Making Progress

This whole law school application process is, well, it's a process. It seems to take forever. I know you don't just get to wake up one day and decide to go to law school. (Which is the way I've made some of my best decisions ever. Hello? Moving to Tahoe? Total impulse decision.) But good Lord, does it have to take so long? I got an email from N today that said "Are you in law school yet?"

The good news is that I'm making progress. I just, literally moments ago, finished my personal statement. It's pretty good, if I do say so myself. I mean as good as personal statements can be. Nobody really likes writing a "Please, Please, Please Pick Me... Oh, and P.S. Give Me Lots of Money Too" essay. I tried to infuse mine with my own unique bloggy style voice, not that it's that unique. Hopefully, it will work for me.

Also, I know for a fact that 2 of my letters of recommendation were sent out yesterday. And, all of my transcripts have arrived and been processed. Turns out I'm pretty smart too! Honestly, it's all looking pretty good. As long as I do well on the LSAT in February, I should be well on my way. I guess that means I should get crackin' on that studying.

Does This Blog Make My Ass Look Fat?

Before you start grumbling and groaning, I'd like to point out that even us smaller girls feel fat sometimes. Now is one of those times for me. Allow me to vent?

I'm not sure if it's the holiday season, or the fact that it's freaking cold out (50 degrees is chilly, people), my diet and exercise motivation seems to have vanished (poof!) these days. Case in point? My cute pink gym bag has made the trip to work and back home with me 3 days in a row without once seeing the inside of a gym. I mean at least I'm optimistically packing it up each morning with every intention of hitting the gym each evening, but intent will not stop the spread of my booty. Nor will intent keep my thighs from rubbing together. Or stop the muffin top from oozing out over my jeans.

You know what also doesn't help? The pallet of goodies that is delivered to my office each day as "gifts" from all of our vendors. Don't get me wrong. I am grateful for all of the goodies, but it doesn't help my will power to have all manner of chocolate and cookies within constant reach. (My favorite of all the gifts? White chocolate covered Oreo cookies. My coworkers and I eagerly await our annual tin of chocolate covered Oreo cookies every year. And with each day that it doesn't arrive we get more and more indignant. It is our due! Where are our cookies? Must have cookies.)

Right now we are quite literally almost drowning in popcorn. We have every type of popcorn known to man in our office. Nacho cheese covered, butter flavored, chocolate caramel, chocolate peanut butter, kettle corn. You name it, we have it. Luckily, popcorn is not my favorite holiday treat. Now if it were tortilla chips? That would be a different story. (I love me some tortilla chips. Plain. With salsa. With nacho cheese. I do not discriminate. Mmmmmm. Tortilla chips.)

Today, one of our clients was kind enough to buy our whole office lunch as a holiday thank you. Bronx Pizza. The best pizza in all of San Diego, if you ask me. Is 3 ginormous pieces too much? Hmmm... I'm still not hungry and lunch was 6 hours ago.

So, what to do? Cut myself some slack? It is the holidays after all. Or do I re-commit myself, try to ignore all of the goodies, and drag my lazy ass to the gym every day? I guess the best approach is moderation. Try not to be too hard on myself, try to resist all the tempting goodies, and go to the gym. Now where the hell are those Oreos already?

Hi! I'm Back...

Hi! I'm still alive and kicking. I know, it's been a long time, but truthfully, I haven't felt much like writing till now. I've been going through a lot both personally and professionally, and frankly, writing about it felt like it would make it seem worse. I live a lot inside my head, and while letting those thoughts out can be cathartic at times, sometimes, I just want to avoid it all.

Anyway, I'm feeling better. Probably because I'm taking steps forward both personally and professionally.

First of all, I've started praying. I know my brother, who is a subscriber to this blog totally just snickered at that and wonders if I'm turning into a Jew for Jesus. No, I have not accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior (no offense to those who have). The messiah has not come for me, yet. But, I am taking some time each night to quiet my mind and give thanks to God (or whoever or whatever is up there) for my blessings. And then I'm asking him for fame and fortune in return.... Kidding! I ask for strength, faith, and hope in return. I ask to be open to possibilities. And it seems to be working. Just giving myself quiet time to be thankful and mindful each evening helps me face the next day with some hope and faith.

Secondly, I've finally decided to take the plunge. I'm applying to law school, people! Yep. I can hardly believe it myself. If all goes as planned, I will be graduating at the ripe old age of 41, but as my mom put it so succinctly, I'll be 41 no matter what. I can be 41 with a JD behind my name, or I can just be 41. My choice.

I've begun the process of applying to school. Requested transcripts, begged people to write letters of recommendation for me, and today, I wrote the first draft (a very rough draft) of my personal statement. I wrote about my long road to this point and what it means to finally decide to work at what is my passion. Totally weird concept for me. The example set for me by my parents was that work was just that... work. It's not something you particularly enjoy, you just do it because you have to. And while I like my job well enough, I keep coming back to this idea that there is something more to life than transitioning financial advisors. There is, isn't there? I mean, if that's my big contribution to this world, then I'm afraid the world is in trouble and the messiah may be closer than we all think.

So, yeah, I'm going to law school. I'm scared to death. I'll be hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt (And 41! Did I mention I'll be 41?!?!?) when I'm done. I feel like I'm taking a huge chance without much of a safety net. But I'm hopeful and excited at the same time. I can't wait to begin my studies. Knowing me, I'll be the nerdiest law student to ever have nerded in the history of law school. I'll keep you all posted on my progress. XOXO

Public Service Announcement

Ahem...

Tap, tap, tap...

Is this thing on?

Hello? Anyone there?

I'm baaaack! And I come bearing gifts. Well, one gift really. Knowledge. Knowledge is power, people.

As you may know, I took a trip earlier this month. Went to Bluffton/Hilton Head Island, SC, (to see N) and Homossassa Springs, Fl (for my nephew's wedding). Now, I may not be the smartest girl in the world, but normally, you couldn't pay me to go to the South in August, but I had events to attend. I didn't get to pick the dates.

Having lived briefly in Florida, for a time, I was well aware of the perils of humidity and the havoc it can wreak on one's hair, specifically my hair. My hair gets all crazy in humidity. Some of it gets wavy, the rest of it frizzy. It's not a pretty picture. I had even told N there was no chance I could ever move to SC because I would be ugly a good portion of the year.

I arrived in SC during the hottest, most humid week of the summer. But! I arrived armed to fight AND win the war against humidity and frizz. And, you will not believe me when I tell you this, but, I won! I freaking won!

How, you ask? I was armed to the gills. Armed with this and this!

OMG! Can I just tell you? The best stuff to fight frizz ever. We were outside in all manner of heat and humidity and my hair totally held up. It didn't get bigger. It didn't frizz. It didn't curl.









The proof is in the pudding, people. The picture above is from my nephew's wedding in Florida. Notice the smoothness and sleekness? All thanks to Matrix Sleek Look. (And, no, they're not paying me, but they totally should be.)


Fool Me Once, Shame On You, Fool Me Twice Shame On Me, Fool Me a Third Time. And... Oh Hell

I haven't had a date since February. Sigh. Almost 6 months. I'm seriously considering dipping my toe back into the online dating pool. (I've also been seriously considering selling my panties on Craigslist to make extra money, but that's whole 'nother story.)

I was reading an article on CNN.com today about online dating and I felt a kind of yearning. And then I remember how much work it is. And I realize that it would also mean I'd actually have to check my personal email daily (sorry, if anyone has emailed me there recently).

But, then I also remember how exciting it can be to check your email to see if someone cute has emailed you; only to find that dreaded email from some tool titled "Hey, Pretty Lady" and get slapped in the face with reality. But! It can be fun.

I came thisclose to signing on to Match tonight, just to look. But, when I went to sign-on it asked me if I wanted to "reactivate" my profile and I panicked. I clicked cancel.

I'm really conflicted about the whole thing. I'll put it out to you, all 6 of you. (That never gets old. Six people reading my blog is 6 more than I ever thought, and very cool, but, it's also kind of funny in a sad kind of way.) What should I do? Reactivate? Dip my toe? Jump in head first? Help.

Good News (So Far)

Just got off the phone with the Dr. ZBM's office. No weird fungal infection for Meredith! Almost all the tests came back normal. She may have crystals in her bladder, which could mean a change in diet, but so far, she's ok.

I say "so far" because she's still ambulating (new word I learned from Dr. ZBM) abnormally. It got really bad Wednesday night/Thursday morning. But right now? She's playing like a kitten with a crumpled up receipt in the bathroom.

Dr. ZBM recommends a neurology consult. Who knew they had kitty neurologists, but they do.

Meredith and I both thank you for your positive thoughts and prayers. Keep 'em coming.

Meredith

My poor little baby girl is sick. It all started Friday night. Every few minutes Meredith's back legs would just sort of give out on her. She'd try backing up, or turn around in a circle and then just flop over. I thought it was kind of weird, but thought I'd wait and see how she did in the morning. But by Saturday morning she wasn't any better.

I took her in to the vet on Saturday and of course she didn't do it once while we were there. He said to just keep an eye on her over the weekend and if it got worse or didn't get any better to bring her back in.

Well, Sunday was the worst. She kept just sort of falling over. And the look on her face when it happens is just heartbreaking. She just looks terrified.

By Monday morning I was a wreck, worried sick about my baby girl. I called the vet as soon as I got to work to set up an appointment for Tuesday. I spent most of the morning in tears. The just not knowing is the worst.

