After a rousing, five hour conversation last night with Vee, I came to the conclusion - without much effort - that this has been, all in all, a pretty good year. And yes, I said five hours.
It's not that this year hasn't given me a few good licks. Cause it has. I lost my grandmother. I lost my former mother in law (ok, so that was on my birthday last year, but I will still count it). I got into an accident that almost sent me to the nut house. I had a lot of heartache and shed a lot of tears over one boy. I almost lost my best guy friend from a hideous case of stalking-like behavior. I went to credit counseling and gave up the thing I loved most...spending money.
But that's it. And as I sit here and write, and rack my brain about what else was bad about 2006, I can't come up with much, if anything, more. I have to say, that's not that bad. But the thing I will look back on about 2006 and my 29th year is that I have learned who I am, and I have become ME again. So many things that have been learned along the way...
I finally took my life back and put it firmly in my own hands. I made an effort to start understanding who I am. I finally got control of my spending and took a step to do something about it. I finally was able to realize that I like being single. A lot. I like that I have routines that I never thought I had. I like going to the gym. I liked that I quit smoking until a month ago (and yes, I did start it back and yes, I hate it , kind of, and yes it is just as bad as the crack ). I like having to rely on no one but myself, even at those times, like my grandmothers death. (Although, I do love a good supportive text message that says exactly what you need to hear at the perfect moment). I still hate doing laundry. I'm really a very bad drunk and should just give up the alcohol. I say dumb things sometimes. I am lazy. I am still dependent on my parents to bail me out of financial situations. I still love the way Jean Paul Gautier cologne smells on devastatingly handsome Belgians. I am finally grasping the concept of how important it is not to settle. Or how to cherish losing someone, because it means you were lucky enough to have them. I realized that I am a dreamer, not a do-er. I finally remembered how much I really enjoy the romance and the words and the poems and the songs. I came to understand the concept of moving forward and why it is so important to take a chance, to cross the line, and to go after what it is you want. I started to understand that I have a lot of resentment in me. And hurt. I began to write again - in this blog - and emptied my head instead of keeping it all in. I spent some of my most favorite times with my grandmother, and I held her hand as she died. I still made a lot of mistakes and did, said, and acted in ways I'm not proud of. I worked harder than I ever worked before. I got to see two of my best friends as a mother. I started listening to what my dreams were telling me, and who was coming to me in them. I allowed myself to cry again, to feel human again. I tried to make amends and close doors. I held on a little longer, and a little tighter than I should have. And I let go...
It's been a wild ride this 29th year of mine. I am looking forward to the new year ahead and I already have this overwhelming peace that I will continue to be blessed - even when the road is bumpy or when the goodbye's seem too much to bear. For all the ups and downs, I wouldn't change a thing. Fact is, I'm starting to like this person I'm becoming - or maybe who I've always been. I'm just starting to get comfortable with the ghosts of the past and the possibility of my future.
And I am happy.
11.29.2006
11.21.2006
A Time For Giving Thanks
Even with all the ups and downs the last couple of years have afforded me, I still have so much to be thankful for. I wanted to take this time, as we get ready to celebrate Thanksgiving, to say outloud all the things I am thankful for today.
- For my dad aka "Dakota" aka "Switzerland." For the love in his eyes and the span of his arms when he hugs me. And for his phone calls, always on the times when I know he knows I need them most.
- For my mom. For our similarities and the ups and downs that come with our likeness. For all the good she does and for her selflessness. For her loudness so I am always sure to know just where I came from.
- For my sister. For her strength. For her compassion for everyone she knows. For her uniqueness and for everything she has taught me.
- For NB-C & Vee. For everyday. For every conversation. For being my sisters and my family. For believing in me and bringing me back down from the clouds.
- For SEDW & Julia. For you who my life is just better because of. For who we have become since that first day of our meeting. For all of the laughter and tears along the way.
- For my Girl. For the way she snuggles me lately and fills my heart. For her love of squirrels and fondness for roadtrips. For always being happy to see me.
- For my job. For giving me a paycheck while doing something I still enjoy doing after five years. For the friends I've made along the way.
- For my independence. The thing I am everyday most thankful for. Something I always said I was, but never allowed myself to be. For being it every single day for the last thirteen months.
- For my Friend. For making me believe, in something - everything, again. For the last few minutes we had together. For seeing me like I know me.
- For my grandparents (those still here and those who said goodbye). For everything you ever showed me, taught me, shared with me, for my history and for my future.
- For my aunts and uncles and cousins. For my fantastic family who all give me something that makes me, me.
- For my ability to take a chance.
- For being a good person.
- For this blog and what it has meant to me to be able to write it down to get all this non-sense out of my head.
- For being a good friend.
- For Daniel.
- For Joey.
- For love. For hope. For faith.
- For fun weekends with a new group of people...that make you laugh, hard.
- For those Ohio State Buckeyes beating the school we do not name.
- For our time at GC.
- For Gap Long & Leans.
- For quarterly bonus checks.
- For twenty-nine pretty fantastic years.
- For asparagus, waffles, fries, and chocolate...and where they make them best. ;)
- For the way a song makes you feel.
- For dreams. And those who come to you in them.
- For laughter.
- For laughter.
- For laughter.
- For moving forward and letting go.
- For all those darn Pisces. And what they've taught me.
- For beliving in my own reality.
- For tears and the way they make you feel human.
- For crossing the line.
- For losing.
And for everything and everyone, still to come.
Happy Thanksgiving...
11.17.2006
Proud to be a BUCKEYE
Well it's officially that time of year for us Buckeye fans. Time for the big game and a whole lot of nail biting, and nerves until the last second has ticked away off the clock...This year it's more than just the game we wait all season for - this year it's a day of reckoning.
Living in the big LexVegas isn't exactly a prime location for this game. Cause see, no one here really gives a damn why we love Woody Hayes, or why when someone says "O-H" we spontaneously reply "I-O." No one understands why we intrinsically are born to loathe that school "up North." Or how we can devote entire restaurant experiences around a college team. Ah, yes. We are Buckeyes and we love our Ohio State football. It doesn't matter if you went to OSU or not...it just is like a right of passage. You are born. You love Ohio State. You are fortunate to have ever lived in Columbus, you are a fan for life. It's in the tradition of game day, the celebration in every victory or the heart break in the RARE defeat (God, I hope I didn't just jinx us). Not to mention the highly circulated emails about how much we despise the school that must not be name, you know...like the 3-year old in his OSU shirt, face painted with the big "O" giving the bird to a supposed rival team fan in the crowd - and how we think that's so precious. There's something to be said about the love of our Buckeye football when the state puts off the final tally of a highly contested election until "after the big game." It's all about your priorities, you know. Or the way you throw your keys on the floor when 24-hours before said big game you come back from lunch and someone says "OH MY GOD, DID YOU HEAR!!!! BO SCHEMBECKLER DIED!!!"
Ah yes. The big game. Numero Uno and that aborhing number 2. Perhaps the biggest game of the NCAA season just a matter of hours away...and my stomach is in knots...my palms are a sweatin' and that team's former beloved coach has just kicked the bucket, giving them more motivation than just about anything.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Well, I'm hoping that a darn fine season, an 11-0 record, a possible Heisman trophy winner, and not to mention the fact that the game is in the "Shoe" (where the fans are as committed to the win as the players themselves) is enough to give us that last "W" and a spot in the BCS Championship Game.
And because it's tradition in that hometown of mine, in honor of Scarlet & Grey day, I've of course got on my OSU Championship sweatshirt from a few years ago, my Go Bucks lucky bracelet, my Buckeye earings, and a pair of red undies on just in case...
You never can be too sure what will clench it for them.
GO BUCKS!
11.16.2006
Full Of Useless Information
Do you realize, dear readers, I am now a mere 19 days from the b i g birthday? Crap. I can't believe it's really going to happen.
