Back to the Beginning

It's the last day of the year. I think today is a really interesting, fine-balance sort of a day because while everyone is all reflective and focused inward on the past 365 days, we are also looking forward toward the future. The next 365 days hold nothing but promise. Today, 2010 can be anything we want it to be. And with resolutions firmly in place, we can envision our perfect year.

I like this idea. The idea of standing at the start of the yellow brick road, the possibilities stretched out before us. We can see the months of the year laid out in front of us. We strain our eyes to see the days ahead, but they disappear into the horizon. There's so much potential, so much promise, so much opportunity. This is the year, we think to ourselves. This year will be the best year yet.

But why is this feeling of hope limited to one or two days of the year? Why must we measure our lives so rigidly? Why are we limited by calendars and schedules and Outlook? Why can't every day be the first day?

There's nothing we can do today that a little resolution tomorrow won't fix.

Whatever you are, be a good one.

Last night I went to see Land of the Sweets, a burlesque version of the Nutcracker, at the Triple Door. So much fun! First, for those of you that haven't been to the Triple Door - it was my first time - this place is fantastic. Super cool vibe, great food from Wild Ginger, posh decor. The tables are tiered, so it didn't really feel like there could be a bad seat. If you have 4 people in your group, you can reserve your own cozy little booth. It was just myself and Maura this time, but it's definitely in the plan to bring along a few more ladies or the boys the next time around.

But we weren't there for the venue. No, we were there for the ladies! And, a couple men as well. (Side note: when men perform in burlesque shows, it's called boylesque. I did not know this.)

The women in the show were incredible - they're undeniably talented. But what's most interesting to me is their absolute comfort in their own bodies. These ladies are hot, definitely, but you know, they're not perfect. A little jiggle to the thighs here, a little tummy bump there. They are real women, unairbrushed and unapologetic. They own it. I find this unbelievably empowering. I have been struggling with my own body image lately. I've been working out, taking care of myself, eating right, but I'm still not where I would like to be. I seem to be overexaming my own body, focusing on what's wrong instead of what's right. I am strong now, stronger than I've ever been. I am not afraid of a challenge anymore. I have a newfound confidence in what I can do physically. There is no more fear. And yet. And yet. And yet, I still step on the scale every day and curse it. I still beat myself up over a bit of overindulgement. I still obsess over my (much smaller than before) belly.

Not anymore.

I am not perfect, but I am going to own what I am. I am strong. I am tough. I can hike and climb and run and lift heavy things. I am sexy. And I can eat a big fat cinammon roll. And I can skip a workout. And I am still strong and sexy. Just because I am.

A Long December

I haven't been feeling like myself lately. I'm honestly not quite sure what's going on. And I can't quite pinpoint what's different. I just feel, I don't know, off. I'm so tired all of the time, and my moods have been awful. I'm totally sweating the small stuff, and I'm having a hard time articulating myself. It's kind of like I'm in a fog. And the weird thing is, I'm taking better care of myself than ever. I work out a lot. I eat healthy. I drink lots of water and get lots of sleep. If anything, I should be feeling incredible. Instead, I'm all blah.

Maybe it's just the pre-Christmas blues. I realized the other day that all of my favorite Christmas songs are the really sad ones. (Side note: Isn 't it odd how many sad holiday songs there really are? For the most wonderful time of the year, a lot of folks seem to be feeling pretty crappy.) For the past few years, and this year as well, Tim and I have spent Christmas in Seattle. I am always happy that we make this decision - it's so much less stressful to go home in January or February, after the chaos is over. But even though I'm happy, I know that on the day, I will be blue. So am I just gearing up for the sadness of being away from MI that I know is coming? Am I just tired of the cold? Am I just in a funk, a rut?

I've got no answers here. I'm not sure what else I can do. Stay positive. Get more Vitamin C. Talk to family and friends more often. Take advantage of what the city has to offer. Challenge myself in new ways. Try some new things. Finally go to yoga. Yes. Okay. Point taken.

Us v. Them

Every day I am again reminded of the huge differences between men and women. Case in point: yesterday a bunch of us were hanging out. One of our friends brought one of his friends out with us. Let's call this friend of a friend "Dexter". I am not a fan of Dexter's. Tim's not a fan. Really, no one enjoys being around this guy. He's rude, arrogant, gross, obnoxious. Tim says he's harmless, but I just get a really creepy feeling about him.

Now the big difference between us and them.

Women wish to benefit in some way from our relationships. We are friends with people that bring something to our lives. We seek out relationships with people that challenge us and inspire us. We look at these relationships and ask ourselves what we're getting from them. We analyze them. We're not friends with other women just for the sake of being friends. We have expectations from our friendships.

Men do not.

Last night, I asked someone why he is friends with Dexter. "What does he bring to your life? What does he bring to the friendship?" And he couldn't answer me! I think he stammered something like, "Well, he's funny. He's such an idiot. We can laugh at him. Comic relief, you know." I find this disturbing. You're friends with Dexter so you can make fun of him? That seems to be an extremely low expectation of this friendship. And I asked Tim about it, and apparently, it makes perfect sense to him. Perfect sense.

And so, there you have it. Another fundamental difference between us and them. And like usual, I am so happy to be on this side of the fence.

Leftover-pollooza!

Just made a delicious salad with some T-giving leftovers....

Get out your red leaf lettuce and top it with leftover turkey, roasted sweet potatoes or other root veggies, and red onion. Make a yummy & healthy dressing of lowfat plain yogurt, white wine vinegar, and fresh pressed garlic. Top with toasted walnuts.

SO good, seriously.

On Loss

Someone I know died today. I saw him on Friday. I just saw him on Friday. It’s not like we were close friends. We were work colleagues, acquaintances really. Well, no, we were friendly. Facebook-friend-friendly. He was thinking about getting a dog. He felt like he had settled down enough that he could finally take care of a dog. I knew that he was thinking about getting a dog.

It was sudden. It happened suddenly, and I heard about it suddenly. And it was sudden. Unforseen. Unanticipated. Facebook reacts quickly – even to the unexpected. Posts that were leading, but not quite confirming. Good-bye, and I’ll miss you, and how can this be. It was confirmed without confirming. And then it was confirmed.

He was young. My age, maybe a year older. And I saw him on Friday.

This isn’t about our closeness or lack thereof. It’s about the loss of life. The loss of a huge heart. The sudden storm. The reminder of other tragedies. The sudden punch to the gut. The why and the how and the he-was-so-young. The air is knocked out of all of us when this kind of unexpected hits. And the old hurts, those we thought had healed, come rushing back. And the old pain is new again. Only now, there’s more.

