I’ve gotten a little behind with everything. Guess that’s what happens when you head to the boonies for 5 days and refuse to access a laptop or Wi-Fi internet while you’re gone. Going home is like a mini vacation for me. So I’m allowed to leave the my online life behind for a few days.
Walking out in the woods on a beautiful fall day will never compare to any day spent entirely on a computer.
I had quite an assortment of dreams last night. One very, very steamy one, and another where I drew on experiences from what is happening in my real, conscious life, and I was President of the United States of America. And they say life doesn’t influence the art we create in our heads. Pffft. I’m actually not sure if that’s true. I may have made that up.
What IS true, however, is a fun fact I read the other day while eating breakfast. Apparently, upon first waking up, if we are going to recall a dream, we remember it in its entirety within the first 10 seconds of waking. Another seven seconds, and we can only recall about 1/4 of it. Within ten minutes of waking, we forget the dream entirely.
Fascinating, isn’t it? I’m a little bit different, as I recall bits and pieces of dreams for hours/days/weeks to come after it has been played over in my head. Sometimes, I dream the same dream a couple more times, each time adding on a little bit more than the last time. The mind is an interesting, complicated piece of organized mush. I’m thankful there are people in the world who can cut open a person’s skull, get their fingers in there, probe around and fix the issues that are happening. Someone would crack their skull open near me and I would probably barf from the sound of shattering skull alone.
I’ll spare you the details of the hot and steamy one. But the POTUS one? I’ll share that one:
“I’m pacing in a back conference room. There’s a long, mahogany table shining in the center of the room, and a rather large flat screen TV is fixed to the wall behind where I am pacing. (All I can think at this point is of Effie Trinket from the Hunger Games yelling her infamous mahogany line.)My hands rest on my hips in my slim-cut navy blue suit, and i just keep pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Quickly, the door opens, and a younger man steps in. Camera flashes and the shouting of invasive questions burst from the doorway and are quickly shut away once the door is clicked closed behind him. He walks over to me, I stop pacing, and we simply stare at each other. He has the same curly flop of hair that Josh Groban does, but he is tall, dark and handsome. (He has been in my dreams many, many times before, and I can feel my mouth starting to water just thinking about him now.)I continue to stare at him, waiting. After a short time, he lets out a deep and sigh, looks down to the floor, and only shakes his head once: No.
Instantly, my eyes fill with tears, and I can’t breathe. (I wasn’t expecting this. POTUS does not cry ever!) He tries to reach a hand out to me, but I quickly step away. ‘Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.’ He looks at me with concern, but quietly mutters, ‘I’m the reason our country still has a living leader instead of a scorched body to mourn.’ I turn back to him then, walk over to him, and slap him hard across the cheek. (How DARE he?! But I still don’t know what’s going on…)‘That was my family in that plane. I should have been with them,’ I yell at him.
The door opens again, another burst of blinding camera flashes, and its my Vice President. He’s come to tell me I need to meet with my Press Secretary to draft a statement as to my whereabouts and why I wasn’t on the plane with them when it crashed. Handsome looks at me, and we exchange a painful look. We knew this affair wouldn’t result in anything good for either of us. (Don’t you know you never sleep with someone you work with?!) Never did I imagine it would end with my family dying in a plane crash while I got it on with Handsome here in the fake Oval Office (you know, the one the tours are led through. Not the ACTUAL Oval Office. Too many things of value there.) Nor did I imagine that a private tour was being conducted at the same time my legs would wrap around his waist. (Twitter-verse must have been in heaven.)
I nod, and prepare to follow the Press Secretary through the melee of reporters waiting outside the door.
‘You do know the truth will come out no matter what we say in the next few hours,’ he says to me. I nod, and say, ‘Next time I won’t be so stupid and we won’t be in this mess.’ I give Handsome one more long look and tell him to pack his things. He is no longer a member of my Cabinet. (GASP!)With that final word, I’m out the door, blinded by hundreds of cameras going off all at once.”
This is not a demonstration of how women wouldn’t be competent in leading our country. THIS is a demonstration of A woman who wouldn’t be able to lead our country:
“Refudiate. English is a living language. Shakespeare liked to coin new words, too. Got to celebrate it.”