My Girl has been doing weird things with her animal babies lately. She's been lining them up by her food. Maybe she's trying to spell letters and at the end of the week she will complete a whole word. Maybe she's hoping the raccoon will come back because it's in the same spot he came in at. Maybe she sending out an SOS. "Send Me Back to Grandma's."
She's pretty smart when she wants to be. Ok, she's not. But she's cute.
My Girl has been doing weird things with her animal babies lately. She's been lining them up by her food. Maybe she's trying to spell letters and at the end of the week she will complete a whole word. Maybe she's hoping the raccoon will come back because it's in the same spot he came in at. Maybe she sending out an SOS. "Send Me Back to Grandma's."
She's pretty smart when she wants to be. Ok, she's not. But she's cute.
In other events, I'm not sure how but I keep getting emails from The Biggest Loser Club. You know, that show about the people who lose like their entire fatness in the span of a TV season? Well, somehow they've found me and keep sending me emails. There isn't really anything I can say when the little box for my hotmail pops up "You've Received Mail from The Biggest Loser Club." That doesn't exactly make one feel great. Not only are you a fat ass, but you're a loser too. All in one fell swoop. Neat. Thanks for the reminder.
One of the funniest things from last week came from my cousin KT. She delivered the other half of my grandmother's eulogy - and it was filled with lots of facts about our Mary. This is one of my favorite facts that pretty much solidifies how awesome our Mary was:
-Her political insights: and I quote, “Condaleeza, Condaleeza, Condaleeza—Rice….I hate her.”
My stomach is a mess. It's the big game this weekend. My beloved Buckeyes and that school we must not name. Seriously, it doesn't get anymore nerve racking than this.
That's about all I've got.
11.13.2006
In Memoriam
Mary Irene
October 29, 1930 - November 8, 2006
My grandmother, and my good friend died last Wednesday. I was able to pay tribute to her by delivering part of her eulogy at her funeral on Saturday. In order for me to pay tribute to her to the rest of the world, I have posted the eulogy below...To Vee, NB-C, SEDW, Julia, and He :: thank you for your love and support and your words, know that I appreciated it very much ...
Good morning, my name is Natalie and I am proud to have otherwise been known as Mary’s granddaughter.
My grandmother was something to everyone sitting here today. Her true zest for life was undeniable, and infectious. To some she was a friend, to others a teacher. To us, she was a mother, and a grandmother. And maybe what she was best of all - she was a wife.
We come here together today to say goodbye. But this is not a sad day. No, let us not be mistaken for today is a cause for celebration in the life of a woman who became so much to all who had the pleasure to know – and love her.
I wonder if it were possible to measure the success of someone’s life at the occasion of their death. Would you measure it by what they had accomplished? By their devotion to their family? Would you measure it in the number of tears that had been shed, or the sound of laughter along the way? Or would you measure it in the memories – and the countless stories retold from the people who loved them.
The true success of our Mary, was found in all of that.
Our Mary knew us all beyond what we could even ourselves sometimes see.
I don’t think for my whole life or for my life to come that there was ever a better judge of character. She was someone who knew you before you knew yourself – and loved you all the while. And if your name didn’t fit, she would give you a good strong nickname. The strongest of those:
Christopher Robin. Brown Thing. Markus Aurelius. Ta Ta Tee Ta.
Our Mary believed in us and was proud of us, every single day.
There wasn’t a time I spent with her when she wouldn’t tell of an accomplishment of one of her grandchildren – each time I would visit she would tell me about one of my cousins and what they had been doing. She would smile and she would boast about these wonderful grandkids of hers – rightfully so. May you be sure that you always know how proud of you she was. And when she wasn’t there with you, she was always there in spirit.
Our Mary was every day, a teacher.
She believed in her students, whether in the classroom or at the dining room table. She understood how to make you understand or how to make you love to learn. How to never be afraid to try or how to give a clever name to an art project gone ary. She was especially gifted at how to bring people out of their shell and make them soar. Yes, she was a teacher of the highest caliber.
She was a wife who loved her husband beyond the boundaries of the earth and sky. A wife who lifted her husband up when he needed lifting. The mother of four children I happen to think are pretty great. A true partner.
A best friend for 56-years.
And in so many ways she was so much more – she was a storyteller, a prankster, a healer, an artist, a shopper, a believer, a coach, a student, an intuitionist, a singer, a name giver, a fashionista, and boy was she classy.
To me, my grandmother was everything and everyone I hope to one day be. She was everything that was good and right. She just got me. She fulfilled every promise she ever made to me. Loved me like she pledged to love me. Lifted me up higher than I deserved to be lifted. My grandmother believed in me, always.
And at a very early age she passed something on to me that I like to think of as our great bond...A true love for THIS family. A gift for which I am eternally grateful. It’s the tie that binds…
My grandmother was my heart. I am sure of it, for I am quite sure of the way it has broken.
She was our hearts.
And so it goes … Twenty nine years, eleven months, and two days I had with her. What we share now is a common thread all the stronger - the memories we have of our Mary. Memories that remind us of the life she gave us…that life of the most extraordinary kind…
A life filled with lots of love and a bounty full of laughter...
My grandmother was something to everyone sitting here today. Her true zest for life was undeniable, and infectious. To some she was a friend, to others a teacher. To us, she was a mother, and a grandmother. And maybe what she was best of all - she was a wife.
We come here together today to say goodbye. But this is not a sad day. No, let us not be mistaken for today is a cause for celebration in the life of a woman who became so much to all who had the pleasure to know – and love her.
I wonder if it were possible to measure the success of someone’s life at the occasion of their death. Would you measure it by what they had accomplished? By their devotion to their family? Would you measure it in the number of tears that had been shed, or the sound of laughter along the way? Or would you measure it in the memories – and the countless stories retold from the people who loved them.
The true success of our Mary, was found in all of that.
Our Mary knew us all beyond what we could even ourselves sometimes see.
I don’t think for my whole life or for my life to come that there was ever a better judge of character. She was someone who knew you before you knew yourself – and loved you all the while. And if your name didn’t fit, she would give you a good strong nickname. The strongest of those:
Christopher Robin. Brown Thing. Markus Aurelius. Ta Ta Tee Ta.
Our Mary believed in us and was proud of us, every single day.
There wasn’t a time I spent with her when she wouldn’t tell of an accomplishment of one of her grandchildren – each time I would visit she would tell me about one of my cousins and what they had been doing. She would smile and she would boast about these wonderful grandkids of hers – rightfully so. May you be sure that you always know how proud of you she was. And when she wasn’t there with you, she was always there in spirit.
Our Mary was every day, a teacher.
She believed in her students, whether in the classroom or at the dining room table. She understood how to make you understand or how to make you love to learn. How to never be afraid to try or how to give a clever name to an art project gone ary. She was especially gifted at how to bring people out of their shell and make them soar. Yes, she was a teacher of the highest caliber.
She was a wife who loved her husband beyond the boundaries of the earth and sky. A wife who lifted her husband up when he needed lifting. The mother of four children I happen to think are pretty great. A true partner.
A best friend for 56-years.
And in so many ways she was so much more – she was a storyteller, a prankster, a healer, an artist, a shopper, a believer, a coach, a student, an intuitionist, a singer, a name giver, a fashionista, and boy was she classy.
To me, my grandmother was everything and everyone I hope to one day be. She was everything that was good and right. She just got me. She fulfilled every promise she ever made to me. Loved me like she pledged to love me. Lifted me up higher than I deserved to be lifted. My grandmother believed in me, always.
And at a very early age she passed something on to me that I like to think of as our great bond...A true love for THIS family. A gift for which I am eternally grateful. It’s the tie that binds…
My grandmother was my heart. I am sure of it, for I am quite sure of the way it has broken.
She was our hearts.
And so it goes … Twenty nine years, eleven months, and two days I had with her. What we share now is a common thread all the stronger - the memories we have of our Mary. Memories that remind us of the life she gave us…that life of the most extraordinary kind…
A life filled with lots of love and a bounty full of laughter...
