I Love to Hate You, Regina George

     What's funny is that I picked this week's topic, and it took me much longer than usual to come up with ideas. What are some things I "love to hate"? I started with a blank page on a yellow legal pad. I wrote, "Love to Hate" at the top. After a few moments of nothing, I underlined "Love to Hate." And then another few moments of more nothing. 

     Then "sex addicts" popped into my head and I thought, "Gosh sex addicts! What a ridiculous reason to go to rehab." So just below my underlined title I wrote, "sex addicts." I thought that was just hilarious. And then I started doing light research on sex addicts and I wound up feeling kind of bad about preparing to make fun of something that maybe actually is real and sad. So I crossed it off my list. But then I was like, "Oh ha-ha scientologists" and "ohmygosh Angelina Jolie" and "you know what I hate? Actors who say they're quitting their TV show to work in film and then disappear for a while and then come back to TV." 

     My list grew quickly. My hatred just seemed to spill from me: "Leonardo DiCaprio's South African accent" and "snobby people at expensive gyms" and "city moms who use their baby-strollers as weapons of mass destruction" and "organic mania" and "CSI: Miami previews" and "Bush jokes" and "out-of-control kids" and "Fergie" (the performer, not the former duchess) and "non-Italians who say 'Ciao'" and "the term: fine lines and wrinkles."

     I just kept digging up things I derive sheer pleasure from hating (the volume of my findings-- a little worrisome, I agree).  I was throwing back my head and giggling, rubbing my hands together saying occasionally, "oh and!" before scribbling yet more down the page.  But it wasn't long before I realized that not one item on this laundry list compares to my hatred of... mean girls.  

     I'm not talking about ordinary, perhaps even respectable girls who are in touch with their mean streaks.  I firmly believe that every girl should find that bitch within and pull her out when needed.  Cause, she's gonna need her at some point.  Guaranteed.

     No, I'm talking about "mean girls" in quotes.  Like, "gossip girls."  Like, those girls that you can remember being in middle school, praying you had a time machine just so you could fast forward and see her get her comeuppance. 

     I was teased a lot growing up. My family moved to a small suburban, resort town when I was in 5th grade.  So, I was teased for being new.  I was also teased for being from "the city" (we moved to Long Island from Queens).  I was teased for wearing hats (I loved hats. I blame the movie "My Girl"), for the types of earrings I wore, for collecting those little trolls with crazy-colored hair.  I was teased for reading so much I'd spend lunch and recess in the library.  I was teased for being too skinny, for being flat-chested.  For being shy and nervous and neurotic and weird or different or both.  Most probably I was teased because not once did I ever expect it. The insults came from around a sharp corner- I never saw them coming- and probably the look of shock and confusion on my face made it all worthwhile.

     When I was a senior in high school, my ex-boyfriend started dating a mean girl.  She wasn't popular (as in, "elite"), but she had her group of friends, and she was mean.  She was bitter and awful.  And one night after a basketball game, I was making my way to my car, walking through the parking lot of people doing the same.  I was walking, minding my own business I swear, when I crossed a few feet in front of a car that had just slowly pulled out of a spot.  But then the car's headlights turned on.  It was my ex-boyfriend's car.  I looked up for a split second, but kept walking.  Moments after the headlights turned on, the ex's car lunged forward in my direction and made a huge screeching noise.  I jumped out of my skin.  My hands flew up to my face.  I thought for sure I was about to get run over and die a painful death.  But I didn't.  The car had barely moved.  And when I stepped out of the headlights I could see Mean Girl was in the passenger seat, covering her face, laughing. 

     I hate reliving this moment, because the truth is, I got her back in a bad way, and I feel guilty about it.  So, retelling this whole thing doesn't really make me feel better.  I'm not proud, okay?  But I'll tell you anyway. 

     Not long after this incident I was assigned to a public speaking class.  She was in it.  She sat there-- quiet and safe and smug.  The fact that she was in that class and got to live in peace every day with no visible remorse ate away at me.  On the last day of public speaking I gave the biggest, baddest speech of all time.  I gave everyone in the class a certificate, awarding them titles based on the speeches they gave ("most dysfunctional family" and "best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches").  It was a big hit.  But when I got to her name though, I told the story I just told you.  I told the story about how she thought it was just so funny that this guy scared me by pretending to hit me with a car.  And I threw in there that I suspected it was all her idea.  And then I said that I didn't have a certificate for her, but if I did it would name her "piece of shit."  I closed with:  "And I hope you do feel like a piece of shit.  Because as far as I'm concerned, that's exactly what you are."  

     The kids in the class went in an uproar and I saw her tears from my podium.

     It was to date, the first, last, single meanest thing I've ever done.  I sure hope that doesn't make me a "mean girl."  ...Wait- does vengeance count?  

     Anyway, truth be told, that is not the way to handle a mean girl.  If I could rewind to that night in the parking lot, I'd get over my initial shock, take a deep breath, walk over to her passenger-side door and open it.  I'd pull her out by her collar and throw her to the ground and say something cool like, "What's so funny, bitch?"  

     Nip that sucker right in the bud.  

     Not sure I'll ever be up for that.  I am kind of a lady.  Not entirely, although I try to keep up appearances.  But I do think that alternate ending wouldn't have humiliated her so that I'm still thinking about it 10 years later.

     So yeah, mean girls.  Love to hate 'em.

 

 

Welcome; now kindly leave

Given that I am writing from our Nation’s capital on this historic day, I figured—what could be better than a blog post discussing how much I love to hate tourists in DC. Don’t get me wrong, I think today is a fantastic day, and I got goose bumps standing by the reflecting pool listening to celebrities discuss our founders and recite the words of past presidents. I’m not trying to diminish the significance of this spectacular moment. But I just wish it wasn’t happening right outside my doorstep.

Typical tourist season in DC extends from mid-June through the end of August. There are all sorts of categories of tourist sightings. The first signs of tourist season emerge on the metro. I heart DC and FBI t-shirts adorn sun-burnt youngsters who stand with their luggage blocking the doors, a middle aged man discusses loudly how smart they are for figuring out which direction they were supposed to go on the train, while another curses even louder when he realizes four stops too late that he missed his transfer point. And the children run up and down the crowded eisles, pretending to surf until they go flying.

The metro is only a beginning, however. The surest sign of tourist season is trying to venture into the Museum of American History, Natural History, or Air and Space on a weekend. Forget it. Stay home. It is not worth it. If you actually wanted to read the signs, too bad—because some little brat is probably rubbing his germy hands all over it and asking his mom (who is still two rooms behind him) to read it for him. Although I do love the fact that even in the heat and crowds of summer, the National Gallery usually holds vast expanses of quiet, empty rooms in which I can go to escape the masses momentarily. . . until I walk back outside on to the mall, that is.

I don’t know what it is about tourists that I love to hate so much. I can’t really blame them for wanting to come here; I mean, I love this city—why wouldn’t you want to come stand in the marble hallways and take in the splendor of it all? Where else can you spend days upon end not paying for a single attraction? It’s pretty cool.

But I still don’t want them walking four astride on the sidewalk when I’m trying to get to work, or hoping up and down around me when I’m trying to keep my balance on a crowded metro train, or slowing down the line at starbucks asking if they sell diet coke, or stopping me on the corner when the cross-walk timer is almost red to ask for directions. At the same time, the fact that I notice makes me realize how quickly this city has truly become my home; when the momentous history around me seems at times to be an inconvenience, I can’t help but smile, despite my hatred of crowds. And even though I left yesterday’s concert right as Obama was speaking to try and get to the metro ahead of the masses, I enjoyed taking it in as though I was a tourist myself. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be excited to see them all head home tomorrow and Wednesday. . .

Tofu and James Taylor

In thinking about the topic for this week, Things I Love to Hate, I had a lot of trouble. I could think of lots if things that I Hate to Hate:

• Tofu. I know its supposed to be good and better than killing poor, innocent chickens, but I just can't get past the sponginess. I find that unless you cut it into tiny, tiny slivers (let's just call them crumbs) it tastes like eating stir fry with soy sauce flavored jello. Yuk. I really hate that I hate it, but I do. I can't help it. I want so badly to promote the slaughter of innocent soybeans instead.
• Running. I hate running. I always have, but I wish I didn't. It sure would have made the first few weeks of soccer preseason a lot less painful if I could have just stayed in shape over the summer. I manage to make myself run about once a week in the winter and 3-4 times a week in the other months. I want to be trendy and cool (and fit), but I can't figure out a way to make it less monotonous and boring. Oh well.
• American Idol. I HATE this show. I HATE everything about it from the terrible auditions by people who must know they're terrible, to mean Simon, to drunk Paula, to the bad karaoke of Hollywood week. I know it’s cool to love this show and I hate being left out, but I can't force myself through 10 minutes of it without being disgusted (or disheartened by the state of our country - when is it okay to be intentionally mean to someone?). Sorry Fox, I know it's the only reason you're hanging on, but I can't do my part to save your network.
• Forever 21. Most of you probably haven't heard of the Heaven on Earth that is F21 so I'll summarize: it's a suburban mall situated sanctuary if cheap clothes. I don't like to admit that I shop amongst polyester, spandex, sparkly, tube top clad teeny boppers, but I do. And I also use phrases like teeny boppers. Cheap jeans and sunglasses are happiness.