Remember those words from our last election in 2008? They are from Sarah Palin, a politician who decided to comment about her bard-like brilliance on Twitter. Brilliance…is that what they’re calling it these days? Of all the women John McCain could have picked to be his running mate, he had to choose Miss Russia From Her Backyard.
Whatever. I’m over and so so SO happy McCain didn’t win. Otherwise who knows what Palin might have done, and in case you need clarification, I’d be holding my breath in worry, not in rapt anticipation.
Yoda/Kenobi 2016…Because they are our only hope.
Anakin had it wrong.
The feeling of sand is wonderful. There is nothing better than pulling out a book or magazine in the dead of the heartless winter season and having a small pile of sand fall into my lap. It’s not too convenient when you’re laying comfortable in your nice, warm bed with the blankets wrapped perfectly around yourself and suddenly there’s a mess of grainy particles now mixed among your small piece of heaven.
But I still love finding it. I love finding those small reminders of summer every now and then.
Especially when its sand.
There is nothing I love more than a beach day. Sometimes its only for a few hours. Heck, sometimes it’s only for a few minutes because not every beach day is a day is paradise. The flies decide to bite. It’s hot on top of the hill, but once by the water, the wind chills you to the bone. There’s not a level piece of land without a crap ton of debris laying everywhere. Too many people screaming along with their children under the age of 6. The sand is so scorching hot on your feet that it literally hurts to walk so you have to run in the hopes of saving your feet (at least until you reach the water’s edge and can walk on the already wet sand.)
Anakin Skywalker had it wrong. Sand is not rough and coarse. While it does get everywhere, I tend to like it that way. Because if you leave the beach covered in sand for one reason or another, that only means one thing when you finally reach home. It means you can take a cold shower.
Hearing the words cold shower gives me all sorts of crazy ideas. I’ll keep most of them to myself.
This is the first weekend where I haven’t had a full day off, and on top of not having a full day off to collect my thoughts from the craziness of working the evening hours and trying to live like a normal individual, I have to return to work for a mandatory work meeting. From what I gathered from other individuals at this place of establishment, it’s basically going to consist of us being fed snacks while watching a series of training videos.
It’s seriously the weirdest weekend of my life, and if I could fast forward through this meeting.
Basically, summer makes me feel a lot of things, and according to an article I read in an old issue of Glamour magazine, summer makes us feel 10x better about ourselves in a variety of ways. We feel healthier, we feel happier, we actually look better (from all the sunshine and extra water we’re drinking because of the soaring hot temperatures.)
We’re also feeling sexier in every aspect of the word.
What can I say? Nothing looks better than a white bikini and a nice bronze tan. (I know a few guys who would agree with me on this one.)
“Old people do have sex and they have it a lot. They’re just doing it a little more slowly, which, come to think of it, is not a bad thing.”
Those are the revealing words from Estelle Getty, one of our beloved Golden Girls. They do say it gets better as we age. I wouldn’t know. I’m not yet beyond the age of 50. I’ll let you know when it happens, and weigh in on the subject at hand.
But, in all seriousness. It’s kind of funny how this season instills both a fear of one’s body and emboldens the need to show it off. As I was walking around the beach this afternoon, not only did I know I looked good (I know a thing or two about picking out the right swimsuit for your body type), but I was also berating myself for not working harder on slimming my thighs down, or mentally tallying how many more reps I’d need to add to my arm workout in order to start seeing muscle definition results.
My favorite part of the article I read from Glamour? We attract more men without even realizing we’re doing it. It’s easier for a man to find you attractive in the summer months. Why? We’re practically running around half-naked by choice.
Disagree with me? I’m sorry, but I’m most likely to be found wearing a skirt or sundress of some sort in these hot temps instead of a full-on pantsuit. More skin = more double takes = more ooh la-la for all involved.
I thought it was interesting logic.
Women aren’t alone in this. We all tend to feel a touch more adventurous in the summer months. There’s just something very invigorating in the air, pushing us to take that extra step, to try something entirely new.
