Well yes, I guess I do still love him, laggin. Just haven't thought about him for a while, but this helps.

Yesterday. Arghh. L, one of my best buds from high school and college who now happens to work at the same company as me, carpools with me to work. She also works in the same department I am moving over to (although in a different sub-department). Yesterday was the holiday party for this department at a loft downtown, and we are both going straight after work. So I decide to drive that day, and her husband will meet her at the party, stay a while, and drive her home. I will drive myself to my friends's house after the party to pick up the boys, get them home, fed, and to cub scout meeting by 7pm (not very realistic even if things went smoothly, but you may have guessed by now that they did not). Velo-dude is not in the picture this day, because cyclocross Nationals are in town and he is racing late afternoon. This is a bfd for him, he's been anticipating it forever, so I don't even think about asking him to come to the party. So, L and I decide to run a quick errand to World Market at lunch to grab a bottle of wine to take. We pick up a few other things while we're at it, we finish, we pop our purchases in the trunk (except for the bottle of wine each of us had purchased to take to the party), and I shut the trunk. Keys? Hello, where you are? Keys in trunk. D*mn! Try to call velo-dude. He is probably out pre-riding the course. No answer, no call-back. L proceeds to call everyone she can think of in her (oh yeah, "our") department, but of course it is still lunchtime and no one is around. Of course she leaves a message explaining our predicament to everyone she calls. Finally gets a hold of someone who picks us up and take us back to the office. No problem. Other than that now, EVERYONE in my new department has found out what a FLAKE I am!!!! Arghhh. Well, we all laugh about it. I finally track down velo-dude by calling his friend's (er, boss') cell phone, he's also out at the race venue, and ask him to walk over and tell velo-dude (eww, I just realized I can't abrreviate his name in this story--VD, not good for a mate) to check his voice-mail. Finally velo-dude calls back, thankfully not irritated with my blunder, and decides he will leave the venue immediately after his race, go pick up boys, backtrack significantly to come pick me up, get the car, we all go home. That'll work. Meanwhile, L's brownies she made for the party are locked in the car. The cheese & cracker tray I brought is safely at the office, convenient eh? At least we have the wine. It all works in the end, make it to the scout meeting 1/2 hour late, ah well. Still hearing snide remarks about keys and trunks today at work though.

The slightly bizarre thing is that velo-dude locked his keys in the van about 3 weeks ago at a race, and spent an hour or so getting in with a clothes hanger (I didn't have that kind of time). Now I honestly can't remember the last time either of us did this. Have we EVER done it since we've been married? Oh wait, I did it once about 12 years ago. But I think that may be it for the last 18 years. And both of us, in a 3-week time span? Go figure.

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Today: New boss, new job, same company. Very excited. A little nervous. Change of course brings anxiety, but should be all good in the long run.

Did I mention I love(d) David Bowie?

To reveal, or not to reveal

Apparently I don't much like revealing myself to others. I made the following countdown meme a while back after rowan politely hinted at it, but I didn't post it. Just wrote it up and sat on it. Still don't like it. It doesn't really reveal anything about me. Maybe that's why I don't like it, because I know it doesn't say much, and that seems to be about all I can do. Despite it's thinness, I'm putting it up.

Commenting on a post of rowan's reminded me of one of my big academic weaknesses. Interpreting poetry. You must realize that academically, I am not programmed to fail, but in this particular area I have no aptitude whatsoever. Whatever passing grades I managed to eke out were the result of a combination of brute force, begging for help, and perhaps a teacher taking pity (? hope not, but sure seems a possibility). It actually brings back unpleasant memories of a seemingly endless high school assignment. Loca got Carl Sandberg. I got Dylan Thomas. Why? Okay, I'm leaving that bad place in my mind. Really do not like to fail.

