restaurant I've even eaten at, La Table du Lancaster in the Lancaster Hotel. The host was a super friend Italian guy and the sommelier was wonderful. The food was beyond describable. It was a true food experience, with wine pairings and a special honeymoon treat of raspberry sorbet encased in white chocolate on a stick. Every day has been perfect weather, sunny and in the mid 70s and the sun never goes down here -- it's 9:30 and the street lights aren't one yet."


Then from the plane:

"May 5, 2008: En route from Paris to Boston, writing with my souvenir pen. I just finished "The History of Love," the first book I marked with my new hyphenated last name. It included a character named Uncle Julian. The Julians continue to track me. On Saturday, we woke up late again and went to a cheap place on the Champs for croissants and coffee -- with milk! (Horray!) We watched the people go by and took the metro from Charles de Gaulle to the catacombs in Montaparnasse. It's an above ground line and we passed the Eiffel Tower at Bir-Hakeim. The line for the catacombs was 90 minutes long and packed with other tourists, so we decided not to give up prime 70-degree weather. The metro sign there has the old school syle -- we took pictures. We took it back and hung near the Eiffel Tower taking pictures and marveling. I don't care if it's cheesy and touristy -- it's beautiful. We bought 2 day passes for Les Cars Rouges and rode to Notre Dame. It was also crowded, but there was a street band performing one of our songs from church, "Down by the River." We bought MG some trinkets at a tourist shop run by Brazilian women in lots of rhinestones, and you had to buy a baseball cap that said "Paris" because your head was getting a sunburn. I will still make fun of you for that. USA! USA! We stopped in the park behind the church to use the bathroom and I chatted with an American woman married to a Frenchman before we walked to Ile de St. Louis for lunch. We both had wine and salads and that famous French ice cream that I can't remember how to spell now (B somethign) -- me: pink grapefruit, apricot; you: milk chocolate, caramel salt butter -- that had been recommended by our cab driver in Nice. We met a nice, pretty couple who began talking to us when they saw us struggling to understand the ice cream flavors in French. The woman said her English was poor, but it wasn't. She had to move her car because it was about to be ticketed. We saw a girl on roller blades wipe out but manage to save her ice cream and lots of Velib bikes. We walked around the island to the South Point and over to the Left Bank and stopped on the Seinve to read and take pictures. We walked more through the small stalls and started to get irritated by the European idea of personal space. It was here that you coined "petit moose" for that grumpiness that comes when you are hot and being jostled by too many strangers. We caught the Big Red Bus again. A young brother and sister grabbed leaves from the trees and threw them at the passerbys. We folled the route and got off at the Champs. I don't remember if this was the day we bought the champagne and water at a tiny shop or not. We went back to the hotel, changed, read some more. You wore your fancy outfit that you bought at Drinkwater's. We had a glass of champagne at the cafe down the road and watched very pretty people going to the place we dubbed "the model hotel" with very skinny people and Bentleys, Maseratis, and Ferraris and one white gorgeous Lamborghini. You also saw a Maybar (Mayfair? May something or other?) and said it's one of the world's most expensive cars. We walked up to the Arc and climbed the stairs to the top. It was night and breathtaking. The Tower glittered. The Champs was packed with cars. Our camera lost battery power, but it didn't matter. It was warm. We went back down and ate a very late dinner at tiny pizza place. We then waited on line for 20 minutes for mediocre Haagen Daaz ice cream. I elbowed a dude who tried to cut me in line. We both petit moosed about the croweds. We found a bench finally and watched some more. It was Saturday night so there was lots of glitter and boobs, or melones grandes. We went back to the hotel and went to bed. We slept again until 10 and decided to just find a neighborhood to hang out in. We took the Metro to St. Paul in the Marais and walked through Ile de St. Louis again and to the Left Bank. We strolled along Rue St. Germain which was quiet on a Sunday morning and found a cafe in the shade. We FINALLY met a surly French waiter, and I had a cheeseburger like the obnoxious American I am and you had steak. We read. We walked to the Sorbonne and the Luxembourg Gardens and read under the leaves for an hour. We walked to San Germain and the Place Sartre -- Beauvoir and had overpriced Evian and Coca Cola "Light" at Les Deux Magots. I did not feel literary. Another band played and I saw a man open the windows in the church. We walked some more, caught the Red Bus again and rode around, looking at our last views of Paris during the day. We went back to the hotel and hung out before heading back to the neighborhood cafe for rose champagne and bread and cheese. The back to Champs where we sat on a bench and called our parents and wrote in our journals. We had dinner at a place where they made the weaiters wear uniforms of jeans, blue and white striped shirts and sailor caps. I had vegetable soup. You had chicken. There was a piece of glass in your apple tart so they didn't charge us. I thoroughly enjoyed my last nutella crepe. We took one last stroll and went back to the hotel to pack. You called the MG, as you did every day. This morning we were sad to leave Paris. We went back to the Champs and had cappaccino and apricot croissants for breakfast and watched everyone bustling to work on a Monday morning. With a few exceptions, nobody looked as miserable as they do in the US on a weekday morning. We walked back to the Arc one last time, much quieter than the weekedn, and found the 1944 Auxiliary Forces plaque. You told me this was your favorite monument. We went back to the hotel and took some pictures by the Velib bikes. After check out, our cab was both late and nuts -- we got pulled over for a speeding ticket on the way to the airport. We spent the last of our euro on duty-free postcards, biscuits and wine. We watched some Eurohozzles struggle with their many overstuffed suitcases. We had champagne and wine on the plane and toated the way the sommelier Lancaster did -- "happy life." We both cried a little. You watched a movie. I finished a book. We're married now and off to start the next adventure. Happy life indeed."


Pictures here.

What's Next
It's summertime, dudes. That's freakin' awesome. Over a week back from vacation and I'm still feeling pretty relaxed (okay, even keeled). Of course, that could be the two martinis talking.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

"Married?" "Yes, mawwied"

Here it is. Full story later.

I Know I Owe a Wedding Update, But This is Cool

I ran two 5Ks last year. The first one I finished 38:52 and the second 35:16. I ran one this morning, and I finished in 33:51. That's another minute off my time, and I felt AWESOME.

I also ran with a belly full of wine and Korean food so the possibilities for future races, sans food baby, are endless!

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Go Check This Out

Big Fat Deal posted this incredible, incredible video "I Love My Body And I'm Not Perfect" today. Check this out and send that girl some major love. Awesome! Makes me want to post pictures of me in my underwear. ;-)

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Two Bizarre Dreams

1. The reoccuring one where I'm talking and all my teeth start falling out.

2. A new one where I was entered in a triathalon and I was the last person to finish swimming so everyone watching and judging the event left. And then I forgot my bike, so I had to try and borrow a bike. And Mr. Hawkins (my middle school gym teacher who I had essentially forgot existed until now) wouldn't give me his bike. So I paid a kid for her Pink Huffy and finished the race. This one actually felt real.

Still hivey.

Still kicking ass running. 3.5 miles yesterday. 4.8 miles this morning.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Four More Days of Work

Actually started this last night, but then got sidetracked, so yay, I thought about the blog two whole days in a row.


So the work project that sucks the bag is finally over. I survived. I didn't kill anyone AND I got in some fantastic runs on those killer San Francisco hills. Plus, the food. My God!