In closing, I’d like to read a poem that I believe may just give us pause as we remember our wife, our mother, our grandmother, our teacher, and our friend:
To Mary - John Clare ::
I sleep with thee, and wake with thee, And yet thou art not there; I fill my arms with thoughts of thee, And press the common air. Thy eyes are gazing upon mine, When thou art out of sight; My lips are always touching thine, At morning, noon, and night.
I think and speak of other things, To keep my mind at rest: But still to thee my memory clings, Like love in woman's breast. I hide it from the world's wide eye, And think and speak contrary; But soft the wind comes from the sky, And whispers tales of Mary.
The night wind whispers in my ear, The moons shines in my face; A burden still of chilling fear I find in every place. The breeze is whispering in the bush, And the dews fall from the tree, All sighing on, and will not hush, Some pleasant tales of thee.
Keep singing Gumball.
11.03.2006
The Last Seven Days
I'm a little at a loss for new material lately. Can you tell?
Just a little update....
It's been an interesting week, to say the least. Sometimes when you just let things go, a windfall of good fortune miraculously bestows itself upon you. For the first time in many months, that good fortune seems to have blown my way. Here's the 30,000 foot overview:
I've looked and the Magic 8-ball job forecast has gone from "outlook not so good" to suddenly full of potential. In a nutshell, looks like the promotion I've been hoping for is going to come through for me. It's going to allow me to focus specifically on my specialty, give me more visibility within the company, and even provide the opportunity to travel internationally. Oh, and of course it should provide me with a much needed raise. I'm hoping the red tape will be cut in the next 6 weeks...say a little prayer for me that it goes as scheduled! But it's also nice to be surprised - and it makes me feel good to be considered for positions at other great companies - that although the time may not be right, that there is something else out there someone thinks I'd be fantastic for.
I've opened myself up to moving forward. It seems that a number of factors all seemed to have perfectly aligned themselves so that when the door opened...for the first time in quite awhile, I walked through it instead of hesitating or holding on. That feels good.
I've learned nothing is ever as it seems. That people who hold your heart in their hands often don't realize how fragile it is, how much it hurts when they break it, or how hard it can be to let go. By learning that, I think I'll be more careful next time and also more considerate in the future. Sometimes the hardest thing to be is honest in the way you truly feel. Moreover, that old saying really is true. Honesty is always the best policy.
I've experienced something wonderfully complicated. I found it in He. He the least likely. He whose words touch me in places long forgotten. Whose smile melts my heart. He whose grief makes me want to comfort. Whose eyes make me see something unspoken. He who makes me dream and makes me believe in romance and friendship, and chance. Whose heart makes me believe. And He, who believes in me, too. He and I who are Lost. Yet somehow Found. It is wonderfully complicated.
It has been an interesting week...one I think that will be with me for a long time to come. I think the negative energy may have cleared and the windfall is the result of letting it go. Moving forward and letting go.
Something I should do more often.
Just a little update....
It's been an interesting week, to say the least. Sometimes when you just let things go, a windfall of good fortune miraculously bestows itself upon you. For the first time in many months, that good fortune seems to have blown my way. Here's the 30,000 foot overview:
I've looked and the Magic 8-ball job forecast has gone from "outlook not so good" to suddenly full of potential. In a nutshell, looks like the promotion I've been hoping for is going to come through for me. It's going to allow me to focus specifically on my specialty, give me more visibility within the company, and even provide the opportunity to travel internationally. Oh, and of course it should provide me with a much needed raise. I'm hoping the red tape will be cut in the next 6 weeks...say a little prayer for me that it goes as scheduled! But it's also nice to be surprised - and it makes me feel good to be considered for positions at other great companies - that although the time may not be right, that there is something else out there someone thinks I'd be fantastic for.
I've opened myself up to moving forward. It seems that a number of factors all seemed to have perfectly aligned themselves so that when the door opened...for the first time in quite awhile, I walked through it instead of hesitating or holding on. That feels good.
I've learned nothing is ever as it seems. That people who hold your heart in their hands often don't realize how fragile it is, how much it hurts when they break it, or how hard it can be to let go. By learning that, I think I'll be more careful next time and also more considerate in the future. Sometimes the hardest thing to be is honest in the way you truly feel. Moreover, that old saying really is true. Honesty is always the best policy.
I've experienced something wonderfully complicated. I found it in He. He the least likely. He whose words touch me in places long forgotten. Whose smile melts my heart. He whose grief makes me want to comfort. Whose eyes make me see something unspoken. He who makes me dream and makes me believe in romance and friendship, and chance. Whose heart makes me believe. And He, who believes in me, too. He and I who are Lost. Yet somehow Found. It is wonderfully complicated.
It has been an interesting week...one I think that will be with me for a long time to come. I think the negative energy may have cleared and the windfall is the result of letting it go. Moving forward and letting go.
Something I should do more often.
10.26.2006
On What I Can't Describe
When you are lucky enough to lose, you are lucky enough to live.
And when you are lucky enough to be reminded of how alive you are, well there are no words for that.
I have been reminded this week of what it feels like to be alive. I think I finally turned off the snooze button that for so long was also known as my heart. I've been saved. Saved by knowing my heart is not dead, infact, it is overflowing with the ability to feel again. But I am lost just as I have been saved. And the newness of my heart is only felt in the way it seems to have broken.
The lack of sleep for four days I'm quite sure has contributed to my sudden sappiness, disdane, and overall melancholy. I was good this year. In fact, I put myself to bed at 11:00, without a cocktail, I might add on the first night. That doesn't mean I slept any. A neurotic dog, drunk or stranded attendees, and many racing thoughts contributed to the three or four hours I did get. I made it through my big conference welcome, and in a nutshell, the whole conference went off without a hitch. And just as I always do, I cried at the end - cried because I was glad to be done with it and because I had to say goodbye...but this year I think I might have learned something.
I learned that I look like Barbra Streisand all of a sudden. And that people don't recognize me. I learned that Blue Men can eat a lot of marshmallows and make for a great conference activity. I learned that sometimes you can know someone better in only a few days than you can in a lifetime. I learned that the bigger this event gets, the less I want to stay out late and play. I learned that you have to tell people three times before they get it, and some people you could tell a million times and they still won't. I learned about the shared power of the Number 5. And that your best friend always comes to your rescue. I learned you can't bet it all on a horse called "S****r's Steady Stallion." I learned that there are certain songs that mean the same to two people. And that there are certain fragrances that will bring tears to your eyes almost immediately. I learned that I am of value to the company who pays my bills. And that my boss is out for my best intrests. I learned there are some people who, no matter how much you want them too, just don't know when you need them the most.
But most of all, I learned that a half a world away is just far enough to find someone who makes you believe, all over again.
And when you are lucky enough to be reminded of how alive you are, well there are no words for that.
I have been reminded this week of what it feels like to be alive. I think I finally turned off the snooze button that for so long was also known as my heart. I've been saved. Saved by knowing my heart is not dead, infact, it is overflowing with the ability to feel again. But I am lost just as I have been saved. And the newness of my heart is only felt in the way it seems to have broken.
The lack of sleep for four days I'm quite sure has contributed to my sudden sappiness, disdane, and overall melancholy. I was good this year. In fact, I put myself to bed at 11:00, without a cocktail, I might add on the first night. That doesn't mean I slept any. A neurotic dog, drunk or stranded attendees, and many racing thoughts contributed to the three or four hours I did get. I made it through my big conference welcome, and in a nutshell, the whole conference went off without a hitch. And just as I always do, I cried at the end - cried because I was glad to be done with it and because I had to say goodbye...but this year I think I might have learned something.