So, I brought her in to the vet this morning. Let me tell you, I now understand why some people become vets rather than doctors. Dr. ZBM (Zero Bedside Manner- who's name I can't remember and who I'm sure is a very nice person, I mean she takes care of animals, but seriously, she has very limited people skills. I kept trying to make jokes about Earl having the place to himself for the morning and throwing a party. Nothing.) poked and prodded a very unhappy Meredith. It was decided that bloodwork and x-rays were in order and I'd have to leave Mer there for an hour or so.

Dr. ZBM called me almost exactly an hour later saying something had shown up on Meredith's x-ray. A spot on her spine that looks like it could be a fungal infection; cryptococcosis, which is spread by inhaling spores from pigeon poop. (Yet another reason to hate pigeons. Stupid rats with wings.) Unfortunately for me, Dr. ZBM is one of those doctors who doesn't like to speculate. Because I am a worrier, I live for speculation. I find that if I go down the road and make myself aware of any potential diasters I'm not so surprised when the disasters actually happen. This is probably not the most healthy way to be, and likely causes me unnecessary worry, but it is who I am. I am a worrier.

Anyway, Dr. ZBM was unwilling and/or unable to answer any questions until she has a radiologist look at the x-rays and gets the results on Meredith's bloodwork.

So now we get to wait. Hopefully, we will have some answers by the end of the week. Please say a little kitty prayer for sweet Meredith.

P.S. This was such a crappy day. I left my wallet at the vet's office and I got a parking ticket. Tomorrow will be a better day, right?

Who Does That?

Oh, do I have a story for you. But the story requires a confession on my part. OK, here goes... I've been smoking again. For a couple of months. Sorry to disappoint, it is what it is, and there you have it. Anyway, this information is sort of vital to the story.

Saturday morning I woke up pretty early and made some coffee. Around 7 am I decided it would be nice to go downstairs to the courtyard and have a smoke with my coffee, I'm somewhat ashamed to say, it's my favorite smoke of the day. So I headed downstairs, and as I rounded the corner to the courtyard I heard voices. When I got out there, guess who was there? Cash, the weird guy who never remembers me, and 3 others.

They were all clearly on the wrong side of 7 am, as it was quite apparent they hadn't been to bed yet. Or if they had been to bed, they certainly hadn't been to sleep. (I really can't throw stones or cast aspersions about being on the wrong side of the early morning. I've totally been there. God knows I've been there. It's been a while, but you know, it happens.) It's worth noting that every time I see Cash, I'm fairly certain he's on the wrong side of the morning.

Anyway, one of the people with him was this girl, in a robe (I'm pretty sure it was the same robe I've seen Cash wearing) that barely fit her, straining as it was against her ginormous boobs. I couldn't help but stare at them. Seriously, they were the biggest boobs I've ever seen in my whole life. (I'm fairly certain they were also the biggest boobs Cash had ever seen in his whole life, given her state of undress in his robe and the fact that he was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, no shirt. And let me tell you, he should not be walking around shirtless in public.)

Clearly I did not avert my eyes quickly enough because somehow I caught her attention and she decided to come over to where I was sitting to visit. She sat down, as close to me as she possibly could without sitting on top of me, and proceeded to try and carry on a conversation. (I kept trying to look at her eyes to see if they were dilated, because I am convinced that Cash is a total coke-head.)

At some point she noticed my cup of coffee sitting on the picnic table. "Oooh, coffee!" she said. "I love coffee!" And with that she proceeds to pick up my cup of coffee and begin to drink it!

"Oh and it's a dark roast. I love dark roast!"

I was pretty much horrified. Here I am trying to enjoy my coffee and cigarette, mostly minding my own business, aside from the morbid curiosity with the size of this girl's boobs (I'm not exaggerating when I tell you they took up her whole upper body, from her shoulders down to her waist. And I'm pretty sure they were real!) and she comes and drinks my freaking coffee. The nerve.

I decided to make a hasty, yet still polite, exit. I briefly considered leaving the coffee for her and probably would have had it not been in one of K's cute mugs. And yes, I dumped out the coffee and put the mug in the dishwasher as soon as I got up to my apartment. All weekend long I kept thinking, I cannot believe that girl drank my coffee! Un-freaking-believable. Who does that?

I Heart Keith Richards

I recently decided that if I were to be diagnosed with a terminal illness (pfft... That's me spitting like an old Jewish lady. God forbid I, or anyone else, should be diagnosed with a terminal illness. But if I were...) I'd like my dying wish (even though I don't think they have a Make a Wish Foundation type of thing for adults, do they?) to be lunch with Keith Richards.

I've always LOVED the Rolling Stones. I mean since I was a little kid and I used to play with the zipper on my sister's copy of Sticky Fingers (on vinyl, people). This is how long I've been aware of and loved the Rolling Stones. I've seen them several times, standing in line for hours (back when you had to stand in line for a wristband just for the chance to get tickets) and traveling hours to see them.

I started out as I think everyone does, with Mick as my favorite Stone. Then, the last time I saw them (I think in 2002), at the Sports Arena, something about Keith just pulled at my heartstrings. He had such a connection with the audience. As they walked the catwalk to this little, teeny, tiny stage in the center of the auditorium he touched as many hands as he could. Mick slapped a couple as well. Then when they got to the end, I saw Mick squirt hand sanitizer on his hands, but not Keith. He's not afraid of germs!

I heart him.

I used to be sort of annoyed that every Stones album had to have Keith singing a song. Now? Those are my favorites.

A couple of years ago I read this article and fell in love even more. (Seriously, read it, it's hilarious.)

Today, I was reading a book, Everybody Must Get Stoned, that N sent me and I came across this quote from 2005, "The idea of partying for nine days to keep the image of Keith Richards is stupid. That was Keith Richards then. Now I'll stay up for two or three days." OK, dude is 65! I don't think I could stay up for two or three days. This is why I love him. Just think of the stories he could tell.

Also, a few years ago, I came across this photo at the Morrison Hotel gallery in La Jolla. They specialize in rock photography. If I ever have a spare $800 or so lying around, I am totally buying it. Or, if anyone else wants to buy me an extra special present, you know, for my birthday or something? I know where you can get it.

So, anyway... Universe? If there's anyway you could see clear to make it possible for me to meet Keith Richards (without me having to have a terminal illness, thanks), I'd surely appreciate it.

P.S. This isn't the post I was going to write last week. Still haven't gotten around to that one.

P.P.S. All of my blogger friends? Did you notice that I figured out how to add photos and links? Watch out world. This could be fun!

P.P.P.S. And the links aren't working. I give up. It was way cooler with the links.

P.P.P.P.S. And they're working! Yay! What a pain in the ass!

Creepy

I think I may have two posts in me today! Cue the celebratory music! But first, just as an aside, my roommate is gone to Tahoe for a few days, so I enjoyed a guilt free homebody day today. I napped. I watched a movie (He's Just Not That Into You). Only a couple of things marred the beauty of this day; a.) I was hungover and b.) I started my period. But! There were no disapproving looks. So, yay, me.

Anyway. Back to the reason for this post. This guy I met last week. I met him at a bar. He bought me a couple of drinks. We chatted. He seemed nice enough, and funny. But he wasn't really my type. OK, I'll go ahead and say it, he really wasn't as good looking as I usually prefer. But, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and gave him my phone number anyway.

Now, I'll admit, if you really hit it off with a guy and you give him your number, when he texts you right after you leave the bar, you think it's cute and sweet. If you're not all that into him and he texts you right after you leave the bar? Not so much. And if he texts you 3 more times after that the same night? Kind of creeped out. But again, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

My thinking went something like this: Dating my type has gotten me nowhere thus far, so why wouldn't I try dating outside of my type? Swallow my feelings of uncomfortableness and keep plugging along. If he were to call and ask me out, give the guy a shot, right?

I was surprised when by Monday night he hadn't called me.

Tuesday afternoon at work, I stepped away from my desk for a few minutes. When I got back, I had a voicemail. Nothing unusual. As I listened to the voicemail, it became very unusual. It was him! He had tracked me down at work. And tried to cover it up by saying he wanted me to recommend a good financial advisor for him. Apparently, he had dropped his phone into the pool and had lost my number, but remembered where I said I worked. I was totally and completely creeped out! I mean, yes, I told him where I work, but I never expected him to track me down.

I did as most girls do, I ran the situation past just about every girl I know. The results were decidedly mixed. My adorable, little 26 year-old co-worker agreed with me that it was creepy. Another co-worker pointed out that if he had been totally hot and I was into him I would've been psyched that he had gone to such effort to get a hold of me. (She's 100% right.) For the most part, people thought I should call him back. Words like "flattered" and "resourceful" were thrown around. But I just couldn't. I couldn't shake the creeped out feeling.

It got me thinking though; should I be dating outside my type? How much of that creeped out feeling is genuine uncomfortableness that should not be ignored (for safety's sake)? And how much of that creeped out feeling is just slight uncomfortableness at trying something outside of my comfort zone? Am I really, as L said, "closed off"?

I wish I knew. What I do know is that I haven't met anyone in a very long time that I did have that spark with. I'm sure he's out there. I'm sure there are several "he's" out there. Just please, don't call me at work unless I specifically ask you to.

P.S. I guess I don't have 2 posts in me tonight. All of this lazing about tired me out. I have another topic in mind, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. The suspense will kill you, I'm sure!

Homebodies of the World, Unite!

