When I Can't Sleep...

This is what went on in my head last night while I was lying in bed and couldn’t sleep:

Wow. That was a really good episode. I probably shouldn’t have stayed up to watch the whole thing. Oh, well. It’s only, what? 11:30? So, say, almost seven hours of sleep. That’s plenty. Man, Christian is unbelieveable. But it was SO vintage Christian to be acting that way. And the Carver? I think it’s that Bobbolitt guy. I THINK. Wait, did he die last season? Hmmm. I can’t remember. I’ll have to check online tomorrow at work. And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming, or the moment of truth in your lies, when everything seems like the movies, yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive. Why do I like that song? I thought it was more romantic… Oh, wait, that’s right. It’s the first part that’s romantic. I’d give up forever to touch you, cause I know that you feel me somehow, you’re the closest to heaven that I’ve ever been and I don’t want to go home right now.. . And all I can taste is this moment, and all I can breathe is your life, cause sooner or later it’s over, I just don’t want to miss you tonight. Yeah, that’s pretty. I really like that song. They played that at Danny’s wedding, and I wanted to cry. How silly of me. Uh, oh. 11:54. Maybe I’ll change the alarm. Yeah, I can wake up at 6:45 and still have plenty of time. Ok, then. Hmmmm. I have to go pee. But I’m cold. Oh, the hell with it. I’d better go… Ok, back under the covers. Why are my feet so cold? This is crazy! Come on, flannel sheets, warm my feet up! Wow, only a week from Saturday is the concert. What should I wear? Probably what I wore for my birthday. Yeah, I liked that. I wonder if I can sneak my camera in. Better not, just in case. I don’t want them confiscating it. Besides, it’s hard to focus with all the lights and movement. Let’s see, the concert is the day after payday… how much money should I bring? I definitely need a new t-shirt. And I want to get a Lenny Kravitz one too. That’s probably about $80 right there, at least. Oh, hell, I’ll just bring the charge card. But ONLY for the shirts. Screw it, I don’t want to worry about money now. I HAVE to get to sleep! 12:20. Damn. Stop looking at the clock. That’s why you can’t sleep, dummy. I could stay awake just to hear you breathing, watch you smile while you are sleeping, while you’re far away and dreaming, I could spend my life in this sweet surrender, I could stay lost in this moment foreeeeeeeverrrrrrrr… Oh, I really hope they play that song. But that song makes me sad, too. Bet it wouldn’t make me sad if I had a boyfriend, though. Then again, what if we broke up? What if I thought of that song with my boyfriend and then we broke up and every time I heard that song I thought of him? That would really suck. Because I REALLY like that song. And that would so totally ruin it for me. Ok, this is just wrong. It is almost 12:45. Why can’t I sleep? Ok, maybe I’ll take a unisom. Let’s see. Shit, it says that I should allow at least 8 hours sleep time. I don’t have 8 hours. I have – let’s see – 6? Ok, I can move the alarm up to 7, I guess. That gives me about 15 more minutes. What if I take this though and I don’t wake up when the alarm goes off? That would be bad. Lexie would probably freak out if she couldn’t wake me up. Oh, please! I’ll wake up. This is ridiculous. Just take the stupid thing… There. Ok. Think sleepy thoughts. I’m so tired. I’m so tired. I’m so tired. No, I’m not. I’m wide frickin awake and I don’t know why. It’s that damn Nip/Tuck. I should NOT have watched that right before bed. Too much adrenaline useage. Sigh. What will I write on my blog tomorrow? I wonder if anyone commented on yesterday’s. Did I comment on everyone’s yesterday? Uh, oh, I don’t think so. I’m slacking off. I wonder if Slacker is mad at me for sympathizing with that woman. I hope not. I just felt bad for her since she lost her son. That choking game is insane. Lexie had better never do that. I’d kill her! Well, maybe not, that kind of defeats the purpose. I can’t think of anything to write tomorrow. You’d think I could come up with SOMETHING while I’m just lying here. Maybe I’ll write about the family. Or my friend who was like that pathetic chick on Nip/Tuck last night. I love my blog. I love my blog friends. They probably think I’m weird. They probably think I am a big loser with no life. Oh, well. I don’t care, I like them anyway. How insane is it that I can actually imagine hanging out at a huge blog convention with people I’ve never met before? Ha! A big blog convention! Like a big DOG convention. Or big FROG convention. Or big SMOG convention. Hey, we could have it in LA, then! Ha! This stupid pill isn’t working. It’s just making me feel loopy. My brain is swirling around and around. I think I’m getting dizzy. But I still can’t sleep. Ok, back to the blog convention. That would be fun. At least, I think so. Just a bunch of strangers hanging out and drinking and having fun. Wait, that’s kind of like just going to a bar, isn’t it? Wellll, not REALLY, because a blog convention wouldn’t really be STRANGERS… Whatever. Like it would really happen, anyway. Right. Besides, where would we go? If Linda still had a blog we could all go to Cozumel. That would be fun. And exotic. I like exotic trips. I want to take a vacation. Lexie wants to go to Universal Studios. So do I. All my life I’ve wanted to go on that “Jaws” ride. I have a feeling it’s going to be a huge letdown after all these years. But I still want to go. Maybe in a couple of years. Got to pay those bills, first. And get new windows. Lexie’s room feels like it is inhabited by an evil presence. I have never felt a room so freezing cold. Good thing I’ve got my king-size bed for her to share. Otherwise she’d be sleeping on the couch. No way she could sleep in there. She’d die of pneumonia. Ok, it CANNOT be 1:30. NO WAY. I am going to be sooo tired tomorrow. That’s it. No more thinking. Just SLEEP, dammit. Ok, go….. Can’t do it. All right, time to go to extremes. Let’s count back from 100. No, a MILLION. Just in case. Ok. One million. Nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine. Nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety eight. Nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety seven…..

CAN Money Buy Love??

I just read a post by Jill singing the praises of The Beatles’ “Can’t Buy Me Love” (Pun intended). I really enjoyed it, but I also felt compelled to comment that although I agreed with the sentiment, I knew there were plenty of people who didn’t. Case in point: Mrs. Dentist.

Mrs. Dentist used to be my downstairs neighbor, and she became my downstairs neighbor because a good friend of mine was dating her and she needed a place to live. She was moving here from Peoria, and it just so happened the place below mine was unoccupied and the owner was looking to rent it out. Initially, we hit it off well. She was a few years younger than I, but our daughters were the same age. She was very giggly and almost TOO friendly, but I figured that was just how she was. A Costa Rican exotic beauty, she had the long dark hair and big dark eyes, and a body that I (admittedly) was jealous of. While she dated my friend, he painted the entire place for her, helped her move in, and (I discovered later) supplemented her income to help pay the rent. My friend was an all-around nice guy, good-looking and smart. How he got sucked into her life is beyond me, probably had something to do with (ahem) s-e-x.

Anyway, about two months after she moves in, she breaks up with my friend, leaving him devastated. And a week later he and I go to dinner, ostensibly to get his mind off of her. Two things happened that evening that opened my eyes to this woman: First, when I went downstairs to tell Lexie I was leaving (yes, Lexie still hung out with her daughter at that point and I still trusted her to watch Lex) a guy who works on the floor of my work building was sitting in her living room. An OBNOXIOUS guy that nobody likes. BUT, he owns his own company, and therefore looks good on paper. (I say he looks good on paper for a reason – remember that comment, I’ll get back to it later.) In her kitchen was a vase holding a dozen long-stemmed roses. Mr. LGOP gave me the old “SMALL WORLD! Har-de-har” obnoxious greeting and after finding out I was going to dinner, told me I should try this place in the mall, which is where he and Ms. Neighbor went on their first date a few months ago. A FEW MONTHS AGO? She and Good Friend just broke up a WEEK ago…! With an uneasy smile, I left. Then, when I met Good Friend, he proceeded to tell me that they had been discussing marriage and right after he suggested a prenup (he is quite comfortable but supports two kids from his previous marriage) she broke up with him. Hmmmmmm. Without breaking his heart more by telling him about Mr. LGOP, I convinced him she wasn’t worth it.

Ms. Neighbor, in the meantime, tried feeding me some BS about how Good Friend wasn’t who I thought he was, he had problems, he was too needy – and she needed stability (translation – cashola, maybe?). Mr. LGOP was buying a house for them and she told me they would be moving out soon. And when they did, she would be able to quit her job and continue to pursue her MD online. (I kid you not, she told me she was going to med school ONLINE. Who knows, maybe she is…?) In the meantime, Mr. LGOP starts practically living in her place after only a couple weeks, supposedly because he gave up his rented place until “their house” was ready. Next thing you know, Neighbor Kid announces her, her mom and Mr. LGOP are going to Vegas next month because they are getting married. And that’s when I started having major issues.

Lexie started telling me how every time she went over there, Ms. Neighbor would tell her and Neighbor Kid to “watch tv” while she and Mr. LGOP went into her bedroom to “study.” With the door closed. And Neighbor Kid told Lexie that she had to go to bed every night at 7:30 because her mom had “things to do.” I don’t THINK so. Then Lexie starts asking me questions, like, “So, mom, if you meet a guy, he’ll have to own a big house, right?” Ummm, no…. “But he’ll have to at least be able to AFFORD a big house, right?” Ummmm, WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM?? “Well, Ms. Neighbor says you should never date a man who can’t afford lots of stuff. And who has LOTS of money.” Oh, REALLY? I spent a lot of quality time debunking that myth and explaining to my daughter that it is WRONG to use a man for money, and that LOVE is what is important. That it is perfectly ok for a woman to be independent and on her own, that you don’t NEED a man to be special or to take care of you, and you CERTAINLY shouldn’t date a man ONLY because he has money. Her response? “That’s not what Ms. Neighbor says.” AAARRGGHH!! Explaining to a ten-year-old the sugar-daddy premise is NOT easy, and I had to tread carefully, since she WAS still friends with Neighbor Kid, who I actually felt sorry for. I think she finally understood, and swore she would wait for true love rather that settle someone she wasn’t happy with, but who was weatlhy. “After all, mom, you’ve been alone, like, FOREVER!” Yay, Lex, thanks for reminding me.

