How would you spend your last entire free day in the city you love? For my last “normal” day in Big D before moving to Austin, I’d planned to spend the afternoon running last minute moving errands around the city. I’d pictured driving along the familiar highways in the sunshine, listening to my ipod and soaking up Dallas flavor one more time.
Here’s what really happened:
I took my car in for a routine oil change and mentioned the small issue I’d been having with my starter. One hour later, I’d gotten an oil change, a new battery and the news that my starter needed replacing because it was draining the battery.
“But, but…” I stammered, “I have so much to do this afternoon.” Three minutes later, I was pulling out of the parking lot in a “loaner car” which was really one of the office guys’ personal BMW. (578th reason to wear short skirts and padded bras)
I’d just loaded up my car with 10 bags of material for recycling and one box for Goodwill when the rain started. After I was done at the outdoor recycling center, I was the soaking wet girl in the short skirt and padded bra trying to wipe down the interior of a random stranger’s luxury German car because I hadn’t been able to figure out how to open the trunk and had to stuff everything in the back seat. Upon arrival at Goodwill’s outdoor donation center, once again, I stepped out into the rain and asked the guy if he took old cell phones. His response? “Sure we do, you’re going to get totally wet!” YA THINK?
On the way to my last errand, as I cursed the pouring rain and bumper-to-bumper traffic, it took me twenty ipod-less minutes to realize that I was going East instead of West. I wasn’t actually surprised as this was only one of the many, many incidents resulting from my move-stress induced ditziness. After thirty more rainy, bumper-to-bumper, (and still ipod-less) minutes in the RIGHT direction, just as I reached the exit to my last stop ten minutes before they were going to close, I discovered the exit I needed to take was CLOSED.
So much for my halcyon daydream.
Oh, but there was one bright spot: At 4:50 just after the closed exit disaster, I realized that U-Haul was supposed to call me before 5 pm to confirm the next day’s truck pickup time and I still hadn’t heard from them. Just as I was mentally giving them the bird, my phone rang! And it was U-Haul! Yes, that’s right – my afternoon was made by the company with the big red and white trucks.
5/31/2007
All Dallas. All Princess.
People have been asking and wondering how my “All Dallas. All Princess.” birthday/going away/back to school party was this year. Was it anything like the bacchanalia of last year? I must say that the answer is no. I did not dance for 5 hours straight, but I did dance enough to generate the usual comments and looks of disbelief. I didn’t wear a tiara… I alternated between two tiara adorned cowboy hats. The boutique VIP (this year’s host) did not end up wearing the gay man’s tube socks, but she did end up with two hot dates for next month’s Pat Benettar concert. The newspaper was not delivered before the last guest went home. That’s not to say, however, that it wasn’t a WHOLE LOT of rockstar fun.
A fly on the wall that night would have overheard the following:
To another year and new adventures!
A fly on the wall that night would have overheard the following:
From the host of the party: No, NO! Ya’ll can NOT do that outside!!! I have neighbors – WITH KIDS!
From the self-described “all things sports ignorant gay man” upon hearing the tail end of a conversation about Carrie Underwood’s recent canoodling with Tony Romo: Oooh, that place serves excellent ribs!!
Said to Yours Truly: What IS it with you and music and dancing?
Said to the expecting couple: What do you mean decide on the paint color of the baby’s room before it’s born? That’s so unfair to the baby, man. Why don’t you let the BABY decide?
I CAN’T BELIEVE YOUR EYES AREN’T TOTALLY RED BY NOW!!
Why are you just standing there staring at Dirk’s crotch?
To another year and new adventures!
All Dallas. All Princess.: The Skyline Yours Truly CREATED HERSELF
Yes, I really did painstakingly envision, draw, cut and paste the whole thing by myself. Because I'm not crazy enough already.
The place to which vulnerability leads
Last week, I found out that a good friend of mine was viciously attacked last month as he was leaving one of his regular hangouts on what should have been an ordinary weeknight. When I say “good” friend, I mean “good” in every sense of the word. He is good at his work and he is a good athlete. He has a good attitude and personality. He leads every aspect of his life with genuine kindness. It seems that he was a victim of being vulnerable at the wrong place at the right time.
