Hold the Phone

This could be "Confessions of a Phone Conservative."

The cell phone age is here to stay. At least until the technology is developed where one can just think a thought and "send" it directly to the other's brain. (GASP! If you think life is loud and busy now with texting and tweeting and booking Face time, can you imagine how crowded it will get in your brain then?)

Even though I never had a cell phone until the ripe old age of 18, and even then, it was mainly to impress a guy, I understand their place and even necessity in today's society. We live in a fast-paced, highly connected world; if you were without a cell phone, you may not get the emergency message, the job offer, or the word that there's Sox tickets available until it's too late.

My siblings, who are also two of my closest friends, are currently living in Florida and Missouri. One of my dearest friends lives in Seattle, and even my parents are about an hour away in southern NH. Having a cell phone makes them feel VASTLY closer to home, and it really aids with the distance.

What I do not understand, however, is the usage of cell phones just to talk. Specifically, the urge to talk when you're in a public place. I don't mean the conversational catch-up with a friend, or excited chat with a buddy as you troop to work or run into the store. I am referring to being on the phone purely for the sake of being in that act. Let me give an example (of course!) from my commute.
On the bus the other day, a person (age, sex, nationality--you pick! It doesn't matter!) sitting behind me was talking on their phone. As I (and the rest of the bus) had the privilege of hearing their conversation loud and clear, here is a snippet of the conversation (obviously, as told from their end of the line.)

:"Yeah. (pause) What are you doing Thursday night? (pause) Oh really. I went there once. Yeah. (pause) How about Friday? (pause) Wait, what? (pause) Hmmm. Ok. (long pause) Oh, I don't know. Whatever. I was suppose to go to this one place, but it's not going to happen. (pause) What? What? No, I missed that last part. (pause) Oh. Yeah. What did he say? Hmmm. (pause) Whatever. (pause) Yeah. Wait, what? (pause) Oh, that's what I thought you said. (pause) Wait, you didn't say that? Um...Oh. You did. Ok. Hmmm. (pause)"

And on and on and on. I didn't write what transpired down verbatim, but I can pretty much guarantee that the conversation was duller than that. The clincher however, was when the individual signed off the call by saying, "Ok. I'll call you tonight." WHAT? Why?!? Granted, I don't know the nature of the relationship of the people talking, but given what I could understand, was this so vital it couldn't wait until you were not in a public place? And given the level of enthusiasm and depth of conversation, this is something you want to repeat again, later?

There is another type of public caller, and they are far from dull. This is the individual completely lacking any ounce of self-awareness, who's one volume level is extra-loud (they go up to 11) and they don't care if you hear about their contracting a personal communicable disease in a not-often discussed location of their person from a questionable source in a sketchy part of town. All of their personal business is poured forth, not just to the happy recipient on the other end of their phone call, but to every stranger who comes within their personal volume range. (scientifically speaking, this range is generally limited, but also amplified by barriers: for example, consider a train car, a line at the store, or an entire bus. The barriers contain the sounds, but also reverberate it back to your eardrum making it even louder!)

My personal favorites are when the callers are mad--I mean really mad--at someone other than who they are talking to. They tell said third party all the ways they are mad, what they're going to do, and how much they don't care/aren't afraid of the person they are mad at.
It's quality, really, to share with your fellow riders that you're a "expletive ass expletive, and I don't expletive care what the expletive they do. That's how I expletive am. Whatever. Expletive expletive got to expletive do what they gotta do. Hold on, I'll call you back. I'm at my stop."

Where they proceed home to their mom's basement (ZING! Ok, so I throw in ONE assumptive stereotype...)

The Write Stuff?

I just finished reading an op-ed in the New York Times by the same title. Interestingly, it was about handwriting, and surprisingly, it contained actual directions for lowercase letters. Much like the plastic strips of letters and arrows that we glued across the tops of our desks in Kindergarten and first grade. (a pause to remember how awesome school was then! Or was it that I was just a nerd from the start?)

The article began with a very striking point: handwriting in America is suffering. I concur, but not-so-much solely for the writer's given reason (which is, because it is interesting: from about second/third grade forward students are taught to write in cursive, and the cursive being taught is very loop-heavy. We tend to read words by the tops of the letter, rather than the bottoms--try it, it's true!--and all the loops make it more difficult to read. Ok. I believe you, kinda sorta.)

