Wednesday, December 5, 2007

**We interrupt your regularly-scheduled programming for an insanely busy and stressful December for all of us. Posting will resume ... well ... sometime. Thanks for your patience--please keep all your loved ones in your thoughts during these trying times, and we will, too.**

Friday, November 30, 2007

i wonder what christmas will bring me this year?

there's quite a bit going on in my life right now, so rather than talk about what christmas will be like for us this year (ie. lots of medical bills and a husband recovering from brain surgery), i'll stick to the happy stuff.

*lots of christmas music on the radio - oh boy, do i love christmas music. it's always so cheerful and it never fails to get me in the spirit. i like the traditional carols, but i'm also a fan of some more recent tunes...and not so recent tunes like run dmc's 'christmas in hollis.' i LOVE that song. anyway, there's a radio station here that has been playing christmas music since october. i was a little surprised to hear 'white christmas' on my way home from work one crisp fall evening, but i couldn't pull myself away from it. i tried super-duper hard not to listen to christmas music before thanksgiving, but it was a bit hard for me. thankfully, we're almost into december and now i don't have to make excuses and i'm very content!

*lots of food - seriously, what is christmas without an overabundance of food? has anyone ever been to a christmas dinner where there's been a food shortage? i love christmas because i can eat what i want, when i want, as much as i want, and no one says a word! half the time i'm not even hungry. it's just that a piece of pumpkin pie loaded with cool whip at 9:30am sounds good, that's all. anyone want to argue with that?

*lots of gifts for my girls - this year, i discovered the joy and savings of black friday. i have never shopped on black friday and didn't plan to this year either. but, after perusing the ads in the toys-r-us circular, i couldn't resist. there were so many things on sale that my kids had been asking for. and after adding up the total savings from my early shopping spree, there was no way i could pass it up. i second guessed myself when my alarm went off at 3:30am, but boy was i happy by 6:00am. i had already made my trip to toys-r-us and was back in my warm, comfy bed with visions of dora and high school musical dancing in my head. success!!

have a very merry christmas everyone!

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

I Wonder What Christmas Will Bring?

  • George Bailey, a character with whom I always sympathized. My dad once told me, when I was about 12 years old, that I, like George, was also "born older." I just know I, too, thrilled at the sight of that huge piece of luggage.
  • Ralphie Parker, and the Bumpus's dogs, and that lamp - 24 hours on one special day on TNT, and don't we all watch it at least once?
  • The island of misfit toys, and the elf who wanted to be a dentist - a fact I totally accepted as a kid, and which I now find somewhat random and strange.
  • The poor little Christmas tree that Charlie Brown brings home.
  • The heart that grew so big it cracked the magnifying glass, and the poor little dog who fell right over because of those antlers tied onto his poor little head.
  • Rudolph, and claymation Santa, and that horrible nails on a chalkboard sound that his nose makes in the blizzard.
  • Ebeneezer Scrooge, be he Mickey, Muppet, or regular old grumpy human.
  • The Nutcracker, which I vow I will see one of these days.
  • The poor burglars who get irons in the face and tacks in the feet and tar all over them, while Macaulay Caulkin connives and watches old gangster movies.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

I Wonder What the Holidays Bring?

The Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's holiday triumvirate is my favorite time of year. I love the eating, the traveling, the finding of the perfect gift, and the starting over. For me, the holidays always bring excitement and childlike wonder. There's no telling what Santa Claus or Superman will leave under the tree for me, but there are many things that the holidays are always guaranteed to bring.

The movie Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Christmas carols playing in the background while Superman and I decorate the Christmas tree (and "discuss" whether the lights should be white or colored). Holiday office parties that are sure to embarrass at least one person and are usually attended halfheartedly (but at least there is usually food! And a bar! And maybe Christmas bonuses?). Christmas cookies! The anticipation of Christmas morning being so overwhelming that I can't sleep past 5 a.m. Receiving holiday cards from friends and family (and my hand hurting from addressing holiday cards). Wondercat will chew on the Christmas tree when he thinks we are not paying attention -- the dead giveaway will be the crackling sound of artificial tree clamped between his teeth. Unpredictable weather. Candy canes. The Santa tracker. Black Friday, Cyber Monday and the spending of way too much money. Squeals of delight when the gift they've been wanting most is finally opened. Hugs (there are always a lot of hugs during the holidays). The food (there is always so much darn food and candy(!) during the holidays) and the inevitable weight gain. Hot chocolate (with candy canes!). Traditions come alive again. Superman will attempt to reclaim his "Best Gift Giver" award again. Reporters reporting live from the airports to talk about the crazy holiday travels and about how busy the airports will be/are. Stockings will be hung with care. Santas will be in malls all over the country so that children can whisper their lists to him (or get awfully funny pictures with him that often entail crying). Magic will be in the air.

I think what I love most of all is the spirit that surrounds the holidays. It is as if the world is overtaken by a joyfulness that can't be shaken until the spell is broken by the clock striking midnight on New Year's Eve. Ah, the holidays.

Monday, November 26, 2007

I Wonder What Christmas Will Bring?

**I wrote this post in my head last night while I was drifting off to sleep, so technically it counts as a post from yesterday. Hence the date/time stamp.**

Let me start out by noting that I am not one of the people for whom Christmas begins the day after Halloween. I make a point of complaining vociferously the moment I see the first Christmas commercials and decorations because I think stores start the “holiday rush” ridiculously early, and every year it gets earlier. I grew up in a family that didn’t look for a tree until the first weekend of December and didn’t put it up until the second weekend. So I’m apologizing to myself for surrendering to this week’s wonder, I guess.

Every year, The Boy and I will start asking each other this question on or around December first: “Are we doing Christmas this year?” This is not to imply that we choose whether or not to celebrate the season or send cards or decorate. This question is shorthand for “Are we going to exchange gifts with each other this year?” To some people it might be blasphemous to admit, but we don’t plan on getting each other Christmas presents every year, without fail, surprises and secrets and stealth. The past few years we’ve always had some big purchase or event that stood in for Christmas: moving across the continent, buying our first home, a trip back East followed by a trip to Prague. But right now, there’s not too much happening in our lives that would prohibit us from doing at least a little something.

The last time we truly “did Christmas,” we set crazy-low limits on our spending, just to see how creative-yet-wonderful our gifts to each other could be. I highly recommend it, especially if nothing perfect has already come to mind for a loved one. It really does seem that the more restrictions on your gifting options, the cooler the gift ends up being.

We asked each other (well, I asked him) The Question on Sunday. For the record, folks, that was November 25. A week early … what’s become of me?!? Anyway, we never did set upon an answer, as we were distracted by the tangential conversation: “Are we going to have a holiday party?” This was asked because on January 2, we bought our Christmas cards and just happened to also make it home with cute little seasonal party invitations. (To use or not to use, that is the question; whether ‘tis nobler in the home to suffer the ‘nog and preparation of an outrageous party, or to take dip to another’s house, and by not hosting, save them?) This tangent is obviously a seductive one; sorry.

So with The Question still not answered, I wonder what will happen in a mere month? Will there be mysterious packages under our tree to each other from each other? And if so, did we make any rules about them?

Maybe I’ll let you decide, dear readers. What do you think? I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with an awesome present … should there be a theme? Price restrictions? The only thing I won’t allow is the homemade rule. Neither of us is crafty, so that would just be cruel. Suggest away! And happy shopping for your own favorite people.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

I Wonder What We Are Thankful For

Due to the Thanksgiving holiday, the Wonder Women have taken the week off from individual entries. Instead, as a tribute to the holiday that asks us to give thanks, we've made a list of the things we are thankful for. As you will see, we truly are a very lucky group of girls.

g love
-Short work weeks
-Long weekends
-My tiny 4 ounce son
-My husband, Darlin'
-My boyfriend, John Corbett (Chris in the Morning from Northern Exposure, and Aiden from SATC)
-Speaking of SATC, the upcoming movie, which I await with bated breath
-My friend MSO Rin, who introduced me to SATC by showing me the series finale (I was late in the game) - and for lots of other things that she knows
-My friend Wicked M, for starting a blog that got us all connected again - and for being a non-stop cheerleader to everyone she knows
-My friend SJ, for offering of herself and her "shoulder", and being a wonderful source of comfort and positivity
-My stupid job, that I love to dawg but must (grumblingly, reluctantly) acknowledge has brought wonderful things to my life
-Schmuppy Dog and Schmitty Cat
-My family, my friends, my reliable car, my tiny house, and Cadbury's English Toffee filled chocolate
-And finally (another thing I have to thank Wicked M for introducing me to) -

*pretty, fluffy snow
*the way my fat cat J walks across my pillow/hair to wake me up on the weekends
*hot coffee & a chocolate-chip-ginger cookie (the breakfast of champions)
*my favorite pair of jeans (they fit again … thanks, gym membership)
*a hilarious voicemail from my then-three-year-old nephew that I have kept for almost a year and listen to once a month
*really liking my job most of the time
*long phone dates with my best girls
*stageXing’s laugh
*movie popcorn and contraband mini Reece’s Cups
*a close-knit family
*seeing good theatre
*getting a fresh new magazine in the mail
… and, of course,
*being a WonderWoman!

super jane
my list could be a million and a half entries long. i am one lucky (and very thankful) gal. i have been blessed in incredible ways and God always amazes me at how he pulls me through even the toughest of times. to save you all from reading 28 pages of 'thankings,' i'll keep it to a few. and even though they may be very general, i'm still thankful for them all the same!
-my babies and super jas
-a beyond loving, supportive, and hilarious family!
-the fact that i have a roof over my head and a job that is flexible and pays the bills
-anthony lapaglia

Wicked M
*My thoughtful husband
*Laughter coupled with snorting
*Good, true friends
*My amazing family
*My husband's recovered health
*Instant messaging that allows me to keep in touch with friends and to be entertained during my work day
*Sly the Wonder Cat, his chubby belly and his silent meows
*Seeing the Eiffel Tower up close and in person
*Escapism through television
*My job that allows me to earn a good living, blog during the day, and feel like I'm making a difference in the world.
*My husband having found the job of his dreams
*comfy lounge pants
*My ability to see the joy even through the pain

There you have it. Now, tell us what you are thankful for this year.