I think I'm lazy. Or maybe just a homebody? I'm not sure. But 9 times out of 10 I'd rather hang out at home then go anywhere. Is that wrong?

OK, maybe it's not really laziness. I get a lot of stuff done. Every weekend, I clean my house, do laundry, go grocery shopping, hit the gym at least once, and just basically, get all of the crap done that I can't get to during the week. I love the sense of accomplishment I feel when all my stuff is done. And generally, I try to get it all done by Saturday afternoon so that Sunday is a completely free day.

Then Sunday comes and all I want to do is lie around the house. Sometimes in bed. Even when it's gorgeous out. Take today for instance. It was beautiful, sunny and warm, which is unusual for this time of year here in Southern California. One would think I'd take up my friend J on her offer to come lay out on her deck. Or, take up the guy I met last night on his offer for brunch. But nope, today I lounged about the house until about 2 pm, when I finally got myself over to the gym. When I got back an hour and a half later, I got back into my pjs and promptly got into my bed to read some magazines. Is that so wrong?

Part of the guilt I feel is that my roommate is constantly on the go. Today he was out the door as soon as he woke up. He just returned a few minutes ago, jumped in the shower, and left again for God knows where. Plus, he used to yell at me to get out of the house if it was beautiful and I was lounging about. Now, he just gives me disapproving looks. I'm afraid he thinks that I stay home because I have nothing to go out and do, when in fact it's quite the opposite.

In the end, I really don't think laziness is my problem. Perhaps, I am one of those people who require a lot of down time to recharge. I enjoy being by myself. I enjoy a good magazine or a good book while lying on my couch or bed on a Sunday afternoon. I particularly enjoy a nap. And, oh lord, if there's an America's Next Top Model marathon on? I'm so there, even if it is a gorgeous day.

Besides, I find I get anxious and out of sorts if I have too much going on. Seriously. Last month, I had something (fun) every weekend for like 4 or 5 weeks in a row. I thought I was going to die. It was too much. My kitties missed me and I missed them. I guess I just need to find some sort of balance.

I'm pretty sure I've always been this way. Years ago, when I lived by the beach, my roommate and I situated one of our couches right under this huge window. On a sunny day that couch was the most coveted spot in our house. I always felt that lying on the couch, in the sun, feeling the ocean breeze, was almost equal to being outside. Right? Ah, who cares if it's not. These days I'm all about self-acceptance.

Hi, my name is Moo, and I am a homebody.

Rock On Gold Dust Woman

Two completely unrelated topics...

First off, I went to the Fleetwood Mac concert last night. They were amazing. Lindsey Buckingham just goes and goes. And Stevie Nicks? Awesome.

Our seats were kind of high up (try just one row from the top), but we were to the side of the stage, so we could see them pretty clearly. Stevie still dresses the same (all flowy, lacy, and witchy), but she was wearing these shoes that can only be described (from my vantage point) as appearing to be orthopedic. So much so that when she hauled out the sparkly gold shawl for "Gold Dust Woman", the effect was more granny than "Rock on, Gold Dust Woman".

She did sing my favorite Fleetwood Mac song, "Gypsy". And the coolest part was she told a story about how she wrote the song. Something about when she first met Lindsey in the 60's and they were touring like gypsies. One of the first places they played was San Diego! It was cool. That song always reminds me of S. Not sure why, but I was glad they played it.

Secondly, a few months ago, I was riding up the elevator, talking on my phone, one afternoon. There were two guys on the elevator with me, and I can only imagine that they thought I wouldn't notice because I was on the phone, but they were totally talking about me. Complimentary stuff, but still, it was kind of awkward.

Anyway, a little while later, I ran into one of them downstairs in the courtyard, smoking a cigarette. He introduced himself (his name was Cash, editorial decision to include his name, it's just odd enough not to really matter, plus, he'll never know he's a featured topic on my blog. Oh! Which reminds me! I just saw that I have an actual follower whom I do not know! My first. Welcome! Not sure how you found me. Tell a friend!) Anyway. We chit chatted, he told me he lives in the building, manages (or owns, the story keeps changing every time I run into the guy) this really hip bar/restaurant downtown. Invited me to meet him out later that night. Alas, he is totally not my type. I think I may be taller than him by a good inch.

Whatever. Cut to a few weeks later. Again, I run into him in the courtyard.

"Cash? Right?" I ask.

"Yes, and you are?"

"Moo. We met a few weeks ago." I remind him. Again, we have the same conversation. Lives in the building. Owns (or is it manages?) hip downtown restaurant. Blah, blah, blah.

This happens every single time I see this guy. It's like it's freaking groundhog day. The last time I ran into him I just pretended we'd never met. He came over and introduced himself. Good Lord. I have now decided that the next time we "meet", I'm going to give him a fake name. And I will give him a different fake name every single time after. This will be fun!

I Am a Total Bad Girl (Yeah, Right)

Sorry it's been so long since I last updated. I'm sure you've all been on pins and needles waiting. (Right?) Let me start by saying, for those of you who were wondering about the retreat, it was good. I still have a job and we've collectively decided to hit the "Reset" button and being anew. (Not sure if that can really happen in a workplace, but I'm taking a chance.) I've struggled with wanting to write something about the retreat, but truly, it was so good, it'd be boring to write about. So, I'm going to try something else.

Last year when N was preparing to move all the way across the country, she invited me up to L.A. to go through her books. (One of the many things N and I share is a love of books.) I picked through them all, taking the ones I wanted (and the ones that were mine that I wanted back). In the end, there were so many that I couldn't possibly schlep them home with me on the train. So N kindly boxed them up for me and sent them UPS. One of the books that either I picked or N just threw in was this "Be a Bad Girl" journal. I thought since I can't seem to come up with anything interesting to write about I'd do one of the exercises in the journal.

Help me find my inner bad girl?

As an aside, before I attempt to discover my inner bad girl, I have to tell you something about the 2 boxes of books I received at my doorstep last year. Thinking I already knew what was in them, I let them sit for a good few days before I actually opened them up. In one was a very sweet note from N saying how much she loved me and would miss me. I cried. In the other box, right on top, was a copy of Dr. Laura Schlessinger's book "10 Stupid Things Women Do to Mess Up Their Lives" with a note taped to the front cover which said "I know you hate me, but read me!!! I noticed you left this one out..." She's a sneaky one, that N.

Anyway, back to discovering my inner bad girl through journaling. Here's the exercise; I'm supposed to try and lose my good girl virginity (Oh, if they only knew...) by listing and describing which of the following I've done:

1. Used an alias? Nah, not my style. I don't think quickly enough on my feet to come up with an alias. Best alias ever? Anastasia Beaverhausen.
2. Acted on a wild impulse? How do you think I ended up in Tahoe? My move to Tahoe was by no means planned beyond, "Hey, S, let's move to Tahoe." Eight years later...
3. Ignored the rules? Again, not really my style. I am a total rules follower. I always cross at the intersection, only with the light (I've been hit, people.) I brush my teeth twice a day (mostly). I try not to talk on my cell phone in elevators. (Oh! Coming home from Boston I totally forgot to turn off my cell phone. I was appalled at my flagrant, even if accidental, disregard for that rule. For all I know, I could've brought that plane down!) You get the picture, I'm a rules follower. Now, as I said before, if your asking about those lame dating rules. Those I do not follow. And perhaps this is why I'm still single.
4. Jaywalked? Good lord, no. See above.
5. Indulged my desires? Who hasn't? Check.
6. Challenged an authority figure? Why do you think my Dad did the dance of anger? Check.
7. Bought expensive, impractical shoes? No, but I did just spend an awful lot of money on bras. I cannot even admit here how much it was. It was a lot. (But! They are the foundation garment! And, the store I bought them from will resize them for free when the band gets stretched out. Plus! One of them is GORGEOUS.)
8. Said "no!!"? Totally. Many times. Check. Check.
9. Called in sick and gone to the beach? Yes, once when I still lived in Tahoe. And because I am such a rules follower, I was too guilty to enjoy the day off. Damn, me. Check.
10. Shopped shamelessly? See #7. Check.
11. Mastered creative parking? Yes, and every time I have, I've gotten a parking ticket. Check.
12. Practiced random acts of exhibitionism? Yes, and I have the topless photos (with a boa!) to prove it. Check.
13. Borrowed my roommates clothes? Well, given he's a man, no. But previous roommates? Hell yeah! That's a given. You don't have to be a bad girl to borrow your roommate's clothes. Check.
14. Stolen kisses? How does one steal a kiss? So, I guess not. I have been known to get drunk and make out in public.
15. Had casual sex? Maybe, once or twice. Perhaps.
16. Had black-tie sex? I'm not even sure what the eff black tie sex is? Is it sex after a formal event? Formal sex? Was I tied up with a black tie? I don't know.
17. Been a social stalker? Who me? I may have stalked a person or two on Facebook. What of it?
18. Accumulated vices? All manner. Check.
19. Made crank calls? Not since I was in middle school. But, check.
20. Gotten booty-called? Yes. And I answered. Again, what of it?
21. Worn stop-traffic sexy clothes? Probably not. I don't think I could pull it off. I am many things, some may say sexy, but I don't think stop-traffic sexy clothes are in my bad girl future.
22. Made out at work? Embarrassingly, yes. It was at Harrah's. And those of you who know me from there, don't bother asking, 'cause I'll never tell.
23. Worn invisible underwear? Does this mean go commando? If so, yes, all the time. I am wearing invisible underwear right now. Check.
24. Been a bad influence on friends? Probably. No specific instance comes to mind...
25. Danced naked in front of a mirror? Yeah, but only if I'm home alone. Hee hee. Check.

