Ever since I stumbled upon "It" when I was a senior in high school, I have loved Stephen King. I began to read his books voraciously in college. I loved the way his books all seem to tie together in mysterious ways. I loved that characters from one book popped up in others. I loved how he alluded to other books in his short stories (sometimes alluding to a book that hadn't yet been written.) When people asked who my favorite author is, I instantly responded with his name.
But once I got through his books, the wait for new ones got long...and lonely.
So I turned to Dean Koontz to ease my pain.
Koontz is an entirely different writer than King. He dabbles more in fantasy (which I'm not particularly fond of) and his stories are fast paced right from page one. King's books start off notoriously slow and take true dedication to get to the fabulously bone chilling meat of the book.
But this isn't a critique of one writer's strengths over the other.
I never listed Koontz among my favorite authors. He was always a filler. He was just what I read when I didn't have any new books from my "favorite" authors. He was always there, and his books always satisfied. It wasn't until I moved into my own apartment, and FINALLY put all of my books on a bookshelf (alphabetically organized by author: yes I am that person) that I realized that the number of Koontz books that I owned actually outnumbered the number of King books that I owned. And I owned practically every single Stephen King book.
"Wow," I thought, "I must really like Dean Koontz."
The thought was somewhat of a surprise. Then I thought back to how much I liked Koontz's "Odd" books, and set out right then to the bookstore to buy the next one. It was the first time I set out with the goal to buy a Koontz book instead of just turning to him as a default.
Now, I'll buy the new Koontz book as regularly as I'll buy the new King book. It's tough on the pocketbook, let me tell you. When people ask me to list my favorite authors, I'll mention both King and Koontz.
When I found out that a friend of mine whom I have known for over ten years was moving away, the first emotion I felt was nothing but excitement for her. We were close friends, but never that "talk-on-the-phone-see-each-other-daily-consult-each-other-for-everything" type of friend. I started thinking about her new adventure, all the things she would be experiencing, and how jealous I was of the turn her life was taking. It added to my motivation to change things in my life and put them more in the direction I kept thinking they should be in.
Then, when I went to her going away party, it began to sink in that she was really leaving Indiana. Not that our friendship would end, but she wouldn't be HERE with me. My first reaction to that thought was a hearty "BOO!" but with rueful acceptance. We would be fine.
THEN I looked back over the years of our friendship. There were times when we didn't talk but once every six months. There were times when she would call me out of the blue with an idea for a new adventure. I always said yes. There were times she would invite me out, and I would know no one but her (and the person who came with me.) It would occur to me how different our lives were. How were we still friends?? I remember once being in the car with her when she critiqued the new color of a cross walk sign.
"I don't like those," she said. "The color is obnoxious."
"Wow. You really do have an opinion about everything, don't you?" I responded.
Pot, meet Kettle.
About three and a half years ago, my life began to undergo a series of dramatic changes. I had quit my (horrible) job, was in the process of losing my best friend, started dating a guy I thought I was going to marry, gotten over the LAST guy I thought I was going to marry....I felt like I was finally growing into me.
Around this time, my friend was also going through changes. In a job she didn't like, post breakup with a guy who was no good for her, had gotten over being "in like" with a guy who was unavailable and went on to dating a guy who was just as unavailable (though she didn't know it at the time....) She reached out to me with the following suggestion:
"We don't see each other enough. What if we schedule monthly dinners together?"
Like all other adventures, I said, "Sure!"
The dinners evolved from dinners out (my side of town, her side of town, my side of town...etc.) to dinners in (my place, her place, my place....) She cooked these fabulous meals with seemingly little stress. Meanwhile, I was leaving early from work, making a mess of my kitchen, and lucky if I had the table set by the time she arrived. They were the one event each month that I wouldn't miss unless I was DYING.
We had other adventures too. I need someone to go with me to Italian Fest. No problem. Butler basketball games? Done. Let's try kickboxing! Why not?? Latin dance classes? Awesome!
We had our last monthly dinner on August 29th.
I look back over the years of our friendship and realize that although I might not have appreciated it at the time, her friendship was as reliable as Koontz books were. Like Koontz, she was always there, and always made me just as happy as any others in my life. Sometimes I even had MORE fun in her presence than with those I considered closer friends. It's too bad that I only started to put her friendship front and center so late. I have a feeling I'll miss her in moments I can't even imagine right now, and those moments will hit me out of the blue - like when I should be kickboxing or want to go to the next "Puppy Bowl" at Animal Control.
I can only hope that the future is kind, and the distance doesn't matter.
With close friends it usually doesn't.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
Things are definitely better now.
"You guys aren't helping my case any."
That was my friend's boyfriend. Apparently they boyfriend and I were not supporting him properly in his quest to move in with his girlfriend.
In our defense, he asked us how long we had been dating when we moved in together. the boyfriend said,
"Uh oh. She's going to get mad. I'm not sure....How long were we dating before we moved in together?"
"Hell if I know. Let's see...we started dating in March of 2004 and moved in together in June of 2006. So about two and a half years."
This is when we were informed that we weren't helping his case any. They have been dating eight months. He went on to tell us that they were practically living together anyway....he was basically paying rent at a place he was never at. She responded to this by saying, "But it's MY place. He has HIS place." Made sense to me!
"Well, the boyfriend wanted to move in together for months before we actually did. I was holding out....I wasn't sure it was the right decision. Plus, I loved my apartment."
This is when the boyfriend shot me a dirty look while my friend grinned. Then my friend asked,
"How was moving in together?"
"Oh it was hell."
"Oh, c'mon MAN!" (That was my friend's boyfriend.)
"Yeah. It was pretty bad. But things are beter now, aren't they?" (Boyfriend)
"Oh yes. Things are definitely better now."
"You wouldn't be able to tell me if things are still bad. Not with Nate sitting right there, would you?" my friend asked.
"Yes she would. She's pretty direct. She would tell you if things were still bad." This was the boyfriend.
"So things are better now? They couldn't have been that bad, right?"
"Oh, trust me. They were bad. They're better now, but they were bad. BAD." This is when my friend Dave chimed in for the first time. He had previously been identified as my best guy friend. Specifically, 'the person I call when the boyfriend doesn't answer the phone.'
Here's where the boyfriend and I tried to explain,
"There was just a period of adjustment..."
"Her cat was peeing on my clothing..."
"His dog is nutso. If it weren't for his dog, things might have gone a bit easier..."
(a slight pause while we both nodded.)
"The dog and the cat are better now. Tyson just chases her when we're not looking. He doesn't try to put her in his mouth anymore. And the boyfriend is warming up to the idea of drugging him...."
"Anyway, you guys don't have dogs...so that's a good thing."
My friend noted, "Yes, but I have a cat. I have him feeding the cat so the cat will like him."
"That is KEY. Feeding the cat is definitely a good idea." (this from the boyfriend. The guy who used to have his clothes peed on by the cat.)
"Yes, things are definitely much better now....except for that whole 'dirty-clothes-go-in-the-hamper' thing. He still hasn't learned that lesson."
(The boyfriend slowly turned in my direction and shot me a look of death.)
"He doesn't know how to fold," my friend added, pointing to her boyfriend.
"And I don't want to." he added.
"We divided the chores," I advised. "I do dishes and laundry. HE vacuumes and cleans bathrooms. That helps."
"AND I take out the trash."
"WHATEVER! That's a five minute chore, so it doesn't really count."
"Not when the ONLY dumpster is a quarter mile away from our apartment."
"Okay, do you REALLY want to add up all the time I spend on dishes and laundry and nagging you to vacuum and compare it to the time you actually spend on your chores? Really?? You want to have this discussion?"
Yep. Things are definitely much better now.
That was my friend's boyfriend. Apparently they boyfriend and I were not supporting him properly in his quest to move in with his girlfriend.
In our defense, he asked us how long we had been dating when we moved in together. the boyfriend said,
"Uh oh. She's going to get mad. I'm not sure....How long were we dating before we moved in together?"
"Hell if I know. Let's see...we started dating in March of 2004 and moved in together in June of 2006. So about two and a half years."
This is when we were informed that we weren't helping his case any. They have been dating eight months. He went on to tell us that they were practically living together anyway....he was basically paying rent at a place he was never at. She responded to this by saying, "But it's MY place. He has HIS place." Made sense to me!
"Well, the boyfriend wanted to move in together for months before we actually did. I was holding out....I wasn't sure it was the right decision. Plus, I loved my apartment."
This is when the boyfriend shot me a dirty look while my friend grinned. Then my friend asked,
"How was moving in together?"
"Oh it was hell."
"Oh, c'mon MAN!" (That was my friend's boyfriend.)
"Yeah. It was pretty bad. But things are beter now, aren't they?" (Boyfriend)
"Oh yes. Things are definitely better now."
"You wouldn't be able to tell me if things are still bad. Not with Nate sitting right there, would you?" my friend asked.
"Yes she would. She's pretty direct. She would tell you if things were still bad." This was the boyfriend.
"So things are better now? They couldn't have been that bad, right?"
"Oh, trust me. They were bad. They're better now, but they were bad. BAD." This is when my friend Dave chimed in for the first time. He had previously been identified as my best guy friend. Specifically, 'the person I call when the boyfriend doesn't answer the phone.'
Here's where the boyfriend and I tried to explain,
"There was just a period of adjustment..."
"Her cat was peeing on my clothing..."
"His dog is nutso. If it weren't for his dog, things might have gone a bit easier..."
(a slight pause while we both nodded.)
"The dog and the cat are better now. Tyson just chases her when we're not looking. He doesn't try to put her in his mouth anymore. And the boyfriend is warming up to the idea of drugging him...."
"Anyway, you guys don't have dogs...so that's a good thing."
My friend noted, "Yes, but I have a cat. I have him feeding the cat so the cat will like him."
"That is KEY. Feeding the cat is definitely a good idea." (this from the boyfriend. The guy who used to have his clothes peed on by the cat.)
"Yes, things are definitely much better now....except for that whole 'dirty-clothes-go-in-the-hamper' thing. He still hasn't learned that lesson."
(The boyfriend slowly turned in my direction and shot me a look of death.)
"He doesn't know how to fold," my friend added, pointing to her boyfriend.
"And I don't want to." he added.
"We divided the chores," I advised. "I do dishes and laundry. HE vacuumes and cleans bathrooms. That helps."
"AND I take out the trash."
"WHATEVER! That's a five minute chore, so it doesn't really count."
"Not when the ONLY dumpster is a quarter mile away from our apartment."
"Okay, do you REALLY want to add up all the time I spend on dishes and laundry and nagging you to vacuum and compare it to the time you actually spend on your chores? Really?? You want to have this discussion?"
Yep. Things are definitely much better now.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
No basis for comparison
The following story isn't bad. It's not weird. I just have nothing (and I mean absolutely nothing) in my life that remotely compares to this, so it had an affect on me. My reaction is not meant to offend....I just, you know, want to share.
The Indiana State Fair was in town from August 8 - 19th. On August 11th, the boyfriend and I decided to spend some time at the fair as per our annual tradition. It was beastly hot, and I volunteer on Saturday mornings, so we waited until about 5:00pm to make our trek down to the fairgrounds. Since we live quite a bit north of the fairgrounds, and parking (and traffic) usually suck, the boyfriend suggested that we take the fair train. The depot is about 1 mile from our apartment, and the train drops you off just outside the fairgrounds.
Thus, Emily took her first train ride. Not only that, but we upgraded to first class on the way to the fair, so we got to ride in the first class car. Woo Hoo, big spenders, huh? It was awesome.
While it was my first train ride, this was not my first visit to the State Fair. I love the State Fair. Where else can you indulge in all manner of things fried, pet a cow, and ride a ferris wheel all in one night? (side note: there is a similar occasion in my hometown called the "Fall Festival" which I have loyally attended for years. However, the State Fair has slowly taken over the #1 position for my favorite place with fried foods. Why? Because the State Fair has animals. Fall Festival has none. I love the sheep. Bah.) This year, the new fried food was fried Pepsi. I kid you not. It was basically fried dough made with Pepsi with some Pepsi flavored syrup on top. Nate and I shared some because - you know - it's the State Fair. You sort of have to.
After the fried Pepsi, I had some fried pickles. Then, feeling thouroughly ill, I abstained from all other food for the night. The boyfriend played some of the (rigged) games to try and win me a huge stuffed animal that would then make its way to Goodwill, we visited the sheep, the cows, the horses, and the pigs...I rode a life-sized rocking horse (probably the oldest person to try THAT particular stunt) we took a turn on the ferris wheel....and then we made our way home. All in all, an enjoyable evening.
My mother had mentioned that my brother and his wife would be at the state fair, and why didn't we go with them? My brother's in laws were all in town because one of his brothers in law was playing the piano in the talent competition, and the other had a pig to show.
I was confused. A pig to show? "Yes," my mother explained. "A pig that he raised to show at the fair."
Oh. Okay. I had heard of such things.
I didn't think of it again until I spoke to my mother last night. Apparently my brother's mother in law had stopped by with wedding pictures for my mom. They met to see what each one had purchased and have some coffee. My mother also mentioned that she had received a surprise present.
"She brought me some pork chops. The pig got fourth place."
"So they KILLED it?" I was horrified.
After more amused discussion (on my mother's side), it became apparent that they hadn't killed the pig just because he got fourth place....it was just that, you know, he had been shown, he got fourth place....his purpose in life was fulfilled. He is now pork chops.
There are SO many questions running through my mind that I don't dare ask. Did they make the boy who raised the pig kill it too? Is it a rite of passage sort of thing? Did he smear blood on his cheeks like warpaint? Is he now a man? Who actually butchered the pig and cut those pork chops? Would I be able to eat the chops from a pig that I knew - even if only by reputation? Did I miss out on some experience of growth because I didn't care and raise an animal only to eventually eat it?
I understand that some animals are killed for food. I know this. I'm an avid steak eater, and I am not under the impression that there's a "steak tree" somewhere from which my succulent filet mignons come. I know that one person's "Bessie" is another person's overpriced dinner. I get that. But...I'm not eating MY Bessie. I'm not even eating a Bessie that I saw the other day (at least, I don't think....)
You might think that because of this reaction, I would never be able to handle the death of any animal... that's incorrect. When I'm a veterinarian (God willing) I will most definitely be one of those vets who cries along with you when your loving family pet has to be put down....but I will have no problem administering the euthenasia. Because, you know, IT'S NOT MY ANIMAL! I didn't raise it from babyhood, lovingly feed it, groom it, prepare it for show....
Again, I have no basis of comparison for this. I wasn't raised on a farm or anything like that. I do NOT think that killing an animal for food is wrong. I just don't understand how it's done. Maybe the relationship you form with an animal that you're eventually going to eat is different than, say....the relationship I have with my dog? (Whom I'm never going to eat, by the way.)
I don't know though, man....I saw those baby piglets. They sure are cute.
The Indiana State Fair was in town from August 8 - 19th. On August 11th, the boyfriend and I decided to spend some time at the fair as per our annual tradition. It was beastly hot, and I volunteer on Saturday mornings, so we waited until about 5:00pm to make our trek down to the fairgrounds. Since we live quite a bit north of the fairgrounds, and parking (and traffic) usually suck, the boyfriend suggested that we take the fair train. The depot is about 1 mile from our apartment, and the train drops you off just outside the fairgrounds.
Thus, Emily took her first train ride. Not only that, but we upgraded to first class on the way to the fair, so we got to ride in the first class car. Woo Hoo, big spenders, huh? It was awesome.
While it was my first train ride, this was not my first visit to the State Fair. I love the State Fair. Where else can you indulge in all manner of things fried, pet a cow, and ride a ferris wheel all in one night? (side note: there is a similar occasion in my hometown called the "Fall Festival" which I have loyally attended for years. However, the State Fair has slowly taken over the #1 position for my favorite place with fried foods. Why? Because the State Fair has animals. Fall Festival has none. I love the sheep. Bah.) This year, the new fried food was fried Pepsi. I kid you not. It was basically fried dough made with Pepsi with some Pepsi flavored syrup on top. Nate and I shared some because - you know - it's the State Fair. You sort of have to.
After the fried Pepsi, I had some fried pickles. Then, feeling thouroughly ill, I abstained from all other food for the night. The boyfriend played some of the (rigged) games to try and win me a huge stuffed animal that would then make its way to Goodwill, we visited the sheep, the cows, the horses, and the pigs...I rode a life-sized rocking horse (probably the oldest person to try THAT particular stunt) we took a turn on the ferris wheel....and then we made our way home. All in all, an enjoyable evening.
My mother had mentioned that my brother and his wife would be at the state fair, and why didn't we go with them? My brother's in laws were all in town because one of his brothers in law was playing the piano in the talent competition, and the other had a pig to show.
I was confused. A pig to show? "Yes," my mother explained. "A pig that he raised to show at the fair."
Oh. Okay. I had heard of such things.
I didn't think of it again until I spoke to my mother last night. Apparently my brother's mother in law had stopped by with wedding pictures for my mom. They met to see what each one had purchased and have some coffee. My mother also mentioned that she had received a surprise present.
"She brought me some pork chops. The pig got fourth place."
"So they KILLED it?" I was horrified.
After more amused discussion (on my mother's side), it became apparent that they hadn't killed the pig just because he got fourth place....it was just that, you know, he had been shown, he got fourth place....his purpose in life was fulfilled. He is now pork chops.
There are SO many questions running through my mind that I don't dare ask. Did they make the boy who raised the pig kill it too? Is it a rite of passage sort of thing? Did he smear blood on his cheeks like warpaint? Is he now a man? Who actually butchered the pig and cut those pork chops? Would I be able to eat the chops from a pig that I knew - even if only by reputation? Did I miss out on some experience of growth because I didn't care and raise an animal only to eventually eat it?