And now I am home and it is 8 days until the wedding. People keep asking me if I'm nervous and I don't think I am but I've been sort of manic, have my stress-related allergies and have been eating anything that hasn't been nailed down. Nervous that I will be a huge failure all over again? Nervous that I will fuck this up? Nervous that YG has been temporarily blinded and will wake up one day and see the mess that is me and wonder, WTF? Yeah, possibly a little. But I know that shit is all in my head and don't have any basis in reality. So, I'm choosing to focus on the little shit like my hair and my dress fitting and family fighting so that I don't have to think about the BIG.

Things that are good:
* Paris with YG in 9 days. Dude.
* While there is the fun factor in getting married again, I get to see all my friends. Lots from NYC and Syracuse and old coworkers and one friend who is visiting from Ireland. Sweet!
* I'm registered for 6 runs this spring and fall. Two five milers which would be my longest distance ever, and a bunch of 5Ks. I'm really psyched.
* I got promoted. Finally.
* YG got into Presidio so starting in July, he will be "commuting" to San Francisco once a month. I'm so proud of him because this is something he really wanted, but I'm selfish, so more time in SF for me = awesome. We both have a feeling that we may end up there permanently some day.
* Post wedding, I can finally chop my hair off. I know that I am a bad feminist and obviously suffering the strain of the Wedding Industrial Complex because I grew my hair in the first place, but yay. Chop Chop.
* Spring seems to finally be here. I am sockless.
* I am blogging. See! You are reading it. Because of work, I took a brief hiatus on my writing projects but I'm back and ready for the summer.
* In pop culture news, a woman finally won The Biggest Loser.
* In other pop culture news, NKOTB reunion!
* One month later, I am still caffeine free.
* I got to see Al Gore speak. He was really funny, in a totally unexpected way.
* New jeans that look motherfucking awesome. Mid-rise straight just like Stacy and Clinton advise.

The Meh:
* The MG has pink eye. Again. I am highly suspectible to getting this and REALLY would like to avoid skeeve eye in wedding photos.
* Although I am still caffeine free and staying relatively far away from sugar and white flour, that didn't seem to be the cause of my allergy woes. I am still as hivey as ever.
* The election. The fact that the Democrats can't get their shit together in this kind of political climate -- WHEN IT SHOULD BE A CAKE WALK -- continues to amaze.
* Money. Paris is going to be expensive yo.
* Regarding Stacy and Clinton, my coworker and I actually saw Clinton in the San Francisco airport when we were getting off our flight from Boston. I worship What Not to Wear and absolutely love Clinton, but just walked right by him because this was probably the one time in my life that I wore old jeans, sneakers and a gym hoodie on the plane because I wanted to sleep. :-(

Monday, March 31, 2008

I Am Deeply Embarassed By

* How little I have written lately, considering how much is going on.

* By how much I am enjoying I am enjoying reading The Other Boleyn Girl. Go on. Laugh at me. Tell me that you'd never date me. But that is some good, cheesy page turning shit. The other book I'm reading is this so you can go back to pretending that I'm super smart.

* The fact that I wear flats now more often than all my pretty shoes.

* The fact that I am going on a business trip next week and I only have one suit that fits so I'm going to wear the same suit four days in a row. I'm preparing for Europe. I refuse to wear tiny pants. Last year, I split my pants. Seriously. Never again.

* How freaked and then pleased I was to apply and then get our marriage license. With my brand spanking new, pretentious hyphenated last name. Mrs. Good Anus.

* The fact that this is all I care to say right now.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

I'm Still Here

I've just been *really* caught up with work AND wedding. This is kind of how I'm feeling right now.



I would like to kick the shit out of anyone who looks at me funny. That's the Easter spirit.

More vacation photos here.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

The Old Man is Forty!

YG is forty today! And we are going to Vegas (because I am awesome.

The Birthday boy.



With his gifts.




This is awesome.



Pictures from our vacation are here.

In other news, I got quite a few emails after my earlier breakdown about work which was really, really nice. I've decided that I am going to stick it out until the wedding (in two months) because our big trade show happens before then, and I feel that it would be very unprofessional to leave before then. I made a committment to my clients, and although I am miserable, I don't back out on work committments. I will however start looking for a new job in May. I am still on the fence over whether or not I'm just going to leave, cross my fingers and hope I find something....or stay until I have another job. It all depends on how the next few months pan out. The idea of having no paycheck is terrifying. The idea of being this sick over work is way MORE terrifying.

Where I need help -- I am dying to get out of Tech PR and do something really different. Maybe PR/comms for education or public health. If you have any contacts or insights, please email me. It's really hard to network when everyone you know kind of does the same thing.

As for the being depressed about all this -- I'm hoping that a weekend in Vegas with booze, boobs and guns will brighten my mood.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Help

I've been MIA because of vacation and some serious depression, I guess. Lots of family stuff (will post the story later of my poor little cousin who got hit by a car) and general homesickness.

But my job. It is the suck. I can't work here anymore. I cannot cry everyday at work. I cannot feel this terrible about myself and my career every freakin' day. I need a new job or some new cocktail of anti-depressants because I can't even breathe.

I used to feel like I made a miniscule of difference in my career. Now I am at the bottom of the barrell and going absolutely nowhere. And I'm not respected AT ALL. And I have no power AT ALL.

To quote Project Runway, "I don't want to be in a cubicle spending time realizing someone else's vision."

I was here until 9 p.m. last night. I have no idea how to make it through this day without quitting.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Belated Valentine's Day

YG and I went to see The Magnetic Fields last night, and it was awesome. Meloncholy, morose, lovely, beautiful, funny -- all of that. Epitaph for My Heart was perfect, as was Book of Love. I might have cried a little bit, but that would make me lame.

Also awesome on Valentine's Day -- cheap empanadas, expensive champagne, cupcakes and a midnight trip to RedBones for chicken wings and onion strips. I am very tired today.

Off On Vacation

We're off to New Hampshire for a couple of days. Skiiing, tubing, and getting drunk in the hot tub.

And we're staying here.

Friday, February 08, 2008

Losties Go Here

DP has been recapping Lost episodes again and always catches something I don't. Check it out.

My Sawyer nickname is Professor.

Name Changes

I am still on the fence about what I'm going to do with my name post-marriage. I will either just stay Jenn Mylast, as I've always been or I'd hyphenate and be Jenn Mylast-Hislast. I can't quite get used to the idea of introducing myself with another name, but I have some time to decide. YG approached me with the idea of combining our names and making a new one. This came as a suprise as he is sort of a brand -- almost always Hisfirst Hislast, and never just Hisfirst. He figured out that you can combine our names with minimal changes and come up with "Good Anus."
This, among other reasons, is why I am marrying him.

Because Mrs. Good Anus? Snort! Hee hee hee.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Fuckpig Part Deux

And oh yeah, I'm going to try and post more about things that I am grateful for, instead of bitching for a change.

Fat Tuesday: Sayonara Fuckpig

It's that time of year. Fat Tuesday -- the last day before Lent begins. Every year, I try and give up something, along with adding something new to my daily routine. And every year, I usually fail in the "giving up." One year it was chocolate; another year it was spending money on shoes, and then another year it was Fat Free Wheat Thins. Jesus died for our sins -- I give up mass-marketed carbohydrates. Seems like a fair trade. Recently, I was reminded that Protestants don't give things up for Lent, but this is one Catholic thing that YG and I can't give up.

So this year, I have resolved to do two things:

* Remind myself that I am rich compared to most of the world, so I'm attempting to live on half of my paycheck for the next two months.

* Clean up my filthy language.

Unfortunately, of these two, I think that the first one might actually be easier. I have such a hard time with the language, but now that we have the MG around more, I'm really AWARE of how bad it is.

