The fairy tale me

There’s a mirror in the foyer that Jim gave me for Christmas many years ago.

It’s smallish and round with a dark metal frame shaped like flowers and leaves. Pretty, but not too girly-girly. Like something from a fairy tale with a princess and an ugly cruel stepmother with a big hairy wart that smells like bad cheese. Just the wart, not the whole stepmother.

Anyhow.

It’s a skinny mirror – you know the ones – it magically makes me look at least 10 lbs. lighter.

I don’t even know why I look in it, really. It’s not a true reflection of reality.

Maybe I look because it gives me a glimpse of what could be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You've probably noticed I’m not writing any more. I’m pretty pissed off about it.

Because of charm school, I’ve lost the part of myself that liked this – writing and ranting and having fun with words.

Here’s hoping it comes back someday.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not a huge fan of the word foyer, by the way. Especially snooty-falooty people who say it like ‘foy-A’.

These are the same folks who pronounce vase like ‘vaaaz’.

As in ‘The vaaaz in the foy-A is filled with juicy wet dog boogers.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So back to this mirror.

Love love loved fairy tales as a child. Hell, I still love ‘em.

And I’ve read a lot of them, but don’t ever recall a story like this:

What if, Once Upon a Time there was a mirror that could show you the best version of yourself?

The what-could’ve-been version who made better decisions and didn’t eat entire bags of Ruffles Sour Cream & Cheddar chips in one sitting?

Wouldn’t that be cool?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
fairy tale (also fairy story)
noun
a children's story about magical and imaginary beings and lands.
• [as adj. ] denoting something regarded as resembling a fairy story in being magical, idealized, or extremely happy : a fairy-tale romance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The point is, because of charm school I am catching glimpses of this slightly better, fairy tale version of myself.

It’s kinda cool when it isn’t scaring the living shit out of me.

Because this new Hedy is more sociable. Has more energy. Is more conscious and aware. Is eating less. Doing more. Is more compassionate. And less temperamental.

However.

It’s coming at a price and I am seriously mourning the old version of myself. The version that liked hanging out here with you and ranting about silly shit.

Furthermore, if you’ve ever read the really old, non-Disney fairy tales, you know they're often scary and bloody and not all of them have happy endings.

So right now, the fairy tale version of me is wandering around in the woods, ate all of her fucking breadcrumbs miles ago, and is hoping that her fairy godmother will arrive - POOF - soon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Green Day - Basket Case
I am reading: Nothing much
And I am: Reflective

Good things Friday

Slow news week, eh? Here’s when I turned off the TV:

“Dame Elizabeth Taylor has released a statement saying she can’t release a statement at this time.”

I can't be the only one who knew Michael Jackson would die early. He was a tortured, unhealthy soul and here's hoping he's finally at peace.

Here’s good things Friday:

Texting Jim about Michael Jackson yesterday:
Jim: “I wonder how he died.”
Me: “Who nose?”

Mudbone, sitting next to me on the train this morning: “I used to bleach myself,” he says. “They used to sell it down South. That bleaching agent was poplar.”

Jim texting me Richard Pryor quotes from Boston all morning (And I’m prayin’ to God I ain’t gotta kiss nothin’.)

The Grandfather from Heidi (Shirley Temple version) sitting next to me on the train last night, talking dirty to his spouse: “You keep feeling better like this, Sweetie, and tomorrow maybe we can make noises.”

This e-mail exchange from early yesterday:

To: Jim, You Know Who, Mrs. You Know Who
From: Hedy

Farrah Fawcett was only two years younger than my mom. There’s a joke in there somewhere.

To: Jim, Mrs. You Know Who, Hedy
From: You Know Who

Unlike Farrah’s, I still have the swimsuit/nipple poster of your mom in my room.

Another fabulous weekend visit with Nelson, Kyra, and Chad.
A fabulous but way-too-quick visit with Susie and her family.
Shopping at the Little Traveler with Suze on a Monday afternoon.
Impromptu post-charm school drinks with Jim, Corb & Debbie at the Caboose bar in Geneva
“Sticky tits”
Realizing that saying yes increases my energy
Swimming at night with Grommie and the stars
A text just now from Kathleen, our recruiting goddess: “You in the office yet? Feel like going to the Cubs/Sox game today?”
Going to the Cubs/Sox game on a beautiful Friday afternoon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Mudbone yapping into his phone
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Smiley

Word peeve

Got an e-mail just now from the Business Network Chicago:

"IF you are in transition, here are a couple of good people to follow on Twitter..."

In transition?

What a lovely way of saying out of work and couch-bound with one orange-fingered hand in a bag of Crunchy Cheetos and the other flipping channels between Oprah Winfrey and soft core porn.
~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Co-workers discussing BBQ stuff
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Not in transition

Today

Susie and family arrive within the hour, but thought I'd share this amazing 'JesusPhone' story with you (it's a long read, but so worth it):

http://happywaffle.livejournal.com/5890.html

I have more thoughts on this - thankfully the thief wasn't armed/dangerous/insane - but we'll revisit this topic another day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am listening to: Birds chirping from the side yard

I am reading:  Nothing at the moment

And I am:  Looking forward to another hot summer day with good friends from far away

Good things Friday

A great weekend with Nelson
Looking forward to another great weekend with Nelson, Kyra and Chad
Two graduation parties on Saturday
It's not raining right now
Fuck You Tuesday helped me get angry again
Yesterday was my one-year anniversary in the melty chocolate chip job and the team brought in donuts, plus the recruiting director sent me a wonderful e-mail
Chick dinner with Mrs. You Know Who and YKW's sister Wednesday night
Working on a strategic planning project
Eligible for 401k now
A few good leads from the Chicagoland Chamber breakfast yesterday
Ran into my old editor from the Daily Herald at the breakfast - he's got a great gig in PR now
The house is relatively clean
The flowers are growing like mad
Cut the backyard last night
Downloaded the iPhone 3.0 OS upgrade - it's considerably faster, and now I can cut/paste and search
Found out The Turd (remember him?) was fired, and the person who took over (someone I worked with briefly there - long story) wants to meet and talk about my original marketing plan/strategy
I am wearing pants that didn't fit a month ago
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Muted office conversations
I am reading: Four Seasons: The Story of a Business Philosophy by Isadore Sharp
And I am: Sorta giggly reading all that old Turd stuff

Shit-pants

Through an informal and ongoing survey, I have learned that practically everyone I know has shit his or her pants as an adult.

Yes. Everyone.

Except me.

I’m still waiting. This makes me nervous. Extremely nervous.

Because when nearly everyone you know has shit themselves, it’s not good being the odd person out. It’s not normal. It means that I’m overdue.

Hedy, you’re telling us that you actually want to shit your pants?

YES!

Seriously. It’s like the first time I dropped my motorcycle.

I was making a left turn from Route 31 onto Mooseheart Road and didn’t accelerate enough so the bike stalled and fell over. I wasn’t hurt – I let it fall and kept standing. But in addition to that rush of OHFUCKWHATNOW adrenaline and a bit of fear about causing an accident at this busy intersection, I actually felt relieved.

“Well, I got that over with,” I remember thinking. “I knew it was going to happen, now it has and I don’t have to worry about it.”

That’s how I feel about shitting my pants. I really just want to get it over with.

I want to be like everyone else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Combos,” says one shit-pants friend of mine who shall remain anonymous. “Eat a bag of Combos. That’s what did it for me.”

That would be cheating. You can’t force yourself to shit your pants anymore than you can force yourself to drop a bike or laugh at something that isn’t funny.

It just has to happen. Spontaneously. Uncontrollably. Often publicly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Best case scenario:

It’s a Friday night out with all of our friends – drinking and eating and laughing and laughing and eating and drinking.

I’m all stuffed and smiley-faced.

Someone I know and love does or says something that is just bust-a-gut hilarious and Voila! I laugh so hard I fill my pants.

That's how it should happen for all of us desperate skid-free folks waiting for the inevitable - in the company of our very own shit-pants support group.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Nothing
I am reading: Yield Software Getting Started Guide
And I am: Anxiously waiting

Fuck You Tuesday

“The class is changing me in small ways,” I say. “Like this morning the septic alarm went off…normally I’d wake up Jim and make him go downstairs to turn it off but I got out of bed and did it myself.”

“I didn’t even hear it,” says Jim.

“You need a class to learn how to be nice?” asks Nelson.

“Kinda. I guess. Maybe. Fuck you.”

“Well I don’t like it,” says Nelson. “Where’s the bitchy Heather? Since you started taking this class you’re all sunshine and bunnies. And cut the Good Things Friday shit on the blog, would ya please? Nobody cares.”