I understand that some animals are killed for food. I know this. I'm an avid steak eater, and I am not under the impression that there's a "steak tree" somewhere from which my succulent filet mignons come. I know that one person's "Bessie" is another person's overpriced dinner. I get that. But...I'm not eating MY Bessie. I'm not even eating a Bessie that I saw the other day (at least, I don't think....)
You might think that because of this reaction, I would never be able to handle the death of any animal... that's incorrect. When I'm a veterinarian (God willing) I will most definitely be one of those vets who cries along with you when your loving family pet has to be put down....but I will have no problem administering the euthenasia. Because, you know, IT'S NOT MY ANIMAL! I didn't raise it from babyhood, lovingly feed it, groom it, prepare it for show....
Again, I have no basis of comparison for this. I wasn't raised on a farm or anything like that. I do NOT think that killing an animal for food is wrong. I just don't understand how it's done. Maybe the relationship you form with an animal that you're eventually going to eat is different than, say....the relationship I have with my dog? (Whom I'm never going to eat, by the way.)
I don't know though, man....I saw those baby piglets. They sure are cute.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Back to School
I didn't realize I would have an "adjustment period" when I finally decided to just bite the bullet and go back to school. I mean, I've been in school before, and I've been working 40 hours. Doing them both together (especially when the schooling is in MUCH smaller quantities than my previous experience) should be easy, right?
Tell that to my boss after I've arrived at work an average of 15 minutes late every day for the last week.
Even though I've been thinking about going back to school for over a year (apparently I have decided that I want to be a veterinarian...better late than never, right?) the actual decision to take classes this semester happened rather quickly. Like, in three days.
Step 1) Finally call IUPUI.
Step 2) Apply/Register for Class/Meet with Advisor the next day.
Step 3) Send my transcript to Purdue to see which credits from Butler transfer to cover my pre-vet requirements
Step 4) Buy my books.
To be fair, I had done a lot of the ground work for these three days in the last year. I had previously spoken to my advisor. I had already contacted Butler and gotten a copy of my transcript. I had researched which classes I needed to take. So that's probably why my application/enrollment process was able to happen so quickly...but still. My life is still reeling.
For example, I now have class on Tuesday and Thursday nights. At first, I thought that merely cancelling all activities that happened weekly on those nights would be enough. Then I just decided to clear out all weekly events. Then I remembered that my book club only meets monthly. On Thursdays. Boo. I wasn't ready to give up EVERYHING. Then I discovered that while volleyball is only on Wednesdays, if I get homework on a Tuesday, and my next class is Thursday....well....
I used to make fun of my friends who went back for their Masters degrees and lost all semblance of a social life. "C'mon," I would cajole, "You can come out with us this ONE night, can't you?"
Now I completely understand the "No."
The first day of class was surreal. On the one hand, my brain was SO excited to be learning again. (Woo Hoo!! You haven't used me for YEARS, Emily! I was beginning to despair!) On the other hand, it's been, oh, about eleven years since my last Chemistry class (cut me some slack! I was a marketing major. We didn't have to take sciences) and while I thouroughly enjoyed my AP Chem class, I was only 18 years old when I took it, and since then...well...apparently those synapses haven't fired. Not once.
It was a humbling experience to be paired up with an 18-year-old and watch while he flew through his workbook problems, and I was still struggling to convert the speed of light from feet per second to meters per second. And how many feet are in a mile again? I wanted to tell my partner that I really wasn't as stupid as my struggling would lead him to believe. Just let me get warmed up and I would prove to be a proficient partner. It just takes longer to get going at this age, someday he would understand. But I didn't have the words.
In the downtime, I did enjoy talking to the 18-year-old. He was so bright eyed and bushy tailed. So happy to be in college. He told me all about his girlfriend back home who was still in high school. He was just so....eighteen. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I expected to hear the breakup story by December. Hell, let life crush him. For now, I'll just enjoy being around someone so young. It's got to rub off somehow, right?
Off I went to my Chemistry lab. I was paired up with two other girls and we had a good time getting to know each other. One girl was working 40 hours a week like me, and only taking night classes. I never got her age, but she couldn't have been much older than 21. The other girl was a full time student - a junior. I was relieved. Okay, so they're not quite as young as my previous experience. The girl who worked full time (Mandy) and I discussed the issues with parking, missing dinner two nights a week, and how long it had been since our last Chemistry lab.
Mandy: "It's been so long since my last Chemistry lab...I'm not sure I remember what all this equipment is called."
Emily: "Don't worry. I'm sure it's been longer since I've had a Chemistry lab. It will all come back to you."
Mandy (pensively): "It's been...hmmm...about a year and a half since my last lab. Can you believe that?" She then looked at me expectantly.
It occurred to me here that she probably thought I was around her age. Sweet! Misguided though she may be, I wasn't quite ready to end that illusion....so I just responded, "Wow. It has been a while for you."
I'm not proud. I'll take my warm and fuzzy moments where I can get 'em.
Tell that to my boss after I've arrived at work an average of 15 minutes late every day for the last week.
Even though I've been thinking about going back to school for over a year (apparently I have decided that I want to be a veterinarian...better late than never, right?) the actual decision to take classes this semester happened rather quickly. Like, in three days.
Step 1) Finally call IUPUI.
Step 2) Apply/Register for Class/Meet with Advisor the next day.
Step 3) Send my transcript to Purdue to see which credits from Butler transfer to cover my pre-vet requirements
Step 4) Buy my books.
To be fair, I had done a lot of the ground work for these three days in the last year. I had previously spoken to my advisor. I had already contacted Butler and gotten a copy of my transcript. I had researched which classes I needed to take. So that's probably why my application/enrollment process was able to happen so quickly...but still. My life is still reeling.
For example, I now have class on Tuesday and Thursday nights. At first, I thought that merely cancelling all activities that happened weekly on those nights would be enough. Then I just decided to clear out all weekly events. Then I remembered that my book club only meets monthly. On Thursdays. Boo. I wasn't ready to give up EVERYHING. Then I discovered that while volleyball is only on Wednesdays, if I get homework on a Tuesday, and my next class is Thursday....well....
I used to make fun of my friends who went back for their Masters degrees and lost all semblance of a social life. "C'mon," I would cajole, "You can come out with us this ONE night, can't you?"
Now I completely understand the "No."
The first day of class was surreal. On the one hand, my brain was SO excited to be learning again. (Woo Hoo!! You haven't used me for YEARS, Emily! I was beginning to despair!) On the other hand, it's been, oh, about eleven years since my last Chemistry class (cut me some slack! I was a marketing major. We didn't have to take sciences) and while I thouroughly enjoyed my AP Chem class, I was only 18 years old when I took it, and since then...well...apparently those synapses haven't fired. Not once.
It was a humbling experience to be paired up with an 18-year-old and watch while he flew through his workbook problems, and I was still struggling to convert the speed of light from feet per second to meters per second. And how many feet are in a mile again? I wanted to tell my partner that I really wasn't as stupid as my struggling would lead him to believe. Just let me get warmed up and I would prove to be a proficient partner. It just takes longer to get going at this age, someday he would understand. But I didn't have the words.
In the downtime, I did enjoy talking to the 18-year-old. He was so bright eyed and bushy tailed. So happy to be in college. He told me all about his girlfriend back home who was still in high school. He was just so....eighteen. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I expected to hear the breakup story by December. Hell, let life crush him. For now, I'll just enjoy being around someone so young. It's got to rub off somehow, right?
Off I went to my Chemistry lab. I was paired up with two other girls and we had a good time getting to know each other. One girl was working 40 hours a week like me, and only taking night classes. I never got her age, but she couldn't have been much older than 21. The other girl was a full time student - a junior. I was relieved. Okay, so they're not quite as young as my previous experience. The girl who worked full time (Mandy) and I discussed the issues with parking, missing dinner two nights a week, and how long it had been since our last Chemistry lab.
Mandy: "It's been so long since my last Chemistry lab...I'm not sure I remember what all this equipment is called."
Emily: "Don't worry. I'm sure it's been longer since I've had a Chemistry lab. It will all come back to you."
Mandy (pensively): "It's been...hmmm...about a year and a half since my last lab. Can you believe that?" She then looked at me expectantly.
It occurred to me here that she probably thought I was around her age. Sweet! Misguided though she may be, I wasn't quite ready to end that illusion....so I just responded, "Wow. It has been a while for you."
I'm not proud. I'll take my warm and fuzzy moments where I can get 'em.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
What's in a name?
I'm sure there's nothing my boyfriend loves more than long car rides with me. He's a self described "listener," while I'm a self described "barely takes a breath between sentences" person. During car rides to visit either of our parents, he's trapped sitting next to me for hours while I bring up various discussions in which he is expected to participate. Sometimes we agree on these topics (how dumb Bart Peterson is for his attempts to ban pit bulls from Indy) and sometimes we disagree (immigration laws.) This past weekend, I innocently discovered something else we did not agree on.
"If we get married, how would you feel if I didn't take your last name?"
(SIDENOTE: Now, before you girls start squealing about how the boyfriend and I are going to get married and how you knew it, and I'm too cynical blah blah blah, this topic comes up every so often with he and I. We've been dating for over three years. It would be weird if it didn't. However, there is no set "We are definitely getting married at this time," or "We will be married by..." It just comes up every so often. I usually say "If we get married" and he usually says "When." I have commitment issues. We all knew this. There is no talk of imminent proposals or impending nuptials. I'll let you know if there ever are.)
Returning to the subject at hand, my question was brought about innocently enough, and in fact, had been broached in the past - though with different results. My only friend who is married and did NOT take her husband's last name got married in 2004 - the year that the boyfriend and I started dating. He went with me to her wedding, and they are now one of our favorite couples to spend time with. I've known Vanessa since high school. She is one of the most independent, intelligent, and progressively minded women I have ever met. Of course she didn't take Gregg's last name. I was suprised she even got married. Their wedding ceremony was awesome. They took tradition and altered it to fit their relationship perfectly. (Gregg is the perfect guy for her, by the way. He obviously loves her more than anything, and he's confident enough to respect her intelligence and her drive and let her be her own person. To me, they are the perfect married couple - but it's because I have this unique perspective. I've known Vanessa since she was 10 years old (give or take). I've seen her grow up. I see how Gregg ADDS to who she is and makes her a better person by not changing her at all. I don't get to see that with all of my married friends. I'd like to think that all marriages are like that...right?) However, my (new) boyfriend (at the time) had never met her, and didn't quite know WHAT to expect. When he found out that she hadn't taken her husband's last name, he asked me, "If we got married, would you take my last name?" You could hear the hesitancy in his voice...as though he was thinking, "What kind of friends does this girl have?"
I said, "Sure. I've never really thought about it." And that was that.
Fast forward to this year when my little brother sent out invitations to his wedding. The one for me was addressed to "Emily and Guest." Whoops. I give my mom credit for really trying to understand and support my decision to live with the boyfriend pre-marriage (something that was obviously much more taboo during her generation) but sometimes she makes little mistakes like that. When I asked my brother what happened, he told me that all married couples had their invitations addressed as "Mr. and Mrs. X" and single people were addressed as "and Guest."
I thought about that for a long time. My first thought was, "What would they have done if they had to invite Vanessa and Gregg?" Then I thought about how the invitation to Vanessa and Gregg would obviously have had to have both names, and how cool it was that Vanessa would actually get to be her own person on the invitation instead of just a "Mrs."
Now, I'm not silly enough to think that my personality will change if I get married, or that people will think of me as "Boyfriend's wife" instead of "Emily." I think I've got enough personality to be known as my own person, and I'm pretty sure most everyone would agree with that. I'm not afraid of losing my identity should I get married. I'm just thinking, "I've been Emily S. for 29 years now. I've got my signature all down pat, my funky last name is part of who I am. It indicates part of my heritage, I get to make fun of people who can't pronounce it, and get annoyed the 75th time I have to spell it for my doctor over the phone. Why should I change? To show my love and devotion to my husband? Aren't I doing that by saying "I do?"
Which led me to my question to the boyfriend. I honestly don't know what I would prefer if I got married - since I don't have a strong preference, I would probably do what he preferred.
However, once this question was asked, I saw my normally laid back relaxed boyfriend, who lets me be my own person and do my own thing with a sigh of resignation and ready assistance if I get in over my head, dig in his heels and become a stubborn ass for the first time ever. Apparently not taking his last name is not an option.
But why?
I'm not trying to buck tradition or anything. I'll admit - once upon a time when I thought marriage was imminent, I was all set to take his last name and live in wedded bliss for the rest of my life. But I like to think that I've done some growing up between 23 and 29. I like to think that I don't blindly follow rules without questioning them and seeing how they fit in my life, even though they might fit in someone else's life completely differently.
He didn't really have a good reason for me regarding his strong reaction. Which is the point of this blog. Why is the mere thought of a woman not taking her husband's last name so offensive to men?* Are you worried about what other guys think? Ladies, did you think about not taking his last name, or did the thought never cross your mind?
Just curious. Again, since he has such strong feelings, I'll probably just go with what he prefers...I just want to know where these strong feelings come from.
*"It's tradition" or "Because it confuses people" is not an acceptable response, by the way Rob Padgett.
"If we get married, how would you feel if I didn't take your last name?"
(SIDENOTE: Now, before you girls start squealing about how the boyfriend and I are going to get married and how you knew it, and I'm too cynical blah blah blah, this topic comes up every so often with he and I. We've been dating for over three years. It would be weird if it didn't. However, there is no set "We are definitely getting married at this time," or "We will be married by..." It just comes up every so often. I usually say "If we get married" and he usually says "When." I have commitment issues. We all knew this. There is no talk of imminent proposals or impending nuptials. I'll let you know if there ever are.)
Returning to the subject at hand, my question was brought about innocently enough, and in fact, had been broached in the past - though with different results. My only friend who is married and did NOT take her husband's last name got married in 2004 - the year that the boyfriend and I started dating. He went with me to her wedding, and they are now one of our favorite couples to spend time with. I've known Vanessa since high school. She is one of the most independent, intelligent, and progressively minded women I have ever met. Of course she didn't take Gregg's last name. I was suprised she even got married. Their wedding ceremony was awesome. They took tradition and altered it to fit their relationship perfectly. (Gregg is the perfect guy for her, by the way. He obviously loves her more than anything, and he's confident enough to respect her intelligence and her drive and let her be her own person. To me, they are the perfect married couple - but it's because I have this unique perspective. I've known Vanessa since she was 10 years old (give or take). I've seen her grow up. I see how Gregg ADDS to who she is and makes her a better person by not changing her at all. I don't get to see that with all of my married friends. I'd like to think that all marriages are like that...right?) However, my (new) boyfriend (at the time) had never met her, and didn't quite know WHAT to expect. When he found out that she hadn't taken her husband's last name, he asked me, "If we got married, would you take my last name?" You could hear the hesitancy in his voice...as though he was thinking, "What kind of friends does this girl have?"
I said, "Sure. I've never really thought about it." And that was that.
Fast forward to this year when my little brother sent out invitations to his wedding. The one for me was addressed to "Emily and Guest." Whoops. I give my mom credit for really trying to understand and support my decision to live with the boyfriend pre-marriage (something that was obviously much more taboo during her generation) but sometimes she makes little mistakes like that. When I asked my brother what happened, he told me that all married couples had their invitations addressed as "Mr. and Mrs. X" and single people were addressed as "and Guest."
I thought about that for a long time. My first thought was, "What would they have done if they had to invite Vanessa and Gregg?" Then I thought about how the invitation to Vanessa and Gregg would obviously have had to have both names, and how cool it was that Vanessa would actually get to be her own person on the invitation instead of just a "Mrs."
Now, I'm not silly enough to think that my personality will change if I get married, or that people will think of me as "Boyfriend's wife" instead of "Emily." I think I've got enough personality to be known as my own person, and I'm pretty sure most everyone would agree with that. I'm not afraid of losing my identity should I get married. I'm just thinking, "I've been Emily S. for 29 years now. I've got my signature all down pat, my funky last name is part of who I am. It indicates part of my heritage, I get to make fun of people who can't pronounce it, and get annoyed the 75th time I have to spell it for my doctor over the phone. Why should I change? To show my love and devotion to my husband? Aren't I doing that by saying "I do?"
Which led me to my question to the boyfriend. I honestly don't know what I would prefer if I got married - since I don't have a strong preference, I would probably do what he preferred.
However, once this question was asked, I saw my normally laid back relaxed boyfriend, who lets me be my own person and do my own thing with a sigh of resignation and ready assistance if I get in over my head, dig in his heels and become a stubborn ass for the first time ever. Apparently not taking his last name is not an option.
But why?
I'm not trying to buck tradition or anything. I'll admit - once upon a time when I thought marriage was imminent, I was all set to take his last name and live in wedded bliss for the rest of my life. But I like to think that I've done some growing up between 23 and 29. I like to think that I don't blindly follow rules without questioning them and seeing how they fit in my life, even though they might fit in someone else's life completely differently.
He didn't really have a good reason for me regarding his strong reaction. Which is the point of this blog. Why is the mere thought of a woman not taking her husband's last name so offensive to men?* Are you worried about what other guys think? Ladies, did you think about not taking his last name, or did the thought never cross your mind?
Just curious. Again, since he has such strong feelings, I'll probably just go with what he prefers...I just want to know where these strong feelings come from.
*"It's tradition" or "Because it confuses people" is not an acceptable response, by the way Rob Padgett.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The small woman/big truck phenomenon
When I was an intern in college, one of my bosses was talking over lunch about how attractive he found small women driving big trucks. I was A) disturbed and B) intrigued. What was it about women driving big trucks that was so sexy?