The theory that developed for me was that handwriting is suffering due to it's gradual venture towards becoming obsolete. With computers, the only times we need to use handwriting is to sign a greeting card or fill out a check; and who uses checks anymore with online banking? I filled one out for my co-pay at my doctor's office last week because they don't take plastic, and it was weird.

That said, I tripped back again to my elementary days of spelling and vocabulary words used for homework with ten sentences (fifteen for extra credit...of course I did!) all written by hand. I can recall those long page-and-a-half essays due, all writ by hand. I used to make my own books with construction and contact paper, complete with text and illustrations: these authentic originals are in my personal 8-year old script. These days, with computers in the classrooms and nearly every home, how much does that happen anymore? (I don't really know the answer. I don't have children and am not a part of any school system....yet.)

It's a bit of a bummer to hear that penmanship is growing increasingly more poor. I'm a lifelong leftie, and I'd like to think I have pretty nice handwriting, given that strike against me ( I CAN write in pen and NOT smudge!) I'm somewhat motivated to have a Renaissance with my journal. (but what will become of my blog, lol?)

Summer Daze...

I was just wondering what the expectation is for productivity during the summer?
Especially for those in New England, who went through a cool June rainy season, it's as though at last we're able to stretch out our bare limbs in warm welcome to the sun. Who wants to work? Who wants to stay inside attached to a computer, breathing in the artificially cool air?

Things that are on my mind, greatly disrupting productivity (especially on a CW Friday afternoon):

• Sundresses
• The ocean
• Ice Cream cones from Soc's
• How awesome were all the samples at Quincy Market today?
• Sitting out on my deck reading
• Blueberries (frozen)
• What will I get 'Bucked up on for my later coffee break?
• The rock band at DTC was pretty great (what was their name... Lion-something something...)
• BBQ and grilling
• Sitting on an outdoor patio in the swell sunshine, listening to live music with some of my besties this weekend
• Why are the people on Long Wharf wearing bathing suits? It's not exactly like they can jump into the water...and that's not really required dress for the Aquarium. Curious.
• My husband (well, that is a given)

There's no room for work here!

All Dogs Go to Heaven

As the nation and much of the world mourns the passing of the King of Pop, I am missing a precious furry little friend.

Our little Maggie was put to sleep yesterday. It's amazing how much a creature can become a part of your home and family. Our little cockapoo was brought into our home nine years ago, and could fit in one of our adolescent hands. She was a gift to my siblings and I from our parents; but she grew to love mom the most (and at times, it seemed, the feeling was mutual.) Mags had her flaws, but then again, don't we all? It's funny how people blame a dog, considered to be a far less rational being, when it has off days...and yet as humans, feel entitled to be "off" for any variant reason, be it the weather, or the time of the month.

The thing that rang true for me as I sat at the Oak Grove bus stop, my mom giving me the news over the phone, my tears and snot flowing freely for all my fellow travellers to see, are these words, "Maggie loved you, no matter what. The rest of the world could hate you, but she'd still love."

It's so true. Even if you tormented her or teased her (::cough:: SEAN) she'd lick your hand and come back for more. Attention was her drug, but she was willing to freely share. She was always around; she always had time for you; she wasn't ever too busy with life or other people for a chat, a run, a cuddle. I was a close second favorite to mom, and even after I got married and moved out of my parent's home, she remembered me. Whenever I arrived for a visit, Maggie would bark her usual incessant warning (file under "flaw") and then shake her hind quarters like they were detached when she saw that it was me. If I failed to greet her or acknowledge her, she follow me around, hiney ever in motion, and anxious-hyper like a pre-schooler needing to get to the potty. Once I looked down and greeted her warmly, she would stand and hug my leg (not in the sexually confused way, also file under "flaws", sub-category "not-her-fault" for in nine years the dear was neither studded nor fixed-can you imagine the confusion?) She would hug me and lay her head on me until I made a motion to move.

When Chris and I started seeing each other, he became part of the family very quickly for her (marked by the cessation of barking upon recognition.) He would give her attention and treats which bought her complete affection. However, family member, friend or not, Maggie would always wiggle her body in between Chris and I when we sat on the couch or if we hugged. If we persisted in being close, she would whine and "freak out" until we stopped. We never quite figured this behavior out--was she concerned that he was hurting me? Was she jealous of the closeness and affection? Had my mom trained her to be an annoying, constant chaperon?