You Can Do Anything

I've always believed that I have a sixth sense. I'm no fortune teller, I've got no crystal ball; but every so often an energy just comes through so clearly, with such strength, and such force, that I know that something has happened before anyone even tells me. That's how I knew S had died before I even picked up the phone that day.

It was the weirdest thing. It gives me goose bumps even now, more than six years later. It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was at work. We had caller ID and I saw a local number come up. Although I didn't recognize the number, just seeing it, I knew something was wrong. And when I picked up and K said "Hello" I just knew. The only part of the conversation that I remember clearly was me, saying, "Please. Please, just don't tell me what you're about to tell me. I don't want to know."

S was only 30. Less than a month shy of her 31st birthday. But let me tell you, that girl lived more in her almost 31 years than most people will live in 70. It was like she knew.

We met in high school as freshmen. We didn't become close friends until our sophomore year when we both started working at the Tummy Stuffer at the same time. We got into so much trouble at work together. They started scheduling us different shifts.

Senior year, S and I liked to ditch school together. (Which was so pointless, seriously, we only had morning classes, but whatever, we were young and dumb.) We were both suffering from broken hearts at the time. We had each been unceremoniously dumped by the loves of our lives. We drove around town in her red Toyota Celica listening to Sinead O'Connor singing "Nothing Compares 2 U"over and over again, crying our little broken-hearted eyes out. I'll never forget the time we actually ditched by walking right out the front door of the attendance office. We couldn't believe we weren't caught, though the campus narc had chased us all over campus. (We even sought sanctuary in the library, where we were kicked out because we didn't have passes.)

Shortly after high school, my parents split up. Since at 18, my life as I knew it was over, I did the only thing I could think of, I moved out. S and I got a place together. Oh my God. We were so excited. We felt so grown up. (I remember the first time we paid rent. Neither one of us had ever held that much cash at once. We threw it up in the air and danced around in it.) We paid all of $495 a month for a brand new 2 bedroom apartment, with a full size washer and dryer. (Un-freaking-believable. I pay more than twice that now for half of a 2 bedroom apartment.) Since the apartment was brand new it had some minor electrical issues. We blew every fuse in the place. They put us up in a model apartment for a night while they fixed ours. Somehow, we managed to flood the model apartment.

Our poor downstairs neighbor. He had a wife and two young kids, and the unfortunate luck of living below a couple of teenage girls in their very first apartment. When we got too out of hand G would bang on the ceiling with a broom. I don't think he was too happy when a couple of guys serenaded us right in front of his kids' window. (I hate that I can't remember who they were. I hate that I can't call S and ask her to remind me.)

A couple of years later, S and I moved to Tahoe together. It was an impulsive move. I had never even been there before. S, as always, led the way. We moved in with a gaggle of girls neither one of us had ever met. Let's just say it was a learning experience for both of us. We had agreed to live in Tahoe for a year. I ended up staying the better part of eight. S, even longer.

Throughout my years in Tahoe, S remained the constant in my life. Through countless boyfriends, roommates, jobs. We weren't always close, we didn't even speak every day, but I always knew she was there. Tahoe is such a transient community, it was nice to know I always had someone on my side.

Like the time when I was in Davis, 4th of July weekend, having a nervous breakdown for many, many reasons. S drove all the way down to get me.

Or the time I got hit by a car in front of Harrah's. S drove me to the hospital. (I was too afraid to get into the ambulance. I didn't have any health insurance. I could only imagine how much that would have cost.)

S and I always had a motto. We could do anything; anything we wanted to. Nothing was impossible. She subtly reminded me of this when I got accepted into Davis. I called her, all excited, and she was just totally blase about the whole thing. Like, whatever. When I asked her "What the hell? Aren't you excited for me?" She said, "Of course you got in. I never thought you wouldn't. You can do anything."

The summer before S passed we were both living in Southern California. I'm so glad I got the chance to spend some time with her. We hung out many times over that summer and I cherish those memories. The last time I spoke to her was my birthday that year; well, really a month after my birthday. She never could remember whether my birthday was in September or October.

I still don't know how or why, when I got that call on that Tuesday afternoon in December, I knew that she was gone. To be honest, I thought it was a car accident. Turned out S had a brain tumor. Luckily, it happened quickly, though. She went into the hospital on a Friday afternoon and by Monday night she had passed. I miss her terribly and think about her each and every day.

Zac Efron and I: 17 Again!

Seeing old high school friends has a way of making you feel 17 again, right? Sometimes in good ways. Sometimes in bad ways. Yesterday, I experienced both.

The day started out great. I got to see one of my very best high school friends for the first time in at least 10 years! C and I were inseparable for a good chunk of our high school days. Especially senior year and the summer before. That summer, each morning, the first one awake would call the other to discuss how we were going to spend the day. Usually that meant driving around in her CRX listening to Journey, trying desperately to look old enough to buy cigarettes. (We thought if we carried car keys into the mini-mart it would make us look old enough. Generally, it worked.) Then we'd lay out by the pool at my house. Or hang out just watching TV and talking until we had to go to work. We even worked together that summer, at Domino's Pizza, as "phone girls". (Hee hee. I try not to think about the things I saw at Domino's that summer when I order pizza from there.)

After we graduated, C went away to school, while I stayed closer to home for a while. We stayed in touch and had a brief reunion when we both lived in Tahoe for a time. (She even worked at Harrah's too!) But after she left Tahoe, we lost touch, until she found me on Facebook a few months ago.

Yesterday, finally, after months of trying to get together, we met up for lunch. We had the best time! It was like no time had passed at all. Her kids (6 and 3) were looking at us like we were crazy, but we were screaming and laughing like a couple of teenagers. (By the way, her kids? The cutest ever! So sweet. Her 3 year old daughter even let me hold her hand in the parking lot on the way to the car. Which made me feel better after my visit with J and her son last weekend. Granted, he was sick, and I have cut my hair, but shortly after my arrival J's son asked her where the "other" Miss Moo was. Hmmph.)

My visit with C is the best of what Facebook can be for us oldies. Reconnecting with a long lost sister. I had thought a couple of hours would be plenty of time for our reunion, but 4 hours later I was totally running late for Reunion Saturday: Part Deux; my friend K's wedding.

K and I were sort of tangential friends. You know the kind, where you sort of run in the same circles but not exactly on purpose? I was always closer with her sister, H. But K and I had our friend S in common. S and K were best friends since childhood and S and I became close in high school when we worked together at the Tummy Stuffer. (I moved to Tahoe with S a couple of years after high school. Sadly, S passed away 6 years ago. We all loved her dearly, and she is well and truly missed. Now that I think of it, she deserves her own entry, and I will definitely get on that soon.) Later on, after high school, K and I were roommates for a few months when I first moved back to Southern California. We didn't exactly end our living arrangement on the best terms, but when S died we made our amends.

Anyway, K and I reconnected on Facebook. (Where else?) And she was kind enough to invite me to her wedding. She didn't say if I could bring a date, so I braved it on my own. I had no idea what to expect and I was running late after my reunion with C. I arrived after the ceremony, hoping to sneak in to the reception, but K saw me and the first thing she said to me? "You missed the whole thing!" Whoops.

While it was good to see K, (she'll never change, she'll always be a little bit bossy) there were a couple girls there I had not expected to see at all. (Here comes the part where feeling 17 again can be not so good.)

I'm running out of initials for this unexpectedly long-winded and complicated entry, so let's call these girls X and Y. X and Y are sisters. X was in my graduating class, Y, the class ahead of ours. I also worked with Y at the Tummy Stuffer. (My very first job, it was a sandwich and yogurt shop. Worked there for 2 years. I loved it. It was kind of the cool place to work back then. Owned by a really young guy, managed by an even younger one. They only hired cute girls to work there, so when I got the job, I felt pretty cool.)

X was always kind of a mean girl in high school. She had this way of looking at you and just cutting you down without saying much of anything at all. She was popular and considered pretty, although, I always thought she kind of looked like a pug, with her face all smushed in. (P.S. It still is all smushed in.) Y was the nicer and the prettier of the two. And remains so to this day.

X was such a bitch to me last night. I couldn't believe it. I walked up, said hello, and gave her a hug. What did she do? Walked away. I felt so small, like an unpopular teenager. The whole night, while the rest of us high school classmates caught up, X completely ignored me. Y was lovely, and totally caught me up on what she'd been up to these past 20 (HOLY CRAP!) years.

What Y didn't tell me was this juicy little tid-bit that someone else passed along last night. (I feel a little bit bad posting gossip on the web, but seriously? I have maybe 4 readers here. And only 1 of you will have the slightest clue what I'm talking about.) Turns out that 4 years ago? X and her high school boyfriend had an affair! They're both married, with children, and I know it's horrible, but can't I feel a little bit of schadenfreude at this???? Both spouses apparently found out, but I guess both couples reconciled.

Anyway, so I felt all insecure and teenagery last night. All because some stupid girl, who by the looks of it, is just a miserable person, didn't talk to me. I guess I'm over it now. I can't help but wonder what I ever did to her. I can't even remember the last time I saw her, and I'm fairly certain we were friendly in high school. Oh well. Thank God I'm not 17 again; 36 is so much better.

