Home Work

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

... 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

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...

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

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.

Anyone want to move to Jupiter?

I got a weird message this morning on my cell phone from a woman. "Hi Jodi, you called me yesterday for whatever reason and I'm just calling you back." I say my name in my outgoing voice mail message, so I'm assuming that's how she knew my name. I checked my Missed Calls file and recognized the area code as being from Florida. I also check my Recently Dialed list and her number isn't on it.

I went online and did a reverse phone number check. It is a name I don't recognize and she lives in Jupiter, Florida. And so I call her back. She told me that my number came up on her caller id which is even weirder because I have the option checked off on my phone to hide my number. I also have a SIM card in my phone that protects people from hacking in. I didn't tell her this because she sounded like a woman who wouldn't know what a SIM card is. She reminded me of my aunt, my mother, my father, and my boss who all ask for help in programming their cell phones/email and who think they're computer geniuses because they've mastered the "Save As" function on Word. Actually, I also wouldn't tell her about the SIM card because I also don't know what a SIM card is, just that it protects my phone from evil hackers.

I asked her if she could have read the number wrong, maybe the area code was 718 instead of 781. She said no, that she used to have friends in this area so she originally thought it may have been them. She also admitted that she usually doesn't call anyone long distance back if they don't leave a message but since she's selling her house, she thought that maybe I saw the listing and was interested. We engaged in a lovely conversation about real estate since I seem to be surrounded by people either selling (my parents) or looking to buy (aunt and uncle) and she asked if I knew anyone looking to buy in Jupiter.

I told her no, but I'll keep my eyes open for her.

This Old House

Any room in my house is a prime candidate for any room makeover show on TLC or HGTV. I thought of this last night as I painted the last coat on the wall in the den downstairs.

The house is about 40 years old, and the previous owners never updated anything. When we moved in, there was still Brady Bunch wallpaper in the kitchen and bathroom. And nothing matched. There wasn't a "set" of anything. They must have gone into a bunch of different furniture stores, picked out a piece of furniture from each, and then put it into the room that needed a chair/table/couch/etc. Like the equivalent of throwing pick-up sticks into the air and letting them fall where they may. That is what the house looked like when we moved in.

Little by little, we updated. New couch and table in the living room. Paint instead of wallpaper in the kitchen and bathroom. A new table and chairs for the 3-season room (handed down by my aunt - thank you!!) New furniture for the bedroom. Candles, picture frames, wall accents!

The downstairs has been my project for the past year. Little by little the ugly red shag rug was pulled up in the den, entryway, and bathroom and it was disgusting. I wanted to quit many times but knew we didn't have the money to have it done professionally. And part of me loved the challenge of doing it myself - making it my own. And so I did. The fireplace was painted white. Personally, I like my fireplace to have unpainted bricks, so I went and spent wasted time and money on paint remover that didn't work. Of course brick is porous which means I would never get it completely off, which I didn't think of until after my last attempt. I gave up on trying to remove it and found a brick-colored paint (Mexicana by Benjamin Moore) that covered it. My next obstacle was the wood-paneling which walled almost the entire basement. Instead of removing it (I was afraid of what I'd find underneath), I primed it and painted it (October Mist by Benjamin Moore) and it looks okay. Finally after cursing the roller, paintbrush and myself (for getting the October Mist on the Mexicana), the last coat is on.

There's still much more to do, but the house is coming out quite nicely. And I don't have to welcome everyone who comes into the house for the first time with, "Don't laugh when you see my walls."

And I'm even thinking about getting myself a tool belt. No, really I'm not. Just the image of me wearing a tool belt is enough to make me not buy one.

Oh, and as a side note: Benjamin Moore paint removes easily from skin.

Me, the Atlantic Ocean, and a Drag Queen

This weekend Ken and I visited my parents on Cape Cod, and since it was supposed to be the first gorgeous weekend of the season (and year), my parents and I decided to open Ken's mind a little bit more and take him to Provincetown.

Provincetown, if you're not familiar, is not only the farthest point east in Massachusetts, but it could be the rainbow capital east of the Mississippi. The San Francisco of the East Coast, if you will. And you can not leave Provincetown without having seen a drag queen. No matter what time of year. And I love it.

