Motivation Station

You wanna piece of me?

It’s all so humiliating. The work project that virtually took over all of my other stories this week was abruptly taken from me this morning. I should be relieved. I didn’t lose it for any lack of talent or effort or anything like that, rather I lost it to someone more important than me and who is better-equipped to handle the internal politics.

It’s a bum way to enter a weekend, though. A couple of pats on the back would have helped me kick things off on a good note. Now, I feel deflated.  Yesterday I was taking steps to a healthier outlook on life, talking about fun new jobs, etc. Now I just want to curl up with chick lit and turn off my phone.

It won't be like this for long

I am sitting at my desk at 5pm waiting to figure out if it’s OK to leave for the day. The real peons are adamant about working their 37.5 hours a week. Me? I get paid like a peon and yet am expected to behave like I’m important around here. I mean, I’d be so much more agreeable about missing all those lunches and staying past 6 night after night if I didn’t have to watch the same slackers eagle-eye the clock everyday.

Enough about work!

Let’s seque from this stream-o-consciousness rant and set back feminism instead, OK?

I need men.

I need men for more than the obvious.

I need them for killing spiders and installing A/C units.

Last night I had to do both and it darn near broke me. I’m serious; fiddling around with a screwdriver and figuring out how to tilt the damn thing without dropping it two flights down, was enough to make me bolt the city and makeway for the suburbs and find one of those giant apartment complexes where everything looks the same and the A/C is always cool and accessible and pools are the rule. And the vexing thing is that I am by no means a lover of artificial air! I hate how cold office buildings and restaurants are this time of year. And I totally get that there’s nothing like a cool, natural breeze. But when you live in an 80-year-old building with no crossbreeze and an old cat who is dangerously close to combusting from this heat.…you will do anything to get some peace. And some sleep. 

A funny thing happened this morning. So, I’m thinking about getting another part-time job—I know, but things have happened that have made this a necessity, OK?—when I get a call from a restaurant saying they saw my resume and that someone from the previous restaurant said I would be great. This time I’d be back to serving. So I go to the interview—oh-so-close to my 9-to-5 gig—and I find out that the new place is like the witness protection program for the old place. Too funny. Best of all, I think I could totally kill myself working there for a few months, save money and then scale back and quit, no regrets.

Is it greedy of me to want/need/require two jobs in a recession? Or just too damn bad for the people who can’t stoop to serving brunch for extra cash?

Sorry—did that sound cranky?

Office annoyances

Guess what? You see this sandwich in my hand? It’s my lunch. Just because I am sitting at my desk does not mean you can barge into my cube and start blabbing about some story you know nothing about. Just because I’m in the bathroom at the same time as you doesn’t mean now is a good time to discuss tomorrow’s meeting. And if god forbid, you happen to see me waiting for the elevator bay—WITH MY BACK TURNED—don’t force me to turn around and speak with you about what is essentially nothing and could be covered in a simple e-mail. When you called my name and I didn’t respond, did it ever occur to you there might be a reason I might not want to turn around? Like the fact that I was too choked up at the moment to even make eye contact or speak? But no, you prattled along, oblivious…

You give blog a bad name

The most wonderful thing just happened.

My plans for tonight fell through and I don’t feel bad about it at all! True, I wasn’t much looking forward to seeing the movie I promised I’d see, but I felt like I owed the friend who invited me because she’s always up for whatever cheesy thing I want to do… But now I don’t have to! And best of all? No guilt. Because she is the one who cancelled. Don’t tell me this doesn’t sound familiar…

So I’ve decided I don’t like going out on Monday nights. Nor do I like going out on Sunday nights. Come to think of it, Friday nights aren’t so great either. I’m always too tired or the places I’d like to hang are too crowded. So that leaves Tuesday or Wednesdays (but not both) for after-work drinks/yoga/movie and Thursdays for after-work drinks with whoever I wasn’t meeting for drinks on Tuesday or Wednesday. Also, I have to plan each week carefully depending on whether John and I are on the Mon/Weds/Fri sked or Tues/Thurs/Sat (my preference) sked...

Last Sunday I was so bummed I’d told acquaintances I’d meet them for dinner that my whole day got thrown off. I’d thought about canceling but that’s hard when you’re just getting to know folks. So I dragged myself downtown on the winter-like night—thus missing the Tonys live—and found out that I was the ONLY one who was there besides the people organizing the dinner. It turned out to be fine but it was the sort of arrangement that begged for more people and I felt like the most boring person in the world as a result. Oh well. The worst part is that I realized during all of it that I really don’t like doing much on Sunday nights save for the random afternoon drink that turns into early debauchery. Because that’s just fun and spontaneous.

Are you getting the sense that I’ve lost the ability to engage?

I guess that’s what happens when you practically become a homebody overnight. I’m not apologizing but it’s hard to give “good blog” when your new idea of a good time is watching West Wing or Homicide DVDs and going to bed before 10. 

Two weeks to go before the eve of the eve of the second half of 2009. Start working on those resolutions!

Ask what you can do for yourself

So I went out with the girls last night, drank way too many of what turned out to be free beers (Thanks most awesome waitress!), chatted amiably with an ex, smoked too many cigarettes, embarrassed one of my friends by spilling her makeout secrets with the bouncer, talked to some strangers, got far too little sleep…and you know what?

I feel more like my old self than I have in ages. Even though I am tired, slightly hungover and dreadfully behind on work, I feel good. I got up early, ate breakfast, properly fixed my hair, dressed up for a date later with my dashing Mr. C and worked out during lunch.

It feels good. Please let it last!

Lately I have just been so bored with everyone and everything. Seasons change but my life never does, ya know? Oh great, I have to work, worry about money, juggle all of my obligations versus the things I want to do and the things I want to. Figure out how to spend quality time with the people I love, yada, yada, yada…And most frightening: worry that this is all there is. I don’t want advice to pull out of the doldrums because I can think of a million exciting things to do. What I can’t do is motivate myself to actually do them.

And so the days go by and weeks go by without blogging. I still inner monologue in blog in my thoughts, but very rarely bring myself to type it.

I’m going to make a better effort from now on.

Promise. Because I need this. I need to be that happy and energetic person I naturally am. It's never been hard. Until now. Until being tired became the status quo. Say what?!?(she asks herself, stunned.)

Because you know what June 30 is?

The eve of the second half of 2009, that’s what. I can SO do better! XO

PS- I started re-watching The West Wing on DVD. Sooo great to see those first episodes again for the first time in gulp, TEN YEARS.

My life would suck without you all

We have this policy at work that if we’re here, we pick up the phone.

Doesn’t matter if it’s your line, your cube neighbor’s line, your boss’s…someone answers the phone whenever possible. Good customer service and all, donchaknow.

And for the most part, it’s no big deal.

But there are some days, when I wish I could just magically press a button and send someone to voicemail … I am working on about 5 hours of sleep, coupled with many body pains, and I just can’t take it anymore!

This old, retired guy keeps calling (3 times so far today and I already gave him a status update on Monday about this very nice thing I am doing for him THAT I DON'T HAVE TO DO) and is making me crazy. Seriously…STOP calling me. Or get some e-mail. Or, when you do call, please take a moment to listen to what I am saying! Anything but your entitled, whiny, New Yawk-is-the-Center-of-the-Universe voice! Argh!