I learned that I look like Barbra Streisand all of a sudden. And that people don't recognize me. I learned that Blue Men can eat a lot of marshmallows and make for a great conference activity. I learned that sometimes you can know someone better in only a few days than you can in a lifetime. I learned that the bigger this event gets, the less I want to stay out late and play. I learned that you have to tell people three times before they get it, and some people you could tell a million times and they still won't. I learned about the shared power of the Number 5. And that your best friend always comes to your rescue. I learned you can't bet it all on a horse called "S****r's Steady Stallion." I learned that there are certain songs that mean the same to two people. And that there are certain fragrances that will bring tears to your eyes almost immediately. I learned that I am of value to the company who pays my bills. And that my boss is out for my best intrests. I learned there are some people who, no matter how much you want them too, just don't know when you need them the most.
But most of all, I learned that a half a world away is just far enough to find someone who makes you believe, all over again.
10.17.2006
On Diagrams, Internet Connectivity, and the Impending Lack of Sleep
Have a little spare time on my hands tonight - so I just wanted to let you know the old girl is officially in hell. Well, not quite yet - but soon, real soon. Five days, to be exact. See, you know this little conference I plan that I've told ya'll a little about - well it's gonna be here. In five days. So right now my time is being consumed with room diagrams, banquet event orders, uncooperative IT professionals, ever changing attendees, and a budget that seems to be ever inflating. Aaaah, yes, I'm in the thick of it now. I'm freakin' a little cause I know that 4-hours of sleep a night is in store from Saturday to Wednesday. Having to be the emcee for 300+ people bright and early on Monday morning (after what's typically a heavy night of drinking - much like when you go on vacay, or to the lake or something, and you over do it right off the bat because you're so excited to see all the old friends, place, or whatever).
Having to be witty while still legally intoxicated blows. I know, I've done it now for the last two, ummm, maybe 4 years. They make me drink, mom. They tie me up against my will and they make me do it. Really. So I'm really psyching myself up to take it easy - get sleep - kick people out of my suite so that I can be semi-coherent and don't forget charming, and at the top of my game all by 7:00 a.m.. New venue this year and all. Better be on my best behavior. Crap. I'm not good at that.
Well in other good news - my Belgian will be here in a mere four days. I might have mentioned once or twice at my almost giddy like state at the thought of seeing my good, my good, my good friend. Sorry lost concentration. Dreaming. Oh, speaking of, did I mention that the pre-conference dreams have begun? Yep, now all I think about is all that needs to be done, crossing the "t's" and dotting the "i's." I found an error in the conference agenda today. It's at the printer - tough luck. Hope my boss doesn't catch it. Woops. Perspective: Not the end of the world.
Did you know that convention centers can charge $1,000 for tap water in a water cooler? Yep, they can. They do, and they charge you for everything else under the sun as well. Air? Yep, that too. Like I said, it's an ever inflating budget.
Aaah, but all for the love of it. I get to see lots of friends made over the last five years and usually get kudos for my efforts from those who are those. It's nice for that reason. My five year friends play and play and play until we're so exhausted we can't wait to crash and then they all go home and I usually cry. (Attributed to my weird issue with goodbyes). So much effort, so little time, so long until we see each other again. My friends leave and then there is just a whole lotta miles (and for some an ocean and a continent) between us. For those few days though, for as tiring as it is and for the mental drain it takes on me the week of and the weeks before - it's always worth it.
So I build it, and they come. And then they leave and the circle starts all over again. And I bitch and moan until it gets here, and sometimes I have people to look forward to, and we have a blast and we love each other for as long as we can and then we say ciao, arevederci, a bientot, au revoir, until we meet again...
4-days and counting.
Having to be witty while still legally intoxicated blows. I know, I've done it now for the last two, ummm, maybe 4 years. They make me drink, mom. They tie me up against my will and they make me do it. Really. So I'm really psyching myself up to take it easy - get sleep - kick people out of my suite so that I can be semi-coherent and don't forget charming, and at the top of my game all by 7:00 a.m.. New venue this year and all. Better be on my best behavior. Crap. I'm not good at that.
Well in other good news - my Belgian will be here in a mere four days. I might have mentioned once or twice at my almost giddy like state at the thought of seeing my good, my good, my good friend. Sorry lost concentration. Dreaming. Oh, speaking of, did I mention that the pre-conference dreams have begun? Yep, now all I think about is all that needs to be done, crossing the "t's" and dotting the "i's." I found an error in the conference agenda today. It's at the printer - tough luck. Hope my boss doesn't catch it. Woops. Perspective: Not the end of the world.
Did you know that convention centers can charge $1,000 for tap water in a water cooler? Yep, they can. They do, and they charge you for everything else under the sun as well. Air? Yep, that too. Like I said, it's an ever inflating budget.
Aaah, but all for the love of it. I get to see lots of friends made over the last five years and usually get kudos for my efforts from those who are those. It's nice for that reason. My five year friends play and play and play until we're so exhausted we can't wait to crash and then they all go home and I usually cry. (Attributed to my weird issue with goodbyes). So much effort, so little time, so long until we see each other again. My friends leave and then there is just a whole lotta miles (and for some an ocean and a continent) between us. For those few days though, for as tiring as it is and for the mental drain it takes on me the week of and the weeks before - it's always worth it.
So I build it, and they come. And then they leave and the circle starts all over again. And I bitch and moan until it gets here, and sometimes I have people to look forward to, and we have a blast and we love each other for as long as we can and then we say ciao, arevederci, a bientot, au revoir, until we meet again...
ik kan wachten niet om u opnieuw te zien...
4-days and counting.
10.12.2006
Co-Habitation Is Overrated
I really enjoy living alone. I like my stuff. In my space. I like it cause it's just mine. I leave it the way I want, have everything I need, and when I do venture to let my mind wander to the thought of what it would be like to co-habitate once again some day, I don't think this is what I had envisioned for myself...
I've been held hostage. By a raccoon.
He started stalking me in the springtime. At least that's when I first noticed his little poo-poo presents he so nicely left for me on my window eaves. I think it started when I saw the poo, and then was confirmed when sitting at another window, talking to Vee, when a strange pair of eyes stared back at me.
I screamed. He ran.
I called everyone for reinforcement.
He disappeared.
Or so I thought...
I think he just went on vacation for the summer.
I suspected recently he might of returned from his summer vacay when I began to notice some more random presents appear as if to warn me of his return.
To preface, my Hobbit house is the third floor of a 5-plex apartment/house-ish sort of dwelling. I'm sort of the bastardized penthouse if you will. I love my little space and apparently Rocky the Raccoon does, too. I think the presents have been his way of figuring out how to get inside for a couple months now. Yep, I'm pretty sure he's been stalking every possible place he could find to make his grand entrance. I'm also convinced he's just been waiting for that perfect time to surprise me, as he lounges in a silk robe, smokin' a stogie and drinking a Scotch on my sofa.
Well he finally succeeded.
I have mentioned also, once or twice, that I have the most wonderful dog in the world. Ya, a wonderfully chicken dog. Around 5:00 or so this morning my 50-pound chicken comes squeaking in my room, jumps on the bed and proceeds to whine and shake violently until I wake up. Tattle tell, yes. Guard dog, not a chance.
So at her beckon to go find Timmy, I groggily listen for a couple minutes and finally hear something banging around my kitchen. Shit. It's either my stalking rodent or a ghost. Neither of which I'm prepared to find in my current state. I get out of bed, it's freezing cold and I walk to the doorway of my bedroom. I don't have to turn on a light to find the little devil rading My Girl's food. There he was, he finally made it in. A raccoon. In my freakin' apartment. I half expected him to say hello in his best Cary Grant voice.
Instead, like any good city girl, I completely freaked.
I'll spare the minute details and get to the good stuff. To make a totally long story shorter, I paid NB-C back for her weather related non-emergency wake up call to inform her that I had been taken hostage by a rodent. She replied, as any best friend would do, "you want me to come over?" To which I reply, "to do what? Look at it together???"
