Feelin' the Music

It has always happened for me in the car alone, or in the shower. Being completely overtaken by a song or CD.

I have no doubt that music is, in a way, a form of salvation for us mortals, taking us momentarily out of the present and transporting us to a different place, even if only for 2.16 minutes.

As a teen, I can remember sitting on my friend Lisa's front porch, in rolled up denim shorts and halter tops, cranking out songs by David Cassidy and Andy Gibb and other early 80s heartthrobs. Sometimes we talked, or read magazines, sometimes we just watched the traffic go by; but regardless of what we were doing, we were totally in that particular moment.

I can also remember carting my "boom box" into the bathroom each morning or nite, so that I could jam out to a favorite cassette while taking a shower. For that 20 minutes, it was just me and the music and looking back, it kind of helped ease me into my day or make me forget about whatever teen angst was eating at me. It also allowed me the freedom to sing, something I never do in public, because truth is, I couldn't carry a tune if it had a handle.

These days, I don't often let myself get that completely absorbed anymore. Showertime is a time for me to think about all I have to do once I get into the office. The drive to work, while the music is on, I'm still thinking about my "To Do" list, whether it be for work, or what I have to do once I get home; or mulling over a recent conversation, project, etc.

But last nite, driving home in a pouring rain, a local radio station took a break from the holiday music and had an hour of Retro 80s hits.

For those who know me best, they know I am a total 80s child. And I can't walk by a bargain CD bin at a department or record or drugstore without pawing through it to see if it holds some long lost favorite song or artist from my most fun decade.

As the beginning strains of "Melt With You" started playing, I instinctively turned up the volume and suddenly, it wasn't Christmas nite, 2005 anymore. I was recalling nights out from 15 years ago, dancing with friends, and somewhere mid-way into the song, I wasn't thinking about anything anymore. I was totally into the music, singing along and letting it take over me.

When the song ended, I recalled that it had been a long time indeed since I'd been so completely absorbed by a song or music; to a point where my mind stopped churning, and I wasn't multi-tasking. True, I was driving, but other than simply watching the road, there wasn't a single other thought on my mind than the strains of that song.

The announcer broke in and I tuned him right out, instead remembering V, a co-worker from my first post-college job, who I absolutely loved. I think it was him who made me realize the importance of music and its emotional and physiological qualities.

V was a graphic artist who went nowhere without his walkman and many, many tapes. He listened to all kinds of music from punk to heavy metal to the Beatles. Walk into his office at any time, and you'd find his eyes fixed on his computer screen and one hand on his mouse, creating graphics or logos.

But the rest of his body was completley overtaken by whatever was coming out of his earphones. While he worked, his feet were tapping, his head was bobbing and his upper body grooving. He LOVED music and he enjoyed it to the hilt every single day.

Other than at nightclubs or concerts, I had never seen anyone so totally absorbed by a tape or a song or the radio, myself included. But after witnessing his sheer and pure enjoyment, it made me think I was missing out on something. And so, I started listening to other types of music and trying to get into music as much as V did. I even bought a new walkman and started taking it to the gym and on solo walks around the local lake.

I guess it kind of worked, because these days, there are certain songs or CDs, I often long to hear; and when I pop in the CD or hear the song on the radio, I stop thinking about everything and simply listen. And let the beat and the rhythms and the words take me out of my senses for that brief time.

I've found its a great stress-reliever and way to relax.

Last nite, after my musical ride home, I didn't turn on the TV or sit at the computer once I got in. I popped in a few favorite CDs, poured a glass of cabernet, sat back and just listened. Allowing myself the freedom to do nothing and giving the music total control. It had been awhile, and was just the break I needed from my recent work stress and the holiday craziness.

I promised myself that I'll be doing it more often.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!

Well, the big day is here and more than half gone, and right now, today feels like any other Sunday.

Last nite was our family's big celebration with gift exchange, and it was truly a beautiful nite. I even got a token drunken compliment from my brother's neighbor, who told me, in a somewhat slurred voice, that I was a beautiful woman and one of the finest specimens he has ever seen.

I kid you not. Not sure if I can live up to that compliment, (or believe it either) but hey, beggars can't be choosers, so I'm keepin' it! lol

And my hunch was right. Everyone did really love their gifts. Esp. my littlest niece who, after crazily ripping open bags and boxes, knelt in the center of her piles of things and declared, "Ohhh, thank you so much everybody! I love it all! I really, really do!"

And even if no one else had liked their gifts, seeing the sheer joy and excitement on her face would have more than made up for it.

Afterwards, we all went home -- stuffed bloated messes, bemoaning our lack of self control and over-indulgence, but warm and full and happy and most importantly, grateful for the gift of family and plenty and togetherness that sadly, not everyone gets to enjoy.

Today, I woke up a bit earlier than usual, and so was able to actually read all the newspaper and have breakfast made, eaten and washed up after, bed made and some minor household tasks done, all by noon.

Now, its time to get dressed and go to the parents for dinner. Tomorrow, I take my nieces to a matinee production of the Nutcracker, that is preceded by our traditional Chinese lunch. About six years ago, when I first started taking my oldest niece, I asked her what she wanted for lunch, expecting her to say McDonald's or Chuck E. Cheese. She said chicken and broccoli, and so we went to the local Chinese place.

The following year, when we were leaving her house, she said, "So, we're going for chinese, right?" And a tradition was born.

So for the past six years, on the day after Christmas, I pick them up, we go for Chinese, and then go wait in line so that we can get really good seats for the ballet. Which to my nieces means nothing further back than the 5th row!

When I drop them off early tomorrow evening, and say goodbye and they tell me how much fun they had before running off to the kitchen to heat up their Chinese leftovers, the holiday will truly be over. And I 'll be both relieved and anxious -- waiting to do it all again next year.

Sure, its alot of preparation and expense and extra work, getting ready for this one particular day or two, but the payoff, while it can at times seem fleeting, really does stick with everyone and I realize, when I look back at all the Christmases past, how much the tradition and everything associated with it, really does all mean.

Getting Excited!

Wow! Can't believe its been a whole month since I blogged. But actually, the past month has been so crazy busy and hectic and stressful, its been a month since I've done much of anything productive other than work and stress, and oh, yeah, that annual task of Christmas shopping.

With the big day just 2 days away, I am thrilled to report that I am DONE! Finished last nite with the Fed Ex delivery of my bro and sis-in-law's gift -- they're gonna scream when they see it(or at least I hope!) -- and a quick trip to the mall to get the last 2 people on my list.

And I am so excited about this year's gift exchange.

Last year, I had just moved into my house two weeks before Christmas and had so much to do and was so broke after all the closing, insurance, and other house-buying costs, that I hated the gifts I gave. Partly because I bought them in a rush, and partly because I pretty much got everybody just one gift and that was it.

Normally, I like to give several -- one main gift, with a few small ones tucked in as well -- cute and practical and kitchy little things. Special ornaments or a coffee mug filled with packets of specialty teas and coffees or a CD -- you get the picture.

But last year, that was out of the question both timewise, and money-wise. So this year, the Christmas Me is back and very much looking forward to giving out my gifts. And I think everyone will really like what I did get. I put alot of thought into each and every one.

Last year, I know some folks were disappointed, esp. Dad and one of my friends and I think my godmother. They didn't say so of course, but you can always tell when you know someone well.

So, come Saturday, after Christmas Eve dinner when we do our exchange, I'm gonna be loving every minute of it!

And, having a four-day weekend is also nice. Today, I'm not working and will be spending most of it attacking my house with a vengeance. It WILL be clean.

