The Big E

Mister Dog

2008-10-03T11:18:00.006-04:00

The Tall One and I are going to visit his family in East Tennessee this weekend. I am particularly excited because about 30 minutes from his house, the National Storytelling Festival will be happening in Jonesboro, Tenn.

I've never been to the storytelling festival before, but I can only imagine how wonderful it will be. I mean, really. There's not much better in the world than being read to - especially at bedtime. Maybe I can convince someone at this festival to read one of my favorite bedtime books aloud - Mister Dog.

If you haven't read this book, you should. Regardless of how old you are. It's about Crispin's Crispian - the dog who belongs to himself. Crispin takes himself for walks, smokes a pipe and romps in a field with cats and bunnies. Bliss. And now that I think of it, this book may have a lot to do with my ferociously independent nature...and decorating style. His house rocks!

The boy who belongs to himself is in this picture. Crispin makes friends with him and invites the boy to come live with him. They share their foods for a soup - a bright green vegetable and lots of meat. Clean up the house together. And most importantly, at the end of the book, my favorite part:

"And then what did he (Crispin's Crispian) do? Then he curled up in a warm little heap and went to sleep. And he dreamed his own dreams.That is what the dog who belonged to himself did.

"And then what did the boy who belonged to himself do?The boy who belonged to himself curled up in a warm little heap and went to sleep. And he dreamed his own dreams.That is what the boy who belonged to himself did."

Which makes me think, maybe the story of Crispin's Crispian is a lot like the story of the Tall One and I. And that makes me quite happy - because like I said, this story is my favorite one of all.

Brassiere Critic

2008-09-11T14:04:00.002-04:00

I almost forgot I had a blog until today.

You see, I want to critique skimmies for a new, online, Consumer Reports-type site that all the writers do is receive packages of bras and undies in your size, wear them and write about them. Dream work.

So I needed some writing samples that highlighted areas of knowledge other than my vast understanding of car maintenance, whiskey distillation and farm products. I needed to show I am a recovering People.com addict that knows what's hip (do they still use that word?). I needed some meat. So I tried remembering my blog's web address - took about three tries - and then started to read. Is it bad I was entertained with myself?

I picked a few of my favorites - Poop Pains, There's a First Time for Everything and New Person Lunch - and sent them with a Bobby Hamilton column on the hottest new car technology (talk about diversity) to the contact. I neglected paying clients for close to an hour.

Pick me! Pick me! I'm perfect for this job!

There are officially three bras that Victoria's Secret carries in its stores that are my cup size. Of those three, two look more like a car bra for a Beretta than lingerie. One fits comfortably. I bought it in every color available. It still looks like two skull caps strapped together though.

So this site is wanting critics to review "high-end boutique brands with upscale lines." Seeing J-Lo, Dolly and all the High School Musical girls' boob jobs, I know there's got to be a designer out there that makes bras for girls like me. I'm your ideal candidate!

So cross your fingers. I may actually have to devote a full drawer to undergarments if it works out. And my two bras that get rotated between day after day might get a well deserved break.

By the way...

2006-07-07T21:03:00.000-04:00

You may be wondering, "where have you been?"

To that I say, "Don't dwell on the past."

But I'm in a new house - and the Tall One and I have internet access.

Maybe this will become a more frequent party for me.

No promises though...

Usefulness and female felons

2006-07-07T20:41:00.000-04:00

It's not even worth counting the days it's been since I've used this blog to express what I'm thinking. Ironically, I could probably count about as many days that I did not want to think about anything post-5 p.m. because my job sometimes just 'does me like dat.'

Never the less, yesterday was a particularly great day at work. Qualifying a day of work as great rarely comes to me because I decided about a year ago that I hated using the word because at my childhood dinner table you could get away with saying your day was 'good' or 'fine' and you didn't have to say anything else because as long as it wasn't 'bad' or 'okay' you didn't have to explain yourself. Being great would qualify having to explain yourself as well, so I usually avoid it, too. (I hate communicating post work for the most part - unless I really like you.)

But it was great, and I'm ready to explain myself, because it left me with some satisfaction in thinking 'My job can in fact be useful.'

Now I realize that people across the world would not be paid to do my job if it were a 'useless' occupation, and I do feel as though every day I am doing something productive for somebody somewhere, but yesterday, I got to use my skizilz to help a friend. Not only a friend - but my best friend.

That's when you feel useful. That turned a fine day into a great day and I became an asset with a skill and knowledge that could help her further her cause - her passion (and lucky for her, her job as well.)

I poured myself into that press release - I quit working on my client work (shhh. don't tell) just to make sure I got it done and done right for her deadline with the Indy Star.

So maybe this is a little anti-climactic, but it felt damn good. Check out the release below (very cool story) - and if by chance you're with some major news outlet - you can contact me at anytime. I'd be happy to answer any questions you have or arrange a time for you to meet with the Craine House experiment volunteers or leadership...(end PR voice)

Craine House to expose the obstacles female felons face in the workforce
Riding buses, getting a job – everything’s harder with a felony and kids

INDIANAPOLIS (July 6, 2006) – The job market is tough – especially when you’re a felon and a single mom.

Under Indiana state law… But as the John P. Craine House has found, that is not necessarily the case.

The Craine House is an alternative sentencing program for non-violent female offenders and their pre-school aged children. As part of their services they provide women with educational training and help to assist with job placement.

“Our correctional system may do an excellent job of detaining felons, but it does a terrible job of preparing men and women for the workforce after prison,” said Suzanne Pierce, executive director of the John P. Craine House. “Felons who find themselves unable to get a job are more likely to go back to the criminal cycle because they can’t support themselves or their children.”

“We must break the cycle.”

While living at Craine House, women are expected to find employment within thirty days. Amidst a sea of other barriers including a criminal history with a felony, arranging and coordinating childcare on a limited budget, insufficient education, and a minimal work history, the women at Craine House begin the job search in a new city with little guidance, and no transportation, as they are not allowed to drive.

As an investigative study, the Craine House is sending two Craine House volunteers into the streets of Indy with one goal – to get a job. But first, just like the felons, they’ll have to navigate the Indy bus system to get the kids to daycare and use the bus system again to make it to their 9 a.m. interviews. All of this, and then they have to get the job while “admitting” they are felons.

Through their experiences, the Craine House hopes to discover the reasons why the women they serve are many times unable to successfully return to the workforce.

“Many times, we think it shouldn’t be a big deal to be able to clean up, go out, get a job and live the American dream,” said Suzanne Pierce, executive director of the John P. Craine House. “But the women we serve have ceaselessly had issues in finding employment and we aim to find out why and make changes in our programs and in their lives that will help send these women and their children into successful, healthy jobs and lives.”

The John P. Craine House is a non-profit organization that has served incarcerated women since 1978. Since 1993, Craine House has been one of six facilities in existence in the United States and the only one in the Midwest open to both women and their pre-school aged children. For more information about the Craine House and its programs visit www.crainehouse.org or call (317) 925-2833.