The idea of talking about what I Love to Hate also got me thinking about what I Love to Love (secretly). These are all secrets so shhhh! Don't tell).
• Alabama. Oh God, I can't believe I'm letting the cat out of the bag on this one, but here goes. I'm supposed to hate them, but I don't. I love them. I was born into a hatred of all things Tide, but somewhere along the way I lost interest in hating. So now I secretly cheer for them (except against my beloved Vols, obviously) and am known to secretly squeal the occasional RammerJammer (give 'em HELL) especially when I've been drinking.
• James Taylor. My head thinks of him as in a category with Michael Bolton and Barry Manilow, but my heart and my ears can't get enough. You've got a friend? Classic. Carolina on my mind (enough said!).

So long story long, I did a lot of thinking and finally wrapped my simple mind around the task at hand, those items that I find great pleasure in hating. Drumroll please.....

Things I Love to Hate

• The Bachelor. You may be amazed that I can hate Idol with such passion yet can be so passionate about this stupid show. I’m the first to admit this bastion of faux tans, cleavage, desperation, and tears should have been off the air years ago. But since it’s not, I still watch (although I've missed probably half the seasons). This show brings out the snarky side of me, but I love being snarky. I think part of why I love the Bachelor is why I love the romcom, I'm a romantic at heart and this stupid show plays to that. Oh, and I love making fun of the desperate girls who talk about babies and wedding planning the first night. Heh.
• Walmart. I love telling everyone how much I despise this store with its big box attitude. I hate the way they sprawl on for miles and miles with their enormous parking lots. I hate the way they treat their employees like dirt. I hate their big box attitude. I hate the way they manhandle the small companies whose products they sell. And I definitely hate the way they draw out the rednecks in droves. And I love to tell all of those things to any poor soul who utters the words Walmart within 50 feet of me. Oh, and I loooove their prices. Shhhh!
• Flying. I like to talk about how much I hate to fly, but I sure love to do it. I would travel every weekend if I could. I bitch and moan about the long security lines, taking off my shoes, and running to make connections because of delays (which I secretly love - such a sense of accomplishment when you make it. Like beating the system at its own game. Take that airline!). I love fitting everything into one suitcase, I love all my 3.2 oz travel bottles, and I especially love the feeling of traveling so far in such a relatively short amount of time. So while United expends all of its energy trying to piss me off by making me sleep in O'Hare, I keep packing lighter and refusing to pay for a drink, pillow, exit row, isle, movie, or extra bag (or first bag).

Don't Step Believing

I totally hear GMon’y’s point.  Why wait until January to do something you want to do to improve your own life?  Well, humans are interesting creatures.  Most of us aren’t totally happy with every aspect of our lives, but we feel nervous and scared about changing things.  A lot of the things we do, but don’t like that we do—such as smoking, drinking, eating excessively, not exercising enough, using bad language, being inconsiderate, not calling people enough, spending too much money, not enjoying life enough, buying too much make-up, etc.—we do for complex psychological reasons.  If anything, I’m sort of relieved that making New Year’s Resolutions is such a popular tradition.  It serves as evidence that I’m not the only crazy one out there.

This year, I’m focusing on religion and attending services regularly.  I often think of how I will raise my children in terms of spirituality, and yet I don’t usually go to my house of worship.  If I don’t do it now, why would I do it then?  Being a good parent is about being a good example.  And I would be a super-hypocrite if I suddenly became someone I’m not now just because impressionable kids are around.  So I’ve started doing that and it’s going fine.  I’m sure whatever happens will be what is ultimately right for me, what I’m comfortable with, and what will be positive for my entire family. 

I think that people make those important changes in their lives in January because a new year is the ultimate symbol of hope.  And when attempting to change major aspects of our lives, we need as much hope as possible.  We need to feel that the change can happen.  But according to my intensive research (i.e. Wikipedia), it can’t.  In a resolution study, 52% of people were confident that they would be successful in keeping their resolutions, but only 12% were.  But I don’t think it really matters.  I just think it’s cool that people resolve to change their lives.  There are societies in which people are truly complacent.  They don’t think about improving things in such a way.  But in America, we do.  However delusional, we imagine our best selves and we go for it.   And we’ve been doing that for long before Oprah Winfrey came into the picture.  I don’t mind that people fail in what they resolve to do, but I would hate it if they didn’t resolve.

New Years Resolutions

New Years Resolutions are very hard for me to keep! I always concoct these elaborate and detailed schemes to lose weight, run faster, educate myself more, etc. I am gung-hoe and dedicated for about two weeks. Then I lose a few pounds, start to think I look good again and become less dedicated. Or a new season of American Idol begins and my resolution to read instead of watch television wears thin as I begin to laugh at the goons and become interested in the characters.

This year, I made a decision to make two resolutions that I have never tried to make before. I came up with two:

1 – I will not hit 'ignore' on my phone. I have a very bad habit of ignoring phone calls if I am busy and then never checking my voicemails. My mailbox gets full about every two weeks and then I get angry texts from my friends and family demanding that I delete my voicemails because it makes them worried that something is wrong with me. Finally, I started to tally up the all the wasted time involved with checking my voicemails, calling them back, play phone tag, etc. I figured that if I just would have answered my phone on the first ring then I would save myself a lot of wasted time.

2 – I will be a better wife. This was one I have never tried to make before because I have never been a wife at New Years before! I know that you always hear you shouldn't create vague resolutions like this one. But, at times, I find that I could have responded better to a particular situation, done a better job of keeping things organized, or been more supportive towards my husband. I don’t think I am a bad partner, but there is always room for improvement. This one shouldn’t be too hard to keep.

So, there you have it. My 2009 New Years resolutions written down and broadcasted to the world. Let’s see how long these will last… :)

Read My Lip Gloss: No New Makeup

I'm already squirming to break one of my many 2009 new year's resolutions. Just this morning I seriously contemplated taking a stroll to the nearest MAC store because I had convinced myself that I needed a new blending eye shadow. "Something light, no sparkles," I said to reflection in the mirror, eagerly trying convince myself that it wouldn't be a felony if I bought just one more piece of makeup. Eesh I'm sick. But I'm not going to wait for an A&E Intervention!  And since the first step is, as they say, admitting I have a problem, then here I am-- Girl Wednesday-- admitting I have a problem.  Below is a very pathetic photo essay that explains why one of my resolutions is to stop buying makeup....

In this pile o' hussie-face:  Essie nail polish in "Pink Glove Service" (sexy name!) and some Cargo makeup (comes in round silver tins)- I think the packaging made me feel like I was buying something industrial, minimalist, rough.  Rough, sparkly lip gloss.  I'm not blind to the irony.  I've got a pink Clinique lip gloss tube for when I get sick of the coral Clinique lip gloss tube that's sitting right next to it.  I use neither with any regularity.  There's even some Calvin Klein in there, even though his makeup history is rocky. He manufactured the goods in the 70's and then as far as I know, again in the early 2000's (see above picture shows his lucite-encased eye shadows). And after Calvin closed his makeup department a few years ago, looks like he's at it again.

My Martha Stewart toolbox (containing all the makeup I refuse to throw out) is put to good use:

How practical-- I keep some of the stuff that I don't use every day in a glass bowl on the side.  I'm like a makeup chef on the food network, setting aside the reduction for later basting!

The reserves:

This little, clear cosmetics bag I got at Duane Reade. In here are the regulars: Chanel foundation, Lancome spot cover, MAC fiber mascara, and a MAC blush.  The most unfortunate irony is that I really use only these four things daily.  So why do I keep indulging I ask you!?!

(In the background-- I keep my weekly-cleaned brushes in a flower pot.  Quaint!)

Not to point fingers here, but Girl Friday is kind of an enabler... Thanks Girl Friday! Best gift ever! GF gave me this multi-tiered set of everything a makeup addict could ever dream of. It's got two levels of eye shadows, two lippies, and one big fat layer of rouge (love that word, but you've got to say it in a bad French accent). I think I stopped breathing when I first opened this. I still kind of can't believe it.

One more thing I'd like to share-- this one's by MAC-- pure eye glitter. In a teeny pot. In my dreams I dive into this little tub and when I come up for air I've got purpley sparkles on the tips of my eyelashes and on my fingertips and everything is a spectacular white winter wonderland.

Look. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I'm a healthy eater and I gym, run, and yoga. Video games don't get in the way of me leading a normal, healthy life. I've never had any plastic surgery. I've never bought anything from the Home Shopping Network. ...What other kinds of things do people get addicted to?
Anyway, if makeup is my vice, then I'm OK with that I think. But it is a recession and it's a new year and I think it's time for me, at least temporarily, to come to terms with the fact that I probably have everything I need in my highly organized, makeup library. So until all my mascaras have dried to dust, and until I'm scraping lipstick out of the tube with a tooth pick, I'm closing my purse and sitting pretty.