Like my blogging, it too has suffered as I haven't really given it a good scrubbing and going over in about as long as its been since I blogged. Oh sure, I wiped and dusted a bit here and there, where needed; and even vacuumed and did laundry a couple times. But it is sorely in need of major cleaning -- wiping down appliances and polishing furniture and hardwood floors and mopping and dusting baseboards. That type of cleaning.

So, I'm off. Hoping to get done by 4 so that I can then kick back and watch Oprah. Then, its a nice dinner. Right now I'm torn between actually cooking something healthy and wholesome, or ordering sushi. Guess it will all depend on my mood when I'm done and if I feel like hitting the grocery store.

Tonite, I'm not going out on purpose. Gonna stay in, and get comfy with either a good DVD or book. And tomorrow, its gift-wrapping and giving (and getting) day!


HAPPY, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Tis the Season

I have no idea what has gotten into me, but I am just bursting at the seams with holiday spirit!

Usually, I don't get in the Christmas mood until, well, just right before Christmas. Seriously. I'm one of those people frantically racing through the mall at 3:30 on Christmas Eve, buying last minute gifts and wrapping paper.

I don't play Christmas carols until just a few days before the actual day, and most often, I'm digging through my CD collection on Christmas Eve after returning from the mall so that I can at least play my small collection of holiday music while wrapping gifts.

But this year -- its different. I'm getting a tree; an honest to goodness six-foot tall tree, not just my 2-ft short tabletop one, and this weekend will be out procuring lights and ornaments and garland, and I'm even thinking about a couple of yard decorations.

I'm in the holiday spirit big-time and it actually feels great.

The past couple of months have been especially stressful, and lately, I've found comfort in just doing simple things for myself. Grocery shopping and buying whole, fresh foods and making myself real meals that require cutting and chopping and cooking on a stove. Making a pot of homemade soup on a cold, windy day. Losing myself in several good books I've recently started. Jamming out to music while doing household chores on a Sunday afternoon. And, letting myself actually call in sickfor two days when I caught myself a death of a cold 2 weeks ago.

And now, with Thanksgiving (one of my favorite holidays) over, I'm ready to start prepping for Christmas. With a vengeance;)

I think maybe its because I now have a whole house to play with, and last year, I was literally moving in over Christmas. But more likely, I think perhaps its an enjoyable diversion.

For the past few months I have fretted and worried over a number of major and minor things -- both on a professional level, as well as a personal one. And now, with the holiday season upon us, I'm ready to lose myself in something that isn't work, has absolutely nothing to do with friends, work, neighbors, co-workers, etc. Just me and my surroundings. Walls and shelves and doorways and rooms don't talk back or tell you they don't like what you're doing or that you're doing it wrong.

So, after work tonite, I'm off to buy my wreaths -- there's a great stand just down the road from here; and I'll hang 'em as soon as I get home.

Tomorrow, is tree day and shopping for ornaments, garland and other decorations.

Sunday, I think I'll finish what I started, maybe log in a couple hours of shopping and then sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labors.

And next week, I"m on vacation. I have already made myself vow not to check or answer work email, and to screen all incoming calls. I'm scheduling lunches with friends, a day trip to the outlets, and a massage.

I'm hoping the R&R and all the fun, self-indulgent stuff I have planned will bring back the spring in my step and clear my head and help me to shift more of my focus to my personal level, instead of to the professional level which has been such a bane for me lately.

Flipping through time

Last night I paged through a book I hadn't picked up in some time -- my high school yearbook.

I don't know what prompted me to pull it down off the shelf, but once I had it in my hands, I found myself going through it page by page, studying each one, and remembering the people and events from that time in my life.

I went to a small high school. So even though there were the typical cliques and popular kids and jocks and nerds, we pretty much all knew each other and ostracization was minimal. If nothing else, at least your classmates spoke to you in homeroom.

What did surprise me was that there were a couple of my classmates that I have absolutely no recollection of. Not the face, nor the name, nor can I place them. One kid, I think, was a transfer student who came to us eihter at the end of our junior year, or the beginning of senior year. But still, no excuse.

I was also surprised by how much did come through mind as I flipped through those pages. The teacher several of us girls had a crush on. The one teacher we all despised for her mean temperament and take no prisoners approach to teaching.

Home coming and prom and gym class. All the pics were there, and amazingly, so were all the memories.

Some more recent events however, have overshadowed those memories. One classmate died of a terminal illness a few years ago. One of the popular guys is now an ex-con. A girl from my homeroom is a young widow, and the one girl almost everyone avoided because she was 'weird' is now married to a very successful and well-known local attorney and her picture is in the paper at least a few times a year. Another girl, is perhaps the luckiest of us all as she survived a very serious car accident that by all accounts should have killed her.

Funny how things change and come full circle. Our circumstances really are never permanent. The bad goes away, and sometimes so does the good. All part of growing up; all part of life.

As I flipped through those pages, I had to laugh at some of the things that really bothered me back then -- my hair, my clothes, my weight. Looking back, I realize they were all just fine. And I also realized that we so often put way too much stock in what other people think.

But back then, I felt my clothes weren't good enough because my parents either refused to buy the trendy stuff all the really popular girls wore, in favor of more classic styles that were better made, or they couldn't afford the over-priced stuff that would be out of style forever in a few short months. It bugged me, and now looking back, I really didn't look all that much different from anyone else. (Of course, the uniforms helped a bit -- it was a small private school!)

And some of the boys -- how could I have had a crush on Bill?! He was a skinny, sarcastic imp of a boy back then. And why didn't I see the potential in Matt? He was cute -- but part of the geeky crew. Did I feel somehow better than him?

(On the high school social ladder, I guess I was somewhere in the middle -- not cool enough to be really popular, but not considered an outcast or total nerd.)

If I did, I was wrong. Today, he's a very successful engineer and even dated one of my college friends years after high school graduation -- and she was devastated when after just a couple of dates, he wasn't interested.

As I came to the end of the book, it made me think how our opinions as we go through various stages of our lives are formed so much by others, and how our memories often retain those opinions. Until one day, we happen upon an old photograph, or run into an old classmate, or pick up our high school yearbook, and we realize so much was so better than it might have seemed at the time. And how some of those 'by popular vote' opinions we held were so completely off-base.

Especially now, looking back in retrospect and knowing what we all know now. I guess its called growing up, and today, our lives richer for those experiences, and our ability to look back and compare notes.

For me, it was also a reminder not to get so caught up in the status quo, and keeping up with the joneses and worrying about what others might think or say. I look back somewhat fondly on high school -- altho I wouldn't go back for even a day -- but wonder what it might have been like had I been less reined in and intimidated by what my peers would say or think or how I looked? Better? Worse? More fun?

At this point, I'll never know, but I can't wait for my reunion next spring and getting together with old friends, and foes and allies and those who I didn't take the time to really get to know very well.

Hard to believe its been 20 years since we've all been together. (sigh) In the past, I didn't bother attending reunions. I was busy or didn't care all that much. But now, I'm curious to see what everyone has been up to and how we've all fared after all this time.

And hopefully, those two boys I couldn't remember at all will be there. I wonder what they're up to.

And the sign says....

I'm a big believer in signs. Now granted, I don't believe that every single thing that happens or doesn't happen is necessarily a sign from above, but sometimes you just can't ignore them.

Case in point -- I HATE my job. Really hate it and all signs for the past year have pointed me in the direction of looking for employment elsewhere. Which I have been doing, albeit not having much luck.

So, for the time being, I simply go in every day, do my job to the best of my ability (because even though I'm miserable and burnt out, I still believe in being professional), and spend my spare time reading want ads and job postings on line.

The resume has already been dusted off and is ready to go, so -- I'm good.