Ok, so remember when I said Mr. LGOP only “LGOP?” Turns out he was in it past his eyeballs. Everything he bought her was charged, and he was drowning in the bills. The house fell through, and the puppy he bought Neighbor Kid had to be returned. He lost his office space in our building, and was scrambling to make ends meet. So what happened next? Did the Vegas wedding proceed? Surprise, surprise! HELL NO! She kicked him to the curb faster than you could say “Show me the money!”

The next poor sap was Cute Neighbor’s buddy. Now, he was warned, but didn’t listen. Exotic Ms. Neighbor giggled and batted her eyelashes just enough to get him to send her flowers and take her out. After a few weeks, she asked him to help her pay her credit card bills. When he refused (apologetically, though, the moron), she started avoiding him.

Enter Mr. Dentist. The guy who she claimed she had “known forever.” Hard to believe since she just moved up from Peoria less than a year ago and had been married to a Jehova’s Witness (Neighbor Kid’s dad) since age 18 (oh, and he was 33 – they divorced when he decided that rather than spend his trust fund, he wanted to save it, preach, and live with his parents in their basement). Mr. Dentist is the epitome of a dentist – skinny, geeky, mute. (I swear, I don’t think I ever heard him talk.) But he practices in an affluent suburb and has a huge house in said suburb. Never married, no kids (i.e. – no strings attached!) and in his late 40’s. Oh, and? Ms. Neighbor informed Cute Neighbor’s Friend, HE paid ALL her credit card bills. It wasn’t long before Neighbor Kid was once again telling Lexie how they were going to be moving into a HUGE house with a jaccuzzi and a backyard and they would have LOTS of money and her mom would never have to work again. Only this time, she was right. Mr. Dentist married Ms. Neighbor in a quiet backyard wedding about four months after they started dating, and now, three months later, she is pregnant.

So I ask you – CAN money buy love? Apparently Mr. Dentist thinks so. And for that matter, so does Mrs. Dentist. Maybe they really ARE happy, but from her track record, I can’t see that being the case. Although happiness to Mrs. Dentist is probably way different than happiness to most people. Happiness to her is material things, whereas happiness to me is something you can’t put a price tag on.

Sure, I admit, there have been times where I wonder if maybe she IS right… maybe it WOULD be easier to just settle for some rich, boring, ugly dude who will worship me and take care of me… I wouldn’t have to worry about bills ever again, Lexie could have everything she’s ever wanted, I could live in a nice house with lots of room, take vacations every year… But then I realize that it’s just not ME. I could never settle like that, and to me it wouldn’t be fair to Mr. Moneybags, either. Why shouldn’t HE have the true love, too, instead of some tramp lusting after his bank account?

If I fall in love with someone who happens to be comfortable, I’d consider it a perk. But not a necessity. Because I agree with you Paul – money CAN’T buy love.

Only In America

Well, it’s back to the grind today for most of us, myself included. The crappy thing is, Lexie and/or I was sick the ENTIRE Thanksgiving holiday. With a nasty stomach flu. Yes, on Thanksgiving Lexie was sick, then started feeling better on Saturday. So, we took the opportunity to meet my mom for dinner on Saturday and guess what? When we got home I became violently ill. And as of today, I am still not 100%. BUT, I am at work, since Marilyn took the day off and I prefer being gainfully employed. Good news? I lost 5 lbs in the process. Bad news? I am REALLY getting sick of juice and saltines.

Anyway, due to the fact that we were basically under house arrest for four days, we managed to watch some pretty interesting tv. I cannot believe the things that actually get aired. Case in point: “Miss Dog.” I kid you not. The “first annual” Miss Dog Pageant. They had 51 bitches (well, that IS the correct term, is it not??) from all 50 states plus DC, and it was hosted by John O’Hurley and Jillian Barbieri, whose name sounds familiar but who I can’t recall ever having seen before. Poor John O’Hurley, apparently second runner up in “Dancing With the Stars” does nothing for your career.

Lexie and I watched this show pretty much for the “oh-my-gosh-I-can’t-believe-this-is-actually-ON” factor. (Besides, we really had nothing good left to watch.) And in its defense, it WAS pretty amusing. First they had the parade of all the contestants, then they eliminated them down to the top “K-9” (cute, huh?). On a personal note, I found myself to be quite excited, because Miss Illinois made it to the top nine. (You should be proud, too, Amber, Miss Colorado was in the finals as well!) Anyway, they had a talent competition, some of the talent was pretty good, but there were some pretty stupid tricks that were more suited for Letterman as well. Miss Illinois, a snazzy looking border collie mix, walked on her hind legs up and down a flight of stairs, which I found pretty impressive. Miss Missouri, a Boston Terrier who was CLEARLY out of her league, chose to “sing” with her owner. Call me crazy, but howling along to someone who can’t carry a tune isn’t much of a talent in my book.

Next they had the evening gown competition. Yes, you heard right: EVENING GOWN COMPETITION. They actually forced these poor dogs to wear custom made evening gowns and walk out on the stage. Now, I may have done something similar when I was like, 5, but these were adult handlers. And to top it off, Jillian Barbieri was in the background doing the voice overs describing each gown. “Miss Missouri is stunning in red satin with an adorable bustle!” “Miss Colorado looks gorgeous in blue taffeta!” “Miss Illinois’ emerald gown has the other contestants GREEN with envy!” (I DARE you to picture this without smirking!)

Finally, they had them perform a second time, either to do the old trick again or do a new one. Then they had a final parade, cut it down to four dogs, and broke for commercial.

The suspense was killing us. (As I’m sure it is YOU!) But after some pet related commercials, John O’Hurley returned with the judge’s results. He read them in dramatic John O’Hurley fashion, and even provided the disclaimer that if Miss Dog should ever be unable to fulfill her duties, the First Runner-Up would then become the reigning Miss Dog. (Ok, I ask you, WHAT DUTIES?? I mean, really, does Miss Dog go around cutting ribbons at PetSmart Grand Openings or something??) Anyway, the winner was Miss Illinois – as Lexie and I knew it would be.

Poor Miss Illinois did NOT look happy when they put a tiara with an elastic band around her head. Nor did she look happy when they put the “Miss Dog” sash around her. Actually, she looked downright pissed. And even John O’Hurley singing the “Miss Dog America” theme didn’t seem to amuse her. (It amused ME though!!) I wish they would’ve run tape a little longer at the end, because I’m pretty sure Miss Dog wound up attacking SOMEONE when she finished her victory walk.

I tried to find some pictures to share of the Miss Dog show, but apparently even Animal Planet is trying to pretend they never aired it, because I can’t find ANY links. But I have proof it was on, since I saved it on my Tivo, just so I know I’m not going crazy. In any case, that was probably one of the more bizarre shows I happened to watch this weekend. That and “Shaun of the Dead,” which was actually really funny and I highly recommend it.

Well, only an hour left here, then I can go home and enjoy some nice bland chicken soup and go to bed early. Hope everyone else had a more pleasant Turkey Day than I!!

Passive Aggression

Well, it's that time of the year again. The time of year when it gets cold outside, and also the time of year my downstairs neighbors cook about 80 million tons of curry daily and suffocate the rest of the building.

I hate my neighbors. Not all my neighbors, only them. And honestly, I probably wouldn't hate them if they preferred cooking, say, chocolate cake every day rather than curry. But nooooooo. For whatever reason, as soon as it gets cold outside and we have no real ventilation in the building and recycle our heat from the hallways, they jack up the cooking big time. The first time I smelled the overpowering and nauseating odor, I thought I would die. I propped open the front door and hoped that the fresh air would somehow make the smell dissipate. And it DID help, but not entirely. That odor has got to be the most permeating and lingering smell in the entire UNIVERSE. For those of you who actually like curry, please know that I have nothing against the spice in general, I just DON'T WANT MY HOME TO SMELL LIKE IT. And due to crosswinds or whatever, MY unit seems to be the final resting place for the smell when the front door isn't open.

See, their unit is on the first floor, right side. My unit is on the top floor, left side. Since odors rise, and I swear it IS a crosswind thing, I can literally be just sitting in my living room watching tv when my nostrils are suddenly assaulted with the pungent aroma. AAAAAARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!! Initially I had posted a note on the front door, blaming Lexie's allergies (who can deny a CHILD the right to breathe?) and asked that if they are cooking, to PLEASE leave the door open for ventilation. But apparently they have become immune to the smell themselves, because Punjab (not his real name, but it COULD be) informed me one day when I was about to keel over that he and his wife didn't smell anything, and they hadn't been cooking. Either this guy is an out and out LIAR, or they are both completely olfactorarily challenged. I put on my best patronizing smile, and said (through gritted teeth), "Well, my daughter and I CAN smell SOMETHING, so PLEASE leave the door opened to air out the building."

I am not the only one in the building who smells this, either, the other two tenants gag when they enter the hallway, as well. But they say that it doesn't really get into their actual UNITS they way it does mine. In any case, they always prop open the door if they chance to enter the hallway when it reeks, too. Then I discovered that there is a vent on the floor in the front hallway by our mailboxes. I believe this vent is directly connected to the Curry People's unit, so every time I pass it, I nonchalantly use my foot to roll it closed. And guess what? That actually helped. Because did I mention too that the smell travels through all the open vents so that when I have my heat on, I get curry scented heat flowing through my home? I was pretty happy about my new discovery, between that, propping the front door closed, and a brazilian (hat tip, Alice!) scented candles, you really couldn't smell the curry anymore. Until our little war started.

One day, while sitting and relaxing I heard the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming. I sat upright, blinked, and looked at Lexie. "Did you hear that?" I asked. She nodded solemnly. I got up and opened my front door, only to be greeted by the noxious fumes. Through the stinging tears in my eyes, I saw that SOMEONE HAD CLOSED THE FRONT DOOR. Holding my breath, I ran down the stairs, and propped it open more firmly. Glancing at the floor, I noticed that THE VENT WAS OPEN, TOO. One flick of my foot, and vent closed. THE NERVE. I dashed back upstairs to light more candles to preempt any additional nasal attacks.

