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.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
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;)
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;)
Saturday, August 20, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Subliminal messages
I hadn't turned my cell phone on in a couple of days -- because basically, I'm not the type of person who has to be constantly in touch with people every second of every day. Sometimes, I like the fact that I can't be reached.
But when I finally did turn it on, I got the low battery beep and plugged it in to charge. Then I heard the message beep.
So I dialed my voicemail and had a listen.
It was my friend Lori, wanting to check the date of a concert we're planning on attending next month. And also, calling because she was bored -- not because she needed to know the date right that second.
But I LOVED, LOVED, LOVED what she said next. "Well, I guess you're probably at the gym right now sweating your butt off, which is why you didn't answer, so just give me a call when you can."
This past year, I did join a gym, but haven't exactly been taking full advantage of my membership benefits. I've actually gone weeks without a single visit. But in the past couple of weeks, in addition to my sudden domestic urges, I've also been on the health wagon -- eating better, drinking plenty of water and going to the gym with renewed zeal. Meaning, I'm aiming for 5 visits a week, but will not allow myself any less than 3.
And it shows. I feel better, and I swear, my thighs aren't jiggling quite as much. I know that's impossible -- but hey, whatever it takes to keep the motivation going, right?
So, when I got Lori's message, I had to smile. I liked being the type of person that someone would assume would be at the gym sweating her butt off on a Wednesday after work.
But when I finally did turn it on, I got the low battery beep and plugged it in to charge. Then I heard the message beep.
So I dialed my voicemail and had a listen.
It was my friend Lori, wanting to check the date of a concert we're planning on attending next month. And also, calling because she was bored -- not because she needed to know the date right that second.
But I LOVED, LOVED, LOVED what she said next. "Well, I guess you're probably at the gym right now sweating your butt off, which is why you didn't answer, so just give me a call when you can."
This past year, I did join a gym, but haven't exactly been taking full advantage of my membership benefits. I've actually gone weeks without a single visit. But in the past couple of weeks, in addition to my sudden domestic urges, I've also been on the health wagon -- eating better, drinking plenty of water and going to the gym with renewed zeal. Meaning, I'm aiming for 5 visits a week, but will not allow myself any less than 3.
And it shows. I feel better, and I swear, my thighs aren't jiggling quite as much. I know that's impossible -- but hey, whatever it takes to keep the motivation going, right?
So, when I got Lori's message, I had to smile. I liked being the type of person that someone would assume would be at the gym sweating her butt off on a Wednesday after work.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Wrinkle-free
There is so much I should be doing right now, but I just really NEEDED to blog. Haven't done so in a couple of weeks and for some reason, just can't go any longer.
Funny, when I started a blog, I wasn't sure it was something I should be doing, or wanted to be doing. Sharing my thoughts, daily trials and tribulations, and 'musings' didn't seem like something that should be available on the web for public consumption -- even though I told no one about it, and I doubt very many, if any, are reading it.
That being said, there has been a change in me over the past couple weeks. I've entered a new phase. Nothing drastic, really, but its lasted more than just a day or two, and its made a difference in my daily life.
Lately, I've been feeling very domestic.
I'm checking color palettes in preparation for some Fall painting I plan on doing in my home office, and eventually, my living room.
I've been going home from work and cooking dinner, instead of picking something up on the way home, or settling for a nuked hot dog and bag of microwave pop corn.
I've grocery shopped and bought healthy, raw foods, that require preparation --- things like fresh vegetables, lean meats, whole wheat pasta and whole grain breads and fruit -- instead of processed, semi-prepared, microwaveable, convenience foods.
I've been bringing a healthy lunch to work instead of grabbing a chili dog or Big Mac, and
I'm actually ironing my clothes. This is perhaps, the biggest change and totally inexplicable.
The past couple of years, I have gone to great lengths to avoid ironing -- racing to the dryer to get clothes out before the cool-down cycle and immediatley hanging them on hangers; hanging blouses in the bathroom while I showered; wearing cardigans or blazers over wrinkled tops; or even, (gulp) wearing something that was fairly wrinkled and telling myself I was only going to be sitting at my desk in the office that day and no one important would see me, and maybe, just maybe, some of the wrinkles would fall out as I wore the blouse or skirt or pants.
The funny thing is, as I rediscovered the past couple weeks, is how much I've always liked to iron. Weird, but true.
It started when I was 12; I went to Catholic school and we were required to wear pastel-colored button-down, Oxford-style blouses with our green plaid uniforms. Mom decided it was time I learned how to iron my own clothes.
Initially, it was a pain, but the Sunday ritual soon became something I actually liked to do. Hearing the hiss as drips of water hit the hot metal surface of the iron, watching the wrinkles magically disappear from sleeves and collars; the clean, soothing, warm smell of re-heated fabric softener and steam. Hanging up a week's worth of freshly ironed blouses in the closet.
These days, I don't do my ironing on Sunday nights. Heck, as I just confessed above, its something that up until a couple of weeks ago, I only did when absolutely necessary -- as in, an article of clothing looked like an accordion; or it had sat in the dryer for a few days and no amount of extra drying could make it anywhere near wearable; or I had an interview or important meeting with higher-ups.
But one day last week, I wanted to wear a favorite pair of cotton pants and they were so very wrinkled no amount of laziness or lateness or rationalizing could justify my not ironing them.
So, I dug my iron out of the closet, filled it with water and plugged 'er in.
The initial hiss of the steam only made me dread the process as it was a stifling 76 degrees already, at only 8 a.m. But it had to be done.
As I started in on the job, my focus shifted from the heat and my annoyance at having to iron, to watching as the wrinkled fabric suddenly became smooth and straight. The Spring Rain fabric softener I had used was revived by the steam pumping out of the iron and filled the room, and suddenly, I found myself taking longer than necessary to complete the task.
"Gosh, I forgot how much I love to iron" I remember thinking.
And now, its part of the daily ritual. For the past 6 days in a row, I've ironed each morning. Savoring that self-righteous feeling, and yes, feeling a little bit proud, as I put my wrinkle-free clothes on and unplug my iron.
While I doubt I'll ever go back to the Sunday ironing ritual where I sometimes stood at the ironing board for a good hour or more, ironing a week's worth of clothing, I've found that spending a few minutes ironing the day's clothing is actually kind of a nice way to ease into the morning.
If only all of life's problems couldn't be resolved as quickly and easily as wrinkled clothing.
Funny, when I started a blog, I wasn't sure it was something I should be doing, or wanted to be doing. Sharing my thoughts, daily trials and tribulations, and 'musings' didn't seem like something that should be available on the web for public consumption -- even though I told no one about it, and I doubt very many, if any, are reading it.
That being said, there has been a change in me over the past couple weeks. I've entered a new phase. Nothing drastic, really, but its lasted more than just a day or two, and its made a difference in my daily life.
Lately, I've been feeling very domestic.
I'm checking color palettes in preparation for some Fall painting I plan on doing in my home office, and eventually, my living room.
I've been going home from work and cooking dinner, instead of picking something up on the way home, or settling for a nuked hot dog and bag of microwave pop corn.
I've grocery shopped and bought healthy, raw foods, that require preparation --- things like fresh vegetables, lean meats, whole wheat pasta and whole grain breads and fruit -- instead of processed, semi-prepared, microwaveable, convenience foods.
I've been bringing a healthy lunch to work instead of grabbing a chili dog or Big Mac, and
I'm actually ironing my clothes. This is perhaps, the biggest change and totally inexplicable.
The past couple of years, I have gone to great lengths to avoid ironing -- racing to the dryer to get clothes out before the cool-down cycle and immediatley hanging them on hangers; hanging blouses in the bathroom while I showered; wearing cardigans or blazers over wrinkled tops; or even, (gulp) wearing something that was fairly wrinkled and telling myself I was only going to be sitting at my desk in the office that day and no one important would see me, and maybe, just maybe, some of the wrinkles would fall out as I wore the blouse or skirt or pants.
The funny thing is, as I rediscovered the past couple weeks, is how much I've always liked to iron. Weird, but true.
It started when I was 12; I went to Catholic school and we were required to wear pastel-colored button-down, Oxford-style blouses with our green plaid uniforms. Mom decided it was time I learned how to iron my own clothes.
Initially, it was a pain, but the Sunday ritual soon became something I actually liked to do. Hearing the hiss as drips of water hit the hot metal surface of the iron, watching the wrinkles magically disappear from sleeves and collars; the clean, soothing, warm smell of re-heated fabric softener and steam. Hanging up a week's worth of freshly ironed blouses in the closet.
These days, I don't do my ironing on Sunday nights. Heck, as I just confessed above, its something that up until a couple of weeks ago, I only did when absolutely necessary -- as in, an article of clothing looked like an accordion; or it had sat in the dryer for a few days and no amount of extra drying could make it anywhere near wearable; or I had an interview or important meeting with higher-ups.
But one day last week, I wanted to wear a favorite pair of cotton pants and they were so very wrinkled no amount of laziness or lateness or rationalizing could justify my not ironing them.
So, I dug my iron out of the closet, filled it with water and plugged 'er in.
