My roots in advertising

I have been pondering how I've always had a fascination with advertising, even before I was a bonafide copywriter. I was talking to another copywriter who works here and she was saying how it all seemed dumb to her and she didn't care about it at all, and I realized that I really do. To me, this is really ... well... fun. Then I wondered, why do I think that? When did this begin? I began to realize that my affinity for this biz began way before Melrose Place or Kramer vs. Kramer ( wasn't that the one w/Michael Douglas and Terry Garr? The tuna fish campaign? or was that Mr. Mom?).

I can remember being drawn to ads as a child. For instance, after watching a Cascade commercial popular in the late 70s/early 80s a million times, I remember asking my mom "what does 'virtually' mean? The ad says virtually spot free." And my mom answered "it means 'almost'". Even at that age, I recognized the cleverness of vocabulary. How using the fancy word "virtually" made it sound so much better than "almost." The funny thing is, there's an ad out right now for some new prescription drug; I believe the line is "virtually pain free". Or something like that... it never grows old, does it?

Another early advertising memory is when I took Marketing in high school. That's when I first learned the term "weasel words" -- words used in advertising that can say something not absolutely true without actually lying. I also remember looking at print ads and trying to discern the naked lady in the whisky and cigarette ads -- i never actually saw her, but everyone around me (mostly pre-pubescent boys, now that i think about it) attested to her presence.

In college I majored in Journalism and minored in English -- yes, I was a nerd who took lit classes as electives because I thought they were fun (well, one of them WAS called "Women and the Supernatural in Fiction" - how cool is that?). I also took several marketing classes not because I had to, but because it interested me. I even took an introductory Advertising class, and while I don't remember much that I learned in there, I do remember it was one of the few classes I didn't dread during my illustrious college career.

My first job out of college was as a Marketing Communications Specialist at a tech company called OI Analytical. I did their manuals as well as their brochures and ads. I remember how excited I was to be writing copy for a print ad for PIDs -- photo-ionization detectors. Yeah. I believe the ad ran in a publication called "Testing and Analysis" or something like that. I still have it, although I don't include it in my "book" anymore. Little did I know it would be a good 10 years after that job before I found my way back into anything remotely resembling advertising...

I was SO excited when I landed my first writing job at an advertising agency. Even though I didn't actually get to do ads yet, I was in a department called "Creative", and that was cool enough for me! So what if the clients were all technical? I was a "creative"! I was devastated when the tech market crashed in 2001 and I lost my job, along with dozens of others. It then took another 2 1/2 years to get back into ad writing, and here I am today as a "Senior Copywriter" at a bonafide advertising agency. I get a thrill just looking at my title on business cards, which, I know, is uber-geeky. But I can't help it! I really like my job! It was worth all the years in between when I was a Technical Writer, writing manuals for different instrumentation, software and hardware. I was SO not cut out for that, and I could never understand why I felt so unhappy and so stuck.

All that to say I feel so fortunate to be in this place, at this point in my career. I hope I continue to learn and grow and maybe graduate from ads to books someday -- that is my all-time dream, after all. Believe it or not, this Blog makes me feel like I'm making progress, even if just a tiny bit.

So none of that was really funny, and I think my funnier posts are more interesting. Hmm. I'll have to think about it and maybe post again later. Don't want to bore my audience of thousands.

HA!

Where I'm at

I am in an odd sort of mood today. Not happy, not sad, not hopeful, not bleak...just...here. I just finished my daily blog reading, and CrazyUs(.com) was intense today. I followed all the links in her blog entry and found several deep and introspective past entries that have put me in this strange emotional place.

It is a beautiful day -- blue sky, cool breeze -- the kind of day you just don't want to be sitting in a cubicle. I am very grateful, though, to have a cubicle in which to sit. I am feeling pretty productive at work the past week or so, which is good.

My dad is doing well, recovering day by day. He's having these strange hallucinations, which he and my mom attributed to the painkillers, but his Dr. said that actually, lots of people who have been on the heart/lung machine during bypass surgery seem to hallucinate for weeks afterwards. There doesn't seem to be a medical reason why, it's one of those spiritual mysteries -- but I think it's totally cool that his doctor warned him, it's THAT common. And that my dad seems cooled out by the whole thing -- vs. scared to death, which is how I imagine I'd feel if I woke up to see the King and Queen of England sitting by my bedside. But hey, that's me...

I guess what's notable about where I'm "at" today is I'm not in a good or a bad place; I'm...no place, if that's possible. I am feeling content, pensive, sad, happy, hopeful and disappointed, all simultaneously, and for no good reason. Maybe I need to look at my calendar and see what time of the month it is...hmmmmm.......

That's all I got so far today. If anything comes to me in a flash of brilliance, I will surely update all you folks out there on The Internets. (heehee)

Ciao for now.

Road rage

Tonight I had my first brush with honest-to-goodness road rage -- I figured it must be what they talk about, because I actually considered spinning my car around and chasing down the offending minivan in an attempt at intimidation. But we live in the same subdivision, so i didn't think it would be smart. However, the dumbass in the minivan didn't think THIS was a problem:

To the minivan a**hole that honked at me tonight:

You. Suck. In case you didn't notice, the roads were wet, it was dark, and cars were zooming towards us from the other direction as we waited to turn left into our neighborhood. These are not conditions under which I take chances. EVER. And even though you couldn't possibly know that almost 2 years ago I hydroplaned on a damp road and had a horrible head-on collision with a Tahoe; and how the resulting health problems plagued me for a year; and how my nephew's baptism had to be postponed TWICE because of this wreck and its aftermath. You couldn't know this, but maybe in the future you'll think before you so rudely honk. I'm sorry, I'll wait an extra 30 seconds before jumping out in front of an oncoming car -- and if you're behind me, well i might be saving your life too.

WHAT exactly made you think it was okay to HONK?? TWICE?? Were you rushing home for the Oscars? Because you needn't have rushed, they still went til after 10.... The second time I honked back a "f*** you" honk, and I'm proud to say it did indeed say exactly that and more. In a stroke of momentary horn-honking genius, I managed to pop out the perfect honk to answer your insistent, whiney, impatient honk. Mine said "I am not a grandma, I am not going before I'm good damn and ready, and btw: f*** you."

I'm sure you got the message, because when I did turn into our neighborhood, you sheepishly followed. And when we turned in separate directions at the stop sign, you feebly slunk off to whatever your most important destination was. I was still steaming and thinking of chasing you and saying bad words out loud in my car and how dare a MINIVAN rush my badass Camry SE... but you know? Thinking about writing about this calmed me down. And I do feel better.

Still, you'd better hope I never see your minivan in a dark alley.
Lisa

Memory lane

I admit it, I stole this from another blog. But I thought it might be interesting, so... I'm also going to challenge my thousands of readers to answer the same questions and share them with the internet ;) Here goes:

YOUR SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL

[What year was it?]
1987-1988

[What were your three favorite bands?]
Wham!, Berlin, Adam Ant

[What was your favorite outfit?]
jeans, a button-down shirt tucked in, a belt (HA), flats in the same color as my shirt

[What was up with your hair?]
really long and curly with poofy 80s bangs

[Who were your best friends?]
Ann, Christine, Chris

[What did you do after school?]
either talk on the phone for hours to Ann or Chris, or hang out with one of them

[Did you take the bus?]
Luckily, I was never a bus kid. My senior year I drove a '63 VW bug in a bright, kelly green color. No AC, no shoulder seat belts... the perfect car for a new driver ;)

[Who did you have a crush on?]
Barry J., hunky football player

[Did you fight with your parents?]
Oh yes.

[Who did you have a CELEBRITY crush on?]
Adam Ant. John Cusack (Better off Dead)

[Did you smoke cigarettes?]
Nope. Although I faked it once, as a freshman, to make a boy think I was cool. p.s. -- it didn't work. (although there is karmic justice -- about 10 years after HS my sister and I were at the local Jim's near my parent's house and this very same boy was now our overweight waiter)

[Did you lug all of your books around in your backpack all day because you were too nervous to find your locker?]
No, I carried a small stack of books w/me and looked forward to going to my locker because there might be a note in there from my best friend or boyfriend.

[Did you have a 'clique'?]
I don't think so. I hung around with my boyfriend and his friends, mainly.

[Did you have "The Max" like Zach, Kelly, and Slater?]
Um. I don't think so. (I know this is a 90210 reference, but who is "The Max"???)

[Admit it, were you popular?]
No. Although in retrospect, I think people knew who I was, but I was always associated w/Chris and was considered "shy and quiet." HA.

[Who did you want to be just like?]
Molly Ringwald or Tanya B. (who, incidentally, dated Barry, my secret crush).

[What did you want to be when you grew up?]
I suppose I thought I'd be a wife and mother.

[Where did you think you'd be at the age you are now?]
Married, living in a nice house in the burbs with a handsome husband and beautiful children, driving an Iroq (sp) Camero.

You're it!

Cat love

I don't know if it's an insecurity thing or what, but ever since I left the kitties for a few days last week, Jess has been craving Kitty Crack (aka catnip) every day. Usually it's like a once-a-week thing; he tells me when he wants it, and I usually comply. I mean, it's not ILLEGAL or anything... But like I said, I leave them for a few days and he becomes a junkie. And he's taking Piper down the path of destruction with him, because she worships him and does whatever he does. Including eating whenever he eats, even when I can totally tell she's not even hungry. Luckily she's smarter than me and will usually stop eating in a few seconds when she realizes she's not really hungry. How 'bout that. Huh.

So I'm used to being kissed awake in various stages of the night to feed Jess. I can do that without really waking up, actually. Occasionally he tricks me and gets me up in the MIDDLE of the night, but usually he lets me sleep until a) my alarm goes off on a weekday or b) the sun comes up on a weekend. Have I mentioned how smart he is? Or is it crafty? Maybe manipulative? Oh, it doesn't matter, we're in love.

ANYWAY, the latest thing is now he not only wants catfood, but he wakes me up for catnip. And I think he's even more insistent when he's craving a fix than when he's merely hungry for pellets of dust. All this is leading up to a point: finally, this morning he started kissing and nuzzling on me the first time my alarm went off, which is a NO-NO. But he wouldn't let up, so I stumbled into the kitchen and saw that he had food -- then I realized he wasn't at the food dish, he was standing up against the cabinet where the catnip is. He was reaching for the catnip. He is very tall. A very long cat. So I shrugged my sleepy shoulders and gave him and Peeps a pinch of the good stuff. Went back to bed for about 30 more minutes. When I woke up again, he was back on my head, where he sleeps, but now he was purring MUCH louder than before, and it was a contented, relaxed purr rather than a "normal" run-of-the-mill purr. Awww, how sweet, right? I sat up and realized then that...my....ear...was......wet. WTF? Wait...no, it couldn't be...but it was........DROOL. Jess was so stoned he drooled into my ear. Enough that it pooled and trickled down my cheek when I sat up.

