Tuesday, July 28, 2009
thoughts...
Is it ironic that my Godson’s name is Christian Holliday? Is it funny that my grandpa secretly reads my In Touch weekly but then can’t help but put his two cents in when we are talking about Jon’s new + 1. ‘She seems like a trashy troublemaker’ he adds into my aunt debbie’s conversation. She looks shocked and I just tell her that he reads my celeb mags with his eggs in the morning. Is it sad that my grandmother stayed up later than me watching the golden girls last night? I just couldn’t hang with nana… I will have to remember to ask her what happened with Blanche after all. Is it bad that I think it is funny when small children tell their parents are mean? They have no idea. I wish my parents would be as mean to me as they are to three year olds. Juice box please!! I heard a statistic yesterday that after age 25 binge drinking decreases steadily each year. Yeah, because after 25 if you binge drink a whole lot, you aren’t a party girl, you’re an alcoholic.
Monday, July 20, 2009
flowers and ribbon and birdseed, OH MY!
Have you ever been surrounded by something? And I mean completely surrounded. Like when your dress is entirely too tight (but spanxmakes it look awesome) or when a group of 32 preschoolers want to give you a bear hug all at the same time?
Well I have had that feeling a few times in my life and they can be a very bittersweet feeling.Oftentimes you love one part and you hate that the other makes you uncomfortable.
You love that you are able to squeeze your size 4 body into that faboo size 2 dress that you paid entirely too much for but you hate that you can only dance one dance before you can barely breathe in. I adore the fact that the kids enjoyed my lesson so much that they want to physically hug me and tell me how great I am and tell me I’m pretty and they like my shoes (why I chose to wear 3 inch heels on a pre-k day escapes me… probably something to do with the only clean laundry I had matched those shoes...) but I hate that when they all push at the same time and I cant help but lean over hoping not to fall and squish 8 out of the 32 with my and the rest of the classes weight.
This feeling can sometimes translate into a broader picture (no pun intended considering one of my examples was spanx) in life. These days, as I am at “that age” where everyone I know is at a point where they are no longer the person I cherish but a “we,” a “them” to me. It is truly surrounding me- the “quicksand of happiness”, if you will. I am SO happy for my friends and I love being in weddings and going with them to choose their colors and taking a peek at the ring that “them” have picked out and tossing around ideas of eloping so their crazy in-laws don’t have to be there, but (here it comes) that bittersweet feeling comes creeping into my bed at night when I am watching cosby show reruns with my dog. All those stupid thoughts go rushing through my (typically) level head. I don’t particularly feel bad about my thoughts, they are always happy thoughts for “them,” but sometimes they make “just me” feel sad. Kinda like when my spanx come off after the big event and it is back to the reality of myself.
There my friends go, one by one pairing off like Noah’s critters and walking down the aisle to the other side of life. And here I am, like one of Cinderella’s mice that got her dressed up and beautiful for that ball only for her to meet Prince Charming and leave them behind. I could only imagine that little "Gus-Gus" was all too happy for“Cinderelly” but couldn’t help but feel a little sadness for himself followed by a twinge of guilt knowing that it was the best thing for his friend.
So here I am feeling a bit like an imaginary mouse. Happy and sad, lonely yet surrounded, jealous but unprepared for such a step in my own life.
This weekend, at a Junior League conference I was surrounded by about 300 married or engaged women who were talking about their families or“better half” and I realized two things. They have someone to check in with and someone to come home to and I, on the other side of the coin, didn’t have to check in with anyone and could walk into my door and be greeted by a creature that would be unshakably, undeniably, unmistakably, happy to see me expecting nothing more that a pat on the head. As I lay sprawled across my entire queen sized bed with my pup eating bon bons and catching up on my people.com I wonder who the lucky one really is.
Well I have had that feeling a few times in my life and they can be a very bittersweet feeling.Oftentimes you love one part and you hate that the other makes you uncomfortable.
You love that you are able to squeeze your size 4 body into that faboo size 2 dress that you paid entirely too much for but you hate that you can only dance one dance before you can barely breathe in. I adore the fact that the kids enjoyed my lesson so much that they want to physically hug me and tell me how great I am and tell me I’m pretty and they like my shoes (why I chose to wear 3 inch heels on a pre-k day escapes me… probably something to do with the only clean laundry I had matched those shoes...) but I hate that when they all push at the same time and I cant help but lean over hoping not to fall and squish 8 out of the 32 with my and the rest of the classes weight.
