Ramblings...

Crickets...

2012-02-13T12:03:00.002-05:00

Does anyone visit me here anymore? I left quite a while ago so maybe not...

If you do, well thank you...

You can find me here now.

See you soon.

The Simple Life

2008-07-16T22:41:00.002-04:00

I'm in Wisconsin on a business trip. Even though I have never been to the midwest before, I knew when I was asked to come, that there would be culture shock.

Landing in Milwaukee, I look out the window and see green. Sure, there are trees in New England, but the amount of farmland was greater than I imagined. Besides, as we speak there is a Target being built around the corner from my house. An Ikea was just built two years ago, and a Kohl's, Olive Garden, and Smokey Bones, came a tad earlier. Lakes and trees and farms are a nice break from commercialization. It's serenity.

After renting a car, I decide to take highway some of the trip and finish it up going backroads. After an hour ride, I finally arrived in Edgerton but wishing I could drive longer. I love road trips, and prefer to drive than any other mode of transportation. What better way to see the countryside?

One member of our team owns property at Rock River Leisure Estates and so to cut costs, our meetings were held at the recreation hall and dinner was home cooked at his cottage. Another thing Massachusetts doesn't have? Lightning bugs.

Sitting around the firepit after dinner the first night, I looked up at the moon and reflected for a moment how much I missed home and wished Ken and Stephanie were there too, then sat back and enjoyed my surroundings.

Randolph

2008-06-17T22:14:00.003-04:00

I miss Randolph. The town I grew up in has a strange look now. I am a stranger. Nothing looks the same.

I took the long way home from work tonight even though I live the next town over.

My first stop was naturally the house I grew up in. It was a raised ranch, white with black shutters in a neighborhood I envy now. Every house had a child my age. And after school in the summer we would all gather in the yard and play baseball. The tree was first base, the fence post was third and if you hit the Katler's front lawn it was an automatic home run. And when you turned 13 you were too old to play.

The house is still white. Two of the windows have the same black shutters, but the basement is now cranberry. Maybe the new owners tried the color out but couldn't figure out if they liked it and so they never got around to changing it back or updating the others. The front door is different and the driveway has expanded for more cars. I heard the also took down a wall inside. It's no longer my house. Driving by it's as if I never lived there.

I drove by the Tower Hill School where I went for first grade. The front door is boarded up and I wonder when the last time a class was held inside those doors. The playground where we played for recess is still in tact, though a bit rusty.

No more movie theater, but a few more Dunkin Donuts'.

Crime is up and education is down. The high school is said to be on the verge of losing its accreditation. How sad is that?

I thought about a 'what if'. What if I was forced to move out of my house for whatever reason. I would never be able to live in Randolph because it's not the Randolph I know. And that is sad.

But I'm still rooting for it to come through.

Me Time

2008-05-30T21:03:00.003-04:00

See what I'm doing right now? This here? This blog? This is my me time. My husband is somewhere else in the house and Stephanie is fast asleep. Aaaah. I savor this.

I was supposed to go out tonight with some friends. But Stephanie was having one of her terrible two moments and I wanted to make sure she was okay when she went to sleep. And can I also point out that I didn't receive any argument over it. I'm sure he was relieved I was staying home tonight. Last time I went out with friends, she was really overtired and extra cranky and so she fought and cried and didn't go to bed until 11. And so here I am. And he has breathed a sigh of relief.

Moms need their nights out. It is important for their sanity and for their marriage. And I know that you are all screaming that I should have went, that she would have been fine, that maybe I was spoiling her (and possibly him) by staying home. I know. But I also would have felt guilty if that wasn't the case. I'm that mom. Not only do I need to make sure she is okay, but I have to make sure he is okay, too.

Work this week has been stressful. An ad for our company was pulled because an item of clothing worn by the star was deemed controversial. It made national headlines. People complained because we ran the ad and 3000 more complained when we took it down. Sometimes you just can't win.

A night to be yourself with friends. Good food, good friends, good conversation. This is what tonight was supposed to be about. Forget about the stresses at work. Forget about the stress of raising a family.

Maybe next time.

Can the 3rd time be the charm?

2008-05-28T21:47:00.002-04:00

I've quit before and came back. Stronger, I thought. Until I faded away again.

But now I am back. Again. Stronger? I guess we'll see. But I'm not giving up so soon.

Reflection

2006-12-24T21:40:00.000-05:00

I was never one for resolutions. I never made them because I knew I would never keep them. Always a reason. Always an excuse. Somehow this year I feel more empowered to keep them. Suddenly I have willpower.

1. Exercise more.
Isn't this number one on everyone's list? I would love to look better than I did pre-baby. I have a fitness center in my office building and I don't take advantage of it. In every baby magazine that is sent to me is atleast one "I did it" success story of how they lost the half a person they gained after they had a child. My motivation is looking at all of those "before" pictures and making sure I don't get to be like that. Which brings me to...

2. Stop being so lazy.
Many Sundays are what is known as Lazy Sundays in my house. Pajamas stay on and mommy and daddy read the paper while Stephanie plays with her toys. Maybe put a DVD in, maybe do some cleaning, and the only time we step foot outside is to pick up the Chinese take-out. Yesterday was hectic so today was a Lazy Sunday until I got cabin fever and took Stephanie to the supermarket.

3. Finish what I start.
This is my most important, and the one I most want to achieve. I stopped telling people I was getting involved in activities because chances are, they'd be short-lived. I joined Habitat for Humanity and went to one meeting and decided to quit because I felt they were looking for people with more connections than I had. Others in the meeting had experience doing radio PSA's and knew the right people. At the time I was a trade magazine editor and knew no one. And so I stopped going. I also joined a book club which I went monthly for about half a year. I stopped going because the type of books that were being chosen were far cries from the genres that were in the beginning and so I lost interest. I joined a new mom's group and I still go, but I haven't been in a while. I had bronchitis, Stephanie was sick. And part of me believes that it would be no big deal if I never went again, but I know it would be one more thing I'd be giving up on and so for that reason alone, I'll go again. I also want to join a women's self defense course and maybe a martial arts class which will help get me back in shape as well as teach me how to kick ass. But I'm keeping it to myself until I sign the check and prepare for my first lesson.

I'm hoping that next year I can say that I accomplished atleast one of these.

Cough

2006-12-07T15:40:00.000-05:00

There was a place I would go to when I was in high school called Pond Meadow. A boyfriend took me there once and I was hooked. It's a place to hike, bikeride, rollerblade, canoe, and climb onto some huge boulders and pretend like it's just you and mother nature. There was a path that led to a pier and I would lie on the pier and read or close my eyes for a bit, because you could do that back then without concern. There was a rape at Pond Meadow last week. It sort of tarnished my memory of what a wonderful place it was.

I have bronchitis. Has anyone ever used an inhaler? I was given a prescription for one this morning and the side effects on the package include an "increased chance if death." Seriously. I never read those warnings, but the pamphlet was the only thing within reaching distance since I was too tired to move. In no way am I a hypochondriac and if it was just a risk of death I would understand the lagalities of including such a warning, but an increased chance of death? Makes me want to update my will.

Routine.

2006-11-29T21:06:00.000-05:00

Confession: I need a life.

I realized this as Ken, Stephanie, and I were walking the aisles of the local supermarket that food shopping with both of them was enjoyment. Aisle by aisle picking out what produce and meats and pastas we need to get through the next week or two. Picking out unhealthy food that we say is a one time treat but I know it'll end up in my shopping cart on more than one occasion. Figuring out meals in advance and forgetting them as soon as they are put away. "Do we need any..." "Ooh, can we get....?" That was my enjoyment.

I really need to get out more.

Karma

2006-11-08T22:28:00.001-05:00

"Don't go out now. It's raining."
"It's fine. I'll be right back."
"Okay, drive carefully."
"I will."

And I did. But I still got into that car accident.

Stephanie was running low on baby food. She had maybe one or two jars left, the rest was the peas she's tried and hated.

I was about 300 feet from the right hand turn I would make into the supermarket parking lot when another driver pulled out from a bank parking lot and slammed into the passenger side door of my car. She thought that my signal meant that I was turning into the parking lot she was coming out of, not the one right after. The police came and she was found at fault, mainly the person on the main road (me) always has the right of way. Secondly, they saw that her license plate came off of her car and was embedded into my passenger side door.

I always wonder about why things happen and what more serious accident I avoided by going tonight.

A few months ago, I dreamt that I was taking Steph to my mother-in-law's house in the morning, which is where she goes on Tuesdays. In my dream a white car was pulling out of the street I was turning on to and I slammed into that car. I woke up right after the dream and thought it was odd. For peace of mind, I made a mental note to take a different route to her house the next morning. Lo and behold, the next morning I completely forgot about the dream as well as the mental note and left to start the car. As soon as I got into the car, I realized I forgot my watch and so I went inside the house to put it on, then ran to the car and off we went. As I was approaching the street I was about to turn onto, I saw a white car pull out of the street and continue on it's way. It was then that I remembered the dream and wondered if by forgetting my jewelry, I avoided an accident. Had I left on time, I may have hit the car. Probably not, but who knows?

And so tonight I wonder. The side of the car that was hit was the side where the car seat is installed. Luckily, Stephanie wasn't with me when I ran out tonight. And because the damage on her side of the car caused the door not to close completely, she can't be in that car until it's fixed. So tonight I wonder if tonight's accident prevented a more serious accident when she would have been in the car.

My mother's motto is that everything happens for a reason. I was laid off from the company from hell last year and now work for my dream company. If I hadn't moved out of my apartment when I did, I never would have met my husband when I did.

So sometimes I have to imagine that if I am late for work, or even if I take a different route than normal to get from A to B, I am possibly escaping something far worse than just bad luck.

Introduction

2006-10-04T22:03:00.000-04:00

Hi. I'm Jodi.

I used to blog here. Sometimes I think I still do. I come back here from time to time with a thought. An idea. A statement. But then I give up before I start.

Maybe I'll delete the old blog and start a new one, I think. As if I'm just starting one for the first time.

Does anyone ever check back here anymore?

So much has happened since I last blogged. Stephanie is almost 6 months old.

She is amazing. What a little personality. I re-read my last few posts about how overwhelmed I was and it's as if it was written by someone else. Yes, I remember the sleepless nights wishing she would just go to sleep already. And I remember the wondering of when the last time it was I laughed out loud. But I don't remember it being that bad. I think that;s the reason why I don't delete everything and start fresh, the need to remind myself how it was in the beginning.

So I'm starting over from where I left off, whatever that means.

So I guess I am back. In more ways than one.

Sanity

2006-06-28T13:25:00.000-04:00

I'm back to work and feeling great, atleast better than I did during the time the last post was written.

My Benefits dept called me about 3 weeks ago and told me that the 8 weeks leave I was originally planning was now 6 weeks. Apparently, the woman who was handling my leave was confused. So my leave was cut short and I've been back to work for a little over a week. I'm considering it a blessing in disguise given that I would still be going stircrazy had I still been home.

I was talking to a friend the other day who is a mother of a one-year old. We were comparing war stories and I noticed that when she mentioned how much she loved being a mother but hated her pregnancy, I was realizing how much I loved the pregnancy, but hated the last 6 weeks. I love being a mother, and I love this little girl with every ounce of my being, but sometimes my love for all things mommy was overshadowed by all things frustration. And I noticed how different I was in that I had no seperation anxiety in going back to work. I left the house at 7:30 with a spring in my step and without a tear in my eye. I'm finding myself missing her during the day and devoted to her when I get home, but leaving in the morning is so easy.

Filter

2006-06-06T21:32:00.001-04:00

"How's Stephanie?" they ask.
"Great," I answer.

And she is. But what I don't add is that she doesn't sleep at night, and it drives me crazy. Correction. She sleeps, but she chooses the comfort of mommy's chest to lay her head rather than her crib. The result? Mommy doesn't sleep.

Sometimes when I choose to blog about something personal, I think twice about it. Same with conversations. Do I really want these people to know that my life is tainted with personal issues? I have a great marriage, loving family, fantastic job... but on the inside?

I looked up post-partum depression online the other day. I didn't consider it a possibility. The website I chose defined it as feelings of suicide, homicide, or inflicting injury. Those thoughts have never (never ever!) crossed my mind since giving birth (or beforehand) and so I convinced myself that wasn't it. And besides, I thought with PPD, I am supposed to not want to have anything to do with her. Again, not the case. I could hold her in my arms all day and gaze into her gorgeous blue eyes. I play with her. I tickle her. I sing Close to You by the Carpenters to her. But at night, I am frustrated. Annoyed. Unhappy.

Every night, at around 7:00, I start to feel down. I get nervous and tense. I think about what her sleep schedule will be that night. And how much my sleep will be affected. Because I'm still out on maternity leave, I get up throughout the night and let Ken sleep since he has to go to work the next day. Up until a few nights ago, she was up almost every hour. Wide awake and hungry. During the day, the formula knocks her out and she sleeps really well. At night? No amount of fluids could make her weary and her eyes have a constant deer-in-headlights look. This past week, she had a few consecutive nights of letting us sleep for 4 consecutive hours, which is HUGE. Last night she was back to her old tricks and I lost it.

When I am sleep deprived, I am extra emotional. And so I started to cry, something I've started to do frequently when woken up by her. Begging her to sleep as I hold a bottle in her mouth. Because mommy can't sleep during the day. When she naps, I can't nap. Somehow I am programmed into believing that I'll sleep through a cry or that she'll suddenly roll over onto her stomach - which screams of SIDS - and also which is pretty unlikely at 6 weeks of age but since my mind wanders, that's what is keeping me from napping.

During the day I am fine. Happy. Social. But when darkness hits, my mood turns sour and I am pessimistic and depressed and negative.

Ken and I have gotten into more arguments since she's been born. Some have been petty, some not so much. The most recent? I don't think he's hands on enough. He'll hold her or feed her when it's convenient for him.
When he comes home from work, I expect more from him. I am with her all day and overnight, I think he should give me a few hours off when he comes home from work. But many times when I ask him to take her, there is always something to do.
I gotta go to Home Depot.
I gotta go mow the lawn.
I have phone calls to return.
I have to get ready for tomorrow.
And I don't say anything. I let it go. Well, atleast until tonight (which empowered me to write this blog.)

He told me I was in a state of depression. And that makes me shudder a bit. Because part of me thought that only I saw it. What does it mean that those around me, those CLOSEST to me, are seeing it too?

I'm not a believer in pills, or Scientology vitamins, because I don't consider it to be that bad. It only affects me at night, and who is to say it is PPD? And I'll be getting more sleep when I go back to work in a month and Ken takes 3 weeks off to take care of her before we put her in daycare at the 3-month mark. And soon after she'll be old enough to sleep longer at night and I'll be fine.

Right?

My mother tells me it gets better. I know it does, and so I look forward to that. But right now? The fact that as of this moment it's NOT better is what weighs on my mind. Sigh.

So yes, Stephanie is fine. Thank you for asking. But this was something I felt I should blog about. Instead of the fluff that usually ends up here, I wanted to post something more real. Raw. Unfiltered.

2006-05-04T09:34:00.000-04:00

I don't even know where to begin. I can't believe she'll be two weeks old tomorrow.

I've never been so out of touch with the world as I am right now. The current song I have in my head isn't on any Billboard chart, but a Mozart piece from a Baby Einstein Discovery Gym. I probably watch 1/2 hour of TV a day and haven't even missed it. And the sad thing is, when I turn on the TV to escape, it seems like the majority of news being reported on is baby-related. Tom and Katie. Brooke. Brad and Angelina. With a little dash of bird flu, Moussaoui, and Earl Woods (RIP) mixed in.

Speaking of Tom, when I was in the hospital, I had a very annoying nurse named Betty Jo who tried to encourage me all throughout labor. She ended every sentence with, "I'm just saying it out loud."

"Once the baby comes, you'll forget about the pain. Just saying it out loud."

And worse, after every push, she would exclaim, "Hooray!" and she would enunciate the 'Hoo' part of it. I really wished she would shut up, and it was then that I thought of Tom, and how maybe silent births aren't such a bad thing. But I kept my mouth shut and figured that I'd let a more feisty woman going through labor set Betty Jo straight.

Ken went back to work yesterday and so I am taking the night shift whenever Steph needs to be fed or changed, which is every 3-4 hours or so. Before she was born, I promised myself that I would try to nap when she naps, but it's more difficult to do than I realized since something inside me is wrongfully convincing my brain that I'm not that tired, and that sure, I can survive on no more than 5 hours of sleep a day. No problem.

But maybe that's the mother-in-training in me. The one who will bake cookies at the last minute because my daughter forgot to tell me until the night before about the bake sale at school the next day. The one who will stay up with her finishing an assignment for class. The one who will wait up for her to return from nights out with friends, or the dreaded first date (even though that won't be until she's 30.) The one who will drop everything on a dime because she needs me to be there for her.

I drive as if I have a baby in the car, even when I don't. And I wonder now why more people don't have that mindset. It's amazing how quickly your life goes from being all about you to being all about somebody else.

she's here.

2006-04-27T16:13:00.000-04:00

Two and a half weeks early, my daughter decided she wanted out this past Saturday morning. Beautiful, healthy and 7lbs, 8oz and 19 inches long.

We named her Stephanie.

I'll write more when I'm less sleep-deprived. But everything I complained about in the last 9 months?

Totally worth it.

2006-04-18T08:15:00.000-04:00

I'm ready.

Last week, I wasn't ready. Everything was so overwhelming. I felt that as long as I still had unfinished projects at work, as long as I wasn't packed for the hospital yet, as long as I wasn't emotionally ready yet - that my body would understand and not put me through it yet.

But everything is done. Granted I do still have those projects to finish, but everything on the homefront is done. The nursery was finished a few weeks ago, all new cribsheets, onesies, bibs, and the like have been washed, and the hospital bags are packed.

And I'm ready. Really ready. I am fully prepared to wake Ken up in the middle of the night and say, "Let's go." I'm fully prepared to make a hospital room a temporary hotel room. And I'm fully prepared to leave as two and come home as three. And everything in between.

And most importantly, I am ready to sleep comfortably again. I'm ready to have my long awaited glass of wine and plate of sushi. I'm ready for my energy to come back, especially now that Spring has begun in New England. I'm ready to stand up, look down, and see my feet again.

And I'm excited about seeing her. Being a mom and learning from her and seeing her personality and sense of humor develop and hearing her laugh. Reading her books and hearing her voice for the first time and what toys and cartoon characters she'll connect with.

I'm probably delusional in thinking that I'll have more time to blog after than I do now. And maybe I won't. But as the days are dwindling, I'm staying offline and enjoying the last moments of hanging out with my husband before life becomes hectic.

Have a wonderful rest of April. Get out and enjoy the weather. Take a walk. Go on a daytrip. Read a book. Buy a vase and some fresh flowers.

Wish me luck.

2006-04-10T09:47:00.000-04:00

Yesterday morning as I was relaxing with my Boston Sunday Globe, I glanced across the masthead and noticed the date.

April 9th.

I'm due May 9th.

What a slap of reality that was.

Countdown to Baby

2006-04-05T13:40:00.000-04:00

Four and a half weeks.

That's it.

Last night I had a few false labor contractions, which are completely normal, and it freaked me out. Actually, Ken freaked me out. I thought nothing of them until...

"I'm timing them and so far there have been 2 within 10 minutes. If this keeps up, we're calling the doctor." And he continued to stare at me, watching my every expression. I didn't admit many more after that one. They stopped after about 40 minutes.

In our childbirth class, we were told to call the hospital when contractions come every 5 minutes for an hour. I didn't think anything of them until Ken reminded me of that. It made everything more real and I instantly thought how unprepared I was. I mentally packed my hospital bag and wondered how long it would take me to pack it for real. What would I bring the baby home in? Where are my nightgowns? What snacks can we take? What else are we forgetting?

But I'm not ready yet, and yet I am so ready.

What I'll miss about being pregnant:
Being able to eat foods that I never eat and not feel guilty about it.
Being able to nap midday and not feel guilty about it.
Not having to carry laundry downstairs or take it back upstairs.
Smiles from total strangers.
Feeling little kicks and hiccups coming from my belly.
Having an excuse for my forgetfulness.
Shopping. Whenever Ken complains about the credit card bill, I reply, "It's for baby," and he's okay with that.

What I won't miss:
Walking through clothing stores and seeing all the cute clothes that I'm too fat to fit into.
The lack of energy.
Hormones. I sometimes cry for the dumbest reasons.
Getting up every hour or two throughout the night to either change positions or pee.
That "kicked in the crotch" feeling we have due to explanding ligaments, which makes walking/standing/rolling over in bed painful as hell.
My swollen feet.
Caffeine withdrawal.

We're one big melting pot. Accept that.

2006-04-02T09:12:00.000-04:00

I saw Crash, and loved it.