Resolution: Take Two

G'mony stole my punch line. That said, since I proposed this glorious topic, I figured I would share a bit about my success (and failures) at keeping one particular new years resolution.

When I was in graduate school, I made a resolution to be a better friend. I had fallen out of touch with my college classmates, lost touch with childhood friends, and only had a handful of people I
really thought I could turn times of need or crisis. Recognizing that this mentality of take it or leave it friendship was no way to go about creating and fostering a support system for my adult life, I vowed that year to make a two-fold new years resolution. First, I would be a better friend to my existing friends; and second, I would be an active participant in the academic and social community surrounding me in an effort to cultivate the new and potential friendships around me.

This two-fold resolution was both a success and a failure. In striving for the first goal, I created bench marks for myself- commit one hour each Sunday afternoon to calling and reconnecting with old friends. Screen fewer calls using call waiting, and instead pick up the phone
and chat, regardless of how busy/hungry/sleepy/or otherwise occupied I was. Send emails every few weeks, giving updates, or simply to let friends know I am thinking about them. Ask about life; inquire into their wellbeing; and, above all, listen. Listen intently.

I was very good for a little while at this. I reconnected, I laughed, I felt somehow more complete in my own life, having opened myself to others. But it was really only for a little while. . . the college friendships grew old and weary, and the emails seemed shallow, empty—the platitudes reflecting the aging process and the fact that where commonalities once stood, only distance and memory remain.

As to the second prong of my two-prong attack, I was able to succeed, for the first time in my life, at keeping a resolution. I took a step back from my preconceived notions of law school classmates and my aversion to the artificial realities and camaraderie of force small sections and decided to learn more about my classmates. Rather than identifying them by row or surname, I would learn to identify them by ambition in life, favorite beer, sports team allegiance, favorite past-time, hometown, or other identifying characteristics that had heretofore gone unnoticed in my narrow-minded attempt to treat school as a job. I stopped fighting the system, and embraced it. I was met with the warm embrace of a fantastically diverse group of 10-15 individuals whose friendships each played pivotal and crucial roles in carrying me through the 2.5 years of school remaining.

Sure, there were people in my section whose names I have already forgotten, and there are people who I don’t really care to remember, even though I do know their name. But there are also the people who touched me so deeply that I will be forever changed and forever better for the role they’ve had in my life. There are the girls who I once dubbed our section “cheerleaders,” who both turned out to be remarkable women. One, a southern belle whose opinions, intellectual curiosity, and tenacity, though initially off-putting, helped fuel and foster my own sense of self-worth as an attorney. Whose hypothetical questions and insane attention to detail during intense study sessions expanded my own legal intellect, and whose willing ear helped me through the most emotionally trying nine-month period of my life thus far. The other, a classy city chic whose self-depricating, yet elitist nature meld together into one fantastically loyal walking contradiction. As we’ve moved back north and left the steamy southern humidity behind us, she remains a steadfast friend. The kind who call out of the blue, simply because they were thinking of you. And when I’m behaving myself, I pick up and listen, and through the banter, I am reminded of the value of such friends. And then there were the gentlemen. The island jokester, the sophisticated I-banker, the fresh out of undergrad charmer, and the mysteriously enigmatic boy-next-door. Those four taught me more about myself in a three year span than almost any real friend before me, save the one I will marry. They taught me to laugh, to take myself less seriously, to let go of myself, to relax. They taught me to appreciate the joy of skipping class to sit by the pool, and the fear of avoiding wild dogs crossing the highway. They taught me that the best beer to hold green food coloring is miller high life, how to smoke a cigar, how to lose at black jack, and how to love platonically. Finally, there was the intellectual, future professor and my dear, thick-skinned Detroit-born buddy more opinionated still than any of the aforementioned gunners.

This motley crew is now spread across the country; and I find myself this New Years, realizing that I really ought to return to the first prong of my attack, and make the same goal once again. The failure part of my story is that my efforts at writing, at calling, and email have long since subsided back to dismal, pre-resolution levels. I wake, work, run, eat, and sleep in a relatively tunnel-visioned state in which picking up the phone to call even my dearest, most important friends must be mentally scheduled. And I screen phone calls. Often. I have lost touch with college classmates, and grown apart from all but a handful of highschool friends, and, with the exception of one, I speak only once a month, if that, to each of the above mentioned once-familiar faces. In an effort to prove to myself that these friendships, unlike some of those formed in college dorm rooms, have the strength to endure into adulthood. Perhaps it is the nature of life that we meet folks who will mold and shape who we become, and only a handful will remain our friends into the future. But as I sit here opining to the bloggosphere, I am resolving to put off that process for at least one year, and try, once again, to be a better friend. Because even if I know it would be unrealistic to tell each of these remarkable individuals how much they meant and continue to mean to me every day, I will be certain to send them my hellos more than merely once in a while. And I resolve not only call, but to listen. Listen intently.

A Life Without Bacon is Not a Life at All

Given that we are a mere 12 days into 2009, GirlTuesday has made the suggestion that we write about New Year’s Resolutions this week, which I think is a great idea.

I had the opportunity to speak, at length, with a guy I met this morning as were were on the way to a community service project. After going on and on about how the Earthy-Hippie-OverPriced-Organic-Local grocery store didn’t have grits and soysage at 7 this morning, he started to preach the benefits of vegetarianism (and veganism more particularly; one thing for which I can never see benefits. Give up cheese and sour cream? No way!). I know lots of vegetarians who don’t eat meat for health, environmental, religious, and ethical/animal treatment reasons, but he didn’t really seem to have a reason for his initial decision other than he needed to make a New Year’s Resolution. So he decided to give up meat for the year 1991, and here we are 18 years later, and the guy has stuck to it. His endurance is impressive, but I’m just not sure he knew why he did it in the first place.

Never in my life have I ever met someone who kept a New Year’s Resolution for a year, let alone 18 years (and one that eliminates bacon and fried chicken from his diet – I can see giving up something terrible…, but bacon?! Now that’s dedication), so I am quite impressed. And dumbfounded. I have never really understood the point of New Year’s Resolutions, and have never been inclined myself to make one. If there’s something different I want to do in my life, I just do it. I don’t see the point in waiting until January (unless of course one New Year’s eve, while bowing to the porcelain gods you decide to give up drinking….then it might as well start immediately). If there’s something that you want to change about yourself badly enough, you should be inspired to move on it quickly; I think if you have a need to put it off so that you can make an official New Year’s Resolution, then you’re probably not that interested in change anyway. And sorry to say, you’ll probably fail. Take all of the overweight women in my office as an example. They’ve been planning for the diets they all started last week since…oh….October. There were complaints of “I can’t fit into my winter clothes” starting around the first of the month, but nothing was done because “the holidays are coming up, and it’s hard to be good during the holidays.” The holidays? What holidays? Columbus Day? Halloween?

I don’t mean to sound overly cynical or judgmental, I wish everyone well in their resolutions, but I hope that people are doing them for the right reasons and that they can stick with their resolutions.

So this year, I’m making my first ever New Year’s Resolution. I’m giving up cauliflower. I hope I can stick to it.

Out Here In The World

I was really excited when GMon'y picked New York City for this week's topic. It's the birthplace of myself and my brother, the first place my parents lived after they got married, the place I went to college, the place where I had my first job and apartment, and the place I became the fully realized Girl Friday I am today. Whenever I see images of New York on TV, I feel instantly homesick. I simply love the place. Yet lately, I have been telling all of my close friends and family that I would never live there again. Initially I thought I would write this entry to explain that although I love New York dearly, there are so many reasons I need to leave it behind. But after reading posts by my fellow blogettes, I feel the need to revisit a few of the many reasons I do heart New York.

As Girl Wednesday mentioned, there are a lot of jobs available in New York. This is largely because most professional industries are based in New York. This situation lends itself to a cutthroat attitude that some may find off-putting, but I like that "in it to win it" quality. I have lived in many different parts part of the country; I can tell you that the New York workplace has a sense of urgency that is unrivaled. Now, it's not nice when people are jerks, of course; and many New Yorkers probably take it too far. But I like being held responsible for my performance, for feeling I have no choice but to be the best. Because the moment I don't, there is a young, eager college grad waiting right behind me. I haven't felt that way the other cities I've worked in, and I have missed it.

Another thing I love about New York that I have to say, I don't think about very often, is its history. One can't even begin to list all of the important things that have happened on that tiny island. And when you live there, you are a part of it. Walking by landmarks, sitting on benches, even eating at restaurants, you are experiencing the past, every single day. In that sense, there's not really another American city like it. Right or wrong, you feel incredibly significant in New York, because you are around so much that is significant.