# # #

Brokeback memorabilia

2006-02-22T17:47:00.000-05:00

So I wasn't completely accurate in my profile...but pretty close:

'Brokeback' shirts sell for $100,000

American Idol in the lobby

2006-02-16T10:39:00.000-05:00

All Monday morning it was another report:

"I just went downstairs to creative, and I saw her bra strap!"

"Her hair's down to her butt!" "No it's not, it's at her shoulder blades."

"Do you think that hair color's natural?"

"She's way shorter than she looks on TV."

Yes, Carrie Underwood's producer folk, decided that my company's front steps and lobby were the best place to film her latest video. So Monday morning, we started off our workweek by walking around our building and in the back door (not to be seen.) The police even directed us out in the middle of the street (mind you this wasn't a downtown holiday) so that we wouldn't "mess up the set" (aka. our sidewalk.) Carrie then proceeded to strut in and out of our building upwards of 50 times (the front desk person recalled) and played the same 20 seconds of her song over and over again for about two hours.

Kind of a pain, but having the bragging rights of "that's my building!!!!" when watching CMT's country music countdown on Saturday mornings - that's worth every inconvenience of it.

E's brush with stardom No. 3.

Do I hear $25,000

2006-02-14T14:09:00.000-05:00

All you Brokeback Mountain fans out there, be sure to check out the Ebay sell of the shirts worn by Ennis and Jack in the movie.

Brokeback shirts for sale

For the sake of entertaining myself, I would like to profile who I think will be the highest bidder:

Kenneth is a computer-techy exec in Silicon Valley. He's gone on three dates (with women) in the past 5 years. He plays Halo online because he doesn't like his friends spilling Fanta on his couch. Last Friday he decided to go see Brokeback Mountain because with the Olympics starting and all, he figured no one would be at the theatre. While watching the movie, Kenneth realized why he has felt so lost for so long and went on two dates in one night (with men.) He's never been happier. Kenneth sold-off all his stock in his company and plans to move to the south of Canada. He hopes to find himself and that one other cowboy who loves him while there. He refuses to leave without the shirts. If he loses the auction, he's alrady figured it out. He will bug the UPS's shipping software and ensure his package is safely delivered.

Happy bidding, Kenneth. I hope you're real.

The pigs are flyin'!

2006-02-01T17:43:00.000-05:00

If you fly Delta this month, be sure to check out the 'Learning Curves' feature story about 'The Jack' in Delta Sky Magazine (their in-flight publication.)

This is one of those, "My job can be rewarding," moments. I pitched this story to the editor, David Bailey, and we ended up inviting him to attend. He is one of the best media judges we've ever had and a sweet, Southern man at that.

Right on 'Cue

As a matter of fact, you should make it a point to fly Delta - just to pick me up a copy for my clip archive.

Making the State of the Union tolerable

2006-02-01T14:48:00.000-05:00

How the hell did you do that, you ask?

I had four long necks before the thing ever came on. I was blitzed - and luckily for everyone on my block relatively subdued to sit through the speech. I will admit that halfway through I found it necessary to request a Jack on the rocks from the tall one (I couldn't have poured it if I tried) but we made it through the whole speech.

And what's the deal with this "and we're going to find new sources of energy in ethanol and other alternative fuels?" What a change of song!!! Yet he doesn't even believe a damn word of it! I mean really, his daddy, all his good ole boy clubs and the oil corporations that funded his past two campaigns would turn against him in a heartbeat. And even if he didn't care - I still don't believe it...until I see it...and breathe it.

God help America.

Self pity always hurts

2006-01-31T09:45:00.000-05:00

I had to jeopardize my credibility to one of Nashville's larger media sources yesterday, just to make my client happy (my client for only the next six months.) I hate that.

It's the rule in media:

If you have a story that you really, really like about a client you really, really, really like and its worth every bit of the 2:00 for a package and you've spent tons of time planning for it...the media will never show.

But if you hate a story idea, realize it's not worth mentioning, but the client insists you pitch it and you do, don't even make follow-up calls and get sick thinking about media coming...they will come.

As you can guess, the later was me yesterday. I'm glad the client is happy, I'm glad to have my job, but having to bite the bullet and pitch what you know is a terrible story idea every once in a while because the client insists...sucks.

The last liberal safe house I didn’t know about

2006-01-27T10:58:00.000-05:00

I work on a project at my agency that I find less and less palatable every day. They became even less palatable when they told me about five working days ago that I needed to have a statewide student rally planned in seven working days.

So even though I wasn’t very happy with their micro-short notice, I, wanting to keep my job, kicked my ass in gear. Not to brag, but I’ve got one planned (shit yeah, Bitches!!!!!!!!)

The college student that I’m working with, while we would probably never meet otherwise, is very useful in helping me keep my job. She’s very connected to her school and her 300+ like-minded compadres. So the rally’s on! As long as five of them show up, I’m pleased. There are at least that many people at my office that are still young enough I could use as filler. Hell, call it a mob!

So I was talking to Ms. Connected this afternoon and we were discussing how to get the word out to more students that may not hear about this otherwise. Trying to get the juices mingling, I started throwing out what seemed to me obvious ideas about where to post flyers for an event – their university center, campus dorm/apartment buildings, the coffee shops like (my beloved) Bongo Java.

Ms. Connected interrupts, “Whoa! What? We’ll get chased out of there! That’s a total liberal fortress!”

What??!!! I mean I love that place and always feel comfy there, but never in my times enjoying a talk with the nun bun or scoring some free wi-fi over my frothy latte did I think I was surrounded by a bunch of tree huggin’, pot smokin’, greenpeace lovin’ liberals!

I had to start coughing to cover up my savage laughter. I some how managed to get out that “Wow, I didn’t think of that.” And “Well, talk to you tomorrow afternoon – we’ll sort out details then.”

Truth is, I never would have thought that Bongo Java was a liberal stronghold, and quite frankly, I still don’t. Maybe Ms. Connected has never experienced the luxurious latte they whip up or has plenty of money to buy internet and never has marveled in the glory of free wi-fi. Regardless, I am convinced that at anytime, you will find a good ole boy, Bush lovin’ Republican suckin’ down his espresso right there in the mix of it.

I mean really, guys. I know the issue of partisanship is getting way out of hand on the Hill, but when did our ultra-caffeinated café’s become a right or left establishment? Do conservatives not need caffeine to survive? Is there some new robo-Republican I hadn’t heard about? (I mean, I had my hypotheses, but really??!!!)

Well I guess if it has to be that way, I’m glad I’m the one with the cup of coffee.

...but really, y'all.

meet the other Big E

2006-01-24T21:20:00.000-05:00

I was sitting in my office this afternoon when one of the partners who has his name on the front door of my office building came in and sat down.

"That good girl, E. So quiet."

Yeah, pick your jaw up off of your keyboard. Yes, he said, and meant I am a quiet person. Aka. one that refrains from talking, giggles around the water cooler and does her work vigilantly.

Feel like you've been deceived for all this time? Yeah, I kind of do, too.

