Archive for August, 2009

Perspective

08.18.2009

The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it. —Anonymous

I think I’ve thoroughly established around here that Julie the Cruise Director Bill is a doer, a planner, a get-up-off-your-ass-and-move kind of guy. He is always on the go, making plans, going places, meeting friends. He likes the idea of sitting still, of just being, but can’t really wrap his head around actually doing that.

For my part, I’m The Master of Chill. I have no problem lounging around, doing not much of anything except riding the couch, watching the TV and/or reading a book. For me, there’s a lot of pleasure in doing nothing. A perfect day is one that extends infinitely ahead of me without plans or demands. It’s how I get my bearings, find my center.

Most of the time Bill and I balance each other our pretty well. He drags me out (sometimes kicking and screaming, sometimes willingly) to do things, and 85% of the time I’m glad he did. Some days I insist that we’re doing nothing and I plant myself somewhere and refuse to budge like a willful child. About 85% of the time Bill will tell me later in the day that he needed to do nothing that day.

Until a few days ago, though, I wasn’t really sure why he was so unrelenting with doing. There’s almost an urgency to it sometimes, as though if he can keep moving…what?

We were having one of those State of Our Marriage talks that happen from time to time. Nothing serious—more like a check-up more than anything. You good? Yup. You? Yup—and the topic of living life came up. Bill was reminding me that it’s not just doing what you have to do, but really living life—actively participating, taking charge, having fun and not letting it pass you by.

I’m all for that, but I’m a proponent of balance, too.

And then he said something that made everything click in place:

“I’m 55 years old. My father died when he was 75. If that’s any indicator, I’ve got 20 years left. I’m not about to spend that time waiting, watching life pass me by.”

That slapped me hard. Suddenly, 20 years doesn’t seem that long.

Granted, it’s a somewhat fatalistic view of life, but I suppose there’s a lot of truth in it. We talk about going here, doing that, writing more, traveling, doing things that make us happy. So what am I doing? What am I waiting for? I want to spend more time with my husband, doing things together, having fun. And not just because he may only have “20 years left” (truth be told, he’ll outlive me!), but because I don’t want life to pass me by. I don’t want to wake up when I’m 80 and wonder what I did all my life. Because as much as I love my Tivo, it’s not what I’m going to remember when I’m sitting in my rocking chair at the old folks’ home.

I’m not going to live my life like a game of Beat the Clock, but I will definitely say “Yes” more. I will try to get out more and burrow in my house less.

What have I got to lose?

Binge and Purge

08.17.2009

My husband’s company has been growing so rapidly, that they’re running out of room in the office. Since Bill is rarely ever actually in the office—he’s usually working from his laptop at the various locations he manages—he has to give up his office. He’s still going to need a place to work occasionally, and a place to store files, so we’ve been cleaning out our office at home.

When we were sorting through it this weekend, wading through books and boxes and stacks of crap, I was convinced there were hidden cameras though the house and we were being filmed for the new A&E reality series called Horders. It’s like “Intervention” for pack rats. Instead of drug addictions, we jones for our stuff.

For the most part, our house is pretty clean. The dog is shedding like crazy, leaving puppy-size hairballs everywhere—but our house isn’t what you’d consider dirty.

However, we have so much junk in our house that it gets a little overwhelming. It’s not so out of control that it leaves us with only one path through the house, but we have a lot of knick-knacks, do-dads and whatnot that we just don’t need to display all at once.

When we moved in together, we merged two full apartments worth of furniture, clothes and appliances. It was a lot of stuff to squeeze into an apartment. Before we got married we moved from the apartment to a 2,700 square foot house with a half acre of land behind it. Our stuff fit. In fact, we didn’t seem to have enough stuff to fill the space. But a couple of months after we got married we bought a house that was only about 1,650 square feet. It’s the perfect size for the two of us, but we had a hard time cramming in our crap. Gradually, we figured out what we wanted to keep, what we needed and what fit. Everything else we gave away and donated to Good Will.

Right about that time, Bill’s parents started giving us bags and boxes of things every time we saw them. These were things they thought we’d need—32 containers of dental floss—and things they wanted us to have from their house (full sets of china)—just in case. Bill’s mom was never able to part with a single piece of paper (you never know when you’ll need that phone number), and to some degree Bill has inherited that. He pays most of his bills online, but we still get an obscene amount of mail. I try to stay on top of mine, but there’s stack on the dining room table, so tall it threatens to eat the kitchen. Bill never looks at his. If he does, he opens it, reads it, folds it back up, and places it on top of the envelope it came in. And there it stays. And stays.

