Dirty Tale

Several years ago - while trying to shed a few extra unwanted pounds, I opted to go for a diet that had worked for me once before. The Cabbage Soup Diet. Which primarily consists of a homemade soup concocted with water and cabbage.
Saturday was fine. Sunday was fine. Monday was a work day and despite severe stomach pains, was also, basically fine.
Mid-day, I had my free period- and missing one of my best girlfriends that had moved away to LA on me, I decided to go out to my car in the massive parking lot to have a smoke and a chat. And to divert the attention I was focusing on my belly pangs.
Midway through my cigarette and chat, I felt my stomach do some flip-flops. I figured the gas was setting in. I did my best to maintain focus on the conversation. Suddenly, in a burst of rumbly outburst, and while discussing my girlfriends near tragic car accident- I suffered through my own sort of tragic car accident.
I shit my pants.
At first I didn't know it. At first I just assumed that whatever was happening down there would just require a quick exit and a visit to the ladies. After a tiny investigation, via a glance down at my barely khaki, almost white pants.... So not the case.
I interuppted my girlfriend with the news- and suddenly her tragic incident took the back seat to my suddenly urgent predicament.
There was a lot of repeat questions between her and I...
Me: I shit my pants?
She: You shit your pants?
Me: Did I really shit my pants just now?
She: Did you really just shit your pants?
Me: What am I going to do? I have to go back into work!
She: What ARE you going to do?
Me: Do I need to go or what?
She: You DO need to go... call me later and tell me what happens.
And so I did what any other person would do... I wrapped a sweatshirt around my waist and went into the the closest entrance and knocked casually on the first occupied classroom door I could find. A woman approached and apprehensively opened it a crack and I then realized what I was about to have to say to this woman I didn't know.
Me: Look, I am a teacher here... and I just shit my pants, and I have to go. You really need to help me out and tell someone I need a sub. Here is my phone number in case you can't get ahold of anyone. I am leaving the building.. um... NOW.
And off I ran. I couldn't afford to look back.
Feeling completely disgusted, I got back into the safe confines of my car and called my very best gay guy friend- who I knew would help me laugh and sympathize my way through my car ride home.
Upon hearing my story- he declared a state of emergency- after laughing hysterically, of course, and then also called off work so we could nurse me back to a normal emotional state together.
After throwing out the clothes, showering, and demanding I eat some fiber- things started to feel much better.

Within hours, after getting through the larger part of a twelve pack, we actually went out dancing. Never mind that it was a Monday. To me it was a pant's shitting day and I really needed to get some other notch in my belt in order to take the heaviness out of the fact that my most recent noteworthy event was crapping myself at work.

Somehow- because I work with a fat mouth- this story came out at my NEW teaching job. Just last week. Lots of teaching professionals laughing at me. At my story- about the day I pooed my pants. I quickly turned the tables and asked my colleagues if any such thing had ever happened to them. Shockingly- while guffawing uncontrollably at MY story- nary a soul raised their own hand to admit such a dirty tale.

And I call bullshit. I call a good old fashion shit-your-pants-bullshit- because it HAS. It of course has happened to SOMEONE else besides me.

Precious Life

Before Jake was born, and before I was even with child, it was just Billy and I. It was then that we somehow managed to illicit friendships with the neighbor folks. A lot of them. The octogenerian set. That is what you get in a condo building in our part of town.
When our friends found out we were expecting, much excitement was felt throughout the courtyard. Stopped frequently by enthusiastic congratulations and talks and memories of raising their own little ones many years ago. We were gracious for thier gifts. Not only of the standard onesies, photo albums and recieving blankets, but also the advice, support, and cheerful smiles.
When Jake finally arrived, we could barely sit on our front patio without feeling somewhat accosted by the curious and happy-for-us neighbor friends who wanted to stop by and meet our little bundle and of course, bestow MORE gifts and wisdom. That with the colic we most surely needed, appreciated and accepted.
In the days and weeks that followed, a few of our most eager friends seem to have disappeared. I missed the quick chats in the parking lot, on the patio, and under the apple tree in the courtyard. The invitations to come by with the baby or if we needed some support or a break.
And then yesterday happened.
Neighbor Rich banged on our door with his cane. Insisting we open up immediately so he could rest his eyes on the peanut. If you didn't know him better, you would surmise that his gruffness translated into insensitivity, however we knew better. He then went on to tell us about his pain. The arthritis that has taken over his body and left him virtually immobile. How it was so severe that he was going to be asking the doctor to kindly unplug his heart defribulator pumping inside his body so that he could die peacefully within two weeks of a massive heart attack. Luckily, he told us, there was a renewed hope as his newest medications seemed to be easing it a bit.
Then there was neigbor Dorothy. We were laying on the couch with the baby finally asleep restfully after his first round of shots. I rolled my eyes when I saw her approaching, annoyed that my first real time to relax was being interrupted. She knocked ever so gently and with such timidity that I was ashamed at my initial annoyance.
She came in and of course, was looking for the baby. It was then she told us that she was blind. Suddenly. Seems as if some strep had settled in her one good eye leaving her blinded. The good news was that she was going to be able to keep the eye. If it had happened when she was fifty she is pretty sure she would have killed herself, because now, literally overnight, at the age of 78, she cannot do anything. Drive, cook, dress, read. She cannot SEE. It's no way to live, she tells us. Her own grown children are devastated for her. WE are devastated for her. She was sad that she couldn't see the baby that she had so anticipated watching grow.
Once she left and we settled back into our places on the couch, it sunk in more fully.
As I looked down at the precious bundle in my arms, I thought about the beauty of life, as well as the horror of it. I hope Jake knows one day how much he was loved by so many people without ever having to try. I hope he knows that there were some special people that loved him as they were leaving this world and he was entering it, and how those people calmed us, soothed us, supported us and helped us get his life started.
Mostly, I hope he learns to respect life, and the life cycle and how precious it all is.