Fragile

I went to the doctor today specifically to talk to him about how crazy stressed out I've been and to get some help. (In the form of medication. I could so be a pill popper if I let myself.) It wasn't until I said it all out loud to him (very calmly, I might add), without crying or anything, that I realized really how bad things have gotten so quickly. I guess I can be kind of thick.

I don't want to go into too many of the details here, because, seriously? So boring and complicated, and nobody really wants to read about they why's and how's. Suffice it to say, it has been brought to my attention that in recent weeks I've been thisclose to losing my job. And thanks to having friends in the right places, so far, I've managed to hang on by the skin of my teeth.

The ironic and so completely frustrating part of all of this is that in the past month or so I have received more positive feedback from the clients I've been dealing with than I have in the almost 4 years I've been with the company. So, being told there will be no raise for you this year, and really, Missy, you're here only by the grace of God, seriously, sending mixed messages. No wonder I can't sleep.

I will admit, I have never been a model employee. I think I am one of those people who has the potential to be so much more than I have the discipline (and temperament) to be. (Hmmm. I don't recall my report cards saying that I wasn't living up to my potential. Or the dreaded "Moo isn't applying herself." There was that serious homework avoidance problem in the 3rd grade. And I still have awful "I didn't go to class all quarter now there's a big final" college dreams. What does it all mean?)

My delivery and disposition apparently could use a lot of work. (They tell me I can be prickly. Funny, I thought I was just being myself.) And unfortunately, in spite of (and I'm sure to the great disappointment of as well) the aforementioned friends in right places, I've managed to piss off all the wrong people. Not really a good combination. For right now, luckily, the friends in the right places have trumped the pissed off wrong people. But! Who knows how long that can hold out.

Add to this crappy mess, a "retreat" in Boston for our whole department next week. We're supposed to bond with the rest of our bi-coastal team. (I'm giving up the better part of my weekend to fly cross country for a 24 hour retreat.) I'm not sure I've got it in me. For reals. I feel like I'm about to break wide open. (And there goes my eye. Twitching. Great.)

The funny thing is though, that despite all of this; the mixed messages, the implicit (and explicit) threats of losing my job; I still believe in this company. I still believe that it is one of the best places I've ever worked. It makes me sad to feel like I'm failing so miserably.

Exhausted

I think I'm stressed. Ugh. Do you see what time it is? I can't sleep and although Earl woke me up (at 3 am), he's not the reason I'm awake. Work is totally stressing me out. And I keep trying to come up with something funny to write about, but it seems that the funny eludes me at 4 am.

Nothing funny has happened to me in such a long time. I have not seen any bums pooping recently. No crazy boys have stalked me. I haven't walked into any glass doors. Even my own mother is giving me nothing to work with here. Have I completely lost my sense of humor? Has the universe stopped mocking me? Because if it has, I don't like it. I much prefer it when I've got the funny on my side. Universe? I'm officially asking you to send me the funny.

Coachella Co-Rocked!

Coachella was awesome. We had the best time. But it was freaking HOT. Most of our daylight hours were spent in search of shade. Luckily, shade was pretty easy to find at the 2 stages we frequented the most.

My favorite bands? Drive By Truckers, Thievery Corporation, Band of Horses, and Jenny Lewis.

I absolutely LOVED Thievery Corporation. It was impossible not to move while they were on. Seriously. Everyone was either dancing or at the very least, bobbing their heads. I was really impressed. I didn't expect them to sound so good since they are kind of an electronic/world sound kind of band. But they rocked. Perry Farrell even came out and sang a song with them. And what I learned from that? Perry Farrell can't really sing. I mean he sounds ok w/ Jane's Addiction and Porno for Pyros, but I don't know. He just sounded kind of awful to me. But, what do I know?

My number one, all-time favorite of the day? Jenny Lewis. She's the lead singer of Rilo Kiley, who I also love. She recently released her second solo disc, "Acid Tongue", which I highly recommend. She put on an amazing show. I just did not expect her to be so good. We were really close to the stage, so as my brother pointed out, it felt really accessible and intimate. Seriously, people. Buy yourselves the Rilo Kiley album "Under the Blacklight" and "Acid Tongue". You will not regret it. Jenny Lewis is my new girl crush.

We had our only celebrity sightings at the Jenny Lewis set. Spotted on the side of the stage; Reese Witherspoon & Jake Gyllenhall, and Justin Long. I'm sure Drew Barrymore was with him because I heard she was there. I just couldn't see her from where I was standing.

The last band of the day, The Killers, kind of sucked. They sounded weird, kept getting louder then softer. I think it may have been the fact that we were really far away, and not in the thick of the crowd. A lot of a live show is the energy around you. Also? By the time The Killers came on at 10:45 pm, we were exhausted. We had been there since 11:30 that morning, and it was hot. Have I mentioned how freaking hot it was??? HOT.

My only regret is that we were not there on Friday to see Paul McCartney perform. Everyone I spoke with said that he was simply amazing. He played for 2 1/2 hours. And it was the 11th anniversary of his wife Linda's death, so, I heard it was also a very emotional show.

I also heard Morrissey sucked. Apparently, he pitched a bitch fit because he could smell "flesh" cooking. Hee hee. The main stage was right by one of the food court areas. Saturday night I did notice the distinct aroma of steak. Personally? I thought it smelled good. Morrissey, not so much.

Let me tell you, though, I am so glad we did not camp. As I said over and over to the various people we met throughout the day, I don't camp. Plus, oy gevalt, it was hot. And dirty. And all the people who were camping were dressed weird. Faux-hawks with feathers; tribal style body painting. And can someone please tell me what's up with the sunglasses with the obnoxious colored frames? I hold M.I.A. responsible for that one.

Anyhoo, all in all, I'm glad we went. I'm not so sure I would do it again. (Seriously, the heat. It could kill someone. Have they not considered having it a few weeks earlier in April?) But I'm glad I can cross Coachella off my list. Check.

Good Day/Bad Day

How about a rousing game of Good Day/Bad Day? It's fun, I promise. Here's how we play; for every bad thing that happened today (and I may include various things that happened yesterday as well. It's been a rough couple of days people.) I will try to come up with a good thing that happened. Ready?

Bad: On my walk home today, I saw (with my very own eyes, which will never recover) a bum taking a crap in a tree planter. Seriously! Right around the corner from my house! And he wasn't even crouching down or trying to be inconspicuous. He was pretty much standing up as straight as he possibly could while still pooping.

Good: I worked out with T today. He measured me to see what kind of progress I've made and... drumroll please... I've lost an inch and a half off my waist AND 2% body fat.

Bad: I also lost an inch off my boobs.

Good: I got a really nice shout out from a client I'm working with right now that went out company wide.

Bad: My boss' boss really kind of sucks right now. She didn't even acknowledge the shout out I got. The woman sucks. Right now? I hate her.

Good: Because we are so busy at work, they've hired a couple of new people in our department. Which really is huge, and says a lot about the strength of the company I work for. One of the people they hired? Someone else to do the same job as me. Again, a totally good thing. It will be nice not to have to meet with every prospect that comes throught the door. It will be nice not to have to handle every single client my office works with. Really.

Bad: They didn't tell me they were hiring me a colleague. Until the guy had accepted the position. You know how my boss' boss told us? Via email. Five minutes before she left for vacation. And the topper? My immediate boss didn't even know they hired this guy. She was on vacation last week, and her boss went and hired him. Behind her back. But I shouldn't read anything into that, right? I mean that's not a total vote of no confidence on my boss, right? Ugh. (Sorry for the rant. I'm sure none of this means anything to you all, but just take my word for it when I say it's a total bummer.)

Good: Did I mention the 2% body fat? The inch and a half? Oh. Um? It's a three day weekend? Yay! A three day weekend. Thank you, Jesus for resurrecting this weekend and giving me Good Friday. I need the extra day off.

Bad: I have this God awful ingrown hair on my bikini line. It is painful. I attempted minor surgery on myself last night, but it was unsuccessful.

Good: Overall, life is good. I am a happy girl. I have a job. And kitties! I have kitties! And good friends. Thanks for listening to me complain.

Sometimes, Things Just Work Out the Way They're Supposed To

Last week I mentioned to you guys that I had some plans for this past weekend that could either turn out really good or really bad. Well, it just so happens that it turned out really good. Better than could have been expected. Really. I couldn't have scripted it better myself. And now that I've built it up to be so huge, get ready for the big let down, 'cause it's not really all that exciting.

I saw the ex-boyfriend, M, for the first time in a year and a half. Yup. Sure did. And when they say that happiness is the best revenge... (Or is it looking totally hot next to his sad-sack schlump of a girlfriend? I forget.) ...they're right.

Here's how it all went down. R & M, Facebook friends of mine (of course, right?), who I know from my time with M, invited a bunch of friends to come watch R's band play on Saturday night. I really wanted to go because the whole time M and I were together, R's band never played. They were "on hiatus". I'd always wanted to see them play live. There's is one of the few country albums that M had that I actually liked, rather than just tolerated. (No offense, C.) I RSVP'd knowing that M and his schlumpadink girlfriend would be there.

I spent Friday evening preparing myself, beauty-wise. I got my eyebrows tinted and waxed. I tanned. I had a pedicure. I was determined to look GOOD.

Saturday night, my friend Z and I made our way to the bar. I had filled her in on all the details of course. M wasn't there yet when we got there. R was the first person I saw. I told him I was a little bit nervous about coming and he assured me it would be fine.