Twenty minutes later, SLAM! Again, those Curry Cooking Assholes had shut the door AND the vent. So again, I opened the door and shut the vent. This happened several times, and every time, I undid their damage. One time, they actually posted a note on the front door, "Please keep the front door closed for our warmth and security." WHAT THE F&%*?? Have I mentioned that these tenants are the ONLY ones in our building with a personal security system in their unit? BELIEVE ME, YOU'RE SECURE. And WARMTH??? As often as you use your oven, you should be frickin SWEATING!!!!!! So I tore down the note and propped open the door.

Funny thing is, neither they nor I have confronted the other about the issue at hand. They just keep closing/opening, and I keep opening/closing. Although I think if there WERE to be a confrontation, I could probably kick their asses. Because I am a lot bigger than them. Unless, of course, they knock me out with curry first. But since I am non-confrontational, I choose to remain passive-aggressive. And keep buying candles. And I also bought some modeling clay to jam the vent shut with. Heh. Just haven't used it yet.

My dad suggested I just cook something with lots of garlic. I explained that this isn't a CONTEST, for crying out loud, I just want them to be a little CONSIDERATE. Which they definitely AREN'T being. Besides, I don't think they would be able to smell the garlic over the curry.

Yep, passive-aggression is the way to go. For now. Besides, continuously running up and down the stairs is good cardio, no?

Party of One

So the holidays are coming. And I'm not sure whether it's because of that, or because of PMS, or because I'm getting old, but once again I find myself overthinking things and getting myself bummed out.

Point in case: on Saturday, Lexie was watching the Hilary Duff Movie "Cinderella Story" and when Hilary and Chad Michael Murray (scary that I know these kids' names so well) were dancing in the garden, I got all misty-eyed. All I kept thinking was "No one will ever look at me like that..." Yes, I realize that this a) is a movie and b) involves teenagers, who obviously aren't really deeply in love or anything, but still, it got me. So then later I watch a documentary about this girl's father dying of aids, and again: I'm probably going to die completely alone. Bwahhhh! Hell, even her father had his new gay lover by his side while he was dying. Obviously, I'll have my Lexie and depending on God's will my parents and brother, but no "soulmate."

Now, I make it a point to always stress how happy and comfortable I am being single. That I don't need anyone in my life, that I am independent and managing just fine. This is all true, but that doesn't necessarily mean I don't want someone there. My main problem is, I want someone to just materialize and be so perfect that it's a no-brainer. I have no desire to do the actual footwork. Probably because I'm tired of all the bullshit. I've tried match.com, eharmony, and a couple other sites. And the only decent possibility I met never called me again after our date.

Oh, wait, there was the guy about five years ago who I dated for several months... he was successful, attractive, had two kids from his previous marriage and was a great dad, even owned his own house. He treated me really well, but was actually pretty boring. He thought "There's Something About Mary" was a vulgar, disgusting film, while I found it hilarious. I brought him to a Christmas party thrown by my good friends, and the fact that it was pretty much all recovering addicts or alcoholics freaked him out. He had a hard time getting past the "holier than thou" thing - even with me. But he still talked about our future, and being together, and on and on. Eventually he had a job project down in Atlanta for a couple months. We e-mailed pretty much daily, until one day he stopped. I pressed on until I received a brief e-mail back, which stated that he had met someone down in Atlanta and she was coming back to Chicago with him and moving in. And that was that. In hindsight, I realize it was definitely for the best, because this guy was SOOOO not my soulmate. Not even close. But he was the type of guy I thought I should like.

Anyway, people have approached me about getting fixed up, and something about that just bothers me. I don't like the pressure, the expectations, or the letdowns. Blind dates are not my thing. And never will be. Maybe a big group setting, you know, where Mr. Single Guy just "happens" to be there, but that is as close to a blind date I ever want to get.

So people give me all kinds of shit about "well, how do you expect to meet anyone if you don't put yourself out there??" The question I have is this: Put myself out WHERE?? I am a single mom in her mid thirties. I am not big on religion (although I am a spiritual person), so don't say 'church,' the myth of meeting in grocery stores is just that - a myth, speed dating was the biggest waste of time I have ever spent, and the bar scene is so NOT my scene anymore. I know that Mr. Right is not just going to knock on my door one day (besides, I live in a secure building, so even if he wanted to, he couldn't), but must this be such an exhausting search? Finding a needle in a haystack sounds ridiculously easy compared to finding your soulmate.

So now that I've elaborated on all the problems with finding someone, let's move on to my next irrational insecurity: the glaring fact that something must be wrong with ME. All my friends and family members my age and older (hell, there are even a bunch ten or fifteen years younger, for crying out loud) are either married or have been married. Some have been married twice. Or more. Which begs the question, how is it that all these people have found their Mr. or Ms. Wonderful and I haven't even really come close? Obvious answer - because of my numerous faults. Let's list them, shall we? I am old. I am overweight. I am a single mom. I talk too much, especially when I am nervous. I am very moody. I have a ton of skeletons in my closet - but have no problem sharing them. I watch too much tv. I spend money even when I shouldn't. I appear confident, but am so totally not. The list goes on and on. When I think about it like that, it totally makes sense. I am definitely good "friend" material, but don't cross that line. If I had a dollar for every time someone said, "You are such a beautiful, great person! I'm sure there is someone out there for you!" I'd be richer than my wildest dreams. But as time passes and I get older, and more jaded, and there are less prospects out there, I realize that maybe all my false bravado about being the happy single woman is just that: false bravado. And now it may be too late for me to ever be someone's missing half.

The lonely part of me is crying out for someone to hold me when I am scared, to snuggle with at night, to tell me I am beautiful - even when I feel like crap. I long for someone to share my life with, to be a father to my little girl, to depend on when I need him most. I would kill to have someone to laugh with, who gets me just as I am, who never thinks my opinions are stupid - but who isn't afraid to "agree to disagree." My dream would be to have someone whose smile would melt my heart, and whose eyes I can see my forever in.

Shit. There I go, letting my guard down again. What I meant to say was screw relationships, I don't need anyone. I have my daughter, and my job, my friends, and my family, and I am happy. So freakin' happy it's pathetic. And when Lexie turns 18 and goes to college, I'll be even HAPPIER. Me and my cats, living the high life.

Dasi, party of one.

The Beginning of the End, Part 14

Not a lot was said that day about the events of the night before. Although Kevin did ask me if I was sure I only had one hit… of course, I lied, and told him I was sure. “I think we ought to stick to what we know,” he commented with a grin.

There weren’t really any horrible after effects from the acid, but I kept waiting for the “flashbacks” that I had always heard about. Thankfully, I never experienced any. Possibly because after that day, I never did acid again. I spent most of the day lounging around, unpacking, and watching tv. My interview at Olive Garden was scheduled for the next morning at 10:00 am, and I wanted to make a good impression. My best friend back home, Diane, had already assured me that as my old manager at Red Lobster, she had pretty much sold me as the ultimate General Mills employee. But I was still nervous. New state, new people, new restaurant. I was used to crab legs and shrimp, and was venturing into pasta and salad. Besides, at Red Lobster, I had been only a cashier and hostess – I had applied for a waitressing position at Olive Garden.

Thankfully, Kevin made no phone calls that evening, and the two of us just vegged out in front of the tv and ate frozen pizza while Matt went out to visit his brother. Even so, morning came too quickly, and at 9:45 Kevin dropped me off at the front door of the imposing restaurant. It wasn’t really too far from home (funny, I was still getting used to calling the condo “home”) so I told Kevin I would just walk back whenever I was finished. With a kiss and a grin, he was gone, and I peered into the windows of the door looking for someone to let me in.

“Hey, you must be Dasi,” said the smiling man who opened the door. “I’m Greg, the GM. Come on in.”

I hoped he couldn’t hear my heart beating out of my chest, I had a feeling that wouldn’t bode well for the interview. I really wanted this job – I enjoyed working at restaurants, and I also had a feeling I needed to start earning an income as soon as possible. Not that I didn’t trust Kevin, of course, but I was used to making my own money.

Greg offered me something to drink, and I politely declined. He gestured to a double-top table alongside a staircase, and I took a seat. He had the application I had faxed him from Chicago, and nodded as he read it. “So, you haven’t been a server yet?” he inquired. I managed the proper look of regret and optimism. “Not yet,” I replied, “because I wasn’t 21 when I started, and when I did reach 21, they preferred I continue as a cashier. But now that General Mills is phasing out cashiers in all their restaurants, I decided I would like to be a server. And I love working with people. I actually did waitress once, on a lunch shift, and did a really good job. But it was never a permanent position. Like I’m looking for now. I mean, since I just moved here and all, I really want to start working as soon as possible.”

Gregg looked at me with amusement and raised his eyebrows. "Well, from what I see here, it looks like you're definitely what we're looking for. Your old manager and I had a talk yesterday, and she really has a high opinion of you and your work."

Thank you, Diane, I thought to myself as I released the breath I was holding.

"So, I'd like you to come in tomorrow at ten for the training class. You'll need to get black pants and a white button down shirt, we provide the rest. Training will last for about two weeks, then you'll be out on the floor yourself. Sound good?" he asked.

I smiled. "Sounds great!" After a few more formalities, we shook hands again and I was on my way. I was thrilled. It was a beautiful day outside, and the walk home was actually pretty enjoyable. When I got there, I was surprised to find the place emtpy. Oh, well, I thought. I guess I'll just watch some tv for a while.

I must have dozed off on the couch, because the next thing I knew, it was almost 3:00 and Kevin and Matt still weren't home. I was starting to get nervous, I needed to go to the store to get clothes for tomorrow, and I had no idea where a store was. Even if I did, without a car, I had no way to get there. I walked outside and checked out back in the parking lot. No car, no Kevin. I could feel the butterflies in my stomach as I went back upstairs to the condo. He had to come home soon. There was no way I would lose this job because of him...