We argue about his piles of mail. He’ll put it aside and swear he’s going to shred it soon. And then another pile builds and threatens to take over the dining room. Then he sweeps it all into some place—usually the office at home—where it sits. We have about 10 of these piles stashed everywhere. It’s like contraband.

Add this to my insane collections of stuff. I have collected just about every single Bearista Bear Starbucks has ever produced. I started collecting them in the late 1990s, when they were on Bearista Bear #10 and I will still grab one every time I see them. I have even sent friends in other parts of the country on missions to track down regional bears. I used to display them in my office at my old job, but now they’re all in massive Rubbermaid bins in the attic. All 60 or so of them.

Da Bears

Da Bears

On top of that, neither one of us have ever thrown out a birthday card, anniversary card, letter or postcard. And I have never been able to part with a book.

I still have my Norton Anthology of Shakespeare and Norton’s Chaucer from college. Bill has them too. I also have every book I had to read in college. Some are cherished. Some of there because I never really did read them but I hope to one day. Every trashy novel (not those bodice-ripping Harlequins, although I used to love Kathleen Woodiwiss) by Jackie Collins and Olivia Goldsmith is stored lovingly on my sagging shelves. Every crime thriller (Michael Connelly, Patricia Cornwell, John Grisham) is packed so tight I can’t jam another one on the shelf. My beloved chick lit (Jennifer Lancaster, Jane Green, Emily Giffin) is lined up neatly in all their pastel-covered book jacket beauty.

But there’s no more room. The bookcases are on overload, the closets are bursting, and we can no longer cram all that other stuff we have no idea what to do with into the corners.

So yesterday we got brutal. We went through the office ruthlessly tossing old mail, junk, papers, newspaper articles, warranties to appliances we no longer own, and other random crap that has no purpose.

Then I sorted through the bookshelves in the office and the ones off the family room. I pulled out piles of books that I know I will never read, books that I kept because I wanted people to think someone read them (C’mon, like you don’t do that) and novels that I read, hated and will never look at again. We even got rid of one our our Shakespeare anthologies. I stacked them all neatly, lovingly, by size and genre. Then I packed them up to be donated, hoping they find good homes.

And then I cried.

But I have to say, the house looks so much better, more organized. Cleaner.

There’s more to do. I’ve slowly been tackling my dresser and closet. I donated three garbage bags full of clothes, and I’m sure I can purge more. I sorted through one of the closets down the hall and I need to go through the one in the guest bedroom. It’s stuffed with old pillows, blankets, a computer that hasn’t worked in 10 years, old suits that my husband will never wear, picture frames and god only knows what else.

It’s embarrassing for so many reasons.

But we’re thinning things out, paring down and purging.

Because if we don’t? You’ll see us on Hoarders next season, buried under our own junk.

Random Tuesday Thoughts (Facebook Friends, My Hero And, Well, You'll See)

08.11.2009

randomtuesday

Most mornings after I’ve settled in at work I’ll log into Facebook and see what’s going on with everyone. Yesterday morning there was a friend request that I was happy to see, and then there was a friend recommendation. I’m not always sure how Facebook makes its recommendations. It’s usually based on something legitimate like the high school you went to, the year you graduated or mutual friends. But every now and then there are some random ones. Like the one recommending my husband’s second ex-wife. Now, after about 14 years of not-always-peaceful co-existence, arguments, and awkward family gatherings, it’s pretty clear that me and this woman are never—not in this life or in any other—going to become friends no matter how much Facebook wills it so. But I’m still curious because she is not friends with any of my friends or my husband. I’m not friends with their son online either—in fact, I don’t even know if he’s on Facebook.

I have to admit though, I’m dying to see what her profile looks like!

**********

Google Search is endlessly fascinating to me. I get about 15 hits a day based on this post about Bejeweled Blitz. Apparently, I’m not the only one with a wicked addiction to this game. I also seem to get a lot of hits for Bret Michaels, Neil Diamond (mostly inquiring about his marital status), and for Costco. But the last couple of days Google sent a handful of people to me for the search “pants crap.”

Aside from wondering about the person who types these search terms, I couldn’t figure out what hell it had to do with The Daily Snark. I Googled “pants crap” and I never did find a connection to this blog—the closest thing I could find was this post with the word “crap” in the title, but my search opened up a whole new world to me. Apparently, there are anonymous groups dedicated to this. I made the colossal mistake of clicking on a link to see if they were support groups or fetish groups. Guess what? There’s a whole community of people who do this. ON PURPOSE. I don’t mean to shout, but OHMYHOLYHELL.

**********

My hero...