I asked him again on my last day at that internship. (I couldn't get up the courage until then, when I never had to face him again ) He didn't really have a reason why it was so sexy, but he said that some women on motorcycles or driving tractors were included in the phenomenon.
Over the years, I've never really understood the phenomenon, or why it applies in some situations and not others, but I have seen it in effect. I've just come to think that a woman doing anything manly is sexy...within reason.*
Which brings me to the here and now. I've been making it a point to walk with Casey for about an hour a day for the last two weeks or so. I'm trying to get daycare costs down, and she's still got so much of the puppy energy that if she's not exercised for any decent amount of time, there is no peace in my apartment that night for me, the boyfriend or poor Tyson whose legs are being chewed and whose toys are being stolen. I slowly came to realize that walking Casey wasn't cutting it. So we went back to an old standard - rollerblading with Casey. Something we both enjoy and that has the side effect of exhausing Casey.
When I walk with Casey, we just walk out of the apartment complex and down the adjoining busy road to the major intersection about two miles away, and then back. The entire trek is about 4.3 miles. Casey finishes and is ready for more. Dear God.
But when we rollerblade, we go to a little-known trail tucked in a park. It's about 2.16 miles one way. On the way to the end, I make Casey run beside me as we "race." On the way back, I attach the leash to her regular collar and she tows me home. Not great exercise for me, but FABULOUS exercise for Casey. She's pooped when she gets home. Mission accomplished.
But I sort of missed the walking. It was better for me, but worse for Casey. What to do?
It slowly dawned on me that there are TWO dogs in my apartment. So now, I walk Tyson for an hour, and then do the rollerblading with Casey afterwards. (Where is the boyfriend during all of this, you wonder? Good question. Send him an e-mail and tell him to exercise his own damn dog.)
I'm sure some of my Tyson-loving friends will love to hear that walking Tyson is actually more enjoyable than walking Casey. There is a downside (of course.) Tyson is lazy. I mean l-a-z-y. At about mile 2, he's wanting to lie down in the grass. I have to drag his ass the rest of the way back to the apartment. When it gets really bad, I'll call the boyfriend and have him walk ahead of us the way back. I swear, Tyson would walk through fire to follow him anywhere - psycho.
But there are several up-sides to walking Tyson. A) Should I choose to walk early in the morning, no one is going to mess with me when I'm with Tyson. I mean, I live in a suburb in Indiana, but still...you can never be too careful. B) He's not afraid of the dark. Casey will definitely hesitate if she can't see where she's going. C) He stays right by my side. Casey has a tendency to wander as far as her 16 foot retractable leash will allow. D) When someone is approaching (person or dog) Tyson assumes this protective position in front of me where he's standing at attention with his ears raised - ready for anything. I have a feeling that in the same situation, Casey would be barking her fool head off and running in circles.
But the weirdest difference between walking Tyson and Casey is the attention that I get walking down the busy road.
It's weird, but I get a noticeably higher number of honks or "Hey baby!"s when I'm walking Tyson than when I'm walking Casey. (Side note: my response to any sort of harrassment from cars passing me on the road is to raise my middle finger at them...so if I know you, and you're just honking to say hello, I apologize in advance. I don't usually take the time to look.) At first I thought it was a fluke. You know, a day of the week sort of thing. But it happened again. And again. I started wearing cuter workout clothes when walking Casey, and just a t-shirt and shorts when walking Tyson. Didn't matter. I tried different times of the day. In the morning, I get no honks from walking either dog. At noon, an average of one when I'm with Casey and three when I'm walking with Tyson. After work, I get about five honks with Casey and approximately five thousand when I'm with Tyson.
I mentioned this to the boyfriend, and he didn't seem to think it was weird. So I guess it must fall under the small woman/big truck phenomenon, right? I mean, Tyson is a man's dog if there ever was one (in appearance anyway.) He weighs over half of what I weigh, and he's wearing this huge scary looking pinch collar (that you never have to use - unless you're dragging him home.) So since those honks aren't "Hey baby"ing for Tyson (I hope), I must assume that Tyson is the best accessory EVER to make a female more attractive to men.
(What sort of men....now that's a whole other question.)
But, it's easier than buying a truck that you know you don't want to drive. It's easier than driving a tractor down the side of the road, and how many of us really have the extra money for a motorcycle?? If you want to take part in the small woman/big truck phenomenon, Tyson is the way to go.
So I'm officially offering Tyson to all of my single female friends. Please, feel free to borrow him to take a walk sometime after 5:00pm. (The time when, apparently, men are most likely to want to pay attention to women with big dogs.) He's available any day, just be sure to call ahead so I don't double book. I'm assuming that if honks aren't what you're after, you can take him to a park and actually strike up conversations with men who stop you to tell you how awesome your dog is, and how sexy you look walking him. You don't even have to tell your new man that the dog isn't yours... If you decide that you want to keep him...well, I'm sure something can be arranged.
Tyson's getting to be a chunky monkey, so I'm sure he'll love you for the exercise. So you're both doing a good deed AND attracting more men. Hell, I should clone him and make an informercial! Forget Paris Hilton and her tiny chihuahua - get a huge pit bull and get more dates!**
Call now to reserve your appointment. Get more dates! 60% of the time, it works every time!
* I mean, I don't think a woman who pees standing up is sexy...
**Not responsible for the caliber of men or any stalkers you may attract.
I asked him again on my last day at that internship. (I couldn't get up the courage until then, when I never had to face him again ) He didn't really have a reason why it was so sexy, but he said that some women on motorcycles or driving tractors were included in the phenomenon.
Over the years, I've never really understood the phenomenon, or why it applies in some situations and not others, but I have seen it in effect. I've just come to think that a woman doing anything manly is sexy...within reason.*
Which brings me to the here and now. I've been making it a point to walk with Casey for about an hour a day for the last two weeks or so. I'm trying to get daycare costs down, and she's still got so much of the puppy energy that if she's not exercised for any decent amount of time, there is no peace in my apartment that night for me, the boyfriend or poor Tyson whose legs are being chewed and whose toys are being stolen. I slowly came to realize that walking Casey wasn't cutting it. So we went back to an old standard - rollerblading with Casey. Something we both enjoy and that has the side effect of exhausing Casey.
When I walk with Casey, we just walk out of the apartment complex and down the adjoining busy road to the major intersection about two miles away, and then back. The entire trek is about 4.3 miles. Casey finishes and is ready for more. Dear God.
But when we rollerblade, we go to a little-known trail tucked in a park. It's about 2.16 miles one way. On the way to the end, I make Casey run beside me as we "race." On the way back, I attach the leash to her regular collar and she tows me home. Not great exercise for me, but FABULOUS exercise for Casey. She's pooped when she gets home. Mission accomplished.
But I sort of missed the walking. It was better for me, but worse for Casey. What to do?
It slowly dawned on me that there are TWO dogs in my apartment. So now, I walk Tyson for an hour, and then do the rollerblading with Casey afterwards. (Where is the boyfriend during all of this, you wonder? Good question. Send him an e-mail and tell him to exercise his own damn dog.)
I'm sure some of my Tyson-loving friends will love to hear that walking Tyson is actually more enjoyable than walking Casey. There is a downside (of course.) Tyson is lazy. I mean l-a-z-y. At about mile 2, he's wanting to lie down in the grass. I have to drag his ass the rest of the way back to the apartment. When it gets really bad, I'll call the boyfriend and have him walk ahead of us the way back. I swear, Tyson would walk through fire to follow him anywhere - psycho.
But there are several up-sides to walking Tyson. A) Should I choose to walk early in the morning, no one is going to mess with me when I'm with Tyson. I mean, I live in a suburb in Indiana, but still...you can never be too careful. B) He's not afraid of the dark. Casey will definitely hesitate if she can't see where she's going. C) He stays right by my side. Casey has a tendency to wander as far as her 16 foot retractable leash will allow. D) When someone is approaching (person or dog) Tyson assumes this protective position in front of me where he's standing at attention with his ears raised - ready for anything. I have a feeling that in the same situation, Casey would be barking her fool head off and running in circles.
But the weirdest difference between walking Tyson and Casey is the attention that I get walking down the busy road.
It's weird, but I get a noticeably higher number of honks or "Hey baby!"s when I'm walking Tyson than when I'm walking Casey. (Side note: my response to any sort of harrassment from cars passing me on the road is to raise my middle finger at them...so if I know you, and you're just honking to say hello, I apologize in advance. I don't usually take the time to look.) At first I thought it was a fluke. You know, a day of the week sort of thing. But it happened again. And again. I started wearing cuter workout clothes when walking Casey, and just a t-shirt and shorts when walking Tyson. Didn't matter. I tried different times of the day. In the morning, I get no honks from walking either dog. At noon, an average of one when I'm with Casey and three when I'm walking with Tyson. After work, I get about five honks with Casey and approximately five thousand when I'm with Tyson.
I mentioned this to the boyfriend, and he didn't seem to think it was weird. So I guess it must fall under the small woman/big truck phenomenon, right? I mean, Tyson is a man's dog if there ever was one (in appearance anyway.) He weighs over half of what I weigh, and he's wearing this huge scary looking pinch collar (that you never have to use - unless you're dragging him home.) So since those honks aren't "Hey baby"ing for Tyson (I hope), I must assume that Tyson is the best accessory EVER to make a female more attractive to men.
(What sort of men....now that's a whole other question.)
But, it's easier than buying a truck that you know you don't want to drive. It's easier than driving a tractor down the side of the road, and how many of us really have the extra money for a motorcycle?? If you want to take part in the small woman/big truck phenomenon, Tyson is the way to go.
So I'm officially offering Tyson to all of my single female friends. Please, feel free to borrow him to take a walk sometime after 5:00pm. (The time when, apparently, men are most likely to want to pay attention to women with big dogs.) He's available any day, just be sure to call ahead so I don't double book. I'm assuming that if honks aren't what you're after, you can take him to a park and actually strike up conversations with men who stop you to tell you how awesome your dog is, and how sexy you look walking him. You don't even have to tell your new man that the dog isn't yours... If you decide that you want to keep him...well, I'm sure something can be arranged.
Tyson's getting to be a chunky monkey, so I'm sure he'll love you for the exercise. So you're both doing a good deed AND attracting more men. Hell, I should clone him and make an informercial! Forget Paris Hilton and her tiny chihuahua - get a huge pit bull and get more dates!**
Call now to reserve your appointment. Get more dates! 60% of the time, it works every time!
* I mean, I don't think a woman who pees standing up is sexy...
**Not responsible for the caliber of men or any stalkers you may attract.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Audience
Apparently people read this. People that I know. I was surprised to find this out about a month ago....
So for those of you who read this, and know me, the boyfriend and I are better. We talked, worked through some issues, etc. It's not perfect, but it might get there someday. It's all about communication, right?
So for those of you who read this, and know me, the boyfriend and I are better. We talked, worked through some issues, etc. It's not perfect, but it might get there someday. It's all about communication, right?
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
So....why are you going?
The internet is an interesting tool. You can reconnect with just about anyone anywhere thanks to Google. Other "helpful" sites include Friendster, Facebook, and Myspace. I usually enjoy reconnecting with people I used to know - especially from college. But I have my days.... I usually alternate between describing Myspace as "a great tool for keeping in touch with those I love" and "it makes me feel like my past just threw up all over me."
Which brings me to the interesting situation that is old friends who should probably just remain old friends. Unfortunately, some "old friends" are more persistant than others. And you can't just keep putting them off....
I find that other women are more sympathetic to this plight than men. If a guy doesn't want to spend time with you, he'll put you off once and then never answer your calls again. Simple... elegant... gets the point across... he's just not that in to you, right? I would love to be able to proceed with this course of action.
Unfortunately, I have a conscience.
AND Myspace has an e-mail feature. Which shows the sender whether or not their message was read. It also shows the sender the last time you actually logged in to Myspace, so they know if you're ignoring them.
Deep down, I was raised in a religion that may or may not be known for using guilt as a great tool for motivation. So when an "old friend" is persistant enough to make plans with me, I have to go. When I explain to the boyfriend that I have plans but "I don't wanna go," he inevitably responds with, "So.... why are you going?"
Why indeed.
Well, because I'm an eternal optimist. It could be fun, right? Right?? I could have a fabulous time and the "old friend" could be upgraded to "friend." Right?
But mostly it's because I have a guilty conscience. I can't keep making up excuses to NOT go, knowing full well I could go if I really wanted to. I figure the best course of action here is to just bite the bullet, go, and let the "old friend" decide whether or not it was worth their time. I mean, it's one night, and in the grand scheme of things, one night doesn't matter all that much.
It's if I do it again that the boyfriend has the right to say, "So....why are you going?"
Which brings me to the interesting situation that is old friends who should probably just remain old friends. Unfortunately, some "old friends" are more persistant than others. And you can't just keep putting them off....
I find that other women are more sympathetic to this plight than men. If a guy doesn't want to spend time with you, he'll put you off once and then never answer your calls again. Simple... elegant... gets the point across... he's just not that in to you, right? I would love to be able to proceed with this course of action.
Unfortunately, I have a conscience.
AND Myspace has an e-mail feature. Which shows the sender whether or not their message was read. It also shows the sender the last time you actually logged in to Myspace, so they know if you're ignoring them.
Deep down, I was raised in a religion that may or may not be known for using guilt as a great tool for motivation. So when an "old friend" is persistant enough to make plans with me, I have to go. When I explain to the boyfriend that I have plans but "I don't wanna go," he inevitably responds with, "So.... why are you going?"
Why indeed.
Well, because I'm an eternal optimist. It could be fun, right? Right?? I could have a fabulous time and the "old friend" could be upgraded to "friend." Right?
But mostly it's because I have a guilty conscience. I can't keep making up excuses to NOT go, knowing full well I could go if I really wanted to. I figure the best course of action here is to just bite the bullet, go, and let the "old friend" decide whether or not it was worth their time. I mean, it's one night, and in the grand scheme of things, one night doesn't matter all that much.
It's if I do it again that the boyfriend has the right to say, "So....why are you going?"
Monday, April 16, 2007
For my dad...
This is good enough that I'll post a blog for it since you can't see youtube. Love you!
Friday, March 30, 2007
For the love of fishing
So, after I met my (then future) boyfriend and established that he was adorable and we actually had some viewpoints in common, I asked our mutual friend for some details about this boy. This friend, being the quintessential male, had little to give me. Just, "He likes to fish."
Interesting, I thought. I've never fished. Hmmm.... Then my friend said, "No he really likes to fish."
The first time I went to my boyfriend's apartment and saw the stacks of "In Fisherman" magazines I got an inkling of what my friend meant.
So it wasn't long until I was taken on my first fishing trip. My boyfriend even bought a little fishing pole just for me. (I wanted the one with Snoopy on it, but he insisted on getting a real one. Bummer.)
He woke me up at 5:00am on a Saturday the day of fishing. Even Starbucks isn't open that early. I was not happy. But he was as giddy as I've ever seen him, so I decided to be a good sport. This could be fun, right? Right??
He had put the lure and the line on my pole the night before. Since I had never been fishing before, I was figuring on catching fish about the size of the guppies I usually see on the edges of ponds. You know, about the size of my pinkie. I thought the hook on the end of my line was a bit extreme. It was bigger than the fish I was figuring I would catch!
When we get to the pond, I quickly learned that I had to be quiet. Once I was shown the fundamentals of casting, there was no real interaction....until I caught my first fish.
To me, this fish was HUGE! In reality, he was probably a little less than a pound. Still, I had caught him! I was so proud. I promptly dubbed him 'Alex,' and had my boyfriend take him off the hook. We then returned Alex to his home. (Ever the environmentalist, my boyfriend always does the catch and release thing. Being a lover of all animals (and fish apparently) I had no problem with this.) I decided that I was going to name the fish that I caught in alphabetical order until we were done. I was laughed at (I think it was one of those "you're such a girl" indulgent laughs) and warned that sometimes you don't catch many fish at all.
After Bart was caught about 5 minutes later, and Carl about 10 minutes after that, and I had my boyfriend take both of them off the hook, I realized that he hadn't yet caught anything.
To be fair, he was going after the big five-pound bass further in the pond. They're a bit harder to catch. I was just happy to catch anything.
When Louis was caught, and my fishing partner had only caught Alex, I sensed that he might be getting a bit annoyed with having to take the fish off my hook every 10 minutes or so. I figured it was time to stand up and be a woman. So when Matt came up on my line, I mimicked what I had seen, and attempted to remove the hook from his mouth.
Ten traumatizing minutes later, Matt was back in the water and I was in tears.
When my boyfriend came over to see what had happened, I explained that A) I had no idea that bass had teeth, and B) Matt had proved a wiggly little fella and actually went back into the pond under his own power after bouncing on the grass for a while. I was sure I had killed him. (He swam off, much to my relief.) I again got the "you're such a girl" indulgent laugh and he went off to try to catch Bernadette - the five pounder that we could both see, but who didn't seem interested in his line at all.
After Omar, I decided to call it a day (yes, my boyfriend removed both Nathan and Omar from the hook - at this point, the annoyance was obvious.) As the morning had progressed, it had been longer and longer between fish, and I was tired. Around noon, we finally got to leave.
Noon. That's six hours. And I think we would have stayed longer had I not mentioned (several times) that I needed lunch. I mean, I was trying to be the good girlfriend, but after six hours, I figured my duty was done. I had also learned that bug spray was actually invented FOR fishermen, and after 6 hours, it loses its potency. Even if you put it on again. It's either that, or the mosquitos become immune. Or mutants. Either way, I wanted air conditioning with no bugs.
My boyfriend had ended up catching Corey. I had caught Omar. We don't talk about that.