When I first heard the news this morning, I thought to myself, “But Thursday is Thanksgiving.” And then I yelled it to myself, “Thanksgiving is on Thursday!” As if volume might change what had happened. Change this loss. Change the shape of today. Undo what’s been done.

Thanksgiving is still on Thursday, and I just saw him on Friday.

Drinking The Ink From My Pen

I just realized that it's been almost a month since I've posted. Wow. Not good. And really not a testament to my vow a months back to write more often and to write more honest. I will try harder. Or at all.

And now that I'm sitting here with a blank page, I'm not sure what to write. Tim and I have had a few fights lately, and I could discuss that. But I don't want to. I just went home for a few days last week, and I could discuss that. But I don't want to. I could discuss my excitement and anticipation for things coming up. But I don't want to.

Someday I will write a book. But not today.

Of Mice and Me

So this morning, I got up, straggled to the bathroom (it's still dark outside), and see that Maceo (the more wild of our two cats) is sitting on the toliet seat. This is a bit unusual. I’ve actually never seen him do this. I wonder what he’s doing, but then just completely dismiss it as it’s very early. I go to turn on the shower, and look up, and what's that? What's that running across the shower rod? Yes. It's a rat.
“AAHHH”, I scream. I am screaming my head off. Maceo runs out, and I slam the door. You guys all know how much I hate rats, right?
Finally, Tim runs downstairs, totally buck-naked, and is trying to figure out what's going on. (Side note: He sure took his time about it. His GF is screaming her face off downstairs, and it takes him 5 minutes to wipe the sleepies out of his eyes? Sheesh.) Anyway, apparently, I am hyperventilating and crying (I don't actually remember this), and he can't figure it out what has actually happened. Finally, I manage to get the words out.
A moment later, Tim returns, still naked and armed in work gloves and a reusable grocery bag (see, there are many uses for those things), and bravely faces the rat. He goes into the bathroom, and I hear him yell, "Baby, it's just a little mouse." Hmmm. I am fairly certain it was at least a 4 foot long rat. And everyone knows that men have issues judging size.
At any rate, he catches the mouse/rat, takes it outside, but before he can let it go, it JUMPS out of the bag, and both cats are waiting to pounce on it. Good lord. Tim finally gets the cats inside, possibly with the promise of food that doesn’t run away, and the mouse/rat makes his way to freedom. Presumably. For a minute, sanity is restored in the Cunningham/D’Andrea household.
Until I walk into the front room. It is like a blood bath up in there. I don't know what the hell happened last night, but there is a pile of bloody guts strewn across the room and a pile of vomit in the other corner.
It’s like Maceo and Shadow got wasted, went to Taco Bell, ordered 8 tacos, ate 7 of them, spilling much of them, threw up, and then let the 8th taco run into the bathroom to taunt and laugh at them for not eating it. Okay, maybe it’s not exactly like this but it this made sense to Maura and me.

Let’s pray tomorrow morning is much less eventful.

Instant Karma

Tim and I flew from Seattle to St. Louis to Reagan National last week. When I arrived in DC, I opened up my suitcase to find my jewelry case opened. Each compartment was unzipped.
“How strange,” I thought. “Why would I have packed like this?”
Of course, I didn’t.
Reaching inside the pockets, I realized that almost all of my jewelry had been stolen. Oh, a few things were left. The thief had obviously take her time and picked out what she really liked. I say she because choosing particular pieces is only something a woman would do. And this, for some reason, makes me even madder.
And it’s not like I’m dripping in diamonds, you know? The things she took were mostly inexpensive, but truly sentimental pieces. She took the Tiffany bracelet that Tim gave me for my 30th birthday. And those of you that know me well know how much I wanted that bracelet. I may not wear it as much these days, but still. It’s engraved with my initials, and it’s so special to me. Tim does not buy jewelry, ladies. This was a big frickin’ deal that he went to Tiffany and picked this out for me. A big deal.
She took a beautiful silver chain that I got on super amazing sale last year. She took pendants that I had picked up while traveling in Thailand and Malaysia. They were cheap. But they cannot be replaced. There may be more. I honestly can’t remember what I packed, and I’m afraid that as I go to wear things, I will realize they are gone.
I am trying to keep a positive mind about all of this. I am trying to remind myself that these are just things, just objects. And I am trying not to place such an emphasis on things anyway. I remember the way that Tim looked when he gave me that bracelet. I remember feeling heady from Thai whiskey when I bought that charm. I have those memories, and no one can take them from me.

But still. Karma’s gonna get you, bitch.

It's My Party, and I'll Cry If I Want To

Yesterday, I was all set to write a blog about turning 33 today, and not looking back and thinking ahead toward the future, and blah, blah, blah. Well, I never quite managed to get around to writing it yesterday.

And today seems to be a different day entirely.

Yes, it’s my 33rd birthday today. And I am definitely not feeling the birthday fun. I have absolutely no desire to wear my birthday tiara. In fact, it’s possible that I may stomp on my birthday tiara.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m having the hardest time with this birthday. There’s no reason in particular. I am not afraid of getting older. I am okay with the lines on my face and the gray in my hair. In general, I am a very happy person – I like the person that I’ve become over the past 33 years. So what’s the problem? I guess I had always thought I would be in a different place by this time: accomplished more, acquired more, done more. I am not married – divorced in fact. No family. No real career path. I feel like I look around at many of my high school and college friends, and they seem so together. Big time careers, marriage, babies, success. I realize that I have never, okay, not always taken the traditional path. I know that I have often taken life’s scenic route. And that is something I usually really like about myself. But lately, I’ve been sort of wishing, longing even, for something more traditional. Is this a grass is always greener situation? I mean, I’m certainly not regretting all of places I’ve been, the experiences I’ve had, the uniqueness of my life. But today I’m wondering if I’ve taken too many detours along the way. I’m so far away from the white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and the Outback station wagon, I can’t even envision what they might look like.

I don’t like this feeling of, dare I say it – regret. This was supposed to be my blog about looking toward the future with positive and hopeful eyes. And instead, I’m just looking back at a life that is no longer an option.

Off to work now. Maybe fighting the good fight will make my birthday blues seem a little less important. It certainly should.

I'm Out

I’ll admit it: I was a Project Runway virgin.

