Dishwasher Talk

guardian angel grandma

2010-10-26T16:07:00.000-07:00

it saddens me knowing that my son, now 7 weeks old will never know my mom. she died 9 years ago of cancer. over the years i have thought about how she will miss out on so many important things in my life. like how i moved to NY, experiencing my new life here, and meeting my husband. children weren't even a glimpse in my eye back then so i never really thought about her missing out on being a grandma until now.

while i was pregnant, my brother and i would joke about how excited our mom would have been knowing she was about to be a grandma. so excited that she almost would have driven me crazy. you know, always calling, checking in, sending gifts that she bought, her ideas for the nursery, etc. she would have planned her trip for when i had the baby, hoping she would have been here in time for the delivery.

instead i've spent the past 7 weeks asking my mom to send motherly advice from heaven. what do i do when i have exhausted all resources on getting him to sleep? i am supposed to go back to work in 4 weeks, but can't possibly imagine doing it. what did she do? i want to share with her every thing charlie does, how he smiles when he is done nursing. how his eyes roll back in his head when he's tired and then he giggles. i want to share with her everytime he gains a pound and grows an inch. and each picture we take of him, i wish i could email them to her and show her just how beautiful he is.

at night while nursing, there is nothing else to do, but stare out the window. over the past few weeks i have noticed a star outside his window. it's the brightest star in the sky. i've come to look for it every night. and no matter the weather, it's there. i am positive it's my mom. she's watching over us, she's keeping an eye on her grandson. i've started talking to the star. i know it sounds silly, but i do. i describe what it feels like to be a mother. how it's surreal. i ask the star how is it possible to love someone so much in an instant, and just when you think you can't possibly love him anymore, that love grows? everyday it grows stronger and i can't imagine my life without him. i talk to charlie. i tell him about his grandma. how smart, how witty, quirky, funny and beautiful she was. i tell him how much she would have loved him.

it's sad my mom never got the chance to be a grandma and even sadder my son never got to meet her. and even though charlie will never get to know his grandma, i know she is up there watching over us. she's his guardian angel grandma

R.I.P Mom 10-27-01

being pregnant

2010-08-18T08:58:00.000-07:00

39 weeks pregnant. only 1 more grueling week to go (if i'm lucky) or perhaps he'll come early and i won't have to endure the next 7 days. as the end draws near, i have been reminiscing about the past 9 months, and here are just a few things i have learned:

1.) people love to give advice and at times, very strange advice. for example, below are actual quotes from emails i received from either clients or co-workers.

"Stay healthy- no fads, just basics. Say "yes" to help. Breast feeding is very good! (But don't get hung up on "how long" you need to do it) you're body will run it's course (but metoclopramide 10 mg q.I.d p.o may help you extend the time). Don't listen to people who give you stress; mothers have been doing a great job for millions of years!" -an opthamologist client

"So congrats! Just a word of advice....if you get home from the hospital and the baby is screaming in the middle of the night and you stagger to his/her room to do your mommy thing and the following thought enters your head...."Oh My God...WHY did I think this was a good idea? I can't do THIS! What was I THINKING?"......you are NOT a bad mommy. My kid's nine and I sometimes think that even now." -a colleague

"Good for you . Women catch all the breaks. I know You will make a terrific Mom. Best of luck see you in December. My wife was able to squeeze a little more time out of her maternity leave since she breast fed (first 3 months) her GYNOBY found a impacted or infected areola (she didn't know she had) . It gave her a few more weeks." -our contractor

"If you don't immediately fall in love with your baby as soon as he's born, it's okay." -a colleague

2.) people are so complimentary and such well wishers

"you're so skinny! how is it possible you're 9 months pregnant?" -a counterpart from Barcelona

"you look amazing! i can't believe you're due in a week!" -a work neighbor

"good luck with your baby boy! i bet he's gonna have beautiful blue eyes!" -random client

"best wishes to you and your baby." -a stranger sitting across from me on the train

"congratulations! you'll be a great mom!" -the fireman who i gave change to for the fill the boot

3.) people are genorous with gifts, some gifts more welcome than others. for example, the 2 women who clean my showroom, who most likely don't have a pot to piss in, each bought the baby a gift, and a very generous gift at that. a designer in the building where i work bought the baby the cutest outfit ever. but then there are the gifts i would have rather not received. like a t-shirt for the baby with a picture of the woman's dog on it?? or the random sweater vest and weird overcoat that looks like a girl should be wearing it, just those 2 things, no pants to match. and the box filled with fleece pajamas, 3 pairs of them, all the same size, all will be too big for him when he actually needs to wear fleece. a baby blue sweater one piece? just because it's from bloomingdale's doesn't mean it's a good gift.
i don't mean to sound ungrateful, but you have to wonder what goes through people's minds when picking out gifts. do they buy the first thing they see on sale and they don't care what it looks like or do they really think what they are getting is a good practical gift? i don't know.

all in all, being pregnant has been a joy. sure the morning sickness, the backaches, the horomones and everything else were a pain, but i'm going to miss my big ol' belly and everyone saying how cute i look even if they don't mean it. i'm going to miss feeling the baby move inside, letting me know he's okay. i'm going to miss being at my heaviest weight, but still feeling beautiful because it's for a good cause. however, a whole new chapter will begin once he gets here and i can't wait.

waiting.....

2010-08-03T08:40:00.000-07:00

a shooting pain in the side wakes me at 4:00 a.m. the pain comes in waves throughout the morning and has me in tears on my drive into work. at noon the pain has worsened and my husband begs me to call the doctor. at 2:30 pm the pain is so intense it takes my breath away and makes me stumble while walking across my office floor. this kind of pain finally warrants a call to the doctor. it's 3:00 pm on a friday and he's gone for the day. the nurse is going to have the on-call doctor call me back. she does and tells me to immediately go to labor and delivery. i still have 5 weeks to go, labor and delivery is not what i expect to hear.

at the hospital, in a delivery room, i am told to pee in a cup and then i am hooked up to monitors. the nurse casually tells me the pain i am feeling is contractions. the room starts spinning for both me and my husband. two doctors come in along with the nurse pushing an iv cart and an ultra sound machine. a blood pressure strap is wrapped around my arm. questions like, "do you know the sex? do you want him circumcised? are you going to breastfeed? do you have a living will?" are thrown at me. an iv is stuck in my arm while the doctor does an ultrasound. my baby weighs 5 pounds 7 oz, he's in the proper position. the doctor says, "he's ready to come out." holy hell i'm having a baby! beads of sweat the size of golf balls are dripping down my husband's head. he's biting his nails. he asks the doctor if he should be calling people and the doctor says, "not yet".

an exam is performed and numbers like 0 cm and 40% are mentioned. 0 cm, that means no dilation, right? the doctors says i'm not in true labor. miraculously the blood pressure drops back down to normal, my husband's too. the nurse had drawn blood and ran tests on my urine that proved i was dehydrated. dehydration causes contractions. who knew? 3 hours later the contractions have moved to 10 minutes apart. they decide to release me.

should i be on bedrest? nope, continue with normal daily activities. does this mean the baby could come early, my husband asks? the nurse replies, "yes. he could come tomorrow or he could come in two weeks, but nevertheless, early."

and now the waiting begins. contractions are still there, not like they were before, but still there. pressure is so strong on my pelvic and lower back area. i wait. condensation from the water bottle i carry drips down my legs. i think my water broke. it hasn't. my husband makes me sleep on a towel. he makes me sit on a towel. i wait for my water to break. 2 BBQs are on our calendar over the next few weeks and my rsvp response is "maybe". i'm waiting to see if the baby comes. trying to plan something for my husband's birthday at the end of the month is impossible because i'm waiting to see if the baby comes.

september 5th, the actual due date, was fine with me. but now, being told he could come early, makes it that much harder. waiting......i can't wait to meet this little boy.

my gramps

2010-07-02T07:39:00.000-07:00

i found out my grandpa hit a hole in one the other day while playing golf. he was two under par on four par threes. he shot eighty-two for the round. oh, did i mention he is eighty-nine years old? did i also mention this hole in one was his sixth in his lifetime? i would imagine that has to be some kind of record for someone who only plays golf in his spare time.

his sixth hole in one? i don't know why i felt such an overwhelming sense of pride, but i did. you see, my grandpa is sort of a legend at their local country club. he still holds the record for most club championships ever won, which i believe is sixteen. he is without a doubt the oldest man who plays regularly on the golf course. if you're ever looking for my grandpa and he isn't at home or tending to his roses in his garden, you can find him either on the driving range or the putting green practicing his game. this summer is the first summer in many years where he sat out on the country club's annual member/guest tournament. this tournament involves three consecutive days of golf, eighteen holes one day, twenty-seven holes the next, and eighteen holes the last day. all of this in usually ninety degree weather. the only reason he sat out this year was my grandmother fell ill a few days prior to the tournament and he had to back out of it.

once i heard the news of the hole in one i called him to congratulate him.
me: rumor has spread to new york you hit a hole in one the other day.
gramps: oh, you saw that in the new york times?
me: yes, it was on the front cover page!
gramps: how did my picture come out? i was a little worried because i wired it over to them.
gramps: did you tell your husband? what did he think of it?
me: yes! he couldn't believe it.
gramps: couldn't believe it? doesn't he know i've had six of them?
me: he does, and he's jealous because he would like to just have one in his lifetime, let alone six!
gramps: ha! tell him good luck with that.
me: what do you get these days for hitting a hole in one? they still can't give you a trophy, can they?
gramps: nope. they give you a $500 gift card to the golf shop. i need a $500 gift card to the golf shop like i need a hole in the head. i'll save it, and in ten years when you're little guy is ready for his first set of real golf clubs, his great grandpa will buy them for him.

and i have this strange feeling, that in ten years, my gramps will do just that.....

kicks

2010-06-23T10:25:00.000-07:00

the original title to this post was going to be "bitch fest". lately i feel as if i have a lot to bitch about. my family is so fucked up we make the kardashians, the lohans, the osbournes, and every other crazy family out there, look like the fucking cleavers! i have very few friends, and the ones i do have i feel are slipping away, i can't relate to them anymore. i have an assistant who has been my assistant for two years and told me yesterday she doesn't know how to make or use an excel spreadsheet. i don't need the added work. the lease on my car is up in eight days and we have no idea what car we are going to get to replace it. everything we can afford, i don't like. speaking of affording things, i worry every night about finances. my husband and i both have great jobs making decent money and there are times where i feel as if we live paycheck to paycheck. i have a slight disdain for people. i find most of them pompous, arrogant, selfish and if i could live a life of solitude, i would.

maybe i'm just hormonal, i don't know, but on the subject of horomones, i'm thirty weeks pregnant. i still have ten weeks left and i'm miserable. i can't sit at my desk because my back hurts, i can't ride in a car because my back hurts, i can't ride the train because that means i have to sit, and well you guessed it, my back hurts. i don't mean it aches, i mean it feels like someone has taken a baseball bat and has beaten me repeatedly, to the point i want to cry. standing is the only thing that makes me feel better, but i can't stand too long because then my feet start to swell and then they start hurting. i wake up every morning with a numb right hand. the numbness continues throughout the day and makes it hard for me to do multiple things since i am right handed. my doctor tells me it's a sign of carpal tunnel syndrome. just another great perk to being pregnant. i have heartburn so bad it makes me not want to eat anything. which isn't good being that i'm pregnant and all. i want a glass of wine so badly i can taste it. not to get drunk, because that was oh so ten months ago, but to enjoy something cool, crisp and refreshing on these one hundred degree days. and that's something else, it's only june. so why in the hell does it feel like i live in the center of the equator?

i said to my husband in tears the other night, "i'm so done with being pregnant." i was almost angry when i said it. and then all of a sudden i feel a tremendous kick right in my ribs. i started laughing. hell yes that kick hurt, but it was this great reminder of the amazing tiny life i have growing inside of me. it's not his fault that i'm miserable. well, technically it is, but he didn't ask to be born. we were the ones who decided to conceive him and i should have known what i was getting in to. it's tremendous the amount of power these kicks have on me. everytime i feel one i instantly forget all the bad in the world and remember him. i forget what i'm pissed off about, what i'm mad about, who annoys me and why. i forget all of that. i'm going to be a mom. when he is born, it's not going to be about me anymore, it's going to be about him. and that's just fine. a crazy family, stupid people, financial issues, aches and pains will all go to the way side. i am going to have a little baby boy. he's all mine. something that just my husband and i created. he'll love me unconditionally and he will be all that matters in this world.

memorial day memories

2010-06-02T09:40:00.000-07:00

i don't know if it's impending motherhood or just getting older, but i recently find myself getting swept up in childhood nostalgia. memories that pop into my head, and i'm like, "whoa! where did that come from?" but it's nice, these trips down memory lane. they remind me of where i came from.

this past weekend, memorial day weekend, the start of summer, came and went. it was filled with yard work, bbqs with friends, and hot sunny summer weather. it was perfect. i asked my husband sunday morning if he knew who was on the poll for the race. he said, "what race?" i replied, "uh, only the biggest racing/sporting spectacular of the year? the indy 500!" he said, "maybe in indiana it's big, but not here." i didn't care what ny sports team was on that day, dammit i was going to watch the race. i turned on the tv just as jim nabors took the stage to sing 'back home again in indiana'. while he was dreaming about the moonlight on the wabash, i started daydreaming of race days past. i remember being a child, 5, 6, 7 years old. race day was a big day in our house. my father would hang the black and white checkered flags from our deck. i vaguely recall a sign saying "welcome race fans" hanging from our front porch. my brother and i were too young to go with our parents to the race so we would spend the night prior at our aunt and uncle's home (which was conveniently across the yard from our home). the group of race goers would meet at our home usually around 6:00 am. i could hear them in our driveway. the whole group seemed so excited and ready to go even at that hour of the morning. my brother and i would camp out in front of the tv watching the race. even if it was nice outside, my aunt had a hard time trying to lure us away. we knew once the race was over it would still be a few more hours until our parents got back home. we would play in the yard with our cousins until we saw our blue van roll into the driveway. i would run over to my dad and ask him who won the race, even though i already knew. he would tell me in his most excited voice like it was his favorite driver ever! i would always chuckle at how sunburned he would be with huge raccoon eyes. no self-respecting man would wear sunscreen, right? we would spend the rest of the evening playing in the backyard while my aunt and uncle had a bbq.

years passed and as we got older memories changed to bbqs and cocktail parties on our deck, just the four of us. my mother would request jimmy buffett music and my brother would inevitably put on some cd we didn't recognize. the nights would end with the feeding frenzy album where we would raise our cocktails and sing along with 'margaritaville'. it was indeed the official start of summer.

mary hulman-george has now said "ladies and gentlemen, start your engines" and i'm brought back to present day. and how times have changed. we had our bbq on monday. yes, the day before a work day which we used to never do. our 4 closets friends came with their children in tow. most of the afternoon revolved around them and taking pictures of them. the boys only played one round of horse shoes. we purchased 2 cases of beer and we have over a case left.

times are definitely a changin'. i look forward to the years to come where we'll create new memories. maybe i'll even take my child to the indy 500 one day or at least watch it with him on tv.

dear baby

2010-05-20T08:19:00.000-07:00

all of the websites and books say i should start a pregnancy journal or do a time capsule for you to open 20 years from now. instead i thought i would write you a letter. it's funny saying, "dear baby", we already know your name, in fact we knew it before we even knew you were coming into this world. we call you by name in the comforts of our home, when no one is around. can you hear us? your daddy has the habit of pressing his mouth right against my belly in hopes you can hear him better. it sounds awfully fuzzy to me, i can only imagine what it sounds like to you. i hope you like your name. i already know it's going to suit you perfectly. as of now, we're keeping it to ourselves. as you'll find out in a few years, we have a very opinionated family, and the last thing your daddy and i want is to hear every one's opinions on what your name should be. it's a secret only the three of us know.