A little while later as I was making my way to the bathroom, it happened. The run-in. It's still weird to think that I hadn't seen him since October of 2007. I felt like I had just seen him the day before. He was still strangely familiar to me. Maybe I expected him to seem like more of a stranger? I don't know. And all that anger I felt toward him? Kind of gone. Well, mostly. We hugged. I gave him a kiss on the cheek. He said it was good to see me and I agreed. Because, really, it was good to see him. I told him I wanted to meet his new girlfriend. He was not super excited about the idea, but said "Have at it. She's right over there."

So, what did I do? I pretty much marched myself right over to her and introduced myself.

"Excuse me?" I said. Blank stare.

"Are you Schlumpadink?"

She looked at me like I had two heads. I continued to introduce myself. I was determined.

"I'm Moo."

Still no response from Schlumpadink. (Like she didn't know who I was? Right.)

"M's ex-girlfriend?" I offered.

"Oh." She said weakly.

I went on to explain that I had asked M to introduce us and he had begged off. As this was pretty much a one-sided conversation, I cut it short, wished her a good night and went on my merry little way.

All that unpleasantness out of the way, I proceeded to have a GREAT time. The band was fantastic. We sang. We danced. I got to see old friends I hadn't seen in forever. It was so much fun!

M & Schlumpadink? Not so much. I noticed her glaring at me several times over the course of the evening. M watched me like a hawk. I tried not to let it bother me.

(Can I just tell you though? She really was schlumpy. Stringy blonde hair. Kind of chubby. And worst of all? Or, best of all, I should say. I know for a fact girlfriend is the same age as me and she looks much older. Ha.)

All in all the evening couldn't have gone any better. I made my point. I'm pretty sure M now knows for certain that I am better off without him. And perhaps, that point was also made just a little bit clearer to me as well. The only thing that is bothering me I guess is this...

If I'm such a catch, why is it that he's happily coupled (assuming they're happy) and I'm still single?

P.S. Just for the heck of it, I'm going to let Earl steal a little bit of my thunder here. I couldn't resist. It's just too cute.

What? You mean I shouldn't be in the dishwasher?

I'm Still Alive!

I'm still here! Nothing funny or exciting has happened to me in a while. I haven't been on any dates since I canceled my Match membership. I'm still on eHarmony, but not really putting too much effort into it.

I've said it before, and I will say it again, eHarmony is dating for the socially awkward (and I refuse to count myself among the socially awkward). You should see some of the "matches" they send me. They're kind of pathetic. I can't even make fun of them, it makes me too sad.

I am, however, communicating somewhat actively with one guy on eHarmony, G. He actually seems like a really nice guy. He's fairly good looking, has a normal job (in IT), but is certainly nothing too exciting. Although, interesting enough that we may have coffee on Sunday.

In lieu of dating, (and smoking, I'm still not smoking! I think it's been 6 or 7 weeks! And not nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. I feel a little bit bad that I'm not struggling with this more. Like maybe I wasn't a true addict. Although I do have smoking dreams.) I've been working out. A LOT. Like six-days-a-week-a-lot. I tend to be a bit obsessive-compulsive, (Really? Me? Never.) and throw myself into stuff whole hog. At least working out is good for me. I could be throwing my obsessive-compulsive self into fire breathing or drag racing. (hee hee)

My new trainer, T, is great. He's super young, I think he's like 22. A recent college grad who is working on the Great American Novel. My friend F and I have gone back and forth over whether or not T is gay. Then T showed me the heart tattoo on his butt, explaining that it was due to his love for the Care Bears as a child. That settled that. I think the Fitness Manager at my gym (who is also a gay man whom I just love) likes to hire eye candy, as all of the trainers are really young and really cute. (Ooooh, like this one guy, J. He looks like a very young John Stamos. Yum.)

And, lastly, not to gross anyone out, but... Can anyone tell me why gym restrooms always smell like poop? Seriously! No matter which gym you go to (and I frequent two different gyms) all the restrooms smell like poop. All the time. It's gross. Also? While we're at it? Why can't they give us actual paper towels to dry our hands? I hate the air dryers, and I hear they are less sanitary. Plus, they very rarely work, with the button dangling from the front by it's Slinky-like spring.

Alright, I'm done ranting and raving. I will try to lead a more exciting life in the near future. I have some plans this weekend that could potentially turn out really bad or really good. I will totally fill you all in afterward.

History Lessons

I've been thinking about my dad a lot the past few days. My dad and I don't have the best relationship. No one awful, terrible thing caused the rift. Just many years of little things. Plus, he's sort of oblivious to the whole thing. If you asked him, he'd tell you everything between us was fine. It's hard and I feel terrible about it, given that he is in such poor health. I hate that I'm carrying around this resentment, but on the other hand I find it really difficult to let it go. (Wow. Got a little deep there, didn't I?)

What brought all of this on was that my uncle posted a bunch of old family photos to Facebook. We're talking old. My dad was born in 1935, and most of these photos are of my dad as a kid, up until he graduated high school. I am so grateful that my uncle posted the photos. I totally see a resemblance between my dad and myself (I have his eyes), in fact, all four of us kids (and some of the grandkids too) looked exactly like the photo I posted here as babies. So cute (if I do say so myself).

It got me thinking that I should focus on good memories of my dad, rather than all the little resentments. Like the time he took me to some historic village in New York one day (we still lived in NY at the time, don't think we hopped on a plane from California just for a history lesson), just because I was asking a bunch of questions about the "olden days".

Or the time he did what N christened "the dance of anger" (which was a whole lot of jumping up and down) over something I had done. It was scary at the time (I was 16, I think, and my dad is a large man), but by about 5 minutes later it was hilarious. Literally, he was jumping up and down. At 6'5" and like 300lbs, I'm pretty certain the whole house shook.

My favorite story about my dad and me is this one though. My mom stayed home with me until I was 3 and they could put me in pre-school full time (back then they didn't take kids until they were potty trained). When I was ready for kindergarten they were kind of worried about what they would do with me in the afternoons, since kindergarten was only half day. I guess it was decided that I'd go to day-care after school and luckily the day-care had a bus that would pick me up at kindergarten.

On the first day of kindergarten my dad was so worried that I wouldn't know which bus to get on to go to day care that he hid across the street from my school crouched down in his car watching me to make sure that I made it. He thought that if I saw him I would demand that he take me home. (He was probably right.)

It was only when he was already there... across the street from an elementary school... hiding... in his car... watching a bunch of little kids leave their kindergarten class... that it ocurred to him what a bad idea this was. Luckily neither the police, nor I, spotted him and I made it onto my bus without a hitch, none the wiser, until my mom told me the story many years later.

I do love my dad. Of course, he's my dad. And it's stories like this, that I will carry with me when he's gone. (Believe me though, he is not going anywhere for a while. Even in poor health, he is convinced, as am I, that he's going to be kicking around for another 20 years.) None of the rest of it will matter.

Being 36 Rocks, For Reals

I am a firm believer in the idea that every person comes into our lives for a reason, and generally we can take away something good from the relationship, no matter how it ended. (See previous entry. And I still haven't figured out how to make that a link to that entry, but just scroll down. It's there, I promise.) Well, it's been a year and a half since M and I broke up and I still struggle to come up with something good that I got out of my relationship with him. I know. Sounds a bit ridiculous, right? I mean, why the hell was I with the guy for 3 years? Temporary insanity? Deep seated insecurity? I don't know. But! Finally, today, I figured it out.

Are you ready?

M was the first guy I ever believed when he told me I was beautiful. (As I say that, if you could only see me now... Seriously. My hair is all jacked up from being shellacked into a bun for my spinning class. I have a spot of zit cream drying on my chin. My belly is hanging over my pajama bottoms just a bit. I am so totally not hot at this very moment.)

Let's face it, I am a late bloomer. I have only recently developed a makeup habit worthy of a teenaged girl. I absolutely cannot leave Target these days with out purchasing some sort of new makeup. I'm particularly obsessed with finding the perfect mascara. (I'm still somewhat of a neophyte, seeing as I still get tricked into buying waterproof mascara. I hate waterproof mascara. Feel free to leave your perfect mascara suggestions in the comments.) It took me until the age of 36 to come up with a real skin care regimen. (I think I already told you. Spent a boatload of money on it, and the good news is, it's totally awesome. My skin is dewy and fresh.) And, within the last couple of years I've developed somewhat of an addiction to the Brazilian wax.

Now, I know that makeup, dewy-fresh skin, and a waxed coochie aren't what make a woman beautiful. What makes me beautiful, and what surprises me, is that I am just now, in my mid-thirties, starting to get comfortable in my own skin. And it's not just about knowing how to do your makeup or what to wear. It's about knowing who you are and owning it. I finally know who I am. I finally think I am beautiful. I'm sure I would've gotten here eventually, but I suppose M helped me along. Begrudingly, I thank him for that.

All of this comes to mind, as I prepare myself for my first session tomorrow night with my new personal trainer, T. (I'm on this total self-improvement kick, since I quit smoking. I figured with the money I was saving not buying ciggies, I could afford T. He definitely costs more than a weeks worth of ciggies, but not much.)