The Squeeze

I have never been one that can appreciate the pomp and circumstance of routine and attention. I dreaded my graduation from high school, didn't attend my graduation from college, anxiously awaited my wedding showers and feel no differently now that I am in the midst of baby showers.
I have had two thus far. One hosted by my "city girlfriends", the next by my "co-workers"... which doesn't sound fair because they are also my friends, and then next weekend, last but certainly not least, the "family" shower.
And while I feel like an elephant in a China shop at such events, particularly when I am the guest of honor, I have been doing my best to initiate, salivate, and gratiate all over the place so that everyone feels welcome, appreciated and thanked. And the fact of the matter is that I am very thankful.
When I initially created a baby registry, I nearly had a panic attack and had 911 dialed in on my cellular. Luckily, hearty Italian fair and a good dose of cheesecake alleviated the necissity for me to actually have to place that call... but it did result in some heartburn as well as a dose of insomnia. I had no idea I would need so much... STUFF. Not only was I concerned about where I would PUT the STUFF, I also didn't know how I was going to PAY for the STUFF. I had thoughts like.. ... Well, we could always spend five hundred dollars on the stroller we HAVE TO HAVE and I can lock it up with a bike chain to our grill. Or we could live without a crib, right? The kid can sleep in a nicely padded cardboard box? I know our child may actually not survive unless we buy him the "techno-euro-space-saver 5000" car seat, but will a used one from our friends be good enough?

Eventually, the insomnia led to some plotting, and the plotting led to some discussion, and the discussion led to some fighting with the husband which eventually turned into mature adult discusion and then ultimately to a "grand master plan". Which basically meant throw out everything you own and love and currently use, like the dining room table, and make room for baby. End of story. It has been working for us.

And so as the stuff rolls in, which again, I am very thankful for, I am realizing not so quickly that the "grand master plan" was not GOOD enough. Because the truth is our place isn't BIG enough. But we will make it work. Too bad someone I know isn't into Longaberger basket sales or they would make a killing off of me. Which has turned into my go to for "extra-storage solutions". Not Longabergers, per say... but BASKETS. I currently know a heck of a lot about what baskets are out there.
At any rate. The showers have been fabulous and my friends generous. More than I feel we deserve but we do appreciate it( really, I had to say that yet again). With most of the major items off of our registry purchased we have some financial breathing room. So really, I have no right to make any complaints. It's just if you come over and I ask you to sit in the crib for dinner, please understand we are just a tad bit tight on space.

Two Year Anniversary

I never thought I would be this girl. I wanted to be this girl- but I really had thrown in the towel that I would ever BE this girl.
When I approached my 30's, single as a single could be, I began to question what was going on with me. My SIL's told me without any hesitation that I had "commitment" problems. I couldn't have disagreed more, but those words sat with me. And grew. And nagged at me as I continued to cry my way through lease signings- refuse to schedule any type of vacation- and shirk any form of lengthy project- such as a Master's program.
Eventually I came to see their angle and began to absorb that there was some truth to their words.
The funny thing is that all along the way- my goals had remained the same, and I was resolute about that. I want to be married to the perfect guy for me, own a house, and have his babies. I want to belong to church, I want to stop spending my weekends at the bar, and I want my family to come back into sharp focus.
Since that time, things have changed so much. I credit my SIL's for forcing me to see the truth, I credit my Mom for being patient, and I credit myself for finally facing what I didn't want to see.
This weekend, as I sat in my condo, celebrating our two year wedding anniversary, five months pregnant, my calendar filled with family gatherings, church a regular part of my life, and bars a place I haven't seen in months- maybe years, I am finally happy. Really happy.
My husband and I decided to not DO gifts but instead got massages and went pheasant hunting together. It was one of the nicest weekends of my life. And despite some major skepticism by what were my friends at the time, I couldn't have made a better decision in choosing him to become my lawfully wedded husband. I am just thankful my SIL's got their hands on me before I passed him up.