We began our journey at the beginning of Commercial Street, which is like Main Street USA in Disney World - it's the center of town, where everything exists. And mind you, that is where the comparison to Disney ends. We're walking down the street when I hear Frank Sinatra on someone's radio. I love Frank. As I turn the corner to follow the sound, I see a woman lip-synching into a microphone. As I get closer, I notice that the woman is actually singing, not lip-synching. And I think that she has a pretty deep voice. And there is a sign at her feet with her name. Ellie. But then I notice, Ellie is not a woman. This man is wearing a skirt the size of a scarf and I am jealous because he has better legs than I do. And a better singing voice, but I'm much more focused on his legs. We all stopped to watch, which people were doing from ten feet away. Ken kept repeating, "Ohmigawd" as we continued walking. I don't think it's what he expected. I wanted to take a picture to add to my Ramblings, but photos of Ellie were not allowed. I was a little bummed.

We then went into one of many art galleries. Every other storefront is an art gallery in Provincetown. Art ranges from the gorgeous Cape backdrops to the racy alternative lifestyle themed prints only suitable for adults. In this particular gallery, we got the best of both worlds. There were many sections where I saw some paintings that I would have loved to hang over my living room couch... and then there was the one section that made Ken turn around and walk away. When I caught up to him later, he asked, "Was he sucking what I think he was sucking?" Ah yes, you gotta love Provincetown.

I was raised to be completely open-minded. Be compassionate. Don't judge. Don't discriminate. And so I don't. I went to college in the city and when I graduated, I rented an apartment with two other girls and I experienced life. I took risks and it made me more aware of how to be. Ken was raised a little differently. So this weekend opened his eyes to people who I don't give a second thought to. I do give a second glance, because seeing a man in drag or two men holding hands as they walk down the street together is not what I'm used to in my every day life. But I love it. And it's still a little shock to Ken but he mostly laughs it off.

Don't get me wrong. Commercial Street is not all about this. That is just a piece of what it has to offer. One side of Provincetown is Commercial Street. Art galleries and shopping and museums and cafes right along the water. Freedom of expression and the freedom to be - no matter who you are. The other side of Provincetown is home to the most beautiful beach - Race Point Beach, home to Race Point Lighthouse. We stopped at the beach and walked the dunes and walked into the water, just to say that unless someone was on a boat, we were farthest east than anyone in Massachusetts.

If you're not offended by any of this, then I recommend a visit to the Cape and a few hours in Provincetown. It is such a great place to sit and people watch, which I love to do. It is the only place I have ever been to where anyone can walk down the street and not be judged by what they look like, what they're wearing, who they're with, or what they're doing. Everything is accepted in Provincetown. Because chances are, if you see something that is weird, you'll see something weirder in a moment.

Driving Miss Jodi...

I want to buy an erasable memo board and keep it in my car.

Yesterday, I was the 2nd car at a stoplight. I had my hands on the wheel, and without even realizing it, my hands pressed the wheel a little too much and the horn went off. Coincidentally, the light had JUST turned green. I felt so bad. I saw the eyes of the driver in front of me in his rearview mirror and I tried my best to give him the "I'm sorry, it was an accident" look, but I don't think it came across too well. His hands went up in the "Relax, I'm going" gesture.

I was once behind a truck who was blocking the right-turn only lane. He was at a stoplight and couldn't move, so I waited. I heard a car horn behind me, and then the truck moved a bit so we were able to inch closer into the lane. As I passed him, he yelled out, "Bitch," and I instantly wanted to yell back that it wasn't me who beeped at him. I don't know why those things bug me, or give the need to defend myself, but they do. I don't want anyone to think I'm rude. I like to be liked and respected on the road.

I was cut off by a Hummer this morning. I was on the main road, and he pulled out from a side street without even stopping. I hate Hummers. Hummers remind me of Arnold Swarzenegger. He was on Jay Leno last year and he told Leno that Maria had given him one for his birthday. I don't know why the interview stuck with me, but everytime I see a Hummer, my Austrian accent comes out of nowhere and I call it a "Hummah," just like he does.