My hero...

This guy? He’s my hero. He is the defender of all things Mo. I’ve had a rough week or so and he’s been there for me, listening, giving advice (when asked), and stands behind me when things go upside down. In a few weeks, we’re going to be celebrating our 10-anniversary and I can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

**********

I switched my drink at Starbucks last week. For years, I’ve gotten my venti Skinny Vanilla Latte every morning, 5 days a week, 52 weeks a year. But a friend of mine recently read my tarot cards and told me that if I wanted to bring change into my life, I needed to change up my routine. Simple changes bring bigger ones. I’m sure it has someting to do with being open to new opportunites. I’m not sure why I decided to enact change with my cofffe, but I’ve started drinking a venti misto, which is half coffee, half steamed milk. And I add a packet of Splenda. I’m kind of digging the change. I’m not sure if it’ll stick, but for now I’m test-driving it. However, it turned the staff at my Starbucks upside down.  I’d walk in, and by the time I got to the register my drink was there. I just had to pay. I didn’t have to say much more than good morning and thank you. So when I told them I was changing my drink, all of the employees went into shock. There was a disturbance in the force. Now they view me suspiciously. I may switch back, but then again, I may try something entirely different. I’m feeling kinda wild.

**********

For more randomness, don’t forget to check out Keely’s blog at the Un Mom.

Ambush

08.09.2009

Last night Bill and I went to dinner for a friend’s 40th birthday. It was a great night—dinner at a fancy-schmancy restaurant and then drinks by the rooftop pool. Toward the end of the night, everyone decided to go to Carney’s for some late-night chili burgers and hot dogs. (All the better to soak up all the alcohol everyone had!)

Everyone was having a great time, sitting outside, chowing down, laughing and talking.

And then the shit hit the fan.

One of the couples at the party sat down near us after they got their food. I made a comment to the woman along the lines of “Oh, you changed your clothes.” I didn’t mean anything by it; it was just a way of making polite conversation.

I could see something in her face, and she turned around and unleashed her rage.

She yelled at me from the other table, asking me my why I didn’t like her and wondered why I was always rude to her, looking her up and down, judging her.

Huh?

This is a woman who is somewhat prominent in our town. A woman who couldn’t be bothered to remember my name—or my husband’s—for about a year. A woman who stuck out her hand and reintroduced herself every time we saw each other as if we hadn’t already met 374 times before. I never went out my way to be her BFF because I was clearly never a blip on her radar. Or so I thought.

This woman is good friends with some of my friends, but I’ve never socialized with her. I’ve never even gotten past the niceties with her before she’s moved on to someone more prominent, more important in her eyes. When her and her husband showed up earlier in the evening I stood up, said hello, hugged her and told her it was good to see her. I did the same with her husband. I was nice, asked how they were and made small talk with her husband. Never once was I rude. EVER. Not last night. Not before that.

So I was stunned at first. Her attack totally came out of left field.

I kind of laughed a little because I wasn’t sure she was serious at first. And then I asked her what in the world she was talking about. I told her I was never anything but polite, that I’ve never been rude to her.

And that’s when she did her Linda Blair impersonation—head spinning around all crazy—and unloaded. Apparently, this woman who I’ve never really had occasion to talk to, who has looked ME up and down on occasion and can’t remember my fucking name, thinks I’m a the most rude person she’s ever met. And not only that, she’s not the only one who thinks so. Everyone apparently in her world thinks I’m rude. I never talk to her and she doesn’t know why I think I’m better than her.

At this point I was still trying to be nice. Why? Not sure. Maybe because it caught me off guard, that this woman ever gave me any thought at all.

I told her I had no idea what she was talking about, that I had always been nice, that I’ve never been rude to her and I had no idea who else she thought I was rude to. She, of course, conveniently wasn’t going to get into all that.

I looked at Bill totally stunned. He shrugged. He was still trying to keep it light too and told her  that I do get shy and have a hard time talking to people sometimes.

I got up and walked away for a minute and the more I thought about it, the more pissed I got. I had no idea how I suddenly became the bad guy.

I came back and sat down and asked Bill what the fuck that was about. I was muttering to him that she was out of line and again, WTF?

She shouts from over her table that she can hear me, which was sort of the point I guess, and I tell her I don’t give a shit. I told her SHE was rude and out of line and I didn’t need to put up with that.

At that point her husband stands up and declares that they “don’t have to take this”—as if they were the victims—and they left.

I got up and walked into the parking lot to cool off.

When one of my friends came over to check on me, I promptly lost it and started to cry. Full body-wracking sobs. And I couldn’t stop.