This feeling can sometimes translate into a broader picture (no pun intended considering one of my examples was spanx) in life. These days, as I am at “that age” where everyone I know is at a point where they are no longer the person I cherish but a “we,” a “them” to me. It is truly surrounding me- the “quicksand of happiness”, if you will. I am SO happy for my friends and I love being in weddings and going with them to choose their colors and taking a peek at the ring that “them” have picked out and tossing around ideas of eloping so their crazy in-laws don’t have to be there, but (here it comes) that bittersweet feeling comes creeping into my bed at night when I am watching cosby show reruns with my dog. All those stupid thoughts go rushing through my (typically) level head. I don’t particularly feel bad about my thoughts, they are always happy thoughts for “them,” but sometimes they make “just me” feel sad. Kinda like when my spanx come off after the big event and it is back to the reality of myself.
There my friends go, one by one pairing off like Noah’s critters and walking down the aisle to the other side of life. And here I am, like one of Cinderella’s mice that got her dressed up and beautiful for that ball only for her to meet Prince Charming and leave them behind. I could only imagine that little "Gus-Gus" was all too happy for“Cinderelly” but couldn’t help but feel a little sadness for himself followed by a twinge of guilt knowing that it was the best thing for his friend.
So here I am feeling a bit like an imaginary mouse. Happy and sad, lonely yet surrounded, jealous but unprepared for such a step in my own life.
This weekend, at a Junior League conference I was surrounded by about 300 married or engaged women who were talking about their families or“better half” and I realized two things. They have someone to check in with and someone to come home to and I, on the other side of the coin, didn’t have to check in with anyone and could walk into my door and be greeted by a creature that would be unshakably, undeniably, unmistakably, happy to see me expecting nothing more that a pat on the head. As I lay sprawled across my entire queen sized bed with my pup eating bon bons and catching up on my people.com I wonder who the lucky one really is.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
wally. :)
So it is summertime and I am extremely excited and ready for a much needed vacation, but regardless of my plans I cannot neglect my duties to Papa. So what do I do? I take off two hours early on friday in order to get him to wally before my friend picks me up to head out of town for my (did i mention it was much needed?) beach vaca.
As I am leaving the office I call him and let him know that I am going to swing into the neighborhood, park my car, and hop into his grandpa mobile so that we can make this a quick trip. We were even going to have to change from his usual location (which adds an additional 10 minutes to the drive, but I am not going to deprive a poor man of his love of a certain wal-mart) to one that is more convenient. "I hate the height of their counters" he grumbles under his breath "but Ok, I know you are in a hurry."
So I park on the street and run in to gather papa. He is standing in front of the microwave heating up his tea. "hey Sug" (pronounced like the beginning of sugar for all you non-southerners.) "What up Pop, you ready?" I say as I slip off my high heels and into my comfy flops. "You aren't wearing those things are you? Looks like you grew up in the bad part of the trailer park." I hear Nana laugh from the other room and she walks in. "Hi darling" she says in her sweet spanish accent. "Nana, are they that bad?" She crinkles her nose in a way that I knew she was saying yes but squeezed a "nooo not that bad" lie out. Ughhhh. "Too bad! I am wearing them. And I am in a HURRY!" I say.
"well, if i knew you were gonna be dressed like that I wouldn't have even taken the time to bathe and shave" papa says. I shoot him a look and Nana says "GEO-rge, Behave." My sentiments exactly. Nicely done nana, nicely done. I couldn't really complain since 99% of the time he would have still been sitting in his lay-z-boy with his heels kicked up and nana laying on the bed playing cash cab against eachother. I can almost hear him saying "good job- Mama! Can't believe you got that one. I didn't know they used to make the frame of a brazziere out of whale bone..." He was all the way at the right side of the house so I figured I really couldn't complain about the flip-flop bashing too much.
So Papa and I head off to our destination, and as per usual I drop him off at the front door. "K- papa, run in, get your cart and I will meet you in the pharmacy." I tell him. "What's that dear?" he says and he finagles his mug of tea into the cup holder. "Nothing, I'll find you."