At first I said, "Mr. T, you have no idea," but then I thought about it...and he was pretty much right on. Sure I have a good laugh with my next door neighbor and a few other ladies outside the office sorority, but really, I'm kind of the quiet one.

You may still be thinking, "this is impossible, E. It's all relative anyways." Maybe partially true, but after some reflection, I'm morphing into something else, at least at work. But some things will always remain the same (this being a prime example):

I, the Big E, will never cease to shock your socks off.

The Kingdom of Krull

2006-01-20T12:18:00.000-05:00

Last night, the Tall One came to a realization about he and I's relationship:

"We always do the things high people do...but we're never high."

The Tall One is very amusing. He makes me laugh all the time - even when I don't want to.

Apparently eating Sherbert while watching Krull and acting out a Samurai-Ninja relationship is what high people do.

As you have now realized, last night we watched Krull - the epic renaissance-themed, sci-fi "hit" that he just had to have. If you haven't seen it, you should...but only when you're under the influence of lots of drugs.

In a nut shell, two kingdoms unite to defeat "the Beast" that lives with his henchmen in a rock-formation-but-really-made-of-iron castle that disappears every morning and relocates to some cooler part of the planet. The Beast busts up Lissa and the new King's wedding and steals Queen Lissa before they can finalize their vows by Lissa setting new King's hand on fire. The Beast intends to marry the queen, and new King sets out to find his woman. He gets help from the old guy who comes out of the mountain, a cyclops, some robbers (including Liam Neeson) and a magician who turns himself into a basset-hound puppy, among other things. They ride some "fire mares" (aka. draft horses with computer generated flames coming out of their feet) across the planet and a ravine (think E.T. bikes in the sky style.) They break into the castle and find the queen who finally gives her flame to new King that seals their matrimony and new King starts throwing his flame everywhere, blowing shit up and kills the beast. The rock/iron castle disappears and they all live happily ever after.

The Tall One thinks that is how all marriage ceremonies should be conducted. I laughed...really hard.

I gave him one last ninja jab to the neck and went to bed. He gave me a samurai punch and watched all the special features.

The Tall One is very amusing.

i am not a car saleswoman

2006-01-20T12:09:00.000-05:00

I went to an interview yesterday. And i didn't go because I hate my job and want to get out of this "god-forsaken place." I simply went with dollar signs in my eyes.

I'm starting to hate the color green. It always reminds me how little I have to my name and how much I owe the good folks at EdFinancial, my pals at Capital One, those morons in the big house in Washington, etc. etc. blah blah blah. I do love my green coroduroy coat, but even it could use to be taken up a little in the sleeves.

Regardless, I interviewed with the corporate office of a large car company yesterday. I was "on." I love to interview and when I leave I always feel like I could break the law for half and hour or so and not get caught. It's just something I enjoy. But working in a glorified call center for at least a year is not something I can stomach.

But the money! No! ...but the money?... STOP!!!

This is the fight I have with myself all the time. This is why I dog-sit on the holidays and babysit on Trivia night...I give up all the good stuff just to keep ahead of my payments. Blast it all to Krull.

Sigh. I do have a good life though. I should not be so worried. I'm gonna give myself ulcers, you know?

F-ing pantyhose

2006-01-16T15:56:00.000-05:00

These things are the vile, constrictive lace of the devil anyways; but I just put a big ole run in my hose - both legs - and I'm stuck with them for another two hours. Yeah, got a meeting, too. Stupid, stupid pantyhose. And I wouldn't have a problem with ripping them off right this second if my legs weren't 5+ months hairy. Ah, Life's dilemmas.

I'm way too competitive

2006-01-15T19:31:00.000-05:00

I'm getting home-boring.

I can be a blast if you meet me out and about with a tumbler of Jack or swinging around the columns of the Parthenon and running with the pigeons, but I'm home-boring.

Let me try and explain in several points.

Last night the Wraith and I went to Target to buy curtains for my house (Pt. 1) in hopes to make my gas bill less painful (subtract 1 pt. for functionality.) We split up and by the time we got back together I had a curtain rod, a set of curtain panels and an olive oil container to put my dish soap in (Pts. 2, 3 and 4) and the Wraith had a wok, Mancala, a three-in-one chess, checkers and backgammon set and the special edition DVD of the Iron Giant (Pts. 5, 6, 7 and 8.)

"Board games? I love board games!" I thought. We returned to the games section to see what else they had. Board games have become substantially cheaper due to the video game surge lately and I picked up Monopoly for $9.97 with a rebate card attached (Pt. 9.)

I should preface this next part with the fact that I never got to play Monopoly at my house when I was growing up because by the time I was old enough to understand, a great deal of the paper money had been misplaced in other games including "grocery store," "pet store," and "fortune telling" (reading the future costs big bucks.) So I was kind of clueless. This should have been a sign - a sign not to play.

We start playing and of course, my amateur skills and bad dice rolling luck quickly get me into ugly mortgages, bad property trades and quite a tiff. This is your warning - don't try and teach me a new game unless you have very thick skin...and don't expect me to smile through my first reaming.

All in all, the Wraith was a good sport and tried to teach me a life lesson of patience. And like all before him, he fell to my die-hard (and accepted) personality flaw that can not be overturned.

He said I should work on it. I hear that a lot. I always try, but gosh darn it I just wanted to put a house on North Carolina Ave. and get out of all my debt. But then again, maybe the game was just a little too similar to my real life for me to take right now.

...I'll get him one of these days.

kitty treats

2006-01-06T11:44:00.000-05:00

I took my lovely cat Mumbles to the vet yesterday morning. I was a wreck. New vet. Strange mangey dog in the lobby coughing up phlem. Smells like cleaning solutions. I left her in her carrier with comfy red towel with the lady who identified herself as "Missy." I hate that name. It was just a bad morning. I told Mumbles I'd see her in a bit and the usually bubbly Mumbles looked me straight in the eyes and let out the longest "meow" you've ever heard. It felt like an hour, granted it was realisticly 10 seconds - but that's a long time!

Fast forward a few hours, I'm a wreck at work thinking about my girl (I didn't realize I'd turned to the dark side - "one of those pet owners") and finally I get to pick her up at lunch. I sang in the car all the way back to my house. I was so happy to see her - she was not amused.

So I thought some treats would brighten her spirits - not to mention her belly after getting maximum de-worming doses. I pulled out a bag of moist chicken treats. She didn't even acknowledge its existence. Then I pull out a bag of hard, crackity, X-brand tuna flavored treats I got for Christmas. She went nuts.

The moment of realization: I always have bought my cat treats based on my own favorite tastes and textures. That's just kind of wierd by itself. But I'll be damned if she doesn't give a chicken's feather about her expensive treats as long as they taste like fishies.

I love my cat. She's so independent and stong-willed - just like her mom.

salt and PEPPER

2006-01-04T14:13:00.000-05:00

I just finished crying. Not because I got my heart broken, stubbed my toe, anyone died or something icky like that. But because I put way too f-ing much PEPPER on my stir-fry vittles.