Which brings me to my New Day Sunday. I discovered these things back in the month of June (yeah, I’m a touch behind), but trying something new is not something you set on deadline.
Produce:Corn on the Cob
Bakery:Coffee Cupcakes with Glitter Frosting
Canned Goods:Pork n’ Beans
Breakfast/Cereal:French Vanilla Flavored Coffee Grounds
Meats: Steak on the Hibachi Grill
Dairy:Potato Topper Sour Cream
Frozen Foods: Karmel Sutra Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream
Beverages:Woodchuck Hard Cider
Toiletries:Got 2 B Power-derful Hair Gel
Household:Marker Menu Board
Pet:Dog Bed made out of an End Table
Snacks: Dutch Crunch Steak-Flavored Chips
Misc: Heating/Cooling Eye Mask
Maybe something on here sparked your interest to start your week. It’s hard to believe the weekend is just about to see itself close. I do enjoy my weekends, even when I work more than half the time. What can I say…A woman has to do what a woman has to do.
And that, these days, is to earn a living.
Well…enough of a living to get by with the essentials and a few nights out with beer and friends thrown into the mix.
For the first time in my dating history, I walked through my door, set my purse down on my bedroom floor, sat down on my bed, and just sat. I didn’t have a ridiculous grin on my face. I didn’t have butterflies ransacking my stomach. Instead, I grabbed my planner to check the time I’m scheduled to work tomorrow morning, and proceeded to my kitchen to grab a glass of water.
I’ve been really thirsty all night long for some reason. Dehydration, probably.
On top of that, I just want to pull my contacts out of my eyes and settle into the couch for a few episodes of The Office (a new season has been put on Netflix so I can catch up on another new season and get my Dwight fix.)
What is wrong with me? I should be jumping out of my skin with this one. It’s not that it was a horrible date. In fact, it was a really great date. We were out and about several beaches with his dog. I can’t tell you how much I love and miss my dog. Leaving my dog behind once again when I left home this past weekend broke a small piece of my heart, like it always does.
Since my last dog, I’m reminded that every time I leave home, I might not come home to my dog again. Rest in peace Titan. I miss you so much, buddy. Even when you chewed on my barn rubbers if I forgot to put them up on the porch railing over night. I still miss you, my sweet little puppy.
I got to be outdoors. I got to jump from rock to rock on the shore like I was a crazy woman, like I was a kid playing on the rock pile. Skipping rocks, playing fetch with his dog, and sitting with my feet dangling in the cool water while talking to my date. It was gorgeous out, and I had a cute guy sitting next to me.
Then, we kept driving up the shoreline because there were a few places he wanted to show me because I had mentioned on previous dates I had never been to these places. So, basically a mini road trip.
After that, we didn’t turn off on the road we should have to return to his place. Instead, we kept going straight and I asked him what we were doing. We were going to pick up pizza from his favorite pizza place in town.
What more could I ask for?
It continued to be a pretty wonderful afternoon while we watched Family Guy, Wipe-Out, and talked about new movies coming out we both really want to see. Savages, Brave, The Dark Knight Rises, and a whole handful of others. It really was a sweet afternoon, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Then, why when I come home from said date, do I sit down on my bed and wonder why I feel like nothing happened between us? Like, there was no spark or something? He did kiss me good night, and we have tentative plans for tomorrow evening/this weekend…so it went well. Right?
Then, why do I feel this way?
I’ve been finding myself in a funk a lot as the week has progressed. It may be a small depression after my party-throwing this past weekend. I was looking forward to the Bachelorette Party for so long, now that it’s over, I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. My main duties as the Maid of Honor are half over. A huge part of it is throwing these two parties for the bride. Until the big Game Day, I simply help her with whatever preparations she needs help with. Then, on the wedding day itself, I sort of run the show and make sure everything behind the scenes is running smoothly so the bride and groom don’t have to worry about anything but getting their vows right.
“The last hundred years of my life have been filled with new things.”
It doesn’t take a genius to know I’m not 100 years old, or ever over 100 years of age. But, in the years I have been blessed to walk on this earth and to have lived through the experiences I have experienced, it’s a beautiful thing. Lillian Postman, a woman checking in at 108 years old, probably knows a thing or two about life that I would love to hear.