I work for a company that has stores all over the world, and part of my job is to look into complaints filed against these stores.

Friday afternoon I was asked by someone from the midwest if we had any stores in his area, because the one closest to his location "is run by Pakistani's" and so he refuses to go there.

I hate that. I seriously hate ignorant people. And there was so much I wanted to say to him, but I kept my mouth shut. For one, I wanted to tell him that I was a Pakistani, just to hear the uncomfortable silence on the other end of the phone. But being at work, I can't take the time out of my day to convince a person to be less of a racist and read the news more, because last time I checked, we weren't at war against Pakistan. And further, anyone could be a terrorist. Ten years ago, Timothy McVeigh blew up a Federal Building in Oklahoma, and John Walker Lindh, considered a bright kid from a middle-class family, went to Iraq to join the Taliban. Both are as white as this caller from the midwest, but he ignorantly chooses to ....

okay, I'll stop. But you get my point.

I understand people have their stereotypes. Otherwise, Crash wouldn't have done so well at the box office and wouldn't have deserved all the awards it received. But keep it to yourself. Don't volunteer the information. Especially to someone you don't know. Am I Pakistani? No. But I what if I was?

If you want to complain about a company, by all means make the call. Send an email. Write a letter. But as soon as you bring up ethnicity, you have just lost all credibility.

More Useless Information

2006-03-28T15:09:00.000-05:00

I've been meme'd.

10 Favorites
1. Season: Fall
2. Color: Blue
3. Time: 6:30 - Home from work and still light enough outside
4. Food: Asian - Thai/Vietnamese/Japanese/Chinese
5. Drink
Non-alcoholic: Seltzer water with a splash of cranberry juice. Or water.
Alcoholic: Cosmo, or a nice glass of relaxing pinot. But I also like a good Bloody Mary.
6. Ice Cream: Pistachio or Mint Chocolate Chip
7. Place: Right now, it's the nursery we just finished. It makes me smile.
8. Sport: Baseball
9. Actor: Tom Hanks
10. Actress: Sandra Bullock

9 Currents
1. Feeling: Overwhelmed
2. Drink: Ice Water
3. Time: 3:20 PM
4. Show on TV: I'm addicted to Grey's Anatomy
5. Mobile: Cingular (I have no idea what this one means)
6. Windows open: 5 (Lotus Notes, 2 websites (both work related, I swear!), Blogger, and a work program.
7. Underwear: Black maternity ones. SEXY!
8. Clothes: Black pants, and a pretty flowery beigish maternity top. Oh, and black shoes.
9. Thought: 2 and a half more hours....

8 Firsts
1. Nickname: Muffet (my mother used to call me Muffet because apparently, Little Miss Muffet was my favorite rhyme growing up. )
2. Kiss: His name was Karl. And I loved him. Sigh...
3. Crush: John. 2nd grade. Who knew he was gay?
4. Best Friend: Andrea, she lived across the street. We were inseparable.
5. Vehicle: 1990 Ford Escort
6. Job: I was a candy striper at a local hospital. But my first paying job was at a McDonald's.
7. Date: I think it was with Paul in 9th grade. We went to the movies.
8. Pet: Harry and Herman - hamsters

7 Lasts
1. Drink: Water
2. Kiss: This morning before Ken left for work.
3. Meal: Breakfast this morning: Grapenut cereal, a banana, and orange juice.
4. Web site: Hotmail.com
5. Movie: Failure to Launch
6. Phone call: Work-related.
7. TV Show: The Today Show this morning.

6 Have You Evers
1. Broken the law: I stole a Roger Rabbit figurine when I was too little to know better. And I drank alcohol before I was 21. Does that count?
2. Been drunk: Yes
3. Kissed someone you didn't know: Yikes, yes. I'm feeling so irresponsible right now. But it was part of my "Always be kissed at New Years rule."
4. Been close to gunfire: No
5. Skinny dipped: Nope
6. Broken someone's heart: Yeah...

5 Things
1. You can hear right now: People talking, sound of the keyboard, someone whistling, phones ringing, The vent blowing air above my head
2. On your bed: Comforter, sheets, pillows, laundry that needs to be folded, and To Kill a Mockingbird, which I'm reading right now.
3. You ate today: Cereal, banana, pineapple, a granola bar, and orange sherbert.
4. You can't live without: Ken, my family, my car, potholders, and a phone.
5. You do when you're bored: watch mindless television, read, take a walk, call my parents, buy stuff for baby online.

4 Places You've Been Today
1. Bed
2. Shower/Bathroom
3. My car
4. Work

3 Things On Your Desk Right Now
1. Monitor, keyboard, mouse
2. Vaseline hand lotion and Purel Hand Sanitizer
3. An empty water cup.

2 Choices
1. Chocolate or Vanilla: Depends on my mood
2. Hot or Cold: Cold (If I'm too cold, I can bundle up. Even if you're naked, you can still be too sweaty.)

1 Place You Want to Visit.
Tuscany

Completely Random Ramblings

2006-03-25T08:59:00.000-05:00

Last night I went to Lincoln Park, a casino about 35 minutes away in Lincoln, Rhode Island. I won, Ken lost, but together we pretty much broke even. Here's what happened that prompted this blog.

I hate complainers. People who complain about petty little things is a HUGE pet peeve of mine. Actually, it's those that complain about something incessantly and not let it go. Last summer, I was in the slowest line ever at a Dairy Queen. It was hot, it was late, and whomever was working the line I chose might of been new. Who knows? But the person in front of me kept turning around and rolling her eyes and making comments. I smiled politely and hoped the fact that I didn't egg her on would shut her up. I was wrong. Last night, I was in line to cash out and something happened where the person working the window just walked away. Maybe she ran out of money, maybe she had to get some forms if the customer at the counter hit it big. Who knows? But person A in back of me and person B in front of me had a problem.

Where'd she go?
I don't know.
This is ridiculous.
Anyone want a job? It's obvious they're short-staffed.
Is that girl opening her window? We should all move over and not allow anyone in front of us. We've been waiting forever.
This is ridiculous.
Where is she?

Seriously. Where do you have to be that you are in such a rush all the time? I feel like asking this. Who cares if the line is slow. Where do you have to be right now?

I was in line for dinner at one of the food court restaurants and noticed a man in line at another restaurant who had the same belly I did. My belly popped sometime in the last month or so and so my energy level has sunk. I used to be able to do 50 flights on the gym Stairmaster, but now I am winded after climbing one flight of stairs to get to my cubicle at work. I hate it. Looking at this man, I wondered how anyone could want to live like that on purpose. I guess that being 8 months pregnant has opened my eyes to what I could feel like if I don't take care of myself.

Last tidbit: Most of the songs on my Ipod bring me back to another time and place. Band on the Run, by Paul McCartney and Wings, is probably one of my all-time favorite songs and Paul McCartney is the only artist who I would shell out a car payment to see in concert. In college, I went on 3 dates with someone who turned out to be a fugitive. On our first date, we went to karaoke night at a local bar. It was a Friday night in June 1994. I remember the date because it was the night of the infamous OJ chase in the white Bronco. As soon as it happened, all the TV's over the stage in the bar broadcast the chase and when it was over, one of the bartender's sang Band on the Run. It was the first time I heard that song and now everytime I hear it, I think of that night, and how fitting that song was given my own set of circumstances. I was on a date with a fugitive. And I have wondered since that night if he was laughing inside while that song was playing.

See Dick Dance. Dance, Dick, Dance.

2006-03-15T13:32:00.000-05:00

For our last official real nice date night out as "DINK"s (Double Income, No Kids), my family treated Ken and me to a fancy dinner and a play, The Full Monty.

I saw the movie years ago when it came out in theaters. I had forgotten most of the details of the movie, but remember the basic premise. Set in Britain, unemployed blue-collar men of all shapes and sizes are jealous that their wives and girlfriends spend their time at the strip clubs, that they decide to form their own male revue and give it a go. That is what I remember.

The night we went was the last night of the performance, and we found that many in the audience had been before.

"The end is the best."
"Have you seen the movie? This has NOTHING on the movie."
"Make sure you're awake for the end. And don't blink or sneeze."
"Is he uncomfortable with nudity?" a woman asks, nodding her head towards Ken.

There were many similarities between the play and the movie as far as plot. There were a few differences, like the setting (Buffalo, NY) and that there were more musical numbers than the original.

The major difference?

The last scene of the night. The final musical number. I knew there would be stripping. If I recalled, the last scene in the movie showed the men in all their glory with only the policeman's hat that was their costume covering the goods. That's what I was expecting. What I got? An eyeful. Little by little, the costumes came off. Everyone was cheering, obviously knowing what was to come.

There was a Bachelorette Party in the house that night, and one of the castmembers tried to drag the very embarrassed bride-to-be onto the stage to get a closer look. Blushing, she would go no further than the steps leading up to the stage.

Right before the curtain fell and the lights went out, they dropped the hats. Six little Jr's all in a row. In my shock and laughter, I tried to skim all six, but only really focused on one.

The acting was outstanding, the vocals were second to none, and the comaraderie among actors was obvious. Ken loved it. I thought he would be a little uncomfortable with male nudity, but because the play was fantastic, he didn't really see that as a letdown. He was glad that it was the last run of the play because he knew I'd probably want to see it five more times.

Home Stretch

2006-02-26T13:53:00.000-05:00

Dear Baby,

I realize that there are only 10 weeks left on your lease. I hope the accommodations that I have provided you in the past 7 months or so have been adequate. Free room and board, plenty of food and nutrition, no loud or sudden noise to disturb you, and enough time to sleep. Who could ask for better living conditions?

That being said, I understand how you might think that since you'll be moving out soon, you feel that you can throw my schedule into disarray. Don't get me wrong. The seven months that you have been in my life have been fantastic. You haven't caused me to be sick or achy. Even daddy has noticed. He proudly told my doctor that he was impressed how good it's been and how little I've complained. And I owe it all to you. But now that you're getting bigger and it's getting close to the time we should meet face to face, I thought we should have a talk.

Now that you're getting bigger, I know it's sometimes fun to stay up all hours of the night. But honey, mommy has to go to work in the morning. You know I love it whenever you move around, but if you feel something hard when you kick, please don't think it's a wall that will crumble if you keep kicking hard enough. It's my ribcage, and it isn't going anywhere. So please stop trying to tear it down.

Same goes for my bladder.

Love,
Mommy

P.S. Daddy thanks you for your sudden yearning for onion rings and french fries.

Working For a Simple Man

2006-02-19T20:31:00.001-05:00

Is it wrong to want to see a company fail? To feel glee when you know the end is near?

I worked for a small marketing firm. My main client and my boss do not speak. They have a long history of mutual disdain and so I was the go between. It was a stressful position, because every idea proposal I would offer to them was turned down because they thought my boss was ghostwriting. After I realized what was happening, I met with them and told them that my boss is never involved in my ideas, let alone in what I do for them (which was beyond true). They admitted being skeptical, since passing ideas off as someone else's is something my boss would do, and they apologized for thinking I'd go along with it. I left that meeting questioning my company.

In April, my boss asked me if I would be interested in working from home. They wanted to sell the building for various reasons, all of which made sense. "Think about it over the weekend and let us know." Granted, I would miss the daily interaction of an office, but since we were in the trying stages of starting a family, the thought of avoiding daycare and a commute were enough of a sell. Ken was completely in agreement, and so I came to them with my answer.

The first potential buyer fell through because the business didn't meet the standards of the Office Park. The second potential buyer came in October. I was told not to say anything to the client just yet because they were nervous about this offer falling through as well. But we started cleaning out our offices and a potential move date was given for Christmas week.

A week before Thanksgiving, I was told that my salary was being cut. Dramatically. I had gotten a really good raise a year before and it was being taken away from me, and then some. I told them I wasn't sure if I could do it, especially being pregnant. I held it together but as soon as I got back to my office, I called Ken and broke down in the middle of the conversation. Shortly after hanging up, they offered more if I took on the position of Accounts Payable. This would mean I would be taking the job from "S". Justifying to myself that S had another part-time job that she could make full-time, I accepted the position. If I wasn't four months pregnant, I would have looked elsewhere and turned it down. Given the position I was in, I didn't think I had many other options. I was also told that she would be notified after Thanksgiving.

Plans were underway. I ordered a company PO Box local to my house, I chose office furniture I wanted to move home, and I called Verizon to install a new phone and fax line. I also noticed that Thanksgiving had come and gone and no one had said anything to S.

A week into December, I was given the go ahead to let the client know about the transition to my home. They were upset for not letting them know sooner, and not giving them any say in the matter, given that it was their company. They had some decisions to make, I was told, and that I would find out the fate of my firm's involvement with this company soon. I asked about it several times. Have we heard anything yet? Any news? And I was always told No. Nothing yet.

During this time, S had asked me if I knew how to order a PO Box. Seems she was told to open one for company bills. I was confused. I asked my boss about it. Like a deer caught in headlights he looked at me. "Well, Jodi.... Let her do it for now, and who knows. Maybe in April or May, you'll take over." I was assured I'd still be paid the amount discussed. I assumed they had felt bad about letting her go. S had been their right hand for many years and I could understand their not wanting her to leave. But this was ridiculous. "That's fine," I replied. "I just don't like secrets." He diplomatically joked that I know more than he does sometimes and left. That afternoon, I went onto Monster.com and applied for a job. I also emailed my old boss who has been after me to come back and keeps offering to keep her eyes open in case something opens. I asked her to start looking.

The next day, Verizon came. When I came into work after the lines were installed, I asked for an update from the client. I was given a thumbs up and was told everything was all set. The next day, I received a call from the client. They were coming in to pick up all of my stuff. I asked why. "We're taking back the account." I told him I'd call him back and ran into my boss's office. "They're taking back the account." I could tell from his face that he already knew. He explained that everything was last minute, and that given the icy relationship, they thought it best to cut ties. "Don't worry," he told me. "You're still on our payroll until the end of December and we have many projects for you to do." The end of December was two weeks away.

After the building was cleaned out and I was home twiddling my thumbs, my boss called. "Maybe you should try to work a deal to work for the client," he said blankly. "Because we don't have any projects for you." After a brief moment of wondering how long he has lived without balls, I spoke my my mind. I forget his reply, but the conclusion was that for those last two weeks, I would be working with the client educating them on what I did. And what I learned during those two weeks was invaluable. They let me in on the history of the feud, which made me feel like a fool for having respected my boss at all during the 18 months I was there. They also let me know that they asked my boss if I would be interested in working for them, and he told them no. That given the pregnancy, I would only want to work from home. And that they would have to convince me to work there. Which of course was news to me, since no one ever mentioned an offer. The head of the company never offered me the position, because he felt that he didn't want me if I needed convincing. I didn't blame him.

A few days ago, I got a message from one of the writers I worked with asking me for assistance on a newsletter I worked on. My boss had given him my number because I was the only one who would know the answer.

Think I'm calling him back?

What I Thought About On My Way Home From Work

2006-02-16T20:01:00.000-05:00

1. I wish cars would come with sensors that would indicate whether or not the driver would give you a 'thank you' wave if you let them cut in front of you in heavy traffic.

2. If you aren't allowed a glass of wine after a stressful day, peanut M&M's work just as well.

3. I'm not a fan of Kanye West AT ALL, but apparently I know the words to Gold Digger and can rap along to it when it's on the radio.

4. I really don't care if people see me singing aloud in my car.

5. You can write the angriest letter into any company and can have all valid points, but if you write 'weather' when the word should actually be 'whether,' you've just lost all credibility and you'll be made fun of.

6. When you're pregnant, the bra is your enemy and you can't get home fast enough to remove it from your being.

7. When was the last time I blogged?

8. I'm feeling sympathy for the Doberman's, who are yes, still in the trailer after a blizzard dumped 18 inches on the ground. The frame of the house is done. Lord knows what's being worked on inside.

9. I put the milk back in the fridge after breakfast this morning, right?

10. TGIF and a long weekend.

Baby Kicks

2006-02-09T21:36:00.000-05:00

My father called me yesteday. "Did you hear what Britney did?"
"Um... yeah," I replied. "Why would YOU hear what Britney did?"

Apparently, my father has been watching Access Hollywood again. He knows I'm into pop culture and entertainment news, but we don't talk about it. When it comes to women like Britney, he focuses on the physical and doesn't know why society as a whole is pretty much sick of her.

"You know to never do that, right?"

Yes. Britney is an idiot. Do you really have to be a mother-to-be to know that to hold your 3 month old child against your body while riving and blame it on the paparazzi, is irresponsible. I told him this, along with the opinion that her first responsibility was to her son, not herself. That satisfied him. I just hope that the next time she's on TV and I ask him to change it, he'll do so instead of saying, "Wait a minute," and continue to watch as she continues to flaunt her body across the stage.

----

This week, whatever third trimester aches and pains I have been having have been placed on the back burner because my husband has been sick. And so motherhood came 2 and a half months early for me.

On Monday, after one of my doctor's appointments, Ken complained of his stomach feeling like lead. And he was lightheaded.

"Do you think I could have caught something?"
"Honey," I replied. "We were at an obstetricians office. What the women there have, you can't catch."

But he went to work and came home and felt sick.

"I'm cold." "Make me tea." I tell him to get into bed. "I'm too cold to get up. Help me. Can I have hot chocolate instead of tea?"

I come home from work the next day to find him sprawled on the couch watching TV. I ask how he's feeling. "I need more juice," he replies. And so I look at him. After about 15 seconds or so, he asks, "Do I really have to get up and get my own juice?"

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for taking care of those who are sick. But come on. Somehow, men were created missing the gene that enables them to take care of themselves. Women know what to do when they're not feeling well. We eat when we want to eat and we know what to eat. If we feel we need medicine, we take medicine. We don't need permission or reassurance that it's okay.

Whomever claimed that women are the weaker sex have never dealt with a man with a stomachache.

I'm Not Your Baby's Daddy

2006-01-29T20:08:00.001-05:00

Sigh...

Tomorrow is my first day of my new job and I won't have trash tv to escape to anymore.

I have no problem admitting to being a fan of Ellen Degeneres. Daytime talk shows are usually an hour of hearing a host who loves to hear herself speak (hello, Oprah). Ellen is refreshing and her quick wit kept my attention when I was too lazy to do anything else.

I'm not a fan of Maury Povich. His shows are ridiculous and absurd and pretty much a train wreck. Which is what caught my attention of course. The two or three shows I caught revolved around paternity tests to determine which of the 15 candidates could have fathered a young woman's poor child. The audience is made to feel bad for the woman, but I felt sympathy for the men, who had to be forced to sit next to a woman whose weakness for these men as well as their relatives and friends were pitiful. And just like a train wreck, it was difficult to look away.

TLC used to be my favorite channel. From Trading Spaces to While You Were Out, I was fascinated with decorating tips and how quickly I could feng shui my living room. But then they got personal. A Dating Story takes along on a blind date that was fixed up my mutual friends. A Wedding Story captures the planning, stress, and final product of said planning and stress. And finally, A Baby Story tells the story of a couple a month or so before the baby arrives all the way into the delivery room. After the baby is born, the family is shown a week later gushing and laughing at how well they are adjusting. I figured I would love this show. Prepare me for one of lifes miracles. I figured I would like this show. For one, well duh, I'm pregnant. But I used to love those Discovery Channel Shows where they took you into the operating room for breast implants or liposuction. Something about them fascinated me. But after catching a few episodes, I have come to realize that A Baby Story is the WORST show to watch if you are pregnant. It's too detailed... and it freaked me out.

So being lazy was fun and relaxing. I was able to paint the new nursery and catch up on everything I needed to do without scheduling around a schedule. So, bye Ellen. So long Maury. Til we meet again, Regis and Kelly.

Who Wants My Dinner?

2006-01-22T17:39:00.000-05:00

There was a recent op-ed piece in the Boston Globe about how Massachusetts is looked down upon by much of the country. Of course, it's an editorial so I'm not sure how entirely true it is. Maybe you can enlighten me. Either way, I don't care. Personally, the fact that this country is more looked down upon by other countries is more to be concerned about.

A number of reasons were pointed out as to why we are under scrutiny, and why, as the article points out, so many of us leave. Political climate, rising costs of living and home values, and general stereotypical attitudes about the people, to name a few. Like our edge. How we have our own rules for driving. Case in point. A scene yesterday when I was at a 4-way stop with one other car. He had the right of way. And so I waited for him to go. He never went. I waited a little longer and when he didn't budge, I assumed he was letting me go first and so I took my foot of the brake. I guess the movement of my car woke him up from whatever daydream he was having because that is when he decided to go, too. He started to move as I passed the front of his car, and beeped at me because I apparently cut him off. And I yelled (out loud in a car where all the windows were closed), "You didn't move!" (Of course, I wouldn't have yelled if there was a chance he would hear me.) It made me feel better. And it justified my actions. To myself atleast.