So, on this Fat Tuesday, I'm listing out the words that I'm giving up for the next 40days and 40 nights, including some of my favorites:

* Douche, douchebag, douchehound, douchebuggery, etc.

* Shit, shithead, shitsville

* Cocksucker, cum guzzler

* I am not giving up "balls" or "testicles" hands down. But, when YG and I are sparring, I will refrain from saying, "Hey, you've got some nad sweat on your head," or "oooh, look. There's a testy pube in your front tooth." Also, I will need to find a new way to talk about bad days because "sucks the bag" is taking a break.

* Vagina, except in conversations where I may happen to be talking about my actual vagina. Things like "he's a pussy" or "suck vag" will be going away.

* Dirty whore, skank ho and the like.

* Fuck, fucker, fucktard, fucked, what the fuck, fucktastic, and my newly crowned favorite word EVER: fuckpig. Fuckpig is just so, so, so perfect, but I will find a way to move on.

And now it's time to go spend some money, before midnight strikes.

Monday, January 28, 2008

Been a While

I was thinking that I'd probably make it through a whole month without any updates, but we're watching the State of the Union and it's getting me all sorts of annoyed, so here goes.

Where have I been? Working, working, and more working. I'm extremely disillusioned with my job right now, but we're gearing up for the year's major conference and I feel like I don't have time to even think about getting another job. There's no place for me to go right now, so I'm concentrating on just getting by and trying not to let the general shitty mood get me down every day. It's a job. It's a job that pays better than Starbucks. I need to accept that.

Right now, the days are pretty much filled with back to back meetings. Last week, I had 3 days of meetings from 8 a.m. - 7 p.m. and then one "team dinner." I have no idea when I'm expected to get my work done, but I'm not getting a free pass for all of those meetings. Bitch, bitch, bitch.

On the good side:

* My new writing class is awesome. We have six new pages due every week on a number of different topics, and I have one long manuscript due on Feb. 7. I'm thinking of combining my "Fantasy of Being Thin" piece with a piece I did on my Weight Watchers sucks the bag. It still feels fucking exhilirating to be writing again.

* My injury is almost healed. I've started running again, and completed 3 miles at my old pace for the first time in a month last week. I'm hoping to get up to 5 miles and do the short version of this post wedding.

* I was the liturgist at church this weekend. I have no idea how to talk about church without sounding like some sort of religious fantatic Jesus Freak, so I'll just say that I enjoy it; it keeps me sane; and it helps put everything else in perspective.

* Wedding shit is coming along. We ordered our invitations last night. My mom is doing the flowers. We're buying the MG a dress soon. Cake has been ordered and we're doing the meal tasting this week.

* Upcoming vacations. We'll be in New Hampshire in a few weeks for skiing and tubing, and YG's super secret birthday trip at the end of the month. As of today, YG has only one month left in his 30s. I will be buying him a cardigan sweater and velcro shoes to celebrate.

* Awesome new stuff in the fatosphere. First, a new Fat Rant. Then, the piece in The New York Times that was actually fair. And some great posts, as usual, over at Shapely Prose including this and this. I'm so not there yet in terms of full acceptance, but I cannot tell you how much of a life changer these blogs have been.

* LOST! Bitchez, how psyched are you?

I guess that's about it for now. I was going to bitch about how jack shit hasn't changed since one year ago with the Democrats' victory and the combat boots and whatnot, but I'm feelin' okay right now.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Happy New Year!

Here's to 2008!

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Live Blog (Well, It Was Live At the Time) – Hannah Montana Concert

Live Blog (Well, It Was Live At the Time) – Hannah Montana Concert

Background: one of the MG’s Christmas presents was tickets to the Hannah Montana show on 12/21. I think YG might have been the only guy in all of New England to pay face value for these seats, and for that, I am grateful. Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus is like Jesus to this kid, and as much as I mock the greedy, capitalist “anything for my kid” types, I probably would have shelled out some big bucks to make this happen.
Anyway, hilarity ensued.

4:45 p.m. – Miraculously get good parking somewhere near DCU Center. Woostah represent! Blast Hannah Montana CD as to be fully prepped for the Miley Cyrus “experience.”

4:55 – Discover massive pink Miley tour bus and packs of cotton-candy colored, screaming girls dancing and singing. My cold, shriveled heart sighs a bit and acknowledges that this is a little bit cute, but it’s a LOT cold.

4:56 – Aimlessly look around for people to snark on, but everyone is just kind of …normal. Where are the Hummer limos?

5:05 – Head to Pizzeria Uno as it’s the only “restaurant” we know within walking distance. We head there with every other middle-class father with daughter, roaming the streets of Worcester. Two hour wait for crappy, chain pizza. Briefly consider calling Dominos delivery to the car.

5:20 – Head back to the DCU and step inside to try and buy a t-shirt before doors open at 5:30. Massive pile-up. So many girls. The MG’s eyes are like saucers. Still no major snarkage, just lots of sheepish smiles. I was hoping for hozzle moms in SUVs with diamonds and skanky, mini-Spears-like kids, so that I can act all self-righteous and cooler than you.

5:21 -- $55 for a fucking long sleeve t-shirt! And they’re out of the MG’s size. Remember how awesomely retro these shirts are going to be in, like, 20 years – how psyched some college-aged, mini me will be to find it in a consignment shop. I would give a nut, if I had them, to have my Donnie Wahlberg New Kids on The Block t-shirt back right now.

5:22 – Standing around waiting for the doors to open, packed in like a fire hazard. Imagine being trampled to death by a pack of rabid, pre-teen girls.

5:23 – Run into someone I know from work. Confronted with my own mortality. I am old enough to bring my kid to Disney-sponsored concerts. I know people who are old enough to bring their kids to the same concerts. I am so not cool.

5:30 – Doors finally open, and FINALLY, something to bitch about. Woman to my left keeps unnecessarily pushing, stepping on my foot and hanging on my bag. Resist urge to elbow her in the face. Use bag to jam her in the gut instead.

5:35 – THEY HAVE BEER HERE! THANK YOU, JESUS! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

5:36 – Of course they’d have beer here – it’s a sports arena -- but with the whole Disney thing, I was expecting some sort of push for family (read: non alcoholic) values.

5:45 – Find seats. Watch Disney videos. Gross.

6:00 – Go in search of women’s bathroom. Packs of mini hozzles doing their CVS-brand make-up and whipping around their hair and pouting in the mirrors. They are executing costume changes in the FOUR available stalls, while harried moms with smaller kids look on. Relish chance to be the bitch, and loudly announce in best shitkicker voice, “If you’re not using the toiler, get out of the stall.” Get the hairy eyeball from some pre-teens, but thank yous from the mommy contingent.

6:01 – Clean, pee-free seat, imagine that. Value of Disney right there.

6:05 – Fork over $35 for the MG’s concert tee because it will make her happy, and that’s how I roll. Eye roll. Self-directed.

6:10 – Sit down to write, while YG goes in search of dinner. The MG offers a running commentary on everyone and everything, lest I miss anything.

6:12 – We both note that “High School Musical” kind of sucks ass.

6:20 – Enjoy healthy dinner of hot dog and pretzel, with refreshing beverage of choice – Budweiser. Note that I am the only parent within eyesight drinking beer. Hee.

6:30 – “Funny” guy sits down behind us. Made mistake of laughing at one of his jokes (for the record – “these are the best tickets $1000 can buy”) and now he’s cracking tired one-liners.

6:40 – Disappointed that there’s not much to see.