Life in General

Last year, when I was pregnant, and before the miscarriage, my cravings were met with an ambitious and chesire like grin. As a woman who was born with a constant weight battle, I finally got my free for all. That is until it was all said and done and I was big as a house and had to join weight watchers to lose it all. So THIS time, I have apporached pregnancy with much more caution. And when my friend Sonja gave me her Gabrielle Reese Pregnancy Work-out DVD, I accepted with unbridled delight.
Yesterday was the first time I got the chance to tune in. And because our DVD player is a piece of crap, and it skips, I ended up accidently holding positions for much longer than I should have. Not realizing that I would be holding it forever unless I manually fast-forwarded it. As a result, my arms are killing me. Today I will tuck the DVD remote in my sports bra for when I realize ten minutes have passed and my leg is shaking in pain.
While on the subject of pregnancy, I must say, I understand weird things happen. I have decided to have a blase approach and do my best to not give in to to whims of exhaustion, aches and pains and of course, feelings of vomitous disgustous. And even as my skin transforms into ailen like patches here and there, I am accepting. But seriously, when I awoke in pain last night due to a searing shot in my ear, I admit, I can longer conceal my gross out. The pimple on my EAR? has given me the creeps. I dont' GET pimples on my ear. I didn't even really think my ear had pores. I know it's just the beginning. But YUCK.
In other news, I am conflicted over the in-law Christmas Eve party. When I asked what I could bring I did not get a response. My husband then went to bat for me and demanded I be told what to bring. My husband then told me, "Bring whatever you want". Huh?
My family is organization station. I am not used to such a vast wonderland of food creation possibilties. While some would flourish in these conditions, I feel like it is a set up.
I nearly created a fight with my husband, demanding he tell me a dessert he would eat. His casual tone irritated me as I explained, " I want at least ONE PERSON to EAT WHAT I MAKE". OH! okay, he says, make apple cobbler then. And if things follow tradition as I suspect they may, he will be full from dinner and see me coming with the "dessert", and look like a deer in headlights with Twilight Zone squawks in the back ground. "NO!" he will think, "I am FULL, I don't WANT THAT! My wife will be so pissed if I don't eat it and tell her it's good. Fake smile fake smile, I would LOVE a piece honey! It looks delicious!" and I will smile and hand him his plate.
When it's time to leave I will look at my slaved over pathetic dessert and see the one chunk cut out of it. My MIL will try to usher me out the door with it, but I will refuse. "NO! YOU keep it, really!" and I will walk out to the car empty handed and be irritated that I didn't just "get an assignment that would have been eaten" when I initially asked. It is an effort in futility.
Overall, Christmas vacation is off to a good start. Today I am going on a girl's day to the movies and then out to a bar. I am slightly concerned about the bar, as one lady doesn't drink and me and the other girl are pregnant. I am not sure why we are even going there. However, it will be good to get out of the house with the girl's, even if we can only pretend to sip on cocktails.

Present Problems

My friend Rachel just got married at the end of November. And like most brides, I am sure she is still on that gift-getting high that only can happen when you literally get to sign up for a wish list beyond wish lists and watch it all roll in over the course of a year as you skip along from one shower to the next and then on to the big day.
Needless to say, I have had a difficult time picking out a Chirstmas gift for her.
I might also add, it would not be SO so difficult if I wasn't knee deep in budget land and could spend whatever I wanted on the perfect gift, but life being what it is prevents that.
After mulling it over and checking out her bridal registries for "gifts NOT purchased", I opted for a lower grade, and might I add, much more affordable, yet nice, throw, that would compliment thier new bedroom.
And as I trimmed my own tree and happened across a very beautiful, yet sentimental ornament that commemorated my own very first Christmas with MY betrothed, nearly bringing me to tears, decided I would throw in a very first Christmas ornament for them as well.
Done deal.
And since the new bride just traipsed off to Hawaii to honymoon, and I didn't get the chance to deliver my perfect, yet affordable gift, it sat in waiting for thier return.
So it does not surprise me, after talking to her sister, that not only did the bride purchase such a throw for her new husband as a Christmas present, she herself had already purchased and GIVEN a much NICER very first Christmas ornament to her sister.
SO suddenly my gift fell flat. I stood in the return line at Target yesterday, considering what I would get her now, but nothing came to mind.
I have perused the internet for ideas and unless I want to spend sixty bucks- which is almost double my budget, there is little to be found. I considered Omaha steaks, as they both love to eat and cook, however the gift card I would purchase would not cover the costs of the perfect set of four steaks, not even the on-sale lowest grade cheapies. Somehow that does not strike me as a "nice" gift.
I have until January 3 to make a decision. If all else fails, they will receive a gift card to a local restuarant, but being that she is my best friend, I was hoping to think of something a little more... thoughtful.
In any case, she will hear this story when I give her whatever it is I give her so she will know that my FIRST time around I was right on the money.