That incident and my reaction to it reminded me of the op-ed piece and how maybe we are what they say we are. We can't be the only ones with an edge. It can't be just us, right? How could this state be under so much criticism when there is so much here to be desired? The history, the culture, the personalities. Our weird obsession with our sports teams that some describe as scary. Someone once said that if 100 people were plucked from around the country and immersed in our culture for a year, they would love it. And I agree. And although I would love to have the chance to experience life living in New York City or DC or Chicago, I know it wouldn't compare.

But then something happened that changed any doubts I had. A car accident that we sort of witnessed last night. Ken and I were sitting on the couch when we heard a loud screech, followed by a crash. We both looked at each other, and without saying a word, jumped up and looked out the window. Ken called the police to let them know and we headed outside and to the main road to see what happened. We joined others who must have also heard the crash and watched as police cars rushed to the scene.

Apparently (this was our guess), a car drove out of a side street without stopping and the SUV that was on the main road heading in her direction saw her and tried to stop but instead drove right into her door. We guessed the driver at fault who was coming out of the side street was in her late teens or early twenties, judging by a graduation cap tassel hanging from her rearview mirror. To call her shaken up would be an understatement. But she was walking okay (as was the other driver) and so for that we counted her blessings for her, since we didn't think she was in any frame of mind to think to do so herself. We asked if she was okay and if she needed a phone or a bathroom and so she went into a nearby house to clean up and call her parents. The older driver finished up giving his information to the policeman, used his cell phone to make a call and when the woman came back to the accident scene, asked if she was alright and if she wanted something to eat, as he had just picked up some takeout.

And it made me smile, as I was reminded of the article once again. Standing there, among an ambulance, a tow truck, and several police cars with flashing lights illuminating the sky, glass shattered all over the street, and surrounded by various witnesses and curious onlookers, it made me think of one point wasn't discussed.

We may get easily frustrated. And yes it is true we have an edge. But when you put us in the worst possible circumstances and ruin our day, we'll still offer you our dinner.

My Comfy Chair Will Be Lonely Soon

2006-01-13T14:37:00.000-05:00

I was offered a job yesterday! They're sending me the official written offer (salary, benefits, etc.) in the mail and I'll need to call to officially accept once I look it over. The salary offered is lower than what I was previously making, but the benefits and 10-15 minute commute makes up for it. Plus, I really can't ask for any particular amount of money when I'll be taking time off for maternity leave in a few months.

They know I'm pregnant and when I'm approximately due. I nervously mentioned it in the interview and they congratulated me, made small talk and moved on. The company I worked for previously screwed me over in the end (a post for another time if you're interested) and so the fact that they didn't see my pregnancy as an obstacle was a relief.

I start in 2 weeks. It'll be a little weird to wake up and go since I've gotten used to the easy and boring living of the unemployed. It'll be weird to have a schedule to follow again, not to mention wearing a pair of pants that doesn't have an elastic waistband. I had knee surgery about 4 years ago and the week I had to take off to recuperate was the worst. I was itching to go back. Now? No rush. I like the fact that I can relax and plan my day according to my schedule. No rushing to the post office or bank with everyone else during lunch hour. No running to the grocery store at dinner time to pick up the last item needed to make that night's meal. No taking a walk and needing to check my watch and trying to remember when I started, careful not to go over my lunch hour.

But given the company, the fantastic reputation it has (Boston Business Journal rated it one of the top 15 companies to work for) and the perks (free coffee and ice cream on-site, and luckily a fitness center to work off said ice cream) I really can't be disappointed about working there.

Give Me A Straw And Find Me A Cow

2006-01-11T18:03:00.000-05:00

I am craving milk. Regular milk. Chocolate milk. Milkshakes. Can't get enough. I never drink milk, with the exception of in my morning breakfast cereal. But you would never find me making a special trip into the kitchen at 2:00 in the morning for a tall glass. This child is going to have the strongest bones around.

Ken's disappointed. He was hoping that I would have pizza or spaghetti cravings, just so he would have an excuse to pig out with me. Occasionally, I'll have a craving for Swedish Fish, those gummy fish-shaped candies. He likes those cravings. But when I head into the kitchen and take out the milk, ice and frozen fruit and plug in the blender, he knows it's going to be a boring night.

And on the subject of cows, did I tell you I'm fat? I didn't really realize it until this weekend when I got dressed to go out to dinner, walked by a floor length mirror and was shocked. Ken asked what was wrong.

"Look at me. From the side, I almost take up the width of the mirror."
"Um, I think you're exaggerating just a bit."
"I'm fat."
"No, Jodi. You're almost six months pregnant."
"It's fat."
"It's a baby."

I love being pregnant. Don't get me wrong. I have enjoyed the entire process, from beginning (wink, wink) to now, and continuing. I just never thought I would have such a weird body image. I see pregnant women all the time and never consider them to be fat. Do they see the same when they look at me? Probably not, but then again... they could see themselves as fat when they look in their own mirrors.

I'm also discovering how much I'm freaking out about everything again. It comes and it goes. The newest episode comes in realizing that I'm well over the halfway point and that this baby will be entering the world in less amount of time then the number of weeks I've been pregnant. I remember last fall when we were asked when we were going to start looking at decor and thinking about paint and carpet. "After the first of the year," was always the canned response, knowing that there was plenty of time to think about it. And now that the first of the year has come and gone, it's overwhelming (yeah, I know I use that term a lot in these posts) to know that we've picked out a name (don't ask, not telling until she's here), decor, paint, and carpeting and I feel like there's not enough time to consider swings, highchairs, and strollers. But atleast it takes my mind off the outrageously ridiculous cost of daycare.

I Bet You Think This Blog Is About You

2006-01-09T08:35:00.000-05:00

My blogging isn't something I talk about. I've mentioned it in passing to my husband who hasn't mentioned much interest in reading it, but I know he is curious. Occasionally, he'll see me online and ask what I'm doing.

"Catching up on blogging," I'll sometimes reply.
"Oh," is his regular response.

The first time I mentioned it, he asked what a blog was. He's not much of an online person. He'll pay bills and check email and read the top business headlines, but he doesn't surf the web much. So I told him a blog was sort of an online diary where people can comment and link to their own. "Oh."

He has no idea that I sent a few people giftcards as a result of that promo that I wrote about a few months ago. He would be shocked to see pictures and accompanying stories about the neighbors (I made him delete early pictures he took of the house and view that I thought were invasions of privacy. I didn't tell him that I changed my mind and instead thought they'd be a good read.) He wouldn't understand that I have online "friends." Not that he would care, he just wouldn't get it.

And so it was a little surprising one day when he asked if I blogged about him. He is always interested in what I do, and I know he's been curious, but he knows that I value my privacy when it comes to certain things. I don't keep secrets, but I hate when people read over my shoulder, whether it be a newspaper or seeing what I'm doing online. So when I'm online, he knows not to look at what I'm doing.

I told him that I didn't think I ever dedicated an entire post about him - atleast, until now - but I have mentioned him a few times here and there, and that he's always open to read it if he wants. He's never asked for the site, so I assume that since he knows there isn't anything scandalous written, he's okay with it.

If he asks, I'll let him read. But part of me likes the fact that no besides him knows if its existence and that so far, he hasn't asked for the site. Not that I've written anything juicy (I've so been tempted), but this is like something all my own. As long as it lasts.

A Year of Ramblings ...

2005-12-30T09:39:00.000-05:00

Granted, I started this blog in March, so we're not quite at the anniversary yet, but since it'll be January in 2 days, I figured I'll be nostalgic and look back at my year (okay, 9 months) of blogging.

I started out praising the Chantico (still do!) and rallying against OPC. I opened my husband's eyes up to another world. I realized how much public information I could find out when my neighbor's dog decided he liked to defecate on my lawn more than anywhere else. I got knocked up and laid off. What a pretty good year.

I'm not much into making resolutions. I have no idea if I even made any last year, that's how much I take them seriously. I still need to go to the gym more often. I still need to save and invest more than I have been. I still need to keep in touch more often. I still need to be less stubborn. And I still need to do everything else that is a typical resolution. But I'm not resolving to make changes because when the year is over, I'll either feel bad that I didn't keep the resolutions, or be where I am today - unsure if I made any in the first place.

I do hope that at this time next year, I will have found a job, I will be able to say that my daughter is happy and healthy, and that those around me are too. And that the trailer that has been the focal point of the view outside my bedroom window will be a thing of the past.

Happy New Year!

Happy Chrismakkawanzaa

2005-12-23T12:48:00.000-05:00

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people take life too seriously. Or more commonly known as, "The PC Police."

Case in point. I was watching the local news the other day about the debate over taking "Christmas" out of everything and replacing it with the word "Holiday". Christmas lights will now be marketed as Holiday lights. The Boston Mayor also made it known that this year, at the annual tree lighting, it will be the Holiday tree that will be lit up. Saturday Night Live made fun of it during their news segment and then joked that instead of the annual lighting of the Menorah, the Mayor will be lighting the Holiday Candelabra. It's a bit out of hand.

My Christmas celebration is a tradition of dinner at at Chinese restaurant with about 10 relatives. I don't celebrate Christmas, and I have no desire to use any other terminology that a disgruntled member of society lobbied for. For the record, they are CHRISTMAS LIGHTS! Whatever colors they are, whatever shape you put them in, they are Christmas lights. If I did celebrate Christmas, I'd put up lights. Heck, I'd put up a tree and adorn my front lawn with one of those cute inflatable snow globes that are new this year. I don't know anyone who celebrates any other holiday, and still puts up lights. That is why they are called Christmas Lights. That's all there is too it.

When I was in high school, the winter semi-formal was called Santa's Dream, until someone complained. And so it was changed to to the equally corny Winter Wonderland. Maybe my distates for all things PC started then.

Why do we have to be so politically correct all the time? Who made that rule? Just let it be. That's the way it was, that's what we're used to, and that is what we know is right.

And changing the Pledge of Allegiance for the Atheists so that His name is removed? Seriously. Please just let us have this one. If you don't want to say it, don't. You don't have to stand, you don't have to face the flag, and you don't have to place one hand over your heart. That is your right. But let us do it if we want to. Isn't that our right?

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, and Happy Kwanzaa. Whatever you celebrate, enjoy it.

Will Blog For Food

2005-12-16T19:26:00.000-05:00

I've never been unemployed before. And now I am.

I haven't blogged because I've been emotionally drained, but without actually being emotional. When I found out that the major client that I work with has revamped their company and is taking everything in-house, I was relieved. The company had become quite a headache in the past few months and I was planning to look elsewhere next fall.

When the rumor that they were thinking about it was made public, I went onto Monster and applied for a job. I also contacted my old boss who was more than happy to look for an open position. Just to cover my bases. When the rumor became truth, I wasn't worried because I had minutes earlier checked my email and saw that Dunkin Donuts saw my resume on Monster and wanted to set up a phone interview for a position in their corporate offices. Now, I love Dunkin Donuts. Their coffee is my morning addiction (well, I've had to cut down in the past couple of months...) And so I figured that when the Mothership calls, you can't pass up the opportunity. And so a phone interview was set up. Knowing that this interview existed, and knowing that my previous employer is on the lookout, lightened the fall of my job situation. The phone interview went well, and the recruiter told me that she would pass my resume on to the hiring manager.

Which brings up another issue. Baby.

I'm due to have a child in 4 months. Seriously, would you hire me?

(It's a girl by the way. YAY!)

I know that not hiring a person based on being pregnant is illegal, blah blah blah. But the truth is, it happens. Of course I'll make it known in an interview (I'm not showing to the point where it's obvious) and let them know that daycare plans are in place (sort of) and that I would be available for anything while I'm out on leave, pretty much at their beck and call. But is that enough?

I was relieved a few days ago when I heard the news. Overjoyed. But now. I spent the morning on Monster sending out resumes before heading out and catching up on my million errands. Today was my first full day of not going into an office. I feel lost. Unsure. Drained. But hopeful.

Sometimes I'm Just An Idiot.

2005-12-06T14:28:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning, I drove down to my car dealer to have my tires rotated and to have a piece of weather stripping that was coming loose on my door re-attached. I was expecting a long line waiting to get in, but was surprised to find that I was second in line, and thrilled that the wait wouldn't be too long. I couldn't find the spare key that I usually keep in my purse, so I took off the key from my keychain and put it loosely in the ignition, got out and closed the door. I told the tech the reason for my visit and he went over to the car to check out the weather stripping problem. And the door was locked.

I knew it. All the while I was taking my key off the chain, I was telling myself something will happen and I won't have a key. But I figured, what could happen? It's not like they're going to lose my key. So as he looked at me with that "Please, have a spare" look, I could only feel my face falling into my hands and mumbling, "I can't believe I just did that." I was embarrassed. I was holding up a line, and I had to wait at the desk as he asked everyone around if they knew anyone that could jimmy a car. I felt like calling a prison that was a few towns over. Surely someone there would know how to break into a car.

No one at the dealership knew how how to get the car open, and so 45 minutes and $90 later, a new key was made. I asked if this happens often, and he lied and told me it did. He couldn't have been nicer. And I couldn't have been more apologetic since I was holding up the line and wasting his time.

I was probably making more out of it than necessary, but I kick myself over stuff like this. Especially when I have to spend a ridiculous amount of money on something that could have been prevented.

And I still have no idea what I did with my original spare.

When will I know how to be a parent?

2005-12-01T13:26:00.000-05:00

I try not to post much about my pregnancy. Of course, it's a huge part of my life right now, but I don't want this to turn into a strictly pregnancy blog. But I'm starting to freak out.

Driving home on Sunday, I felt the baby move. It was a little flutter, followed by what I assume was a kick. It was very cool. It just made this whole thing real. I saw the ultrasound two months ago (has it really been that long?), but actually feeling a kick? Just took it to a whole new level. And with that new level brought a little panic.

This weekend, spending time with my niece and nephew... made me think about what type of mom I'll be. I think I'm a cool aunt. I play with dolls and trucks and I buy toys when they beg and read them stories with funny voices and I play pretend. But then I go home. I'm not there for the important stuff, like disciplining, or cleaning up scrapes, or taking them to the doctors, or knowing how to stop a cry, or answering life's questions. My niece once asked me why I drink water all the time when it doesn't even taste like anything, and where does water even come from? That was easy to answer, compared to the rest of what she probably asks her parents.

I wish there were more books written by parents - not doctors - about what is right and what is wrong. Doctors seem to exaggerate and never tell you not to worry if your child is not walking/talking/potty trained/eating solid foods/out of a crib according to schedule. There is one answer for everything, according to doctors. Parents tell it like it is. Lessons they have learned from experience. "No need to worry," they'd write. "My child went through this, and turned out fine." That's what I want to hear. No medical terminology. No statistics. Just stories.

On Wednesday, we'll find out if these kicks belong to a boy or a girl. It's all just very overwhelming.

False Intruders and Being Stranded on an Island

2005-11-28T12:21:00.000-05:00

aka... how I spent my Thanksgiving weekend.

We headed to Cape Cod on Wednesday night to avoid holiday traffic. It was a pretty quiet night since my brother and his family weren't coming until Thursday. The biggest surprise was when I walked in and my parents commented that I was starting to show. I knew I was growing. My pants still fit, though they had become quite snug. But it doesn't really sink in until someone else points it out that I'm getting fat.

Thursday night, we were watching TV when my brother heard a noise coming from the garage. None of us heard it, but all went to the door where the garage meets the kitchen and pressed our ears to the door. Silence. My mother mentioned that there were some break-ins reported a few towns over and so she wanted to call the police because she automatically assumed that was the cause of the noise. We knew there was nothing in there, but after ruling out an animal and hearing more noises coming from the garage, my mother called. We were all against it, but given that we saw humor in it, we didn't stop her. We called it CSI: Cape Cod, and watched as the lights of the car flashed as it stopped at the house. We opened the garage door, and watched as the officers with their flashlights looked inside everything, under everything, and behind everything. No one was there. We thanked them for coming by and he left. My brother and I both heard the noises off an on for the next hour. We followed the noise and found the "Welcome" plaque that was outside, banging against the house in the wind. Nowhere close to the garage. My mother was embarrassed.

My father had seen an ad for a crafts show on Martha's Vineyard a few weeks ago, so our plan for Saturday was to spend the day there, and walk through some of the towns. My parents are craft show junkies. They stop at every booth and admire the talent, while I walk by until I see something interesting, stopping every so often of course, to sample the homemade mustards and jellies. The day before, we tried to schedule the car to go on one of the ferries and were told that we would have no problem going over, but there wasn't any room for the car on any of the ferries back as they were booked solid. We thought about renting a car, but the need for two carseats for my niece and nephew prevented that from happening. After calling the number on the bus schedule, was told of the bus that went to the craft show, and figured that would be our best option.

We made our way over to the island and waited at the bus stop right outside the Vineyard Haven Ferry Terminal. The bus we wanted came on time, but the driver mentioned that he wasn't going near where the show would be. And he wasn't sure if any bus did. We told him the conversation with the bus company the day before, and so he called his supervisor to see if any buses went in that direction. The supervisor came, checked his schedule, and found that the closest bus that went anywhere near there would drop us off 2 miles from the center, but wasn't scheduled to come by until 1:22. It was almost 11:00. And the show ended at 2. Winter hours, we were told. There was nothing he could do. As we walked away to find a cab, he called us back and said that he would drive us there himself, "to prove that islanders are nice." When we arrived at the center, he told us that when we were finished, to walk to the end of the road and wait for the bus. He also had told us that if we called a cab, we would be required to pay the fare from Point A to B. Apparently, where they started from was Point A. They would then pick us up and take us to Point B. Since the majority thought that paying for a fare when we weren't even in the cab yet was silly, we would wait for the bus. After the show, we walked to the end of the road where we joined another couple waiting for a bus, and we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It was freezing. Cars passed by, probably wondering why we were standing randomly on the side of the road. Knowing that we couldn't be waiting for a bus because buses didn't come by there. But we waited. Because we knew the second we started walking back, a bus would come. After 45 minutes we gave in, and made our way back to the center to call a cab. Apparently, the bus supervisor was wrong yet again. No weird cab fees. We decided to go to Oak Bluffs, one of the prettier towns on the island. The cab driver who took us there told us that she used to go bike-riding with JFK Jr, and that whenever Carolyn Kennedy comes over to the Vineyard, she always requests her as her cab driver. Now, I'm a fan of the Kennedys. Not in the political aspect, but the family. The history. And the legacy of Camelot. So when she mentioned John and Carolyn, my ears perked. I didn't believe her (neither did my father), but didn't question it. We just assumed she likes to impress the tourists with random tales. She also pointed out where Diane Sawyer and David Letterman have their houses. In Oak Bluffs, we had lunch, and explored the town a little bit. My father bought a Black Dog T-shirt and a bib for the baby. Black Dog is a huge label over there. It started out as a restaurant owned by a sailor who always had his black dog onboard with him, and now there are stores all over the island. It's amazing how fast it grew.

We wanted to head into Edgartown and Menemsha, but since our schedules were screwed up because of the bus that never was, we had to leave early in time to catch the ferry back.

Not the relaxing weekend I expected, but memorable nonetheless.

Thanksgiving Wishes

2005-11-23T11:57:00.000-05:00

I'm heading home today at around 1:30, will make my famous candied yams (and if time permits, brownies), shower, pack, and head to my parents house where I'll feast and relax and shop and play with my niece and nephew until Sunday.

Safe travels to wherever you are going, and have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

When I Get A Round Tuit

2005-11-21T20:04:00.000-05:00

When I was little, I remember a piece of paper hanging on our refrigerator. It was one of those sayings that my father must have laughed at and thought it was worth photocopying (or I guess it was mimeographing back them) and taking home to share with the family, and all who chose to enter our kitchen. It was similar to the "Today is not your day; Tomorrow doesn't look good either" type of sayings. The one on the fridge was titled, "A Round Tuit." Below the title was a definition for a round tuit. I forget exactly, but it was something like a disk that you held on to that somehow magically made you a more efficient person and avoided the putting off of what needed to get done until there was nothing left to do.

Confession: I am the world's worst procrastinator. How bad am I, you ask? Well, I was going to post a blog this afternoon about how I haven't responded to all the emails I need to respond to. Emails that have been sitting in my Inbox waiting to be answered. Plans that haven't been finalized because I haven't emailed back a date to get together. Relatives wondering if I have been swallowed up by this baby since I haven't responded to let them know how I'm feeling. I didn't post about it today because I figured it can wait and I'd get around to it later. The reason I'm getting around to it now? Because I am procrastinating on editing a magazine draft for work tomorrow.