I wonder if she was married…
With dating and life eternal with that one special someone locked in my brain at this moment while watching The Office, I am reminded how freaking cute Pam and Jim are on this show. Why can’t I have a romance story like that? Why can’t I find a Big Girl Job, meet the coworker who will become my best friend and confidante, let alone the love of my life, go through a big messy ordeal, then finally have him propose to me so we’ll live happily ever after in our suburban home with our 3 kids, our Mini Cooper, our dog, and a small screened in porch where we have brunch every Saturday and Sunday morning (where he does the cooking and I have the time off away from the kitchen.)
Why can’t I have that? Perhaps I will in my future, but since I don’t know if I will ever have that. I’ll beat myself to the ground wondering.
I do. More often than I would care to admit.
I need to find myself a hobby. One that requires discipline and focus. Maybe I should take up meditating in one of the places I was introduced to this evening, and really take my study of the Jedi arts far more seriously than I have been thus far. It’s one of those things where some days it’s pretty hard-core, and others I forget to think a Jedi-ist thought.
I’m in a funk, people. I need to find my way out of this.
Now, I have survived the Flood of 2012.
I’m not even kidding. Last night when all I could talk about was how much it was raining…the story gets much more interesting than that. This city has been declared as being in a State of Emergency. This is real life, this is what is actually happening. The rain stopped earlier in the afternoon, thank god, and some of the damage is just unreal. Photos I have seen and have posted to my personal Facebook are insane. I have uttered three particular words multiple times upon looking at certain pictures.
“Oh. My. God.”
Water is an incredible thing. So calm and soothing one moment, then gushing and raging down the streets of this city ripping up concrete and tarmac along the way.
Leaving work last night…Talk about an adventure and nail-biting experience all rolled into one. As the sky dumped everything it had down upon this city, it didn’t take long to realize having an umbrella wasn’t going to help matters any. Sure it kept one side of my head dry. The other half? By the time I got to my car, I resembled a wet, shaggy dog.
Walking through the alley wasn’t do bad. The occasional puddle that I either stepped through or I leaped over, you know…typical steps taken to avoid walking through puddles.
But then I got to the street.
Water gushed down the sides of the street like a raging river. It pooled and gurgled…I honetly could have been standing next to an actual river for all I knew. So what did I do? I took a deep breath and stepped right into the fray.
Wrong decision on several accounts.
One, the water was much deeper than it seemed to be. I took that initial step and the water ate my foot. I never thought I was going to find the pavement. The water came up right over my ankle, and in literally 2 seconds, my shoe was soaked.
Somehow, that made my show grow half a size, so when I managed to get out of the water, whenever I took a step, my shoe slipped off the back of my heel. I felt like a little 3-year-old running around in a pair of my mommy’s high heels.
Along with the sudden size difference, I also felt the squish of water between my toes with each and every successive step. Nothing is worse than the squish of water between my toes.
The umbrella wasn’t entirely useless. At first, at least. It did keep my head dry while my pants took no time in absorbing the falling H2O droplets. It’s the worst while its raining and when you crawl into a car feeling and smelling like a wet dog.
Seriously, though, my umbrella was in tip-top shape until I crossed the street. There is something about crossing that raging river of a street that changed everything. Once I pulled by foot from the river, high heel still attached, the wine decided to pick up and wreak havoc upon my umbrella.
My head was dry until that exact moment. The wind grabbed the umbrella, turned it inside out, and along with smelling like a wet dog, I proceeded to look like a wet dog.
Hair plastered against my cheek. Bangs stuck to my forehead. Pants clinging to my thighs.
Just a plain, hot, wet mess.
“There are some circles in America where it seems to be more socially acceptable to carry a handgun than a packet of cigarettes.”
But in this part of the country, let alone this state, you’re gonna need rain boots and raincoat far more than a handgun for the next couple of days, Katharine Whitehorn, the Brit Wit.
However, given the situation of this city and the flood that has devastated varying areas, I consider myself lucky. The most damage that has happened to my apartment building is very large puddles forming on the lawn around the ground level apartments. Water was running right up to their screened porch doors. Looking at the threat on their doorsteps, I’m not so ungrateful for living on a higher level.