so, a little about your parents. hi, i'm your mom. i'm thirty years old, will be thirty-one when you arrive. i'm originally from indiana. i moved out east eight years ago. i can't believe it's been that long already! i met your daddy six years ago and we will be married for two years when you get here in september. your grandma died 8 1/2 years ago of cancer. gosh i wish she could meet you. she would absolutely love you to pieces. she's in heaven now and is watching over you as i write. she'll be a great guardian angel. your grandpa still lives in batesville, indiana (that's where i grew up). your uncle lives in los angeles. they are both so excited to meet you.

i work for a company called miele. i sell appliances. boring, right? i work in manhattan on 58th street and as boring as appliances may sound, i love my job. i hope you will understand when i have to go back to work after you are born. your daddy just started a new job with villeroy and boch. both companies are german. speaking of, he's leaving for germany next week and it will be just me and you, and the dog.

oh, we have a yellow labrador. she'll be 13 years old this fall. her name is bacardi. she's the sweetest thing ever and i know she'll be quite protective over you. she's getting older by the day. i hope she sticks around long enough for you to really enjoy her, because i think the two of you will have a great time together.

right now we live in mount vernon, ny. we bought our home 3 years ago. it's been a work in progress. currently, the room under construction is your room! i can't wait for you to see it. so far it's just perfect and it's not even completely done. we painted the walls blue, of course, since you are a boy, but it's the perfect shade. not too bright, not too light. i hope you'll feel comfortable there and right at home.

i'm almost twenty-five weeks, which means in fifteen weeks you are supposed to come in to this world! over the past couple of weeks you have become very rambunctious, and i wouldn't have it any other way. i love it! it's a reminder to me that you're doing okay. even in the middle of the night when i wake up, you give me a little tap letting me know you're there. thank you. the first time i felt you really move, i was in the bathtub. you gave me a nice little kick! i first thought you were telling me the water was too hot, and i immediately got out of the tub. but, your kicks continued after that. your daddy was a bit jealous at first because he couldn't feel them, but finally on mother's day you gave us your best kick and he felt it! happy mother's day to me! now, we can actually see you kick, it's the coolest thing ever. your daddy thinks it means you're going to be a soccer player. your grandpa hopes your arms are moving and that you're going to be a quarterback. we'll love you no matter what sport you play.

surprisingly enough, i'm not scared of your arrival. actually, i can't wait for it to get here. i've already imagined you in my mind, a beautiful little boy. it doesn't matter to me who you look like either. of course, i would love for you to look like me, but i would be happy if you looked like your daddy. i can't wait to hold you in my arms. stare at you, completely amazed that you are a creation of me and your daddy. amazed that i carried you in my belly for forty weeks. hoping that i provided the proper nourishment and a safe place to grow.

you'll have to forgive me if i don't get it quite right in the beginning. it's my first time being a mom, you know, so please bear with me. i'm going to do my best.

that's it for now. enjoy the apple i'm eating at this moment and i'll see you in fifteen weeks.
i love you.

love,
your mom

love

2010-04-19T08:51:00.000-07:00

it's impossible for me to put into words how much i love my husband. there really isn't a great way to say it. it's all emotions, feelings. it's going to bed next to him at night, waking up at 3:00 am and grabbing his hand to know he's still there, he gently squeezes my hand in return to let me know he's not going anywhere. it's being at a crowded party where i glance across the room and meet his eyes at the exact same time. wishing i was next to him, but knowing it's okay that i'm not. it's lying in a field of grass together on a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. we don't need to say anything, we let the world revolve around us because in that moment, we are the only two people in the whole world. it's giving up a first class seat on a flight back home because they only had one seat and not two. it's being 5 months pregnant, feeling ugly, as i am walking out the door to go to work, my husband tells me i look "yummy". he instantly puts a smile on my face and makes monday morning not seem too bad.

this past weekend i met my husband in chicago. it was one of the best weekends ever. he was there on business, i was there on leisure. we didn't get to spend all that much time together, but the time we did spend, was quality. i would drag my lazy pregnant ass out of bed each morning to join him for breakfast. we would romantically meet each other in the lobby at the end of the day for a drink at the bar and then go to dinner or a party. i did my best on saturday to get "dolled" up for him. it's hard looking sexy in a maternity dress, but when he saw me all dressed up, his face lit up and he told me repeatedly i looked hot. this is the highest compliment you can receive from my husband, being told you look "hot".

we had a great time that evening at a party. he has so many new opportunities coming his way and i couldn't be any more proud of him. he'll succeed at any endeavor he takes on. after the party, we met up with a few of his co-workers. he introduced me to everyone and i was so happy to be introduced as wife. i was elated to be on his arm and have him call me his wife and i call him my husband.

sunday afternoon was a day of leisure. we strolled through millenium park in chicago which is absolutely beautiful. we held hands, we wrapped our arms around each other's waists, we stopped and kissed. we laid in a grassy field, my head on his stomach, and we both fell asleep for only a few minutes. it was what i like to call, "pure bliss".

i'm back to the grind today and i miss him. i can't wait to get home tonight and give him a huge hug and kiss. i can't wait to tell him how much i love him. i know i'm not the perfect wife, but i try my best. i hope he knows how much i love him and if he doesn't, i'll just keep trying until he does know.

Adventures in Babysitting

2010-04-11T06:34:00.000-07:00

my husband and i recently babysat for our best friends' 3 month old, drew. it was our first time babysitting together, the first time i have babysat since i was probably 13 years old and our first time alone with this little guy. since we are impending parents, not only did we want the babysitting adventure to be a success since he's the son of our best friends, but it was kind of a test of our parenting skills.

i like to say this quietly, but in my opinion, drew is the best baby i have ever met. i say it quietly because i don't want my little bun in the oven boy to get upset, but he's such a good baby! our night went as such.....

mom and dad left and me and my husband took over. he hung out on the couch with us while we watched the end of the masters. he laid on the floor surrounded by this god-awful colorful thing and listened to the porn-like music it played. anytime i would take a peek at him, he would break into the biggest smile as if to say, "hey! nice to see ya, wanna listen to some music?" we moved him from his mat, because in all honesty, i just couldn't take the music anymore. we tried to get him to roll over, but no such luck. he got soooo close, but couldn't do it. the 2nd or 3rd time we would aid in pushing him over and then erupt into a big "yay!! you did it!" he looked at us like, "what the hell?" my husband tried to get him to walk. he felt slightly defeated when i told him drew was too young to walk, but it didn't matter, drew loved the action. it was cute to see him use his chubby little legs! we put him in his bumbo chair where drooly drew (as his mama calls him) drooled all down the front of himself, soaking his shirt. finally after a fun 2 hours of action, he fell asleep in my husband's arms. i've gotta admit, there is nothing cuter than seeing a baby sleep in your hubby's arms.

bedtime was, let's say, a learning experience. we took this little angel up to his room and went through his whole bedtime routine. it was my favorite part of the evening. he looked at me with his big eyes as if to say, "you're doing a great job! thanks for taking care of me this evening." he was all set in his pjs when i went to give him his bottle. we rocked in the chair while i fed him, drew continued to stare at me with those eyes, a big smile on his face. he pushed the bottle away which his mom told me was a sign he was done. i noticed he didn't eat much, but his mom also said he may not since she fed him earlier. i put drew up on my shoulder and gently patted his back. he released a burp that i swear would challenge my 31 year old husband's burps. ok, he must be set. i decided to rock him a little more before i put him in his crib and all of a sudden he started wailing! screeches that i've never heard come from this baby or for that matter any baby. i rocked him. nope. i bounced back and forth. nope. i did shhhh, shhhh sounds. nope. nothing seemed to work. finally my husband stepped in and i asked him to try. he took him, sat back in the rocker, tried to feed him again, and.....silence. i've gotta admit, i was a little heartbroken my husband was able to solve the problem, but more relieved the poor thing stopped crying. 10 minutes later the wails started again. my husband came downstairs and said, "i think something is wrong with this bottle, it's as if nothing is coming out of it." i compared it to the other bottle that was left for us and sure enough they were the exact same amount, still full. it must have been my motherly instinct, because i instantly removed the nipple part to see that a white cap was blocking any liquid from getting out. i reassembled the bottle, gave it back to my husband and drew started downing the liquid. no wonder the little sweetheart was crying, he was hungry!

side note: in our instructions from the mom, she did say to remove the white cap from the bottle. i thought she assumed we had no idea what we were doing and was telling us to remove the obvious white cap on top of the bottle, not that there was another one inside!!

after the bottle was gone, my husband put him in his crib. we were successful, but i felt slightly defeated. i wanted to be the one to put the little one to sleep. a little bit later, drew starts whimpering, slightly crying. i wanted to redeem myself, so i said to my husband with the utmost confidence, "i've got this one." i gave the little guy his pacifier, turned back on his sleep sheep, rubbed his chest for a moment and he fell into dreamland. i'm fairly sure he even gave me a smile before he fell asleep. i couldn't tell because, you know, it was dark and all. so technically, i was the one who got him to sleep.

all and all our first adventure in babysitting was a great success! i wanted to make sure however, drew wasn't going to remember that i was the one who put him into a crying fit. his parents reassured me, no, but just in case, i'm going to have to babysit him again. i told his mom last night it's amazing to me how much i love that little guy and he's not even mine. i can't imagine how much i'm going to love the little baby growing inside of me! i can't wait for the two of them to become best buds and for drew to teach his little cousin everything he knows. hell, drew has already taught me some things of my own about parenting.

thanks drew! it was a fun night....

Interpreting Dreams

2010-04-08T12:18:00.000-07:00

i recently made mention of dreams i have had saying i was having a boy. and i am now having a boy! so the other night when i had a dream of actually giving birth to this boy i paid close attention to the details of the dream and woke myself up instantly to remember them. here's what happened:

...my husband and i were at the hospital, me ready to give birth. the birth was instant and happened within seconds. i didn't feel any pain, no soreness, no nothing. he shot out of me like a canon! i was in shock it happened so fast! i asked my husband, "did the doctor even come in here?" he told me the doctor did come in, but the labor was so quick he didn't have to do anything. i laid in bed holding our new born baby, staring in amazement at his beauty and how i couldn't believe my husband and i produced something as gorgeous as he! then the family arrived, well most of the family. my mother-in-law, my 2 cousins, my brother and my father. my mother-in-law was the first to hold him. she was holding him as if he was 6 months old, bouncing him around and tossing him in the air, while my baby's head/neck flopped around mercilessly. i urged my husband to please take the baby away from her. then one of my cousins tried feeding him cheese and crackers. she was stuffing them into his mouth. i screamed at her that he's barely and hour old and she can't be feeding him cheese and crackers! my other cousin told us she hated his name. and then there were my brother and father, both just staring at him like they have never seen anything like him before. (which i guess maybe they haven't.) they were so happy to welcome into this world their first nephew and grandson. after everyone left the nurse took him to get weighed. when she came back i asked her his weight. she sounded like the teacher from the Peanuts, whaah, whah, whah, whhaah, whaahh. she was german and my husband told me we would find out sooner or later on the birth certificate. then i woke up.......

how realistic! i remember in the dream when i was first holding him i told him i knew i was dreaming but if he could just be so kind and make labor in september as easy as it was in my dream that would be awesome. recently i saw my mother-in-law holding a young baby as if he could hold his head up properly. so it's no surprise that would be the one thing i was concerned about with her holding him in the dream. the 2 cousins in the dream, well, uh, let's just say the dream was fitting. and as for my brother and father, i think they can't wait to meet this little guy. to love him as much as they possibly can and to teach him everything they know about this big big world. when i woke up, i remember being disappointed that i couldn't understand what the nurse said about his weight. i was hoping to hear something and remember it to see how close the dream weight was to his real weight.

each day i am astonished by the amount of love i feel for this baby boy and i haven't even met him yet. after my dream i loved him even more than i did the day before. i can't wait to meet him. i'm anxious to see what he looks like. i'm excited to see when his personality will develop. i just want to hold him in my arms and say, "hi! i'm your mommy. and i'm going to try my hardest to be the absolute best mom i can be to you.......just bare with me."

Faith

2010-04-01T08:54:00.000-07:00

each night i say a prayer when I go to bed. "now i lay me down to sleep, i pray the lord my soul to keep......" the same prayer i have been saying since i was old enough to recite one. i pray for the safety and health of the baby boy i am carrying inside me. i pray for a healthy pregnancy. i pray my mother's parenting skills have rubbed off on me. i pray for my cousins children. i pray for my dad's sobriety. i pray my brother finds happiness. i pray for my 90 year old grandparents' health too. i ask him to tell my mother i said hello and i miss her every day.

there is a saying in a song that says, "i'm praying to a God i don't believe in." whatever gets you through, right? i've struggled with my faith since the death of my mother. i prayed my ass off while she was sick. praying she would get better, praying she wouldn't die, praying i would be able to get through it. and not a single one of those things happend. she didn't get better, she died, and i still haven't gotten through it.

i am almost 31 years old and am going to be a mother come september. how can i not practice some sort of faith while raising a child? what if something happens to him? what if he gets sick? who would i turn to for help? would it even matter?

my father recently called me while i was at work. he never calls me during the work day. he tells me he has great news and he had to tell someone, so he called me. the judge came back with a number for his divorce settlement. the number he came back with was well below the number his ex-wife was suing him for! phew! i could hear the relief and happiness in my dad's voice. suddenly my shoulders felt about 50 pounds lighter. of course i will still worry about his sobriety, but it's one less thing that could set my dad back off the wagon. i think he's been unhappy for quite some time and it's his turn to experience life and happiness.

the other day i received an email from my brother telling me he has started seeing a therapist. FINALLY! he has been unhappy for such a long time and is just one more person in my life who deserves to find happiness. my brother hasn't been himself for a very long time, probably since my mother died, if not before. therapy has always been a taboo thing in my family. you have issues? so does everyone else in this family. sweep them under the carpet like we have done for the past 60 years and you'll be good to go. therapy did wonders for me and i've been telling my brother to screw the stigma of seeing a shrink and GO SEE ONE! he tells me the therapist read him in the first 10 minutes he was there. he thinks the therapist will be good for him. it's going to take a while to peel all the layers my brother has built up around him, but once those layers are gone, i will have the brother i once knew back.

monday i had another sonogram. this one was called the "anatomy test" where they do a full body scan on the baby to see if all of his organs are progressing the way they should be progressing. the doctor told me i have one beautiful healthy baby boy growing inside of me and my pregnancy is absolutely perfect.

tonight my husband has a 3rd interview for a new job. he doesn't need this job, he already has one, which takes the pressure off. however, this job is offering more money and better opportunities. with a baby on the way in 5 months it never hurts to get offered more money. i'm so proud of him regardless of what happens.

so, are we just crossing a lucky patch? or is there someone out there that is really watching over us? someone that is really answering our prayers? will we ever know? who knows. but for now, i'm going to keep saying every night, "now i lay me down to sleep......" and see where my faith takes me.

Vacation

2010-03-30T10:29:00.000-07:00

77 weeks ago was the last real vacation my husband and I went on. It was for our honeymoon. We went to Hawaii for 2 weeks and it was the best vacation either one of us went on. It was filled with taking in breathtaking views, relaxing by the pool, playing in the ocean, getting massages, and drinking mai tais....lots of them.

77 weeks later, here in New York City it is cold, bitterly cold. It's 35 degrees with wind gusts of up to 31 mph. It's raining, pouring rain. Over the past 2 days we have accumulated over 5" of rain, and it's supposed to continue to rain tomorrow. Everything is flooded. It's hard to drive your car anywhere, all the parkways are closed. It's hard to walk down the sidewalk because the driving rain continues to hit you in the face even with your golf-sized umbrella. I just walked half of a block to the deli and suddenly became Mary Freaking Poppins as the wind took my umbrella up into the air and I felt like my feet were dangling 12" above the pavement!

I hate this weather, and I act like I'm not used to it. I am, I grew up in the mid-west where the weather was basically the same as it is in New York. I understand the Springtime is supposed to be rainy, but freezing cold and rainy? How are these April showers going to produce any May flowers when the temperatures don't go above 40? This weather depresses me. I have a 10 block walk from Grand Central Terminal to my office. It takes me 10 minutes. It normally gives me time to think and relax before I start my work day. Not today! I was more stressed out from battling the wind, rain, and random umbrellas poking me in the face than anything else! I was almost in tears. I was thinking when is this shit of a season going to end? Is there any end in sight?