I have to do this magazine. It usually takes me about 2 hours to do and I literally looked at the clock tonight and planned out the timeframe that I would dedicate to doing it. I figured that I would go online for half an hour and respond to emails. Responding to emails, I concluded, would get me motivated to do the magazine. Finish one task I had been putting off, conquer the next. I quickly visited the websites that are on my list of favorites, played a little Freecell (my addiction), and here I am. Over my allotted half hour. No emails have been responded to yet and the magazine is starting to collect dust on the kitchen table.

Don't get me wrong. I do get things done, eventually. And on time. I just wait until the last minute to do them. That's why I think I work best under pressure. I think better and so I feel that what is finally accomplished is better than what it would have been had I started on time. That's my logic.

On the bright side, I guess this could be considered crossing one off the list, since I technically put off blogging about procrastination and here I am getting it done. Aren't you proud of me?

I need a round tuit.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Trying To Get Home

2005-11-13T09:11:00.000-05:00

Please... go back where you came from. Stay out of my town. I beg of you.

Wednesday morning at precisely 9 a.m., IKEA opened it's newest location. Two blocks from my house.

IKEA, if you're not familiar, is a huge Scandinavian furniture company with locations all over the world. Low prices, decent quality, most pieces require assembly. There are only a handful in the United States. Before the Massachusetts spot opened on Wednesday, the closest location to all of New England would have probably been in New Jersey.

I have to give them credit though. Their marketing and public relations campaign was phenomenal. I would have loved to work in their PR offices during the days, weeks, even months leading up to the grand opening. Everyone was talking about it. They offered a $5,000 gift certificate to the first person in line, and so a college aged guy camped out at the front door a week and a half before Opening Day. Cameras were on him to make sure he stayed there (with privilege to leave to relieve himself only) and sure enough, he got the prize. Opening Day promised more giveaways, samples of Scandinavian fare, a local high school band, as well as TV and radio personalities broadcasting live and offering their own prizes.

When my mother told me that she was going to head over there on Wednesday morning for Opening Day, I wanted to go. I was against it beforehand. They were expecting about 10,000 visitors that day and I originally didn't want to be anywhere near there. But then when she told me she was going something in me jumped and I wanted to be a part of it. Ken thought I was nuts.

I tried thinking of excuses I could use to be late for work, but in the end, the angel on my left shoulder convinced me that since I'm missing enough work for my monthly baby appointments, I shouldn't miss any more. Especially over this.

Ken went hiking this weekend and so I decided to venture over there. Ken wanted me to wait and go with him, but the intrigue was too much and so I started out anyway. I knew I should have turned around the instant I turned out of my street. I live off of a main street. A street that had an easy route to get to IKEA. A street that we were glad was not part of the published directions on how to get there. And apparently, a street managed to be discovered as an alternative route. IKEA is located in a huge shopping area that also offers a Christmas Tree Shop, a Home Depot, Michael's Arts & Crafts, Costco, and several other shops local to the area. I'm in that area often. What would be a 10 minute drive on a typical Saturday, took me 40 minutes yesterday. When I finally got into the shopping center, it was more lanes of traffic, more bumper to bumper, and so I decided to pull into Christmas Tree Shop instead, browse around in there for a little while, then go on about my day.

I had to return something at Sears and so I went to the mall and was there for a while. I returned the clothes and went into Mimi Maternity and bought my first outfit. The top is still a little long since I won't "pop" for another month or so, but I can't wait to wear the jeans. They have an elastic waist and a thick cotton panel in the front that will be so comfortable as it covers my tummy.

On my way home, the highway electronic message board announced that my exit, as well as the following exit, were closed due to heavy traffic. The closest exit I would be able to get off for an easy, non-IKEA route would be 4 exits up. As I neared the exit I normally take, I notice that it is in fact open. I take the exit and as I near the merge onto the main road, I see the problem. A 2-lane road is now 3 lanes and it's ridiculously backed up. I make a U-turn when able and get back on the highway. Only being able to go 15 mph to the next available exit, it takes me over an hour to get home from a mall only 25 minutes away.

To call this crazy would be an understatement. It is insane. Madness. I'm still interested in going. I've never been and want to see what the fuss is about.

But I decided I'm not leaving my house today.

The Holidays Come Early

2005-11-09T13:11:00.000-05:00

What better way to share the "wealth" than with others, right?

A few posts ago, I mentioned how ridiculous the ongoing rain and lack of sunshine has become. Remember? And I mentioned that rainfall is said to be a sign of good luck. And then I mentioned at the end of the post that if I happened to come across any good fortune, then I'll be sure to send a little your way. Remember? "A promise is a promise," as Nicholas Cage said to Bridget Fonda in It Could Happen To You.

No, I didn't win the NY Lottery.

I work for a small marketing firm. And I got something in the mail from one of the companies we used to deal with. Apparently, the person who was in this position before me ignored the brochures that kept being sent from this company because upon opening their latest brochure, I came across a little bit of excitement in the form of a balance. For each dollar spent with this company, she was racking up points. Points that can be redeemed for gift cards to many fantastic websites. Because she is gone and I am here, these points are mine, apparently to spend as I wish.

Ken chose a gift card to LL Bean. I chose a gift card to Red Envelope. I also ordered one from Staples, since I feel a little guilty not spending some on the office. Family will be questioned on Thanksgiving when I show them the brochure.

And since a promise is a promise, what would you like? I'm offering a gift card only to those bloggers whose blogs I read and who of course read my Ramblings... in return and respond with your words of wisdom and humor on an ongoing basis. You know who you are. If you're not sure, ask.

Your choices:

$25 Williams-Sonoma
$35 LL Bean
$40 Staples
$25 Red Envelope
$25 Sharper Image

If you wish, email me (listed in profile) with your address and choice and I'll leave a comment in your blog that I got the email, just to confirm that it is actually you who emailed me. The company will send it to me, and I'll send it along to you. This means that delivery will probably take about 3 weeks.

With a baby on the way and a sudden need to replace a dishwasher that broke last night, it makes me pretty happy that I'm able to give some gifts that don't require opening my wallet.

Happy Halloween

2005-10-31T13:12:00.000-05:00

I have to go to the store on the way home tonight because I ate more than enough mini-Hershey's bars and mini-3 Musketeers bars over the weekend that I'm afraid that there won't be enough for the costumed characters that they're intended for. But I'm pregnant so that's my out.

I think I eat pretty well. Oatmeal or good-for-you cereal in the morning with orange juice, a decent lunch, and a pretty healthy dinner. For snacks I sneak in crackers (the new Sundried Tomato and Basil Wheat Thins are delicious!) and some fruit and veggies. For dessert I have ice cream or frozen berries and Cool Whip. All the while consuming ounce after ounce of water.

But some of the time I splurge. Like on chocolate. Or onion rings, which I would NEVER eat before. Before I was pregnant, I couldn't remember the last time I had an onion ring. I'm not much of a fried food person. But now? I've had them three times in 12 weeks. I never initiate, like I would never order them at a restaurant, but if others at the table ask if I'd like to share an order, I've never said no. But I'm pregnant so that's my out.

My husband can't wait for the cravings to start. He's looking forward to when I want a pizza at 2 in the morning just so he can have some too. That's what he hopes his "sympathy pains" will be - to share my sense of cravings.

But I haven't had any yet. With the exception of chocolate milk, which I had about 4 glasses in a row a few weeks ago, I haven't had the urge to eat anything in particular. But if I do want a pizza at 2 in the morning followed by an Oreo Cookie Blizzard from Dairy Queen, I won't turn it down. I'm pregnant and that's my out.

October Ramblings

2005-10-25T11:30:00.000-04:00

This morning I played Dodge the Barrel on my way to work. It is so incredibly windy 'round here and every 5th house or so had a barrel blown into the street. If it's true what they say, that rain really does bring good luck, then I, along with pretty much the rest of the East and Gulf Coast, will soon be landing our soggy bottoms into a boatload of good fortune. I'll be waiting patiently.

Sorry to Leslie and John, but I'm happy that the White Sox are leading. The sight of Roger Clemens losing sends happy endorphins right through me. Carl Everett isn't much of an angel either, but he's not Roger Clemens.

The Dobermans house is coming along smoothly. Their house has been gutted, new windows were installed, and the roof has been fixed. The trailer is still there, but it's less of an annoyance now knowing that the end is soon near. That is, unless the wind blew it 20 feet into our yard this morning.

I'm 12 weeks along today. I won't know the gender for another month. My only symptoms right now are heartburn and the occasional backache, so I can only assume this baby is loving me and very happy with the food and sleeping accomodations I'm providing. So far my only craving have been chocolate milk. I'm not sure how much I have gained so far, but I do know that only one pair of jeans and two pairs of dress pants still fit me. I'm trying to prolong maternity clothes for as long as possible.

I went to the dentist last night and when I asked for an earlier than 6 month next appointment, was denied because insurance won't pay for it. So my next appointment is for April 27, approximately one week before I am due. I mentioned this to the receptionist. Without looking up, she replied, "Okay, well just call if there is a problem."

I also joined a local book club. The first book read was Broken For You by Stephanie Kallos and this Friday we will discuss The Pact by Jodi Picoult. I've been wanting to join a book club since I moved to the area and so far this one has a great mix of people and opinions. I'll know my next book on Friday. Hopefully it intrigues me as much as the first two have.

All for now. I haven't had much time to update or catch up. Hope the weather is better in your neck of the woods, and if so, then I'll try to pass along some of my potential good fortune boatload your way.

It's So Real

2005-10-04T19:38:00.000-04:00

A little over a month ago, I woke up after a good night's sleep remembering a dream. In the dream, I was lying down and rubbing my stomach. I felt a little lump and said to a complete stranger, "Feel this. Does this feel pregnant to you?" They rubbed the lump on my stomach and said, "It does feel like you are pregnant." So I went to the store (still dreaming), bought a test, and came home. After I peed on a stick, I put it in the freezer (??) for a few minutes and took it out. It flashed 'PREGNANT' over and over. I woke up, gave the dream little thought, and went about my day. After work, I went to the store to get some stuff for dinner when I passed by the healthcare aisle and remembered the dream again. "What the hell," I thought. And so I bought a box of tests. One line means not pregnant, two lines mean pregnant. And sure enough, my dream was so very right on target. Two lines!

I'm having a baby.

Over the past month and a half, I have felt tired, queasy, had a few back aches, some heartburn, exhaustion (which I blame in part for lack of caffeine), absent-mindedness, and all the other wonderful symptoms that go along with this. Except morning sickness. I've been blessed with not having to run to the bathroom at the first sign of nausea. I've also been a nervous wreck.

Is it possible to malnourish the baby? Will it hurt him/her if I sneeze? What can't I eat? Does it matter which position I sleep in? It's amazing what goes through the mind when you realize that everything you do and everything you put into your body, has an effect on a child you're creating.

Hope for the best, expect the worst. That was my mentality the days and weeks leading up to yesterday's doctor's appointment. They may not hear a heartbeat. Sometimes that happens. Ken was more optimistic. The baby's fine, he would say, Stop thinking that. But that was me being realistic.

During the appointment, we went over the basics, and she answered all the questions I remembered to ask. I was too nervous to hear the heartbeat. Can't we wait until after the heartbeat to talk about this? I wanted to say. After all, if there is no heartbeat, this conversation is meaningless. When it was time to hear the heartbeat, I said a silent prayer to my unborn little fetus begging it to be there. And the microphone was turned on and we waited. No heartbeat. She moved it a little more and again. No heartbeat.

She wasn't concerned because sometimes it happens. I'll go in for an ultrasound and that will show everything. She left me to change and I broke down. I know she would have told me if she thought there was a problem so I was a little optimistic. But at the same time, my main goal in this appointment, failed.

Ken and I went down the hall, walked into a smaller room, and again, hoped for the best.
The machine was hooked up, and as I watched the screen looking for a little miracle, it appeared. A little head, but bigger than the rest of the body. Little arms and tiny stumps for legs. And the microphone turned on and the heartbeat was loud and clear. It was a little shadow of a being, but it was beautiful.

Simply amazing.

I've Got the Fever

2005-10-01T08:46:00.000-04:00

That's right. Red Sox Fever.

I am a Sox fan. And now that we're thisclose to doing it again, I just can't control myself.

Last night, on the last Friday of the regular season, we tied the Yankees for first place. "Yankees suck" is a common chant around here. People wear the saying on t-shirts, on bumper stickers, even shout it randomly at Patriots games. It went so far that the city has banned all anti-Yankee type anything from Fenway Park. It's silly, but it goes both ways. "Red Sox suck" is a common chant in NYC bars, and yesterday afternoon Sox t-shirts and other memorabilia were thrown into a bonfire outside Yankee Stadium. The Yankees don't suck. They're not as great of a team as they once were, but they don't suck. Neither do the Red Sox, even though they are a better team then they once were.

A Yankees-Red Sox game is unlike no other. You can just see the fire and determination in the eyes of both teams that is not present when they're playing anyone else. Part of the reason I watch is for the game. The other is because of the plays that will be talked about and replayed on tv. Pedro sidelining Don Zimmer. A-Rod knocking the ball out of Arroyo's hand on his way to a base. The fights, the facial expressions. It's a nail-biting game with a touch of comic relief.

During the early part of the season, I am fine. If they're not doing so well, I'm okay with it, because we still have time. I am incredibly optimistic. So what if we're 20 games behind and there are only 10 games left. We can still pull through! That's my mentality.

But now we really can pull through. And I'll be watching it all.

You'll Have To Say That Again

2005-09-28T10:23:00.000-04:00

So I have something that has been distracting me lately. I can't tell you what just yet because I am that superstitious. And because I'm a little nervous about the whole thing. It's amazing how something totally controls your mind, leaving you little concentration to focus much on anything else.

I have the attention span of a young puppy. I'll start to say something, take a sip of whatever I am drinking, or even cough or sneeze, and then forget what I was even talking about.

One of the qualities I was most proud of having in my last job was my ability to remember everything. A client could call me for the smallest task or the simplest question, and if I didn't speak to them again until they called again 5 months later, I'd remember their situation vividly. Not anymore. My recall is shot.

But oddly enough, dreams I remember. I've been having really weird dreams. One night I had a dream that I was running from Saddam Hussein (a kinder, gentler Saddam, but still somewhat dangerous.) Another night I dreamed that I visited my brother at his new job for Reebok and all the employees were dressed to the nines, except that they were all wearing Reeboks. I thought that I could never work for Reebok because I wouldn't want to dress up everyday, but the idea of wearing sneakers was tempting. My brother doesn't work for Reebok. I have no idea where that came from.

Last night, two bloggers were in my dream. I don't want to reveal any names for fear of freaking certain people out, but here is how the dream went. We lived in an apartment complex that was laid out like a college campus and I was on the phone with one blogger and asked this person if they could babysit. They lived on the other side of the complex and I couldn't give them directions to where I lived because I had no idea where my building was in relation to theirs. I went outside and asked the first person I saw (who happens to be the other blogger) if they knew, and since they did, got on the phone and gave the first blogger directions to my building.

These symptoms are expected I guess.

September Musings

2005-09-13T14:49:00.000-04:00

Sunday I turned 31. It's weird having a birthday on 9/11. For the past four years, my self-imposed birthday ritual has been to watch the morning remembrances on television. Usually family members reading names. For the past three years, all the local and national news stations dedicated a decent portion of their telecast to the memorials. This year, they all took a back seat to Katrina. Another devasting tragedy. Another time to stare blankly at the television set amazed that scenes like that are unfolding. Another reminder how fragile human life can be. A former co-worker called me today. "Hi Jodi, it's Leslie. I just wanted to wish you a late happy birthday and to let you know that I thought of you on September 11th." That just sounds weird. She thought of me on September 11th. For some reason, I find that very humbling.

My company is finalizing the sale of the office building, so I'll be working from home soon, possibly by the end of November. I can't wait. I thought I would miss the office banter and the comraderie among all of us on a daily basis, but the thought of ending my commute and the random annoyances of the building are too awesome to want to pass up.

The Doberman's are working their tails off (pun intended) in getting their house revamped FINALLY. They're not demolishing and starting over, which I thought they would. More like taking down a wall, putting up a wall. This week they removed the vinyl siding they had done only weeks before the fire and the windows in their side room (if you scroll down the pics in "Meet The Dobermans", you'll see what I'm talking about) are completely gone. That side room (last pic, room in front of the garage) now looks like a cardboard house with big square holes cut out for the windows.

I have news, which I can't disclose just yet. Maybe you can guess, maybe not. It has consumed my mind lately, which is why I haven't been updatng or commenting on your blogs.

And thank you to Jodi for promising me a mix CD. She makes them for her friends, and she so awesomely offered to send a few to her readers. I used to make mix tapes when I was in junior high, so when she put the offer out there, I couldn't help but beg for one. Okay, I didn't beg, but I would have.

Sending you to Cancun

2005-08-22T11:41:00.000-04:00

I come home from some heavy duty shopping on Saturday. Birthday presents for my niece and a paper bag from the liquor store, stocked with stuff for an end of summer barbecue we were having that night for about 15 of our friends. As I'm struggling from the car, I hear a voice yelling from behind.

Do you need help with that?

I turn around and see a cute young girl heading my way from down the street. She had to be maybe 18.

"No, I've got it thanks." I've never seen her before. I head into the house and Ken asks if she stopped me, too. He tell me she is selling magazines for a trip and he told her he wasn't interested. I subscribe to a few magazines so if she was offering a better deal on a renewal rate, then sure, I'll contribute to her cause. I head outside to get more bags from my car when I see her walking in my direction.

This girl is dressed like she is on her way to Mexico. Just give her an umbrella drink and a tiki hut and she is the poster child for why students want to spend Spring Break south of the border.

She starts in on her cause, about a point system and how she needs 20,000 points for a free trip. So far she has 19, 460. Or was that 640? Anyway, she is almost there. Or atleast she tells me she was almost there so that I'll think that my subscription will send her over the 20,000. She is very outgoing. Talkative, friendly, a little flirty with Ken (who eats it up COMPLETELY).

I look at all the forms and lists she has and the only one on the list I subscribe to is Woman's Day. I tell her that the renewal rate I get through the magazine is a lot better than the rate on her card. She tells me that it's through another company, unafflliated with the magazine, which is why it's a little more. I look at the card again and notice that the number of issues listed doesn't match the number of issues I would be receiving if I subscribe for that period of time. I ask about it. She concludes that I'll probably miss the first issue depending on when during the month the subscription starts. And the remaining number of lost issues she's not sure about. I sort of feel bad that I'm not her ticket to paradise, but I decline and tell her I'll stick to renewing when my subscription is up. She then hands me a form that has a few carbon sheets attached, and asks me to fill it out. I question it, since I'm not going to be renewing through her. She has to get a name from everyone she comes in contact with so that the Director of whatever club she's a part of knows she's being productive and not slacking off. I don't have to use my real name and address if I don't want to. I take back the form and think of a fabulous pseudonym.

I start writing and she asks me to include my phone number so that her Director can call and make sure she was professional. Um.. what's the point of being Regina Felangie if I have to give out my real phone number? She doesn't understand the big deal and tells me so. I tell her that I don't want my name or information sold to other companies and put on a mailing list. And that there is no fine print anywhere that indicates that my information is kept private. She has no idea what I'm talking about. Mailing list? Information sold? Apparently, she either welcomes junk mail or isn't old enough to be approved for a credit card. She says, That's okay, once you fill it out, I'll give it to my boss and he'll rip it up. She doesn't get it. And my patience for her selling tactics is wearing thin.

I tell her Good Luck, but I'm not interested. Then she starts to whine. But I'm almost at 20,000 points. So what if you spend a little more on the renewal, don't you want to help me out? When she realizes it is a losing battle, she asks for referrals. I tell her I couldn't think of anyone at the moment.

I would never wish junk mail on anyone.

Extreme Home Makeover: Doberman Edition

2005-08-16T11:22:00.000-04:00

One of the neighbors from up the street told Ken that the Doberman's have received their building permit. Ken excitedly told me. I wasn't as excited as he was. Color me skeptical.

And so I put a call into the town this morning.

"Building Department."

Me: Good morning. Is the status of a resident's building permit public knowledge?

BD: Yes it is. What's the address?

I tell her the address that I think it is. Because the house is on the main street, and not the street I live on, I'm not sure what their exact address is. Before the phone call, I went onto the Building Assessor's page on the town website. It lists every house in the town by address and lists the type of house it is. I found their house number by the street, then finding their last name.

BD: There is no permit for that address. Are you sure that's the correct address?

Me: Um.. I thought so. Do you have a second? I might have been off by a number.

I feel like an idiot. I hope she sees through my disorganization and realizes she's my only hope for relief.

BD: Sure. I'll put you on hold.

I go back online and find the address again. I am pretty sure that's their last name. She comes back and asks if I had any luck.

Me: Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's it. I'll tell you why I'm asking.

I tell her the street I live on, and how they live on the corner of that street so their backyard faces my side yard.

Me: They had a house fire there in July 2004 and .....