The initial hiss of the steam only made me dread the process as it was a stifling 76 degrees already, at only 8 a.m. But it had to be done.
As I started in on the job, my focus shifted from the heat and my annoyance at having to iron, to watching as the wrinkled fabric suddenly became smooth and straight. The Spring Rain fabric softener I had used was revived by the steam pumping out of the iron and filled the room, and suddenly, I found myself taking longer than necessary to complete the task.
"Gosh, I forgot how much I love to iron" I remember thinking.
And now, its part of the daily ritual. For the past 6 days in a row, I've ironed each morning. Savoring that self-righteous feeling, and yes, feeling a little bit proud, as I put my wrinkle-free clothes on and unplug my iron.
While I doubt I'll ever go back to the Sunday ironing ritual where I sometimes stood at the ironing board for a good hour or more, ironing a week's worth of clothing, I've found that spending a few minutes ironing the day's clothing is actually kind of a nice way to ease into the morning.
If only all of life's problems couldn't be resolved as quickly and easily as wrinkled clothing.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
A burden Lifted
One deadline project finished -- 2 days early to boot and another halfway done and at least a couple more days still left to finish it and I finally feel as though I can relax.
I am a total enigma. I totally stress out when things get down to the wire, but also, I work best under pressure. Nothing like a looming deadline to fortify my focus and concentration. I could tune out a heavy metal rock concert taking place in the parking lot, if I really truly need to get something done immediately.
So, more often than not, I put things off until the last possible minute and then roll up my sleeves, curse my procrastination, and dig in.
Until the day I finish, I wake up each morning, worrying about the day ahead and whether or not I'll get all my shit done.
I always do, (get my shit done) and even as I worry, I know I will get it done because I have to, I have no choice, but still. Until the day its completed, fear and anxiety hover over me constantly.
Upon waking each morning, I am momentarily paralyzed with fear, staring at the numbers on my alarm clock and berating myself for being such a procrastinator and considering the possibility of "what if I don't get it done on time this time?"
But then, sensibility and a sense of necessity, spurs me on and out of bed, and I begin my workday with a renewed sense of purpose, diverting the crux of my time and energies that day to getting things done.
And today, I finished. Early. And all is right with the world again. I've even allowed a friend to convince me to take a few hours off this afternoon to go play golf.
As I hung up the phone, the angel on my shoulder is saying I should stay disciplined, call her back and cancel and immediately start in on the other deadline project. Why put myself through all the stress that comes with procrastination and looming deadlines when I can so easily avoid it?
The procrastinating devil on my other shoulder says not to worry, I have plenty of time and can come in early or work late tomorrow if I need to, to get the other project done. And besides, in the end, I always do come through and get things done right and on time, despite the stress and fear and berating.
So, who won?
My tee time is in 35 minutes!!
I am a total enigma. I totally stress out when things get down to the wire, but also, I work best under pressure. Nothing like a looming deadline to fortify my focus and concentration. I could tune out a heavy metal rock concert taking place in the parking lot, if I really truly need to get something done immediately.
So, more often than not, I put things off until the last possible minute and then roll up my sleeves, curse my procrastination, and dig in.
Until the day I finish, I wake up each morning, worrying about the day ahead and whether or not I'll get all my shit done.
I always do, (get my shit done) and even as I worry, I know I will get it done because I have to, I have no choice, but still. Until the day its completed, fear and anxiety hover over me constantly.
Upon waking each morning, I am momentarily paralyzed with fear, staring at the numbers on my alarm clock and berating myself for being such a procrastinator and considering the possibility of "what if I don't get it done on time this time?"
But then, sensibility and a sense of necessity, spurs me on and out of bed, and I begin my workday with a renewed sense of purpose, diverting the crux of my time and energies that day to getting things done.
And today, I finished. Early. And all is right with the world again. I've even allowed a friend to convince me to take a few hours off this afternoon to go play golf.
As I hung up the phone, the angel on my shoulder is saying I should stay disciplined, call her back and cancel and immediately start in on the other deadline project. Why put myself through all the stress that comes with procrastination and looming deadlines when I can so easily avoid it?
The procrastinating devil on my other shoulder says not to worry, I have plenty of time and can come in early or work late tomorrow if I need to, to get the other project done. And besides, in the end, I always do come through and get things done right and on time, despite the stress and fear and berating.
So, who won?
My tee time is in 35 minutes!!
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
A Shorts Story
While I don't consider myself materialistic, I do sometimes become attached to the most mundane physical objects and have a hard time letting go.
Case in point, Teddy, a large stuffed yellow and brown bear that I didn't let out of my sight for the first 7 years of my life. Then, one day, somehow he got relegated to the attic. Forgotten and unmissed. Many years later, when I was in high school, I came across Teddy while helping Mom look for some curtains.
Seeing him there, all alone in the dark attic, and remembering how he had once been such an integral part of my life, I scooped him up, dusted him off and brought him back down to my bedroom. Granted, he stayed pretty much cooped up in the back corner of my room, but every once in awhile I'd catch sight of him and remember all those nights as a kid feeling so much more secure in my bed because Teddy was there. And I felt better knowing he wasn't wasting away in the attic all alone.
As I grew, so did my random physical attachments. At different points I have had attachments to a pair of PJs, shoes (I was totally depressed the day I had to throw my favorite black leather pumps away), a small ceramic pony that for some reason I just love and still have on my nightstand to this day, picture frames, cassette tapes, a blue vase, earrings -- you get the picture.
Well, last nite, I had to say goodbye to another of my favorite things.
My white denim shorts, which I've had for so long I don't even know how old they really are, finally died. Literally died.
As I eased into them one more time, the zipper broke. I actually did consider having a new one put in for a few minutes, but looking at them, how the seams were tattering, the denim was worn thin in places, I realized the time had come to let go.
But it was hard, unbelieveably, ridiculously, absurdly, laughably hard.
Over the years I had worn them year-round -- with tanks and tees in the summer and sweatshirts and henleys in the fall and winter. They were a lightweight denim, broken in, always comfy, and always fit despite my weight gains and monthly bloating.
AND, most importantly, they were always flattering. I wore them out with friends, around the house, washing the car. I wore them ALL THE TIME.
But no more. Last nite, I took them off for the last time, and tossed them into the trash. Just like I did with those beloved black pumps a few years ago.
I miss them already, and know I'll never find a pair exactly like them.
Their demise means one less of my favorite things lying around the house. Not to mention one less pair of flattering shorts in my wardrobe.
But luckily, while some things have to be let go, others do survive.
At least I can take comfort in the fact that Teddy is still alive and kicking. Even after all these years, he still sits in my old bedroom at my parents house, forever smiling from his place in the corner and being entertained occasionally by my two rambunctious nieces who still find joy in the arms of a big yellow and brown teddy bear.
And I threaten my father with a fate worse than death any time he jokingly suggests giving, or throwing, him away.
Case in point, Teddy, a large stuffed yellow and brown bear that I didn't let out of my sight for the first 7 years of my life. Then, one day, somehow he got relegated to the attic. Forgotten and unmissed. Many years later, when I was in high school, I came across Teddy while helping Mom look for some curtains.
Seeing him there, all alone in the dark attic, and remembering how he had once been such an integral part of my life, I scooped him up, dusted him off and brought him back down to my bedroom. Granted, he stayed pretty much cooped up in the back corner of my room, but every once in awhile I'd catch sight of him and remember all those nights as a kid feeling so much more secure in my bed because Teddy was there. And I felt better knowing he wasn't wasting away in the attic all alone.
As I grew, so did my random physical attachments. At different points I have had attachments to a pair of PJs, shoes (I was totally depressed the day I had to throw my favorite black leather pumps away), a small ceramic pony that for some reason I just love and still have on my nightstand to this day, picture frames, cassette tapes, a blue vase, earrings -- you get the picture.
Well, last nite, I had to say goodbye to another of my favorite things.
My white denim shorts, which I've had for so long I don't even know how old they really are, finally died. Literally died.
As I eased into them one more time, the zipper broke. I actually did consider having a new one put in for a few minutes, but looking at them, how the seams were tattering, the denim was worn thin in places, I realized the time had come to let go.
But it was hard, unbelieveably, ridiculously, absurdly, laughably hard.
Over the years I had worn them year-round -- with tanks and tees in the summer and sweatshirts and henleys in the fall and winter. They were a lightweight denim, broken in, always comfy, and always fit despite my weight gains and monthly bloating.
AND, most importantly, they were always flattering. I wore them out with friends, around the house, washing the car. I wore them ALL THE TIME.
But no more. Last nite, I took them off for the last time, and tossed them into the trash. Just like I did with those beloved black pumps a few years ago.
I miss them already, and know I'll never find a pair exactly like them.
Their demise means one less of my favorite things lying around the house. Not to mention one less pair of flattering shorts in my wardrobe.
But luckily, while some things have to be let go, others do survive.
At least I can take comfort in the fact that Teddy is still alive and kicking. Even after all these years, he still sits in my old bedroom at my parents house, forever smiling from his place in the corner and being entertained occasionally by my two rambunctious nieces who still find joy in the arms of a big yellow and brown teddy bear.