In 43 days my husband and I are leaving for Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and I can not wait. It's not that Fort Lauderdale excites me, it's more about the fact of getting away. Sure we've been away on short little weekends, but I mean really truly get away from NYC. I want to go somewhere warm, a place with a beach where I can rest my feet in the sand. A place where the palm trees provide minimal shade around the pool so I can soak up the warm sun at all hours of the day. A place where I can kick back and order a fruity drink with an umbrella and drink it at my leisure, but not too slowly because it's so warm the ice melts. A place where at night when the sun has gone down, it's still warm, but you need a light sweater to keep the sunburn chill away. A place where I can be me, no worries, no fake fronts, no emails, no cell phones, just me and my husband and the warm warm sun.

A Little Boy

2010-03-17T11:53:00.000-07:00

"It's a Boy? It's a Boy?? It's a BOY!" After 16 weeks of waiting. After 16 weeks of calling him an 'It', we finally know that come September we are going to be blessed with a little boy. I have had 2 dreams in the past couple of weeks saying it was going to be a boy. I felt like it was going to be a boy. I guess a mother really does know.

A little boy. I can't believe it. I can't stop smiling. I can't stop imagining what he is going to look like. Will he look like me? Will he look like my husband? Will he be a perfect combination of the two of us? Whose personality will he take on? I have to admit I would love for him to look like me and have the demeanor and personality of his dad. Although if he looks like his dad, that would be just fine too.

A little boy. I've spent the past 24 hours trying out the name we have chosen for him, making sure it sounds perfect. I have bought him his first newborn outfit and bought him a Mets t-shirt for him to wear come next spring. I've researched nursery ideas, something slightly bright to stimulate his senses, but not too bright that it's overwhelming. I want him to grow up in the perfect atmosphere. I've told our closest friends and family we are having a little boy. I've even told not so close friends he's a boy and everyone says the same thing, "Boys are the best!" I told a random client. She told me she had 2 boys now the age of 21 and 23 and they are still the loves of her life. "Boys are the best!"

A little boy. It all of a sudden seems more real than it ever did. Wow! We are having a baby. Not just any baby, but an adorable little bundle of joy, a boy. I talked to him last night. I told him I hope I'm keeping him nice and safe and warm and cozy in there. I told him I can't wait to meet him and I am amazed that he is already the love of my life. I told him I hope to be the best mom I can be.

A little boy. My mom's first child was a boy. She was also morning sick like I was with her first child. Am I taking after her? I can only hope. I can only hope to be half the mom she was to me and my brother. I wish she was here to meet him. He would bring her so much happiness and joy. Instead, I know my little angel boy has his very own special guardian angel up in heaven watching over him. He will indeed be safe.

A Male-Dominated Industry

2010-02-19T12:08:00.000-08:00

You've been waiting to speak to your boss all day. You have big news to tell him. He arrives in the showroom right at 5:00 pm. You have a work event that night. You can't decide if you're excited or scared to death to tell him. Probably a little bit of both. 2 other colleagues are there for the event as well. One of them is your best guy friend. You also want to tell him your big news. You haven't told him yet out of respect for your boss. You think he should be the first to know. All of you are setting up for the event. Your boss suggests opening a bottle of wine. He does and goes to pour you a glass. You say, "No thank you." Someone says, "Wow! I think hell just froze over. You turned down a glass of wine!" You laugh and continue to work. You know you can't wait much longer to tell him.

The other 2 colleagues are summoned away on an ice run. You think this is the time. You call your boss into your office and say you have something to tell him. You can see the panic on his face. You blurt out, "I'm pregnant!" Now you can see the uncomfortableness on his face. He has told you before he hates the word pregnant. You have tried for weeks to think of another way to say it, but couldn't come up with anything. He tells you he figured something was up since you turned down a glass of wine. You assure him you will continue to do a great job and how much you love doing what you do. He says he knows. He gives you an awkward hug, says his congratulations and goes about the evening.

Your friend comes back from the ice run and tries to get you to have a glass of wine with him. It's kind of a ritual, the 2 of you always drink together. You feel bad as you can tell he thinks something is wrong. Now that you have told your boss you shouldn't leave him in the dark anymore. You tell him you have news for him. He says, "Good or bad?" You say, "I think it's good, you're going to think it's bad." He says, "You're pregnant." The word pregnant was not said with excitement. You laugh because most people wouldn't consider being pregnant as bad news. You tell him yes you indeed are pregnant and he asks "why you had to go and do that for?" He says he thinks things will change between the 2 of you. He thinks you won't be friends anymore. He says you'll change and always run home after work events to take care of your kid. You laugh and tell him, yes, things will change. That usually happens when you have a baby, but it doesn't mean you won't be friends anymore. He gives you a half-hearted congrats with a pat on the back and walks away.

You're hurt. You just told one of your closest friends you are expecting a baby! A time in your life that should be exciting and he makes you feel guilty about it. Throughout the course of the evening he refers to your situation as a predicament. A predicament? He thinks your pregnancy is a predicament? Well fuck him. That's what you say when you get pissed off and hurt. Fuck him. Yes, you're pregnant, but it doesn't mean you will be turning into a foreign alien that doesn't know how to function or communicate. You're fairly sure you will still be able to be a good friend to someone while you're pregnant and after you have the baby. However, if the only reason your friend wants to be your friend is so you guys can go out and have a few beers together, then maybe you don't want to be his friend after all.

You find the reactions odd. You're pregnant! Everyone should be excited? Is it because they're men and they don't know the appropriate response? Then how come other men you know have given you the same warm and fuzzy response that women give you? Is it because they're selfish. Yes that's it, they are selfish. Change isn't good, change is bad, and you're upsetting their world with your news. They don't care about you, they care about how this is going to effect them.

You hope they will eventually come around and be happy for you. But if they don't? Well, who cares. All you know is you have this amazing life growing inside of you that you love more and more each day. And come 9/5/10, you will get to meet this little life and nothing else will matter.

A Childhood Memory

2010-02-16T07:26:00.000-08:00

Isn't it funny how a childhood memory can pop into your head? And then somehow that memory brings you right back to the warm and fuzzy place? Yesterday my friend shared a story of her friend's adorable 3 year old. It involved the 3 year old saying something that made her mother laugh, but after the daughter continued to say it over and over again, the mother didn't find it so funny. She politely told her to stop saying it, so instead of saying it out loud, her daughter decided to mouth it.

This story instantly brought me back to 1984. I was 5. We were in Southern California visiting my Great Aunt & Uncle. My Dad was driving my uncle's car. My mom was in the front seat my brother and I were in the back seat. We had been doing "touristy" things all day and all of us were a little antsy from being in the car. I, who was the definition of a Daddy's girl, decided to ask 182 questions and start each one with, "Daddy".

Daddy I'm hungry.
Daddy, where are we?
Daddy, I love you!
Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom.
Daddy, I'm tired.
Daddy, I'm bored.
Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.....

Finally, my mother reached her breaking point. She whipped around, looked at me and said, "LA, if you say Daddy one more time, so help you God......" Of course I instantly shut-up and our car became very quiet. After 5 minutes or so I couldn't stand the silence anymore and I very quietly (to test the mom waters) said, "Give me a D! Give me an A! Give me a D, D, Y! What's that spell?" And at that moment my Dad bursts out laughing and shouts, "It spells, Daddy!" I thought my mom was going to freak and my Dad says, "You can't get mad at her, technically she didn't say Daddy." I started to giggle and much to my surprise, so did my mom.

The vacation turned out to be one of my favorites as a child. It seems like yesterday when we were there. Now, expecting a baby of my own, I can only hope my child will be instilled with memories. I want to scold my child for doing something annoying, but in a few short minutes be able to laugh at it. I want to take my children on great vacations that they will remember for the rest of their lives. I want to be as good of a mother to my children as my mother and father were to me.

Tiny Hands & Feet

2010-02-09T08:41:00.000-08:00

For the past 4 weeks I have been sick, like an alien has taken over my body. I wake up in the morning and the process of brushing my teeth makes me gag. I have to put down my toothbrush and turn around so I can have my head in the toilet and either dry heave or throw up the water that I just drank. I make my way into the shower, my back against the water flow while I retch so violently that I can't breathe. I have taken to sitting down in the shower. For some reason it makes the retching stop. I slowly get dressed, sipping on glasses of ice cold water. I try to nibble on some Saltines, but that usually ends up with a trip to the toilet. The 30 minute train ride into the city is so unbearable I have driven into work almost every morning. Sitting in an hour to 2 hours of traffic is better than sitting, cold sweating, holding onto a plastic bag for 30 minutes on a train.
Work is awful. Saltines are in my left hand while either a freezing cold Gatorade or ice cold water is in my right hand. I'm always a light shade of green. Putting on makeup seems useless. Why do it when it is going to wash off every time I splash water on my face after having my head in the toilet? Speaking of head in the toilet, do you know how awful it is to throw up in a public restroom? First, since I don't want to tell anyone yet that I'm pregnant, I have to make sure all of the stalls are clear. 2nd, I strategically line the toilet with paper because, well, it's a public restroom and I don't want to touch the toilet. 3rd, god forbid anyone walk in while I'm throwing up! I have to stop mid-vomit, rotate my body so my feet aren't facing the toilet and try my best to hold it in until they leave.
I get home at night, put my pajamas on, curl up on the couch and try to imagine one single thing that sounds appealing to eat. My poor husband, he's probably starving because the thought of making an actual dinner makes me want to gag. Recently, I was craving Mexican food (my favorite food type). We ventured over to our favorite Mexican restaurant. Reluctantly I ordered vegetarian fajitas. They arrive at my plate, sizzling, smelling amazing. I barely fill up the tortilla, a little sour cream, a little spinach, a little red pepper, and a little cheese. And oh the spinach! I stop mid-swallow and gag up the entire bite into my napkin. I decide to nibble on the rice, and a few minutes later, make a bee-line to the restroom. So much for Mexican food.

And, can I please discuss these grotesque things that are growing on my chest most people would call breasts? They are huge, they hurt, they ache, they itch, they tingle, my nipples throb if even a drop of water touches them. I have outgrown my cute little size B bras and have already moved on to a C. My husband says they are hot! Is he kidding me? Taking my bra off at night is such a chore. I have to use one hand to release the clasp and slide the straps off my shoulders while the other hand gently cradles my boobs so I can slowly let them down. The noise I make when they are "free" sounds like I just had the best orgasm ever. It's something to the effect of, "Ooooh oh oh aaah aaaaaah oh! Thank God!" It's absurd and gross and the books tell me they are going to keep on growing. Great.

What is up with the acne? I have pimples on my chin, on my forehead, on my back, and on my chest. And as I said above, I barely even wear makeup so there is nothing to cover up these craters. I can't use any of my acne creams because they aren't pregnancy approved. So I sit and wait for one to disappear while the next one pops up.

But wait, there is one saving grace to all of this...a baby is growing inside of me! Right, I forgot about that little point. And the other day, I had my 2nd ultrasound. The image pops up on the screen and I say, "Holy shit! Is that my baby?" It's tripled in size since the last ultrasound only 2 weeks ago and now it has tiny hands and feet! As the doctor was moving the camera around, I see a little hand move. The doc says, "Look! It's saying 'Hi Mom'!" At that moment my heart melted and all of a sudden, the nausea, the big boobs, the acne, the weight gain, the fatigue, the moodiness all seemed so very worth it.

J-E-T-S! Jets, Jets, Jets!

2010-01-10T16:52:00.000-08:00

I remember as a child cheering for the Jets. My Dad's hero was Joe Namath and followed the Jets even after Namath was retired. So it was slightly ironic when I met my now husband and just a few weeks after we started dating he told me he was heading to a Jets game with his father. He was a Jets fan. My Dad would be so proud.

Over the past 5 years every Sunday during Fall and Winter, mid-August through the first Sunday of February, consists of sitting in front of our TV in our living room, sitting in front of a TV at a random bar, or piling into our car to watch a Jets game. Watching football has become one of my all time favorite pass-times with my husband. I love everything about it. I love the competition that goes with it, I love the food that you eat while watching it, and I love the beer and the bloody marys that go so well with every Sunday.

We have gone to our fair share of games together. Each game consists of a massive tailgate spread and lots of beer. And each game I still get the chills everytime Fireman Ed silences the crowd just at kick-off time and then on cue, in unison the entire stadium chants, "J! E! T! S! Jets Jets Jets!" right when the kicker hits the ball. It really is spine tingling.

December 31st, 2006, that's right New Year's Eve, our best friends and us went to a Jets game. New Year's Eve was on a Sunday. We left our apartment at around 10:00 am. It was a gorgeous sunny mild day for late December. We had a couple of coolers filled with food, margaritas and beer. We played football in the parking lot, grilled hamburgers, and drank while waiting for the game to start. The Jets actually won that game, but even if they had lost, we would all still remember it as our best New Year's Eve, ever.

Being a Jets fan, just like being a Mets fan, brings you many ups and downs and a lot of disappointment. We were there when Pennington got injured, again. We were there when we weren't sure if we would have a QB and all of a sudden we have Brett Favre...suddenly we had hope of a good season. We were there when Brett became a disappointment and our season ended with an 9-7 record, again missing the playoffs. Yet, Fall of 2009 we get a glimmer of hope. We recruited Mark Sanchez from USC as our quarterback. Not only is he supposed to be good, but he's cute. A win for both my husband and me! In addition to a new QB, we have a new coach, Rex Ryan, who is supposed to be a demon when it comes to defense. The season starts on an incredible high, 3-0, with a big win over New England! But, in true Jet fashion, they slowly turn a great start into something horrible, losing multiple games in a row. Our dreams of a possible chance at the playoffs were slowly fading away. Then the weekend after Christmas, the Jets were awarded their own Christmas present, they played the Colts who decided to not play their starters the whole game since they already clinched their spot in the playoffs. And what happens? The Jets win! Not only did the Jets win, but other teams lost! With the losses from other teams the Jets had to play the Bengals the final game of the season, at Giants stadium and they had to win.

So, on January 3rd, 2010, the Jets played their hearts out on primetime TV and won, shutting out the Bengals 37-0! They were going to the playoffs! A rookie coach and a rookie QB going to the playoffs! Interestingly enough they had to play the Bengals again, this time at Cincinnati. The talk on the radio the whole week leading up to the game was whether or not the Bengals "laid down" the week prior in NY. Who truly was the better team? History will now show, the better team was the Jets! They won 24-14! The Jets were going to the 2nd game in the playoffs! Sanchez is no longer considered a rookie.

My 31 year old husband jumped up and down like a little girl who just received a pony for her birthday. He high fived all of his friends and picked me up and swung me around. I have never seen him so happy. (Well at least not since the day he married me...) He looked at me and said, "I'm telling you now, if the Jets go to the Super Bowl, I'm going to Miami." And you know what? I'll let him go. I'll stay here by myself with my dog, watching the game on TV, and let him go. He deserves it. He's never seen them in a Super Bowl and most likely never will. And I know I may be getting ahead of myself, but if they go to Miami, so will my husband.

How is it possible that a game that brings us so many aches and pain, can also bring us joy ten times over all with one little win? It's called love, and I love this game.

Christmas

2009-12-27T15:21:00.000-08:00

"Lake is frozen over. Trees are white with snow. And all
around reminders of you, are everywhere I go."

'Christmas is going to be a disaster this year. Maybe we should call it off', your brother says. You reassure him over and over again that it's going to be just fine. It's late at night on December 22nd, 2000. Your brother, who has flown in from Florida for Christmas, your Dad and you are discussing your mother's recent behavior. Your mother is asleep in her bedroom while the 3 of you have a few drinks in the kitchen. It's 2 days before Christmas Eve, a holiday your mother spends weeks getting ready for, you host it at your home, and not one thing has been done for the big night. The menu hasn't been finalized, food hasn't been purchased. Shopping still needs to be finished, presents yet to be wrapped. You vow to help her as much as you can to make your favorite night of the year a success.