So, why am I tired?

Well, it’s a combination of actually having to get up at 5:30 am one morning (work thing) this week and then actually choosing (yoga) to get up at that hour on another. It’s the anxiety that goes along with wanting to get a precious 7-8 hours rest and the reality that goes along with my apparently telepathic cat that senses even the slightest shift in my breathing and turns it into an excuse to cry for food. Yes, cry. I’ve gone to bed before 10 two nights in a row (and 10:30 on the other) and for some reason, I keep waking up at 3, 4…then the cat catches on and meows near my head…I respond by throwing her to the foot of the bed (she doesn’t sleep with me but does like to be nearby in the morning so she doesn’t miss out on my “exit” from bed.) Do all cats do this when they get old because seriously, for the first 10 years of her life, she was darn near perfect and nowhere near the clingy, lazy, demanding beast she has become! Any takers?

As for the body aches, despite the near maniacal dedication I have given to my feet these last few months, they still manage to hurt. For the last few days, every time I get up it feels like I have a broken foot. Ice and meds don’t seem to be helping. I think I am going to forego spinning until I get the proper cycling shoes. Or maybe take a day off, but really, let’s not be fooled here. Light spinning, Light yoga and pool aerobics aren’t exactly what makes tough athletes…(although I accidentally took a really hard yoga class on Monday and discovered that one-armed planks twisting upwards will leave you sore for days so who knows what I did?)

Hmmmm what else?

I formally requested vacation time earlier this week and it gave me such a bolt of adrenaline! For the first time, I will be taking a stay-cation in my own city (loathe this word, but can’t think of a better one right now.) I have big plans to conquer all of the weird-timed classes at my gym, paint my nightstand and get all those errands done I never seem to have time for on the weekends. Fun, right? Also my mom and her cousin are coming at the front end of the week I am taking off and so I will also be playing tourist. That’s in May.

I am going to try and get away in June/early July for a long weekend in The Homeland and will also visit the beach in August. I cannot wait for the first round to begin. Blogging may have been light this winter but I think we all know how much the first quarter of the year sucked.

I will also continue to talk myself out of chasing any foolish second jobs (not as easy as it sound) and counteract by pinching pennies.

OH- I know what else I wanted to say?
Is anyone watching Idol? Because I am and I am loving it. And I love it even more after watching the cocky and undeserving Anoop get the boot last night. I was glad to see Lil go as well but her I actually felt sorry for because she just didn’t get it.

I’m not sure I’d buy records from any of the Only 3 Who Deserve To Be Praised but I gotta say, Adam is amazing, Alison is only going to grow into that voice and Kris is a genuine surprise. Sure he’s as bland as a cup o’ Swiss Miss, but he has a definite ear for arrangements. As for Danny and Matt, pat yourselves on the back and move on!

I think that’s it for now.

OH- if you’re looking for a DVD recommendation, I urge you to check this out. I am waiting on seeing the movie but this mini-series hooked me in the opening seconds. It hooked John too (aka Mr. Complicated) and Spencer…need I go on? Just rent it!

Breathe with me...

So, not only have I not been blogging much lately, I’ve been holding out on you. Holding out as in not sharing all of my obsessions and the weird ways I trick myself into doing stuff and that’s no fun, because let’s face it, my obsessions are possibly the most interesting thing about me.

I mentioned awhile back that I’ve been doing yoga. It’s been about two months and I am totally hooked. I mean, for real. As in: I get it now. Not the health benefits or stretches or fun clothes that go along with it, but how breathing in yoga can help you with everything else in life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still terrified to touch a Level 2 class, but it’s very cool to witness my own progress in this sport. When I started—around my birthday—I was really worried that my wrist wouldn’t be able to handle my bodyweight and now I can do planks and lower myself down and everything!

So, Step 1 of How to Do Things Other Than Walk For Exercise is going well. I love it so much that I am going to try and get up at 5:30 on Thursday just so I can take this one teacher’s class…IF I do so, I promise to blog again--twice in a week. Maybe I'll get on a roll...

Step 2 is something I’ve done on and off for years: Water Aerobics. The challenge here is actually finding a class that doesn’t conflict with having a 9-to-5 job. I love being in the pool—however, at my gym, at most gyms, and pretty much overall, people assume these classes are just for the elderly or obese. Nevermind that they are great workouts, but most classes take place around 10am. Soooo….in order to make my twice-weekly quota, I’ve taken to wearing my swimsuit under my work clothes on Fridays and then escaping at 10 for an “early” lunch. Most likely, my coworkers assume I’m having an affair or shopping early to beat the crowds but no, I am actually sprinting down Michigan Ave. to keep a date with the pool. I even wear a shower cap to keep my hair from getting (too) dirty. And yes, I feel like idiot but it’s all in keeping with my not-so-public resolution to take care of myself.

OH—and I may be burying the lede here, but the other day, after I was showering from being in the pool, I realized that I didn’t have any underwear and was forced to go commando the rest of the day. Um, this was weird for me since I don’t think I had EVER gone commando before. Sistah was quite shocked by this. Are you? If so, tell me your story!

Finally, there’s my most impressive achievement of all: I have become a spinner. I was hesitant to mention this earlier (I started this at the same time as yoga) for fear of failing but it turns out, if you keep doing something that sucks, you might turn out to like it! After weeks of grunting and panting and checking the clock every 2 minutes, it turns out I am addicted to spinning. Or maybe it’s just that I’m afraid to stop because I don’t ever want to feel crotch pain like that again? Who knows! Last week was my first three-class week and I may go for 4 this time. I love that at my gym you get to reserve your bike in advance. It makes me feel so obligated and motivated…Finally, a reward for being anal! Hurray!

Anyway, hope everyone had a fun Easter. I realize I didn’t truly reveal the weird obsessions, but trust me. I am already planning workout excursions to other gyms and making new friends and well, maybe I’ll actually lose a few pounds. Sadly, that hasn’t happened yet, but that’s your own fault when you can’t give up the Cheetos! Or beer...or movie popcorn...

Grumpiness continues

Good grief, even the 74-degree day didn't help...

I can’t decide. Would my life be better or worse if no one ever spoke socially to me at work?

I recently decided that the new plan is to stop celebrating my birthday in any way that requires people to “show up” for it. This way, I don’t have to feel guilty when I can’t “show up” for theirs. I am tired of feeling guilty for other peoples’ disappointments. If you want to celebrate your birthday, plan something. If not, that’s OK too. What’s not OK is whining that you didn’t celebrate your birthday!

I am in desperate need of new knives, new sheets and Macy’s giftcards…somebody marry me—STAT!

I picked Oklahoma and don’t know why. You?

Update (yes, I have run out of titles)

I’ve done yoga 4 times in one week—a new record…this is not bragging, it was only basic yoga—you know the level designed for the oldies and nonanorexic—but after seemingly waking up with a new injury every other day, I really need something that both helps me relax and not hurt so much. Fingers crossed.