What we do talk about is how resiliant fish are, and how I'm a strong woman. I should have no problem with a little thing like taking the hook out of a fish's mouth.
I've gotten better. I'll take the fish off the hooks (I would still rather someone else do it.) But I still just fish to catch anything. From half a pound to a pound and a half. I don't care. My boyfriend is always on the prowl for the "big one." We fish together about twice per summer. Twice out of the 75 times he goes (and that's a conservative estimate) He's explained that it's different when he's with the boys. I understand. Rollerblading alone is different than rollerblading with him. I get it. But in the back of my mind, I can't help but think....
Perhaps he just doesn't want to be beaten by a girl
Interesting, I thought. I've never fished. Hmmm.... Then my friend said, "No he really likes to fish."
The first time I went to my boyfriend's apartment and saw the stacks of "In Fisherman" magazines I got an inkling of what my friend meant.
So it wasn't long until I was taken on my first fishing trip. My boyfriend even bought a little fishing pole just for me. (I wanted the one with Snoopy on it, but he insisted on getting a real one. Bummer.)
He woke me up at 5:00am on a Saturday the day of fishing. Even Starbucks isn't open that early. I was not happy. But he was as giddy as I've ever seen him, so I decided to be a good sport. This could be fun, right? Right??
He had put the lure and the line on my pole the night before. Since I had never been fishing before, I was figuring on catching fish about the size of the guppies I usually see on the edges of ponds. You know, about the size of my pinkie. I thought the hook on the end of my line was a bit extreme. It was bigger than the fish I was figuring I would catch!
When we get to the pond, I quickly learned that I had to be quiet. Once I was shown the fundamentals of casting, there was no real interaction....until I caught my first fish.
To me, this fish was HUGE! In reality, he was probably a little less than a pound. Still, I had caught him! I was so proud. I promptly dubbed him 'Alex,' and had my boyfriend take him off the hook. We then returned Alex to his home. (Ever the environmentalist, my boyfriend always does the catch and release thing. Being a lover of all animals (and fish apparently) I had no problem with this.) I decided that I was going to name the fish that I caught in alphabetical order until we were done. I was laughed at (I think it was one of those "you're such a girl" indulgent laughs) and warned that sometimes you don't catch many fish at all.
After Bart was caught about 5 minutes later, and Carl about 10 minutes after that, and I had my boyfriend take both of them off the hook, I realized that he hadn't yet caught anything.
To be fair, he was going after the big five-pound bass further in the pond. They're a bit harder to catch. I was just happy to catch anything.
When Louis was caught, and my fishing partner had only caught Alex, I sensed that he might be getting a bit annoyed with having to take the fish off my hook every 10 minutes or so. I figured it was time to stand up and be a woman. So when Matt came up on my line, I mimicked what I had seen, and attempted to remove the hook from his mouth.
Ten traumatizing minutes later, Matt was back in the water and I was in tears.
When my boyfriend came over to see what had happened, I explained that A) I had no idea that bass had teeth, and B) Matt had proved a wiggly little fella and actually went back into the pond under his own power after bouncing on the grass for a while. I was sure I had killed him. (He swam off, much to my relief.) I again got the "you're such a girl" indulgent laugh and he went off to try to catch Bernadette - the five pounder that we could both see, but who didn't seem interested in his line at all.
After Omar, I decided to call it a day (yes, my boyfriend removed both Nathan and Omar from the hook - at this point, the annoyance was obvious.) As the morning had progressed, it had been longer and longer between fish, and I was tired. Around noon, we finally got to leave.
Noon. That's six hours. And I think we would have stayed longer had I not mentioned (several times) that I needed lunch. I mean, I was trying to be the good girlfriend, but after six hours, I figured my duty was done. I had also learned that bug spray was actually invented FOR fishermen, and after 6 hours, it loses its potency. Even if you put it on again. It's either that, or the mosquitos become immune. Or mutants. Either way, I wanted air conditioning with no bugs.
My boyfriend had ended up catching Corey. I had caught Omar. We don't talk about that.
What we do talk about is how resiliant fish are, and how I'm a strong woman. I should have no problem with a little thing like taking the hook out of a fish's mouth.
I've gotten better. I'll take the fish off the hooks (I would still rather someone else do it.) But I still just fish to catch anything. From half a pound to a pound and a half. I don't care. My boyfriend is always on the prowl for the "big one." We fish together about twice per summer. Twice out of the 75 times he goes (and that's a conservative estimate) He's explained that it's different when he's with the boys. I understand. Rollerblading alone is different than rollerblading with him. I get it. But in the back of my mind, I can't help but think....
Perhaps he just doesn't want to be beaten by a girl
Friday, March 23, 2007
I guess I really AM a Butler alum....
To me, the bracket picks are a staple of the NCAA tournament. I mean, why else would you care about 63 basketball games (some between teams that you've barely ever heard of) unless you have money riding on the outcome? You win the bracket, you get money to designate to the charity of your choice.
(My personal favorite is "My Checking Account." Please feel free to make donations at any time. It's a good cause. Without it, you would not have the pleasure of reading the blog you're currently enjoying.)
You don't have to know much about college basketball to make picks - especially if you're in a pool with friends. The number of people in the pool I'm in varies from 20-90. This year, there are approximately 75 people who made picks, most of which are my close friends.
Implied in "close friends" is "those with which I have a friendly competitive rivalry."
So my picks started out at sixth, inched their way up to third, and eventually settled down at second.
The picture below? Yeah, that's the current standings.
It's a bit small, so if you can't tell, that yellow row at the top? Those are my picks. Since it's at the top, that means I'm #1. Uh huh. Right now, with 52 out of 63 games played, I'm leading the pack. Which should be great, right? You know me....I love competition. I love trash talk. This should be great.
But do I get to trash talk? Do I get to revel in leading the pack? Do I get to call my friends and call attention to the fact that I follow very little college basketball, and yet I'm kicking all their butts???
Ummm...all the way to the right...you know, where it says "Champion?" Please note that next to my name it says "Butler."
I picked Butler to go all the way.
Let me say that again.
I picked BUTLER to go all the way.
I mean, of course I did. I'm a loyal alum. I never do well in my bracket picks. I just do them for fun anyway, so why not pick my school to go all the way. We all know I'm not going to win....it's a fun way to waste my money, right? Go Bulldogs!!!
Until...um....my picks start doing well.
And now I'm leading.
And my Champion has as much of a chance of winning as I do of getting Tyson crate trained before I'm 40.
So there can be no trash talking. There can be no gloating. There can only be praying tonight at 7:10pm ET that Butler can knock out the defending champion Florida Gators.
But you know....slim as it may be....there IS a chance. Tyson WILL eventually be crate trained...and every so often, the underdog really does win.... So if it crosses your mind, say a little prayer for the Butler Bulldogs (and Emily's bracket picks) tonight
(My personal favorite is "My Checking Account." Please feel free to make donations at any time. It's a good cause. Without it, you would not have the pleasure of reading the blog you're currently enjoying.)
You don't have to know much about college basketball to make picks - especially if you're in a pool with friends. The number of people in the pool I'm in varies from 20-90. This year, there are approximately 75 people who made picks, most of which are my close friends.
Implied in "close friends" is "those with which I have a friendly competitive rivalry."
So my picks started out at sixth, inched their way up to third, and eventually settled down at second.
The picture below? Yeah, that's the current standings.
It's a bit small, so if you can't tell, that yellow row at the top? Those are my picks. Since it's at the top, that means I'm #1. Uh huh. Right now, with 52 out of 63 games played, I'm leading the pack. Which should be great, right? You know me....I love competition. I love trash talk. This should be great.But do I get to trash talk? Do I get to revel in leading the pack? Do I get to call my friends and call attention to the fact that I follow very little college basketball, and yet I'm kicking all their butts???
Ummm...all the way to the right...you know, where it says "Champion?" Please note that next to my name it says "Butler."
I picked Butler to go all the way.
Let me say that again.
I picked BUTLER to go all the way.
I mean, of course I did. I'm a loyal alum. I never do well in my bracket picks. I just do them for fun anyway, so why not pick my school to go all the way. We all know I'm not going to win....it's a fun way to waste my money, right? Go Bulldogs!!!
Until...um....my picks start doing well.
And now I'm leading.
And my Champion has as much of a chance of winning as I do of getting Tyson crate trained before I'm 40.
So there can be no trash talking. There can be no gloating. There can only be praying tonight at 7:10pm ET that Butler can knock out the defending champion Florida Gators.
But you know....slim as it may be....there IS a chance. Tyson WILL eventually be crate trained...and every so often, the underdog really does win.... So if it crosses your mind, say a little prayer for the Butler Bulldogs (and Emily's bracket picks) tonight
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
To be? Or....not to be?
So, here's the problem. I mean, if you see the flaws in your relationship, and you can tell that they're not getting fixed, when is it best to pull the plug?
If it kills you to break it off, is that the best decision?
If you realize that the relationship is this close to being "the one" but it's just not quite there, is it time to throw in the towel?
If you look at other people who are simply glowing in their certainty that the person they're with is their other half, and then you realize that you don't feel that way at all - should you be more concerned that you're comparing your relationship to those of others, or that you're falling short every time?
People don't change unless they really want to, right? You can't do it for them. If someone isn't making you happy, you can't change that, and you should accept that it's just not going to change, right?
I guess that's my problem. I've never before just accepted that I can't do something. Bummer. I guess this hurting thing is just part of letting go, right?
If it kills you to break it off, is that the best decision?
If you realize that the relationship is this close to being "the one" but it's just not quite there, is it time to throw in the towel?
If you look at other people who are simply glowing in their certainty that the person they're with is their other half, and then you realize that you don't feel that way at all - should you be more concerned that you're comparing your relationship to those of others, or that you're falling short every time?
People don't change unless they really want to, right? You can't do it for them. If someone isn't making you happy, you can't change that, and you should accept that it's just not going to change, right?
I guess that's my problem. I've never before just accepted that I can't do something. Bummer. I guess this hurting thing is just part of letting go, right?
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Happy VD
It's no secret. I dislike Valentine's day. I'm a closet sap, actually, and I love romance as much as the next girl....but give it to me on a random Thursday in May when the thought of how fabulous I am overwhelms you and you can't help but profess your love. Don't give me chocolate because Hallmark says you should.
This freaked the boyfriend out. Despite repeated assurances that I did NOT, in fact, want anything for Valentine's day, he asked several more times, and then called me once to tell me that he had discussed this with his co-workers (all male) and they told him "not to fall for that - get her something anyway."
Since when do I say things I don't mean? I honestly forgot the "holiday" was coming. My (single) friend zlionsfan mentioned that I "had a big week coming up" the week before Valentine's day. Confused, I asked, "Mardi Gras?" He was exasperated. "You know, if I asked 10 other girls who are in a relationship what was coming up next week, they would all know the answer." I responded, "Not if you asked J."
But my dislike for Valentines day got me thinking about relationships in general and all of their intricacies. I have friends who are girly-girls and place a lot of importance on Valentines day. It's a huge day filled with roses, romance and gifts. I have other friends to whom it's just another day. What's the difference in those friends? Is it the relationship, or is it the girl? What's the perfect relationship?
Then I realized that I DO have the perfect relationship...
with my Starbucks Barista.
NOTE: This is taking nothing away from the boyfriend. I have no (well....few) complaints about my current beau...but he's not perfect...I'm not perfect. And our relationship isn't perfect. It takes work.
But my relationship with my Starbucks Barista is EASY. Think about it. My Starbucks Barista gives me exactly what I want every time I ask for it. He's SO low maintenance. He's always there in the mornings for a nice chat and he's so dependable. Even in the crappy snow we've been having, he's always there for me - and he doesn't ask for anything in return. It's a simple relationship and it makes me happy each time I see him... Man.
If I'm in a bad mood, doesn't matter. If I'm in a good mood, doesn't matter. Either way, my Starbucks Barista gives me exactly what I request. He knows my name and my usual drink request, and that's pretty much all I need from him.
It doesn't really matter if he leaves the toilet seat up, or if it takes him a week to do a single chore. I don't care about his views on politics, or whether or not he's a chronic remote hog/channel surfer. Once we spend our 10 minutes of "quality time" together each morning, I don't have to think about his wants and needs, and yet, he fulfills mine every single time I see him.
The perfect relationship. And it was under my nose this entire time. I'll bet HE didn't care about Valentines day
In closing, I'll leave you with a beautiful Valentines poem that Kat(i)e sent me this morning.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Bite me.
I hope you had a good Valentines day - no matter what you did.
Friday, February 09, 2007
A Tale of Two Recliners
My eBay profile lies. It says I've only been a member since 2004. This is not true. I distinctly remember bidding on (and winning) something at some point before 2002. In fact, I still own my prize (that I paid way too much for because I'm competitive and I did NOT want the other guy to get it.) I also remembered that I do not like eBay….but I really couldn't tell you why….before yesterday.
This is significant because a couple of my friends are moving and selling much of their furniture and belongings. They're selling the big stuff on eBay. (Big stuff = 42" plasma TV, mattresses, furniture, kitchen stuff, lawn tools…etc.)
The boyfriend was torn over the TV which was listed at $640.00. I mean, TORN. It was such a great deal, but did we really need it? Do we have the money in our budget? I was okay either way, and at first it was funny to watch him agonize. He eventually decided that we didn't really need it. (read: I decided we couldn't afford it.)
Then I realized that I really really really wanted one of the rocker/recliners that my friends were selling. Remember the chair that Laney ruined? This recliner would fill that space PERFECTLY!! I was psyched! They had two of them, each listed at $99.00. I put my bid on one ($100.00 – don't judge me. I love a good deal as much as the next girl, and I'm eternally optimistic that things will work out the way that I want them to) and watched the bidding on the other recliner skyrocket. I thought it was kind of funny (and fortuitous for me ) that two people would be fighting over one chair, when there was an identical chair that I would get for a steal!
Umm….
Eventually, one of the bidders on the other chair reached his max, got beaten, and seemed to give up – only to move over to MY chair. (I had already taken ownership in my mind.) WTF? I was unbelievably angry when I got the first "You've been outbid" e-mail from eBay (not to mention the second and the third). BOO to that garbage. I was trying to figure out if there was any way I could find out who this new bidder was and have someone physically intimidate him.
Did I mention that I'm competitive?
So, I was torn. In my mind, there were two different paths of behavior that I could take.
1) I could sit at my computer for the last 2 hours and 24 minutes that the bidding was open, and bid about $5 higher than anyone who beat me until the bidding ended. This would require constant refreshing of my computer screen, less sleep than I wanted, but ultimately, I would be happy knowing I got the best deal possible, AND that I beat out any other sucker who thought they could get away with taking MY recliner.
2) I could be rational, decide exactly how much I was willing to spend on the recliner, put in my maximum bid, and go to sleep. I would find out what happened in the morning after a good night's sleep.
Option #2 did not look nearly as appealing…but I realized that it might be less rational to go with option #1. There was a slight possibility that it was just my competitiveness that was making me want to sit at my computer all night while constantly refreshing my computer screen. I was leaning towards option #1, but I knew that option #2 was what I should go with. It didn't help that the boyfriend was telling me, "There's no way you can put in a maximum bid and just go to sleep. That's not how you work. You wouldn't be able to sleep. Why don't you just set the alarm and wake up 15 minutes before the bidding ends?"
So I did what any girl would do when she knew what she should do versus what she wanted to do. I called my moral compass.
With the boyfriend laughing at me, I called zlionsfan and explained my dilemma using "So I'm trying to be a better person here…" as my intro and using many colorful expletives to describe the guy who was driving up the price of MY recliner. After patiently listening to this diatribe (frequently interrupted with, "Boyfriend, shut up! Quit laughing!") zlionsfan calmly said,
"So why haven't you put in your maximum bid yet?"I hemmed and hawed…
"What's the maximum amount that you wanted to pay for this recliner?"
"$99.00. But this other guy ruined it for me!"
"Well, then you've been beaten. Go to sleep."
"And let him win? I can't do that. I can't just put in the bid and go to sleep. I just can't. I'm competitive."
"Yes you can. Because while you're competitive, you also don't like to throw money away. You don't like to spend more money than you have to."
This was true. While I mulled it over, the little devil on my shoulder said, "But you can't let that other guy win!" I explained to zlionsfan that perhaps I would just set my alarm.
"That's fine. But if you're throwing money out the window, I'll just come over and stand outside your window and you can throw it to me instead."
"Fine. Fine! FINE! I'm going to put in my maximum bid. I just want you to know that I hate you."
So I put in my maximum bid and went to sleep (The boyfriend decided to pitch in a little as my valentine's day gift. I was excited about this.) I got up this morning and I have a new recliner…never mind that the other one went for less than what I paid for mine. It's just a new reason to add to the list of reasons why it is that I hate eBay.
This is significant because a couple of my friends are moving and selling much of their furniture and belongings. They're selling the big stuff on eBay. (Big stuff = 42" plasma TV, mattresses, furniture, kitchen stuff, lawn tools…etc.)
The boyfriend was torn over the TV which was listed at $640.00. I mean, TORN. It was such a great deal, but did we really need it? Do we have the money in our budget? I was okay either way, and at first it was funny to watch him agonize. He eventually decided that we didn't really need it. (read: I decided we couldn't afford it.)
Then I realized that I really really really wanted one of the rocker/recliners that my friends were selling. Remember the chair that Laney ruined? This recliner would fill that space PERFECTLY!! I was psyched! They had two of them, each listed at $99.00. I put my bid on one ($100.00 – don't judge me. I love a good deal as much as the next girl, and I'm eternally optimistic that things will work out the way that I want them to) and watched the bidding on the other recliner skyrocket. I thought it was kind of funny (and fortuitous for me ) that two people would be fighting over one chair, when there was an identical chair that I would get for a steal!