Bill came around to see how I was and was surprised that I let this woman affect me so much. But I was embarrased. Not only because I felt ambushed by a clearly unhappy woman, but because it happened in front of a group of my friends. And because I wish I probably handled it differently. And I wish she did to.

I would have been much more responsive if she walked over and sat at my table and calmly asked my if there were issues. But she chose to attack me in front of everyone. And although I don’t really give a shit what she thinks of me, it concerns me that other people think I’m rude.

That pretty much ended the night. Everyone left to go home.

I felt horrible that my friend’s birthday ended on that note.

I am pissed that I was attacked without provocation.

And frankly, that fucking cow owes me a public apology.

And more importantly, she owes the birthday girl an apology.

So I Think I'm A Bad Daughter…

08.07.2009

…and I feel guilty about it but I can’t seem to help myself sometimes.

A couple of years ago when I switched jobs, I gave my parents my new work number but I told them not to call it unless it was important.

The job switch gave me a good excuse because I now share an office and I have a schedule and a job that has people in and out of here all day long. I don’t have the time to chat all day and I don’t want everyone in my business anyway.

This offends my mother to her very core.

In my last job I had my own office and she knew it, so she’d call to yack about nothing. If I had time, I’d pick up and talk for a bit, but then she started to take advantage. She’d call up and when I had to interrupt her to take another call—a WORK call, no less—or if someone came in and I had to put her on hold, or god forbid, call her back, she’d get pissy about it. If I didn’t call her back in the time she felt I should have been able to, she’d call and leave snippy messages on my voice mail: “Where ARE you? I thought you’d call back by now.”

She got so aggressive about it that when I’d tell her, “Mom, I have to go” (because my boss was standing in the door or something) she’d pause and say, “Mmhm. So anyway…” And launch right back into whatever she was talking about. I’d try (gently) to interrupt her but she pretended she didn’t hear me.

A few times I just hung up on her midsentence.

Was it mean? Absolutely. But she was disrespectful too. She didn’t care that I wasn’t being paid to talk to her all day. She called to talk, and talk she was going to do.

Since I don’t call her during the day now, I try to call my parents a few nights a week on my way home. This has worked out well because I can usually get them both on the phone at the same time and don’t have to repeat or clarify anything in a second conversation later. And there’s a set end point. The 30-minute drive is over and I have to get inside to take care of the dog and see my husband. Now, my dad is totally cool with this, by the way. By the time I’m driving home from work, they’re finishing dinner and watching Letterman and Jimmy Fallon from the night before. My dad wants to catch up on his Tivo. He gets on the phone, says what he wants to say and gets off the phone. He’s not offended at all. (My mom is NOT a say and it and get off the phone type by any stretch of the imagination.)

About an hour ago my cell phone rang. It was my mom, which is unusual during the day, so I automatically assume something must be wrong. My dad is 80 and my mom is 76, so I feel like when they call at unusual times, it’s THE CALL. Which makes me feel shittier about this whole situation.

I pick up and immediately ask what’s wrong. My mom’s voice is tight but she says everything is fine. “Are you sure?” I asked. She assured me that everything was fine.

“So why does it sound like it’s not?”

“You didn’t call last night.”

“Whaaa?”

“You didn’t call on your way home last night.”

“I didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”

“You usually call on Monday, Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Okay, that was news to me. Frankly, last night I wanted to put the top down, blast some music and just drive. I’m entitled. I had a long week and was tired but I feel guilty now because I didn’t call. Because it was Thursday. And I always call on Thursday.

Here’s the thing I wrestle with. I know my parents are getting older, and the more they age, the more they hold on. I know there will be a day, a day not that long from now, when I wish my mother was around to call me, to check in. There will be a day when I will miss her calling me up to nag me about something. Like I’m 4 and not almost 40. I know all of this. But I can’t help but feel annoyed.

My mom has a ton of friends. She’s active with card groups and golf and she volunteers and goes out to lunch with friends. But she seems lonely to me. And she seems to expect me to supply something that I just don’t know how to give her sometimes. And it simultaneously makes me angry and breaks my heart.

This isn’t a post about bashing my mother. I really am frustrated and don’t know how to handle this with her. I’ve tried to talk to her but I don’t know if she understands it. My grandmother (her mom) had already passed away by the time my mom was my age, and I don’t have kids, so I’m sure there’s a correlation to all of that.

I’m really trying to be patient, and I’m trying so hard not to be frustrated, but sometimes it’s all I can do to swallow my irritation.

I feel like a bad daugher.

Related Posts with Thumbnails
subscribefollowemail mo