Now you know I adore the gray man. But this was a little above and beyond, I think. It set me off-kilter for the day and I have been mildly disturbed ever since then. Maybe that's why I'm having so much trouble writing this RIVETING ARTICLE on MOBILE TECHNOLOGY!!!!

That is all. Any weird pet stories you care to share?

Loving normalcy

I can't tell you just how glad I am that this week feels "back to normal" -- what I might have in the past considered "dull" is now a virtual paradise. While I did go to SA this weekend, I came back Sunday night and spent yesterday by myself, napping and vegging out -- things I love but haven't had much time for as of late. The highlight was when my mom called last night and said dad went home yesterday! So basically, he went from the ICU, to a reg. ward for 1 1/2 days, then home. I know I personally was scared to go home after my pulmonary emboli, but was also VERY glad to sleep in my own bed again. I just remember for weeks, every time I bent over to do the cat litter or pick something up, I expected to have a brain clot and die instantly. (I still think that, but i've learned to live with the fear and uncertainty ;)

ANYWAY, dad is home, work is back to being busy (which gives me a sense of job security, no matter how flimsy), my sister is hosting bunco tonight with the ladies, and things are feeling...very normal. I don't have anything exciting to write about -- THANK GOD! Let's keep it that way for a few days, shall we?

What we don't remember

Since I've had hours and days on end to read my Oprah magazine, I mean READ it, every article, I learned some really spooky stuff in this month's issue. Most notably, there is an article on repression (http://www.oprah.com/spiritself/omag/ss_omag_200503_mbeck.jhtml). Like, things we know but won't face. Don't think that applies to you? Well, here are the questions it says to ask yourself:

-What do I almost know?
-What do I almost feel?
-What would I want to do if it weren't forbidden?
-What am I tired of hiding from myself?
-What really happened, though I act as if it never did?
-What is it that my family and I all know but no one ever talks about?

People, these questions reverberated inside my brain and stopped me in my tracks. I might even make some reference to my heart actually stopping, but that would be tacky under the circumstances. Here's the part that is freaking me out -- even as I read the questions and get goose bumps and think to myself "wow.", I WILL NOT LET MYSELF ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS. I have reread the article several times, but I canNOT make myself respond, even in my brain. Like, that is such a blatent example of what the whole article is talking about, that it's frightening. I don't think I have anything truly earth-shattering hovering below the surface, but to answer these questions honestly? Holy crap. I'm going to have to work up to it. And I may not post the answers in the blog when I do face them. We'll see how incapacitated the answers render me.

My brain is now officially and completely fried for the week. It has had all it can take and has separated from my body.

Guess i'd better get back to work... ;)

Validation

Well my dad is back from la-la land, and he’s most definitely still my dad. We left him about an hour ago and he was ordering the nurse around and cracking jokes – all while in a great deal of pain and high on morphine. Good times. So he’s awake, mostly alert, and does not show any signs of having a stroke – all good news. Before we went into the ICU to see him, his surgeon came out and asked us to work hard to convince him that he was okay – we were like ok, whatever dude. The heart surgeon (also somewhat hot, I might add) said lots of times his patients wake up from this surgery convinced they are dead. Seriously. They think they are dead and it just takes a while for the anesthesia to wear off and the pain to subside before they get it. Well my dad didn’t think he was dead, but he certainly didn’t believe any of us that the surgery was so smooth – no crises, nothing unplanned or scary, completely on schedule. Which leads me to believe he was not nearly as optimistic about the whole thing as he would have us believe. Hmm.

Well his doctor wasn’t kidding --- my dad urgently questioned first my mom, then my brother, then me, asking, “Am I okay?” “Yes, everything was great, you’re great.” “You’re lying.” “No, I’m not – really, the surgery was fine. “Quit lying to me.” “No, REALLLLY…” “Liar.” “Dad, I am not lying to you, you know it gives me a stomach ache to lie.” and on and on for about half an hour. But I think we convinced him. Some interesting things I noted during the hour we spent with him in the ICU before they kicked us out:

• My dad: “where’s the nurse?” “I’m here.” “who are you?” “Nancy.” “Come here, I want to see you.” She pokes her head around my mom to say hello, and my dad, from behind his oxygen mask, says “Oh good, I got a pretty one.” My dad, the fossil. But I’m guessing the nurses at the army hospital are used to such attention… Anyway, her response was “We’ll be sure your nurse tomorrow is big and ugly.”
• My dad: “My fingers are stuck together.” This coming from a man who had been telling us over and over to uncover his arm that wasn’t covered. So my mom was all “babe, no they’re not.” “Yes they are.” My mom, to humor him, lifted his hand and I’ll be damned if his fingers weren’t stuck together. Apparently the yellow goo all over him was sticky and his fingers were webbed. HA.
• He kept asking what time it was, compulsively, from the moment we got in there. 7:30. 7:38. 7:52. 8:00….. after asking about 10 times he said “my life…is creeping…by…”. The nurse told him it was going to be a long night. No shit. She really has NO IDEA what she’s in for tonight…
• Here’s another good dad quote; my mom was holding his hand, smoothing his hair and he says through the oxygen mask, “Jan, FIX MY HAIR”. This is noteworthy because the first thing he asked when we arrived this morning was for my mom to fix his hair. The nurse had to go track down a comb. This is Normal Dad Behavior. See what I mean? He’s all there.
• My dad to Nurse Nancy (whose name he kept forgetting b/c of the drugs): “Did they tell you I wrote a book?” “No, they didn’t,” “Well, I wrote a book.” Us: “He sure did.” Nurse Nancy, politely: “what’s the book about?” My dad: (long pause) “I don’t know.” (that damn morphine). She looks at me and I say “It’s about Vietnam.” (brief pause) “Wow dad, wouldn’t that be cool if you forgot about Vietnam?” No comment from dad. But I think he was laughing on the inside.

So now we’re home and I’m completely numb. I don’t feel tired, I don’t feel stressed, I don’t feel anything at all. So I’m going to finish writing this and then go knock myself out so I can get some sleep. The hospital will call us if anything goes down during the night -- his surgeon said for some reason, complications always seem to happen in the middle of the night. Tomorrow we’re going up there again early so we can catch his doctors doing rounds and hear the scoop. My dad will also be a lot more alert by then. God help his nurse – she has no idea how long the night really is going to be, trapped in a small room with an ornery, morphine-filled, retired Lt. Colonel from the U.S. Army.

That's my dad.

Waiting

I have been here in the waiting room at the hospital since 5:45 this morning. I have taken two 30-minute “naps” and the rest of the time I’ve been chatting with my mom, then my brother, then my sister in law. I feel very disconnected right now. I am sitting, looking out the window into the hallway at the double doors leading into the ICU where my dad lies, very still, very pale, covered in yellow “paint”, filled with tubes and wires, submerged in beeps and bells and the breathing machine. He came out of surgery about an hour ago and will remain in the ICU for several days. Right now we are waiting for him to wake up from the anesthesia. This is that trigger point I was talking about yesterday; that’s the part my Grandmother never did: wake up from the anesthesia. The surgeon sat us down and told us everything went well, he didn’t expect any complications, BUT he cannot guarantee that my dad didn’t have a stroke. They won’t know until he wakes up and “follows orders” enough for us to tell he is alert and still my dad. So here I am 12 hours later, waiting. I am in this weird, tired, goofy state; so far today I have knocked over two drinks and dropped my laptop on the floor; almost read an entire Oprah magazine – something I’ve never yet accomplished in my life; and watched 4 episodes of Law and Order, 3 episodes of ER, 2 episodes of Judging Amy, and now, the cartoon-like melodramatic nightmare that is the San Antonio 6:00 news. If you’ve ever compared the news in S.A. to the news in Austin, you will know what I mean.

Observations I’ve had today are many. Things like
• the first breakfast item listed on the menu in my dad’s room before his quadruple bypass surgery was fried eggs
• 3 out of 4 of my dad’s doctors are cute – and there really is something about doctors – hubba hubba
• food in hospital cafeterias does, indeed, suck; I was also surprised that there was nothing, absolutely nothing healthy to eat in the caf – in a HOSPITAL
• it’s hard to make small talk for 12 hours in a row
• it’s difficult, but not impossible, to sleep sitting up under fluorescent lighting surrounded by strangers
• socks are really absorbent – I discovered this when I spilled my 2nd can of coke in the waiting room and while frantically digging through my mom’s bag for Kleenex, found my dad’s socks - voila

Early this morning, during the hour or so before he was rolled into surgery at 8am, my mom reached tenderly for my dad‘s hand, stuck full of tubes. She picked it up and I thought “Awwww, I’ve never seen my parents touch” -- then she pulled his hand up to her face and said “your fingernails look weird.” BUT when they were rolling him into surgery, she did take his hand, just for a moment, for real. When we were waiting this morning, my mom was standing by my dad’s bed and I noticed that she subconsciously began to bob and rock, dancing to the bleeps on the blood pressure/heart monitor machine. And the first thing my mom asked the nurse when we got there this morning was, “how long until he can fuss at me again after the surgery?,” and the nurse, who had spent the night caring for my ornery dad, replied “how long do you want? I’m sure we can work something out.”

And so we wait.

Personal therapy

The nighttime drive I was dreading tonight turned out to be quite cathartic and soothing. It’s an easy drive, straight down I35, and it’s well lit, with hardly any traffic. I found myself just driving with the sunroof open and the radio off. I had intended to make a bunch of phone calls on my way down, but I decided I wasn’t really, truly in the mood to talk to anyone at that time. So it was just me and my thoughts for most of the hour drive.

I was thinking about how this journey to San Antonio mirrors the one I made 9 years ago, about this same time, for my Grandmother’s bypass surgery. Only that one didn’t turn out well. She had a stroke during the surgery and never woke up. I do not think that’s going to happen to my dad, but I can’t help but be triggered. I was thinking of how some things are different and some are the same. I am solo on this journey, sans husband. But really, I was also alone on the last journey, even though he was there in body. In fact, during the week of my Grandmother's surgery and death, I began shutting down to him. I didn’t even realize it at the time – or maybe I did? I do clearly remember sitting with my mom at the Black-eyed Pea on Walzem Road, and I was telling her something about how he was unsupportive. She seemed surprised because I had never before said anything to her about him that wasn’t positive. I remember I felt like I was babysitting during the whole ordeal, because my ex was being so irreverent and trying to make jokes, trying to lighten the mood – but it was not appropriate and he was pissing everybody off. (That was a common theme in our marriage, me being embarrassed by him and him laughing at me and telling me I was uptight.)