Umm….
Eventually, one of the bidders on the other chair reached his max, got beaten, and seemed to give up – only to move over to MY chair. (I had already taken ownership in my mind.) WTF? I was unbelievably angry when I got the first "You've been outbid" e-mail from eBay (not to mention the second and the third). BOO to that garbage. I was trying to figure out if there was any way I could find out who this new bidder was and have someone physically intimidate him.
Did I mention that I'm competitive?
So, I was torn. In my mind, there were two different paths of behavior that I could take.
1) I could sit at my computer for the last 2 hours and 24 minutes that the bidding was open, and bid about $5 higher than anyone who beat me until the bidding ended. This would require constant refreshing of my computer screen, less sleep than I wanted, but ultimately, I would be happy knowing I got the best deal possible, AND that I beat out any other sucker who thought they could get away with taking MY recliner.
2) I could be rational, decide exactly how much I was willing to spend on the recliner, put in my maximum bid, and go to sleep. I would find out what happened in the morning after a good night's sleep.
Option #2 did not look nearly as appealing…but I realized that it might be less rational to go with option #1. There was a slight possibility that it was just my competitiveness that was making me want to sit at my computer all night while constantly refreshing my computer screen. I was leaning towards option #1, but I knew that option #2 was what I should go with. It didn't help that the boyfriend was telling me, "There's no way you can put in a maximum bid and just go to sleep. That's not how you work. You wouldn't be able to sleep. Why don't you just set the alarm and wake up 15 minutes before the bidding ends?"
So I did what any girl would do when she knew what she should do versus what she wanted to do. I called my moral compass.
With the boyfriend laughing at me, I called zlionsfan and explained my dilemma using "So I'm trying to be a better person here…" as my intro and using many colorful expletives to describe the guy who was driving up the price of MY recliner. After patiently listening to this diatribe (frequently interrupted with, "Boyfriend, shut up! Quit laughing!") zlionsfan calmly said,
"So why haven't you put in your maximum bid yet?"I hemmed and hawed…
"What's the maximum amount that you wanted to pay for this recliner?"
"$99.00. But this other guy ruined it for me!"
"Well, then you've been beaten. Go to sleep."
"And let him win? I can't do that. I can't just put in the bid and go to sleep. I just can't. I'm competitive."
"Yes you can. Because while you're competitive, you also don't like to throw money away. You don't like to spend more money than you have to."
This was true. While I mulled it over, the little devil on my shoulder said, "But you can't let that other guy win!" I explained to zlionsfan that perhaps I would just set my alarm.
"That's fine. But if you're throwing money out the window, I'll just come over and stand outside your window and you can throw it to me instead."
"Fine. Fine! FINE! I'm going to put in my maximum bid. I just want you to know that I hate you."
So I put in my maximum bid and went to sleep (The boyfriend decided to pitch in a little as my valentine's day gift. I was excited about this.) I got up this morning and I have a new recliner…never mind that the other one went for less than what I paid for mine. It's just a new reason to add to the list of reasons why it is that I hate eBay.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
My Walk in the Park
Hello. My name is Emily, and I am directionally challenged.
Nevermind my years of claiming that my dad has a great internal compass that I must have inherited. I have none of that. The boyfriend has been right all this time. I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag with a map.
So, it was my birthday, and I decided to take a half day off of work. I mean, if you're not going to slack on your birthday, when can you slack? The day was beautiful. It was definitely cold, but sunny...I didn't want to spend the afternoon doing chores, or running errands…so I decided to take my dog on a long walk through Fort Harrison State Park.
I know, I know. Emily is boring. Whatever. It's my birthday and I'll walk my dog if I want to.
After about an hour or so, my knee started to ache, so I decide it's time to head home. As we exit the woods (from the meandering path we had chosen to take) we were on a paved trail, faced with a sign listing three pieces of information:
<--Harrison Trace-->
<--Delaware Lake
Duck Pond-->
I remembered passing a lake on my way in, but seemed to recall the lake being called "Franklin Lake." I had made certain to pay special attention for just this occasion – I didn't want to get lost. It was certainly Franklin Lake. Besides, I 100% remembered passing the entrance for Duck Pond.
My decision made, I headed left and immediately came upon a jogger dressed in blue from head to toe. As he passed us heading in the opposite direction, he said a cheery, "Hello."
How can you be "cheery" and "jogging" at the same time? I have no idea.
As we continued, I started to feel like perhaps we were heading in the wrong direction. Call it a hunch. (A hunch based on the facts that nothing looked familiar and all references to "Duck Pond" seemed to have disappeared.) Nevermind - it's a state park. I can't get THAT lost. Eventually, I'll see something that will look familiar.
My "hunch" was solidified into certainty when we suddenly came upon a familiar cheerful jogger heading towards us. "Hi again!"
DAMNIT! This is a loop. All of a sudden, the feeling that I was going the wrong way made sense. That's false advertising. "Harrison Trace" should be renamed "Harrison Loop." I demand a change!!
Now the big question. Soldier on, or turn back. I had walked (limped) for about a mile now, and it been about 30 minutes since I told the boy I was heading home. I certainly couldn't sit down and wait for rescue (though that was what my knee voted for.) I'll soldier on. It can't be much further, right?
30 minutes later with my knee locked up completely, I was by Delaware Lake where my car was parked. Apparently aging had affected my memory – but, I mean, I can understand the association…Delaware and Franklin – they were both presidents, right? Right?
When I had FINALLY seen the lake from the trail, I refused to take any more turns and headed straight for it. As I passed the last turn on the paved trail that I refused to take, I saw the sign that I had originally been facing…about 50 feet away.
On my way out, I checked the map. "Harrison Trace" is a loop two miles in length.
Ashamed, I called my dad to admit that even though I'm an excellent navigator with a map in hand, I do not have any of his inherent directional capabilities. He commented that it was a shame that I hadn't had my mother with me.
"Why is that?"
"You could have just gone in the opposite direction she did and found your way with no problem."
Well, at least I know it comes from somewhere...
Nevermind my years of claiming that my dad has a great internal compass that I must have inherited. I have none of that. The boyfriend has been right all this time. I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag with a map.
So, it was my birthday, and I decided to take a half day off of work. I mean, if you're not going to slack on your birthday, when can you slack? The day was beautiful. It was definitely cold, but sunny...I didn't want to spend the afternoon doing chores, or running errands…so I decided to take my dog on a long walk through Fort Harrison State Park.
I know, I know. Emily is boring. Whatever. It's my birthday and I'll walk my dog if I want to.
After about an hour or so, my knee started to ache, so I decide it's time to head home. As we exit the woods (from the meandering path we had chosen to take) we were on a paved trail, faced with a sign listing three pieces of information:
<--Harrison Trace-->
<--Delaware Lake
Duck Pond-->
I remembered passing a lake on my way in, but seemed to recall the lake being called "Franklin Lake." I had made certain to pay special attention for just this occasion – I didn't want to get lost. It was certainly Franklin Lake. Besides, I 100% remembered passing the entrance for Duck Pond.
My decision made, I headed left and immediately came upon a jogger dressed in blue from head to toe. As he passed us heading in the opposite direction, he said a cheery, "Hello."
How can you be "cheery" and "jogging" at the same time? I have no idea.
As we continued, I started to feel like perhaps we were heading in the wrong direction. Call it a hunch. (A hunch based on the facts that nothing looked familiar and all references to "Duck Pond" seemed to have disappeared.) Nevermind - it's a state park. I can't get THAT lost. Eventually, I'll see something that will look familiar.
My "hunch" was solidified into certainty when we suddenly came upon a familiar cheerful jogger heading towards us. "Hi again!"
DAMNIT! This is a loop. All of a sudden, the feeling that I was going the wrong way made sense. That's false advertising. "Harrison Trace" should be renamed "Harrison Loop." I demand a change!!
Now the big question. Soldier on, or turn back. I had walked (limped) for about a mile now, and it been about 30 minutes since I told the boy I was heading home. I certainly couldn't sit down and wait for rescue (though that was what my knee voted for.) I'll soldier on. It can't be much further, right?
30 minutes later with my knee locked up completely, I was by Delaware Lake where my car was parked. Apparently aging had affected my memory – but, I mean, I can understand the association…Delaware and Franklin – they were both presidents, right? Right?
When I had FINALLY seen the lake from the trail, I refused to take any more turns and headed straight for it. As I passed the last turn on the paved trail that I refused to take, I saw the sign that I had originally been facing…about 50 feet away.
On my way out, I checked the map. "Harrison Trace" is a loop two miles in length.
Ashamed, I called my dad to admit that even though I'm an excellent navigator with a map in hand, I do not have any of his inherent directional capabilities. He commented that it was a shame that I hadn't had my mother with me.
"Why is that?"
"You could have just gone in the opposite direction she did and found your way with no problem."
Well, at least I know it comes from somewhere...
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Thus began 2007
I just exchanged Christmas gifts with my friend zlionsfan.
First, let me explain zlionsfan. He is my super-genius friend - seriously, if you have a question that you need answered, you call him and he can tell you. He's my savior when things were horrible, and responsible for my interest (obsession) with football. He's a techno-geek, and also very fond of video games (though not online games. He says that if he ventured there, he might never leave the house, and he does have to work to support his habit .) Back in the day, when I didn't feel up to being social, we would play video games for 14 hours at a time - usually MarioKart. I wish I were kidding. Those days have passed, but I still like to play certain games on occasion.
But I'm not a serious video game fan. I like silly fun games like Mario, PacMan, and Frogger. Back when the PS2 came out, I bought zlionsfan's PS1 and have been perfectly content playing Frogger, Tekken, and PacMan for 5 years or so. I get to see the new video game systems courtesy of him, but I'm not interested enough (and I'm cheap enough) that I never buy them.
Zlionsfan, for his part, plays all sorts of new games...but he's always willing to play Mario Party, or Frogger, or Mario Kart, should we make a video game play date. I think he's just excited to share his obsession, on any level, even if only for a little while. Me? I just like the competition. When we exchanged gifts this week, I got to see the new Wii that he bought. Very cool. We played Wii bowling, and I got to see the avatar that he had made for me. My avatar was incredibly short. Whatever.
So for Christmas, zlionsfan gave me his old Nintendo Game Cube. My birthday present was MarioKart. Sure, I'm way way way behind the times, but I was delighted.
I called the boyfriend and said, "It's on."
I swear, if someone had tape recorded the sounds in our apartment last night, it would have been rated R for language. In between yelling at the dogs to GET OUT OF THE WAY! There were comments like,
"You SLUT! I can not believe you just did that!"
"Really? Watch me do it again....aaaaaaand again."
"Nooooooooo!!! I can not BELIEVE you just won."
"Awww. Did I just beat you on your favorite track? Don't you have tons of experience with this game?"
"Shut up! Replay!"
"Did you see that blur? That was me passing your slow ass kart....goddamn you! I hate those stupid bombs."
"Muahahahaha. When I just passed you, it was like you were standing still. Like you had gone through an explosion or something."
"I hate you. I'm moving out tomorrow."
I foresee a decline in housework. We already laid down the "No MarioKart unless both of us are home" rule. The boyfriend protested, but he's already a better driver than I am, so I have no pity. (my only advantage is that I know the tracks better than he does....and that advantage will only last so long...)
Still, just to make sure, I have the game with me today. No cheating allowed . It's not that I don't trust him, exactly....it's just that after the beating he got last night (23 wins to 13) I think the temptation might be a bit much....
First, let me explain zlionsfan. He is my super-genius friend - seriously, if you have a question that you need answered, you call him and he can tell you. He's my savior when things were horrible, and responsible for my interest (obsession) with football. He's a techno-geek, and also very fond of video games (though not online games. He says that if he ventured there, he might never leave the house, and he does have to work to support his habit .) Back in the day, when I didn't feel up to being social, we would play video games for 14 hours at a time - usually MarioKart. I wish I were kidding. Those days have passed, but I still like to play certain games on occasion.
But I'm not a serious video game fan. I like silly fun games like Mario, PacMan, and Frogger. Back when the PS2 came out, I bought zlionsfan's PS1 and have been perfectly content playing Frogger, Tekken, and PacMan for 5 years or so. I get to see the new video game systems courtesy of him, but I'm not interested enough (and I'm cheap enough) that I never buy them.
Zlionsfan, for his part, plays all sorts of new games...but he's always willing to play Mario Party, or Frogger, or Mario Kart, should we make a video game play date. I think he's just excited to share his obsession, on any level, even if only for a little while. Me? I just like the competition. When we exchanged gifts this week, I got to see the new Wii that he bought. Very cool. We played Wii bowling, and I got to see the avatar that he had made for me. My avatar was incredibly short. Whatever.
So for Christmas, zlionsfan gave me his old Nintendo Game Cube. My birthday present was MarioKart. Sure, I'm way way way behind the times, but I was delighted.
I called the boyfriend and said, "It's on."
I swear, if someone had tape recorded the sounds in our apartment last night, it would have been rated R for language. In between yelling at the dogs to GET OUT OF THE WAY! There were comments like,
"You SLUT! I can not believe you just did that!"
"Really? Watch me do it again....aaaaaaand again."
"Nooooooooo!!! I can not BELIEVE you just won."
"Awww. Did I just beat you on your favorite track? Don't you have tons of experience with this game?"
"Shut up! Replay!"
"Did you see that blur? That was me passing your slow ass kart....goddamn you! I hate those stupid bombs."
"Muahahahaha. When I just passed you, it was like you were standing still. Like you had gone through an explosion or something."
"I hate you. I'm moving out tomorrow."
I foresee a decline in housework. We already laid down the "No MarioKart unless both of us are home" rule. The boyfriend protested, but he's already a better driver than I am, so I have no pity. (my only advantage is that I know the tracks better than he does....and that advantage will only last so long...)
Still, just to make sure, I have the game with me today. No cheating allowed . It's not that I don't trust him, exactly....it's just that after the beating he got last night (23 wins to 13) I think the temptation might be a bit much....
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Crankypants
After Thanksgiving spent in the 'ville (where I learned that Casey has an affinity for large piles of leaves) my family made the trek to Indianapolis on Sunday for the Colts/Eagles game at the Dome. We were unable to all sit together, so there were two seats together in nosebleed, four seats together in nosebleed, and two seats together in the really really good section. The boyfriend and I spent the first half of the game in the nosebleeds, and the second half in the really really good seats. Honestly? The nosebleeds were more fun. That's where the rowdy, drunk, true Colts fans are. Rich people are too refined to cheer.....
Since the game was moved to Sunday night under the NFL flexible scheduling, (and coming home to a sick puppy and a mess in her crate) I got very little sleep Sunday night. This led to crankypants Emily on Monday and Tuesday. I'm just now recovering and mending fences. I couldn't even indulge in comfort food like one friend suggested since we're going on a cruise on Saturday and I would like to look decent in a bathing suit....
By the way, if you were EVER considering taking two, week long vacations in two months, don't.
Since Casey was sick, she came to work with me on Monday and Tuesday. She was a pain in my rear both days. Even though she's over a year old now, she still has that puppy energy, and got into everything she could get into. I finally got peace when I gave her a cardboard box which she then proceeded to destroy with relish.
Last night was the breaking point, though....which made me re-examine my cohabitation situation, and to provide an update to my blog readers. (Side note: I got an interesting comment from a friend the other day. She said, "I have to say I enjoy your blogs because it reminds me how your mind works. It's pretty funny sometimes, other times it's down right hilarious (usually because it's you and not me)" So I thought an update on the situation in my apartment was due.)
Tyson sucks. The end.
Okay, so there's more than that, but that's the main idea. The boyfriend complains that Tyson and Casey are treated differently, and that's not fair. I say that all dogs are not created equal. I mean, it's like how one child might get a balcony room with a view, while another child gets a padded cell with no windows. It's not because anyone is treating them unfairly, it's just that circumstances demand that one child be protected from themself and others. That child is Tyson.
I haven't had a meal in peace since the boyfriend and I moved in together, unless you count meals outside the apartment, or when the boyfriend generously decides to leave and take Tyson with him. That's six months of non-peaceful meals. Usually, my meals are accompanied with a background music made up of whines, howls, and general squealing. It's moved beyond pathetic to obnoxious at this point. I mean, when I have guests over....Oh wait! I CAN'T have guests over. That's right. Tyson screams like a banshee and the guests would think I'm torturing the dog while we're eating dinner. My bad.
The problem is that I can't leave the dogs free while we're eating. Casey is an active begger (shoving her nose in your face or as close to your plate as possible) and Tyson, well, while we're eating, I can't really watch Tyson 100% of the time, and if he smells Laney...well....
The animal behaviorist? Yeah, her suggestions to turn on the TV, put a t-shirt that smells like the boyfriend in the room, and reward good behavior, were all used. They all failed. Now, Tyson gets to watch TV all day and run up my electric bill. All the while, the bottom half of the door gets narrower and narrower as I find more and more wood chips on the floor from his digging. There goes the boyfriend's deposit :-)
The thing is, I don't think Tyson's behavior is caused by anxiety any longer. I mean, it's been 6 months. At this point, he's GOT to know that he sometimes gets out of the room, sometimes he's in the room, and he's always going to get to be with Nathan... I mean, he no longer cries in the mornings. At least there was progress there. I get up in the morning, get ready for work, walk the dogs, put them away with treats, and then go to work. Not a peep from Tyson. So he KNOWS what's going on. In the evenings, he's just being an asshole. I think he's trying to drive me insane so that I'M the one in a padded cell, and he can have the boyfriend all to himself again. I actually had the following discussion with my boss's wife the other day. I was completely serious.