Weekend Re-cap

Friday was a whirl of activous opportunous. What should we do, what should we DO? The Union social was going at a local bar. Another guy wanted to maybe meet us at his "local", meaning paneled walls, Hamms posters, and a yellow tile floor, or, there was always home. After maybe twenty or so questioning texts and "who's going" e-mails, the fun got blown out of our sails and Billy and I opted to meet at home. Where he promptly fell asleep on the couch and I perused through the new US Weekly and sucked down a beer. Or so.
With a fresh start on our Saturday, we headed out to the gun range, stopping to pick up a friend of Billy's on the way. The front of the shop was filled with a wide variety of guns and gun gadgets. Second amendment posters and army knives. I felt uncomfortable in my baby blue Cub's hat and New Balance tennis shoes, but quickly got over it when I spied several other females in similar attire. We paid upfront for our stall rentals and paper targets and were ushered to the waiting area, which was comprised of a picnic table and an old soda machine. From which I purchased a 75 cent Diet Coke. When some stalls opened and our ears and eyes were fully covered, off we went to assemble and shoot.
Billy had me go first, so he could provide the proper tutelage. I thought I did okay on the targets, but the thrill of shooting was, as usual, more exhilerating than my ability mattered. Billy then went, and I was more than impressed. He kept getting Bullseyes and I felt a mixture of pride and jealousy. More than that, I was impressed with his manor. Confident, safe, and methodical. He would never hurry to forego safety.
While he continued to shoot with his friend I became bored, so went back to the waiting area to read. I was stared at once or twice but ignored the questioning looks, I didn't care what they thought, my book was too good. Who wouldn't want to read about elective mutism anyway?
As we left, a trio of odd balls came in that made Larry, Larry and Darryl look refined. I kept trying to hide my face behind Billy's shoulder just enough so my stares wouldn't be caught. But the combination of military regalia and loud over-talking about gun details and the oddly thick and dirty coke bottle glasses, mixed with ill fitting clothes made me feel hincky. We left quickly but overall had a great time.
Saturday night we had two parties. TWO PARTIES! We stopped by my friend's bi-annual chocolate and cheese party. The beatiful open fire place home and the Frank Sinatra and the chocolatey martinis made it hard to not get comfortable and have a great time. Besides, they were my friends, so of COURSE I was having fun. And right as the party was climaxing we made our exit to get on to the next party. A 25th birthday party at.... Dave and Busters.
It was a bust alright.
The crowd was mixed between gangsta teen, upset five year olds, and twenty-somethings on the prowl. The loud noises and flashing lights could have given anyone a seizure. And while I really did want to play enough Ski ball to win a gigantic stuffed pink panda, I could see the anxiety in my husband's face mounting. And as soon as he ordered a beer he said, "This isn't really my kind of place". Like I didn't know that the second we walked in the door. We stayed long enough to order the birthday boy his 40 ounce beer and for my husband to finish his normal-sized one and we bolted.
It's too bad we didn't hit the parties in reverse, but the ages of the party hosts would have made that nearly impossible, unless we wanted to pre-party with the twenty-somethings and then later helped clean up the empty chocolate mousse cups while Frank began to skip on the CD player.
After such a rough night ( we were home by eleven ) we had to sleep in. So by eight AM things began to finally yawn awake around here. I convinced my husband to watch Failure to Lauch with me ( thank God at least Matthew M. was in it ) and downed a pot of coffee with the new Cinnamon Bun cream ( which is good, but really, I was just hurrying through to get to my fresh bottle of the delicious and seasonal Pumpkin Spice).
By mid-day we were eating at my MIL's, which is great because not only is the food delicious ( she's a native Greek! ) this also means I didn't have to cook. We made our Thanksgiving plans and somehow I wound up with the pumpkin pies. Not that I don't think I can do it, or mind, really, but I have made so few in my life that I question my ability to make the perfect pie as the meal pinnacle for all the in-laws. The PRESSURE! If you think I am not getting at least three frozen back-ups you are nuts.
With time on our hands we headed to Wal-mart to pick up our hunting licenses for the big hunt next weekend. The man waiting on us, or actually as it turned out, the man we were waiting on, was an immigrant from South Africa. I was fascinated. He told us he lived in a mansion with a company car ( thanks to Hewlett Packard), two swimming pools and two and half acres. We didn't get to what sort of house he has here but he did say he moved here because of the crime, well that and his Grandson and feels compelled to remind his daughter of this frequently. He also told us that he and his wife, even after forty-two years of marriage will start out on a beatuiful day and for no reason get into a fight. Forty-two years!! He said, with exasperation and surprise. He made the experience a great one.
So end over end, the weekend went. A good mixture of activity and now it's Sunday night and I know I will be restless when I try to sleep tonight, because it's Sunday night and that is what happens when I try to capture the relaxed feeling I have had all weekend, but find my thoughts slipping into those of work.

Guffman Is So Not Coming.

Growing up in a small town in the seventies, before the internet, was to me, isolating. I dreamed of Michael Jackson's limo breaking down on the edge of our town. I envisioned him "going for a ride" through our town and noticing me. Pulling over to ask me questions about this quiet place. And then... drum roll, really looking at me. And deciding I was so beautiful that I would need to join him for the rest of his tour. Which of course would lead to my appearance in some videos, then tv shows, and ultimately, the movies. Fame. Wealth. The works.
In reality, I have never liked the stage. I have opted to be somewhat of a loner. I am as vain as I can stand and I could barely accept the attention I received at my wedding, which was all of thirty people. So this dream career as a movie star is really outside my comfort zone. Except for the wealth part. And really, I don't want to be RICH rich, just rich enough to not be in any debt.
Fame is different. Because, really, there are thousands of ways you can BE famous. I think being a famous writer would result in some kind of neurosis. All those NPR interviews. Thick stressing of silly words, "I DO, I DO, feel so DEEPLY of the CHARACTER'S connection to cake BATTER, as the metaphor for LIFE is so SO conslusive!". No thanks.
Fame for sports would be okay, I suppose. But then you would always be... dirty. It's a respectable kind of fame. It takes hard work and dedication. But then what would be the point if you only ever wore yoga pants or tennis skirts? To me, part of the "trade-off" to fame is the wardrobe and the red carpet and the jewels and all that sparkly pink stuff. So famous athlete would never do.
Fame for TV or Movies is just too lonely. Those Hollywood types, even the ones that are just in the "inspiring to be" stage, seem to be so driven and self-motivated, that they can hardly stand to be truly supportive of each other without stepping into a private bathroom and bitching out thier manager for not letting THEM know about the once availabe-but-now-filled role the "friend" got. And then let's not even get INTO the 'ole career is on the decline business. The celebrity has-been reality shows. Because if you are like me when one of those shows is on you sit around and say to yourself, who IS that? And WHY are they doing this awful show?
I don't even let myself consider famous singer or dancer. Those talents are as far away from me as Jupiter. I sing like a tone-deaf man and I dance, well.... I dance like a small town white girl who forgot her rhythm "back at the barn". If you think Elaine is bad, you should see me after four beers and some Euro-tech comes pounding in. Clear the floor ladies and gentlemen, or you MAY get hurt. And oh yeah, my lack of talent has NEVER stopped me from busting down a groove. When people stare I give them my personal catch phrase, " Dancing is a celebration of life, not a competition". And then I give them one of my signature hip-twirl moves, arms above my head, and knees knocked and cocked at an angle only a pretzel maker could have envisioned.
The bottom line is, I don't really think I am cut out for fame. Fortune, maybe, but fame, no way.