She cuts me off.

BD: They did receive their permit. You had the wrong street number.

I notice how she, along when several other town officials I've spoken to, know the house I'm talking about without looking. I'm sure I could have started the conversation with the fire and she would have known right away instead of having me guess at house numbers.

Me: Oh, they did! Can you let me know if they have a time limit? Does the permit expire after a certain time?

This was the reasoning behind my initial skepticism. I never doubted that they received the permit. My concern was that they would sit on it for a while.

BD: Because it was a fire issue the fire department and insurance company will be overseeing them. There was a dispute between the insurance company and the homeowner, which is why it took this long. This should move pretty quickly.

Meet The Desordems

2005-08-14T19:04:00.000-04:00

The Desordems are my neighbors to my right. No pictures yet, since the one picture I would LOVE to take is being blocked by a deflated swimming pool. More on that later.

I'm not sure of their last name, or actually their first name come to think of it, since they don't speak English too well. They're Portuguese. The Portuguese word for 'clutter' is "desordem". And so that is what they shall be called.

Before the Desordems moved next door, the landscaping of the house next door was immaculate. Even ants took their shoes off before walking into their yard. Carol, the previous owner, was outside routinely to mulch, plant new flowers, and trim the bushes. Carol was a great person and a great neighbor. Last year, her mother passed away and so she put her house on the market and moved in with her father. Ken and I were sorry to see her go, but anxious to see who would move next door.

When the house was sold, one of our other neighbors "in the know" told us it was a young couple, the husband's father, and their baby girl. We didn't see when they moved in, sometime in the winter. We had a horrible snow-filled and bone-chilling winter, and so we figured we'd meet them in the springtime.

If we were outside, we saw them a few times, but they were extremely antisocial. They never waved back or glanced our way. We noticed they gutted the basement because old carpet and wood paneling were thrown into their backyard. And to this day it has not been cleaned up. We were frustrated. At one point I hated this neighborhood. The rest of the lawns on the street are well-managed. I just happen to live between the two houses that aren't. It really depressed me.

When the summer hit, they installed a huge inflatable pool on our side of their house. No big deal, I knew there was a little girl there so I thought it was cute. One day Ken and I came home to find her in the pool with who we assume is her grandfather (Papi). We walked over to him and introduced ourselves. He didn't understand a word of it. Everything we said was responded to in the universal sign of "I have no idea what you're saying": the smile and nod. He told us in broken English that he was Portuguese and told us what his name was. We smiled and nodded.

They left the pool up for a few weeks before deflating it and leaving it there still in its somewhat round shape, with just enough water to cover the bottom of the pool. Just enough water to turn green and still be ignored a few days later. I came home from work at the end of the week and the pool was gone (YAY) but where it stood was a pool-shaped round patch of dead grass. It looked like a crop circle. This is the picture I would love to take but I imagine they're somewhat embarrassed by it because they threw the deflated pool over it to cover it up. And to this day it has not been cleaned up.

What is bizarre is that they do take care of their grass. The father (the little girl's father (Papa), not Papi) is out there every week watering the lawn and mowing. Go figure.

Que Sera Sera. What ever will be, will be.

Stepping into Adulthood

2005-08-12T10:52:00.000-04:00

I have my moments where I take a moment and realize that I'm an adult with responsibilities and a life of my own. Going to the drugstore and leaving with a bag of Charmin, Tide, and Windex. Being stuck in rush hour traffic. Turning the car radio on for the news/traffic/weather, not the music. Going to the bank or post office on Saturday morning before food shopping. Any others?

Then there is our yard sale this weekend. Saturday and Sunday. We've advertised a million places so we're hoping for success. This site is fantastic if you're planning a sale. Chris (I think that's her name) is a fanatic.

Ken has taken the last three days off from work because of his company's "use them or lose them" policy. You'd think that would mean that he would help me out and organize our mess of a downstairs. Bags from my parents, boxes from his. But of course not. Apparently, meeting his mother for lunch and going to Town Hall is exhausting because both days I have come home from work, he is asleep in front of the TV. I give him a kiss to wake him up and he opens his sleepy eyes and smiles and tells me he missed me all day. Then in the same breath, he asks, "What's for dinner?"

My parents are coming to help us with the sale this weekend, as we did for their moving sale in May. Then they're sleeping over, which is huge since they'll be our first overnight guests.

Earlier this week, I walked out of the house I grew up in for the last time. Seeing it filled with boxes and clutter one day, and the very next day seeing it EMPTY.

When did I become a grown-up?

Truth in Advertising

2005-08-10T10:01:00.001-04:00

Going through the circulars in the Sunday paper, I came across the Kohl's ads. I almost choked on my coffee when I came across this little nugget.

Look at the model on the right. Now follow his gaze. You think that's why he's smiling?

That package just cannot be possible. Sweetie, when Kohl's told you to model underwear and socks, they meant that the socks should be worn on the outside.

Meet the Dobermans

2005-08-07T12:47:00.000-04:00

This is what I look at everyday from my front yard.
Actually here. Let me give you a better idea.

This is the view from my bedroom window. Lovely, isn't it?

It really is frustrating. I've started to use their house as a landmark in directions. "We're the third street down on the left, right after the charred house with the boarded up windows."

Would it really take over a year to get this house fixed again? Insurance reimbursement aside. Over a year?! And counting!

If they were nice, and if I didn't already know they would automatically decline any help from anyone, I would volunteer to help them out. Because I am a good neighbor and because I would benefit from the effort. But they're not. And knowing that they wouldn't appreciate any of our efforts and say thank you... it's not worth it to me.

During the second week of July, their windows were open for the first time in years. Old furniture was sitting on the curbside waiting for trash pick-up. But what I didn't know, was that it meant nothing. I imagined they would be outside every weekend doing a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Cleaning up the mess they call a yard. Preparing to go back to a life in a home without wheels. Alas, no. They're taking their sweet damn time. Even this weekend, when I saw their front door open, I had a glimmer of hope. But I know it will be short-lived.

They're like a tease. Every now and then they doing something that will get my hopes up, make me optimistic for a well-kept neighborhood. And then just like that I realize that they're like the pre-2004 Red Sox. They do so well that you envision a different end of season, then just like that they ruin it and kill your hopes. Maybe next year.

There Goes The Little Man

2005-08-04T11:02:00.000-04:00

Alan Jackson has a song about "The Little Man." The mom and pop stores and independents that are taken over by corporate conglomerates. Money talks. It happens.

It's sad, but it happens.

But this is ridiculous.

Two boys in Salem, Massachusetts operated a lemonade stand in the town Square to make a little money for themselves. They are, after all, kids. Kids who know that Salem is a popular tourist spot during the summer months.

Crowds + hot summer weather + icy cold lemonade = $$$

Smart, right?

A sausage vendor who also sells lemonade at his sausage stand in the same area complained to authorities because the kids were hurting his sales and stealing his customers. They don't have a vendor's license, he wrote in his complaint.

Are you kidding me? No, dear readers, I'm afraid I'm not.

So the local authorities acted on his complaint and shut the boys down. I wonder if the person who made this decision, to close a child's lemonade stand, had kids of his own. And one day he would have to tell them that instead of wanting to be productive and starting on their college funds a little early, they can't because they need a license, and unfortunately, also too young to apply for said license.

Once word got out that the Sausage Guy closed the kids down, no one wanted to buy from him anymore.

Sausage Guy - Lemonade stand + Local news media = NO business for Sausage Guy

So the Sausage Guy, seeing how his business was suffering, called the boys and asked for a merger. What if, he asked, we combine our stands. You can sell your lemonade and I can sell my sausages together. And I'll let you work under my vendor license.

Greedy Sausage Guy + Innocent lemonade stand = satisfied customers.

Long live the Little Man.

Onions and Orchids

2005-08-03T15:52:00.000-04:00

In the recent issue of Good Housekeeping Magazine, there was an article written by a former TWA employee on the issue of filing complaints with companies she has had to deal with.

She writes about how the airline always received negative letters - my luggage was lost, my plane was delayed, so-and-so was rude to me - but never anything positive. Where were her letters about how planes were on time, smooth flights without turbulence, wonderful flight attendants? (Possibly because those instances are pretty slim, but not the point....)

When she left TWA, she made it a point to write those letters. She takes a notepad with her everywhere she goes and writes down names and dates of every customer service contact she has had. And then she writes letters. Good letters are called Orchids. Bad letters are called Onions. She receives handwritten apologies in the mail, coupons for services, and overall she is happy that her letters are being read and that some action is being taken to correct the negative experiences. I thought that was such a great idea and I started to contribute to her cause by writing my own letters.

I was a supervising manager for a CVS throughout college and on occasion I play secret shopper. I know what good service is supposed to be, and what can be improved in certain stores. CVS has forms available at the door to every store with the location stamped on the top and a request for customers to fill out and send in their positive and negative experiences. And they did. I think it's a great way for stores to improve and a way for those in customer service to stand out when they do something remarkable, like prompting a customer to take the time and write something positive about them.

Maybe I need to relax more, but when someone is rude to me as a customer, it pisses me off to some extent. I'm pretty laid back and understanding if someone is new and doesn't know, or just not as personable. But when someone is outright rude, it gets to me. And so to make it better, per se, I figure I'll let the boss know what's up. I wrote two letters so far. One to Stop and Shop complaining about a cashier, and one to a restaurant commending their great service and food again and again, and naming the server of my most recent visit. I'm not doing it to get rewarded by the company (though I am a little curious...), but mostly because I like knowing that my comments will be read and (I assume) action will be taken to prevent another negative experience from happening.

I just want to be appreciated, dammit! Is that too much to ask?

Bring Out Your Inner Wildchild

2005-08-02T09:27:00.000-04:00

I met a very cool woman a few days ago. I was sitting at a restaurant eating dinner with the family when a woman was seated at the table next to us. The details of how we came to interact are fuzzy, but her accent stuck out like a sore thumb in this part of New England. As did her cowboy hat and black leather boots.

She's a truckdriver, or "trucker" as she called it, because the term 'truckdriver' is too PC. "And truckers are anything but PC," she twanged. She hailed from Alabama and before we knew it, our dinners had taken a backseat to learning about her and her life on the road.

This leg of her trip, she was delivering meat to the 99 Restaurants in Massachusetts and Rhode Island, then was off to Connecticut to pick up some Peter Paul Candies (Almond Joy, Mounds, Cadbury, etc.) and head west. She drives on her own, never wanting a partner or other company. Her only source of communication is CB radio. We asked what her handle was. "Wildchild."

Wildchild has been driving trucks for 3 years. Her husband was killed in a car accident 10 years ago and her only child is married. She doesn't have anyone to depend on her and so this is her new life. And she loves it.

There have been so many times I have wanted to be Wildchild. Not to the point of leaving my husband and taking off for points unknown (it wouldn't be the same if he wasn't with me), but to get up and go. We would take turns driving and travel the country. See the sights. Meet people. Experience adventure. The hotel we end up staying at the end of the day depends on where we are on our trip. No itinerary, no known destination.

She said that she loves her job and I do believe her. I believe that the truckers she meets along the way are like her family now. But I couldn't imagine a family not waiting for me when I got back. Not having someone in the passenger's seat along for the ride with me. I envy Wildchild because she is doing what I would love to do. But the difference is that to her it is life. To me, a vacation.

Pictures

2005-08-01T14:07:00.000-04:00

I did something yesterday that almost pushed me to the verge of tears. I went through family photos.

My father is officially retired. His last day of work was technically Thursday, but since yesterday was the last day of the month, he would always say Sunday when you asked him when is his last day of work. "I'm on the payroll until Sunday and therefore, I will be working until Sunday." He had been looking forward to this day for over a year when the company dynamics changed. He was in sales, so he had built lasting relationships with his clients over the past 40 years. Then little by little some of his accounts were transferred to those younger than him, so that they could build the same longevity and trust that they had with my father. They had to have known that he was nearing the time, seeing as how so many of his colleagues who were with him from the beginning had thinned out and said their goodbyes as they headed to reserve their daily 8am tee times.

Over the past few months, his eagerness to retire turned into nerves. He wasn't ready to let go just yet. He never showed it. He would get excited over the retirement party his company is throwing him and his plans for what he wants to do next. Wake up early, relax, play golf, take walks, go to the beach, enjoy friends, eat, and sleep.That would be his daily routine. The past few weeks it hot him that it was soon going to be final. He listened to his voicemails over and over, knowing that those who depended on him and needed him wouldn't be leaving him messages anymore.

Ken and I took my parents out for dinner last night and the running comment came from dad who kept saying, "No need to rush, I don't have to get up early. I have nothing to do."

Hours before this dinner, I headed to my parents house to find pictures while they were out. They're moving in a week from today to Cape Cod and their house is a mess with boxes. Most of their furniture is gone, but not the memories. My brother and I decided to make a photo DVD - like a photo slideshow - and include music of our choice for them.

[Insert music to In My Life by The Beatles]

I thought they'd be packed and moved already. I thought I'd have to head to the Cape this week (Plan B) to find them there. But I thought I'd look anyway and sure enough, in the bureau they were always in, I found them. I grabbed the pictures I could find and ran out of the house, but not before doing a quick walkthrough to see the evolving emptiness that has become the house I grew up in.

When I got home, I dumped the envelopes on my couch and started to reminisce. The majority of the pictures were from trips they've taken without us. My father used to mention that those pictures he could do without since 5 years after those trips, he wouldn't even remember what they were standing next to or what country they were in. Which is why of course they were still in the house.

He already took with him the pictures that mattered.

Good thing there is a Plan B.

If You're Not Going To Use It, Give It Back!

2005-07-27T12:50:00.000-04:00

For those just joining us, my next door neighbors live in a trailer. Read my Neighborly Advice post to find out why, and scroll up for updates. I'm going to refer to these neighbors from now on as the Dobermans. I have no idea what their actual last name is, but I see their dogs more often than I see them, so I figured referring to them by the breed of dog they own would be more fitting.

I looked out the window this morning.

"It's gone!"

"The lawnmower? Seriously?"

Recently, Ken's father gave us their lawnmower to replace the piece o' crap that we had. So Ken put the old one in front of our mailbox with a sign, "Take Me." And someone did.

On my way to work, as I pulled out of the driveway. Something caught my eye. I couldn't quite make it out, but as I got closer to the Doberman's, I saw it. Our lawnmower. In their yard. The sight of it made me laugh out loud. I know they won't use it. Their yard is a mess, considering that there is a mobile home smack dab in the middle of it. I assume the primary reason they took it because it's free. But I question what it will be used for. A lawn ornament to cover a patch the last piece of visible crabgrass? Or maybe as a gentle reminder of what lies ahead when they move the trailer.

Time will tell.

I have a new theme

2005-07-22T10:31:00.000-04:00

I've decided my blog needs a theme.

My new blog theme will be "Tales from the 'hood."

I have weird neighbors. They need to be addressed.

Cooking for Dummies

2005-07-20T10:18:00.000-04:00

Confession: I love to cook.

I sometimes think that if I grow tired of marketing, I'd love to own a cafe. Homemade soups, salads, and sandwiches. Maybe I'd have a sitting area with a bookshelf and a rack of the daily newspapers for those that like to linger. I wouldn't want to be in the city where there is way too much competition. Just a small place in the 'burbs, on a somewhat busy street, with plenty of windows so passersby can see the pastry case in clear view. I'll rotate my soup menu each week, but in the winter, chili will always be served. I make a mean chili. What's your specialty?

On Sundays, I turn into the Weekend Gourmet. I am not restricted to ingredients on hand or time to prepare, like I am during the week. I'll find a new recipe (or use an old favorite), run to the market during my Sunday errands and pick up the ingredients I need, and take the time to prepare dinner. Ken blames me for the pounds he is putting on, but I cook extremely healthy, and he doesn't understand the term 'portion control." The again, sometimes I don't either.

The only dessert that has worked for me is pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. For some reason other desserts never come out right. I'd love to take a dessert cooking class. I cringe when I'm asked to bring a dessert, and want to bribe someone into switching dishes, warning them that otherwise they'd be getting charcoal brownies.

Birds of Paradise, aka Neighbor Update!

2005-07-15T15:04:00.000-04:00

I saw a dove on Wednesday. My mother and I were at the house on the Cape and while enjoying the weather on the deck, we saw a dove walking in the backyard. I asked, "Does this mean something peaceful is about to happen?" Black cats crossing your path are meant to bring bad luck, right? I could only assume that doves crossing your path bring peace.

I forgot about the bird until I came home a few hours later. My mother was pulling into my street when lo and behold, we saw furniture on the sidewalk in front of the neighbors house, waiting for trash pick-up. And one of those huge driveway-length trash receptacles in the driveway, almost filled. And the windows open! (Though I do question how long it would take to air the house out since no air has gotten in there in a year.)

This must mean that they got their insurance reimbursement. Could they be done by the end of the summer? I wouldn't think they'd stall and risk another winter in that thing. I can't even imagine having a trailer-less view from my bedroom window. I forgot what that was even like!

Signs My Father is Close to Losing It

2005-07-12T15:13:00.000-04:00

1. "I want a BMW."

In a little over two weeks, my father will be officially retired. He will wake up on August 1st and for the first time in 40-something years, he will be out of a job.

As the responsibility-free days approach, the realization of waking up without a thing to do are sinking in.

2. "I'd love a boat. Not a big boat, just a small boat to sail in a lake and be able to relax."

He wants part-time work, nothing to do with what he does now. And so I helped him create his very first resume.

3. "Wouldn't it be cool to work for the Cape Cod Potato Chip Company? I could answer the hotline and talk to people about how great the chips are."

This is when my brother and I tease him about the prank call we'd make telling him we'd found a finger in one of the bags.

4. "Maybe I can apply to the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute. Just part-time. Maybe I could do some office work."

This is actually a good idea. It would be a great fit for him. In browsing through some job postings, he finds a few part-time listings for seniors, then is disappointed to learn that the qualifications are for seniors in high school as part of an after-school program.

5. "No, we are not selling my computer desk. Hear me out. We can put it in the storage area and I can use it the top of the desk as a workbench. You know, for cutting wood. Or maybe if I have to glue something."

My father is not handy. He's never cut a piece of wood in his life.

And my personal favorite...

6. "You know what I'd love? A metal detector. I'd love to wake up at 6 every morning and head to the beach and walk around with a metal detector. Wouldn't it be fun to see what I'd find? You don't think that's cool?"

Blog Under Maintenance

2005-07-12T09:08:00.000-04:00

When I started this blog, I had no idea what it would be. What would make up my stories? Would I talk about my day? Would I talk about my life and family? What would drive me to write?

Looking back, all of my blogs are pretty lighthearted. Rants about what makes me tick. Neighbors who would assumably choose to live in a trailer rather than expedite their home repairs. Raves about what I like. Websites that made me laugh. Even a few travelogues.

I never wrote anything from the heart, choosing (an attempt at) humor instead. I sometimes question blogging my hurt, my confusion, my anger alongside the other stuff, but always chose not to because it was safer that way. Do I really want to open myself up? By being somewhat anonymous and not letting anyone know what I'm about, I'm sort of protecting myself, right?

I'm getting a little bored with a sugar-coated blog. Maybe I need to revamp things a bit.

While I Slept

2005-07-08T08:55:00.001-04:00

While I slept a city was attacked. Commuters going to work. Tourists starting their daily adventure.
While I slept phone calls were made to cell phones, frantically hoping the call would be answered.

A witness was in London at a meeting, right down the street from one of the underground stations. In an interview this morning, he told of how the British were so incredibly together through it all. So brave. So prepared.

"Prepared?" the interviewer asks. He mentions the abundance of the many terror threats that they have received, as well as the IRA attacks 10 years ago. They were prepared. And I wondered how anyone could be prepared for something like this, and of course I wondered if I was prepared. If Boston were attacked would I know what to do? To save my life, I'm sure I would. But now I wonder.

Red often uses lyrics of songs in her blog to portray her feelings in a given situation. Today she uses Living on the Edge by Aerosmith. It reminded me of this song, which I played often after our 9/11. I hope she doesn't mind that I'm using her idea:

Land of Confusion - Genesis

I must’ve dreamed a thousand dreams
Been haunted by a million screams
But I can hear the marching feet
They’re moving into the street.

Now did you read the news today
They say the danger’s gone away
But I can see the fire’s still alight
There burning into the night.

There’s too many men
Too many people
Making too many problems
And not much love to go round
Can’t you see
This is a land of confusion.

This is the world we live in
And these are the hands we’re given
Use them and let’s start trying
To make it a place worth living in.

Ooh superman where are you now
When everything’s gone wrong somehow
The men of steel, the men of power
Are losing control by the hour.

This is the time
This is the place
So we look for the future
But there’s not much love to go round
Tell me why, this is a land of confusion.