One of my favorite memories of Maggie is from just last summer. Chris was going away for five days to be a councilor at Legacy's summer camp. I had to stay behind and work. With a track record of doing exceptionally poorly on my own when Chris is away, we decided to have a game plan this time. I would have a friend come and stay with me: Maggie. I can't say who was more nervous when we let her out of her crate and into the new house we'd been living in for just two months: new surroundings for her, new purchase for us that we wished to protect from dirt and damage that dogs can potentially bring.

But Maggie proved to be the perfect house guest! If ever an animal could possess manners, then she certainly did. We made a bed for her which was her space, and she kept to it and off the furniture. While I was gone, we kept her in the basement with the bulkhead door open so she could also play in the yard. She didn't bark (perhaps temporarily at strangers, but after all, that is part of why she was with me!) she didn't chew, she not once went potty inside. In fact, the darling was so behaved, when I let her out and commanded her to "go potty" she would, on command. It was wonderful.

We walked together first thing in the morning, and as soon as I got home from work. She was there for me to talk to, or watch TV with. No matter where I would go in the house, she would follow quietly, just to be with me. If I went in a room where she wasn't permitted (bedroom, bathroom) she'd wait by the door until I reappeared. This may all sound trivial, or even annoying to some, but to me who needed a friend and affection in my husband's absence, Maggie was just what I needed to make it through the week successfully.

I had human friends over to visit as well, and I remember lounging on the couch one evening with my dear friend Carlene. We chatted and laughed as we love to do, and we could hear Maggie fidgeting in the other room with her makeshift bed. Soon, we watched her drag the bed from the dining room into the living room, plopping it at our feet and laying down. One of the girls!

"Who will stay with me now when Chris goes away?" I choked into the phone as my mom explained that this was the best for Maggie. Some years ago, Maggie developed a growth on her face beneath her right eye. My parents took her to the vet, but the vet wanted to charge astronomical amounts of money to have it biopsied. My parents wanted to skip the biopsy and have it removed. The vet refused without first performing the very high priced biopsy.

So Maggie lived with the growth for years, and other than being somewhat unattractive when her hair was cut short (and she looked like a puppy no matter what age!) it never seemed to bother her. Recently, however, she had started to paw at it; it visibly irritated her and the growth grew.

The vet said that my parents had made the right decision. Apparently, one in three dogs gets these tumors, though not usually in such a visual spot. They live a normal life with the tumor for about nine years, at which point the growth begins the irritate the dog. As the dog paws at it, it releases a histamine, making it grow only larger and more uncomfortable. And bad, sad things start to happen.

Mom said Maggie's last day was a really good one. She stayed with Maggie all day, and they walked and played and ate all day. It really does make it harder to think of how normal and happy she was, except for this one thing. But she has been humanely spared very painful and uncomfortable time during whatever years she had left.

It's also hard to believe that she's gone. I still hear her barking as we pull in the driveway, whining for food. And I will probably expect her hug the next time I visit my parents.

Over-Qualified

A co-worker, in talking me down from a crisis the other day, mentioned that she thinks I am over-qualified for my job. While I munch on that and ponder what exactly I ultimately want to do with my life (besides being the best wife and mom ever, which is number one) this scenario between me and the big-shot broker I assist really made me laugh. (big-shot in status; in attitude, my team ROCKS.) Talent and intelligence are not always a precursor to success, even though I can't help but think you must have some portion of one or the other.

RR: (hands me some important legal documents) Hey Erin. I need you to proof these, and then send them to Mr. WhateverHisNameWas.

Me: Sure thing!

RR: He's out of our office in Memphis. You may have to look him up in the system... (reaches for a book on my desk, mumbles,) Maybe he's in here...

Me: RR, that's a dictionary.

RR: (laughs) Oh, right! I knew that. I was looking up "Memphis." Yeah, it's a state down south.

Me: Memphis the state. Got it.

The defense rests.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot...

So today is a shining example of me proving to not be so "wisdomous."

Presentation supplies at work have been touch and go for a while. Like any office, we have boxes upon boxes of things we don't need, and maybe four of the things we do need.