"So, my brother got Casey a huge rawhide for Christmas. The thing must be three feet long and a foot high on the ends. I don't know what we're going to do with it. She can't get her mouth around it to chew. Maybe I'll just saw it in half and give half to Tyson and the other half to Casey."
"Does Tyson really deserve a Christmas gift?"
"Actually, I was hoping he would choke on it."
Not that Laney has gotten much better.... The peeing on the boyfriend's clothing has ceased, basically because now the boyfriend piles his dirty clothing on his dresser, my dresser, the bathroom counter...anywhere but the hamper. However, she has designated the boyfriend's chair (in our bedroom) as her second litter box and peed on it at least 5 times.
That 'Nature's Miracle' stuff that is made especially for cat urine and eliminates all odors and costs about $12 per little spray bottle? Yeah, it's a crap. I may as well have purchased a very expensive spray bottle and filled it with water. The boyfriend and I moved the chair to the dumpster in our apartment complex, under the cover of darkness. The chair is officially dead. We have increased the "changing of the litter" to once every two days. Even with that change, she seems angry. Last night she pooped in her litter box and didn't cover it. When the smell hit me, it literally made my eyes water. I think that was a big "F you" from the cat for thowing away "her" chair.
She HAS gotten better around Tyson, however. It seems she has learned that Tyson's vision, much like the T-Rex, is based on motion. If she holds perfectly still, Tyson smells her, and can tell that there's something weird in the air, but can't find her. However, if her courage gives, and she bolts, he's after her like a shot. Last time he chased her, we finally caught up to them in Laney's bathroom. Both were in the bathtub, Laney was puffed up to about three times her usual size and growling, while Tyson was just staring at her in confusion...probably thinking, "Whoa, little deformed dog....why are you so angry?"
Otherwise, things are fabulous. I mean, apart from the basic differences between males and females. (which include putting dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes in the hamper, spending less than 45 minutes on the toilet [did you know this about men? What do they DO in the bathroom for all that time?], and making plans in advance.)
We're leaving on Saturday for a cruise. Casey's boarding reservation has been made for weeks now, after I compared costing on a couple of different options. I asked the boyfriend yesterday what was going on with Tyson. "I don't know." was my response. I have this nightmare vision of having to take Tyson on the cruise....
Well, at least then he could "accidentally" fall overboard.
Since the game was moved to Sunday night under the NFL flexible scheduling, (and coming home to a sick puppy and a mess in her crate) I got very little sleep Sunday night. This led to crankypants Emily on Monday and Tuesday. I'm just now recovering and mending fences. I couldn't even indulge in comfort food like one friend suggested since we're going on a cruise on Saturday and I would like to look decent in a bathing suit....
By the way, if you were EVER considering taking two, week long vacations in two months, don't.
Since Casey was sick, she came to work with me on Monday and Tuesday. She was a pain in my rear both days. Even though she's over a year old now, she still has that puppy energy, and got into everything she could get into. I finally got peace when I gave her a cardboard box which she then proceeded to destroy with relish.
Last night was the breaking point, though....which made me re-examine my cohabitation situation, and to provide an update to my blog readers. (Side note: I got an interesting comment from a friend the other day. She said, "I have to say I enjoy your blogs because it reminds me how your mind works. It's pretty funny sometimes, other times it's down right hilarious (usually because it's you and not me)" So I thought an update on the situation in my apartment was due.)
Tyson sucks. The end.
Okay, so there's more than that, but that's the main idea. The boyfriend complains that Tyson and Casey are treated differently, and that's not fair. I say that all dogs are not created equal. I mean, it's like how one child might get a balcony room with a view, while another child gets a padded cell with no windows. It's not because anyone is treating them unfairly, it's just that circumstances demand that one child be protected from themself and others. That child is Tyson.
I haven't had a meal in peace since the boyfriend and I moved in together, unless you count meals outside the apartment, or when the boyfriend generously decides to leave and take Tyson with him. That's six months of non-peaceful meals. Usually, my meals are accompanied with a background music made up of whines, howls, and general squealing. It's moved beyond pathetic to obnoxious at this point. I mean, when I have guests over....Oh wait! I CAN'T have guests over. That's right. Tyson screams like a banshee and the guests would think I'm torturing the dog while we're eating dinner. My bad.
The problem is that I can't leave the dogs free while we're eating. Casey is an active begger (shoving her nose in your face or as close to your plate as possible) and Tyson, well, while we're eating, I can't really watch Tyson 100% of the time, and if he smells Laney...well....
The animal behaviorist? Yeah, her suggestions to turn on the TV, put a t-shirt that smells like the boyfriend in the room, and reward good behavior, were all used. They all failed. Now, Tyson gets to watch TV all day and run up my electric bill. All the while, the bottom half of the door gets narrower and narrower as I find more and more wood chips on the floor from his digging. There goes the boyfriend's deposit :-)
The thing is, I don't think Tyson's behavior is caused by anxiety any longer. I mean, it's been 6 months. At this point, he's GOT to know that he sometimes gets out of the room, sometimes he's in the room, and he's always going to get to be with Nathan... I mean, he no longer cries in the mornings. At least there was progress there. I get up in the morning, get ready for work, walk the dogs, put them away with treats, and then go to work. Not a peep from Tyson. So he KNOWS what's going on. In the evenings, he's just being an asshole. I think he's trying to drive me insane so that I'M the one in a padded cell, and he can have the boyfriend all to himself again. I actually had the following discussion with my boss's wife the other day. I was completely serious.
"So, my brother got Casey a huge rawhide for Christmas. The thing must be three feet long and a foot high on the ends. I don't know what we're going to do with it. She can't get her mouth around it to chew. Maybe I'll just saw it in half and give half to Tyson and the other half to Casey."
"Does Tyson really deserve a Christmas gift?"
"Actually, I was hoping he would choke on it."
Not that Laney has gotten much better.... The peeing on the boyfriend's clothing has ceased, basically because now the boyfriend piles his dirty clothing on his dresser, my dresser, the bathroom counter...anywhere but the hamper. However, she has designated the boyfriend's chair (in our bedroom) as her second litter box and peed on it at least 5 times.
That 'Nature's Miracle' stuff that is made especially for cat urine and eliminates all odors and costs about $12 per little spray bottle? Yeah, it's a crap. I may as well have purchased a very expensive spray bottle and filled it with water. The boyfriend and I moved the chair to the dumpster in our apartment complex, under the cover of darkness. The chair is officially dead. We have increased the "changing of the litter" to once every two days. Even with that change, she seems angry. Last night she pooped in her litter box and didn't cover it. When the smell hit me, it literally made my eyes water. I think that was a big "F you" from the cat for thowing away "her" chair.
She HAS gotten better around Tyson, however. It seems she has learned that Tyson's vision, much like the T-Rex, is based on motion. If she holds perfectly still, Tyson smells her, and can tell that there's something weird in the air, but can't find her. However, if her courage gives, and she bolts, he's after her like a shot. Last time he chased her, we finally caught up to them in Laney's bathroom. Both were in the bathtub, Laney was puffed up to about three times her usual size and growling, while Tyson was just staring at her in confusion...probably thinking, "Whoa, little deformed dog....why are you so angry?"
Otherwise, things are fabulous. I mean, apart from the basic differences between males and females. (which include putting dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes in the hamper, spending less than 45 minutes on the toilet [did you know this about men? What do they DO in the bathroom for all that time?], and making plans in advance.)
We're leaving on Saturday for a cruise. Casey's boarding reservation has been made for weeks now, after I compared costing on a couple of different options. I asked the boyfriend yesterday what was going on with Tyson. "I don't know." was my response. I have this nightmare vision of having to take Tyson on the cruise....
Well, at least then he could "accidentally" fall overboard.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Love to eat Turkey....
So, in honor of the upcoming holiday, I thought I would post a list of what I'm thankful for. Why not? The list is pretty extensive, so consider this just a snapshot :-)
1) Coca-Cola. Who drinks Diet? And those people who say they prefer Diet to regular are lying to you and themselves. You should not associated with those people. Who knows what else they're lying about?
2) Stretch Jeans. Carrie posted that on my site, but it's true. If it weren't for stretch denim...well, let's just say I would be a lot less comfortable.
3) Sunglasses. Not only do they protect your eyes from the glare (which could give you wrinkles, and this is apparently something I should worry about in my advanced age), but if you buy really big ones, you have no problem appearing sober.
4) Botox. If it weren't for women who were originally really pretty using Botox to mess up their looks, well, what would we 'normal' women have to be catty about?
5) Monthly flea medication. An airtight alibi when friends and neighbors point fingers at you and your pet for the fleas in their homes.
6) MySpace. I mean, if it weren't for MySpace, how on earth would we be able to spy on people we hate? (or have the unique pleasure of saying, "I have a tracker on my site, and someone I've never met in my life is checking my site frequently...stalker.")
7) Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. For making me aware that Bull Sharks can swim in fresh water and thus ensuring that I will never get into another fresh water river with murky water.
8) Shoelaces. Because without them, we would all have to wear the velcro tennis shoes that my dad wears....and then I wouldn't be able to make fun of him for wearing said velcro shoes.
9) Younger siblings. Without them, there would be no possibility of a direct relation who's younger than yourself getting engaged and thus increasing the pressure from your parents to get engaged yourself by about a thousandfold.
10) Younger siblings. Without my little brother getting married soon, I'm sure the pressure on me to have children would be unbelievable. As it stands, they're willing to leave me alone since he offers hope of both grandchildren, and a future to our unique last name.
11) Credit Cards. Without these trusting souls giving me access to more money than I have at the moment, I would not be able to feed my travel addiction. Of course, I would also be able to afford food....but that's beside the point.
12) Meter Maids. Without them, I wouldn't have 5 unpaid parking tickets against me.
13) The Feminine Mystique. Without it, I wouldn't have 12 warnings for speeding.
14) Puppies. Without my puppy (whom I refer to as my parents' "grand-dog-ter" [ba-dum ching]) they would be more likely to disregard my whole "I'm not having kids" stance. As it stands, my mother has already refered to Casey has her grandchild once....(point for me!!!)
15) Being 50% Hispanic. I mean, without that Peruvian influence from my mother, I wouldn't have found my wonderful therapist
16) Being 50% Italian. Without this heritage, I would be able to eat anything I want and not have to worry about my weight. I mean, who doesn't love a slow metabolism?
17) Driving an aging car. Will it make it to my next destination? What's that new rattling sound? Low tire pressure again? The constant excitement is invigorating.
Seriously, I'm most grateful for my family (even if you're far away and I never get to see you) and friends (both new and old). I hope you all have a fabulous Thanksgiving and that you get to spend it with people that you love.
1) Coca-Cola. Who drinks Diet? And those people who say they prefer Diet to regular are lying to you and themselves. You should not associated with those people. Who knows what else they're lying about?
2) Stretch Jeans. Carrie posted that on my site, but it's true. If it weren't for stretch denim...well, let's just say I would be a lot less comfortable.
3) Sunglasses. Not only do they protect your eyes from the glare (which could give you wrinkles, and this is apparently something I should worry about in my advanced age), but if you buy really big ones, you have no problem appearing sober.
4) Botox. If it weren't for women who were originally really pretty using Botox to mess up their looks, well, what would we 'normal' women have to be catty about?
5) Monthly flea medication. An airtight alibi when friends and neighbors point fingers at you and your pet for the fleas in their homes.
6) MySpace. I mean, if it weren't for MySpace, how on earth would we be able to spy on people we hate? (or have the unique pleasure of saying, "I have a tracker on my site, and someone I've never met in my life is checking my site frequently...stalker.")
7) Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. For making me aware that Bull Sharks can swim in fresh water and thus ensuring that I will never get into another fresh water river with murky water.
8) Shoelaces. Because without them, we would all have to wear the velcro tennis shoes that my dad wears....and then I wouldn't be able to make fun of him for wearing said velcro shoes.
9) Younger siblings. Without them, there would be no possibility of a direct relation who's younger than yourself getting engaged and thus increasing the pressure from your parents to get engaged yourself by about a thousandfold.
10) Younger siblings. Without my little brother getting married soon, I'm sure the pressure on me to have children would be unbelievable. As it stands, they're willing to leave me alone since he offers hope of both grandchildren, and a future to our unique last name.
11) Credit Cards. Without these trusting souls giving me access to more money than I have at the moment, I would not be able to feed my travel addiction. Of course, I would also be able to afford food....but that's beside the point.
12) Meter Maids. Without them, I wouldn't have 5 unpaid parking tickets against me.
13) The Feminine Mystique. Without it, I wouldn't have 12 warnings for speeding.
14) Puppies. Without my puppy (whom I refer to as my parents' "grand-dog-ter" [ba-dum ching]) they would be more likely to disregard my whole "I'm not having kids" stance. As it stands, my mother has already refered to Casey has her grandchild once....(point for me!!!)
15) Being 50% Hispanic. I mean, without that Peruvian influence from my mother, I wouldn't have found my wonderful therapist
16) Being 50% Italian. Without this heritage, I would be able to eat anything I want and not have to worry about my weight. I mean, who doesn't love a slow metabolism?
17) Driving an aging car. Will it make it to my next destination? What's that new rattling sound? Low tire pressure again? The constant excitement is invigorating.
Seriously, I'm most grateful for my family (even if you're far away and I never get to see you) and friends (both new and old). I hope you all have a fabulous Thanksgiving and that you get to spend it with people that you love.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
High School Flashbacks
After some random, and some might consider fortuitous, events, I found myself in my hometown at a high school football game this past weekend. It was my high school (Central High) against our rival (Reitz.) When my mom told me that they were planning to go, my first thought was "Wait, Central has a rival?" closely followed by, "Wait, Central cares about football??"
This is quite a change from when I was in high school. For reasons I won't go into here, I was required to attend every home football game in high school. I didn't know diddly squat about football at the time, but I do remember losing all the time, so I think we pretty much ranked right above the middle school in terms of talent. Maybe below the middle school...what do I know?
That has apparently changed, so since I got home early enough, I went to the game with my parents.
My first thought as I walked into the stadium, was to wonder why there were little elementary and middle school children at a high school game. The two girls I saw were painted in Reitz colors, and running around with extreme enthusiasm - they may as well have been chasing their tails in circles....they had that much energy as they ran around. As I proceeded through the crowd to my seat, I realized that those little girls were high school students. Seriously. When did they get so small??? I mean, obviously they were freshmen, and there were some students who actually looked like they were in high school (juniors and seniors, I guess) but the others were tiny!! I immediately felt old. Old and removed from the younger generation. I had to remember that it's been 10 years since I've been in high school. That's a long time, right?
At this point, the joke I had made to my dad earlier, "I was going to wear a t-shirt that said 'Central Alumni – guess the year'" didn't seem as funny. I'm old. I accept it.
As we waited for the game to start, I was floored at the number of really pretty, really skinny girls walking around in very little clothing. They were all painted school colors, of course, but wearing the equivalent of what I would wear to a club if I was hoping to get lucky that night. Seriously. Since when has body paint been considered an acceptable body covering? Then I started to wonder, where were the other girls. You know, the ones who probably aren't as beautiful and skinny?? I mean, the entire school can't be made up of cheerleader type girls, can it? That opened the floodgates to memories of exactly how ruthless high school is, and how high school football games are probably avoided like the plague by girls who don't feel like they fit in.
I said a quick prayer of thanks that I am no longer in high school.
Then, not two minutes into the game, I turned to my dad and said, "Methinks there are some in Evansville who take high school football a tad too seriously."
I mean, when all you hear is "YEEEEEEAAAAAH BABY!!!" or "MAKE HIM FEEL IT!!! IF YOU HIT HIM, MAKE HIM FEEL IT!" and "REF ARE YOU BLIND? THAT WASN'T AN INTERCEPTION! HE DROPPED THE BALL!!!! and "YEEEEEEAAAAAH BABY" the game loses something. When he starts stomping on the bleacher that you're sitting on to make MORE noise (not the foot-rail, mind you – he was standing on the actual bleacher and stomping on it) well, you start to get a little angry. I mean, it's hard to be cheerful when your teeth are vibrating from the force of his "enthusiasm."
It's not that I wasn't enthusiastic - I was cheering. I mean, I was supporting my team as much as I could, but, you know…it's not like they can hear me. I wasn't shouting advice to particular players…nor to refs… Nor was I trying to be the loudest person present. I mean, did this man think he was in Texas or what? It's high school football for goodness' sake. High school football in Indiana. Maybe he thought it was a basketball game by mistake?
As the game progressed, between shooting dirty glances at the loud man behind me, I noticed other things that made me laugh.
I may have already mentioned that my family is NOT a sports family. In fact, I didn't really know that professional sports existed until after college. That said, have you seen the movie Anchorman? You know the part where all the guys are yelling and angry that Christina Applegate has been named to their staff? Steve Carrel, who's slightly mentally retarded, starts yelling things like, "LOUD NOISES!" and "I DON'T KNOW WHY WE'RE YELLING." just to join in. This is what I was reminded of when my mother would randomly break out in "PUSH THEM ALL THE WAY BACK!" and "GUARD THE RIGHT!" I wasn't sure if she really knew what she was saying or just imitating the loud man behind me. She was very enthusiastic, though, and it was fun entertainment.
The obnoxiousness of the Obnoxious Man became more and more apparent as the rest of the fans got quieter and had to try harder to rally when the first half looked like this:
First possession Reitz - field goal
First possession Central - interception run back to the 5 yard line
Second possession Reitz - touchdown
Second possession Central - first down, then fumble resulting in turnover
Third possession Reitz - touchdown
Third possession Central - touchdown/two point conversion (yay!!)
Fourth possession Reitz - touchdown
Halftime
And we went into halftime at a score of Reitz 24, Central 8, things looked bleak.