Speaking of injuries, I hurt my lower back for three days after attending a senior citizen dance class at my gym!

Last night I watched CSI Miami for the first time. Oh my goodness, what happened to Christa Miller? 

Hmmm, I’ve been trying to think of a way to blog without sounding like such a Bitter Betty. A tough task considering most days I hate everything and everyone and am utterly winter-bluesed-out by everything that I get upset over trivial things like other people’s blogs and yelp reviews that make me envy the reviewer’s life. Argh. 

But alas, I can’t help myself, all I really like to do these days is complain. So those of you asking for a blog…here’s what’s currently in my head: 

• I hate my apartment. I want a full-size refrigerator, a disposal, A/C and a bathtub. Oh, and more than one closet to fit my life.

• I also hate, in no particular order my skin, clothes, shoes, bank balance and inability to stop eating Cheetos.

• My boyfriend is an intellectual, not a romantic. Ninety percent of the time, that brain of his is what I love most about him, HOWEVER, being that I’ve spent the last two months being cold, no wait, being cold and poor, no WAIT, being cold, poor and on-and-off sick, I feel like I could use a little romance instead of say, Night No. 137 of watching TCM on the couch. And I love TCM on the couch, I really do, but I could also use a page from someone else’s exotic life once in a while.

• People who block the exits on public transportation deserve to be stepped on. Get out of my way! 

But enough about me…who’s into money and investments and IRAs ohmy?

 The lovely Sistah who does not blog, now has a father who DOES blog. Are you following? And it’s about money and the stock market and other stuff I don’t understand, but maybe will if he keeps up this prolific pace! You can find him here. Good luck, Fathah Landy, hope to see you soon!

End of an era

Reason No. 137 not to have a diamond ring.

One day your kid might flush it down the toilet!

This entry is dedicated to my Nana, who died recently (Feb. 3.) She was 85.

Nana would have felt terrible about my nephew’s recent act of “flushery.” She would have felt terrible, would have offered my sister one of her own diamonds or probably offered to buy her a new one. She may have laughed. She might even have launched into a now years-old tale of losing one of her own rings in 1977 when a certain blogger took a walk around the neighborhood and returned sans ring. I don’t remember that. At least I don’t think I do. When we were going through some of her jewelry last week, I saw a ring that looked vaguely familiar…

In the 36-odd years, I don’t think I ever saw my grandmother in a bad mood. Not even after she got a pacemaker installed in the early ‘90s. Not even when I told her I was leaving Virginia yet again, in 2003. “You need to go and live your life,” she said. “Don’t worry about me!”

She used to amuse my friends with her theatrics—“I’m tired of being good, I want to be bad,” she’d answer if you told her to “be good” upon leaving a cozy evening spent at her house watching “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy.” “You should be on that show,” she’d say, amazed that I remembered the capital of Honduras is Tegulcigapa.

I’m lucky: I got to have grandparents—4 of them—until I reached adulthood. I had actual conversations with all of them, and even though my dad’s parents lived 3,000 miles away, I saw them enough that I remember them and can see parts of them in the generations they left behind.

But in 1996, I was left with only one grandparent. I was living in California then and I used to call Nana up and check on her. Usually that meant calling her for a minute from my phone and then waiting for her to call me back on her dime.

She wasn’t home much, actually. She was too busy! She was always doing something back then. Bowling. Shopping. Visiting my mom. Walking around the neighborhood.

During the last few years, she couldn’t remember much, but she never forgot to laugh! Over this last Thanksgiving, my mom kept her TV set tuned to an “I Love Lucy” marathon (Nana was a proud redhead herself!) and oh! How she cackled … Hearing that laugh made us feel good, like maybe she had some more time. Or maybe she’d remember more than our names.

She went from being the favorite grandparent who cooked the “favorite mashed potatoes” to being the favorite patient. Her beloved caretaker told me at the funeral that she’s not sure if she wants to take on a new patient.

I know I am lucky to have had such meaningful times with my grandparents. I know this. But it doesn’t make it any easier though, knowing you’ve lost you’re best personal connection to the past.

South city midnight lady

I forgot my lunch today, which was irritating on many levels, none more so than the fact that I had to pay $3 for a cup of tuna salad and $4 for some mushy garden salad I didn’t even finish. I’d made a special trip to my favorite deli last night and there sitting in my fridge was enough crab salad for two sandwiches and enough chicken salad to get me through the weekend. Three meals, $5…

And anyway, as I made my way back to the office, it hit me that my despondence over this bit of brain spazzing was probably a good thing. I thought about the $7 and how it was equivalent to half of what I’ll likely spend on brunch tomorrow or 2 weeks worth of coffee I could brew at home (which in turn saves me, like, $20) and how it could almost cover a taxi home tonight if I get lazy with Mr. C. In fact, I can say proudly that I have only taken two taxis so far in 2009 and one was on the day it was neg-20 windchill and I had to get to work from the dentist’s office in less than 30 minutes, meaning responsibility trumped comfort and not the weather.

All around me people are making plans. Trips to places near and far and warm. Fancy restaurants. $12 martinis. Boots marked 75 percent off… Heck, I even turned down buying Super Bowl squares! This broken record of saying “I can’t afford it” is embarrassing and getting old, and yet, I can’t help but feel a little bit proud that never again will I unconsciously throw $10 down the drain and that the new habits I’ve acquired in the last 9 months will hopefully stick around. And if it’s happening for me this way, maybe it’s happening for others. I hope so. I also hope that more of us can prove the commenters of this wrong.

At least that's how it's seen in the eyes of one former shop/eatout/travelholic!

I'm hot, you're cool

OK, so 2008 ended with me toeing the line between sanity and sadness...

But who could have guessed what ills awaited me in 2009?

I lasted 4 days into the new year before waking up to the sinus infection that just won’t quit on Jan. 5. At first I tried to sleep it off, cough it out, drink-lots-of-fluids-and-wish-it-away. By the fourth day, I was on the dreaded antibiotics and after wasting an entire weekend alternating between the bed and the couch, by Jan. 11, I felt like I was feeling better. Alas, the same Zithromax that had cured the sinuses was now doing a number on my stomach and head. Even reading hurt. But because we were on deadline, I dragged my sorry but to work, but left early two days. I also stayed home on Friday, making the grand total of workdays lost so far: 3.

I feel better now, the cough is not nearly as scary and the phlegm not nearly so green.

It’s funny how quickly it gets old, being sick I mean. Maybe it’s just me, but spending the occasional day in bed, resting all that ails you, is sometimes OK. But man, when your body conks out and you have no energy beyond lying there and blinking (we’re talking the kind of couch time where you sit through Beverly Hills Cop 2 with commercials—TWICE) is just an instant recipe for depression. Suddenly, January is the truly cruelest month and you can't imagine ever having energy again. And that’s without even venturing into the neg-20 conditions.

I’m at work again today and Obama is officially sworn in. Yay! One of these days, I'll blog about something other than my complaints. Stay tuned. 

Meet me in the land of hope and dreams

2008 was the year I got old. For years it seems I’ve coasted on passion and enthusiasm. 

Not anymore. 