I was thinking about how I’ve never really had anyone there to support me during traumatic times. I have always taken it upon myself to be the “big sister”, which is fine, but I also sort of end up feeling like a parent. I go into this weird robo-mode of strength and numbness. I retreat there and help where I’m needed, and only feel it, really feel it, much later. I asked my friend Hope tonight what it felt like to have someone to lean on. I didn’t realize until it came out of my mouth that I really and truly don’t know. I cannot imagine truly leaning on someone. I have always had my friends, and they're awesome. But certainly not any of the men in my life. I really wonder if it’s a relief to have someone there to be strong for you – I mean it must be, right? I was starting to feel sorry for myself, oh poor Lisa, never had anybody, then something went “ding” in my brain – maybe I have never allowed anyone to support me. Maybe people have been there, offering support, but something stubborn in me will not trust or lean on anyone but myself. I’m not talking about the ex, he was NOT there. But like my sister, brother, friends – I never just sigh and totally lean into them and let them feel and shoulder some of my pain. I don’t know how. This was one of those moments of clarity I used to have with Julie after we’d worked hard on something for weeks, even months – suddenly the window would open up and I’d be like “wow.” Wow. What does this say about me, that I don’t trust any of the men I’ve been in relationships with? Maybe I don’t just pick losers, maybe some of them truly wanted to be there but I wouldn’t let them.

So I’m sitting here in my dad’s chair by the TV, laptop on lap (how about that), typing away – and I can hear my mom clicking away on her computer in the next room, sending emails to people about my dad. I am glad I’m here. Here, with my mom in this house, and here, at this point in my life.

Positive, happy thoughts and prayers.

Heart Disease 101

My dad's cathertization this morning indicated what they already suspected -- he has major arterial blockage that cannot be fixed with stents this time -- he needs bypass surgery. And fast. Probably tomorrow or Thursday, but I'm waiting to find out. He has three major blockages, any of which could cause a heart attack literally anytime -- so they want to preemptively operate, before more damage is done to the heart. My mom said there is a big "branched" artery on the back of his heart that is almost completely blocked; there is the large artery that runs down the front of the heart -- blocked. And a smaller blockage to one side of the heart -- the side that has not been treated before. So none of his previous stents have failed, his heart just keeps producing more gunk. Heart disease runs rampant in my family, unfortunately. And ironically, the relatives who have had heart attacks have been thin. What does that mean for me? It means I need to get my ass in shape. But that's for another post.

My dad is understandably glum at the thought of his chest being cracked open, but everyone I've talked to whose loved one has gone through this, the person has come out feeling 100% better and 10 years younger. So positive thoughts.

I will drive to SA when I know what the deal is, and I will update this blog again when I can. It would be great if you could send good energy/vibes/prayers in my family's general direction.

Broken hearted

This post is probably not what you're expecting, with it being Valentine's Day and all (boo-hiss). I am not broken-hearted this year, actually; maybe numb-hearted? resigned-hearted? Anyway, this post is not about me, it's about my Dad.

My Dad has been experiencing heart problems again and tomorrow they're doing a heart cathertization to see what's up. This will be his third one -- the first one was after his first heart attack in 1999 (I think - maybe 98?) and they put in a bunch of "stents", which are steel tube-like things that hold open the heart's arteries that are clogged with plaque. They work by smooshing the plaque back into the artery and opening up the passageway. He then had another cath after his second heart attack in 2003, and they again filled him up with stents that were supposed to fix everything. But 2 years later, he's having heart symptoms again and has actually been taking Nitro on a daily basis to hold another heart attack at bay until tomorrow, when they Check It Out. He is trying to be blase about it, saying he's not worried, they'll just stent him again, no big deal, but the underlying feeling in my family is that it IS a big deal. My mom has been bursting into tears and worrying incessantly that something bad is going to happen. I went to SA yesterday, ostensibly for my birthday celebration, but really, for a stealth family reunion, at my mom's request.

It was classic O Family fare: my mom would leave the room and my dad would come up to me and say "if you didn't know it, your mom is really worried...I dont' know why... she's being all morose..." and I would say "well, dad, are YOU worried?" "No." "Well you know mom." "Yeah, she's a worry wart". Then my mom would return and dad would leave the room, and my mom would turn to me and tearfully say "i'm sooo worried, i wish he would be more serious about it, what if he is having heart pains but he's ignoring them???" and I would say "mom, give him a little credit, he's had two heart attacks and I think he would know if he was having another." Dad would return and the conversation would turn to something equally uplifting like Vietnam. It was a fun-filled weekend with the O Family. The highlight was the boys, as usual; my sister's kids are delicious and delectable and made us all laugh and get warm fuzzies all day.

Last night, before I went to sleep, I picked up my dad's book that he wrote about Vietnam and began reading it for the first time. I have not been able to read it before because it upsets me too much. It's like I can't watch "Saving Private Ryan" or "We Were Soldiers" and movies like that w/out falling apart, because I know that war made my dad who he is and has had a profound effect on our whole family. Until now, I've been afraid to pick it up. But I began reading it, and it was really mesmerizing. I heard, for the first time, the voice of my dad as a young man. I heard his voice pre-war, filled with optimism and naivete. I began to see through his eyes, and there is a lot to see. Like everyone else in my family, my dad is a talented writer, and I was reeled in for several chapters before I fell asleep. I'm really glad I read it. I will probably finish it in the next few days, and I will tell him I did, and he will be happy. And I have a feeling i'll be getting insights into my dad's personality I've never even dreamed of.

So I'm counting on the miracles of medicine to fix my dad's broken heart. Because if anyone deserves 20 more years, it's my dad. He lives an active life filled with loving his grandkids and children, reconnecting with his Vietnam war buddies (and the book has made more of that possible), and living in the moment. For the first time in his life, actually. I am going to go against my own nature, inherited from my mom, and be optimistic about tomorrow. He is in good hands and has a good attitude. However, I'll be glad when it's over, as I'm sure he will be too.

So, Happy Valentine's Day -- even though I'm not big on this holiday at all. But this year I am focused on more important things than where I'm not going to dinner. I'm focused on true Matters of the Heart. Because every breath we take is truly a gift. And every moment in life is another chance to turn it all around.

Reflecting

Ok, I'm feeling better than this morning. Lunch was fun. I have been mildly busy today, but not crazy-busy. And best of all, the time is drawing near for my birthday dinner! So on that note, I'm going to try and do what I wanted to do earlier but wasn't in the mood. So here it is and i've changed it up a bit; now it is going to be the Top 10 Major Accomplishments of My Life So Far:

1. Making it through high school without killing myself or any of my h.s. boyfriend's whores with whom he cheated consistently.
2. Graduating from college. -- this was evidently such a miracle that I still TO THIS DAY have major stress dreams about it. The recurring theme is finding out I did not really graduate, that I have like 12 hours to go, and fearing that my job is going to find out and fire me. Love-ly. And people, it really wasn't a close call or anything, so I don't get why this one lingers on...and on...and on........will it ever go away???
3. Graduating from college with a "real" job lined up -- a major coup, especially since I didn't have any idea what I wanted to "be" until maybe the 2nd semester of my senior year. I also remember that at graduation, so many of my fellow journalism majors were griping about how they couldn't find jobs, how they were going to move in w/their parents and "take a break" for a while. Major coup, I'll say it again.
4. Surviving a very bad marriage and coming out of it better than I went in.
5. Supporting myself and my ex-husband -- as much as I hated it, it was good to know it was possible.
6. Supporting myself for all these years -- with only the one hiccup, the year of unemployment, when I needed financial help from my parents -- and I didn't lose my house or totally ruin my credit, either. Amazing.
7. Buying my own house. -- Never even occurred to me that I'd be doing this alone, but it seemed like a good idea when I was 30, and has proven to be a great idea, in fact.
8. Successfully switching careers midstream -- this was tricky and took two tries before it "took", but here I am, a copywriter and not a technical writer! A few years ago I didn't see how this would ever be possible, but it was. Yay!
9. Digging myself out of debt -- this is a huge undertaking, and is still in process; but I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, and when it's finished I will feel such an awesome sense of relief that I can't even imagine it -- life after debt.
and
10. Creating a life for myself unlike the life I always pictured for myself -- and having this life be "okay". More than okay, actually -- I've created a life where I will be happy even if I never meet the right guy and settle down or even have kids. I know I will be okay, no matter what.

There it is. 35 is not so bad after all.

The day I was born

Today I was all ready to write about how it's not SO horrible turning 35; I was going to compare/contrast how much happier I am at 35 than I was at 25; how I'm not where I thought I'd be, but that's okay. How if I was actually where I thought I would be, married to my ex-husband and with his kids, I would be miserable, if not dead by now. And all of that is true, but I'm just feeling blue today. There is some serious stuff going on with my dad's heart condition, and it seems like these things tend to happen right around my birthday. Twice before, heart conditions have turned for the worse right around my b-day -- my grandmother in 1996 and my dad in 2003....and it's not like I'm particularly superstitious, but still. AND the sun is not out again today.

BUT. I am going to lunch with work friends and going to dinner with best friends, so the day holds promise -- if I can just pull myself out of the current funk. And I'll see my nephews tomorrow, and Cole has reportedly been drawing me tons of pictures for my birthday, so that will be cool. The one i'm looking forward to the most is his interpretation of "broccoli in a tornado". I can't wait -- I think he's a genius.

So for now, I will go and put on brighter lipstick and try to laugh at lunch. Maybe i'll feel more inspired to write something more inspiring later this afternoon.

Til then...

Grossest moments

Warning: This is a super-duper-long-ass entry. You have been warned.

Something earlier made me think about my hotel in Venice 7 years ago, and how that was the absolute worst shower I've ever taken in my life. I became inspired and challenged to think up more grossness. So now, I will entertain myself and my vast reading audience with a list of The Top Ten Grossest Gross-Outs in Lisa's Limited Life. (this can also be considered a general introspective since i'm having a dreaded birthday this week - ugh.) Here goes, in no particular order:

The Top Ten Grossest Gross-Outs in Lisa's Limited Life

1. Grossest Shower of all time: Venice, Italy, 1997. Tam and I found this literal hole-in-the-wall "hotel" by stepping off the train at the crack of dawn, after traveling all night from France, and running into some Italian man holding a sign that said something to the effect of "hotel." Lurking at the train station, waiting for the sleepy and silly Americans to get off the train, he honed in on us when he saw the look of desperation on our faces. Anyway, he sold us -- it didn't sound terribly expensive and it was not that far -- and in retrospect, the location really was excellent. However -- and I'd read this in the guide books and thought whatever, paranoid-- we really should have SEEN the place before agreeing to stay there for 3 nights. BUT I DIGRESS which is my perogative since it is my blog.