To imagine these people he’d never seen before physically attacking him makes my blood run cold. The fact that the cowardly bastards callously played with the life of MY FRIEND probably because of the color of his skin and his “pretty blond hair” (as catwoman so aptly described) makes me angry - the kind of angry that stays in the pit of your stomach for days.
But I was heartened to hear his usual upbeat voice on the phone, his sense of humor deliciously the same as ever. He still insisted on hearing the details of my life and my thoughts. All of this amidst still being at the mercy of the realities of his injuries. I’m sure that he’s angry too, but he’s not letting it destroy his goodness.
In the hours following, as I contemplated the cruel consequences of vulnerability, I considered something else he and I had discussed - not taking things in life for granted. Things like health. Like being blessed with opportunities and a future. Like being able to remember past experiences, even the painful ones. Like the people - those women and men who have positively affected our health, our pasts and our futures. Like my friend who could have been taken from my life in the blink of an eye. Any one of these people in my life could be taken away tomorrow. We are all vulnerable in this way. So I stopped thinking and started doing – started reaching out more to some of these people. And it made me feel good. Good and a little less angry.
To imagine these people he’d never seen before physically attacking him makes my blood run cold. The fact that the cowardly bastards callously played with the life of MY FRIEND probably because of the color of his skin and his “pretty blond hair” (as catwoman so aptly described) makes me angry - the kind of angry that stays in the pit of your stomach for days.
But I was heartened to hear his usual upbeat voice on the phone, his sense of humor deliciously the same as ever. He still insisted on hearing the details of my life and my thoughts. All of this amidst still being at the mercy of the realities of his injuries. I’m sure that he’s angry too, but he’s not letting it destroy his goodness.
In the hours following, as I contemplated the cruel consequences of vulnerability, I considered something else he and I had discussed - not taking things in life for granted. Things like health. Like being blessed with opportunities and a future. Like being able to remember past experiences, even the painful ones. Like the people - those women and men who have positively affected our health, our pasts and our futures. Like my friend who could have been taken from my life in the blink of an eye. Any one of these people in my life could be taken away tomorrow. We are all vulnerable in this way. So I stopped thinking and started doing – started reaching out more to some of these people. And it made me feel good. Good and a little less angry.
5/15/2007
Gem of the Day
This morning on The View, Barbara Walters brought in a Fiddler's Elbow towel that her daughter gave her for Mother's Day. Right beside the lovely art deco bride, it reads: Why Do I Have To Get Married? I Didn't Do Anything Wrong.
Why didn't I come up with that first?
Why didn't I come up with that first?
5/09/2007
Trading Down and Trading Up
I’ve been spoiled, living the last 6 years in my spacious 2-story apartment with an attached garage and curbside trash pick up.
Alas, my new digs will not have the luxuries of the garage or curbside pick up. Sigh. But it’s not bad. Same property owners (same tolerable management) and similar 2-story layout (albeit about a third smaller). There are even some improvements: it’s a brand new property and has a surprisingly spacious kitchen.
But maybe the best trade up is the color palette of the exterior. Not long after I moved into my current complex, management decided to give the exterior a fresh, new look. This new look turned out to be covering the massive group of 3 story buildings with a fresh shade of baby-shit brown. Did I mention that our buildings are built on the slant of a hill? Oh, how I've enjoyed coming home to what resembles a big pile of - well, you know. And ok, they did break it up with yellow (I’m pretty sure they thought it was cream) trim and black doors. Because of course they didn't want to include any colors which would fight with the BABY-SHIT BROWN.
So you can imagine my excitement to move to the new place which boasts a paint shade which I can only describe as green with an identity crisis - is it khaki green? army green? olive green? A mistake? (The fact that it is decidedly photo-shopped down to more of a neutral khaki in all of their promotional material makes me wonder.) So this whatever-the-hell-green is coupled with large sections of that hideous multi-colored river rock that Texans seem to love so much and topped off with cream trim and “Hey, let’s throw in just one more clashing color” kelly green window shutters and doors. That’s right, I consider it to be a trade UP.