“Fine. Fuck you.”

He’s right, though. I’ve lost a bit of that Fuck-You-I’m-Heather attitude because of charm school. Probably another reason why I haven’t been writing so much. Lost my edge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So here goes. It’s Fuck You Tuesday.

Fuck you, Metra for cancelling the 5:49 to Aurora last night and cramming all of us on the 5:44. I stood in a fucking aisle all the way to fucking Lisle with some Asian bitch pushing into me and sweat dripping from my earlobes down to my asshole.

Fuck you, Twitter and Facebook and LinkedIn for distracting people from what’s really important.

Fuck you, charm school for forcing me to think about all of this fucking baggage from childhood. You say we create the lives we have – well looking around, mine isn’t so goddamn bad is it, ya fuckos?

Fuck you, sweater with the bleach stain on it.

Fuck you, people who talk too much.

Fuck you, thorny weeds in our backyard.

Fuck you, birds for shitting all over my deck and patio.

Fuck you, people who walk slow and block the sidewalk.

Fuck you, Rod Blagojevich and your stupid fucking wife for not having a little sense and a little more humility to go away quietly.

Fuck you idiot jealous control-freak women who give the rest of us a bad rap.

Fuck you idiot men for killing your wives rather than divorcing them.

Fuck you, people who aren’t talking to me anymore (you know who you are) – Good Riddance and pass the peanuts.

Fuck you, Apple for making it cost-prohibitive for your best, most loyal customers to get a new iPhone 3Gs. I’ll keep my sorry-ass old iPhone until it’s nothing but a brick before I give you more of my money.

Fuck you, 7 Pounds, with your seriously flawed premise and M. Night Shyamalan wanna-be ending.

Fuck you, Microsoft Update and any software update installer bullshit application.

Fuck you ingrown toenail.

Fuck you, AC/DC, your music sucks.

Fuck you, Rush Limbaugh. And fuck you, George Bush and Dick Cheney.

Fuck you, Colin Powell for not having enough sack to stay in and fight Bush&Co.

Fuck you, one-and-a-half hour commute.

Fuck you, bunnies and fuck you sunshine.

Fuck you, septic system for waking me up early on Saturday and starting this whole fucking mess.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Fuck You by Freddie Fuckstick and the Fuckettes
I am reading: None of your goddamn business
And I am: Angry

Good things Friday

It is a BEAUTIFUL day
Jim is finally done traveling - YAY!
Nelson arrives from Bangkok this afternoon
Judy came over last Friday - a lovely surprise visit
A long, lovely e-mail from DewMama regarding yesterday's post
Laughing with Mom this morning over MyFace - her version of Facebook and MySpace
This African proverb: "Much silence makes a powerful noise"
Date night with Jim in the city yesterday - a mini pub crawl through River North
I'm finally writing again
A wonderful, thoughtful dead-on comment from Crusty on yesterday's post - Thank you!
Learned tons of new stuff this week
An always hilarious visit with Mr. & Mrs. You Know Who Wednesday night
Pilates two weeks in a row - Woo HOOO!
Planning birthday parties for people we love
The French bulldog puppy in the neighborhood by my office
Hi my name is Heather and I'm a cabaholic; it's been four days since my last cab ride
Taking the #66 bus from Ohio to Orleans yesterday
A small possibility of going to Rome with Jim in October
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: I'm Yours - Jason Mraz
I am reading: Neil at the Sun-Times
And I am: Smiley

Stranded in the land of average

I’ve always marveled at these rare people who know early on exactly what they want to do with their lives. I know maybe three of them.

One is a teacher. One is a firefighter. And right now I can’t think of the third.

At some point, the rest of us realize that we need to pay the bills so we fall into careers that sorta kinda feel comfortable then we proceed to mill about our lives vaguely dissatisfied – numbing that feeling with things like alcohol or food or TV or whathaveyou.

There are millions of people just like me – stranded in the land of average – waiting to find out what we’ll be when finally we grow up.

Don’t get me wrong, I like my job. But I don’t believe Cuddly Wuddly Christ tapped my little fresh-from-the-womb forehead and said “Hedy, You Will Be A Tech Marketer.”

Does that make sense?

Whoa, Hedy, wait a minute. It sounds to me like you’ve got a pretty fucking awesome life. You’ve got a husband who loves you in spite of your hormonally induced nut-jobbery. You live with the World’s Greatest Dog. You are blessed with family, friends, health, and more than your share of laughter. You want for nothing. It sounds to me like you need to be a little more grateful, Miss Pissy Pants.

Yep. Right.

I’ve got everything except that higher purpose and meaning driving what I do. I could be satisfied but I’m being honest here, admitting I’m not.

So here are the next questions:

1) Is it the job? Or is it that I’m simply not injecting more of myself into it?
2) Is it that I need a new career?
3) What would that look like?
4) Where do I start?
5) What do I LOVE to do?

I’m going to start with that last question because it’s the easiest one to answer. I am a writer. I love telling stories. They don’t have to be my stories – I’m happy to write stories about other people doing great things. I’m pretty goddamn good at it, too.

I also like giving massages. And I’m goddamn good at that, too. Ask Jim and Gromit.

I like traveling and learning about different people and places.

I’m passionate about the news and politics.

And I like helping people. But not in the wipe-yer-ass way. Those folks, bless their twisted little hearts, get a Do Not Pass Go Do Not Collect $100 ticket straight to Heaven.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s where I’m at right now: The mature thing to do is inject every part of myself more fully into my current work with the belief that my Higher Purpose (whatever the hell that is) will come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s my favorite example of what it means to really put yourself into your job – and if you’re tired of hearing about Portillo’s, I’m sorry, but a lot of profoundly Good and Right things are happening there.

There’s a rather large smiley African American woman working the pick-up counter at Portillo’s at Clark and Ontario in Chicago. When your order is ready, she lets you know by shouting:

“NUMBER 1 YOUR ORDER IS DONE!”

or

“NUMBER 5 YOUR FOOD HAS ARRIVED!”

or

“NUMBER 3 YOU BETTER COME AND SEE ME!”

You get the idea. She makes it fun. You never know what she’s gonna say but it always makes people smile.

And if you need an extra fork or some mayonnaise or something, she’s all about “What can I get for you, baby?” and “You’re welcome, honey.”

Think about it. She’s handing out fast food to people. It could be categorized as one of the more mundane jobs on the planet. She doesn’t have to make it special or interesting.

But she loves it. She obviously loves people. And because of who she is and her infectious attitude, she makes the whole experience special for everyone.

That’s how I want to be with my job.

It’s powerful. Recognizing that I can make this difference. It's not that my job is changing - but my perception of it is changing.

So even if you're doing a job that you don't really love, you can do it in a way that makes a difference to other people.

Because ultimately it’s not about finding the perfect job or the perfect husband or the perfect anything, it’s about what you put into it that makes it perfect for you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Breathe Me – Sia
I am reading: Doctoral papers from my coach
I am: It’s 8:09 AND I AM JUST FINE

All writey then

So part of the reason I haven’t been writing much is that I’m learning a lot.

This class – Jim calls it charm school – is consuming me. It is forcing me to look at what I do, why I do it, and how I feel.

That last one is tough for me. How I feel.

Remember that one bathtub scene in Pretty Woman? Not where Julia Roberts does a naked soapy impression of Prince. The other one – when Richard Gere explains how he was “very ANGRY” with his father and that years of therapy helped him say that without freaking himself right out the door.

Well I’m not angry with my father. But I am learning tons of really cool stuff about why I am the way I am and why I do some of the bat-shit crazy stuff I do.

Example, Hedy?

Here’s a big one. Get ready.

For most of my adult life I’ve been utterly convinced that something really horrible will happen and my life will come crashing down around me, and that it will be ALL MY FAULT.

It’s called catastrophic thinking.

It’s the idea that if things are going particularly well then I’m over due for something truly awful to happen.

The reality is, bad shit happens all the time.

But fantasizing about it – and no, I’m sorry to report that all my fantasies don’t involve a big fat Russell Crowe-Craig Ferguson sandwich – is NOT healthy. Some of us have negative fantasies all the time. Some people even act on them.

Anyhow. I’m learning that catastrophic thinking is not healthy; that living in fear that your life could come crashing down around you at any moment is not good.

Can you see how thinking that way all or even part of the time would have an impact on how I view the world and my role in it? It has given a decidedly temporary and unsettled feeling to any major endeavor of mine. Which might explain all of that career related turmoil from before.