Which brings me to my last point. One day, when I was 17 or 18, I was walking down the street in lower Manhattan. There was a young boy who looked to be about seven years old, vigorously pushing a stroller with a baby in it down the street. His mother was running alongside him, attempting to rein him in. He didn't want to give up the stroller. He exclaimed, "You never let me push it!" His mother said, calmly, "You've pushed it lots of times." He grew frustrated and replied, "Ugh-- that was just the lobby. I mean, out here in the world." I really enjoyed witnessing this encounter. I knew exactly what he meant. Among the bustle of people and things on Fifth Avenue, you really feel like you are out in the world. Have you ever felt restless? Like you were missing something? In New York, you don't. And there are some people who really like that feeling. For others, they like it for a certain time in their lives, as I did in my early adulthood. Daily life can be tough and it isn't always pretty, but there is still something undeniably great about living in New York. I'm usually not a fan of any philosophy that dictates that you need to have experienced a situation firsthand to appreciate it, but I think that is the case with New York City. It's easy to see that it can be dirty, unsafe, crowded and hectic. Its magic is harder to articulate. 

NYC

We are all writing about NYC this week. And, although I know many of my fellow blogettes are from the Big Apple and have fond memories and experiences, I have to say that I align my view more with GTuesday and perhaps my views extend even further. Although visiting New York City has been and can be a lot of fun I remember being completely shocked last year when I visited NYC for the first time since I was a child.

When you don’t live on the East Coast, typically the TV images you see of NYC usually involve New Years, TRL, Macy’s Parade, Sex in the City, etc. Sometimes you might see a movie that is based in New York or has a scene or two in the city. Things that come to mind are streets full of taxis, big crowds swarming across intersections, and very distinct areas of the city.

Last year I visited New York for the first time in over fifteen years. I was really quite shocked at my visit. One of the things that stuck out vividly was all the trash on the streets and the strange smell of the city. I had a hard time getting past this. Do people have such little regard for their city that they see trash everywhere and don’t do anything about it? Or worse yet, are the trash-throwing culprits? I also would have a very hard time living in New York and not help but struggle knowing you were only a number among the millions of people who live there.

My idea of a great quality of life is spending time with my family when I get home from work, not having to battle traffic for hours or take long commutes to get home. My primary focus in life isn’t my career but rather making an impact and difference with the people whom I love most. I would rather give up a career move to improve the relationships with my family. I don’t care much about celebrity gossip or seeing famous people strolling about; I would rather focus my time and energy on the people who matter the most to me. I love the fact that we didn’t have to lock our doors when we were growing up and my parents felt safe when I would ride my bike around my neighborhoods. I enjoy fishing, hiking, camping, watching the stars from your backyard at night – none of this would be possible if you lived in the city. I have a hard time imagining I could really enjoy raising a family in a large city.

I don’t mean to be critical of other people’s decision to live in NYC, it is just not the lifestyle I would love to live. With all this being said, my impression is simply that – an impression. I am sure that if I had grown up in NYC my experiences would be completely different than the limited number of impressions I have had to the city. Reading GWednesday’s blog reminded of all the fantastic cultural experiences I didn’t have growing up in a small town. My interests and experiences align much closer to outdoor activities than cultural ones. So for now, I will leave the city life for others. I am happy and content being a 'country girl'. :)

They Say the Neon Lights Are Bright

I heard this guy on his cell phone, on the M5 bus tonight:  

"You know how when you get home you just want to chill?  Well I get home and my mom is like, 'He been here all day.'  I'm like, 'That motha-fucking nigga, he got to learn responsibility.'  He been crashing here and crashing there since 1997 word up!"

Ahhh..  Inhale.  Exhale.  I was on my way home from yoga.  The bus swerved.  An old man wearing an ascot, leaning on a titanium walker tripped sideways.  The loud-talking bus rider went on,

"Bro, I don't know if it's genetics or what, but I don't let no one sleep in my bed.  I'm muscular you know so I take up most the space!  But when I sleep with shorty yo, we fit just fine--HAAAA MARCUS BRO!!!  No but for real bro I got to get this cock sucker out of my apartment."

The very old lady behind me was whispering, "Shut the fuck up" over and over.

I'm not sure if this kind of thing (you know, these typical "real," New Yorkey moments that Robert DeNiro's always alluding to in interviews and American Express commercials) is a good thing or a bad thing.  You can't go on with your life sheltered from all grit, can you?  Admittedly, I could have done without this lyrical gangster's discourse.  

But then again, I could do without most things.  

I could do without coming home and knowing that if my neighbor went away and didn't take her garbage out then I probably have one of those sick, six-inch roaches with twitchy antennas waiting for me.  (Those things, I swear they stare right back at me and a mini-tumbleweed rolls between us).  I could do without smelling cigarette smoke and curry chicken whenever the person upstairs has a craving.  

Everyone on my floor can hear my toilet flush.  

Oh, and I could do without the constant subway delays and the even worse- ambiguous "earlier incident" announcements that purport to explain it.  On rainy days the subway tracks get too wet; in the summer they spark and start fires.  On foggy days the buses never show up.  

And then they hike the fares and raise your rent and ask you to work without benefits.  And soon you've been hand-to-mouth for as long as you can remember.  

So you take a big-girl breath and try to walk wherever you need to go.  On the way you pass a discarded mattress on the sidewalk, wrapped in plastic with duct tape and a sign that reads "BED BUGS."  So you cross the street, but before you get to the other side you are ankle-deep in sludge.  Bye-bye new suede shoes.

And then you see a teenager getting arrested before 10AM.

And you get the wind knocked out of you when the crowd around the Rockefeller Christmas tree gets too thick to pass through.

And then you see a woman who's fallen, lying on the ground and among the crowd around her is a passerby who's stretching to take her picture with his camera phone.  And that is not the first time I've seen that happen, by the way.

Want to do something in NYC?  Allot 45 minutes, minimum.  Doesn't matter where you're going.  Grocery shopping?  The simple act so simple it's practically a God-given right-- of purchasing food for the intent of survival?  Good luck.  My neighborhood grocery store is a ground zero of guerrilla warfare.  I do not know where these old Upper West-Side ditties learned their dirty-fighting tricks.  They will use anything as a weapon- a sharp-edged crate of clementines can get you to the front of the miserable 8-items-or-less lane.  Yup, you gotta be quick in the Big Apple.

Above the grocery store is a dance studio.  "Five six seven eight!" Da-da-da-da-- tap tap!  It's the beginning bars of "God I Hope I Get It" from "A Chorus Line"!  My heart races for a second-- a play about resumes.  Could anything be more New York?

What kind of city thrives on the delicate and unlikely dreams of so many starry-eyed kids anyway?  I haven't lived here long enough to know the odds of "making it."  But I know they're slim.  And if you leave for a different town, are you giving up on your dreams?   

...The glitter rubs right off and you're nowhere....

Now, I can knock it all I want, but when I do a career search for various cities, I have to say, New York City by far has the most open positions.  At least in my field.  And it's not just that.  It's not just that there are jobs here, it's that everyone wants them.  If you're working, you're doing a job that a dozen other people would die to do.  People here push forward and scratch for more.  Your career is the pulse of your day.  It sends you out into the twists of the transportation system like a little oxygen bubble coursing a vein.  People are doing what they love, or are striving to, because they wouldn't be living in this God-awful, uncomfortable city just to pass time and spend money.  People come here because of work.  Every day on the street, on the trains, in the halls, in the elevators-- everyone is reaching and pushing to move around.  

We're so close to where we want to be, we can taste it. 

...And there are perks.  You can get a manicure at 10PM.  You can grill Korean beef strips and within an hour slurp Vietnamese cow-cartilage soup.  You can walk under the giant snowflake-shaped Christmas lights on Mulberry Street and be serenaded by the maitre d' of the Italian restaurants.  You can sample red-bean cookie shaped desserts in Chinatown (Girl Friday didn't like those so much, but I still dream of it).  

If you go to an amped-up movie premier (i.e., "X-Men") you can wait for hours with hundreds of other crazies and then race into the theater when they swing open the doors so that you and all your friends can sit together-- this might involve running up the down escalator.  

You can walk for hours and never really see a deserted street.  You will see trees and cobblestones and art deco designs on old brownstone fronts.  You could get lost in Central Park or you could see the stunning red, orange and yellow autumn leaves that cover the ground in Washington Square.

And if you get your heel stuck in a subway grate, it's possible an old man will stop walking to grab your ankle and pull you out without even giving it a second thought.

Or if you fall as the city bus takes a sharp turn, an old lady might catch you- rather heroically- and then say, "Now you've got my back."

Or you can kiss a boy on the street and maybe- just maybe- a jolly, red-faced young man might come up and wrap his arms around you both and proclaim:  "This is love!  I know it when I see it!" 