That is how much I hate baby-shit brown.
Alas, my new digs will not have the luxuries of the garage or curbside pick up. Sigh. But it’s not bad. Same property owners (same tolerable management) and similar 2-story layout (albeit about a third smaller). There are even some improvements: it’s a brand new property and has a surprisingly spacious kitchen.
But maybe the best trade up is the color palette of the exterior. Not long after I moved into my current complex, management decided to give the exterior a fresh, new look. This new look turned out to be covering the massive group of 3 story buildings with a fresh shade of baby-shit brown. Did I mention that our buildings are built on the slant of a hill? Oh, how I've enjoyed coming home to what resembles a big pile of - well, you know. And ok, they did break it up with yellow (I’m pretty sure they thought it was cream) trim and black doors. Because of course they didn't want to include any colors which would fight with the BABY-SHIT BROWN.
So you can imagine my excitement to move to the new place which boasts a paint shade which I can only describe as green with an identity crisis - is it khaki green? army green? olive green? A mistake? (The fact that it is decidedly photo-shopped down to more of a neutral khaki in all of their promotional material makes me wonder.) So this whatever-the-hell-green is coupled with large sections of that hideous multi-colored river rock that Texans seem to love so much and topped off with cream trim and “Hey, let’s throw in just one more clashing color” kelly green window shutters and doors. That’s right, I consider it to be a trade UP.
That is how much I hate baby-shit brown.
5/08/2007
One More for the Fire
I need to add to my list of gym enigmas: the smelly people.
Admittedly, none of us smell like roses at the gym – we are there to sweat after all. But if you notice that the people on the machines around you are suddenly stopping their workout, burying their noses in their towels and moving across the room, maybe you should change your socks, take a shower, and wear deodorant. And for the LOVE OF PETE, SMELL YOURSELF!!!
Admittedly, none of us smell like roses at the gym – we are there to sweat after all. But if you notice that the people on the machines around you are suddenly stopping their workout, burying their noses in their towels and moving across the room, maybe you should change your socks, take a shower, and wear deodorant. And for the LOVE OF PETE, SMELL YOURSELF!!!
5/07/2007
I think I heard my skin crawling this morning
Why is it that in those first moments of early morning wake, my ideas are never quite as brilliant and fresh as I think they are at the time? It is usually during my workout an hour or so later, when the glaring stupidity of those very ideas comes into focus, suddenly making me cringe and wonder what the hell I was thinking.
A couple of weeks ago for example, I came up with a totally kick-ass theme for my birthday party and had worked out a plethora of ideas for the décor and the invitation…all before getting out of bed. Needless to say, that particular theme (and the cockamamie ideas that went with it) was immediately nixed on the elliptical trainer later that morning.
This morning? I switched on the radio when I first woke up and the first thing I heard was the news of Paris Hilton’s imminent prison term starting on June 5th. June 5th? I perked up as this is a date I’ve been thinking of a lot recently - it being none other than THE FIRST DAY OF CLASS. And then I hear that Paris will be in there for 45 days. 45 days? That’s about 6 weeks…which is the length of the first summer term.
OMG, I thought in a moment of girls-subjected-to-captivity solidarity, if Paris can get through it, SO CAN I!
Then at the gym: Wait a minute. Solidarity? With Paris Hil-
Which is when the skin began its crawl.
A couple of weeks ago for example, I came up with a totally kick-ass theme for my birthday party and had worked out a plethora of ideas for the décor and the invitation…all before getting out of bed. Needless to say, that particular theme (and the cockamamie ideas that went with it) was immediately nixed on the elliptical trainer later that morning.
This morning? I switched on the radio when I first woke up and the first thing I heard was the news of Paris Hilton’s imminent prison term starting on June 5th. June 5th? I perked up as this is a date I’ve been thinking of a lot recently - it being none other than THE FIRST DAY OF CLASS. And then I hear that Paris will be in there for 45 days. 45 days? That’s about 6 weeks…which is the length of the first summer term.