I was always wholeheartedly committed to America’s Next Top Model, and for some reason, I just didn’t feel like I had it in me to be faithful to both shows. (Possibly my self-esteem can only take one hour a week of watching 90 pound waifs traipse down the runway, voluminous hair flying...) However, after what seems like 19 seasons of watching Tyra become progressively crazy – the voices, the dances, the overall kitsch – and not to mention the fact that the “models” seemed to be chosen based on the likelihood of them having an on-air breakdown culminating with the admission of an abusive parent, an eating disorder, or lack of a serious boyfriend, I knew I had to make a change.

And so, my conversion to Project Runway was underway.

We are now about half way through the season, and I have made a major discovery about myself. Brace yourselves, friends, for this bombshell.

I know nothing about fashion.

Whew. It feels good to put that out there. This is how I know that I know nothing about fashion. Every time I watch a “garment” (okay, I know the proper terminology, yay!) go down the runway, and I think to myself, “Wow, how cute is that? Love it”, that will invariably be the look that gets slammed by Michael and Heidi and all their friends, and that designer will go home. EVERY TIME, PEOPLE. And when I see another garment and go, “Ewwww”, that will absolutely be the winner. I could lay bets on it at this point.

But what can be done? At this point, I think I’m a lost cause. So I guess I’ll stick with my
J Crew/Banana Republic/Ann Taylor Loft with some Target mixed-in wardrobe. And I’ll like it.

P.S. I do believe I am correct about one fashion-related piece. See below.

Tim Gunn: Don’t even get me started on leggings.

Emily D’Andrea: Word.

Giving Is Good

This is a thank you letter I received today from Miss Anna Drumm. She is raising money for her school, and she is clearly going to be a fundraiser when she grows up.

Miss Emily,

Thank you for sending me money for my Fun Run. I can't wait to give it to my school. It is good for my school and it is good for me because I will get a new Webkinz. I hope it's the pink dinosaur. For my thank you note I sent you money for your special walk. My mom did it on the computer. You should be proud of you too. I am proud of you. I am proud of me too. Thank you again.

Love, Anna

Anna, I am proud of us too.

Oh, rats.

Driving home tonight, a rat ran in front of my car. I hit the brakes so as not to hit it.

I do not know myself at all.

What should I do?

Help! Need advice!

I got married when I was 24 years old. We were married 4 years. We've now been divorced for as long as we were married. I have mostly happy memories of this marriage, but that's all they are: memories. I have a completely new life now. A new partner, a new city, a new view on a lot of things.

Here's my question. Do I sell my wedding ring? It is a beautitful ring. I picked it out, and I love it. I love it. But I will obviously never wear it again. So do I sell it? Out with the old and in with the new? Do I hang on to it for memory's sake? Do I take the diamonds out of it and make something brand new?

I didn't think I would ever get rid of it, but lately, I've sort of been feeling like what's the point? No matter how much I love it, it represents something that no longer exists. I'm not hanging on to it because I am still harboring feelings for the man. Nope. I think I harbor feelings for the ring though. And also, my Mom once told me not to get rid of it. She said I would want it at some point. But will I really? Would it be better to sell it, and use the money toward something else? Or should I just put it away and revisit this in another 4 years?

So any other advice? Has anyone else gone through this? I need some guidance.

With Fresca

I think it is clear that I need to learn to manage stress better.

Yoga? Meditation? Acupuncture? Exercise? Communication? Fresh air?

No, in the immortal words of Bridget Jones, I choose vodka.

Turn Around, Bright Eyes

On the way to work today, the woman driving in front of me was really digging the song she was listening to. REALLY digging it. She was banging her head, singing out loud. She had the windows down on her car, and she was doing a full-on Stevie Nicks dance, arms flailing out the window, performing her own little concert.
I was at once both scornful and jealous. Part of me really wanted to, well, make fun of this lady. Who does she think she is, driving to work on a Wednesday, all together too happy with herself? We're stuck in a traffic jam on I-5 for God's sake. There's nothing to be that excited about already.
Alternately, I admire her. She is making the best of a bad situation. She's loving life and her music. Who knows? Maybe she got a little that morning before work, and she's just satisfied and happy.
I found myself laughing and smiling as she performed. I waved at her when I pulled off the interstate.

I wish I knew what song she was listening to. I'm imagining "Total Eclipse of the Heart". Definitely.

No Time For Losers

I made a discovery about myself this weekend. I am hyper-competitive, and it is not entirely attractive. I announced this to Tim and Abra, and they were not quite as surprised by my revelation as I. In fact, Tim nodded vigorously in agreement, and said, "Yeah, Babe, sometimes you can be scary." Ouch.

Without going into the unflattering details, my Soccer Mom level of competiveness reached new heights on Saturday during a particulary heated game of Flip Cup. Yes, a drinking game. Even as I was yelling at team members, verbally abusing the opposite team, and beating myself up over our loss, I could see that my behavior was, well, not good. And yet, I could not stop myself.

I know that competition is healthy, and even having a competitive spirit is a good thing. But there has got to be a limit. And so, no more yelling "You let the team down!" to my Euchre partners. No more throwing the Scrabble board across the room when Tim uses both the X and Z in a triple score word. No more trash talking during games or competitions of any sort. I will remain competitive, but in a healthy, fun-having, good sport sort of way.

All gloating and self-congratulation will, of course, continue to take place internally. I mean, a zebra can't totally change her stripes, right?

You are a lover of words. Someday you will write a book.

I've made two decisions regarding this blog.

1. Write more often. Pretty simple, and yet ultimately important.

2. Write more personal. I've discovered that's the key to entertaining and yet relevant blogs. They get down and dirty.

I would also like to apologize in advance to those I may upset in my quest to have an intensely personal and authentic blog. Names will be changed to protect the wicked. But most of you will know who they are anyway.

Snap Crackle Pop

I am finding it alternately upsetting and hilarious that I am currently reading a book about a woman my own age cooking her way through a famous French cookbook while I had a difficult time making Rice Krispie Treats. Culinary genius, I am not.

It's true. I attempted to make Rice Krispie Treats last night for our staff picnic. And although I do not normally bake, I figured I could whip up some mean Treats because, after all, I used to make these things when I was 8. Ha. Rice Krispies are flying out of the bowl. Marshmallow is stuck to the stove top, my face and my hair as well as to the 3 spoons I am using to try and stir the big goopy mess. Also, one would think that one could purchase the ingredients for the Treats without actually consulting a recipe. Well, one would be wrong. You are supposed to use a 10oz bag of the big marshmallows. I had the minis. A 16oz bag of the minis. I assumed (incorrectly) that 16oz of the minis would actually equal 10oz of the regulars, you know, since they're smaller. This is not good logic. In fact, it's just plain wrong. Thus, the excess of marshmallow. The Treats are actually basically white in color and not Rice Krispie colored because of the addition of 6 additional ounces of marshmallow. Perhaps they should be called Marshmallow Treats instead.