This is the world we live in
And these are the hands we’re given
Use them and let’s start trying
To make it a place worth living in.

I remember long ago -Ooh
when the sun was shining
Yes and the stars were bright
All through the night

And the sound of your laughter
As I held you tight
So long ago -I won’t be coming home tonight
My generation will put it right

We’re not just making promises
That we know, we’ll never keep.

Too many men
There’s too many people
Making too many problems
And not much love to go round
Can’t you see
This is a land of confusion.

Now this is the world we live in
And these are the hands we’re given
Use them and let’s start trying
To make it a place worth fighting for.

This is the world we live in
And these are the names we’re given
Stand up and let’s start showing
Just where our lives are going to

Blank

2005-07-07T14:42:00.000-04:00

My mind is blank.

I just don't know what to write.

I'm sad for the Brits today. To have to go through what we did. Anger, confusion, sadness. I wonder if it's someone's birthday. I can relate.

Work is busy. First a lull. Then piles of paperwork. Landing on my desk all at once.

My contact lens ripped last weekend, so I've been wearing glasses all week. I seem more alert with my contacts in. Like they are made with caffeine. I seem more absent-minded with my glasses on. Forgetful.

I quietly wished my neighbors a happy anniversary. A year ago, July 5th, it happened. Nothing has changed. Trailer is still there. Dogs are still barking. I've grown tired of fighting. But that could be because I'm wearing glasses. My other neighbors, on the other side, have a young daughter. And last weekend, they put one of those inflatable pools on the side of their house, facing mine. When she was in the pool with her daddy, the dogs were barking. Scaring her I would imagine. The father wasn't too happy. Maybe that is all it would take to get the dogs off my lawn. A father, angry because his little girl is too scared to play in her pool now.

To my friends across the water, Daniel, this includes you. Know that we think of you today. I wish my arms were long enough to reach out to you.

MySpace...

2005-06-30T13:40:00.001-04:00

I'm now addicted.

Anyone have a page?

Know When To Fold 'Em

2005-06-27T13:46:00.000-04:00

Know when to walk away,
Know when to run.

Oh, Kenny Rogers. Where were you this weekend when I gambled away what I put aside for something else, save $6? If you only whispered those sweet lyrics into my ear when I was ahead, I would have walked away and cashed out. Because you are the true Gambler.

Foxwoods Casino is a little over an hour away. A stone's throw. No matter how far deep into the middle of nowhere they build, it will always be too easily accessible.

I lost, my husband won. And I was bitter. Bitter because I should of said "No, not this weekend," when he asked me to go. Plans were made in advance, so as much as I would love to, I can't blame my losses over the excitement from the spontaneity of this trip. I was looking forward to it and simply couldn't wait.

I go to the casino maybe 4 times a year, with Christmas Eve being one of those times. Christmas Eve at a casino means less smoky and less populated, which are always a plus. I always take the same amount of money, as well as whatever is in my wallet at the time. I would never use a casino ATM. That's just asking for trouble. Instead of money, whomever puts in their ATM card and password should receive a receipt naming the location of the nearest Gamblers Anonymous meeting.

I usually walk away happy, winning something or atleast breaking even. Not this time.

Next time it will be different.

Please Pass The Jello

2005-06-23T11:00:00.000-04:00

I hate the dentist. Yes, I know that 'hate' is a very strong word, but I hate the dentist.

My first time with this new dentist, he replaced some fillings. They were over 15 years old and were due to be replaced. Take the silver out, put the white in. After he stuck the novocaine needle into my gums, I began to sweat. And my hands started to shake. It must be the epinephrine, he said, I guess you have a bad reaction to it. I wondered if I could have nitrous oxide the next time. Even though that mask was uncomfortable, I used to have mini-hallucinations when they gave it to me when I was younger. A calm, floating feeling. His voice snapped me out of the memory. No more epinephrine for you, he promised. He replaced one filling and I was on my way. Next time he'll replace the top tooth on the other side. Then I'll be done.

The second appt. I asked for the gas. Not for this, he said. Besides, I'm not going to use epinephrine on you today. It'll be something much milder. He was right, whatever he used wasn't too bad. He replaced that filling, and as soon as I was about to tell him that I'll see him for my 6-month cleaning, he announced that next time he'll do the bottom. "I thought you were done," I begged. Done with the top. I can't do it all in one appointment, he replied. Of course.

Third time is not the charm. My last appointment. I went in and was told that he was very behind schedule and could I wait 45 minutes? I lied and told them that I had somewhere to be at 8:00. It was 6:30. "If that's a problem, I can reschedule." I had no problem going home and putting this off longer. The receptionist came back and said that he would take me in 10 minutes, and I'll definitely be home by 8.

Ten minutes later, I went in and sat on the chair, more relaxed. It was the last appointment and I knew that I would be getting the milder sedative. He gave me the novocaine and I started to get a little shaky again. I looked at him concerned. Must be the epinephrine again, he said. If I could feel my tongue, I would have complained. He put a damp towel on my head and left the room while I relaxed. He then apologized for the delay, but he's bouncing between appointments. He excused himself again, but not before putting in a video of aquatic life. That should relax you more, he said, before heading off to Unlucky Patient #2.

He was in and out throughout my visit, and yes, maybe had I waited the 45 minutes, I would have had his undivided attention. But I knew the faster I was in, the faster I get out. I have to hand it to him because miraculously, I was home a few minutes after 8:00.

As I sat with a towel on my forehead, no feeling in my gums, and watching sharks look for food and scuba divers examine seaweed, I pondered why I was there in the first place.

Junk food. Junk food at 10 years old led to cavities that led to the fillings. Forget childhood obesity. The real reason to avoid eating loads of sugar when you're a child is to avoid sitting in a dentists chair when you're 30 watching fish swim.

Because I Can

2005-06-22T11:44:00.000-04:00

I've decided to take and post pictures to go along with my neighbor debacle. If they see me and complain (and the devilish side of me hopes they do), I'll just let them know that I'm taking pictures of the trees in my yard and if their dog just happens to be in my yard at the time, then so be it.

Happy Father's Day!

2005-06-20T15:45:00.000-04:00

I get strange looks from a few people when I tell them that we're having the family over for a barbecue on Father's Day.

My family celebrates every holiday together. Every birthday and other gift-giving holiday is a get-together, even if schedules aren't compatible until a month later. My husband and my sister-in-law never did this either, until they joined our family. Before they married into the clan, they were used to cards and a phone call. Now they deal with looking at calendars and finding a day to set aside, asking, "What can I bring?", and preparing for a full day with the family.

Yesterday was our turn to host. This is our 3rd annual Father's Day at my house, and luckily the weather was perfect. Everyone was assigned a food. We supplied the burgers and hot dogs, I made a salad, mom brought chicken wings, mom-in-law brought potato salad and cole slaw, brother brought dessert and sister-in-law brought corn on the cob. Afterwards, the women cleaned up (now that's a tradition I'd like to see changed!), gifts were exchanged, and that was it. It's what I'm used to. And I couldn't imagine it any other way.

I asked two fathers last week what their plans were for Sunday. Mowing the lawn, probably the gym, nothing much. Both were father's of young children, which to me seemed odd. It would make sense to me if they lived far enough away from their kids that celebrating with family wasn't possible, but to be with their kids and not celebrate it in fashion just seems.... unorthodox.

Is celebrating holidays together passe?

Going To Bed Mad

2005-06-18T09:54:00.000-04:00

I went to bed mad last night. I know they say you shouldn't, that if there is one rule of marriage, it is not going to bed mad. But I did. I do.

Is the rule applied to everyone? If I am exhausted, the last thing I want to do is stay up and fight, because when I am that tired, I just get more and more annoyed. And the more we repeat ourselves, the less patience I have. Sleep on it, and in the morning, talk it through. That's my rule.

We also have other rules. Never go to bed or leave the house without a kiss. And no matter how mad we are, we never break that rule.

A couple last month from Germany celebrated their 80th wedding anniversary. The secret to a happy marriage, the husband said, is to never go to bed angry. (He passed away last week at 105 years old.)

We have a wonderful marriage, and I couldn't ask for better... And if you ask me, I think going to bed mad once in a while isn't that bad.

Picture of the Week

2005-06-17T11:48:00.000-04:00

Check out this pic. Doesn't it look like trick photography?

I bought a telescope last year and ever since then I've been fascinated by astronomy.

I thought it would be cool to have one. One night outside my husband pointed out some formations and mentioned he used to love the subject in school, and so I bought it.

I don't use it too often, but every now and then when the night sky is clear, I'll take it and head to our porch and look up. And it really is an awesome sight.

I Take it Back

2005-06-16T08:57:00.000-04:00

So yesterday I posted about how my world was sunny and happy now that the dogs next door are on the other side of the yard. So happy. So relieved...

We had friends over last night and they asked about the situation and I started to tell them about how happy and sunny my world was when Ken mentioned that he saw them in the yard again (leashed), "further in then before." I didn't believe him. Surely he must be joking. He wasn't. And don't call him Shirley!

I didn't believe him until I left for work this morning. As soon as I walked out of the house, the barking started. I looked over, and there he was. Looking at me, with his "Don't threaten the Board of Health on me, bitch" look in his small beady eyes.

The leash wasn't as long as Ken exaggerated, but still over the property line.

If I were rich, I'd want to pay for their house repairs, just because I want to end the frustration. But I'm not even close. So I'll just wait patiently. And when my patience runs out, which will be at some point today, I'll give the Board of Health another phone call.

Random

2005-06-15T14:34:00.000-04:00

I went to Waldenbooks to start a gift bag for my father for Father's Day. He loves Rachael Ray so one item that is going in his gift bag is a 30 Minute Meals for Guys cookbook. The clerk who was there looked to be about my age. I asked her if she had any fun retirement gifts, like maybe a "Retirement for Dummies" book. She couldn't find any, but suggested something along a joke theme of getting old. Then she said, "When my mom turned 30, I gave something like that to her." I almost fell. Did she say her mother is 30? How old was this girl? I made a comment about how when I turned 30, a friend wished me a "Happy Anniversary of my 29th birthday" and she said that she wished she thought of that. I left the store picturing her saying, "That girl is the same age as my mom!"

Trading Spouses is hilarious. It's my new summer guilty pleasure.

I haven't followed up with the Board of Health, given that our last conversation didn't go as well as I'd hoped, but since the day she was going to stop over to see the neighbors, the dogs are almost non-existent. When I have seen them, they've been leashed to the side of the trailer, away from our yard. Not the outcome we hoped for since I first made the call to the Fire Inspector, but still a huge improvement to what it was before. Who says you can't fight City Hall?

I feel like a moron when I go into a restaurant chain where the menu never changes and cannot for the life of me order a meal intelligently. I ordered a grilled chicken filet pocket from D'Angelo's for lunch and was asked what I wanted on it.
"What comes with it?"
"Whatever you want."
I look at the menu for any vegetables or dressings offered. Nothing.
"How bout lettuce, onion, pickles?"
"Okay. Anything else on it?"
"What else can I get?"
"Anything you want."
So I order everything but mayo and he seemed relieved. It was a really good sandwich.

Meme'd for a Good Cause

2005-06-14T10:32:00.000-04:00

Red is doing a profile of me. She got a great idea from another blogger to dedicate various posts to each of her faithful readers. She's done two already. And I've been warned that I'm next. So she sent me this meme as a way of getting more dirt, er, I mean research, for her story.

10 Years Ago, I...
1. was 20 years old
2. was finishing my third year of college
3. hoped to be the next Barbara Walters
4. was three months away from breaking up with the guy I thought I would marry
5. got an A on a paper I wrote about media background checking after I was featured in an article in a NH newspaper about how I went on a few dates with a guy I found out was a fugitive.

5 Years Ago, I...
1. was 25 years old
2. anxiously awaiting the birth of my niece
3. living on my own
4. driving a 1990 Ford Escort that I named, Esky.
5. was working as the lemon law coordinator

Yesterday, I...
1. applied self-tanner for the first time
2. called in to a radio show to voice my opinion of the Michael Jackson absurdity
3. ate pizza for dinner.
4. treated myself to a sushi lunch to help heal the horror of tanning mess
5. helped Dad write a resume for part-time work after he retires

Today, I...
1. applied self-tanner in untanned locations in hopes of evening out
2. got a Toasted Almond flavored iced coffee at Dunkin Donuts and it is DELICIOUS!
3. will clean the house for a barbecue tomorrow night
4. sang aloud in the car on my way to work
5. will have a capet guy over to measure the floor in the basement.

Tomorrow, I will...
1. have friends over for barbecue
2. make a salad for barbecue
3. call my parents
4. play with friends 3 month old daughter
5. buy a Father's Day gift and cards for dad, brother, and father-in-law

5 Snacks I Enjoy:
1. berry mix of strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries
2. mixed nuts
3. Chips and salsa
4. Cheese and crackers
5. TCBY frozen yogurt

5 Songs I Know all the Words to, Even Without the Music:
1. Living on a Prayer by Bon Jovi
2. Chatahoochie by Alan Jackson
3. Fast Car by Tracy Chapman
4. In My Life by the Beatles
5. Amazed by Lonestar (it was our wedding song)

5 Things I Would Do With $100,000,000:
1. give generous portions to my brother's family, both sets of parents, and my sister- and brother-in-law.
2. re-do my house and yard
3. Take a cruise
4. put some aside for childrens college funds.
5. Put the rest away in a great savings account.

Top 5 Locations I'd Like to Run Away To:
1. New Zealand
2. Italy
3. England
4. Australia
5. Ireland

5 Bad Habits I Have:
1. Procrastination
2. Laziness
3. I wish I were more outgoing with people I don't know in social settings.
4. I sometimes take things too personally
5. I don't take enough time out for me.

5 Things I like Doing:
1. Hanging out with Ken
2. Hanging out with my niece and hearing about her day in her words
3. Shopping for home decorating stuff
4. Going on spontaneous road trip on a Saturday or Sunday
5. Throwing dinner parties

5 Things I Would Never Wear:
1. thong underwear,
2. leather pants
3. plaid anything
4. fur
5. overalls

5 T.V. Shows I Like:
1. Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
2. Judging Amy (even though it just got cancelled)
3. Trading Spaces
4. Unwrapped (it's on the Food Network - very cool show about how certain foods/candies are made)
5. Hope and Faith

5 Movies I Like:
1. Garden State
2. While You Were Sleeping
3. Big (any Tom Hanks film really)
4. Monster's Inc.
5. Beetlejuice

5 Famous People I'd like to Meet:
1. Tom Hanks
2. Elton John
3. David Letterman
4. Helen Thomas (was a White House correspondent)
5. Barbara Walters

5 Biggest Joys at the Moment:
1. my husband
2. my niece and nephew
3. my family (Mom, Dad, Brother, Sister-in-law)
4. My friends
5. Going downstairs and seeing all the beautiful room that I recreated and knowing how much hard work and effort I put into it.

This meme does not require forwarding. So if you want to take it make it your own, be my guest.

A Lighter Shade of Pale

2005-06-13T14:34:00.000-04:00

I think one of my best qualities is my ability to laugh at myself. Especially when I do something to make myself look or feel like an idiot.

This is what I did.

This weekend, with the exception of a few errands, I stayed inside. The weather was a disgusting 90 degrees and given the choice, I would choose an air conditioner over sweating my butt off anyday. Besides, my goal this weekend was to finish the basement. Painting, making a bookcase, more painting, cleaning, more painting...

On one of the errands, I picked up a bottle of one of those tan-in-a-bottle things. I've been skeptical before and didn't want my legs to be a streaky mess, so I just let the sun tan my skin naturally. I don't sit at the beach and bake, I usually tan just walking outside. But since I'm getting more cautious of skin damage (*see blog about getting older below*), I decided that a safe healthy glow was the way to go.

I bought Coppertone. It was a foamy pump that dries in 5 minutes after it is applied. Rub into skin in horizontal and vertical motions, the directions read. I did that. Cover the entire area, the directions read. I did that, too. Atleast I thought I did.

The problem with this Coppertone foamy pump is that it goes on clear. And it doesn't show up until later on. While you're at work. And while I was at work, I notice that it's not as even as I thought. There's an area on both legs, right near my ankles. I wish it would look like a sock line, like a straight line going around my leg. But it's a line graph. One part bare as can be. Winter white. While the rest is my nice safe healthy glow. Luckily, I bought the Light/Medium shade, and not the Medium/Dark shade, so even though it's noticeable to a point, I don't look like one of those half moon cookies.

I think the reason I'm so embarrassed is because I knew better. My multi-shade legs are the reasons I never bought it before. I guess I'll go capri the rest of the week.

-------

Oh, and I have no idea what I did or didn't do, but if anyone is a blogger braniac, I'd love your wisdom in getting what is now at the bottom of the page back to the top right side of the page where it rightfully belongs.I would be in awe of you forever.

Thanks.

Another Meme to Amuse Yourself With...

2005-06-12T07:53:00.000-04:00

Thanks Red, I was having writer's blog...

Ten Words I Love to Say:
10. Ken
9. "I know" (my niece claims I say this a lot. I never noticed.)
8. "I love you"
7. Yay
6. Oy
5. Whatever

Okay, I can only think of five. I'd have to ask my friends and family what they think I say too much in order to finish this list...

Nine Guiltiest Pleasures
9. Starbucks mint mocha frappucinos
8. Best Week Ever on VH1
7. US Weekly (comes in the mail every Thursday!)
6. MTV
5. White Barn Candles (from Bath and Body Works)
4. Wine.
3. Clinique
2. Dairy Queen
1. Manicures/Pedicures

Eight Favorite Items to Wear:
8. My wedding ring
7. My grandmother's wedding ring
6. My aunt's necklace my uncle gave me after she passed away
5. My other grandmother's wedding band. Too small for my finger so it's on a chain around my neck.
4. A bracelet Ken gave me our first Valentine's Day.
3. Sensi by Armani
2. Truth by Calvin Klein
1. Sandals!

Seven Sexiest Celebrities:
7. Colin Firth
6. Tim McGraw
5. Taye Diggs
4. Matthew McConaghey
3. Mark Ruffalo
2. Chris Martin (Coldplay)
1. Tom Brady (New England Patriots)

Six Most Irritating Celebrities:
6. Tom Cruise
5. Shakira
4. Britney/Kevin
3. Paris/Paris
2. Lindsey Lohan
1. Donald Trump

Five Favourite Things About Summertime:
5. BBQs
4. Baseball
3. Sandals
2. fresh fruit
1. July 4th festivities

Four Books I Have Read Most Recently:
4. The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
3. Haven by Ruth Gruber
2. The Color of Water by James McBride
1. DaVinci Code by Dan Brown

Three Word I Have Been Meaning to Look Up:
(Passing on this category. I usually look it up at that time)

Two Funniest Gifts I Have Ever Received:
2. That Smart Spin thing that's 'As Seen On TV.' Tupperware is organized, and the lids fit all sized containers. It's genius!
1. A CD of all disco. 3:00 at work was downtime, so we renamed it 3:00 Dance Party, and so I got the CD as a going away present when I left that job. I don't think I've listened to it yet. hate disco.

One Thing I Fear, Yet Find Wildly Intriguing:
1. I'm afraid of heights, but I would love to go skydiving.

I'm only passing this on to the Col, Dr. and Quycksilver, since they're the only ones who don't mind doing them.

Dear Sergei,

2005-06-09T12:25:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure if you remember me. We met when I visited Russia as a Student Ambassador back in 1990. Do you remember? My group was walking down the street in Minsk when your group of friends stopped to talk to us about America. You walked with us through the town, and I told you that my grandmother and uncle were both born in Minsk and so it held a special place with me. We exchanged addresses with the hope to keep in touch.

Anyway, my parents are moving in a few months, and in going through old envelopes, they came across a stack of letters that you sent me after I returned home. I loved having you as a pen pal, but unfortunately our correspondence ended too soon when the last letter I received from you was an opened envelope without a letter inside. It was right after the Coup d' Tat and so I thought that maybe you included information in your letter that was not meant to be read. I wrote you after that and never received a response. Doing a search for your name online proved very unsuccessful. There are two people I found. One is in Moscow and the email I sent came back as undeliverable because the account was closed. The second "you" is in his 50's and lives in Michigan.

I would be very interested to know how your life turned out. You were always very interested in science. I remember how you were trying to get into the Polytechnic University but unsure of your chances because of the competitive waitlist. I'm sure you got in and I imagine you are extremely successful in what you do.

Anyway, I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you. Whenever I see my old travelogue or go through pictures of that trip, you always cross my mind.

I hope that life is treating you well,
Jodi

Pitter Patter

2005-06-08T14:44:00.000-04:00

My mother-in-law told me that she's already purchased baby stuff for my child. Thing is, I don't have one. What started out as a casual conversation about shopping turned into discussion about how she often goes with her friend Rochelle when Rochelle buys toys for her grandchild. And of course, she can't help but walk out with a bag of goodies of her own. Everything in doubles. One for Ken and me, and one for the also childless sister-in-law and her husband.