OMG, I thought in a moment of girls-subjected-to-captivity solidarity, if Paris can get through it, SO CAN I!
Then at the gym: Wait a minute. Solidarity? With Paris Hil-
Which is when the skin began its crawl.
5/02/2007
WHO HAS HEART???
ROWDY.
PROUD.
LOUD!!
Shame, shame, shame on the fans who lost heart and left early last night.
PROUD.
LOUD!!
Shame, shame, shame on the fans who lost heart and left early last night.
4/30/2007
Mistlav Rostropovich
A pillar of the classical music scene, this talented and legendary cellist died last week. I was saddened to hear of his death, but also distinctly inspired by his fierce dedication to defending artistic freedom – a concept that I have often taken for granted. This is a man who was exiled from his country, where the expression of art and music was tightly controlled by the Soviet rule, because he dared to stand up for principles about which I’ve never had to worry.
I’ve been known to say a few disparaging remarks about the elitism and single-mindedness that exists in the classical music scene, but I also recognize that I chose to be a part of it and having that choice was a blessing. As a teenager, I found my voice and my dreams in the artistic community – one that encourages individualism and uninhibited expression. I learned the courage to form and trust my own ideas, I learned how to find joy in hard work and competition and I learned the heartache of rejection in an environment that felt familiar and right to me at the time.
And when I discovered that my personality and desires were no longer in synch with the opportunities available to me in that particular scene, I had the freedom to leave. True, one reason I left was because I felt stifled – but I felt stifled by the culture of the industry and the attitudes and expectations held by many (not all) of the people in that culture. Not because I didn’t have the freedom to pursue my aspirations where I wanted and how I wanted. Not because I couldn’t explore the works and subject matter I wanted without restriction. Not because I or any of my peers was creatively confined in anyway. I chose to leave for the exact same reasons that I chose to be in it: for my own edification and a desire to be true to myself.
In the words of Mistlav Rostropovich himself from a speech given on May 26, 1992:
I’ve been known to say a few disparaging remarks about the elitism and single-mindedness that exists in the classical music scene, but I also recognize that I chose to be a part of it and having that choice was a blessing. As a teenager, I found my voice and my dreams in the artistic community – one that encourages individualism and uninhibited expression. I learned the courage to form and trust my own ideas, I learned how to find joy in hard work and competition and I learned the heartache of rejection in an environment that felt familiar and right to me at the time.
And when I discovered that my personality and desires were no longer in synch with the opportunities available to me in that particular scene, I had the freedom to leave. True, one reason I left was because I felt stifled – but I felt stifled by the culture of the industry and the attitudes and expectations held by many (not all) of the people in that culture. Not because I didn’t have the freedom to pursue my aspirations where I wanted and how I wanted. Not because I couldn’t explore the works and subject matter I wanted without restriction. Not because I or any of my peers was creatively confined in anyway. I chose to leave for the exact same reasons that I chose to be in it: for my own edification and a desire to be true to myself.
In the words of Mistlav Rostropovich himself from a speech given on May 26, 1992:
But what is freedom? A lot of people have asked this and often with the intention of destroying it. I shall tell you what it is, it is something that the birds possess. A bird may land on whatever branch of whatever tree without permission or passport. No-one will tell it that that tree is not his and that he can only sing in another tree. Liberty consists of each person finding his own place among the people and doing good.
4/25/2007
4/23/2007
Beautiful Gift
I am lucky. Last year, during my darkest moments (read about it here), a wonderful gift serendipitously fell into my lap.*
“Gift” is really the only word to accurately describe my experience working at Event Management Company X. **
I am grateful for the opportunity I had to explore event management, something I’d wanted to do for several years. I am grateful that I was able to work my much blogged about Bermuda event (here and here.) But most of all, I am grateful for the people. They took a chance on a girl with no previous experience, they hired me even though I planned to go to graduate school soon and they accepted me with open arms into their professional family. They were patient and generous with their knowledge. Even more notably, they were fun to work with and TOTALLY appreciative of my clothing choices.