Incidentally, I did get a number of compliments on the marshmallow-lovers Treats today at the picnic.

Watch out, Julie and Julia. I'm coming for ya.

I know I am. I'm sure I am.

I am well on my way to becoming a Sounders Superfan. Maura and I have some steps in place to ensure this.

1. Learn the songs.
2. Learn the rules.
3. Make up a fabulous Sounders dance.
4. Infiltrate the other Sounders Superfans and teach them our fabulous dance.
5. Become their leader.

Yes, I think it's a brilliant plan. And so does Maura.

Best Friends Forever

Katie is my best friend. She has been my best friend for many years, and she is my best friend for many reasons. Here is an example.

Several years ago, my boyfriend broke up with me. I am a fairly dramatic person, and at the time, it was a rough break-up. I was completely devastated and pretty much flipping out. Katie and I shared an apartment in Ann Arbor at the time.

(Side note: it was the only time we ever lived together, and I’m so happy we were able to have that experience before she went to law school and I went to NZ. Based on how much we ordered out, I’m pretty sure that Pizza House was also happy.)

After the horrific break-up took place, I called Katie at work in hysterics. Heaving and sputtering, I told her what happened. "Okay," she said, "I’m coming home now." And she hung up. I sat in our little apartment, crying and feeling sorry for myself. Minutes tick by, but no Katie. She only works a few blocks away, what is taking her so long? 15, 20 minutes, still no Katie. Finally, a half hour later, she walks in the door. And she has a bag. I stop crying long enough to yell at her for taking forever. I TOLD you, I am a dramatic person.

Katie sighs, “I know, that took ages. I had to stop and get provisions.” Out of the bag she pulls a carton of ice cream, a bottle of wine, and a dozen beers. “I didn’t know which one you would want,” she says, and then she hugs me.

I know. You wish Katie was YOUR best friend too.

P.S. Wine.

All Messed Up

I am an organized person. I am detail-oriented, orderly, efficient. Very, very organized. Except in one area. And that would be "my room."
I have piles of clothes on the floor. Shoes kicked off in different directions. Undies hanging out of drawers. Stacks of clothes piled high on the dresser. Jewelry that has been knocked off flat surfaces that's now just lost on the floor. Instead of hanging clothes on hangers in my closet, I will lay them across the top of the rack making it impossible to see the clothes underneath. Stacks of old journals and poems and magazines are piled in every corner.
Because of my unbelievable messiness, Tim and I actually switched bedrooms. We now have our regular bedroom where we sleep, and then I have "my room." It's basically just a room where my explosion of crap lives. This move was intially so I could have a "dressing room", a lovely girly getaway designed to give me some of my own space. Instead it has become a sort of a breeding ground for disaster.
This is not a new habit. Nope. Anyone that has ever lived with me can vouch for my (truly) dirty little secret. And no matter how hard I try to keep my room clean, I alway revert back to my old ways.
But why?
How can I be so organized in all other areas of my life? Organized to the point of anal even, but I can accept, nay encourage, this shitstorm of a room in my house? Is it because I can view my room as the one place where I don't have to have it all together? In fact, it IS my little girly getaway? Or is it because I can just shut the door and pretend the mess doesn't exist? Or am I just plain lazy?

D. All of the above.

Do You Want To Talk About It?

People tell me things. I’m not quite sure why, but people tell me things. I can barely know a guy from Adam, and he will go right ahead and tell me something immensely personal or deeply private. This has been the case for as long as I can remember. It actually wasn’t that long ago that I realized that this doesn’t happen to everyone. Not everyone is getting these intimate details of other people’s lives. I’m, well, I’m flattered that people feel comfortable opening up to me, and I definitely think it’s important that we talk about the big issues. I’m always happy to listen when folks feel like talking. And it’s not like they’re always looking for advice either. Nope, it seems to just be more of a venting thing, a getting-off-the-chest thing, a whew-that-felt-good-to-say-that-aloud thing. My Mom told me that this happens to her as well. People tell her things. And my Dad is a psychologist, so I’m assuming people tell him things too. So maybe it’s just been passed on to me - a sort of psychological dimple. I’m the girl you tell things to.

Talk away. I will listen.

I'm underwhelmed if that's a word...

....I know it's not cause I looked it up.

Wednesday

Good conversation. Great friends. Decent wine. So why does everything feel all mixed up?

I miss "normal".

KJK, I miss you already.

Crisis 2009

I’ve been thinking a lot about the word “crisis” today. What exactly constitutes a crisis in your mind? I have helpfully provided a few definitions from dictionary.com. See below:

cri-sis
noun

1. a stage in a sequence of events at which the trend of all future events, esp. for better or for worse, is determined; turning point.

2. a condition of instability or danger, as in social, economic, political, or international affairs, leading to a decisive change.

3. a dramatic or circumstantial upheaval in a person’s life.

4. the point in a play or story at which hostile elements are most tensely opposed to each other.

So, based on the above definitions, a crisis is when a person’s future, or a country’s future, or an organization’s future, or even socio-economic futures are inevitably going to be changed. I suppose many of us may not realize that we’re in the midst of a crisis until we’ve actually come out on the other side. Or perhaps some people just don’t want to admit that they or their surroundings are in crisis-mode because they are afraid of panicking others. But based on these definitions, there really doesn’t seem to be a lot of room for debate, right? A crisis is any situation that is going to result in a big change. And change is scary. Is that why the idea of a crisis is ultimately the idea of trouble?

Crisis = Change = Trouble?

Come Home, Dumb Dumb

It makes me really, really sad when I see signs for lost dogs or cats. Like REALLY sad. I saw one this morning for a lost dog, and I nearly started crying. I think it might stem from my divorce when I lost my dog to my ex. Seriously, having to leave Jolie was harder than leaving the husband. Doesn't say much about the marriage, huh? Or maybe it just says a whole bunch about what an amazing dog that Jolie is.
I just hate the idea of scared pets wandering around looking for their moms and dads. I even felt like this when the bear took a wrong turn and ended up hanging around I5 in Seattle. Poor bear. Scared and alone, definitely not loving city life.
Weirdly, the other day I saw a sign for a lost turtle. The turtle's name is Dumb Dumb which probably predetermined her as a lost pet. Apparently Dumb Dumb likes playing hide and seek, and she is very, very good at it.

Come out, come out, wherever you are!

We Are Family

I saw the best thing the other day.