I should have prefaced this by saying, "I love Mongolian BBQ. Mmm. Mmm. MMM. I could eat it every day of my life. Noodles, meat, water chestnuts (for texture) and all those sauces and fun tasting powders. Always something new everyday and I control the novelty of it. I love Mongolian BBQ. Mmm. Mmm. MMM."

I ate my lovely concoction at my desk. And I'll be damned if a full teaspoon of common black pepper will clear the sinuses. It is my new favorite spice - and thank God it's cheaper than saffron. I just wish my mascara hadn't run - I was looking so nice 'til now. Good hair day and I even ironed my shirt this morning. Shees.

The Nun Bun

2005-12-28T17:10:00.000-05:00

Nashville makes national news ... due to the theft of a shellaced cinamon bun ("bearing resemblence to Mother Teresa.")

Rhinestone pastries. And a damn good local coffee shop, too.

Don't try this at home, kids - this stuff only happens in Nash Vegas.

Thief on the Run with Nun Bun
May the Mother and her buns rest in peace.

Now that I'm a red-head

2005-12-28T16:01:00.000-05:00

Bright auburn to be more accurate. Last night my sister did the deed on my head and, Wahlah! I am a fair-skinned, freckled, true to my roots, Scottish-looking woman. But I still have a few grey hairs.

What's bizarre to me is that at work today I went about 2 1/2 hours before anyone said anything. I decided that no one noticed - it is subtle (which I appreciate) - but still, not a one? Finally, our lovely front desk lady noticed. But then, the most awkward thing happened. Everyone else started saying they had noticed, too, but didn't want to say anything...

What???

Since when do you not tell a woman, "oh you got a hair cut," or "it's red, now!" Which led me to wonder...is it ugly?

I was assured by my sister and others that it looks good, but what is this phenomena that mum's the word until someone breaks the news that your hair looks different? Hmph.

Well I like it, my cat likes it - and the secret's out - I still look good in red (thought I might as well experiment on the first day.)

Hurrah for red-heads - for as long as my box dye lasts.

I'm back.

2005-12-27T18:27:00.000-05:00

Finally. Two months later and hundreds more gray hairs. And it's time to take care of that. Tonight, I will dye my hair red.

I want Julianne Moore. "My Sister" thinks a more strawberry blonde would suit me. It will boil down to which box is on special at Walgreens.

I've always admired red heads and I hope I make a good one. My one major fear is that my favorite clothes won't blend as well with my hair when it is fiery. I mean, can I wear red shirts and pants and have red hair? I hope so. I intend to do so regardless, but it would be a nice consolation prize to still look smokin' hot.

It's nice to have this last little bit of time with my sister before she heads back to Boston. After we are finished working the media check-in for the Music City Bowl (what I drag my friends and family in to) we will imbibe in Mexican and margaritas and then buy hair dye. I hope this is not a deadly combination.

The Big E

2005-10-24T15:50:00.000-04:00

This is the definitive proof, my friends. My blog (and all who have the honor of carrying this noble title) kicks some royal ass.

The Big E

My cat and I: Losing all our hair

2005-10-16T17:50:00.000-04:00

When I was younger, I was always perplexed by how grouchy my dad would sometimes be when he came home from work. I mean, you're done for the day! Time to play outside, chat with Mom, relax. Friday afternoon at 5:45 p.m. when I was lying on the floor of my office unable to move for fear of, yes, the "Elizabeth special" (aka. vomit) I realized two things:

A. Why I have more gray hair than the average twenty-something.
B. Why Dad collapsed in his recliner all those years.

I would like to have a referendum to establish different levels of urgency. I propose: "I really need this done today," "I really need this done now," "If you do not finish in four nano-seconds an infamous terrorist network will blow up your mother's house, your mother's mother's house, and pull every hair from your cat's body and then force you to eat her while she's still alive - but with no hair."

Vote Nov. 8, folks.

Working in an agency has taught me lots of things and among them is the valuable lesson I was reminded of Friday: There is no way in God's good and holy name you can give everyone your best work and undivided attention. As much as I hate to admit it, sharing is a sorry excuse for second-rate work.

Face it, if you have two (or ten) projects you are working on, not one of them can recieve your full attention unless you neglect the others. We can try, but will always fall short (or vomit trying in my case.) We are forced to balance our time and give our best-possible-under-the- circumstances foot forward.

I for one hate that.

It's the same with friends and family, too. Lately I've realized I'm one of the luckiest kids around. I have a large network of people who are concerned about my well-being and daily misadvetures, and when it comes down to it, about three of them at any given time may have a clue what's going on in the life of E. It's exhausting to love and be loved.

If this is my greatest problem though, I repeat, I am one of the luckiest kids alive. This next weekend is "The Jack", in the competitive barbecue world, it's the pinnacle of your grilling season, and that's just to be invited. I will not get another weekend, yet again; and while dealing with last minute logistics and media pitching this week, I will undboutedly lie on the floor in my office counting all 13 of my ceiling tiles over and over again.

I miss the focus and energy that I didn't realize I had (and was capable of) as a child and in college. For all of you still there, regardless of how stressed you are, realize you are still enjoying the most precious moments of your life - paying your rent does not rely on you getting an "A" on that paper.

And to those of you who still love me even though I haven't called you back in two weeks (to one month...if it's been longer than that, I probably don't like you anymore) come out to The Jack in Lynchburg this weekend. I'll get you some press perks and maybe we'll have an opportunity to catch up.

What we choose to write

2005-09-26T12:38:00.000-04:00

We all have different writing styles. Different things that nag us until we write them down and different ways of expressing them. Some of us only write the things that we wouldn't dare tell another soul and some of us broadcast our rants and adventures over the entire blogosphere.

I have always written in the "a day in the life of..." form. A story of chance meetings and key moments that make up an experience that in some way affects how I feel or think about life. It's how I best express myself.

I have always been attracted to those who can openly write about nothing but their opinions. Who can say, "this is what I think, and this is how it is." Maybe it's a strange fear that for some reason you and I disagreeing will end up in my loss of your acquaintance or maybe it's just because I prefer to always be perfectly balanced in my own mind. It's probably a combination of both - neither of which carry much merit and I will work on remedying the matter.

Regardless, some of you may have noticed that there is only one link on my list of "other blogs worth a peep." If you have not peeped, I beseech you to do so today. You can never know what Aunt B will be talking about on her Tiny Cat Pants, but you always know she will be speaking her mind and eloquently answering any questions (or addressing any comment) raised by her readers.

Today she talks about, among a plethora of other things, hope (it kind of reminds me of the notes you take on the back of an envelope when you go on a plane ride, "Ooh! Don't forget that...and why does this work this way?")

Hope is a crazy thing (though usually not explained like that) and I appreciate B's scatterbrained and painstakingly honest remarks that among other things, remind me that I'm not the only one who can't stay on the same thought for a whole two sentences.

So check out her Renewed Sense of Optimism today, and check into hers as often as you're on the interweb. While you may get an amusing account of the Life of E here, you're sure to gain a mind (and ear) full of good stuff over there, updated at least twice daily.

Bon apetit.