Friday, November 16, 2007

an average auto.

i'm not much into cars, so i'm not sure exactly what brand i would be. i've driven my car for over 2 years now and i still can't remember the model of it. i know it's a toyota, but that's about all. it's embarrassing, but what can i do? i'm just not into cars. so rather than describe the make and model of the car i would be, i'm simply going to describe it's features. after reading my description, please tell me which car i am. that way i'll know the answer if this topic ever arises in a party conversation. thank you in advance for saving me the embarrassment.

i am just your run-of-the-mill car. i'm not really flashy; in fact, i'm quite cheap. i watch my gas tank like a hawk and sometimes it bothers me. i'm not so much an economically wise car as much as just a cheap car. i'm a basic car. i don't have a lot of the extra bells and whistles because i'm simple and, to be frank, i just don't need them. why get a gps system when i can buy a map for a lot less? sure, i'd like to have a souped up engine, or those fancy hub caps that spin backwards while i'm sitting at a red light, but what's the point? it's just a waste of money, if you ask me.

i don't like to go fast either. i take my time getting from point 'a' to point 'b.' i never, ever hit the accelerator when the light turns green; rather, i take my time coming out of the starting blocks. sometimes, i wait so long that by the time i decide to hit the gas, the light is red again and i've missed the opportunity to advance in my journey.

i like to think that i very rarely encounter any transmission problems. i'm built to last and what you see if (usually) what you get. i have a solid infrastructure and have read many manuals on how to maintain myself - spiritually and physically. to the other road warriors i encounter along my journey, i appear to have it all together. my doors are always locked, my seatbelt is always fastened. but once i park in the garage and turn off my engine, i sometimes emit a few pillows of smoke. my engine though - the heart and soul of my frame - is firm and true.

i know i'm not a corvette or any type of sporty thing. i used to be the life of the party, but now i'm a little more subdued. steady, reliable, tried and true. just your average car, i suppose. just your average automobile.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Evolution, with Tires

In high school and early college, I was a VW bug (new model). Small. Unassuming. Kind of cute, kind of perky, but not really overbearing, or particularly sexy. Nothing superlative, in a good or bad way. Not the best or the worst, safest or least safe, cutest or ugliest. People tended to like me, and smile when I toodled by, a colorful flower in my dashboard vase.

In later college and just after, I thought I was a BMW convertible. Hot. Zippy. Wanted. I was a senior. I was thinner and more toned than I'd ever been (or have been since). I got parts in plays. I had a boyfriend with a hot English accent. I was traveling the world. I was the newest, hottest, most beautifully engineered thing. People ate my dust as I zoomed by impertinently. If you can't keep up, oldies, then stay off the Autobahn.

In the latter years of dating this English boy, who was not a good person, I was a broken down rotting old jalopy. I was put up on blocks, rusting in the front yard, with pieces falling off and no one to restore me. Nobody wanted me then. I was a wreck, ready for the salvage yard, headlights broken and blank from shame.

After that lonely foray into the car graveyard, I became a new 4WD pickup truck. Tough. Could roll over anything. Don't need no prissy automatic transmission. Don't need no lazy daisy automatic locks. Wanted to be the bare essentials, and to broadcast a cowboy loner, at-one-with-open-land, no-roads-necessary self-reliance. *This is the only one of my car identities that I ended up purchasing.*

And now? Now. I'm a minivan. I'm not even a cavalier SUV, saying To hell with global warming, my life is too busy and complex to deal with that crap, give me a car that's functional and also cool. Nope. Not a station wagon, which to my generation has a sort of boho chic air about it, like I'm so un-hip, I'm hip. I'm a big old freaking minivan, rumbling around, just lame enough to be lame. Built to carry children around. Manifestly not broadcasting youthful exuberance or self-reliance or sexiness or speed. Meant for integrated groups. But. Comforting. Roomy. Good for long trips. Lots of room, lots of configuration options with my interior space, incredibly useful, reliable, all things to all people. Able to become somebody's home, if they need it.

Yeah, I'm a minivan. I imagine I will continue as a minivan until retirement. And then, baby, I'm one of a pair of Harley Davidsons, riding the open road with abandon, wind whipped, free and fast and shined up. Sexy in a totally different way, in a Piss Off kind of way, in a tough-old-bird but still a rebel kind of way. Unfettered. Dangerous. Devil may care.

But with my grandkids' names stitched into my saddlebags.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007


I'm taking a pass on this week's topic for several reasons. The biggest reason is because I've never had a dream car and I'm not sure what kind of car I would be if I had the chance to transform. I'd like to think I'm some sort of a sports car, but I'm probably something boring and reliable like a station wagon. Meh.

My brain is cloudy and I'm just too tired and jet lagged to process a clear entry for today. My apologies. I'm sure I will return the week after Thanksgiving renewed and ready to be witty and to write something intelligent. For now, my apologies.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007


When I was in high school, I was invited to join a sorority. (Yes, yes, I know. It’s the South, y’all. A leftover from the debutante balls/coming-out presentations of yesteryear. Fiddle-dee-dee!) Anyway, I’ll never forget the junior who came to pick me up for the first in a series of weekend adventures/parties/dances/sleepovers. L. was a cheerleader, on Student Council, had adorable kinky-curly blonde hair, went out with the cutest soccer player at the private school across town, and drove what instantly became my dream car: a red Jeep Cherokee.

Long story short, my mom wouldn’t let me join that sorority—and I would have, too (but now I’m glad I didn’t b/c I know what a real sorority is about, and it’s not having your name announced by one of your former teachers in front of some antebellum mansion while you stand there smiling insipidly while wearing whatever heavier-than-a-gorilla, hotter-than-Hades sequined dress you could borrow from your “big sis”), partly because of L. and her awesomeness and the awesomeness of her red Jeep Cherokee. Which I fell in love with from the moment she let me sit up front and the other girls in the caravan (who were either juniors or seniors) laughed at my jokes.

So last week, when my friend A. went out of town and asked me to take her to the airport and hang onto her car while she was gone, I was beside myself with glee. Why? She drives it: a boxy, gas-slurping, four-door Jeep Cherokee Sport. And it’s red. It should belong to me. God bless you, A. I’ve never felt taller … or more wee and cute, all at the same time.

And while I was bouncing around town in A.’s Jeep (and I do mean “bounce,” because of all the things my dream car has, superior shock absorption isn’t one of them), I started thinking: if I were a car, I wonder what kind of car I’d be. Would I be this, my holdover love from age 15, a car almost that age itself, looking and feeling like a set of cherry-colored boxes with wheels?

Or would I be my car, one I love with all my heart but was chosen for me? (Thanks Mom & Dad! Buying your old car from you for $1 was the best birthday present ever! I’m grateful almost every day.) It’s a four-door that looks lilac to me but gray to everyone else—except when it looks silver. I used to think it was invisible b/c I could zoom along at 78 mph on I-65 when the speed limit was 65 mph and never get pulled over. I later learned that I wasn’t invisible, just lucky, and that luck like that runs out. My car has seen me through a dozen moves (most of them inter-state), a boy or two, and more drive-thru windows than I care to mention. It has made me very brand loyal, very vocal about the price of gas, and very, very happy. It has kept me safe and taken me to concerts, on camping trips, to weddings, and even to a prom.

I have to say that despite being able to drive my dream car and having it be just as fantastic as I’d hoped it would be, I think that if I were a car, I’d still have to be my car. I adore my light plum ’95 Saturn SL1 with all my heart, and get a little teary at the thought of not having her around forever. She has over 185,000 miles on her, and The Boy and I are slowly starting the discussion about when to … I can’t even say it. You know what I’m talking about.

I am my car! A cute little frugal thing that’s not the most trendy or flashy set of wheels on the block but that has tons of great memories (and, admittedly, a few dings). Reliable and easy to get to know ... with a normal-sized trunk.

Thursday, November 8, 2007


I Didn't Vote.

This is bad.

I always vote. Except sometimes, when you don't get t.v. stations, or the local paper, or work in the local area, you don't realize that it's voting day. Until 10pm on voting day, when you catch up on Wonder Women and turn with a furrowed brow to your political science student husband and say - Honey? Was there an election today?

This is inexcusable. Here are my excuses.

(1) I work an hour from the county where I live/am registered to vote. It be hard to get to the booths, mon.

(2) Um, can I still use first trimester of pregnancy as an excuse? I'm only a week out of it. What good was 3 months of puking if I can't get out of some social responsibilities?

(3) Due to aforementioned lack of t.v., local paper, etc., I know nothing about any candidates or propositions. I always feel guiltier voting sans information than I do about skipping altogether. Had I used my 29 year old brain that has been eligible to vote for 11 years, I would have realized one was coming up and boned up on stuff. But, um, see number 2.

(4) I voted last year. The year before. I vote all the time! I promise! Don't we get to drop our lowest quiz grade in this class?

So, I am the poster child for bad, bad American. But my sister is worse. She doesn't vote ever, I think largely to irritate me. She's very proud of her complete ignorance of the electoral process and all issues, candidates, propositions, etc. She loooves to drive me crazy with this. I looove to point out how lucky we are to live here and not Myanmar, or North Korea, and she goes Myanmar? Is that a chocolate bar?