Battle of the Bulge update (heretofore to be referred to only as the BOB): friend at work decides to implement a second component to her exercise plan (she's the one who does the underwater treadmill, which I have not revisited but should). Friend invites me and two other friends to join her in a 15-minute power session of stair-climbing at work every day. Last Thurs was our first day; did 4 up and downs of 6 stories (basement to sixth floor) in about 12 minutes, that was all we could do. At about midway through the 5th flight, every time I get there, I cannot help but hear Jane Fonda in my head, "feel the burn". And burn it does. Repeated the exercise on Friday. Everyone is very impressed at how gung ho I am. I am too. Until Saturday morning. I live in a split level, and walking downstairs is extremely painful. I involuntarily spout out "ooh ah eh ah..." as I walk down. Velo-dude is too amused, and feels compelled to imitate my attempts at going down without using my quads. Pinky has friends over, and they ask Pinky what's wrong with his mom as they see me attempt the stairs. Sunday not much better. But, I did it again Mon and Tues, so we'll see how tomorrow feels.

Alrighty, I need to go to bed. Here's the countdowny nonrevealing thingy...

TEN things you want to say to TEN people right now:
I love you.
Why not?
Why?
You inspire me.
Help.
Keep doing what you do so well.
Please listen.
Thank you.
I love you, but/and you REALLY need a new roof. Dammit.
I miss you.

NINE things about yourself.
I love my boys.
I am afraid of dead birds.
I am lazy.
I have stacks & disks of photos that I fear I will never organize (Pinky is 9 and I still don’t have his baby book done).
I love to cook new things, but have resigned myself to not doing much of this until the boys are older.
I have periods of my life where I obsess about what happens when you die (I have just come off of one of those periods in the past couple of weeks…it lasted a few months. ugh).
I am smart enough to know I shouldn’t look this way, but I am not resolved enough, or confident enough, or happy enough, to change it.
I am convinced I will die by a strike of lightning.
I lean to the left. Sometimes strongly.

EIGHT ways to win your heart.
Dust my house.
Draw me a picture.
Make me laugh.
Flowers.
Compliment me.
Tell me you appreciate my efforts, even when they fall short.
Surprise me.
Hug me.

SEVEN things that cross your mind a lot.
Pinky.
Curly.
What happens at death? (I know, redundant, see above)
Future
Finances
Current economy
Why do brothers fight? So? Much?

SIX things you do before you fall asleep.
Let dogs out.
Check Pinky, roll Curly over.
Brush teeth.
Weigh.
Snuggle briefly with one or both dogs.
Crossword or read.

FIVE people who mean a lot to you at the moment.
Velo-dude
Pinky & Curly
Dad
Brother
I have only a handful of close friends, but they all mean a lot to me.

FOUR things you really enjoy doing.
reading
cooking
playing games with my boys
right now…quiet time, curled up on the couch, room lit by only the Christmas tree. Really.

THREE things you absolutely hate:
smart people who support stupid politics
seeing my children in emotional pain
seeing my children in physical pain

TWO places you want to travel to that you’ve never been before.
Outer Banks
South America
(this was a tough one…I traveled to so many places with my parents when I was young. I would love to go back and do some again as an adult, but that’s not the question!)

ONE confession.
I confess that I am no good at confessions.

Surprise!

No, I have no surprising news, just a story to tell. I somehow agreed to help a friend give a surprise party for his wife, also a friend of mine (no worries, neither are aware of the blog. Sheez, I may be flaky but not that flaky!). So how do I get myself into these things? He is such a sweetheart, but I am so not the organized party planner. Well, his first and foremost concern was how to get her out of the house for a couple of hours before the soiree. I asked if she had a close friend who could take her out for a little one-on-one girl time to celebrate the two milestones that she is about to reach (I'm thinking cocktails of course, even though we may be talking about 3pm on a Saturday). He gets excited, thinking of someone, and says they occasionally go get manicures and pedicures together. Err, okay, perfect! Until the phone call the next day. Girlfriend cannot do it, has other commitments on the one day husband can throw the party. Imperfect. Surely we can come up with another plan though. Ah, but husband already has another plan. Mathgeek will take her for manicure/pedicure! Wha? Huh? What just happened?