I've been forewarned that T is going to ask me to name some goals. I definitely have goals that relate to my physical appearance. Hell, I'd like to get rid of the muffin top currently puffed out around my pajama bottoms. I'd like my arms to be more toned (less jiggly) and my butt to be a little bit perkier. (One thing I have noticed with age, aside from crow's feet, is that my butt ain't what it used to be.) But, the more I think about it, the more I realize that not all of my goals are appearance related. Some of my goals are performance related. For instance, I'd like to be able to do 10 regular push-ups (no sissy kind with the knees). I'd like to be able to do at least 1 pull-up. (I have never in my life been able to do a pull-up unassisted.) Most of all, I'd like to make it through an entire workout with T without whining. I'd like to think that the sense of accomplishment I have when I've reached those goals will make me feel even more beautiful than a perky butt! Although, a perky butt sure will be nice.

Can I Quote You On That?

I got an email from Oprah today. You know. Cause we got it like that, Oprah and me. Anyway, she was asking her friends (like me) to share their favorite quotes. And while some of my favorites come from my mother, "After me, you come first." And some come from N, (back then known as the Prophet N) who famously said, "Why grieve for the future when you can dwell on your past?" I also have a favorite quote from a book...

"Every life is different because you passed this way and touched history." ~The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver

Something about that quote really spoke to me so many years ago when I read it, and continues to speak to me today.

There is something profound to me about the idea that a seemingly small decision that one makes can have enormous effects, both good and bad, on others lives. We all think about that when it comes to something like drinking and driving; getting in that car is a deceptively small decision that can have such profound consequences. But what about when good stuff happens? (My mind spins trying to come up with examples.) Or what about all the ways that we touch others' lives without even knowing it? The things we do without even thinking about them that have positive impacts on the lives of others? How crazy is it to think that we have all touched history?

It just makes me feel good to know that no matter how small my life feels sometimes, every life is different because I passed this way and touched history.

Like a Moth to a Flame

I must be a glutton for punishment. I couldn't even stay off internet dating for a day. I signed up for eHarmony. And immediately regretted it.

eHarmony is like dating for retards, pardon my un-politically correct (politically incorrect?) term. But it really is. Everything is "guided". There is really very little opportunity for your personality to come through. In fact, rather than carefully read someone's profile on eHarmony, I generally just skim. I don't feel like much of the person's true essence (what a crunchy, granola word) comes through. Seriously, I'm communicating with a guy on there right now, and I'm having a hard time remembering anything more than his name and how tall he is. (6'6".)

Unlike Match, (I don't know why I was hesitant before to say which site I was on. Match, it was Match.) you can't see your profile how others see it on eHarmony. I think that's kind of a valuable tool. I used it a lot on Match, to see what others saw when they looked at me. Like a mirror, right? I use it here, when writing a post. I do most of my editing in "preview". It helps me see what needs to be changed or tweaked. But on eHarmony, I really have no idea how I come across.

So the matches they're sending me? Seem to be Match rejects. You've seen those eHarmony commercials with Tanyalee and Joshua? The really hot guy and very cute girl who supposedly met on eHarmony? Yeah, well so far none of my matches have looked like Joshua. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact.

The weird part is when people "Close Communication" with you when you've never even communicated. So, what happens is, Dr. Neil Warren's eHarmony Matching Super Computer sends you people that you will supposedly connect with. Based on 29 factors and a personality test. (Did you know that I once applied to work at Clothestime at the Y in Tahoe? And I failed their personality test. I still don't even know what that means.) Anyway. Tonight I noticed that a couple of guys "Closed Communication" with me. When you do that, you're supposed to give a reason. You pick from a list of reasons, like "I'm pursuing another relationship" or "I think the difference in our age is too great", stuff like that. (Don't think for a second I haven't "Closed Communication" with matches already. But I've only closed them out if they "Requested Communication"!)

So, tonight I got a couple of "closes" from guys who I was just matched with yesterday. How rude! One said "I just don't think the chemistry is there." Really? How can you tell? The other said "Other". Which is the reason I have been giving most frequently. I would so much rather receive "Other" as my reason than anything else.

Oh well. I guess I will just keep on keepin' on. Hopefully, my eHarmony subscription will go by quickly and at least give me some good stories.

Boys Don't Suck, Dating Does

For those of you keeping score, I am zero for two. Date number two, P, was a total bust. Apparently, not all musicians are yummy. P looked cute in his photos, and he looked cute as he walked up. Then he took off his sunglasses and smiled.

I'm about to be really mean, about a guy who certainly doesn't deserve it, but... He looked a little bit like Skeletor. (I feel awful for saying that, because honestly, he is a super nice guy. However, I feel it my duty to be honest here. And funny. And sometimes funny is mean.) Anyway, he's really thin, so much so that his face is a little bit sunken in, and he has what I can only call "old person smoker teeth". Does that give you any sort of a visual? They're the kind of teeth that are a little yellow around the edges and the gums are receeding. Make sense?

We had a lot to talk about, but I just couldn't get past the looks. I don't think I'm being shallow. I have got to be attracted to a guy. Plus, I felt like he was trying just a little bit too hard. Also? He kept talking about having been a Marine. (Yeah, like 23 years ago!) And? He's a Republican! Christ on a stick! How the hell did I meet the only guitar player ever to be a Republican???? Needless to say, there will not be a second date for P and me.

I feel like Charlotte York. I, too, have been dating since I was 15. I'm also exhausted. Where the hell is he????

I took my profile down today. Seriously. I. Give. Up. I'm not saying this because I need a pep talk. I'm just over it. Taking a break.

The Misadventures of Moo

The location of last night's date reminded me of a funny story. It's too funny not to share.

One of the many reasons I love the company I work for is our Friday happy hour. Every Friday afternoon, right about 4 pm, A, our office manager, wheels out a cooler full of beer and wine along with chips and salsa. It's a company tradition. Some Fridays are more raucous than others, and I used to be a frequent participant in all of the craziness.

One Friday last March a group of us were having some drinks at the office. I was supposed to meet some friends at a bar later in the evening and since I was going to leave my car in the parking garage, I needed to go down to it to get my key card so I could get back into the building on Saturday to retrieve my car.

Our office is on the 18th floor, the parking garage, obviously, is underneath the building. So one would need to ride the elevator down to the garage. I'm not sure how this happened, but as I stepped onto the elevator, keys in hand, I dropped my keys! And you know that crack between the elevator and the floor your on? The one that doesn't look like much could fit through it? Yeah, that one. My keys (all of 'em, car keys, house keys, everything) fell through that crack. They didn't even bounce off anything. I swear, it was nothing but net!

I'm pretty sure I heard my keys hit the ground, 18 stories below. I immediately rode the elevator down to the lobby to see if the security guard could help me. No such luck. The only person who could get my keys out of the elevator shaft would be the elevator guy and that would cost me $150. Crap!

I may have panicked just a little. (Who me?) I called my friend C, who I was supposed to be meeting, hoping he would know what to do. He thought I was crazy. Then I called L, who had a key to my place. Got her voicemail. Then I called my landlord, got her voicemail as well.

I was stranded. No car (not that I was really in any condition to drive). No house keys (so I couldn't go home, even if I wanted to). What to do? Drink some more!

A bunch of us ended up at the Waterfront (the location of my ill fated date last night). We took photos in the little booth. We sang along loudly to the jukebox. We drank A LOT. I tried to forget my troubles.

Finally, around 10 pm my landlord called me back. Luckily, she was able to put a house key under my mat, so that when I finally did make it home I could get in. And of course, at home I had spare keys to my car. Problem solved.

A few days later, the building manager called me. She was so nice. She said that if I could wait a couple of more days to retrieve my keys, she wouldn't have to charge me, since the elevator guy was coming out anyway.

That Wednesday, one of the security guys tracked me down. He had my keys. I've never seen a sorrier sight. My car alarm fob was broken open, my car key broken clean in half, and my house key was totally mangled. But I had my keys! And it didn't cost me $150.

Bad Date

I just got back from an epically bad date. It wasn't bad because anything weird or unusual happened. It was bad because I knew from the second I saw him that I was absolutely, in no way, shape, or form, attracted to him. And nothing he could do or say was going to change that. Plus, he was wearing way too much cologne. I can still smell it. Blech.

He was late, to begin with. Never good in my book, particularly on a first date. We met at the Waterfront, a bar a few blocks from my house (not that bar). As soon as he walked in I knew. He was just odd looking. Ginormous eyes, and an itty bitty mouth. Like the kind that looks like it could possibly be missing a jaw bone or something. Not unattractive completely, but totally not attractive to me. To give you a point of reference, he looked a little bit like Quentin Tarantino. Some may find that attractive; I would not be one of them.

He was also a slow talker. Took forever to get to the point. And when I asked him a question, his answer invariably started with "A week ago, last Tuesday..." He took forever to get to the point. If there was a point at all. Just an odd duck. I felt bad ducking out early, but seriously, it was painful. I couldn't wait to get home.

Oh well. He was one of 2 dates I have lined up for this weekend. (I know. I'm a busy girl.) Date number 2 is with P, a musician. As N has said in the past, musicians are yummy. P certainly is promising. I will tell you all about it after the date.

By the way, the date was so painful, it almost drove me to smoke. Instead, I went to Jack in the Box and got a Jumbo Jack and fries. I will be working that off tomorrow in my Athletic Training class of death. I figured it was better than smoking. Wish me luck for Sunday.

What's On Your Ipod?

I stole this idea (she said it was ok, though) from one of my favorite blogs, Jen Lancaster's Jennsylvania. (By the way, I've read all of her books; Bitter is the New Black; Bright Lights, Big Ass; and Such a Pretty Fat. They are hilarious. I highly recommend them.)