This was the year I fell out of love with bars (thanks, Chicago, for banning smoking just about everywhere) and my body betrayed me while moonlighting. Friends let me down and I let them down and my biggest fears turned out to be true.

No longer does the prospect of discovering a new adventure at every turn thrill me. Instead it’s been replaced by an uneasiness that whatever awaits, I won’t be able to afford it.

Even the power of love seems dimmer. That fantasy of building a life and partnership seems foolishly antiquated when faced with hopeless situations that can never fully be resolved. Is everyone secretly miserable most of the time?

Working 70 hours a week used to invigorate me. Chatting with strangers—en route to those new adventures, no doubt—used to inspire. Now my days are dominated by meaningless work and trips to the grocery store followed by laundry, doing stuff I don’t want to do out of obligation, and repeat.

It’s all so exhausting, discovering that the old think you’re young, the young think you’re old and you still haven’t done a damn thing with your life other than learn that you have to keep on learning to stave off hysteria.

So yeah, it’s not the most optimistic end to a year, yet somehow capturing just a portion of the negativity that has cursed me these last 12 months may be exactly what I need.

Therefore, as we head into 2009 I vow to:

• Never again apologize when none is necessary. Even if it means being the bigger person.

• Take a lunch break at least twice a week.

• Continue lovefest with the gym.

• Hold close friends closer, provide support when I can, and just say “No” to the rest.

• Prepare for the next step.

• Take a class.

• Volunteer.

• Never, EVER, end a year feeling this way again.

Don't doubt her

So I am home working on a rare telecommuting day and am watching The View. I wouldn’t normally watch this show but I am on my couch and Meryl Streep is the guest and I am just riveted to all things Streep and so here I am.

I am fascinated with how her life can’t really be normal yet every time I see her it strikes me how natural and unpretentious she is. I believe her when she says she likes to “goof it up” on the set and how wearing a nun’s habit in Doubt was refreshing because she didn’t have to worry about her appearance.

If you are aging comfortably in this life, you should gain confidence with the years—even as the wrinkles come, the extra pounds become more stubborn and parts begin to sag. This hard-earned wisdom and surprising comfort embodied in an older skin makes growing old seem almost desirable. I mean, would I trade the spare tire around my waist if it meant I also had to take my 20-year-old brain back? I don’t think so.

I was 8 or so the first time I saw a movie with Meryl Streep in it. Don’t ask me why an 8-year-old was watching Kramer vs. Kramer back then, but we had HBO and I took it upon myself to check out the movie with the funny soundtrack and pouty little boy. I don’t think I quite understood the grimness of the film, but I remember thinking how icy and pretty and unmotherlike her character seemed. I took that impression to many of the films that followed until I saw Sophie’s Choice as a teenager. That was the movie that clicked for me on why everyone always said she was our greatest actress. In that movie she completely makes you believe she was this Polish Catholic Holocaust survivor who was forced to choose between her children. The thing I will always picture when I think of her in that movie is her ethereal beauty she brought to Sophie.

You can nail all the accents you want, but beauty is what gets you roles in Hollywood—no matter how talented you are.

Today, as I watch all of these beautiful actresses destroy themselves with plastic surgery, I can’t help but think they should be looking to Streep. Not only to stand in awe of her immeasurable talent but to mimic the way she is aging as well! I’m not saying she hasn’t ever altered her appearance, but when I look at her I see a realistic 50-something women. Not a 50-something woman trying to look like she did in Sophie’s Choice or any other movie where she played the beautiful ingenue. It creeps me out the way women seemed so pressured to look the same from 30 to 60-something. I look at someone like Priscilla Presley and wonder what she would have looked like had she just left her damn face alone. Goldie Hawn at 60 without the strange lips. Meg Ryan accepting 40 without destroying her face. The list goes on and on…

Anyway, maybe Streep needs to get on the lecture circuit.

 

Fasten your seatbelts

I got the chance to watch “All About Eve” for the first time last summer. I know! Can you believe I hadn’t seen it?

I’m running around in a bit of a tizzy today, what with work being sucktastic after having last week off and the stories just piling up in my e-mail. I failed to notice the signs pointing to that most inconvenient of conditions that affect most women under the age of 50 at least once a month.

If you’ve seen me in the last days, I am sure you knew. What with my pizza face and crying over Oprah.

Anyway, something about how I feel today made me think of All About Eve and a scene three-quarters through when Bette Davis complains to Celeste Holm about getting older and losing her career (ie, looks):

“There's one career all females have in common - whether we like it or not: being a woman.”

It’s so true, I wish more of us could just accept it.

On a grand day, I feel like I could still be anything I want in this life. Most days, though, I am wondering how much more tolerance I need to build in order to continue surviving in a world so thoroughly dominated by men.

Here’s another great line, staying on that thought:

“Bill's thirty-two. He looks thirty-two. He looked it five years ago, he'll look it twenty years from now. I hate men.”

The irony here is that the script was written by a man, the marvelous Joseph Mankiewicz...And just for fun, I direct you to this post.

And here’s something that has nothing to do with the above whatsoever but I wanted to share anyway…

**Here’s an unintended effect of Project Greener: Extra Waste Propelled by Green Guilt.

So I have my printer at work set up to do double-sided printing. I’ve been doing this for years and recently we received memos urging everyone else to do it too. Yay, right?

For reasons unknown my printer keeps switching back to one-sided printing. I print something out, notice it’s only on one side and then I struggle with this little dandy: To print again in proper form or just fess up that I messed up (and as a result, save more paper?)

Care to guess which road I chose?

I shot a man in Reno

There was a time when I was utterly fearless. Up until I’d say, 16, I’d try just about any dare there was, jumping off roofs and climbing trees and even doing back handsprings on the balance beam.

I’d bet neighborhood kids who could run faster or do more flips on the high bar at the playground.

I remember this one time how I bet this guy Cory Steinbrenner I could do a flip faster than him on the monkey bars. We each hoisted ourselves into position, supporting our weight with our wrists, hipbones resting on the bar as we waited for the signal. And when the contest was over—I won allright, I completed two flips to his one—I reveled in the oohs and ahhs of the small crowd at our elementary school, even as some teacher had to cart me off to the hospital for a suspected broken nose.

When I stopped doing gymnastics, I also stopped being fearless. It’s nothing specific, but it seems the combination of awakening to the dangers of the world and no longer twisting your body into pretzel positions on a regular basis, does something to your adventurelust. School got harder, boys got more interesting, afterschool jobs took on new meaning…well, one day I just woke up and was afraid of heights.

I never stopped and analyzed it too hard. I had no desire to jump out of airplanes and no one ever pushed me to bungee jump. I’ve seen the movie “Vertigo” over and over for 20 years now never stopping to consider that I may have a small permanent case of it myself… 

In 1992 Spencer and I took what remains a most memorable and amazing trip to Yosemite. On our final day of the trip, the group set out to “climb” Half Dome, the 4,700-foot and probably most famous granite cliff in the U.S.

I remember packing the car at 5 or 6am so that we could leave as soon as we finished. I am not sure how long we thought this would take but the ground-to-top distance roundtrip was something like 19 miles. Put it this way: walking that on flat ground would take me 4 hours—and Half Dome is nearly 10 miles uphill.