A fellow admin today brought this to the attention of our Marketing Director, we'll call him "B-Rad", as it is his his responsibility to keep us stocked, as it were. She sent him an email, cc'ing all the administration staff and my boss.
He responded (to all) telling her that there was a stack in the stock room (say THAT ten times fast) and if she didn't have the time for him to get in the office and tear through it, she was welcome to look for herself.
She responded (to all) that she had indeed checked that spot already, hence her reason for emailing him.
I responded (to her): You forgot to include "jackass"! He is so condescending and rude!

She im'd me almost instantly with "OMG!! You replied to all!!" I thought it was a joke. A heavy fog of heat waved through me. Certainly I had not sent that to everyone including B-Rad and my boss... I had.

Deep breath. In those moments where you can't take back what you've done, you realize that with technology, sometimes, you can! Quick as I thought of it, I recalled the email. No one got it--except B-Rad. And my boss. Fantastic.

I don't quite know how to describe the panic/embarrassment/shame of the next hour, as I waited for my boss to be out of her meeting. I sent an apology email, and followed up with a call to Brad's voicemail. I ate pie-covered crow.

I got the call: "We need to chat. Can you come to my office, now?"

I got the proverbial slap on the wrist from my amazingly by the book but awesomely understanding boss (deep down, she agrees with my assessment ;) It'll never happen again, and I do have a job tomorrow.

Just don't talk about others at work.
AND CHECK FOR "REPLY ALL!!!"

Serotonin is still kicking!

Raging Levels of Seratonin

"Today is going to be a good day," my husband promised (spoke into being?) as we took our seats on the bus that had stopped well before its stop just to pick us up. Yes, we are regulars; yes, we are obviously dressed for our professional jobs; yes, my husband stands out like an incredibly tall sore thumb. But this particular bus driver has proven to be far from Mr. Smiley (our 6:10pm conductor). He never smiles; he does not even look at passengers when they board, when they thank him, or wish him a good morning. Address this driver with any question, comment or concern, and he will mumble a one or two word response, all the while staring out the window, like a man fixated on a boring TV show.

So the fact that he came to a screeching halt beside Chris and I when we were nowhere near our stop (we would have otherwise missed the bus and had to drive) that was something! We were, to say the least, shocked. Chris took it as a good sign for a great day. I'll take that.

I also ran into a friend on the T who time-wise I never run into, AND I got to meet the new "special" friend in her life--point two for this day!

For some reason or another, everything feels just great today; the mystery is that I don't know the reason. It's dreary out, again. I am wearing shoes that absolutely in now way coordinate with my dress/sweater combo (as an avid "What Not To Wear" watcher, I have Clinton and Staci "tisk"ing in my head!). Honestly, I didn't work out this morning--and I work out every day, or else carry the burden of guilt around with me like extra weight. So why the buoyant joy despite details that would usually put me into an uptight tailspin?

Almost two weeks ago, I changed my diet, totally cutting out sugar, caffeine, dairy and gluten. (and I am super-excited for, I kid you not, pizza-beer-cake day at work tomorrow. Stoked.) The first week was not an easy one at all: my body revolted by being excessively tired, achey, bloated and all-around BLAH. But I've stuck to it. I've done the supplements. I drink the green stuff. And I'm no longer dreaming about brownies and caramel sauce. This is huge.

I love food. I think about it, a lot. Cooking is one of my favorite things to do; a short second to eating one of my creations (or my mom or mom-in-laws! I'm surrounded by ladies who know how to throw down!) And one of my greatest struggles is the cravings, mainly sugary-chocolaty-sweety ooey gooey stuff. The entire digestion process begins in the mind (thank you, Dr. Colbert) and for me, my battle with wanting sweet stuff also begins in my mind. So for me to not be thinking about those things, or desiring them constantly--thank you doctor, that's worth the cost of admission right there!

In addition to this, I feel FAB-U-LOUS today. My shoes look ridiculous with my dress--OH well! All the minutia that usually irritates-aggravates-annoys, doesn't seem to matter so much right now. There's things for Chris and I that I want so desperately but can't have/attain right now-tings that had me in tears just a short while ago-it's OK! I'm good. We're good.

The final testament to my surge of serotonin-natural-high is that I am blogging. I love words, and I love to write; but the thought of having something I write that is personal be so public has intimidated me. What will people think? What if I'm not interesting?

Today-who cares? Thank you, balanced levels and happy liver. I'm ready for the world.

"And I'm feelin' good..."

Mind if I stare?