Last year, October actually, many of the digital message boards that overlooked various highways throughout Massachusetts stopped showing the regular, "Please Drive Responsibly" and "Buckle Up For Safety" messages. For a few days, the messageboards read, "Go Sox!" Obviously innocent. Obviously in good fun, showing the Mass Highway Safety Bureau's support to the team that would soon break the dreaded curse. But a few people complained. "There's no need for it." "Pay attention to broadcasting the accidents, not editorializing sports headlines." Someone then wrote in that after reading the complaints, the messageboard should read, "Lighten up." The messageboard was changed to "Have a Nice Day."

So this is why I want that dry erasable memo board. Of course I'd be breaking a million traffic rules by having one since it would require other drivers to take their eyes off the road to read it, but it would make me feel better knowing that drivers know my intentions - that I really am sorry for whatever I did that I didn't mean to do (including beeping prematurely), that no, it wasn't me who beeped at them, that they really need to please get off my ass (my rear bumper), and finally and most importantly, that they should all have a nice day.

27 Tidbits About Yours Truly...

1. I love to laugh. Dry wit is a great thing.
2. I'm very sarcastic when I'm in a bad mood.
3. When I was 4, I was stung by a bee and now the sight of any insect in the bee/hornet/wasp family gives me the Heebee Jeebees.
4. I am a huge fan of Rachael Ray, who hosts two shows on the Food Network.
5. I love to cook.
6. I am not a huge fan of those Burger King commercials where the Burger King with the freakishly large head shows up in weird places (a bed, outside a window...) The commercials would only be realistic if the people he greets were to drop kick him and call the police.
7. I could never be bored around a child.
8. I love the smell of fresh laundry and burning firewood.
9. I'm a fan of reality TV, though I refuse to watch Survivor, the Bachelor, or anything that starts with "Who Wants to Marry..." or ends with ..."Swap."
10. Tom Hanks and Jack Nicholson are my favorite actors. Natalie Portman and Gwyneth Paltrow are my favorite actresses. I think Tim McGraw is the sexiest man alive.
11. I am a fan of all types of music - country, rock, jazz, and oldies. Coldplay would be my favorite band.
12. The house I grew up in is going up for sale in a few weeks and I'm not over it yet. Happy that my parents are happy to retire, but sad that it's the end of an era.
13. The first concert I ever saw was New Kids on the Block in 1990, well before they were popular. They did an anti-drug concert at a local high school auditorium outside of Boston.
14. When I was 15, I went to Russia as a Student Ambassador with the People to People program. It was the most eye-opening experience I have ever had, so far..
15. When I was 19, I went on two dates with who I later discovered was a fugitive from the NH State Prison system. I didn't know he was a fugitive until after the fact and when he called me the last time, I told him I knew and that my phone was probably bugged. It wasn't.
16. Weird. There is a hornet buzzing outside my window and I can't stop watching it.
17. I'm starting a side business as a wedding coordinator.
18. I am a pop-culture fanatic.
19. I'm redecorating my house and am now addicted to paint and all websites home decorating/improvement-related.
20. I sing out loud in my car. And if it's a song I love, I belt it.
21. Someone just told me that there is a hornet's nest around the corner from my window. Wonderful.
22. My birthday is September 11.
23. I am a child of the 80's and I still think it was the greatest decade. Best movies, best music.
24. I was told that I am the best auntie. And I believe it!
25. My living room sofa is the most comfortable sofa in all the land.
26. I'm a huge Red Sox fan.
27. I have no tolerance for bad drivers or rude people.
28. I am still fascinated by this hornet...

Psst... Wanna Buy A Bridge?

I have no experience in sales. Nada. Zilch. Zero. But when I am asked by the boss if I would be interested in getting into sales, I don't even hesitate. "Sure! What would you like me to do?"

I have to sell a magazine. Well, sort of. My company is going to be publishing a magazine where every page will profile a different business or individual. My job will be to drive around to local high-end businesses to sell a profile. If anyone has experience in this, I'd love some advice. And I missed a meeting today.

Thursday afternoon, Boss told me that we'll have a meeting "sometime next week" to go over the magazine. I say, "okay." I don't normally have scheduled meetings. If I have a meeting, it usually involves someone coming into my office and sitting down. If there was a time and place mentioned, I would have made a note. Both a calendar note and a mental note. I have an amazing memory.