Going for a walk through my neighborhbor, I watched as a school bus pulled up to a house. Waiting outside the house was a little girl, maybe about 3 years old. As the bus pulled up, she started clapping and jumping up and down in excitement. This was pure joy. Her two sisters bounded off the bus, and all three were laughing and jumping around together. Their mother came around from the backyard, and yelled, "Okay, girls, now it's fun time!" And they all hollered and whooped.

How great is that? Family is everything.

I'm Rubber and You're Glue...

On Saturday, I found out that someone had something pretty nasty about me. I'm not friends with the person who said it. In fact, I don't even really know him at all. And he doesn't know me. He believes that I hurt someone he cares about, and thus, the nastiness. This is not the first time I've heard about this guy making crap comments about me. But for some reason, this time, I took it really, really hard. Like tears in the eyes hard. Like catch in my throat hard. What was different about this time?
His comment was not true. It's actually just this man's opinion. An opinion based on nothing. And even if it wasn't completely baseless, why do I care what he thinks about me? Why do I care what any virtual stranger thinks about me?
Or is my reaction due to something else? Guilt? Regret over past actions? Karmic payback? A larger questioning of who I am as a person?

Oh, too much self-analyzation for a Monday afternoon. Maybe my tears and hurt feelings would go away with a much simpler solution: telling that guy where to go and how to get there.

The Golden Rule

Last weekend we went to Sasquatch. For all of you non-Pacific Northwesterners, it’s a giant, three-day music festival at a gorgeous outdoor amphitheatre called The Gorge in Eastern Washington. We went last year too. You’re guaranteed gorgeous weather, good music, fun camping. All in all, a fabulous time. Except for one thing. The ridiculously overpriced $9 beers. Yes, I said $9. And that’s for Coors Light! Now I know that when you go to a baseball game or something you’re paying the same price. But look at it this way: 1 day at the festival costs $60, and many people go for all three days. Gas to get there and back, well, probably $40 or so. Maybe more. Weirdly, I never seem to know what gas costs. The show begins at noon and pretty much runs til midnight. Even if you don’t get there when the gates open, you’re still going to be there for at least 6 hours. If you drink just one beer an hour, you’re looking at $54. And you’re probably gonna wanna eat so that’s another $20! Good lord, you’ve spent ONE MILLION dollars in a weekend.
At any rate, we only went for the one day. We had a few drinks before we left the campsite. We had another before we entered the show. But we still managed to drink a few beers inside. Lushes? No, just vacation. And it was hot—we needed to hydrate. Toward the end of the night, I turned to Tim and asked him if we had enough money left for another beer. “Nope’, he said sadly. Oh, boo. And then all of a sudden, the guy walking next to me hands me a $20 bill. “For beer,” he says. I honestly can’t believe it. I didn't have to flash him or anything. “What? Really? Why?” I stammered. He says, “You seem like a nice person.” And he walks away. I sort of yell thank you after him, still kind of not believing. Now I totally believe in karma, and I like to think Tim and I do nice things for others. But this was definitely not expected. We hopped over to the beer line though and truly enjoyed our last Coors Light.
Clearly, I’m going to continue putting this good beer karma out into the world. So from now on, everyone just be nice to everyone cause you never know. You just might be standing at a bar, sad because you have no money and you have no beer, and there I’ll be, handing you a $20 because you look like a nice person. No flashing required.

Tricky Situation Part 2

Here's another one.....

What if you know that a friend's BF/GF is cheating on them? Do you tell them? Or do you keep quiet because, again, it's not really your place?
This is a tricky situation that I actually have some experience with. I knew a good friend's BF was cheating on her when she was away on study abroad. She was a really, really good friend of mine, and there was no doubt in my mind that I should tell her. I would have wanted her to tell me. That was my reasoning anyway. Well, I did tell her. She was, of course, upset. She confronted him. He denied it, and they ended up staying together. While it didn't ruin our friendship, it was certainly strained after that, and honestly, not really ever the same. Even years later, I've run into the BF, and after a few beers, he will still bring it up and insist to me that it was innocent. Yeah right. I totally walked in on him and this girl. Where were you trying to put it? Her purse?!
Still, a really tricky situation. If a really close friend knew that Tim was cheating on me, I would definitely want her to tell me. If it was more of an aquaintance, I'm not sure I would believe it. And what about when it's the other way around? What if YOU are doing the cheating, and someone tells your partner? Well, of course that sucks cause if you're cheating, you're probably hoping your partner isn't going to find out. Ouch.
Oh, cheating, what a big fat f**king mess you make of everything.

Tricky Situation Part 1

What do you do when you’ve got a friend that’s in a terrible relationship? No, not physically abusive or anything. You can just look at them and know that they’re settling, know that they’re not happy, know that something is wrong. You know this, but what can you do? I mean, you don’t really KNOW that they’re unhappy. Maybe that’s just part of their thing, and actually they have a crazy hot sex life, and their bickering just fuels the fire. Maybe. We never know what goes on behind closed doors. But based on what they say about each other and the way they act toward each other in public, it seems pretty clear that they’re not made in heaven. Do you say something? Do you suggest that they might be making a mistake? Do you encourage them to examine their relationship a little closer? That’s what a good friend would do, right? Good friends look out for each other, try and protect each other, help each other.
Or do they?
Maybe you should keep your mouth shut because, truly, it’s not any of your business? Do you shut the f**k up because your friend is a grown-up, and she/he can make decisions for themselves? What would be the better friend thing to do?

And the bigger question...will this person still be your friend after you do or do not speak up?

Words, Words, Words

Why can I not learn how to think before I speak?! Words just tumble out of my mouth. A flood, a rush of syllables, blah blah blah. It's like I can't stop myself. And even when the words race out, one after another, I'm thinking to myself, what are you doing? Why are you saying this? Stop, stop....stop. But they're already out. Come back, I say. Come back.

Seems like this should be something I would have learned by now, right? I'm pretty good at learning the tough lessons. Taking something from my experiences and using that to better my life. I should be able to stop myself, say to myself, slow down. Are you sure you want to be saying this? I should be able to do this.

Come back, I say. Come back.

No lessons have been learned today.

Super Sunday

Big news. I am now a Sounders Superfan. Yes, it's true. After losing my beloved SuperSonics last year, I think I may have found a worthy replacement. I went to not only first Sounders game today, but also my first soccer game ever. I now see what the rest of the world has been talking about all this time. Cute boys, big beers, glittery confetti falling from the sky. Yes, this is football that I can definitely get behind. Now I just have to learn the rules.

Homecoming

So my life was totally course corrected this week.