So. In a gigantic, coco-nutshell, this "hotel" was like the 4th floor of an old building (I mean, all the buildings are old in Venice, hello) with no elevator (which normally wouldn't be a big deal, but I had fatally sprained my ankle a couple days prior and was lugging perhaps the heaviest, most awkward duffle bag in the land -- no, the continent). We were delirious. If I ever figure out how to post photos on here, I have some great ones of this incident. The desk lady spoke no English at all. We finally made it past her and opened the door to our "quaint" Itallian room and realized there was something missing... a TOILET. There was this bidet-looking thing, only it wasn't a bidet...it looked like a sink, with a faucet and a sink drain, in the form of a bidet -- and to the day I don't know what it was. But I know it wasn't a sink b/c there was a sink right next to it... Anyway, we used it for multiple purposes while we were here, but that might be another entry on this list IF I EVER GET TO THE FIRST ONE...

Ok. The point is: Communal Toilet, down the hall, nowhere near our room. One TINY room with a toilet and a sink, barely big enough to get in and close the door behind you. The first time I was in there I noticed a drain in the center of the tiny room. My gaze shifted upward and saw a shower head. And it was then that I realized that this was also the Communal Shower. Here's how it worked: after using the Gross Communal Toilet, you were to stand up, take all your clothes off, and hang them on a hook on the door, about 6 inches from the shower head. You were to stand naked in this room about the size of a one-man shower in the US -- and you were of course standing on a damp gritty floor that served as a shower and a germ collection for every other patron. You turned on the lukewarm water, with no water pressure to speak of, and realized that now everything was wet -- all the porcelein surfaces and your clothes. No way to avoid that. After this (and after realizing there was no soap) you were to feel somehow cleansed. And because you had to pay extra for a towel the size of a postage stamp, you then had to re-dress in your dirty, damp, smelly clothes to slink back to your room.

Yeah, that's what we thought too. Thank God I was uber-skinny in those days -- I don't think I could have pulled it off in my current state. Now, on to...

You know what? I just decided that instead of writing a 50-page entry, I'm going to keep the Gross-List going indefinitely and just write about Gross Things as they come to me. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Stay tuned...the inspiration could hit again at any moment.......

Shrink etiquette

After meeting my friend Babs for lunch today, I whipped across the street to drop some stuff off at the post office. As I was getting out of my car, I ran right into my former therapist who I hadn't seen in almost 2 years! We hugged each other and she walked with me into the P.O., but it was kind of awkward. I realized I don't know what the etiquette is for hanging out with your ex-therapist. I mean, are we allowed to be "friends"? I was so happy to see her, and I would love to meet her for lunch sometime and catch up -- but is that allowed? Or do I just schedule an appointment? Do I have to pay to be friends? And it's really weird making small talk with someone who knows ALL your deepest fears, weaknesses, evil thoughts, etc. She helped me become the Lisa of Today, and that's HUGE. So how do I just say "Hi, how are you? Fine, fine. Take care!" You know???

Also, I felt weirdly evaluated, like she was thinking, "wow, she's gained more weight, she must still have issue XXX". I know that's ridiculous, but I wonder how I seemed to her in that one-minute timeframe. Together? Mature? Or frazzled and still confused? Should I have played it totally cool and pretended to be "all better" now? Or should I have caved in to the secret relief at seeing her again, and allowed myself to feel the mild sense of loss I got because I no longer see her on a regular basis and she no longer knows what's going on in my every thought.

Am I perhaps overthinking this??? Maybe I really DO need to schedule an appointment...

Top 10 reasons why I'm glad I didn't bail on the Addy's...

Ok, this is a special request from Babs ;) I did indeed go to the dreaded Addy's, and while I still have mixed feelings, I'm going to attempt to scrape up 10 reasons why I'm glad I went... so here goes:

1. I met the hot new contractor from work.
2. I finally spoke to the [other] cute new guy from work -- and found out he actually knew my name :O
3. The giant cookies were soft and yummy.
4. The mashed potatoes were excellent.
5. I saw people from my last ad job -- it was good to touch base again.
6. I bonded with my creative directors.
7. I said I would go and I did -- this is a huge commitment hurdle for me.
8. I got to steal samples of the Addy creative my company worked on.
9. I ate less than if I'd gone straight home and picked up food on the way.
and 10. I got to break out my black girdle, but this time when I fell asleep on the couch Jess did NOT discover the trampoline that was my belly.

I have to add the number 1 reason why I wish I HAD bailed: I ran into my ex and he looked cuter than I remembered.

10 reasons to bail on the Addy's tonight

Tonight half of the agency where I work is attending the Austin Addy's, a local advertising awards show. So many people are going because we sponsored the Addy's this year and did all the creative work associated with it -- tickets, website, decor, posters, etc. It all looks really cool. Plus, because we made the slideshow that announces the winners throughout the night (no, there isn't even a real announcer -- it's on a slideshow -- because nobody pays attention to this anyway), we also know that we won 4 Addy's this year -- as opposed to 1 last year. A testament that our agency is growing and rocking.

So you might ask why I no longer feel like attending this festive event. Well, I'll tell you, with 3 hours till touchdown:

1. Don't be fooled -- "Addys" and "Grammys" and "Oscars" are not EVEN in the same class.
2. I don't feel like dressing up -- usually i'm all for an occasion to wear my black girdle, but this has been a crappy week and I'm really not in the mood, so to speak.
3. I am broke and forlorn -- this is due to the $200 I had to unexpectedly spend yesterday on two new tires and the $600 I had to unexpectedly spend this morning on getting my garage door fixed. (Yes Dad, it's FINALLY working).
4. There is a very good chance I will run into the guy I dated this time last year and haven't seen since -- and this year I weigh 20 pounds more. (How is that even POSSIBLE??)
5. I have had the same headache for 2 days now.
6. It is cold and gray and I want to just huddle under a blanket and watch the last 4 episodes of Sex and the City that I have on NetFlix.
7. I'm turning 35 in a week. Dear God, isn't this reason enough to stay home??
8. I get tired just thinking about all the mingling and smiling and networking to come.
9. It is Friday and I want to go home and play with my recently repaired garage door opener. I want to open and close it over. and over. and over. and over. and...
10. My hair looks like utter crap today. As usual.

So we'll see what happens... I haven't bailed YET... but i'm thinking about it VERY seriously... tune in for updates...

The many stages of helplessness

Something horrible happened to me Saturday night, and I knew right away I needed to write about it -- but I've honestly been too traumatized and twitchy to do it until now. So, here goes.

First I will say I was decompressing from a busy day of getting up early and driving to SA for family pictures (oh, how i love to be photographed) and concentrated parent-time, as I drove back to Austin from San Antonio. Usually it is a 45 minutes drive from my parents' doorstep to mine. Well. The first 30 minutes went quickly and smoothly. But then it all came to a screeching halt (and I do mean 'halt') just past San Marcos. It was there I stopped, and there I stayed -- for the next 4 hours. That's right -- F-O-U-R hours. In that time I moved approximately 3 miles. I know I tend to exaggerate at times, but people, I am not exaggerating. I was at a full on stop/go, mostly stop, all that time, along with hundreds of other people.

I was supposed to meet my friend Sarah, visiting from CA, at my house at 7 so we could meet some friends for dinner at 8. What ended up happening was she sat in my driveway for 45 minutes and then went on to the restaurant without me. Let me say here, Thank God for cell phones. I can't imagine how much more panicked I would have been had I not been able to call her every 15 minutes and bemoan my situation.

So from 5:30 - 9:30 I sat in this mess, while I missed my friend, our dinner, and almost missed seeing everyone. I disengaged from the traffic jam and managed to get to the restaurant as everyone was paying -- so at least I could see everyone, if not hang out for a while. Never mind that I was brain dead and glassy eyed at this point. But I digress.

The real point of all this is the curious behaviour I experienced and observed (from outside of my body) throughout the ordeal of being STUCK IN MY CAR FOR 4 1/2 HOURS (i'm counting the 30 minutes i drove before hitting the jam). At first I was annoyed, but hopeful. Sometimes traffic gets clogged through San Marcos, but it usually clears up pretty quick. After about 20 minutes, the annoyance increased. That's when I heard on the radio that there was "road construction" slowing people down on I35. Uh, yeah. I listened to the same CD two times in a row and went into a somewhat vegetative state. Then I started getting really pissed, and panicky. I knew Sarah was on her way to my house and I was not there. Then the time became meaningless as it often does in stressful situations. When I talked to Sarah and told her I'd just meet her at the restaurant, I went through a brief phase of panic -- I HAD to get there, I COULDN'T miss dinner. About 1/2 hour into the dinner I let it go, realizing I was not going to make it and there was nothing I could do. I call this my "acceptance phase".

I started to have wacky thoughts. I started wondering how this was affecting the other cars around me, backed up for miles now. Like, somewhere in all this, was a woman in labor? Was she going to have a baby in the car? What about people with little kids? Or people who had to pee? I then realized my situation wasn't nearly as dire. At least I was alone, didn't have to pee, and wasn't really hungry. Nor was I in labor. I started looking at cars and giving the people inside personalities. Wishing I could be a fly on the windshield and hear their conversations. This went on for some time. I went through a short phase where I just screamed in my car for a couple of minutes. This released some pressure and I actually felt calmer afterwards.

Not that this story isn't already too long, but I'll try to wrap it up by saying that by the time I even saw any road construction signs, there was nothing going on and there was no way to tell what had actually caused the jam. All of a sudden my wheels just rotated one whole time around, then another, omg, i'm going 10 mph now, wheeeee, 20 mph, swoon, 50 mph -- and 15 minutes later I was in Austin.

I swear, if anyone asks me "why didn't you just exit?" I will smack them. Hard.

So Sarah and I had planned to maybe check out the outlet mall in San Marcos on Sunday, but there was no way I was getting back on I35 so soon after my ordeal. As a matter of fact, I don't think I'll ever look at that 3-mile stretch the same way again. I have been permanently scarred. I am a broken woman. Damaged goods. But I am learning to deal with my pain, and I am confident that someday I will be healed enough to trust, and maybe even love, again.

And yes, i'm still talking about traffic.