Fast forward to this afternoon. I come back from lunch and walk by the conference room. A few people are in there and I think nothing of it. I catch Boss's eye as I walk past and head back to my office.

Half hour later, Boss comes in my office. "Where were you? Did you forget? 2:00 meeting!" I apologize, saying something about not realizing it was today, silently annoyed he didn't signal me in when I walked by earlier and even further silently annoyed at his "Where were you" comment since he saw me. He wasn't annoyed, and it's not just because he's a great guy but I think he realized that "Monday at 2:00" never escaped his lips. He then sat down and gave me the jist of what was to come of the magazine, some ideas, some answers to potential questions, and was nice enough to give me a few leads.

So now I get to venture out in the world of sales without a paddle. After today's mini pow-wow, I'm more confident and more optimistic about being able to sell. Now all I need is a pitch. And maybe a little luck.

Out of the mouths of babes...

"If you were grey and naked, you'd be a mouse." - Emily, 4.

Imagine being four years old again, just for a day. And have that innocence. The naivete. The belief that mommy and daddy know all the answers and can solve every problem. Where bills were just noses on a bird, and my biggest decision of the day was deciding between spaghetti-o's or macaroni and cheese...

Procrastination Rears Its Ugly Head...

I just took an online quiz that said that if I were an ice cream flavor, I'd be french vanilla; if I were an alcoholic beverage, I'd be beer; if I were a messed up Barbie, I'd be Lactating Barbie; and if I were a Disney attraction, I'd be It's a Small World.

I have no idea how they come up with that stuff but I love how interested I become as I wait in anticipation to see the results. I think French Vanilla is fitting. Vanilla is All-American. Comforting. Classic. Traditional. Old-fashioned. Let's go to a ballgame. Making it French Vanilla is like adding mystery. It's unique. Sassy. Spunky.

And Beer? I am so beer. Casual. Low-maintenance. Down to earth.

Lactating Barbie I am not even going to touch. That's just weird.

I do disagree with the Disney Attraction. Even though I think I'm pretty well-traveled (though there's always room for more!), come on. It's a Small World? Kids singly loudly wildy off-key? I wouldn't go that far. I think I'm much more Space Mountain. A little spaced-out, but never boring.

Take your own quizzes here.

Things I Want To Do Before I Die

The Today Show is having a contest. Tell them what you want to accomplish before you die, and maybe you'll get a chance to do it. This would be my list.

Stand outside the Today Show window (while we're on the subject).
Rack up $5,000 on my credit card without knowing how or when I will pay it off.
Travel through Europe.
Catch a home run at a baseball game—even if it’s just batting practice.
Drive cross-country without a map.
Throw a kick-ass dinner party for everyone I know.
Visit Australia.
Go on a safari.
Gallop a horse along a beach.
Be a guest voice on The Simpsons.
Light a fire using only sticks.
Buy a round for a packed bar.
See the 7 Wonders of the World.
Start a custard pie fight.
Break a world record.
Swim with dolphins.
Meet my favorite celebrity.
Climb a mountain.
Take a Ferrari for a test drive.
Do a striptease.
Stay up all night long, and watch the sun rise.
Go to a major sporting event (Olympics, Superbowl, etc.)
Touch an iceberg.
Take a trip in a hot air balloon.
Watch a meteor shower.
Bet on a winning horse.
Start a food fight.
Have my portrait painted.
Take a pottery class.
Skydive.
Visit all 50 states.
Be a member of the audience in a TV show.
Send a message in a bottle.
Learn a musical instrument.
Sit on a jury.
Dance with a stranger in a foreign country.
Milk a cow.
Sing karaoke.
Start a business.
Ride a Unicycle.
Take a martial arts class.
Be in a movie (if only as an extra).
Make cookies from scratch.
Win first prize in a costume contest.
Ride a gondola in Venice.
Be on television news programs as an "expert."
Learn a new language.
Follow my favorite singer on tour.
Walk the Golden Gate Bridge.
Win money on a T.V. game show.
Have my picture in the newspaper.
Change someone's mind about something I feel strongly about.
Learn to parasail.
Have a booth at a street fair.