During halftime, the marching band took the field. Why did I care? Well...let's just say that perhaps I have some personal experience with the marching band. In my unbiased opinion, the marching band for Reitz was HORRIBLE. I mean, they were really bad. And I DO remember that the Reitz marching band used to kill the Central marching band all throughout my high school experience.
I turned to my dad when the band was coming out and said, "They used to kill us when I was in school." Then I watched their god-awful performance and turned to my dad and said, "They were really bad. I mean, really bad. And they used to KILL us." I think he expected me to say, "Man, they must have gotten a LOT worse." Instead I said, "Wow. We must have REALLY sucked." He laughed. Then there was an awkward pause while neither of us spoke, and one of my high school illusions was shattered.
Apparently my high school marching band was terrible. I am crushed. Moving on...
The second half began, and with it, the blissful silence of halftime ended. The Obnoxious Man returned from wherever he had been. But apparently, during halftime, someone lit a fire under the asses of the Central Bears. (Maybe it was the Obnoxious Man?? Or maybe my mom??) Reitz did not score again and Central won the game 27-24. It was fabulous. The announcer for the "Mighty Panthers" got more and more quiet. The home team fans were stunned into silence, and after the game was over the scoreboard was on for approximately 30 seconds before it was shut off and the evidence erased. Even with the Obnoxious Man behind me, it was fabulous.
Go Bears!!
This is quite a change from when I was in high school. For reasons I won't go into here, I was required to attend every home football game in high school. I didn't know diddly squat about football at the time, but I do remember losing all the time, so I think we pretty much ranked right above the middle school in terms of talent. Maybe below the middle school...what do I know?
That has apparently changed, so since I got home early enough, I went to the game with my parents.
My first thought as I walked into the stadium, was to wonder why there were little elementary and middle school children at a high school game. The two girls I saw were painted in Reitz colors, and running around with extreme enthusiasm - they may as well have been chasing their tails in circles....they had that much energy as they ran around. As I proceeded through the crowd to my seat, I realized that those little girls were high school students. Seriously. When did they get so small??? I mean, obviously they were freshmen, and there were some students who actually looked like they were in high school (juniors and seniors, I guess) but the others were tiny!! I immediately felt old. Old and removed from the younger generation. I had to remember that it's been 10 years since I've been in high school. That's a long time, right?
At this point, the joke I had made to my dad earlier, "I was going to wear a t-shirt that said 'Central Alumni – guess the year'" didn't seem as funny. I'm old. I accept it.
As we waited for the game to start, I was floored at the number of really pretty, really skinny girls walking around in very little clothing. They were all painted school colors, of course, but wearing the equivalent of what I would wear to a club if I was hoping to get lucky that night. Seriously. Since when has body paint been considered an acceptable body covering? Then I started to wonder, where were the other girls. You know, the ones who probably aren't as beautiful and skinny?? I mean, the entire school can't be made up of cheerleader type girls, can it? That opened the floodgates to memories of exactly how ruthless high school is, and how high school football games are probably avoided like the plague by girls who don't feel like they fit in.
I said a quick prayer of thanks that I am no longer in high school.
Then, not two minutes into the game, I turned to my dad and said, "Methinks there are some in Evansville who take high school football a tad too seriously."
I mean, when all you hear is "YEEEEEEAAAAAH BABY!!!" or "MAKE HIM FEEL IT!!! IF YOU HIT HIM, MAKE HIM FEEL IT!" and "REF ARE YOU BLIND? THAT WASN'T AN INTERCEPTION! HE DROPPED THE BALL!!!! and "YEEEEEEAAAAAH BABY" the game loses something. When he starts stomping on the bleacher that you're sitting on to make MORE noise (not the foot-rail, mind you – he was standing on the actual bleacher and stomping on it) well, you start to get a little angry. I mean, it's hard to be cheerful when your teeth are vibrating from the force of his "enthusiasm."
It's not that I wasn't enthusiastic - I was cheering. I mean, I was supporting my team as much as I could, but, you know…it's not like they can hear me. I wasn't shouting advice to particular players…nor to refs… Nor was I trying to be the loudest person present. I mean, did this man think he was in Texas or what? It's high school football for goodness' sake. High school football in Indiana. Maybe he thought it was a basketball game by mistake?
As the game progressed, between shooting dirty glances at the loud man behind me, I noticed other things that made me laugh.
I may have already mentioned that my family is NOT a sports family. In fact, I didn't really know that professional sports existed until after college. That said, have you seen the movie Anchorman? You know the part where all the guys are yelling and angry that Christina Applegate has been named to their staff? Steve Carrel, who's slightly mentally retarded, starts yelling things like, "LOUD NOISES!" and "I DON'T KNOW WHY WE'RE YELLING." just to join in. This is what I was reminded of when my mother would randomly break out in "PUSH THEM ALL THE WAY BACK!" and "GUARD THE RIGHT!" I wasn't sure if she really knew what she was saying or just imitating the loud man behind me. She was very enthusiastic, though, and it was fun entertainment.
The obnoxiousness of the Obnoxious Man became more and more apparent as the rest of the fans got quieter and had to try harder to rally when the first half looked like this:
First possession Reitz - field goal
First possession Central - interception run back to the 5 yard line
Second possession Reitz - touchdown
Second possession Central - first down, then fumble resulting in turnover
Third possession Reitz - touchdown
Third possession Central - touchdown/two point conversion (yay!!)
Fourth possession Reitz - touchdown
Halftime
And we went into halftime at a score of Reitz 24, Central 8, things looked bleak.
During halftime, the marching band took the field. Why did I care? Well...let's just say that perhaps I have some personal experience with the marching band. In my unbiased opinion, the marching band for Reitz was HORRIBLE. I mean, they were really bad. And I DO remember that the Reitz marching band used to kill the Central marching band all throughout my high school experience.
I turned to my dad when the band was coming out and said, "They used to kill us when I was in school." Then I watched their god-awful performance and turned to my dad and said, "They were really bad. I mean, really bad. And they used to KILL us." I think he expected me to say, "Man, they must have gotten a LOT worse." Instead I said, "Wow. We must have REALLY sucked." He laughed. Then there was an awkward pause while neither of us spoke, and one of my high school illusions was shattered.
Apparently my high school marching band was terrible. I am crushed. Moving on...
The second half began, and with it, the blissful silence of halftime ended. The Obnoxious Man returned from wherever he had been. But apparently, during halftime, someone lit a fire under the asses of the Central Bears. (Maybe it was the Obnoxious Man?? Or maybe my mom??) Reitz did not score again and Central won the game 27-24. It was fabulous. The announcer for the "Mighty Panthers" got more and more quiet. The home team fans were stunned into silence, and after the game was over the scoreboard was on for approximately 30 seconds before it was shut off and the evidence erased. Even with the Obnoxious Man behind me, it was fabulous.
Go Bears!!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
My Experience at the Jerry Springer show
Please note the use of "at" instead of "on."
Yes, yesterday, September 12th, instead of spending 8 hours in the office, my boss and I spent over 15 hours together on a trek up to Chicago to sit in the audience of the Jerry Springer show.
We didn't just go on a whim. As per the excellent level of customer service we offer here at my company, when one of our customers from Barbados was on vacation in Canada, stopped to visit a vendor in Chicago, and mentioned that they've always wanted to visit the Jerry Springer show...well, we just had to oblige.
(I'll admit. My boss was a bit.....hesitant. But my chants of "Jer-ry! Jer-ry!" helped to convince him.)
We had lunch at the ESPNZone first (sweet!!) and then headed over to the NBC Tower in Chicago. Our instructions were to arrive by 1:15pm at the latest. It was raining, so we arrived at about 12:30pm, and walked right to the front of the line. Not 2 minutes later, there were approximately 50 people in line behind us. We spent a good 45 minutes trying to figure out which women were going to show their boobs. Fun for everyone involved.
Once we got through the line, showed our ID to prove we were over 18, went through a metal detector (no joke....they also took away all cigarettes, umbrellas, heavy purses....anything that could be used for a weapon), we sat in a holding room for approximately one hour looking in eager anticipation at anyone in a uniform that came into our room. The guy in front of us made the following observation that wasn't too far off the mark, "Now I know how dogs at the pound feel, looking at people who come in and trying to communicate with their eyes how much they want to be taken someplace else."
During this time, we got to know the people around us (one family was from Boston, and had flown into Chicago that morning, were leaving that night, and came ONLY for the Jerry Springer show) and continued to observe the people filing in. People watching was almost the best part. Money was wagered on women who were "sure things" to show their boobs.
We were finally taken into the studio and we sat in the second row - not 7 feet from the guests, and about 2 feet from the edge of the stage. We were psyched!!! If there was a fight, we were going to be right there!!! A group of 4 girls who were sure things to strip were seated in the front row as expected. They were ready and willing to bare it all. The bouncers had to convince them to keep their clothing on while the cameras weren't rolling.
Steve was actually the host as Jerry is currently busy with "Dancing with the Stars." That was a bit of disappointment, but we were not deterred....until the first guest came out. She was a mom who talked about her daughter and how she was a wonderful little girl, until her father had an accident and lost a leg. She started to cry as she remembered the early days and how "giving" she was....how "thoughtful" and "caring" and how the accident changed her. You could feel the audience anticipation for what was to come.
Then the mom started to cry. She talked about how her daughter was addicted to heroin, and had begun prostituting herself to support her habit. She said that she had come on the Jerry Springer show because she had researched them on the internet and was convinced that they could help.
(there were a few snickers at this)
The daughter came out separately to talk to Steve, and it gradually dawned on the audience that Steve was playing the cop/counselor role. He was actually trying to be Maury...or Oprah... He wanted to help these people!! He actually made the girl look at her high school graduation photo and say, "I want to be that person again" before she broke down in sobs. (!!!)
There would be no fighting. There would be no name calling. There would be no baring of breasts.
We were collectively stunned. When the guests were taken off the stage, the audience began to speculate as to what could happen. The pimp would be brought out? The dad with one leg would come out on stage? Maybe THEY would fight? The dad could beat the pimp with....well.... We absolutely could not believe what we had just seen. After all, who comes to the Jerry Springer show to see counseling?
When the second set of guests were brought out, the audience was rowdy. It turned out to be a love triangle with a lot of potential. The guy who was on stage first described himself as very close to his cousin. He was a gay male, and he had become close to both his cousin and his cousin's girlfriend. However, his cousin didn't treat his girlfriend right, you know? He called her names, he didn't love her....etc. One night, the girlfriend was devastated to find out that her boyfriend had cheated on her. She called the cousin, they went out to a bar together, got drunk, and slept together (scandal!) A month later, she found out she was pregnant. Who was the father???
It had all the good makings of a typical Jerry Springer show. However, when the boyfriend came out, he decided to take the high road, not beat up the gay man, and merely whip him with his quick wit. Luckily, he actually WAS quick witted (and funny) or else the audience may have revolted. Unfortunately, we were still disappointed because, really, who takes the high road on Jerry Springer? The audience chanted for the gay man to tell them how many um....men he had pleasured, chanted for him to strip, chanted for him to start a fight..... The comments from the audience were fabulous. The gay man almost came into the audience to fight.
Unfortunately for my boss, the girls who were a sure thing to show their boobs didn't get the chance. In fact, the only lady who bared anything was about 900 years old - and sitting right next to my boss. It was fabulous.
One of the bouncers (one of the hot bouncers) ended up mooning the audience. That wasn't so bad....
All in all, it was a disappointment, but I could see how the experience had potential. I want to go back. I want to see a good fight. I mean, I hate to perpetuate the Jerry Springer cycle....but these people go on there voluntarily...I'm not twisting their arms....I just want to be there to see the carnage...
I do have beads though. And a fabulous picture of me on the Jerry Springer pole. And of course, the group photo with Steve. Next time, I want one with Jerry.
Yes, yesterday, September 12th, instead of spending 8 hours in the office, my boss and I spent over 15 hours together on a trek up to Chicago to sit in the audience of the Jerry Springer show.
We didn't just go on a whim. As per the excellent level of customer service we offer here at my company, when one of our customers from Barbados was on vacation in Canada, stopped to visit a vendor in Chicago, and mentioned that they've always wanted to visit the Jerry Springer show...well, we just had to oblige.
(I'll admit. My boss was a bit.....hesitant. But my chants of "Jer-ry! Jer-ry!" helped to convince him.)
We had lunch at the ESPNZone first (sweet!!) and then headed over to the NBC Tower in Chicago. Our instructions were to arrive by 1:15pm at the latest. It was raining, so we arrived at about 12:30pm, and walked right to the front of the line. Not 2 minutes later, there were approximately 50 people in line behind us. We spent a good 45 minutes trying to figure out which women were going to show their boobs. Fun for everyone involved.
Once we got through the line, showed our ID to prove we were over 18, went through a metal detector (no joke....they also took away all cigarettes, umbrellas, heavy purses....anything that could be used for a weapon), we sat in a holding room for approximately one hour looking in eager anticipation at anyone in a uniform that came into our room. The guy in front of us made the following observation that wasn't too far off the mark, "Now I know how dogs at the pound feel, looking at people who come in and trying to communicate with their eyes how much they want to be taken someplace else."
During this time, we got to know the people around us (one family was from Boston, and had flown into Chicago that morning, were leaving that night, and came ONLY for the Jerry Springer show) and continued to observe the people filing in. People watching was almost the best part. Money was wagered on women who were "sure things" to show their boobs.
We were finally taken into the studio and we sat in the second row - not 7 feet from the guests, and about 2 feet from the edge of the stage. We were psyched!!! If there was a fight, we were going to be right there!!! A group of 4 girls who were sure things to strip were seated in the front row as expected. They were ready and willing to bare it all. The bouncers had to convince them to keep their clothing on while the cameras weren't rolling.
Steve was actually the host as Jerry is currently busy with "Dancing with the Stars." That was a bit of disappointment, but we were not deterred....until the first guest came out. She was a mom who talked about her daughter and how she was a wonderful little girl, until her father had an accident and lost a leg. She started to cry as she remembered the early days and how "giving" she was....how "thoughtful" and "caring" and how the accident changed her. You could feel the audience anticipation for what was to come.
Then the mom started to cry. She talked about how her daughter was addicted to heroin, and had begun prostituting herself to support her habit. She said that she had come on the Jerry Springer show because she had researched them on the internet and was convinced that they could help.
(there were a few snickers at this)
The daughter came out separately to talk to Steve, and it gradually dawned on the audience that Steve was playing the cop/counselor role. He was actually trying to be Maury...or Oprah... He wanted to help these people!! He actually made the girl look at her high school graduation photo and say, "I want to be that person again" before she broke down in sobs. (!!!)
There would be no fighting. There would be no name calling. There would be no baring of breasts.
We were collectively stunned. When the guests were taken off the stage, the audience began to speculate as to what could happen. The pimp would be brought out? The dad with one leg would come out on stage? Maybe THEY would fight? The dad could beat the pimp with....well.... We absolutely could not believe what we had just seen. After all, who comes to the Jerry Springer show to see counseling?
When the second set of guests were brought out, the audience was rowdy. It turned out to be a love triangle with a lot of potential. The guy who was on stage first described himself as very close to his cousin. He was a gay male, and he had become close to both his cousin and his cousin's girlfriend. However, his cousin didn't treat his girlfriend right, you know? He called her names, he didn't love her....etc. One night, the girlfriend was devastated to find out that her boyfriend had cheated on her. She called the cousin, they went out to a bar together, got drunk, and slept together (scandal!) A month later, she found out she was pregnant. Who was the father???
It had all the good makings of a typical Jerry Springer show. However, when the boyfriend came out, he decided to take the high road, not beat up the gay man, and merely whip him with his quick wit. Luckily, he actually WAS quick witted (and funny) or else the audience may have revolted. Unfortunately, we were still disappointed because, really, who takes the high road on Jerry Springer? The audience chanted for the gay man to tell them how many um....men he had pleasured, chanted for him to strip, chanted for him to start a fight..... The comments from the audience were fabulous. The gay man almost came into the audience to fight.
Unfortunately for my boss, the girls who were a sure thing to show their boobs didn't get the chance. In fact, the only lady who bared anything was about 900 years old - and sitting right next to my boss. It was fabulous.
One of the bouncers (one of the hot bouncers) ended up mooning the audience. That wasn't so bad....
All in all, it was a disappointment, but I could see how the experience had potential. I want to go back. I want to see a good fight. I mean, I hate to perpetuate the Jerry Springer cycle....but these people go on there voluntarily...I'm not twisting their arms....I just want to be there to see the carnage...
I do have beads though. And a fabulous picture of me on the Jerry Springer pole. And of course, the group photo with Steve. Next time, I want one with Jerry.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Friendship cycles
I've noted this more and more often as I get older. If you let them, friends will come in and out of your life and play many different roles as you find your way through the world. If they're good friends, they give you the space to grow as well.
My little brother ended his friendship to his oldest friend a couple of years ago. Surprisingly, my father actually commented on that when I was home once. He noted that we sometimes lose our closest childhood friends for the most ridiculous reasons, and that sometimes those friends are the ones who know us best. If not best, then in a way that no one else ever will.
My brother's response was that he didn't miss the friendship, so he feels that they both just outgrew it.
I have to side with my little brother on this one.
I, too, recently had an old friendship end. It's sad when it happens, but sometimes, you just outgrow each other. Sometimes, the person you're becoming just isn't going to fit with the person you used to be.
And sometimes, you're so used to seeing how you want a friend to be, that you miss who they really are.
I take full responsibility for the way my friendship ended. My friend and I were so close for so long, that I just assumed that my definition of friendship was hers as well, when I never bothered to ask.