Yesterday i woke up sucking a lemon

I was listening to my iTunes just now, specifically Radiohead's "Everything in its Right Place" and I had the following IM conversation with Babs:

bell: another COS: In Radiohead's song "Everything in its right place", what does he say in the beginning? I swear he says " yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon"
babs: i can't think of that song offhand
bell: it drives me insane
bell: yes-ster-day-i woke up suck-ing a lee-mone
babs: i bet you could find the lyrics online
bell: that's what i'm doing as we speak
bell: OH MY GOD. It DOES say "Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon"
bell:
bell: all these years I thought I was just retarded because I could not figure out what it said
babs: you were right!
bell: Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon
Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon
Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon
Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon

I'm now wondering what other things in my life I have always assumed i'm wrong about, but i'm ACTUALLY RIGHT? If you know of anything offhand, feel free to share. This has been a most enlightening afternoon...

Validation

Glory glory hallelujah. Today is the first day ALL WEEK I don't feel like I suck at my job. For the first time since i've been here, which is going on 7 months now, three of the ads I wrote copy for got chosen to be presented to the client! And I think they actually have a chance of being chosen! This is a big deal for me because I'd never written ads before coming here, and it's a lot different than any of the writing I've done before. So I feel this huge sense of relief -- I CAN do it, however painful ;) But my boss said it gets easier the more you do it, so i'm counting on that. Anyway -- woo hoo! If it gets picked, I'll actually have something cool to put in my book...

that is all.

Is that really the best I can do??

I posted earlier that it was a bad food day for me today. In fact, an abysmal, grim food day. That's why I decided to order a pizza for dinner -- I mean WTF, the day, no the WEEK, is shot anyway... But I digress. So I get said pizza and am curled up on my couch under my down blanket, with Jess sitting on my hip and staring at my pizza. I'm watching something riveting on tv, I think it was "Without a Trace" but I might have the timeline wrong. I'm sitting there, it's about 8, and someone knocks on my door. I'm thinking, well, the pizza guy is long gone; all my friends know to call first; could it be...NO, that's a ridiculous thought, it's not HIM. Intrigued, I went to the door and opened it (thank God my mom doesn't read this blog, she'd be up here in a second with her pepper spray) and saw two shapes on my porch -- my porchlight has been broken for a year, the pizza men love trying to find my house and I love unexpected guests at night who I can't see -- BUT I DIGRESS... As soon as I realized I didn't know them, my body went into shut-down-the-salesperson mode. The girl was like "I'm sorry to bother you [but she did it anyway, didn't she?], but I'm jkl;jkl; and this is jkl;jkl;fdas" -- at which point jkl;jkl;fdas stuck out his hand to me as if I would shake it with pizza still on my fingers. You have to understand that all of this transpired in under 30 seconds. I interrupted, really irritated at this point, and said, and this is rich, "I'm right in the middle of something, but thanks." and shut the door. Headed back to my couch. Settled in. Then I realized that there are windows on either side of my front door, and at night one can see right into my living room, and there's no way those people didn't see me being lazy, eating pizza, watching tv -- and I said "I'm right in the middle of something". Brilliant. I'm a hot rod.

But then again, why do I care what two strangers interrupting my pizza binge and tv-watching spree think about me? They were probably from a church handing out fliers for the singles group -- in which case I am going straight to hell.

Before I can eat anything else, i'm going to bed.

Emotional eating sucks

I am slammed at work today, and very stressed out, but I wanted to post real quick that I feel even WORSE because I've been stuffing my face since I woke up this morning. I even know, as I'm doing it, that it's a coping mechanism -- but that doesn't make it any easier to stop. I feel like I have absolutely no self control. Just in general. sigh. Maybe i'll feel better when my work presentation is over with this afternoon. I hope so...

that is all.

There should be no limits to beauty

My friend Steph has a cool list on her blog today, so I am inspired to do one as well. I have decided to list my Top Ten Favorite Beauty Products of the Moment. For those of you who don't know, I am somewhat of a beauty product whore. That is, I love trying new things and can survive with no less than 9 shower gels in my shower at a time...no less than 10 lotions in my bedside table...no less than 6-7 lipsticks in my purse... etc etc, you get the idea. SO I was going to do a Top Five list, but could not narrow it down. So if you are the slightest bit interested in beauty products, here are some recommendations. (If you're really interested in this type of thing, check out www.makeupalley.com for product reviews, message boards and beauty product swapping -- it's all very exciting.) So:

Top Ten Favorite Beauty Products of the Moment (in no particular order)

1. Origins Cocoa Therapy Deeply Nourishing Body Butter -- the texture of this is amazing and it smells like tootsie rolls or brownies -- I can barely keep myself from licking it right out of the tub. (www.origins.com)

2. Philosophy 3-in-1 in "Cinnamon Buns" -- this line has tons of yummy flavors in their "3-in-1" formula -- meaning, it can be used as a body wash, bubble bath, or shampoo/conditioner. I generally don't recommend it for use in hair, just because. But these produce foam to die for and make your showers extra yummy. Other flavors to check out: Hot Cocoa; Strawberry Milkshake; Chocolate Chip Cookie. (www.philosophy.com)

3. Urban Decay Lip Gunk in "Paranoid" -- This lipgloss is the perfect color for that natural look - if your lips are horribly unpigmented, like mine. Seriously, if i'm not wearing lipstick, i have no lips. This is a great "YLBB" color (your lips but better -- don't laugh) and the formula stays on forever and ever and is not sticky like some glosses. Also smells great. (www.urbandecay.com)

4. LUSH Sympathy for the Skin body lotion -- A must-have body lotion. Texture is not as thick as a body butter, more like yogurt. Goes on smooth, sinks in immediately, and smells very comforting -- a mix of vanilla and something else. (www.lush.com)

5. Bathsweets Foaming Sugar Scrubs -- I have these in several flavors and LOVE them. It's just what it says -- a sugar scrub that you use in the shower, but it contains bubbling soap so that it foams up and makes you slippery and shiny too. I use this a couple times a week -- I scrub it on with my hands, a limb at a time -- wax on, wax off! Flavors to try: Brown Sugar; Pink Sugar; Pineapple Upside Down Cake. (www.bathsweets.com)

6. Mac Lipstick in "Luxe" -- but I really love all their colors that I've tried so far. These are creamy, stay on for a long time, and smell nice too. This color is my everyday color that goes with everything. (www.maccosmetics.com)

7. Stila Eyeshadow Mousse Pots -- a mousse-textured e/s that you can swipe on lightly for a sheer look or layer for a more intense look. These are new and lovely. I have one in "Iris" and am wanting more! I know this is silly, but the packaging is also SO adorable :-) (www.stilacosmetics.com)

8. LUSH French Kiss bubble bar -- Another LUSH favorite. This particular one is shaped like a big hershey's kiss, is purple/white swirled, and smells like lavendar. VERY soothing for bedtime, and each bubble bar is good for at least 2 baths, depending on the size of your tub. Loads of creamy bubbles and luxurious scent that subtly sticks with you for hours afterwards. (www.lush.com)

9. Bath & Body Works Tutti Dolce line - Cinnamon Frosting Moisturizing Body Souffle -- OMG. This is to DIE for. The texture is a creamy mix between butter and yogurt. It doesn't smell like cinnamon frosting, but it smells delicious. Not sticky, very moisturizing, and it comes in a beautiful glass jar that looks so pretty on my nightstand. I have also tried the Tutti Dolce body washes and have been very impressed. Other flavors to try: Creme Brulee; Chocolate Fondue; Lemon Merengue (sp).

10. TiGi Bedhead "Hardhead" Hairspray -- this is magic. It's an aerosol spray that doesn't stink, lasts forever, and actually holds your hair without looking like you're wearing hairspray. I know, I didn't believe it either -- until I tried it. Magnificent.

There you go. If anyone is actually interested in these types of beauty tips, plmk and I can post more -- but I know not everyone is obsessed like I am :-)

Flaming kitty

And I don’t mean gay. This afternoon I was sitting on my couch, watching Lifetime television, enjoying all my lit, fragrant candles, like I do every day. None of them are within kitty reach, and anyway, the kitties know better. Uh huh. I was thinking about taking a nap because I was so comfy when I noticed a horrible smell. The smell of burning…what? Oh yes, burning hair (don’t ask me why I recognize that smell)…or more like…FUR. Uh oh. That only meant one thing – a kitty had violated the candle rule. I jumped up as Piper jumped onto my coffee table, swishing her tail, her enormous, fluffy tail, and that’s when I realized THAT’s where the smell was coming from. I grabbed her tail and sure enough, there were the telltale ashes in about a 3-inch area on the underside. The curly, acrid, flaky ashes. A Lot of them. She was fine – I’m sure she didn’t even know it happened – and the fire was apparently out. That’s why it’s good to have fluffy kitties, so if they catch on fire they don’t even know. Uh huh. But the smell was so bad I had to get up and check the room and make sure she hadn’t caught anything else on fire. Everything was fine but I blew out the candles. When things had settled down again, I started thinking how and why did the fire go out by itself? Was it because she swished her tail so fast it blew out? Or did her leaping off the bar and running to the coffee table put it out? And how lucky was I that she didn’t literally burst into flames, or make my house do so? And yes, this has happened before, but not in a long time –I thought we were past burning kitties. When Jess was a kitten, he used to always have tiny, curled whiskers/eyebrows because he would lean in to smell a candle and it would curl his hair. He, however, eventually learned his lesson. And here it is, the much-anticipated punchline:

Some of us have to be burned over and over again to learn a lesson -- not everyone gets it the first time.

Girly girls

The woman who sits next to me just got a phone call from her sister (who also works here) after she just got a sonogram -- and Helen cried out "It's a GIRL!" amidst clapping and cheers. As soon as she hung up the phone, she squealed out, in delight, "Yay! Tutus and glitter!!"

I think that pretty much sums it up!

That evil, conniving Sponge Bob

I cannot believe what I just read on BBC News, World Edition [http://news.bbc.co.uk/]. I'm pasting in the whole article, withholding my comments til afterwards :

BEGINNING OF ARTICLE--

HEADLINE: US right attacks SpongeBob video

US conservative groups are up in arms over a music video featuring children's TV heroes such as the cheerful cartoon character SpongeBob SquarePants.

Focus on the Family and other groups say the video - a remake of the Sister Sledge hit, We Are Family - is a vehicle for pro-gay propaganda.

The video's makers plan to mail it to US schools in the spring to promote tolerance and diversity.

They say the attack is based on a misunderstanding.

The video also features children's favourites like Bob the Builder, along with characters from Sesame Street and The Muppet Show.

But James Dobson, founder of right-wing Christian group Focus on the Family, singled out SpongeBob at a black-tie dinner in Washington in the run-up to President Bush's inauguration, the New York Times said.

SpongeBob - who appears on the children's cable channel Nickelodeon - is seen as an icon for adult gay men in the US, apparently because he regularly holds hands with his sidekick Patrick.

His creators deny that he is gay, but he is not the first such character to cause controversy.