"It's late and morning's in no hurry, but sleep won't set me free. I lie awake
and try to recall how your body felt beside me."

The next day you finish the grocery shopping. You tell your mother to finish the present shopping while you stay at home and clean. Christmas Eve day is spent wrapping the remaining presents and preparing the food. Your mother seems aloof.

"When silence gets too hard to handle and the night too long."

The rest of your family arrives Christmas Eve night. Everyone is in great spirits and happy it's Christmas. Your mother is in the kitchen preparing the coconut shrimp. She has burned every single one and thinks it's funny. She's singing Feliz Navidad at the top of her lungs, almost like she's drunk, but she has yet to drink a glass of wine. Everyone thinks it's funny. The remainder of the night is a success, despite the shrimp, you and your mom have pulled off another fabulous Christmas Eve. The following morning, Christmas Day, your mother is overly tired. You have breakfast, you open the gifts with your family, and your mother retires to bed in the early afternoon complaining of a backache.

"And this is how I see you, in the snow on Christmas morning. Love and happiness
surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky. I keep this moment by and
by."

The following month your mother is diagnosed with cancer of the lungs, kidneys, liver, and brain. She dies 10 months later. It's now understandable why Christmas was almost a disaster, her brain had been taken over with tumors. You wish you would have known that was going to be your last Christmas with her. You would have sung Feliz Navidad at the top of your lungs too and you would have laughed at how burnt the shrimp were.

"Oh how I miss you now...my Mom. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry
Christmas, my Mom."

Christmas hasn't been the same since she died. As hard as you have tried, you just can't get the same Christmas spirit back as when she was alive. Yet something has changed slightly. This year is the 2nd year in a row your Dad has come to visit you for Christmas. It's becoming a tradition. Christmas Eve was spent at a family friend's home. It was not quite like the Christmas Eve's of old, but it was nice. For the 2nd year in a row you have made the same Christmas morning breakfast, 'Holiday French Toast', just like your mother used to make. And in the evening you host Christmas dinner. You can't expect the Christmas holidays to be the same as it was 20 years ago or even 10 years ago, especially after a loved one dies, but you are starting your own traditions and it's nice to have your father share in those traditions too.

"Sense of joy fills the air. I daydream and I stare up at the tree and I see
You're a star up there."

You think this might have been one of the best Christmases you have had in the past 8 years. You cry when you drop your Dad off at the airport. You feel sad for him for being alone. You call him a little later and he tells you he bought a few NY t-shirts at the airport to have souvenirs from the weekend. He said he wants something to remind him of how great this weekend was. You smile knowing he enjoyed himself. You pause remembering your mom's laughter while burning those shrimp. Your heart warms knowing she's smiling now at the relationship you have established with your father.

"And this is how I see you in the snow on Christmas morning. Love and happiness
surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky. I keep this moment by and
by."

(*Thank you to Sarah McLachlan for her song, "Wintersong". It gets me through each holiday season.)

Holiday Traditions

2009-12-06T15:52:00.000-08:00

It seems when I was growing up, my family had certain holiday traditions that we followed, never breaking them. Thanksgiving day, every year, was the day we put up our Christmas decorations. As a child, I would wake up go downstairs where I would find my mother bringing up the decorations from the basement. She would tell me egg nog was in the refrigerator. I would have a glass of egg nog, while I watched the beginning of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. I would help my mother decorate our home while watching the parade and after the parade was over we would turn on Christmas carols. We would listen to Andy Williams' "red album" over and over again until we finally decided to move onto a Hallmark Christmas album. As I grew older I would normally pass on the egg nog being that I would be hungover, but would still help my mother decorate while watching the parade and listening to Andy Williams. It was a tradition, we did it every year.

My aunt and uncle (who lived next door) hosted Thanksgiving dinner and each year after dinner was over my father would ask everyone to come outside to see his outdoor Christmas light display. Inevitably his timer wouldn't work or a strand would be burned out, but each year the lights looked as beautiful as the year prior if not better. It was a tradition, we did it every year.

Christmas Eve was at our home. For as long as I can remember, my father would wear navy blue pants, a white shirt, a red and blue and green plaid tie, red suspenders and a Santa Claus hat. I can almost envision him coming down our stairs, his frosty beer mug in hand, saying 'ho ho ho' in that outfit. It was his Christmas outfit. It was a tradition, he did it every year.

The fireplace would be lit. You couldn't see the top of our dining room table as the amount of food my mother made was outrageous. We had the same thing every year: cheese balls, cheese and crackers, deviled eggs, veggie crudite, polish mistakes, scallops wrapped in bacon, teenie weenies, swedish meatballs, shrimp cocktail, ham, turkey and roast beef that you could make into mini sandwiches, turtle cheesecake, an array of Christmas cookies, and my red velvet peppermint 3 tiered cake. It was the same menu. It was tradition, we did it every year.

The family would arrive and our private family mass would begin. Father Paul would always have Jonathan and Libby read the readings. We would all have a chance to say a Christmas message. Someone would end up crying especially during the times when my mother was ill. My dad would get distracted by a burned out strand of lights outside on our deck. My mother would giggle at something odd Father Paul would say. My grandma always took communion when she wasn't "supposed to" and the dog would always lay in the center of our family circle. I would play the piano. The mass would start with "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" followed by "Silent Night" for the offertory, "The First Noel" for communion and end with "Joy to the World" where my Dad would do a solo. It cracked everyone up. It was fun, it was tradition, we did it ever year.

The alcohol would start flowing as soon as mass was over. I would be instructed to play Christmas carols while my mother, my uncle, and my grandfather would stand around the piano singing along. After food it was time for presents. I played Santa distributing the presents to everyone. My spot was always on the floor. We would open gifts in the order of youngest to oldest. I loved it since I was the youngest. The night would eventually come to an end. The 4 of us would recap the night while we had one last drink. It was normally after midnight and we would wish each other a Merry Christmas. It was tradition, we did it every year.

Christmas morning would consist of us eating breakfast, sausage and egg casserole, baked french toast, and cinnamon rolls. We would open presents after breakfast. Grandma and Grandpa came over for dinner/leftovers at night. We were always a bit depressed once Christmas day was over. Such a nice time would come and go so quickly. We were sad, it was tradition, we did it ever year.

My mother is no longer here. I live in NY with my husband, my brother lives in LA, and my father is still at home in IN. I don't have a certain day to put up my tree. I put it up when I have the time. I changed my Christmas decorations this year. I didn't put up my North Pole Village that I have had since I was in high school. It didn't seem right this year and I didn't do it. I don't have a Christmas Day menu, I'll make whatever sounds good to me. My husband doesn't like egg nog, so I don't buy it.

My brother and father are coming out east for the 2nd year in a row to spend Christmas with my husband and I. Will this become a tradition? I'm hoping one day to have a family of my own and maybe start my own traditions with my children. Maybe one day when we have a family we'll put up our tree the day after Thanksgiving while drinking egg nog and listening to Andy Williams' album. Maybe each Christmas morning I'll make my own special breakfast, then we'll open gifts and at night I'll make a delicious dinner. It will be a tradition, we will do it ever year.

I Remember 8 Years Ago

2009-10-26T08:47:00.000-07:00

I remember being so excited for my best friend's wedding weekend. I had just left the DMV. I was an official resident of Ohio (as if that's better than living in Indiana). The weather was a gorgeous Fall October day and I was cruising across I-74 heading West to Batesville. The windows were slightly down, John Mellencamp's Peaceful World was blasting on my radio. Even though I wasn't the maid of honor, since my best friend had 2 sisters, I was going to be the best bridesmaid ever. Her whole family was at the reception hall decorating and I couldn't wait to get there and help. First, I wanted to make a quick stop at mom and dad's house to say hi to my mom, give her a kiss and then go decorate the hall with tacky tulle and lace.

I remember pulling into the driveway and seeing the hospice nurse's car. A little odd because she was usually gone by 10:00 am. She was sitting in the dining room with my dad, both of their faces looked somber. I asked "What's up?" Determined not to let anything ruin the weekend I had planned. "Your mother took a turn for the worse" my father said. Followed by the nurse, "She won't make it through the weekend. You should take the day and say your goodbyes. She won't respond, but she'll hear you." WHAT?!? She won't make it through the weekend?!? But yesterday she was up, almost walking by herself, joking around with me. What do you mean she took a turn for the worse? The nurse responded "Sometimes, right before someone dies, they have their best days. They want you to remember them as being ok." She left my father and I sitting there blankly staring at each other. I looked over at her, lying in her hospital bed. It didn't even look like her. I had spent the past 10 months, with my mother, a cancer patient, and all of a sudden I didn't recognize her. I jumped up from the table and told my dad I had to go tell my friend I wouldn't be able to help her decorate.

I remember the 5 minute drive to the reception hall. I was thinking of how you tell someone your mother may not make it through the night and you can't be there to help her on her wedding weekend. My friend's mother first greeted me when I arrived. My friend's parents were good friends of my parents for 30+ years. She saw me and immediately knew something was wrong. She hugged me and that was the moment I started to cry. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity. It felt good having a parent take care of me, hold me, instead of me taking care of my parent. It was selfish I know, but it felt good. I stayed for an hour, told my friend I was sorry I couldn't help, but I would see her later that evening at the rehearsal dinner.

I remember walking in the house and I could tell that my dad just told her goodbye. His eyes were glassy, puffy. His face was flush. He told me he thought it was a good time for me to say goodbye as well. He left me alone in the living room with my mom. She wasn't even conscious. I sat there for a few minutes holding her hand. It was so cold. Say goodbye? How do you pack 22 years of love and affection into a goodbye? I started crying, uncontrollably sobbing, and laid my head on her shoulder. I told her how much I loved her. I told her I was so sorry this had happened to her. I told her life wasn't fair. I told her she was the best mother a daughter could ask for. I promised to take care of Dad. I told her I was going to miss her. I told herhow much I loved her over and over again. I wanted to make sure she left this world knowing at least that.

I remember sitting in silence with my Dad. There was nothing we could say. We knew exactly what each other was thinking. We were eating lunch later, when my brother walked through the door. He had flown in from Florida for my friend's wedding. In my brother's typical fashion he said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I remember my father and I standing in our kitchen waiting for my brother to finish his goodbye. He came into the kitchen when he was done, tears in his eyes and said, "She looked at me and said I'm dying."

I remember being upset that she spoke to my brother during his goodbye. Why didn't she acknowledge me? Why didn't she tell me she loved me back? Why didn't she tell me she was going to miss me too?

I remember that night. I left my Mom and Dad to go to my friend's rehearsal dinner. I told my Dad to call me if anything happened. I checked my cell phone every 5 minutes. After the dinner our group of friends were going out to some bars, but I opted to go home to be with my Mom and help my Dad. It was surreal when I arrived back home. It was dark in the living room with only one lamp on low. My Dad was sitting in his chair next to my Mom. The TV wasn't on. It was peaceful. For a second I thought she had passed, but then I heard her breathing. The death rattle they called it. That's how you know someone is going to die.

I remember that night. I remember it was the first time in a really long time my Dad didn't have a beer or a Manhattan. I remember the 2 of us sitting in the living room, me on the floor my Dad still in his chair. I remember us reminiscing about the past 10 months, about the funny things my Mom did and said, about how she said she saw Jesus smiling down at her.

I remember helping my Dad administer her final dose of medicine, pain killers. I remember falling asleep on the floor on the mattress my Dad had brought down from upstairs.

I remember the next day, the 27th. She was still alive, barely. I got ready for my friend's wedding, had my cousin do my hair and make-up. I went to the church where I kept peaking out of the vestibule to see if my Dad and brother had made it. I knew if they were there my Mom was fine. I spotted my brother who smiled and waved. It was such a simple gesture, but reassured me that he knew how I was feeling and I knew how he was feeling. The ceremony started and no sign of my Dad. I knew it then, that she was gone, she had died.

I remember going from the ceremony straight home and walking through the front door. Most of my family was already there. My Dad said she had been gone for a couple of hours but didn't want me to miss my friend's wedding. My Mom would have wanted it that way. He said he wanted some time alone with her too. They were married for 30 years and 5 months, he deserved at least a couple of hours alone with her.

I remember going straight to her, she looked so peaceful. I remember crying like a little baby. I remember kissing her on the cheek and telling her again how much I loved her. I remember all of us, my dad, my brother, my grandparents, my aunt, my uncle, my cousins, and my cousin's wife all sitting in our living room just looking at her. I remember my aunt (my mom's sister) arriving with her daughter. I remember my aunt commenting on how beautiful I looked in my bridesmaid dress. I remember thinking "holy shit you remind me of my mom" and I never saw it before that moment. I remember the funeral home coming to pick her up. I remember my Dad, my brother, my dog and I standing in the basement while they took her away. I remember the 4 of us emerging from the basement and the house being so quiet, eerily quiet. I remember my dog staring out the front window, as if she was waiting for my mom to return, we were all waiting for her to return.

I remember 8 years ago like it was yesterday, yet I can't remember any time before that. Sure I remember things here and there, but when I think of my mom, I mean really think of her, I remember 8 years ago and I remember cancer. I miss her like crazy. Each year the pain gets a little easier, but there is always a moment when I wish I could see her, talk to her, get her response. Like when I met my husband, when I got married, when I find out I'm pregnant.

I guess the more I think about it, I remember more than just cancer: I remember my mom being beautiful inside and out. I remember my mom liking white zinfandel. I remember my mom loving to read books, smut books. I remember my mom being smart. I remember my mom's singing voice. I remember her sneeze and how I jumped every time she did it. I remember her enjoying cross stitching. I remember her loving Christmas and those silly Christmas sweaters. I remember where she sat on our couch. I remember her hands and how I envied her manicure. I remember her smile. I remember feeling loved.

R.I.P Mom. 10-27-01

Anxiety

2009-10-06T12:57:00.000-07:00

For the past 2 months you have been feeling dizzy. Standing on a subway platform makes you nervous so you step a few feet back. Passing someone on a sidewalk on the street side makes you nervous so you pass them on the inside or don't pass at all. Walking through a cross walk makes you nervous because you might trip or even worse, pass out. You deal with it. You know when you feel dizzy you need to pause and readjust your eyes. If that doesn't work you give your head a little shake and try to refocus.

Now to go along with the dizziness you have waves of nausea. You wake up and feel nauseous, you go to bed and feel nauseous, and a few times throughout the day you feel nauseous. There's really nothing you can do to help it. You take a few sips of water and if there are crackers nearby you eat some. Other than that, you wait for it to pass. Your first reaction is maybe you're pregnant. You panic thinking you're not ready to be a mom. You take a pregnancy test, it comes back negative. You sigh with slight relief, however being pregnant would be an easy answer to your problems.

You suddenly realize your vision seems to be blurry. You have an extremely hard time focusing on the computer. Sunlight coming through your office windows makes it worse. You squint a little to help your screen come back into focus. If the light is too strong you start to get a headache. Even without bright lights you realize you are getting headaches on a regular basis. You used to never get headaches.

You got to webMd and track your symptoms. They say you could have anything ranging from post partum depression, to ear infections, to cancer. You rule out the depression factor being you haven't had a baby. You finally decide to call the doctor.

The doctor tells you your vital signs look good. Your blood pressure is a little high, but that could be stess related. He runs an EKG and your heart looks good. He's stumped. He orders blood work and prescribes you a prescription to help the nausea subside. He tells you to not have caffeine, don't drink, and take it easy, don't do any rigorous activity.

Stupidly, you google all of the check marks on your blood work sheet. There are 22 checks. 3 checks are for B12 deficiency, 2 of them are lyme disease, 1 you have no idea what it's for, 16 of them are cancer related. You curse Google for being so damn smart.

Anxiety has overtaken you. You can't sleep at night thinking too much. The anti-biotics have yet to kick in. Your headaches get worse. You can't wait until the 20th for your follow-up appointment. You dread the 20th expecting the worst.