6:45 – Tits ahoy! There’s a mega rack in a tight hooded sweatshirt making its way up the stairs, followed by a pack of three, look-alike small, medium and large hozzles-in-training, dressed in gold sequined tank tops and baseball caps. YG and I stare at each other. I point out the rack. He notes that I am the best partner EVER.

6:50 – Still searching for another beer drinker. Using binoculars, I locate a “husky” dad in a Patriots sweatshirt. I toast you, my bad parenting friend.

6:55 – Just waiting. Unnecessary girl squealing starts when one of the tech guys comes onstage.

6:56 – Janitor with mop rushes downstairs. Uh oh. Who puked?

6:57 – FINALLY, a hozz mom. Way too long hair, way too much makeup, major camel toe. Trailing some Lohan look-alike behind her.

6:58 – Per crappy Disney video playing, I am supposed to “Push it. Push it. Cuz I’m in it to win it.”

6:59 – Thank Jesus that I don’t have one of these kids that whine or cry, and that the MG is, about 95% of the time, chill. Feel almost bad about giving the tantrum-throwing five-year old girl in front of me withering stares, but then I remember that her parents probably worked hard all day and are spending their free time days before Christmas at Hannah Montana. Suck it up, brat.

7:00 – Guitar strings. SHRIEKING.

7:01 – Earplug debate. Resolved. They’re in.

7:03 – Jonas Brothers. Holy fucking glow sticks!

7:04 – Am I ready to rock? LOL.

7:05 – Are they playing “We’re The Kids in America”? Okay, you win. Love.

7:06 – Dude, I would have been all over red leisure suit Jonas when I was 14. There’s a four year old across the aisle, dancing and spazzing out in the most awesome way.

7:10 – Do you think Jonas 2 and 3 hate Jonas 1 for having awesome hair? They have a fat bass player. Love this kid – he would have been my boyfriend.
Cartwheels? No cool.

7:15 – First Christmas sweater sighting. And tapered jeans. Sweet Jesus.

7:20 – Raise the glow sticks! Raise the cell phones! BALLAD! Lots of faux sexy staring. Prepubescent masturbatory fantasies in the making.

7:21 – A Hannah and Lily, wigs and all, sit down in front of us.

7:29 – Ooooh, clip art. Fancy.

7:30 – Just took out ear plugs to talk to MG. HOLY SHIT. SOS. Kids going apeshit. Faux Sexy Jonas does a split. Woo!

7:31 – Only a half hour set? Weird.

7:35 – Corporate shilling video. Go to Disney.com/Hannah and use some shit that HP makes. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

7:36 – Two kids just knocked over my empty beer bottle. Their mother gives me the eye. Me – bad mommy!

7:40 – Okay, I know I’m writing so pot, kettle, black, but lady with cell phone AND blackberry, seriously? It can’t wait?

7:41 – What did people do at concerts before cell phones? It’s so ridiculous. There’s a break and everyone busts out their phones. I am a big fan of the, “No. No. Over HERE. No. HERE. In Section 108! I’m the ONE wearing the white tee shirt. HERE” conversations. Who are you talking to?

7:45 – Billy Ray video. Mullet flashbacks. Sweet!

7:46 – YG is attempting to find me another beer. Beer + naproxen = fun for the whole family.

7:50 – More screeching at the sound dude.

7:51 – Advertising for Adopt a Classroom and supporting teachers. Kind of awesome.

7:52 – Hey There Delilah? They have a video? This is one the wedding playlist I’m pulling together. YG gives me the ax signal. I had no idea this song was popular, but then again, the last time I listened to the radio, besides NPR, was sometime circa 1997.

7:53 – I applaud the woman behind me for being more loud and annoying than a STADIUM filled with 8-year-old girls. She’s hit me in the head for the fourth time. I give her look of doom, and she apologizes profusely. Whatever.

7:54 – Christmas sweaters #2 and 3. With sprayed BANGS.

7:55 – When Miley needs some “rest” after her crazy tour schedule, she likes to “relax” at her favorite Disney parks. Can you believe?

7:58 – Kids start to notice that she’s made her way to the backstage. She waves. The place goes partially apeshit.

8:00 – Good opening. Fireworks. Lady behind me smacks me in the head AGAIN in all her excitement. She’s the MOTHER.

8:05 – Dancers are cute and not all anorexic and perfect looking. The MG is practically peeing herself in ecstasy.

8:10 – We have ONE RULE for this show, per Hannah. We all gotta be out of our seats singing and dancing. I can’t tell if she’s lip synching at all, but she’s entertaining nonetheless.

8:12 – How OLD is this back up singer? She’s cute, but not 15. I notice that YG is completely fixated on the other, red-headed backup singer (dude is OBSESSED with red heads) and I briefly consider tapping her and miming “jail bait,” but remember that these things are more fun when he’s not expecting them. Hee.

8:15 – Nobody’s Perfect. Every single little girl sings along and knows every single word. It’s a good message. I wish that it was being relayed by anybody by Disney.

8:20 – We’re up. We’re loud. We’re pumping up the party now. In pink sequins. And wigs.

8:25 – Yo, Woostah, represent. She says we’re some of the loudest fans. And shit, it is LOUD.

8:30 – The Jonas Brothers come back out. Isn’t one of them her boyfriend? Not the super hot one, though, right? The more talented one with an actual instrument? The faux hot one has on a gold bomber jacket. Ouch.

8:32 – PIANO BALLAD. “For all the ladies in the house.” I briefly die laughing, and fake sing to YG that he needs to “look into my eyes and tell me that he loves me.” Or at least tell red-headed back up singer.

8:33 – The lady next to me has gotten up to pee about four times already. And she doesn’t even have a cool, refreshing Budweiser!

8:40 – Synthesizers!

8:42 – Brown-haired Miley is back. With some of the cheesiest wind machine work I’ve ever seen.

8:50 – Pee break. Still a mile-long line for the bathroom so I walk around and find the VIP lounge where a bunch of displaced parents are reading books and drinking beers. My peeps. Also, no line for the bathroom.

8:52 – On the walk back, I see a mom with long, red white-girl weave (aka “a fall”), skintight jeans and furry boots up to her knees.

8:53 – Costume change. Wish I was still able to wear my 15-year-old clothes. I would totally rock a purple petticoat and Chuck Taylors.

9:00 – Hey Miley to the tune of Hey Mickey. Reserving judgment.

9:05 – Cute birthday thing for the manager, who also looks young and cute (read: my age – probably ancient to the star of the show.)

9:07 – Girls Night! Is the 2000’s version off Girls Just Want to Have Fun? The kids are going NUTS. Streamers! Woot!

9:15 – Best of Both Worlds. God, I know all the fucking words. I strongly resist the urge to sing along because I believe, deep down, that I, with some work, could be cool again.

9:17 – Curtain call, almost like a high-school play. There’s confetti and screaming and streamers, and then Hannah/Miley disappears into a hole in the stage.

9:18 – Coats on. YG is ready to zipper us out the door and back to our cars. He’s a Nazi about traffic.

9:18 – Encore. Barefoot with guitar and horse art.

9:20 – And we’re out. We walk back to the car, and the MG is just breathless, talking about how cool it was.

* Later that night, she hugs us and thanks us for the most awesome show EVER and it just warms the cockles of my bitter, black heart. I remember to thank my parents for driving me all the way out to Long Island twenty years ago to see NKOTB because you know; it was “JUST LIKE THE BEATLES.”

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Ow. Motherfucker. Ow!