A Sad Goodbye

I awoke on Tuesday at 2:30 AM filled with anxiety, tension, and stress. I could't fall back to sleep. Reading, watching TV, and surfing the internet didn't seem to bring any peace to my restless self and so gave up. Wednesday was therefore, exhausting.
Wednesday night was similar to Tuesday. And my husband asked me what seemed to be stressing me out. I didn't know. Couldn't put my finger on it.
Thursday after school I was meeting my friend Sonja and her five week old baby at a Dunkin Donuts a few suburbs away, and then joining forces with her to make the trek to go and visit our friend on hospice.
We had heard a variety of teary-eyed reports about what to expect. But nothing can prepare you or prevent you from your feelings of seeing your friend laying in a bed, so sick and so... barely there.
She was lucid and intermittently joined into the casual conversations, generally led by her husband, who has seemed to master the art of comforting those who walk into his home to well wish his wife he so obviously deeply loves. Cards and pictures and flowers covered the room, dripped from the walls and were stuffed onto the dresser.
On several ocassions he would ask her if she remembered some detail of an experience they had shared. A type of fish they ate. A name of a resort. An actor in a movie. And each time my friend would smile and give him the answer he sought. I almost cried every time as I wondered what he would do, or how he would remember these details later, when she was gone. How frustrated he might be to not be able to bounce those tiny, seemingly unimportant bits of trivia off of her. But we all know, these things are important. They are the ties that bind us into our relationships. The experiences of creating memories that we share just between ourselves.
When it was time to go, I hesitated. She looked at me and smiled and said, "Have a good school year and take care." And how do you respond to that?
I took her shrunken hand in mine and kissed her and told her to stay comfortable and that I loved her. She loves me too. I had to quickly walk out. I didn't want her family see me shed a tear. I felt like they would think I had no idea what it was like to be them.
When I got back into my own car, I tried to follow my horrible mapquest directions to Jen's house. I had pre-planned a trip to see my niece and nephew, knowing it would cheer me after such a painful goodbye.
And my distress and darkness of the night and bad directions and no GPS system left me in a tangled mess. I was incredibly lost. In every way. When I finally got to the house it was past the kids' bedtimes. I disrupted the evening and got the kids' all riled up.
Eventually I sat with my brother and Jen and had a beer. Finally having a chance to let the evening absorb.
And now I am still not sleeping any better.

Catherine Who?

Earlier in the week, my friend Catherine, via e-mail, had requested some advice about applying to work at a school, of which used to be my employer. I responded with some clarifying questions. So, on Wednesday, when she called, I was not in the least surprised. However, Billy and I were about to embark on an "early voting" adventure and we arranged for a phone call later.

As a side note, the "early voting" fell flat as we walked up to the second floor of city hall, only to find about 300 soccer Moms, toddlers in tote, snaking past the temporary guard rails, out the doors, and winding around the entire second floor. Guestimated wait-time? Hour and a half, minimum. We turned around and walked out. Instead we went to the grocery store.

Time escaped me and before I knew it I needed to make dinner. I texted Catherine to ask if we could push our phone call back until after the dinner hour. No problem, she was going to work out right now anyway.

After dinner was eaten, dishes were cleared, and I was tackling a few other random house chores, my phone rang. Must be Catherine! I ran to get it and missed. I looked at the caller ID to double check and realized the school social worker was calling me. Now, the school social worker and I are friends. I really like her. But we rarely call each other. We text often, but really, unless I am lost on the way to meet her at the police station, due to some kind of assinine student thingy, we don't call. We stick to the texting.

And then, in a moment of pure genius, it dawned on me: I had been texting the school social worker, also named Catherine, not my friend, earlier in the evening. When I double checked my texts I realized the poor social worker must be very worried about me, as the texts to her read like this:

Lori: Can I call you after 6:30 so we can talk?

Social work Catherine: Sure, I am going to work out now, but I will be home by then.

Lori: Okay, good, because I don't want to put this off.

Social work Catherine: No problem Lori.

When I realized my mistake was two-fold, A) My friend who needed advice was most likely feeling very blown off and B) The school social worker was freaking about what could be so wrong, I couldn't figure out who to call first.

After calling both girls and letting them in on my mistake, it crossed my mind that it is so typical of me to take an opportunity to help someone out and in the end upset two girls. Sigh.

It has taken me a good 35 years to realize that I do not have an eye for detail. And that maybe I should stick with the old fashioned wall mounted phone. I seemed to get into a lot less trouble that way.