Then there is my brother and sister-in-law. "Have kids already so we can empty out our laundry room." Their laundry room consists of a crib, a vibrating seat and toys. All promised to us. All somewhat patiently awaiting their arrival in our home.

My father thinks he hints at it, but subtlety is not his strongest quality. When we went to Vermont in April, we asked if he wanted anything. "Yeah," he replied. "Bring me home a grandson."

My father-in-law and my mother are good. They don't pressure. Friends are good. They tell us to wait. To enjoy our freedom. But I see the looks in their eyes whenever the subject comes up. They want information. When will we start trying? Are we thinking about it? How much freedom does one couple need? When will the time come where I offer you coffee or wine and you decline? Let me bring my baby over so you can see how much fun having one is.

I love kids, don't get me wrong. And I would love to give my niece and nephew a few cousins to play with. And even though the questions made us roll our eyes and laugh at first, the more persistant it gets the more I want to avoid the subject altogether. Which is what I don't want to do. After all, it's a happy, not negative, issue and it shouldn't turn into a topic to run from.

So we change the subject. We smile and repeat the same answer. When we're ready, and no, we're not telling anyone when we're ready and going to start, so please stop asking.

"We were just wondering," they say. "No pressure."

The Awful Truth

2005-06-07T20:44:00.000-04:00

I'm getting old.

In the mornings as I blowdry my hair, I notice a few shiny strands peeking out, quickly disappearing as I brush my hair back. Grey hair. They used to be so random. Popping up here and there every once in a while. Now they are more frequent. I sometimes stare in the mirror and run my fingers through to see if I can spot another and pluck it out before it gets too long and noticeable. And I'm not the type to believe that plucking one grows 6 more. If I can grab that single strand, it's coming out.

More proof I'm aging. I have no patience for traffic. I used to love driving around and sitting in traffic. I remember when we were younger, when we first got our licenses, my friend Andrea and I went out one night and sat in a massive traffic jam. We would open our windows and chat up drivers in the next cars over and it was a blast. I used to leave 30 minutes earlier for plans so I could drive the long way to get to my intended destination. I thought about that today as I was stuck in rush hour. All I wanted to do was get home and plop on the couch.

And who calls the police over music? I used to start my night at 10:30, not end it.

I'm a few months from 31, but somehow I feel much older.

Parenting 101

2005-06-07T10:23:00.000-04:00

Want to really screw up your child?

Have them hold a picket sign declaring that homosexuality is the work of the devil. Teach them that protesting diversity by holding up said picket sign is the right way to spread a message.

Young children, maybe 5 or 6 years old. Looking bored out of their mind while standing outside a church with their hands outstretched, holding these signs. Probably not knowing what it means, just believing that it's wrong because mom and dad said so.

Some parents just suck.

The Portuguese Cha-Cha

2005-06-06T11:06:00.000-04:00

"Stoughton Police. This call is being recorded."

The music was extremely loud. Ken and I had just gotten back from dinner with his parents. It was 10:30. We could still hear the music no matter what room of the house we went into. Maybe someone was having a party.

11:00. Trying to sleep. This music keeps me awake. Just when I think it's dying down, it starts up again, louder. You have got to be kidding me.

I read the Police and Fire Logs in the local paper and wonder about the person who calls the police over music. I would shake my head and wonder why some people can't just lighten up. Fast forward to now and someone is blaring music in my neighborhood an hour before midnight. Who could be so inconsiderate? Especially since we have to wake up early the next morning. We open the windows trying to follow the sound. Does it sound louder from the back of the house or the side? Or maybe it's coming from the front?

Ken tells the officer that someone is playing music ridiculously loud. It's heard throughout the neighborhood. And now the dogs are barking next door. After a while, the barking seems in tune with the music. I'm embarrassed to be the someone to call the police over music. I don't want them thinking I'm that type of person.

"What's your street, sir?"

Ken tells him.

"Okay, we'll check it out."

11:15. There is a knock at our door. It's the police.

"The Portuguese Music Festival is tonight. That's the sound you hear. It should end at midnight."

No wonder I have a splitting headache this morning.

I've Been Memed!

2005-06-03T09:01:00.000-04:00

Not sure what it means, but Red tagged me, and I am it.

The Trio Meme

Three screen-names I have had are:
embrb
wishers
duckee

Three things I like about myself are:
my sense of humor
my eyes
my attitude :-)

Three things I do not like about myself are:
I procrastinate. Big time.
I have three scars on my knee that I wish would go away (from a knee surgery 3 years ago.)
My nose. I think it's too small.

Three things that scare me are:
Reckless drivers.
The potential for another Bush in the White House. (This is my only political comment ever. Maybe.)
Parenthood. (but a good scary)

Three of my everyday essentials are:
COFFEE!
email
Watching/reading the news

Three things I am wearing right now are:
Red capris
a watch
my grandmother's ring

Three of my favorite songs are:
Yellow by Coldplay
Son of a Preacher Man by Dusty Springfield
Free Falling by Tom Petty

Three new things I'd like to try in the next 12 months are:
Installing linoleum.
Road trips!
Starting a business. Possibly. Maybe.

Three things I want in a relationship are:
Not having to repeat myself when the TV is on.
Backubs on demand!
Financial independence!

Two truths and a lie are:
I dated a fugitive.
I've never had the chicken pox.
I tried out for a reality TV show.

Three things I cannot do without are:
Music
Coffee!
Family
(not in that order, mom!)

Three places I'd like to go on vacation are:
Italy
Drive across country and back a different route, without any hotel reservations or itinerary
Ireland

Three kids' names are:
Erika Lynn
Emily Brooke
Michael Ross

Three things I want to do before I die are:
Go parasailing
Be an extra in a movie
Learn to sing

Three celebrity crushes I have had are:
John Cusak (ever since he was Lloyd Dobler)
Tom Hanks (there's just something about him that makes me giddy)
Colin Firth (his eyes... that accent... )

Three people I nominate to complete this exercise are:
Jodi (something to do to take your mind off packing)
Daniel (something to get your mind out of the gutter)
Vavoom (as a reward for quitting smoking :-)

Thanks, Red!

It's Wicked Pissah!

2005-05-31T11:09:00.000-04:00

I read in a magazine this weekend that the Boston accent is deemed as the worst there is, that it is looked to be lower class. I was a little surprised, seeing that I didn't think the accent was so hated. I knew accents were stereotyped (deep southern as "rednecks", etc.) but thought nothing of the one I grew up with.

Your Linguistic Profile:

45% Yankee

35% General American English

10% Dixie

10% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

I lost my accent about 12 years ago when I was in college. I was volunteering for Project Vote Smart, a national hotline where voters from around the country called and questioned where their respective candidates stood on various issues. I too often heard, "You sound like you're from New England," and even though nothing offensive or mocking was said, I started to focus on my every word and eventually the "r" came back into my dialect and the accent went away (though words like "shower" and "water" are sometimes the exception...)

Flipping through channels last night I came across an interview with a guy from Survivor who has one of the thickest accents I have ever heard. It was horrible. I quickly changed the station and hoped I was never that awful.

And yeah, he did sound lower class.

Update to my update...

2005-05-26T16:54:00.000-04:00

Ugh. I have no idea what I just did, or what the Board of Health is even planning to do.

(If you need backstory, Scroll down and read (in order) "Neighborly Advice," "Waiting is the hardest part," "Neighborhood Justice, Part 3," and "I'm Drained,")

I called the Board of Health this morning to follow-up on my fire retardant neighbors. I left a message, which I am so used to doing when I call the town, and waited for my usual callback. And it came.

The Building Inspector never called her, because she never knew of the situation before I called. I told her how I called the Fire Investigator, who provided me with information and referred me to the Building Inspector, who provided me with more information and who had indicated the need for the Board of Health's involvement. Hence my phone call to her. She pulled out a complaint form.

Board of Health: Is the trailer on your property?
Me: Not on my property, but close to my property line.
(I also mention the dogs, who like to poop on my property.)
BOH: We usually need 24 hours in advance before we do an on-site, so it can't be tomorrow. And since Monday is Memorial Day, we won't be able to go out there until Tuesday. Is that okay?
Me: Sure.
BOH: Okay, so we'll just talk to them about getting the dogs off your property.
Me: Um.. actually, the dogs aren't my concern. Well, they are, but I'm more concerned about the trailer.
BOH: We can't evict the family and leave them out on the street.
Me: I don't want to evict them. That's not the reason for my call.
BOH: I know the reason for your call. You want the dogs off your property.
Me: No, that's not the reason for my call. I'm just curious about the status of home repairs. The Building Inspector mentioned that it could be a violation of health code for them to be in the trailer as long as they have been. That's my concern. I just mentioned the dogs when you mentioned the property line.

She talks about how it isn't unusual for this to take a year, that it often takes a year to get the insurance reimbursement. I suddenly feel like an ass for calling if this is standard procedure, even though the Fire Inspector and Building Inspector seemed empathetic about the whole thing.

BOH: So I could still go over there to discuss the dog situation.

I really don't want her to just go over there for the dog situation. I imagine her walking up to the trailer door and telling them to get their dogs off my property, then tell them to have a nice day as she walks away. I tell her this.

BOH: Once a call is entered, we have to act on it.
Me: Could this be an anonymous complaint?
BOH: Sure, I could say that we received an anonymous complaint about the dogs defecating in their neighbor's yard.

I tell her that it wouldn't be so anonymous since we're the only neighbors whose yard is within leash distance.

BOH: Then I'll go over for a routine visit and see how they're making out. Is that okay?
Me: Will I get a callback?
BOH: Not unless you want to erase the anonyminity. Whoever we call becomes detailed into the record.
Me: Then, can I call you?
BOH: Yes. (She sounds defeated.)

So that's it. I left out more of the conversation where she reiterates again how no judge will allow her to evict a family and leave them on the street. I think she just likes saying that because I never, and would never, allude to that idea. All I wanted, I told her, was information.

And somehow I don't think I'll ever get it.

If Vanna White Goes AWOL, I'm Available

2005-05-23T13:12:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I felt as if I was a part of about 3 different game shows.

It was the annual trade show for everything auto repair related. The company I work for publishes a magazine having to do with the trade, and so I was asked to work a booth in the show, Friday through Sunday. The Spin 'n' Win booth. I would have a wheel. I would have prizes to give away. How easy is that? My only responsibilities leading up to the event was to make signs, "Free Spin" tickets, and entry forms for those who spun the wheel and landed on a star (landing on a star entered them into the hourly $100 giveaway as well as a chance for the grand prize all expenses paid trip for two to the Brickyard 400.)

I was a bit nervous since I'd never worked a trade show. I was told that all I had to do was be the host. Be outgoing, and since this was a predominantly male crowd, be a little flirty. Atleast that's what I thought he meant. He's my boss, about 35 years my senior, and I'm not sure if he thought that I would file all sorts of complaints if he used the word "flirt" with me, so when he mentioned the gender of the expected crowd, he sort of smiled and said, "You know," then he winked a few times. That kind of creeped me out and I sort of wished I told him that it would have been better for him to just say "flirt."

The Trade Center where the show was held brought back some memories since it's where I saw a Bon Jovi/Skid Row concert about 15 years ago. Friday night, I headed down a little early to set up my booth and meet the vendors around me. And then the show opened.

It was very cool to create a booth of my own. I've been to a few trade shows as a consumer, walking around with my welcome bag of goodies and brochures and never thought much of how it all comes together. Setting up a booth advertising a magazine and hoping the readers of that magazine stop by and talk to you about it is a high in itself. I'm not sure if they did know the magazine, since the majority of visitors came by to play my little game (I wonder if any of the contestants on Wheel of Fortune or The Price is Right ask stupid questions, like 'Can I spin the wheel left handed?') but it was great to be there and represent the company and give away free stuff.

I had a blast. I met some great people, gave away some great prizes, and even sneaked some logo-emblazoned t-shirts, keychains, and hats into my own bag of goodies as I walked out the door.

Scratches and Dings

2005-05-20T12:22:00.000-04:00

Confession: I cut coupons.

Every Sunday morning, I get up at 8:00. Not on purpose, it's just what time my "clock" goes off. I make coffee, go outside to get my Sunday Boston Globe, head to my living room couch, and read. The very last newspaper activity is the cutting of the coupons. Afterwards, I file the them in a coupon organizer.

I was raised to cut coupons. Every Sunday morning my mother and I would sit at the kitchen table and I would watch as my mother cut coupons while making a shopping list. Then my father would take me food shopping with him, which I loved to do, because I knew I would get to have my own box of animal crackers that I would eat while sitting in the shopping cart.

I wasn't home Sunday morning to read the paper and so I wasn't able to read and cut until Wednesday, but didn't have a chance to put them in my organizer. Yesterday I only worked a half a day and so I grabbed the stack of coupons and put them in the passenger seat with the plan to file them when I got to the supermarket. Which is what I did.

While sitting in the car going through coupons, I notice out of the corner of my eye that the owners of the car next to me have started to put their groceries from the cart to their minivan. A moment later I heard it. Thud.

I get out of my car and walk over to the other side. "I think you just hit my car." Big gruff man looks at me. "Are you sure?" "Yeah, I just heard it." I look down to see a scratch and I point it out to him. "How do you know it was from me?" I start to get annoyed because the tone that he has taken is that which an adult uses with a 4 year old who just asked why the grass is green.

I tell him that if he opens his door again, we'll be able to see that the corner of his door will meet the point of the scratch. Sure enough, he opens the door and it is a perfect match. He puts his face real close as if it's not that obvious. As if he's looking for just a centimeter of area where the door does not meet the scratch so that he could say, "Ha!" I really want to take my hand and push his head into the door, but realize that would cause more damage. It was a tempting thought, though.

"Whaddaya want me to do?" he says. I just look at him and think. Is it worth the frustration? Ken has a kit to buff a scratch out, so I'm not worried about that, but I don't want him to walk away so easy, so I just continue to look at him, hoping my eyes would pierce his soul and he would apologize profusely and hand over the ice cream cake I notice in one of the bags.

"Do you want me to buff it out?"

My eyebrows raise. Could my gaze really have that much effect to turn evil into good?

"Do you have anything with you to use?" I sound hopeful.

He turns and looks in his car.

"How bout an onion. Would an onion work?"

Jackass.

At this point I am too tired to deal with him anymore. I start to say something again and then I see him open his wallet and hand me some money.

"Here. Get a car wash and maybe it'll wash off." He gets into his car and drives away. I look at my hand and there are 3 crumpled one dollar bills.

In hindsight, I wish I argued more with him, just because of his attitude. Granted the scratch was minor and it isn't noticeable unless you're next to the car. but it's the principle. It's taught me to always get the license plate number, even if I won't act on it. If I had it now, I'd consider reporting him for being a Jackass.

If you're reading this blog...

2005-05-17T14:44:00.000-04:00

... then you might be procrastinating in doing something far more important (which must say something about me, since I'm responsible for this Rambling.)

I constantly find websites that are pretty cool timewasters, aside from reading the news or checking email. Today, Col. Dr. T. led me to the Sloganizer. If you're looking to start a business, the Sloganizer will help you create a slogan. Let's try it. I'd like to come up with a slogan for my blog. Enter in the name and voila...

"Ramblings... it's what you want."
Ramblings is the only way to be happy."

Try it. The fun lasts for hours.

----

Ladies (I don't think many of the boys played), remember when you were younger and you played the MASH game? You know. The game that decided your fate. How many kids you would have, your career, what corner of the world you would reside, and most importantly, whether you would live in a Mansion, Apartment, Shack, or a House. Check out Playmash and fantasize about what your life could be like. And for the guys, you can see what you were missing by not playing this game all those years ago.

This is my destiny:
You will live in Apartment.
You will drive a Green Pilot.
You will marry Ken and have 2 kids.
You will be a Writing in Boston.

I don't think I'll be moving from a house to an apartment, so that's out.
I drive a blue Accord now, so maybe my next car will be a Pilot.
I married the right guy (phew!) and I guess it only makes sense to get an SUV for my two kids.
And I am already writing in Boston, so I guess I chose the right career in the right city.

----

And lastly, for those who like to fix themselves a drink and get frustrated when they don't have an ingredient they need, or who don't know of any drinks to make with the ingredients already in their bar. Webtender is great. Every drink imaginable, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. Go to "In my bar" and check off the items you already have and you'll get a list of all the drinks you can make with those items. I learned that there is a drink called the Lewinsky, and since I have all the ingredients (Bailey's Irish Cream, Peppermint Schnapps, Southern Comfort), my curiousity is forcing me to make it to see if it looks like what I think it does. Yeah, that. Perv.

I'm Drained

2005-05-16T16:13:00.000-04:00

So the big yard sale was this weekend. My parents emptied out their house (somewhat literally) and are thismuch closer to retirement and moving. People had bought a lot of their furniture and came back with a truck to take it away. We later walked in to an empty living room and kitchen. What a weird feeling.

At 7:30 Saturday morning, I arrived at their house with munchkins and coffee. My parents (nor I) had never hosted a yard sale and didn't quite know what to expect. I had gone onto a website earlier in the week to look at tips for having one. It was non-stop from 8 am to 1:30. Madness. I went home and slept for two hours, watched a Saturday Night Live re-run, and crashed. Sunday was the same routine (minus the munchkins) and by the end of the weekend, they made about $950 and sold their entire living room, kitchen and bedroom set. The whole event was pretty fun and was a nice incentive for Ken and I to look at our junk and plan our own sale.

Neighbor Crap
The Building Inspector called back. Come to think of it, No, he hasn't heard anything from the family. He told me that usually, they'll call the town when the house is ready to be gutted (which he expected it would be) and that maybe he'll make a stop over there at some point during the week to see what's going on. Nice, right?
Not so much.

Me: And then what?
Building Inspector: What do you mean?
Me: What happens after you go over there?
BI: I'll see if they have any plans to gut the house. I'll bring the Health Inspector, since this is their jurisdiction also.
Me: How long do they have to do something?
BI: What do you mean?
(Please stop saying that)
Me: Isn't there a statue of limitations on how long they have to fix a house?
BI: Oh, there isn't a time limit.
Me: So they could live there forever?
BI: Technically yes, but they can't.
Me: What do you mean?
(Right back 'atcha)
BI: There isn't a time limit, but they can't live in a trailer because it goes against health code. You can follow up with the Board of Health next week or I can give them your number.

I'll call the Health Board next week if I don't hear anything. Though I have a feeling I may have reached a dead end. In any case, it gives me motivation to try to change the law to require a statute of limitations on home repair after a fire.

Neighborhood Justice, Part 3

2005-05-13T10:13:00.000-04:00

Greg the Fire Inspector called me this morning and apologized for not returning my call sooner. He said that the fire was deemed accidental due to an appliance malfunction. At the time of the fire, he was questioning the family when he got a call of ANOTHER fire a few blocks away (I never knew my town was so flammable!) The police told him that they would continue questioning. The appliance malfunction was what they found.

Okay. If I had an appliance malfunction causing my house to go up in flames, I'd be calling a lawyer and suing that crap out of that appliance company. If the iron was left on or a radio fell into the tub I could see how that would cause a fire. But that would be the malfunction of my idiot neighbors, not the appliance. Getting back...

He gave me the name of the town Building Inspector and advised me to call him about the status of the house. We talked about the insurance and I asked if it was odd to him that this is taking so long. He agreed wholeheartedly, saying especially since they've been in the mobile home since the fire. Insurance is covering the home, so you'd think that they'd want this resolved as soon as possible since it must be getting quite expensive. He also sympathized and told me that he wouldn't want a mobile home in his yard either. Then we joked about how I woke up and saw the mobile home drive into the backyard.

I asked him what the Building Inspector was allowed to tell me and he said that a lot of specifics are public information, especially since the house could be considered a vacant building since no one has been living there. I called the Building Inspector.

He wasn't in, but left a message with his secretary (?) that I was referred and gave her the address of the house. She said that their office closes at noon on Friday so he may not return my call until Monday. I told her that was okay, as long as I know he gets the message.

Stay tuned....

The Gift of Chocolate

2005-05-12T14:01:00.000-04:00

I just bought my sister-in-law some chocolate at Hilliards for her birthday. When you need to buy any type of chocolate gift for anyone, you go to Hilliard's. When you first open the door, the sweet scent that welcomes you into the store tells you that you might be walking out with more than you intended to buy. Everything is homemade, and it is as tasty and comforting as it looks. As tasty and comforting as you want it to be.

On weekends they have samples of fudge on the shelf on top of the fudge case. I've never bought any though. If it's in my house, I will eat it in one sitting. I could do that. I'm not much into fudge anyway. My favorite are those half-dipped cashews. You could choose nuts half-dipped in white chocolate, milk chocolate, or dark chocolate. I get a mix of all three.