Like how I turned this post from chastising myself for not voting to making fun of my sister? Now I look a lot better. Cool.

Peace and socially responsible electoral love to everybody who voted, and for those of us who didn't - may little elves visit you and tweak your nose and step on your feet and pinch you mercilessly until you agree never to do it again. - G

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Send get-well-soon thoughts to super jane's family and travel-safely thoughts to Wicked M. THANK YOU!

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Lucky To Be An American

I used to be one of those people who didn't vote. I know, I know. It's an awful thing to admit. As I get older and become more informed (and then more ticked off), I'm more motivated to do something to assert some change. I want to make my voice heard.

I hate the political season with every inch of my being simply because I hate the false rhetoric and macho bravado that the candidates employ. Most of the time I feel like they are more like slimy lawyers saying the same thing two hundred different ways to twist the real message than they are actual politicians saying things to affect real change. Rarely does a politician have a novel idea or platform and I greatly dislike that we so fear change that we actually encourage it. We continue to vote for the "safe" candidate or the candidate most neutral in their stance.

I think, if nothing else, that this current President's term(s) have taught us that the status quo is not always the way to go. The candidate with the most swagger isn't necessarily the best candidate. The candidate that is white and/or male isn't always the best choice. Thank goodness that in this election season we at least have a choice! There are quite a few options available to us and it is up to us to really listen to what the candidates are saying, to what they truly believe in, and what they truly stand for.

I do believe that you can affect change at every level. I may not be as informed about the local elections as I am about the current national election turmoil that is going, but I've done some research and I plan to use my voting power. Because I do care. Because I have a choice. Because I am lucky to be an American.*

Go Vote Today!
*And oh how I love to complain! Right, MSO?

Monday, November 5, 2007

Happy Election-Day Week!

I wonder how often we stop to think about how historic the next year will prove to have been. There are so many firsts that are possible with Decision ’08 … I wonder how much the fate of our nation will have changed by the end of that first Tuesday in November.

We could have:
· The first
female president
· The first African-American president
· The first Mormon president
· The first “Law & Order” star to become president

I’m sure that each current candidate would bring some kind of first to the White House … I just haven’t started my personal political research yet, so the above list is a little cursory.

But even without much of a clue about where I’ll cast my vote, I can feel the groundswell of change approaching, especially since the current veep won’t be climbing into the fray. I wonder how many of us will weep with joy … how many of us will curse our candidate’s loss … how many of us won’t feel any different at all.

There are people very close to me who don’t vote and don’t ever plan to start. My view is: if you don’t vote, you can’t complain. I have, however, been guilty of uneducated voting (yes, I’ll just vote for the woman when I have nothing else to go on). I take the big primaries and the general election seriously, trying to really get to the heart of what I think someone represents and deciding whether I want to let him/her lead me and mine. But City Council for Ward 2? I’m not so much with the caring.

So anyway. Here’s my point. Vote! I don’t really care (not yet, anyway) for whom you vote, just that you do it. Exercise the thrilling right you have to be history. Because this time next year, we’ll be living it. And someday people will ask you where you were when the first ___________ president was elected … and I want you to have a good story!

Thursday, November 1, 2007

i wonder why i like to hibernate.

it is funny that when faced with physical ailments or even psychological ones for that matter, all we want to do is curl up in a ball and have a little time to ourselves.

i guess i've never really thought about it before. i wonder why it is so comforting? is it some sort of primitive coping mechanism our cavegirl ancestors used long ago that has somehow passed along through time? or maybe it's an act that takes us back to our time in the womb when life was warm and grand? ah, i bet that's it!

i know we don't remember back that far, but think about it. when we feel insecure, when we feel sick, when we feel physcially or emotionally off kilter, we hide under big blankets with only our eyes peeping out. we make our bodies as tiny as possible and treat ourselves to whatever sounds good to eat - be it chocolate or chicken soup. and isn't that what we did in the womb? back in the day, we were teeny tiny, warm, content, and made our mothers eat whatever it is that we wanted at that. exact. moment. (can i get an 'amen' from the mamas out there?)

maybe it's the mom in me and the fact that i've grown 2 children in my belly. but when i feel sick or just need a little 'super jane' time, i revert back to the time my life first began when all was right with the world and attempt to capture that feeling once again.

Who Died and Made My Stomach the Boss?

Like Rin and M, I cannot deny my tendency to hibernate when unwell. I also can’t add much to their thoughtful and funny observations, so I’m going to talk about another tendency that we humans have when we’re not feeling up to snuff . . . and it has to do with food.

So, which are you? When you are physically, mentally, or spiritually unwell, do you hoof it for the pantry? Or does bad karma put you off your food and make you waste away into a swooning, pale, slender poor thing, described in 18th century whispers as suffering from “nerves” or “hysteria?” I cannot escape any kind of personal scrape without being reminded that my stomach is actually the ruler of this house. Distress reminds me that food is all, and all is food.

I have both tendencies, depending on the nature of the problem. Colds, flus, fevers, sore back, stubbed toe, chicken pox, my little finger hurts – if it’s a bodily illness that does not involve nausea, then a meal every hour and a half or so is definitely in order. PB & J, toasted. Hot chicken broth and grilled cheese. Tea and shortbread cookies. Sliced apples and cheese. Things steamy and cheesy seem to be my preference. Nourish the sick and sniffly me.

Things existential, especially affairs of the heart gone awry, leave me without an appetite. I have been known to drop twenty pounds following the demise of a relationship, and boy is that awesome when you run into the guy and his new girlfriend later. Fights with my loved ones leave me listless, all food tastes bad, and I’m put off my meals til things are made right again. On occasion I have asked Darlin’ to fight with me, please, because my pants are fitting a little tight this week and I need an appetite suppressant.

What’s your trigger? What makes you wolf down the chocolate, and what makes you push away the plate? Spill it.

Peace and tummy growling love to all of our readers (and their un/healthy relationships with food) - G

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

I Wonder Why People Hibernate?

This wonder is fairly easy for me. When I'm sick, or angry, or upset, or feeling sorry for myself, I just don't want to go anywhere or do anything. I don't want to see people or be bright, shiny Wicked M. I just want to curl up in my pajama pants on the couch. I want to snuggle into my comfy pillow and cuddle up with my cozy blanket. I want to watch bad daytime t.v. or sleep for hours on end. I pretty much want to turn my brain off.

I think it it this way for most people. I mean, when you've just puked for five hours due to the flu, do you really want to put on make-up and go to work? Do you really want to have to smile when the boss asks you for the same print-out for the eleventeenth time? When you've just had your heart ripped out of your chest, stomped on and crushed, do you really want to go out with your friends to the club? Do you really want to shove your biscuit into those tight blue jeans and put on sparkly eyeshadow? The answer, my friends, is NO.

Everyone needs time to heal. We all heal in different ways, but I think one of the greatest ways to heal yourself -- whether you are sick or tired or cranky or heartbroken, etc. -- is to just be by yourself and be quiet. Be still. Be quiet. Marinate. Hibernate.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

I Wonder Why People Hibernate

So. This wonder is a day late b/c I was home with a sore throat yesterday and we don’t have the Internet at home. I’m feeling better today, but it was just one of those days where I knew I’d be miserable no matter where I was, so I decided to be miserable from my couch in my pajamas, watching horrible sitcoms on TBS (I couldn’t be bothered to get up and walk over to the DVD player).

I wonder if it’s our animal instincts that make us want to curl up and hide when we don’t feel well. I know it’s at least a cat instinct b/c whenever a meow-meow of mine is ill, first he yarfs in the most high-profile carpeted spot in the house, and then he caves it under our bed for hours. I’ve never been so sick I’ve gotten under the bed, but I’ve been in the bed on many a hungover morning or chest-cold-rattled day.

It’s not even that I have to be under the covers … just curled up into the smallest ball possible. Maybe it’s my attempt to keep all the misery sucked in tight. Being swaddled in a blanket, huddling around a cup of tea (which I only drink when I’m sick) so it steams up my glasses makes me feel better, even if only for a moment.

The same is true for emotional illness, too. My friend W said she spend the better part of a day this weekend curled up on her couch, wrapped in her grandma’s quilt, having a good cry. Everybody deserves a mental-health day, and some people choose to spend it celebrating good health and some people choose to spend it getting some not-so-good stuff out of their systems. But we all seem to do it similarly when we feel bad … hunker down and seek creature comforts until we feel normal-enough to unfold ourselves from our hidey-hole and stretch in the sun.

The worse my body (or heart or whatever) aches, the less human I feel, so I guess it’s only right to revert to one’s base nature when under the weather. What are your feeling-crappy rituals? Are the cerebral or physical? Why do you do what you do?

Friday, October 26, 2007

an 'i wonder' letter

dear fellow employee,
i wonder what possesses you to slather on so much perfume each morning. really, what gives?

is it a fear or insecurity about body odor? is it that you don't shower every morning and feel the need to cover up a stench? come on now, you can tell me. don't be shy.

i'm sure that you have felt that burning sensation in your own nose before. you know what i'm talking about...that stinging feeling that your nose hairs are being singed? yeah, i get to experience that unpleasant sensation each and every time i encounter you. i try not to breathe through my nose sometimes while we interact, but then i find my throat beginning to tighten up. and as i leave, i can taste your perfume in my mouth. and i don't necessarily like the taste of roses.

please. one squirt of your rosey scent is plenty. no need to wear 1/4 of a bottle each day.
your disgruntled, anti-rose colleague

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

i *heart* jack malone.

boy, this is really a hard one for me. it seems like anymore, i hardly ever have time to watch tv. i used to *love* 'antm.' i was addicted to 'the bachelor' back in the good ole bachelor days. my worst addiction ever though was to 'temptation island.' does anyone remember this show? it only lasted for 3 seasons, but it rocked! i'm embarrased to admit it that i thought this show was AWESOME! plus, the guys on there were incredibly hot. you can never go wrong with a show that has good looking guys in it. am i right, ladies?

there are 2 shows nowadays that i cannot live without. 1) amazing race (season 12 begins on november 4!) and 2) without a trace.

