I am Pretty Wisdomous...

To Grocery Mom in the Miss-Matched Sweatsuit

2012-02-08T13:02:00.001-05:00

It was nagging me, so I had to follow-up a statement in my last post. Hopefully I didn't piss people off too much to keep from further reading.

I am not in any way judging the mom in the miss-matched sweatsuit. In context, I would be evoking in those moms the exact feelings I was rejecting with my post. I was (and did state) I can't relate to that, which is to say, my self-scrutiny keeps me trapped in a sense, that I would not feel free to be like that. I wear makeup everyday, because it helps me get out of bed and get out of the house. My prayer is to some day not NEED that, but for now, in the day to day, if it gets me out, I'll go with it.

Cheers to you who don't need it!! :)

Imperfection

2012-02-08T12:26:00.001-05:00

Lately I find myself being far more inspired and encouraged by imperfection than by awesome-ness. I don't mean to sound dark; it just seems that I get much more of a KICK from the people in the trenches than from the people on the podiums. (as in Olympics, getting their medals...it's a stretch...you'll get it...)

In the face of a prescription for Zoloft or a JUST CHOOSE JOY mentality, I'm hovering somewhere in the middle. Some days are good. A few are GREAT. Some days really, really blow. On those down days, which everyone keeps insisting are "totally normal!" I feel so far from normal, let alone perfect, that I have to find someone out there who can say, "Hey- me TOO".

First, to try to describe my fixation with perfection, let it be known that I am a first-born. As such, I am my biggest critic, and I do not understand the personality type that is easy-going, whatever works, just-hang-loose-man (I'm talking to you, grocery shopping mom in the miss-matched sweatsuit and obvious bed-head). Just typing this paragraph is taking me forever because I am continually self-editing, and re-writing exactly WHAT it is I mean to say. To wit, I can count on one hand (maybe one finger?) the number of times I have left my house without some sort of makeup on since the birth of my daughter, 5 months ago. Perhaps this may be part of my problem, and I will note that at this point in time, I only have one kid, and my record will probably change dramatically with the addition of another or two--BUT I would also like to note that I don't put makeup on for other people, I do it for ME. I need to know that I still have the energy to care and make the 5 minutes for a little self-adornment, so that when I look in the mirror I don't see tired mommy, but a glimmer of the kick-ass, take-no-prisoners business gal of not-that-long-ago. I think when Chris and I have more kids, I will just get rid of all mirrors in my house. Man this paragraph is taking FOREVER to write.

Speaking of that business gal, let me get out a quick disclaimer: I love being a mom. It is a dream come true, and my daughter seriously lights up my life, constantly. There is no greater reward, and no higher calling than being at home with your child and yada yada yada. What those women (and by those, I include 6-18 months ago pregnant and working ME) don't realize, and I think few people tell you, is that it is HARD. It is so hard to be at home every day with a baby. Not even in the "I just need a moment's rest, before another poop explosion" way sort of hard. Going from being a busy, productive career woman to being a full time mommy is a ridiculous challenge. It's a transition that no amount of coaching or fair-warning can prepare you for. It is a complete paradigm shift of priorities, focus, sense of production and ultimately, self-worth. I know I know I know the church answer for self-worth, but in reality, there is just a certain degree of feeling valued that one gets from being in the work-force that is harder to pull out of a day of house work and changing diapers. In short, going from supporting a team of brokers conducting multi-millions in business to feeling like a day where Keira only poops through three outfits instead of her all time high of six is a win--well, that's quite a transition.

(SIDE NOTE ON PERFECTION: I closed and saved this post here, thinking I would never finish it or post it because it wasn't written well enough, I had strayed from what I intended to write about, I should just create a new blog and start fresh, etc., etc., etc.,.. Then Keira had a massive poop that only leaked through to her onesie, and that felt like a semi-victory, and I was encouraged to press on.)