(p.s. - also, please buy a Tiny Cat Pants shirt so B can come drink beer with me at the Flying Saucer...I recommend the avocado green ringer tee...it looks great with jeans and chiffon skirts. I know from experience.)

Adventures in Motherhood

2005-09-21T13:22:00.000-04:00

I have a new-found respect for a couple things:

A. Mothers (and fathers with motherlike qualities)
B. Ice packs

These are the only known forces in the world that can solve most any problem.

For those of you who did not notice my sudden exit from existence, I've been babysitting for the past three days. My mission was to take care of a sixth grade girl and her two brothers, third and fourth grades respectively.

Remember a few weeks ago when I had my first babysitting experience ever? Well, apparantly news travels fast when your kid likes the sitter, and I went into my three day stay with little more qualification than George W. Bush had when he became President of the United States of America.

I am happy to report, the children are still alive, we came in under budget for eating expenses and besides one close call of the youngest getting up five minutes before the bus came, there were relatively few skirmishes and peace was maintainted between sitter and sitees.

Moral of the story, vote for me in 2008.

The true lesson learned, vote for a mom.

The past couple days have been a complete zoo at work. We all know my absolute need for down time to decompress so I don't grind my teeth to nubs, yet that time was non-existent. It was straight home to a pick-up football game or flirting with the sixth grade girls.

Being around youth is exhausting. Every minute it's something different: How should I respond when they let a dirty word slip? Is it fair that the little brother beats up on his big brother constantly, but when the bigger one finally fights back the little one cries? Is it ok to let the girls make a call to their "boyfriend?" The answers to all of these questions is: Compromise.

If I took any pride in the past few days it would be from grilling out a tasty hot dog meal (charcoal grill, no less) and solving most every problem with compromise.

"Hey, hotstuff, are you going to clean your pop tart mess up for me."
"I don't want to."
"So no playstation tonight?"
"I'll get the dustpan."

---

"We really want to watch the end of this movie." (Secret, I really did too, and didn't feel right not letting them see the emotional ending.)
"It ends past your bedtime."
(and the classic...) "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease."
(enter de ja vu)
"Alright, but you have to promise me you'll get up when I ask you to in the morning, no complaints."
"OK!"
(note: the next morning is when youngest brother refused to get up...sigh.)

---

"Can I watch TV in my room until bedtime?"
"Absolutely."
(E enters bedroom, bedtime - TV still on)
"Off, sweetheart."
"But I can't sleep without it."
"Well, I'm across the hall and can't sleep with it. I guarantee I'm grouchier than you in the morning without sleep."
"But..."
"...sorry, lady; no buts."

Oh yeah!!!!!! I've always wanted to do that!!!!

---

Regardless, to all you moms out there that deep down I've been secretly mean towards in my mind when you leave work early (or come in late:) Kudos to you. Being a working mom is a bitch - but a rewarding one at that.

Last night, the youngest wanted to read with me and the oldest boy wanted me to help him with his homework. We all ate dinner together and they hung on my every silly story and perspective. For some reason, my explanations made sense, and they wanted their friends to meet me. I was cool and "cute" (says the eldest sister.) And while only the real Mom can cure all the blues, we got through a few minor bumps and bruises with ice packs and one-liner jokes.

It was a rewarding experience and thankfully a paying gig. While I would happily do it again, I won't admit that for at least two weeks...

I am stoked to go home to my Mumbles tonight and worry about such commonplace things as, "should I take a shower tonight or on Saturday?" I am glad to have my ability to take off at a moment's notice back, and I am thrilled to not worry about dropping the f-bomb in front of virgin ears.

I am in awe of moms and dads and realize I am no where near ready to be one or marry one. I am equally thankful that I had such a great pair growing up.

And most importantly, I'm excited I've finally been able to use some of their old and "unfair" lines on some other helpless child...

Mwa ha ha!

How I waste my time and money

2005-09-11T16:06:00.000-04:00

Have you ever heard of "rain rot" before? For the 7/8 of you that haven't, it's a fungus - a nasty one at that. Basically it rots a horse's hair right off of its back. To cure the fungus you basically have to skin the horse and remove all the "rotting" hair to let the new hair grown in. It usually affects the entire hindquarters of a horse, and if any of you have ever met Lad, you know that is a pretty considerable area. So yesterday, I went out to the farm and stuffed my fingernails with fungus. As you can imagine, it doesn't feel so good to have rotting hair yanked off of your back, so you have to go very slowly and be as careful as possible while picking the skin off.

Lad was such a good sport. We stood in the shade of the washrack with the first of the fall leaves floating down on us occasionally. He had himself backed into a corner to brace his weight every time he shuddered from my picking and between dousings in Ivory dish soap and humming a few verses of Beatles tunes, that's how I passed a few hours of my afternoon.

I'm always complaining about how stressed for time I am, and I admit, there were a couple moments where I thought, "this is such a tedious process, there's got to be a faster way." But no, there is one way to peel the skin off of the horse you love and that is very....slowly.

There was a great addition to our afternoon though. Heather, five weeks out from her precious little Trey being born, took her inaugural ride with me. Both of us were as loose in the saddle as you might ever want to be, but does that really matter when you're off on a trail ride? We took Lad and Jack down to the Duck River and let them play and paw as we laughed like we always do. It was all the old antics, sling shotting branches back and working together to open and shut gates so neither of us would have to get off.

The apparent "black hole" in my budget doesn't seem so black anymore. I wish he were closer and I wish gas were $2 cheaper. I wish I would sometimes relax and realize that the best way to spend my precious time is picking the fungus off my largest friend's back.

Proof

2005-08-29T18:31:00.000-04:00

It is the little things - that wierd you out, that give you happy knots.

The Songwriter had his divorce "charges" dropped in Tennessee.

"I fucking out smarted her. That fucking bitch." Funny how love turns on us. How for most hearts to heal it takes winning. Proving your love's authenticity by obliterating it. Wierd knots.

"I finished my meal first." Well, you had half the food and fries I did! "But you're twice as big as me." Proving at 5 1/2, it doesn't take much to logically outsmart someone four times your age. To have the logical acceptance and genius of a child. Happy knots.

An interesting weekend. I will babysit again and I still believe in love. The Diastema is one hell of a sport (and cook.) My mom rocks for listening to me curse 40 minutes straight while waiting in line for my emissions test (that experience must be reserved as some special level of hell.)

For those of you who actually know me, expect a slideshow in your inbox soon.

There's a first time for everything

2005-08-26T10:23:00.000-04:00

Tonight, I will venture into a realm I have never set foot in. I will dare to pick door number three. I will slay the dragon, save the princess and enforce world peace!!! TONIGHT - I WILL BABYSIT!!!!!

Crickets, right? Yeah, it's true. I've never babysat in my life. Sure, I've been a camp counselor. I've been part of taking care of 500+ screaming inner-city Chicago kids for two weeks at a time, but never have I been hand picked (singled out, chosen above those who take showers everyday, etc.) to take care of someone's most precious cargo. Maybe the more accurate is I've never been trusted to. And honestly, I'm ok with that. Babies are weird. They smell funny and prevent me from getting a full night's (9+ hours) sleep.