But over the past two weeks, it seems as though I've been bombarded by 'signs' telling me to leave as soon as possible.

It started with an article I was reading in a business weekly. A woman in a very small, rural town had started an internet/computer company and was doing extremely well; so well, that she pays her employees wages that would be competitive in, say, a medium size city because she believes people should be paid their fair market value and not according to their geographic location.

Talk about progressive.

Of course, she couldn't always afford to do that -- esp. when she first set up shop. Tired of the grind and being underappreciated in the workplace, she opted out of the daily 9 to 5 and started her own company. Put in long hours and a few years of very hard work and eventually got to where she is today.

Nice story, but really what's the point? Well, for me, it was one statement that she said that has stuck with me moreso than anything else over the past couple of weeks.

She said, if you're really unhappy with your job, don't just sit around complaining about it or even looking for a new one, get out there and create your own.

That statement and idea has stuck with me since reading it and I swear I hear it in my head at least a half dozen times a day.

Not too long after reading that, I heard an interview on the news. Can't remember who it was, or even whether the businessperson was local or national. But he said something that has stuck with me as well -- "the best, never rest."

Then, yet again, one night while drifting off on the couch, I awoke with three words in my head -- "The time is now". Not sure if it was something I had subconciously heard on the television, or something in a dream.

So, three statements, two different people and one unknown source -- and I can't get them out of my head. While I realize that a part of me truly does love the daily grind (can't believe I said that, but its true), I don't think I'll ever be happy until I'm truly my own boss, nor will I be happy unless I am making a good financial living as well.

(True, one can be poor and happy, but I'd rather be very financially secure and happy:)

On a similar line, I've been feeling the urge to write; really write and work on some story ideas I've been tossing around in my head for years now. I have a feeling that if I really, really applied myself, I could be a successful writer. My problem -- not enough energy or discipline to make it happen.

My ultimate goal has always been to make a living writing books. But for the past 15 years, I'd gotten so caught up in making a living, that I ended up building a career in a field I do like, but at the same time, ignoring something I love because the brunt of my time and energy and focus and discipline was spent on doing the corporate gig.

Granted, I still have to do that. Bills to pay, a mouth to feed, and honestly, I couldn't give up the stability of a set salary and things like medical benefits.

BUT, I realize it has come time to seize the day and force myself to spend more time on creating my own job and really working toward that goal, even if at times, it leaves me exhausted.

Otherwise, I'll end up continuing the rat race cycle. And I'll have refused to follow the signs I've been given and put so much faith in.

So, even though I've said to myself before that I would write more -- I am now committed. I will write daily -- trying to get those ideas formed into more complex plot lines and characters. I'm also planning on taking a week off in the next month or so and using it to treat my writing as a full-time job, for at least that week.

Not much, but its a start. And so much better than just spinning my wheels being good at something in a place where I am truly not happy.

Spring Fever!

In NOVEMBER!

Hard to believe that the first weekend in November, in Pennsylvania, found me mowing the law in sweats and a short-sleeve T-shirt, and opening the windows to let in the warm sunshine and breeze.

Its Fall. Its November. I'm used to walking around in warm, thick cable knit sweaters or a heavy college sweatshirt with a turtleneck underneath.

Amazing.

But I'm not complaining. Yesterday, was a day to hang out in the yard, doing yard work, chatting with neighbors and then sitting on the porch reading for a bit.

The mild temps and bright sun have also helped brighten everyone's spirits. A week ago, having experienced more than a full week of gray skies, rainy days and chilly temps, people were grumpy, lethargic, out of sorts.

This weekend, everyone I met was in a good mood. And energized.

I don't even mind that on a breezy, sunny Sunday afternoon I'm at my office punching out a deadline report. If anything, I'll probably get it done quicker so that I can get out of here sooner and enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

A night of firsts

Last nite I had two firsts.

My first-ever facial, which was wonderful and which I highly recommend, and my first good cry in a really long time. Also highly recommended, and while not wonderful, kind of good in its own twisted way.

Of course, the facial had been planned for a couple of weeks. The crying jag was so spontaneous, it surprised even me. Perhaps it was the relaxation of having the facial and accompanying head, neck and shoulder massage that finally allowed the tears and the emotions that caused them, their due.

My job is stressful and I hate it. Alot to do, too many people to answer to, and way too many personalities and outsiders, vying for their piece of the pie and thinking that I only have to accommodate them.

Well, last month was crazy busy and hectic, but all in all, a good month. I ended it riding a wave of actually feeling upbeat and positive about alot of the aspects of my job. I had gotten alot done, got some positive feedback and felt good about things.

This week however, so many issues just exploded onto the scene, all with imminent deadlines and crises and of course, I'm the only one who can handle it.

The topper was the last phone call of the day. A member business called -- their business was down this summer and fall for the first time in several years. She point blank told me it was my fault. Obviously, as head of my marketing organization, I wasn't doing my job. It was the only reason she could think of that her numbers were off.

Never mind the fact that the economy sucks right now, her business is along a country road, so its a destination, not a passing point, she's cut back on her advertising, and in May, a larger, chain competitor opened up 10 miles away.

Nope, its my fault.

Oh, and btw -- according to her, some of her colleagues at other businesses feel the same way.

I let her vent, told her I had attended a half dozen trade shows to promote our organization and its member businesses, commissioned more advertising this year than in the past three, and that we had gotten over 40,000 leads from that advertising and marketing.

Why it didn't result in an increase in business for her, I don't know. But it is definitely not because I'm not doing my job!

I then offered to attend her group's next meeting to address any problems or concerns.

Please dear God, let me have another job by then.

Right after that phone call, I left the office for my pre-scheduled facial.

"Wow, your shoulders are really tight, I feel like I'm kneading rocks here," Sheryl, said, as I laid on a table with a pumpkin exfoliating mask slathered across my face, and hazlenut oil on my back. "Am I hurting you?"

"Yeah, I said. "It hurts, but its a good hurt. No need to let up or stop"

Driving home, I felt like I had a brand new face, and my back definitely felt better. I felt better.

I heated up some dinner, poured a glass of wine, and chatted on the phone with a friend. When I hung up, my last few moments at work resurfaced, and the tears came. And they just weren't about work, anything and everything that had been bothering me lately, bubbled into my thoughts and out of my eyeballs.

I felt better after about 20 minutes; cleansed, in a way. But today, I'm just tired. I don't want to go to work; I keep muttering "I hate my job" every few minutes. Even the cat is tired of hearing it.

And its not just the job, its that my life in general has been chaotic and crazy and stressful. Money is tight right now, my social life sucks, the friends I want to hang out with are busy or involved and the ones that tend to annoy me, won't leave me alone, and after a year of unsuccessful online dating, I've finally quit, but have no real prospects out there either.

I think it all just came to a head at once.

And I almost feel like having another good cry. But I won't. I'll put on my makeup and go into work and be chipper and upbeat and attack the next pile of stuff and make the pleasant and unpleasant phone calls and get through the day.

But I'm leaving on time, and after a 2-year roller coaster of ups and downs at work, I've learned that this particular job and place is never going to get any better. No matter how hard I work, no matter how much I do, no matter how many improvements I make. Someone, somewhere will find fault; make an issue of something; and blame me for everything that goes wrong, regardless of whether or not its actually my fault.

Besides, I have other things to worry about. I need to undertake some major and expensive home maintenance, which I really can't afford right now, but can't let go. By focusing so much time and energy on work, I've let personal stuff fall by the wayside. There is paperwork to be filed, bills to be mailed, car maintenance, long overdue phone calls to friends, and organizing; and most important, job hunting.

I know things will get better, eventually. They always do. I just hope its sooner rather than later.