What does not help in the tough times is hearing and reading how awesome other people are, specifically women, especially moms. To be real, it is mostly reading. I am as addicted to that Facebook thumbs up as anyone, and lately have had to try and keep away (Perfection me: which really doesn't matter, because anything you would have to post would not be funny, clever or profound enough ANYWAY...). There are certain mommy blogs that on good days, I really enjoy perusing. But on the bad days, I have to avoid them like a preggo lady and luncheon meat (mommy is not bitter, baby). They shall remain nameless, because for all intents and purposes, I actually LIKE these blogs, for the most part. But when grappling with my own imperfection and ever-adjusting sense of accomplishment, these just do not help when I am reading them like this:

THE BLOG THAT SHALL NOT BE NAMED ONE: I have been through so much, which makes me JUST LIKE YOU. However, unlike you, I am now an extremely beloved writer, a size zero, and oh yeah, my husband is a model. I have a seemingly unlimited amount of time to think and write things that are profound, funny, and entertaining, all while raising my three young children (what's YOUR excuse?). I totally make mistakes, but they're CUTE mistakes! ("Oh, haha, silly me, I thought the tree was actually shrinking!!") It's great that my writing has inspired you to blog, but I have thousands of followers, at least as many "likes" on facebook, and a pending book deal, so.... but really, I am otherwise, JUST LIKE YOU.

THE BLOG THAT SHALL NOT BE NAMED TWO: My life is so awesome that the title of my blog just wreaks of how amazing I am. I cook. I clean. I craft. I take photographs. I am magazine-model pretty (my husband is also a model?) And also, the big one, I am a mommy. My life is really one big slice of awesome, and you can view it all HERE and see how you, too, can do it all HERE. Because not only can I do it all, but I have the time to teach you how you can (try) to do it all too! (insert endless sunshine and smiles).

For this second blog, I thought, well, maybe she had her baby a while ago, and has had more time to get things together than I have. I shouldn't feel so bad... but nope! She had her baby nearly two months AFTER I did, so here come the arrows of inadequacy...

I realize that my summations may seem like the jealous rants of a house mommy who wishes she had it together enough to be as successful. Maybe so, but reading my snarky descriptions actually made me laugh, and that, after all, is the point. Chris told me yesterday that some days the accomplishment is that you kept going and didn't quit and sit on the couch. I actually did spend some significant time couch sitting, but I didn't quit on the day, and I guess that is something. I'd write more, but I have a poopey baby to attend to, play with and snuggle.

Passion and Politics

2010-01-15T12:06:00.000-05:00

There’s a rumble going on in Boston. The race for the Senate seat left vacant by Ted Kennedy is heating up to what could be a dead lock between Democrat and Republican; something that is pretty astounding for our little blue state.

The election is on Tuesday, and whether you’re going away for vacation or not, I encourage you to make sure you’re able to vote, be it in person or by absentee ballot. Your voice needs to be heard, and for the conservative voters of this state: this time, your voice WILL be heard.

It’s no secret that Scott Brown has my vote, and I will get to the polls on Tuesday come hell or high water. While I try to do my civic duty as an American citizen to vote in each election with a reasonable degree of awareness, I have never before felt so passionate about an election. I’d like to take a moment to share where my passion is derived from, and how I have come to my conclusions, in hopes that those still yet unaware or undecided might take a moment to think. I believe that I have a report among friends and acquaintances of being someone who is well balanced, fair, and willing to listen to an opposing view respectfully; please consider that as you continue to read.

I missed Scott Brown’s commercial that is credited with putting him on the map; I only heard from other people that he had run an ad likening himself to JFK. Martha Coakley actually sparked my interest in this race, and anyone who knows me is well aware that her campaign has only continued to add fuel to that flame.

The first two facts that I knew about Attorney General Coakley were this:
1) She does not support “self help”. This stems from a situation that took place at a grocery store on the South Shore. An individual was attempting to molest a four year old boy in the men’s room. When his father caught this, he punched said sick individual. Coakley chose to prosecute the father for assault, stating that he instead should have called the police and waited for them to arrive.
2) The Boston Globe ran a headline article regarding Coakley being soft on a rape case. The case involved a man who raped his 23 month old niece with a hot curling iron. As vile, disgusting, and disturbing as that is to hear, it took Coakley two years, and the insistence of others for her to prosecute said individual. Two years. Incidentally, this person’s father has contributed to her campaign.