And I threaten my father with a fate worse than death any time he jokingly suggests giving, or throwing, him away.
Monday, July 25, 2005
My life has taken a sudden turn for the worse. Well, at least my professional life.
I've not written too much about work because I don't want it to totally overshadow my life, as work can sometimes do. But the past couple of weeks have been very hard indeed.
My job is to oversee a multi-tiered agency, and as anyone who has worked with bureaucrats and governments, and of course, their egos, knows what a political minefield that can be. So it goes with my job.
Lately, things have been heating up and recently, and, without going into too much detail, I've become completely and thoroughly frustrated and disgusted with the political landscape.
Truthfully, I haven't liked working where I work almost since day one. But the weird thing was -- I LOVED the work itself and the industry and my colleagues and the fact that I knew I was accomplishing things; all this despite all the horrible political undertones and landmines. So I was able and willing to overlook the annoyances and challenges that regularly came my way.
But lately, the politics have begun to overshadow the positives, as have personal vendettas and agendas, and I know the only thing I can do to preserve my sanity and my health is to walk away.
Last week, there were a few things that essentially, sealed my fate for me. A run-in with a higher-up that resulted in lines being drawn in the sand, and basically the refusal of other higher-ups, who refuse to provide me the necessary backing to do my job the way it should be done. For some reason, the majority are letting the will of the few rule and I've decided its fruitless to try to stop them or fight them, or continue to keep putting my head on the chopping block in an effort to do things right, when no one will join me or support me.
Now, some would say, "well then, why not just go with the flow, and take the path of least resistance"
My response is: I can't. I'm a helpless underdog who believes in honesty and integrity and in doing things the right way. No matter how hard, or how much of an uphill battle.
So now, I've determined that I'm done. D-O-N-E, DONE! White flag thrown, spirit broken and any hint of fire or spunk completely snuffed out.
I now, officially, thoroughly hate my job. I hate the few conspirators who are behind the incidents that have brought me to this place of hating my job, and I am on the job hunt with a vengeance.
Resume dusted off and posted online and a renewed sense of urgency in checking the classifieds each morning. I'm also getting the word out to trusted friends and professional acquaintances that I'm looking and what I'm looking for.
This weekend was tough. In my head, I kept going over each different scenario where I could get myself to a place where I wanted to stay -- but none of them worked. I thought of just up and quitting, but a review of my finances proved that impossible right now. I tried to envision how maybe I could meet with the enemy and get to some common ground -- but I know that that wouldn't work either.
No, I have to leave. And the sooner the better. But I can't do it until I have something else to fall back on. That much is certain.
A friend of mine suggests just riding it out and trying not to take things personally. Well, its not personal really. In my opionion, its blatant disregard and disrespect for the right way of doing things and, also, I am being treated more like an intern that can be disregarded, ignored, or worked around, rather than the professional in charge -- which is, after all, what I'm paid to be.
I usually handle stress fairly well. Not this weekend. I had headaches, knots in my stomach, trouble falling asleep and high blood pressure. I once had borderline high blood pressure, and so have one of those handy home monitors. At one point, my reading was 160/90. That is just insane.
Thankfully, an hour later, it was back down to a more acceptable level, but still.
As a good friend of mine put it -- "no job is worth your health."
And she's right. I'm just hoping that fate smiles upon me in the very near future and that I find a better, more enjoyable and yes, even better paying job than the one I have now.
I need a change and it can't come soon enough.
I've not written too much about work because I don't want it to totally overshadow my life, as work can sometimes do. But the past couple of weeks have been very hard indeed.
My job is to oversee a multi-tiered agency, and as anyone who has worked with bureaucrats and governments, and of course, their egos, knows what a political minefield that can be. So it goes with my job.
Lately, things have been heating up and recently, and, without going into too much detail, I've become completely and thoroughly frustrated and disgusted with the political landscape.
Truthfully, I haven't liked working where I work almost since day one. But the weird thing was -- I LOVED the work itself and the industry and my colleagues and the fact that I knew I was accomplishing things; all this despite all the horrible political undertones and landmines. So I was able and willing to overlook the annoyances and challenges that regularly came my way.
But lately, the politics have begun to overshadow the positives, as have personal vendettas and agendas, and I know the only thing I can do to preserve my sanity and my health is to walk away.
Last week, there were a few things that essentially, sealed my fate for me. A run-in with a higher-up that resulted in lines being drawn in the sand, and basically the refusal of other higher-ups, who refuse to provide me the necessary backing to do my job the way it should be done. For some reason, the majority are letting the will of the few rule and I've decided its fruitless to try to stop them or fight them, or continue to keep putting my head on the chopping block in an effort to do things right, when no one will join me or support me.
Now, some would say, "well then, why not just go with the flow, and take the path of least resistance"
My response is: I can't. I'm a helpless underdog who believes in honesty and integrity and in doing things the right way. No matter how hard, or how much of an uphill battle.
So now, I've determined that I'm done. D-O-N-E, DONE! White flag thrown, spirit broken and any hint of fire or spunk completely snuffed out.
I now, officially, thoroughly hate my job. I hate the few conspirators who are behind the incidents that have brought me to this place of hating my job, and I am on the job hunt with a vengeance.
Resume dusted off and posted online and a renewed sense of urgency in checking the classifieds each morning. I'm also getting the word out to trusted friends and professional acquaintances that I'm looking and what I'm looking for.
This weekend was tough. In my head, I kept going over each different scenario where I could get myself to a place where I wanted to stay -- but none of them worked. I thought of just up and quitting, but a review of my finances proved that impossible right now. I tried to envision how maybe I could meet with the enemy and get to some common ground -- but I know that that wouldn't work either.
No, I have to leave. And the sooner the better. But I can't do it until I have something else to fall back on. That much is certain.
A friend of mine suggests just riding it out and trying not to take things personally. Well, its not personal really. In my opionion, its blatant disregard and disrespect for the right way of doing things and, also, I am being treated more like an intern that can be disregarded, ignored, or worked around, rather than the professional in charge -- which is, after all, what I'm paid to be.
I usually handle stress fairly well. Not this weekend. I had headaches, knots in my stomach, trouble falling asleep and high blood pressure. I once had borderline high blood pressure, and so have one of those handy home monitors. At one point, my reading was 160/90. That is just insane.
Thankfully, an hour later, it was back down to a more acceptable level, but still.
As a good friend of mine put it -- "no job is worth your health."
And she's right. I'm just hoping that fate smiles upon me in the very near future and that I find a better, more enjoyable and yes, even better paying job than the one I have now.
I need a change and it can't come soon enough.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
I Want, But Can't Have
There are days, where I dream big.
While I am far from being deprived -- I have lots to be thankful for -- I own a house; drive a nice car; good friends; eat out frequently; loving, albeit sometimes annoying, family and some nice toys (new TV, cell phone, great CD and book collection; nice stereo, newer living room furniture) all of that -- there are times where that truly American sense of "hafta have" sinks its claws into me and brings out a longing for all those things that beckon from store shelves, television commercials and just seeing other people having them.
I feel like a kid in a department store being dragged through the aisles by a parent, pointing at things at whining, "But I want one, boo hoo hooo. Pleeeese?!.
Things I want:
an iPod
a new computer with a flat screen, where you can't hear the gears grinding as you log on or download a new program
a new desk for new computer
new carpeting in my downstairs
a set of golf clubs for my newfound joy of golfing (see post below)
piano lessons, and as a result, a piano or at the very least a keyboard. (See, I've wanted to take piano lessons for a very long time now, but either didn't have the time or the money or both.
a good quality mountain bike, as my $70 Sears special died a year ago and hasn't been replaced yet
a week long vacation at a beach resort
a convertible
a gainfully employed, nice looking, man in my age bracket with little to no baggage who doesn't still live with his parents
Okay, there's probably more if I gave it some serious thought, but then I'd just sound selfish and materialistic. hehehehe
Thing is, except for the convertible and beach resort vacation, the other things are not very impractical or unnecessary.
My problem -- lack of funds. (Well except for the man. Can't buy one of them at Macy's. Not sure what the problem is there. Maybe my requirements) Since buying the house, I've had to live on a budget.
Granted I'm more flexible with it at times then I should be, but I'm practical and disciplined enough to know that I need to keep my spending in line, and certain things, like iPods and new computers -- are just going to have to wait, so that I can continue to pay for necessary things -- like the mortgage and taxes and utilities and food.
And in retrospect, I think its better to want things. How boring if we always had whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted it. What would there be to look forward to? And besides, Chrismas is only a few months away! ;-)
But damn, I really do want an iPod now!
While I am far from being deprived -- I have lots to be thankful for -- I own a house; drive a nice car; good friends; eat out frequently; loving, albeit sometimes annoying, family and some nice toys (new TV, cell phone, great CD and book collection; nice stereo, newer living room furniture) all of that -- there are times where that truly American sense of "hafta have" sinks its claws into me and brings out a longing for all those things that beckon from store shelves, television commercials and just seeing other people having them.
I feel like a kid in a department store being dragged through the aisles by a parent, pointing at things at whining, "But I want one, boo hoo hooo. Pleeeese?!.
