Clean

I just read my last blog entry. What a disaster. That's what a small dose of Ambien does to me. It apparently turns me into a cussing sailor and a complete random idiot. I didn't go to bed until 3:00 a.m. that night. Stupid daytime naps, they mess me up.

Happy New Year to everyone out there! 2007 was a so-so year. I'm hoping 2008 is better. In general, I don't like New Year's Eve because it's expensive and never lives up to the hype. This will likely be the last New Year's I spend without children or a pregnancy. What a weird thought. I'm having lots of champagne.

Ever since 2003, I always approach a new year with a bit of hesitancy. In 2002, I was married and I started law school. I had an awesome honeymoon. I got promoted at my job (right before I left, but still). I won a trip to St. Martin. 2002 was a great year. Then, 2003 happened. My dad entered the hospital on February 13, 2003 (the day before my birthday) and died on March 15, 2003. I'd been married less than a year. I was 25. Let me tell you, the death of a parent combined with the first year of law school puts the strain on even the tightest of relationships. It was a tough time.

My parents had just moved to coastal Alabama, where my father really wanted to live. After a very stress-filled life (much of it self-imposed), he died less than six months after he retired and reached his dream of moving back "home." He was 65. It will be five years ago this March that he died. For some reason, I thought about his death while I was in the shower this morning.

I remembered going in to have a moment with him right before we disconnected the ventilator. My dad had open heart surgery in February, sometime around the 17th. He had a brief rebound, but it quickly became evident that his heart problems were to0 extensive. There would be no miracle. Because I was in law school in Georgia, I really couldn't be by his side because I'd miss too much class. If you miss more than a certain number of days, you just have to start over. My dad didn't want that. "Stay in school," my dad insisted. So I did.

When it became clear his death was inevitable, my husband and I drove down to AL in March. I walked in to his ICU room and he looked so small. His muscles had atrophied. His legs were moving rapidly as if he were peddling an invisible bicycle. He was unconscious, and had been for some time. It was hell. I fled the room and sobbed. I was scared of him. Scared to go in that room and see how sick he was, how helpless we were. I felt truly, deeply bad for my mom and guilty that I hadn't been there for that past month. Guilty that we'd lied to him, telling him he would be fine. We didn't know how sick he was or that he had a heart defect. We didn't know.

When I went in to speak to my dad on the day he died, he was unconscious, as usual. His body was filled with a toxic stew as his kidneys had ceased to work. I said something like "I'm sorry. I'm sorry we didn't get more time to know each other." I might have told him "I love you," but I honestly don't remember. It was quick and I've blocked it out. Though unconscious, he started flailing violently when I spoke those words. I think he heard me. Did I scare him? Did he know he was going to die? That haunts me, with a sadness so raw and profound I feel like it's happening all over again as I type this.

Those last moments alone with him are what I remembered this morning in the shower. I was filled with an overwhelming sadness. I felt sick to my stomach. I haven't remembered that in so long. Why this morning, as a new year, a new page, is about to begin? Or is that precisely why? So I don't forget, so I take that with me into the new year?

I finished my shower and got out. I'm at work. I've had a productive morning, but the memory still haunts me.

I think it always will.

I'm up late

Up late tonight. This rarely happens. I'm typically in bed before midnight, even on a weekend night. We lead a very quiet life. But, I took a nap from 3-5 this afternoon and - surprise - I'm not tired. I took an Ambien. We'll see how it goes.

I'm really excited about our aforementioned Vegas vacay. In a way, Vegas is everything I hate about America, what with the excess, the commercialism, and the fake titties. But, Vegas is also everything I love about America, provided one doesn't take it too seriously. I think Vegas is pure kitsch and there is no other place on the planet quite like it. I missed going in 2007 for the first time in years, but I'm back for '08, bitches!

I do like to gamble. I admit that freely. Though technically a female, my friends have threated to take my girl-card away for refusing to shop when I had a really good run going at a blackjack table. "Keep your phones on," I said. "I'll call you later." Two hours later, I did call. What can I say, $500 is a healthy take for my low limits ass.

We'll be there for my 31st birthday. Yikes. I don't like that number. 31, you say? Shouldn't I have kids or something? I'm thinking one may be born when I'm 32. That sounds right. Or maybe 33. We'll see. The good news? I look better at 31 than I did at 21. Can we say "BOO" to beer binges in college that led to massive bloat and marathon midnight pizza eating?

I could always look better, however. We've got 47 days until we leave, so my current mantra is 7 lbs in 47. Sounds pretty reasonable, and 7 lbs will take me from "curvy, healthy" to "Dayuuummm." I think I'm going to work on that.

Oliver-cat says hi. He's been watching this entire post and he'd like everyone to know that Oliver "Tang-Tang" has approved this message.

47 Days...

I'm really excited today. I wanted to go somewhere fun for my birthday, and the hubby and I just got it figured out. We're headed to Vegas in 47 days! Got a decent deal on flights ($247) and a great room rate at MGM thanks to the fact that my husband gambles... and tends to lose. We're going over Valentine's Day weekend. I can't wait!

I feel better than I did yesterday

Why, pray tell, do I always get a cold in December? I need to be on my A-game in December. I have networking functions to attend, family to shop for, trees to decorate, and a boatload of work at the office. Perhaps I do tend to burn the candle at both ends. At any rate, I've been sick with a cold for four and a half days. I feel fairly close to human today, so that's an improvement.

Funny story from today. Swear to god this is true. I called my vet to ask if we can get a mild sedative for our car trip with Hell Kitten. She put me on hold to get my file, and the waiting music was... wait for it... THE THONG SONG. WTF? How does that even remotely qualify as professional?

Good news is that 2008 looks good from a travel standpoint. We're going to Costa Rica in May, and I just scored an awesome fare on a inter-country flight to take us from the capital to the Osa Peninsula. Very excited about my thriftiness.

Also, I think I've talked the Italian into using some FF miles to go for an off-season jaunt to St. John. Yeah! Looks like sometime in August - September. Yes, I like to live dangerously with hurricane season. Actually, I prefer the Caribbean in the off months. Warmer water, flatter water, better snorkeling, rates about 60% off and less drunken idiots to contend with. I've got to wait for our December FF miles to come through before I can book though. I hope availability for that timeframe stays good through the holidays.

PS - I just realized that the bit about the vet is worded really strangely, but I like it so I'm going to keep it. Let me re-phrase: I called the vet to get a sedative for Hell Kitten. Not for me or the Italian.

Liquid Gold

It's raining here. While in general this is a commonplace happening, where I live rain has become liquid gold. We're in a severe drought, so any rain is welcome, but the consistent soaking we're receiving now is just what the earth needs. Everything's thirsty.

Summer had it's last gasp this week. We had temps in the 70s earlier this week, but the cold front has arrived. I can't really be too mad about the cold, because it at least had the decency to bring the rain with it.

This might be my most boring blog post ever. I mean, a post about the weather? Still, it's so welcome and I'm happy.

I have a cold. A nasty, stuffy sinus infection. I don't feel bad otherwise, except for that thing attached to my neck. My cold plus the rain means its a perfect day to stay inside and make pretty jewelry. So that's what I'm doing.

Where there's a will...

People who know me know that I am stubborn as a mule. When I really want something, I will charge ahead like a person possessed. "Impossible" doesn't apply to things I really want.

I've always wanted to own a vacation home somewhere really fabulous. Realities have to be considered, however, and most places really "fabulous" have a high price tag. I refuse to accept that. Call me crazy, call me stupid, but I think many people miss the boat by always doing the conventional thing when it comes to real estate.

So, I've come to the realization that we're not going to be purchasing this fabulous vacation property anytime in the near future. Likely a few years out, maybe more. In the meantime, I plan on looking, researching, and looking some more. This will be a measured decision.

One thing I've realized is that it's hard to buy something already built that meets my specifications. On St. John, for example, the average villa runs about $1.1 million dollars. That's right - $1.1 million for a small, 2-bedroom house concrete house, maybe with a pool. MAYBE. Taxes are high, utility costs are high. Rental rates are soaring, lots are sitting on the market (over 225 for sale on a very small island), and people aren't building. 9 lots have sold this year, down from a high of 167 lots sold in 2003. Can you say oversaturation?

Anyway, I've started looking into some alternative building ideas. It's amazing what's out there. In the Caribbean, the concerns are hurricanes, earthquakes and water. However, there are some pre-fab homes that look pretty cool that have excellent track records when it comes to hurricanes and earthquakes. You still have to build the cistern to supply the water, but we're looking at building a very small home. Smaller home = smaller cistern.

I think what I really want to do is build an eco-friendly budget rental for those who have good taste, but maybe not a fat wallet. I've got my eyes on the couples market, maybe a couple with a small child. I plan on keeping costs down by eschewing the traditional trappings people fall into. My vacation home will have no granite, no fancy backsplash, no stainless steel appliances, no cherry cabinets, and alas, probably no pool. Maybe a hot tub at some point.

What will it have? Hopefully, a great location, killer view, a cozy cottage feel, privacy, air-conditioning, and a comfortable bed.