In 1999 conservatives claimed handbag-carrying Teletubby Tinky Winky, an import from the UK, was a bad role-model.

'Easy lesson'

Nile Rodgers, who wrote the song and is founder of the We Are Family Foundation (WAFF) which released the new video, says it is intended to help teach children the values of co-operation and unity.

"We believe that this is the essential first step to loving thy neighbour," he said. "And the fun and exciting format makes it a lesson that's easy for children to learn."

But conservatives say it sees the video as a cunning attempt to promote homosexuality.

They point to the fact that the WAFF is linked to a pledge being promoted by some liberal groups which includes a recognition of tolerance of sexual identity.

"We see the video as an insidious means by which the organisation is manipulating and potentially brainwashing kids," Paul Batura, a spokesman for Focus on the Family, told the New York Times.

Mr Rodgers said the groups may have confused his foundation with an unrelated organisation with a similar name that supports gay youth.

WAFF spokesman Mark Barondeso told the newspaper that anyone who thought the video promoted homosexuality "needs to visit their doctor and get their medication increased".

-- END OF ARTICLE

OK. W. T. F. What is happening to our country? "...a cunning attempt to promote homosexuality"? You've got to be kidding me. Have you ever seen SpongeBob? What could be more harmless than a SPONGE THAT WEARS PANTS?

And what's this about it being "... a vehicle for pro-gay propaganda" -- ??? When did tolerance and diversity become a BAD thing to teach kids??? Since when does the sight of two children (or sponges, for that matter) holding hands mean the children must be dangerous and deviant homosexuals???

I am totally floored. I have to ask, are the people who spend their days finding things to be up in arms about, the people who think being gay is the worst thing someone can be and that all of American society is heading for Hell, shouldn't they be focusing their energy on some other matters that, I don't know, MATTER? Like the fact that our country is AT WAR, or perhaps those pesky little TSUNAMIS....
Is SpongeBob really that bad? I mean, SERIOUSLY?

Truly terrible

There is a new mom here at work -- I guess she's been back about 3 weeks now -- who has to pump her breastmilk at least twice every day. So there's this whole contraption that looks like a gym bag, and she just stows it in the bathroom on our little bench. No problem.

Well just now, I went in there while she was actually in a stall pumping -- and for one second I really thought I was going to TRIP OVER THE CORD stretching from the wall by the sink into her stall. And I got this horrid mental image of what that would do to a boob...girls, I can't even imagine, but i'm thinking it would be awful.

Well I didn't trip. But I was vewwy, vewwy careful after that. It also sucks (ha) that the only private place to pump around here is the bathroom.... I feel for all new moms, I really do. I would totally offer her my office -- if I didn't have a cube.

The gangs of suburbia

This morning as I backed out of my driveway to head to work, I noticed that directly across the street from my house there was a Cat Drama unfolding. First, I noticed two neighborhood cats, the black one that taunts my kitties and the striped one that has been in my backyard, even my house before (another story, blahblahblah). They were sitting very close to one another, watching the tree. I thought "weird, i've never seen them together, i guess they're buddies" then I noticed there was another kitty sitting by the tree, mid-step, frozen. This was a little grey kitty i've never seen before. He looked like he had just noticed the two cats staring at him, and stopped, petrified and afraid and unsure of what to do next. Because the two cats were staring, but not menacingly. Just curiously. So I observed all that in like 10 seconds, and as my car crept past them, two houses up were TWO DOGS -- two large black dogs, labbish, with collars, and they were trotting towards the Cat Drama. They were smiling. One of them was like "hey, c'mon, let's go kick some cat ass" the other one was like "hold on, we're gonna get in trouble, we're only supposed to pee and go back inside..." I took all this in as I turned the corner, and I really wish I could've stayed and watched the thing play out. But I was late to work (GASP) and couldn't take the time. But as silly as this is going to sound, even though the scene was being set for some kind of Species showdown, I wasn't too worried because I didn't sense any animosity from any of the animals. Maybe it was just a typical day in the neighborhood and usually i'm just running later and don't notice...

I realize now that my poor kitties were probably glued to the front windows, staring longingly at the exotic outside cats. So sheltered. So sad. So deprived. So unloved. So...intact.

Socialization

This morning as I drove to work, I happened to pass the elementary school by my house when the kids were actually outside -- at recess, I guess. (do kids still have "recess" as we knew it? hmmm...). There were tons of kids walking around the track in their little coats. I had to stop at the light, so I had a moment to observe this curious display of child socialization. Because just in the one minute I sat there and watched, I thought I could pick out the kids who will grow up to be more social and outgoing, as well as the troubled-looking kids who might grow up to be my ex-husband. (oops, did I say that out loud??). I don't mean they can't/won't grow and change, but it was just interesting to observe the laughing groups of 2 and 3 little girls, followed by one lone girl walking fast with her head down; then the lone boy wearing oversized clothes, also walking with his head down and kind of kicking the track with each step; and then, two boys walking side by side, one of them gesticulating wildly while the other one nodded in agreement -- I could totally picture them walking home from school together, then climbing around in a treehouse or something.

This made me wonder, why and how does this happen at such a young age? This distinct separation into groups, of perceived social "status", that haunts most of us at least through high school? I changed schools every 4 years until I was in 7th grade because my father was in the Army, so I learned how to make friends quickly, out of necessity. I was very shy, but I could scan any classroom and quickly pick out the "possibles" to approach at lunch or recess. I was also aware that no matter what happened or how much I hated a particular school, when we moved I would get a brand new start and could begin again.

But what about kids who go to the same school all the way through, with the same classmates, from K through 12? Are they just stuck? Is their place defined very early on and they just live with it until they can escape to college or work? I can't even fathom that -- which can be a problem, because as an adult I get bored with things (homes, cities, jobs...boys...) about every 4 years and need to shake things up. But mostly, I'm grateful that I had a chance to live in different places and make different friends.

All this really struck me in that one minute of observation. In an instant I was 8-years-old again, insecure but faking it with a big smile on my face, walking around the playground with another little girl in a different pink coat... was it Diane, who pretended to be Harriet the Spy with me? or Meredith, who I still keep in touch with? maybe it was Lara, who rode horses (much to my jealousy) or Julie, the first girl I knew to get her period. You know, it was all of them, at different times in my life.

To this day, I surround myself with wonderful women, dear, dear friends I cannot imagine not having. They have gotten me through the darkest, toughest times in my life and have laughed with me through the good times. And I am also ultra-fortunate to have a sister whom I adore.

I hope the little girl in the purple coat that I saw this morning trotted forward just a bit and caught up with the group of girls in front of her, after I drove away.

Disdain and loathing in Austin, Texas

I. Loathe. My ex-husband. People close to me, especially those who knew him, understand and empathize because he totally deserves it. It is not a vindictive "I hate my ex" thing, because once we made the decision we literally have not talked or seen each other since then (7 years ago) -- we just wanted it to be over. I do not spend much energy these days thinking of him, much less getting all riled about him, but today ... today he pushed my buttons.

See, he has this website. It's a pathetic shrine to his ego and what he thinks about himself, and that's bad enough -- but it is also a scary portal into his sociopathic soul. On this site, he posts photoshopped pics of himself; lies; exaggerates; and annoys, in all the ways that made me loathe him in the first place. But whatever, right? I just don't look at it. However, he crossed the line today.

On this site, his "I am a bonafide writer" site, he posts stories or chapters that he has written, things he hopes are good enough to get published. I've noticed in the past that he always uses the names of people he knows for his characters. I chalked it up to lack of imagination, but I also know that it's his passive aggressive way of striking out and making someone feel like an ass. Well, my sister, who scans his site more regularly just looking for familiar names, happened upon it today and found that he'd included her in his latest "book" excerpt. In a disrespectful and embarrassing portrayal. And that. Pisses. Me off.

She thinks it's kinda funny in its pathetic-ness, but she also knows if her husband were to find out my ex would get his ass seriously kicked, probably in front of his students (yes, he's a TEACHER who shapes young minds -- it is terrifying). So herein lies the dilemma. I wanted to send him a scathing email, but that would only get me involved with him again and I have no desire to get back on his radar screen in any way. My sister thought about sending him a scathing email, but she has three kids and doesn't really have the time and energy to spend on something that would prove fruitless anyway. Because we both know that the reason he posted it in the first place was to ANNOY. He WANTS to get a reaction, he LOVES stirring the shit. He is a coward, and the only way he knows to nurse his wounded ego is to make up stories about people who make him feel insecure. I already apologized, again, to my sister for bringing such vermin into our lives in the first place. But I tried to correct the mistake! I REALLY did!

So we will probably just keep quiet and do nothing. Hope that he's as much like a child as we suspect, in that if you ignore him he'll go away or give up. But I have to admit -- a part of me REALLY wants to tell my brother-in-law.

For real.

Wile E. Coyote

I know I just recently posted an entry (as in, a couple of hours ago), but I keep mulling over and chuckling about this story I heard today at work. So a bunch of my co-workers had to come in on Sunday to get an ad campaign ready to pitch today. My boss, who we'll call Bob, parked his car in the parking garage, grabbed his laptop and bag and trudged to the entrance of our building. As he described it, he then stepped into a 3-foot-deep hole and busted ass. Apparently, some kids had partied at our building over the weekend (it's sort of secluded), as evidenced by random beer bottles and other trash laying around. These partying, drunk "kids" thought it would be funny to set a trap a la Wile E. Coyote. They removed one of the SEWER GRATES in the center of our parking garage and used the indoor-outdoor carpet from our foyer to cover the 3-foot-deep hole. And Bob stepped in it and hurt his back. And got severely pissed, as anyone would have. For crying out loud, he had to work on the weekend AND he falls into a hole?? I hear the police were dispatched and Columbo took fingerprints off the beer bottles and such -- Bob isn't beyond suing someone's ass off if they figure out who it was -- but they probably won't.

So I know it's not funny, it's horrid. But I can't get the image (that Bob painted for me, actually) of the Roadrunner carefully removing the sewer grate and setting the trap. As my friend Babs said, good thing it wasn't me who stepped in the hole, because no doubt I would have probably broken, not just sprained, something. I don't have a good track record as far as stepping in holes, falling down stairs, bumping into walls...but that's for another time. I'm sincerely glad Bob is okay and it's just another story to add to our workplace lore.

I love my job.

Below the E

Tonight as I climbed into my car to begin my 30-minute commute home, I noticed that dammit, I was still on Empty. I know, I know, the car can't magically fill its own gas tank. But still. I had forgotten during the day, and when I was on my way home I wanted nothing more than to drive straight there. But it was not meant to be.