Things I want:
an iPod
a new computer with a flat screen, where you can't hear the gears grinding as you log on or download a new program
a new desk for new computer
new carpeting in my downstairs
a set of golf clubs for my newfound joy of golfing (see post below)
piano lessons, and as a result, a piano or at the very least a keyboard. (See, I've wanted to take piano lessons for a very long time now, but either didn't have the time or the money or both.
a good quality mountain bike, as my $70 Sears special died a year ago and hasn't been replaced yet
a week long vacation at a beach resort
a convertible
a gainfully employed, nice looking, man in my age bracket with little to no baggage who doesn't still live with his parents
Okay, there's probably more if I gave it some serious thought, but then I'd just sound selfish and materialistic. hehehehe
Thing is, except for the convertible and beach resort vacation, the other things are not very impractical or unnecessary.
My problem -- lack of funds. (Well except for the man. Can't buy one of them at Macy's. Not sure what the problem is there. Maybe my requirements) Since buying the house, I've had to live on a budget.
Granted I'm more flexible with it at times then I should be, but I'm practical and disciplined enough to know that I need to keep my spending in line, and certain things, like iPods and new computers -- are just going to have to wait, so that I can continue to pay for necessary things -- like the mortgage and taxes and utilities and food.
And in retrospect, I think its better to want things. How boring if we always had whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted it. What would there be to look forward to? And besides, Chrismas is only a few months away! ;-)
But damn, I really do want an iPod now!
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Why the Funk?
I'm in a funk today.
Actually, I've been in one since yesterday.
Maybe its the ungodly heat. Maybe its PMS. Maybe its the sheer boredom and frustration I've been feeling lately with my job and my life. Perhaps a combination of all of the above.
I don't know. But I know I don't like it.
One minute, I'll be fine, and then totally lose focus and interest in the task at hand. I've been going home from work, turning on the AC and pretty much just vegging. So maybe it is the heat.
Last week, had been great. I was busy, had energy, got to the gym 3 times and went golfing for the first time ever and loved it.
Funny, I'd always made fun of golfers. "What could anyone possibly find enjoyable about trying to hit a small white ball into a small, faroff hole?" I'd laugh.
I now know the mystique. Its challenging and you're outside in the sunshine and it feels great when you whack that ball and on your first stroke actually get it ONTO the green. I even did a few little up and down jumps after a few good shots. But most importantly, everyone I know who golfs follows it with beers and bar food afterward. Which is, I think, the real reason most stick with the game.
But I digress. After a week of fun, I now find myself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Could be that this is my Hell Week with meetings and reports and all kinds of pressing, yet totally mind-numbing crap due. Not to mention a ton of upper management level politics and power plays and crap that are going on, with me having to play referee and I haven't had a day off in 9 days.
Yep, I worked the weekend -- 10 hour days, thankyouverymuch -- and won't be able to take a day off until at least this Friday. And probably not even then because of all the deadline stuff that I have to get done.
Yet here I sit blogging instead of working and not even caring because today had to be one of the worst days on this job yet. And I"m not gonna rehash because its just not worth it.
Thing is, its now going for 6:30 p.m. and I don't really know what I want to do or where I want to go. I don't feel like staying at work because I know I won't accomplish anything, yet don't feel like going home either. Just have this weird sort of limbo feeling. And can't shake it.
Like last nite -- I coulda, shoulda done a dozen different things -- laundry, cleaning, writing, shopping (need groceries), the gym, but instead, flopped on the couch and watched mindless TV and ate hot dogs for dinner.
Granted, I didn't get home from work until 8 p.m., partly due to a 3-hour drive which wiped me out, but still, I couldn't help feeling like a slug.
I know it will pass. This happens from time to time when the pressure builds and the outside stressors of work, personalities and the weight of all my own responsibilities seem to pound down all at once. And of course, no one to really unload on.
My parents don't get the executive crap because they're not executives. My friends lend a sympathetic ear, but I hate venting to them all the time because I know I'd get sick of listening to the minutiae of a job I know nothing about and aren't affected by. We're considerate of each other like that. We vent occasionally, but not all the time.
So here I sit. Blogging and plotting what I'll do next. While I've been typing away, I've glanced over at a few file folders that need working on. In the back of my mind there are a couple other tasks that I know I could probably bang out in an hour or so. But can't bring myself to start on them.
I think my solution -- a short drive with my favorite CD and the windows all the way down; and then, I"m going to go home and make a nice dinner. An actual main course with a side veggie or something and a glass or two of one of the wines I picked up this weekend on my business travels.
I'll follow it with garbage TV, refuse to allow myself to feel guilty for not doing laundry or chores, and will myself that tomorrow is gonna be better.
Actually, I've been in one since yesterday.
Maybe its the ungodly heat. Maybe its PMS. Maybe its the sheer boredom and frustration I've been feeling lately with my job and my life. Perhaps a combination of all of the above.
I don't know. But I know I don't like it.
One minute, I'll be fine, and then totally lose focus and interest in the task at hand. I've been going home from work, turning on the AC and pretty much just vegging. So maybe it is the heat.
Last week, had been great. I was busy, had energy, got to the gym 3 times and went golfing for the first time ever and loved it.
Funny, I'd always made fun of golfers. "What could anyone possibly find enjoyable about trying to hit a small white ball into a small, faroff hole?" I'd laugh.
I now know the mystique. Its challenging and you're outside in the sunshine and it feels great when you whack that ball and on your first stroke actually get it ONTO the green. I even did a few little up and down jumps after a few good shots. But most importantly, everyone I know who golfs follows it with beers and bar food afterward. Which is, I think, the real reason most stick with the game.
But I digress. After a week of fun, I now find myself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Could be that this is my Hell Week with meetings and reports and all kinds of pressing, yet totally mind-numbing crap due. Not to mention a ton of upper management level politics and power plays and crap that are going on, with me having to play referee and I haven't had a day off in 9 days.
Yep, I worked the weekend -- 10 hour days, thankyouverymuch -- and won't be able to take a day off until at least this Friday. And probably not even then because of all the deadline stuff that I have to get done.
Yet here I sit blogging instead of working and not even caring because today had to be one of the worst days on this job yet. And I"m not gonna rehash because its just not worth it.
Thing is, its now going for 6:30 p.m. and I don't really know what I want to do or where I want to go. I don't feel like staying at work because I know I won't accomplish anything, yet don't feel like going home either. Just have this weird sort of limbo feeling. And can't shake it.
Like last nite -- I coulda, shoulda done a dozen different things -- laundry, cleaning, writing, shopping (need groceries), the gym, but instead, flopped on the couch and watched mindless TV and ate hot dogs for dinner.
Granted, I didn't get home from work until 8 p.m., partly due to a 3-hour drive which wiped me out, but still, I couldn't help feeling like a slug.
I know it will pass. This happens from time to time when the pressure builds and the outside stressors of work, personalities and the weight of all my own responsibilities seem to pound down all at once. And of course, no one to really unload on.
My parents don't get the executive crap because they're not executives. My friends lend a sympathetic ear, but I hate venting to them all the time because I know I'd get sick of listening to the minutiae of a job I know nothing about and aren't affected by. We're considerate of each other like that. We vent occasionally, but not all the time.
So here I sit. Blogging and plotting what I'll do next. While I've been typing away, I've glanced over at a few file folders that need working on. In the back of my mind there are a couple other tasks that I know I could probably bang out in an hour or so. But can't bring myself to start on them.
I think my solution -- a short drive with my favorite CD and the windows all the way down; and then, I"m going to go home and make a nice dinner. An actual main course with a side veggie or something and a glass or two of one of the wines I picked up this weekend on my business travels.
I'll follow it with garbage TV, refuse to allow myself to feel guilty for not doing laundry or chores, and will myself that tomorrow is gonna be better.
Friday, July 01, 2005
Dinner Revelations
Last nite my friend Michele and I met for dinner. We treated ourselves to a gourmet feast at a local fine dining restaurant and it was just what the doctor ordered -- even if I really couldn't afford it this week.
Ah well, that's what bill payment grace periods are for, right? Besides, it was cheaper than therapy.
"You know, I always used to wonder what was wrong with me that I wasn't married," she said. "I used to think it must be something about me, that's prevented me from finding someone."
"Nooooo," I said. "I don't think that's it at all. I think its just that we're both independent, self-sufficient women and some men are intimidated by that and others can't live up to our standards. And we're picky."
"But maybe, then, that's what's wrong with US," she suggested.
There have been times over the last 15 years when I've longed to be married and settled and out of the single rat race.
There have been other times when I've embraced my singlehood and thought I wouldn't want to live any other way.
Truth is, I do want to find my soul mate; I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone, or taking care of two dozen cats. But I also refuse to settle or compromise my standards. I'd rather be alone, than coupled up with someone just to be coupled up. Or worse, coupled up and miserable.
Michele no longer believes she is single because of some fatal flaw, but rather, because right now, she's on a different path, and when the time is right, and the right person comes along, it will happen.
I agree with that philosophy. I believe certain things in our lives happen for a reason, some of which are out of our control, and that in the end, things will work out for the best.
And maybe I'm still single, because on many levels, I am quite content and happy that way, and when I truly need someone else in my life, I will find someone and become not single.