Inner Voice

Its not often I let superstition rule my life.

I've chuckled when black cats have run across my path, can remember walking under at least a couple of ladders, and refuse to forward those chain emails that everyone complains about, but still forwards to everyone they know for fear something horrible will happen if they don't. And of course, once they do, something extremely wonderful will happen to them in the next 7 minutes. NOT

But sometimes, I do heed those little voices we all hear every once in awhile. I bless myself when driving past a church, I occasionally throw salt over my shoulder when I spill quite a lot of it, and lately, I've begun to pay more attention to that little inner voice that says, "Don't do" this, or "you should do" that.

As I write this, I should be driving myself back from a meeting in a city 3 hours away. I had been preparing myself all week long for the trip because it would meet waking at 4:30 a.m., leaving the house by 6 a.m., driving 3 hours, attending a business meeting; and then getting back in the car and driving back another 3 hours. All of it on busy interstates, no less.

But on Monday morning, when the alarm clock went off, the first thought that entered my head was, "I don't want to go on Wednesday".

I chalked it up to dreading the early wake up and long day and boring meeting.

Monday nite, as I settled in, I again thought, "I don't want to drive out there on Wednesday"

Again, I chided myself for being silly and maybe even lazy and steeled myself with professional responsibility. I had to go because I told my colleague I would. I told myself this feeling of not wanting to go was simply because I was buried in work at my own office and had so much to do, and was worried that another day spent on the road would set me back even further.

And then, yesterday morning again. As soon as the alarm clock buzzed me awake, my first thought was, "I really don't want to go to the city tomorrow."

So I bagged it. Yesterday afternoon I called T, my colleague and said I wasn't going to be able to make it. Just too much to do. Thankfully, she was fine with it. Understood my impending deadlines, and besides, another colleague was going to be there with her, so really, it wasn't integral that I be there. Whew.

And all I can say, is afterward, I felt no guilt and a whole lotta relief.

Not sure exactly why I had that nagging, 'don't go' feeling. But it felt so right following it.

Last nite, I told my friend L about it and she agreed. And we both recounted instances where we ignored that little inner voice and the situation turned out badly.

Maybe its and age/wisdome thing, maybe it was simple superstition. Regardless, I'm glad I followed it.

Stranger than Fiction

There's a line in Bridget Jones' Diary where Bridget poses the hypothetical question, "have you ever looked up a guy's phone number and dialed it, just to make sure he exists?"

The point being, that, if he hasn't called you yet, well after the time he said he would, something horrible must have happened to him, right? Otherwise, you most certainly would have heard from him by now. The only way to find out for certain, is to do the passive aggressive hang-up call.

This is often the ploy of teenage or college-aged females. However, as we get older and wiser and let our pride get in the way of doing that (some of us, anyway) there is still always a part of us that wants to. Of course, Caller ID is putting quite the crimp in this long-used female tactic.

Whenever a potential interest comes onto the scene, even the most stoic, independent and toughest of us become that insecure 16-year old, glancing at the phone every few minutes or, in this age of internet dating, checking our email. And when they don't call or write, we try to figure out a way to check up on them, without their knowing of course.

This girl included.

No matter how much we might profess not to need a man, the point is, most of us do want one. And when there is the possiblity of us satisfying that want, we get a little crazy.

Recently, I've done the fade with two potential internet dates because in our conversations or on our dates, or lack thereof, I've simply lost interest -- as have they. For the past couple of weeks, I've been doing the opposite -- instead of racing to the cell or answering machine or inbox to see if they've called or emailed, I check it with one eye open -- hoping there is nothing there and breathing a sigh of relief when there isn't.

But that may be changing. This week, I struck up an unlikely email conversation with someone not from a dating site. And altho I have no idea whether or not I'll ever even actually meet this person, as we didn't connect for the purpose of dating, I find myself checking my email more than I normally do and wanting to find new messages from him in my inbox.

Strange, I know. And every time I check my email specifically to see if he's answered mine yet, I get more perturbed at myself. But I can't help it. Inside every woman there's a girl, who thrives on the attention of boys, even if it isn't going to amount to anything -- because there's always the hope that one day, it will.

Pet Peeves

Growing up, my brother and I were always wanting pets. Living in an apartment for the first few years of childhood -- 8 for me, and and three for him -- we were forced to be happy with carnival goldfish, eventually convincing the parents to buy an actual bowl and store-bought goldfish. None of which ever lived past 30 days or so.

Then one day, we graduated to a parakeet. We had Duchess for quite a few years until one day, she literally fell off her perch, dead, during dinner.

Of course, we used getting Duchess as a springboard for a dog. Mom had no more excuses -- we were old enough to help take care of it and we had moved into a house. And a bird just didn't cut it -- you couldn't play catch with, or walk, a parakeet. So my brother and I whined and begged and graduated to actual hard-core negotiations. "I'll walk the new dog." "He'll make sure to feed it and keep the water bowl filled."

Eventually we won out and wore mom down. Her sister's sister-in-law's dog had just had puppies and we were more than welcome to them.

Cuddles entered the house like a little lamb, but left a little over a year later like the Tasmanian Devil.

Her path of destruction included chewing the entire cord off of my father's brand new power saw; countless shoes and socks that were unwearable or never to be found; digging up a hornet's nest under the porch; chewing through at least half a dozen spokes on the back porch banister; greeting us every morning with a little "present" at the foot of the front stairs, no matter how late we had walked her; tearing up a corner of the carpeting on the back porch, and lots more that I've since forgotten.

All I know, is she was unbelievably cute, and friendly and we all loved her, but....my parents could no longer handle the destruction. No matter how closely we watched her, the minute she had any length of time without us being right there to watch her every move, she destroyed something else.

I remember holding her and crying the night before we gave her away, but I also knew my parents could not be talked out of it.

A year or so later, we got another dog, Brandy, who we then had for over 10 years. He was obviously calmer and way less destructive than Cuddles had been. When Brandy was about 3 or 4, Rebel entered our lives. My brother and his friends, walking home from softball practice had stopped at the edge of someone's backyard to play with these kittens they had seen. The owner came out and offered them one, if they wanted. No one did.

"Gee, that's too bad," she said. "I can't keep them all. I guess I"ll have to drown them in the river." Or, at least that's the story my brother and his friends told.

Every kid took a kitten home that day, relieving the woman of the entire litter. Every kid also got in trouble for bringing said kittens home, but no one returned any of them. Rebel, who had been the runt of the litter, irritated our dog, introduced fleas into the house that summer, which were only eliminated after a professional flea bath and several "flea bombs" being used in the house, and a prescription salve for my mom who got so many flea bites on her shins her legs looked like a war zone; ate like a pig, and was one of the most affectionate cats I'd ever encountered. She died just a few short years ago, at the ripe old age of 21.

I had long been gone from my parents home by then, living in an apartment with a no pets lease. After she died, I felt the longing for a pet of my own, now that I could no longer get my pet fix at Mom and Dad's.

Last year, I bought my own house and adopted a cat. Cleo has been with me over a year, and it is truly a love-hate relationship. The first few months I had her, she cost me hundreds of dollars in vet bills as we tried to determine why she was losing weight. X-rays, blood tests, thyroid tests, you name it, she had it done. The vet eventually found a slight heart murmur, and decided her finicky eating habits were more to blame for her skinniness, than anything else. BTW -- she also has excellent cholesterol and lipid levels, high energy, great lungs, and all her other organs are in tip-top shape.