Here are a few options I've found. It will cost well less than $150K to build out the structure. Less if we do a bamboo option and decide to take on the task ourselves. That doesn't include any excavation or pouring the cistern, but I've got years to meet people and get that figured out.

http://www.bambootechnologies.com/homes/thaihale/thaihale.htm
http://www.deltechomes.com

Am I crazy? Is a treated wood structure in the Caribbean just a nightmare waiting to happen? The bamboo is very interesting, especially since it's used a lot in Japan, which is home to massive quakes and killer cyclones. If it stands up there...

I'm determined to figure out a way to make this happen, and a way that doesn't cost me $1.1 million. I mean, you can't possibly make any cash on the rental that way. Running it as a loss seems pointless. Thoughts from the peanut gallery?

I constantly remind myself of the now-famous speech by Professor Randy Pausch, when he talks about reaching your goals. He says that roadblocks are there for a reason. They're to weed out the people who don't want things badly enough. A lesson for real estate, and for almost anything else in life.

I called a T.O.

I did it. Something I almost never do. I left work today at 3:15 for no good reason. I said something about "working from home," but I promptly turned off my blackberry when I got home. Ok, I did check it once, just to be sure an emergency hadn't cropped up. That might get me fired. The laptop is still in its case though, so there.

I wasn't getting anything done in the office. I've reached a point of almost zero productivity, right when I need to be my most productive. I just needed a break, even if its just a few hours.

I think I'm going to take the whole night off. No jewelry, no law, no pressure to clean. Maybe get outside and take an evening walk with the Italian, cook some dinner, watch some TV and call it an early night.

I came home, took a 20 minute nap, then watched some Food Network while I ate crackers and hummus. I also learned something valuable this afternoon. Did you know cats like hummus? Here's Oliver, and apparently, he loves the stuff.



Who would've guessed?

Jewels and land and such

It's been a busy week. I'm a commercial real estate attorney by day, and December is traditionally our busiest month. The closings are coming fast and furiously. I see no stopping this train until mid-January. So be it.

The jewelry business is off to a banner start. My friend and I design all of the earrings and necklaces we create. We handle everything, from selection of the beads to purchasing the findings to pricing. We're busy and we're tired. But in a good way. We had our first show this past week, and sold about $1300 worth of jewelry. We've got another show coming up next weekend, and I hope that show will make us solvent. We made over 120 pieces in six short weeks. Not bad, eh?

I've complicated my life once again. I have a bug in my brain that I want to own property in the Caribbean. But not just anywhere, on St. John, arguably one of the toniest locations in all of the Caribbean. Decent lots are still available and prices are coming down. Sales are down. We can afford the land, we just can't afford to build a house. Concrete is a bloody fortune, and you can't get insurance (nor a loan) with a wood-frame house. You gotta have concrete, and you want concrete, the winds can huff and puff but they can't blow concrete down. The contractors know it, and building is now a fortune.

Is it worth it? We're going to wait and research for at least a year before buying. Would we be better served to save our cash, pay off our house here in the States early and just live the easy life? I guess that way we could afford to travel to STJ or some other Caribbean locale and rent a long-term apartment for several months out of the year. Maybe that's the way? Or is ownership the better investment long-term? The Caribbean is such a harsh climate. Between earthquakes, hurricanes, extreme sun, salt, humidity, heat and bugs... I've got to know: Am I crazy?

If so, just tell me. I can take it. Trust me.

Dear Oliver

This letter is to my kitten, Sir Oliver:

I am tired of you biting my ankles and feet. Your tiny teeth are pointy and sharp. You ferociousness rivals that of a lion, yet you are but a mere wee kitten. Please stop biting me. Please stop waking your adoptive father up in the middle of the night. We're trying. I know we're not home a lot and those two big cats knock you around quite a bit, but we love your furry ass. Really. We do.

I just called the vet and she said we have a "potential behavior problem on our hands." I don't want a behavior problem, I want a furry, sweet kitten. Like you were just a mere week ago. Was it the houseguests? Did Thanksgiving push you over the edge as well?

The vet is making lots of suggestions, but paying animal behaviorists and finding a "kitten kindergarten" just seem a bit ridiculous. Do you want to go back with your siblings and mama cat? I know where they are, but it's cold out there. And pretty rough, truth be told.

Also, while I'm making requests, please stop taking our socks and then growling at us when we try to reclaim them. You, kind sir, are NOT a dog. I repeat, NOT a dog. A cat, C-A-T.

I promise to play with you more. I can't get another kitten for you to play with, because four is just too many cats in one home. But, I can play with you myself. I'll start doing that more tonight. We'll have feather toy time and I'll try to run you ragged. I promise.

Love,

Mom

Back to Busy

As you can probably tell, yesterday was a low point. I truly think I was having a bit of a family hangover. It was just too much during the Thanksgiving holiday. I know my limits and I think I need to observe those from now on. I still have a lot of unanswered questions about myself, but I am feeling a bit buoyed today. Writing about your deep-seated problems doesn't solve them, but it sure is a good purge for the soul.

Now, I'm so busy getting ready for my jewelry trunk show next Wednesday that I can barely keep my head above water. What kind of idiot tries to be a lawyer and jewelry designer at the same time? Oh, that would be me. I swear, I'm dreaming about necklaces and beads and wire and clasps. God help me. I'm turning into one of those weird craft women who spends more money at craft/bead stores than on shoes. What the hell happened to me?

As an aside, I had two of the most frustrating lunchtime experiences and I'm happy to report I didn't lose my cool. Nope, not once. I went to Joann to get some clasps (stop laughing) and the line was over a dozen people deep. It moved pretty quickly, but I don't wait. Not well.

Then, I went to a bagel shop to get some lunch and the guy working behind the counter was possibly the dumbest human being alive. After arguing with him about soups for 3-4 minutes, I was finally able to extract what I have realized is the greatest secret known to mankind: what "Seasonal" soups are on the menu at Einstein Brothers Bagel Co. Really, did you know this information was top-secret and closely guarded?

Not to be-labor the point, but why not, I'm good at driving a topic into the ground. See, the menu said "Chicken Noodle," "Vegetable," and the elusive "Seasonal." I asked him what soups they had today and he said, "It's my third day." But those aren't soups, I wanted to say. Instead, I bit my tongue. I asked him to pretty-please go check for me and he said "Oh, we got Chili." WE GOT CHILI? Well, then I follow that up with a big "what kind - beef or turkey?" and I swear to you his head nearly exploded. I don't eat beef and I know Einstein's usually has turkey chili. After another minute of discussing with a co-worker, I was informed that it was indeed turkey.

It took me over two minutes to order because he could find my items on their handy order form, and then it took 10 minutes to make the turkey/swiss sandwich and pour the soup. NOTE: I was the ONLY customer in the store. Now I know why.

Nonetheless, I did not leave in a huff. I did not yell. I did not make a smart remark. I just paid for my food and left.

Now I hope I don't get food poisoning.

PS - On the kitten front. We still have him and his name is Oliver. He is very bite-y. I need to talk to the vet about this because I think he's too vicious. I've never had a cat this aggressive before and I'm worried he's too much of a wild-man. However, he does lay nicely in my arms when tired and sleeps beside our pillows each night. We're having a few adjustment issues with the other cats but there's been no bloodshed so far. I was awakened last night to a kitty tongue-bath on my face. Kitten breath at 3am is cute, but annoying.

Mom-Burglar

Our neighborhood has had seven break-ins in the past few months. No, I don't live in the ghetto, but I do live in an area with lots of first generation Korean immigrants who own businesses that run on cash. Cash that they tend to keep in their houses. All victims have been Korean and have had the same house plan (one different from ours). So, I thought we had little to worry about, but we had a security system installed anyway.

So, last Tuesday, the Italian and I are at our local grocery store, stocking up for Thanksgiving. He gets a call from an unrecognizable number, picks it up, and finds out the alarm is going off at our house. "Do you want us to call the police?," the Brinks person asks. "Hell, yes." The Italian goes home, and I, with a half-full cart of groceries, elect to finish what I started.

At this point, I'm thinking, "great, we're going to have a busted door from where the glass is broken, we're not going to be able to get it fixed until after the holiday, what a pain." I'm not real worried about items being stolen, because we don't have cash or guns in the house, and my two pieces of good jewelry were on me. Besides a few cats and a TV set too large to get out of the house without attracting much attention, these guys were getting a big "0" out of us. Our cash is in the bank, know what I mean?

So, ten minutes later I call the Italian. "What happened?," I asked. He said he didn't know, but the alarm was going off and the front door appeared to be unlocked. He didn't remember unlocking it, but he could have. Still, it doesn't explain how the alarm got set off. So, the cop arrives, pulls his gun and goes through our house. Very dramatic "Cops" material.

With a big shrug and thanks, the Italian bids the cop adieu and comes to get me at the grocery store. Now, in the meantime, I've been calling my mom repeatedly on her cell and home phone, trying to see if she'd been by our house. "That's crazy," you're probably thinking, "what mom would do that?" What mom indeed.

We've got boundary issues with my mom. She refuses to call before she stops by, and will let herself into our house on occasion. She has an emergency key, but she uses our house like an extension of hers. It's lovely, really.

So, finally, about an hour after we received the call that our alarm was going off, I got my mom on her home phone. Wasting no time, I cut to the chase: "Mom, have you been to our house tonight?" Pause, followed by a little voice that says "Yeeeessss..."

Turns out she set of our alarm when she tried to open our front door to let herself in (why, I don't know). Then, upon hearing the alarm, she bolted. She didn't call us to say "whoops," didn't stick around to see if the cops would come, she just left. Actually, she went to the Bank and the grocery store, and then failed to answer her cell phone when we called repeatedly.