1) this show is the best show ever created (imo). and sometimes when i'm in the city or on vacation or traveling about, i imagine that i'm on the show just to see how well i do. like when super jas and i spent 2 weeks in europe with some friends. we ventured out by ourselves one night and suprisingly, we made it back to the hotel in one piece. we joked that we would rock on 'amazing race' and we still plan to audition one of these days. i mean who wouldn't want to cast us on the show? an adorable wife, a husband with a brain tumor, and 2 pretty sharp personalities? we're a shoo-in, i tell ya, a shoo-in.

2) i got addicted to 'without a trace' last year. apparently, it's been on for several years (in fact, it started right after leah was born in '02), but it never made an impact on me. it's a great show, but what i love most about it is jack. call me crazy, but this guy just does something for me. he's smooth, he's gruff, and he takes no crap from anyone. i know he's old enough to be my dad, but i don't care. yum. i love him anyway.

and those are my guilty tv pleasures. like i said, i don't get the chance to watch a lot of tv, but my world stops for these two fantastic shows.

ps. have i mentioned that jack malone is my boyfriend?

DUM dumdum DUM dumdum

**The Wonder Women discovered today that they lost a sorority sister this week. Too young, too soon. Send uplifting thoughts to a small wee family in Lynchburg, Virginia that lost a mommy, wife, and daughter. If you will.**

Sing along with me now:

Wicky wicky wicky wicky wicky wick bam
Wicky wicky wicky wicky wicky wick bee bam
DUM dumdum
DUM dumdum
Who are you. Who who who who I really wanna know
Who are you. Who who who who?

Anybody with me?

Schmuppy dog absolutely loves this theme tune. Whenever it plays, he perks up his absolutely enormous ears, cocks his head in a classic look of "what the heck is that crazy noise??" and stares riveted at the screen until the wicky wicky part of the song stops. I tried to describe this puppy fascination in person to my husband and sister one time, and when I sang out the wicky wicky part, they both collapsed on the ground in hysterical laughter. I think it's an accurate vocal representation of a really weird noise. Sniff.

So, I'm talking here about the opening credits to CSI. I believe this stands for Crime Scene Investigation. It's a show that Darlin' refuses to watch on the basis that it is "stupid" and also "a waste of time." Hellooo, ten hours of baseball anyone? So, I make sure to time my Netflix rental for a night that he is not around - which anybody who knows the postal service can tell you, is not an easy thing to do.

CSI is a silly, silly show, but it would be a very boring show if it were at all true to life. And even though sometimes the whole situation of explaining stuff to the dumb person on the screen so the dumb people watching can follow complicated scientific techniques - is a little clumsy. Much like that sentence. (I believe in literature they call these dumb people that give us a window into complexity, the "expositionals.") Some of the stuff that happens is ridiculous, and not everybody in Las Vegas is sexy, and the children of the working parents in the show only come in once in a blue moon when they further the story but are conveniently absent when, say, Catherine has to suddenly run out real quick and do something important and investigative. But I say, so what? Who wants to watch real life??

This show does not edify me, like, say, a documentary about the children of Calcutta prostitutes. It does not make me think for hours afterward about the beauty and artistry, like some entertainment can. It does not make me swoon over the character actors, costumes, and writing, like a certain cancelled HBO series does. Maybe watching it is a waste of time, like Darlin' says.

Too bad. I like it. Wikki on, Catherine, Grissom, and Co. Wikki on.

Peace Out, DUM DUM - G

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

I Wonder Why I Watch That?

Okay, so this entry could easily be 400 paragraphs long. I watch so much bad-for-me television that it is embarrassing. Truly, truly embarrassing. For the sake of full disclosure, I'll list what you can find on my television weekly. I religiously DVR or watch Dancing with the Stars, The Biggest Loser, America's Next Top Model, Gossip Girl, The Hills, The Real World, The Office, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, Grey's Anatomy, The Amazing Race, and Making the Team: The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. *blush* You know what, I'm actually not even embarrassed. I love my television shows and I'm not ashamed -- except for maybe the part about Gossip Girl and The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.

I guess each show could incite me to want to try something new or to change something about myself. Mostly though, I watch television to escape. I love to settle in with a DVR of The Office and just laugh my biscuit off. It helps me forget that rude thing my boss said or the fact that one of my friends hasn't called me in more months than I can count.

Dancing with the Stars makes me want to be a dancer, The Biggest Loser makes me want to become an inspirational personal trainer and America's Next Top Model makes me want to chop all of my hair off. Gossip Girl makes me want to grow my hair out long and flowy, The Hills makes me want to go shopping and The Real World makes me thankful that I've never been on a reality show. The Office just makes me laugh (and makes me very thankful that my boss isn't Michael Scott!). Extreme Makeover: Home Edition proves to me that there is still good in the world. Grey's Anatomy makes me happy that I'm not so serious all the time, The Amazing Race makes me want to travel the world and discover new places, and Making the Team: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders makes me want to be more flexible and to be skinny enough to fit into one of those minuscule uniforms.

Television is an escape for me. It can be a supreme time suck, but I also think that it can be inspirational and motivational. I also like that television shows mean cuddle time on the couch with Superman. We can laugh and/or cry together. We bond. MSO Rin and I bond at least once a week over a television show that we've both seen and can't wait to talk about. I love my television and I'm not giving it up anytime soon. Oh no.

Monday, October 22, 2007

I Wonder Why I Did That?

**Out of respect for the WonderWomen who don’t watch “ANTM,” this week’s topic can be about wondering why one has taped/DVRed/rented what they know to be a very bad program.**

I taped the most recent episode of “America’s Next Top Model.” Actually, it wasn’t even the original Wednesday-night episode … I taped the Sunday-night encore airing.

What is wrong with me? I’m addicted!

Maybe it’s Tyra’s fierceness—or fierce forehead. Maybe it’s the leftover dreams I have of becoming a Seventeen model/writer/editor (yes, I planned to do all three simultaneously). Maybe it’s that the show isn’t edited to be manipulative at all, the interactions among the modellettes are real, and the modeling is HARD, y’all!

OK, not that last one. But I wonder, as a recently-young woman, just how much sway the makeover episode of each cycle has over me. I’m currently almost through a very arduous hair-growing project that will result in a donation to
Locks of Love and I think I’m slightly obsessed with makeovers/haircuts/submitting to the will of a very trendy stylist who has no regard for my lack of personal-grooming talent. It’s a dream that most girls have, I assume … being transformed into someone that mostly resembles you, but better. It obviously therefore transforms your life.

So I wonder if, as I sit on the couch allowing myself to care for and be manipulated by these sometimes silly and often totally vapid modellettes, I’m wishing I had a Fairy Tyramodel who would sweep me away, off the couch and onto the catwalk. And then my real cat jumps onto the couch to sit in my lap and I’m glad I don’t have to hear my name not called, return to the house, pack my belongings, and leave.

But I’m still really looking forward to my haircut. Only an inch and a half to go.

Friday, October 19, 2007

a ffaf for everyone!

okay folks, it's time to boldly come out of lurkdom for a little audience participation.

it's been a rough week for all of us, so let's vent about it! share your pet peeves, your puzzlements over bad behavior, and your wonderful wonderings.

it's a free-for-everyone friday!

Thursday, October 18, 2007

the annoyance of nail grooming habits

the sound of someone clipping their fingernails makes me want to vomit; therefore, i get incredibly annoyed (and nauseous) when i hear someone clipping his or her fingernails in public. don't get me wrong - i know that one needs to clip his fingernails in order to maintain good hygiene. i just don't understand why it can't be done in the privacy of one's own home...or car...or anywhere other than where i can hear him?

when i worked in another office here on campus, we would occasionally have luncheons and invite faculty from various departments on campus. during these luncheons, the faculty would update us on new things in their programs and other 'bragging' material we could use when speaking with prospective students. during one such luncheon, i was seated next to a well-respected faculty member on campus. after we had finished eating, we turned our attention towards the front of the room and began listening to another professor talk about her program. not 3 minutes into her presentation, the faculty member beside me pulls out a pocket sized nail clipper attached to his key chain. i sat horrified and disgusted as he got to work clipping and grooming his fingernails. not only was he being incredibly rude by doing this while another faculty member tried to speak, his nail clippings were flying here, there, and everywhere...AT THE TABLE!!! thank goodness i was done eating, because after seeing his pinky nail flip onto the plate beside me, i nearly hurled. and i wish i could say that i am kidding or even exaggerating, but sadly enough, i'm not.

the dude in the office next to me likes to clip his nails at his desk. and while it's a million times better than clipping them onto my lunch plate, i can still hear it. and that brisk, 'click clip' sound seriously annoys me.

i guess what i'm trying to say is that if you enjoy clipping and grooming your nails, more power to you. just please don't do it where i can see you...or hear you...or accidentally ingest one of your discarded clippings.


Wednesday, October 17, 2007

I Wonder Why Misplaced Apostrophes Trouble Me So?

OK. Originally this was going to be a rant about how a couple of ladies who frequent the gym I go to never wash their hands after they tinkle. This. Peeves. Me. Off. But then I thought – nobody’s gonna wonder why I feel this way. Everybody would feel this way. And really, what more can I say besides – Ew? Germs? This is not medieval times, folks.