Riding home on the lovely Mass Transit-T one day, I step hurriedly onto my home-bound train and am so lucky as to get a seat (not common with all the liberated men using their elbows and claiming their seated territory.) I’m not in the mood to read, so instead my eyes linger outside the opposing window in a glazed-over daze….yet not so honey-dipped glazed that I don’t catch out of the corner of my eye this person—woman (I think) staring, nay glaring, at me from the opposite lineup of chairs. Maybe he/she is lost in a negative thought, and I just happen to be a vague obstruction….one stop…two stops… no, I am starting to consider very seriously that I have somehow, at some tragic point in time, killed this person’s parent, sibling, child or puppy. This look makes me feel just icky all over; a look penetrable enough to chill my very insides. At last, this person’s stop comes, and they depart, but not before one final nasty sniff in my direction, a scraping of the feet, an icy cold sneer that lingers long after the deliverer is left on the T-platform. “whew!” I think to myself as I try to return my gaze politely to some obscure point in the distance…except…I can’t… There is this sweet-ish (or Swedish) looking older woman directly opposite me who is just looking at me and smiling. Not a pleasant “how do you do, thank God it’s Friday” type smile. More like a “I’ve got a secret….it’s wrapped up in cellophane in my freezer in the basement….wanna see???” type of a smile. I try to determine which individual’s stare I prefer, while simultaneously wondering how the heck is it that people are so blatantly lacking self-awareness! I’m not being weird by noticing their stares, they are literally looking at me in such a way that makes me squirm and check for boogers and wonder if I really am the only sane one on the train.

In trying to avoid the basement-dweller’s unyielding gaze, I try to look around the car—anywhere but over her head or remotely in her general vicinity. A few seats down from smiley Starrer is a younger-ish gal reading. I am forever curious as to what people read, and quite the offender when it comes to checking out people’s books on public transportation (a book jacket is NOT the same thing as a person’s personal person!) She’s reading…wait, almost got the title…it looks familiar like maybe…Whoa. My eyes have accidentally (perhaps a shift in the train tracks—who’s to know?) shifted upwards and it is amazing but this gal looks remarkably like Eva Mendes. Younger, and, as this is Boston MA public transportation, it is clearly not Eva Mendes, but by golly the resemblance is fascinating! Even the way she has worn her blond and amber-streaked hair up with the flirty bangs brushing her face, and that unmistakable mole! I think I like moles, selectively placed in proper proximity to the nose and lip…well, maybe not…no, yes, I certainly do think they add to a face…well, the right face…she has the right face…

Somewhere in all this pondering, I realize that I, the offended, have now become the offend-er, and am staring, awkward and oddly, at this young girl. I am the creep. My eyes dart quickly away…but I can’t help but look back, like I’m a child being told what NOT to do, but I just-can’t-help-myself….
We’re ALL weirdos at the end of a long Boston workday, heading home on the T. Unless we’re reading, in which case—we’re spared from all offense.

Unless we’re reading aloud…..

Winter's Free Writing....

And I begin it all with a stream of consciousness from January...

I know what it is to be a bump on a log, a couch potato. Man is not an island unto himself. Watching reality tv and people who are so pathetic and who’s lives make me feel good about myself (albeit temporarily.) Garlic French fry stuck to my forehead, magazines spread all around, empty cups and cans, wrappers, dirty blanket. Talking to no one (texting doesn’t count as it’s not aloud) save for my cat, and THAT’S sane and normal. Feeling sad, depressed, or like I should be sad and depressed… when’s the next show on, what’s a good show to have on while reading. What do I want to even do with my life. Maybe this is the cold weather—who WANTS to go out in cold weather. I can make a list of things I will go out and do in the warm weather: jogging, tennis, walks, biking, attend ball games. Library. I’ll run 2x a day in the warm weather—so pumped to do that now, I wonder what it is that happens between this place and that that by the time that then is NOW, I really don’t want to do that anymore so much. Plenty that I feel obliged to do, but that makes it “work”. But without work I feel unfulfilled and that the day is a waste. I need something to look forward to. Fighting the bitter cold to come to work, it seems like such a nicer, more pleasant choice to not have to come in to work—to be able to stay cocooned away in my calm, comfortable, safe place inside a blankly (albeit perhaps a dirty one). But then the email comes, and graciousness, it’s good to have a job. That’s secure. Mostly.