But what really was surprising about our dinner conversation, was that while it started with a discussion on men, relationships and our current status, it ended with me finding out that we had way more in common than we'd known.
We've known each other about 8 years now. She is loud, raucous, giggly, sweet, totally selfless and literally a ball of energy. I too am loud, raucous, sweet/nice, and while not giggly, usually walking around in a good enough mood and with a smile on my face.
The differences, Michele had always struck me as a person very in touch with her feelings and not afraid to show them; someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, a hugger, someone who was, quite literally an open book.
I on the other hand, am always very conscious of my emotions, not very toouchy-feely, and very reserved when it came to expressing anger, hurt, joy or any other feelings in front of others. I would literally sit in a movie theater with a lump in my throat the size of a tennis ball, rather than let anyone see me cry during a particularly heart-wrenching scene, and while very passionate when alone with an SO, refrained from public displays of affection the way one would avoid a rattlesnake.
While most who know me know I'm a good person and would describe me as very nice, I've also been referred to as tough, cold, hard, unemotional. This is because I refuse to show hurt feelings or let people know when they've gotten to me. I can watch a man walk out the door and drive away with a stiff upper lip, holding off on the tears until his car is no longer in sight. I can hold my own in any argument. I open my own doors and carry my own luggage. When someone says something to try to hurt me, I respond blandly or with an equally hurtful remark and a defiant look on my face -- one that doesn't reveal the pain the remark inflicted. And a part of me is proud of that.
I cried twice in front of my last serious boyfriend, and one of those times was the night we broke up. I had tried so hard not to, but it was a precarious balance and as I stooped down to pick up my purse off the floor, tears spilled out onto the top of my handbag. I couldn't stop them and once they fell, it was like the floodgates had been pulled back.
I'm guessing he probably still remembers that nite too, since I didn't just cry, I outright bawled. Loud, shaking sobs and my uttering my disbelief that the breakup was happening because I thought he had been The One. The first and only time I had admitted that to him.
It happened a long time ago, but the memories of it still open up the wound and make it throb with a pain so hurtful I still wonder how I got through that period. My ability to compartmentalize saved me. I got through my days acting as though everything were fine, and saving the tears and sadness for when I was home alone.
And last nite, in a conversation that started out kvetching about work, then moved onto boys and a philosophical discussion about why we wern't married yet, I learned that in the area of not showing emotion or vulnerability, Michele and I are two peas in a pod. She confessed to being the same way. I was shocked.
She traces it back to childhood, I hypothesize its life experiences. After discussing over a fabulous shrimp dijon appetizer, we came to the conclusion it was both. Both of us got this way because of how we were raised -- if you did something and it didn't turn out right, then it was your fault. You were expected to get good grades and always behave, and when something upset you, you were told not to act like a baby and stop crying and complaining.
She really hit the nail on the head when she said, basically, I think the reason we're like that is that we're afraid to be vulnerable -- because we were taught not to be, or not to let anyone see you cry or act afraid or fail.
She's right. I am afraid to be vulnerable; I'm afraid to show weakness and I'm afraid to fail, because in my past, failure brought on criticism -- personal, professional or romantic.
In hashing this topic, we hypothesized that maybe THAT's why we're still single. Because we always try to be perfect ourselves, we're looking for an SO that can live up to the perfectionist standards we hold ourselves too. And of course, that person (man) doesn't exist.
We also want someone who will be the opposite of us -- who will be loving, not be afraid to express emotion, who can get us to let our hair down sometimes, and who will somehow magically be able to understand why, and not mind, that we don't reciprocate.
"We're our own worst enemies," she said, and again, she was right. I obviously am good at my job. I hold an executive position, have gotten good yearly reviews, and oodles of compliments from my higher ups. And yet, most days, I leave my office, thinking "I should've, could've, have to do .....better."
Even though everyone else around me is thrilled with the results.
I'm hardest on myself. Michele says she is too.
Our conversation made me think -- and I realized that it gave me a better understanding of myself and why I might be the way I am and how my mindset could actually be hindering me. I sometimes have less fun than those around me because I'm afraid to let go, I can be judgemental, by strictly adhering to my standards, I'm not being open to some possibly great experiences.
Over the past few years, I've been working on some things. I now not only voice my appreciation for gifts, but show it too. I've gotten more huggy with friends, tried to be a bit more open and emotional with family members. I let people help me with things even if I don't really need the help because I know it makes them feel good and takes me out of my Super Woman mode. And I let myself cry at sad movies -- right there in the movie theater for anyone to see. That is a HUGE step.
And I've become more open. And that is a very good thing. See, a few years back, I never would have admitted my fear of vulnerability to Michele. Never would have commiserated with her about our shared hard cores and emotional toughness. That means I've grown -- in a good way. It also means, some of the layers are coming off, and I'm letting more people in.
Hopefully, by the time I meet my soul mate, the door will be wide open. And I won't be afraid to cry, hug, laugh, kiss, sing, dance or any multitude of things with abandon. In the meantime, I'll keep working on that hard core -- try to show my human side more often -- and in the process, live life more fully and with more feeling.
Ah well, that's what bill payment grace periods are for, right? Besides, it was cheaper than therapy.
"You know, I always used to wonder what was wrong with me that I wasn't married," she said. "I used to think it must be something about me, that's prevented me from finding someone."
"Nooooo," I said. "I don't think that's it at all. I think its just that we're both independent, self-sufficient women and some men are intimidated by that and others can't live up to our standards. And we're picky."
"But maybe, then, that's what's wrong with US," she suggested.
There have been times over the last 15 years when I've longed to be married and settled and out of the single rat race.
There have been other times when I've embraced my singlehood and thought I wouldn't want to live any other way.
Truth is, I do want to find my soul mate; I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone, or taking care of two dozen cats. But I also refuse to settle or compromise my standards. I'd rather be alone, than coupled up with someone just to be coupled up. Or worse, coupled up and miserable.
Michele no longer believes she is single because of some fatal flaw, but rather, because right now, she's on a different path, and when the time is right, and the right person comes along, it will happen.
I agree with that philosophy. I believe certain things in our lives happen for a reason, some of which are out of our control, and that in the end, things will work out for the best.
And maybe I'm still single, because on many levels, I am quite content and happy that way, and when I truly need someone else in my life, I will find someone and become not single.
But what really was surprising about our dinner conversation, was that while it started with a discussion on men, relationships and our current status, it ended with me finding out that we had way more in common than we'd known.
We've known each other about 8 years now. She is loud, raucous, giggly, sweet, totally selfless and literally a ball of energy. I too am loud, raucous, sweet/nice, and while not giggly, usually walking around in a good enough mood and with a smile on my face.
The differences, Michele had always struck me as a person very in touch with her feelings and not afraid to show them; someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, a hugger, someone who was, quite literally an open book.
I on the other hand, am always very conscious of my emotions, not very toouchy-feely, and very reserved when it came to expressing anger, hurt, joy or any other feelings in front of others. I would literally sit in a movie theater with a lump in my throat the size of a tennis ball, rather than let anyone see me cry during a particularly heart-wrenching scene, and while very passionate when alone with an SO, refrained from public displays of affection the way one would avoid a rattlesnake.
While most who know me know I'm a good person and would describe me as very nice, I've also been referred to as tough, cold, hard, unemotional. This is because I refuse to show hurt feelings or let people know when they've gotten to me. I can watch a man walk out the door and drive away with a stiff upper lip, holding off on the tears until his car is no longer in sight. I can hold my own in any argument. I open my own doors and carry my own luggage. When someone says something to try to hurt me, I respond blandly or with an equally hurtful remark and a defiant look on my face -- one that doesn't reveal the pain the remark inflicted. And a part of me is proud of that.
I cried twice in front of my last serious boyfriend, and one of those times was the night we broke up. I had tried so hard not to, but it was a precarious balance and as I stooped down to pick up my purse off the floor, tears spilled out onto the top of my handbag. I couldn't stop them and once they fell, it was like the floodgates had been pulled back.
I'm guessing he probably still remembers that nite too, since I didn't just cry, I outright bawled. Loud, shaking sobs and my uttering my disbelief that the breakup was happening because I thought he had been The One. The first and only time I had admitted that to him.
It happened a long time ago, but the memories of it still open up the wound and make it throb with a pain so hurtful I still wonder how I got through that period. My ability to compartmentalize saved me. I got through my days acting as though everything were fine, and saving the tears and sadness for when I was home alone.
And last nite, in a conversation that started out kvetching about work, then moved onto boys and a philosophical discussion about why we wern't married yet, I learned that in the area of not showing emotion or vulnerability, Michele and I are two peas in a pod. She confessed to being the same way. I was shocked.
She traces it back to childhood, I hypothesize its life experiences. After discussing over a fabulous shrimp dijon appetizer, we came to the conclusion it was both. Both of us got this way because of how we were raised -- if you did something and it didn't turn out right, then it was your fault. You were expected to get good grades and always behave, and when something upset you, you were told not to act like a baby and stop crying and complaining.