So that was a no-go idea. And then I thought about how annoyed I get when my clock watching coworkers comment on how much OT they work, and that peeves the hell out of me. People, if you can’t do your job in your allotted 45 hours, then you suck, ok? Customer service ladies, we have 5 customers. There are 2 of you. That is 2.5 customers per customer service admin. I don’t think you’re too thinly spread. And oh, I’m sorry, because here comes another peeve – we must call them customer support technicians, not customer service admins. Because, see, there’s a big difference to the title when you add an extra syllable. BIG. DIFFERENCE. Say it aloud. Can you hear the difference?

So finally I settled on something particular perhaps to English majors, or (since I’m not actually an English major), people who took a lot of English classes. And absorbed a lot of grammar rules.

My peeve is the poor, misused apostrophe.

The its versus it’s dilemma is something I can totally forgive. I often make the mistake myself – which one is possessive? Which one is a contraction? Even if you know, sometimes the speed of typing and the lack of total concentration can throw your apostrophe placement off kilter. Don’t worry about it, it’s cool - or its cool? Never mind. What I meant to say was, don’t sweat it.

The Jones’s versus Jones’ conundrum is equally confusing. I give props to anyone who attempts that tricky construction. I prefer to re-word so as to avoid having to decide whether I went to the Jones’s house, or the Jones’ house, or even the Joneses house. Instead, I go to the house of Jones. Call me an apostrophic coward, but there you go.

However. Certain people tend to throw an apostrophe any old place in a word, just because they see an “s” in there – or perhaps they just think it needs a little something extra. When I go to pick up “apple’s” at the grocery . . . when I step into the “Ladie’s” room at the gym . . . when I get a note home from my little tutee’s teacher that says “spelling word’s should be practiced” . . . I swallow my fist and my hair frizzes. Especially the teacher making such a basic mistake. Honey, it’s your job to get this right. Work on it a little harder, ok?

My favorite example of apostrophe abuse was on a t-shirt hanging in the Australian coffee bar where I used to work. Some semi-famous athlete, maybe a rugby player, had signed the shirt in huge black Sharpie, and it was hung by the owner with pride, there above the bar. It said this: Marios place is “alway’s” Great Food. Thank’s mate!

He even threw in some misplaced quotation marks. It was great. It made my skin crawl.

And that’s my peeve.

G Love love's "all" of you precious reader's. Thank's!

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

I Wonder Why Lateness Bothers Me?

This topic was a tough one for me. I'm having one of those days where everything is bothering me, so I could have easily written this entry about 100 different things. Rudeness? People who just have to get in front of you in traffic? People who don't follow the rules? Coworkers who don't wash their hands? People who tell me to lighten up? -sigh-

I suppose that lateness has long been a pet peeve of mine because I’m almost always early. I hate having to wait on other people to show up. I hate feeling like I wasted my time and that I could have been doing something more fun than standing there waiting for them while they dawdled. Being late occasionally is understandable. It does happen to everyone and sometimes circumstances are beyond your control. However, when you are perpetually late, it drives me bonkers.

I have a friend who is always late. When I say always, I mean always. And she isn’t late by five minutes. She is consistently late by at least thirty minutes. I have tried tricking her by giving her a different time, but she still manages to meander in thirty minutes late and apologizes all over the place. I’ve always smiled and accepted her apologies, but inside I’m seething.

I think what bugs me most about people being late is that it makes me feel like my time isn’t valuable to them. It’s almost as if they think I have an extra thirty minutes built into my day to just sit around and wait for them to show up and grace me with their presence. It’s beyond irritating to me that these people think the world will wait for them.

I mean, what’s so darn difficult about planning ahead and being sure you have ample time to get somewhere? What’s so hard about knowing when you need to leave and actually leaving at that time? I just don’t get it.

A close second in my world of pet peeves is people who don’t pay attention while walking in public places. You don’t just stop in the middle of the walkway! Move to the side and then you can stop. So annoying.

*FYI: I give people with kids or health issues a pass on this pet peeve. There's no predicting when your toddler will have a meltdown that causes you to be ten minutes late or when you will be feeling so sick that you couldn't get up off the couch for another twenty minutes. I won't be peeved at you at all. I will be sympathetic.

Monday, October 15, 2007

I Wonder Why _____ Is Such a Pet Peeve of Mine?

I can’t stand it when people hover. Or lurk, or loiter, or dawdle. Near my office, over my shoulder in the kitchen, in a line at Target. You’d think it wouldn’t bother me—I love attention much more than the next gal, and hovering implies an interest in me and/or my current project. You’d. Be. Wrong.

There are all kinds of hovering, but they each irritate me equally. There’s the kind of hovering where someone will walk up to my office without coming in. Then he/she starts talking to me through the crack in my open door where the hinges are! Unbelievable. There’s the kind of hovering where someone will halfway walk into my office—but not far enough in for me to see him/her because my desk is parallel to the open door so there’s a sightline—and start talking to whomever is sitting in my office, usually without even acknowledging me. I can’t see this person, remember, and if it’s a student, I often don’t recognize him/her by voice alone. Then if the person leaves, I’ve been non-visited by a total stranger and I have no idea who it was! Supremely rude. There’s the kind of hovering that The Boy likes to do when I won’t let him help in the kitchen (cooking or cleaning) but he is smart enough to know that he’s not allowed to go away. That kind of hovering isn’t too bad, but it still makes my skin crawl when he stands two feet behind me, watching to see what I’m adding that’s not in the recipe. He always likes it when I add a little extra to our nachos or quiche or whatever, so calm down, dude! This is the type of hovering that is easily solved if I tell him to get a beer. Then he sits at the table and we chat and all is well—no stepping on his feet or accidentally elbowing him in the stomach. Everybody wins! Then there’s the worst kind of hovering: the kind a person does at the grocery store or another retail location. He/she will refuse to leave the checkout lane until the credit card is back in the wallet, the wallet is back in the pocket/purse, and the receipt is folded in eighths. Oops, the wallet comes back out so the receipt can go in the wallet, the wallet goes back in the pocket/purse, and then the customer in front of me has to check through every bag to make sure none of the items somehow escaped and are going to try to go home with me instead. Come on, lady! Move it along. Your shopping high isn’t going to last unless you leave this store and go to another one and spend money and exasperate other customers there!

This last one always happens when I’m only in line to get some contraband chocolate to take across the street to the movies and I’m running late.

Which, I’m sure, is a pet peeve of the manager of the movie theatre.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

I Wonder . . . When I'll Get to Meet Him

Most Wonder Women readers will already know that G Love is about to become Mama G. In about 6 months or so, the evil creature that has been wreaking havoc on her system for the past couple of months will eject her body in a horrifying way (it's natural, women have been doing it for years, um yeah does this ever make anybody feel better?) And she and Darlin'll get to meet their kid.

For the moment, we call the kid a him. We don't know what he is. I mean, he's obviously a human, unless my dream of giving birth to a martini glass comes true (pregnancy = dreams like you wouldn't believe). But it will be a few more weeks before we can know whether he's a Stephen Hawking or an Eleanor Roosevelt, so in the meantime we call him a him. And so far, he's just an abstract idea, a thrice nightly trip to the potty, the morning wretch-and-gag tango with the bowl. On Monday morning, I'll hear his heart beat for the first time, and that's when they say the fireworks begin. That's when I start to feel like a mother.

I'm hoping that that's when I stop having a panic moment and thinking - oh my god, did I make this all up? Did I make a mistake? Has it really been since July that I had my last visit from the red demon? Or was it really last week and I just forgot? Of all the other weird stuff that early pregnancy has done to me, that is definitely the weirdest. This terrifying idea that I am MAKING ALL OF THIS UP, trying to get lots of attention and get out of helping build the backyard fence, using this lie as an excuse to be late to work. Call me gross, but I keep my positive First Response tests (with a cap on the pee part) in my gym bag, so I can check them once in a while and reassure myself. Yes yes. Two pink lines. Positive. Both of them. You're good, G.

There are no tiny little hands pressing against the flesh of my belly yet, no soccer kicks to my ribs, no bladder bouncing - that all comes later. For now, there's just a little more flesh on my frame. Aversions to once-loved foods. A heightened sense of smell, extra oily hair, nails that are growing at the speed of light. None of these things scream "baby" to me - just "hygiene alert!" So after I hear that super fast kathunk kathunk kathunk come out of my abdomen on Monday, I think I'll finally be convinced that I'm having a baby. I'll have heard another person's heart beating from inside my self. Then I'll know there's really another person in there. Whoa.

And then we'll start dreaming of the day when we get to meet our child. I can't believe I have six more months to wait. I wonder when he'll come - when will his birthday be? I wonder what he'll look like - will he have hair? Be a baldie? Have my dad's crooked pinkies? Patrick's hazel-green eyes? My thin straight nose? Freckles like his paternal grandmother? I can't wait to find out. I just can't wait to meet my first born child.