Facebook Warning

So there is a certain someone out there ( you will recognize yourself ) that only told me a half-truth, so to speak.
She told me to join Facebook. Becuase it's fun. And addicting. Which I suppose it just might be. IF you are given all of the early warning labels. Sound warning horn here. Enter strobes.
I didn't know it would be like contacting everyone I went to high school with, then college with, then worked a myriad of jobs with, and then went to church with in one foul swoop. Like a high school reunion on crack.
And while I can see that once the early onslaught of "friend contacts" calms down it could be fun. But I couldn't sleep last night. I tossed and turned and awoke violently several times from dreams that included people I haven't talked to in years. For a reason. Except for one lovely dream which didn't have certain people per say, but encompassed the overall... feeling..if you will. That was the one that entailed me pulling handful after handful of dirty hair out of my clogged bathtub drain.
Now don't get me wrong. The people who have contacted me thus far, have made me smile. Remembering all of the fun times we shared or their quirky personality or even a confidance. Some people you love dearly but time and distance and circumstance causes a seperation.
But others, well others, you simply manage to extract from your every day communication because you would just rather not be burdened.
And quite frankly some of those relationships ended because I straight up said so for valid reasons and I needed to "weed my garden" of just that... the weeds. Life is too short to spend it with people who don't appreciate us fully, or even partially, no?
Maybe I should just write under my information "section" that if you have had the same problem for ten-plus years and have done nothing about it OR you have never heard yourself say you are sorry, please don't contact me to be your friend. Because seeing your face everyday, even in a thumbnail, makes me nauseous.
Chances are these people feel the same way about me and will not even attempt to contact me... but I DO have my pointer finger at the ready- to deny! the friend contact if necassary with one little push of the key.

Silver Linings

I should have known this morning when I dropped my plastic laptop onto my hard wooden floor that it wasn't going to be my most favorite of days. It is what I would end up calling a day of second chances.

Becuase luckily the laptop is still under waurantee, so aside from my hard drive crashing, it's completely replaceable. And is nothing like the other news I would ingest later in the day. From a borrowed computer. And humbled my frustration.

Because my friend. She is dying. Of cancer. And I am sick. But I have a second chance. She was sent home from the hospital to die in some weeks time.

I am going to compose a letter to her tonight. I am not sure what it is I am going to say. Or what it would be I would want to hear if I were her. But it is definitely time to pour my heart out to her. To say everything I wouldn't want to regret not saying.

There are not too many opportunities for us to do that.

And while I don't mean to minimize or compare the two in any way, I do know that we should take silver linings when we can get them.

Big Night Out

I wondered how last night would turn out all week. My husband and I hadn't been to a bar in the city in over a year. To prepare for my big night out I hit up Target for a cute shirt ( note to self: Don't go to Target to get "going out" clothes, better to save it for teacher clothes and underwear). I also ate a husband encouraged sandwich, so as not to get loopy after one beer. I stroked on the eyeliner thickly, like a four year olds' crayon. I busted out my hoop earrings that are large enough to hula in.

And when we got there I felt a little bad for the host. We were celebrating his wife's 40th birthday and the guest list didn't seem to be matching up with the attendees. But the food was delicious ( how can you NOT like mini fried crab cakes that you dip into a Mayonnaise sauce? ).

We ordered our beers and quickly fell in line with the beer drinking cadence around us.

We found ourselves socializing with another couple for the majority of our time. They were nice enough. The woman had a buzz cut. I kept staring at it when we talked. I had to stop myself many times from asking her how she felt about her hair cut. Because I went through a phase where I wanted to look like Sinead O'Conner but never had the cojones to go beyond a trim. And I kept thinking about the time when I was in church with my mother and I had on jeans that "had a long rise" and when I sat the bulge in the crotch suggested I was sporting a penis in there. And I began to panic and kept whispering to my Mom that "These jeans make me look like a boy!!"... in that completley horrific way that only adolescent teenage girls do.

I digress.

The conversation rolled into the "What actor would play you?" variety. My husband said ,"That guy from the Sopranos". And I have to admit he's pretty spot on. I hoped no one would ask me, because I have no idea who I would say. My mind seems to get trapped somewhere between who I would want to be like versus who is actually a likeness of me... Because I would say Fergie but the people would be thinking Kirstie Alley.... And the words Fat Actress come to mind. Which by the way, the season is readily available on DVD at my local library. Seriously. ?? ( I mean is it just me or is this kind of thing not exactly a bedrock of literature?).

Anyway, a good time was had by all. Uneventful, but pleasant. We left at 10:30 ( I know what you are thinkging! Party animals!! ) as the beer bus rolled up to take off the others to a night of Salsa dancing and who knows what at Excaliber ( umm... NIGHTMARE...). I am sure by now that most of them are laying in bed right now dying for a glass of water and a cheeseburger, and trying to recall the details.

I thought You Were Wearing a Dress?