Have I seen a roach on a subway car?  Yes.  Was my NYU friends' favorite past-time called "Jump Rat Alley," which involved going to a street in Chinatown where hundreds of rats were known to scurry between a dumpster and a pile of garbage bags all night long and trying to jump over the vile creatures without any of them touching their feet?  Shamefully, yes.  Have I gotten stuck on the subway, in between stops for longer than two hours while sweat from the forehead of the man next to me dripped on me?  Yes, it's all true.

BUT.  Have I seen Britney Spears in my neighborhood Sephora testing mascaras?  Yes!  

Maybe one of my favorite movies of all time, "Working Girl," left such a huge impression on me as a child.  The idea that a dopey girl from Staten Island with a bad perm can make it if she worked hard enough-- only in New York.  

Or maybe I've been permanently charmed by:  "Citizen Kane" or "Annie Hall" or "Miracle on 34th Street" or "Rear Window" or "Breakfast at Tiffany's" or "Funny Girl" or "Midnight Cowboy" or "The French Connection" or "The Way We Were" or "Three Days of the Condor" or "Saturday Night Fever" or "All That Jazz" or "Fame" or "Escape from New York" or "Trading Places" or "Ghostbusters" or "Wall Street" or "Big" or "Bright Lights, Big City" or "Green Card" or "Goodfellas" or "Six Degrees of Separation" or "The Family Man" or "Someone Like You" or "American Gangster" or "Reign Over Me."  

    

  

NY, NY

In an effort to shake things up on this blog; we're each addressing different perspectives and commentaries on the same topic each week.With this week's focus on the big apple, I find myself feeling similarto how I do about the city as a whole- intimidated. I do not share the same affection for the city as my friends. I tend to shy away from theglitz and fashion and 4 am last calls in favor of jeans, polo shirts,and on demand movies. I watched last week's premiere of mtv's the city (after all, bad tv is my true weakness), but I still could never envision actually calling manhattan home.

In some ways, I am fascinated by the glitz and glam; but I know thatit is not for me. My own big city seems itself too cold and urban, andwe don't even have sky scrapers. I like going home to tree linedstreets and my view of the neighborhood park. I like being able todrive into the countryside in under 30 minutes, and I like being closeto home. I like running into classmates on the street corner, and I like feeling as though this city of hundreds of thousands is just assmall as my own hometown. I like relatively clean public transportation, and I like that I didn't see any rats until I'd livedhere well over a year.

I am intimidated by rake thin models and the anonymity of the place.The noise and the construction are too much to counter thesurprisingly good tap water. The sheer volume of people and the fact that you can't really hesitate when walking down the sidewalk lest yoube plowed down by the pedestrian onslaught. I

couldn't do it; it is not for me. And the fact that others not only put up with it, but actually embrace it, fascinates me. So I will leave it to my other lovely bloggers to explain the joys ofthe place; I am still too busy on my quest to understand it.

Ben? Or Noel? Or Neither?!

I have a new best gal pal. And if she didn’t exist only in my TV, she would probably accuse me of stalking her. Because I would totally move to New York City just to hang out with her and her friends. They seem like fun. I could be there having Thanksgiving dinner with them, road-tripping across the country, and drinking coffee at Dean and Deluca. They seem to be having a great time and the only thing missing is me! Of course besides selling my house, quitting my job, and packing up my things to head to the land of Yankees (literal and Southernly figurative), I would also have to fire up the time machine. And set it for 1998.

I am completely (and very newly, and therefore sadly) obsessed with the show Felicity. Where the hell was this show when I was in college? Or maybe where the hell was I? It seemed like everyone I knew was watching X-Files or ER or both. The former of which, despite being extremely nerdy in college, I expressed no interest in. What was the deal with the smoking man? And why didn’t Mulder and Scully just get it over with? Seriously. But now, I know what I should have been doing instead of studying and pining for my lab partner. Watching this freakin awesome show.

It’s embarrassing to be closing in on the big 3-0 and be completely mesmerized by the doings of a scrawny, crazy, curly haired college girl. But I totally am. I have the biggest girl crush on Keri Russell. And I am not afraid to say that she should be with Noel. Not Ben. NOEL. And she never should have slept with that art student, although he was pretty hot, and I probably would have….But I do concede that it’s hard to say what should happen being that I am only as far as Season 2, Disc 2. I had to take a break from Netflixing them over the holidays since the family wanted me to get some movies. Movies?! How can they? Don’t they know I’ve been netflixing episodes at a rate of 2 per week for the last month. You have no idea how hard it is to wait three days for a disc (it’s a little remote here and the turnaround time is crap) only to stay up until midnight on a Tuesday watching 8 episodes just so I can return both discs and get two new ones! Sad I know.

Anyway, I had to spend my holidays with the likes of Juno (fab!), Wall-E (fab!fab!), and katherine heigl in the likes of 27 dresses (so not fab, she doesn’t even deserve caps in her name). (Oh, and as a side note, went and saw Rachael Gets Married – got so nauseated with the hand-held camerawork that I had to watch the last hour and half with my eyes closed. MommaMonday thought I was sleeping….not a bad idea…..).

But here I am, back in town, away from the family and my movie obligations, and I’m awaiting Season 2, Discs 2 and 3. They should be here tomorrow, so good thing I’m not GirlTuesday.

Will Julie forgive Felicity for “stealing” Ben? Will Noel sleep with the ditzy blonde on Felicity’s floor? OMG, I LIKE totally can’t wait to find out.

Sadly.

I Am Woman. Period.

I am tired, irritable and I just can't accomplish anything.  Why?  I have cramps.  That's right- it's my time of the month.  I am debilitated by pains in the tummy, a lasting headache, and general fatigue.  It's no fun.

Every month, I start to feel achy.  I snap at my husband and my mom more than usual.  My appetite is even less than usual (I'm not a good eater).  Without fail, I think to myself, 'I wonder if I'm getting sick.'  I get my period with perfect regularity every four weeks.  So, you would think I would be totally prepared for it each time.  For some reason, I'm not.  I'm in a constant, deep, subconscious denial.

I have a theory that this denial is a part of my coping mechanism-- one that every woman has. Even though it's really unfortunate to have to deal with everything involving this beneficent natural process, in a way, it's pretty empowering.  Can you imagine how men would handle being sick, without fail, every month, for five to seven days?  Not very well.  Yet we do it.  We live our lives and for the most part, perform just as well no matter what time of the month it is.  As I started this post, I said I wasn't being productive.  Yet the reality is I got a hell of a lot done today.  I conceived of a new hairstyle this morning (I'm really into bobby pins lately).  I attended and contributed greatly to three long, involved conference calls, wrote up formal documents, and reached some tricky agreements with co-workers. I made dinner (pesto rack of lamb and garlic cheddar mashed potatoes) for me and my husband.  I had a nice chat with my brother.  I checked in with my mother.  I played with my dog.  I was productive.  I felt less capable today, slower, more sluggish maybe, but I don't think anyone other than myself or my girlfriends would have noticed. I performed as well as I do on most days.  I internally whined about my period for about twelve seconds.  Then I got up, took some Advil, made my bed, and put the tea on.

So back to the coping mechanism.  If at the first sign of trouble, I started to freak out, and thought 'it's coming!  what a bummer', I would totally psyche myself out and maybe I would actually be less productive.  So I protect myself from that kind of thinking.  (Or I'm just really thick.  Whatever, I like my theory.)  I don't think a man could do the same thing.  If a man was dealing with my physical state, he'd likely stay in his pajamas and bitch.  And we face related roadblocks all the time.  Men assuming we're more emotional, dealing with us differently, being less comfortable around us in the workplace, having a hard time getting over our pretty faces or cute butts.  Yet women can accomplish anything they want to in the professional world.  And they do, every day.  Isn't that amazing?

Twilight

I have a confession. Perhaps a somewhat embarrassing confession: I have fallen deeply, completely, and head-over-heels into the Twilight craze.

About three months ago, I was driving home from work, battling traffic, and trudging along at about 10 mph on the parkway. During this time I usually try to call a family member, friend, etc to avoid the road-rage that I have a tendency to build. On this particular day my 19-year old sister was gushing about this great book that she was reading. She told me it was about vampires and werewolves and I immediately lost interest, phased out what she was saying, and started wondering to myself about what I was going to cook for dinner that night. I really have never been interested in science-fiction books so a world that included vampires and werewolves didn’t sound the least bit interesting to me. To be quite honest, when my sister started telling me about this book I remember actually rolling my eyes and thinking to myself, “isn’t Megan too old to be reading these kinds of books. I guess she is pretty flighty…”.

Two weekends ago, I had a very busy schedule. I flew from Pittsburgh, PA to Boise, ID (my trip, however, included a flight from Pittsburgh to Phoenix to Portland to Boise). I was in Boise for about 12 hours and then I flew to Tennessee. I ran a marathon the next morning and then drove from TN to Pittsburgh. A lot of traveling during the course of 36 hours. As I was walking through the airport on Thursday morning to catch my plane to Boise, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there was a 50% off/used copy of Twilight at one of the airport bookstores. I had recently seen an interview of the main actor on Jay Leno and the flashback of my sister’s fascination with this book popped into my head. I bought the book thinking, if nothing else, it would help me pass the time on the plane.