Some people have wonderful relationships with their mothers. Me? I have a mom-burglar.

When I close my eyes, I see... beads

The jewelry making is off to a good start. My business partner and I worked an 11 hour day yesterday, and I was able to finish another necklace tonight. I have a feeling I'll be too busy to write at length in the coming weeks, but so far I'm happy with this jewelry stuff. We got a boutique in a nearby mountain town to carry some of our stuff, and we have two other leads as well. I hope to have our website up and running in a few months and we'll host a couple of trunk shows as well. Lots going on, busy mind and busy hands.

I've got to go clean up my house for Thanksgiving. In this whole mess, I'm hosting 18 people on Thursday for dinner. Eek. My sister and her family arrive tomorrow to stay with us. Wish me luck. I usually need it where her family is concerned.

Decompression

I've been slammed with work lately. Today started with a bang. Work was going a mile a second, and I was trying to close a $25M deal with little help from anyone else. All of a sudden, the deal was postponed, and I can't find the energy to pick up on my other projects.

I am simply drained.

Stepping back into the morose, I know. It's what I said I wouldn't do, but here I am. I'd like to write off my current mental state to "season change," but I can't. Is it depression? I don't know if I'd say that either. I think it's just an extreme desire to change some things about my life, and an equally extreme inability to do so.

I am feeling trapped.

Why, you say? Well, the economy for one. I'd really like to start scaling back our financial obligations, but we won't be able to sell either our house or our townhome right now. The market is too bad. I could get rid of my fancy car, I suppose. Maybe I'll look into that.

With our financial obligations, I have no choice but to keep working a job where I make a comfortable salary -- regardless of whether I like what I'm doing. We're not living above our means, but we're certainly not below them either.

Also, it's just plain depressing where I live right now. My neighborhood is having a mini crime spree, and I don't even feel safe in my own home. Word is apparently "out" about the crime and agents have stopped bringing folks by look at new homes or resales. Fabulous for property values!

I'm really just bitching now, and I don't mean to. Okay, that's a lie. I do.

On the good side, my co-worker and I got permission to host a jewelry show in my office for early December. Wish me luck, we're currently in the designing phase and it's time-consuming and EXPENSIVE! I was up until 1:00 am last night. Perhaps my exhaustion is contributing to my mood.

Oh, and kitten-raising is hard. I had forgotten. Our two big cats have turned into nasty, snarling beasties each time the kitten comes near. The kitten is a mini-cougar who seems intent on puncturing the skin on my hands, feet and face. Yes, face. But, just as soon as I'm ready to punt his furry little ass right on out the door, he curls up on my pillow and sleeps beside my head. He really is a good little sleeper, getting 6-7 hours a night on our bed. I do love him.

On St. John

Four months ago today I was on St. John, soaking up some lovely Caribbean weather and snorkeling to my heart's content. Today, I'm sitting in my office with my winter coat still on and a portable heater beside my legs. My, how things change.

The Italian and I don't have a trip planned until May 2008, when we're going to Costa Rica. We *might* go to Vegas in March, but I don't want to make that trip for a variety of reasons, mainly that it's a group trip. The Italian and I always travel with other people, and while it's fun, I'm a bit tired of it. I have so little time off that when I'm off, I want to do exactly what I want to do, when I want to do it. Does that sound selfish? Plus, a Vegas trip quickly gets expensive when you factor in gambling. We don't usually get out there for less than $2000 for a long weekend. I figure we can get to the tropics for four nights in Feb. for less than that, though we may not stay at the nicest place ever.

I'm seriously contemplating trying to squeeze a quick getaway in during the month of February. It's typically a slow month for me, work-wise. With the economy being down, I'm hopeful that we can find a good deal somewhere, even if it's just a cheap AI in Mexico or the Dominican (though I really don't want food poisoning, thank you very much.). Shoot, at this point, I'll even camp on St. John. You hear that, Mr. Italian?

I'm afraid my love for St. John is a dangerous love. St. John is a very expensive island, and while there are cheaper options as far as lodging, things like food and rental cars will just never been inexpensive there.

The only thing worse than being at work

... Is being at work with absolutely nothing to do. And not being able to leave because you're waiting for the other shoe to drop on a $20+ million deal. "Couldn't you find something else to do," you're probably saying right now. "Maybe organize something, or catch up on some shit you're behind on." Yeah, maybe I could, but I'm not gonna.

FACT: It's a lot more fun to blog about it how much work sucks than to actually DO something to make work better.

On a somewhat related note, I'm feeling creatively-challenged on the jewelry design front. This always tends to happen when I get serious about turning it into a business. I get all excited, then I sit down to actually design new stuff and all of the sudden I think I suck at the whole thing. Fear, it's a killer.

State of the Union

I have pinpointed a phenomenon that is the epitome, indeed a complete embodiment, of everything that's wrong with America today. I'd like to thank the Bravo television network for blessing us with the lovely slice of Americana entitled "The Real Housewives of Orange County."

I shall henceforth call it "TRHOC," which sounds not unlike the vocalization my cat makes when coughing up a hairball. Coincidence?

The apparent premiere of the new season is upon us, so Bravo has seen fit to run episode after episode of this vacuous programme. A virtual marathon for the brain, an evening of watching TRHOC requires the lack of affect seen in extreme depressives, the rigidity of a catatonic and the stupidity seen in, well, the stupid. Really, one must possess all of those characteristics to get through an episode without feeling as if all Californians, nay all Americans, shouldn't pick up the arms we're so proud to bear and blow our collective brains out.

But, really, maybe I'm putting too much thought into TRHOC. It's likely been years since most of the Housewives featured on this show have had a thought beyond how much money they're going to spend on diamond skull earrings or if their 500cc breast implants might rupture while getting a shiatsu massage at Canyon Ranch.

Lest you misunderstand me, let me get one thing straight at the outset: I am not envious of these women. Give me some credit, that's just too easy. I could theoretically buy a $10,000 watch if I chose to. But I wouldn't. Who the hell needs a $10,000 watch? Anyway, my point here is that my venom towards this show is not petty jealously or my deep-seated desire to whimsically spend thousands on LV purses and thongs at Agent Provocateur.

Rather, I hate this show because these women are dolts. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I submit to you the following:

Exhibit A - Vicki: Housewife Vicki is an energy-packed California blonde with a heart of gold who just wants her kids to be her best friends. See, there's a problem with that, because she's their MOTHER, not their friend. But what do I know about raising kids? I mean, I don't have one of those licenses they make Americans get before you can breed. Oh, what's that you say? We don't do that in this country? Well, that explains so much.

Vicki's got this pimply, bratty-faced 20-year old son off at college in Boulder, Colorado. She decides to "surprise" him by showing up for a weekend visit, on a gameday nonetheless. Vicki busts up in his broke-ass college frat house with a twelve pack of Coors and a party-till-you-puke scream. Bratty son, as you can guess, is none too pleased.

The 20-year old basically makes his mom feel like an idiot (which she should) and tells her "I just wish you'd told me you were coming." Fair enough, kid, fair enough. However, Vicki isn't getting the point. "But then it wouldn't have been a surprise," she says. Vicki's prattles on, pathetically asking "aren't you happy to see me?" over and over until she is reduced to tears and flees to her son's bathroom with her Coors Light in hand. Drown those sorrows, Vicki, drown 'em.

Really, I haven't seen such co-dependent, fucked-up Freudian behavior between a mother and son since Anna Nicole Smith and Daniel. This bitch ought to be ashamed, but I don't think Vicki and shame are on intimate terms.

I don't normally side with 20-year olds. I think they're obnoxious tadults (teen-adults) caught in that awkward phase between idiocy and the marrying years. But this kid really has a point. Here he is in his college town just trying to enjoy game day with the guys, and his cougar of a mother barges right in, fake tits on display for all his friends to ogle. It's got to be embarassing. Plus, she's acting more like his long-lost girlfriend than his mother. But guess what, Vicki? He doesn't want a friend, he wants a mother. She of course never gets it, and the whole crying scene ends with the son saying something like "Pull yourself together, I'll be in the kitchen." He's a little bossy, isn't he? I like that in my 20-year olds.

Vicki's obviously feeling badly about things, so she tries to make it up to her son by getting drunk. At this point, she offers to buy him a brand new car if he gets a 3.5 GPA for the semester. Seriously, a 3.5? I mean, it's good and all, but isn't she setting the bar a little low? Kid's not at Harvard, after all. To celebrate the offer, Vicki does a keg stand, and then lets her son's friends suck on her boobs. Okay, I made that very last part up, but she really did do a keg stand supported by her son's buddies.

Where can I nominate her for mother of the year?

Exhibit B - Jeana: Jeana is a former Playmate who is married to an ex-baseball player. She's got American Dream written all over her, doesn't she? It appears, however, that the years have not been kind to Jeana's marriage (or Jeana's waistline for that matter, but that's a different topic for a different day). To be fair, Jeana is the only one who seems to have a lick of common sense in her head, but I don't think she's passed her "midwestern values" onto her kids. When asked about the state of her parents marriage, Jeana's 17-year old daughter says "I think my mom ought to get a boyfriend."

I don't think I need to say anything else at this point.