So as I drove up and down the hilly slopes on the "secret backway" to my house, doing the accelerate/coast routine, no A/C, no radio (does this really help, dad? once you said it did...i still believe...) I called my friend Tamara, who incidentally, has the same car as I do. This has come in handy at times, and today was no exception.

Me: Hi. How far below the E have you gone?
Her: Hi. Way, way below. Probably 10-15 miles below. (baby screeching in the background as she, too, was commuting)
Me: Really? Because I'm right on the E, but not yet below.
Her: Oh, you're fine -- this weekend in Houston we really pushed it, way below the E, and we made it.
Me: Ok, thanks. I'm glad we have the same car.

And so on and so forth.

I stayed on the phone with her, for comfort, until I glided into the gas station parking lot on nothing but faint gasoline fumes. I made it, once again.

And I say to you, everyone should have a friend they can call when they're coasting below the E. I won't go all the way into the metaphor here, I will just say that I count my blessings every day.

Kitty Einstein

I woke up this morning hungry, for the first time in about 5 days – I’ve been sickly, drugged out on cough meds, and haven’t wanted to eat anything. So I was surprised and somewhat pleased that I was hungry today. ANYWAY, before I lost my resolve and went back to sleep, I rolled out of bed, pulled on some jeans, and sleepwalked into my living room, grabbing my purse and my k--- wait. My keys were not where they always are. WTF?? I hadn’t left the house in 2 days—since NY Eve. Nice. My keys could be anywhere. I flipped on the overhead light and started searching in earnest for my keys, even opening the door in a moment of panic that I’d left them hanging in the door for days. They weren’t there. Finally, Piper, my youngest kitty, sort of cleared her throat to get my attention – she had been perched on the lamp table next to my couch, watching while I shuffled around the room looking under papers and Kleenex and other gross stuff. I was like “WHERE ARE MY KEYS???” and with that, she casually batted them off the lamp table and onto the floor in front of me. She then smiled and swished her tail. I swear to God she smiled. It was very deliberate. I stared at her for about 2 seconds, then said “Thank you,” grabbed my keys and left to buy donuts. Yes, donuts. That’s what I wanted after not eating for days. I know, and then I slept all day. But you’re missing the point – my kitty Piper — she’s a genius!

The day after...

So I’m still at my parents’ house. Today was kid-full. Everyone was here from about 1:00 on, and everything was pretty smooth until the last 10 minutes. As Dane was packing up everything the boys brought, the diaper bag, the Xmas toys, random sippie cups, he paused to play with Claytie, who was hanging on his leg. Dane often “rough houses’ with the boys, they love it and have grown up with it, and he has never hurt them – they’re just burly boys, y’know? Anyway, by some timing mistake and shoe impediment, somehow Clayton tripped and fell forward, neatly hitting his forehead HARD on the sharp edge of my parents’ fireplace hearth. The jagged, brick edge. I happened to be sitting right there, and it happened in slo-mo, just like they say. He did not fall far, but it made a juicy cantaloupe sound when it hit, and the fact that he didn’t cry right away because he was in shock was not a good sign. Then everything started moving fast, as I guess they do in crises situations. Dane grabbed him and said ‘it’s bad” as Clayton started to scream, I ran into the kitchen to get ice, my mom was grabbing a towel, Cole was in the middle of everything going “I wanna see where it split, I wanna see the split”, Nicole was nursing Cooper in the back room. I got her, grabbed Cooper, and after 10 more minutes of panicked muddling and my dad, mom, Dane, Nicole, me, all talking over each other trying to figure out where to go and with whom. At one point my mom was going to accompany my sister, but thank goodness somehow my brother took her instead. (He's much more of a "rock" than my mom.)

The rest of us stayed here and waited for about 2 hours – which is relatively quick for an ER visit, especially on Xmas day. Cole was weirded out and scared, very clingy and asking lots of questions about whether his brother was going to be okay. Oddly, even though Nicole hadn’t finished feeding Coop, he was fine – the chicks passed him around all evening, and he even fell asleep in my arms for about 30 minutes (boy, my arm is going to hurt like a mofo tomorrow…). Side note: there is perhaps nothing more peaceful then holding a sleeping baby in your arms. Anyway, me and Dane were sitting in shock like deer in the headlights —I was feeling guilty because I was sitting so close when it happened and couldn’t reach him in time, Dane was feeling guilty because technically he was playing with Claytie when it happened, although it was totally one of those things that just happens when you have 3 rambunctious boys. I could tell he was totally worried about whether Nicole would be “mad”, and I also knew it wouldn’t even enter her mind to be “mad” -- it truly was no one’s fault, and they’re not like that anyway. The time seemed to pass slowly.

Long after the three returned, triumphant, Claytie proudly sporting a glued gash on his forehead (they don’t even use real stitches anymore!), long after they all packed up and left, I have felt edgy and weepy. For the past few hours I just sat in the den with my parents, my dad napping and my mom knitting, watching The Saint on HBO, and the whole time I’m holding back tears. I just feel deeply disturbed about the whole thing. It makes my stomach ache. I can’t put my finger on it – everyone is fine, it really could have been so much worse. Claytie wasn’t even crying by the time they got in the car to go to the ER; I just feel sickly. And I wonder, is this a maternal instinct I might be experiencing?? For the very first time? I don’t know how else to describe the weird panic/calm mode/fear/ache I felt when I saw Clayton’s gaping forehead. It was this wildly protective feeling, and I wanted to just swoop him up and fly him to the nearest hospital. It broke my heart to hear his tears of pain. I don’t think I’ve ever heard those before.

After they all left my mom asked if I was stressed out today – because often too much familial stimulation makes me slightly woozy – and honestly, they didn’t. The whole cracked-head thing just put a real damper on everything (well, duh.). Maybe I’m worried that Clayton is going to have a scar on his beautiful, perfect, creamy forehead? Maybe the panic ER feeling reminded me of my own trips to the hospital? Maybe holding a normally wise-cracking 4-year old as he shook and cried in fear for his brother just brought out that instinct I didn’t know I had. But in any event, tonight I realized for sure, although I had suspected it before, but I knew for sure that my love for my nephews is certainly a maternal type of love, even though they didn’t come from my womb. I know that I would surely dive in front of a car or a bus or a lion in order to protect one of them. And it’s weird to realize that about yourself. So even though I may never be a “real” mom with my “own” kids, I hope I can be a positive influence in their lives, forever, I hope I am a special Auntie Lisa who they will be comfortable with. Who they feel they can talk to as they grow up, maybe like a surrogate mother. An extended family. I never had that in my life; we were always pretty isolated from our cousins/aunts/uncles because my dad was in the army and we moved a lot. I’m glad I’m growing up with the boys. I’m glad I have chosen to stay in Texas for that reason, and tonight I realized it really was a valid reason, a real reason, and not just an excuse for why I haven’t packed up my shit and moved to Europe yet.

Although I have to admit, watching the Saint, all those European scenes, I did get the old Europe yearning going again. I’m DEFINITELY going in 2005. Today marked the 7th year since I met Rocco in Barcelona. And that is too damn long. You only live once – carpe diem, for real.

The magic of the season

Last night I unwillingly went to the mall, AGAIN, in another attempt to finish my Christmas shopping. I had a loose list in my head of what I still needed, but I tend to lose it with oversensory shopping overload -- once I get INTO the mall, I promptly forget why I'm there. So I wander around, and eventually little glimmers of purpose come back to me. But it sometimes takes a while. So after I'd been wandering about an hour, and had even managed to buy some stuff, I was in phase 2 of my aimless wandering when I ran into my friend Anita, coming out of The Limited. This was kind of funny because before I had left work, I had moaned to her how I had to go to the mall, and she was saying she thought she could avoid it. So here we were an hour later, in the large thriving metropolis of Austin, during the craziest time of the year to even be at the mall, bumping into each other outside the Limited. We were glad and somewhat relieved to see each other. She had actually called my cell phone, but I hadn't heard it in the din of Xmas joy at Barton Creek mall. We quickly agreed to go eat somewhere (drink wine) before continuing the hellish conquest.

We had a nice dinner (and wine) and chatted, and I was feeling a lot better (with the wine) about being at the mall. It's always nice to be with a friend in these stressful situations. And to drink wine. So as we prepared to continue the hunt, I was expressing how I'd like to find that store Brookstone -- the Sharper Image knockoff. I wanted to see if they had something cool for my dad. Anita and I wandered like champs, stopping at two different mall maps and realizing there wasn't a Brookstone at this mall, dammit. So we switched missions and went to Pottery Barn for some other stuff. As we emerged from the comfy depths of Pottery Barn, with visions of hip rugs and silky curtains swirling in our heads, I looked up and my breath caught in my throat. I grabbed Anita's arm and choked out "OH MY GOD-- LOOK." And there we stood, in the glow of the Brookstone that happened to be DIRECTLY ACROSS THE WAY from the Pottery Barn. I swear it hadn't been there when we went in. We were both awestruck. Anita, without skipping a beat, said in serious awe, "It's a Christmas Miracle."

And so it was.

Moving furniture

So yesterday, in a heroic effort of last-minute Christmas-shopping procrastination, I decided to rearrange my bedroom. I've been thinking about doing this for years, but it's quite a feat for single me to move my heavy stuff. I guess maybe I thought I'd have a boyfriend to help out by now. HA. Plus i'm just plain lazy. I had to start by picking up all the crap off the floor. This took about an hour. The offending objects included a broken VCR, an empty bag of cough drops, and a couple of dishes, just to give you an idea of the carnage. At least one whole cat had disintegrated under my bed, judging from the size of the fur ball I pulled out. So that was step 1.

Step 2 was to get the little furniture out. Well even my little furniture is heavy -- my bedside table contains every book i've ever read as well as my awe-inspiring lotion collection and other odds and ends. And to pause to remove the drawers? So passe. By now, the steps all blurred together. Once the small stuff was out, I started trying to maneuver my dresser. This proved impossible. Even using my entire body weight, with my legs pushing from the wall, it didn't even budge. I did have to remove some drawers from this in order to move it. I won't bore you with all the details, but let's just say it took a couple of hours (including time for me to lie on the floor and pant) to get the big furniture shifted almost into position.

I say "almost" because I had a brilliant idea towards the end of the big shuffle. I'd always wanted a reading chair in my bedroom -- why didn't I take this opportunity to move my big puffy chair, the one taking up a huge space in the living room, why didn't I move that into my bedroom? Just throw it in there with all the other furniture? Perhaps by a window? The next hour was me taking off all the cushions and then shoving it, on one arm, across the living room, kitchen, and eventually into the bedroom doorway. Where it became stuck. With me in between the doorway and the chair. For several death-defying and worrisome moments. Eventually I worked my way out, and this was one of the few times i've been grateful that I'm squishy. So once I was removed from the mix, it only took another 20 minutes or so of shoving, cussing, and marking up the wall, before I got the chair into my room. And realized it wouldn't fit where I wanted it to go. Did I measure, you ask?? Hell no -- measuring is for amateurs.