Dreaming...

I have to go buy more paint.

I have two dream dictionaries I bought a million years ago when I was into it. Really into it. Now they just collect dust on a bookshelf until I have an odd dream and pull them out.

Last night I dreamed that I went to a family reunion, but I remember seeing both sides of my family there. And it was at a house where we had to help work on the basement (painting, drywall, etc.) so I had to put my sneakers on, but didn't know which socks to wear. I think I went through about 5 different pairs of socks. And my cousin was there. Except that he wasn't my "real life" cousin. He was the guy who was kicked off the Apprentice a while back. Danny, the one who played guitar. Except in my dream his name was Michael.

That got me thinking about dream interpretation. I am in the process of recarpeting and painting my basement. So of course, that made sense. But Danny? And who is Michael? And what's with the socks? It did remind me that I needed to buy paint. But my basement reminds me of that every day.

I once had a dream where I ran over two birds. They were still alive so I put them onto towels in my mother's linen closet and cared for them and tried to get them back to health. They eventually died. I looked up that dream in a dictionary and it said that I would have both good luck financially, but I will get some news that will worry me. That dream was several months ago and I have not gotten a raise, won the lottery, or heard troublesome news. Or maybe what was troublesome was that I just killed two birds (Aha! But I didn't use a stone.)

I think I need coffee.

Things that piss me off...

I wish I could hire a skywriter and post the following for all the world to see. It might just help in the quest for peace on earth:

Please do not apply make-up while you are driving. You look fine.

The coffee you buy on your way into work should not be allowed to taste anything but delicious. Having burnt-tasting coffee first thing in the morning sucks.

If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie. 'Nuff said.

Nobody owns the world. Don't act like you do.

'You are' is you're, not your. 'They are' is they're, not their or there.

If you know you're going to be putting a basket of bread on my table in a restaurant, let the pads of butter thaw out a little bit beforehand. Don't serve me ice cold butter. Butter is supposed to be spread, not chopped.

Left lane is for passing. If I creep up behind you it means move over. Same goes for the escalator.

Finish what you're eating before you call me.

The 5-letter word that every driver should know the meaning of: M E R G E

No matter how many emails you forward, you will not win $1,000,000 dollars from Bill Gates, a pretty picture will not appear on your screen, nor will you win any other fabulous cash and prizes. Got that, mom and dad?

Cover your mouth when you cough and sneeze, please.

You really don't know how to run this country better. If you were put in the Oval Office tomorrow, you really think you'd be able to resolve every one of our issues? Seriously.

The less clothes you wear, the trashier you look. And just because they make it in your size doesn't mean you should wear it.

Telling a racial or off-color remark and calling it a joke doesn't make you funny. It makes you ignorant.


Okay, I'm done. Feel free to add your own.

Why did I start this again?

Oh yeah. To write better, isn't that right? Why yes, there it is. Down below. In my first blog ever I wrote that I started this blog to write better. For work. In my marketing career. Might be my biggest mistake yet. Maybe I should apply to promote blogspot. I sure as hell do enough research for it.

I am addicted to blogging. Everytime I publish a blog I check back every 20 minutes to see if I have a comment. Then I check out the next blog after mine. And the next one. And then the next one. And if the blog interests me (read: written in English and not politically charged), I'll read the comments. And then I'll read the blogs of those that wrote the comments, because if they were interested in reading the same blog I am, then that might mean I must be interested in their blogs, too!

I need to wake up. I usually bring a sugar-free Red Bull to work with me but I forgot this morning. I do have tea. Maybe I'll make that.

Then I'll go back to checking out some more blogs.

The L Word.

Lover. I hate that word. I never really minded it before but everytime she is mentioned, Amber Frey is always referred to as Scott Peterson's lover. And now the word makes me cringe. To me, a "lover" is scandalous. Like one step above "mistress." Why not call her his ex-girlfriend, because to her, that's what she was. But to call her an ex-girlfriend wouldn't be as juicy as calling her his lover. Who wants to listen to his ex-girlfriend? I want to hear from his lover.