Thinking it through, after I more than likely agreed to this plan (the conversation quickly became a blur, I was so stunned), I see two main problems to this plan...a) friend and I are friends, I like to be around her, I think very highly of her, but we are not, like, girlfriends. We have hung out at neighborhood parties together, but we have never planned an outing for just the two of us, without either kids or husbands or both. Will she think I'm weird, taking this friendship to the "next level"? (on the other hand, maybe this is a good excuse for me to take it to the next level, I don't really have that many girlfriends in my life). And b), possibly causing me even more anxiety, is the fact that I have NEVER EVER IN MY LIFE had a manicure or pedicure!!!! Yep, pushing 4.5 decades, and I've managed to avoid it all my life. My fingernails? They bend like paper when grown, so I keep 'em short. I don't think the manicure will be too awkward, even for the mathgeek, but someone handling my feet? Erm, I'm beginning to realize I have some hangups. Well, on the bright side, I won't have to help husband-friend decorate for the party. I'll be "relaxing" with my new girlfriend. I hope. What if she rejects me? What if I freak out at the pedi and have to bring her home early? Before any of the guests arrive? Oh my, so much to worry about, so little time.

Headed to my dad's house this weekend. We'll be hauling the artificial monster called a Christmas tree out of his basement, since we won't be back until Christmas. Love that task, that thing is a fighter. And, with velo-dude not running at full steam right now, it will be pretty much me and the tree. And cotton balls in the kiddos ears so they can't hear all the Christmas Story-style swearing going on. And a stiff drink when I'm done, of course.

Oh, and thanks to laggin for mentioning somewhere in a comment to someone the most hilarious blog I've seen in a while. I thought I would quickly check it out last night before I went to bed, but I was immediately hooked. Stayed up way too late viewing as many posts as I could, stomach aching from laughter. That's the kind of laughing that'll do you a world of good when you're feeling down or stressed. Just good silliness.

Overheard

outside a Target fitting room last week...

I was looking through a clearance rack that was situated right next to the fitting rooms near the kids departments. A mother is standing outside the door of a fitting room, just a few feet from where I am standing, having a conversation with her young son inside. He opens the door slightly, she kneels down and examines, while he complains that the pants feel "funny". She seems to think they are fine; he seems to be finding everything he possibly can wrong with them. He begins to get agitated, so she, clearly at the end of her patience, says "fine, we'll take them home and you can grow into them, then they won't feel funny anymore". He closes door to change. A minute later he calls through the door, in a very loud, very clear, slow voice..."Moooommmm? I figured out why the sweat pants felt so weird. (Pause for dramatic effect)... I forgot to keep my UNDERWEAR on when I tried them on!!!!!!". I had to laugh. The mom looked appalled, embarassed, and amused all at once, head in hand, shaking head. But she also seemed to appreciate that I had seen the humor in it. Especially since the fitting room attendant did not. At all. In fact she glared at the mother, who then loudly reminded the boy that it was okay, they would be buying them.

Okay, enough of that. Excuse my self-indulgence, I was just seeing what it felt like to be the woman observing. I wish that I had been her, but alas, I was not. I was the appalled, embarassed, amused mother. There was a woman observing at a sale rack, and she did laugh. And there was a fitting room attendant, and she did glare. I love Curly dearly, but I find I need to brace myself for public outings. Oh, and if you shop at Target, all I can say is that I am fairly confident he only made this mistake with one pair of pants. He had already tried on 2 pairs, then unbeknownst to me had fully dressed himself again. He asked if he needed to try on the others, and when I insisted, I can only guess that in a fit of frustration he accidentally pulled off everything, and didn't even notice. Velo-dude came to the same conclusion independently, upon being told the story.