I had made a decision. An impulsive, non-thinking, wild decision, and it was clearly not the right one. Ooh, that sucks. So stress and worry and tears and ickiness followed this decision. I tried to figure out why I had made such a terrible choice. I tried to wake myself up from that nightmare. I wished and I prayed that I could go back and change my mind. I regretted and fretted and lost some weight(!). But there was no going back.

Unless, maybe, there was. Put aside the regret and the fear and the disappointment and the self-doubt for a minute. Focus on making my life the way I would like it to be. And presto! Course correction! Okay so fate didn't REALLY adjust my life to path I was meant to be on. Nope, I did that myself. And it feels just like coming home.

E-Complex

I agonize over decisions for hours. I can weigh the pros and the cons until I can't remember which are which. I debate and question and play devil's advocate. I make up my mind, and then change it again.

I never look before I leap. I take flying dives into the deep end. I throw caution to the wind. I am free-spirited and impulsive. I will not think twice. I'm your huckleberry.

I am all of these of things.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

No time to blog these past few weeks. Finishing up at Lifelong. Starting up at KEXP. So much going on, and so little time.

Seems like my life has been almost constantly changing since I arrived in Seattle two years ago. And here we go again. Another big change. Weirdly, I'm sort of starting to get used to all of these changes. Where I used to fear change, I now embrace it, look forward to it, enjoy it. I realize that change helps me to stay present and aware. I am hugely interested in evolution and personal growth, and I feel unbelievably lucky to be in the time and the place and the state of mind I am in right now.

And with all the change that has come in past two years, who knows what's next? The possibilities make me giddy.

It's Good To Be King

When I become the head of some sort of governing body (when not if), I will institute the following law first.
Every person on the road must have one of those "How's My Driving?" stickers posted on their car. And they must include a phone number.
And then, when someone tailgates me at high speeds in heavy traffic, I will call their number. At 2 a.m. And I will yell. And then I will feel better.

Haiku for A Not-As-Nice Day

Not ready to leave
Flip flop weather behind yet
Yes, my feet are cold

Wanderlust

I miss traveling. Dear lord, I miss it so much. I didn't leave the country in 2008. Not even to go to Canada. And it's shaping up to be the same for 2009. There's something in me that is just empty without having a holiday or a trip to plan and look forward to. I feel like without an international trip at LEAST once a year, I start to become numb and ethnocentric and all "U-S-A!" like.
I need culture. I need menus that aren't in English. I need walking all around a new city, miles and miles, just because it's fun or I'm lost. I need mispronouncing words to the local and being laughed at. I need beaches and mountains and smoggy cities. I need dogs running around in places they most certainly should not be running. I need hanging on so tight to my purse so a guy on a moto doesn't snatch it off me. I need rickshaw drivers taking me to shady show that I did not request. I need color and vibrance. I need boarding passes and carry-ons. I need sleep deprivation and jet lag. I need drinking local beers and eating lobster on the beach. I need dancing and hiking and bungy jumping and cliff diving and tandem biking and glacier walking and ziplining and thrill seeking and adreneline running. I need to be that person I am when I travel all of the time.

I need to go away. Now.

Decisions, decisions....

So as a Libra, I have an incredibly hard time making decisions. I weigh and I balance. I make lists and I compare the options. I finally make a decision, and then I change my mind. I often resort to flipping a coin or eenie meenie minie moe. Not a good way to make grown-up choices.

And I am ashamed to admit that, sometimes, I have actually made decisions based on fear. Fear of change or fear of the unknown. Fear of failure, or fear of looking stupid. Fear of offending or people disliking me and my choices. This is ridiculous, I know. Why would anyone do something or NOT based on what might happen?! It sounds crazy, but I know I am not alone in this.

And so now I have made an actual decision. And yes, I did have to hem and haw over this one as well. I will no longer make choices based on fear. I will not allow fear to dictate my life. I will try things that I may not be good at. I will verbalize the things I believe in even if they might not be popular. I will take chances and be present. I will do these things.

Unless I change my mind, and I don't.

Do you like me? (Check yes or no)

I’m learning a hard lesson lately. A lesson I probably should have learned when I was, oh, eight or something. I’m learning that not everybody has to like me. It’s okay if not everybody likes me. I’m not saying this is an easy thing for me to learn, just that I’m slowly coming to terms with it.
Yes, I’m definitely one of those people that worry about what other people think of me. Okay, I’m one of those people that worry about pretty much everything. But especially about what people think of me. I don’t know that the worrying necessarily changes any of my behavior. No, it really just gives me something to obsess over.
But seriously, I’m coming to terms with the idea that not everyone will always like me. I know for sure that I do not top the favorite person list of someone I work with. He doesn’t do or say anything that demonstrates his general feeling of “eh” about me. I just know it. For awhile I battled this. I tried to make him like me. I basically forced my funny, sweet, charming self down his throat ‘til he gagged. And then he pretty much threw up.
So screw it, I say! Not everyone in the world may like me, but I know I’ve got a pretty fantastic fan club going on. So what if my Mom is the president?

Correction, my dear

I think it must have something to do with LOST, but lately, I have become a huge fan of the idea of course correction. Mostly this just means fate, but I like the phrase "course correction". While having our Sunday morning pho, Tim and I were talking about how small chance meetings or happenings can take your life in a completely new and different direction. I think that there are certain people we are just destined to meet. One way or another, even with missed connections and all that, these meetings are just meant to be. Course correction will see to that. Now the question is: does this idea just give us all free reign to do whatever we want because fate will eventually step in? I would say, because I also believe in karma, that the answer is no. Karma and fate go hand-in-hand. We get what we give. I find this idea comforting. As long as I try to be a good person, to be kind to others, to practice empathy, I will end up where I am meant to be.
Sometimes I look back through the past few years, and I have some regrets. I question some of my decisions. But then I remember that all of these choices led me to where I am today. Where I'm meant to be. And I love where that is.

Oh, Baby!

So it seems that I have no maternal instinct. None.
The absolute cutest baby in the world was cooing and crawling all over our place last night, and while I think she’s adorable, I am not feeling that rush of baby-fever that everyone else my age seems to be having. Am I just being selfish? Scared? Tim seems to be a complete natural at being a father. It was totally effortless. When I called him out on it, he says no, it’s just that he gets distracted by new things. A baby could just as easily be a cat or something shiny. Hmm. This sounds doubtful. I think he’s trying to make me feel better about this womanly gene I seem to be missing.
And that’s the big question, isn’t it? If, for some reason, as a woman you choose not to have a child, are you less of a woman? Society appears to say yes. And while I have never been one to choose the traditional path, I too feel this pressure to getting married, have kids, buy a minivan, and go to Disney World on vacation. If I don’t do those things, will I regret it later on? And is that a valid reason for doing anything? Fear that if you don’t, you’ll just regret it later on?
And why don’t men struggle with these issues? I can tell you for a fact that Tim isn’t up nights trying to decide if fatherhood is in his future. And he’s certainly not questioning himself as a MAN in relation to being a father.
And even if he were, apparently, he would be quickly be distracted by something shiny.