In the past year, two of my exes have found me online, and all of a sudden a wave of emotions hit me at the same time. Delight. Flattery. Curiosity. Nostalgia. Loving what I have now but yet still wonder what might have been. Because of the fact that my curiousity led me to contact these men, I am calling them my lovers, because according to others, I am married and therefore have no reason to know their whereabouts or motives. I'm being scandalous!

The first one contacted me a month before my wedding last April. My heart stopped when I saw his name in my email inbox. "I found your name and wondered if you were someone I once knew," the email said. Gleefully (there's a word I don't think I have ever used), I responded. And so began maybe three or four emails. He filled me on his life (he lives about 8 states away from me, married, with a baby on the way) and I filled him on my life and my upcoming wedding (THANKFULLY). Then I wondered if he was being scandalous too. His wife was about to deliver a baby in a few months and he Googles the name of the woman he was going to marry (in college, we made tentative plans). A few emails later, I stopped emailing him because my husband asked me to. He didn't think it was so innocent anymore. Not on my end, on his. And maybe it wasn't. On email, it was extremely innocent. I shared pictures of my husband and me with him, and he shared pictures of his new daughter with me. But deep down the truth was still there. This was a person I loved so much and planned to spend the rest of my life with, and here he was after so many years just a DSL line away. I wonder if his heart skipped a beat when my name appeared in his Inbox, too. I would never cheat on my husband, I can't imagine myself ever wanting to and just the thought of that makes me nauseous. But I was so curious about this man. I am convinced that he is as happy in his marriage as I am, regardless what my husband thinks. But because I respect my husband, I stopped emailing. Just like that. Without explanation. Without warning. And I feel horrible about it. I really do. And if by extremely rare chance this man comes across this blog, I want him to know that I do feel bad. And that that is the reason why I stopped writing. But maybe your wife would feel the same if she knew.

Last month I was notified by reunion.com that my name was searched for 3 times. Three people want to know my whereabouts? Who did I impact so much that they would want to find me? I dated a wounded soul in college. And he found me. He was the stereotypical fraternity guy - lewd, crude, and emotionally unattached. I met him my first day of college and we were best friends for the first 3 years. Then I fell for him and he fell for me. Then he cheated on me 3 times and I told him I never wanted to see him again. But I learned to forgive but not to forget and so we were friends again. He sucked as a boyfriend, but I missed his friendship. He left school for Arizona because college wasn't for him. And that was the last I heard from him. Until I saw his name on this list on reunion.com. I don't feel as scandalous since we were friends first and after. So I contacted him through the website not expecting a response. Who knows if I ever will.

But it's nice to know I'm not forgotten by those that mattered.

I Call Him Red...

... no relation to the other Red (atleast I hope not), who frequents my Ramblings on occasion...

Outside my office window this morning I see a man walking down the street. I recognize him, because I often see him walking down the same street while I'm driving home from work. I would recognize him if he were walking in a different town on a different street.

This man wears a white t-shirt under an unzipped red sweatjacket with matching red pants. His hair is the exact same color and exact same style as the infamous mugshot taken of Nick Nolte a few years ago.

That's his hair.

He walks down the same street every day wearing the same clothes as the day before.

I wonder where he is going and where he is coming from.

But I'm too afraid to ask.

Green is the ugliest color. I like pink or blue.

Is there anyone in the world who is not jealous of another person? Even the rich and famous wish to be able to walk into a store by themselves and not have cameras flashing with every turn.

I met Forrest Whittaker once. About a million years ago, he came into the CVS I worked in to buy diapers. One of the cashiers gushed over him and asked who the diapers were for. He looked uncomfortable, like his recognizable face wouldn't be so identifiable at a drugstore late at night. Earl Woods on the other hand, loved the attention. Tiger Woods father once came into the same CVS, and into my checkout line. It was around the time Tiger Woods was first becoming a household name and the image of Earl and his son hugging after Tiger won was replayed all over the TV. I told him that he looked familiar and he asked who I thought he was. I told him I didn't want to guess in case I was wrong. He egged me on and I told him and he seemed thrilled that he was recognized.

I think if I could be anyone famous, I would be a folk singer, like Joni Mitchell or Tori Amos. I would have my own faithful following but without the scandals and rumors or paparazzi.