But this little guy is different. First of all, he's potty trained. He just started kindergarten and is without doubt "Spidey Man's" biggest fan. I met him at the office (he belongs to the Mac Attack who lives in the office next to me.) It was perfect. I threw a paper wad at him, he threw 12 back at me. He drew me as a super hero, I traced his body on butcher paper. Sounds like the beginning of a romance novel, doesn't it? Too bad he's only 5 (and a half, he corrects me.)

Well tonight we're "hanging out." "Spidey's biggest fan" is by far too cool to be babysat. I'm really looking forward to it. Plans include grabbing some McDonald's (we already share favorite foods,) walking dogs and as long as mom doesn't find out making gargantuan sundaes and coloring over candlelight. I also have a secret plot to make him fall in love with Lemony Snicket. (I have "The Bad Beginning" in my car. It would thrill me to make a kid love those books as much as I do...and then I could read them again...to him!)

I'm thrilled. Just thrilled. Maybe after it's over I'll be singing a different song, but right now, I can't wait for my two cheeseburger extra value meal (supersized - this is a special occasion) and to see life through the eyes of a kindergartner again.

So to all my friends stuck with bar hopping and going out on dates with supermodels, I say to you, "Top this."

August flowers?

2005-08-24T14:19:00.000-04:00

In other news, this random, multi-trumpet flower just shot up next to my house the other day. Right next to the washing machine discharge pipe no less. What an amazing gift of nature.

Mio amore

2005-08-24T13:45:00.000-04:00

In true testament to my addiction to People.com, I am ecstatic to find that Charlie Sheen and Denise Richards are back together again, taking it one step at a time. What can I say, I'm just a sucker for happy endings.

But even more so than happy endings, I am a sucker for Subway.

I would take Jared on any day in a "who loves Subway more" contest. I honestly eat this stuff nearly five times a week, sometimes twice a day. Six inch, footlong, wraps and salads. I engage the entire menu and savor every last bite. But today broke the mold, I think a little bit of heaven was sprinkled between my cheese and tomatoes. I loved this sandwich so much I have given it a pet name and I will share the recipe with you now:

Spicy Italians are Better Lovers

6 in. Italian Herbs and Cheese bread
2 slices of provolone cheese
4 slices of pepperoni
4 slices of Genoa salomi
(Toast above ingredients for 20 seconds)
Green peppers
Red onions
Tomatoes
Pickles (the more the better)
Salt and pepper
Vinegar and oil (drown that beast)

- Carry your sandwich approximately 150 yards back to your office, sit in the lamplit luster of your office; thoroughly cover your lap with napkins/tissues (whatever is handy) and thoughtfully inhale your Italian beloved in less than two minutes. Continue working, tell all your friends about it.

Bon apetit.

Things that make us happy

2005-08-22T17:14:00.000-04:00

My next door co-worker was at Defcom level 5 depths of despair, pretty much all day. She just got a call back from an email she had sent a journalist who is interested in her story. She has rocketed to Cloud 11.6. Yes, journalists returning a PR professional's call can sometimes have that much of an affect on us.

I was just visiting my favorite blog in the blogosphere (because she's remarkably witty and an astounding feminista) and found that she now has t-shirts for sale with her blog's colors. I am overwhelmed with excitement and am now struggling trying to decide which color ringer tee I want. I think it's going to be marigold.

I got a call from a man earlier today that said he didn't want my "fucking republican speaker" talking to his club. This made me insanely happy and I wish I could have told him that I didn't want that bastard speaking to him either.

On Saturday I went to Anipalooza to benefit the Nashville Humane Society. A few things made me happy:
1. I didn't take home a new fury friend, even though I was drunk enough to do it.
2. I got a $250 string of pearls and earrings for $85 - and it all went to the homeless animals.
3. Breaking in the dance floor gives me an insatiable high.

These are the things that made me happy today. Tomorrow, I'm sure it will be back to the same ole, same ole. Good bed head, no Mumbles vomit on the floor and warm bread from Subway. But today, these things are floatin' my boat quite nicely.

Shark attack

2005-08-15T20:30:00.000-04:00

And she returns from the Florida Keys. Minimal sun damage and considerably bedded. Or something like that.

It wasn't until the car ride from the Keys to the airport that I got Family Flu and was ready to be away from the rents, and considering I was with them for 8 straight days that's not too damn shabby!

It was a wonderful trip. I slept til at least 10:30 every morning and drank enough beer and rum based fruity drinks to make any sailor jealous. But the best part of all - learning to snorkel.

We picked up grocery-store quality masks and snorkels at Winn-Dixie on Marathon K ey pretty much first thing. Becca and I were quite keen on practicing in the safety of our bathtub water pool and quickly caught on to the skill of blowing water out of your "wind pipe" after a surface dive. Jessica and Chad arrived a day later and we rented the good stuff from a local dive shop and by Wednesday, we decided it was time to try out the reef.

So we took a snorkel tour about seven miles off the coast out into open water (trying not to reference that horrifying movie) and took one giant step for any idiot into the middle of the ocean. It was so peaceful - like flying. Drifting with the ebb and flow of the minor swells and seeing the most amazing color menagerie of sea and plant life ever orchestrated.

I was six again - I wanted to touch everything.

And then I saw it - a pretty good sized fin hiding under a rock shelf. I waved franticly at my sisters and screamed, "SHARK" out of the water to get everyone to notice my new-found friend - a nurse shark. He was gorgeous and graceful. I was certain before I jumped in the water that if I saw anything comparable to my height with teeth, I would pass out and become its munchies. Much to my surprise I started to follow it and (what the hell?!) surface dive to swim right with it.

Yes, I am verifiably nuts.

It was so amazing. By this time, Becca was screaming at me, "What shark?! Do we need to get on the boat?!!!" Eventually we all did, only to all (except Becca and Mom) get insanely sea sick and lose our niblets all over Davy Jones' Locker. That's alright, the fish loved it. "Dirty scaventers" Captain "Scary" Jerry called them.

Twas an experience of a lifetime and what I once thought was my greatest fear is fast becoming a dream world to me. What an experience. I can't wait til I can afford to visit the reef again.

Speeding up the Process

2005-08-03T15:26:00.000-04:00

http://www.datelance.com/

And I thought my best girlfriend encouraging me to “advertise” on eHarmony was bold.

I think I’m going to apply. Strike the potential that he may want eight children he seems like a halfway decent guy – which is 25% better than my usual catch.

Let’s be honest, I really just want to see if I pass the screening of Team Lance.

The Ass Scabs

2005-08-03T10:14:00.000-04:00

My sinuses are packed to the limit with chunky, mustard-green mucus.

Usually when I feel illness coming on I drink water to the point that I can not leave the bathroom and promptly go home after work and avoid germy, public places. Last night, this was not the case.

What an amazing evening.

There were several celebrities among us: the Professor, Butcher and my favorite Princess. And a couple I admire most were with me as well - my sisters (SEE-stors.)