The Sound of Settling

Will someone please tell me why, oh why, do people stay in relationships that are anything less than amazing?
Okay, fine, you’re right, I know why. People are afraid to be by themselves, they’re afraid of change, they’re afraid of the unknown, they’re afraid they’ll never find anyone else.
Fear.
Some folks (and we all know them) are allowing fear to dictate their lives.
Don’t get me wrong; I’ve been there. I was married to a great guy for 4 years. Two of them were happy, two were not. And we were both too afraid to make the necessary changes to ourselves and/or our lives even though we were both miserable.
It’s so strange that fear is stronger and more powerful than sadness.
Now that I’m in such an incredible relationship with the love of my life (yeah, I’m sappy), I finally *get it*. I understand how it’s supposed to be. And I cannot for the life of me imagine why I would have settled for anything less than perfect. And he is. Well, not perfect. But perfect for me.
If you think you might be settling, you probably are.

A world without Libras

This morning, as I do every morning, I opened up the Seattle Times to read my horoscope. Now, I’m not one of those people who put a ton of stock in astrology. But still. I enjoy having a little heads up of what my day might look like.

Today, February 24, I did not have a horoscope. There was no prediction for Libra. Went straight from Virgo to Scorpio without any mention of the scales. It’s like we Librans do not even exist. I feel that this does not bode well for my day.

I will be your cowgirl

So I went to this bar called Little Red Hen last night for Ben's birthday party. Let me tell you, picking this bar was a pretty darkhorse move on Ben's part as it's a country western bar. He even created an Evite for it.
"Men don't send Evites!" I say to Tim.
"Apparently, Ben does," Tim says, ever observant.
Anyway, the Evite tell us to go to Little Red Hen on Thursday night. Make sure you've got your boots and your hat and a mustache. I am unsure if I can grow a mustache by Thursday, and I don't have a hat. I do, however, bust out the boots and some cute pigtails.
When we arrive, Ben has thoughtfully provided mustaches for all of us. Tim's looked a little too realistic. With his plaid shirt with snaps and the mustache, he could definitely pass for the Marlboro man. Or maybe a cop from Reno 911.
We get there around 8p, and our group makes up most of the people in there. About an hour later though, the place was packed and the band was ready to play. I am seriously astounded by how many people were in this joint, and ALL of them know the dance moves. Older couples, young fratty-looking guys, girls and guys on dates. Everyone is up and dancing, doing the two-step and some other line dances that seem easy but are actually kinda complicated.
You'll never believe this, but I actually got Tim on the dancefloor. Yes, THAT'S how infectious the vibe was.
We honestly had a really great time. The drinks were strong and cheap. People were friendly and didn't seem to mind that we were all wearing fake mustaches. Everyone was smiling. Hell, the band was good. They even wished Ben happy birthday and played a song for him. We're still not sure how they knew it was his birthday. I think maybe the bourbons made our voices carry.
Yeah, I'm going back to Little Red Hen. I think I want to be a cowgirl when I grow up.

Sushi Love

So Tim and I pretty much rock at making sushi. He bought me a sushi-making kit for Christmas, and we've sliced and rolled together three times now. The first couple times were all right, mostly just about getting the knife skills right and making sure the fillings don't ooze out of the sides of the rolls. But this time, well, this time was another thing entirely. We started with the basics: salmon nigiri, tuna roll. But after we were all warmed up, we decided we had advanced enought to get a little creative. We successfully attempted both a spicy tuna roll AND spicy scallop battleship sushi. And they were both incredible. I do the slicing and dicing, and Tim is the primary roller. Oh, and we bought some bluefin tuna for the very first time for nigiri, and wow, melt in your mouth, to die for. I blame all of of the not-so-perfectly cut pieces on crappy knives. Definitely NOT my knife skills.
Yeah, I expect that we will be opening up a restaurant in the ID very, very soon. Keep your eyes peeled. Now we just need a name....

The Mountain

I've lived in Seattle a little over two years, but I am still completely blown away when The Mountain is out, towering over the city. (The Mountain = Mount Rainier)
In the morning, driving to work, there's a certain bend I come around on I-5. And in the winter, The Mountain is mostly absent. But not this morning. It was out, looming in all of its glory. Honestly, it's breathtaking. I don't know if it's because it's not always visible or really if it's just the sheer size of The Mountain, but it is an astounding sight. Every time.
Ask me again after I've lived here 10 years. I bet I'll say them same thing.

Yeah, that would hurt....

I just got the Sweetheart compilation, and it has a cover of Bruce Springsteen’s I’m On Fire on it. So I am, of course, reminded of Katie.
Going to my Dad’s wedding when we’re seniors in high school, Katie is driving, and we’re not really sure where we’re going. I’m On Fire is on the radio, and I’m singing along. I’m also trying to navigate, but I’m not doing a very good job because, well, I’m not a very good navigator. I would yell, “That’s it!” And she would start to make a turn, and I would realize, “Oh wait. That’s not it.” And she would abruptly swerve back to the main road. This happened three or four times. And then the last time, immediately after saying, “Oh wait...” I realized that “Oh crap. That WAS it.” And she had to u-turn in the middle of the road. She was understandably irritated at my poor directional skills. And I was still singing along to the Boss. For anyone that has heard my singing voice, you will know that it would be annoying as well.
Bruce and I sing, “Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and cut a six inch valley in the middle of my.....” But I stop cause I’m confused.
“Is it ‘soul’ or ‘skull’”? I ask Katie.
“What?” she says, trying to not get us killed as she u-turns.
“Does he say ‘soul’ or ‘skull’ right there?”
“I don’t know, Emily. I think it’s toe.”
“WHAT?!” I shriek, laughing already. “You think he’s got a six inch valley in the middle of his toe?!”
“Yes,” says Katie. “That’s why he’s on fire. Cause his toe hurts so bad.” She’s very matter-of-fact about the whole thing.
Yep, that’s why he’s on fire, all right. Cause he toe hurts so bad. Katie is so deep.
I love my best friend.