Exhibit C - Lauri: Lauri's sugar-daddy gives her a $100,000 convertible Mercedes. Problem is, Lauri's 21-year old daughter has a wicked sense of entitlement, and can't even look at her mom's car for 10 seconds without saying something like, "Okay, let's trade your old car in 'cause I want a BMW convertible. Moooooommmm, you have a $30,000 watch on your wrist! It makes me so mad! It's not fair." Oh really?

Good luck to whatever guy ends up with that gold-digging tramp, er, undiscovered gem.

Exhibit D - Jo: Lastly, no introduction to TRHOC would be complete without talking about Jo. The youngest of our housewives, this chick isn't really a housewife at all. I actually have NO idea why she is even remotely qualified to be on this show (Oh dear lord, tee-hee. I said that like these women have qualifications. Har, har, hee, hee.). Jo isn't married, has no kids, but is fucking a really rich dude with a teenage son. She used to live with him in the O.C., but now she's moved to a shitty apartment in LA with her friend in an attempt to start a recording career. She kind of looks like Eva Longoria if you squint real hard and turn your head to the left, but I think that's her greatest talent, 'cause her voice is beat.

Her boyfriend, who has an asinine name like "Slate" or "Slade" or something, knows some people who knows some people (who doesn't?). She cuts a demo, and on the episode I watched last night, they had a meeting with record execs. Slate proceeds to sing along with the demo, trying to show how "in" to the music he really is, but all he succeeds in doing is showing how much better a 40-year old man with a Peter Pan complex can sing than Jo. Shit, even I can sing better than Jo, and I've made ears bleed before.

I could go on, but really, why? Is this what our nation's young people aspire to be? Fake-titted, vapid housewives with bratty kids and big bank accounts? I'd like to think this show is aired with a wink and a nod to the viewer, but I don't think it is. Is TRHOC the new American dream? If it is, then get me the hell out of here.

Sacrifices

I ordered my Dunkin' Donuts coffee this morning and when the lady behind the counter asked "would you like cream?," I did the unthinkable. I said "No. I'll have milk please." Milk is not the same as cream. Damn my metabolism.

Sacrifices

I ordered my Dunkin' Donuts coffee this morning and when the lady behind the counter asked "would you like cream?," I did the unthinkable. I said "No. I'll have milk please." Milk is not the same as cream. Damn my metabolism.

Eh. and Yeah!

Today is a day of good news and bad news. On the good side, I'm happy about "falling back," time-wise. I am now able to get out of bed before 7:30 AM and be a productive little morning bee.

On the very, very good side, I have some news on the career front. No, I'm not leaving my job (yet). But, I have decided to go into the jewelry business with a friend of mine. We both make high-quality, mid-priced handmade jewelry using semi-precious stones and metals. It's been a hobby for both of us for a while, and we're going for it. The investment will be relatively minor (when you consider what some ventures cost to start), and we're going to tap into our resources (read: the Italian and some good friends) for graphic design and website creation. Things are going to be getting very busy, very soon. I couldn't be more excited.

Alright, into every life a little rain must fall, eh? Well, it fell this morning when I got on the scale. Now, if you read my blog at all, you'll know that I've been indulging in a little pity party lately. Apparently, pity is not the only thing I've been indulging in, because I've gained about six pounds. That's a lot of (typo but I'm keeping it) me. I mean, damn, no wonder I've been feeling like my ass is getting larger - in fact, it is. Ick.

So, I'm back on the diet horse, with a lovely breakfast of pear and hardboiled egg. No more tacos, beer or french fries for a good long while, I'm afraid. I'm mulling over the idea of posting progress pictures to this blog (face blocked to keep me relatively anonymous), but I'm afraid of the pervs. So, if you are one and you are reading this, could you let me know in advance so I kind of know what to expect?

A Long-Awaited Wedding

We've returned from the wedding. We left on Wednesday night and have been going non-stop since we arrived on Hilton Head Island. In short, the wedding was spectacular. A 4:00 ceremony on the beach, perfect 70 degree weather with nary a cloud in the sky, and a bride so calm I would swear she was drugged (She wasn't, I'm pretty sure... okay, no she wasn't).

I was so honored to be a part of the Design Goddess' wedding (I'm one of the lovely ladies in the background in the polka dots). She and I have been great friends for a number of years, and she's almost like another sister. I also get along with the Design Goddess' actual sister quite well, and we stayed at the real sister's place the entire time. I forget how fun it is to hang out with girlfriends. When we all get together we invariably spend hours laughing and being anything but serious. I have enough "serious" in my daily life, so the occasional departure is welcome and, dare I say, necessary.

One funny anecdote (before I get all serious on your asses). The bride had her hair and make-up all done and we had to get her in her dress. So, the bride is standing in her foundation garments (you know, Spanx, chicken cutlet sticky bra, the works) and we're contemplating how to get the dress over her head without causing damage to the 'do, the dress or the painted face. So, we come up with the brilliant idea to cover her face with a plastic bag and shimmy the dress over quickly.

We maybe should've thought that one through a bit first.

See, as soon as we start pulling the dress over her head, we realize it's not so easy. It's a bit tight and we've got to ease her on into it. Butter or Crisco would've helped... they make those slim-fit wedding dresses awful form-fitting. Next thing we know, a little voice from inside the dress says "uh, guys, I can't breathe" and then we hear the plastic bag suck in against her mouth. The bride was out of air. As the other two bridesmaid's are frantically pulling the dress down, I dive in and attempt to either (a) poke a hole in the aforesaid plastic bag, or (b) find the hole in the handle for her to breathe through. It took about ten seconds, but I got found her an air supply. I'm pretty sure I almost wet my pants once air-flow was returned to the bride. The photographer was getting no end of amusement out of our stupidity.

Lesson: Don't suffocate the bride on her wedding day.

But I digress. Truthfully, I am a bit socialized out, but I feel like I gained a ton of new friends over the weekend. Granted, most of them live in Chicago (where the bride and groom currently live) but we get up there enough to see our newfound friends from time to time. I've been very introspective lately, and I think getting out and remembering how to make new friends is something I've been lacking lately. It's easy to get complacent... but complacency is rarely exciting.

I think what stuck with me most was when I was leaving today. I was speaking with the newly crowned Mrs. Design Goddess and she said "now all we have to do is arrange to all move back to North Carolina when it's time to have kids... what do you say?" That statement really excited me. I think being somewhere where you are surrounded by friends and a close social network is so invaluable. It's easy to just go-go-go and chase your career, your desires, etc. All of those things are necessary, but in the end, you need to be surrounded by good friends and family. Friends are especially underrated because, unlike your family, you do get to choose friends. So, in some respects, a good friend can be more important to your life than a semi-involved relative.

I was also struck this weekend by how much this wedding moved The Italian. He cried multiple times... at the rehearsal dinner slideshow, at the wedding, at the Maid of Honor's toast. He told me later that he sees the Design Goddess as his adopted sister. I'm so lucky that my husband has a genuine love for my best friends (in fact, she was his friend before mine... thanks for the gift, love). He said seeing close friends get married means so much to him because he knows we'll spend the rest of our lives with these people. Even if we're not in the same city, we support each other through hard times and successes, go on vacation together, and share common interests.

Me? I have a cold, black heart and don't cry at weddings. I don't know, it's just not my thing. I do WANT to cry when I'm sitting a wedding going "you fools have lost your minds. You are so getting divorced. I hope you have a pre-nup and good birth control." But happy weddings, like this one, where I know the bride and groom really get each other and will try their best to make each other happy... well, that just makes me feel comforted and satisfied, and tears are impossible when I feel that way.

Upon reflection, it was quite a weekend. I'm exhausted, I'm sick, but my heart is full. Congratulations to the Design Goddess, one of my best friends in the world and one of the best people I know.

Very, very tired

I'm sitting in Hilton Head right now, and I'm exhausted. I'm a bridesmaid in a good friend's wedding, and I'm already worn out. Too much talking, too much eating, too much drinking (oops), not enough sleep. Weather is gorgeous though. I wish I had more time to be by the beach, but this is not "that kind" of trip. Oh well.

Little Dude, Litter Eater

We had a quasi-emergency last night. We're going out of town tonight, and I'd planned on a nice, calm Tuesday night filled with packing, making soup from my William-Sonoma cookbook, watching House and making some jewelry. I got most of those things done, but I was up until 1:00am. Why? Well, there was an emergency vet visit thrown in there.

We had my mom over for dinner and she brought the little dude. He was sitting on my lap while we were eating dinner, and despite my best efforts to keep him on my lap, he took a plunge. FACT: 4 week old kittens do not "land on their feet" like normal cats. They kind of fall into a heap and then walk in circles and limp off, clearly wounded.

Feeling like the most horrible person alive, I quickly realized little dude might be seriously hurt. We rushed him into the emergency vet where he was diagnosed with a "soft tissue injury to his left front leg" and a scrotum. That's right, ladies and gents, we have ourselves a boy. He's going to be okay but I'm horrified. If you knew the care I take with my animals, you'd understand. I'm so careful and protective, and then this happens. I felt awful. But, $130 later and after fearing for his little life, I think little dude is officially ours.

To celebrate, he came home and ate some litter. He's kind of retarded that way, but hopefully he'll grow out of it.



I've also posted a picture of my other cat, Princess Sassy Pants (not her real name, but it should be), just for good measure.