Curly seems to be all about the underwear, or the lack thereof. This past summer, I noticed at one point that he was going through underwear like there was no tomorrow. He's got a lot of pairs, and kept running out before I had the laundry done for the next week (we don't wear much white in this family). I finally had to go out and buy more. Then one night as he was getting undressed I happened upon him, and found him removing not one, but three pairs of underwear from his little bod. Huh?

"Curly, why were you wearing three pair of underwear today?"

"What? Oh, I have to do that or my shorts fall down. If I wear three, they fit perfectly."

Well, that explains that. He had 3 pairs of shorts that were identical except for color, that's 9 pairs of underwear a week, plus whatever he wore on the better-fitting shorts days. That's a lot. I have to applaud him for finding a solution to his problem, without going to me for help. Any 6-year old's mind is a fascinating thing, but this one is definitely wired uniquely.

Sorry for the "my kid's so cute/embarassing/etc." story. But hey, he's a big part of my life! I'll try to give warning next time.

Thanks...I think.

The thank you goes to laggin, for my blogger award(s?). I think I have done, maybe, 4 posts altogether? And I get an award? This was clearly just a thinly veiled attempt to get me to blog more than once a week. Sigh, never satisfied, that one!

Nonetheless, I will fulfill my obligation and report on 6 things that make me happy right now...

1. Margaritas

2. A good bottle of Malbec

3. Dove dark chocolate Promises

4. Hmm, something that I don't eat or drink? Fine. Feeling needed (Curly & Pinky are good at that. Too good.).

5. Snuggling with my dogs. Especially small brown one, on my bed (okay that last part was just to see if velo-dude is reading).

6. Losing lbs. Which obviously doesn't happen often, due to #1-3 above.

And now to pass the award on? Oh my, I guess I should have thought about that before I started this post. Two choices pop into head...Rowan and velo-dude. I'd like to give it to velo-dude, as I am hooked on his blog. It's the only way I get to see pictures of my kids, since I am one of those lame moms incapable of organizing photos. And his bike racing musings & rantings are interesting. But, he doesn't quite buy into the stay-anonymous-in-case-you-say-something-you-shouldn't-say kind of thing. I know, if I really wanted to be anonymous I would have to try harder, but at least I leave names out of it. So Rowan would be my other first and natural choice, because I faithfully go there every day. I love her brutal honesty. And her pictures. Especially when they are especially for me.

Something new

...and good for me too. I tried a new form of exercise tonight. The community center we belong to has an underwater treadmill. My friend has been raving about it for months. Today her exercise partner cancelled on her at the last minute, and they had the treadmill reserved (apparently the scheduling of this thing is cut-throat; prepare to have eyes scratched out by senior citizen). So, miraculously velo-dude was around to watch the boys and I went with her. I can see why the senior citizens like it. But man, it really felt like a decent workout. Maybe I'm deluding myself, but at the very least, it's got to be better than sitting at home on my arse.

Work environment. The big nasty project is apparently all but over for the year, maybe some minor tweakings. Yeah! That thing just about killed me. Last Friday I was frantically trying to finish it up. I had hoped to get done early to go to Curly's Halloween party at school, but twas not to be. At 3:30 I was frantically trying to finish up, when I somehow lost about 4 hours worth of work from the day. Doh! How in sam hell did I do that? I know how to save my work. What? VEERRRY frustrating. I was up very late Sunday night working on it. Earlier that day, the stress of this thing manifested itself in yet another way. I was listening to my iPod at my desk, which is in a cubicle. The iPod is necessary to ward off the sounds of the ice-cruncher, the gum-popper, and the potato-chip eater. These are 2 different people. Also have a new neighbor, haven't decided on the right term yet, perhaps the guffaw-er? Quite an annoying laugh. Anyway, the boss, who as I mentioned has only been my boss for a couple of weeks, stops by my desk. He was probably standing there for several seconds before I sensed his presence, and I quickly pulled out the earbuds. I've been listening to a lot of 80's and 90's stuff lately, nothing I'm particularly proud of but it makes me feel good. He tries to make conversation by asking what I'm listening to, but for some reason I am completely flustered by now, and just mumble something about some stuff from the '90's. He says oh, in a very nice voice, and asks again, what is it. And do I tell him? Do I act sociable with this guy who is trying to be human and personable and get to know his staff? Nooooo. Nope, instead, I say "I don't usually share my musical tastes with other people." Yep, that's what I said. WTF? WTF? WTF? Did that just come out of my mouth? There is no turning back. He asks his question and leaves. Good grief, what is wrong with me? I really haven't dealt well with this stress. Hopefully I haven't done irreparable damage. That just made me look like the classic, stereotypical, socially inadept mathgeek that I desperately do not want to be. I am sorry, fellow mathgeeks of the world.