I eventually found a space for it, and while l'm still not sure I like it there, i'm sure as hell not ready to move it back OUT of the room anytime soon. By now it was dark. I had successfully avoided going to the mall for one more day. Last night, as I cozied up in my bed in its new position by a window, as I stroked the cats that flanked me on both sides, I thought to myself, I'm a Strong, Independent Woman, and Life is Good.

And damn, I'm going to hurt tomorrow.

The aftermath of the Christmas Party

My company Christmas party was actually last weekend, but I've been pondering it all week long. It was at one of the company's partner's houses, very fancy, very new, and rather nerve-wracking. We were all in our best clothes, on our best behaviour, trying desperately not to spill red wine on the white carpet. To the best of my knowledge, no one did. I, however, had eaten very little and had a couple glasses of wine, so when I headed home I was not drunk, but very very sleepy -- that's what wine does to me. Very sexy, I know. If anyone has been thinking of seducing me with a bottle of wine, well STOP RIGHT THERE -- not the best strategy. Anyway, I got all gussied up in my black girdle and all. All night I couldn't wait to peel the thing back off. So when I walked in my front door at 11pm, I headed straight for my couch and sank into its downy loveliness. And there I stayed until 6:30am Saturday morning, when I awoke to cat whiskers/lips gently nuzzling my face. I opened my eyes, and Jess, all 21 pounds of him, was sitting on my belly and staring into my eyes, willing me to wake up and top off the food dish. The first thing I realized was, wow, I slept in all my makeup and all my clothes. Then, wow, Jess usually hurts my innards when he sits on my tummy like that, why can't I feel him? Then the dawning of understanding: I couldn't feel him because I HAD SLEPT IN MY GIRDLE and my entire abdominal area was numb. That, and the tight stretchy black fabric brutally holding in my fat had formed a rather trampoline-like surface for him, and he was enjoying the unusual springiness of my belly until i knocked him off and sat up, gasping for breath.

I peeled off the girdle but it took about 10 minutes for me to feel my guts again, and even longer for the dents of the seams to puff back up from my delicate white skin... guess i'll retire the black girdle until the next Christmas party or unexpected hot date.

Crash.

Yesterday was the first day in over a week that I went straight home. That is, I had no plans to stop at any shopping establishment, bar, restaurant, or anyone else's house. I was about 2 miles from my house when everything went horribly awry. I was driving behind this big, white delivery-type truck. I was in "the zone" -- you know, when you're almost home, you're picturing yourself on your couch, in your sweats, watching Law & Order... Anyway, I was rudely snapped out of "the zone" when this truck just drifted over to the right and HIT this parked car -- so hard that the parked car bounced up in the air and came down partways on the curb. While I was recovering/processing that, becuase this all happened very fast you see, the truck then itself bounced up over the curb and ran through one front yard, over a bush, and into this giant tree. The tree was large and the truck sort of crumpled around it; the whole cab was split in half and smooshed.

I pulled over, and by now I was in going into shock-mode. I called 911 and they were like "where EXACTLY are you on Slaughter" and I was like "I don't know because i've been in "the zone" for the last few minutes." Anyway, it was a mess. The guy seemed to be alright -- by the time I moved my car out of the way and walked over to the scene (the police said I should stay around since I witnessed it) he was out of the truck and wandering around the front yard of this old lady standing in her doorway staring at the tree with a truck through it. He looked very out-of-it to me. He was grinning, almost sheepish -- and I'm thinking, sheepish is inappropriate for the amount of damage and stress he just caused. There were pieces parts of car/truck all over the sidewalk, street, front yard; there was broken glass; and there was that smell. That acrid car wreck smell, of burning plastic/rubber/who knows. And that is the smell that took me back to my own car wreck last year. I must have been completely in automatic mode because it's all kind of blurry here. I'm not sure long i was there, but when I finallly talked to the police and got in my car to leave, I couldn't believe how bad I was shaking. And then the sobbing started. It was SO WEIRD. But I was freaking out, and it wasn't because of some stupid truck driver who dozed off or whatever, it was because I was totally, in that moment, back at my own crash site. Only at my crash site, there were GIANT pieces of car and truck. A bumper here. The engine over there. Oh yeah, that's the hood bent back over the roof of the car. Would that be a tire over there? And mostly, the awful smell. And the dead feeling, the feeling of being in shock. Of watching it all from outside my body. Of watching myself become hysterical, crying, walking around in piles of fire ants, unable to calm down; watching and thinking "damn, i must be in shock, this is totally irrational". Of not feeling any pain yet because of the incredible adrenaline charge. I flashed back to that place, and it wasn't pretty.

I made a quick grounding phone call to my friend Hope before I drove myself home, verrrrry slowly. She was wonderful and kind, said the right things to calm me. When I got home I felt, physically, like I'd been through the wringer, my body was totally exhausted and I was still shaking. I went to bed early and of course feel much better today.

But I remain amazed at the power of our minds, our memories, what we store. How a smell can trigger such a violent response. How I will never forget that moment when I opened my eyes after being knocked out in my collision; I felt like you feel after anesthesia; not sleepy, just awake, and totally clueless as to day, time, place. And in this case, the smell brought me to reality first. The smoke wafting up out of my deployed airbag. My arms were pinned to my sides and my chin was resting on top of the airbag, in fact. And everything was dark, because my black hood was curled up over the windshield. I remember being achy and feeling/hearing a loud buzzing in my head. This whole realization part probably lasted one second, and the next thing I remember is looking curiously out of the passenger window where there was a man (the other driver) standing there calling to me, asking if i was alright, me trying to respond but only being able to croak "I don't know" and then realizing there was no glass in the window. How odd. But I think the shock really set in when I climbed out of the car, barefoot because the impact had literally knocked my socks off, unable to see because my glasses were somewhere in the backseat amongst the glass, when I stepped away from the car and really SAW it and realized how lucky I was to be alive.

I hope the man in the truck accident last night has that same realization and that he gains the same insight, peace, and sense of curious calm I had when I realized I was left alive for a PURPOSE. I don't know what it is yet, as I haven't done anything particularly remarkable since my wreck, but I know there's a reason and it must be pretty darn important. I hope he remembers the concerned lady in the jeans and black sweater asking if he was alright, as I remember the first responders to my accident -- a couple who was just leaving their driveway in time to see/hear the whole thing. I remember them, and all the people who subsequently helped me that day, as angels. I don't need to be considered an angel, I just hope I had some positive effect on this guy. I hope he didn't find out hours later, after walking around on his own, that he had a broken leg or a blood clot. I hope he was really as he seemed, just fine.

It's been almost two years, but I am just fine too.

I can't think of anything

interesting to say, yet i feel pressured to write SOMETHING. So...

Maybe a list? ..................... Well. That was a great idea, but i'm at a complete loss. This is really lame. I think i'm going to just not post this and stay quiet until I think of something interesting to say.

yeah. so, later...

The complexity of friendship and sisterhood

So I originally posted an earlier blog (Once Around) partly for myself, to just get it all out, and partly to diffuse any possible misconceptions or worries my friends/family might have. However, I think it might have backfired. You see, i posted it and then just left it alone. For some reason it didn't even occur to me that my sister would freak out when she read it; in my mind, I was quietly announcing something and stating my feelings. I thought the lack of response meant people had read it and gotten it and decided I had my eyes wide open and i know what i'm doing, or at least that i'm willing to accept any consequences.

But now I see that to her, I have been withholding something major, and why? because i'm ashamed? embarrassed? I know my sistah and these are the things she might be wondering right now. Has her older sister lost her mind? Am I a complete idiot? Am I foolishly setting myself up for the same drama to repeat itself with this person? Is this relationship toxic with nothing but bad things to come? And if so, am I going to be shocked and heartbroken again?

Well, no. Part of the reason I posted Once Around was to clarify and organize my thoughts on the matter - both to myself and to anyone reading it who knew and cared. But I felt really bad yesterday when I realized that it might have seemed to her like I chickened out by not mentioning it sooner. The simple reason why it hasn't come up is that it's not the focal point of my life. That is, there are lots of other things going on with me that I'd rather talk about and share in the limited time I have with my sister. I consider myself very close to her, I think she's the coolest person ever and a total role model for me if I ever become a mom and have my own family. She's always been...cooler than me. Her whole outlook on life is different than mine, yet also the same in many ways. While we share the same history, it affected us differentlly and we are both very different people. But that's just one thing I adore about her -- her viewpoint on everything, from our past to the present, is so refreshingly different than mine. She helps me to see things in new ways.

However, we have had disconnects in our relationship here and there over the years, and the disconnected feeling during these times really sucks and I hate it. We've had situations where we both felt frustrated and misunderstood and even hopeless that the other would never "get it" -- but because we are sisters and we love each other, we always get over it and accept the differences eventually. It is hard that we live in different towns, have completely different lifestyles and we can't talk or visit as much as we'd like. Naturally, there are going to be things in both our lives we don't know about the other. I considered the current situation just one of those things -- not that big a deal overall.

But I concede that I didn't think it all the way through. And I wish I'd told her sooner so she didn't find out on the Internet. And I'm sorry, sistah, I really am. Please know that I wasn't hiding from you. I'm really sorry if I've stressed you out. Please accept my sincere apology for being somewhat of a dumbass.

I had dinner with my friend Anita last night, and as we were discussing the CJ situation, she said something really interesting and cool; she said she would never judge a friend for doing something potentially stupid or harmful; however, she reserves the right to remind them, upon disaster, that they knew this would happen and simply chose to do something stupid. And that is everyone's perogative.

So if the whole thing with CJ crashes and burns, well, there you have it. I am hereby announcing that I am very aware of that possibility and I will live with it if everything goes terribly awry. But for now i'm living in the moment and he fits in every now and then. Will it last till tomorrow? Is it truly impossible to be "friends" with an ex? I have no idea, but I'll letcha know when I find out.

One more reason to hate the grocery store

So last night I bit the bullet and forced myself to go to HEB. I despise grocery shopping. I put it off as long as possible. However, I recently learned that if I stop shopping like I did in college and just STOCK UP on things I use up, I can go even less...brilliant, I know.

Anyway, there I was, shopping along, somewhere in the frozen food department, hating every moment of it, when I noticed my basket was not moving along as smoothly as before. In fact, one of the wheels seemed to be caught on something. I glanced down and used my foot to push whatever it was out of the way and it was -- and I kid you not -- a chunk of raw, slimy chicken breast.

I really have nothing more to say about that.