So I’m learning how to change my patterns of thinking. Here's the really cool thing: changing the way I think is also changing the way I behave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Remember the phrase ‘not so much’? It was the trendy thing to say about a year ago.

Here’s the most recent language trend I’m noticing: Beginning sentences with ‘So’.

Here’s how it goes. Ask someone a question like “How will you prepare dinner tonight?”

The trendy word hipster will say “So I want to make a salad, right? So I plan on cutting up the lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and olives first.”

See?

So let me know if you’re noticing it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You want another big learn from my class?

Shit I don’t even know where to start on this one.

How we perceive God (especially from childhood) has an impact on how we perceive the world.

If you grew up with a punishing, vengeful God who gets off on getting all smotey on sinful six-year-olds, you’re probably going to have a different perspective on society than if you grew up with a benevolent, forgiving God who loves you know matter what you do.

It’s Old Testament vs. New Testament for you Bible freaks.

The concepts are abundance versus scarcity. Faith versus fear. Love and acceptance versus hatred and punishment.

How do you view the world?

Is it an abundant, loving place? Or is life scary and scarce?

Here’s where I’m at:

I grew up in a house where love was abundant. Hopefully you know by now that my Mom and Dad rocked the whole parenting thing and that my childhood was filled with lots of love and play. My brother Eric and I knew pretty much every day of our lives that we were loved and that we mattered.

However, I grew up with a God who was scary and vengeful. He did not love me no matter what. He loved me ONLY if I followed his impossible rules ALL THE TIME.

Here’s little 6-year-old Hedy: “Don’t lie? What the fuck? Are you kidding me?”

Kids lie. It’s part of growing up. It’s part of how we assert ourselves into adulthood.

Christ got that. He knew that people make mistakes. Sometimes really big ones.

But we’re all worthy of love and forgiveness. ALL THE TIME.

From this class, I'm realizing that what I learned about God and religion as a child contradicted the loving way my parents lived with us kids every day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here's an example of how I might apply what I'm learning to the Wife Rage situation from yesterday:

Me: So why do you get so angry when you can't reach your husband on the phone?
Mrs. Lecter: Because I'm afraid he's cheating on me.
Me: Why?
Mrs. Lecter: Because I'm afraid he will leave me for someone else.
Me: Why?
Mrs. Lecter: Because I don't feel good about myself and he might find someone he likes better.
Me: Why don't you feel good about yourself?
Mrs. Lecter: Because I'm not as young-thin-fun-sexy-whatever as I used to be.
Me: So the problem isn't so much with your husband as with you, right?
Mrs. Lecter: Fuck you.
Me: No, really. You're angry with your husband because he doesn't answer the phone but you're really angry and afraid because of how you feel about yourself. It really has nothing to do with his behavior, and everything to do with yours. Right?
Mrs. Lecter: Maybe. But fuck you anyway.

It's a process. See? The light bulbs don't always spark immediately but it's the talking/thinking part that matters.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anyhow. Sorry to get all preachy.

Some of you probably don’t want to think about this stuff. Hell, half the time I don’t want to think about it. It’s exhausting. But it’s worth it.

I’m changing in small ways. People I love are noticing it. And that’s pretty cool.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Quiet office sounds
I am reading: Neil Steinberg at the Sun-Times
And I am: Working on it

Taxicab confession

I have a problem.

No shit, Hedy.

Right. Fine. I have many problems.

But to be a little more specific, my current Major Problem involves cabs. Yes, cabs.

I am addicted to taxicabs.

It’s coming up on a year that I’ve been at the Wondrous Melty Chocolate Chip Job in the Egregiously Far and Inconvenient River North neighborhood of Chicago. And while I'm still rockin' the aforementioned cookie sheet, anything I found remotely interesting or convenient about public transportation is gone-daddy-gone.

So I’ve been sneaking cab rides. Lots of cab rides.

It goes something like this:

“I really need to get to the office-home-doctor-lunch-seminar-dinner-store-dry cleaner so I’ll just grab a cab. It’s faster.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
“You’re taking cabs?” asks Jim. “That’s where all your money is going? I thought you had a crack habit.”

“Crack is probably cheaper. And think of how much fun I’d be if I lost all my teeth.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s the upside to this unsavory addiction: I have tons of cab driver stories. I meet guys – they’re all guys – from all over. Mostly from Pakistan for some reason. But also Nigeria. Afghanistan. Turkey. Syria. And one remarkably bad driver from China.

Anyhow.

Last night I got a dead ringer for Hannibal Lecter. I never caught his country of origin and here’s why:

Do do do di do
Do do do da do

Do do do di do
Do do do da do

Shortly after climbing in and saying my standard “HihowareyouUnionStationplease” his phone starts ringing.

Do do do di do
Do do do da do

Do do do di do
Do do do da do

And ringing.

Do do do di do
Do do do da do

Do do do di do
Do do do da do

And ringing.

Not irritating. Just a sing-songy sort of soft ring floating back from the depths of the front seat.

After about the fourth call, I say “Somebody really needs you.”

“This is Secretary of Interior,” says Hannibal, glancing back in the mirror. “You know who this is?”

“Your wife?”

“Yes, she thinks I am with someone else when I don’t answer,” he explained. “She doesn’t like it.”

Call me twisted but I look straight into his bright blue Hannibal-esque eyes and say: “Well, you are with someone else right now, aren’t you?”

Which earns me a great big belly laugh and this: “Next time she call, how about you pick up? Okay? We see what happens.”

Then we both giggle maniacally like serial killers on crack.

This poor guy gets at least 20 calls in between my office and the train station. The phone rings the entire trip. We feel what could only be described as Wife Rage oozing from his phone.

“Why don’t you just pick it up?” I ask. “It’s okay.”

“No, it is my policy,” he explains. “I do not talk on my phone when I am working. When I am driving. My wife, she knows this.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
But Hedy, what if it was a wife-related emergency?

Right.

What if?

I'd believe that IF he hadn't said the thing about how “She thinks I am with someone else when I don’t answer” and “She doesn’t like it.”