FACT: did you know only 1 in 3,000 orange cats are female?

Rambles

I can't find the patience to sit down and write an in-depth blog, so this little post may be all over the board.

First, regarding le chat. No firm decision yet, but I think we're going to take him. I've convinced the Italian with a three-pronged offense: 1. He gets to name the cat (poor thing); 2. The cat gets declawed; and 3. We won't take him until he is house-broken. My mom is keeping him for now because she doesn't work, and the cat is just too little to be left alone alone all day. He needs monitored feeding and he's not fully litter box trained, which we just can't have. The little guy eats litter. Oh, god, what have I gotten myself into?

Second, I'm kind of sad my mom won't take him for her own. As much I want want the little orange fluffball, my mom is all by herself and has been for a while now. She's had death after death hit her hard. First was my dad five years ago, then a close family friend who she relied on after my dad died, then her cat of 19 years. She just doesn't have it in her to get attached to another living thing, which is so pitifully sad and defeatest I can't even properly articulate my feelings about the matter. She's given up on life, and I've run out of ways to help her or encouraging words to say. I'm exhausted on that front, and feel like a bad daughter into the bargain.

Third, I'm really sad about this beach house fire in Ocean Isle, North Carolina. If you live in the US, you've probably read about it. Thirteen college students were staying at a beach house for a weekend of fun, a fire broke out and over half of them died. When I was in college, a fraternity house on my campus burned to the ground and killed six or so kids. One of them was a sorority sister of mine. This fire brings back such vivid memories, as the circumstances, time of day, and survivor recounts are so similar to what happened at UNC while I was there. Ugh, it just makes me shudder. I so remember that charred out frat house that just sat there for months, a blackened reminder of how fleeting and cruel life can be.

Fourth, and I'm totally switching gears here, I feel like I'm getting fat. I swear my butt has grown this week. Is it the Nutella is bought? Could it be the taqueria food I had last night? I need to stop eating out.

Fifth, we're ending our "month-long festival of travel" this weekened with a trip to Hilton Head for a wedding. One of my best friends (we'll call her Design Goddess as she is a fabulous graphic designer) is finally getting married to her boyfriend of eight years, and I'm so happy for her. I really never thought this would happen. Design Goddess did so much to help me when I married the Italian, more than any of my family. I'm excited to go down on Wednesday night to help her in any way I can, though I can never repay her for all the things she did for me.

Sixth, the Italian's college friend, who we'll call Fuckface, is still a fuckface. We saw him two weeks ago and Dave encouraged me to have an open mind. "Fuckface has changed," the Italian said, "he's got a fiance now, and she has a daughter he's taking care of, and he's really changed." I called bullshit, and - dare I say it - I was RIGHT. R-I-G-H-T. His fiance is awesome, he still sucks. As a small bit of background, this dude has screwed up the mind of every girl he's ever dated. I personally know two girls he's made certifiably insane, one of them being my bestest friend in the whole wide world, who we'll call Big-Eyed Randy Moss Fan (weird name, but trust me, it makes sense).

Anyway, so while together a couple of weekend's ago, all of the Italian's college buddies started talking about doing a Vegas trip with the guys and all wives. Everyone was on board. Then, after we all returned home, Fuckface sent an email out to the guys, saying something along the lines of "I've been to Vegas with my fiance, and it sucked. She was over my shoulder the whole time, freaking out about money and how late we were staying out. Wouldn't everything be more fun if it was just guys?" Now, I'm not opposed to a guy's weekend here and there, they just did one last month in Key West. I do girl's weekends with my friends. But, this trip was decided on as a couple's thing, and now he wants to switch up the plans because he wants to relive his college-boy days. Also, I think I'm offended because, when it comes to Vegas, I'm pretty much a dude. I don't want to shop (okay, a little but not much), I don't want to spend hours eating at some over-priced restaurant or standing in line for some chi-chi look-at-me club. I want to gamble. Period. Fuckface hasn't changed, he doesn't respect women or relationships, and he never will.

Seventh, and lastly (thank god!), I'm on a jewelry bender. I make jewelry, and it's not something I talk about a lot. I'm kind of sensitive because I'm not sure my stuff is any good. I secretly want to make a business out of it, but I'm scared no one would buy my stuff. I've never thought of myself as a creative person, and so I'm surprised when I sit down to do jewelry and get so into it that three hours have passed. Nothing else in my life distracts me to the extent that I forget about time, my neuroses, or the size of my ass. Well, maybe writing, but that's about it. Writing and jewelry maker... can I craft a career out of that?

Looky here

So, my mom stops by tonight. Normally it's a rather bleak occasion when she happens by, because she's a rather toxic person at times. This time, though, she brought a visitor by. A furry one, as you can see by the picture I've posted (it's worth noting that those are my mother's yellowing fingernails, not mine, thank you very much). She found him behind her house, and his mama has no more milk left to feed him. So, my mom has taken him in. Problem is, she doesn't want the little guy permanently. This, apparently, is where we come in.

The Italian and I have two cats now, but I've really been wanting a male orange marmalade for some time now. It's a bit early to tell yet, but it appears to be a boy. Oh brother. Sounds like I've got some convincing to do...

Baby gots some new shoes

You like? I said I needed to change some things, and The Billing Room is no exception. She's outfitted for fall, with a nice optimistic touch of rainbows and hearts. A little girlier than I would usually opt for, but what the hell.

Images

Celebrity Rundown

I've been too serious lately. What you people don't know is that one of my compulsions is reading celebrity gossip blogs. Rather lowbrow, I admit, but one needs a distraction and I can't take my cats to work.

In a hurry, all the time

One of the things I really hate about working is the pace. Everything is so fast, all the time. With scanning and email being the primary way of communicating, people get frustrated if their requests are not immediately answered. I get it, I just don't like it.

The fast pace of my work life means that I'm often impatient. Because I move so fast most of the time, I have a hard time slowing down. When a line takes a minute too long at the grocery or a person won't turn on yellow at a stoplight, I get angry. I think it's also a function of living in a big city.

I've often wanted to have the chance to slow down, move to a small town and just live life. It's difficult because that thought is at odds with my desire to have enough money to make me independent. I guess I've gotten caught up in the "I'll kill myself for ten years, THEN I'll rest" phenomenon. Problem is, in the US, people tend to increase their standard of living when their salary increases. The Italian and I are guilty as charged, so it makes saving a ton of money more difficult.

What I really want to do is take a few months off and travel. I've always wanted to do this, but I don't think my husband is so keen on the idea. He doesn't want to give up the salary, and it's more difficult when you owns houses like we do, because then you have the mortgage too...

I missed the boat on studying abroad in high school and college. I don't even think I took three months off between college and working, and I took about four weeks between law school and working. I've never been able to afford travel time before now, and now I could theoretically do it. Part of me is afraid I could never return to "normal" life if I spent 3-6 months traveling... how could you?

My dream places to go... Botswana on safari, Tokyo, the Amazon, coastal Thailand, the Amalfi Coast in Italy (overdone? Yes, but I still want to see it), Paris, Turkey, and, oddly enough a place in the US, Kauai. Anyone know a lonely millionaire who's on his sickbed and wants to adopt me?

Rise Above or Sink Below?

I'll just say it: people are assholes. No matter how much we like to think that we're all grown up, most people have a little of that high school gossip in them. I am no exception. In general, I try to do it when the person I'm talking about isn't there, but everyone has a different tactic. Today, someone gossiped about me right in front of me, using code and thinly veiled innuendo. Bitches.

Here's the deal: I had to fire my assistant earlier this year. It wasn't easy, and I felt bad because this girl had so many personal problems. She had two babies, a husband who didn't help much, a teenage stepdaughter who gave birth to a premature baby, etc, etc. She missed a ton of work and had a bad attitude. She spent her days gossiping and just wasn't cut out for the job. My boss hated her, and eventually she got caught falsifying her time sheets. She was out.

Not surprisingly, her little gossip friends think I am a Class-A bitch. They don't believe she did anything wrong, and accuse me of firing her "because I didn't like her." They're right, she wasn't my favorite person, but I fired her because she sucked at her job. End of story.

Anyway, I'm eating in the kitchen today and her little friends come in and sit down to have lunch. We're the only three people in the room. I'll call these ladies I.B. (standing for "Immature Bitch") #1 and I.B. #2. I'll call my fired assistant "Susan."

I.B. #1: So, did you hear that Susan's son has to have tubes in his ears? She started crying when I talked to her. I mean, what with moving, and her new job, to have THIS on top of her too?

I.B. #2: Yeah, well how is her work handling it? Are they giving her time off or what?

I.B. #1: They'd have to, right?

I.B. #2: We'll, stranger things have happened, haven't they? But I guess some workplaces have compassion (said in a very pointed, meaningful tone in my direction, implying that I have NONE.)

The I.B.'s went on right in front of me, basically calling me a bitch as I sat there and read the Local section of my newspaper. Why they're so emboldened and angry seven months after her firing is my question.

I just sat there and pretended to read the paper, as if I didn't hear a word they said. I wanted to turn to them and say something really catty in return, but I bit my tongue (so hard it almost fell off, I swear).