At 5:00 I was pacing the floor. By 6:00, I was pissed. At 7:00, I started thinking that maybe something bad had happened, and felt guilty. When it hit 7:30, common sense kicked in and I figured I'd better try to cover my own ass. I called Olive Garden and spoke to Lisa, the manager on call. I explained that I was scheduled to come in the next morning for training, but that I wasn't able to get the shirt and pants I needed just yet. Lisa must have heard the panic in my voice, and she calmed me down and told me that she was the Dining Room manager who would be running the training classes, and that I didn't really need the uniform for the first week at all. As long as I came in prepared to learn, everything would be fine. I thanked her profusely, and told her I looked forward to meeting her the next morning. Then I hung up the phone, and sat down at the kitchen bar.

I wasn't sure whether I was more scared or angry about Kevin. I tried calling Matt's brother Jerry's house, to see if he and Matt were there, but Jerry said although Matt was there, he hadn't seen Kevin all day. In fact, Matt was waiting for Kevin to pick him up and drive him home. I promised to call them back if Kevin came home and had forgotten about Matt. Jerry put Matt on the phone, and Matt told me he would probably just stay there overnight, and that Jerry would give him a ride home the next day. "All right," I sighed. "But if Kevin makes it there, PLEASE call me."

It got later and later, and I finally decided I had to get to sleep if I wanted to make it to work in the morning. And the way things were looking, I would be walking there, so I'd have to leave even earlier. I fell into a fitful sleep, and was awakened by the sound of the front door opening. My eyes snapped open and I looked at the glowing numbers on the digital clok. 3:28. 3:28?? What the hell? I thought. I could hear someone moving around in the living room, and hoped it was Kevin. Because I wanted to KILL him.

I walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the living room, squinting at the lights. There was Kevin, pacing around, looking wild-eyed. I coughed, and he turned to face me. "Hey, babe! How was the interview?" he asked with a smile.

I couldn't believe how casual he was being. "I got the job," I replied frostily. "And I was supposed to get a uniform for my first day - tomorrow."

It was like he was only half-listening. "That's great, hon! Look, sorry I wasn't home earlier, but I met this guy, and we had this thing... Do you have a lighter?"

I shook my head in frustration. I had a lighter in my purse, and when I turned to toss it to him, he had already dumped out a small pile of rocks onto the kitchen bar. "Look what I've got - want a hit?"

Part of my brain told me that there was no way in hell I should be getting high when I had to be at my first day of training in less than seven hours. But my heart started pounding and the other side of my brain convinced me that a couple hits wouldn't hurt...

Four hours later, at almost 8:00 in the morning, everything was gone. And I was majorly tweaking. The last thing I wanted to do was go in for training with a lot of strange people, but I knew it had to be done. The words of my mother reverbated in my head: You play, you pay. I doubted this was what she had in mind when she told me that. Hopefully a shower would bring me down enough to function properly, and how long could a training class be, anyway? I looked over at Kevin and realized there was no way he would be able to drive me to work. Well, maybe the walk would help too...

Exactly an hour later, I left Kevin snoring on the couch and headed for Olive Garden. This sucks, I thought. Never again. And I tried to focus on the task ahead. Please let me make it through today, I prayed. I promise, no more partying like that before work. Ever.

I finally reached the restaurant and hoped my eyes weren't as glassy as they had been. My mouth was dry as sandpaper from nerves and the drugs, and I licked my lips and swallowed before knocking on the front door. Here goes nothing, I thought.

Just When You Thought it Was Safe...

...your Satanic boss decides to forego his vacation for an extra day and torture you instead. Hence the silence from yours truly.

Man, I've got killer stress pains in my shoulderblades and neck. And I'm also getting a migraine. I hate Satan and I hate work. BUT, que sera, sera. I've started working on TBOTE, but he keeps rushing out of his office with more "important documents" for me to copy or type or mail. The NERVE!!! Monday morning, I PROMISE. Please don't give up on me just yet!!

And have a great weekend!

The Wrath of Satan

Oh, Satan, you make my life Hell! I am, of course, referring to my boss who is on a rampage today since he is leaving for the Thanksgiving holidays tomorrow morning. (Yay!) Therefore, I have good news and bad news. Bad news first – I have no time to write anything other than this explanation today without risking my job since Satan is so cheerful today (did you pick up on the sarcasm?). The good news is twofold – first of all, he will be gone until the Monday after Thanksgiving, which means I will have lots of time to post on my blog and read everyone else’s AND leave comments, second – I will most likely share Part XIV (ok, I’m starting to get a little uncertain as to the proper Roman numerals, here, I may change to regular numbers soon!!) of TBOTE tomorrow. So stay tuned!!

No, Satan!! I’m typing a medical summary!! Honest!! NO SATAN, NO!! NOT THE BRIMSTONE!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

First Love

It seems lately there have been many people reflecting on life and love – broken hearts, soulmates, anniversaries, breakups… after reading these, I found myself thinking way back to my juvenile perceptions of “love.” Remembering the butterflies in my stomach when I saw a guy I had a crush on, the agony over what to wear to a party, the drama of the “he told his best friend who told his sister who told me that he LIKES you…” – and what to do with that information.

I can still clearly picture my old Shaun Cassidy T-shirts that I wore religiously (yes, before he produced sci-fi shows, he used to sing and I ADORED him) while dreaming that someday I might marry him and he would sing “Hey Dasi” instead of “Hey Deanie.” In the meantime, I set my sights on Paul, who in fifth grade was the cutest guy I knew. Unfortunately, since I was a geek and Paul was just mean, he shattered my fragile 10-year-old ego by signing my autograph book “Too bad I don’t like you. F/F, Paul.” (On a side note: we did wind up dating for a short time in high school – after I reminded him of his nasty comment he apologized profusely for his immature behavior. And now? He is a bigwig attorney and living happily with his boyfriend and cat. Go figure.)

Grammar school wasn’t very kind to me, I went through a major awkward phase and didn’t exactly draw the attention of anyone of the male persuasion. But my sophomore year in high school, I learned to tweeze my eyebrows (thus debunking any rumor that I was, indeed, a werewolf) and apply makeup correctly. And guess what? I started to gain self-confidence and also started seriously looking for a boyfriend. Sure, I was only 15, but I longed for the romance and bliss I had so far only found in the pages of my “Sweet Valley High” books. Since I went to an all-girls’ high school, the only logical place to look for a boyfriend was at work. I worked with several hotties in the kitchen of the hospital across the street, the problem was that we were all really good friends and I still was pretty unsure as to how to acquire a “real” boyfriend. So I basically just continued being me, and being friendly, hoping that someday one of them would “ask me out.”

Well, one of them did. But it was quite unexpected. You see, my friend Julie also worked with me (yes, the same Julie in my party pics!) and her brother and his friends did as well. There was a little group of us that sometimes hung out together – I say “sometimes” because Julie was the little sister, and it wasn’t until the hormones came into play that Eddie even considered hanging out with her and her friends. But he eventually did, and one day we all went to the water slides. On the way back, I got a ride from my friend Jerry. He was also driving another guy home – Dave. Now, Dave was Cute with a capital C. Longish brown hair, big hazel eyes… and very tall. I guess what you would call “lanky.” But no one really knew Dave, because he was really quiet, and pretty much kept to himself. He kind of reminded me of a puppy dog, always with feathered bangs falling in his face and a lopsided grin. I used to try to get him to talk to me, but he would usually just blush and walk away. Another girl from work, Eileen, had a HUGE crush on Dave, and all the girls knew about it. The problem was, Dave never knew, and since he was so quiet no one ever approached him about it in true “my-friend-likes-you-do-you-like-her” fashion.

So Jerry drops me off first, and I hop out of the passenger side and gallantly put the seat back so Dave can exit the back seat and take over my now unoccupied space. Dave fanagled his long limbs out of the cramped location and I couldn’t help but giggle. He gave me a trademark “Dave” grin, and as I started to follow the front walkway to my house, he spoke. “Hey Dasi?” he said softly. I stopped and turned to face him, which was when he leaned over and kissed me. (Funny, while I’m writing this, that song “And Then He Kissed Me” just keeps playing in my head… because remembering that first real kiss still makes my heart flutter…) Ok, so I had been kissed before, that much is true, but for whatever reason, I felt that particular kiss to the tip of my toes. It was a deep, long, soft kiss, and when he stopped I felt the blood rushing to my face and had no idea what to say. As I stood there looking like a goddamn fish with my mouth still open, he smiled and said, “Good night.” Then he got in the car and Jerry drove off.

Then came the major dilemma. It just so happened that Eileen had left that very morning for a week long vacation with her family. Which meant that she wasn’t around to guilt me into avoiding Dave. Besides, I rationalized, I hadn’t done anything to make him kiss me, he just did it himself. Which obviously meant he liked me. Not Eileen. And that wasn’t my fault, right? After several “oh-my-god-you-won’t-believe-what-just-happened” phone calls, the verdict was in. Since Dave had made the first move, and Eileen was gone, I should GO FOR IT. But I still wasn’t sure what exactly I was going for…

The next day when I saw Dave at work, I tried to act nonchalant. But he managed to corner me alone in the elevator, and kiss me again. As flustered as I was, I managed to blurt, “We shouldn’t be doing this – Eileen likes you.” Dave gave me a quizzical look, and logically replied, “But I don’t like her, I like you.” It made complete sense to him, he saw no problem in the situation. And though I felt a bit disloyal to Eileen, I decided my other friends were right, and heck, Dave just told me himself it was me he liked, not her. He invited me over to his place the next day for dinner, and I accepted.

I’ll never forget that first “date.” His parents weren’t home, but he was still the perfect gentleman. He attempted to make me spaghetti, although he didn’t know the water had to be boiling before you put the pasta in. We sat on the couch and he kissed me, then asked with concern, “Does it hurt when I kiss you?” It took me a minute to realize he meant because of my braces, and I smiled and replied, “Not at all.” He played his guitar for me, not loud headbanger music, but Neil Young songs and then my favorite, “Stairway to Heaven.” With every last squeak in the right place. Dave told me about the dog he had growing up, and how someday he wanted to get another one and name him “Buck” from “Call of the Wild.” I had never heard Dave talk that much in the entire time I had known him, and I loved listening to his voice. He was the sweetest, most gentle guy I had ever known.