Water has always held a fascination for me, but it’s mind-boggling in its power. How does water rip up streets and sidewalks? How does it wash out an entire highway and several feet of earth below said highway? How can it flood several parking lots and just stand for hours upon hours?
Water is a ferocious enemy, and as a Cancer, I find it all alluring and beautiful in its destruction.
My heart goes out to those who suffered loss and destruction after this weather debacle. But everyone should know there are silver linings to everything, and here are a few enlightening words to get you through the rest of the week.
– You don’t have to be perfect to be amazing.
– Things are about to go your way.
– You make life wonderful.
– Shrink your stress. Have some fun!
– You are fully qualified to succeed.
My heart goes out to everyone in this city this evening, and if there is any way I can help, I’m going to. Everyone says they want to live something like a natural disaster, to say they were a part of history.
I became a part of this city’s history when the rain fell and when it continued to fall for the past 24 hours, flooding the streets with foaming, dirty water. It’s the worst flooding this area has seen in the past 40 years, if not in its entire history. Incredible to think about, but it’s going to take a while for this city to rebuild the damage that has been done.
Mother Nature. She sure knows how to send a message. What that message is, I’m not too sure quite yet.
Hello, hello all and hello again! How I have missed writing to you, but every once in a while, a person needs to step back away from the things they love. They need to be reminded of why they love these aspects of life as much as they do. While some get the itch to take a photograph, I get the itch to write, so here I am again. Let’s get to business, shall we?
I hope your Memorial Day weekend was splendid, and that you took a few moments to stop in your tracks to remember those who have given the ultimate sacrifice so we can live in a country like we do, letting us have the pleasures and freedoms we enjoy in our every day lives. It doesn’t have to be a grand, expensive gesture. Just a reminder to those around you and letting those know we remember and give thanks to their service. I had a friend recently tell me he joined the National Guards because its something he wants to look back on in 30 years and say it was something he did. If he doesn’t do it now, he never will.
I admire his ability to dive right in, head first, without a second thought. I once seriously considered joining the armed forces, but due to the heavy and persistent recruitment calls, I soon became annoyed with them and told them to leave me alone. I needed time to bring this up to my parents in a serious manner (they thought I was joking each time I mentioned it to them) and the fact that the recruiter didn’t respect that only made me angry. I ended up saying no to them. It may be a lame excuse, but let me make the decision in my own matter of time. It wasn’t like there was a deadline to sign up in a weeks’ time otherwise it would be too late!
The things we look back on. It’s amazing to think how different my life may have been.
Regardless of your affiliation to the armed forces, I hope you took the time to thank them in some way, shape, or form.
I’ve come to the conclusion over the past couple of days that I do not want to be a boring person. I don’t want my days to be routine. I don’t want everyone to be able to predict what I’m going to be doing a week from today because it’s the same thing I do every week at that exact same time. I don’t want people to think that I’ll wait for them, or that I’ll always be free. I want them to consider me a busy person, and if they want to spend time with me, they need to take into consideration that I may not always be available for them to simply drop me a text the night of and expect me to be there because “I have nothing better to do.”
I came to this conclusion over the past three days because I found myself doing the same things over the course of those three days. I watched lots of Gossip Girl. I read a lot of magazines. I ate a lot of food. I bought a lot of clothes. I stared at my wall, and fell into my bed at abnormally early times for myself. I arrived and left work more often than went out to drink or meet up with friends.
I became routine. In three days’ time. I became routine. (It should probably be taken into account that the weather here was just awful all three days of the weekend, too. We couldn’t grill outside due to torrential rainfall. I couldn’t go to the beach because of torrential rainfall and heavy, thick fog. I couldn’t even enjoy my coffee out on my deck because of the torrential rainfall. Ick ick ick.)
“Silent women are seldom bores — it is the talkative ones who make one feel limp.”