I would like to thank them all. Them being:
•The Glamorously Tall One – She who is not only the owner and founder of the company but is also on my Top 10 Women List because her courageous vision, optimistic energy and uncompromising principles have inspired me from the moment we met. Although she might never publicly admit it, I believe that it is the courage of her convictions that sustains the strength of the staff and drives the success of the company. She also has a special talent for making and keeping friends, is a champion hula-hooper and throws one hell of a fun holiday party. To work for someone like this, I maintain, is not an ordinary thing.
•The Token Maleness – God bless his long- suffering. Somehow, he gets through each day amidst a handful of women who shamelessly primp, gossip and generally act like girly girls. And yet he has never thrown up nor has he ever made up for it by belching, spitting or engaging in other “gross man” behavior. And he can manipulate a database with his eyes closed, sort spreadsheet data 10 different ways in less time than it takes most of us to open the spreadsheet, and sweet talk the crankiest client/vendor into a thankful toady. During his off hours, he makes a mean cocktail, drives a kick ass car and defies the social structure of the small town he calls home. (He also proposes to anyone who brings him Starbucks in the morning.)
•She of the Cool Hats - The one who has kept me laughing since the day she bestowed upon me the beloved sobriquet, “Stupid New Girl” - the master of imitations, voices, funny faces, hyperbolic stories, and “squirreling.” She knew the answer to every one of my rookie questions, refused to be intimidated and could lash the most remiss of vendors into action. But as equally as she is no-nonsense, she is also compassionate. She has a heart of gold and is an exceptional family member and friend – even to me despite my need for privacy regarding certain subjects. Truly, a GOLDEN star.
•The Girl with the Platinum Locks (the one shade of blond which I covet, yet could never get away with) – She makes handling hundreds of tradeshows look like nothing – always unruffled despite multiple deadlines and looooong conference calls with her “favorite” people. The QUEEN of brilliant email discussions like this and always in on the latest celebrity gossip, she had an impeccable sense of when we needed a little levity whether it be an email, a snack break or a FLYING MONKEY.) She once drove 25 minutes in the opposite direction of her home just to take me home when I twisted my ankle at work and couldn't drive. And how can I not love someone who loves the shopping as much as I do?
•Supergirl – Seriously. It isn’t without reason that everyone has learned to trust what she knows and what she says…from hooking up a scanner to picking out classy gifts to finding (on-line) the name of the cute doctor at the hospital. She threw me countless lifelines from day one including an orientation of the office building (like how to find the third elevator in the small, hidden dark corner of the lobby that you must find in order to get to the mailboxes and deli), the explanation of industry buzzwords, standing next to me to help me fax 50 pages through the fax machine that hates me (I’m not kidding – the machine knows me and actually despises me), and most unforgettably, pushing me in a rolling desk chair down the hall and to the restroom when I twisted my ankle. She’s exceptional at her work and exceptional at her life outside of work. And that girl can DANCE. To quote a client, she is “clearly a legend.”
•She Who Left Big Shoes to Fill – Fortunately, she stayed for a while to hold my hand before she moved on. She was there when I had my first-event breakdown and when I answered my first official phone call. She listened to me talk all day and shed consistently intelligent and extraordinary insight. Best of all, she gave me much needed daily shots of confidence during the grad school application stress. The short time we worked together made a significant impression on me and I still miss her humor, her genuine kindness and, of course, her love of all desserts!
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you and Thank you for this precious gift. The gift that won’t ever get lost, collect dust on the bottom shelf, expire or cause unwanted weight gain. I can't ask for much more.
*Ok, so it didn’t just fall into my lap…it did take diligent networking, but networking involves timing and luck. And luck feels like a gift.