Almost every day I would stop by his house after school to see him, and we would listen to records (yes, records) and make out. Sometimes he would play guitar, too, and usually we would talk. One time in particular I remember he put on U2 and “Pride” began to play. As he walked over to me, I exclaimed “I LOVE this song!” He sat down next to me, kissed me softly and said, “I love you.” I LOVE YOU. It gave me goosebumps, but all I could do was smile at him. I mean, I thought I loved him, but he was my first real boyfriend and happy as I was, I was also scared shitless. And know what? He was ok with that.

Eileen returned home to find out that Dave and I were an item, and although she was initially upset, she mellowed pretty quickly. It was obvious to everyone that we were a pretty happy couple. He gave me his jean jacket and every night before I would go to bed, I would inhale his scent – the musky clean smell that was so uniquely him. We would fog up car windows and laugh, and he would stare into my eyes with such depth and sincerity that sometimes it would scare me. He gave me his gold chain that he always wore, and it became a part of me. Our physical relationship never progressed past making out – but it went so much deeper on the emotional level. And Dave never pressured me to do anything I wasn’t ready for – and at 15 I wasn’t really ready for ANYTHING.

Then came the day three months into our puppy love romance that shattered my heart for the first time. “I don’t think we should see each other any more.” Again, me with the open mouthed fish look. Only this shock was not good shock. What was he saying? More importantly, why? “It’s not you, it’s me,” he said (little did I know how cliché that line was). But he couldn’t look me in the eye, and I felt somehow there was more to the story. I gave him back his chain, but kept the jacket and took it home and cried into it all night long.

Being the person that he was, Dave remained Dave… only he was no longer my Dave. We still had to work together, he still said “hi” in passing, but the magical bond was gone. Eventually I found out that he had started dating someone else, right after we had broken up, someone who I had cried to and begged to find out from Dave what had happened: my best friend, Michelle. She lied about it in the beginning, then came clean when I threw the proof in her face – Dave’s admission. Because when I asked Dave about Michelle, he readily admitted that she had asked him out, and that they were seeing each other. His honesty and innocence kept me from being angry with him, but it still hurt. And for obvious reasons, Michelle and I stopped being friends.

My first love is one I won’t soon forget, and though it was short, it was oh-so-sweet. And still, when I hear “Pride” or “Stairway to Heaven” I can still see his smile and almost smell that jacket…

***

I couldn’t end that sweet story with what I have to now write, so I had to put in the little break. Although I like that particular ending, the truth is that Dave & Michelle dated for a few years, then wound up breaking up as well. Only this time, Dave didn’t find someone new on the rebound. Apparently he started dating Michelle after me because she offered him “something” I didn’t, and after their breakup (according to Michelle) he could never find another woman like her, which is why (you guessed it) he is now gay. My opinion, however, is that she scared him off women forever. Bitch.

Party Time!

Wow, I had no idea how far behind one could get when they are away from a computer for four days!! I have many many blogs to read and comment on, and hopefully I will get a chance to do all that soon. But first things first. I know just how anxious everyone has been to hear about my ONE NIGHT OUT this year (well, until I go see Aerosmith in December at least), so without further adieu, here we go!

As it turned out, Briesen (my YOUNG friend who also tortures – I mean, TRAINS – me at Curves) offered to pick me up and drive me to Freddie’s. She was arriving at 7:45, so I was able to leisurely get ready and enjoy some watermelon vodka/lemonade drinks at home while I did so. I popped in my self-mixed “Let’s Go Out” CD and enjoyed all kinds of fun music, too. Now, I may have had my first drink at around 5:00, but at that point I was drinking s l o w l y, especially because it is awfully hard to put on makeup if you are too buzzed. I think I may have had three teeny, tiny drinks by the time Briesen got to my house, but that is irrelevant. (Well, actually it is NOT irrelevant, since it is something important to remember by the end of my saga.)

So I am already feeling pretty happy, looking good (at least, I thought so), and was ready to continue the night. We picked up her man, and made it to Freddie’s by 8:15. A couple friends were already there waiting, and shortly thereafter several more made it in. Final count was about 15 or so people, so I felt loved. The balloons were a big hit, as you can see from the photos. (I still want to know what Mexican family uses those for their children’s parties. “Squiggly Worm Balloons” my ass!) My drink was never empty – so at best count I think I had one drink all night. (Oh, and the three at home.) I do believe I may have indulged in a shot or two, which I usually never do, but hey, it was my BIRTHDAY, right?

The drummer from the band kept coming up to our table and hitting on me, and when he asked how old I was, I told him “28.” With a straight face. And guess what? He totally believed me!! I think one of my so called “friends” may have said, “No, she’s not! She’s 37!” but I don’t think he heard them. Unfortunately, I am not too sure whether or not he was cute, but obviously he didn’t make too big of an impression on me if I can’t remember that. Apparently even after I left, he was looking for me. Poor guy.

My brother and sister-in-law showed up, and I asked Bob if he would watch Lexie so I could join Fig and become a pirate. But he said no, so I guess I will not be doing any pillaging or plundering. Bummer. I got to share some fun Bob stories with my sister-in-law, and he didn’t even yell at me for doing so. Finally, my dear sweet bro decided it was time for me to go home. Bless his heart.

I wasn’t quite ready, because I had lost my friends Marilyn and Liz, but he insisted that they would be just fine, and that he really thought it best that I come with him and Sarah. Of course, I gave in, and wobbled with him out to the car. (The sad thing is, it was barely past midnight at this point, so I really must be getting old.)

When I got home, I decided I was hungry (as per usual) and decided to make a frozen pizza. Although this was definitely a better idea than deciding to say, attempt to drive to McDonald’s, it was probably not as smart as deciding to pop something in the microwave. I did get my pizza, after I fried the back of my hand on the oven grate and set off the smoke alarm. (Let me tell you too, it is REALLY hard to balance on a kitchen chair to remove a smoke alarm’s battery when you are intoxicated.) So now I have an ugly momento on the back of my right hand. Kind of looks like a lipstick streak, actually. Which is what I thought it was when I first woke up, only it wouldn’t wash off.

My thoughtful brother called me at 10:30 to make sure I was still alive, and I assured him I was and thanked him for the ride home. He told me it was no problem, and that nothing good happens after midnight anyway. At least, not when you’re my age, I guess! So all in all, it was a good night, and I really enjoyed myself. A lot of laughs, and a lot of drinking, and really great company. But maybe next year, I won’t start drinking quite so early!!

Here's Briesen and her boyfriend Gary with one of our party balloons.

And Julie with her "balloons..."

And Marilyn with hers.

Here's a nice picture of my brother Bob and my sister-in-law Sarah. Just three more months until my niece or nephew is here!!

This is my cousin Katie and her boyfriend, Jeff. Since she just turned 21 last December, this was her first foray into one of my legendary birthday outings.

Here's me, Marilyn and Liz, Marilyn's sister-in-law. Obviously I was blitzed, I HATE getting my picture taken!!

Finally, a nice shot of Marilyn, Jeff (a different Jeff, not my cousin's boyfriend) and Liz.

Still Alive

Well, I am still alive and here at the library getting an e-mail account set up for Lexie. Saturday night was a good time - from what I recall... heh. I've got pictures - and I've got a nice burn on the back of my hand as a momento. I'll fill you in on all the details and post pics asap. Thanks for all the birthday wishes, everyone!

And now back to helping my daughter...

FYI

Just so you know – I am counting the minutes until 5:00 because I have a FOUR DAY WEEKEND!! Lexie is off school tomorrow and Monday, and since tomorrow is (*ahem*) my birthday, I figured I’d give myself a little present and take some time off. Which means I may not be posting until Tuesday, unless I happen to gain access to a computer in the interim.

In any case, I will be celebrating Saturday night at Famous Freddie’s in Mount Prospect – and hopefully I won’t be alone (refer to my “Countdown” post)! If you can't make it, feel free to forward a gift instead. ;) Hasta la vista, everyone!

Work Work Work

I was thinking about how much I hate my job the other day, and it got me to thinking about my entire working career. Looking back, I think I hated ALL my jobs at one point or another, but like my mom always told me, "They wouldn't call it WORK if it was fun." (Which actually isn't true. I mean, how about roller coater test-riders? I betcha THEIR job is fun!) The point is, after leaving said job, I can usually look back and think "Gee, that wasn't such a bad job after all, I mean, at least, compared to THIS sucky job!" Then I'd get a new job and repeat above comment, and so on and so on. Which could mean a couple of things, either one: I have a very short term memory after leaving bad jobs and only remember the good things; or two: I tend to overexaggerate how bad my jobs are. Honestly, I'm not really sure which of those is most accurate - it's probably a little of both.

But in my journey down employment memory lane, I also realized something else: I have been working, like, FOREVER, and I have had a HELL of a lot of jobs. Which means if they phase out social security before I can collect, I'm gonna be PISSED.

My very first real job was working at Baskin-Robbins at age 14. The owners took advantage of underage employees who wanted to make money and paid us only $2.50 an hour. And man, did we WORK. Summertime at Baskin-Robbins SUCKED. You worked your ass off scooping rock-solid ice cream, dealt with hot, sweaty and hungry customers, mopped floors, cleaned counters... All for $2.50 a friggin' hour. Think about it, if that were your full-time job, a 40 hour week would pay you $100. BEFORE taxes. Because, oh, yes, they took out taxes! That would be ILLEGAL if they didn't! And they could only get away with ONE illegal thing, apparently, which was underpaying minors to do slave labor. Ok, without a doubt, this job definitely SUCKED.