My philosophy on friendship is that friends are the family that you choose. It's not just genetics. As you grow, you know who you are, you know what you need, you recognize familiar traits in others, and you choose to bring them into your circle. You depend on them, and in return, they can depend on you. If a friend needs you, you say "yes" and then ask questions later.
I definitely saw her for who she was. When you're so close to someone, attending the same high school, the same college, roomates after graduation, you can't help but have a really good understanding of their personality. But for all of her stubbornness, her inherent selfishness, her insecurities, and her avoidance of responsibility, I loved her to death. She saw all of my temper tantrums, my outrageous antics, my over-emotional reactions, my unreasonable requests, and my controlling personality. We were best friends forever.
But the problem was that while I understood her, I thought that if it ever came to me, things would be different. We were best friends!! Surely what she wouldn't do for others, she would do for me. I had always been there for her, whenever she needed me, whether I agreed with the situation or not. This was not for any gain on my part, but simply because I loved her and that's what I thought a best friend should do.
And then came a day when I needed help. Granted, it was an extremely difficult situation to be put in - tough for even the most stalwart of friends. When I shared with others, I had offers of support and assistance, even from afar. But when I needed someone by my side, I turned to my best friend - and she declined.
I was deeply hurt - betrayed even, and that moment put a rift in our friendship from which it never recovered. She returned my call within minutes, apologetic and wanting to help out any way she could, but the damage had already been done. For a long time, I blamed her. I was angry and upset that she couldn't find it in her to help someone she claimed to be so close to. She couldn't put forth enough effort to support me the way I thought a best friend should. But the more I considered that perhaps she couldn't help me. Perhaps it was my fault for not seeing that, and putting her in a position to fail?
It's true that your old friends know you best, in a way that no one else that you'll meet later in life ever will, but the best old friends give you room to grow. They accept that despite any changes, you will remain fundamentally the person that they became friends with. They don't love you because you're a vegetarian, or because you're a democrat. Those things will change as you go through life phases, and good friends accept and embrace those changes. In fact, they might even get to laugh about those phases with you after they've passed. Old friends will support you unconditionally because you are their friend, because they love you (whether you're stubborn, opinionated, meek or retiring), they understand what you need from them, and what they are willing to give. You need more than love for a friendship to endure. You have to have that basic understanding of your responsibility in the friendship, and then you can maintain some semblance of friendship as the years pass.
It's difficult to accept, and it's always sad when a friendship ends, but I believe it's always better to be honest with yourself about how you're feeling than to try to force the friendship to endure.
I'm big on being honest with yourself. I don't miss her, but I sure do wish that things had turned out differently.
My little brother ended his friendship to his oldest friend a couple of years ago. Surprisingly, my father actually commented on that when I was home once. He noted that we sometimes lose our closest childhood friends for the most ridiculous reasons, and that sometimes those friends are the ones who know us best. If not best, then in a way that no one else ever will.
My brother's response was that he didn't miss the friendship, so he feels that they both just outgrew it.
I have to side with my little brother on this one.
I, too, recently had an old friendship end. It's sad when it happens, but sometimes, you just outgrow each other. Sometimes, the person you're becoming just isn't going to fit with the person you used to be.
And sometimes, you're so used to seeing how you want a friend to be, that you miss who they really are.
I take full responsibility for the way my friendship ended. My friend and I were so close for so long, that I just assumed that my definition of friendship was hers as well, when I never bothered to ask.
My philosophy on friendship is that friends are the family that you choose. It's not just genetics. As you grow, you know who you are, you know what you need, you recognize familiar traits in others, and you choose to bring them into your circle. You depend on them, and in return, they can depend on you. If a friend needs you, you say "yes" and then ask questions later.
I definitely saw her for who she was. When you're so close to someone, attending the same high school, the same college, roomates after graduation, you can't help but have a really good understanding of their personality. But for all of her stubbornness, her inherent selfishness, her insecurities, and her avoidance of responsibility, I loved her to death. She saw all of my temper tantrums, my outrageous antics, my over-emotional reactions, my unreasonable requests, and my controlling personality. We were best friends forever.
But the problem was that while I understood her, I thought that if it ever came to me, things would be different. We were best friends!! Surely what she wouldn't do for others, she would do for me. I had always been there for her, whenever she needed me, whether I agreed with the situation or not. This was not for any gain on my part, but simply because I loved her and that's what I thought a best friend should do.
And then came a day when I needed help. Granted, it was an extremely difficult situation to be put in - tough for even the most stalwart of friends. When I shared with others, I had offers of support and assistance, even from afar. But when I needed someone by my side, I turned to my best friend - and she declined.
I was deeply hurt - betrayed even, and that moment put a rift in our friendship from which it never recovered. She returned my call within minutes, apologetic and wanting to help out any way she could, but the damage had already been done. For a long time, I blamed her. I was angry and upset that she couldn't find it in her to help someone she claimed to be so close to. She couldn't put forth enough effort to support me the way I thought a best friend should. But the more I considered that perhaps she couldn't help me. Perhaps it was my fault for not seeing that, and putting her in a position to fail?
It's true that your old friends know you best, in a way that no one else that you'll meet later in life ever will, but the best old friends give you room to grow. They accept that despite any changes, you will remain fundamentally the person that they became friends with. They don't love you because you're a vegetarian, or because you're a democrat. Those things will change as you go through life phases, and good friends accept and embrace those changes. In fact, they might even get to laugh about those phases with you after they've passed. Old friends will support you unconditionally because you are their friend, because they love you (whether you're stubborn, opinionated, meek or retiring), they understand what you need from them, and what they are willing to give. You need more than love for a friendship to endure. You have to have that basic understanding of your responsibility in the friendship, and then you can maintain some semblance of friendship as the years pass.
It's difficult to accept, and it's always sad when a friendship ends, but I believe it's always better to be honest with yourself about how you're feeling than to try to force the friendship to endure.
I'm big on being honest with yourself. I don't miss her, but I sure do wish that things had turned out differently.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
The Age Difference
My little brother got engaged a couple of weeks ago.
Let me say that again.
My brother, who happens to be 5 years my junior, got engaged. To be married. To his high school sweetheart nonetheless.
And you know what? I thought I would be upset about this.
I thought it would be emotionally traumatizing to see my younger brother go through this rite of passage before me. I thought it would make me fall to pieces and question everything about my life and what I've accomplished thus far.
Instead, I find myself really happy for him and his fianceé.
(whew. I'm glad to find out that deep inside, I actually AM a good person.)
I mean, I'm a cynical person. I can't help but make jokes about the "perfectness" of it all. He's adorable, his fianceé is beautiful, they're high school sweethearts, they were originally going to get married on a beach in Hawaii... it's enough to make someone, well...sick. My first thought was that something that perfect couldn't actually be real. My second thought was to take comfort in the fact that you don't truly appreciate love until you've been devastated by it.
Then I thought, "You know what? That's crap."
My path through life has been drastically different than my little brother's, but that's what makes me me, and makes him him. Instead of catalouging the various ways that my scars make me superior...
I find myself rooting for him. You go little brother. This will work out for you. This will be wonderful and perfect and fun and true. I have faith that your path will be everything you want it to be, and I wish you every happiness. I'm glad I'm here to watch you go through it.
Now I get to sit back and watch the wedding plans commence. THAT should be fun :-)
Let me say that again.
My brother, who happens to be 5 years my junior, got engaged. To be married. To his high school sweetheart nonetheless.
And you know what? I thought I would be upset about this.
I thought it would be emotionally traumatizing to see my younger brother go through this rite of passage before me. I thought it would make me fall to pieces and question everything about my life and what I've accomplished thus far.
Instead, I find myself really happy for him and his fianceé.
(whew. I'm glad to find out that deep inside, I actually AM a good person.)
I mean, I'm a cynical person. I can't help but make jokes about the "perfectness" of it all. He's adorable, his fianceé is beautiful, they're high school sweethearts, they were originally going to get married on a beach in Hawaii... it's enough to make someone, well...sick. My first thought was that something that perfect couldn't actually be real. My second thought was to take comfort in the fact that you don't truly appreciate love until you've been devastated by it.
Then I thought, "You know what? That's crap."
My path through life has been drastically different than my little brother's, but that's what makes me me, and makes him him. Instead of catalouging the various ways that my scars make me superior...
I find myself rooting for him. You go little brother. This will work out for you. This will be wonderful and perfect and fun and true. I have faith that your path will be everything you want it to be, and I wish you every happiness. I'm glad I'm here to watch you go through it.
Now I get to sit back and watch the wedding plans commence. THAT should be fun :-)
Monday, August 07, 2006
Cohabitation - Part IV
Note: There was a delay in posting this blog because I had to get permission.
I try not to blog about "real" things in my life. I dislike when people tell me that they feel they've caught up on my life by reading my blogs... I blog to be entertaining, silly, and have fun. If you really want to know what's going on with me, shoot me an e-mail.
That said, there is definitely a fourth part to cohabitating...I just couldn't write about it without permission. I now have permission - sort of. So here is a list of things that I do NOT understand about men in general. Things that I've heard other women mention, and I've found to be true. This should in no way make you think that the man I live with participates in these actions - this is just a general blog aimed at no one in particular.*
1) Dirty Clothes = Hamper. How hard is that? Seriously, if they don't go in the hamper, where DO they go? I mean, they can't go on the floor (as discussed previously), they can't go in the closet (may send females into a violent rage) and they can't go back in the drawers to be worn again (eventually someone will catch on to this strategy.) This issue has actually come a long way since the cohabitation began. The dirty clothes used to be nowhere near the hamper. Then (with a little help from Laney) they began to appear close to the hamper - maybe on top of the hamper. Now, every so often, there will be one sock in the hamper and one on the floor, or the hamper will be empty on Sunday, and then overflowing on Monday morning. It's mind-boggling really. Which brings me to...
2) ...the number of outfits that men will wear in any given day. When I lived alone, I did one load of laundry maybe once every other week. Now? I find I have to do laundry two or three times per week! When I'm folding these loads, I'll find one shirt that's mine - maybe one outfit that I wore to workout the day before. EVERYTHING else belongs to the boy. Seriously. It's unbelievable! Since I only see him for any amount of time in the evenings, and he doesn't change then, I am forced to assume that he comes home from work roughly every three hours to change clothing for fun. I KNOW he doesn't workout daily...so I have no idea what's going on. I'll ask him, and he just laughs. I don't think I WANT to know.
3) The remote control. Now, I've heard this is an issue for many couples, but I didn't understand. I thought you just decided (together) what to watch that evening, and then gave him the remote to avoid arguments. He can hold it, control volume...you know - that sort of thing. I have now found that this issue is far more complex. We will be watching a show that we're both interested in (ie Shark Week last week on the Discovery Channel - woot for Shark Week!!!) and the moment a commercial comes on, the channel is being changed. WTF? I mean, I KNOW he's interested in what we're watching, and wants to see the rest of it...does he have ADD? It's like he wants to see as many other channels in two and a half minutes as humanly possible. I don't think he even stays on any one channel long enough to see what's on. I'll see a flash of Paris Hilton's face, the Geiko gecko, a flash of the score for the Cubs game (we might actually pause here long enough for me to start complaining about missing Sharks), a dog, the Pasta Express, a tree, and then we'll we'll flash back to the channel we were originally on. It's the weirdest male ritual ever. I have found no rhyme, reason or cure for this phenomenon.
4) The refrigerator. (I actually had a discussion with him to better understand this over the weekend. All I did was laugh. I don't understand anything at all.) Here's the best way to explain.
I had a friend spend Sunday evening with me last week. We ordered deep dish pizza, and between the three of us, there was only one piece left at the end of the evening. I was cleaning up the kitchen, and I was going to pitch it, but decided at the last minute that one piece would be enough for lunch on Monday. I wrapped it in aluminum foil, and put it in a drawer in the refrigerator - where I promptly forgot it on Monday morning.
On Tuesday, I looked for my lunch in vain. Finally, I woke the boyfriend up and asked him if he had eaten the piece of pizza yesterday. He sheepishly said yes. No big deal - it was only pizza.
But then I started wondering. How did he know the pizza was in there? How did he know where to look? We do the grocery shopping together, so he has to know what's in the fridge. If he had no reason to suspect that there was pizza, how did he find it? I asked him, and here's the explanation I received.
"You know, it's funny. I'll look in the refrigerator, then the pantry, then the cupboards for food, and then I'll repeat the process if I don't see anything I like. I know every single thing that we have in that apartment to eat, but if I don't feel like fixing any of them, I'll keep looking for something else. Even if we haven't gone to the store lately. It's almost like I expect the Food Fairy to visit and drop me something to eat. Sometimes, I'll just get lucky. When I saw the pizza I didn't know what it was, but I knew immediately that it was something I hadn't seen before, so it was fresh, and from the shape, I assumed it was a leftover that you had rescued. I opened it, and it was my lucky day. You hadn't said you wanted it, so I ate it."
Does anyone else find this weird? I mean maybe it's just me.... I mean, you've got to admire his optimism, right? But I can almost picture him looking hopefully into the refrigerator three times in 10 minutes at the exact same items....hoping against hope he'll find something different.
There's more, but I'll get to those later. When I have permission :-)
*If you believe that, I've got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you - cheap!!
I try not to blog about "real" things in my life. I dislike when people tell me that they feel they've caught up on my life by reading my blogs... I blog to be entertaining, silly, and have fun. If you really want to know what's going on with me, shoot me an e-mail.
That said, there is definitely a fourth part to cohabitating...I just couldn't write about it without permission. I now have permission - sort of. So here is a list of things that I do NOT understand about men in general. Things that I've heard other women mention, and I've found to be true. This should in no way make you think that the man I live with participates in these actions - this is just a general blog aimed at no one in particular.*
1) Dirty Clothes = Hamper. How hard is that? Seriously, if they don't go in the hamper, where DO they go? I mean, they can't go on the floor (as discussed previously), they can't go in the closet (may send females into a violent rage) and they can't go back in the drawers to be worn again (eventually someone will catch on to this strategy.) This issue has actually come a long way since the cohabitation began. The dirty clothes used to be nowhere near the hamper. Then (with a little help from Laney) they began to appear close to the hamper - maybe on top of the hamper. Now, every so often, there will be one sock in the hamper and one on the floor, or the hamper will be empty on Sunday, and then overflowing on Monday morning. It's mind-boggling really. Which brings me to...
2) ...the number of outfits that men will wear in any given day. When I lived alone, I did one load of laundry maybe once every other week. Now? I find I have to do laundry two or three times per week! When I'm folding these loads, I'll find one shirt that's mine - maybe one outfit that I wore to workout the day before. EVERYTHING else belongs to the boy. Seriously. It's unbelievable! Since I only see him for any amount of time in the evenings, and he doesn't change then, I am forced to assume that he comes home from work roughly every three hours to change clothing for fun. I KNOW he doesn't workout daily...so I have no idea what's going on. I'll ask him, and he just laughs. I don't think I WANT to know.
3) The remote control. Now, I've heard this is an issue for many couples, but I didn't understand. I thought you just decided (together) what to watch that evening, and then gave him the remote to avoid arguments. He can hold it, control volume...you know - that sort of thing. I have now found that this issue is far more complex. We will be watching a show that we're both interested in (ie Shark Week last week on the Discovery Channel - woot for Shark Week!!!) and the moment a commercial comes on, the channel is being changed. WTF? I mean, I KNOW he's interested in what we're watching, and wants to see the rest of it...does he have ADD? It's like he wants to see as many other channels in two and a half minutes as humanly possible. I don't think he even stays on any one channel long enough to see what's on. I'll see a flash of Paris Hilton's face, the Geiko gecko, a flash of the score for the Cubs game (we might actually pause here long enough for me to start complaining about missing Sharks), a dog, the Pasta Express, a tree, and then we'll we'll flash back to the channel we were originally on. It's the weirdest male ritual ever. I have found no rhyme, reason or cure for this phenomenon.
4) The refrigerator. (I actually had a discussion with him to better understand this over the weekend. All I did was laugh. I don't understand anything at all.) Here's the best way to explain.
I had a friend spend Sunday evening with me last week. We ordered deep dish pizza, and between the three of us, there was only one piece left at the end of the evening. I was cleaning up the kitchen, and I was going to pitch it, but decided at the last minute that one piece would be enough for lunch on Monday. I wrapped it in aluminum foil, and put it in a drawer in the refrigerator - where I promptly forgot it on Monday morning.
On Tuesday, I looked for my lunch in vain. Finally, I woke the boyfriend up and asked him if he had eaten the piece of pizza yesterday. He sheepishly said yes. No big deal - it was only pizza.
But then I started wondering. How did he know the pizza was in there? How did he know where to look? We do the grocery shopping together, so he has to know what's in the fridge. If he had no reason to suspect that there was pizza, how did he find it? I asked him, and here's the explanation I received.
"You know, it's funny. I'll look in the refrigerator, then the pantry, then the cupboards for food, and then I'll repeat the process if I don't see anything I like. I know every single thing that we have in that apartment to eat, but if I don't feel like fixing any of them, I'll keep looking for something else. Even if we haven't gone to the store lately. It's almost like I expect the Food Fairy to visit and drop me something to eat. Sometimes, I'll just get lucky. When I saw the pizza I didn't know what it was, but I knew immediately that it was something I hadn't seen before, so it was fresh, and from the shape, I assumed it was a leftover that you had rescued. I opened it, and it was my lucky day. You hadn't said you wanted it, so I ate it."
Does anyone else find this weird? I mean maybe it's just me.... I mean, you've got to admire his optimism, right? But I can almost picture him looking hopefully into the refrigerator three times in 10 minutes at the exact same items....hoping against hope he'll find something different.
There's more, but I'll get to those later. When I have permission :-)
*If you believe that, I've got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you - cheap!!
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