Our 1 Year Anniversary

2009-09-18T11:43:00.000-07:00

And they said we wouldn't make it! Ha! My husband told me a lot of people bet against whether or not we would make it through our first year of marriage owed him money. We did it! September 13, 2009 we celebrated our one year anniversary. The whole anniversary weekend was quite delightful. We started the weekend off with pizza at our favorite pizza joint, Saturday we had dinner in the city with some co-workers and saw a Beatles cover band, and Sunday we spent the day on our boat with our 2 best friends checking the NFL scores on our phones. It was perfect, quite delightful.

Tomorrow we are heading to The Sagamore Resort in Bolton Landing, NY where we were married. Our wedding coordinator was gracious enough to upgrade our cheap asses up to a suite instead of a regular room. We are both so excited to go. The week after we were married, the hotel was taken over by new ownership. Unfortunately a few people we knew were laid off, however the new company had the money to make much needed upgrades. My husband and I can't wait to see what was done to the place! One of my favorite things to do at The Sagamore is sit on the Veranda (shown right), have a cocktail, and watch the world go by. By the world I mean people, weddings, boats on the water, etc. It's so peaceful and so relaxing.

Our wedding weekend was the best weekend of my life, but so much more, it was when I started my new life with my husband.

A year ago my life changed for the better. A year ago I married the man of my dreams. A year ago falling asleep became much easier lying next to my husband and waking up became much more pleasant seeing him next to me. A year ago I gained a 2nd family, I became an in-law. A year ago my best friend became my husband. A year ago I suddenly felt safe. A year ago I realized I was happy.

Thank you, hubby, for the last year. I can't wait for the next years to come. I love you.

Labor Day Weekend

2009-09-08T09:56:00.000-07:00

"What is Labor Day?" I asked my friend yesterday. She said, "I'm not exactly sure. I was just researching this recently. It basically is a holiday honoring the achievements of social and economic American workers." Isn't it funny that I have celebrated Labor Day for 30 years now and never really knew the definition. As a kid, in Indiana, I always knew of it as a day we got off from school after only being in school a couple of weeks. Now, as an adult in NY, everyone says it's the last weekend of summer. But doesn't summer go until September 21st? So wouldn't the weekend prior to that be the last weekend of summer?

It's funny because here in NY, the first day of school starts the day after Labor Day. So I guess that's why everyone says it's the last day of summer. However, I haven't had the past 3 months off from work. I went to work this morning just as I did last week. So why do I consider this past weekend the last weekend of summer? I don't know the answer. Maybe it's because today is cloudy and 72 degrees or maybe because the weather for tomorrow and Thursday is supposed to be in the mid-60s. Maybe the weather Gods know yesterday was Labor Day and they transitioned the weather into Fall.

I found myself sad last evening. As much as I would like to say my summer goes until September 21st, I know it doesn't. I had that feeling in my stomach last night like I was going back to school today. Depressed the summer is over. I sat and reminisced on our summer and then realized why I was so sad. It was probably one of the best summers ever.

It all started in the Spring when my husband and I, along with his cousin and his cousin's wife (our 2 best friends) bought a boat. We bought it "off the hands" of my father-in-law in hopes of it providing us a few good weekends of fun. The weekends of fun started Memorial Day weekend where the 4 of us painted the boat, cleaned the boat, spruced the boat up before we took it to the water. It may not sound like much fun to you, but the day started with bagels and iced coffees and progressed to cold beers and chips. The best part of the day was at the end when my husband fired up the engine and it WORKED! We jumped and high-fived each other like it was the biggest success of our lives!

Our boat, which we named Foxy II (don't even ask how the name came about), turned into our safe haven for the summer. We went on the boat almost every weekend, sometimes both Saturday and Sunday. We went to the boat to relax, to get some sun, to get a break from the stress of the work week, to hang out with friends, to do water activities, to drink, to eat, to be alone with our thoughts, and to be alone with the ones that we love. One weekend we tied our boat up to the NYPD Scuba's boat and hung out. Another weekend we found an outdoor bar on the water called "Louie's" where we not only conquered the art of boat parallel parking, but also discovered a great place to eat and drink on the water. Another weekend my husband and his cousin stood knee deep in disgusting murky waters while changing the propeller for their very first time, while my friend and I "supervised". This change of the prop (as my husband likes to call it) prompted an impromptu boat trip to the Statue of Liberty this past weekend. We haven't taken this trip in a few years because we never really trusted the boat to go this far, but this year since it was our own, we had full trust in it!

The trip was truly amazing. The waters were a bit choppy, but it was worth it. The NYC skyline seen from the East River is absolutely beautiful, but to be able to pull your very own boat up to the base of the Statue of Liberty is amazing. Especially on Labor Day, whatever it may mean, it felt very patriotic. Never the less, the day had to end. That evening my husband and I, both exhausted from the day, depressed the summer is over, sat on the couch and recapped our summer:

-we bought a boat

-we renovated our kitchen

-we found out our closest friends were expecting a baby boy

-my sister in law graduated college

-my other sister in law celebrated her first anniversary

-we went to Indiana to visit my family

-we went to see Paul McCartney at the new CitiField

-we chartered unknown waters on our boat and found places we will visit every summer

-we caught up with old friends

-I celebrated my 30th birthday

-my husband celebrated his 31st birthday

-we made it through our first year of marriage

-we planned our future

We decided that this summer was a damn good summer...

EGBDF, FACE

2009-08-25T10:34:00.000-07:00

I recently received a "forward" email which might have been the best "forward" I have ever received. I normally delete such forwards but since it was from one of my cousins, who never sends them, I thought I should take a look. It was called 'Hilarious Thoughts of the Day' and it was right, all thoughts were indeed hilarious. One thought said, "I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger." Could this be any more true? I would give my right arm if I had someone every single day tell me it was time to take a nap and MAKE me sleep for a minimum of an hour each day. I can only imagine how much more productive I would be instead of completely crashing on the couch from exhaustion when I get home at night. This "thought" provoked me to think of other things I didn't want to do when I was a child, and now as an adult, wish I still had the chance.

The other day I was driving home from work, and on the radio came 2 songs in a row where I started playing the "air drums". Come on, don't tell me you never play the air guitar or just completely rock out to music while in the car! I laughed at my head banging drum playing and thought that maybe I should take music lessons again, maybe the guitar because I'm pretty sure my husband couldn't stand me playing the drums. This in turn reminded me of the days when I took piano lessons. I realized this was one thing I wish I wouldn't have given up when I was a child...piano lessons.

You see, my mother signed my brother and I up for piano lessons. I don't remember exactly what ages we were, I would guess somewhere around 3rd and 5th grade. I also don't remember whose idea it was, I am thinking it was my mother's. Our piano teacher was the music teacher at the high school where my mother taught. His wife was not only a teacher at the high school as well, but my mother's closest friend. So I think teaching piano was an experiment for this man, and my brother and I were the guinea pigs.

Mr. Bourquein, that was his name. It even sounds horrible, doesn't it? I was completely petrified of him, he was probably the coldest and most awkward mentor I have ever had in my life. Our lessons were on Monday evenings at his house at 5:00 pm. My brother and I would each make a mad dash to the piano once we got home from school on Mondays, because of course neither of us had practiced a minute of our "lessons". We always had some sort of silly paper work to do as well. My mother would scold us for not doing it in advance and I would always argue that I thought piano lessons were supposed to be fun, not "work".

My brother would go first. My mother and I would drop him off and then run a few errands before she would bring me back a few minutes before it was my turn. I remember walking into their house and feeling uncomfortable while I waited for my brother to finish his lesson. Their yappy dog, Charlie, would be there barking and biting at my ankles. (The dog was so putrid that I even remember his name!) My brother and I laugh to this day at how bad he played the piano. I would cringe as I sat in the chair waiting for him to finish while he pounded slowly away at the keys. For a teacher, Mr. Bourquein wasn't very patient. I would snicker while watching him get upset with my brother's lack of improvement.

Then, much to my chagrin, it was my turn. He would review my paperwork and inevitably make corrections on all of my mistakes. Some times he would even have me take it home and redo it! The nerve! I have to admit, I wasn't bad at the piano, I wasn't good either. I was tolerable, certainly no piano recital winner! Hell, Mr. Bourquein didn't even suggest me entering in a recital! Once the 30 minutes (which always seemed like 3 hours) were over. I'd walk out of their house to find my mom and brother waiting for me in the car where we would then head to McDonald's for dinner. And all was better until next Monday......

A year or 2 passed and much to Mr. Bourquein's dismay (insert sarcasm here) my brother quit taking piano lessons. Of course I begged my mother to let me quit, but she said no. As time went on, I found that I rather enjoyed playing piano, but only enjoyed the songs I knew. So my mother convinced Mr. Bourquein to let me start practicing/playing fun songs and not Beethoven or Mozart. Reluctantly he agreed and my next lesson I brought my Beatles book to class. The first song I learned to play was "All my Loving" which to this day is one of my least favorite Beatles songs probably due to the fact that I had to play it over and over again until perfection. Over the next few years my repertoire included The Beatles, solo Paul McCartney, solo John Lennon, Simon and Garfunkel, CATS the musical, and Phantom of the Opera. I found myself liking playing the piano and I soon became the entertainment at family gatherings and of course Christmas where my mom, uncle, & grandpa would stand around the piano singing Christmas carols.

I don't know why I stopped taking piano lessons, probably because I outgrew it and thought it wasn't cool anymore. I would still sit at the piano and play a few songs here and there, but never continued practicing. A few years ago my father sold the house that I grew up in. Along with the house, he sold the piano. At the time I didn't have any place to put it, but it still made me sick knowing the new homeowners had MY piano. Were they ever going to stand around it singing Christmas Carols, use it for entertainment while someone belted out 'Bridge Over Troubled Waters', play it while trying to re-enact Paul McCartney's concert version of 'Hey Jude'? At least I have the memories if not the piano. Now my husband and I own our own home with a room just waiting for a piano. His parents have a beautiful baby grand sitting in their living room, covered with dust and family pictures. Not one person uses it and I'm just waiting for the day when they offer it to us. Because then I'll be able to play again. More importantly I'll be able to force my children to take piano lessons, have them quit, and regret it when they get older.

Bacardi & Me

2009-08-11T08:18:00.000-07:00

After reading the title of this blog, you might think I am going to be writing about my addiction to alcohol, particularly rum. No, actually I'm writing about my dog, Bacardi. She is an 11 years and 9 months old yellow labrador who is the love of my life. She got her name by default the day my parents brought her home. My mom, dad, brother, cousin and his now wife, and I were sitting in our dining room one Friday evening staring at this little creature who was the most adorable thing ever, trying to come up with a name to suit her. Annie! No. Delaney! No. Maggie! No. The name calling continued until my father couldn't take it any longer and decided to get us all drinks. My mother requested a rum and coke and being the alcoholic family that we were, we of course had about 7 different types of rum to choose from. When asked what kind of rum my mother wanted she simply replied, "Bacardi". And at the very moment, as if on cue, our cute little munchkin dog lifted her head and looked up at my mom as if to say, "I like that name. It suits me." And so we named her Bacardi.

I could tell you one disaster story after another of Bacardi's "childhood", but I'm not going to do that. Anyone who has had an animal, in particular, a dog, knows what puppies do. I, however, want to discuss my recent fear of her dying. I moved out East 7 years ago, and Bacardi made her move out East a few short months after that. So while, the family still considers her our dog, I selfishly claim her as my own.

This October, marks the 8 year anniversary of my mother's death. Brain tumors took over her mind and she started to treat Bacardi like her own stuffed animal. Bacardi followed my mother everywhere. Bacardi particularly liked when my mother would have popcorn (which became her daily snack) as she couldn't grasp onto the handful she would try to put in her mouth and inevitably, the majority of the bowl would end up on the floor and then in my dog's mouth. Each night my Dad, Bacardi, and I would make the trek up the steps with my mom to put her into bed. Bacardi would jump up on the bed with my mom, stay there until she fell asleep and would return back downstairs with my Dad and I as if to tell us, "It's ok. She's asleep now." We had a large window in the front of our house, where my dog would rest her head and watch for us whenever anyone would leave the house. The day my mother died, and the funeral home took her away, Bacardi sat at the window all night long, resting her chin on the sill waiting for my mother to come home. She never did come home and to this day I wonder if Bacardi has memories of my mom. They say dogs have no memory, and in a small way, I'm kind of jealous. However, in turn, I hope she didn't forget about her all together.

Bacardi and I have a morning ritual, Monday-Friday I wake up with her and let her outside, she barks at the door to let me know she's ready to come inside and then she runs into the kitchen where her morning breakfast awaits her. On the weekends, it's my turn to sleep in where my husband lets her out and feeds her. When she's done with her breakfast she runs back up the steps, pushes open the door to our room and lays on the floor next to me on the bed. When I finally wake up, she'll sit by the bathroom door while I brush my teeth and then once she sees I'm ready to make my way downstairs, she runs down the steps, sits in our living room where she makes a barking/howling noise as if she is announcing my arrival. She then sits on her hind legs in what we call her sitting pretty position and I scratch her chest until her eyes start to close. I laugh every Saturday and Sunday morning when she does it. It's my favorite part of the weekend.

The other night I watched 'Marley and Me'. I had read the book awhile ago, loved it, and decided to watch it on screen. My husband refused to watch it with me because he knew I would be a crying mess. I secretly think it's because he knew he would cry too and didn't want to in front of me. As I knew I would, I balled my eyes out at the end, watching Marley get old, because it's some of the same aging stages Bacardi is going through. In my blur of tears, I looked down and noticed Bacardi had her chin resting on my leg and those big brown eyes looking up to me saying, "It's okay, mom. Don't cry!" After the movie was over, I sat on the floor petting my big mutt's belly while her head rested in my lap. I whispered to her that she wasn't allowed to die, and I'm pretty certain she agreed.

My heart breaks for her every night as she tries to climb the stairs with me on my way to bed. A few times she'll trip and fall and my heart breaks even more. We try to get her to stay downstairs instead of battling the steps, but I'm certain she would much rather struggle getting up the steps than sleep in the living room without us. There are times when she surprises me and has the energy of a 6 month old puppy. When we walk her, people stop to tell us how beautiful she is, and are shocked when we tell them her age. They say, "but she looks so great!" It's hard to believe she's almost 12. We have been through so much together, death, moves, divorces, marriages, all good times and bad. It doesn't matter what kind of mood I'm in, I know my dog loves me. When I'm outside for 30 seconds getting the mail, she greets me with the same excitement as when I come home from a 10 hour work day. They also say a dog gives unconditional love, and that Bacardi indeed does. To experience that on a daily or even hourly basis is extraordinary. I guess that's one of the reasons why I'm so scared of her dying, I know I'm not going to get that kind of love elsewhere.

I'm going to have to start training my husband the way I trained my dog.

That's Sir Paul McCartney to You.....

2009-07-22T12:38:00.000-07:00

Recently Paul McCartney rolled into NYC and did a 3 show stint at CitiField the new home of the Mets. The concerts were the first concerts to ever be held at CitiField, and if you ask me, unless Paul comes back, there might as well not be any other shows, no one can compare.

The first time I saw Paul McCartney was in 1993 at the Cincinnati Reds ballpark. I went with my parents, my brother, my cousin and his girlfriend at the time and 2 of my brother's friends. My parents have always been huge Beatles fans, my father more so than my mother. (I think my mother just thought Paul was cute.) And they thought it would be a great musical experience to see an ex-Beatle in concert. I still remember the day we got the tickets. I was told to stay home on the phone and keep calling Ticketmaster while my mother and brother drove to the local Ticketmaster office (45 minutes east) to stand in line for tickets. This was all before the days of ordering tickets "online". My Dad wanted to make sure we got 4 tickets so if I couldn't get through on the phone, there was a chance my mother and bro would get tickets at the office. Much to our surprise we both got tickets! I remember at the time not wanting to announce I was going to a Paul McCartney concert. Being in the 8th grade hip-hop and pop-rock were cool, not classic rock. However, after the amazing experience of the concert, I proudly wore my Paul McCartney t-shirt my parents bought me at the concert the next day to school, and told everyone about my night. I still remember that concert, I remember my feelings, my emotions, even if I was only 13 years old. Although there were huge screens flanking the stage, I remember my mom saying she couldn't watch the screens, she only wanted to watch Paul, because it was such a treat to be able to see him on stage. Agreed.