When I was 15, I applied at the hospital across the street to work in the dietary department, aka the kitchen. I lied about my age, got the job, and earned a whopping $4.75 an hour. (Hey - it was almost DOUBLE what I HAD been making!) But that job was fun. All we really did was work an assembly line and put food on trays for all the patients. Oh, and if an order for a "late tray" came in, we got the tray together and delivered it to the floor. The people I worked with were great - we had a little "dietary clique" going on. Anyone who applied for a job there that we didn't like usually didn't last long. On weekends, we all went to the Twin Drive-In and drank wine coolers and flirted - there were some hot guys working in dietary. (As a matter of fact, my first boyfriend was a co-worker. But he dumped me for my then best friend and is now gay - oh, that's definitely another story for another day.) I worked there for about two years, even got my brother a job there. Heh heh heh. I keep thinking of some of the better "dietary stories..." I will DEFINITELY have to devote some blog space to sharing those... Anyway - getting to the point: Dietary - GOOD job.

Then there was college, and after almost completing a full year, I returned home and got a job at Red Lobster as a cashier. See, now the funny thing is, I have nothing but good memories about the place, although I KNOW I hated the job. And I thought I was a really good employee, but I found an old review I received, and I apparently was a disgrace to the position. Seems I may have had a bit of an attitude - go figure. But I LOVED my coworkers. I had my first experience in dealing with openly gay men at Red Lobster, HILARIOUS. Tandy, Tom, Ed, Frank... those guys were a riot. I also enjoyed working there because I was young and attractive and all the straight males flirted with me. And all the women there were great - the older waitresses were like second mothers, the middle-aged ones and younger ones knew how to party. We always were out at the bars after work - and who needed an ID when you had a 40-something woman vouching for you? BUT - the Red Lobster I worked at was one of the busiest in the country and Friday and Saturday nights SUCKED. I would have a huge line of customers (excuse me - GUESTS) waiting to pay, and half of them would have complaints. Not to mention the fact that as cashier, I also had several other duties to attempt to perform during any (HA!) lulls. So those parts sucked. AND I got robbed once while working there. But afterward, the manager (who I happened to be dating) made me a Long Island to calm me down while the police got there, so it wasn't that bad. Ok, tally it up - Red Lobster: People - GOOD. Job itself - BAD. Money - Eh. Overall, I'd do it again. (And actually did, I got fired and rehired twice. Heh.)

Around that time, my parents were getting sick of me living at home and freeloading and sleeping all day before going to work at 4:00 and staying out all night. So they kindly SUGGESTED (translation - threatened me) I get a real 9 to 5. First try was at a paper manufacturing corporate office downtown. Worked out well, mindless work, really. But it was SO mindless I decided I couldn't handle it anymore, so I gave my notice. My boss was soooo upset he wasted all his time "training me" (??) he yelled and screamed and ended by saying "here's your check, I'm going to lunch." Since we got paid up to our actual payday, and he pissed me off, I decided to forego the notice and just leave. The receptionist called me at home that night to tell me no one even noticed I had left until the end of the day when no one brought the mail downstairs. How insulting! BAD JOB. Another 9 to 5 had me doing nothing. Literally. They created the position so I could break the receptionist. Which I did, three times a day, and I took my two half hour breaks and hour lunch (usually spent napping in the lounge) then spend the rest of the four hours staring at the wall. BAD JOB. (Well, I liked it in the beginning, but one can only do absolutely NOTHING for so long. And I didn't even have a computer.) Then 9 to 5 at the bank. Got to deal with people, who were usually ok, sometimes a real pain in the ass. Started dating the guy from the main branch who trained me, then found out he was my supervisor's ex-boyfriend. When SHE found out, my life became hell. Especially when they got back together. Verdict: BAD JOB.

And that's when I moved to Reno. TBOTE gets you through that part. Waitressing, change person at a casino, more waitressing waitressing waitressing... then paralegal-ing. Which is where I am now. Four different law firms, each with their own quirks. Lawyers are interesting people, let me tell you.

Someday, though, I am going to win the lottery and never work again. Or Lexie will be rich and take care of me. But for now, I shall suffer through. I will elaborate on the different law firms on another post, because I am tired of writing now. And I am hungry, and my lunch is here. (What a way to wrap things up, huh?)

Making the Grade

So yesterday when Lexie called me at work to say she was home from school, she wanted to discuss her upcoming report card. Apparently the teachers have been really drilling it into the kids’ heads that report cards are coming out in about TWO WEEKS, so they’d better crack down. Lexie related to me that she THINKS she will be getting all A’s with the possible exception of math (probably a B) and music (of which she is uncertain because her music teacher wouldn’t tell her whether two wrong on a test was an “A” or a “B”). Obviously, I am glad she is so determined to get good grades, but I also don’t want her getting too pumped up about having all A’s until she gets her actual report card. I told her that no matter what her grades were, I know that she has tried very hard so far this year, and I am very proud of her work. She barely acknowledged that comment as she proceeded to tell me that she thinks school has been getting easier for her, and that hopefully if not this trimester, NEXT one she will have all A’s.

This whole situation makes me kind of nervous, because I really don’t want her putting that much pressure on herself. I mean, obviously I want her to work hard and do well, but I remember when I was in school how important grades were in my home, especially to my father. School had always been easy for me, I somehow managed to get pretty much all A’s with very little effort. So when I did get the occasional B (or God forbid, a C), there was hell to pay. No excuses – anything less than an A was unacceptable, and next time you’d better improve. One time in high school I pointed out that a C in Honors Advanced Algebra wasn’t actually a BAD grade, it just meant that I was average in an “above average” class. Which to me, balanced itself out. Not to my dad. He BLEW UP. I somehow managed to pull up the grade and keep him from killing me by the next quarter.

Anyway, because of always being told that anything other than perfection was unacceptable, I am now bound and determined not to do the same thing to my daughter. As long as she tries, which Lord knows she does, I will praise her for ANY grade she receives. But this new obsession she has with getting A’s has me scrambling to explain to her that A’s are not the bane of her existence. Without implying that she should stop trying, of course.

From the beginning, Lexie has had a more difficult time with school than other kids. Even now, she struggles with some reading and math. But dammit, that kid busts her ass TRYING. And she never gives up. She was a late bloomer when it came to learning to read, and fell behind in second grade. This prompted me to enroll her in Sylvan (and take out a loan that I will be paying off until she is 23), which worked wonders. Her self-esteem shot up, and she seemed to be grasping all her schoolwork much better. Even her teacher commented that her confidence level had improved greatly, and her grades reflected her new learning skills. Well worth the investment, I have never regretted it for a second.

See, I have always felt responsible for her learning problems. When I was pregnant, I didn’t follow the protocol very well. And to this day, I beat myself up over that. I constantly wonder if what I did to my body during that time caused her to encounter these struggles with learning. And I also wonder if things would’ve been any different had I done everything RIGHT during my pregnancy. Of course, water under the bridge and all that, but I still allow that guilt to consume me every time I hear her mispronounce a word or see her write an incorrect answer to one of her math problems.

Then yesterday in the mail, I get a letter from the school district with the results of her standardized test scores for science. According to them, she is below average in every category. WAY below average for the school norm, and not even that close to average for the state norm, either. I know I shouldn’t let things like that get to me, but they do. Unlike my dad was with me, though, I am not upset with her for not doing well, I ACHE for her because I know how hard she tries. And I just don’t understand these stupid tests, either. Lexie is frequently telling me how much she loves science, and she KNOWS she is getting an A in it, then the stupid district sends me a graph basically implying that she just isn’t cutting it. To top it off, the envelope was actually addressed TO my daughter. Which really angers me, because she doesn’t need to see something like that, something that bursts her bubble and makes her feel inadequate. Thank God I opened it before she saw it. Oh, and? Right after I read it, I threw it out.

I think the bottom line is, I don’t want my daughter to have to struggle. I don’t want her to ever feel that her best just isn’t good enough, and I NEVER want her to feel stupid. I want her to know that no matter what she does in life, or what grades she gets, or what a standardized test graph shows, she is SPECIAL. She is uniquely intelligent and perceptive when it comes to life in general, and unfortunately they don’t pass out grades for that. Maybe she will get all A’s. Obviously, I would be proud as hell if she did. But I would be just as proud of all C’s. Know why? Because she’s my daughter, that’s why.

The Beginning of the End, Part XIII

We drove in silence, and I became aware of a very strange sensation taking over my body. My very being seemed to be tingling, and the streetlights outside were leaving trails as we drove past them. Then I looked straight ahead at Kevin and Matt in the front seat, and began to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Matt asked, turning to face me.

This made me laugh even more. Which made Matt start laughing. Then Kevin. The car became a funhouse, with the three of us laughing and laughing.

“Yep, I think it’s hitting us now,” Kevin commented. “But seriously, WHAT are we laughing at?”

I tried to stifle my giggles and explain what I was seeing. To my eyes, it looked like Kevin and Matt were floating in mid-air in a seated position. Possibly because in the Mustang the front seats were considerably lower than in cars today, but in any case at that moment I saw no seats at all.

“Really? We’re FLOATING?” Matt asked incredulously, then started feeling for his seat, which, of course, was still there. “No, we’re not!” he then scoffed.

Kevin snickered, and then it was quiet again. The humming the car was making as we drove seemed amplified to my overly sensitive ears. I tried to ignore it, but it was like a hummingbird had taken up residence in my brain. We finally exited the highway, and it was then that Matt decided he was hungry.

“Hey, there’s a Naugles!” he exclaimed excitedly, pointing at the fast-food restaurant.

Having grown up in the midwest, I had never heard of Naugles. And it was a pretty funny name for a fast-food joint. Naugles. Naugles. Once again, the giggles started. And my giggles sparked Matt’s giggles. Kevin was the only one showing any semblance of control.

“Ok, you two,” he said sternly, “look. We have to be cool, ok? What do you want to get, Matt?”

Matt muffled his giggles and managed to spit out “fries.”

“Ok, fries. I’ll pull up to the speaker and just order fries. Just STOP GIGGLING. We’re less than five minutes from home, and I don’t want to get busted now, ok?”