Peace and maternal love wafting out to everyone on this FFAS (Friday was a busy day for Mama) - G

Thursday, October 11, 2007

my life with fiji t.

i have been dreading this topic since the ww began. i knew it was coming, but i'm not sure i'm still prepared to talk about it. i guess what makes my situation a little more unique is that both fiji t and my super jas were in my life at the same time. super jas did not follow after fiji t, but rather, their paths crossed with mine at the same time...nearly down to the same 24 hour period. i battled myself when their worlds collided with mine. my heart battled my head and this struggle continued for 4 years. in fact, it continued up until the month before i marreid my sweet super jas.

i'll spare you the 4 year struggle and simply reveal what happened on that final day of battle: my college graduation day (which happened to be 5 weeks before my wedding day). fiji t approached me that day and as i stood in line, prepared to walk into the gymnasium with my fellow classmates, he made me an ultimatum. he told me that i should leave super jas. he asked me to walk away from it all and make a life with him. but, he said, if i said no to him at that very moment, he would walk out of my life and never return. throughout those 4 years, he consistently questioned me as to why i wouldn't leave super jas. the only answer i came up with and the only answer that still rings true is this: because i just knew it wouldn't work with fiji t. i told him that on my graduation day. i told him that i wasn't leaving super jas and he simply walked away. i haven't heard from him since.

i also know that my life with fiji t would be drastically different. when we last spoke, he was working for a law firm and starting the process of attending law school. no doubt, he has since acheived that goal. but unlike the other ww's past boys, fiji t is probably living a very fast life. he's not a down home kind of a guy, so i feel confident that had we married, we would be living in some downtown high rise in a large city. he would be a top attorney (he is one of the smartest people i've ever met) at a law firm and i would work my usual job. we would attend black tie benefits on the weekends and hang out with tons of friends throughout the week. we'd listen to pink floyd all the time and drink dark ale with our dinner.

for vacations, we would escape to the ocean somewhere so that he could surf. or perhaps we'd go camping and hiking for a get away. no bother with vacations though, as we would most likely not be able to squeeze them into our fast paced life together. i'd long to slow down and he'd long to acheive more, to keep racing to the top.

we would NOT have kids, i'm almost certain of that and we'd likely have little contact with family. he didn't have the 'cleaver' family like i did and while i think the circumstances made him wiser, it did distance him a bit from family life. my family is very wholesome and i know he'd be uncomfortable with our relationship; with our phone calls; with our hugs and kisses.

i think about him a lot and super jas knows that. but, super jas also knows that my heart is with him and not with fiji t. i listened to my heart and have settled down with the love of my life. others may question my ultimate decision, but not me. i have a list of reasons why i love the man of my dreams, but the main reason is because it just feels good. he's a wonderful man with wonderful qualities, but most importantly, my heart is happiest when i'm with him. no big fancy reason, just a fact that's plain and simple. i know i'm supposed to be with him and that's all i truly need to know.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

To Be Mrs. C.

He was a 23 year old Australian surfer, working as Aquatics Director at the outdoor center where I also worked. We met, became friends, wooed, loved. When he sat next to me at Bahama Breeze (BIG CLUE) and asked me to be his wife, I said yes, and from that day on I was an engaged woman - in my own mind. We picked baby names, we started a business plan for our own future business, we made some rough wedding plans, and I was totally settled. He, it would seem, was not so sure, and a year later, he freaked, dumped me for a close friend (snort), and that was the end of that.

So I sometimes wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t freaked at that point. If we had eventually made it to the altar, how would my life be different?

A portrait of G Love as Mrs. C –

Hi. My name is G.C. I am an American living in Australia with my husband, A. I miss my family, I only get to see them every other year. But I do love this country, even though the town we live in is pretty small and there aren’t a lot of opportunities for me. We moved here after we were married, because my husband doesn’t have much education and the only place he could get a job was in the town where his dad is mayor. I work as a secretary for my father-in-law’s real estate business, which is fine work, though not really in my field. They don’t have much theatre out here in the boonies.

A. has a great sister in law, and I like her a lot, but she’s really my only friend here. Like I said, this is a small town, and most of these people are pretty suspicious of outsiders. A.’s 3 older brothers really try, but since they are all so different from me, it can be really hard to find common ground. A. and I have two kids, and I love them like nothing else. Watching them grow up and go to school in a totally different environment from me sometimes makes me feel really alienated from them, but it’s also fun to learn about a new world through their eyes.

My husband isn’t home much. He works nights and weekends as manager in a hotel bar about 60 hours a week – every weekend night he’s working until 2 or 3 in the morning. When he’s not working he’s usually out surfing, or with the guys at a local bar. He loves our two kids, and plays with them a lot, when he’s home during the day and I’m working. But he and I don’t spend a lot of time alone together. Sometimes, when I’m really blue, I think we got married too young, and he wasn’t ready to let go. Like the nights when it’s late and he isn’t home yet, and I call to check when he’s coming, and I can tell he’s been off duty for a while and other bartenders are covering for him. Or that time when a hysterical girl showed up on our porch, and A. just steered her right back out to her car, telling me she was upset because his friend dumped her. I’m not stupid, I know what these things mean. But I love him so, and I’m so far from home, I feel like if I can just put up with it for a few more years, he’ll get this wild streak out of him, and remember why he married me. Because he did marry me, and not one of these girls he meets at the bar, and that counts for something, right?

We used to talk about opening our own business. I want to do it back home in America, but A. says he won't leave Australia. I'm really motivated to get this business going, so I've looked into some small business plans. A. just says he'll read over my ideas later, and treks out the door with his surfboard. He' s always been a hard worker, and he does long hours at the bar to take care of me and the kids, but sometimes I feel like this life is good enough for him, whereas I want something more. I want to do a job I love, spend more time with the man I love, and make enough money to go home a little more often. He just wants to be who he is, where he is, and never change for the better.

So, I save a few dollars here and there, and keep it in my own bank account. Just in case one day I need to move up to Sydney, or better yet, fly with the kids home to America and make him chase us down, remember how important we are to him. And if he doesn't chase us . . . I don't even want to think about it. But all I'll say is I am NOT living here my whole life. I will have something better for myself and my kids. And my husband, if only he'll come with me.

Phew, that was a depressing exercise. Thank you, A.C., for saving me from this fate. Even if the way you did it was lowdown and dirty - still, I escaped an unhappy life because you figured out that I wasn't the girl for you BEFORE we got married. I cannot imagine a life wedded to someone who didn't want me there, isolated from everyone and everything I knew, with no way to escape. This couldn't be more different from the life I have now. I couldn't be happier that things worked out how they did. I wish A.C. well (I last spoke with him 2 years ago, and at that point he was still single, still managing a hotel bar, still home). Dating him brought me a lot of good things, and marrying him would have ruined them all. P.J.W.E. is the one for me, now, and always.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

I Wonder What Life Would Be Like If I Were Mrs. A.?

There used to be days when I would dream of nothing but becoming Mrs. A. Mr. A. was the boy I dated from my sophomore year of college until the middle of my senior year of college. He was a star baseball and football player and he was built like a Mack truck. I have no recollection of how I met him or what it was about him that made me fall for him, but I do know that our relationship was one of those relationships. In the beginning, we were giddy with being "in lurve" and getting to know each other. After about a year, things started to head south. Mr. A. was a year ahead of me in school and about mid-way through his senior year, he had what I call the "I'm graduating from college and I'm freaking out" experience. He was panicked about working in the real world (if he didn't get drafted by a pro team) and about what it meant for our relationship. Ultimately, he dumped me the spring of his senior year and I had to watch him hook up with random girls until the school year ended. Bru-tal. We did the whole get back together, break up, get back together, break up thing for the entire summer and the first semester of my senior year. Finally, I told him to get lost and that if he ever called me again, he would be parting with the parts of him that make him a boy. I didn't hear from him again. Ever.

What's funny about this whole thing is that I know exactly where I would be if I were Mrs. A. I'd be living in northern Indiana and I would be the wife of a teacher/football coach. I would have at least two children and I would be raising them mostly by myself. Mr. A. would be off coaching quite often and then would be doing schoolwork at home most evenings. I would be expected to have dinner on the table every night and I would be expected to spend time with my in-laws who would probably live next door. We'd have a smallish home, I'd have small town friends, and I wouldn't get to leave town very often.

In short, I'd be miserable. In the paragraph above, I've basically outlined a life of misery for me and a life that is full of compromising myself for someone else. Mr. A. was not open to even discussing living somewhere other than Indiana and he was not willing to see that my career might be just as important as his. Even after all of the compromising I would have done, I would still spend most of my time alone and I would have several children to tend to as well. And I would have been talked into having those kids. It would not have been the life I truly wanted.

Truthfully, Mr. A. really is a pretty decent guy. I can't fault him for knowing exactly what he wanted and for going after it. He was also always honest about what he wanted. And so was I. When he did his whole senior year freakout thing, he was honest about that too. Looking back, he was a fun guy to have in my life for a while. We laughed a lot and had quite a bit in common. But I do know that we would never have ended up together. Even if he had proposed and I had been dumb enough to accept, we would never have walked down the aisle. Ultimately, it would have compromised us both and we would have been miserable. I think we saved ourselves quite a bit of heartache by figuring things out sooner rather than later.

And Mr. A. now? He's married to an elementary school teacher and has at least one child that I know of. I'm sure he's living the life of his dreams and I couldn't be happier for him. I'm happy for the times we shared, but I'm happier without him now. And I think my husband would agree.

*I feel that it is worth mentioning that like MSO Rin, I really wanted a candlelight. Desperately. Mr. A. had all the chances in the world to lavaliere me, pin me, etc. and he never did. It was a big bone of contention in our relationship for a while and, looking back, I realized that in that his resisting these things so much, it was clear he wasn't in this thing for the long haul.

Monday, October 8, 2007

I Wonder What Life Would Be Like if I Were ... Mrs. P?

Master P and I were not really together for that long, unless you’re thinking “in college years.” We dated for one year and four months. We were introduced by my roommate at the time and weren’t friends first (as he pointed out to me once when I wanted to “stay friends” after the relationship was over). We were in looooove. I wanted to lavaliere him and he expected to propose to me. (I was always a little upset that our timetable wouldn’t let that happen while I was still living in the sorority house so I could have a candlelight.)