As I started to read the first few chapters I suddenly started to feel like I was getting sucked into the world of these characters! When I was a kid, I had a problem with this. I loved to read. In fact, I was so weird. I liked to read so much that my parents would actually ground me from reading. I would get so engrossed in my books that I would do my chores, I wouldn’t eat dinner, and all I would do is read! There is a funny picture of me at about 10 years old. I am in my bedroom closet with the door shut, a blanket over my head and a reading light in my hand. I was told I wasn’t allowed to read until I had cleaned my room and so I tried to sneak away to finish a few chapters. As proof of the picture, I had apparently gotten caught.

So…back to Twilight…after reading the first few chapters, I felt like I was that same little kid again! Embarrassed that she had gotten caught reading when she should have been doing something else. I am a grown, married woman and this book is supposed to be written for a teenage generation. Yet, I couldn’t put the book down! The first book is over 600 pages and I finished it on the first flight. I have this strange ability to read very very fast. I immediately purchased the second copy during my layover and processed to read it on my second flight. It was the same effect; I couldn’t put the book down. I ended up reading all four books in the series over a course of 5 days.

The author, Stephenie Meyer, does a very good job of building up the characters. It is almost like you feel as if you know the characters. It is very strange. Or perhaps, I am just the strange one. Anyways….I convinced my husband to take me to the movie and, I swear, we were the only people in there over the age of 16. There was a lot of nervous, teenage giggling throughout the film in the rows behind me and afterwards the cinema was filled with comments like, “I can’t believe they forgot this part…” or “I knew exactly what Bella was going to say in that scene!”. Nearly everyone there had read the book first and then was going to see the movie.

Well, I feel better now that I have gotten this off my chest. I will try to no longer be embarrassed by the fact that I got caught up in the latest teenage-craze. If you get the chance to start these books, let me know what you think. I thoroughly enjoyed them and am very excited to see the next piece of work that this author produces.

Adam

Little Adam Walsh.  One of my earliest memories is about him.  It's fuzzy, but it's there.  I'm in a department store with my sister.  We are wearing wind-breaker jackets that make swishy noises when we move around.  We are little, can't see over the circular racks of clothing in the store and so my perspective is from a very low vantage-- we are obviously tiny, young.  Most vivid part of this memory is a sense of tension.  I hold onto my sister's sleeve protectively.  She is smaller than me and likes to joke around more and I'm afraid if one of us is going to get kidnapped, it's going to be her for sure.  She would guiltlessly talk to any stranger, probably.  I lead her around the circular racks looking for mom.  Mom isn't calling for us but she knows I am the keeper, she knows I won't stray far.  As we make our way through the isles, I remember looking up at the shopping adults, the ones not accompanied by children, suspiciously.  I wonder- why don't they have a child?  Do they want one?  Will they try and take us?  Just like they took Adam Walsh?  

I remember making faces at people shopping alone, in the hopes that if they thought I was bratty, I wouldn't be someone they'd want to take.

I was a crazy, neurotic child.  

But this is my oldest memory.  It's from the very early 80's in Miami, where I was born.  Adam went missing in 1981 in Florida; my sister was born in 1982.  I would have to say this memory is from at least 1983.  

The details of Adam's death were too terrible for my mother to ever explain to me.  I just knew that the bad man that took this little boy did horrible things to him and that is why I should stay close to her at all times.  In the classroom, teachers showed us that if someone approached us in a car we were to run in the exact opposite direction (a trick that would come in handy 14 years later when I was studying abroad and almost got kidnapped by a bunch of drunk Italian boys).  There were all sorts of stories on the news about kids getting snatched.  There was kidnapping mania, especially in the state of Florida.  

I remember watching "I Know My Name is Steven"  for the first time and being scared witless at the prospect of getting stolen by someone who likes to make slaves out of little kids!  I didn't even like to do chores in my own house!  What would life be like if I had to pour bowls of cereal for a fat lady who won't get out of bed all day and all night!?  (That's what I thought happened to little-kid slaves).  

The Adam Walsh case was a big deal for little me.  Not just because of my parents' interest in the mystery, the tragedy, or the fact that his father became a well-known crime-busting icon.  I grew up feeling like I knew Adam, as if he were in my pre-school class.  I remember developing a palpable sympathy for him at such an early age.  Fearful wondering what his life was like in his last moments without his parents, and hope that I would never have to experience it firsthand.  Survivor's guilt for an imaginary friend.  

Little Adam would have turned 34 this year.  That makes me so sad.   

 

Going Bowling

I just entered my bowl picks for the upcoming college football bowl season. I love the bowl season. Frankly, I just love college football. Some years, I think I actually look forward to New Years Day football almost more than I look forward to Christmas. (And given how many blog posts I’ve written about Christmas lately, you have to have at least some idea of how much that means I like football. I also bought a fancy TV this year to be certain to enjoy the games in the highest-possible picture quality, and, in the days before the birth of the Big Ten network, I was a faithful subscriber of ESPN College Football Game Plan. Oh, and I used to have a splitter on my cable so that I could watch two games at once. The only thing better than fall and the smell of football in the air was the chance to watch my team prove itself on the national stage in the year’s BCS game.

I miss those days.

This time around feels terribly different, however. First, I know far less about the match-ups this year than I have in years past, and I find that terribly depressing. I just reviewed the list of teams, and I haven’t really heard of half of them. I suppose there is an argument that NCAA Division I football has achieved some degree of parity, thereby relegating some of the “big name” teams to mediocrity. Or maybe it’s just that some of the big name teams stunk it up this year. Either way, there are some newcomers to the scene.

Second, I haven’t watched nearly as many games as I did last year, and certainly not as many as I did the year before. I used to stay up to watch College Gameday Final, and could tell you which team had a dark horse running back that would give their opponent fits come bowl time. Now I’m lucky if I can tell you which sideline Erin Andrews visited on any given Saturday afternoon. I’m out of the loop. I feel as though the season flew past without me, and looking at that bowl pool only cemented that belief in my mind. Trying to assign confidence values to my picks seems laughable given my complete lack of awareness this year.

Third, I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to watch half of these games. As I’ve bemoaned before, I’ve lost all ability to plan ahead in my life. Work is known to throw me for a loop as late as 3pm on a Friday afternoon. Not one to turn away from responsibility, I’m already preparing myself to have to stay late at the office despite wanting to watch my team. So I guess there is a piece of me that is trying not to get too excited for the games so as to not end up disappointed when that time comes.

But most importantly, I think I’m annoyed because I’m missing out on the great dialogue surrounding the fate of the BCS. I think the lack of high-profile match-ups is only going to exacerbate the discussion about the need for a college football playoff. When there’s talk of finding antitrust violations in the BCS, you have to know there’s something wrong. When Obama is taking about “fixing” the BCS, there’s gotta be a chance for change, right? My fiancé has crafted a plan to fix the system. My best friend has drafted a 10 page paper proposing a full-scale overhaul of the conference and rankings systems. I used to be able to criticize such proposals and offer educated, well-argued critiques and suggestions for improvement. I used to pride myself on being one of few girls who understood the intricacies of the diverse stakeholder interests at play. Now, I’m just overworked.

My Christmas Buddies: Unnamed child age 5, Evelyn, Irene, Sophie, and Rodriguez

I have loved reading all of the posts over the last week about what Christmas, and its traditions, means to everyone. I was not planning on writing about the holidays because this is always a difficult time of year for me. I don’t come from a large family with lots of traditions or even lots of members, and I cannot be with two of the people I love this year. But over the last several weeks I have come to realize that this year, Christmas is not about me anyway. And I hope to never go back to it being that way.

One Sunday over a month ago at church we watched a video montage of a member’s annual Christmas trip to Nicaragua. Now I probably couldn’t pinpoint Nicaragua on a map with any sort of accuracy (I might be able to since I think I would recognize Panama, Costa Rica, and Guatemala, but I also think there might some other countries in there like El Salvador, so then again maybe not….), and I don’t particularly care for those videos that they show with the children who have swollen bellies. I was traumatized by those as a child and now have to turn the channel when I go past them on Saturday mornings. So I already knew I was going to hate whatever they were going to show me. Well, turns out the video that the member was showing, and her trips, are really inspiring and not sad at all. All she was asking people to do was take a gallon-sized Ziploc, fill it with gifts and necessities for a child, and return it by Thanksgiving. There were clips of her handing them out, and the kids were smiling these gigantic, wide-eyed smiles only kids can do. They were showing off their Elmo toothbrushes and 99-cent coloring books to anyone who would throw a glance their way. Although this was only my second trip to the church (I’ve been church-shopping for 2 years now – I have commitment issues…a topic for another day), I scooped up a baggie figuring I could come back at least once more to drop it off.