I finally got a window open and saw the brilliant bugger cowering under the radiator in the dining room. How cute, he's scared. I decide just to leave him alone and let him leave - at will. After 2-hours he finally made it out the open window. Abby and I holed up in the bedroom and I (sans chien) came out to check his status every 20-minutes or so. He finally left. Not fully convinced, I plowed around the kitchen sanitizing and double checking, just to make sure he wasn't going to leap out of my oven at me in a fit of rage.
His exit was finally confirmed when I heard him run across the roof...suspicious I thought. I stood with my mop in hand ready to ward off any further danger. And then through the offending hole, I saw his little eyes, peering back at me - daring to come back in as if this three hour prank was just a big freakin' circus. Didn't he know that messing with my sleep is the most critical offense anyone could make - let alone some dog-food eating bandit who has just invaded my precious space!
So, I devise a plan and I made a boobie trap - a big cookbook in front of the hole he was trying to get back through. Abby and I return to the bedroom. Door closed. NB-C calls - back from the gym...I hear the book fall. Sonofabitch, the game is on. I, phone in one hand, protective mop/life saving defense in the other move to the offending window and see his little head back in - taunting me. Bastard. I push the mop in his face and he bites down and growls. I scream. He leaves. I rig the thing up with cookbooks and blue painters tape. Bring it on bastard. Bring it on.
I feel pretty good about my cookbook/blue tape/chair in front of the window thing. Take Abby out - get a shower. Go back to check my work - he's tried again. Although his last attempts were unsuccessful, it is he who has the last laugh.
He shit right by the window.
******************************************************************************
So the story ends, hopefully, with my newly built armor against my hostage taker. It's a lovely decoupage of plywood, crafted masterfully by the building manager/neighbor who lives underneath me (but who also blissfully slept while I launched my own offensive against the masked intruder)!
Seriously, ya'll.
Don't be jealous of my ghetto fabulous-ness.
Like I said before, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
I've been held hostage. By a raccoon.
He started stalking me in the springtime. At least that's when I first noticed his little poo-poo presents he so nicely left for me on my window eaves. I think it started when I saw the poo, and then was confirmed when sitting at another window, talking to Vee, when a strange pair of eyes stared back at me.
I screamed. He ran.
I called everyone for reinforcement.
He disappeared.
Or so I thought...
I think he just went on vacation for the summer.
I suspected recently he might of returned from his summer vacay when I began to notice some more random presents appear as if to warn me of his return.
To preface, my Hobbit house is the third floor of a 5-plex apartment/house-ish sort of dwelling. I'm sort of the bastardized penthouse if you will. I love my little space and apparently Rocky the Raccoon does, too. I think the presents have been his way of figuring out how to get inside for a couple months now. Yep, I'm pretty sure he's been stalking every possible place he could find to make his grand entrance. I'm also convinced he's just been waiting for that perfect time to surprise me, as he lounges in a silk robe, smokin' a stogie and drinking a Scotch on my sofa.
Well he finally succeeded.
I have mentioned also, once or twice, that I have the most wonderful dog in the world. Ya, a wonderfully chicken dog. Around 5:00 or so this morning my 50-pound chicken comes squeaking in my room, jumps on the bed and proceeds to whine and shake violently until I wake up. Tattle tell, yes. Guard dog, not a chance.
So at her beckon to go find Timmy, I groggily listen for a couple minutes and finally hear something banging around my kitchen. Shit. It's either my stalking rodent or a ghost. Neither of which I'm prepared to find in my current state. I get out of bed, it's freezing cold and I walk to the doorway of my bedroom. I don't have to turn on a light to find the little devil rading My Girl's food. There he was, he finally made it in. A raccoon. In my freakin' apartment. I half expected him to say hello in his best Cary Grant voice.
Instead, like any good city girl, I completely freaked.
I'll spare the minute details and get to the good stuff. To make a totally long story shorter, I paid NB-C back for her weather related non-emergency wake up call to inform her that I had been taken hostage by a rodent. She replied, as any best friend would do, "you want me to come over?" To which I reply, "to do what? Look at it together???"
I finally got a window open and saw the brilliant bugger cowering under the radiator in the dining room. How cute, he's scared. I decide just to leave him alone and let him leave - at will. After 2-hours he finally made it out the open window. Abby and I holed up in the bedroom and I (sans chien) came out to check his status every 20-minutes or so. He finally left. Not fully convinced, I plowed around the kitchen sanitizing and double checking, just to make sure he wasn't going to leap out of my oven at me in a fit of rage.
His exit was finally confirmed when I heard him run across the roof...suspicious I thought. I stood with my mop in hand ready to ward off any further danger. And then through the offending hole, I saw his little eyes, peering back at me - daring to come back in as if this three hour prank was just a big freakin' circus. Didn't he know that messing with my sleep is the most critical offense anyone could make - let alone some dog-food eating bandit who has just invaded my precious space!
So, I devise a plan and I made a boobie trap - a big cookbook in front of the hole he was trying to get back through. Abby and I return to the bedroom. Door closed. NB-C calls - back from the gym...I hear the book fall. Sonofabitch, the game is on. I, phone in one hand, protective mop/life saving defense in the other move to the offending window and see his little head back in - taunting me. Bastard. I push the mop in his face and he bites down and growls. I scream. He leaves. I rig the thing up with cookbooks and blue painters tape. Bring it on bastard. Bring it on.
I feel pretty good about my cookbook/blue tape/chair in front of the window thing. Take Abby out - get a shower. Go back to check my work - he's tried again. Although his last attempts were unsuccessful, it is he who has the last laugh.
He shit right by the window.
******************************************************************************
So the story ends, hopefully, with my newly built armor against my hostage taker. It's a lovely decoupage of plywood, crafted masterfully by the building manager/neighbor who lives underneath me (but who also blissfully slept while I launched my own offensive against the masked intruder)!
Seriously, ya'll.
Don't be jealous of my ghetto fabulous-ness.
Like I said before, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
10.07.2006
Happy FIRST Birthday Little Man!!!!
Dear Daniel,
One year ago today you came into our world, you the first of what I hope is to be many. You took your time getting here and gave us all quite a scare after you arrived. But you taught us to be patient and you taught us about faith. I like to think you just wanted to make sure everyone noticed you had arrived.
I remember the sound in your mom's voice when she called to say you were here. Her voice had changed and there was an ever so slight difference that wasn't blatently obvious unless you knew what to listen for. It was the sound of your mom becoming your mother. It was filled with love and hope and strength and promise.
It was a beautiful sound.
I wanted to tell you, Daniel, that you are loved beyond the boundries of love. You have people far and wide holding you in their arms even when the miles are greater than the distance can hold. You bring us joy when your momma sends us pictures of your bright blue eyes and your heart breaking smile. There's joy when your momma sends us video when you do something great for the first time. You make me laugh when I hear you talking in the background - so not to be upstaged or ignored. You amaze me because you are so smart and perceptive.
This is my wish for you on your first birthday:
May your life to be a happy one. May you know the love of your family - and your extended family. May you never have to sit in traffic for long. Or eat bad food. May you always flirt with the pretty ladies. Laugh at the funny looking animals. And talk until every last person has heard you make your point. May your best friend one day be a ddddggeeee. May your smile be big when you realize your Gigi comes to spoil you. May you ever be the side kick for your daddy and the love behind your momma's voice. And most of all, Daniel - my wish for you is a that you always remember to live, never forget how to laugh, and for the rest of your life may you always know what it means to - and what it means to be - loved.
9.28.2006
Wanted :: Day Off
Criteria: Must be full-24 hour period where work is not able to be done.
Presentations are not able to be reviewed.
Collection calls are not able to be made.
Registrations will miraculously just happen. And the form will work.
Like it is supposed to.
Silly questions cannot be asked. Repeatedly.
Budgets cannot be scrutinzed.
Speakers cannot back out.