If by some dark miracle it actually was an emergency, this bitch has been calling wolf for so long the poor guy wouldn't believe it anyhow.
~~~~~~~~~~~
By the end of the ride, I really really really want to pick up that phone.

Here’s what I want to say:

“Honey, I’ve been there. I’ve been you. Desperately dialing my guy and getting No Answer until poor little Hedy is ready to go kersplody all over the phone. It’s time. Time to let it go. He’s cute. But he’s not cheating on you. He loves you. You’re the one he comes home to every night. You are the best thing that ever happened to him. Start acting like it. You may not be the one he thinks about every time he jacks off in the shower, but if you’re keeping him happy in the sack he won’t be doing that so much. Sure, he had some fun before he met you. That's a good thing. All that fun helped him figure out what he likes and he likes YOU. If you don’t trust him by now you really need to look at yourself for the reason why because he’s never given you a really good reason to doubt him. Fine, you may not trust other women, but you can definitely trust him. TRUST HIM. He’s working. He’s fixing a furnace. He’s in a meeting with a client. Or he’s driving some cab-addicted chubby chick to the train station. But he’s thinking about you the whole time and wishing you’d just chill the fuck out and let him do his job. His job is important. Not as important as you and the kids, but it’s important. So take a deep breath, put the phone down and let him do it. Thank you.

By the way your husband is really hot. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Okay maybe not that last part. But you get it.

Meanwhile, back at Hannibal’s phone. Still ringing.

We arrive. I've got my cab ride fix, so I stop twitching and pay.

“Thankyouverymuchhaveagreatnight,” I say.

“Okay, we gonna fight now. Bye.”

Seriously. If I’m Hannibal Lecter’s wife, I’m not calling him with Wife Rage while he’s working.

Because my sorry ass just might end up on a plate with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Do do do di do
I am reading: A proposal for Restaurant.com
And I am: Finally feeling all writey again

I work here

"Did you order the large fries?"

"No, you did."

"No I didn't. I had the regular."

That's me and Jim the IT Guy, sorting out our weekly lunch at Portillo's last Friday when an older, dark-haired man sitting at the next table stands up and interrupts:

"Excuse me, I work here, did we miss something from your order?"

"No thanks," we explain. "We're just arguing over who ordered the large."

Amazing. He works there.

Right.

Turns out, the guy who said "I work here" is Dick Portillo, the founder of Portillo's restaurants - a veritable institution here in Chicagoland.

Of course it's fast food. But it's the tastiest, freshest and FASTEST fast food on the planet.

Sure, they're known for overly verbose table signage.

But visit their drive-thru at noon on any Saturday and you'll witness a highly efficient, borderline militaristic operation designed to move move move hungry customers through as quickly as possible. It's a wonder.

It's coming up on 20 years that I've been living in Illinois.

I had my first Portillo's Chicago-style hot dog ("What the hell? I didn't order a salad, I ordered a hot dog!") about two weeks after moving here.

I've NEVER been disappointed by the food or the service. Never.

Anyhow. Now I understand why Portillo's does what they do.

It's all because of the guy who works there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Divine Design with Candice Olsen
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Sorta back

Good Things Friday

It’s sunny
Got up early enough this morning to water and dead-head some flowers
Jim cracking me up via text messages from Berlin
Mowed the lawn last night and somehow managed to avoid hitting any Grommie bombs even though I was lazy and didn’t pick up beforehand
House is clean
There’s lovely, fresh brown mulch everywhere and no weeds anywhere thanks to Antonio & crew
Got all the pots and planters planted last weekend
Didn’t gain any weight this week (I didn’t lose, either, but what the hell)
Wearing my favorite comfy jacket from Eddie Bauer
Scored a regular forward-facing blue seat on the 7:22 this morning (the blue ones are more comfortable than the brown ones, FYI)
Had a liver sausage sammich for dinner last night
Our creative director introduced me to Cooliris, a photo/video browsing plugin for Firefox
Business really seems to be picking up for us and our vendors/partners
An unexpected lunch with my boss on Monday
The movie Traitor – great story starring Don Cheadle
Wearing my favorite necklace today from my dear friend Judy
Went to a Pilates mat class with a co-worker on Tuesday – now we’re going every week
Having a sore ass from Pilates
Seeing my orthopedic surgeon unexpectedly on Wednesday and having him tell me the strength in my ACL is exceptionally good
The word ‘noogie’
Singing the Happy Anniversary song to my parents yesterday. Twice.
Giggling with Mom over the thought of my brother Eric getting into a bar brawl with a priest from St. Peter’s.
He didn’t, FYI. But I kinda wish he had.
Mid-week walkies with Grommie on Tuesday and Wednesday
Nelson is here one week from today
Which means I get to have a chocolate cake shake from Portillo’s (I have one once a year when Nelson is here)
Two weeks from today, Nelson AND Kyra are here for what's become a lovely tradition and one of my all-time favorite summer weekends
Susie & family visiting for one precious day - June 22 - YAY!
Another neighborhood graduation party tomorrow
Knowing that ‘DELAYED’ means ‘APPROACHING’ on the CTA bus tracker thingie
Breathing in the wonderful-smelling salt and pepper-haired gentleman in a summer suit and white Converse sitting in front of me on the bus
Getting off a stop early to walk a little in the glorious sunshine
Taking the stairs rather than the elevator to our third floor office
Singing along with Tracy Chapman and thinking of Mom
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Sing for You – Tracy Chapman
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Still not writing but okay

Don't try

'Somebody at one of these places ... asked me: "What do you do? How do you write, create?" You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it.'

- Charles Bukowski
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Barfly
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Still waiting

Good things Friday

Last weekend in Michigan with Mom, Da, Eric & Rudy - wonderful.
We live in the best country on the planet protected by amazing men and women willing to give up their lives for our freedom.
Mowed the lawn for the first time last Sunday.
Mistyped Google this morning and found Booble.
I've worn sandals all week.
We are blessed with so many wonderful friends.
We're attending Justin's commencement ceremony on Sunday.
Made dinner for Jim last night - my specialty - Sloppy Joes.
Grommie went swimming yesterday for the first time.
Sycamore Speedway tonight with Susan, Keith, Judy & Steve - a fantastic way to kick off summer.
I'm not writing - completely uninspired right now - but am okay with it for once.
A co-worker's boyfriend accepted a job offer yesterday.
Sold the motorcycle Wednesday - Craig's List is a beautiful thing.
Looking forward to playing in the dirt with Jim all weekend.
The last bit of furniture Jim bought with his starter wife will be leaving the house tomorrow.
A fresh keg of Miller High Life arrives today and the Hula Lounge is officially open - c'mon over!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Let's Groove - Earth, Wind & Fire
I am reading: The Well and the Mine by Gin Phillips
And I am: F.I.N.E.

The teacher dog

"I'm watching TV and G is on the porch barking at me."

"He wants you out there. It's a good idea - it's a beautiful night."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They'd do well to listen to me, She and He.

They're always off running around the house painting this and folding that when they should be kicking back and enjoying life.

I try telling them. There's a lovely spot right here in this patch of sun. A warm breeze. Sit down. Take a break.

Just be.

They don't always listen. But I will always keep trying.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Gromit
I am reading: A dissertation on evolating
And I am: Quiet

Grommie is GREAT

All the biopsies came back clear! YAYYYYYYYY!

He has inflammatory bowel disease and it will be treated with a special prescription dog food and steroids (for a while).

Thanks again for your care and concern for our guy. Love & hugs.

Marketing

"What are we watching?"

"It has Nazis in it."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Sound of Music
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Unconvincing

Happy Mother's Day

Best wishes to all of the truly fantastic Moms I know, especially my own.

Love & hugs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Sing for You - Tracy Chapman
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Grateful

Good things Friday

Confession: It doesn’t feel like Good Things Friday.

It feels like We Still Don’t Know What the Fuck is Going on With Our Puppy Friday.

HOWEVER.

The best time to count our blessings is when we’re filled with fear, uncertainty, and doubt. Right?

So let’s forge ahead as if all is right with the world.

My good friend Judy, who listened to me blubber and let me blow snot on her shoulder after hearing all the (potentially) awful news about Grom
ALL of our good friends who expressed care and concern here and in the ‘real’ world
A veterinarian who takes 20 minutes with you on the phone explaining what happened during the scope/biopsy procedure
Grommie is a smiley dog once again but we don’t know if it’s because of the prednisone shot or because he’s actually feeling better…we’ll know the prognosis today hopefully
A very good date night with Jim at El Taco Grande
Still looking forward to – and loving – dinner conversation with your spouse
Dinner with Mr. & Mrs. You Know Who Last Night
Laughing again about my impromptu and inexplicable imitation of Gilbert Godfrey the last time we were up at the lake
Planning our next trip to the lake
Being more present – even while doing mundane things
A very productive week
Dancing every Tuesday night
Not stressing about what to wear anymore
Being blessed with the ability to recognize the truth in both people and situations
Finally wearing the sandals I bought back in March
Jim is not losing his job (as we momentarily feared due to a poorly-worded e-mail from his boss)
In fact, they’re un-shelving a product once deemed too expensive to support – a product that no one else offers in his market – and this means nothing but good things for him and his division
Resisting the profound urge to punch the woman next to me on the train who has been babbling non-stop into her phone for nearly an hour – way to go, me!