Because the scent of the store subliminally forces you to buy more, I bought my niece a "Congratulations" chocolate bar because she pooped on the potty for the first time.

And of course I gave into to temptation and bought some treats for myself.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

2005-05-11T16:26:00.000-04:00

... so sings Tom Petty. I think he was referring to waiting for someone to return his phone call.

I called the Town Clerks Office this morning.

(Read the blog before this one if you have no idea why I would ever want to do such a thing.)

"I'm not sure who I should be calling..." (I can almost see this woman roll her eyes when I tell her this. I used to hate getting these calls when I worked for the state.)

"I'm wondering if I can find out the cause of a domestic fire that happened in July. The family has been living in a mobile home in their back yard, which is adjacent to my yard, since then. I'm also wondering if I can find out the status of the house." I didn't mention the dogs.

She sympathizes with me, or else she was faking the sympathy, in which she did a really good job. She tells me that the first place to start would be the Fire Department, since they would have records on what started the fire. They would then be able to tell who to talk to in order to find out the progress of the house. She gives me the number.

I call the Fire Department. Voice recording giving me SO many options. I never knew Fire Departments had so many departments. Code Compliance, press 1; Training and Safety, press 2; Fire Prevention, press 3, Smoke Detector Training....... I press 6 for Fire Investigations. I get a voicemail. "...If you want to investigate a fire, leave a message...."

I leave a message mentioning the fire, the date it happened, the location, and whether it's public record to know the cause (even though I'm pretty sure it is.) I also request what other information I could find out about the status of the house repairs. That was 5 hours ago.

My mind wanders when I leave messages for people I don't know. I wonder if the Fire Investigator is friends with the family and has spent the past 5 hours on the phone with them laughing at me and devising a "story" to tell me to shut me up. Yeah, it's a scene out of Desperate Housewives, but that's the way my mind works.

I'm heading home now. I'll let you know if I see dog poo smeared across my front door.

Neighborly Advice Needed

2005-05-10T11:41:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'm using my blog as a reverse advice column. I do the asking, and you, my dear readers, offer me the best advice you have. Deal? Okay.

My neighbors live in a house that faces the main road. I live in the first house on the side street off of that road. Meaning that our side yard is next to their back yard.

Last July, we came home one day to see that there was a fire at their house at some point that day. A few rooms were destroyed, along with various areas of the vinyl siding that they just had done. The house is still standing, in decent shape. It looks like only a few rooms were charred. I guess now is a good time to point out that we are not friendly (nor is anyone on our street) with these neighbors. When the fire happened, our other neighbor told us that he ran across the street to kick the front door open (Man, I wish we were home that day) and never even got a "thank you." They're really not a nice family, although the wife is pleasant. When she's outside, we'll wave to eachother when I drive by. That has been our only contact.

In August, we woke up to see a mobile home driving into their backyard (our bedroom window faces it.) And that is where they have been living since then. Ken was pissed when he first saw the mobile home moving in, but I had sympathy. They just lost their house. Cut them some slack, I told him. Almost a year later, nothing has been done to that house. Yes, their mess of a yard (which was also a mess before the fire) and mobile home is bringing down the value of the neighborhood, but the problem are the dogs. Because they live in the mobile home, these two dogs cannot get the exercise they need and therefore are left outside to run around (on leashes) for a long period of time. Actually, the only time we see any member of the family is when they open the door to the mobile home and call the dogs inside. They've woken us up at night from barking and they bark at us everytime we go outside. Whenever I come home from work, they're usually outside and bark at me as I get out of the car, in my driveway which is on the other side of the yard. I realize they're great guard dogs, but you have no idea how many times I have wanted to yell, "I don't want to rob your mobile home!"

I noticed yesterday that their leashes were slightly extended and the dogs were more into our yard. I didn't think much of it until.....

Ken came home and told me that he noticed dog crap in that area of our yard. Not a lot, but it's obviously not going to be cleaned up by them voluntarily.

I really want to call the town and question a) what happened, and b) what the status of the house is. And I want to call Animal Control and make an anonymous complaint over the dog situation. Not the poop, but the fact that these animals could have a better home someplace else given the current conditions. But this is all in my fantasy and I'll never be brave enough to do it.

So this is where you come in. I really don't want to write a letter to this family because the reaction could be worse then if we went over there personally. And I don't think the reaction will be that great if we did go over there personally, no matter how nicely we would handle it. Or retribution.

The End of an Era

2005-05-09T09:53:00.000-04:00

The house that I grew up in will soon belong to someone else. The house that encompasses all my childhood memories has been sold. Where I learned to read. Where I helped mom bake desserts for company and was then allowed to lick the bowl. Where my brother Doug and I used to hide from my parents in the room underneath the stairs. Where I got a toilet seat stuck around my head (story for another time...) Where my friend Andrea and I used to sleep on the porch in sleeping bags underneath the stars and talk about the cute boys at school and gossiped about the girls who wore make-up. Where we used to play softball on the side of my house with all the kids who lived on the street.

My father used to coach Flatley, one of the teams in the town's Little League. No, wait. First it was Graziano, then it was Flatley. Anyway, when he "retired," he pitched for the neighborhood league. There were so many kids in our neighborhood, finding a team was easy. And the rule was, once you turn 13, you're too old to play. I forget how the game would start - not sure if we had a written schedule - but I do remember on occasional nights, some of the boys would come by after dinner and ask if my father wanted to get a game going. And so we went outside and started a game. The corner of the yard, where the two fences met, was home plate. The huge tree to the right was first base, another tree was second, and the fence post was third. And if you hit the ball into the Katler's yard across the street, automatic home run. It was a blast. I remember being horrible at first. I could hit the ball, but I never mastered the art of catching. If someone threw the ball to me, I was fine, but never a ball from a hit. So dad kept me out of the outfield and I was the catcher. The final season ended when someone hit the ball and it broke my parents bedroom window. Home plate became the graveyard for the few hamsters Doug and I had as pets.

I wonder if this is how they felt when my brother and I went off to college, got married, or when my brother had kids of his own. That was a huge change in their life, but we (or atleast I) never thought about what it meant to them as much as it meant to us.

In August my father will retire and they'll move to Cape Cod. My brother and I are extremely happy for them, especially that they have a house in a nice and quiet and closeknit neighborhood. But at the same time, it's a change that we were in denial that would ever happen. It's very bittersweet.

This weekend is their yard sale. Where I'll probably sell something of mine that I haven't seen in 20 years. Priceless to me, but no more than $5 to them...

Emily and Michael

2005-05-05T09:43:00.000-04:00

Emily and Michael are my niece and nephew. My pride and joy. When I am mad at the world and just want to be left alone, their smiles are what can bring me out of my funk. I can just eat them up.

Emily will be 5 in August. She has a blanket she calls "mamie" and she takes it everywhere she goes. Right now, she wants to be a ballerina when she grows up. She's been addicted to Elmo and Dora the Explorer and her current fascination is Tinkerbell. She wants to fly like Tinkerbell and on rare occasions, she'll switch personalities on us and be Tinkerbell. She'll walk into the room as Emily and just like that if you call her name, she says, "I'm not Emily." That's when you know to apologize and call her Tinkerbell. And daddy is Peter Pan and I am Wendy. "Tink" is also her pen name. When she makes me books from colored construction paper, she'll draw pictures and will tell mommy what to write. And on the cover, she will write the title of the book (mommy helps her spell the words) and she writes, "by Tink".

She loves Noggin, which I have come to learn is a kids cartoon channel on TV. She watches Franklin (a turtle)and Oswald (an octopus) and Dora and she knows that Auntie Jodi loves Blues Clues. On Tuesdays, Nana babysits for Emily and takes her to the park and sometimes to Plaster Fun Time where she creates art for the wall in her room. Her favorite colors are pink and red and she will be the first to tell you that she does NOT like orange. When she does something funny or even gets hurt, she always wants you to tell the story of each episode. "Tell me the story about when I fell off the swing and I cried." And each story has to start with "Once upon a Time."

Michael loves his big sister. He just turned 2 in February and emulates her like crazy. If she is playing with a certain toy, he plays with it. If she is eating Dora Fruit Snacks, he wants one too. And he is such a little boy. He loves banging things and airplanes and trains and trucks. He went on his first plane a few weeks ago to visit Grammy and Papa in Florida and he couldn't have been more excited. He also watches Dora and Oswald but because he can't anunciate his words quite yet, Dora is "Da-da" and Oswald is "Ah-Wah". Auntie Jodi is "Jih-Jih". If he hears Emily crying, he runs over to her yelling, "Oh no oh no oh no oh no!" And when the microwave goes off, he runs over to it and says, "Ready!" It's really cute.

That is just a little piece of my family.

Writer's Blog

2005-05-03T12:39:00.000-04:00

I have writer's block. I feel the need to blog, since I haven't updated in a while, but I don't have a particular subject to blab about.

I have an issue with people calling their son or daughter their "kid." It's fine if there are atleast two and you refer to them as "my kids," but the singular "my kid" bugs me. I don't know why I thought of that first.

I think I may have to "dump" a friend, though I don't want to because even though the reasons are valid, looking at it from the whole perspective makes me look shallow. Backstory: Friend since college. Bridesmaid in my wedding. Lived all over the world (Connecticut, California, Norway, now in Massachusetts) and we've kept in close touch all along. She started having problems with her husband in the fall and by December, she has been completely distant from me. I'd leave her messages or emails and after following up when I didn't hear from her, she apologizes and said her mind has been elsewhere. I let it go. Her husband was going to be in Norway over Christmas and I invited her for Christmas with my family. We don't celebrate the holiday, but we do go out for Chinese every year with relatives, who she's met, since she came with us a few years ago. She accepted the invitation even after I told her that if she made other arrangements with her family in Connecticut, I'd understand and to let me know. I called her Christmas Eve to set a time for us to pick her up and she never called back. I didn't hear from her again until a few days after Christmas when I called her to make sure she was okay (I had left a message the day after Christmas, too.) She told me she was fine and that she spent the holiday with her grandmother and she didn't say anything to me since she didn't think our plans were set in stone. I let it go. She let me know in January that she and her husband are separating and gave me her new number. My phone calls haven't been returned and I am sad that she has distanced herself from me. I did ask her to help me out with a work thing that she'd get paid for and she expressed interest, but now I think it's because she's getting paid for it. I have left her messages about the work thing and she hasn't gotten back to me. I did expect that given her recent history of being unreliable and have decided to email her that I'm going to find someone else to do it. So frustrating. This Sh! is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

(Note to Daniel: That last sentence is from a Gwen Stefani song. Not sure if it's made it to your corner of the world. The "Sh!" is a 4-letter word I choose not to include in my blogs. I'm a lady :-) )

I was reminded again today of another reason I want to work from home. Solicitors. I have no problem with people calling me on the phone asking me if I want to buy something. It's easier to either screen the call and don't pick up, or tell them "no" 3 times (when I worked for a consumer affairs agency, I learned that if you say no 3 times, they have to give up.) Hanging up on someone is rude and I refuse to do it. But when people either knock on my door or come into my office, it gets to me. Knocking on my door isn't too bad because I can pretend I;m not home. Walking into my office, I have no place to hide. My building is small. It has three floors, but only 2 or 3 offices to a floor. And there is no reception area so people walk in as they please. I was just disrupted by someone trying to sell meal vouchers. Like a restaurant gift certificate that can be used at a few specific restaurants throughout a specific time period. For $40. Not interested. Before him, a few months back, it was someone selling sports memorabilia. Then some framed animal pictures (think Anne Geddes, but with animals instead of babies) left over from a local store that went out of business. It's just too much, and it adds to the reason I'm getting more excited about the chance to work from home. It sounds like it's going to happen at some point over the next few months.

Oh, and I'm going to a Kentucky Derby party on Saturday and need an outfit. I must go shopping because I own baseball caps, not hats suitable for a Derby party. And if anyone has any recipes or ideas for a suitable Derby style appetizer (finger foods), I will be appreciative.

Home Work

2005-04-29T13:10:00.000-04:00

I started with this company in July. I decided that what I was doing before (state gov't position - please don't call me a bureaucrat) was not a career. Maybe a career for some people, just not for me. That job was in the city. I took the overcrowded train into work in the mornings and dealt with people who, for some reason or another, chose not to have manners. People who cough or sneeze without covering their mouths bug me. And I am in no way a morning person. I need my morning coffee before I can figure out what to say when someone says, "Good morning." I couldn't understand how people could be so bubbly. Leave me alone and let me read my newspaper/book/magazine. I remember once when my brother and I ended up on the same train. He usually heads into work about an hour before me, but on this day he had to take my niece to pre-school so he was late. I got onto the train and started to read the paper and when we got to the next stop, I saw my brother get on. I called him over and after small chit-chat, we both started to read our papers in silence until we had to get off. He called me later on to tell me how relieved he was that I was not a morning person. All he wanted to do was read the paper and was glad that I also chose to read the paper instead of talking to him the entire trip in.

When I decided to leave my job, it was more than about the career thing, it was also about the commute (but more about the career.) I was tired of having to rely on unreliable trains in the morning. Sometimes they came late, sometimes the heat/AC was broken. I got sick of the commute fast. I wanted to work for a company with an actual parking lot. So I went onto Monster.com, found a great marketing/PR position about 30 minutes away, and here I am.

I love what I do and the commute couldn't be better. Or so I thought.

I just found out that my company doesn't want to own the building anymore. The partners are at the age of retirement. But they love what they do, so they don't retire. One of our clients is a golf course, so on nice days, they head down for a meeting and an afternoon round of golf. As they explained, clients don't come to us, we go to them. Which is true. You could turn our conference room into a greenhouse and no one would care. Our flood insurance has increased, as did our condo fees. Considering the situation, I don't blame them. I was called into a meeting on Friday and was asked that if I could, would I want to work from home? "While you're in Vermont, think about it," I was told. What was there to think about? Do I have a spare room that could be converted into an office? Check. Would I want to wake up in the morning and not have to compete with Ken for time in the bathroom? Check. Would I want to wake up in the morning the day after a major snowstorm and relax knowing that I don't have to rush to brush my car off? Check.

The problem is my total issue with procrastination. Sure, once I have the computer, fax machine, and phone lines set up the goal is to actually get me to turn off the TV after the Today Show and get to work. But then Ellen comes on at 10. And Growing Pains reruns on Disney! What can I say. I love TV. Ooh! I'll also be able to go to the gym during my lunch hour since I won't be so tired after work.

I know that whatever distractions I come up with now are going to be nonexistent when the time actually comes that I will be able to wake up and walk across the hall to work. Someone told me also that if I dressed professionally, I'll be professional. Meaning don't work in my T-shirt and pajama bottoms. I know that as soon as I wake up and shower, I'll be in work-mode.

Is this possible to do or is working from home just one big oxymoron?

Don't Go To Vermont in April

2005-04-27T18:18:00.000-04:00

... So said the Fodor's-like guidebook I checked out a few days after we checked in. My response? "Um..Duh!"

Vermont in April is considered off-season. I had no idea. My parents went to Stowe in October and raved about it. "It is the perfect place for your anniversary," they said. Yeah, maybe if our anniversary was in October.

Nothing was open. Well, a few places were. We did everything we planned (except for horseback riding and driving through Smuggler's Notch, both of which aren't available until mid-May), even though it rained all but one day. If I was alone, it would have been a horrible trip. I went to San Francisco about 5 years ago by myself and it was great. A friend of mine lived in San Jose at the time so I stayed with her for a night, but the next day I headed to San Fran for a week by myself and had a blast. I had always heard that you need to take a vacation by yourself atleast once in your life and so I did. I'm just glad that Stowe in April was not that trip.

We saw how Vermont Teddy Bears are made. We saw how Ben and Jerry's ice cream is packed and ready to ship (and sampled Fossil Fuel - a new flavor - YUM!), and we bought some Cabot Cheese and Vermont Maple Syrup and saw the Trapp Family Lodge, which was where the Sound of Music was based on. We hiked, though not as much as we hoped, and we got lost plenty o' times, all which were quite a comical adventure. We drove through covered bridges (I love love LOVE covered bridges - they all made me think of the Bridges of Madison County), and even visited Plattsburgh, NY for 10 minutes.

So when pictures are downloaded, I'll sign up for the Hello thing and show you our trip.

And thank you, Red, for your very special blog dedicated to our weekend. It made me smile. And please let us know what happens between Sabina and Sam.

I Have Yogurt in My Hair

2005-04-21T09:31:00.000-04:00

I slowly peeled off the aluminum cover of my yogurt this morning and it spit in my face. No, not my face - my sweater, a drop on my skirt, and in my hair. I am so in need of this vacation. Not just because of the yogurt, but because of the days leading up to the yogurt.

The office network went down this week. Monday and Tuesday we were left with no email, no internet, no server. About 80% of what I do involves some sort of online connection (Internet, UPS Shipments, etc) so without it, all I was able to do was file.

Last night I went to a barbecue (it reached 85 in Boston yesterday - wahoo!) Their house is on a very narrow unpaved road. As I backed out to leave last night, I hit a few reflector posts. It didn't scratch as bad as I thought it would, but still a little nerve-wracking to worry about a car as your driving it home.

I do celebrate a holiday this weekend and it'll be the first holiday without a family dinner. And it's also our first anniversary and it just comes at the perfect time. I just need to get away. You know that feeling? You look out your office window more than you look at the office computer... You go into a bookstore to peruse the travel section and you don't have any trips planned.

Granted it's only Vermont and not anywhere adventurous or tropical, but it's still a getaway nonetheless. With everything from hiking and horseback riding to wineries and ferries along Lake Champlain to Ben & Jerry's and Vermont Teddy Bear tours, we'll have much to do and see.

If you are now in the mood to live vicariously through another traveler, mosey on over to Jodi's blog and read all about her trip to Italy a few weeks ago (you'll have to scroll down a bit, but make sure you don't miss the pic for the worst haircut.) Jodi's blogs are very lighthearted and witty and always interesting.

Book Recommendations...

2005-04-19T18:22:00.000-04:00

I need a good book recommendation. I'm going away for a long weekend (Stowe, VT - Sat thru Wed) and need a book. I'm into memoirs or autobiographies, but any recommendations best seller- or prize winning- related will also be accepted. And please nothing political. The last few books I read were Good in Bed (it's not about what it sounds like!) by Jennifer Weiner, The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Alborn, DaVinci Code by Dan Brown, and Haven by Ruth Gruber. So as you can see, my taste varies from the thought-provoking and sometimes controversial to the light and witty.

Thanks in advance!

Weekend Musings

2005-04-17T11:46:00.000-04:00

Friday morning I left for work with a deposit slip still on the table by the stairs. I meant to bring it to work so I could run to the bank at lunch. Normally I do banking after work, but I figured since Friday was Tax Day, the usual lunchtime bankers would be in line at the post office. When I realized I forgot the slip, I figured I would run home after work, grab the slip, and then run to the bank.

When I came home Friday, I left my purse in the car (locked the car of course), ran in, grabbed the slip and ran out. As soon as I closed the door I realized that my keys were inside. I haven't locked myself out of the house since I was in junior high and I remember that when I did, I'd go to the back of the house, run up the porch stairs, and climb in through the bathroom window. Friday I wasn't so lucky to have anything unlocked. Everything I needed was either in a locked car or a locked house. Ken wouldn't be home from work for another 2 hours and I couldn't find any neighbors home for me to use their phone. And so I sat on the front steps and waited. And waited. It's funny how your mind wanders when you have nothing to do. First I thought that if my company had direct deposit, none of this would have happened. Then I just started thinking that this must be what people feel like when they become homeless. Lost. Desperate for shelter (it was pretty chilly). Primitive. It was silly really. A silly comparison. I knew I'd be back in the house soon, but again. My mind wanders when the everyday items we take for granted are suddenly not within reach anymore. I kept going around the house, thinking that maybe one of these windows will miraculously unlock. I was imagining myself in one of those movie roles where I would be crawling on the ground, hair disheveled and my clothes shredded groaning, "Water. Water." in a dry and raspy voice. My academy award-winning performance was over sooner than expected when Ken came home earlier than planned and rescued me from the wild.

Speaking of which, I saw someone walking a ferret the other day. Cars slowed down to watch. From a distance it looked like a small cat, but when I realized it was a ferret, it made me smile. It was one of those random things you never expect to find.

I also found out that Jack Johnson is coming to a very small venue (a minor league baseball field) in September in the next town over. I must get tickets for this. His first album (does anyone call them albums anymore) was the best, and his second is my next CD purchase. Have you heard his rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer? Jack Johnson is the exception to the rule about pop singers making their own rendition of Holiday songs. He makes it his own. Man I love him.

And please visit Daniel's blog today to wish him a happy 29th birthday.