Phone cannot ring.
Peeing must not be acceptable form of a break.
So, I haven't had a day off in at least 3 weeks. Yes, that's right - I've even been working Saturday's. Six hours on Saturday to be exact. Two hours Sunday. Nevermind that I'm a complete social leper and my dance card has been less than "filled." But ya, seemingly overnight I have become the worlds most underpaid professional or the worlds most over paid collection agent (depending on how you look at it). (Ok, the underpaid thing wasn't overnight) My brain is turning me into one of those women...you know, the ones who work 12-hour plus days and who feel a little bad when they take a couple of hours away for themself, and God forbid their email. It's disgusting.
Working is overrated.
To top it off, I haven't had a cocktail in two weeks. I know - the horror. The dismay. The irony...the gym? Tis' true. The empty calories simply haven't been worth it.
Seriously, who is this person and what have they done with the real Nat?
Mama needs a martini. And a cig. And some time away.
Where's the Calgon when you need it.
Oh and ya. That little big accident I had. Well, the verdict is in. Superior service also means serious retribution. They doubled my insurance. DOUBLED. Sometimes you can't win for losin'. I'm screwed.
9.22.2006
Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones...
I have spent the greater part of the last few days thinking about the power of words.
When you think about it for any amount of time, you come to realize the true significance of the thing that makes up the bigger picture - the one thing we all share - the human language. For most words, when they sit alphabetically in a dictionary alone, there isn't much significance. Sure, there are a few that can stand on their own, but when the individual words are put together - well, that's where their true power lies.
When you think about the power of words there isn't one person alive that hasn't felt their thrust. You remember that words do indeed hurt more than sticks and stones when you are the middle school kid bullied on the playground, taunted by someone claiming their superiority. You trust the kindness of words when a friend or family member tells you how they have missed you. You feel the butterflies that come along with the admission of love for the first time. You can't forget the pain you feel when you disappoint someone or when someone says something that disappoints you. You are transported to the past through the songs that tell the story of your life, the ones you can still sing and feel exactly as you did in the years before.
They can say so much.
Everyday, words are the most important choice we make. They can change everything in a second. They can make you change course, direct your future, or make you relive your past. They can make you smile. They can make you laugh so hard your sides split. They can make time stand still. They can lift you up and make you believe in yourself. They can make it better. They can make it worse. They can crush you without warning. They are the only things you can never take back.
They can tell you everything you need to know.
The perfect formulation of words is what we as humans spend a large majority of our subconsious time consumed with. Just as I am laboring over the writing of this entry, I do the same when crafting a communication at work. I look for the just right combination so to most effectively convey my true meaning. I sometimes craft conversations to other people in my head before I am able to speak the words outloud. I freely admit that I spend most of my life analyzing the meaning behind the words of others. There must be a billion different combinations out there. Surely, there must be one perfect sentence for every situation.
I wish I had a handbook...
A handbook for others to know the right and wrong words to say. I could distribute my handbook to those who know me - whether by birthright, friendship, employment, acquaintance, or by some other chance. My handbook would contain only the acceptable words and combinations of words for use on me. It would be a handbook of only words of love, encouragement, answers to questions, and constructive criticism. The words would answer my questions when I had them, teach me when I needed to learn, and unpatrionizingly tell me when I was wrong.
I wish everyone else had one, too. A dictionary. A theasauraus. And a beginner's handbook of knowing the right / wrong things to say.
In my next life I'm coming back with thicker skin.
(Oh, and also a smaller nose and ass, too).
When you think about it for any amount of time, you come to realize the true significance of the thing that makes up the bigger picture - the one thing we all share - the human language. For most words, when they sit alphabetically in a dictionary alone, there isn't much significance. Sure, there are a few that can stand on their own, but when the individual words are put together - well, that's where their true power lies.
When you think about the power of words there isn't one person alive that hasn't felt their thrust. You remember that words do indeed hurt more than sticks and stones when you are the middle school kid bullied on the playground, taunted by someone claiming their superiority. You trust the kindness of words when a friend or family member tells you how they have missed you. You feel the butterflies that come along with the admission of love for the first time. You can't forget the pain you feel when you disappoint someone or when someone says something that disappoints you. You are transported to the past through the songs that tell the story of your life, the ones you can still sing and feel exactly as you did in the years before.
They can say so much.
Everyday, words are the most important choice we make. They can change everything in a second. They can make you change course, direct your future, or make you relive your past. They can make you smile. They can make you laugh so hard your sides split. They can make time stand still. They can lift you up and make you believe in yourself. They can make it better. They can make it worse. They can crush you without warning. They are the only things you can never take back.
They can tell you everything you need to know.
The perfect formulation of words is what we as humans spend a large majority of our subconsious time consumed with. Just as I am laboring over the writing of this entry, I do the same when crafting a communication at work. I look for the just right combination so to most effectively convey my true meaning. I sometimes craft conversations to other people in my head before I am able to speak the words outloud. I freely admit that I spend most of my life analyzing the meaning behind the words of others. There must be a billion different combinations out there. Surely, there must be one perfect sentence for every situation.
I wish I had a handbook...
A handbook for others to know the right and wrong words to say. I could distribute my handbook to those who know me - whether by birthright, friendship, employment, acquaintance, or by some other chance. My handbook would contain only the acceptable words and combinations of words for use on me. It would be a handbook of only words of love, encouragement, answers to questions, and constructive criticism. The words would answer my questions when I had them, teach me when I needed to learn, and unpatrionizingly tell me when I was wrong.
I wish everyone else had one, too. A dictionary. A theasauraus. And a beginner's handbook of knowing the right / wrong things to say.
In my next life I'm coming back with thicker skin.
(Oh, and also a smaller nose and ass, too).
9.18.2006
I Couldn't Make This Shit Up If I Tried
I'll admit it. Sometimes I bring on certain circumstances. I am probably more at fault for some of the crazy shit that happens to me than I want to acknowledge, realize, or admit. But there are just sometimes when I swear, I couldn't make it up if I tried.
So, let's just say I made a new friend - a friend met through a friend, if you will. I kind of knew that there probably weren't going to be sparks or anything after the first conversation revealed a certain propensity to say my name, repeatedly. Now, I don't know about you, but it makes me nervous when someone states and restates and then restates my name. It's sort of like a dirty salesman (no offense) who can't help but make you feel cheap because of their constant desire to sell themself (themselve?) to you. Anyway, I decided what the heck. My expectations were low, and I thought - why not, I have nothing to lose. Girls, let me tell you. Sometimes, you just should stay at home. The second inclanation I had that this meeting would be less than the whirlwind Joseph Fiennes type romance I envision for myself, was in the time (9:00 p.m.) and choice of establishments for our encounter. I gave him the choice of three. He chose the one I would prefer to go to with a few good friends for a Sunday afternoon football game beerfest. So me, being the good drunk girl I am, said sure. After all, I'm agreeable. Why not, nothing to lose, right?
Now, I'll give the dude props - he did bring me a little gift - one of thoughtfulness for my love of the OHIO STATE BUCKEYES. That was nice. He reiterated that I am truly a thing of beauty and desire. He was not a bad guy. Ok, I made the beauty thing up. But, we did have lots to talk about. Lots more in common. Clue numero trois this was going to go nowhere: phone rings - it's the ex-wife. He takes the call. T-A-C-K-Y. Tacky, tacky, tacky. I think at that point, whatever dude. Nice guy - probably would hang out with you but no further interest in making you a fixed part of this girls life. He seemed to want to pound the beers. Me being the lush I am, says rock and roll, Axl. Show me what you've got. We do shots of Jaeger.
To make the rest of this otherwise completely long and rambling story short...well, let's just say I've added a new "must" to the ongoing list of "must not haves." Let's just say, that I am, as anyone who knows me would tell you, the worst of the worst kinds of drunk. I am the one without the know when to say when switch. The one who suddenly passes out or who sneaks off. The one who goes from fine to forget it in seconds. I will admit. I am a drunk asshole. Cute but an asshole. BUT, there is one thing that I don't do. One thing that frankly, I would say could be the clencher of all clenchers for even the worst drunk like myself. Let alone a man. A man on a first date.