I decided, this time, to rise above the situation. I'll never change their minds, these women (girls?) will always hate me. I can deal with that. What I can't deal with is some disrespecting me to my face. So, what to do? Do I just mentally file this away and interject next time, saying "Enough. I know you're talking about me, and you need to stop." Or, do I go and talk to HR, letting them know that I'm receiving some degree of harrassment? It's so tempting to sink below and do something very high school-ish, but that's not me. At least, it's not who I want to be.

Twelve things on my mind this Tuesday

1. I'm worried my house will get broken into. Our neighborhood has had 6 break-ins in two weeks. We're getting an alarm installed in tomorrow morning.

2. I still haven't gotten my sister's birthday present. I'm not sure why.

3. I think I'm getting a cold.

4. I'm concerned because I haven't seen the spider that lives outside my office window catch anything in the her web in at least two weeks. She's gotta eat sometime, right?

5. I want another cat.

6. I had this messed up dream last night in which my pregnant friend the Yogi gave birth. After the baby popped out, we consulted a POTATO... yes, a potato, to find out what the gender was. Apparently, sweet potato = boy and white potato = girl in my subconcious. How fucked up is that?

7. I wish I were a better writer and could make it my career.

8. I want to take six months and travel the world... well, some of it anyway.

9. I think law is boring.

10. I don't like how the world sees Americans... not even politically, but socially and culturally. We're known for being loud, rude, fat and driving everywhere. Like our Russian tenant said to me recently: "I need to get outside and walk. I'm not like these Americans who get in the car and want to drive everywhere." Here's a shocker for you Tatiana: I'm American and I don't want to drive everywhere. I just have to because my city has a shitty public transportation system.

11. Related to Item 10: Perhaps I should live abroad.

12. I don't like Broccoli Rabe. We made it last night and I thought it tasted like Italian collard greens. Too bitter and expensive for what you get. Give me plan 'ol broccoli anyday.

Negativity

Before I start this post, I'd like to apologize to the person who commented on my last entry. Sorry if I hit something too close to home.

Vulnerable

When I was 17, someone tried to abduct me. It's a story people close to me know pretty well. I was working in a restaurant located in an office building, and went down to the parking garage about 9:30 PM when I got off work. I went to the wrong level, and as I was trying to get my bearings, a man jumped out of his car and ran towards me. As soon as I could react (and it took a few seconds), I ran towards the road. He chased me for a bit, but eventually ducked back and took off in his car. I don't know what you think, but something tells me he wasn't trying to say hello. If I hadn't ran or had waited a second or two longer, I would certainly have been raped, and, possibly, killed. I've mostly pushed the event out of my head, but every now and again I think about other girls... has he tried to attack someone else? Has he been successful?

About two years later, a classmate from high school disappeared in San Francisco. She's never been found. She was close to her family, so just hauling off and disappearing is unlikely. The general consensus is that she's long dead. I don't think we'll ever know.

In general, I like being a woman, but I dislike how vulnerable a woman is in today's world. It hits me everytime I want to go for a run on a local trail, but my husband isn't home. Is it really safe to run through a public trail in the woods by myself? Probably not.

What about going to the mall at night? Walking between my car and the building is always a bit tense, because I have to be on alert. Same with the grocery store, the gas station, and basically anywhere else one would need to go.

Maybe I'm a bit paranoid. Fair enough, it's a character-flaw I've been informed of on more than one occasion. But it's not as if I don't have good reason to be paranoid. To me, random violent crime against women is not an abstract concept, it's an experience I've had firsthand.

Being relatively young and attractive enough to rate stares from the occasional stranger, I often feel as if I'm being violated just by a look. It's something I've experienced both here in the US and abroad (particuarly in Mexico, where my quasi-blond hair draws intense stares from groups of men that seem like just a hop, skip and a jump from gang rape).

So why even mention all of this? I don't know, I just think it's a disheartening truth of the modern world. Women can do all sorts of things: become cops, attorneys, maybe even the President, but the truth is we're still susceptible to violent attacks, particularly those of a sexual nature.

I was recently reminded of the murder of a female resident of French St. Martin that occurred a couple of years back. She was brutally murdered and sexually assaulted, her body dumped and mutilated. I don't think her killers were ever found. The weird thing was I completely remembered her from my 2005 trip with our group of friends. We sat near her at a beach bar one afternoon, browsed in the shop where she was a clerk, and saw her on the beach all week. Not sure why she stuck in my head, but she did. I used to think how carefree and lovely it would be to move to an island as a woman, but that made me re-think things. One misstep, one instance of getting involved with the wrong guy or turning down the wrong man's advances, and that could be it.

I guess those sorts of stories always stick with me, because I'm reminded of how close I came to being a headline.

The Never-Ending Candy Bowl

I think I've made a mistake. I've been craving candy lately (I'm blaming Halloween marketing) so I went to Target last night and bought a giant "Child's Play" mix containing every type of Tootsie Roll or Tootsie Pop known to man, including the flavored kind. A bizarre choice, yes, but I like Tootsie Rolls, so back off.

Trouble is, I think I have too much of a good thing. I'm on my fifth mini Tootsie Roll of the day, and it's just 1:00pm. I'm so gonna crash and burn come 3:30 today, it's not even funny.

Hey, there's a new Dunkin' Donuts down the road, maybe I can just run down there and get a caffeine pick-me-up once the sugar high wears off. I sound like a drug addict, only with food. Anything to get me through the work week, right?

Something meaningful to say?

I often use the word "meaningful" when I think about a life well-lived. I've never thought much about the word itself much. What does "meaningful" actually mean? The dictionary definition is "–adjective: full of meaning, significance, purpose, or value; purposeful; significant."

So, what is a life that is "significant" or "purposeful" or "of value?" Is it helping others, having children, being religious, being rich? I guess the definition is different for everyone. Which has me thinking: what does a meaningful life mean to me?

I'm not sure I really have the answer to that question. I think it's my age that has me thinking about such things. In your 20s, one is free to be as flippant, stupid and wasteful as one wants. After all, time is on your side. It's not as if I'm suddenly old, but I am older. If I'm going to make my mark, don't I have to get started eventually? Why not now?

I think for me, a good life is one in which a person is patient, kind and loving to their friends and family. I didn't grow up in a household where those were the virtues. It makes it tough for me to adopt those virtues for myself, but I'm trying.

Another thing that's important to me is a life with adventure. I have a strong case of wanderlust, so traveling and experiencing are part of my DNA. I often look at people who give it all up to travel for a year, or teach abroad in some extremely far-flung, foreign nation, or seek out a place overseas to live, with a sense of envy and awe. Why not ME? Where was my sense of adventure back in my 20s, before I had a mortgage and student loans? Did I waste my opportunity?

In the end, do we all feel like we could have lived our lives better? Is that part of the human condition? I'm afraid I have lots of questions today, and very few answers, at least for myself.

Window to the World

I changed offices recently. I now have a great office on the first floor that overlooks bushes, trees, and a very rarely used asphalt drive. You can't really see much of the drive over the top of the bushes, so all in all this is a very peaceful setting. My workday is much more productive now, and I honestly feel less stressed because I can see the sky, the clouds (there are none today), trees and, to my extreme pleasure, animals.

Yep, that's right. When I first moved in, I had a large spider that had taken up residence just outside my window. She's gone now, relocated by the very large thunderstorm that swept through yesterday. She was safe during the storm because I saw her pull up tightly under a overhang just as the weather got really nasty. But today, her web is gone, and so is she.

Surprisingly, I saw a cat trot right on by my window this morning. A large, grey and black tabby with a very bouncy step bounded right on by, jumped up on a concrete jut-out and took off. I wish he would come back.

Maybe I'll get a rooster. We used to have one at our office, he just appeared one day until we found him a home (yes, we really did, and no, he didn't get eaten). It probably sounds like I work in some podunk area, right? Nope, I work in a normal, suburban office building. We have a residential neighborhood behind us, so I think that's where the animals are coming from. I don't care, keep 'em coming. It makes me happy.

Oh, to be elsewhere today

Yesterday was a bad Monday. However, I did leave work at a reasonable hour and get the chance to go running at a trail near our house. That always relieves the stress a bit. Today I'm just wishing I were somewhere else. Preferably, the Caribbean.

It's going to be awhile before I get to my favorite region again. Not having any plans to visit an island in the future is a tough pill to swallow. We do have Costa Rica planned for next May, but I tend to long for what's familiar, not the unknown. I'm dreaming of laying on a quiet stretch of sand, under a sea grape tree on St. John. Or, maybe, sharing a glass of wine with The Italian on Petit Plage in Grand Case while the sun sets.

The next time I venture to the Caribbean, I should go further afield. I've never been to the Leeward Islands. Grenada, St. Lucia and St. Vincent in particular have always appealed, but the remoteness and travel difficulties have always kept me from going for it. As an American and a lawyer, vacation weeks are few and far between (which is quite sad).

I'm just feeling pensive right now, having dreams of blue water, a cold beer, and a vibe so laid back that I can feel my perpetually-tense shoulders relaxing.

The picture above is St. Martin, Pinel Island to be exact. This was taken during our January 2007 trip. Wish I were there, or anywhere but here today.

Sounds like someone has a case of the Monday's!

That someone is me.

It's Monday. I just got back from a long weekend in Charleston. The Italian is at home, enjoying Columbus Day off (Seriously?!!!). I, however, am at work. And it really sucks.

So, instead of putting my nose to the grindstone, I've opted to take a few minutes to blog.