Anyway, the idea is to put your Ipod on shuffle, see what comes up, write something about the song (preferably funny, but I make no guarantees). Here goes...

1. "What's Going On" Marvin Gaye
I love this song. It totally reminds me of my brother and the summer after I graduated high school. Also, I can't think of Marvin Gaye without thinking of "Sexual Healing".

2. "Touch Me in the Morning" Diana Ross
Clearly my Ipod is on some sort of Motown kick today. I think I downloaded this as part of a Diana Ross/the Supremes Greatest Hits package. Whenever I think of Diana I think of her in that concert at Central Park in the rain, imploring everyone to "reach out and touch sombody's hand".

3. "Pearls on a String" Ryan Adams
I adore Ryan Adams. His style of Alt Country is about the only kind of country that I can listen to. Well, him and Wilco. Whatever you do, do not go to one of his concerts and request that he sing "Summer of '69". He will have you thrown out, or so I've heard.

4. "Trouble" Coldplay
This song reminds me of driving through the desert with my ex-boyfriend C. It was late summer and still pretty hot out. I just remember it was dark out and we had the sunroof open. There's nothing like driving through the desert at night. It's so dark and clear. The stars are twinkling. You know how a song can take you right back, and you can feel and smell a memory? That's what this song does for me.

5. "Smile Like You Mean It" the Killers
I went through a total Killers phase a couple of years ago. Seriously. This CD never left my car stereo. I was with M then, and we used to go up to his cabin in the mountains like every weekend. I always took my own car, since I would have to leave before him to come back to the city and go to work. I listened to this the whole way up there, every single weekend for months. Now? I'm kind of sick of it. My brother and I are going to Coachella this year. The Killers are headlining the night we're going. I'm mildly excited to see them.

6. "Heal it Up" Concrete Blonde
OMG! I absolutely love Concrete Blonde. Not many people do. I especially love that the lead singer's name is Johnette Napolitano. Johnette. For real. You think her dad wanted a boy? Anyway, Concrete Blonde is a totally underrated band. I owe my love for them to my big brother. As a matter of fact, I totally owe my love for music to my big brother. And he never lets me forget it.

7. "Tyrant" the Bravery
Another 80's New Wave revival band, like the Killers. Love them too. Another CD that very rarely left my car's CD player a few years ago. I still like them, although I've heard they kind of suck live.

8. "Magic" the Cars
Love this song! Takes me back to the 80's. I loved the video, with Ric Ocasek walking on water in the pool. He is an unusual looking man, to say the least. He must have quite a personality to have married supermodel Paulina Porizkova. Oh! Which reminds me! America's Next Top Model starts tonight! Yay! (I am such a teenage girl when it comes to Tyra and ANTM. I love it.)

9. "Wonderful Life" Gwen Stefani
Aww. Who doesn't love Gwen Stefani? A few years ago N and I were so excited to see her in concert, we joined her fan club to get discount tickets. We called ourselves "Ste-FAN-i's". The $25 was totally worth it, we got 7th row seats. Gwen rocked it. The concert was awesome, aside from the totally disgusting couple right in front of us who kept making out. Gross.

10. "Lay Low" My Morning Jacket
I don't have any memories associated with this one. MMJ is sort of a new discovery for me. They're not new by any means, just new to me. I have fallen in love with them.

Those of you with blogs (you know who you are) consider yourselves tagged. It's fun.

Where Do I Know You From? Part II

Today, at the gym, my internet dating life AGAIN crossed paths with my normal life. Am I going to have to move???

Yesterday I took the plunge. I went to the gym closer to my house, the one downtown. They have this Athletic Training class there that I had been wanting to try. So one of my gays, F, and I went to the class. And it was great. The class is intense. But super fun. And I am sore like you wouldn't believe.

So, I actually liked the new gym. It's big and newly remodeled. The group exercise room is pretty spacious. There's tons of equipment. And! There's even a jacuzzi. (Not that I think I'll be using it. The whole idea of sharing a jacuzzi with a bunch of sweaty people I don't know totally grosses me out. In fact, if you could see me now, you'd see my nose totally scrunched up. I have to stop thinking about it or my face could freeze this way.)

Anyway, I was so sore today, but I thought that if I went to the gym and took a spin on the elliptical, that might make my legs feel a little bit better. There I was, minding my own business when I saw him... Crazy M! The one who probably sent me no fewer than 50 texts between date number one and date number two. The one who after 2 dates wanted to know what it would take to be my boyfriend. The one who still sends a text every now and then. The one who still looks at my profile every so often. Ugh.

I must've looked like a deer in headlights. I know I audibly cursed. I'm not sure if he saw me, he was walking into the locker room. Without knowing how long he'd be in there, I scanned the room looking for a piece of equipment I could use while remaining somewhat hidden. (I still had like 20 minutes left in my workout. I wasn't going to let him drive me away. The only outside force that has ever driven me away from a workout was this one guy's God awful BO on the treadmill next to me. But that's another story.) In front of me was a row of treadmills. One was right next to a big pillar that looked like it could offer some cover. Quickly, I made the switch.

I was on the treadmill for a few minutes, furtively scanning the room. I hadn't seen him come out of the locker room. As the minutes ticked by I thought I was in the clear. And then! There he was. Getting water, pretty much right in front of me. Turns out the pillar didn't offer me cover if M didn't stay to the left side of the gym. He then proceeded to settle in on the ab equipment directly in front of, but still a decent distance from me. With his back to me, I figured I could attempt to finish my workout.

For a good 15 minutes I tried to pretend he wasn't there. I did my thing. He did his. I told myself if he saw me, I'd just ignore him. This worked right up until he started toward me. I pushed stop on that treadmill so fast it wasn't even funny. And then? I turned tail and ran. To the women's locker room. I did really have to pee. But mostly I was hiding.

I still don't even know if he saw me. We didn't make eye contact, but I can't imagine that he didn't. I feel like a jack ass for running away. But I hate confrontation or any uncomfortable situation for that matter. Who doesn't though?

As of tonight though, I've decided that M is going to have to learn to share that gym. (To be fair, I did know that he works out there. I forgot though, until I saw him. But he was there first.) Regardless of the fact that he was there first, I fully intend to continue to work out there. Will I run away again the next time I see him? I don't know. (Probably.) I guess it is possible I'll have to face an uncomfortable situation. I'll live.

Quitting Smoking is Hard

What nobody tells you about quitting smoking is that the first week is actually fairly easy. You're all excited and feeling good, because, "Hey! I can totally do this!" It's the second week that blows. It blows hard.

It's not that it's any more difficult than the week before really. The actual act of not smoking is easy. You just don't smoke. It's what you do with all of that pent up energy (that mostly tends to be negative) that is difficult. I guess that would mean dealing with emotions. Huh. Who wants to do that?

I am finding that I have a whole lot of negative, pent up energy. I have been really grumpy over the past couple of days. So grumpy in fact, that I have even been resisting writing because, seriously, nobody wants to listen to me bitch. Not even a little bit. But you might want to read some of my recent (super bitchy) observations. I'm feeling a little like Andy Rooney tonight. (And I may be too grumpy still to write a coherent post. You know, one with a point and all?) So here goes, another listicle of sorts. You love lists! (Are you sick of 'em yet?)

We shall call this one Moo's Bitchy Observations! (Now with more bitchiness, less nicotine!)

• My friend BA on Facebook needs to stop with the "monkey time" status updates. We all know that they are some sort of code for s-e-x. And personally? I don't need to know.
  
• There is a girl at my work who does not know how to walk in high heels. Seriously. You can hear her coming from a mile away. And she's little. Like maybe 5'1" 100 lbs and she clomps around in those things like the Jolly Green Giant. The building rumbles a bit. She's nice and I feel bad for being annoyed. But these are the things that run through my head.
• A couple of the personal trainers at my gym have this super annoying habit of doing their hair like they're bridesmaids or going to the prom (on any average old day). For real. It could be a Tuesday and they've got it up in these elaborate up-dos. I mean, I can kind of understand, I guess. If I essentially wore sweats to work each day, I would probably also want to do something to look pretty. But, it is so odd. This one has been bugging me for a while. Even before I quit smoking.
• Sitting next to my boss in a meeting is like watching a movie with my senile grandmother. (God rest her soul.) Since half of our department is on the other side of the country in our Boston office, we do most of our meetings via video conference. (I could not spell Mass. for the life of me, ha. I tried 3 times and kept getting that little red line under it. So, I gave up. Mass. They're in Mass.) I think she might be a little hard of hearing or something because every few minutes she's like "What are they talking about? Do we do that here? What did they say?" I end up missing half of what is being said trying to explain what's going on to her. Now, I make sure I'm not sitting anywhere near her during these meetings.
• I'm afraid quitting smoking is going to make me gain weight. (This is more of an admission than an observation.) I lost about 20 lbs a couple of years ago, I worked really hard at it, and I am terrified of putting it back on. So I re-signed up for Weight Watchers online. Here's the bad part... I lied about my weight to sign up. I'm not overweight (not yet, anyway), but I just wanted it for the online tracking and the recipes. I know. But I promise, I'm not really trying to lose. Just maintain. And I need a little help.

I do feel a little bit better getting those things off my chest. Maybe I will head on over to www.cuteoverload.com and look at pictures of kittens or something. That ought to help. Don't worry. I'm not planning on smoking. I haven't given up yet.