With that scare behind me, I spent two months trying out different cat foods and people foods on her until I finally found the few flavors of the one brand of food, she'll eat and supplement that with the one treat she likes, and a daily slice of turkey breast. Problem semi-solved. She's gained a pound or two, and cleans her plates so I"m happy. Although, every few weeks, she mysteriously just stops eating one of the above mentioned foods for maybe a week or so, gets a bit skinny, then voila, one day I come home from work, and she eats whatever selection I then give her and she's back to normal. I just don't get it. I think she might be an anorexic supermodel.

I've now moved onto furniture repair -- she's a scratcher, but only when I"m not there. Oh, and she's a jumper, which means I sometimes come home to knocked over items on a good day, broken ones on a bad day.

Thing is, I couldn't imagine life without her and I think that's why pet people put up with so much. We whine and complain about our animals' negative behavior, but in the end, wouldn't give them up. They add something to our lives that at times, is intangible, but definitely worth more than we put out for them in return.

Each nite, as Cleo jumps onto the bed and snuggles in behind my knees to sleep, or curls up on my lap as I type away on PC, I don't even care about the vet bills, the scratched furniture or any of the other things I often find myself complaining about.

She's as much a part of my life as my family and friends.

The Final Goodbye

This time last week, I was getting ready to travel 350 miles to attend funeral services for one of my longest and closest friends.

I made the trip, and although not one I was at all looking forward to, was actually glad in a very weird sort of way that I had. It provided closure and it also allowed me to truly grieve.

The week following her death, while her family was recuperating in the hospital and some other college friends of mine emailed back and forth about the tragic accident, I didn't shed a tear. Each time I thought of S, it was as though a part of me just didn't quite comprehend that this had actually happened.

But on Sunday, when I got in my car and started heading to her hometown, I knew there was no denying it. In fact, when I got within 30 miles of her home, I subconciously started to slow down instead of going faster. Obviously now, in no hurry to get there.

The viewing was surreal. But it got through to me. She really was gone for good.

While I got a little teary, I didn't actually cry. Instead, I had trouble forming normal sentences. "I'll cell you on my call when I get" I told one friend, instead of I'll call you on my cell when I leave.

When J arrived, we talked for about an hour, reminiscing about parties we had all gone to, visits I had made, etc. and she said something that rocked me to my core. She said that she too, had not really accepted S was gone until she saw her that night in the casket. And all week long, she could hear S in the back of her head, cracking her jokes, saying her trademark phrases, etc.

The same thing happened to me. I would be thinking, "My God, S is dead." And then I 'd hear a phone conversation we'd had or remember a party in college we went to.

I thought it so strange we had both had the same experience.

That night, I spent some time with S's family, talking, eating, reminiscing. And it was actually a happy time. Well, not happy. Perhaps bittersweet is a better word.

The next day was the funeral. That is when it all hit me. As I walked out of the funeral home to the car, the tears that had been intermittently seeping out over the past 2 days, streamed. More tears at the cemetery and the last thing I wanted to do was attend the luncheon. But I also wasn't ready to make the 6-hour drive home just then either.

I went to the luncheon.

It was a needed release. Suddenly, thoughts were again taken up with more mundane details -- finding a seat, getting a drink, using the restroom. We ate and talked and laughed and a couple hours later I was ready to hit the road.

I said my goodbyes and left, wondering if this would be the last time I visited the area and S's family. And before getting back on the interstate, I took a detour back to S's neighborhood and drove past her house one more time. It was empty in more ways than one.

Since then I've been so cognizant in simple things that she will no longer experience -- a cool morning, a brilliantly sunny afternoon, hearing a favorite song on the radio, grilling and eating a juicy steak for dinner, sleeping in on Sunday and making pancakes at noon.

Its made me more aware of, and appreciative of, all aspects of life. Its also made me more aware of how fragile our balance really is in this world, and how there are no guarantees.

Closure

This past week has been surreal. It started out pretty good. I made a normally long weekend, an extra long one taking off both Friday and Tuesday.

Had a get-together with my old college roommate who was in town for the week, a clandestine happy hour with the neighbors in my backyard, some shopping, had plenty of time to get the lawn mowed, house cleaned and clothes laundered, a first date with a new guy I met, and on Tuesday, I slept in and prepared to just enjoy a day around the house doing whatever the mood struck me to do.

And then the phone call came.

My college friend S, (not my roommate) had been killed in a car crash. The rest of the day was simply numbed by the shock and the realization that something that horrible had happened.

But as I've already blogged, I've continued to go through the motions of daily life, pretty much not grieving. Just perhaps a deep breath here or a melancholy sigh there when I think about S, memories of visits and college and late-nite chats -- all happy thoughts, now suddenly oh so bittersweet.

Tomorrow, I leave for the 6-hour drive to attend her viewing and funeral. A sad trip and one that I'm not really looking forward to, but one I couldn't not make.

Originally, I had intended to stay at a hotel. Her husband has insisted I stay with them. I feel weird doing that, but he was firm in his conversation -- "you're staying here. There are no hotels."

He and I both know S would have wanted it that way too. And truth be told, part of me is glad. Staying at a hotel would make logistics hard. I know where her home is, but don't really know my way around her town very well, and its rural so one wrong turn and you could go miles out of your way. Also, I wasn't looking forward to going back to a hotel after the evening viewing, sitting alone in a hotel room and thinking about the funeral the next day. Lastly, I've been having to budget very strictly lately, and quite honestly, its a blessing not to have to cough up the bucks for a hotel room in addition to the gas to get out there, flowers for the funeral, etc.

And as I was thinking that, it struck me how life trudges on no matter what happens in our lives. I still had to worry about the minute details. Carry through on work deadlines and meet up with friends with whom I had made plans.

When I talked to S's husband and sister today, while I know they are still grieving, they still talked about other things -- a favorite store that had closed in town, the family's recent vacation. I heard the kids talking, and at one point laughing in the background. And I knew that that is how S would have wanted it. Life does go on whether we want it to or whether we're ready for it.

And even while still reminiscing about my friend, I am also thinking about other things. Analyzing the date I had on Monday nite and trying to determine how much interest I have in this new guy. Sending out an application for a job I recently saw advertised that I think will be better than the one I have now. Planning out my next home improvement project.

It still bothers me that I haven't really cried over S's death. But it doesn't surprise me. We were two tough broads, as we used to joke with one another. We put up with no one's bullshit, had a practical and common sense apporach to life, and our friendship was one built on shared good times and humor; where sentiment was conveyed in joke emails, or eye rolls if one of us ever got close to crossing the line of getting emotional.

When S and I discussed problems or issues or personal dilemmas, there was no crying on the other's shoulders or sniffling on the other end of the phone. We bolstered each other up by listening to, but ignoring the emotion, and instead cutting down or advising how to eliminate the thing that was causing the problem in the first place.

My boyfriend wasn't spending enough time with me or was being a prick? "Tell him you want/need him to do x,y or z, and if he refuses or doesn't follow through, then walk" S would tell me, laughing. "Or better yet, give me his number, I'll do it."

Mom driving me crazy, "Awwww, just ignore her. It'll pass"

There were no Oprah or Dr. Phil moments with S. No long, drawn-out soul searching discussions. Identify the problem, think of hte most practical and least time-consuming solution and take care of it. Then compartmentalize. Then afterwards, we could both laugh about it.

I think that's why there's been no wellspring of tears or crying jag. Each time I think of her being gone, I remember something fun we did, or something funny she had said, and I can't help but chuckle.

However, tomorrow and Monday will be very different. It will be a true, final farewell, and no denying that she truly is gone; and all that's left are those fun and funny memories. But that's how she would have wanted it. No use crying over something you can't do anything about, she'd say. Just move on.

I know we all will. I'm just glad for all the memories, and in a way, glad that they are all so funny and happy, that in thinking about her, I'm chuckling instead of crying.