Coakley’s honesty and integrity are on trial with me. During the debate on Monday, she pledged devotion to the people, decrying Wall Street fat cats, lobbyists and special interest groups. On Tuesday, where is she? In Washington, at a fundraiser, with… Wall Street fat cats, lobbyists and special interest groups.

We all know about the reporter that was “struck down” or “tripped” or “pushed” by one of her aides. I personally didn’t care or think too much of the situation until the next day, when Coakley was on TV claiming that she’s been “stalked by people from the Brown camp” and stated “I don’t really know what happened.” Really? Because it’s on YouTube, Martha, and everyone in Massahusetts watched you WATCH it happen.

The duplicity and deception is intensified in her relentless mud-slinging attack ads. She has twisted the truth in a deplorable manner, and was quoted in the Globe as blaming the Republicans for turning the campaign negative. What?

Where, may I ask, are the ads that promote Coakley for all that she stands for and all the good she will do for our state? During this campaign, I have seen one positive Coakley campaign ad, wherein she promotes herself rather than taking cheap and vile shots at her opponent. When she came out of hiding after Christmas (up to that time, while Scott Brown has been travelling Massachusetts visiting people and out in the streets, Coakley was nowhere to be seen, shopping for apartments in DC, assuming the race to be a slam dunk. She’s also quoted as saying that it’s too cold to be outside shaking hands…) she ran an ad that said she supports family values. I was at the gym when I saw this, and I addressed the TV out loud from the treadmill with a “you’ve GOT to be kidding me! That is NOT your platform, Martha!” In addition to the two instances I’ve already shared, Coakley was soft on two Catholic priests convicted of molesting children. She supports partial-birth abortion and the rights of pre-teens to get abortions without any parental notification.

Ladies, if I may take a moment to speak directly to you, I encourage you to consider women’s issues as a broader topic than whether or not a woman has the right to terminate a pregnancy. If our concerns begin and end there, I feel we are losing any equality battles our fore-mothers have fought. Furthermore, to vote for a candidate for no other reason than because she is a female is foolish, irresponsible and discriminatory.

Coakley believes that terrorists should be tried as civilians; given due-process and a lawyer on our dime. To summarize all of this for you, her actions have shown that she supports the rights of terrorists, pedophiles and baby rapists, while denying parents the right to know that their ten year old is getting an abortion, or to protect their child who’s being assaulted. This burns me, more than any healthcare or tax issue ever could. Our children are the most precious gift to this earth, and they should be defended and protected to the highest degree. Likewise, anyone who would be so deplorable as to harm a child should be punished to the highest degree.

All this is why even the greatest speaker, including the President of the United States, could never convince me to cast my vote for Coakley. Yes, it’s exciting to see change in the Bay State; it’s electric to consider that the Senate filibuster may be overturned by a Republican from the bluest of blue states. It would be great to have some semblance of balance in Washington. And I find Scott Brown to be an admiral, energetic and smart candidate to do the job (and I could write an entire blog for him.)

But Martha Coakley? I don’t care what party she represents, her character and behavior I find to be deplorable, and I would be embarrassed to have such an individual representing me.
I’ve heard and read a lot, and the Democratic tagline seems to be, “Well, Coakley’s not great, but at least she’s not a Republican.” Or, “I’ll hold my nose and vote for the less of two evils.” Or, “I just can’t bring myself to vote for Scott Brown.” I would encourage these voters to honestly, sincerely consider Martha Coakley, disregarding the “D” next to her name. Is her record, her actions, her values, really something that you can give your vote in favor for? Because if she is elected Senator of Massachusettes (I couldn’t resist) you get the entire package, and you are responsible.

I apologize for the length and disjointed writing of this. I feel so passionate and strongly about this, I couldn’t keep quiet. And Scott Brown ran out of signs J

VOTE SCOTT BROWN ON TUESDAY, JANUARY 19!!!

Hold the Phone

2009-09-10T11:37:00.004-04:00

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?

2009-09-08T11:08:00.002-04:00

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...

2009-07-17T13:59:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-26T12:34:00.005-04:00

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

2009-06-18T10:14:00.002-04:00

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...

2009-06-11T16:14:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-11T09:41:00.003-04:00

"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?

2009-06-10T12:46:00.000-04:00

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....

2009-06-10T12:43:00.003-04:00

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.