He wanders in chatting with everyone as they walk by, I just roll my eyes and figure the car behind me is pretty pissed since he is talking to them in the walkway between the road and the door. Oh well, don't have time to tell him to move. My friend is going to be picking me up in 2 hours and I haven't showered or packed. Time for the pedal to hit the medal so to speak. As I am walking in there is a man with a slit cut out of his tupperware container and a description of some service for the community he is offering printed on computer paper and duct-taped to the front and asks me for a donation. "sure, on the way out" I tell him and go on about my way to find the elusive man I like to call Papa.
So we go through our regular ritual although he is in a particularly reminiscing type mood telling me that "he hasn't seen yellow meat watermelons like that since Uncle Claude was growing them on his farm when he was just knee-high." I really enjoy him regailing me if his childhood tales, but when he isn't planning on buying the melon just telling me a story I wonder why he picked the most rushed trip we have ever had to tell me this particular one...
We finally make it to the counter to pay for our goods the lady asks me how I am doing "Fine, thank you." I say half distracted by papa's scooter skills (or lack thereof) and he tells me he will meet me in just a minute. "That's good. It's hot out there isn't it?" she says back to me. "Umm.. hmm" I answer back. "You running to restroom, Papa?" I ask him wanting to know so that I don't have to search high and low for him after I pay. "Something like that.." he mumbles as he walks off. "How are you doing today" the greeter asks me again. How strange of her to ask twice, I chalk it up to her having amnesia and answer again "Fine, thanks. Except for the ridiculous heat- must be 100 degrees out there today." "Amen. Sure is hot out there." I keep thinking that she is going to ask me a third time but she just bags up papa's produce, say my goodbyes and go looking for him. Not by the bathroom, not getting coffee... where is he? So I wheel the cart outside past the man with the tupperware and he asks me to donate again. I put a couple bucks in his makeshift bin all the while looking for papa on this benches and rocking chairs they sit outside to advertise that they have them. Not here either? GEEZZ!! I told him I was in a hurry! So I wheel the 300 lb cart around the front of the store and to the other door, back inside, look in the vision and nail center and no Papa. I wheel back out the door and end up in front of the man I just donated to and he asks me for money. WHAT IS WITH THESE PEOPLE, ARE THEY KIDDING ME? Finally I see Papa's red sweatshirt and golf hat peeping up over the rows of cars, three rows over from ours. "PAPA!" I yell as I push the cart over toward him. "PAAAPAAAAA" I said having to yell loud enough to embarass myself, not to mention I am sweating from lugging aroung this cart in the heat. He turns around slowly with his coffee and I point where the car is and he heads that way. When he finally gets to the car after I had already unloaded the car, returned the cart, and gotten the air on, he bee bops up. "What were you doing wandering around the parking lot? You know I was in a hurry." I quickly ask him. "Well," he says mid-sip of the coffee he went off to get "I walked out here and realized I couldn't remember where we parked so I have been going down the aisles." "Papa-I dropped you off at the front door." I tell him. "Doggone- no wonder I couldn't find the old la-sabre." Long story short (well.. not really..but...figuratively speaking) I wasn't ready when my friend picked me up, but who can blame me? Papa is retired, even his coffee mug is laid back.
As I am leaving the office I call him and let him know that I am going to swing into the neighborhood, park my car, and hop into his grandpa mobile so that we can make this a quick trip. We were even going to have to change from his usual location (which adds an additional 10 minutes to the drive, but I am not going to deprive a poor man of his love of a certain wal-mart) to one that is more convenient. "I hate the height of their counters" he grumbles under his breath "but Ok, I know you are in a hurry."
So I park on the street and run in to gather papa. He is standing in front of the microwave heating up his tea. "hey Sug" (pronounced like the beginning of sugar for all you non-southerners.) "What up Pop, you ready?" I say as I slip off my high heels and into my comfy flops. "You aren't wearing those things are you? Looks like you grew up in the bad part of the trailer park." I hear Nana laugh from the other room and she walks in. "Hi darling" she says in her sweet spanish accent. "Nana, are they that bad?" She crinkles her nose in a way that I knew she was saying yes but squeezed a "nooo not that bad" lie out. Ughhhh. "Too bad! I am wearing them. And I am in a HURRY!" I say.