Life Does, Surprisingly, Go On

There's a part of me that still can't believe my friend S is gone. And the thought hits at various points throughout my day, regardless of what I'm doing. And in really thinking about it, I realize that thoughts and memories of her, of our friendship, of her family, have been hovering in the back of my mind pretty much constantly since I heard the news. Its just that every so often, I become fully conscious of a particular thought or memory.

Studying budget figures at work and BAM! I hear her husband telling me she died on Sunday. Driving to the grocery store, going over my list in my mind, and something makes me think of her. We both loved Doritos.

Its not hard for me to get through my daily routines, because we did only see each other maybe once a year, sometimes less, and relied on phone calls and emails in-between. So its not like everything I do or see has memories. Which I guess might be a good thing. I'm grieving, but in a very removed and distant sort of way. Like I wrote the other day, I'm sure the deeper emotions and the tears, will come later; at the funeral services and after seeing her family again.

But what is also strange, is how, it seems for brief moments I can forget the sadness and the memories, while my time and thoughts get taken up with other things.

I had a date over the weekend, before I learned of S's death. He is sweet, nice, a good listener, does things like hold doors and calls when he says he will. I think I like him, but not completely sure yet. The only way I can think to describe it, is that there's no fireworks or real sparks, at this point, (more like embers), and I want to see him a few more times to see if anything will develop.

However, I have to admit that I do find myself waiting for his emails and hoping he'll call again. I was actually upset to find out he's busy this weekend so our next date will have to wait until next weekend.

I was thinking of him this morning on my way to work, wondering if he'd be calling for a weekend date and then trying to analyze the one 3-hour date I had with him. Trying to figure out if I'm interested or not.

I do this to myself all the time, and there are times when I think I am too hard on guys I meet -- expecting them to be completely perfect and writing them off if they fail to meet just one of my standards.

And as I was driving, I could hear S snickering, telling me to just go with it. To stop being so damn hard on these poor guys and give him a chance. "He could be a diamond in the rough" I heard her say, and you'd never know it because he wore sneakers on the first date and you didn't like that.

She had said that once before, when I had gone out with a guy and altho he was nice, I wrote him off for lack of sparks, and a few other things -- like wearing very casual clothes on the first date -- that had, for some reason, really bugged me at the time.

I could also hear her lecturing me: "He's cute, educated, employed, polite, mannerly, he likes you, you kissed him goodnight, you think you might like him -- just go with it for awhile. Its not like there's a half dozen other guys knocking down your door."

And for once, I had to listen and realize she was right. Maybe in the past I have sabotaged myself for fear of being tied down, or losing my freedom. Perhaps my quest for perfection is really my way of ensuring my freedom? Or my safety net? You can't get hurt by other people if you don't let them in, right?

Even in death, S is still a sounding board and still giving great advice. Before, I had almost always listened, agreed that in theory she was right, but then shrugged off her advice as being not right for me at the time. Or, simply giving the advice, because as a married woman, she also wanted to see me married off as well.

This time, S, I'm listening. I'm giving the new guy a chance, despite the fact that he wore shorts and sneakers on our first date, and despite the fact that my stomach didn't do somersaults when we first met face to face.

I'm remembering a conversation we had some time ago, about guys and marriage and dating and my singleness. And you kept saying I expected too much, and I kept saying that I wouldn't settle. And you told me it wasn't settling to accept a guy with faults, or to decide to choose someone based on their potential rather than how perfect they were at the time.

I remember you laughing about a co-worker who joked with her girlfriends, who were so smitten with her fiance, saying, "hey, hands off. I put alot of work into him. You don't think he came out of the box like this, do you?" And you told me that that is what I needed to realize. No man would ever be perfect, I just needed to find one with the right raw materials that I could work with.

And now, reliving that conversation, I'm following your advice. Despite the sneakers and lack of stomach lurching, I have to admit that I do like him, and he's worth spending the time to get to know a little better. And although I almost never would admit this to you before, you're right.

But you already know that. Because I think, even though it sounds ridiculous, that somehow you have a hand in this.

A Very Bad Day

When I woke up this morning, I had plans. Things to do, errands to run, a beautiful late summer day with perfect weather to enjoy.

Of course, as usual, my best laid plans got a bit sidelined early on. I slept in -- longer than I had planned, then got caught up in the morning news and talk shows, and savoring my coffee a bit longer than necessary and before I knew it, it was going for noon and I was still in my PJs.

Before getting dressed, and finally starting my day, I sat down at the computer to check email and read my favorite blogs. As I was getting ready to answer an email from a friend, the phone rang.

It was A., the husband of S. one of my college friends with whom I still keep in close touch with.

Although I thought it odd to hear him on the other end of the phone, I at first thought nothing of it.

I asked how he was doing. He said "not so good." And my heart skipped a beat. I knew this wasn't going to be good.

He took a deep breath and said he was in the hospital, that he and S. had been out with their kids over the weekend and they were involved in a car accident. I asked how everyone was doing, even though I was starting to feel numb.

While I tried to convince myself that he was calling with an update just to let me know, and that they were all going to be fine and he was calling because S was with the kids, a part of me knew better.

I couldn't deny it when he started going into detail about first his son's injuries, then his daughter's than his. "What about S, " I asked. "How is she?" He paused, and I could hear a choked sob.

"She passed," he said, and I took a deep breath. He gave me the details of the accident, how it happened, and all the while I just kept hoping that this was some grand joke S was playing; that in a few seconds, I'd hear her on another line snickering or telling me I didn't sound shocked enough. Laughing that I could certainly do upset, shocked and devastated better than I was.

But it was no joke, and all too real. The reality really set in when I went online to read the accident story in S's hometown paper. No denying it. She was gone. Just like that.

I spent the rest of the day going through the motions. I raked my yard, did my laundry, went to the recycling center and the grocery store. But all the while, S was in the back of my mind. S, and a very disturbing question. "Why aren't I crying? Why haven't I cried? Is there something wrong with me?"

I still haven't cried, but the gravity has set in a bit more now. Now that there's nothing physical around the house left for me to do. And I find myself losing focus fast for things that I've started. I thought about dinner, took the iingredients out of the refrigerator, and then put them back. I watched TV and flicked through channels. And now, I've come back to the computer and answered my emails and now, blogging.

S's family lives 6 hours away, otherwise I probably would have gone to see them. And right now, A, said both his and her families are there doing what needs to be done and that there wasn't anything I could really do anyway.

Its just so damned ironic. Usually, in the summer, I would visit for an extended weekend; we'd go out for seafood, go rafting, sit on her front porch drinking wine and reminiscing about our college days, and she'd bust me about still not having found a man.

This year, I didn't make the trip. She was supposed to come out and visit me this Fall. She wanted to see my new house and visit with me for a change. We talked about it when she called on my birthday a few weeks ago.

The best laid plans......

Within the next few weeks, I'll be the one going out to visit her after all. But there won't be any seafood or wine or boating. It will be to say goodbye. That is most likely when the tears will come.

Grateful and Helpless

The past week or so, I have loved waking up each morning. Fall is definitely on the way because where I live, we've been blessed with cool nighttime temperatures, and brisk, crisp, cool mornings.

I fall asleep wrapped in blankets, snug as a caterpillar inside a cocoon, and awake to birds chirping, and cool morning breezes blowing through the curtains.

And while I can't help but feel a certain joy in just being alive to experience the simple pleasures like that, and of enjoying a steaming mug of coffee in a cool kitchen, reading the morning paper, the spell is broken each day by the front page of the news.