My weekend in Charleston was intersting. I was there for a girl's weekend, and as evidenced by our definite lack of partying and our culinary gluttony, we're not exactly girls anymore. Charleston was beautiful as always. The service in the restaurants was astonishingly bad. We didn't get service for 15 minutes in one place (and left), had terrible food at an Italian restaurant, had the wheels come off the service partway through dinner another night, and got served faux bloody mary's.

For a town that prides itself on its tourist trade, it was just plain weird. We did have fun though.

Yeah, this is a boring post. But at least it killed 10 minutes.

Positive News...

Gladly, my mammogram came back clear. I am definitely "lumpy," but nothing to worry about. They do want me to get regular mammo's starting at 35 instead of 40, but that's a small matter.

Now all I've gotta do is get through the afternoon and I'm off to Charleston for the weekend.

Avoiding Exercise

I bought a treadmill a few weeks ago. I've been wanting one for a long time and I really do love it. Problem is, I told myself I'd use it at least five times a week if I made the investment. So far, so good, but now it's 8:24 pm and I'm supposed to get on the damn thing in 6 minutes (self-imposed deadline). I don't wanna. Instead, I want to drive to the grocery, get a bottle of red wine and some ice cream, and drown my oh-my-god-I-have-to-have-a-mammogram-at-age-30 sorrows.

It's been a while since I've blogged about work. Work has actually been going pretty well lately. I changed office and now have an awesome window with a view of actual trees, plants, and outdoor creatures instead of a parking lot. Score. The only problem is that I have two days off scheduled for November to be in a friend's wedding. The Italian and I were going to take an extra day and enjoy Hilton Head. This time off has been on the calendar for a while now. One of the partners I work for has decided that he and his wife are going on a romantic getaway the same weekend. Looks like I am going to have to cancel one of the days, because, in the words of my boss "you're killing me with this."

I might go anyway just to spite his ass.

Flat Like a Pancake

I went in this morning for my annual gyno visit. TMI, I know. Turns out I have to have a mammogram this week. I've got some fibroids (I hope) in my boobs. Who knew? Anyway, I'm a bit scared right now. Not too much so, since my doc seems to think these are merely fibroids, but this is a "let's be sure" kind of check. Damn.

The Product of Dysfunction

I had a rather lonely childhood. I wasn't technically an only child, but my only sibling is a sister almost ten years older than me. Combine that with parents who, like Britney Spears at the recent VMAs, were well past their prime, and I pretty much raised myself once I hit about age 11. But, this post isn't about those later years. I could write a novel on my post-puberty years, and even typed in miniscule font it would go on for about 800 pages. Yes, life in my parent's house was pretty fucked up.

But, this post is about my younger childhood. I have many friends that have one child in the three-to-five age range. This is a very imaginative time for children, and they really do need siblings or playmates (or siblings as playmates). Well, my sister was too old, I was not yet in school, and my mom wasn't exactly one to get us out and about in playgroups. The result? I was a talkative, open, friendly kid early on, but later on I became shy, unsure and just plain weird.

I suspect that the "weirdness" came from my imaginary friends, David and Daisy. I have no idea where "David" came from, but it could have been a neighborhood kids name, or maybe I heard it on TV. Perhaps it was prophetic and written in the stars, because I ended up marrying someone with the name "David."

Now, Daisy, that's a bit easier. I grew up when the Dukes of Hazzard was the shit, ya'll. I'm not talking about the bastardized version where Jessica Simpson put on hot pants and tries to be sexy when in fact she is just creepy. No, no, the real one that began in the late 70s and ended in '85. Catherine Bach is her name (thanks IMDB). This girl was southern, sassy, had great legs and I WANTED HER TO BE MY FRIEND. Poof! She was.

Daisy, David and I hung out together a lot. I'd walk around talking 4-year old babble to them, then I'd put on my Wonder Woman underoos (complete with construction paper tiara and wristbands) and jump around from sofa to sofa, hoping to impress David with my skills and show Daisy that I would be as cute and sassy as her one day.

I'm not sure to this day what the nature of David and Daisy's relationship really was. Was is sexually-based? We're they "just friends" or maybe a brother/sister combo? I mean, I highly doubt these two would hang out together for days on end just to keep a little girl company and be the only ear that would listen to her. But, then again, I guess that's the best part of imaginary people: they are almost always who you want them to be.

I say "almost always" because there was an accident one day. One day that would forever change our lives and would shake our foundations to the core. Here's what happened: The three of us were sitting in a tree in my backyard, having a chat about kitty cats and She-Ra and He-Man and My Little Ponies when all the sudden David pushed Daisy out of the tree. Was it a jealous rage? I had no way to know. I quickly jumped down to attend to her.

"What's wrong?," I whispered in Daisy's ear, "Are you hurt real bad?"

"I think my leg's broke," she said. "I need a doctor."

I couldn't find a doctor. Shoot, I couldn't even use the phone. My mom, she didn't seem real worried about a little 'ol broken leg. "It'll heal," she'd said, a tad insensitively if memory serves me.

How little she knew. By the time I returned to the scene of the accident, Daisy was dead. DEAD, ya'll.

I cried, David cried. He was guilt-ridden. "Why did you DO that?," I'd asked?

[EDITOR'S NOTE: It's likely David "did it" to put Daisy out of her misery. The sweet release of death is a common request when fully-functional adults are asked to spend weeks on end listening to a little girl who happens to be un-related to them pratter on about dollies, kitties, tadpoles, Cabbage Patch kids, and Jem (who remains truly, truly, truly outrageous).]

But back to my story. I didn't see David again after that day. I suspect he needed to run from the law. Daisy was a cop, and he was going down for Murder One.

You know, it just goes to show you that, even if you could create the ideal person from your imagination, no one is ever without fault. I mean, I don't think it would have been such an imposition on my imagination to abstain from creating a murderer, but still, you get my point.

So, what's a young girl to do when her imaginary friends suddenly vanish, one to a deep dark place and the other for parts unknown (I'll let you guess which is which)?

I took me a pair of scissors and chopped off my kitty cat's whiskers.

RIP Muffy. I miss you everyday and I'm sorry for fucking with your sensory perception. It wasn't nice, but hey, at least they grew back. Eventually.

Fatties

We have two indoor cats. The Italian calls our Siamese cat "Fatty" because, well, she's what we'll call husky. She's a beautiful animal though, and very fiesty. Our other cat, "Cute but Stupid," is a mess, with inexplicable spots in shades of gray, brown, black and striped tabby splashed over her white body with no rhyme or reason. It sounds pretty, but in reality the effect is rather... well, we'll just stick with "unusual" for now. I'll put it this way, it's a good thing she's sweet, because she isn't winning any beauty pageants.

The last time I took Fatty to the vet, I asked the good doctor if she was overweight. The vet took a good look at her and proclaimed, "Well, I'll put it this way. I wouldn't want to see her gain any MORE weight" (with the definite emphasis on "more"). Her status as Fatty was medically confirmed as far at The Italian was concerned. I wasn't so sure, proclaiming, "she's just a solid cat." Turns out we were both right. She's solidly fat.

Anyway, I was reading an article yesterday about obesity and pets. Apparently, there's a two part test to determine if your pet is a good weight: (1) get a bird's eye view on your cat or dog and see if their waistline goes in right before the back hips; (2) feel the rib area, if you can feel them, but not see them, your pet is fine.

My cats failed both tests this morning. Fatties indeed. Looks like three out of four members of my household will be on a diet starting today. The poor Italian, he's going to be living with some cranky females.

Malodorous Day

In general, I dislike blogs where the author does nothing but bitch about how bad her day was. I qualify my last statement with "in general" because bitch is exactly what I'm about to do. If you aren't interested, the little "x" is in the upper right hand corner. I'm just saying.

My day started sadly, when I checked my Blackberry this morning and learned that my co-worker's adult daughter is in the hospital in "grave" condition. This was a complete shock. She has organ failure likely brought on by an eating disorder. She's younger than me and she has two young children. Horrible all around.

Obviously, my co-worker is out for an undetermined about of time. Besides the obvious sadness of the situation, this co-worker is the boss-man's right arm (see earlier blog if you don't know who I'm talking about). She does everything for him, and it's miserable when she's out.

Yeah! Weeks of misery.

I am obviously not so horrible and selfish that I would expect my co-worker to return anytime soon to make my life easier. I just didn't even see this one coming. Usually, I have a little lead time when the shit's going to hit the fan at my office.

I know I should feel lucky, because it could be my family member and that would be so much worse. I hope her daughter rebounds, and quickly. Plus, this co-worker is a wonderful human who never leaves anyone in a lurch, work-wise. She's probably stressed about leaving us "stranded," which is far from the reality. It's just an all-around suckfest of a situation, tu comprends? I'm going to stop writing about this now, because I can't make myself sound anything less than little and horrid.

Then, I had to leave at 11:30 for our treadmill delivery. It was supposed to arrive between 11:30 and 1:30. Want to know what time it got here? 4:45. And the bastards didn't even assemble the damn thing.

Now, I know I have a handful of Caribbean readers. You're likely saying, "What, you mean they told you it would be delivered today and it actually GOT THERE TODAY? What are you complaining about?" But see, it's oh-so-much-different stateside. If a delivery is late, they usually at least call you to let you know, so you can, you know, go back to work to make the money that bought the treadmill so you can buy more stuff. Know what I'm saying, Sears? That's right, I'm calling you out.