Two weeks later I rounded up all of the goodies I needed for my unnamed child, age 5, at Wal-Mart and walked out having spent a whopping $27.17 on Veggie Tales toothbrushes, soap, playdoh, plastic dinosaurs, Hot Wheels, a comb, washcloths, crayons, and the beloved 99-cent coloring book. I then spent an hour at home trying to cram it all in the bag. Merry Christmas Unnamed Child Age 5 – don’t put all of that toothpaste on your toothbrush at once.

A week later this feeling of generosity inspired me to take two names off of the Senior Wish Tree at work (elderly county residents in nursing homes who have no family. Sad, sad, sad), at which point I went back to Wal-Mart for gift cards, a poinsettia, large print books, and a zip up robe. $43.90 well spent I told myself. Merry Christmas Evelyn, enjoy your steamy Harlequin that’s about 700 pages long because it’s Times New Roman 30 point font. Merry Christmas Irene, I hope you learn the true beauty that is finding everything you want (and tons more) at the Wal-Mart Supercenter.

But unbeknownst to me, I wasn’t done yet. We got an email alert from the Sheriff’s Department at work that there were still 102 (102!!) needy children who hadn’t been sponsored through the Mountain Santa program. Close your eyes: Can you imagine being a child who has nothing to open on Christmas morning? Now imagine 102 of them. So I emailed, and got back the name of a child: Sophie. Sophie is 11 and wants Disney and Hannah Montana stuff. You just wait Sophie, on Christmas morning you’re going to have three brand-new pink, black and red HM t-shirts, a HSM3 hoodie, a Disney glitter art set, a HM backpack, and a stocking full of candy, coke, nail polish, Lip Smackers, notepads, sparkle pens, and fuzzy pink socks. I am the first to admit I got a little carried away with Sophie. But when you’re 11, style matters. And at $119.50 (roughly), it was a steal. Merry Christmas, Sophie.

Last week I took lunch with a co-worker who had last-minute shopping to do. While she was in the Victoria’s buying a present for her partner, I took an opportunity to avoid an awkward situation and wait outside. Which just happened to be right next to the Angel Tree. As I was standing there looking around thinking about how it shouldn’t be awkward to go into a store with a lesbian who is picking out pretty panties for her partner, my glance kept going back to the tree. I noticed that the sign said gifts due Dec. 15th and it was already the 11th. The tree was positively covered with names of children needing something for the holidays. There had to be more than 102 (which apparently stood as my own internal barometer of sucker-ness), so I took one. Rodriguez age 10, size 11 shirts and pants, likes cars and trucks. Rodriguez baby, I got ya. I spent an hour at Toys-r-Us Thursday night then a really long lunch on Friday buying a remote-controlled FJ Cruiser the size of my dog, a soccer ball, a hoodie, two t-shirts, jeans, and a polo. Total: $81.82. Merry Christmas, Rodriguez.

So three kids, two seniors later, I am renewed with the spirit of Christmas. I hope that each one of them wakes up Christmas morning thinking that there is someone out there (whether it’s a parent or a stranger) who wanted to make sure that they felt just one day of hope and storybook love.

So I have decided that this year and going forward, the holidays aren’t about making sure my boyfriend has a new PS3, or making sure my mom gets that KitchenAid mixer, and in sum I didn’t spend even as much on all 5 of them as either of those items costs. It’s about understanding what Christmas really means. For me, I can’t think of anything better than spending 99-cents on a coloring book to see a child who has nothing fill with joy.

Christmas Tradish

As I have said before, and as several of my blogettes have concurred, I love Christmas!  You would think we'd be entirely disaffected by now.  After all, the season comes every year with perfect regularity.  Yet I'm still so excited about the recipes, the sales, the TV programming, and the songs on the radio, even though not much of this changes year-to-year.  Maybe at some point I won't really care about the holidays, but I truly hope that day never comes.

One thing that has changed about my Christmas excitement is my perspective.  I now look at all Christmas stuff through the lens of a married lady.  For the first time, I have my own little family.  It's just me, my husband, and my dog-- but we're getting there.  Each family lives their lives in their own specific way.  And our little unit is no different.  We do some things like my parents, some like his, some like our friends, and some uniquely our own.  We keep the coffee in the freezer, we let the dog on some furniture, we say grace before eating.  It's fun to develop our ways of living.  The longer we've been married, the more carefully defined they become, and it's a wonderfully comforting and empowering feeling.

So back to Christmas.  The first few years you're in a serious relationship, it's common to go "home" to mom and dad for the holidays, if possible.  It often stays that way until you have kids, or even for a few years after that.  But sooner or later, the grandparents will probably come to you, or you'll just choose to stay at home.  Most people I know had Christmas at their own homes growing up.  I love hearing about my friends' Christmas experiences, because they always vary in the cutest ways.  And it gets my mind churning in terms of the traditions that will be a part of my household- some like my family, some like my husband's, and the new ones we create.

Luckily, most of my friends and I are in the married-without-kids or married-with-very-young-kids stage, which buys us some time to think of those special ways in which we can make Christmas special for our family units.  Christmas activities that could turn into traditions to create lasting memories.  I thought I'd have some fun sharing what I've heard from others and things I've come up with.  Enjoy!

Opening one gift Christmas Eve, and the rest in the morning.

Opening the gifts from mom and dad Christmas Eve, and the gifts from Santa in the morning.

Only wrapping the gifts not from Santa.  (His come straight from the workshop, didn't you know that?)

Putting out cookies and milk for Santa, or, alleging that you have the inside scoop and you happen to know for a FACT that Santa prefers Rice Krispy Treats, Brownies, or some other family favorite desert.

Leaving out carrots for the reindeer.

Getting the tree the weekend after Thanksgiving, or the first weekend in December, every year

A special Christmas morning breakfast that you don't usually eat

Getting a stocking stuffed with little presents, then one big, wrapped present

Having a holiday movie marathon on Christmas Eve

Making ornaments with the kids, or giving them each their own each year

One present given on Christmas Eve- pajamas, so the kids look cute opening their presents the next day in the photos

Volunteering with a charity during the holiday season, brining your kids along

Driving around the neighborhood, looking at light displays

Stockings filled with only that child's favorite candies

Let the youngest child pick up each present and read the name and hand it to the recipient

Order pizza, or something the kids really love, on Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day-- whatever day you are not having the big dinner

Be open to new traditions as they naturally develop!

Holiday Treats

Christmas is my favorite time of year! I could spend an entire blog dedicated to the reasons why I love Christmas (the smell of the pine needles mixed with subtle cinnamon aromas from my mom’s favorite holiday candles, the visual stimulus of the beautifully wrapped gifts under the trees, my huge clan of siblings running out on Christmas morning to quickly unveil their gifts). However, over the last three years I have created a new and exciting (and just a little silly) reason to love the holidays.

Those of you who know me have probably by now figured out one very obvious and sometimes surprising personality trait. I love good food! It is a good thing I enjoy running and working out or else I would most definitely be nearing about 300 pounds with the way I can put down food. It is a running joke in my office to try to see who can out-eat me at company events. And of all the wonderful tastes and flavors, the one that tempts me the most are sweets. What better time of year than the holidays to give in to this wonderful little desire? I love to indulge in the richest and most decadent flavors that seem to come hand-in-hand with the holidays.

Three years ago I decided to try to share this joy of holiday treats with as many loved ones as possible. I decided I would make a batch of homemade caramels and homemade fudge and send them to friends and family in cute little holiday containers. Well, that first year ended up being quite a disaster. I wasn’t aware that caramels are very sensitive candies and that if you don’t cook them long enough they end up too soft and if you cook them too long they become brittle. My batch was much much too soft and they were nearly impossible to wrap in wax paper. The batch of fudge did not have much more of a success story. I had lined the glass pan with butter to prevent the fudge from sticking. However, when I went to cut the fudge out of the glass pan, it had a weird, thick, white film on the outer edge of the fudge. One consequence of putting too much butter on the pan. I was far too embarrassed to actually give these treats to people, so they ended up in a huge metal bowl on top of my fridge. Slowly but surely (and with the help of my seven roommates) the candies disappeared over the next few weeks. Although I am sure my roommates enjoyed the candies, they never made it to the hands and mouths of those they were intended. I vowed that the next year I would put more thought and preparation into my holiday candies.

Last year, I decided to reach out to my grandma. She had always made wonderful caramels each year and was one of my favorite memories of visiting her house during the holidays. She sent me her tried-and-true recipe for caramels…they turned out great! Last year I also decided to add a few additional goodies to my “treat bag” that I was handing out to friends. I included fudge (with a new and improved recipe this year), divinity, nut brittle, and gingerbread. It was a huge hit!! I individually wrapped the candies, put them in cute decorated holiday paper bags and topped the bags with holiday tissue paper. I was dubbed the “Martha Stewart” of the office as everyone chowed down on the goodies.

This year I have made it a goal to create the best holiday treats yet! In my pursuit of the greatest holiday candies and treats I came up with an idea: I will post my recipe for caramels. If anyone has any great recipes that you think I should add to the mix then let me know! Post it on here and I will promise to add it to my collection of treats that I hand out this year.