Trivia is fun. Trivia is more fun when you are on a predominantly female team of some of the most diverse and wonderful women in the eastern U.S.

We got the sciatic nerve, Marcia Clark, and the year the Globe burned within three years; and if we would have listened to my first Nashville friend we would have left Nixon over Mandella and gotten the final wager right to take a second place victory (over my usual team...I am frightningly competitive, this would have made my whole day.)

The best part of the night though was being with this group of gold and silver friends. Each brings a valuable set of experiences to the table that inevitably made us a force to be reckoned with. I could not stop smiling.

It was a once in a lifetime opportunity and one I'm glad I got to share with my sisters (SEE-stors) and my favorite Princess. Maybe next year we'll have another opportunity and the Ass Scabs will be reunited to take over the world - or at least Trivia Night.

Business etiquette revisited: New Technology

2005-07-29T09:54:00.000-04:00

By a self-declared cell phone addict and PR type

“Sorry, I have to take this email.”

The clamor of vibrating cell phones against plastic, belt holsters and comments like this are disturbing business meetings and family dinners all across the world.

Since the rise of the cell phone in 19>>, the ways of how we do business have progressively become more and more fast paced. Contracts are settled in a matter of minutes, new sales terms negotiated in seconds and you take care of all your Christmas shopping at one easy-to-use website.

Palm Pilots, cell phones and Blackberries have become the frantic businessperson’s necessities. They crowd subways, office meetings and little league games. And we’re getting so much done, right?

At a recent Bridgestone-Firestone internal meeting a high ranking officer told his employees, “Leave all cell phones, blackberries, and palm pilots at the door as you enter. No one is more important than me right now.”

We’ve all fallen victim to disrupted conversations, meals and board meetings due to one of these efficiency improving personal devices and most of us are criminal of committing the act as well. But where do we draw the line? Who is most important? When should you turn those things off?

To help all of us businesspeople in making that life shaking decision, I’ve developed an etiquette guide to help you decide when it’s a “no business zone.”

Cell Phones

My cousin going into the sixth grade just got a cell phone. I think it’s safe to say, everyone has a cell phone except for my Greenpeace, technology-resisting sister. Let’s make a distinction here. Cell phones are not a bad thing, but as with personal gaming devices and pogo sticks, there is a time and place for everything.

I think the main misconception about cell phones is that they always have to be on. Many, like myself, rely solely on their cellular provider for any and all contact in and out of the workplace. It’s logical to always have your home phone plugged in the wall and in turn, we justify we should all have our cell phones turned on (or at least on vibrate) at all times. The distinct difference – your land line is connected to your house, your cell phone is literally fused to your hip bone.

Times may have changed but common courtesy has not:

Rule 1: When you are sleeping and/or making love, turn off your cell phone.

Corollary 1a: Likewise, if you are engaged in dialogue, group discussion, or any other form of communication, do not answer your phone, and it’s best if it’s turned to silent (or at least muted after one pestering ringtone.) It’s rude.

And like presents at Christmas and oral sex, ‘tis better to give than receive. Make someone’s day and return the call when you are actually available to give them your full attention.

Remember the beauty of the answering machine back in the early nineties? Sure, you might not get the message your great aunt died for another three hours, but when you get the message, I assure you, she will still be dead.

So what if your spouse is in the hospital and a serious decision needs to be made? Under current law, doctors are required to maintain the patient to the best of their ability until a family member can be contacted. Know that if you can’t get back to them for five hours, they will do their best to keep them alive for five hours.

What if it’s the last few words that your mother wants to say to you as she’s on her death bed, or someone close to you sees they are about to die? Even better! They can leave a message that you will cherish forever – not just a fleeting conversation that you will soon forget how their vocals ebb and flow.

But what if they’re calling for help? About to see their maker in what might be a preventable situation. First, the likelihood you can extinguish the situation is slim to none and subsequently there is an even slighter chance this will actually happen to you. Don’t worry about this stuff!

But what if it’s your boss, a new development has come up in the Morris case and she needs an answer stat. More than likely, this would happen during business hours. Typical lunches last one hour. The average human can use the restroom and get back to their desk in about three minutes and eleven seconds. You have an assistant that will be sure you get the message as soon as you return. Turn around in less than two hours is not too shabby.

But what about your kids? They’re at day care or at home with the babysitter. Do yourself a favor and hire a childcare provider that knows what to do in a crisis and will ensure your child’s safety with or without your being available for help.

Remember, this is not justification you don’t need one. If your car breaks down, you need directions or help deciding which of the two shirts you’re looking at in the store to buy your mom, these are completely legit situations (and ones in which you’re probably not in the middle of a business meeting, family dinner, etc.) to pick up the cell and dial. The moral of this story is simple – the world turned before the cell phone and it still does. You have absolutely no reason to answer it every time it rings – regardless of who it is.

The Blackberry

Geez, didn’t these come flying out of left field? Email, phone, internet and games all at your fingertips; and if you own one you become like one of Pavlov’s mice. When it vibrates, it must secrete some sort of highly concentrated soma into your finger if you pick it up and roll that little wheel on the side. People can not resist the Blackberry.

Rule 2: The Blackberry is a glorified version of passing notes in high school. It was not okay to read, write and pass notes while the teacher lectured. It is still not okay to read, write and pass notes while the teacher/your boss/your coworker/your spouse talks to you.

Several folks I work with have caught the Blackberry influenza. Again, a very useful device, but when I am talking to them about a project we are working on and that little game boy sized device vibrates, I am instantly given a nod as they roll their eyes downward and “inconspicuously” pick it up to see what email or call it is. Note: I realize you are picking it up; and you have just proven to me that whatever I have to say is of no importance to you.

That’s just bad business – not to mention crippling to your professionalism.

Like cell phones, there is a time for silence, a time to hit the “ignore” button and a time to not even touch the damn thing.

Other rules

We’ve got the overview down, but let’s just go ahead and lay down the law.

Rule 3: Turn off any and all PDAs at the dinner table.

Rule 4: It’s rude and unethical to discuss business over the phone in crowded place like elevators, subways and when you’re taking vacation in the car full of your family dying for your attention.

Rule 5: If you’re in a conference and your cell phone/PDA vibrates (because you at least did that much) do not duck and run like a Vietnam veteran towards the door. We all notice, you have disrupted the whole session. Please check the message and return the call during the break in five minutes.

Rule 6: Under no circumstance take your phone into church, the movies or a dinner party. If you feel naked without it, do us all a favor and turn it completely off.

Poop pains

2005-07-28T14:18:00.000-04:00

Now I admire a woman who can look me straight in the eye as we are discussing business and tell me, "I'm going to have to get back to you on this. I have incredible poop pains right now."

Granted we all get "poop pains," but to share that information with a co-worker? That's bold and daring! My kind of lady.

Which brings me to another issue: Pooping at the office. We are fortunate enough to have a three-stall model lavatory with a separate room for 'business' and 'cleaning up.' This is my favorite model due to the fact that you can escape your stinky instead of endure the agonizing post-poop-stinch pains as you wash your hands (while singing happy birthday all the way through at least once which according to Oprah will get you germ free.) But there are downfalls as well. Namely, if you've gotta poop, and someone moves in next door.