She really hit the nail on the head when she said, basically, I think the reason we're like that is that we're afraid to be vulnerable -- because we were taught not to be, or not to let anyone see you cry or act afraid or fail.
She's right. I am afraid to be vulnerable; I'm afraid to show weakness and I'm afraid to fail, because in my past, failure brought on criticism -- personal, professional or romantic.
In hashing this topic, we hypothesized that maybe THAT's why we're still single. Because we always try to be perfect ourselves, we're looking for an SO that can live up to the perfectionist standards we hold ourselves too. And of course, that person (man) doesn't exist.
We also want someone who will be the opposite of us -- who will be loving, not be afraid to express emotion, who can get us to let our hair down sometimes, and who will somehow magically be able to understand why, and not mind, that we don't reciprocate.
"We're our own worst enemies," she said, and again, she was right. I obviously am good at my job. I hold an executive position, have gotten good yearly reviews, and oodles of compliments from my higher ups. And yet, most days, I leave my office, thinking "I should've, could've, have to do .....better."
Even though everyone else around me is thrilled with the results.
I'm hardest on myself. Michele says she is too.
Our conversation made me think -- and I realized that it gave me a better understanding of myself and why I might be the way I am and how my mindset could actually be hindering me. I sometimes have less fun than those around me because I'm afraid to let go, I can be judgemental, by strictly adhering to my standards, I'm not being open to some possibly great experiences.
Over the past few years, I've been working on some things. I now not only voice my appreciation for gifts, but show it too. I've gotten more huggy with friends, tried to be a bit more open and emotional with family members. I let people help me with things even if I don't really need the help because I know it makes them feel good and takes me out of my Super Woman mode. And I let myself cry at sad movies -- right there in the movie theater for anyone to see. That is a HUGE step.
And I've become more open. And that is a very good thing. See, a few years back, I never would have admitted my fear of vulnerability to Michele. Never would have commiserated with her about our shared hard cores and emotional toughness. That means I've grown -- in a good way. It also means, some of the layers are coming off, and I'm letting more people in.
Hopefully, by the time I meet my soul mate, the door will be wide open. And I won't be afraid to cry, hug, laugh, kiss, sing, dance or any multitude of things with abandon. In the meantime, I'll keep working on that hard core -- try to show my human side more often -- and in the process, live life more fully and with more feeling.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
A Pic in Time
My morning email ritual is one that has varying effects on the start of my day.
Sometimes, its monotonous, as I delete spam and junk mail, and read boring memos or notes from colleagues, higher-ups and co-workers, skimming each one with glazed eyes.
Other days, its downright exhausting as that morning's batch of email provides me with at least one full day of work that has to get done immediately, in addition to the things that I put on my To Do List the day before.
And then there are those mornings where I literally thank God for the magic that is email and all that it has brought to modern day life. Today was one of those mornings.
The first email in my inbox this morning was from Alice, the best friend of my old college roommate. When college ended, the bond I had formed with Dee, someone I had not known until that hot, sticky August "moving in" day our first week at college, happily continued to grow and remain strong over time. Living together in one room for 2 years will do that to ya.
Fifteen years later, we're still friends, still stay in touch, and her best friend Alice is someone I now also consider a friend.
Alice had emailed a photo she had unearthed while cleaning out her attic. It is the silliest of photos, and it brought back a flood of memories.
We were all about 23, tan, carefree and on vacation at the shore. It was the first time I had really ever spent any time with Alice, other than the few times when I had visited Dee and interacted with her in a group setting.
The photo was taken in one of those cheesy little boardwalk shops where they have costumes and backgrounds for you to pose in, and then they charge each of you $10 for a single copy of the cheesy, silly photo.
We chose the western saloon photo and there we are, in all the Old West Saloon Girl finery of feathers and black chokers and big, frilly dresses with a background of a very old, gritty bar behind us.
That was the last vacation I had gone on with Dee, as she would be getting married in the near future, and it was also the beginning of my friendship with Alice. We liked each other and got along really well. Eventually, we'd go from being mutual friends of Dee to being friends with each other. We didn't realize that's the path we were on, but that's typical of life in general.
See, as is what usually happens the first few years after college, Dee and I stayed in regular contact and visited each other often, since she only lived an hour away. We went on summer vacations together.
But then, she got married, I got busy, the years flew by, and we found ourselves barely doing the yearly b-day cards and Christmas phone calls. We saw each other maybe once every couple of years. Sometimes Alice would be there, sometimes not.
Then, a little over a year ago, Dee called one day out of the blue to get together. When we saw each other, she told me she was separated, was getting a divorce and going back to school. The bonds were instantly re-cemented and the phone calls got more frequent and visits now once every couple of months instead of years. And of course, we exchanged emails regularly.
We'd meet for dinners, shopping and happy hours. Sometimes just us, sometimes Alice and a few other of Dee's friends. As she prepared to go away to school, I started emailing with Alice on my own to help plan girls nights out and the going away party. Alice was also added to my email joke list and buddy lists. She added me to hers and a new friendship was born. We were no longer mutual friends of Dee's. We were simply friends.
Since Dee left for school, Alice and I have remained in touch and meet whenever time allows for Friday happy hours or dinner. When her husband asked for a divorce, she emailed me to tell me. When she went out to visit Dee at school, she filled me in on all the details when she returned and sent pics.
And then there was today's picture. A real glimpse back into the past and, strangely enough, at the same time, a precursor of things to come. When that pic was taken, I probably described it as, "there's me, Dee and her friend Alice. Now its -- "there's me and my friends Dee and Alice."
The birth, death and ever-changing cycles of friendship never cease to amaze me and its funny how the events that have transpired since that vacation picture, taken all those years ago, have made the memory of that photo that much more special.
When it was taken, it was me, my old roommate and her friend. Today, its a picture of me and two good friends, and a chance to remember me and us as we were back then and realize how far we've all come. How the roads we've each traveled separately, have strangely enough, helped bring us all back together and added to the uniqueness and specialness of the memory that photograph evokes.
This morning, as I stared at that picture for several minutes and then made it my screen background, I felt a wave of genuine gratitude for the magic of email and the friendships it has helped nurture.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Something in the Water
I woke up this morning feeling unbelieveably good.
I felt calm and relaxed, invigorated and alive and just so well-rested.
As I stretched and headed for the kitchen and the coffeemaker, I got that feeling you get when you wake up on that first morning of your summer vacation, look out your hotel or beach house window, take a good deep breath and just absorb the first few minutes of your day.
The strange thing was, when I was going to bed I was anticipating waking up slightly hung over.
After hanging with the neighbors Sunday night, helping them polish off the remaining few bottles of wine left from their Saturday nite party, I headed home a little after 10 with half a glass of wine left.
I watched TV for a bit, sipped away at the remaining reisling in my glass and turned in. Before going upstairs I poured a glass of my newest creation to quench any middle of the night thirsts -- cucumber water. (You add thinly sliced cucumber slices (I use a whole small kirby cuke) to a pitcher of fresh spring water, a slice or two of lemon if you'd like, and keep it in the fridge.) I LOVE the stuff. Had it at a spa a few weeks ago when I went for a massage and kept intending to make it. Yesterday I finally followed through.
Anyway, I settled in under the sheets, with the air conditioner blasting and my cucumber water on the bedside table.
I rarely sleep through the nite -- bathroom runs, thirst, the cat and the occasional strange dream often have me up once or twice. And last nite was no exception. Two hours after falling asleep, the cat wanted out of the air conditioned room. And I had a sip or two of my cucumber water; two hours later, she wanted back in and I also needed to pee and then gulped down a few more mouthfuls. Two hours after that, it was 6 a.m. and I was wide awake and ready to start my day.
I remained in bed just vegging, for another half hour -- didn't want to disturb the cat who was still very much asleep and obviously very comfortable resting against my elbow. When I eventually threw back the sheets, I realized I felt great. Not even the hint of a hangover, no stiff muscles or tight back -- I felt like a new person.
As I opened up the downstairs windows to let the cool morning air in, I realized it wasn't very cool. Barely 7 a.m. and already the temp was closing in on 80. And it was hazy out when I got the paper in. But that only added to the energy and rejuvenation I felt.
I have no idea what got into me!
Maybe the air conditioning, I thought and then realized that usually, air conditioning made me feel worse. As I literally bounced around the house getting ready for the day, enjoying the extra time I now had because I had gotten up so damn early, I couldn't get over how much energy I had, what a good mood I was in, and just how alive I felt.
What could it be? I kept thinking as I drove to work. I should have slept for at least another hour, and then woken up cranky and with a headache, cursing the neighbors and their free wine. But I wasn't. Instead, I felt like a Polly-frickin-Anna. All full of goodness and light and well wishes.
Finally, after a couple hours at my desk -- where I actually got work done (I start out slow usually and spend my morning checking email, phone messages and pushing around all the piles on my desk trying to decide what to do first) -- it hit me like a ton of bricks.
THE CUCUMBER WATER!
Its the one thing I did differently. It was the first time I had made a pitcher, and with the weather being so hot yesterday, I had drank an entire pitcher over the course of the afternoon and evening.
It had to be. What else? Its the only thing that was different.