Matt and I sat like chastised children, but from my seat in the back I could make out his shoulders still shaking with laughter, although we both remained quiet. Kevin made it to the speaker, and a nasally voice greeted us. “Welcome to NAU-gles, may I help you?”

That was it. The three of us collapsed in laughter, tears streaming down our faces. I think Matt tried to yell “Fries!” to the disembodied voice, but Kevin had decided that we needed to make a fast getaway. He jumped the curb, and maneuvered the car back onto the main road, heading like a bat out of hell for home.

In retrospect, it WAS pretty funny the way that woman sounded over the intercom, and just the name ‘Naugles’ still makes me smirk. But at that particular time, it was the funniest thing in the whole world, and none of us could stop laughing. Lord only knows how Kevin managed to get us all home in one piece. But he did, and we walked into the building still gasping for breath from laughing so hard.

Once we got into the condo, I had to sit down. My head was spinning and I was sooo thirsty. Every sound any of us made was amplified in my ears tenfold. I wasn’t too sure I was enjoying this feeling. It seemed I had no control over anything anymore.

Kevin came over to the dining room table where I sat and knelt down next to me. “You ok, babe?” he asked. I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t say anything. My mouth wouldn’t move. Finally, I managed to say something: “thirsty.”

Kevin jumped up and grabbed me a beer from the fridge. Somehow I managed to open it and take a long drink. The strange thing was, I couldn’t taste it. I was conscious of the liquid going INTO my mouth and DOWN my throat, but it didn’t seem real. And it wasn’t helping my thirst. So when that one was gone, I got up and got another. And another. It was like drinking water, only even with water you could feel SOMETHING – which I just wasn’t.

While I was attempting to quench my thirst, Matt had decided to find some food. From his piercing shriek, I figured he didn’t exactly find what he wanted. Kevin and I made our way over to him in the kitchen, where he stood staring at an open container of Chinese food sitting on the counter. “Look!” he whispered. “They’re alive!”

Indeed they were. Remember “Lost Boys?” When Michael's noodles turn into worms? It doesn’t only happen for vampires. The three of us stared at the open container as the worms inside squiggled and squirmed around each other and made really gross sucking noises. Kevin managed to shut the container and toss it into the sink, and Matt started looking for something else. I had just happened to look down as Kevin turned to face me, and my eyes widened. “Kevin!” I yelped. “Your shoelaces are eating your shoes!”

Kevin looked down, but I don’t think he saw what I was seeing. What I saw were cartoon-like monster laces, chomping and biting at his shoes. I wasn’t scared, more amused, actually, but Kevin took them off and when he did, they stopped. Suddenly, Kevin took me by the hand and led me back to the dining room. “Sit down,” he said. “I’m going to surprise you!” And he scampered down the hallway to our bedroom.

I sat at the dining room table and watched it expand and contract over and over again. Matt had turned the tv on to some spaghetti western, and the drawls of the actors seemed more exaggerated than usual. The movement of the dining room table was starting to make me nauseous, but when I closed my eyes I felt even worse. Finally, Kevin approached me with a gleeful smile on his face. “Come on,” he whispered. “It’s your surprise.”

We made our way down the hallway to the bedroom, and when Kevin opened the door, I was in awe.

Kevin had placed a sheet over the lamp to make the room dimmer, and had also taken all the house plants and filled our bedroom with them. Then he had taken out all the stuffed animals I had brought with me from home and placed them all around the room. Only now they were all ALIVE. They were running around and playing and swinging from the curtain rods. One was chomping on one of the plants, and my teddy bear smiled at me. It was beautiful and scary all at once. My heart was racing in my chest, because I knew LOGICALLY this couldn’t be happening, yet it was. I started to suffocate from the fear, and turned to leave the room. I could vaguely hear Kevin calling me, and as I stood in the hallway, I got sick. All the beer that I drank but felt like I hadn’t made its presence known. I sat down next to the mess and started to cry. Kevin came over to me and held me.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like this. Make it stop, Kev, please,” I whimpered, shutting my eyes tightly and trying to ignore the jungle noises coming from our room.

He rocked me and soothed me and the next thing I knew, it was morning, and I woke up on the couch covered with a blanket. My head hurt like hell, but everything seemed to be back to normal. I made my way to the hallway, grimacing at the memory of my lurching stomach, but to my surprise found the area all cleaned up. I peeked in the bedroom, and saw Kevin sleeping on the bed, amidst a room full of plants and stuffed animals. Stuffed animals that were no longer alive, thank God.

I quietly shut the bedroom door and went back out to the couch. I was never so happy to feel so normal. The coke had never affected me the way the acid did. Never again, I vowed as I wrapped the blanket around me and laid back down. Tomorrow I had my interview at Olive Garden, and today all I wanted to do was relax. Sober. Hopefully Kevin and Matt didn’t have other plans.

Nothing to Say...

I really can’t think of anything to write about today. I’m not in the mood to do another TBOTE episode (maybe tomorrow), and it actually has been pretty busy here, so I am actually being forced to concentrate on work. This means that there isn’t enough room in my brain to think of anything witty or important to blog about.

Oh – my hair did lighten, so thank you to all who were so supportive in my time of need! It looks A LOT better than it did on Friday, and I only had to wash it like three times. Actually, it looked way better after the first wash – so maybe I shouldn’t have jumped the gun. Then again, it’s pretty much in my nature to panic over everything.

It was a pretty quiet weekend – I am almost embarrassed to admit that I went to bed at 8:30 on Saturday night while Lexie spent the night by her friend’s house. But it felt sooooo good… The way I look at it, better to be that tired this past Saturday than this COMING Saturday, since I am going to be out having fun and partying and can’t allow myself to be tired (by the way, you all have your travel arrangements made to get here, right? Famous Freddie’s in Mount Prospect Saturday night…!). I saw my brother and sister-in-law on Sunday, she looks so cute with her little tummy now! Hard to believe in just over three months the baby will be here. She is just getting over shingles, too, the poor thing. But she looked really good on Sunday, and everything is going well. Unfortunately, my brother seems to have a touch of the flu or something, so they left pretty much as soon as we finished breakfast. His new job has him working in Florida Monday thru Friday and flying home every weekend for the rest of the month. I’m sure this schedule isn’t helping with his health, either. But, you do what you gotta do, especially with a little one on the way.

It was really pretty funny after breakfast – Lexie and I went back to my mom’s for a while, and Lexie was lounging in this armchair in her den. The wall behind her is my mom’s “Lexie Wall” – she’s got a bunch of framed pictures of her only grandchild hanging there. So I take this opportunity to mess with my child (because that’s part of the fun of being a parent, don’t you know?) and casually tell her, “You know, once the baby is born, Grandma is going to take down ALL those pictures and replace them with pictures of the baby. She’ll probably put all THOSE pictures under her bed, or something.”

Well, you should’ve seen the look on her face. It was classic! Pretty much a combination of shock, anger, fear and melancholy. Of course, my mother overheard me, and was quick to come in and say, “I would NEVER! You are my FIRST grandchild and will ALWAYS be special to me!” To which Lexie responded, “Yeah, well, you’d BETTER not move my pictures!” I couldn’t resist, I had to keep goading her. “Know what, Lexie? When I was growing up, Grandma had pictures of ME all over the wall of our house, then when Uncle Bob was born – my pictures? Gone. ALL of them.” I know, I’m really mean, but it was fun. Since I kept laughing, she knew I was kidding, and you know damn well Grandma wouldn’t let her continue to think that anyway. I think Lexie got a few extra hugs, some candy and consolation from her just to be sure. All I got from my mom was a dirty look. Go figure.

Oh, just in case anyone has been wondering about Squirreltopia? I am starting to get a bit concerned. The squirrels seem to be putting on a bit more weight than normal squirrels should… actually, they are beginning to look a bit like jumbo mutant squirrels. And this fact became even more apparent when one of them innocently tried to jump from one tree branch to another. This seemingly normal action squirrels generally do every day proved to be a bit more difficult for him – because the branch he jumped to bent pretty much to the ground from his weight. Funny? Hell, yes! But I’m thinking it may be time to cut back on the peanuts a bit. Then again, if I do that, I may have a squirrel revolt on my hands. Of course, there is an upside to their girth – I doubt any squirrels will be able to fit into the gutters or attic vents… Ha! I’ll keep you posted.

Ok, so that’s it for today. Hopefully I will be more inspired tomorrow – unless anyone has any topic suggestions…?

Scary Hair-y

I hate my hair and I want to cry. I spent $200 on a cut and highlight (I have A LOT of hair), and last night she left it kind of damp because it was getting late. So, I figured it looked dark because it wasn’t totally dry. But this morning when I got up – IT WAS BROWN. And it is ugly. I HATE IT. I have had blonde highlights like forever – and I HATE how I look with dark hair.

So I called the stylist and told her we had a problem – that my hair was wayyy too dark. She said she used the exact stuff she used last time, and it couldn’t be that dark (well, uh, yes it is). But she told me I could either come in right away and she could fix it, or I could give it about a week and see if it lightens after being washed a few times. I told her I would wait, only because it takes like at least two or three hours to color my hair.

But I’m thinking maybe I’ll just wash and dry it seven times tonight and see what happens, since I’m going out for my BIRTHDAY next Saturday and refuse to show up with UGLY BROWN HAIR. Well, not really. The washing seven times part, I mean. Obviously I can’t really do that tonight. But I’m not giving it a week, I’m giving it until Wednesday. Because I’m not taking any chances of it not being fixed by next Saturday.

So now I just have to avoid mirrors until then, because every time I see my UGLY BROWN HAIR I want to cry. And because I scared Lexie by constantly raging about how UGLY my hair was this morning. Her comment? “It doesn’t look THAT bad, mom.” Which translates to “Gee, it really IS ugly…” since she usually tells me how beautiful I am no matter what.

Oh, well. I think I am done ranting for the time being. But this hair had BETTER lighten up one way or another, or heads will roll.

Worth a Thousand Words...

Since I now know how to post pictures, I thought I'd share a few with y'all... and hopefully find time to write later!