I'm in a mood, aren't I? What a mundane, malodorous day. At least I got a lot of work done at home.

On a happier note, isn't "malodorous" a great word? It's so dramatic. Say it a few times, just roll it around. "Mal-oooo-dorous." It's impossible to sound anything other than snooty when saying it.

Because it makes me happy, that's why

Four Seasons, Maui


Dinner in Lahaina, Maui


View from a Four Seasons cabana, Maui

I am slammed at work today. No time to write any long, meaningful prose. Instead, I'm in a Maui mood today. Enjoy these photos from our trip back in 2006.

Lessons from the Dying

I hate those early evening news shows on all the major networks, but I just happened to be tuned on ABC last week as the program was wrapping up. The "Person of the Week" segment singled out a man named Randy Pausch, a damn good computer science professor at Carnegie Mellon University who just happens to by dying of cancer in the prime of his life.

The story focused on the last lecture he gave at Carnegie Mellon on September 18th. I saw just a brief few minutes of this lecture, edited for TV, and was instantly captivated. I quickly went to the computer and found the whole version. I watched over 50 minutes of his lecture and it felt like 15. I implore you to visit this link and watch his riveting speech: http://cmu.edu/uls/journeys/

I'm not normally one for sending out inspirational messages, email forwards with good quotes, or pictures of cute babies. That's the realm of 55+ women, people who lack computer etiquette and well, frankly, my mother-in-law (though she does fit soundly into the two aforementioned categories). Nonetheless, I think everyone should see Randy Pausch's message. He is a scientist, a man with an analytical mind. He knows what's going to happen to him. He won't see another August, another Fourth of July, or another start of the school year for his young children. Despite all of these facts, he is not depressed. He is taking the time to live, and perhaps to reflect on where he has been and how that impacts the person he is today.

I've never encountered a more likeable guy. In his speech, he talks about how being "earnest" is a more important quality in a person than being "hip." About how his career has enabled him to help others achieve their childhood dreams. This is a man who has been successful, in part, because of his ability to relate to people. You can tell in the way he speaks, the way his friends look at him during the lecture, the bonds he mentions to those who've inspired him.

Last week, I wrote a blog about "Lessons from the Dead." This week, I get to say that Randy Pausch's speech is full of "Lessons from the Dying." I wish him continued health and a good, quick death surrounded by those he loves. I wish more time for him. Lastly, selfishly, I wish I could figure out how to be like him, for he is truly an exemplary human.

In the closet

No... not what you're thinking. I've been watching a "What Not to Wear" marathon tonight on TLC. I've been in my closet for the last hour purging and making a list of all the new clothes I need to buy. Yeah, I've got about a $1500 list going. I suspect I'll be cutting that down tomorrow. If not, I'll have to use all of my feminine wiles to get the Italian calmed down when he sees the Amex bill.

I really do need to buy new clothes for work (some of which can transition into my weekend life) but I keep putting it off. I am constantly trying to lose "5-7 pounds" and it's making me put shopping on hold. Actually, I think my body image is making me put a lot of things on hold, but I'm going to hold off on digressing into psychobabble.

So, here's my new thought. I'm not really "fat" right now (size 6) but I want to get back to a four. If I buy sixes and then lose weight, all the new stuff can be easily altered for around $100. I might as well look good now, because there's no point in living for two months from now.

What can I say? I really like good food (I'm not a junk food eater) and if weighing 120 lbs means giving up wine, bread, butter and pasta, I'm not so interested.

On a side note, I'm in a "no dairy" phase to try and reign in a bit of acne that's appeared. I won't bore you all of my research, but there is a major anti-dairy movement out there. Iodine, hormones from pregnant cows and proteins to which humans are allergy-prone are just a handful of the problems. Many believe dairy is a root cause of acne. It's really interesting stuff.

I'm trying it for a month to see what happens. I just finished week one and did have very small amounts of dairy from time to time, once in a small scoop of sour cream, a little bit of butter, and two small pinches of cheese. When you consider that my daily average diet used to contain about 2 ounces of cheese, 7 ounces of yogurt, butter, sour cream a few times a week, and then more cheese, my restriction this week is pretty significant.

Man, if the Italian doesn't come home soon, I may end up writing a novel. That's three posts today.

What's in a name?

I'm slowly starting to post comments to other people's blogs using my new account, so people are finding this blog... slowly but surely. I'm sure it's very confusing to folks to see my moniker, "Island Chica." Lest any confusion ensues, let me clarify: I am in fact a chica, but I don't live on an island. Yet.

I live in the US, but I have an obsession with island travel. That's the reason for the name. My career, though not personally fulfilling, does allow us the luxury of traveling a few times a year, and I've been to St. Martin, Anguilla, St. John, St. Thomas, Jamaica (yuck), Cancun (yuckier), the Bahamas, Aruba, Jost Van Dyke, Virgin Gorda and Maui. When we visit these islands, I prefer to stay in condos, guesthouses, anywhere off the beaten path. I like to feel like I'm part of the local scene as much as possible (not to mention that my way is thousands less than a big resort, which means more frequent trips are possible).

We're going to Costa Rica next year... not an island, but still cool.

My favorite Caribbean islands so far are St. John and St. Martin. I love them both for different reasons. St. John is an escapist's paradise. That's where I indulge my desires to feel close to nature by snorkeling, hiking, and exploring the denser part of the island. St. Martin is a wonderful combination of West Indian and European influences. I've been there five times in as many years. Some feel it's too crowded to really be a paradise, and I might agree. But, it's a hell of a fun place to waste a week or two sunning yourself, drinking wine and filling your belly with baguettes and gouda cheese.

It's my goal to visit all of the major Caribbean islands at some point. The only problem is, I'm stuck on St. John and St. Martin. I'll get there eventually. For today, enjoy my photo of Maho Bay on St. John.

Alone

I am not alone very often. Right now, the Italian is in Key West, enjoying some fishing with his college friends. I wasn't looking forward to it, but can I tell you a little secret? I'm having a great time. The computer, the remote control , the king-size bed, the kitchen - all mine!

Now, don't get me wrong. When the Italian returns on Sunday, I will be happy to see him and will greet him with open arms. But for now, I'm really digging the "me" time. I think I'm going to try a new yoga class tomorrow and go shopping later in the day. Rough, yes?

Last night, the Italian called me from Key West. He and his friends were having beers at the infamous Hog's Breath and were playing in front of the webcam. It was pretty funny, because most the guys were walking around with their cell phones plastered to their ears, chatting with their wives and/or children. Five years ago and these guys would have gone days without calling their significant other, provided they even had one. Oh, what early middle age will do to a man.

Ambivalent

Work has been difficult lately. I'm lacking the proper motivation and attention to detail. I wonder if it's the phenomenal fall weather, beckoning me to be outside and not locked in an office.

Lessons from the Dead

My friend the Yogi has been through too many trials for someone in her 30th year. In the last five years, she's lost both her mother and her brother under tragic circumstances. Her brother was killed less than three years ago in a car accident. I saw him just two weeks before it happened. He and his wife we so happy with their two young children. "We are having so much fun," his wife said to me. Then, abruptly and cruelly, the fun stopped.

The whole family was devastated, and rightly so. This brother, father and son was really cool guy, someone who managed to be sensitive but still manly. And, most importantly, someone who loved his family dearly and made sacrifices for them. Had he lived, I feel certain he would have become an important man in politics, eventually, after his children were past young childhood.

In many ways, the bond of loss drew the Yogi and I closer together. In between her losses, I lost my father. Grief understands grief. I've tried to be the best friend possible from a distance of 500 miles.

Recently, the Yogi's sister-in-law made a difficult choice: she was going to get remarried. And not just to some dude, but to her late husband's best friend. It was an emotional choice and one that neither of them took lightly. Apparently, feelings had been brewing for quite some time on both sides, both of them ignored these feelings for a while, but eventually these things have a way of bubbling to the surface. So, they bubbled, they got engaged, and now they've formed a new family.

Instead of doing a traditional wedding announcement, I found an article in their local newspaper commemorating my friend's brother. It's about all the things his friends are doing to remember him. There's a golf tournament, a scholarship, outings with his children, and the list goes on. The recent remarriage of his wife is mentioned, but the emphasis is on her late husband's legacy. The point of the article is that if a person is measured by the loyalty his friends have to his memory, he must have been a great man.

All of this got me thinking, if I died tomorrow, would my friends by that loyal to my memory? Have I created a tightly woven network of people would feel an instability in their foundation if I disappeared? The answer, I'm afraid, is no. Maybe I'm just not that engaging (possible) but I think it's more that I haven't gotten involved, haven't sacrified of myself. I wasn't raised in a household that did that for other people. My mother is selfish, and I've followed in her footsteps.

Though it's common to canonize the dead, in some cases the person who died deserves the credit for a life well-lived. Such is the case here. It speaks volumes that, years after his death, friends that have busy lives, who've moved on, married and had more children are still gathering in his memory.

I want that sort of network. I want that sort of meaningful life. I just don't know how to get it. I figure getting involved in something is a good start, even if it's just a yoga class or running club where I can at least meet people. Then, I can work to strengthen the bonds I do have, to listen more than speak, and help even when it's terribly inconvenient for me.