The Benefits of Book Club

Had Book Club last night. Very, very fun, I must say. Now what you’ve got to realize is that Book Club is really just a reason for the girls to get together, hang out, and drink wine. For some reason, we need a reason for that to happen. I mean, Book Club is great because it challenges us to read stuff we might not otherwise. And all of the ladies are well-educated, intelligent, big voices and opinions, lots to offer. That makes for good conversation. But really, truly, the reason we’re all there is the girl time. It’s weird, you know, as we get older, we don’t spend the same kind of time with our friends. We’re all busy with our lives, work, families. Friends just don’t take priority like they did when we were younger. We actually have to set aside that time, that book club or knitting group (well, for some of us) or happy hour, and schedule an hour or two for friends. I am trying to get better about it though. It’s been harder since I moved to Seattle since I don’t have the same super close, tight knit group of girls that I have in MI. It’s not quite that way out here. But I’m working on it. And I can’t wait for the next Book Club.

Time After Time

Margaret Atwood, my favorite author, says in Cat's Eye, "Time is not a line but a dimension. You don't look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing ever goes away."

This makes sense to me. Good sense. It also helps me justify time travel in my head. And I love the idea of time travel.

But even so, isn't it strange how, after a relationship ends, it's so hard to remember the details later on. It's almost like a dream, or a story you heard from someone else a long time ago. Like it never really happened to you at all.

But once in a while, all of a sudden, something reminds you of him. A song, a smell, a voice, and there it is. So I guess Margaret is right after all. Nothing ever goes away. Even if you wish it would.

The Official Soundtrack from The Original Life

I am the sort of person that needs the right music to get motivated to do *anything*. When I went bungy-jumping in NZ, I made the bungy-jumping operator guy, much to his excitement, change the radio station until I found an appropriate song to jump to. "C'mon and Take a Look Outside", incidentally, an NZ band and song. I love theme music.
Really, having the right music totally sets the tone of your day or your mood or your conversation. It's kind of like having your very own soundtrack. Music can totally fire us up or make us cry. When I was going through my divorce, my theme song was definitely "Title and Registration" by Death Cab for Cutie. Well, okay, let's be honest here. First it was NIN's "Only Me", and after I'd gotten the yelling and throwing shit out of the way, the sadness and the Death Cab could set in.
At the hard start, long distance time of me and Tim's relationship, it was Bright Eyes "Walk Away." And I know I passed that particular theme song on to at least two others. Definitely going on the soundtrack.
Or you can hear a song, and it can completely take us back to another time and place or light up an old friend's face in our mind. Make us burst out laughing at the memory.
Lisa sang "The Boxer" to me at Epcot waiting for the fireworks to start.
Katie and I drunkenly forced our other sober friends to sit down and watch us dance to "Holiday".
There are countless Albion songs that will always remind me of Dave and Jay and Dave and Kristin and Kel.
Of course, there's always the good ol' mopping song for Davia (It's Oh So Quiet).
I wish I'd made a mix tape every month or two of my life. You know, just fill a 90 minute tape with all of the songs of the moment, the songs that defined my life at that particular period. Oh, what a topsy-turvy musical rollercoaster of an autobiography that would be.
But what about now? I'm struggling to think of a theme song for right now. I like to listen to Rilo Kiley while I cook. And I'm digging Sons & Daughters for a dance party. But I can't think of one song that really defines *me* right now.
What's yours? I won't steal it. I promise. Sort of.

And you can tell everybody that this is your poem...

I miss Tim. But he's coming home today! In celebration of his homecoming, I'm posting the first poem I ever wrote for him. Cheesy, maybe. What can I say?

It's Fall Again

the sun is hot
and his hand is on my back
I'm dying to kiss him
and when I finally do
the sky cracks open

Dear Dish Network....

Dear Dish Network,

How are you? I am not fine. In fact, I am very, very far from fine. I am sure you know that the season premiere of LOST was on Wednesday night. Unfortunately, because of numerous circumstances all involving the Dish, I do not know if the Oceanic 6 have made it back to the Island. I do not know how John Locke died. I do not know what is up with the time and space continueum. Imagine my disappointment after watching four seasons of LOST back to back, hurrying through season 4 just to be caught up for the premier, to not have access to the show because of your inferior broadcasting.
But rest assured: I am not just angry with you. There is another source of my discontent: the local ABC channel, KOMO 4. You are, apparently, unable to reach an agreeement and so we do not have ABC. I'm sure that both of you just want more than you are entitled to, and thus, your subscribers now have to pay the price.
And yes, smart guy, I realize I can watch LOST online. I know this. But it is not the same. And also not the point.
And furthermore, after converting to an HD TV a few months ago, we needed to have a Dish upgrade. After waiting for a month to get the dude out to our place, we were told that we could not upgrade because there is a tree in the way of the satellite. A tree. The satellite signal comes FROM SPACE, and a tree that is two feet in width is preventing me from watching HD TV. Of course. And do you know, dearest Dish network, what your employee said? He said, "Why don't you call DirectTV? Their satellite is about two feet to the right of the tree. It will work for you." Um, okay.
So Dish Network, that is what we did. And on February 1, DirectTV will be broadcasting at our house. And on February 4, we will watch LOST, and we will drink a toast to you.

With no love LOST,
Emily xoxo

My Love of Mix Tapes

I miss mix tapes. I miss making them. I miss getting them. I miss deciding that I'm going to make one for someone. And then there's choosing the songs. Every single song had to have a deeper meaning, a specific purpose for putting it on the tape. My Number One Best Friend Katie and I stayed up all night one night in high school making mix tapes. One was bouncy fun, fun, fun and called "Shiny Happy People", and another depressing, suicide-facilitating stuff called....Hmm. Maybe "Here Comes The Flood"? We were going through a Peter Gabriel phase.
I miss mix tapes. I just don't feel CDs are the same. It's something about having to listen to each song carefully, and stopping it at just the right spot, and knowing which songs would fit on to your 90 minute tape. So much more love went into them. I always used to end my mix tapes with "Please, please, please..." by the Smiths. Super short song, always fit no matter how much room was left on the tape.
I miss mix tapes. A friend from high school, Kate Hinote, and I decided to exchange mix tapes one year for Hanukkah. Neither one of us is Jewish, but it seemed like a good plan. Her tape changed my life as it contained three songs by Tori Amos from Little Earthquakes. Nothing like hearing "Silent All These Years" as an angsty 16 year old.
I once made a mix for a guy named Jason. He wasn't anything special to me. We actually barely knew each other. Can't remember why I made the tape for him even. But the next day he held up the tape and told me I was a goddess. A mix tape made me a goddess.
Yeah, I miss mix tapes.