Since then I have been to 3 more Paul concerts, one with my Dad and brother, one with an ex boyfriend of mine, and one with my brother and a friend of his, and this past weekend was my 5th. It was announced that Paul was going to be doing 3 shows at CitiField. I instantly wanted to go, but completely forgot to go online and get tix. A couple of weeks ago I thought it would be fun to look on StubHub and see if any tickets were available. And what do you know? They had 2 tickets, upper level, dead center. Score! I called my husband (who is not an avid Beatles OR Paul McCartney fan) and told him that I bought the tickets, we were going, and it was going to be the best concert of his life.

The day of the concert was perfect. It started at 8:00 pm. We pulled into the parking lot to find hundreds of people tailgating. The parking lot reminded me of a Jimmy Buffett concert, not Paul McCartney. I had packed us chips, guacamole, salsa, hummus, crackers and cheese, and of course a bottle of wine. We parked next to two guys, both in their early 30s, both wearing vintage Beatles t-shirts, both stoned, and both jamming to the White album. Perfect, now this is where I want to park. We got out of the car, opened the wine bottle and the song playing on the boombox was the first Beatles song I ever learned, 'Rocky Raccoon'. Growing up I had a stuffed raccoon that I slept with and every night when my father tucked me into bed he would sing me the song, 'Rocky Raccoon'. The emotions already started running high...

At 7:15 I told my husband we should make our way into the stadium. As we walked in, we passed a group of 50 some year olds who asked us why were we in such a hurry, Paul wasn't taking the stage until 8:50. We laughed and continued inside. I wanted to make sure I was in my seat when Paul took the stage, I didn't want to miss a beat. Sure enough the guy was right, at 8:30, "The Show will begin in 20 minutes" came across the big screens that flanked both sides of the stage. At 8:40, it read, "The Show will begin in 10 minutes" and at 8:50, the lights dimmed and Sir Paul McCartney took the stage, literally.

My heart fluttered, I was rendered speechless, I couldn't even scream or holler like the rest of the crowd. I stood there, clapping my hands so fast they hurt. He immediately broke into 'Drive My Car' which I have to admit is not my favorite Beatle song, but it didn't matter, I was dumbfounded. The next song, "Jet" absolutely rocked! The line, "I thought the major was a lady suffragette. Jet! Jet!" with Paul yelling it so gracefully into the microphone absolutely sent chills down my spine. I couldn't help but yell Jet! while I threw my right arm in the air.

A few songs later, Paul made his way to the piano, and if someone can tickle the ivory, it's Sir Paul. 'The Long and Winding Road' and 'My Love' (which he dedicated to his late wife Linda) were absolutely beautiful, but if that didn't tug at your heartstrings, then the solo acoustic version of 'Blackbird' and 'Here Today' would. Yes, that's right for 2 songs, Paul stood on stage by himself doing an acoustic version of the 2 songs...tears. 'Here Today' which he dedicated to his good friend John Lennon has always reminded me of my mom. So naturally I teared up, but to see Paul get choked up and had to pull himself together made it even more emotional. After the song he said he had to take a moment and then said, "Let's pick it up a bit, no?" where his band rejoined him on stage and broke into a fabulous version of 'Dance Tonight', and we all wanted to dance. After 'Dance Tonight' Paul sang 'Calico Skies' which might be one of my all time favorite love songs. It was interesting to see the so called fans leave their seats to get a beer or go to the bathroom. I wanted to say to them, "Seriously? Leaving on this song? You don't know what you're missing." After the song, my husband looked at me and said, "We should have had that as our wedding song." No joke, pure beauty.

A few songs later came quite possibly the best run of songs in concert history. My new favorite Paul song that I play on my iPod 82 times a day, 'Sing the Changes', then 'Band on the Run', and 'Back in the USSR'. Each one of these songs would have blown off the roof of the stadium if it had one! Watching Paul play the guitar and rock with his band can't but help make you grin ear to ear. He then dedicated the next song, 'Something' to the late George Harrison. Paul started the song with the ukelele, played the first verse with it and then cranked into the full version with the entire band. The song literally sent chills down my spine and was noted as my husband's favorite song of the night.

The real chills of the evening came when Paul sat back down at the piano and broke into 'Let it Be'. There may not be a better song in the history of music, especially live. This song was sang at my mother's funeral and carries so much emotion for me, so needless to say, I broke into tears. Being at Citifield, watching an ex-Beatle, Paul McCartney, a man who my parents grew up listening to, is a once in a lifetime event. The amazing thing though, is immediately after he gets done with 'Let it Be', he goes into 'Live and Let Die' where the pyrotechnics were in full force. Explosions happened on stage while fireworks shot off from the top of the stadium. The place erupted! And then if you thought it couldn't get any better, he breaks into 'Hey Jude' where at the end of the song Paul lets the fans sing "nananananananananana, Hey Jude". He asked the people in the top, the people down in front, the people on the left, the people on the right, the men, and the women to all do their "solos" while the band quietly kept the beat and Paul stood in front directing us. He darts back to his piano runs his hands over and over each other down the piano saying, "I can't stop this thing! I can't stop this thing!" while the crowd continued with their Nanananas. It was a perfect ending to the concert.

But an ending it wasn't. Sir Paul McCartney did 2 encores where he asked us if we were ready to rock? Everyone agreed we were indeed ready to rock and he finished the concert with 'Helter Skelter', 'Get Back' and 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band/The End'. Confetti exploded into the air and trickled down onto the crowd where people were falling over each other and their seats just to grab a piece of it, some kind of token to take with them from the concert. I slowly and sadly walked past the confetti on the ground. I didn't need an actual physical item to take with me, I knew that I would have the memories from this concert with me forever.

It took me quite some time to finish this blog. It's hard to put down in words the emotions and feelings from the concert, from the entire night. I didn't feel as if my description could possibly do the concert justice. However, I wanted to finish it so I could give the people who weren't able to be at the concert a glimpse of what I was able to experience one magical July NYC night. Thank you, Sir Paul McCartney, for gracing me and all of NYC with your presence. You truly are a genius....

Revolutionary Road

2009-07-13T18:58:00.000-07:00

"Hey LA. May I ask you a question?" asks a friend who called me yesterday afternoon. "Shoot" I say. He says, "Remember that feeling you had years ago when you were in the midwest, the one like you just had to get out of there or you were going to go crazy? And then you moved out east and made a new life for yourself where you seem to be fairly successful in life and love. Does that original feeling, the one that made you move, ever go away?" I immediately answered, "No. Sure when you first move the excitement and the unknown and meeting new people and starting a new job makes that feeling disappear slightly, but it never really goes away. In fact, for me, it's back."

Now, I'm not saying that the feeling of needing to leave the midwest is the same one I have now, but it's similar. I recently watched the movie, 'Revolutionary Road' where the 2 main characters are at a type of crossroads in life. The wife comes up with a plan for them to take their family to Paris to "get away from it all" and start over again. It's ironic as I have been dreaming of Paris so much lately, thinking that if I were to move, Paris or London would be my first 2 choices. There really aren't too many other cities in the US that can compare to NYC, so I guess I'll have to try out Europe......

My husband and I got into an argument last night. I am less than 2 weeks away from being 30 years old and have recently been evaluating my life, sort of taking inventory on family, friends, career, etc. I laugh thinking of how growing up in a small town, you were only "cool" if you were popular, and popular meant having a ton of friends. I tried my best to be the most popular girl in my class if not the school, and sadly, I succeeded. But as I have grown older, I can honestly say I have absolutely no connection to my "friends" that I had 10-15 years ago. Sure I have the ever present Facebook that allows me to see when a girl I went to highschool with just wiped her baby's ass or when another girl I went to school with potty trained her kid, but seriously, I don't care. My best friend growing up in elementary school, high school, and my roommate in college for 4 years just turned 30 a week ago and is pregnant with her 3rd kid. Yes, I said 3rd kid. I called her to wish her a happy birthday and the conversation was filled with simple pleasantries. I asked about her kids, I asked about her pregnancy, I asked about our hometown, friends of ours who are still living there, but it all really meant nothing to me. I hung up the phone feeling very sad for us, me and my friend. We were best friends for 22 years and could talk about anything, but now 8 years of being 1,000 miles apart and the difference of a small town versus NYC has come between us.

So I move on. Out here I have made new friends and really great friends, but I have realized new friendships, that didn't start from the age of 1, have some type of superficiality to them. My husband says being superficial with friends is normal, but I disagree (hence the argument). When I ask someone how their day was and I really truly care about their day, am I crazy to think they should ask the same question in return? I get it, we are all busy, everyone has their own situations and their own issues to deal with, but why is it that I'm the only one who seems to really care about what's going on in other people's lives, but never get the same respect in return? My husband says it's my personality. He says it's easy for people to open up to me and tell me their problems or if they don't have problems they tell me how great they are doing. This is all wonderful, I like knowing people can talk to me, but I'm sick of always listening and never being able to speak.

If you asked friends of mine, "How's LA doing?" I am fairly sure everyone would answer "fine" or "great". Where in reality, I'm distraught. I don't sleep well at night worrying about my brother who is on his own quest to find happiness, worrying about my father who has been sober for 2 years and is now going through a nasty divorce and I am concerned for his sobriety. I worry about money and the economy. I worry about my own sanity and health. For the past 2 weeks I haven't been able to keep food in my system, but instead of pressuring the doctor for an answer or going back to the doctor, I actually don't mind it. I see my pants getting bigger, last year's clothes that were too tight, now fit. And even worse, I have become so obsessed with losing weight again that when I actually do digest something, I feel fat and stand in the bathroom contemplating putting my finger down my throat, twice I have done it. I'm guessing no one would know that bit of information.

I was once told in college by an acquaintance that I was the most approachable person she had ever met. I took it as a compliment at the time and sort of prided myself on it back then, but now, I'm sick of being so approachable. If someone wants to talk to me about their problems, that's great, but won't truly get my ear until I know I'm getting theirs in return.

Until then, I think I'll just pack a bag and head off to Paris, if not for real, then in my mind.....

Where Brooklyn At?

2009-05-31T17:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I completed my first 1/2 marathon, 13.1 miles! I have to admit it's a bittersweet accomplishment, as the first 5 minutes after I did it, I was proud of myself. However, from the time it took me to walk to my car to drive home, I was thinking, "so, what next?" My training and exercising all done in a mere 2 hours? NYC Marathon here I come! I have to be completely honest, for the past 3 years, I have signed for the NYC Marathon lottery and each year when my name wasn't drawn, I would let out a sigh of relief. Phew! Why in the world would I want to run 26.2 miles? However, after yesterday, and completing 1/2 of a marathon, I realized that my next goal is to conquer 26 miles. It's really all about feeling some sort of sense of accomplishment.

I signed up for the Brooklyn 1/2 marathon a few months ago. I had become lazy in my workout routine and needed something to motivate me. Nothing like running 13.1 miles to get your ass motivated! I immediately logged on to NY Road Runner's.com to find a training schedule, one for beginners. And I have to admit, I followed it almost exactly. Sure there were a few days that I skipped running due to work or a prior engagement, but I always ran the amount I was supposed to run. UNTIL 2 weeks ago when I started having excruciating pain in my right knee. Such pain that it would shoot down to my toes and make my calf go numb. Everything online said to REST, REST, REST. Rest? I can't rest, I have 13.1 miles to run in 2 weeks and dammit I'm going to do it! Instead of resting I cut back on the mileage they were recommending, running only 6-7 miles instead of 9-10. Needless to say, running these distances, did not help my knee. A friend of mine told me it was an IT injury, he had the same injury before, knew all of the symptoms and gave me a few stretches to help it. One included a rolling pin. So the night before the race, I laid in bed taking a rolling pin up and down to my IT band thinking this was going to solve my problems. Time would only tell.

Saturday morning, 4:59 a.m. my alarm clock goes off. I hop in the shower, throw my running gear on, kiss my husband goodbye, and tell him if I die on the course I hope he knows how much I love him. I make my way to Brooklyn and the whole way there I think of copping out and not running the race. How would anyone know? I'm going by myself, I'm not running with anyone, and no one is coming to the race to watch me, so who would know if I didn't actually run? ME! That's who would know. I continue my drive and secretly hope I get lost and miss the race, that would be a legit excuse. No such luck. My GPS does a perfect job navigating my car to Key Span Park, the lot outside Coney Island where runners are to park and take the bus to Prospect Park for the start of the race. I grab my cell phone (in case I need to call 911), my car keys, and my iPod and hop on the school bus (yes I said school bus) to take me to the start of the race. The bus is almost full and I have my own seat, which is good because, one, my knees are crammed up to my chest, and two, I don't feel like hamming it up with the other runners. Until, a large man, large meaning tall, not fat, approaches me and says, "is this seat taken?" I wanted to say, "yes, loser, it is taken and nice pick-up line", but instead I tell him the seat is all his. Immediately the guy starts talking to me. "Great. Why is he talking to me? Doesn't my body language tell him I want to be left alone?" However I start to warm up to the guy as we pass the water where low tide is in effect, and he says, "did you just pass gas?" I was so taken aback and shocked, but he started laughing and said, "kidding". I found his humor odd and slightly disgusting and in turn found the guy sitting next to me my new friend. We chatted the whole way to Prospect Park. We made fun of the 2 people sitting next to us who were talking about how fast they were going to run the race. We joked about all the people who wear 'real runners gear' and how they probably make fun of us runners who wear cotton. We laughed at the fact the website said everyone has a 3 hour time limit and after the 3 hours there will be no more medical staff or drinking stations and how we prayed we would make it under 3 hours. Once at the park, he guided me in the right direction of the start line, we shook each other's hands, wished each other the best of luck, and made our separate ways to our numbered areas. I was so happy to have met Stan, that was his name, as he relaxed me and made me realize there are other people out there, just like me, who are beginner runners too.

My bib number was 11654. It was the last numbered section in line, actually I didn't even have a numbered section, mine was just called 9000+. It might as well have said, 'the slow people'. The race kicked off with a mediocre rendition of the Star Spangled Banner and at 8:20 a.m. (race started at 8, that's how long it took me just to get to the start line) I started my first 1/2 marathon. I was pumped, the adrenaline was pulsing through my veins like crazy, but I was determined to start off slow, I didn't want to waste all of my energy at the beginning of the race. Miles 1-3 were easy and smooth sailing and surprisingly, no pain in my knee! (It must have been the rolling pin.) But miles 4-6 were a repeat of miles 1-3 and I found myself getting bored of the park, I needed new terrain. At mile 7 I got what I wanted, Ocean Parkway! I also got a shooting pain in my knee, but I didn't let it get me down. I was so excited to cruise down Ocean Parkway for the next 6 miles that I tried not to focus on my knee. The next few miles cruised by and I was enjoying the Brooklyn scenery. I found it very amusing that certain cars stuck at traffic lights because the roads were blocked off, were yelling and cursing at the runners. I also found it very amusing at cross walks, again where the roads were blocked off, certain people would try to dodge in and out of the 11,800 runners to cross the street. The old Indian woman carrying a tray of some kind of food was the funniest, and I even slowed down to let her pass as I thought her courage to cross was admirable.

At mile 10.5 a runner passing me tells me my shoe is untied. I stop alongside the road to tie it and once I stand up, ccrraaaaassshhhh, my body felt like it hit a wall. I mean my legs turned to concrete and it felt as if a 10 ton elephant was standing on my shoulders. I thought, "this is it. this is where I fall to the ground because I can't run anymore and I get trampled by the rest of the pack behind me." I started running again as best as I could and gradually picked the pace back up at mile 11 when I realized I only had 2 more miles to go. Mile 12 came in no time and the last mile was the best. It was a gorgeous path along the shoreline, down the boardwalk of Coney Island (where I saw some girl take a face plant), and up to Key Span Park where I completed my first 1/2 marathon! What a feeling. It may sound over-dramatic, but I can't even describe the feeling once I crossed the finish line. I actually felt proud of myself, and I NEVER feel proud of myself. It was a feeling that I haven't ever experienced before and that in itself was worth the pain and suffering of the 13.1 miles.