Watching Twister with Jim – a Springtime tradition
Inspiring someone to dance on the El platform earlier in the week
Downloading the song in my head from iTunes to my phone
Dancing on the Quincy El platform to the song that was in my head
Losing 5 lbs. this week
Neil Steinberg commented on my Facebook status so I know he’s listening
The trees and the flowers are bursting
Being able to tell your boss you're 15 minutes late because you danced on the El train platform
My all-time favorite view: Looking out to the backyard and seeing Jim and Grommie together on the lounge chair
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Let's Groove - Earth, Wind & Fire
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Sweaty

He's listening

Hedy 9:01: okay I have chills

Hedy 9:01: neil steinberg COMMENTED ON MY STATUS ON FACEBOOK

Hedy 9:01: HE'S LISTENING

Jeff 9:01: chills or arousal?

Hedy 9:01: BOTH
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Piece of My Heart - Big Brother & The Holding Company
I am reading: Today's Neil
And I am: Chillingly aroused

Gromit, sweetheart dog

"What's his name?" asks a large gray-haired man unsuccessfully reigning in an exuberant black lab/boxer mix named Scout in the lobby of the vet clinic.

"Gromit," I say, ready to explain his rather unusual moniker.

"Gromit?" he asks, smiling. "Is Wallace at home?"

He bends over, gives Grom a quick scratch and says "Gromit, you are a real sweetheart."

Yep. A sweetheart dog. That's the word most people use for Gromit. It's what we've called him since he was a puppy. And while many of you have never met Gromit, if you did, you'd say the same thing within minutes of meeting him.

He's just that kind of guy.

So when doctors (who have to give you the worst case scenario) say things like "this kind of abnormality in the stomach, I just can't think of a good scenario for that" and "two hard swollen lymph nodes" you can probably understand why I sobbed on the couch all morning.

He's eaten next to nothing for more than a week. In that time he's transformed from Gromit, smiley sweetheart dog, to a forlorn little guy who looks incredibly uncomfortable both day and night.

Around 3 p.m. today, the doctor called to say they'd found no masses, tumors, or obstructions in his stomach or small intestine. However, his small intestine is extremely red and irritated and, while they haven't ruled out some sort of lymphoma, the preliminary diagnosis is Inflammatory Bowel Syndrome (which I swear is what Jim gets after El Taco Grande).

We still don't know the scoop on the lymph nodes -- but the chest x-rays looked normal and all of the biopsies will come back in a few days. The doctor was very positive.

It's hard to explain what this fuzzy little mutt means to me and Jim, but if you knew him, you'd understand that life is significantly sweeter with Gromit in it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The birds outside
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Sort of relieved but not quite

A small favor

Grommie Dog is in for a stomach scope and biopsy at noon. Please send warm healing thoughts and prayers for our guy today.

Good things Friday

Bulls win in double triple OT
A pre-haircut scalp massage
Talking about The Shack with Mom & Da
I'm no longer drinking Diet Pepsi - just water
Washed down all the cupboards in the kitchen last Saturday morning
Being blessed with too much work
Re-connecting with Mary, Alison, and Dennis and helping out with web 2.0 stuff
Down 4 lbs. since Monday
Wearing the peace necklace I got with Susie in Long Boat Key
Nelson & Kyra are visiting for a weekend in June
The commute was a breeze for some reason this morning
Dinner at The Bristol Tap with Steve & Judy - sure love you guys
Jessica the Vet Tech, caring for our sad, sick Grommie Dog
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Keep Me in Your Heart - Jorge Calderon
I am reading: Neil Steinberg in Sun-Times
And I am: Wishing for just one good thing today - a healthy dog

Honesty

Subject: CareerBuilder Job Application : Business Development Manager

You have received an application to your job posted on CareerBuilder. You can respond to this candidate by replying to this email. Your Reference ID for this job is xxxxx.

Job Information
---------------
Job Title: Business Development Manager
Location: US-IL-Chicago
Job Details: http://www.CareerBuilder.com/blahblahblah

Contact Information
-------------------
Name: M_____ A_____
Phone:
Email:

Cover Letter
------------
No cover letter submitted.

Resume
------
RESUME OF M_____ A_____

Education 1996-1997 HARVARD LAW SCHOOL


1996-1996 UNIVERSITY OF CONNECTICUT


1978-1984 CHUO UNIVERSITY,TOKYO


Business Experience
Almost nothing because economic support has been sufficient from our family.


Language Ability
Fluent in English and Japanese
Basic level in French and German


References
Personal references available upon request.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Erasure - Chains of Love
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Kinda tired

100 days

It’s three months and then some since Obama took office.

I haven’t read any of the myriad ‘How’s He Doing at 100 Days’ stories. Yet.

Because I’m trying to capture how it has felt having him in charge rather than reading about how I’m supposed to feel or think about it. And I wanted to see how much I could remember of what this new administration has done, rather than cheating and researching and regurgitating what everyone else is saying today.

So here goes.

Well, the flubs come to mind first thing. Isn’t that odd? I guess it’s just easier.

And there’ve been some Big Ass Flubs for sure: Not demanding more accountability earlier from the banks that received TARP funds. Cabinet appointees with tax issues. Appointees with ties to lobbyists.

Then there are the Small Ass Flubs like the Special Olympics comment on late night with Leno, the kingly bows and queenly hugs, and the terrorist photo op flyby over New York more recently.

As for the good things, tax cuts for 95% of Americans tops the list. The reversal on stem cell research funding. Preparing to shut down Gitmo. Eliminating the use of torture. Pushing through a stimulus package that, while deeply flawed, was entirely necessary. Allowing photos of the caskets of dead soldiers as they return home – a much-needed reminder that the ultimate price of war is not in dollars, but in the loss of brave loved ones. Allowing Cuban Americans to travel and send money back home more easily.

If the word ‘strategery’ captured the essence of the Bush administration, I’d have to say ‘transparency’ is the word for Obama and his crew.

They seem to be doing a lot and they’re telling people about it. Better still, they don't hide it or lie about it when they screw up. There appears to be a new measure of accountability and openness in Washington and it feels good.

Now I'm off to read what I should've said had I done my homework. We'll see how it measures up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Office sounds
I am reading: The Shack (again)
And I am: Emotional but I don’t know why

What marriage is all about #232

When your husband knows you better than you know yourself.

"What sauce is this?" I ask. "It's really good."

"It's your favorite sauce," says Jim.

"How do you know what my favorite sauce is?"

"Because you've told me a million times," he says.

"What's my favorite sauce again?"

"Sweet Baby Ray's."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Cowboy Junkies - Sweet Jane
I am reading: The Shack (again)
And I am: Blessed

Proud of what?

First the Chicago Tribune endorsed Obama. Now they've come out in favor of civil unions for homosexuals.

Surely the end times are at hand.

If you read some of the hate-filled comments after the editorial you'd believe that Christ isn't feeling so cuddly-wuddly these days and is coming back TOMORROW to smite or smote or whathaveyou the GAYS and send the Tribune Editors STRAIGHT TO HELL.

Or something like that.

Here's a guess: with the sorry state of the newspaper industry, it's likely that hell would be a refreshing reprieve from what those stressed out editors are dealing with these days.

Here's my problem: Guys like Edwin Ayala, who sign their hate-filled comments with "Proud to be An American and Heterosexual."

Heh?

Listen up, Edwin. If you were born in another country and became an American citizen, then go ahead. Be proud of that. Rock on.

However. If you were born here, shut the fuck up.

Being proud of things over which you have no control is ridiculous - and worse, dangerous. It's like saying "Proud to be White."

Be proud of your accomplishments. Be proud of your children. Hell, be proud of your yard if it looks nice this time of year.

But don't be proud of shit you didn't do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Early morning office sounds
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Not a huge fan of pride anyhow

A small prediction

It's true that Jim Carrey is the guy who quite literally spoke out of his ass in that whacky pet detective movie, but he makes some very good points here regarding the safety of vaccines.

I've been reading about thimerosal for years - a controversial compound used as a preservative in vaccines - that some parents, doctors and scientists believe could be the cause of autism.

Here's Carrey's first good point:

"Veterinarians found out years ago that in many cases they were over-immunizing our pets, a syndrome they call Vaccinosis. It overwhelmed the immune system of the animals, causing myriad physical and neurological disorders. Sound familiar? If you can over-immunize a dog, is it so far out to assume that you can over-immunize a child? These forward thinking vets also decided to remove thimerosal from animal vaccines in 1992, and yet this substance, which is 49% mercury, is still in human vaccines. Don't our children deserve as much consideration as our pets?"

Money quote:

"In a world left reeling from the catastrophic effects of greed, mismanagement and corporate insensitivity, is it so absurd for us to wonder why American children are being given twice as many vaccines on average, compared to the top 30 first world countries?"

Here in the U.S. we've sadly become accustomed to industry-related scandals. And it would be a mistake to believe that the masters of the financial universe are the only ones capable of ass-raping hard working Americans for personal gain.

Here's a small prediction: The bio-tech industry will be the next hit hard by ethics scandals.

Here's a final word from Carrey:

"If the CDC, the AAP and Ms. Brown insist that our children take twice as many shots as the rest of the western world, we need more independent vaccine research not done by the drug companies selling the vaccines or by organizations under their influence."

Amen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Last week's episode of The Tudors
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Right on this one folks