This is seriously unreal. I have another cold. I also have, according to my doctor, a "sprain of the chest wall." This happened because of the sinus infection about a month back. I was coughing too hard, and thought I cracked a rib. X-rays showed that it wasn't a fracture, but some sort of gross sprain. Only thing to do with that? Rest, painkillers, and time.

I WAS feeling better, and had started exercising again and helped shovel the other day. But now with this new cough, I am doubled over in pain and totally fucking miserable. I can't remember anything hurting this bad, ever before in my life. It's just....PAINFUL. And nothing is helping. I am also having some sort of allergic reaction to something, so previously-mentioned skeevy, hivey red rash is back.

List of shit I am currently taking that is doing absolutely nothing:
* cough medicine
* painkiller for the chest
* Claritin during the day for the rash
* Benadryl at night for the rash
* vitamins
I also was prescribed Percocet, but I just don't want to take anything that strong. I have a fear of any kind of addictive substance and try to avoid them, if I can. Now I don't know.

So, yeah, fucking pity party over here. I can't lift anything. I'm sitting inside while YG is outside shoveling so I feel like a total useless loser. And it hurts to try and exercise so I feel like a fat, useless loser. And the MG is peppering me with the usual barrage of 8-year-old questions so my inner "shut the fuck up" monolouge is going crazy.

I slept very restlessly last night, and spent some time just staring at the ceiling doing some prayer stuff. I am not into getting down on my knees and doing the normal, religious-type praying -- it feels very "not me" and ungenuine, so I try and have regular conversations. Last night, feeling woozy from Benadryl and coughing my lung, I snotted, "What the fuck, man? What is this? What is the lesson here? I have been sick in one form or another SINCE OCTOBER. That I should take better care of myself? That I should stop hating my body for dumb shit? OKAY -- I GET IT. Shit, man, I get it. Can you please just make this stop? Yeah? Thanks." Then I slept from 4-7:30, but the pain? Not getting any better.

ARGH.

Monday, December 03, 2007

God, Hillary, Just Shut The Fuck Up

There was no way in hell that I was ever going to vote for Clinton anyway, but this is so pathetic.

Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's campaign has used words attributed to Sen. Barack Obama from when he was a kindergartner -- and from when he was in third grade -- to accuse him of "rewriting history" when he says he hasn't been planning for a long time to run for president.


And

Responding to the creation of Obama's Hillary Attacks website, Clinton campaign spokesman Phil Singer e-mailed us to say that "it's rather disingenuous of Senator Obama to complain about questions being raised about his record -– which remains unknown to voters –- considering that he has spent the last three months impugning Senator Clinton's character. When it comes to changing our politics, Senator Obama talks a good game but clearly lacks the courage of his convictions."


More here.

As a PR person, this shit drives me absolutely nuts. THINK about how this is going to play out. TEST it on real people. You just look pathetic, and even if you are, it's the PR staff's job to help you look less so.

Friday, November 30, 2007

Conspicous Consumption Saves The Day

I was ready to file today under "Sucks The Bag." I had some drama at work around something that somebody else should have paid for but didn't, and now I am expected to pull large sums of money out of my ass. It put me in a foul mood and made me question my career (again) and made me nostalgic for the old days when I had the money and power I felt guilty about having. And it's cold and blah. I just wanted to get home and change into something with an elastic waist and watch Project Runway.

But then I came home and the magical healing powers of shoes helped save the day. Or I should say, the magical healing power of these $275 Charles David beauties on sale on Amazon for $66.

Behold!



You are allowed to question the practicality of a peep-toe eyelet pump in the winter. In Massachusetts. But then I will stab you.

After this, we went to Mr. Crepe for dinner and potato soup and tons more sex-ed questions from the MG. She wanted to know if she had to get married when she grew up, and we told her that she didn't have to -- that you don't need to get married and you don't need to have kids. You can do whatever you want. The "no kids" thing sparked, "and then no penis in the vagina?" "Because you get pregnant when you put a penis in the vagina." We explained that you could still put a penis in the vagina and not get pregnant, which prompted, "kill the baby?" Followed by YG using some amazing hand gestures and trying to demonstrate how a "baggie" on the penis keeps sperm from getting into the vagina. And then we went back to talking Hannah Montana. Good times.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Must Read: The Fantasy of Being Thin

I read this post, The Fantasy of Being Thin, over on Kate Harding's site today, while I was sitting at my desk, eating my lunch at work. I actually cried a little just because the whole post, and the comments, were so spot on. You really should read the whole thing, but I'm cutting and pasting the bit that hit me the hardest.

"Overcoming The Fantasy of Being Thin might be the hardest part of making it all the way into fat acceptance-land. And that might just be why I’d pushed that part of the process out of my memory: it fucking sucked. Because I didn’t just have to accept the size of my thighs; I had to accept who I am, rather than continuing to wait until I magically became the person I’d always imagined being. Ouch.

That is, of course, a pretty normal part of getting older. You start to realize that yeah, this actually is it, and although you can still try enough new things to keep anyone busy for two lifetimes, you’re pretty much stuck with a basic context. There are skills, experiences, and material things you will almost certainly never have, period. It’s a challenge for all of us to understand that accepting this fact of life does not necessarily mean cutting off options or giving up dreams, but simply — as in the proverbial story about the creation of the David — chipping away all that is not you. But for a fat person, it can be even harder, because so many fucking sources encourage us to believe that inside every one of us is “a thin person waiting to get out” — and that thin person is SO MUCH COOLER.

The reality is, I will never be the kind of person who thinks roughing it in Tibet sounds like a hoot; give me a decent hotel in London any day. I will probably never learn to waterski well, or snow ski at all, or do a back handspring. I can be outgoing and charismatic in small doses, but I will always then need time to recharge my batteries with the dogs and a good book; I’ll never be someone with a chock-full social calendar, because I would find that unbearably exhausting. (And no matter how well I’ve learned to fake it — and thus how much this surprises some people who know me — new social situations will most likely always intimidate the crap out of me.) I might learn to speak one foreign language fluently over the course of my life, but probably not five. I will never publish a novel until I finish writing one. I will always have to be aware of my natural tendency toward depression and might always have to medicate it. Smart money says I am never going to chuck city life to buy an alpaca farm or start a new career as a river guide. And my chances of marrying George Clooney are very, very slim.

None of that is because I’m fat. It’s because I’m me.

But when I was invested in The Fantasy of Being Thin, I really believed that changing this one “simple” (ha!) thing would unlock a whole new identity — this totally fabulous, free-spirited, try-anything-once kind of chick who was effortlessly a magnet for interesting people and experiences. "


Sigh. I still believe that someday I am going to be SO FUCKING COOL. Thin and cool, or fat and cool, but cool nonetheless. When I get that [insert whatever it is that I need right now -- job, shoes, weight], I'm going to be so goddamn cool, you're totally going to dye your hair red, buy a pair of green glasses, and Single White Female me.

Back To The Grind and Other Things

Made it back to The People's Republic with little fanfare. Leaving early was the right thing today and gave me enough time to mentally adjust to the fact that I have to work -- FIVE DAYS IN A ROW -- this week.

The long weekend was fantastic. I didn't read enough, write enough, blog enough, do enough, etc. but I think that's what I needed -- a nice weekend of visits and eating and baby gazing and not doing much of anything. I got back to work yesterday and back to my regular workout/running routine today.