Then I was dumped three days before my 21st birthday. I had started to develop a crush on someone else during the previous six weeks; I stupidly told him about it. Master P seemed surprisingly unaffected by my confession … until he broke up with me. I was devastated. We flirted with getting back together about a month after our breakup. Even then, I could recognize that what had broken should just stay broken. Thank goodness.

Because, little by little, I began to realize that maybe it wasn’t all so bad—maybe I would survive. Sorority sisters commented that I had changed quite a bit when I was w/Master P—he was (and I’m sure he still is) really devout, so he challenged me about lots of things: drinking to excess, accepting roles in departmental theatre productions as characters of questionable/low morals, being a member of a sorority, cursing, etc. And as a young, only slightly mature woman who adored being liked, I let his beliefs become mine. Still, we argued a lot after we hit the one-year mark, and I recognized once I was single again just how much of my freedoms and personal credos I had gotten back through the breakup.

So. What would my life be like if I’d never had that crush (or admitted it, at least) and we’d stayed a couple and gotten married like we both talked around? I’d be a Midwesterner, for starters, and probably a church secretary. I’d have a big family of in-laws and live a half-day’s drive from my parents. I might be a mother, and wouldn’t be involved in theatre beyond possibly casting the Nativity play every December. I’d be a cook and a housekeeper and a card-game-player. I think my closest friendships would be with different women: Master P didn’t necessarily approve of my inner circle my junior year, and he definitely didn’t approve of the crowd I ran with after I wasn’t his girlfriend anymore. I don’t think I was rebelling … I was just back to being me.

I wonder if I’d be miserable right now? Or just oblivious to how fun this life—my real, now life—would have been? I might have been fine, though, b/c who really knows to miss what she never had? But somehow, I hope that something would have been not-quite-right with my life as Mrs. P. This life is way better and I’d hate not to be living it!

Friday, October 5, 2007

I Wonder Why He's So Nice?

This is something that I've been thinking about since the day I met Superman. Honestly, it astounds me and I have no idea where his niceness comes from. From the first moment I met him, he's always been so gosh darn nice. Everyone loves him, everyone fawns over him, everyone gushes over just how nice he is. Quite frankly, it's starting to honk me off. See? I'm not so nice. The thing is that I know just how nice he is and just how nice everyone else thinks he is too. I hear it all the time.

A perfect example of just how nice Superman is can be found from an open house we attended last Friday night. One of his bosses had a rather large group of people over and had a fancy-dancy catered dinner with lots of wine. It was really fun. However, it was also exhausting. Here is why:

Superman and I enter the party and are met by a large group of people who immediately rush over to say hello. They all trample each other to meet the "famous Wicked M" that they are always hearing about (See he's nice. He talks glowingly about me when I'm not around.) and they immediately start in on the questions. Most of the questions were things like, "Is he as nice at home as he is at work?" and "He's just the nicest guy ever. Do you know how lucky you are to have such a nice husband?" and "Oh we just love him! He's so nice! I have no doubt that you are just as nice. Aren't you?". The thing was that they were all so very serious about how nice he is. My usual well-placed sarcasm would not have served me well in this situation.

So I had to gush over him too. Which is typically easy because he is so dang nice and I love to make him blush when I talk about how wonderful and sweet and nice he is. When we left that party, I was exhausted. I mean, how long can one person be expected to live without sarcasm? I slumped down into my seat in the car and the minute that Superman was in the car next to me, I exclaimed, "Oh. My. God. They love you! And you're so nice! And WTF? Could you not be a little bit mean, like, ever?? It's annoying! I mean, you make things so hard for me!"

I know, I know. I'm a doll. And a great wife!

He replied with something sarcastic and I felt vindicated. See? He isn't nice 100% of the time. Only 99.99%. And that .01% of snot, snark, and sarcasm is a beautiful thing.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

i'm not a myspace kind-of-a-gal.

i know that myspace and facebook are all the rage right now, but i'm just not into it. i do enjoy looking up folks on myspace to see where they're living and if they're married and if they have kids, but i don't want to put my info out there. okay, i know i have a blog outside of this one that shows pictures of my girls and gives more details about my life. anyone can stumble across it, i suppose, but people can't purposefully look me up. i give the link to my personal blog to those i don't mind reading up on my life and that's it. sure you can find me in a round about way, but i'm not sticking myself out there for all to see.

i work at a university and so i think i worry about my colleagues and students finding me more so than i do my former classmates. i would love to get caught up with my old high school buddies whom i haven't spoken with in ages, but in creating a myspace page, i've allowed every faculty member on campus access to my golden years. besides, who knows what some of my old college gals might say on my comments page!

i know you're thinking, 'well, you can make your page private and pick and choose who sees your page.' i'm fully aware of this option, but just having a page out there would cause ridicule and snooty glances from university employees to fall my way. it's just not a chance i'm willing to take.

so instead of putting myself out there for all the world to see, i'll continue to blog in semi-anonymity. that is, until this blog hits the big time and blows my cover.

Why Aren't I Into . . .

. . . reality t.v.

My husband and I do not have live t.v. stations. We do have rabbit ears, but our 3 stations alternate between sort of fuzzy and so fuzzy you can’t see anything, so we haven’t watched a commercial-laden television show (at home) in probably 3 years. This whole no t.v. experiment began out of financial necessity and has continued because we’re just used to it. Though sometimes I miss being “in on” the stuff that everyone else is talking about – I have never watched a full episode of American Idol beginning to end, and so frequently talk around the water cooler excludes me – it’s not enough to make me change. We are devout members of Netflix, and the bulk of our Netflix queue is great t.v. series, so we still enjoy a lot of television shows. I think a lot of well-written t.v. is a high art form, to be admired and absorbed just like a fine night of theatre or a stirring painting or sculpture. And a lot of bad t.v. is just a great way to completely veg out if you’re tired, or sick, or just had ONE OF THOSE DAYS and need to escape from life for a half hour or so.

OK, so here’s the point. I am just absolutely not into reality t.v. I never have been. I realize that I am writing to an audience of devout DWTS watchers, and American Idol devotees, and I promise again this is not a personal attack against you. Just against your beloved shows. I know you watch it tongue in cheek. I know you watch it because it’s kitschy and ridiculous. But I just can’t do it. When it comes on, I want to throw my shoe at the set. I scream at the stupidity of some of the people. I curse the networks that presume I am emotionally retarded, and cannot see the editing and the soul-stirring music for the emotional manipulation that it is. I roll my eyes at the hosts, who are rarely very articulate and who take themselves way the heck too seriously. I berate the writing, which doesn’t demand the smallest iota of intelligence from its viewers and spends much more time selling products to me than entertaining me. I get angry at some of the misogyny and racism that I see, sometimes subtle, sometimes casual, and often exploited for the point of ratings. I get wayyy too excited about this stuff.

I don’t see these shows very often - maybe at the gym. At friend’s houses. I have had enough exposure to know that I don’t want any more. DWTS and shows like it I don’t think are so bad – they are flash and color, pretty to look at, fun. The ones I truly truly hate are ones like Rock of Love, or the Ultimate Coyote Ugly, or any where women compete for the attention of men. I watched a beautiful, vibrant, smart, 180 pound woman (who unaccountably went on tv to try to become a Coyote Ugly bartender) do her exit speech thing after she got eliminated from the competition for “not preparing her body”. Her eyes grew bright, and her smile became a twisted grimace as she tried valiantly to hold it together, and she said “When 60 pounds comes between you and what you want, then you lose the 60 pounds.” I nearly cried with her. I do not want to watch this. This is real pain, twisted into melodrama, and I don’t know which annoys me more – that this lovely woman is taking this so seriously, or that the network is capitalizing on her sadness in such a cheap and tawdry way. Or, that they expect me to buy it. I don’t know.

So. That’s my rant. Call me a grump, or snooty, but I am what I am. And yes, I realize the irony of someone who blogs daily about her life being annoyed by reality t.v. Too bad.

Peace and Grumpy No TV Watching Love to you – G Love

Wednesday, October 3, 2007


I wrote my post at work, on MS Word (like I always do so it looks like I'm really working, then cut and paste when I'm done). And then got interrupted by an IT guy, and never got a chance to upload it. And now I'm home, where the post is NOT, and not in a position to retype the thing. So, first thing Thursday morning, I'll post that baby, and then ya'll can get a twofer. :) Don't hate me because I'm absentminded!

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

I Wonder Why I'm Not Into...

This entry was a tough one for me. We all know I'm a little strange; I don't use a snooze button and I have a desperate love affair with Cheetos. I could have taken the easy way out and written about why I'm not into porn, but that post could have certainly gone down the wrong road very quickly. [Insert your own joke(s) here] I thought about writing about scrapbooking because I'm not really into it, but then I realized that I do have a couple of scrapbooks. I made them only under duress and out of guilt, but I didn't enjoy it. At all. Yard work? Scuba diving? Karaoke? Ehhh.

Finally, this morning it came to me. I was standing in the kitchen at work and was filling my huge thermos with water from the cooler. In the time it took me to fill my thermos, three different people came in and got coffee. Two more people walked by with Starbucks cups. It occurred to me that I'm just not into coffee. Horror!

My mother loves good coffee and has one cup every morning before she leaves for work. She usually takes about ten minutes to read while she savors the flavor of her steaming cup of joe. As a child, I recall how our house smelled every morning as the coffee percolated. It smelled heavenly and I always thought it smelled like it should taste so yummy. But it didn't.

I asked my mom for a sip once as a child and as soon as that hot coffee hit my tongue, my dream of it tasting yummy was dashed. Ick. I gave coffee several chances throughout my college days and throughout my early twenties -- I was overjoyed when I heard about flavored coffees -- I thought for sure that I would enjoy something with a name like 'Hazelnut Supreme' or 'Mint Chocolate Bean'. Alas, I was wrong. My tongue just rejects it and it makes my stomach feel sour.