**Not the real name, the real name being much more clever.
“Gift” is really the only word to accurately describe my experience working at Event Management Company X. **
I am grateful for the opportunity I had to explore event management, something I’d wanted to do for several years. I am grateful that I was able to work my much blogged about Bermuda event (here and here.) But most of all, I am grateful for the people. They took a chance on a girl with no previous experience, they hired me even though I planned to go to graduate school soon and they accepted me with open arms into their professional family. They were patient and generous with their knowledge. Even more notably, they were fun to work with and TOTALLY appreciative of my clothing choices.
I would like to thank them all. Them being:
•The Glamorously Tall One – She who is not only the owner and founder of the company but is also on my Top 10 Women List because her courageous vision, optimistic energy and uncompromising principles have inspired me from the moment we met. Although she might never publicly admit it, I believe that it is the courage of her convictions that sustains the strength of the staff and drives the success of the company. She also has a special talent for making and keeping friends, is a champion hula-hooper and throws one hell of a fun holiday party. To work for someone like this, I maintain, is not an ordinary thing.
•The Token Maleness – God bless his long- suffering. Somehow, he gets through each day amidst a handful of women who shamelessly primp, gossip and generally act like girly girls. And yet he has never thrown up nor has he ever made up for it by belching, spitting or engaging in other “gross man” behavior. And he can manipulate a database with his eyes closed, sort spreadsheet data 10 different ways in less time than it takes most of us to open the spreadsheet, and sweet talk the crankiest client/vendor into a thankful toady. During his off hours, he makes a mean cocktail, drives a kick ass car and defies the social structure of the small town he calls home. (He also proposes to anyone who brings him Starbucks in the morning.)
•She of the Cool Hats - The one who has kept me laughing since the day she bestowed upon me the beloved sobriquet, “Stupid New Girl” - the master of imitations, voices, funny faces, hyperbolic stories, and “squirreling.” She knew the answer to every one of my rookie questions, refused to be intimidated and could lash the most remiss of vendors into action. But as equally as she is no-nonsense, she is also compassionate. She has a heart of gold and is an exceptional family member and friend – even to me despite my need for privacy regarding certain subjects. Truly, a GOLDEN star.
•The Girl with the Platinum Locks (the one shade of blond which I covet, yet could never get away with) – She makes handling hundreds of tradeshows look like nothing – always unruffled despite multiple deadlines and looooong conference calls with her “favorite” people. The QUEEN of brilliant email discussions like this and always in on the latest celebrity gossip, she had an impeccable sense of when we needed a little levity whether it be an email, a snack break or a FLYING MONKEY.) She once drove 25 minutes in the opposite direction of her home just to take me home when I twisted my ankle at work and couldn't drive. And how can I not love someone who loves the shopping as much as I do?
•Supergirl – Seriously. It isn’t without reason that everyone has learned to trust what she knows and what she says…from hooking up a scanner to picking out classy gifts to finding (on-line) the name of the cute doctor at the hospital. She threw me countless lifelines from day one including an orientation of the office building (like how to find the third elevator in the small, hidden dark corner of the lobby that you must find in order to get to the mailboxes and deli), the explanation of industry buzzwords, standing next to me to help me fax 50 pages through the fax machine that hates me (I’m not kidding – the machine knows me and actually despises me), and most unforgettably, pushing me in a rolling desk chair down the hall and to the restroom when I twisted my ankle. She’s exceptional at her work and exceptional at her life outside of work. And that girl can DANCE. To quote a client, she is “clearly a legend.”
•She Who Left Big Shoes to Fill – Fortunately, she stayed for a while to hold my hand before she moved on. She was there when I had my first-event breakdown and when I answered my first official phone call. She listened to me talk all day and shed consistently intelligent and extraordinary insight. Best of all, she gave me much needed daily shots of confidence during the grad school application stress. The short time we worked together made a significant impression on me and I still miss her humor, her genuine kindness and, of course, her love of all desserts!
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you and Thank you for this precious gift. The gift that won’t ever get lost, collect dust on the bottom shelf, expire or cause unwanted weight gain. I can't ask for much more.
*Ok, so it didn’t just fall into my lap…it did take diligent networking, but networking involves timing and luck. And luck feels like a gift.