Now I have a list of hundreds of things to do in the next month including:

* Christmas shopping
* Registering for classes
* Holiday hoo hah (tree and whatnot)
* Grocery shopping and bill paying and the mundane
* Writing pretentious Christmas letter and making out cards
* Wedding stuff
-- finding florist
-- finishing playlists
-- finishing guest list
-- invitations
-- figuring how to pay for all this

Should be a busy month or so.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Happy Thanksgiving!

The whole daily posting thing did not work out, as expected, but I did take a few days to try and get better. I'm still stuffy and gross, so I bagged the 5K this morning and am trying to practice being grateful rather than feeling guilty.

The drive down went fine. Instead of waiting until Wednesday, I worked from home on Tuesday, had some dinner with YG and the MG at Mr.Crepe, and then took off around 7. I hit virtually no traffic and the entertainment of The Nanny Diaries for the duration of the ride. Cheesy schlock, but interesting enough when you're tired, and sick, and have a four-hour drive ahead of you.

Yesterday, I worked from here and caught up on all those nagging work things that I usually let go until someone needs them. I listened to my mother read the directions for the coffee pot OUT LOUD for an hour. It was a slow day, so I logged off around 4 and gave myself two hours to wander the aisles of Century 21, getting in my last shopping trip before the hell that is "holiday shopping season."

But a strange thing happened. I kept trying on shoes and bringing more and more things to the dressing room, and I liked what I saw, but not enough to buy anything. This is like a shock to my system. I LOVE shopping. I LOVE buying. I LOVE consuming, like the good American capitalist I am. Or at least I did. But I don't NEED anything. I have plenty of shoes, pretty sweaters, dresses (although, I am slightly regretting not nabbing the Diane von Furstenburg wrap dress with the yellow flowers), pants -- I don't need anything. Really. And if I don't need it, why buy it? I have everything I want.

And that leads me to Thanksgiving.

It's so easy to focus on the negative. I am, after all, an eternal pessimist, or to be more realistic, I am always pessimistic about ME -- thinking I should do more, be more, make more, say more, share more, give more, more, more, more, more. I still haven't mastered or even begun to truly accept, "progress, not perfection." There are plenty of things I want to "fix" -- my career, my health, my solitariness. But not today.

Today, I am going to be thankful for:
* Me. I am not that bad, all the time.
* My health. I've made it this far without any major issues. I am not as fat or unhealthy as my shitty committe thinks I am.
* My family. Both of them. YG and the MG up in Cambridge. The orignal cast here in NJ.
* My friends. The in-the-flesh ones and the email buddies and what my mom refers to as my "friends from the Internet."
* My cats.
* The ability to understand that I've "unstuck" myself before, and I can do it again.
* Our new church.
* Good books and good music and good food.

Today, I'm going to go for a walk, eat approximately 3 pounds of mashed potatoes with gravy, and read. A perfect day.

Happy Thanksgiving all!

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Weekend Observations

Still sick, but slightly less miserable. After keeping YG up for the past few nights -- and with the cough medicine with codeine in it not even working -- I finally sucked it up (or YG forced me) and went to my doctor's "urgent care" office over the weekend. I have a sinus infection, and am now on my second round of antibiotics in three weeks. Fantastic. Who doesn't love a yeast infection?

Despite all this, we managed to have a pretty decent weekend.

* The MG asked YG, "where do babies come from?" so he bought her a book. She said, "why can't you just tell me?" Him: "We need a book." So now we have It's So Amazing!: A Book about Eggs, Sperm, Birth, Babies, and Families. This pretty much covers everything from your regular old baby making to spank banks and bean flicking to homos to abortions to IVF to AIDS. With cartoons.

Some times I feel like it was a great gift to grow up nice and Catholic and repressed because I didn't have to sit and read picture books with my parents about nut sacks. I am trying *very* hard to be straight faced and open, but it's really hard not to either burst out laughing or run and hide and die inside when you get questions like:
* Have you ever seen an erection? What is it like? Does it really stick out like that? [this in response to the cartoon boner]
* Why does it say that the stuff is milky? Can you drink it?

SERIOUSLY! My god.

That being said, it's sort of interesting to read through it with her and YG and see her just take everything in. Kids are such a product of their environment -- you only turn into an ignorant bigoted douchebag if you're taught to be one.

And speaking of, I love this dude in the Amazon comments. "Overall, a good informative book, however there is one page that describes homosexual attraction as something natural, just like heterosexuality. This is a dangerous lie that is too prevalent in our culture. It is offensive to God because it perverts his beautiful design and ruins his wonderful gift to each of us. It is not only wrong, but totally inappropriate for any age. The rest of the book is great. Too bad I couldn't tear out that one bad page without eliminating the other side, which was worthwhile. Because of this, I would NOT recommend this book!"
The gays! They are taking over! They are so PREVALENT! They are ruining my "beautiful gift." But the rest of the book? About nut sacks and tits? Totally A-OK.


* We had another fantastic dinner at The Blue Room. Yummy pork and shrimp and champagne. AND sleeping in the next day. Nice.

* We bought new pants for the MG and I started some of my Christmas shopping. I remembered how much I hate the mall and humanity at "holiday" time, when some lady on line behind us in Macy's picked a fight, saying that I cut her kid in line. When I said that I had been standing there for 15 minutes, she got all hands up and actually used "relax." We had a brief exchange, but I let it go because I had the MG and I'm still trying to convince YG that I am fit to be around children. Lady, however, kept doing that passive-agressive whisper thing, talking to her kid about how "SOME PEOPLE" are so rude and obnoxious and blah, blah, blah. I whispered to YG, while looking right at her, "I'm ready to fucking punch this bitch." Horray -- the Son of God is born. Peace on Earth. Goodwill!

* Cheesecake Factory. I know that liking my mall cheesecake means I'm only a few years away from wearing elastic-waist pants and a wolf sweatshirt, and a scrunchy in my hairsprayed hair. However, that shit tastes divine.

* Six months after moving in, we finally hung our curtains.

* I saw a cab today with a Nixon/Agnew bumper sticker on it.

* Pho Lunch.

* More for the "I hate Humanity" file. I had a wax appointment in Boston today, so I left YG and the MG in Harvard and took the T in. The red line was down between Kendall and Park, so I ended up having to take one of the shuttle buses. I had bumped off the first two because of overcrowding, but squeezed onto the third one by pretty much hanging off the strap by my pinky. I had my hat, bag, book and other stuff in my left hand, about 30 people pressed up against me, AND ended up with one of my hacking-up-a-lung coughing jags, trying my absolute best to cough into my jacket and not infest the whole bus. This bitchy little hozzle, with her straight-ironed hair and stupid Ugg boots, gave me the stink eye and snotted, "Ughhh. How about you try covering your mouth?"

This, dear readers, is when I have a choice to apologize and let go of the strap (the only fucking thing holding me up) and be a nice human being who just went to church and had a nice communion. OR I could be the bitch who was sick, and sick and tired of being jostled, and sick and tired of being sick, and sick and tired of these rich, shitty, bratty college kids. So I chose to look right back at her, and mimic her cadence and delivery, and snotted back, "How about I beat your ass?" This was not what she was expecting, and like all those snotty rich bitches, she knew that she most definitely would get her ass beat in a fight. So she and her look-alike hozzley friends started to slowly back away and stared at the floor.

Very mature. 31 years old. Taking names, and kicking ass.

The trip back took almost an hour and a half (usually about 30 minutes), was just as crowded, and I had a small human spill hot chocolate on me. Good times.