For starters, is it sad that most of the time my only two comments are from my Mom and my sister... in-law. ( Sorry, I had to add it, I felt like I was cheating.)
I have been to the city a lot lately. My former home. It's familiar, but yet scary, because it's not the same. Subtle changes make my backyard seem like someone else's. I feel like exactly what I am... just visiting.
Today I went to one of my "bestie's" wedding shower. Totally chic, totally cool- fantabulous. Rooftop party room with white chaise lounges. Waiter-served finger foods and waitress-served Mimosas and Bellingers. Beautiful day. Lovely party... lots of girls dressed in Chicago urban style.
I took a moment and went onto the private balcony to people watch the neighborhood. Fomerly known as the artist's mecca. Bucktown. Where Real World made Peace Pizza a common name. Where boutiques moved in and "locals" locked thier doors for the last time. Where I raked in loads of cash getting artists and yuppies alike trashed beyond reason while waitressing.
And while I was absorbing it all, wondering if I even missed this scene, my eyes happened upon a US Postal worker. I watched her zoom down the alley in her big white box van. Quickly. With intent. Purpose. Motivation. She hopped out and I noticed her afro. Her unbottoned pin-striped frock. Her "Muscle T" under. Her HUGE silver hoop earrings. Her thick black shoes. Her tube socks pulled up her legs to her knees with stripes. Her thick ropey necklace. And her cigarette hanging out of her mouth. And then, lastly, sunglasses so huge Nicole Richie would be jealous. She was the coolest dang postal worker I had seen in a long time.
It was then I recalled what it is I miss about the city. Not the traffic. Not the food. Not the parking or the parties or the bars. It's the simplicity of people being able to express themselves without a second thought. Without sneers or questions or contempt. Just everyday folks doing thier thing with thier own style. Which does not mean style-ish. Unless you are just visiting. And then you might have a sudden flash that you are not style-ish enough. And you are. You just don't realize that your eyes are resting on those folks you don't normally see by your house. And you think everyone dresses like that. And they don't. But the beautiful thing is that you can. And you will find respect regardless.
I loved that about the city.
I used to like to recreate my image once in while. I even got on a kick where I would change clothes in the middle of a party to see if anyone would notice. It got so out of control that during this "phase" I actually took a back pack out with me and would change outfits in the bathroom two or three times a night. To mix it up. ( I never said I wasn't wierd ). I loved watching the reaction on a person's face. Or the lack thereof. The city was my playground.
I can't imagine doing something like that in the suburbs. It would just be too wierd. People would... talk. They would think I had a lot of cats at home or hoarded newpaper or something.
That is what I miss about the city. Probably not a good enough reason to want to move back.
I don't have that kind of energy now. But sometimes it is nice to have a day where you are not you.

The Rain

My husband and I were supposed to go out to Naperville last night to see Jen and the kids. Orignially we were going to babysit, but because my nephew isn't feeling good, Jen came home and we were just going to visit. They live a few suburbs away and it takes about 30 minutes to drive there on a good day and up to an hour in the height of traffic.
Yesterday while at work, it started to rain. Again. I began to ponder how two days before when it was raining it took me thirty minutes to make a ten minute drive and the roads were flooding. Then I thought about our drive and I allowed the teeniest bit of reservation to fall over me. I envisioned hours in the car... sitting in bumper to bumper traffic. With my husband, who does not take kindly to such things. And then me, not taking kindly to such things either. And I thought- we are going to get into a fight. For sure.
So I quickly e-mailed Jen and suggested we might have to call the whole thing off.
Fast forward to the last half hour of my school day.
I peered out the window of my basement classroom and saw the streaming rain. The ground was saturated with water. The drops were landing on puddles an inch deep. My reservation meter went sky high and spilled over into doubt and hovered near stupid.
I texted my husband and suggested we hold off and reschedule our visit. But with manly determination he wanted to go ahead with it. He said he'd pick us up some coffees and it will take an hour but it will be fine.
Reservations went away. I began to believe again and became enthusiastic. Determined! I was dying to see the kids and catch up with Jen.
After a quick change of clothes and a mail check, we made it out of our lot in record time. And then it was like time stood still. Because our car sure did.
We sat in bumper to bumper traffic going ZERO miles an hour with an ocassional mocking spurt of five for good measure. Within thirty minutes, we were not even close to getting out of our town. We were still within one mile of our house. I was halfway through my new US Weekly. I looked up and saw that we were still trying to get onto a main road. It was at this point when after a darling conversation between my husband and myself ( note: this is sarcasm, I SAID we don't take kindly to such things ) that this mission was aborting.
I would say we then turned the car around and went home. And one might say that based on our travel route- BUT it took us another twenty minutes to get to the corner and turn the car and then another 25 minutes to get 'er on home again. At which point we stopped at the Dominicks on the corner and picked up a six pack- throwing out our coffees on the way in.
We quickly settled into our normal kitchen posts. Popped open some beers and looked at the clock. With awe we calculated the last hour and a half of our lives. It was a relief to be out of the car. We suddenly had so much more to talk about. I would venture to say relaxation kicked in.
And now today I am in the same boat. I have a Weight Watchers meeting as well as some errands and ultimately a trip to the city to visit one of my best and favorite friends and her two little wee ones.
But my husband, being a Water Department employee, just got called out to work for some emergency flooding issues. He called on his way in to warn me that he was having trouble making it due to road closings. The normal route was not going to work and while on the phone he said he wasn't sure he was going to make it through this flooded road... Silence from his end of the line. "Okay, I made it, " he sighed.
Five years ago I would have tackled this with a warrior like attitude. Desire superceding caution every time. But I am getting old.