Good things Friday

My new favorite joke: “What’s the difference between peanut butter and jam?”
I’m wearing new shoes
Jim comes home tomorrow
The week went by justlikethis because there was so much work to do
Hen Night (what Jim called it when I hosted an impromptu chick fest Wednesday night)
Wearing my spring jacket
The house is clean
I wrote parts of my very first web site user experience assessment
I wrote another scene and a couple character profiles for my screenplay ‘No Place’
Being able to text/call Jim when he’s in Europe
The magnolia tree out front is starting to pop
Understanding the difference between ‘important’ and ‘urgent’
Helping my friend Rodney Lee lose a crazy stalker broad on Facebook
A singing delivery man
Creative cussing
Not carrying the heavy MacBook Pro to/from work anymore
Using LogMeIn to access it remotely when I need to (it’s not great – very slow – but for now it’s all I’ve got until I figure out how to talk our IT guy into letting me use Back to My Mac)
Having a job where I don’t have to ask permission to go to the bathroom or make a phone call
Having a job, period
Feeling melancholy and being okay with it
Chicago cab drivers
Going with the flow
Listening to the rain
Coming up with reasons to use the word ‘glorious’ all day
Talking about The Shack with my Mom (she’s reading it, too)
Pillsbury Savorings – they’re like grown-up pizza rolls.
The red and yellow tulips at the northwest corner of Superior & Orleans
Punchline: “I can’t ‘peanut butter’ it up your ass.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: New Shoes – Paolo Nutini
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: So done with this f*cking week

That kind of day

I am currently stuck in my chair.

A button on my pants is caught in the plastic pattern on the back of my office chair and will not dislodge.

Option 1: Ask our creative director for help dislodging the button. Not a good choice because it would mean he'd have to touch my ass and we're not that close.

Option 2: Wiggle until button either a) dislodges or b) breaks off. A good option, if music were playing.

Option 3: Sit here and giggle madly until the office clears out and I can dislodge myself. Another good option, except there's no guarantee I can do this alone.

It's that kind of day. Please send help.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: A very quiet office
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Stranded

Tempest in a tit storm

“So what did you think of what Miss California said about gay marriage?” asks Mom this morning.

“All day long I caught glimpses of the headlines that it was a big controversy but when I finally got around to reading what she said, it was no big deal,” I say. “She certainly was more articulate than that Such As The Iraq chick from a couple years ago.”

Mom and me don’t agree on gay marriage.

I believe that gay men and women should have the right to enter into the joyful misery of marriage. Mom believes that marriage is between a man and woman.

This is okay.

We live in the United States and, the last time I checked, expressing our opinions is still legal. Miss California spoke from her heart on an extremely controversial topic and she’s being vilified for it. Some say it even cost her the crown. Or sash. Or whatever the fuck they give these bright-eyed, bikini’d broads.
Let’s be honest here: The only reason this ‘controversy’ made headlines is because of that moron Perez Hilton, who is known for nothing more than drawing ugly comments on celebrity photos. He called her a bitch because he didn’t like her answer and that’s why this whole thing turned into a tempest in a tit storm.

Whether he realizes it or not, Perez Hilton is just like Sean Hannity and Rush Limbaugh and that frighteningly unstable Glenn Beck dude.

Every day they look for any excuse to be angry or upset in order to win headlines for themselves. And the less attention they get – the more hysterical they act. Their idiotic behavior always overshadows the issue, whether it's gay marriage or the military's use of torture.

These media hacks could use what limited power and influence they have to bring people together – to help people from all sides of an issue be reasonable and respectful of each other – and make a difference in the world.

Instead, they stir the pot, only to keep the light shining on them and their ridiculous personalities for just a little while longer.

I don't give a shit if you're gay or Republican, do all of us a favor: If you don't have something intelligent or meaningful to add to the debate, shut the fuck up. Or grow up and start acting like a real American.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Erasure - A Little Respect
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Sick and tired of drama

Good dog

"It's amazing," says Jim, fresh from morning walkies. "Gromit always does his squat and grunt when hot chicks are jogging by. "

What I say: "Hmmm."

What I think: "Good dog!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Saturday morning house sounds
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Productive

Good things Friday

It's Good Things Friday, folks.

The day we head into the weekend celebrating all the good things in life while blithely ignoring all the crap. Yay!

Finally feeling back to my old self again after a month-long sinus infection that turned me into a zombie
Prescription Flonaise
Easter dinner on Saturday with Mr. & Mrs. You Know Who and their wonderful family
Jim's special crock pot noodly chicken dish - YUM
Re-connecting with wonderful people (Judy, Alison, Dennis, Mary)
The Good Guys Won - National Edition
The Good Guys Won - Local Edition (not the 'breaking news', the election results)
An excellent date with Jim Wednesday night
Lunch with my friend Susan at Brett's Kitchen
Crying over stories about generous people
Lunch with my friend Jim the IT Guy (twice!)
Hearing Mom laugh because I sang "RISE AND SHINE AND GIVE GOD YOUR GLORY GLORY" at the top of my lungs Thursday morning
Making plans for friends to visit from far away
Chatting with cab drivers from Somalia and Ghana
Two perfect 'toss' pillows from Crate & Barrel
The Tudors is back on again
Opening the sun roof
Meditation class in the office again
Susan Boyle
A boss who encourages his team to meditate for 20 minutes every day
Working in an office with a meditation room including a timer and wall fountain
Celebrating one year since leaving the office of The Turd & Crew for good
The book 'The Shack'
Discovering a small black purse marked $35 at Carson's was on sale for $13 at the register
Being hyper-productive at work: Crossing off major to-do's and finally getting my in box to less than five messages
A morning sun that is shining brighter today than any time in recent memory
Rowdy, happy people wearing Cubs garb and drinking beer and SoCo on the morning train
My class - Jim calls it 'charm school' - which is teaching me how to be a better human being
The flowering trees are finally starting to pop
My in-grown toe nails are finally healing
Dakota - the blue-eyed, sweater-wearing wiener dog at my chiropractor's office
Planning Jim & Mrs. You Know Who's 50th birthday trip in next year
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: U2 - With or Without You
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Blithely ignoring all the crap

Why I love Craig Ferguson #3302

"Today thousands of Republicans who oppose gay marriage got together in public parks for a little tea-bagging."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Craig
I am reading: The Shack by whathisname
And I am: Giggly

Bust my buttons

I’m running late because I did something old-fashioned this morning.

A good old-fashioned humjob, Hedy? Way to go. Jim's gotta be smiling.

Shaddap. No.

I didn’t blow something, I sewed something. A button on a blouse.

Yep. I. Sewed. A button. On a blouse.

Crazy, eh?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’m not particularly domestic. I get nervous making Jell-O.

Just thinking about my brief childhood foray into 4-H Club makes my stomach jump.

There were three projects for girls: Sew a blouse, knit a hat, and string a necklace.

“Why can’t I make a birdhouse with the boys?” I asked.

“Because you have a vagina, sweetheart,” the Himmler-esque 4-H leader replied.

I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.

Anyhow. I sweated over these projects for what seemed like the longest winter in history. With completely disastrous results.

One sleeve was longer than the other on the blouse. The hat had a hole in it. And I can’t really talk about the necklace it was so traumatic.

So you can imagine how shocked Mom and I were when, walking through the Craft House at the Armada Fair the following summer, we discovered that my lop-sided blouse had won a red second place ribbon.

I’m sure the judges had good intentions. But that silly ribbon did diddly-squat for my fragile self-esteem.

Instead, it transformed me into the cynical, domestically challenged freak before you today.

Head Heart Hands my ass.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In truth, the button is something the cleaners should’ve caught and repaired. I actually tossed it in the dry cleaning basket after discovering the missing button a couple weeks ago but forgot to mention it at the drop-off. Of course they should’ve caught it but apparently the Ancient Chinese Secret is “Sew your own fucking buttons, Missy.”

So this morning I gathered up the necessary materials and fixed it myself.

Thread. Needle. Jim’s ‘cheater’ reading glasses. Scissors. Button.

Here’s the surprise: Aside from stabbing myself in the finger several times, it was extremely comforting.

“I could do this all day,” I thought. “Or at least another 10 minutes.”

There was something about it that felt – I dunno – quaint. Cozy. Old-timey.

Plus, I now have this tight-as-a-button button on my shirt again. I even re-threaded two other buttons that were threatening to make a break for it.

Was this the only shirt in your closet, Hed? How about just giving it another go at the dry cleaners? Why waste a morning on something like this?

It’s completely irrational, I know.

But no more or less rational than a morning blowjob.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Pussycat Dolls - Loosen Up My Buttons
I am reading: The Shack by William P. Young
And I am: Domestically challenged

Breaking the gatekeeper

We run a lean office here. On any given day there’s rarely more than eight of us. And no receptionist.

Lean.

From a marketing/customer service perspective, I’ve always believed in having a live person answering the phones rather than an automated system, so a couple months ago I offered to help out catching calls. It’s maybe three or four per day. No big deal.

Here’s the really twisted part: I actually enjoy it.

It gives me the opportunity to fuck with people with impunity.
~~~~~~~~~
"Can I speak with Rich Johnson please?"