Up next, 10K in Central Park this Sunday. Running is an addiction and I have an addictive personality.

Mother's Day.

2009-05-03T15:20:00.001-07:00

My mother lost a battle to cancer 7 1/2 years ago and died. I firmly believe I haven't recovered from it and firmly believe I won't ever recover. Yesterday was Mother's Day. I woke up in the morning with an emptiness in my stomach. I missed her. What's funny, is growing up we never did anything extravagant to celebrate Mother's Day. It was still a guy's day. I remember my Dad playing golf with my uncle and my grandpa while my mom was stuck entertaining my brother and me. I particularly remember one year my mother had the entire family over, my 2 grandparents, and my dad's brother's family, for a full turkey dinner (Thanksgiving in May). She cooked the entire day while my dad played golf and none of us thought anything of it. So it's not like Mother's Day brings back great memories of me spending time with my mom. It's now just a day that reminds me I don't have a mother.

To take my mind off of things, I went into the city and did a nice long run in Central Park. Training for a half marathon, running 7 miles, is not my idea of a good time, but my run was quite enjoyable. It was a gorgeous Spring day and while running through the park, seeing the trees and flowers in full bloom I thought of my mom. Thought of how much I missed her and wondered what she thinks of me now.

In the afternoon, my husband and I took his parents to the Mets game. It was what his mother wanted to do for Mother's Day. It was quite enjoyable, like I said the weather was great, the game was fun, and the Mets won! My cousin Libby had left me a voicemail during the game letting me know she and her son Carter went to my mom's grave and told her how much they missed her and loved her. She said there were quite a few fresh bouquets of flowers on my mom's grave, people must have visited her. Later I spoke to my Aunt who also said she went to see my mom's grave and lastly I spoke to my father who went to see my mom. Everyone misses her. I swear the family hasn't been the same since she died.

I still can't help but wonder what my mother thinks of me now, what I have made of myself. I remember shortly after she died I used to pray to GOD to give me some kind of sign from my mother. Some kind of something showing me that she approved, that she loved me and that she missed me too. I never got the sign I was looking for; my mother never came to me at night and spoke to me nor did I ever see visions of her. However, now I look for the small stuff, like the day my husband and I got married, it was raining the day prior and very gray and cloudy the morning of the wedding. I sat outside on our hotel room balcony and started talking to her, told her how much I missed her and at that very moment, the clouds parted and the sun came out, I knew she was there with me. I wish I had more of those perfect moments, but I take them as they come.

Recently I have been struggling with the definition of happiness. What is it and is happiness really a thing? I've come to the conclusion, no. Happiness is an emotion, it's not a state of life. It's like the shrink game you play. "I feel happy when"... I'm on the beach, or when I'm playing with my dog, or when I'm with my husband, or when I'm eating Mexican food and drinking a margarita. However, am I happy? No. I'll never truly be happy. People that tell you they are honestly happy, are lying or faking it. I compare it to when someone asks me how my day is. I say, "fine" even if I had the worst day of my life, because you know what? I don't think the person that asked me the question really wants to know the answer. Everyone is in a state of disillusionment where they don't want to know about the bad, they only want to see and hear the good. People need to see and hear the good to make themselves feel better. I know that, and that's why I'll always nod my head and tell people I'm fine, I'm happy, and maybe one day I'll get there. Now, I don't see it happening. How can it when the most important person in my life for 22 years is no longer here? People say, "Well, maybe you're not happy because something is missing in your life." Well, they're right, there is something missing, and it's my mom, she's dead, and never coming back. So tell me what you think I should do to solve that one? Move on? I'm trying. It's been 7 1/2 years and I still miss her like she died yesterday. I still don't have a memory of her without her being sick and I still think there was something I could have done better to show her how much I loved her.

Time eases all pain...I'm waiting....

A Bottle of Flowers

2009-04-18T05:59:00.000-07:00

The other day my new favorite client came in again, for the 2nd time this week. I say favorite client because he reeks of money, but is genuinely nice. He is not only the best looking man I have ever personally met, he is also the most impeccably dressed man I have ever met. The first day he came swaggering into the showroom, his appearance actually startled me. I think I might have mumbled "wow" under my breath. Funny enough, my first thought was he must be gay. I have a few gay friends and even THEY can't top the way this guy was dressed. As we became more acquainted, he mentioned something about his wife and 2 kids, I told him I had assumed he was gay. He told me that was "fucked up" and we instantly became friends. Moreover, I took a liking to him once I gave him my business card, he read it, and called me by my full name, Lynn Anne, and not just Lynn. Nice........

Wait a second. What just happened? Sorry I was in la la land for a second. Don't judge me! Yes, I am married, but a girl is still allowed to think a guy is goodlooking. AND I told my husband about my tiny client crush, so there. Keep your judgement to yourself.

Ok, onto his most recent visit. We were discussing refrigeration, and I showed him our wine cooler, 24" wide, 24" deep, 84" high, stores 106 bottles. Perfect dimensions in the wine refrigeration world. It also has 3 completely separate temperature zones! No one else in the industry has that feature!

Client: Why do I need 3 completely separate temperature zones? I only drink red wine.

Me: Think about the different kinds of reds you drink. You can store all of them at different temperatures.

Client: Have you ever had a Pinot Noir called "Flowers"? It's amazing. Possibly the best Pinot Noir ever.

Me: No. Not familiar with it.

Client: Really? You should go to the 4 Seasons up the street and try it. They have it on their wine by the glass list. It's only like $30.

Me: Wow! That's not bad, $30 a bottle at The 4 Seasons?

Client: No, $30 a glass.

Me: (blank stare)

Client: You can get it at a wine store for like $150 a bottle. The 4 Seasons has it there for $300 or so. Definitely go and try it.

Now, here I am, thinking that I'm friends with this guy and he's telling me that I need to go and try a $30 glass of wine at The 4 Seasons? Or go and buy it at a wine store for $150? Doesn't he realize I am selling him his appliances? My friend, ok, I get it, you have money, but I do not. Hell my husband and I have a hard time spending $30 on a bottle of wine in a restaurant, let alone $30 a glass?

This conversation brought me back to a very harsh reality. I work on a daily basis with some of the wealthiest people in NYC, even in the world, and most of them treat me very nicely, some even with respect. However, as much as I try to be a part of their world, the wealthy world that is, I know I'll never really fit in. I don't smell the cork from a bottle of wine once it has been opened. I don't swirl the wine in my glass before I taste it. I don't nod at the sommelier in approval of the wine. I don't hold the glass by the goblet and continue to swirl it as I drink. And I certainly don't pay $30 for a glass of wine. I pour my glass 3/4 of the way full, take a drink, and enjoy. And I'm not ashamed to admit, that I have enjoyed wine from a box too.

Easter

2009-04-13T10:19:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, being the good practicing Catholics we are (ha ha) my husband and I were on the computer looking up the meaning of Lent, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and pretty much everything that goes along with Easter. Seriously. Why you ask? I was telling him an experience I had in my showroom where during a Friday cooking demonstration 2 guests passed on eating meat. Another guest asked the ladies if they were vegetarians, and they replied, "No, it's Friday during Lent and we can't eat meat." The lady who asked was quite perplexed and asked them to explain to her, as she was a practicing Jew, the meaning of Lent since she wasn't familiar with it. I told my husband, if someone asked me that very question, I am not sure if I would be able to answer them correctly. I would be able to explain Easter, but not the meaning of Lent nor the reason why we can't eat meat on Fridays during Lent. This prompted the online research.

What is Easter and why every year does it seem like a drag planning our Easter holiday? Hell we no what our Thanksgiving and Christmas plans are in September, but this year we found out the Monday prior to Easter what those plans were going to be. I remember as a kid going to my Grandma Olson's house every year for Christmas. Grandma Olson was my mom's mom and she lived 3 hours north of where I grew up. Every year on Good Friday the 4 of us and our dog would pile into whatever mini-van we were donning at the time and made the 3 hour trek up north. Once into town we would stop at the local KFC, pick up a bucket of chicken and go see Grandma. The 4 of us, the dog, and Grandma would sit in her living room watching her old TV. You know, the one with the dial, no remote. My Dad would be drinking his beer hanging out with my brother while they discussed sports. My mom and my grandma would sit in the armchairs arguing over nonsense while drinking their wine. And I would sit on the floor next to the dog, coloring. I'm pretty sure I colored at my Grandma's until I was like 16, it's very therapeutic. Easter Saturday was spent running errands with Grandma while my Dad did odds and ends around the house then Saturday night we would go somewhere fun to eat. Easter Sunday morning rolled around, the 4 of us would go to church while Grandma stayed at home preparing food for the family. My mom's sister's family would usually be at Grandma's by the time we came back from church. It was great! I was the youngest and enjoyed being with my older girl cousins. I enjoyed hearing their college stories and couldn't wait until I grew up. However, once I did "grow up" or more over, get older, we stopped going to Grandma Olson's for Easter. Grandma Olson eventually moved out of her huge home and into a retirement community where an Olson family Easter just wasn't possible.

As the years passed Easter became something that we HAD to celebrate and not something that I looked forward to celebrating. It was just that ol' holiday that came once a year. We even stopped doing Easter dinner, and started doing an Easter brunch. Once I moved out to NY and met my now husband I saw that his family took the same approach. One year we did dinner, the next year a random brunch at a ghetto Queens hotel, the next year a lunch, and so on. However this year was a pleasant surprise of a delightful Easter dinner. As I was downing a beer on our trip to the in-laws house my husband and I were discussing the scenarios we could create to get ourselves in and out as fast as possible. And it turned out no scenarios were needed. Easter was a true delight. Everyone was in a good mood. No yelling, no stress, no tension. Yes, there was the occasional bicker in the kitchen over food, but these bickers were almost funny, humorous in a way. Conversation was light-hearted and not from the twilight zone and even the annual card game of Cuckoo was fun!

The sudden change of events makes me wonder is Easter going to turn back into a holiday I enjoy? Are we going to start planning Easter in January like we plan Christmas in September? Or was this Easter just a freak accident of bliss. Regardless, it was one for the record books.

Girls Day

2009-04-05T06:54:00.000-07:00

This past weekend my husband went on a golf get-away. 3 days of guy friends, beer, poker and 18 holes of golf a day. As Tim the Tool Man Taylor used to say, argh argh argh. I am never a big fan of my husband travelling for a few reasons. Well, the first reason being the most obvious, he is my husband and no wife should be happy their husband is leaving, but the 2nd reason is I have this terrible fear of something happening to me while he's gone. I guess you could say I have OCD as my nightly ritual when he is away is to check the front door to make sure it's locked and then check the back door to make sure it too is locked. Then back to the front door, then to the back door and so on...you get my point. After I repeatedly check the doors I then start to walk through the house to check each window (yes on the 2nd floor too) to make sure they are locked. Not only does this routine involve checking each lock on the window, but I also try to open the windows to make sure they don't budge. Once the windows are all done, I put a chair in front of the front door. If by chance the burgular breaks through the screen door lock, the door lock and the deadbolt lock, the chair will then fall over and wake me from my sleep. This is assuming I have fallen asleep because once I finally climb into bed I lie wide awake imagining my escape route with my 75 pound labrador retriever if there is an intruder. I know, FREAK!

After a night of pretty much no sleep on Friday, I am happy to speak to my best friend (whose husband is also on the guys weekend trip) on Saturday morning where we plan a day of shopping! I have always been an avid shopper and can enjoy a day at the mall, but my friend Sarah, can shop me under the table! I never thought I would meet someone who could make me shop 'til I drop and this girl can. It's great! It's one of the reasons we became such good friends. We meet in the afternoon and make our way up to the White Plains mall. For a mall, it's the mecca of shopping. We briefly cruise the first floor that we term as the expensive floor. We pass by the Stuart Weitzman, Juicy Couture, Coach, Dooney & Bourke stores and take the escalator up to the 2nd floor, the more affordable floor where the shopping really begins. However after 3 hours and 7 minutes of shopping we leave the mall feeling slightly defeated. We both went there with great expectations of coming home with a new Spring wardrobe and all Sarah ended up with was a frame and some bottles of soap and I bought a pair of Converse and 2 skirts. Now to the average shopper you might think this sounds like a success, but not to my best friend and I. I mean, we had a 25% off coupon to JCrew where we bought NOTHING! We didn't even try anything on?!? Has my guilty conscience gotten the best of me? Should I feel badly that people I know are getting laid off from their jobs right and left around me and I am upset that I only spent $150?

With our feet aching and feeling kind of bummed about our shopping experience, we head back to my house. The conversation on the way home is light, we debate on where to go to dinner and what time. We're both starving and decide to go for a snack when we get back to my house. I offer Sarah a soda and she says, "Actually, I think I'll take a beer." Now we're talking! 4 beers later the conversation has covered all spectrums and we decide to head to a local Mexican joint for dinner. The hostess tells us it's going to be just a moment and instead of waiting at the hostess stand, we take a seat at the bar. "2 Cadillac Margaritas please! On the rocks, one with salt the other without." We toast to a great day and take our first swig. Whew! Pure tequila and pure heaven! 4 margaritas, some guacamole and some burritos later we head back to my home where we crack open 4 more beers and proceed to have the best night ever. I told my husband this morning last night was the best time I probably have ever had with Sarah. There was not one lull in the conversation and we pretty much covered any topic you could possibly imagine, from work to friends to family to our husbands to sex to music to love to babies and to death. We cried when we talked about death and in the next moment we giggled like two 12 year old girls at a slumber party. It was the best night I have ever had hanging out with a friend.

At one point in the evening I told Sarah I have this awful fear of death. She asked me if I knew why and I told her I think it's because I am scared I am going to die and not have said everything I wanted to say to people. I am scared my brother won't know how proud I am of him. I'm scared my husband won't know how much I love him, and I'm scared my best friend won't know how much I appreciate our friendship. Sarah, in her infinite wisdom said, "Well, you have to make sure you tell all of these people how you feel. So they will know when you're gone." So, Sarah, thank you for being the best friend possible. I hope you know how much I appreciate our friendship! Last night I went to bed only checking the doors once, no chair next to the front door and no multiple laps around the house making sure the windows were locked. I slept like a baby.

Who Wears the Pants in this Relationship?

2009-04-04T08:34:00.000-07:00

I realize that I have recently neglected the word 'dishwashers' in my blog title. Work has proven to be fairly mundane over the past few weeks, but this week has definitely been something to write about. Without boring you with the details of my job, the showroom in which I manage, is just that, a showroom. There is no pressure to buy, no deal making, strictly a resource center for people to come and learn about the appliances prior to purchasing or if they have already purchased, many people come to learn how to better USE their appliances. (AKA, "I haven't nor will I ever read my manual, so please tell me how the F to operate these things!")