I don't, well, how do I put it nicely. Well, I believe I've firmly established my questionable judgement regarding my tolerance. And well, I would expect that a thirty year old male would be able to drink me under the table...Not puke those cheese fries after a few beers and a couple small shots of Jaeger.
Oh ya. He did it. He puked.
I told you, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
*******************************************************************************
So on Saturday, NB-C and I went to my newest obsession in the LV - Culver's. Let's just say a big freakin' YUM-O on the cheddar butterburger and crinkle fries. Not to mention fabulous rootbeer and strawberry sundae. Is it really so wrong to be in love with a hamburger? So it's the one bad meal I have a week. Sue me. I would have taken a picture if I could have. I also would have murdered the annoying, undisciplined 2-year old asshole that was rolling all over the floor in the table next to us. I am not kidding when I, the one who LOVE LOVE LOVES the babies and kids, said outloud to this FloorWalleringAsshole "I hate you" in my nicest nasty voice, while he laid on that dirty floor looking directly at me. I know it's not really his fault. I blame the idiot parents who never ONCE told the kid to sit his unruly butt in the chair. I'm not sure but I'm pretty certain my mother would have taken me outside and busted my hind end if I would have acted like that. Now you understand why I can't watch Supernanny. Those parents should be shot, flogged, or beaten for rasing their children like that.
*******************************************************************************
The Belgian will be here in one month and 3-days. So excited! Oh wait, that means I have one month and three more days to freak out about this little conference that I'm planning and that is otherwise consuming my life and taking me away from you my little blogosphere readers. I'll try to keep up with new and refreshing adventures of my profoundly un-exciting life, I promise. Please don't leave me or lose interest in this little thing we have. I love you, really. I just need a promotion more. Remember, my finances are for shit.
Kisses.
*******************************************************************************
In case you were wondering how the story ends...The answer is no. No, I will not be going out with the puker again.
Ever.
So, let's just say I made a new friend - a friend met through a friend, if you will. I kind of knew that there probably weren't going to be sparks or anything after the first conversation revealed a certain propensity to say my name, repeatedly. Now, I don't know about you, but it makes me nervous when someone states and restates and then restates my name. It's sort of like a dirty salesman (no offense) who can't help but make you feel cheap because of their constant desire to sell themself (themselve?) to you. Anyway, I decided what the heck. My expectations were low, and I thought - why not, I have nothing to lose. Girls, let me tell you. Sometimes, you just should stay at home. The second inclanation I had that this meeting would be less than the whirlwind Joseph Fiennes type romance I envision for myself, was in the time (9:00 p.m.) and choice of establishments for our encounter. I gave him the choice of three. He chose the one I would prefer to go to with a few good friends for a Sunday afternoon football game beerfest. So me, being the good drunk girl I am, said sure. After all, I'm agreeable. Why not, nothing to lose, right?
Now, I'll give the dude props - he did bring me a little gift - one of thoughtfulness for my love of the OHIO STATE BUCKEYES. That was nice. He reiterated that I am truly a thing of beauty and desire. He was not a bad guy. Ok, I made the beauty thing up. But, we did have lots to talk about. Lots more in common. Clue numero trois this was going to go nowhere: phone rings - it's the ex-wife. He takes the call. T-A-C-K-Y. Tacky, tacky, tacky. I think at that point, whatever dude. Nice guy - probably would hang out with you but no further interest in making you a fixed part of this girls life. He seemed to want to pound the beers. Me being the lush I am, says rock and roll, Axl. Show me what you've got. We do shots of Jaeger.
To make the rest of this otherwise completely long and rambling story short...well, let's just say I've added a new "must" to the ongoing list of "must not haves." Let's just say, that I am, as anyone who knows me would tell you, the worst of the worst kinds of drunk. I am the one without the know when to say when switch. The one who suddenly passes out or who sneaks off. The one who goes from fine to forget it in seconds. I will admit. I am a drunk asshole. Cute but an asshole. BUT, there is one thing that I don't do. One thing that frankly, I would say could be the clencher of all clenchers for even the worst drunk like myself. Let alone a man. A man on a first date.
I don't, well, how do I put it nicely. Well, I believe I've firmly established my questionable judgement regarding my tolerance. And well, I would expect that a thirty year old male would be able to drink me under the table...Not puke those cheese fries after a few beers and a couple small shots of Jaeger.
Oh ya. He did it. He puked.
I told you, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.
*******************************************************************************
So on Saturday, NB-C and I went to my newest obsession in the LV - Culver's. Let's just say a big freakin' YUM-O on the cheddar butterburger and crinkle fries. Not to mention fabulous rootbeer and strawberry sundae. Is it really so wrong to be in love with a hamburger? So it's the one bad meal I have a week. Sue me. I would have taken a picture if I could have. I also would have murdered the annoying, undisciplined 2-year old asshole that was rolling all over the floor in the table next to us. I am not kidding when I, the one who LOVE LOVE LOVES the babies and kids, said outloud to this FloorWalleringAsshole "I hate you" in my nicest nasty voice, while he laid on that dirty floor looking directly at me. I know it's not really his fault. I blame the idiot parents who never ONCE told the kid to sit his unruly butt in the chair. I'm not sure but I'm pretty certain my mother would have taken me outside and busted my hind end if I would have acted like that. Now you understand why I can't watch Supernanny. Those parents should be shot, flogged, or beaten for rasing their children like that.
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The Belgian will be here in one month and 3-days. So excited! Oh wait, that means I have one month and three more days to freak out about this little conference that I'm planning and that is otherwise consuming my life and taking me away from you my little blogosphere readers. I'll try to keep up with new and refreshing adventures of my profoundly un-exciting life, I promise. Please don't leave me or lose interest in this little thing we have. I love you, really. I just need a promotion more. Remember, my finances are for shit.
Kisses.
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In case you were wondering how the story ends...The answer is no. No, I will not be going out with the puker again.
Ever.
9.14.2006
This Is Why I Love Myspace
So an old friend from High School asked me to be his friend and sent me a fun little reminder of exactly how I got my nickname...LOVE IT! Made my day.
Funny thing is, I don't think think we were that good of friends, but it sure is nice to feel that familiar connection.
Anywhooooooooooo...I am completely blank this week for refreshing, witty and otherwise ingenius blog material so please stay tuned. I promise, I will be back soon to delight you all. I am thinking some new material is quite possible very soon...
XXOO,
Nat X
9.11.2006
I'll Stop Soon, I Promise
But seriously, this kid is so cute I can't stand it. And smart, smart, smart. He doesn't look like a newborn and is so attentive. Much like a certain other someone I know (who incidentally will be one year old very soon)!
For Kate
Here's hoping he eats his schnitzel...
Kate, where are you I am going to Chicken Dance for you...
Ok, it's way too early to try to be witty...These are a little joke between my friend Kate and I about this coming weekend's Octoberfest in the 'Nati...
More later.
9.08.2006
I Ain't No Holla Back Girl
And I am not even sure what that means. But I'd bet that I'm not really one either.
Sooooo, I know I have been a slacker in the refreshing new and uplifting content lately. Maybe it's cause I've had a rockin' good week. It goes a little somethin' like dis...
My Partner In Crime was here for a long weekend last week. If I could have, I would have held her hostage. We did the stuff we usually do when together. Drank a lot of red wine. Smoked more cigarettes than in all previous four months. Talked for hours about our lives and places in the world. Used spell check, poorly, and masterfully re-created me. Watched a boatload of movies. Laid around. Ate. Watched more movies. Drank lots of beer with NB-C and watched UK get destroyed by UofL. Watched more movies. Ah yes, we really bring out the best in one another. In all it was wonderful. Wonderful because it was just us and it was exactly what we both needed.