* Short week this week. I haven't been back to work since Thursday, and am hoping, kind of, that I still have a job.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Sick

I missed two days of blogging because I've been holed up in my house, sick yet again. I attempted to go to work on Thursday, and that was a very bad idea. I felt like my head was going to explode and just sat in my cube wimpering -- a total waste of a good outfit. Went home and went right to bed, but I couldn't sleep because I was coughing and too stuffy. You would not BELIEVE the shit that I'm coughing up.

Normally, I'd be all excited about almost a week's worth of working at home, but I'm just kind of sad and whiny.

And of course, self-blaming because:
* If I took better care of myself, I wouldn't be sick
* If I ate better, I wouldn't be sick
* If I exercised more, I wouldn't be sick
* If I didn't let myself get so stressed out, I wouldn't be sick

And so on. It's lovely. :-(

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Woe Is Me

File under: Things That Suck.

* I am sick AGAIN. Not deathly ill, not flu-like, just motherfucking annoyingly filled with snot. Argh. After Hacking up My Lung Cold Part 1, I had about 3 minutes of feeling human before starting to feel this way again. I keep blowing my nose and coughing, but all I really want to do is sleep and stay in sweatpants all day.

I attempted to run three miles this morning with Snot Cold, and that sucked. I worked from home, but that freaks me out with its solitariness so I decided to walk up to Davis for lunch and more cough medicine. I threw on a hot outfit of white sweat socks, clogs, jeans that are too short and one of YG's sweatshirts and headed to Diesel where my homeless ensemble attracted one of the local crazies. She sat next to me at the lunch counter, kept breathing in my ear, and freaked the fuck out when I said that I eat meat. She had total rat's nest hair, about three teeth, and was just spaced out, but got very very angry when I told her about how I slaughter baby cows for fun and roast them in a pit in my yard (read: am not a vegetarian.) Everyone else was politely ignoring us and wishing us gone.

I'm not usually down with the whole interacting with the public thing, but I've been getting better. I'm not outwardly hostile, and I generally enjoy the people at Diesel and like chatting there. Not today. Not down with the crazy. I wish I wasn't feeling so miserable -- then I would have walked to McDonald's and ordered a cheesesteak and eaten it in front of her. Today, I just pretended to be deaf.

* I just had another $600 worth of work done on my car. "Winterizing," oil change, brakes, transmission fluid flush and some other shit that I don't really understand. I know I'm a smart person, but I don't understand anything about cars. This has nothing to do with my gender. I'm just not smart about them. I'm not smart about bidets either, but you don't have anyone questioning my worth as a human because I don't understand why you'd build something to shoot water up your ass. Anyway, I usually take my car in when I'm going on a long trip or something bad hasn't happened in a while. I'm driving to NJ next week during the worst driving time of the year and I had the great pleasure of my car breaking down on Thanksgiving weekend on the Pike last year, so I decided to take it in. I asked for the winterizing thing, and when they called to tell me everything else I needed, I relied on YG to translate -- or explain it to me as he would to a baby or to a retarded person. Basically, it translates into $600. Good times.

* I just realized that a Secret Santa exchange that I signed up for requires me to make something, not buy something. I am not crafty. At all. I do not cook, knit, paint, draw, woodwork, sew, needlepoint, bedazzle or anything like it. I shop. I am a capitalist. I feel very, very badly for my person who is probably going to get a deformed origami bird with a "it's unfortunate that I suck. Happy Nondemoninational Holiday" card.

And that is it for today. No spell checking. More sleep.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Some Kind of Relief

I didn't get laid off tonight. I didn't think I would, but there was a piece of me that would have actually been relieved. Don't get me wrong -- I NEED to work and I have a lot of expenses (rent, car payments, credit card debt, the whole freakin' wedding). But there's a part of me that feels that getting laid off now would not be the worst thing that ever happened to me.

It might force the issue of figuring out what to do next. I know that I want to spend more time writing, and I know that I want to use some of my work skills to help our church out more with some of its PR and comms needs. If I wasn't working so much, I could. If I wasn't working so much, I wouldn't have time to fuck around and wonder what I should do next. I would HAVE to figure it out.

There's a part of me that would LOVE to tell my very work-identified parents that I got laid off and that I was going to get a job at Starbucks and "thanks for shelling out that hundred grand on my education and always telling me that I was important and shit and to make you proud. Yeah. Thanks. But I think I'm going to hang out and write poetry, maybe smoke a little pot and make coffee. Okay. And maybe walk dogs too. Hope you're not disappointed or anything." :-)

Oh well. I guess this is for the best and I'll keep on keepin' on if you will.

Monday, November 12, 2007

Sweet!

We just joined the new gym in Davis Square. It's lame how happy I am about this, but I am totally going to kick ass running and biking this winter.

And then I am going to SMOKE YG on the rail trail next spring.
Yes, I said this last year, but this time, for reals.

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Sunday, November 11, 2007

Cooking Blows, And Other Observations

I smell like onions. I have been chopping onions for the last half hour because I'm cooking tonight. And I *never* cook. To be fair, I actually love this chili recipe. But I'm much more in love with the eating part.

YG and I taught Sunday school for the first time today. We've been assisting for the past few weeks, but this was the first time we were there alone. He taught. I was the doorkeeper -- the polite way of saying the disciplinarian. Nobody died, was taken to the hospital, or hit or bit each other. It was three little boys and one hyperactive girl. We did Exodus. When asked what was your favorite part of the story, the boys said, "when all the Eygyptians died." Adding, "like in the movie." Fair enough.

In wedding news, the photographer is booked and so is the DJ (read -- guy who comes and plays the playlists off my iPod). So if you're coming and you think the music sucks, it's my fault.

In general news, I'm enjoying running in the cold weather. I hauled my ass out of bed at 6 a.m. last Friday and ran in the neighborhood and it was fantastic. Today, not so much. I sucked ass -- was slow and winded the whole time and feeling blah. I'm running a 5K in NJ on Thanksgiving morning and I'm hoping to improve on my times.

Wow, I am really fucking boring today. I chopped onions. We bought vitamins. Huzzah.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Everyday, Everyday

This committing to blogging every day in November thing is already tough, and we're only in the first day of double digits. So I'm doing one of those tag things that I usually delete. Enjoy.


* Are you taller than your mother?
Yep. 5'7. She's around 5'2 or 5'3 -- I think.

* What color is your car?
It says silver, but I think it's more of light purple/gray.

* If you instantly become qualified for any profession, what would you do?
1.Novelist.
2.Lead guitarist in a glam rock band.
3.American Gladiator.

* What is your ring-tone?
The Verizon standard.

* Is there an animal that creeps you out?
Most things that live outside, although the rats that were living in our basement (i.e. The Rat Palace) were quite creepy.

* The last person you rode an elevator with?
Some randoms at work.

* Did you go ice skating as a kid?
Mennan Arena represent!

* Last person you had an argument with.
Probably YG. I claim it was a political disagreement. He claims it was a fight. :-)
And I argue with lots of people at work. Because I am either a bitch or smart, depending on your frame of reference.

* Ever have stitches?
Yep. I've had numerous goodies removed from my back.

* Favorite non alcoholic drink?
Diet Coke is the sweet nectar of the gods.

* How long ago did you kiss someone?
About five minutes ago.

* Ever caught something on fire?
I don't think so. The first thing that popped into my head was this girl in my middle school who caught her hair on fire with a Bunsen burner in science class. Even then I was an asshole because I suppressed a giggle while everyone else freaked out.

* Ever seen the northern lights?
Nope.

* Would you be a surrogate mother, carry a baby for someone else?
I don't think I could handle it.