Up and up we walked and circled, stopping to apply sunblock along the way. I never thought once about what climbing really entailed until we got to the final 400 feet, which entailed climbing up steep rock with the help of steel cables bolted into the mountain. I panicked, felt faint, couldn’t move. Off went Spencer and the rest of our party without me. I was left to wonder what the heck just happened.

I always regretted not finishing that climb and to this day, Spencer never fails to remind me that I didn’t really “climb Half Dome” since I only made it 4,300 feet of the way. I don’t bother correcting her. She’s right. 

Some of you know I took a trip to Prague last month with Amber. I’ve been so remiss about blogging that I haven’t taken the time to praise the beauty of this beautiful city. We ate amazing meals and stayed in what may be my favorite hotel ever (at least fave hotel breakfast) and toured the Jewish Quarter and just got lost in the cobblestones. We met old Jana and Young Jana and learned all about their beloved King Charles and his beautiful bridge. I’d go back in a heartbeat.

There was also Petrin Hill, which some call the Eiffel Tower of France (not really) and which offers one of the most amazing views of the city. 

For some reason, this 60-meter tower taunted me and turned into some weird personal conquest in the 1.5 hours it took to walk from the bottom of the hill (the tower is just 60 meters, but the walk to get to the tower takes about 30 minutes) and I was determined to enjoy the view. The inside walk up does visitors the favor of shielding climbers from the view until the very end and so therefore I had no idea how sick I would become once I came in contact with air. There I was, looking out at this spectacular city, and all I could do was crumple to the ground and wonder how I was going to get back down. In my mind, the tower was swaying with the breeze. I just knew I was going to drop the camera. I’m not even sure how I got back down or if I conquered some fear just by making it to the top. The climb was nothing like Half Dome yet I took comfort in the fact that this time I completed my goal.

Some unholy war

So, the other night I was up late doing laundry and I caught the tail end of the Oprah replay. (In Chicago, fyi, The Grand Ms. O is on at 9am and 11:05pm.) Anyway, this episode centered on clutter and how to rid yourself of it in your house. 

I won’t bother summing it up myself, but if you’re curious, go here. This site is also the home of a creative Chicago gal (and stranger to me) who is at the tale end of Living Everything Oprah says for a year. I hope she gets a book out of it because I like the premise and it would be a fabulous gift for some of the women in my life—(as I type without judgment.) 

How did I find this site? Because I specifically googled Oprah and clutter. I wanted to see if there were people out there annoyed as me. The part I saw wasn’t just about removing clutter (indeed, one annoying shoe whore had trash, trash not clutter, everywhere.) No, Oprah also had the transformational redecorators visit. 

I was glad to see this blogger singled out what irritated me the most about this show:

You know what I would adore? I'd like to see one of these shows go into a surprised guest's home, declutter and redecorate ONLY with what's already in the house. No paint, no Container Store, no new appliances from Lowes. Just use the resources that are already within the walls of the home. I think that's a show I might really learn from. 

It’s funny, after seeing this, I told Spencer the very same thing and judging from the comments on LO, it looks like it struck a nerve. I despise clutter, and as a girl who changes apartments every two years, does everything I can do avoid it. Still it seems, no matter how many trips I make to goodwill or how many trips I make to the dumpster, I can’t seem to get away from feeling junky. I guess living in a 1930’s apartment with no closets in the bedroom will do that to a girl. But seriously, help people learn how to work with what they already own, ‘cause I guarantee you that the apartment fairies aren’t visiting anytime soon! 

Bah humbug. Also, I searched my blog and found these musings on Oprah from 2006.

Eurotrash girl

I am a person who THRIVES by a *routine. I like plans, being in control (as much as one can be without alienating friends) and people who follow the rules. 

It’s been more than two months since I left the restaurant and as much as I miss (er, mourn) the extra $300 or so that yielded me each month, I know I can’t go back. Even though I got to a point where I only had to work two days a week, I never knew which two it would be and the angst that caused…well, I don’t think I can go there again. That’s because after two months, I am just starting to assemble a new after-work routine, and even dipping a toe back into that moonlighting world would, I’m sure, disrupt my goal for the remaining part of 2008: To fall back in love with the gym.

Does anyone believe there is such a thing as exercise anxiety? I am trying to find a condition that would explain the hang-ups I have developed over the last two years. I mean, believe me when I say that I enjoy sweating and working out. Truly. And after walking my butt off the Summer of 2007, I vowed to continue my fitness dedication. But then I moved, and started the aforementioned moonlighting, and starting dating again, and suddenly it seemed like the gym was the first item scraped off my plate. I thought I was taking a major step in May when I re-joined my downtown gym, but after going a few times and being hassled by a trainer, I started looking for other ways to sweat my way to good health and avoided it at every turn. I tried making fellow fitness enthusiasts walk with me by way of socializing, but they weren’t depending on the exercise the way I was. Anyway, next thing you knew, Exercise Anxiety had spread.

Last weekend, Sistah came to visit and I told her we’d be taking a cardio class one day during her stay. But then I decided that walking would be much more fun during our weekend catch-up and avoided it again. I told her some of this nonsense and promised to visit the gym on Monday.

And you know what? I did it! And I’ve been four days in a row now! And even though Monday was torture in terms of enjoyment, I went back on Tuesday and felt good about it. And last night, even though I had plans, I managed to squeeze in a quick 45 minutes on the elliptical. Then today, I took advantage of a rare opportunity to take an entire lunch hour and did 45 minutes on the treadmill, including 20 minutes of running at a high incline. I’m sure I’ll need to take a day off soon, but right now it feels nice working toward a routine again. If only I could pick up a weight…

Anyway, that’s what’s going on. Oh, I’ve been dating Mr. C. for a year. Can you believe it? Remember this post?

* That being said, I am perfectly happy being spontaneous, but generally my spontaneous time is pre-scheduled. As in: Oh good, no one has asked me to do anything Saturday…couch time! Or, I may not know what I am doing on any given weekend afternoon, but rest assured I can go one of several ways: movie, workout, coffee, etc. Without these commitments, I become paralyzed and ultimately end up doing nothing.

Come on up for The Rising

I’ve had this saying for a few months now—I can’t remember who or what inspired me so I apologize if I stole it from you—but it’s been a fun response to the many “How are yous?” we run into on a daily basis. I say it to acquaintances I see on the bus, bartenders whose names I can’t remember, strangers in the elevator…And because I have been of a particular mindframe as of late, I find myself saying it more and more at work. Most people smile when they hear it and some of them, I think, sense that my answer is, in fact, dripping with sarcasm. Unfortunately, though, I am going to have to find a new saying, thanks to one of the most electrifying things EVER.

Because now that this great country has answered the call to be great again, answering the question “How are you” with the phrase “Living the dream, baby!” has taken on a whole ‘nother meaning!

Let us pause for a minute.

Can you believe it actually happened?

BARACK OBAMA was elected president!