I do love the smell of coffee and it will always remind me of my mother and of the cozy house I grew up in. But I'm not drinking coffee and you can't make me.

*In order to make myself feel like less of a freak show, I have to disclose that Superman does not drink coffee either. We don't have a coffee pot and we don't have any instant coffee either. Neither of us like the taste and are glad to have not started the habit of coffee every morning. More power to those that love their coffee though!
**Why do I always feel the need to end my posts with things like: "Please don't stone me," or "Please don't hate me for not loving x."? I noticed this the other day as I was reading back through archives. Call me a people pleaser, but I want everyone to like me! Despite my hatred of the snooze alarm and of coffee! Love me! As of now, I'm suggesting a week of WW Therapy in which we each write about something like this and others can offer comments or suggestions. Mmmmkay?

Monday, October 1, 2007

I wonder why I'm not into ...

… football. It really holds no fascination for me. I’m usually stifling a yawn by the time sports comes on the news anyway b/c it’s my bedtime, but if the sportscaster starts talking pigskin, I’m out.

I wonder if it’s b/c I never had anyone teach me football. It seems like this totally foreign, unfathomable beast of a game that I don’t have the mental capacity to decipher. I mean, I understand that there’s this ball, and these two teams that each want to take it to the other end of the field, and sometimes they knock each other down to stop each other from doing so, and sometimes someone kicks the ball instead of throwing it or running with it. But what’s a first down? What’s a cornerback?

I can barely pretend to care about the teams my friends & family like—this weekend was Homecoming at our U and there were literally hundreds of people who couldn’t get tickets to the game. Or so I hear … The Boy and I stayed on the other side of town from the revelry. And the teams I used to feign to follow when we lived back East aren’t even mentioned out here, so I’ve forgotten all about them.

I get the excitement and pageantry of a football game. I went to every home game when I was in high school and had lots of friends on the team and on the cheerleading squad and in the band. But I didn’t really know what I was yelling about unless I was sure I’d just seen our school score. Mostly I was flirting and drinking hot chocolate and gossiping.

I wonder if it would help if I started watching “Friday Night Lights?” Or had my brother give me a play-by-play tutorial on the phone while we watched the same NFL broadcast. Somehow I doubt it. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t think football is stupid or a waste of a fine fall afternoon/evening, and I totally respect and appreciate those whose loyalty to a team verges on the insane. I just wonder what happened to me—what gene I’m missing—that renders me instantly bored when people start talking about the Super Bowl.

Unless they’re talking about a Super Bowl party and therefore party snacks. Then I’m all ears.

**Programming Note!**

It's been another quarter, and as such, a new WonderWoman takes over the Monday spot. Here, for your viewing pleasure, is MSO Rin's first attempt at deciding the wonder for the week. Enjoy.

Friday, September 28, 2007

I Wonder How I Ended Up with All This ...

… underwear!

Our wonderful front-loading washing machine has been sporadically throwing oil out onto our laundry since July. So I finally wised up and stopped playing Kenmore roulette with my favorite jeans/shirts/workout tanks about two weeks ago.

The only clothes still being washed in our washer are The Boy’s work clothes, which nobody will be able to tell are clean anyway, covered as they are in paint and glue and other permanent-type scenery-construction items.

So until yesterday, when my awesome (and out-of-town so I have the run of the laundry room) girlfriend W let me take my laundry to her place, I hadn’t washed my own clothes in 16 days. But I hadn’t yet run out of skivvies.

Odd. I don’t remember buying VS Signature Cotton in bulk at Costco. I don’t remember the last time I got a white Tyvek package from in Ohio.

But apparently, I’ve gone through a period of addiction to buying $2.99 (well, upon further research, the price has gone up to $3.99) clearance panties sometime in the past few years. At least I now know it was for a good reason—I’ve not been stressed about what to put on before I get dressed since the washer went on the fritz. And I counted yesterday while I was waiting for the repairman … I could have gone another 10 days or so. And I’m not exaggerating. I own almost 30 pairs of regular (and colored, and striped, and flower-printed, and snowflake-printed, and cherry-printed, etc.) bikini panties.

Wow. Wherever this crazy compulsion originated, I’m glad it did. Heaven forbid I should have to wash anything by hand!

The number of pairs of jeans I own, however, is a different story. Thank goodness for W’s generosity, is all I can say. What do you own in embarrassing quantities?

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Work Didn't Used to Suck

I have had some pretty fantastic jobs in my life. These are jobs that I would literally do even if I won $300 million in the Powerball next week. And then there are the jobs I’ve had that actually pay the bills.

In category #1 fall the following jobs:

1 – Naturalist

Wake up time: 7:30am. Group breakfast is at 7:45 and you can’t be late.
Uniform: Anything comfortable. It will get dirty.
Office: The outdoors. Day and night, rain and sun, winter or summer.
Duties: Teach children of various ages about the outdoors. Play games and sing songs and do skits; lead ascents up a high ropes course or climbing wall, or out on an actual mountain; act the part of a pioneer woman in full dress, making candles in a log cabin; pull out authentic pioneer tools, a snake, a compass, an herb, and teach children about them; lead horseback rides, kayak trips, mountain bike excursions, camping trips, white water rafting adventures.
Downsides: You get paid $250 a week, which is barely enough to cover student loans and car insurance and other vital bills. There are no health benefits. Because you live with the dozen or so people you work with, the rumor mill is magnified ten thousand fold, and there is no privacy.
Perks: Work follows the school year, so lots of holiday time off, and time off in general. There are lots of international staff, which makes life interesting and also gives you people to crash with if you ever go to England/ Australia/ Scotland/ New Zealand/ South Africa. Everyone you work with is your age, full of energy, and loves what they do. Every day is spent outdoors, teaching and learning and playing with horses and ropes courses and other great stuff that most people pay a ton of money to do on their fleeting weekends out of the office.

2 - Actress
Wake up time: 9:30am. Rehearsal starts at 10, and goes through the day and night. **During the run of the show – you gotta be ready to go by 6pm, but the rest of the day is yours.
Uniform: Anything that approximates your onstage costume.
Office: The theatre. With occasional forays into antique stores and Goodwill to find set and costume pieces.
Duties: Memorize your lines, learn your blocking, perform your part, with feeling.
Downsides: You get paid $175 a week, which means you use your charge card a lot. There are no health benefits. Sometimes you have to deal with divas. You have to find a new job every couple of months, when your show closes.
Perks: When the show starts running, you work about 3 hours a day. It is fun. It is creative. It is art. Theatre people are wild, fun, and sometimes melodramatic, and always interesting.

3 – Baker
Wake up time: 5:30 am. This definitely sucks, but your day is done by 3pm, which is soooo great.
Uniform: something clean. Doesn’t matter what, you’ll have an apron on top.
Office: the bakery. You are often alone, with just the radio and smell of cinnamon rolls baking to keep you company. It is wonderful, even in the early morning hours.
Duties: Bake things. Solicit business. Flirt with customers. Purchase fresh produce and baking supplies. Read recipe books and try new things. Keep your hands out of the cookies if you can.
Downsides: You get paid $7 an hour, which is just enough to pay the bills until your car has a $2000 breakdown and then you are up the creek and out comes el chargeo cardo again.
Perks: Your schedule is flexible. It’s just you and your boss, and she’s great. It’s creative. You get off at 3:00 every day, only work 3 hours on Saturdays, and have Sundays and Mondays off, which makes your weeks fly by and your weekends feel miles long.

Here is category #2.

1,2,3,4,5 . . . – Office Manager, Human Resources Professional, FITB with your own well paying corporate profession
Wake up time: 6:15 am.
Uniform: Business casual. Yes, you have to iron for this job.
Office: The office. Climate controlled, the hum of electronics, if you’re lucky (I am, right now) you get a window. (I’ve also avoided ever working from a cubicle thus far, lucky me.)
Duties: Create excuses for paperwork, fill it out, keep it filed. Come up with made up words like “strategic planning” and “total rewards management” and “performance index” to make yourself sound smarter and more essential to the success of the company. Inflate a few hours worth of work into mounds of ridiculous time consuming paperwork to please some corporate people, who prefer quantity over quality. Listen to people complain about stuff. Write budgets, policy, safety audit checklists, or whatever falls in your scope of work, and then squeeze in some creativity by fiddling with the formatting and throwing in some clip art.
Downsides: Whether it’s a mind-numbing routine task or really complicated new project, it’s rarely interesting. The corporate world owns your time, doling out a vacation day here and there with a miserly grunt. Some of the politics are just beyond comprehension.
Perks: You get paid enough to pay all your bills, eat well, contribute to a retirement fund, do necessary home improvements, travel. You can make sound investments in your future, afford to have children and support them, take trips, or classes, or any of the other wonderful experiences that money can buy you. Sometimes you get to write a blog and nobody seems to mind, as long as you get your tasks done on time.

I *miss* my old jobs. I grieve for them. I miss the day to day joy and fulfillment of my former work. Each one had its problems, biggest of which was always the non-livable wage - and I definitely like knowing that at this point in my life I am able to make good financial decisions that will secure our future happiness. But often, in this office, under the drone of these lights, with my fingers on the keys and my eyes on the screen, my mind is a million miles away, cheering a kid up the climbing wall, or paddling a kayak, or making tres leches cakes with NPR chattering in the background, or blinking under the hot lights of a white hot sparkling stage. And I sigh, and say woe is me, and then hitch up my bra strap under my business casual top, pour myself a cup of tea, and try to suck it up and pretend to like it. Because that's just, well, just what you do, isn't it?