"He’s not available would you like to leave a message?"

"Is there a better time to reach him this week?"

What I want to say: "No. There is not a better time to reach him. This is, in fact, the very best time to reach him. How do I know? Because he just walked by my desk all loose and chatty, fresh from his morning dump. But guess what? You’re still not getting through so give it up, ya phonetard."

What I say: “Please try back tomorrow morning around this time.”
~~~~~~~~~
"Hi this is Doug I’m calling from DouchebagsRUsPrinters and I’m updating our records, could you please give me the number on the front of your printer? Could you check that for me now please?"

"Which company are you with again?"

"Douchebags. R. Us. Couldyougivemethenumberonthefrontofyourprinter? Couldyoucheckitnowplease?"

"Which printer?"

"Your printer, could you check that for me now please?"

"Which printer?"

"Um…your color printer? Could you check that for me now please?"

"We have several color printers. Which printer do you need?"

"Um, I really need to update my records could you check that for me? Could you check the number on the front of your printer for me now?"

"Listen up, chump. We both know you’re not updating any records. You don’t have a record. You’re talking fast and acting like you know my business to get me to give you information so you can try to sell me shit we don’t need. Isn’t that right?"

CLICK.

And yes, that is exactly what I said.
~~~~~~~~~
"Hi this is John Hunt calling for Rich Johnson, is he in?"

"He’s not available right now would you like to leave a message?"

"Yes, please."

"What was your first name again? Mike?"

"Um, no. John Hunt."

Oops.
~~~~~~~~~
There’s another guy who calls every day. Every day. Every. Day.

Asks for my boss. Won’t give his company. Won’t say why he’s calling. Won’t leave a message.

Each time, I tell him I’m happy to take a message but he says he’ll try back.

What I want to say: "Remember when that hottie Jessica Gable shot you down for prom and you went home all depressed and your dad took you for ice cream and told you to keep trying so you got right back in there and the next day you asked that other hottie Emily Wilkinson and she shot you down too but you got more ice cream so it wasn’t so bad and then you asked that chick with the glasses from biology Rita Something-or-Other and she said no too and suddenly it was three days before the big dance and you’d gained 10 lbs. from all the fucking ice cream and decided to ask Agnes Gottfried who smells just like a fresh bag of Cheetos and she said YES and your dad said see son, persistence pays off? This is not one of those times. Here at ______, even the chubby chicks say no."

What I say: "Can I take a message?"
~~~~~~~~~
Where even the chubby chicks say no.

This is a great tagline. For something.