And The Homeland—that notoriously arrogant and misguided good-ol’ boy state—voted Democrat for the first time since LBJ, with some folks reportedly waiting as long as 7 hours to ensure that those 13 electoral votes fell into Obama’s camp! 

It was a special night and I hardly missed a second of it--on TV. I feel like I disappointed so many people by electing not to go to Grant Park. But part of the fun is watching the returns and let’s face it, I’ve been in full curmudgeon state lately—not that any of you have truly witnessed this, with Mo’ Station so inactive—and the thought of the crowds and standing and not being able to go to the bathroom, well, I feel like choosing my comfy couch and sharing a Prosecco toast with my boyfriend (who was in favor of going to the rally, btw) was the way to go. (I also won my bet with him by correctly predicting that the race would be called by 10pm our time. A complete accident on my part but, I WON.)

This election makes me feel optimistic again about the future of our country. E. summed it up very nicely when she said that it “feels like a different country now” and that we don’t have to feel embarrassed when traveling abroad and admitting to others that we're Americans. This will indeed be a tough 4 years for our new leader, but if we can all believe in the direction we are headed in and trust in the new administration, well, anything is possible. I am envious of all those children out there who will never know what a very big deal this was.

Living the dream. For real.

Blinded by the bitter

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

The later I go into work, the more likely it is I will have to stand on the bus. I accept this and don’t mind it too much, especially since I usually get a seat once half the bus departs at Milwaukee.

This morning, however, I was still standing after the Milwaukee stop. A seat opened up at the next stop and I moved to let the person out (I was blocking the opening in the aisle.) As I prepared to replace their butt with mine, a large dude (6-5, 250-ish is large, right) swooped in, took the seat, and whipped out his book. Look people, I am a perfectly healthy female who doesn’t go around waiting for men to give me seats, but this was ridiculous! I felt like Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatos only without the better insurance. I wanted to pummel that guy with a sledgehammer. I got my own seat minutes later but couldn’t stop sending daggers to the back of his head. “Let it go,” I breathed to myself silently. "Remember what faces you ahead in the Land of 9-to-5."

It’s almost 3 p.m. I haven’t let it go. In fact, I’m still mad about a spoon left in the sink last week. Or the beer coupon from last night.

You try to let things go, and in fact, for the most part, you succeed at this. It’s just the 1 or 2 (or 900) scenarios when You. Know. You. Are. Right. that get to you. How do you handle those because I really  can't go around yelling at everyone just to prove a point.

In other news, I took advantage of Illinois' Early Voting on Monday and cast my ballot for Obama. It feels good.

Goodnight, good luck and talk to you later

Taking a break, people. Stop the world, I want to get off!

Maybe this will last a week, maybe a month, maybe 'til 2009. All's I know is that I have enough crap to worry about without stressing about updating the mundaneness I call life.

Yours Truly,

Jen

Hang out right

It’s 8:17 am and my cellphone is buzzing. A quick look down lets me know it’s my mother and I have about two seconds to make a difficult decision: to answer or not to answer.

I don’t often answer my phone in public. As a full-time public transportation rider, I am loathe to letting the outside world into my personal—albeit, boring—business.

Between my twice-daily bus rides and part-time restaurant work and heck, just walking down the streets of Chicago, I am exposed to more unwanted phone conversations each day than I care to count. I have heard strangers beg credit card companies to increase their credit limits. Wives yelling at the husbands to pick up the dry-cleaning. And perhaps my most favorite, the Important Business Deal. Just the other day, I spent my entire trip home, sans iPod sadly, listening to a 400-pound woman telling her friend Katie over and over “that’s your man, not mine. Why should I have a conversation with your man.”

She also used the F-word at least 17 times and oh yes, her 3-year-old daughter was in tow.

For a while, I tried staring at the offenders, silently making eye contact with them to let them know I was listening. To them, it was me who was the rude party.

So, while I appreciate beloved friends and family calling to check in, is it too much to ask that they understand why I am rendered practically mute when faced with this dilemma? You may be stuck in tunnel traffic but I am most likely crammed into a loud sardine box with wheels.

Sometimes I answer to say I’ll call them back only to find out that once the rush hour is over, they've reached home and can’t talk.

When did phone calls simply become a way to pass the time?

I remember when I was growing up and my grandparents used to call on Sundays. Or the phone dates my mom would make with her sister.

Can’t we at least go back to that consideration a little bit?

I admit that I’ve grown less and less enchanted with talking on the phone as I’ve gotten older but I haven’t lost my desire to stay in touch. So many people rely on calling you in the five minutes they have free that day rather than saving it all up for a meaningful exchange. (and as I type this I realize I owe more than a few of you a solid 30-minute phone date...but whatever, for now, I am ranting.)

Anyway, back to my mom. I find early morning phone calls to be troubling from family, as in “What’s wrong”-troubling. It’s debatable that 8:17 is early but still, it’s close enough that I can’t not pick it up.

And thankfully, everyone’s fine. But my mom does have a question about this actress in that movie…

Another Saturday night

The reservation came in about a week before the dinner. He’d made the reservation online and in the space allotted to notes had typed the following: 

I’m proposing to my girlfriend. If she says yes (hopefully) please bring two glasses of champagne. 

A simple enough request, but then he’d added the following: My daughter will be there too. Please bring her a class of Sprite in a flute glass if possible. 

The staff was intrigued. 

“I wonder how old the daughter is,” mused Charlotte,  “ and why she’s coming along on her dad’s date.”

“Maybe he’s a widower,” Kate suggested. “Maybe she’s never had a mom.”

I took the cynical approach: “Maybe he got his high school girlfriend pregnant and never married her.”

“Is he proposing here? Or somewhere else?” 

The waiters went back to checking their sections and making sure the glasses were clean, the tables set. A manager walked by and raised an eyebrow when she saw the request. The couple was late and minutes ticked by. Meanwhile a couple in their 60s strolled up and went to the bar.

“Did you hear?” Bree asked me, as the dinner rush began to heat up.

“That’s the proposal couple. They’re old.”

Oh.

But wait, what about the daughter? And why would some man go to the trouble of requesting a Sprite?There was no time to think. More tables came in and I didn’t see Bree for a while. Then, 45 minutes after their scheduled reservation, a couple came in with a Goldilocks doppelganger. One of those adorable 5-year-olds who usually end up in grape juice commercials…

“Sorry we’re late,” the man said, smiling. “We got held up at the zoo.”

I showed them to the table, walking backwards slightly, studying them to see if anything special had transpired. Mercifully, the woman excused herself.

“We saw your note in the reservation, sir. Would you like us to proceed?” He nodded, but nervously, I thought. Nothing’s happened—yet. Jessie, the waiter, pounced on me the minute I walked away from the table.

“Do I bring it now?” he asked. 

“Yes. Wait. I don’t know.”

We were all nervous now, wondering if we’d screwed anything up. I kept an eye on the washroom area, worried we were ruining a script we hadn’t read. No sign of the woman. Whew.

I went back to the table.

“Sir, I hate to be dense, but you’ll give us the sign, right?”

“I’ll tell the waiter,” he promised.

I went back to the host stand and checked in with Bree.

“You told me it was the old people!”

“You mean it’s not?”