My favorite stall to drop my friends off at the pool in is without a doubt the handicapped stall. More room to spread out and concentrate. And let's face it, who likes straddling the toilet in order to get out of the door (because none of us are less than five inches wide.) I am giddy happy when I walk into the business section and no one else has the urge. There's just something a little unnerving about pooping in the same room as your peers. I'm not performance shy, don't get me wrong here, but who wants to hear the pitter patter of poop plopping in the bowl...that's not yours! "Not I," said E.

So thank God, when I went rushing down the hall to take care of a little unexpected business, the coast was clear. The moral of this story?

If you're going to poop at the office, be sure to let everyone at the table know you've gotta do number two...and lock the door behind you.

RDD

2005-07-22T09:39:00.000-04:00

Relaxation Deficit Disorder – n. – a true to life disability that I suffer from.

RDD is a state in which you rarely have any noticeable time to yourself and when you do, you have no fucking clue what to do with yourself, because, come on, you should be doing something!!!! So you pace the floors, try on three pairs of shoes, five different pairs of pants with shirt combos…(ok, that’s because you’re going to see a movie with the Songwriter and you’re still not sure why you don’t throw on a bandana and Chacos like usual…)

But seriously, folks, I have issues just “chillin.’” I have more issues with my being tired seemingly all the time lately, but this is right up there.

Maybe I should start making a list of things to do that would entail “doing absolutely nothing.” I mean, let’s face it, you’re always breathing, thinking, blinking, farting, swallowing, etc. These are things you can’t stop (thank goodness, b/c Lord knows I would forget.)

So, I present to myself, “Things to do to achieve some level of enjoying yourself in doing ‘nothing:’”

1. Cook for yourself.
2. Take a bath…shave your legs
3. Write a note to someone you haven’t talked to in a while – or Myra next door.
4. Put the Christmas mp3s on shuffle and make spiced tea
5. Plot world domination/peace/whatevs
6. Go for a walk to Las Paletas and eat a few yummy popsicles
7. Make up a really good mantra – it might come in handy someday
8. Brush Mumbles…VACUUM (wait, that’s too much of something, but necessary.)
9. Make the perfect compilation of songs for every emotion/occasion
10. Research something you’re passionate about
11. Determine what you’re passionate about
12. Take a nap

Alright, that’s enough. I’ll be prepared to do nothing next time the opportunity presents itself. Sweet.

Smart virgins

2005-07-20T14:16:00.000-04:00

Does Bush have another cousin...in Uganda? This seems like another one of his programs - zero cultural research, mixed results, issue never really addressed. Do I see "abstinence only" doctrine here again? I believe so...and guess what. It won't work here either.

MP: Free University for Virgins

A Ugandan member of parliament has pledged to reward girls for their chastity by paying their university fees if they are virgins when they leave school, a local newspaper said on Wednesday.

Sick, isn't it?

Time for cultural immersion.

There are several interesting and inaccurate urban legends in Africa surrounding the AIDS epidemic. One includes the notion that if a man infected with the HIV virus has intercourse with a virgin, he will rid himself of the disease. This myth has been at the center of countless recent cases involving sexual abuse and child rape.

And polygamy. Having multiple partners brings respect to both the man and woman and their families involved in a relationship. How could you reprimand a young girl from seizing the opportunity to be "protected" and "provided for?"

Why do we victimize the victim again and again throughout her lifetime? Why don't we help educate her from day one in hopes that she would make it to age 18 without a life-threatening disease? Or in hopes that she even make it to age 18.

This is a valiant effort but clearly constructed by the upper echelon (of those who can afford to be in the Ugandan parliament) for the upper echelon of young women whose parents have both the money and manpower to protect their girls from "African culture." Since when was a culture other than ours bad? Why not educate within the system? Why not offer bread, condoms, vaccinations, clean drinking water...any sort of free and accessible education?

Let's talk about starvation, ignorance and the AIDS epidimic. Why not address the issues of the people of Uganda instead of the American dream for once?

(in the words of Merriam-Webster's word of the day, this whole situation is just smarmy)

New person lunch

2005-07-19T13:43:00.000-04:00

Ah, the new person lunch. As I was walking downstairs to take my copy edits to one of our art directors I was invited to go to a "new person lunch."

In some cultures, this phenomena could be referred to as torture. In America, it's strikingly similar to the high school lunch room. The left side of the table talks to their friends, the right side to theirs. Everybody turns to see who just came in the door. Conversation is shallow if not downright worthless.

New guy is both humorous and single - double bonus. It's about time we hire people who can participate in meaningful dialogue about disgruntled cat companions, crabby landlords and disastrous bar adventures. But the most intriguing part about new person lunch was not in fact new person but where we chose to woo our newest underpaid, overworked companion...the nursing home cafeteria.

Granted it's not just any cafeteria, it's a "bistro." But there is no denying that it is connected by a long fluorescent hallway to the land of old. It's an interesting mix of walkers and paisley nighties and power suits and Palm Pilots that solicit JJ's Bistro in Metro Center. You can not help but look around.

I wonder if the "regulars" feel threatened by our presence? Look at our plates as they shuffle to the line and think, "that little fella better not have gotten the last of the chocolate mousse."

Regardless, an odd choice of location for the new person lunch - though the food is damn delicious. You should visit sometime soon.

Old soul

2005-07-19T09:46:00.000-04:00

It's not everyday someone comments on the age (or observed state) of your soul. Such a personal thing - it's like someone looks between your legs and says, "Interesting."

To him, it was a simple observation (and I'm glad not a beguiling critique.) I might have been able to grasp the meaning of it more precisely if it had not been two hours and 23 minutes past my bedtime (it was midnight, kids.) But maybe it was best to simply take it as it was in that moment.

So the question of the hour is, how do you have an old soul and not be so old? Mombo told me that the world views us as "too young" until age 25, we view ourselves as "definitely still young" until age 30, and you're "not old" until age 40. When does the average Earthling get an old soul? Am I an early bloomer in this guy's eyes? Does everyone necessarily get an "old soul" at some point? What the hell is an old soul anyways? (there goes my dictionary obsession again...)

I enjoy my airport expeditions and dog walks with the Songwriter - how my brain tingles and I breathe deeper when I'm around him. How he sings an improvised version of Carly Simon for me. He gives great hugs.

Welcome to my little blog, Mamacita.

2005-07-18T17:46:00.000-04:00

Most days this probably won't be profound, but it will definitely give you a little insight as to what I ponder and churn up in my head all day long. So don't get scared, and come back often for commentary from yours truly. Over and over I've heard, "I just don't understand you, E." Maybe that's something I keep others from doing, but this is as close a chance as any you'll get to gain a little more insight.

No promises for improving your IQ here but maybe I'll have a small affect on your perspective - of the world, my profession, hand-tossed pizza, of me. If so, blog mission accomplished. We've both got a shot to learn something with this. Here's to the adventure.