"well, if i knew you were gonna be dressed like that I wouldn't have even taken the time to bathe and shave" papa says. I shoot him a look and Nana says "GEO-rge, Behave." My sentiments exactly. Nicely done nana, nicely done. I couldn't really complain since 99% of the time he would have still been sitting in his lay-z-boy with his heels kicked up and nana laying on the bed playing cash cab against eachother. I can almost hear him saying "good job- Mama! Can't believe you got that one. I didn't know they used to make the frame of a brazziere out of whale bone..." He was all the way at the right side of the house so I figured I really couldn't complain about the flip-flop bashing too much.
So Papa and I head off to our destination, and as per usual I drop him off at the front door. "K- papa, run in, get your cart and I will meet you in the pharmacy." I tell him. "What's that dear?" he says and he finagles his mug of tea into the cup holder. "Nothing, I'll find you."
He wanders in chatting with everyone as they walk by, I just roll my eyes and figure the car behind me is pretty pissed since he is talking to them in the walkway between the road and the door. Oh well, don't have time to tell him to move. My friend is going to be picking me up in 2 hours and I haven't showered or packed. Time for the pedal to hit the medal so to speak. As I am walking in there is a man with a slit cut out of his tupperware container and a description of some service for the community he is offering printed on computer paper and duct-taped to the front and asks me for a donation. "sure, on the way out" I tell him and go on about my way to find the elusive man I like to call Papa.
So we go through our regular ritual although he is in a particularly reminiscing type mood telling me that "he hasn't seen yellow meat watermelons like that since Uncle Claude was growing them on his farm when he was just knee-high." I really enjoy him regailing me if his childhood tales, but when he isn't planning on buying the melon just telling me a story I wonder why he picked the most rushed trip we have ever had to tell me this particular one...
We finally make it to the counter to pay for our goods the lady asks me how I am doing "Fine, thank you." I say half distracted by papa's scooter skills (or lack thereof) and he tells me he will meet me in just a minute. "That's good. It's hot out there isn't it?" she says back to me. "Umm.. hmm" I answer back. "You running to restroom, Papa?" I ask him wanting to know so that I don't have to search high and low for him after I pay. "Something like that.." he mumbles as he walks off. "How are you doing today" the greeter asks me again. How strange of her to ask twice, I chalk it up to her having amnesia and answer again "Fine, thanks. Except for the ridiculous heat- must be 100 degrees out there today." "Amen. Sure is hot out there." I keep thinking that she is going to ask me a third time but she just bags up papa's produce, say my goodbyes and go looking for him. Not by the bathroom, not getting coffee... where is he? So I wheel the cart outside past the man with the tupperware and he asks me to donate again. I put a couple bucks in his makeshift bin all the while looking for papa on this benches and rocking chairs they sit outside to advertise that they have them. Not here either? GEEZZ!! I told him I was in a hurry! So I wheel the 300 lb cart around the front of the store and to the other door, back inside, look in the vision and nail center and no Papa. I wheel back out the door and end up in front of the man I just donated to and he asks me for money. WHAT IS WITH THESE PEOPLE, ARE THEY KIDDING ME? Finally I see Papa's red sweatshirt and golf hat peeping up over the rows of cars, three rows over from ours. "PAPA!" I yell as I push the cart over toward him. "PAAAPAAAAA" I said having to yell loud enough to embarass myself, not to mention I am sweating from lugging aroung this cart in the heat. He turns around slowly with his coffee and I point where the car is and he heads that way. When he finally gets to the car after I had already unloaded the car, returned the cart, and gotten the air on, he bee bops up. "What were you doing wandering around the parking lot? You know I was in a hurry." I quickly ask him. "Well," he says mid-sip of the coffee he went off to get "I walked out here and realized I couldn't remember where we parked so I have been going down the aisles." "Papa-I dropped you off at the front door." I tell him. "Doggone- no wonder I couldn't find the old la-sabre." Long story short (well.. not really..but...figuratively speaking) I wasn't ready when my friend picked me up, but who can blame me? Papa is retired, even his coffee mug is laid back.
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