Ok, first off - for all you long-time faithful readers... I know you've been wondering... I know you've been curious... Well, without further adeiu, here he is - the Infamous MR. SOUTH SIDE!! (This is the ONLY picture of him that I have, taken on the night we met when I was pretty toasted... and he didn't know I was taking it.)

Next we have several pictures of Kevin, co-star of "TBOTE." (I, of course, am the star.) All these pictures were taken in Reno. Surprisingly, other than on other picture of the two of us at my cousin's wedding, these are the only pictures I have of him. And we were together for about four years. Apparently, I was too busy doing illegal things to take pictures back then... But see? He WAS pretty cute - and didn't look like a junkie...




And here's Kevin and little Schmauser. Who would've thought this nice young man would wind up where he did?? Not me, that was for sure!

Finally, here are some Halloween pictures I thought you might enjoy. The first one is pretty scary -

Don't worry, it's only my wimpy kitty, Ace, pulling out all the stops for Halloween! (He's really not scary at all. He's actually losing his fur from stress. Which may actually DOES make him kind of scary, if you think about it!)

And here we have Lexie and her friends: Lexie is "The Unknown Person" in the big feather mask. She won for Most Original Costume in her bowling league contest - go figure...

Ok, so that's it. Hope you enjoyed them. Be back later (I think - don't hold me to it!!).

Rules of the Road

Know what I hate? I HATE people who are asshole drivers. Just thinking about it makes me tense up and get angry. And lately I have had to deal with more than usual, because there is construction going on right by my work. AND, for some reason, now that it is dark out by the time I leave work, it seems people are driving even STUPIDER, which makes me even more mad.

My daughter (bless her heart) says that I have road rage. I tell her that’s not 100% true, it’s just that I am the only person who knows how to drive in this world. I drive defensively, with an occasional offensive move thrown in where needed. Wherever I am going is just as important to me as wherever these morons are going is important to them. So it really pisses me off when people feel the need to fly around traffic in a lane that is merging just a little ways up. Do I ever let these people in front of me? HELL NO. I will deliberately not look at them and tailgate the person in front of me, just DARING these assholes to sideswipe me. Because I have the right of way. And hello? That big orange “Merge” sign you saw? It was for real. Just like the GIANT flashing arrow signs were. All THREE of them – that clearly indicated your lane was ending. It’s bad enough when this happens in a construction zone, but it REALLY gets me when it happens on a street that has had a merge for as long as I can remember.

I mean, you know damn well that most of these jerks drive this route on a daily basis, and know the lane is about to end. This particular street has three lanes up to a busy intersection, and right past the intersection is a GINORMOUS ORANGE MERGE SIGN. You cannot miss it. Unless you are blind, in which case you shouldn’t be driving anyway. Not only does it show the “merge” symbol, but it clearly states in big block letters “LANE ENDS.” And the far right lane ends literally 50 feet after you cross the intersection. So, every time I drive this route, I sit in the middle lane (which will soon become the right lane) and always hit the red light. Then I watch, as car after car decides “Hey, I’m going into that far right lane that is going to end.” And my blood boils, and I curse them out every time inside my head. And I concentrate on the bumper of the car ahead of me, knowing that I am going to be riding that bumper in a few seconds. Once that light turns green, it is my mission not to let ANY of these assholes in front of me. Sure enough, there is always the prick who floors it the minute the light changes, and usually succeeds in becoming the “first” car. But when I see the unlucky car trying to squeeze in front of ME, I ride that bumper in front of me and start my mantra: “Go ahead, HIT me, asshole. I work for an injury attorney. HIT me, I DARE you!!” They never get in. I have no fear when it comes to this. Blazers won’t even budge me. Oh, yes, they will KNOW when they see my gold Saturn NOT to mess with Dasi!!

I also hate people who don’t understand the rules of a four-way stop sign. Obviously, the basics are that whoever stopped first gets to proceed first. But, if two people stop at the same time, whoever is on the right has the right-of-way. It seems to me that not many people realize this, because every time I am in a situation where my car and another car both come to a stop at the same time, and I have the right-of-way, I am not the only person who starts to accelerate. But since I KNOW I have the right-of-way, I give the other driver a dirty look and proceed on, DARING them not to step on the brake. And I usually honk the horn for good measure.

Of course, my biggest pet peeve is drunk drivers. I think especially since I am now a mother and often times have my daughter in the car with me, I notice them all the time. And I keep away. BUT, I will call the cops. Because as far as I am concerned, anyone swerving over three lanes on the highway while driving 20 mph UNDER the speed limit should NOT be driving. Nor should the drunken fool driving 300 mph and tailgating everyone in his path. We all know what happens if these people crash, right? They kill innocent people. Because the alcohol somehow relaxes their bodies to the point that it helps actually PREVENT injury. Go figure.

Oh – just so you know? As much as I hate the above mentioned drivers, there ARE times when I will give in with the whole merging and stop sign situations – and those are the times when Lexie is with me. I may push it, but not too far. Her safety is first, after all. But if I am alone in the car – DON’T MESS WITH ME. Stupid cutting-in-front-and-ignoring-stop-sign-etiquette people.

Living in Fear

Last night I was watching “I Love the 80’s” on VH1 and thoroughly enjoying myself. When those kind of shows are on, I always try to watch them, since I spent most of my youth in the 80’s and therefore have pretty good memories from that decade. And, as I’m sure my brother will tell you, I am still a big fan of most of the 80’s music (I just can’t help myself). Anyway, here I am, watching this show and laughing out loud at some of the things they are talking about. My daughter is just kind of watching with an “Oh-my-God-this-is-so-weird” look on her face. Aside from the fact that they sang the damn “Monchichi” song and it is now playing over and over and OVER in my head, it was a good show. But there was one segment that made my daughter REALLY laugh, and made me really think.

The segment was on BMX bikes, and all the “tricks” kids used to do on them. Now, I personally never owned one, since they were pretty much a guy thing. But I DO remember them well. My memories pretty much mirrored what they showed on VH1 – a bunch of idiots riding their bikes on railings, stairs, ramps etc. and MAJORLY wiping out. As we all know, falling is funny, especially when it’s not YOU. So here’s me and Lexie, laughing our butts off, and in between laughs, she asks me, “Why aren’t they wearing helmets?”

Hmmm. Good question. And the answer? I have NO frickin idea. But as a kid, I NEVER wore any type of “safety gear” while riding a bike. Ever. Nor did I wear any while attempting to skateboard. Or while roller skating on the sidewalk in cheap metal skates. And sure, I fell my share of times, but we had Bactine and Band-Aids, so everything was copascetic. NOW, on the other hand, if you don’t automatically purchase the helmet/knee pads/elbow pads combo when you buy a kid’s bike, you get that “look” from the sales clerk. You know, that “you must be a really crappy parent” look.

And carseats. In Illinois, the new law states that kids up to the age of EIGHT have to ride in a carseat. Can you believe it? I’m soooo glad that law went into effect after Lexie’s eighth birthday, because I can’t imagine trying to convince her to ride in a carseat as a third grader. How humiliating. Now, I still have wonderful memories of riding in between my mom and dad UNBUCKLED in the FRONT seat of dad’s hard-top GTO when I was like three. Oh, and? Mom held my infant brother on her lap. And no one EVER told her she was a bad parent. To top it all off – both my brother and I are both alive and well and no worse for the wear after spending our childhood riding in the front seat.

Now, I realize that auto accidents are serious business (I work in an injury law firm, after all), but I really think that society has been going way overboard in regards to safety. Even as far as airbags. Have you ever seen what those things can do to people? First of all, they can actually KILL a child or small-boned adult. They can also cause major contusions and serious burns. Which, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t that bad if you would’ve wound up, say through the windshield or something, but if you’re in a fender bender and those things go off, you’re screwed. Now, I don’t think airbags were invented when I was a kid. And guess what? I’m still alive. As far as car accidents are concerned, I think the easiest way to be safe and not die is to DRIVE RESPONSIBLY. Everyone, that is. (Yeah, like THAT will ever happen!)

Another thing that drives me nuts is when you hear on the news that “such and such” will cause cancer. In laboratory rats, at least. And anything not “natural” is horrible for you. So don’t drink diet pop, don’t chew sugarless gum (yes, sugar is bad for you, but aspartame and phenylalanine are WORSE!!), don’t eat meat or veggies or fruit unless they are “organic…” the list goes on and on.

Oh, and music. And video games. While I am the first to admit that I do believe some of these lyrics are a bit out of control, I’m not too keen on total censorship, either. And I definitely don’t believe kids kill each other or steal or do drugs based on what they listen to or watch on tv or play on their X-box. Sure, some of this stuff may be “shocking” to adults, but kids enjoy it. Because kids are designed to rebel and piss off their parents, and usually they outgrow it. A video game is just a game, and people need to stop getting so wound up over things like that.

When I was growing up, I was allowed to play with my friends outside, running all over the neighborhood unsupervised. When it started to get dark, we all went home. And walked right into the house, because the doors were never locked. We kept windows open while we slept, even on first floor bedrooms. Things were so much more uncomplicated then.

Now, we live in a world ruled by fear. And that sucks. People are afraid to look at other people while driving. People are afraid to let their kids play outside. People are afraid – so they buy huge deadbolts for their doors and ignore their neighbors. People are afraid of pain, so they buy helmets and kneepads and drugs designed to “stop symptoms BEFORE they start.” People are afraid to give kids “ideas” so they protest violent video games or sexy songs. People shelter their kids to the point that these kids grow up unwilling to take risks, afraid of their own shadows. Kids who won’t speak up or be independent.

Well, guess what? Not me. Yes, I will follow the laws of “child restraint” while driving. Yes, my daughter will wear a helmet on her bike if she is riding anywhere outside the complex. No, my daughter will not have a restricted diet of “all-natural” anything. No, my daughter will not be banned from certain music or television or games. I am trying to teach her to make her own decisions based on what’s right and wrong – not by fear. I want her to be a strong young woman and learn from her mistakes, and if she scrapes a knee in the process, so be it.

I’ve got Bactine and Band-Aids.