Go see Little Miss Sunshine. Run, do not walk. You must see and laugh hard at that movie.
Hello...cutest baby in last 11-months was born last Thursday. Take a look at this chunk a chunk of burnin' love...Going to see him and his momma tomorrow and am very hap hap happy.
Went to ATL for another sales meeting. Stayed here. It was, let's just say, awesome. Now that is a hotel experience. Had a pretty good time catching up and hanging with some of the work folks. Drank too much. Blew the hinges way off the old diet. Well, there's always next week to get back on.
And I will. Get back on.
Speaking of, the old girl is back in the saddle again. So to speak. No further comment...
Did you fully absorb the cuteness of this child...If not, please oooh and aww again...I love da' babies and I love showin' 'em off to you who do not care...Feel free to hate me when I have mine. I'm gonna be the worst kind of offender.
OH! In other wonderful news of the week!!! My good friend, The Belgian, is coming to my conference in October. By the way the Belgian will be hanging with the homies for homecoming...He just smells good...ah yes, gotta love the Jean Paul Gautier (that one was for you P, I see you've been reading).
Anyway, that's about it from Camp Cupcake. More later...
Sooooo, I know I have been a slacker in the refreshing new and uplifting content lately. Maybe it's cause I've had a rockin' good week. It goes a little somethin' like dis...
My Partner In Crime was here for a long weekend last week. If I could have, I would have held her hostage. We did the stuff we usually do when together. Drank a lot of red wine. Smoked more cigarettes than in all previous four months. Talked for hours about our lives and places in the world. Used spell check, poorly, and masterfully re-created me. Watched a boatload of movies. Laid around. Ate. Watched more movies. Drank lots of beer with NB-C and watched UK get destroyed by UofL. Watched more movies. Ah yes, we really bring out the best in one another. In all it was wonderful. Wonderful because it was just us and it was exactly what we both needed.
Go see Little Miss Sunshine. Run, do not walk. You must see and laugh hard at that movie.
Hello...cutest baby in last 11-months was born last Thursday. Take a look at this chunk a chunk of burnin' love...Going to see him and his momma tomorrow and am very hap hap happy.
Went to ATL for another sales meeting. Stayed here. It was, let's just say, awesome. Now that is a hotel experience. Had a pretty good time catching up and hanging with some of the work folks. Drank too much. Blew the hinges way off the old diet. Well, there's always next week to get back on.
And I will. Get back on.
Speaking of, the old girl is back in the saddle again. So to speak. No further comment...
Did you fully absorb the cuteness of this child...If not, please oooh and aww again...I love da' babies and I love showin' 'em off to you who do not care...Feel free to hate me when I have mine. I'm gonna be the worst kind of offender.
OH! In other wonderful news of the week!!! My good friend, The Belgian, is coming to my conference in October. By the way the Belgian will be hanging with the homies for homecoming...He just smells good...ah yes, gotta love the Jean Paul Gautier (that one was for you P, I see you've been reading).
Anyway, that's about it from Camp Cupcake. More later...
9.04.2006
The Man We Never Speak Of
My grandfather was a sailor.
He went to the yacht club and sailed sailboats. I have a silver tray that he won at a Regatta. Proof of a life I would otherwise believe belonged to someone else, except for the shared blood that runs through my veins. My grandfather, would have loved my Flossie forever. Instead, he loved her for as long as he could. He would have taught his children things only a father can. My mother would have been able to call him dad. Instead, he died before his children had the chance to know him, before my mother and her youngest brother knew what they should call him. He was only a few years older than I am now.
We never speak of him.
He was the man who began a family and set us on our course. Him. His family...An ironic thought of some place long ago and far away.
And for that, we reward him with our silence. With the distant, fading memory of who he was. He is everyday rewarded by his family who never speaks of him.
He was an English professor. He wrote a thesis on Wuthering Heights. My mother was four-years old when he died. He was a handsome man. In pictures he has the kind of eyes that make you look back at him, the kind you trust.
He is buried in a flat field in a state filled with mountains. We never go there. I think I've only been there one time.
I don't know much more about who my grandfather was. He loved sailing and English. I don't know if he loved English because he liked to write, or if it was because he liked to read. I don't know why it was English, and not History or Math.
He was a professor, who moved his wife and four children from the safety of their Massachusetts roots to a place far away. He was to be a professor at Columbus Academy. They didn't know anyone in Columbus. I don't believe he ever taught a day at that prestigious school.
I think it was somewhere along the way, before their journey to their new life was complete that he got sick. Short of breath walking up a hill. Went to a doctor. Lung Cancer. Couple months? Maybe it was only a couple of weeks. Whatever it was, it was swift.
I've never even asked if he smoked. He was young. He had sort of wavy hair and he looked like he was a man who thought a lot. I bet when he spoke, people would listen. I recognize him only from a few pictures that remain and the oddly similar and hauntingly familiar features of his face in my cousin Ben.
Like his image in Ben, I wonder if his legacy to me was the gift of writing, or for poetry, or even in a shared love for Heathcliff and Catherine.
After all. He was my grandfather.
Who would he have been? Who would he have been to me? Who would he have been to us...To his daughter...And his wife...And to his sons.
I wonder if he would have taught me about what it was like growing up in New England. Or if we would have spent summers on a sail boat. Or under a tree reading books. What would the professor have taught me...
We are all full of a quiet sadness that has never been addressed.
For him.
He is the man we never speak of. He was a sailor and a teacher. He was a father and a husband. He was a son.
What I realize now, even though I would never know him, is that he was my grandfather. For thirty years I tried to figure that out. The man we do not speak of and who he was to me.
A few years ago, we went to the flat field to pay our silent hommage to this man, our grandfather, father, and husband. It was the first time I learned anything more about him than his affinity for the water or his choice of profession. It was twenty-five years or so before I would hear for the first time about how he and Flossie met. How they fell in love. What life was like in that sleepy New England town. A little about how he lived. Who he was. How he died.
But we never talk about what life is like without him. How we have missed knowing him. How we missed loving him. How I'd never know the sound of his voice or if when he laughed, if he laughed hard. We never talk about all the memories we would never make.
He is the man we never speak of.
He was an English professor. A sailor. He was a father. A husband. A son. A friend. The man we never speak of was also my grandfather.
I can only speculate about the reason that those who knew him, those who heard his voice, those who knew the touch of his hands, and who understood the content of his character do not speak of him. It is as if they are saying a silent prayer for him because to them, he was so much more.
8.31.2006
Slated to Be a Happy Day
Slimy was induced this morning at 9:00 a.m...Baby Boy is ultra cozy and officially six days past his scheduled arrival...She sent this picture earlier this week and I LOVE LOVE LOVE it...Being pregnant looks painful. I think I'm just jealous of the ice cream.
8.30.2006
The Last Eight Days
(SEDW - this one is for you circa 2006)
All At Once :: The Fray
There are certain people you just keep coming back to...
She is right in front of you
You begin to wonder could you find a better one
Compared to her now she's in question
And all at once the crowd begins to sing
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same
Maybe you want her maybe you need her
Maybe you started to compare to someone not there
Looking for the right one you line up the world to find
Where no questions cross your mind
But she won't keep on waiting for you without a doubt
Much longer for you to sort it out
And all at once the crowd begins to sing
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same
Maybe you want her maybe you need her
Maybe you started to compare to someone not there
Maybe you want it maybe you need it
Maybe it's all you're running from
Perfection will not come
And all at once the crowd begins to sing
Sometimes
We'd never know what's wrong without the pain
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same
Maybe you want her maybe you need her
Maybe you've started to compare to someone not there
Maybe you want it maybe you need it
Maybe it's all you're running from
Perfection will not come
Maybe you want her maybe you need her
Maybe you had her maybe you lost her to another
To another
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