Taco Pig

All overweight foodies have snuck food. ALL OF THEM. I know. I am one of them. I believe it's a learned trait, but at the same time, if you have ANY self-consciousness at all, there are times it's just darn inappropriate to reach for another snack. And really, life cannot go ON unless you have a bite of the forbidden food, usually in the form of some kind of chocolate tower or bag of crunchy whatsits. Some of my best friends are food sneakers. And I know it even if they haven't told me.
Once while living in a second floor apartment in Chicago, one of my girlfriends ( Stacy*) was over. Mindy* called from her car and mentioned she would come by, too. And since three makes a party let's just go ahead and get Taco Bell and make a fiesta!
She took our orders and then we waited. And waited. We called... no answer. With worrisome, yet empty - no seriously, we cared more about the food, stomachs, we sat on the radiator and peered out the window like anxious little piggies. It was then, in the darkness of the night, I spotted, due to the inexplicably placed street lamp, motion in a nearby car. I motioned Mindy to come and look as well. It was then Mindy exclaimed, "Is that Stacy? In the car? Wait, what is she doing?" Me..." It looks like she is doing something... wait, is she EATING?" We started to roll with laughter. We took this as an oppourtunity to make a joke on her. To be funny, but mostly because we were hungry and we were angry she wouldn't come in and share.
So Stacy came in, nonchalant. She began passing out the delicious Mexican-American dishes when I noticed my order was not right, the sour cream was missing. Mysteriously. And Stacy only gave herself one item while Mindy and I had piles of three. With suppressed giggles, we asked her why she wasn't hungry. Ambivalance.
We asked her why our orders were wrong. Again, ambivalence.
We ate and chomped in silence and then I finally asked her, "That's weird, you have sour cream on your lip, I thought you didn't like sour cream."
She reached for her mouth so quickly I was worried about self-injury.
Mindy could take it no longer and we busted her out... "We were watching you eat Lori's taco from the window, you pig."
When she finally got over the LIE as well as saw the humor we all had a good laugh.
Even now. Poor girl.
She has grown up now, like me... It was over ten years ago. But there will always be a part of me that thinks of her as the girl who ate my taco in secret.

*Names have been changed to protect the piggishness.

35th Birthday

I turned 35 yesterday. If you had asked me five years ago what I would want that day to look like I would have certainly guessed with a lot more razzle dazzle, a few more people, and way less sitting around. As it stood, I didn't even sleep in. Because I am old, and I coudn't.
Instead, I actually cleaned my house, as a gift to myself. I didn't HAVE to and that made a lot of difference in me wanting to. Plus, school starts next week and with all the meetings I have this week I might as well have already started, and the crunch has started and I am feeling busier by the second.
I spent the afternoon with my identical twin friends. We had massages, manicures and pedicures. It was only 90 bucks. And minus the bonus amenities, like lighted candles, lemon water, thick carpet, the actual services were pretty good and we all agreed we would go back. ( Heavenly Massage, 383 E. North Ave, Lombard, IL. )
And please... hurry to make your appointments because the place was really dead and I am afraid that I found this cheap gem and it's going to go under. It did have a steam shower and that was nice. Really nice. They actually had to knock on the door to tell me to get out to get to my nail appointment.
There was one glitch ( which is true to form for me... like every time I do anything), the woman who administered my massage seemed to have a fascination with my big butt cheeks. Is that normal that my butt felt like kneaded dough under a gigantic wooden rolling pin? I tried to ignore it and figured it was some Eastern European thing. Either that or she felt like baking bredad and was stuck at her massasge job. It didn't feel bad, it was just.... weird.
Anyway- my friends came over, and we had a couple glasses of wine. My husband came home and we ordered a pizza. I got delicious and fun little presents from all of them. Yeah for birthdays!
And despite the fact that my body gifted me* the following for our 35th: A) a beard B) a pimple line on my upper lip where apparently the at home wax kit did a number on my skin C) my monthly "bill" and D) a UTI, I feel like I still had a very nice day.
Happy Birthday to me!


*A future (LONG ASS) post will most certainly be a letter shaming my ( RUDE ASS) body for having some kind of nerve, but today I didn't want to be angry.

Wonder Woman or Hearing Sucks

I thought it was sort of weird this morning when my co-worker/friend's mother called me. I was in the shower and the message, in somewhat broken English, seemed to say she would like me to go and visit her daughter in the hospital. She had a ten pound six ounce baby girl the day before, and I figured maybe her mom just wanted a break to run some errands and didn't want to leave her daughter alone. Or something like that.
I called her mother back and confirmed that I would leave within the hour.
I organized driving directions to the hospital a few suburbs North and back.
I stopped at Dominick's and bought food, mags, gifts to take in.
I canceled my original plans to go and clean my classroom.... not that I minded too much.
I took off and while driving began to surmise what this was all about. Was my friend okay? Did she really reach out for me in a time of need? I felt reliable. Good. Helpful. A great friend.
When I got to the hospital ( by the way, since when do suburban hospitals have the nerve to charge parking rates??) I found her room and lugging my bag of goodies rapped lightly on the door before pushing it in.
The look of shock and awe on my friend's face led me to believe right away that something had literally been lost in translation.
When she spoke I just about DIED.
"OH! My Mom is not with you? She is waiting for you at home to pick her up. It's okay, I will call her and let her know you didn't understand her message."
DOH.
Despite that fact that it's a thirty minute drive I immediately offered to go and pick her up and drop her off ( she doesn't drive ) . But, after a short discussion, we realized schedule conflicts would have made it impossible. So... I sat and held the baby and stayed- feeling slightly stupid for having thought what I had been thinking. I kind of wanted to crawl under a rock. Or at least one of those big x-ray machine thingys.
As I walked back to my car I ingested the full reality of what had just happened. My friend was expecting her mother and instead she got me... a co-worker. A friend, but nothing at all like her mother. And her own siblings hadn't even seen her yet! Not even her close friends!
As my face reddened with embarassment and I paid my two dollar parking fee, I vowed to ask clarifying questions the next time I think I am being summoned for my SuperFriend powers.