Pictures of the devastation in New Orleans and Mississippi -- a week after the fact -- and thousands of people are still awaiting rescue and help and having to have gone another day without it. It is heartbreaking and horrifying, and if it makes me angry sitting in my kitchen reading and watching it, while enjoying a freshly brewed cup of Columbian Supreme, I can't imagine having to live through it each day.

And what's worse, is the sense of helplessness an ordinary person can't help but feel. I wish I had the financial means to do something. However, having recently bought a house, and with gas prices spiraling out of control, and winter on the way, bringing with it, higher heating bills than last year (estimates are 20 to 30% higher), the need for new tires on the car, and tax bills and insurance premiums, I honestly can't spare a dime.

Likewise, I don't work for an employer who would look kindly on my taking a sabbatical to physically do something.

For now, my thoughts and prayers are all I can offer, and I'm trying not to feel guilty when I get to enjoy the simple things these people have had ripped from their grasp for who knows how long.

Things like mowing the lawn and weeding, which I spent most of my Saturday doing, and then getting to enjoy the fruits of that labor on Sunday when I spent a couple hours on my porch, overlooking my freshly manicured lawn, while reading and sipping iced tea.

Or, taking a long hot shower after a hard day at work or after coming home from the gym from a long workout.

Hell, even doing laundry seems like a privilege when one considers these people have been wearing the same clothes for a week.

Yes, while my life is far from perfect, and not without its challenges and struggles and stresses (and believe me, I have quite a few!) something like Hurricane Katrina puts it all in perspective and has made me count and appreciate my blessings even more.

Even my friend L, whose husband recently lost his job and is now working at a lesser job making probably a third of what he did before, has said the same. While she too, worries about being able to pay their bills in the shadow of exorbitant gas prices and the approaching winter and heating bills and such, she said she realizes how it truly can, always get worse.

I'm just glad that relief is finally reaching these people and in a way, grateful for how it has made me, and several of my friends, realize that no matter how bad we may have things on occasion, or think we have things, we still have plenty to be thankful for.

Is Being Good Worth It?

I have a bit of a crush. And I'm not so sure its a good thing.

See, its on someone I shouldn't even think of in a crush sort of way. Its someone who technically, is one of my bosses, but in a very distant sort of way.

Where I work, I'm the head honcho of my department. BUT, I answer to another set of managers who oversee the whole show. C is one of them.

And here's the other thing. While I thought him attractive and very, very nice when we first met, I totally wrote him off as a dating prospect. We're very different, and, well, like I said, he's technically a higher-up.

There have been times where I thought I caught him looking at me in that "sizing up" sort of way; and there have been times where he's popped into my office just to say a quick hello or drop off some files, and ended up staying WAY longer than he needed to -- like, an hour longer.

And other managers have noticed. In fact, 2 of them recently encouraged me to pursue something, and this was without me ever revealing my small, semi-crush.

They say, "Hey, he's single and cute and nice; why don't you go after him?"

And me, being the ever politically correct and anal, "have to abide by the rules" type, I've always blown off their suggestions and denied any interest.

But this week, I had to stop by his office -- and found myself lingering longer than necessary. And today, out of the blue, one of the above mentioned managers brought his name up and said -- I think you should go after him. He's cute, very nice, good job, Jesus, what the hell are you waiting for?

So I did my cynical laugh and denied any interest, and added, "besides, I don't even know that we'd be allowed to date. He's technically one of my bosses"

She smirked, clicked her tongue and said, "Oh for crying out loud -- he's not. He doesn't even have that much to do with your department. If I were you, I'd go for it."

And now, I can't stop thinking about him, or the possibility. And being the anal, over analytical type, I also have to wonder if my recently realized crush is simply due to the fact that I have not had a real date in months? And those I've had in the past year have been total disasters?

Am I really interested in HIM? Or do I just want to date someone?

I have mentioned this crush to just a couple trusted friends. One of them said I always worry too much about this type of "politically correct crap" and end up screwing myself in the long run. And she played dirty, bringing up J.

J. was a frat boy I knew in college. When I just so happened to be working for the student newspaper and was assigned to cover stories about the campus frats and sororities.

He was gorgeous, and sweet, and had the sparkliest blue eyes I'd ever seen then or since.

He was always so nice to me, and every now and again he'd say or do something flirty -- which I conciously ignored, because hey, I was a serious student journalist and no way I was going to jeopardize my journalistic integrity just for the sake of a date with a cute boy.

Then it happened. A week before the semester was to end, I ran into J on campus. We both had time between classes and chatted on a lawn on a mild, breezy late fall day. We were talking and he mentioned his frat's upcoming formal. And then he got all serious and said, "but at this point, I don't even think I'm gonna go. I can't even find a date."

Now believe me -- this guy had it all and my guess is, if he had stood up right there and then and shouted out that he needed a date for Saturday's formal, he would've had to beat a horde of girls off with a stick.

Me, being my anal and self-righteous, Woodward-Bernstein self, said nothing.

So he tried again. "You don't happen to know anyone I could go with, do you?"

At that point, a very big part of me wanted to say, "yeah, I could go with you if you wanted me to." After all, I would only be compromising my inner Lois Lane for one day of a remaining 7 in the semester.

But instead, I shifted from one foot to the other, glanced at my watch, and focused my gaze on the stream of other students walking by, then bowed my head and uttered a quiet, but firm, "No, sorry J., I don't."

Even as I type this now, more than 15 years later, I am filled with regret and kicking myself for having been so FREAKIN' STUPID!!! If I had one moment in my life to relive, that would be one of my top three picks to do over. I would've said yes, bought a very hot dress (because I was a size 4 in college), and had a fabulous nite with J.

Instead, I comforted myself with the fact that I did the right thing, career-wise; That maybe that was a test and obviously, I had what it took to always remain an objective, professional reporter. HA!

Besides, I said on that Saturday nite that was J's formal, as I relayed the story to my roommate over Michelob Lite's, there's gonna be lots of boys in the future. And its the end of the semester anyway -- it would have been one date and then that woulda been it. We'd go home for the holidays, I wouldn't be working the frat beat the following semester and we'd probably not see each other again, since it was such a big campus.

The next semester, I ran into J on campus after the first month or so of school and slyly mentioned that I wasn't writing for the campus newspaper that semester. I was doing layout instead.

He said that was interesting and asked if I liked it. We chatted for a few minutes and did the "see ya around" goodbye. Two weeks later, I saw him again and decided to finally go for it. I flirted. Asked what he was doing that weekend. But instead of telling me where he'd be hanging, he said he hated to rush off, but he was meeting his girlfriend in 10 minutes and was running late.

I kicked myself again. And even shed a few angry tears as I walked away.

Which brings me full circle now. If this crush on C is real, and I do have a genuine interest, but bury it again, like I did when I detected his interest in me a while back but ignored it, and like I did, regrettably with J, both in the name of professionalism, will I live to regret it?

Since he's not a direct boss, would it be okay to pursue more than a professional relationship as some have suggested?

Besides, I'm already looking for another job as I've become frustrated and fed up with things at my current place of employment and hope to be gone in the near future anyway. So why not "seize the day"?

And truth be told, I'm getting tired of always denying myself and my desires simply for the sake of propriety and political correctness and professional reasons.

Having written this, I still don't know what I'll do -- if anything; but this post has made me realize one thing -- the crush is real. And being good is not only not easy, but very frustrating and tiring as well.

I Have to be Able to Live Here

Okay, I caved.

MSNBC is my home page, and when I saw a story about fans flocking to a virtual tour of Clay Aiken's home, now up for sale, curiosity got the best of me and seconds later, there I was, checking out the American Idol runner up's digs.

While impressive, the thing that struck me the most was how impersonal it all was.