Grandma Hatch’s Homemade Caramel Recipe
1 cup margarine or butter (don’t use corn-oil margarine. It will make your caramels too soft).
1 16-ounce package (2 ¼ cups) packed brown sugar
2 cups light cream
1 cup light corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla

Line an 8x8x2 or 9x9x2 inch baking pan with foil, extending foil over edges of pan. Butter the foil (or just spray it with cooking spray), set aside.

In a heavy and large pan, melt the butter over low heat. Add brown sugar, cream, and corn syrup; mix well. Cook and stir over medium-high heat to boiling. Clip a candy thermometer to the side of the pan. NOTE: Make sure that you do not leave the bottom of the thermometer touching the bottom of the pan as it will read inaccurately. Cook and stir mixture over medium heat to 248 degrees, firm-ball stage. This will take a while, about 45-60 minutes to do so. The temperature will probably linger at 225 for a while, that is normal, just keep stirring. You must continue stirring the entire time!

Remove the saucepan from heat; remove thermometer. Stir in vanilla. Immediately pour caramel mixture into the prepared pan. When caramel mixture is firm, us foil to lift it out of the pan. Use a buttered knife to cut into 1-inch squares. Wrap in caramel in wax paper and twist the ends of the wax paper around the caramel. Makes about 2 pounds (64 servings). Sometimes you can find wax paper with holiday prints, and that adds a nice touch when you are wrapping the caramels.

I hope you all enjoy this recipe as much as I do!!

Christmas, Finally

The week before I left for Boston was difficult for me.  Four weeks into a new job that was proving to be the most challenging I've ever had.  Live news, daily.  Working under a stressed-out, in-over-his-head senior producer (probably the same age as me, horrifyingly enough) who opts for public, after-the-fact criticism instead of instruction beforehand.  No matter what I do, I lose.  I am forced to defend myself in front of my coworkers and then I appear defensive.  I forfeit and I look guilty.  In four weeks I'd been so beaten down I began to avoid looking in the mirror wherever possible.  

And the news itself doesn't help.  Layoffs.  Disappearing retirement funds.  The big three.  Bailouts.  Proposition 8 protests.  A worker dies in black Friday madness.  One hundred and eighty something dead in Mumbai.  Cholera in Zimbabwe.     

And every night I leave work and walk past Radio City Music Hall to get to the bus I take home.  And every night I walk past multi-generational tourist families and holiday music blasting from the sidewalk speakers that hang from the marquee advertising for the Rockettes.

And every night I walk past a store and see huge "40% off" signs and I see people at the register discussing complicated coupons, trying to figure out how much more they need to spend before they can qualify for the deal.

And every night I walk past empty restaurants with bored-but-nervous waiters and "retail space available" signs over brown-papered windows.  

And Gray's Papaya now has a "recession special."      

Two nights before I left for Boston, I almost died while trying to make it to the bus to leave work.  Almost crushed to death by the throngs of people pushing to see the NBC tree-lighting ceremony.  I can't remember the last time I'd seen such acts of stupidity.

I'd had a really bad day at work.  And when the crowds started pressing me farther and farther from my bus stop and I had no control over anything, I just burst into tears and decided to walk home.  

I stopped at a Chinese takeout place on my way-- garland and tinsel and big metallic snowflakes hung around the restaurant.  And classic Christmas tunes played to an almost non-existent audience.  Just me.  Waiting for my chicken black bean.  Few things sadder than a Chinese restaurant during the holidays.  Well, except a girl with mascara tear tracks staining her cheeks, waiting for her number 81 special, all alone in a Chinese restaurant during the holidays.

But two days later I found myself in Boston.  Old, beautiful Boston.  Wide streets, lined with lighted trees and polite people who would say sorry or excuse themselves if they cut you off too close.  Quincy market-- full of trinkets and chocolate covered pretzels that are always there- not just during the holidays.  People eating fried foods at the Celtics game.  People spilling onto Hanover Street and into the Italian restaurants.  No one needs an excuse to indulge, or an annual festivity to drink to.  Music and history in the streets.  Cobblestones.  Gold eagles and old clocks... New York City is mostly black and gray. Boston is brick red.  There's rolling mountains behind the cityscape.  I did absolutely nothing all day and was fully entertained.  

When I woke up in my hotel room on my last day in Boston, snow covered the treetops. Everything in the entire city seemed still.  

Merry Christmas.

  

Wii wish you a Merry Christmas

I had vowed to write about something other than the holidays this week—but Charlie Brown Christmas is on, and I just got some new ornaments for the now-decorated tree, and I can’t help but get excited about Christmas morning.

My fiancé and I bought ourselves a Wii for Christmas. We were shocked when we walked into the Best Buy last night and they still had one in stock, and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend the Christmas season on my parents’ floor playing Mario Kart with our Wii Wheels.

Proud of our purchase, my fiancé then called his friends to let them know we’d gotten one. They promptly invited themselves over to play. Unfortunately for them, we informed them that we would be abiding by yet another of my “rules” – Christmas presents cannot, under no uncertain terms, be opened before Christmas morning. Aside from “early” Christmas presents like my new Christmas tree skirt, or the first ornaments my parents bought us, I refuse to give in to the desire to break open that new video game system and start playing.

I do the same thing with birthday presents. Even when I was in graduate school and my parents’ birthday presents would arrive weeks early, I would let the boxes sit on my apartment floor until midnight on my birthday, or, when I was exercising the utmost restraint, until the following morning. There’s something far too anticlimactic about opening them early—then there’s nothing to look forward on the day of.

The same thing goes double for Christmas. I still go to bed before my parents on Christmas Eve, and I still refuse to see the presents around the bottom of the tree until Christmas morning. Although their new house is only one story and it’s hard to go “upstairs” anymore, I always go hide when it’s time for Santa to come. To that end, I plan to wrap up our Wii and put it under the tree at my folks’ house, because even though we both know what it is, I want the joy of finding it under the tree and opening it and playing with it all day long on Christmas day.

Perhaps it’s something I will grow out of when I have my own children, and I’ve learned to appreciate the joy of their smiling faces on Christmas morning, as opposed to my own refusal to grow up. For now, however, I am having a hard time letting go of the little girl in me, perched at the top of the stairs, waiting with baited breath to be told I’m allowed to come downstairs and see the tree.

The End of the Internet

The internet isn’t that great, really. I once had a job for TWO years that gave me so much free time that I think I actually got to the end of the internet. Seriously. One Thursday (not that I remember exactly) afternoon, it just hit me that there was nothing else to look at. I couldn’t think of one single website that I hadn’t been to or one single headline, byline or pop-up ad, I hadn’t clicked on.

So that gave me the idea to give back (and really, hope you all will, in turn, give to me) by recommending some places to visit should you choose to spend some time during the day on the information superhighway.

I usually like to start my day with news: cnn.com, nytimes.com, washingtonpost.com, local papers, etc. I have four local papers that I read (don’t ask) – I like to know what’s going on in just about every major city that I’ve ever lived in. My favorite days are: wedding announcement Mondays in the NYT, and DateLab Sundays in the Washingtonpost. (this is a particularly good one: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/08/14/AR2008081401423.html). I also like the GoingOut Gurus and the Travel Discussion – it’s got me thinking about spending New Year’s in Iceland. If I want a laugh or get desperate I go to foxnews.com (sorry!).

And for real news, I also hit up the espn.com, which is sort of news, sort of pretty boys. Mmmmm. Pretty boys. Paying particular attention to Page 2, which is the funnier and less informative part of espn: http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/index. Two of the best things to read are the SportsGuy and UniWatch. Good times, good times. And in the winter it’s uscho.com for your hockey fix. Another entertaining “news” site is eonline.com. As are theonion.com and people.com. And if you want to kill some major time, one of my all-times favorites is televisionwithoutpity.com.

At various times I also check email: yahoo.com, hotmail.com, and gmail.com (never know when someone might email that hotmail account I set up in 1995 and stopped using regularly in 1998). And my grad. school email account. Speaking of, if I get really desperate I hit up both the college and grad. school webpages, just in case somethin’s going down that I need to know about. My college has this great alumni note section where folks can post stuff, so I like visiting there when I’m feeling good about my life. Just to put my self-confidence in check. Married: nope, Lawyer: nope, Doctor: nope, Fulbright: nope, Baby: nope. Check.

I also do a little shopping: Nordstrom.com, amazon.com, ebay.com, cars.com (I’m alllllways car shopping), petfinder (cute puppies!), zillow.com (got to check the value of the house), bluefly.com, zappos.com, target.com, pollstar.com, horchow.com, ikea.com, and one of my favorites: nancykoltesathome.com.

Now don’t get me started on all the job-hunting sites I sometimes check, which are too numerous to mention, but the sum of which stands at an astounding 51. Not including such crappy sites as monster.com and careerbuilder.com which I actually find aren’t worth my time—and that’s saying something.