Sigh.

Table 70 became a watched pot.

“Has he done it yet?” 

“Is she smiling?”

“That little girl looks pretty well cared for.”

“The girlfriend looks older than the guy. No wonder she doesn’t mind that he has a kid.”

“Has he done it yet?”

In the end, he didn’t have to explain a thing.

Somewhere between the Muscat and crème brulee, he got down on one knee, surprising both girlfriend and Goldilocks.

One cried and the other erupted in laughter.

“Congratulations,” I said, ringing them up for a bottle of Breussin on their way out.

“We came here on our first date,” the woman said, looking down at her left hand.

“Me too,” said Goldilocks. “This is my first date too.”

I want to win a Nobel Prize

I can’t remember if it was a friend of a friend or a BFF or a family member who once told me, “Yeah, but at least you get to pee whenever you want.”

We were talking about teaching and how she was a teacher and I was not. I was probably professing my envy of her summers off and she, like most teachers, was defending her cushy schedule by the fact that hey! She needs permission to pee.

I’ve been around teachers for as long as I can remember. In my crowd, it’s not, those who can’t do, teach; it’s more like, “those who can teach, must.” And must they do--at least for a little while. 

I suppose we all know our share of teachers. In my case, I am the daughter of a former (usually disgruntled) teacher. My uncle taught (and loved it) and many of my friends’ parents taught (Linda shout-out) and I now reside in a perfectly lovely group of friends that includes no fewer than three teachers, including roommate Spencer who at this very moment canvassing campsites from here to Yosemite on her summer break and stories of the classroom are commonplace.

I would make a good teacher. I know this. I know this even though I know that in the teaching world, alarms can never be turned off—the children are always there—and the parents are often worse than the kids and the public school system is mostly crap. I know this because when I love a subject I love making people love it along with me and that if I only convinced one person a year of this, that would be OK. Unfortunately, as much as I love school, the thought of acquiring more educational debt is just out of the question and so some desires are better left to the future, I suspect. Welcome to adulthood. Sigh.

But I started thinking about this a few weeks ago when Amber was here and I asked her who her favorite teachers were in high school. Not surprisingly, we only came up with a few, one being our chemistry teacher. I think about science a lot and how funny it is that the paths we wind up on can often be traced back to that fact that once, long ago, we were turned on by an enthusiastic lesson on earthworms. Or Bunsen Burners. You get my drift.

I interview scientists for my job all the time and my eyes are opened almost daily about the wealth of jobs out there for the curious soul. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had followed my interest in sodium chloride rather than Romeo & Juliet. You know? So much of life is random. Even the things we think aren’t random kind of are.

I have this secret desire to be debt-free by the time I am 40. Student loans indicate this is an unreasonable goal, and so I am warming to the idea that this is OK. Owing money is never ideal but a beautiful letter arrived the other day informing me I had qualified for a one-percent reduction of my interest rate simply for being such an outstanding payor-on-time (!) The new number is so low that I am thinking it’s OK if I don’t reach my 2012 goal and that maybe if I want to, some kind of new direction will follow.

And all of this comes on the same day that I read this. You go, girl!

Well, I have to take a break now. You know: Because I can.

Climbing that highest mountain

An old “friend” called this morning, accusation dripping in his tone.

“What are you doing?” he said. “I lost my Blackberry and didn’t know how to get in touch with you. You don’t have a myspace page or Facebook. How are people supposed to find you?”

Ahh, I thought to myself, but I do have a blog, and occasionally, I even write something in it. And for what it’s worth, even the most casual of acquaintances always seem to remember where I work and I assume they know how to use a search engine. Then again, this friend never was much into details.

Obviously, he found me, and we shared one of those awkward work conversations where he told juicy stories about all the friends we have in common and I sat mutely in my cube whispering “wow” and “really” every few minutes.

I’ve been doing that a lot lately, straddling the space between complacency and motivating for the future. Does such a space even exist? On the one hand, there is so much good going on that I feel guilty for not being satisfied. Then again, I question daily whether or not I am suffering from mild depression (aren’t we all?) when tasks like returning phone calls to some of my favorite people seems to much to bear.

*************************************************

Apologies for not updating sooner. I got the phone on Aug. 2—during the semi-annual Amber visit—and then proceeded to contract some strange stomach virus that made me naseous most of last week and which seriously drained my energy. Funnily enough, I was productive at work in the time I was there, if only because I kept leaving early for bed! Somehow, being motivated to go home and recuperate made it easier to gut out a few stories.

Speaking of stories, I have been watching a lot of the Olympics and have enjoyed most of what I have seen. Jason Lezak’s final push on the men’s relay race was among the coolest things ever. The 33-year-old German (by way of Russia) gymnast with the son with leukimeia (thankfully in remission.) David Durante—who failed to make the men’s gymnastics team—crying in the stands after then underdog U.S. team finished with a bronze and yes, even the foolish drunk-driver *Michael Phelps, who never, ever, seems to choke. Yao Ming’s unselfishness in such a selfish and controlling country. Kobe Bryant (I know!) tearing up at the anthem, Shawn Johnson showing far more class and intelligence than the relentless Karolyis…I could go on about the tiny little Chinese gymnasts but I won’t. Underage or not, they stuck their routines.

I leave you with this photo. 

Such an amazing photo that captures the exact moment a gold medal is one. If you ever want to know the difference between what drives a normal athlete vs. an Olympian, just look at this expression. If you’ve ever seen a look like that on your own face, I’d like to hear about it…keep in mind Mariel Zagunis was facing her own teammate (Sada Jacobson) in this final.

* I am rooting for Phelps as much as anyone, FYI, I just get bothered when millionaires drive drunk. 

** I gave my notice at the restaurant! More later...

I shoulda known better

Don’t call me. I’ll call you. Well, maybe.

I don’t have the heart to fully detail the heartache that is my current phone situation.

I’d known I needed a new cellphone for a while. Trouble was, I’d used up my “annual” upgrade and didn’t think it was worth paying $170 for a Razr. (I mean, come ON. We all know they give those away for $20 when you sign a new contract. Plus it’s a crappy phone.)

So I half-heartedly looked on craigslist and ebay for used phones but didn’t see any great bargain that made it worthwhile to sidestep a warranty and insurance. I figured I’d hold off another few months until I could upgrade at a better deal. My phone had other ideas.

A few months ago I noticed that the phone was turning off when charging. Not only that, it wasn’t taking the charge after it shut off. Things went downhill from there and for the last month or so, it has only charged when engaged in an operation, meaning, I have to call someone and let the phone sit for an hour while it charges or text nonstop. It’s hot (the phone heats up) when it does this so it’s not like I can make a call and anyway, I have no desire to talk to anyone for an hour! (sorry but true.)

I paid a visit to the T-mobile store to check out some phones first hand. However, those people informed me that I still wasn’t eligible for any upgrades. Incensed, I called T-mobile and a very nice gentleman told me he “felt sorry for me” and was going to give me best-pricing. I should’ve ordered the phone then and there, but I felt put on the spot! This is a phone that ideally I will have for at least two years! How to decide.