Election Day

I am dead tired tonight, but I'm afraid to go to bed. Ohio, Pennsylvania...it's all good so far, but what if I wake up in the morning and things went the other way? Must. Stay. Up.

I wonder what it's like to have your presidential vote count? I mean, to not have it swallowed up by the strong leanings of your state. Actually I don't wonder, I lived in Ohio 4 short years ago. I miss that part of it. Wow, if I lived there still, I think I would really feel like I contributed to some history-making. If of course, things turn out that way. Which I hope to feel confident about fairly soon. Because I really want to go to bed. Did I mention that I'm tired tonight?

Decompressing from a sucky day...this is really for me, not for anyone else.

I lost it at work today...not as in lost my temper, but lost control of myself emotionally. I HATE it when I cry at work. It does not happen often, maybe once a year at most, but today was the day. Several weeks worth of stress bottled up inside decided that it just had to come out.

I'm in a meeting. I am butting heads with someone. I raise voice at my colleague, my eyes welled with tears. Colleague recognizes I'm about to blow, and asks her employee to excuse us for a few minutes (we're meeting in her office). Employee (also good friend of mine, does that make it more embarassing or less?) leaves. Colleague is frustrated with me, as I am with her, but realizes I am in a very bad place. We talk through it. This goes on for well over half an hour. She leaves me in her office to gather my composure. I realize after about 5 minutes that this is not going to happen easily. It is the lunch hour now, so I stumble to my desk hoping not to run into anyone, head down. I get to my desk, and my colleague pops her head in to let me know my boss will be looking for me, she has just had a discussion with him and has made him aware that I need some support on this project. Oh lovely. He has been my boss for 2 weeks. It is WAY too early for him to see me cry. I grab my jacket, thinking I will duck out for a walk and get it together before he hunts me down. Too late, I exit my cubicle and even with my head down, realize that he is headed straight for me. I turn my pathetic, puffy-eyed face away from him, mumble that I'm having a rough time right now but I'll be back shortly. This humiliating encounter makes me even weepier. I finally make it outside. It is a beautiful day, my favorite kind...crisp, sunny fall day. Wish I could enjoy it. I walk, mind racing. I am still unable to regain my composure. I am walking past homeless folk, business folk, young folk, old folk, unable to quit crying. And realizing full well that I have no business crying when some of these folk have much more serious struggles than I right now. That doesn't help though. I walk until I can no longer think through my work issues. Ah, maybe now I can get myself together. No, that doesn't happen...I walk past Obama signs, past McCain signs, and think about the current situation in this country, and worldwide. I worry about the outcome of the election next week. And, thank you laggin, the phrase I wouldn't allow myself to question when I read it on her blog a couple of weeks ago..."What if I'm wrong?" regarding my presidential candidate of choice. This troubled train of thoughts goes on a while, still weeping intermittently, until the next set of worries makes its way into my consciousness...Why haven't we saved more for college? What will we do if something happens to me? Why haven't I purchased more life insurance?... Once the financial troubles have drained me of tears and energy, it's on to the next set of troubles. You get the picture. I don't think I've been on this bad a ride, where I am utterly unable to gain control, in a long time. On a work day. In the middle of the day. I can't even consider going home, since I commute with someone and I don't have a car with me. D*mn this trying to be green! And d*mn these monthly hormones, while I'm d*mning things. Early menopause, where are you?