I'm hoping I've found the fountain of youth here. I had previously just drank my water plain, thank you very much, or did the old lemon water thing. I now have a new fad, but I will be doing some experimentation over the course of this week.
I plan on making and drinking more cucumber water, to see if it has any difference. And of course, geek that I am, I'll probably research it a bit on the internet to see if I can find any claims. But for now, all I know is I feel great and looking forward to going home and enjoying the rest of the afternoon -- maybe reading on the front porch for awhile, with a tall glass of -- you guessed it -- cucumber water nearby.
Besides, it can't hurt right?
I felt calm and relaxed, invigorated and alive and just so well-rested.
As I stretched and headed for the kitchen and the coffeemaker, I got that feeling you get when you wake up on that first morning of your summer vacation, look out your hotel or beach house window, take a good deep breath and just absorb the first few minutes of your day.
The strange thing was, when I was going to bed I was anticipating waking up slightly hung over.
After hanging with the neighbors Sunday night, helping them polish off the remaining few bottles of wine left from their Saturday nite party, I headed home a little after 10 with half a glass of wine left.
I watched TV for a bit, sipped away at the remaining reisling in my glass and turned in. Before going upstairs I poured a glass of my newest creation to quench any middle of the night thirsts -- cucumber water. (You add thinly sliced cucumber slices (I use a whole small kirby cuke) to a pitcher of fresh spring water, a slice or two of lemon if you'd like, and keep it in the fridge.) I LOVE the stuff. Had it at a spa a few weeks ago when I went for a massage and kept intending to make it. Yesterday I finally followed through.
Anyway, I settled in under the sheets, with the air conditioner blasting and my cucumber water on the bedside table.
I rarely sleep through the nite -- bathroom runs, thirst, the cat and the occasional strange dream often have me up once or twice. And last nite was no exception. Two hours after falling asleep, the cat wanted out of the air conditioned room. And I had a sip or two of my cucumber water; two hours later, she wanted back in and I also needed to pee and then gulped down a few more mouthfuls. Two hours after that, it was 6 a.m. and I was wide awake and ready to start my day.
I remained in bed just vegging, for another half hour -- didn't want to disturb the cat who was still very much asleep and obviously very comfortable resting against my elbow. When I eventually threw back the sheets, I realized I felt great. Not even the hint of a hangover, no stiff muscles or tight back -- I felt like a new person.
As I opened up the downstairs windows to let the cool morning air in, I realized it wasn't very cool. Barely 7 a.m. and already the temp was closing in on 80. And it was hazy out when I got the paper in. But that only added to the energy and rejuvenation I felt.
I have no idea what got into me!
Maybe the air conditioning, I thought and then realized that usually, air conditioning made me feel worse. As I literally bounced around the house getting ready for the day, enjoying the extra time I now had because I had gotten up so damn early, I couldn't get over how much energy I had, what a good mood I was in, and just how alive I felt.
What could it be? I kept thinking as I drove to work. I should have slept for at least another hour, and then woken up cranky and with a headache, cursing the neighbors and their free wine. But I wasn't. Instead, I felt like a Polly-frickin-Anna. All full of goodness and light and well wishes.
Finally, after a couple hours at my desk -- where I actually got work done (I start out slow usually and spend my morning checking email, phone messages and pushing around all the piles on my desk trying to decide what to do first) -- it hit me like a ton of bricks.
THE CUCUMBER WATER!
Its the one thing I did differently. It was the first time I had made a pitcher, and with the weather being so hot yesterday, I had drank an entire pitcher over the course of the afternoon and evening.
It had to be. What else? Its the only thing that was different.
I'm hoping I've found the fountain of youth here. I had previously just drank my water plain, thank you very much, or did the old lemon water thing. I now have a new fad, but I will be doing some experimentation over the course of this week.
I plan on making and drinking more cucumber water, to see if it has any difference. And of course, geek that I am, I'll probably research it a bit on the internet to see if I can find any claims. But for now, all I know is I feel great and looking forward to going home and enjoying the rest of the afternoon -- maybe reading on the front porch for awhile, with a tall glass of -- you guessed it -- cucumber water nearby.
Besides, it can't hurt right?
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Wasted Days and Guilty Nights
I hate it when I have weekends like these.
Weekends where I literally have nothing to do. Nothing except, of course, those mundane tasks that I swear I will try to do bit by bit during the week so that my weekend is truly free, but somehow never do get them done. "But I will have so much time this weekend," I tell myself. "I'll have plenty of time, then"
Ahh, the spirit is so willing, but the willpower so weak.
On Friday night, restless and planless, I went for a drive after work -- with the windows all the way down and the day's heat finally receding, I drove down shaded roads, past farms and woods, with the wind hitting my face and the stereo cranking out the latest CD by a favorite local band, followed by Bat Out of Hell II. (I not only love the band Meatloaf, its also one of my favorite dinner entrees. LOL)
My growling stomach finally made me head back to civilization, 10 minutes before the closing time of a favorite gourmet take-out place. I breezed in just in time and treated myself to very rare prime rib, garlic mashed potatoes and teriyaki vegetables. With dinner in hand, I made a second stop for a nice bottle of wine, and headed home for a relaxing but boring evening.
Later that nite, as I finished off the wine and smoked a cigarrette, relaxing on the front porch, I planned my itinerary for the next day.
Errands: recycling center, post office, card store, bank and grocery store, and then wash the car.
Tasks: laundry, dusting, vacuuming, clean the bathroom, change the sheets
fun: Go to neighbors party
Well, as of 10 p.m. last nite, I had done 2 loads of laundry, and barely dragged my ass to the bank and card store, and did make the party.
Once home, I was tired and as I vegged on the sofa, all I could think was --- I didn't do shit today! Practically nothing. And so much needed to be done.
As I looked at my dusty furniture, my non-vacuumed carpets and thought of all the laundry that still needed to be done, while just then remembering there was a load in the dryer that needed folding, the guilt descended.
Tomorrow will be different, I vowed.
Well now, tomorrow is today, and its only slightly different -- I did change the sheets, have already done 3 loads of laundry (only 2 more remain, I have been a bad, bad girl) put done laundry away, cleaned litter box and straightened out kitchen.
But the furniture is still dusty, the kitchen floor could use a mopping and the bathroom, still not cleaned. Thankfully, its not gross, just the usual toothpaste globs and soap spots in the sink. That kind of thing.
And of course, I feel even more guilty.
In the back of my mind, I can hear my mother voicing her disapproval of my housekeeping skills and my laziness. "How could you possibly spend the entire morning reading newspapers when your house looks like this? Where are your priorities? You better get your act together," she'd say. Because in mom's mind, nothing is more important than having a spotlessly clean house and an empty laundry hamper.
What I find most interesting, is the fact that I can't seem to shake the habits of childhood and how at 36, being a professional, a manager, a homeowner and single -- which means every responsibility is mine -- I feel guilty when I let things slide simply because I'm tired or would rather do something else, or nothing.
Many of my friends spend their weekends vegging and partying and not worrying about the mundane -- or constanly berating themselves for a dusty end table here or some crumbs on the rug over there. One friend only cleans every 2 weeks; another only does laundry when she's down to her last few pairs of clean undies.
And I don't hold it against them. I totally understand. And yet, I can't shake the sense of guilt when I don't get the housework done on a regular (ie, weekly) basis.
I guess no matter how old we get, or independent, our moms, or rather, their voices in the back of our minds, can still lay a guilt trip on us.
And I think I know why -- no matter how hard we try to fight it, in time, some small part of us, will become our mothers, even if in only the slightest of ways.
I know I'll never be the perfect, June Cleaver type of housewife my mom was when I was growing up. Truth be told, I'm okay with that. For the most part -- I have to admit, I love it when the house is really, really clean.
Its the part of me that has already started morphing into my mother, and I guess the part of me that will always look for parental approval no matter how much I say I don't need it, that now feels guilty when my housekeeping skills take a longer than usual holiday.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
When will it get better?
I feel like crap today --- on so many levels.
Physically, my allergies are in overdrive and I swear if I blow my nose one more time, or my right eye tears anymore, I am gonna go insane!
Secondly, yet another dating letdown. Yes, I'm still doing the online thing, and yes, so far, still not much luck. But I had a prospect; a decent one. He was goodlooking, we seemed to have lots in common and our emails were actually honest to goodness conversations. Until he asked for a picture and I obliged.
And the only conclusion I can draw -- is guys my own age are not attracted to me. Every single time I have shared a pic with a 40-something guy, or late 30s guy, they've replied, complimenting me on my eyes or my cuteness or my smile.
The 35/36-yr-olds, or younger --- fuggeddabout it! Once I send off the pics, I rarely here from them.
What IS that? And in bard its even worse. Every post mid-life crisis single 50 or 60-something guy, hits on me.
An older colleague of mine once said I reminded him of a young Judy Garland. Could that be it? Maybe older guys like cute, perky brunettes?
But regardless of why, I have to admit that its started to put a chink in this girl's armor. Its hard not to feel rejected when someone appears interested, gushes that they can't believe all the things you have in common wiht them, and then, upon seeing a photo or two, drops off the face of the earth.
Definitely a hazard of 21st century dating, for sure, and a total ego-killer.
Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't come on the tails of a huge work issue that surfaced at 4 p.m. on Friday afternoon. In trying to get to the bottom of said issue and put some sort of resolution into motion before leaving for the weekend, I had one higher-up outright lie to me, another confide in me that another higher-up lied to her, and one volunteer resign because, obviously, she did not want to have to deal with the politics of the situation.
The incident was enough to make me pull out a want ad I'd cut from last week's newspaper, print out my resume, write a cover letter, and head for the nearest mailbox.
See, for the past 18 months my job has been a hellacious roller coaster ride. When I saw this ad, which matches my credentials and experience, I considered applying.
But almost magically, in the past week and a half since I clipped the ad, things at work seemed to be on the upswing. So I didn't do anything with it. I figured, 'why try to get out now when it seems like you've just rounded the corner.' Maybe, after more than a year of uphill battles and political landmines, I've finally reached the summit and things will be good and the way they should be.
But alas, the upswing was not to last. I should have known better. It was an unexpected cease fire due in part to everyone being so busy with seasonal projects and the fact that we had just had a very successful and enjoyable annual dinner event.
Its now back to the hidden agendas, in-house politics and weekly backstabbing that has been par for the course since I joined this organization.
And Friday's incident was just the push I needed to realize that. So now, my dusted off resume and freshly minted cover letter are on their happy way to the desk of a potential new employer.
I have no idea what my chances are -- if I'll even be called for an interview -- but at least my hat is firmly in the ring.
A very faint ray of hope in an otherwise depressing 48 hours. And at least it made me feel like I was doing something proactive.
Oh, and also yesterday, I found out a guy who I used to be friends with, but had a falling out with 2 years ago and haven't spoken to since -- due to the fact that he wanted to date me and couldn't accept the fact that I did not have a similar interest in him -- is going to be at a friend's christening for her daughter. Lovely. Its a small gathering and altho I 'll do my best to act civilly, I'm already dreading it.
So, no exactly the greatest 48 hours. And on top of it, my allergies are still in overdrive and I've just used my last tissue!
Aaarrrrgggghhhhh!
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Getting a Workout
I love to sweat.
I know that sounds odd, and kinda gross, but I do.
Of course, I don't mean the kind of 3-hour workout sweat where, well, horrid smells emanate from every possible part of your being. I'm talking about the mild sweat. The perspiring sweat, if you will. The kind of sweat that has a sort of wholesome smell, maybe with a little bit of salt mixed into it.
Like the kind of sweat I built up today doing yard work. After 2 hours of trimming hedges and sweeping sidewalks (with several iced tea breaks built in, of course) I had the perfect sweat going.
Not too drippy, not too offensive, but good enough so that I could feel self-righteous about the 2 hours of manual labor I had done, and enough that it felt like a workout, as well, giving me the perfect excuse for not having to go to the gym today.
Oh, did I mention that I also packed up all my recyclables and carted them off to the recycling center, filled the bird feeders and hung a new birdhouse to give my feathered friends a nice place to stay while they summer here?
So, now, I'm done. Just in time too, because as I swept the last of the hedge trimmings from the front sidewalk, the rain started coming down and it looks like its gonna be here for awhile.
Guess I'll grab another iced tea (iced green tea, that is), a cigarrette and chill on the enclosed porch for a bit and try to decide if I want to just shower, grab dinner and call it a day, or do a few indoor domestic tasks, ie, cleaning the bathroom or polishing furniture.
I'm thinkin' the shower/dinner combo is probably gonna win out!
I know that sounds odd, and kinda gross, but I do.
Of course, I don't mean the kind of 3-hour workout sweat where, well, horrid smells emanate from every possible part of your being. I'm talking about the mild sweat. The perspiring sweat, if you will. The kind of sweat that has a sort of wholesome smell, maybe with a little bit of salt mixed into it.
Like the kind of sweat I built up today doing yard work. After 2 hours of trimming hedges and sweeping sidewalks (with several iced tea breaks built in, of course) I had the perfect sweat going.
Not too drippy, not too offensive, but good enough so that I could feel self-righteous about the 2 hours of manual labor I had done, and enough that it felt like a workout, as well, giving me the perfect excuse for not having to go to the gym today.
Oh, did I mention that I also packed up all my recyclables and carted them off to the recycling center, filled the bird feeders and hung a new birdhouse to give my feathered friends a nice place to stay while they summer here?
So, now, I'm done. Just in time too, because as I swept the last of the hedge trimmings from the front sidewalk, the rain started coming down and it looks like its gonna be here for awhile.
Guess I'll grab another iced tea (iced green tea, that is), a cigarrette and chill on the enclosed porch for a bit and try to decide if I want to just shower, grab dinner and call it a day, or do a few indoor domestic tasks, ie, cleaning the bathroom or polishing furniture.
I'm thinkin' the shower/dinner combo is probably gonna win out!
Friday, May 27, 2005
Better with Age?
It happened quite innocently. I had gone to a local salon in search of better makeup. After suffering through weeks of breakouts, where I have changed just about everything that could be a possible culprit in causing them, I determined it must be my makeup.
Granted, the same makeup I've been using for about 3 years now, but hey, shit happens and sometimes we just can't explain why.
So I decided to go with a higher-end brand.
As Cheryl, the cosmetologist brushed and smoothed and powdered, she stopped just underneath my left eye, and "hmmmm, you seem to be a bit dry under here." Then she touched just below my right eye. "yep, here too," she said.
"How old are you?" she then asked, as she applied some moisturizer to the area.
"36, why?"
"Oh, me too. I was just curious. But you know, you really should start doing something about your undereye area or its going to get worse. Tell me, do you use eye cream"
"Ummm, no. I don't. Why? Do I need to?"
"Yes," Cheryl matter-of-factly stated. "You do."
Normally not one to overly concern myself with those types of comments/issues, or personal vanity, I could not get Cheryl's eye cream advice out of my head.
As I grocery shopped -- I found myself trying to catch glimpses of myself in freezer door glass and anything resembling a mirror. On the ride home, I kept looking at different parts of my face in the rear-view mirror.
When did my pores get so big?, I started to wonder. And how long have I had that furrow in my brow? And damn, she was right, my undereye area is not only dry, but darker than I remember it being last time I looked? Is it just from lack of sleep?
As I made dinner, ate it and then read and watched TV, I kept going into the bathroom every half hour and examining my face in great detail.
Its happened, I suddenly realized. I've begun looking my age. The old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be.
All of a sudden, all the pieces came together -- the stiffer joints in the morning, the dry skin that no moisturizer has been able to cure, the expanding waistline, my heel spur, my ever-earlier bedtime --- DAMN. I'm middle-aged (or at least very close to it), I suddenly realized.
WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN TO ME?
And why did my brain not realize it sooner? I mean, inside, I still feel like a 20-year-old. But the shell is saying, "slow down honey, and please, don't forget the moisturizer and face cream at nite."
Well, I've been more diligent the past few days with my skin care routine and probably will buy the more expensive makeup. And while I haven't gone out and bought eye cream yet, its a good bet that this weekend I"ll be at a makeup counter at a department store, checking a few out.
I guess in addition to wisdom, with age comes vanity. And alot more maintenance! LOL
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
21st Century Romance
There they were -- two messages in my as yet unchecked in-box, from 2 men I winked on Match. Somehow, never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I'd be doing the online dating thing.
Of course, everyone who does online dating says they never thought they'd be doing online dating.
But for me, by now, my online dating days should be over.
I've been doing it off and on for about 3 years now -- with very, very limited success. In fact, the other day, the day I sent the winks, I had logged on so I could cancel my membership. But then I saw a few new faces and decided to surf for just a minute or two.
I ended up sending the winks, vowing that if I didn't get a response the next day -- I'd resign for good. Forever. Never to return.
The next day, there they were.
One good thing -- both of these two guys seem to be genuinely nice and interested in talking and meeting quickly. That is a good thing. Nothing like prolonging email only contact and then find out you're totally incompatible with the other person.
So, with any luck, I'll have at least one date this weekend.
I'm not getting my hopes up. I've had lots of first dates thanks to these online dating sites. My problem -- getting second dates. Time, I suppose, will tell.
I just wish I could figure out exactly when, and how, dating got to be so darn hard!
Of course, everyone who does online dating says they never thought they'd be doing online dating.
But for me, by now, my online dating days should be over.
I've been doing it off and on for about 3 years now -- with very, very limited success. In fact, the other day, the day I sent the winks, I had logged on so I could cancel my membership. But then I saw a few new faces and decided to surf for just a minute or two.
I ended up sending the winks, vowing that if I didn't get a response the next day -- I'd resign for good. Forever. Never to return.
The next day, there they were.
One good thing -- both of these two guys seem to be genuinely nice and interested in talking and meeting quickly. That is a good thing. Nothing like prolonging email only contact and then find out you're totally incompatible with the other person.
So, with any luck, I'll have at least one date this weekend.
I'm not getting my hopes up. I've had lots of first dates thanks to these online dating sites. My problem -- getting second dates. Time, I suppose, will tell.
I just wish I could figure out exactly when, and how, dating got to be so darn hard!
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