I go BACK to the T-mobile store and from INSIDE THE STORE proceed to call the customer service rep and order my phone. Her name is Jennifer and she tells me how much “she loves the phone I am buying” and when I tell her why I am picking this one, confides “you’re so much like me.” She then puts me into one of those computerized drills where you agree to a new two-year contract and give your social security number, yada, yada, yada. OK, fine. She then takes me through the warranty and reminds me to charge the new phone for 24 hours. Oh and the new phone should arrive by ground UPS sometime before July 23.

But no phone ever comes, so on July 25 I call up T-mobile again only to find out that while they have all of the new phone stats documented, no one ever placed the order. A woman with a thick Texas-style accent gets on the line, apologizes and gives me 100 free minutes for my trouble. She also says she will ship it express and it “should be here by Tuesday.”

Well, today is WEDNESDAY and I am livid. Just called Spencer to see if the new phone was there. It is not. As I type this I am in a phone call with them and 30:11 has transpired. I have been told that no phone was ever ordered.

I can’t even continue. This is the most frustrating thing ever. I’d like to yank my business out, but I don’t have the energy to fight my remaining contractual obligations. Supposedly, yet again, a new phone is on the way. I have the tracking number and a promise and even more free minutes, but this time I declined them. I must see this through even if it kills me.

What does that mean for all of you?

Well, nothing, unless you actually want to talk to me. And if you do, I highly suggest that until you see a smiley face icon on this blog, not to text me. Leave a detailed voicemail or better yet, e-mail me. I have 15 minutes of battery power a day, roughly, that I must preserve for important things, like meeting people for drinks. Because if there were ever a time to drink...

New baby

Jenny and Rob welcomed Baby Austin nearly a week ago...here are some photos.

And the proud Mom and Pop

Lakewood tavern serenade

Sunday. It always happens on a Sunday, I feel.

There was the wacky day of football watching in 2006. Ditto 2007. And wasn’t there some crazy Sunday morning in Boston when you almost missed your flight when the Irishman watching the World Cup with you bought yet another Guiness and when your dad picked you up at the airport in Va. you were too drunk to drive home? Perfectly shiny, innocent days that all started off with juice and eggs. No, I don’t think I’ll have a mimosa. I’m having coffee or tea, yes tea. Then someone buys a round and suddenly there it is, this crucial moment that is mocking you: It’s two in the afternoon. What can I get you? And you can only wind up in one of two places and the one where the undisciplined end up is never good.

You mull whether nursing a water for the next few hours and going home and picking out clothes for tomorrow is going to be the plan or will you fall back down into that hole.

Not that you’re chaotic or anything, you just often fail at calling it a day after two and somehow your brain fails to remind you about the most ill-fated Sunday of them all, the shuttered secret of infidelity that still makes you shudder and which you keep closer to you than most.

You go outside to make a phone call and as you stand there, listening to the sounds of a quiet neighborhood—rare for these parts—your gaze settles on the shed where you once sat and made a different kind of phone call, on a Sunday, natch—when you knew something had died never to be revived again.

And you know all of this but you think this time will be different. You think, if I have one more, I can see this inning and then share a cab home with C.

But then another free drink finds its way to you and suddenly you’re on your way to CVS to “get cash” which is really code for “get cigarettes” and oh there’s yet another face you haven’t seen for at least 6 months and wait, is that my beer? Is that more beer in my cup and didn’t you move to NYC and ohmygod is it 7pm already and you think you’re being clever when you pour your shot into an empty glass at the precise moment your benefactor is tipping his head and ohmygod is it 8pm and ok, just “one more” and then you find your most favorite male friends in Chicago hanging out in a bar together and they aren’t going anywhere and so now neither are you and someone hands you a bright green-colored concoction and this time you’re not clever or quick enough to get rid of it and ohmygod are those potato skins and you’re what? Quitting your job and wait, she dumped you and guess what, I used to have a huge crush on you and ohmygod is it 9pm and wait, how was your date? Oh no we’ll be here for a while come on over and where did she go, OH, and you wonder if he’s a good kisser and if she’s going to call him and ohmygod it’s 10pm and how much is the cab going to cost and where did those cigarettes go and then…well, to the best of your knowledge more babbling and hugging and singing occurred and ohmygod, it’s 11pm and THANK GOD I AM IN BED.

Chasing pavements, turning bitter

Did you know there’s a Center For The Study of Long Distance Relationships?

Well, thanks to my favorite newspaper, I do! Here’s the article that inspired me.

I also read about this. And you know what? I don’t give a flying f**k. Shut up about yer stupid iPhones. I’d settle for a phone that could charge properly! Doesn't anyone know WE'RE IN A RECESSION?

Getting back to LDRs, I’ve always been jealous of people who’ve been able to maintain such things. Back in my naïve days, I seemed to purposefully seek out men who lived elsewhere. I’d visit friends and hook up with their friends and think, “Perfect. Now I get to do my thing and he gets to do his and we’ll meet up once a month and talk on the phone and I will have the best of both worlds." Of course, I couldn’t have been more wrong about love and the fools I attempted this with were So Not Worth It but even today, when I hear about people prioritizing things the way the couples in this story do, I get the teensiest twinge of nostalgic jealousy. I mean, no guy ever sacrificed like that for me! And trust me, I learned the hard way that when you really fall in love, 200 feet can seem too far away at times....

Le Sigh.

Yes, my crankiness marches on. I am so sick of being sick of stuff…especially selfish people. Wait, I take that back. I would kill to be a selfish emotional sociopath somedays. I mean, no conscience=no guilt, right?

A friend and I were talking this morning about how jealous we are of people who get to go running in the middle of the day. Never mind that I don’t run. Never mind that it’s hot out and you shouldn’t go running in the middle of the day anyway. Never mind any of the logical reasons that people may have for running in the middle of the day either. He or she could be a teacher with the summer off or a corporate workaholic forgoing food for some much-needed exercise …No, to me all of these people running in the middle of the day are all the same. They're all living in some Shangri-La existence so different from mine that I want to shake them by their pampered necks and make them clean a toilet—my toilet!—or something. And the same goes for people in coffee shops, the people playing with dogs in the park, the people shopping on Michigan Avenue and the people sunning themselves at the beach. Are you listening to me, people? I am jealous of you. Y-O-U.

On that note, would anyone believe me if I told them 75 percent of my weekend was F-I-N-E fine? Well, it was! The marvelous Mothership Blogger E. delivered (well, motoboy carried it) an air conditioning window unit to my door free of charge and Mr. C installed it, I got to catch up with Arizona Sarah and another friend I hadn’t seen it a while, got to eat my face off in three different cuisines and Mimi finally appears to have turned a corner in the Cat Urinary Tract Infection Saga of 2008.

Still, you people running along the lake at 2pm? I hope your baseball team loses 70 percent of its games after the All-Star Break. I hope your toilet overflows. I hope your dishwasher--because of course in this rant they ALL have dishwashers and two bathrooms and central air and plenty of closet space--breaks. I hope your car won't start. I hope...

Oh, and speaking of the All-Star Game, I get to see D. tomorrow!

See, not everything is bad. Just the slackers.