Overeaters for Abstinence?
~~~~~~~~~
Pay attention sales reps. Here are some important tips for dealing with bitchy gatekeeper types like me:

Be honest. Don’t be that printer douchebag, hustling clueless receptionists into helping you make your pathetic sale. If you’re starting off our relationship with a lie, what makes you think I’ll ever trust you enough to buy something?

Explain yourself. You could be selling the Exact Thing my boss needs Right Now. But because you’re acting like the International Man of Mystery, I’ll make sure you never, ever speak with him. If you don’t tell me who you are, your company, and why you’re calling, there’s no reason why I should put you through.

Sell me, sell my boss. Practice on me. Convince me you’re pitching something of value and I just might believe my boss will see value in it, too.

Wait a minute. Don’t pitch me, dammit. Try showing genuine interest in what we do as a business and see if what you’re selling actually could help. Use me to learn about the person you're trying to reach - I'll happily share a little information if I think a) it's appropriate and b) you're worthy.

Get a new job. If you're selling toner cartridges or paid Yellow Page listings over the phone, seriously, get a new fucking gig. Now. Nobody's buying the crap you're selling. Plus who needs that kind of karma? You'll spend the rest of your pathetic life and possibly even the next one struggling to get laid, all for scamming young receptionists with more boobs than brains.

Be funny. If one of these calls-everyday-idiots would just say “Listen honey, I’d use my cock to tap out Yankee fucking Doodle in Morse code on this headset if I thought it would convince you to let me talk to your boss” I’d giggle like the madcap chubster I am and joyfully transfer that bastard right on through.

Really.

Thanks for calling and have a nice day.
~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Kid, You'll Move Mountains - Volts
I am reading: Nothing much
And I am: Having some fun

The sacred cellophane lamb

"It's blessed and everything."

That was Jim, explaining this Christian aberration he brought home from Kalinowski's, a famous Polish deli on the northwest side of Chicago.

He goes there a few times each year to bring home Polish sausage for holiday meals at his mom's.

It took some getting used to.

The scary lamb cake sitting on your counter?

Well that, and the idea of having Polish sausage with every holiday meal.

Easter, it's ham and Polish sausage. Christmas, it's roast beast and Polish sausage.

Seriously. It's one of the great religious mysteries - why we always get Polish sausage as Satan's side dish on holidays.

Does your family do anything like this?

Feel free to use Mary's little masochistic lamb as a reference point on the whole odd/ethnic continuum of holiday food traditions.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know, I know.

The lamb is symbolic of Christ, who was sacrificed for our sins yadda yadda yadda.

Here's one of the more succinct explanations of the Christian conundrum I've found, posted by someone named Fifthhorseman on the news site Fark:

Why Christianity is the essence of irony:

Jesus: Hey guys, great news! You don't need a church or a priest to be tight with God. You just need to be a good person and perform good acts. You don't need faith!

Paul & Co: Awesome! Let's create a church to spread the new faith!

Jesus: *facepalm*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here's another Easter tradition: Jim and I watch The Ten Commandments.

Yep.

Moses in the mud and Edward Where's-Yer-Moses-Now G. Robinson and a pre-Bo John Derek and a wily half-naked Yul and that whore Ann Baxter and Mrs. Munster.

It has nothing to do with Jesus or Easter. Yet we watch it, in all its epic-y goodness.

It's nearly four hours long. So over the course of the two or three days it takes to watch, all major household decisions are finalized with "So let it be written, so let it be done!"

And we pepper our conversations with random, grandiose statements like:

"Blood makes poor mortar!"

"God made men. Men made slaves!"

"Love cannot drown truth."

Plus I wander around the house in silk robes purring "OHhhhh, MOSES!"

It's true. Really.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's hard to put my finger on what bothers me about the lamb cake. Maybe it's because I would need something like 2,000 fingers.

But mostly it's because I'm not big into Christ-related food items like lambs and whathaveyou.

Because when cuddly-wuddly Christ makes his much-anticipated comeback, I would NOT want to be caught dead munching on a chocolate crucifix.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Ten Commandments
I am reading: Nothing, really
And I am: Thinking of ways to slaughter the cellophane lamb

This extra hour

It's 1993.

The scene opens with a long view of nothing but brake lights - hundreds of cars and trucks - jammed up at a toll plaza.

She sits in a shiny red Mazda Miata talking quietly but urgently into a cell phone.

"I know, I'm sorry, the surgery went long and I had to wait..."

While she's apologizing, she's searching for change to pay the toll. Traffic isn't moving so she looks through her bag, the glove box and between the seats. Nothing. She flips on her right signal to move into the manual lane to pay with cash.

"I'm sorry, really, I'll be there soon...I know. I know. I'm sorry."

Settling in for an even longer wait in the attended toll lane, she's adjusting her mirrors in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid the glaring bright lights of a semi truck behind her in line.

"Okay...it won't happen agai...no, really, I'm sorry...OKAY..."

There's a loud CLICK as the man she's talking with ends the call abruptly.

At nearly the same moment, the lights flip off on the semi behind her. Her face visibly loses tension. She closes the phone, tilts her head back and half smiles.

"That was awfully nice," she mutters.

She looks in both mirrors, trying to catch a glimpse of the semi driver but the truck is too close; she sees nothing but the massive grille.

"Peterbilt," she says. "Old truckers never die, they just get a new Peterbilt."

She inches forward to the toll booth.

"Hi I'd like to pay for the guy behind me, okay?"

In the course of seconds, the toll taker manages to look confused then skeptical then irritated.

"You know it's a buck fifty for trucks, right?"

"Fine, whatever it is, take it out of this please," she says, handing the attendant a $20.

Clearly aggravated at being asked to do rudimentary math, the toll booth worker thrusts the change out to her with a frown.

"Thank you," she says, taking the money.

She hits the gas with a smiling glance into her rear view mirror. Then she turns up the radio. Radar Love.

The scene closes with a view from the semi trucker's cab, focused on her license plate: ELI 90.

The trucker flips his lights back on again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Explanation: Our alarm clock automatically adjusts for the old version of Daylight Saving Time. By the time we realized what happened, we were already up and well into the morning.

This extra hour. It was a gift of sorts. There were so many things I could've done with it. But I decided to finally sit down and re-write the first scene in a story called 'No Place' I've been working on for more than 10 years.

I don't know the correct format for script writing. But here it is. What I did with the extra hour.

It feels pretty good. I'm thinking of writing the final scene next.

Because sometimes it's a good idea to know where you're going before you start walking down the road.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Batman Begins
I am reading: This little story
And I am: Happy and relaxed

How the rest of us are feeling, Mr. DeSantis

Last week the New York Times published a letter from Jake DeSantis, an executive vice president for A.I.G.

It was a pretty slick move. He's a honorable employee rat resigning leaving a sinking ship and donating his bonus to charity trying to make himself look good to potential employers.

Anyhow, this guy, Matt Tabbi, wrote a response that captures how us regular Americans are feeling.

Money quote:

"Only a person with a habitually overinflated sense of self-worth could think he deserves a $700,000 retention bonus, even if it has to be paid by taxpayers, when in reality no one "deserves" that much money. It may be that some people do get paid that much, but most people who make that much money have enough sense to realize their cushy lifestyles are an accident of fate, of birth, of class, not something that is "supported" by some unwritten natural law of compensation.

Hey Jake, it's not like you were curing cancer. You were a fucking commodities trader. Thanks to a completely insane, horribly skewed set of societal values that puts a premium on greed and severely undervalues selflessness, communal spirit and intellectualism -- values that make millionaires out of people like you and leave teachers and nurses, the people who raise your kids and clean your parents' bedpans, comparatively penniless -- you made a lot of money."

Amen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The news
I am reading: It again, it's that good
And I am: Glad someone said it

No phone no pool no pets

“Just say no?” asks Mom.

“Yes,” I say. “Oops, I mean NO.”

“Really. Okay. Will you learn to cook?”

“NO!”

“Will you drive to Michigan to see me tonight?”

“NO!”

“Will you call yourself a Christian?”

“NO!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This week’s assignment: Just say no.

Saying no ain’t easy.

So we say yes to avoid conflict or hurt feelings and we end up resentful and stressed.

I used to be more of a yes person.

No shit, Hedy, we’ve heard the stories.

Shaddap.

Now I’m slowly getting more comfortable with no. It’s still a bit of a struggle for me because I like helping people – it’s one of the main reasons I enjoy my job so much.

But I’ve learned that saying yes all the time gets me into trouble because there are only so many hours in the day and if I say yes to everyone and everything, chances are something’s gonna slip.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We tend to soften our no’s. Do you do this?

“I’d love to, but I’ve got this thing…”

“No I can’t today, but maybe we could…”

When they’re truthful, these excuses are okay. The danger is when we tell Big Whopping Lies to avoid saying no.

No by itself. No without excuses. No without qualifiers.

The Power of No is enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The other unexpected bonus of learning about the Power of No is that I’m learning to accept hearing it as well.

I’m not taking no personally.

I can let myself feel disappointed but it’s not wrecking my day like I’m some two year old throwing a tantrum.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The other part of the assignment was the Silent No. Someone might not ask you out right for help, but they’re telling you a story with the goal of getting you to offer.

I like this version of no better than saying it. But it's sneakier and less powerful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Okay, the fact is, I’m struggling with this assignment.

Mostly because the majority of people who ask me for stuff are at work and it’s my job to do things for them.

I almost said no yesterday. I punted.

A sales rep stopped by my desk to pick my brain about a big client meeting she’s got next week and I was in the middle of customizing a PowerPoint deck for another sales rep who’s got an equally big client meeting next week.

“We should talk about the BI work we’ve done in healthcare and see if it’s enough to fill a slide, whaddaya think?”

I already know it’s not enough; it’s why we don’t have one yet.

I could feel the tension rise from my shoulders into my neck and finally settle in directly behind my eyeballs.

It was a perfect opportunity to say “NO!”

“Sounds good,” I say. “But can we talk about this tomorrow or Monday? I’m jammed right now with Adri’s thing for _____.”

So not quite a complete failure at the whole no thing. But it’s a start.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mini good thing list:

Scottie came through surgery just fine (albeit with staples in his gourd); he called yesterday sounding rested and happy.
The biggest blessing of my life - my Mom - was born 63 years ago yesterday.
A house I have been coveting since 1992 is for sale in Geneva.
The meditation workshop in the office this week was lovely.
A really nice voice mail from Da on Tuesday.
The new BIG Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, try ‘em.
Not one, but TWO birthday cakes.
Discovering the best thing about Facebook: EVERYONE knows it’s your birthday.
Jim is home and cooking healthy meals for me.
This class -- it's nothing short of a miracle and is bringing me even closer to the people I love most.
Singing Good Morning, Good Morning with Mom this morning.
When the bus comes early.
Being the first person in the office and turning on the lights.
Getting this quote in my in box today: “We should not expect others to be like us, because life becomes really boring when we have to live with our own shadows. We should learn to respect the uniqueness in every human.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: King of the Road – Roger Miller
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Feeling the Friday kind of joyful

5 Reasons Why Numbered Lists Suck Ass

You know what I’m talking about.

The top 100 movies of all time! The top 10 sexiest beaches! The 7 best-kept secrets to a happier marriage!

Numbered lists. They’re everywhere. They’re addictive.

And they are perpetually disappointing.

I blame Casey Kasem. It’s his fault.

As a kid, I looked forward to listening to his Top 40 list all week.

And then invariably, #1 would be some lame-ass song like All Out of Love by Air Supply.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In middle school, DewMama and me would go to Musicland at Lakeside Mall and flip through 45s, adding ‘between the sheets’ after the titles.

“OHMYGOD! Do That To Me One More Time between the SHEETS!”

“All Night Long between the SHEETS!”

“Upside Down between the SHEETS!”

Okay, we get it, Hedy. You were an irritating pervert even back then.

Pretty much.

I recall peeing in my Calvins just a little over The Biggest Part of Me by Ambrosia. It still makes me giggle.

And yes I had to look up the Ambrosia part. I’m not that twisted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fact is, these lists aren’t created to actually provide five great ways to save your job life marriage money home ass – they’re designed to suck you in so that some marketing chooch can charge more for advertising.

Note to self: Create list of 5 Biggest Bullshit Marketing Tactics of All Time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So here it is.

Five Reasons Why Numbered Lists Suck Ass

1) The Film Strip Effect – Nothing is more irritating than web sites that publish loooong lists on individual pages, forcing you to click forward to read the next item. There’ll be no skipping ahead or scanning for what’s interesting. Nope. It’s as if I’m trapped back in BEEP Mrs. Langren’s class BEEP at Atwood Elementary BEEP trying to stay awake through BEEP another monotonous film strip BEEP regarding the migratory habits of BEEP unladen African swallows.

2) The TMI Effect – There are some things about childhood that should remain sacred. And there is definitely such a thing as Too Much Information. Because of this list – 9 Corporate Attempts at Edgy that Failed Hilariously – Barbi’s emasculated arm-candy boyfriend is now Cock Ring Ken. And you may not remember this, but I sure do: KEN DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A COCK.

3) They’re Always Wrong – There's a list out there on the Internet that ranks The Simpsons as the best TV show ever. Yep. Forget All in the Family. Or M*A*S*H. Only in America could a cartoon get best TV show. And this site says the #1 movie of all time is Citizen Kane – the biggest bullshit waste of time movie I’ve ever seen in my life and that’s saying a lot since I sat through Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skullfuck last summer. Jim and I were bored one night and watched VH1’s Top 100 Hard Rock songs. Who in their right mind ranks anything by Guns N Roses over anything by Led Zeppelin, Metallica, or Black Sabbath? C’mon! He’s Ozzy-fucking-Osbourne for Christ’s sake.

4) They Just Don’t Know When to Quit – To be honest, right now I’m fresh out of ideas for 4 and 5. Yet 5 is a nice round number. And I’m committed. So this is the part where I pull something outta my ass and you start to get frustrated. See? Isn’t it amazing how that works? Every fucking time.

5) The Last Thing on the List Always Contradicts The First Thing on the List
How to get a man in 5 easy steps: #1: Tell the truth!...#5: Be Yourself!

How to do your taxes without getting audited: #1: Tell the truth!....#5: It really doesn’t matter if you tell the truth, you will be audited by those IRS fuckwads, it’s only a matter of time.

The 7 best-kept secrets to a happier marriage: #1 Tell the truth!....#7: It really doesn’t matter if you tell the truth, you will end up divorced and alone, it’s only a matter of time.

See? There ya go. Another disappointing list.

Now I'm off to work on 5 Ways to Avoid Getting Sucked Into Reading Numbered Lists.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover – Paul Simon
I am reading: Neil Steinberg in the Chicago Sun-Times
And I am: On the bus, Gus

Why I love Jim reason #9021

"I downloaded an iPhone application to track my periods."

"iFlow?"

We're back to regularly scheduled programming tomorrow, kiddies. Have a great day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: True Faith - New Order
I am reading: The Shack
And I am: Relaxed