* Ever been in a fight?
Two. I won. One was at a Phish show. Fuckin' hippies.

* Wearing nail polish?
Nope. Hardly ever.

* Innie or outie?
Innie.

* Ever used a Ouija board?
At sleepovers when I was a kid. They freak me out.

* Sweet or sour?
Chicken?

* Sun or Moon?
Sun.

* What shoes did you wear today?
Slippers. Running shoes.

* Favorite eye color of the opposite sex?
Blue.

* Most important quality in a relationship.
Trust. Loyalty. Ability to withstand my crazy.

* Nap today?
Nope.

* Time of day that you were born?
I don't remember. Will have to ask my mom.

* Do you know your blood type?
Not a clue.

* Name something annoying about public transit?
The fact that some people interpret public transit to mean public bathroom. Do not pee on the T!

* Did you grow up in a city or in the country?
Burbs all the way.

* Consider going on a reality show for a large amount of money?
Probably not.

* Flown in your dreams?
Nope.

* Whats the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?
I'm a picky eater. Boar.

* Hugs or kisses?
Both

* What was the best night out of your life? Lurid details please!
The date that wasn't a date.

* Whats your favourite item of clothing?
Flannel pajamas. Gray wool skirt.

* What form of dancing are you best (or worse) at?
The phrase "white people dancing" applies.

* Would you at any time of your life have done playboy for a million?
Totally. I've got way too many body hang ups. If someone wants to plaster my naked ass on a magazine spread, I'll take him or her up on it.

* Gold or silver?
Both.

* If you joined the circus, what would you be?
Mime

* Do you have a criminal record?
Clean as a whistle.

* What item of make-up can you not live with out?
Lipstick.

* Slurpee flavor?
Cherry Coke all the way.

Friday, November 09, 2007

Class Assignment: Piece of Music

The assignment was to write a short, 1000-word story about a piece of music that meant something to you. Here's what I didd.

Birds and Ships

Who knew wood paneling could be so romantic? This was one of the many thoughts racing through my head as I attempted to get warm under the threadbare, scratchy blanket. Who knew that I, ever a cynic, could even process the thought of romance in a way that wasn’t bitter or sarcastic? But I was feeling warm and glowing. Isn’t that how romance is defined in those kinds of girl-meets-boy-and-falls-in-love movies? How did I get here?

* * * * *

My friend who wasn’t a friend, but wasn’t quite yet a boyfriend was located in Massachusetts. I was living in New Jersey. And we were both tired of driving 250 miles for “date night.” After some discussion, we agreed that a mid-point somewhere in Connecticut, and preferably cheap and cheesy where we would play characters in a steamy romance novel, would be best. I found the Milford Motel the way all sexy romance characters find their motels – by Googling “I-95” and “cheesy motel” and “wood paneling.” The Milford was the first hit, and given that it came with a black and white print out coupon advertising a $49.99 rate per night, it won out over less favorable locations.

After battling traffic on I-95 and I-91 respectively, we arrived at The Milford, conveniently located right off the exit from the interstate, a gem tucked in between a Pilot AutoCenter, a Wendy’s, Dunkin Donuts and a Penthouse Playmates “boutique.” We were greeted by a mangy grey and white cat seated on a cracked vinyl chair in the inappropriately named reception area. A surly “host” behind bullet-proof glass handed us two faded towels and the giant key to Room 131 where my friend, a son of a Boston cop, informed me that the dents in the door could have only been made by a cops’ baton during some sort of raid.

Inside wasn’t much better. One light hung over a busted table with two faded chairs, and the bed, barely larger than a twin, had a scratched formica headboard, two deflated pillows, one flat sheet and a bedspread that looked eerily similar to one my parents had donated to Goodwill in 1980. My friend and I looked at each other, and immediately burst out laughing. We threw our provisions – iPod, beer, and candy – on the table and headed out for our planned date of Mexican food and bowling.

At El Torrero, Milford, CT’s home of the one-liter margarita, we wolfed down tequila, indulged on empanadas and fajitas, and discussed all the reasons why our previous marriages had failed. I was still smarting from my failure to succeed, and he was still trying to adjust to a life that didn’t include seeing his daughter everyday. The weight of our combined baggage should have dampened the evening, but laughed and talked long after our plates were cleared.

“Did you bring it,” I asked.

“Your playlist? I uploaded the songs last night.”

“Did you listen to any of them?”

“Some. On the way down.”

“So….?”

I held my breath. I have a complicated relationship with my playlists, and am constantly revising the soundtrack to my life, depending on my moods. As a “mix-tape junkie,” when I make a mix for someone, I spend hours pouring through my music library, selecting only songs that mean something to me and tell the story of the mix-receiver and I. The final playlist I had presented to my friend had been revised six times after deliberate and methodical consideration and included a careful selection of songs that didn’t mention anything about dating, or worse, being a boyfriend. They were all “getting to know you” or “missing you” songs with a few classics thrown in for good measure – if asked, I could always say they were representations of a certain time in musical history.

“I loved it, he said. “Especially ‘Birds and Ships’”

“Oh, I love that one too. It’s a Woody Guthrie song. Wilco and Billy Bragg recorded it for a collection they did of his previously unreleased stuff.”

“That line, “Where might my lonesome lover be,” he paused, and looked at me.

“Yeah.” I could feel myself reddening and looked away, swigging happily on my tequila.

We sat in silence for a bit longer, making eye contact every once in a while, blushing and glowing, before heading back to the motel.

On the rock-hard, scratchy bed, we lay side by side, headphones on, listening to my playlist. Earlier in our not-quite relationship, we had discovered how well we slept together, how our various limbs fit together like puzzle pieces, and I rolled over onto my side, letting him spoon me. Bob Dylan sang about leaving me lonesome when I go, and a cover of The Beatles “Don’t Let Me Down” rang softly in our ears. At “I’m in love for the first time, this time it’s going to last,” I smiled and grasped his hand, while he snuggled in closer. And then “Birds and Ships.”

I stared at the wood paneling, feeling like I was having some sort of out of body experience. I was deeply drunk, and the room rocked slowly as my thoughts fired away in rapid, cannon-fire progression, carefully cataloging my good luck, followed by “this is crazy” followed by “what’s next” and then “I am probably going to fuck this up too.” I have always wanted to turn my brain off for just five minutes, if only to appreciate the silences in moments like these.

“Where might my lonesome lover be?” came through the headphones.

I realized that the back of my neck was wet, and I reached up to touch my friend’s face, wiping away his very quiet tears. My inner monologue finally shut up.

“I am glad I’m here,” I said quietly, into the darkness, still staring at the walls.

“Me too.”

I rolled over and buried my face into his warm neck, where I’m told I fell asleep.

* * * * *

We are sitting on the couch. I’m folding laundry and he’s checking the weather on his Blackberry. His daughter is asleep for the night. On the table are various notes about DJs and photographers.

“If I book this guy,” he says, “he just shows up with his speakers and hooks up the iPod. You can do the playlists, right?”

“Ha! Can I do the playlists?” I snort.

He smiles and hits me with a renegade sock.

“Birds and Ships?”

“Of course.”

# # #

The lyrics

"Birds And Ships"

The birds are singing
In your eyes today
Sweet flowers blossom in your smile

The wind and sun
Are in the words you say
Where might your lonesome lover be?

Birds may be singing
In my eyes this day
Sweet flowers blossom when I smile

But my soul is stormy
And my heart blows wild
My sweetheart rides a ship on the sea

Though my soul is stormy
And my heart blows wild
Where might my lonesome lover be?