Obviously decorated and furnished by a high-end LA interior decorator, the place was beautiful and very tastefully furnished.

But the only thing that suggested Clay lived there was the masculine color palette.

And, I honestly can't see a 25-year-old singer being comfortable amongst all the fancy furniture, luxurious drapes and rich color schemes. I couldn't imagine him coming home after a day of recording or performing and actually being able to relax in any of those rooms.

Where are the personal photos, and souvenier chatchkes that adore the living spaces of most 20-somethings? Heck, even 30-somethings? Does Clay even live there, or does he just crash there when he happens to be in LA? For chrissakes, hang a poster or something!

Having recently bought a home, I often yearn for an anal, obnoxious, dressed-in-black-from head-to-toe designer to sweep into my space and tell me what needs to be done.

"Buy these curtains, paint these walls this shade, install new hardwood floors, and here are some great accessories from this great designer warehouse I just love!"

"And puh-leeze get rid of that tacky picture and these ridiculous chatchkes. We want clean lines. Harrummph!"

Within a couple of weeks the whole place would shine, and have very elegant, well put-together rooms that blend in with a unified theme. Everything would match and none of the styles would clash with each other. It would look like something straight off the pages of Architectural Digest or Beautiful Homes.

But ..... it wouldn't look like me and it wouldn't feel like home.

Excuse me Mr. Designer, but I happen to love that picture in the wooden mauve colored frame that is cracked! I remember the day I bought it at a Starving Artists sale and the fact that it is painted on a black background, completely opposite of 99% of the paintings out there remind me of the india ink pictures I learned how to make in 5th grade AND it makes a statement that I'm accepting of things that don't fit with the standard way of doing things.

Get rid of that little ceramic pony? You say its juvenile? Well, you're right. It is. My late grandmother plucked it from her curio shelves when she saw my 6-year-old self admiring it one day and told me I could have it. To keep. Forever. And so far, I have. No way your sneering distaste of it is ever gonna convince me to toss it.

Those senseless, non-thematic chatchkes on my book shelves that you say compete with the understated elegance you're trying to create? They're stayin' too. I remember how I came to own each and every one of them. That's why they're out on display in my parlor, for everyone to see, dipshit!

In fact, forget my wish. As beautiful and well-put together designers can make things look, I prefer the do-it-yourself approach. The one that says, yeah, let's pretty up the place, but not lose sight of the fact that someone lives here.

I want a space that when I come home after a hard day, as I look around the room, I see things that remind me of places I've been and people I've known, and states of mind I've been in when I bought them or received them, or simply found them. I want to be calmed. Not worried that the shoes I just kicked off and into the corner are ruining the whole balance of the design.

Maybe if Clay had done that, he wouldn't be selling after only owning the house for just under a year.

And notice how my design rant totally made you forget how nerdy I must be because I happen to be a 37-year-old who not only likes Clay Aiken's music, but cares about his house;)

Not A Settler

"So, what is the one thing you absolutely won't put up with?" one of my co-workers asked, in regards to relationships.

It was a hard question to answer just off the cuff like that.

Friends and family have often remarked how I'm either unexplicably unlucky in love, or, that things might not be working out because I'm so tough. Meaning, I have standards and requirements I want met, and I'm not settling for less.

There were a couple of men I almost "settled" for and thought about compromising my wants and desires for the sake of having a lasting relationship with them. In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't .

There was one man I would've taken a bullet for, if necessary. Looking back, although the breakup was devastating to me, I'm glad it happened because I don't think I'd be the person I am today, had we stayed together. My life also would be drastically different, and, I think, by now, I'd be bored out of my mind. And most likely frustrated at being a mostly traditional housewife and mother, which is what he truly wanted in a marriage partner. Not that there's anything wrong with that; its just not me.

I won't lie, there's a part of me that craves a man in my life and the security of a committed relationship/marriage; I won't deny there are times when I feel lonely and alone and crave the intimacy and comfort of a stable, loving, romantic relationship. There are days when I truly ache for someone to come home to or to cook for or to snuggle up next to in bed before falling asleep.

But there's another part of me that loves being single and free and takes great pride in accomplishing things on my own. Its hard sometimes, and confusing and terrifying, but the sense of accomplishment, when it happens after ME doing what needs to be done and taking care of what needs to be taken care of, sometimes alone, sometimes with the help of family and friends, that brings me so much satisfaction that I couldn't imagine having attained it any other way. Or having to do it according to someone else's standards or wants.

Its a fine line I walk, between wanting to be with someone and liking things just as they are, thank you very much.

Some don't understand that.

I have relatives and friends who say they couldn't stand to live alone; that they would be afraid to be on their own; others who think its abnormal. That I should be trying harder to find a man, any man. Who cares about standards or what I want. Just find someone so I'm not alone anymore. After all, I'm not getting any younger, right?

Its impossible to explain or defend my lifestyle to THEM.

The bottom line: I don't want to be single forever. I do want to get married one day and have someone to come home to, to cook for, to give me backrubs and bring me flowers for no reason. But I can't give up who I am or what I want either; so if that means waiting a little longer, or maybe even not finding that, then I'm okay with that.

Because, even if I were in a relationship with a seemingly great guy, but one who wouldn't let me be who I was or do the things I need/want to do, I'd be less happy than if I were alone.

I know this because I also have many friends and acquaintances who tell me -- "if you don't want to have kids (which I don't), then don't get married. Its not worth it."

That speaks volumes to me; and makes me realize there are plusses and minuses to both lifestyles. Finding which works best for me, I guess, is the challenge.

So I answered my co-workers question by saying I couldn't put up with someone who was controlling or who would expect me to take on the old-fashioned, traditional, wifely roles, because that is just not me. I need my freedom and my independence and I need someone who trusts me enough and the relationship to allow me to be who I am and to do what I want or need to do. Someone who isn't going to expect my career or life to take a backseat to theirs. Someone who won't expect me to give up my identity or life in order to be a part of theirs.

A male co-worker immediately piped up that relationships take compromise. I agreed; its just that I could not be the one expected to do all of the compromising. I would be miserable and in the end, it just wouldn't work.

There are many men out there, who will talk the party line but don't walk the talk. I've dated quite a few of them. They say they're willing to compromise, and maybe in the beginning, they give on a few small things, but in the end, things have to go according to their ideals, and not yours I'm always glad when I'm able to see through the facade.

I do sometimes wonder if I ever will find someone. I question my standards and my pickiness and wonder if perhaps my expectations are too high.

At the end of the day, though, the reality is this: I don't want a fixer-upper or challenge or a high-maintenance type. Likewise, I don't want someone who is looking for someone who will allow him to have total control in the relationship. And no way I could ever be the nurturing, domestic, June Cleaver-type who would clean the house and pick up his socks and bake homemade bread and cookies each week without complaint. I'm way more complex than that.

I want a partner, a teammate. Someone to share my life with; not a sponge that is going to suck up my life blood and absorb me into their life.

He needs to be sensitive and strong; genuine; honest; ambitious and hard working; encouraging, nurturing, but willing and able to stand up to me; I don't want a wimp; he needs to have his own life and ambitions; we should complement each other and maybe sometimes compete with each other, but at the end of the day know that we 110% support each other and will be there for one another if things don't work out according to plan.

And I'd do the same. I'm not asking for anything that I myself can't, or won't, give.

Most importantly, would be love. They say Love Conquers All. And although I honestly have to say I've seen more unhappy relationships than happy ones, when I do see a happy one, it more than makes up for all the unhappy ones and makes me realize its worth the risk. Its what encourages me to keep on trying.

I think it's why we all keep trying and I hope one day, that I'm one of those lucky ones.