I do finally make it back to work. Was really only a 50-minute walk, but it felt like both an eternity and a blink. I send an e-mail apology to my boss, telling him I hope to be ready to discuss in an hour. In 1'20'', I feel stable enough to go to his office, but warn him that I can only talk about this project, and not about anything bigger, as my emotional control is tenuous at best. He doesn't act embarassed (for himself or for me), thank god. I do not cry, and it is actually a very good conversation, and I feel much better, an hour later.

I can tell I am done crying. I used it all up. This has been building longer than a couple of weeks. This has been building since the former boss left 6 months ago. I get home and get big hugs from Pinky and Curly. Ahh, I needed that. Pinky inspects my face, asks if I've been crying. I can't deny it, my eyes are so puffed. Later, he looks at me again, asks if I've cried again. Enough, I say. Enough about my face. It's just still puffed from the workout it got earlier. He hugs me tight again. He's good that way.

This is unfortunately how I operate--I bottle it all inside until it blows, then experience the meltdown, promise myself to keep things in perspective moving forward, and then start the whole cycle all over again. I am exhausted. But tomorrow is a new day. I will be stressed out, but I will not break down. And if it half as beautiful a day as it was today, I will take a walk at lunch, and this time I will enjoy the sight, the smell, and the sound of the autumn leaves I love.

This is for Rowan. Not my writing; in fact, found in an exercise book (Pilates, specifically) now gathering dust on my shelf, but this paragraph(s) I remembered...

"It is an average Sunday, a day off. I wake early. My eyes jolt open, my mind already jostling with ideas, plans, needs, desires. Relax, I tell myself. It's Sunday. But wild horses cannot keep me still. In fact it is with the manic surge of wild horses that I bound from bed, tug on my clothes, and bang an elbow on the edge of the dresser, barely registering the pain. One thought I have is about the backyard. It is the dead of winter, the ground is frozen under six inches of snow, but I want to be, have to be, outside. I pull on my boots, yank on my coat. It is 8 AM--my day off--and already I'm in a race against time.

In the backyard I stomp around taking measurements, too swift to be accurate. I come back inside, make coffee, and have a new elated thought. I need a drafting ruler and tear open the junk drawer to look for one. The drawer is a mess. Impulsively I take everything out, determined to set it in order. The hammer and the paint-can opener belong in the basement. As I take them downstairs I remember that the kitchen wall needs painting. Today I could do it--I have the energy to do it. Why not walk to the paint store, stuff the quart can in my knapsack, and return home with the paint on my back?

Meanwhile what did I come downstairs to do? I bound back upstairs thinking, that's it: I want hedges, not fences; and I pull on my boots to go outside to measure. Once in the backyard I suddenly remember that I need to put in two more paving stones to complete the path I started last fall. I hurl myself to the shed, half flying: truly, I am barely able to keep my feet on the ground. Flinging open the shed door, I rip out the shovel and stop dead in my tracks. I am furious: the ground is frozen!

Does this manic dance sound like the beginnings of a breakdown? Do I truly believe I can fly? My doctor suggests Ritalin to bring my body and my mind to rest. But I have always refused. As a friend once said to me, why take drugs when you can spin through life six steps ahead of everyone else? Thankfully I have learned to use exercise--and breath--to tranquilize my manic dance. "

That is sooo not me. I wish I had half this woman's energy. Manic lethargy might better describe how I seem to go through life. I know, careful what you wish for. If nothing else, the writing may help me to empathize with those that experience the manic dance. I may have one of those living in my house right now, but I think it's still too soon to tell.

First attempt

Since I may well never do this again, or at least possibly not 'til after Halloween, I'll decorate with one of my all-time favorite Halloween pics. Why am I doing this? I do not have time for this!