**Not the real name, the real name being much more clever.
4/16/2007
SAHMs, SILs and SUVs
Not working for the past 2 weeks has thrown me into the exotic and unfamiliar territory of the SAHMs: more commonly known to most as Stay At Home Moms and to yet others as Shit Ass Ho Motherfuckers (if you are not one of these others, you are missing out on the fabulousness of dooce). It’s true that I grew up under the care of a champion SAHM, but when I look around me at these SAHMs who are MY age, I find myself overcome with curiosity. Who are these women with their SUVs and mini-vans, double strollers and mommy bags? Who are these women who have free reign of the stores, gyms and Kwik Kars while the masses are at their office cubicles?
I may have found some answers during a 5-day stay in the Bay Area last week where I spent many hours with my sister-in-law (SIL), a competent SAHM with 3 kids under the age of 5. In short, by 12:00 pm on the day I spent alone with my SIL and 3 kids, I’d taken care of myself. SIL had taken care of herself, 3 kids, one husband, one houseguest and the carpet shampooing. She'd also walked 4 miles (she pushed a double stroller while I walked along side, empty-handed), answered a million "But Mommy..." questions, broken up several fights and gone to the school and the store.
Possibly, I’m cool enough to be a Shit Ass Ho Motherfucker. But without a doubt, as I learned last week, I am definitely not cool enough to be a Stay At Home Mom. I'm not saying that I want to be one. Nor am I saying in any way that the daily grind of my life is any easier than their's. But I will say that I absolutely believe that these women have fully earned their few hours a day to freely reign the stores, gyms and Kwik Kars.
I may have found some answers during a 5-day stay in the Bay Area last week where I spent many hours with my sister-in-law (SIL), a competent SAHM with 3 kids under the age of 5. In short, by 12:00 pm on the day I spent alone with my SIL and 3 kids, I’d taken care of myself. SIL had taken care of herself, 3 kids, one husband, one houseguest and the carpet shampooing. She'd also walked 4 miles (she pushed a double stroller while I walked along side, empty-handed), answered a million "But Mommy..." questions, broken up several fights and gone to the school and the store.
Possibly, I’m cool enough to be a Shit Ass Ho Motherfucker. But without a doubt, as I learned last week, I am definitely not cool enough to be a Stay At Home Mom. I'm not saying that I want to be one. Nor am I saying in any way that the daily grind of my life is any easier than their's. But I will say that I absolutely believe that these women have fully earned their few hours a day to freely reign the stores, gyms and Kwik Kars.
4/14/2007
Another Reason to Love my Sister-in-Law
SIL: Apparently, before I married your brother, he would get his way with girls by using the big puppy dog eyes expression.
bebe Me: I know EXACTLY what expression you're talking about. The big, sad, brown eyes.
SIL nods.
Slight pause in conversation.
bebe Me: I can't STAND that expression. Gets on my LAST nerve.
SIL: (snickering) Doesn't do a THING for me. It just makes me do exactly the opposite of what he wants.
More snickering and eye rolling.
bebe Me: I know EXACTLY what expression you're talking about. The big, sad, brown eyes.
SIL nods.
Slight pause in conversation.
bebe Me: I can't STAND that expression. Gets on my LAST nerve.
SIL: (snickering) Doesn't do a THING for me. It just makes me do exactly the opposite of what he wants.
More snickering and eye rolling.
4/05/2007
Four Words and One Contraction
“You’ve got your spunk back!”
Sweet music to my ears.
I saw my former boss this week. The last time he spent significant time with me was almost a year ago when I slogged through each soul-sucking day behind a big ol’ fake smile – a far cry from the plucky, genuinely enthusiastic being that he once knew.
His simple observation makes me think that just maybe I’m headed in the right direction again.
Sweet music to my ears.
I saw my former boss this week. The last time he spent significant time with me was almost a year ago when I slogged through each soul-sucking day behind a big ol’ fake smile – a far cry from the plucky, genuinely enthusiastic being that he once knew.
His simple observation makes me think that just maybe I’m headed in the right direction again.
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