I’m listening to what you’re saying, Elinor Glyn, an English eroticist of yore. I think more girls should listen to the volumes you speak. The more we do and seek and discover in the world, the more tired our minds and bodies. Therefore we don’t have the energy to constantly talk about the things we do or don’t do. Or wish we did. Or whatever combination of things you want to say or pretend you did.
So, last night, when I became so restless I was ready to pull my own skin off , I threw on my yoga pants and a t-shirt and told my sister I was going for a walk. Let’s be real. A walk didn’t cut it. I was so fed up with many little things last night, I just needed to leave them all behind. I arrived at the beach around 9:00 pm (thank god it’s still light out at that hour), put my keys in my pockets, threw a towel over my purse in my backseat, slammed the door shut and almost took out a guy just standing there with a really nice camera. I just needed to get to that beach, and for that desire, I blame the Cancer inside of me.
Even though I was wearing tennis shoes, it was incredibly satisfying to feel the wet sand sink underneath my feet. The air smelled so good, the crashing waves shut out the stupid, nagging voices inside my head. As I walked, I reminded myself to be aware of everything around me, to take in the moment. That’s when I noticed the fresh tracks of footprints lined up next to mine, the flock of tiny birds swooping around the crest of the crashing waters, the fact that some strange moving figure wearing white was standing right next to the landmark I was aiming for as my turnaround point…I took it all in and let myself simply be aware. With that awareness, I realized my legs were begging me to run.
Run I did. I haven’t run like that in months, but it felt great…and I won’t lie. It felt epic with tons of fallen logs and lake debris littering the beach from the weekend’s huge storms, the crashing waves ripping at my feet, and just running like someone was chasing me…Epic. The only thing missing was the Hunger Games soundtrack playing in my headphones (which decided to die right as I started that evenings’ walk by my apartment.)
It honestly brought me back from wherever I was. It sounds silly, ridiculous, a bit philosophical, but that’s not the point. The point is that I felt myself come back out of a crazy, mentally messed up place, and I returned to where I was physically standing. It’s something the Jedi need to be able to do, to take in all that is around them, to be present in the moment and not thinking of what may happen in the future.
Thank you, Master Qui-Gon 🙂
Returning home to a bowl of vanilla ice cream, a large glass of water and my bangs curling like mad around my forehead (humidity and I do not get along at all in the summertime. Put Humidity right in the corner with Patience), I felt a larger sense of calm about me, and actually a stronger urge to become more active in my every day life. Running, muscle toning, ab work…all of it is going to find time in my day, even if its only for 20 minutes. Better than nothing.
With that in mind, I want to share this Vogue-Spiration with you. It speaks of a seduction many of us feel, and probably don’t fully understand. I know my seduction lies in finding what will make me a member of society, a “real” adult, someone to be looked up to, a “real” woman in a “real” woman’s job…whatever the hell that means. But the seduction exists:
“All legendary heartbreakers know that nothing is more alluring than a Mona Lisa aura of mystery. That secret untold, that appointment not kept, that willful concealing of what’s most desired…
And so we were captivated by a mood of enigmatic sophistication. The cool, young thing now is an ice-cool, adult panache — conveyed via intriguing new hemlines (below the knee), silhouettes (the femme fatal mermaid), and the strong, ladylike (wraps of fox, snap-top clutches, sheer dark stockings). You know you’re thinking about someone in particular.
No “uniform dressing” for us, grazie. We plan to play dress-up as Daisy Buchanan and Myrna Loy did, going in for marabou and heading to parties in gold paillettes or candy-color bijous that Josephine Baker could have worn at the Folies-Beregere.
Ands while we’re educating ourselves in the lost art of dressing like grown-ups, let’s expand out millinery vocabulary beyond the (usually misused) “fedora,”shall we? Is your favorite chapeau-to-be a toque? A slouch hat? A pillbox? A capeline? Why not make gloves, tight leather or cat-dotted, your trademark?
The seduction isn’t in taking it all off, it’s in putting it all on.”
Until next time, my fellow Jedi.
I’ll be writing an update on my travels sometime tonight. Keep checking in. We’re heading out on our first day adventures after a late, and delicious brunch. It’s a balmy 68 degrees, and we’re walking out the door as I speak.
Here we go! Talk more tonight!