It seems the economy is either taking a turn for the better OR the clients in which I deal with haven't been effected by the "recession" because I had quite a few couples come into the showroom and tell me they recently purchased all of our appliances and need help using them. I am happy to oblige. However, the clients this past week have been animals! Granted, I am in the customer service field and I see all types of personalities on a daily basis, but what is it with people thinking I am a marriage counselor? For example, a client made an appointment the other day for her and her husband to come in and get an overview of all of the appliances they just installed in their kitchen. They walk in looking almost like Ken & Barbie (well Barbie being 8 months pregnant), and even more, he's Australian. They appear to almost be angelic. We begin with reviewing the washer and dryer. They immediately start firing questions at me, right and left, but talking over each other. I know the answers to each question, but find it hard to answer them because I'm not sure which question to answer first. Then when I do answer one of their questions, the other one gets pissed off because I didn't answer their question first. What is this, kindergarten? I find the tension between the two of them rapidly increasing and then, BOOM, it finally comes to a blow. The wife, turns to ask me a question about something else, and her husband tells her to "focus and stop getting off track" (in a bit of a raised voice). She literally, stops, slowly turns back to face him and screams, I mean screams like the chandeliers in our showroom rattled, screams, "I AM FOCUSING! THIS IS IMPORTANT TOO!" At this point, I wonder what I should do. Do I walk away? Do I act like this is normal? Do I call 911? What do I do? I am so dumbfounded by her reaction that I stand there, I believe with my mouth dropped open. We continue with the demo, but I couldn't help but wonder if this is normal behavior for this couple? Maybe it's just her horomones being that she's 8 months pregnant, but something tells me it's not. I initially think that I can't even imagine what they are like at home if they are like this in public, but on the other hand, they are probably no different. I imagine they act the exact same way in public as they do in the comforts of their own home, since screaming at him seemed so second nature to her.

In another situation, I had a husband and wife come into the showroom with their designer where the wife decided she wanted to add an additional appliance to their kitchen layout. The designer and the husband both tell her they don't have the space and it's too late because the cabinets have already been ordered. And unlike anything I have ever seen before, this 30 something year old woman, starts flapping her arms and stomping her feet. Seriously, stomping around whimpering that they can't tell her no and she has to get what she wants. Again, I stand frozen in amazement wondering if I should walk away or laugh. The husband and designer seem humiliated so I decided laughing was probably not the best idea. I told them I was going to leave them to discuss their options. I mean, come on! Who behaves like that except for a 5 year old child who has just been told no to their favorite piece of candy?

I have been married for a mere 7 months, but like to think that my husband and I make joint decisions. Sure there are times when we don't agree with each other, but we make compromises, we discuss things, and come up with the best solution. We never argue in public, in fact, we very seldom argue, but when we do, it is behind closed doors. However, seeing these couples and I only named 2 of them, there were more, I wonder what is the best way to behave? The first couple I encountered appeared to be like Barbie & Ken, but after spending 10 minutes with them, they were more like Heidi & Spencer. I immediately knew who wore the pants in that relationship. The 2nd couple, I knew the husband was more like the father in that relationship, but assumed that the wife was going to get what she wanted in the long run. Is it wrong to put on a front for people when out in public? Is it fake? Or is it about making your company feel comfortable and having them wonder who wears the pants? And moreover, what's so wrong if my husband and I both wear the pants?

Do I have Something in my Teeth?

2009-03-26T11:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday while at work 4 colleagues of mine came into the showroom. They came in pairs. The first 2 and I decided to order lunch for everyone, knowing the other 2 were on their way. 2 of the 4 colleagues I'm friends with, one friend, the other very good friend. (I promise I'm getting at something here, just bear with me.) The one very good friend and I walk to the Thai restaurant to pick up our lunch order. It's a 2 block walk and we chat the whole way there, chat while we stand in the foyer waiting for our food, and chat on the way back. My other 2 colleagues have arrived in the showroom when we return, I say hello, give my other friend give him a kiss on the cheek and he immediately points to my teeth and says, "You have something stuck in between your teeth." I gasp! I'm humiliated! I take my finger and start scraping at whatever particle is sitting there rotting away in my mouth. He's watching me the entire time. I flash my not so pearly whites again and he says, "Nope, it's still there." I'm back to the scraping, this time really digging, not caring at all what I'm doing to my fingernails or to my teeth. I give him one more huge cheesy grin and he tells me I got it! Phew! Victorious! I later say to my colleague, the very good friend who I had talked to all morning, "Why didn't you tell me I had something stuck in my teeth?" He says, "I didn't want to embarrass you." I politely thank him, thinking that I was embarrassed when my other friend pointed the grotesque piece out to me. However, after thinking about all the clients I had talked to that morning with this object stuck in my teeth since, most likely breakfast, I get even more angry! Isn't that what friends are for? Shouldn't we all tell each other when we have something stuck in our teeth?

This morning on the train into the city, it's cold outside, so I'm all bundled up, hat, scarf, gloves, the works. I sit down in my train seat, a 2 seater facing a 3 seater. It's now warm on the train so I take off my hat and gloves. I see the guy sitting across from me, decent looking guy, sort of, you know, staring at me. I'm slightly flattered, but listen buddy, back off! I'm married! He obviously hasn't noticed my ring. I politely give him a half-smile and crank up the tunes on my iPod. He looks as if he is going to say something to me so in order to avoid an awkward conversation, and actually, conversation in general on the 8 AM train, I adjust my earphones and close my eyes for the next 30 minutes into Grand Central. Upon arrival into the station, I open up my eyes and the guy is still looking like he has something to say! The train comes to a stop, we both stand up at the same time and he finally says, "You have something stuck in your hair!" Again, humiliation. Is this the reason the guy has been staring at me? Immediately I grasp for my hair, but find nothing. He says, "No, it's still there." I try again, but this time, he moves my hand, reaches for my hair and gets it himself! Uh....what is going on? He was right, it was a large white fuzz from my winter hat, but is it me or does anyone else agree that it was pretty weird for him to remove the item from hair? I think I turned at least 37 different shades of red before I thanked him and ran off the train. (Careful, to watch the crack between the train and the platform.)

This brings me to my question. Is the proper thing to tell a perfect stranger if they have something in their teeth, their hair, etc? Or is that something that should be left to a friend? Like the other day in the showroom, a man walked in with his zipper completely down. Yep, wide open. I was tempted to tell him, but refrained, thinking that telling a man his zipper was down might be construed as inappropriate. Another day on the train, I was sitting across from a woman who had an obvious black mascara smudge on her face. She was a cute, huge pregnant woman, who I probably should have told that she had mascara on her face, but didn't because again, I was a stranger. But the more I think about it, as weird as the moment was, I truly did appreciate the stranger on the train removing the white fuzz from my hair.

My solution is, for now, I am going to say it would be okay if I had told the man about his zipper as long as I didn't zip it up for him. Or if I told the woman about her mascara, as long as I didn't lick my thumb like my mother used to do and wipe it off her face. People say, carrying mirrors in pockets is a sign of vanity. I think it's a sign of intelligence. One never knows when they might have something stuck in their teeth.

Beauty is Pain

2009-03-23T12:25:00.000-07:00

This past Friday I did something I haven't done in a very long time. I called in sick AND I wasn't even sick. Gasp! I know you all must be so disappointed. The funny thing is, growing up I used to always play "hookey" from school. So much to the point that I had to have a parent teacher conference with the principal of the school saying that I had to come to school or they were going to have to hold me back. Hellz no! There was only one thing worse than going to school and that was repeating a grade. Once my parents actually switched me into a school that I liked I stopped playing hookey until I got to college. Here is where I realized I didn't even have to play sick, I could just NOT go to class. However, this time, there were no parent teacher conferences, just the tell tale grades I received after my first semester. "Oh, so this is what happens when you don't go to class?" I realized now being old and wise that when I enjoy something whether it's school or a job, I go to it and will excell at it, but when I don't enjoy it, I could really care less. Sorry, all of this leading up to why it was shocking that I actually called in sick this past Friday. I had a scheduled doctor's appointment, but didn't want to use my personal/sick days for a measley doctor's appointment. I also needed a well-deserved break from my job, yes selling dishwashers can be stressful.

So, first stop, Westport Connecticut, to see my dermatologist. I have been seeing this dermatologist for the past 4 years now and feel I have established a small bond with him. He's a great guy, young, not overly handsome, but his personality makes him adorable, very charming. My visit today was due to a small breakout of pimples on my cheek. Granted, all my life I have been blessed with good skin, of course an occasional zit will appear, but nothing drastic. So my doctor laughs when I tell him the reason for my visit is a bad breakout, according to him it's nothing. He takes a quick look at my face, writes up a few prescriptions, one a pill, the other a topical cream and tells me he can get rid of the biggest zit that is sitting in the middle of my cheek. I say, "Get rid of it?" He says, "Yes, darling. I'll inject it with a needle, pop what's inside of there and dry it up. It will be gone by tomorrow morning." Llaaaahhh (read this word while imagining my cute doctor enveloped by a bright light behind him)! This doctor truly is a miracle worker! Who knew you could get rid of a huge zit in less that 24 hours by injecting it with a needle. Wait! Did he say needle? I hate needles! So I ask, "Does it hurt?" He smirks and says, "Beauty is Pain, my dear, beauty is pain." My vanity takes over and I decide to go for the injection. While I'm waiting for the good doctor to come back into the room. I'm reading a sign on the wall advertising the services of my dermatologist's office: Restylane, Botox, Spider vein removal, some other items I don't remember, and laser hair removal. I have always had what I like to call "peach fuzz" so after I am shot in the cheek with a needle to get rid of my zit (During which my doctor tells me how 14-16 year old girls come into his office on almost a daily basis to have this procedure done because not only are they in their teens and breaking out with pimples, they also, well, live in Westport. Unreal.) I decide to broach the subject of laser hair removal. He in his very charming way (use of sarcasm here) tells me that laser hair removal works wonders on people with dark hair, but does not do anything for peach fuzz. He says "for peach fuzz, you need to wax." He grabs my chin, turns my head to the left then to the right and says, "wax, wax, wax!" Here's the real kicker, he then tells me however he has another injection he can use on me to get rid of my frown lines around my mouth! What??

"How old are you" he asks.
"I'll be 30 in July" I reply.
He kindly says, "Yep. It's about that time. I don't know what it is, but something is going on with your body, excess peach fuzz, zits, and lines around your mouth. Come back in a few months if you want to take care of those lines."

Beauty is pain I remind myself as I check out with the receptionist and make an appointment to come back in a few months...Beauty is Pain.....

Weekend Fun-k

2009-03-16T06:47:00.000-07:00

Monday morning I woke up, hopped in the shower, dreading the day ahead of me. While in the shower, I plan what I am going to wear to work. I feel as if I have a whole new wardrobe to choose from as I spent all Sunday evening ironing. I decide on my staple (and always a fave) grey pants, white shirt and green sweater. I have to admit, the reason why these pants are a fave are NOT because of their stunning looks, but because they are a true size 2 and still fit me great. Not too tight, not too big, not too long, just right. Even more, I'm feeling quite confident that my ass is going to look damn good in these pants because I have now been to my Physique 57 class 6 days in a row. So I pull the pants off the hanger, put my right leg in, then the left, do a little shimmie to get them up over my thighs and butt and.....screeeeeeching halt....when I go to button them, they are snug!! What the F? Haven't I been working my ass off for the past week? I mean literally working my ass off? I do the ol' inhale and button maneuver and pray the button doesn't pop because I am going to wear these size 2s if it kills me! I convince myself that it must be muscle weight since I have been working out so much and it has nothing to do with the shit that I ate over the weekend.

So, the weekend......Friday night we decided to go out for dinner. We went to our new favorite restaurant in Bronxville, Sammy's Downtown. It's filled with snobby old money folk and plenty of snobby new money too. I guess the question really is what were my husband and I doing there? Well, I'll tell ya, good atmosphere, good drinks and delicious food! And I little bit of, "we like to act like we are from Bronxville". I ordered a delicious roasted beets salad for an appetizer and mushroom risotto for my entree. I have never ordered anything but the risotto and again I wasn't disappointed. However, my favorite part of the evening was the red bordeaux. I certainly would not call myself a sommelier, but I do enjoy a good glass of wine and this my friends, was a great glass of wine. Of course after I gulped my first glass down, I ordered another. My husband and I were enjoying ourselves so much we decided to continue the evening at the bar where we ordered ourselves another glass of delicious Bordeaux and met the most delightful bartender, Dana. Actually, delightful isn't the best word to describe Dana. She very well might be the brashest young lady I have ever met. But in a stuffy uptight restaurant such as Sammy's Downtown, she was a breath of fresh air. In the time it took my husband and I to drink our glass of wine (which wasn't very long), we found out that Dana was born and raised in Mount Vernon (although she sounded like she grew up in hard-core Brooklyn), went to a private highschool, worked 3 jobs, loves smoking pot and was hoping to get laid that night by her ex-boyfriend whose nickname was the "mankiller". After our glass of wine at the bar (which would make for a total of 3 so far) and a little too much info on Dana we decided to leave.

We walk past "the" Bronxville bar where we normally go for a great time. As we peered thru the all glass front windows we notice the bar is jamming. We couldn't possibly pass up on perfect opportunity for Bronxville gossip, could we? No way! We stumble inside and immediately find ourselves a seat at the bar. The bar area is quite small, but no one sits at this bar, they mingle which allows for my husband and I to sit and observe. In this case, observe is more of a polite way to describe people watching. A little background on this bar: my husband and I have been going to this bar for quite some time and each time we went we noticed the same people there. I repeatedly said, "each person had a story" at this bar. Sure enough, a few months back an old man named Jack (a regular at the bar) gave us the low-down on each person there. And just as expected, they all had a story, from the owner who had his heart broken by his fiancee (and also had a brain tumor removed), and his ex-future father-in-law who still comes to the bar and is upset the owner won't speak to him; to the bartender who just donated a kidney to his father; to the local real estate agent who has slept with every guy in the bar; to the "happily" married couple that are each sleeping with other people who are also in the bar; to the couple who are dating but the guy still has yet to finalize his divorce from his wife and is suspected he's sleeping with another woman at the bar. It's classic and the exact mindless entertainment I am looking for on a Friday night. However this Friday night was even better than the last time we were there. All of the craziness was at its peak as the bar was hosting a fundraiser, 25% of the bar proceeds were going to a charity. So, my husband and I sat at the bar ordered ourselves a glass of wine and then another glass and watched the chaos around us. My husband and I don't say a word to each other, he is perfectly content watching the basketball game on TV, I am in the highlight of my glory creating even more stories for each person there.

That's a total of 5 glasses of wine if you were counting.....

Bill Clinton and Tacos

2009-03-13T06:43:00.000-07:00

Ok, get your minds out of the gutter! If the title was Bill Clinton and Cigars, then I wouldn't blame you, but tacos? Come on, nothing dirty here! I assure you the title is purely innocent.

I realize while starting this new post that I skipped a day. I remember now it was a bad day of food and a few crazy customers, but nothing to, as the saying goes, write home about. So on to yesterday's events. As for my "diet", I stuck with eating small meals/snacks every 3 hours and I have noticed my hunger pangs inbetween those 3 hours slowly dissipating. Phew! There is nothing more embarrassing than talking to a customer and your stomach is growling so loud it sounds as if an 18 wheeler is driving right by you! (18 wheelers, do New Yorkers know what those are? If not, let me know and I'll tell you.)

Speaking of clients I need to touch on something. I have only been in the corporate world for approximately 3 years and as of late I have been experiencing the true definition of "dog eat dog". I won't bore you with all of my corporate world stories, but will someone please tell me why or how complete idiots are able to climb the corporate ladder at such a rapid pace and us smart ones, are still hanging on to the bottom rung. I think I can answer my own question, to move up in the world, you've gotta throw others under the bus! I recently found out a good friend of mine was fired, not from the company where I work, from another company that works in conjunction with me. I was devastated by the news. What's even worse, is yesterday his counterpart came into the showroom bragging to me that he was the one who got my friend fired, for no reason, but the fact that he couldn't have my friend standing in his way of future promotions! What??? I was in complete shock and even more amazed that this guy had no qualms about telling me he's the one who got him fired! Did it not occur to him that I was friends with the guy? No, this guy is a clueless idiot who will never make anything of himself unless he gets rid of anyone that is better than him. Which in my opinion, is EVERYONE! I hate idiotic people.

Sorry, enough of my soap box. You are probably wondering what any of this has to do with Bill Clinton, right? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I'll get to that part now. So I'm leaving my exercise class (yes that's 3 days in a row), walking down 54th street in between Madison and Park Avenues. The light is green at Madison, but the guy in the car at the light is not going anywhere. Of course in classic NYC style the horns are blasting. I look up to see why the guy isn't moving and realize there is a traffic jam ahead. I notice there are 2 Escalades parked in the middle of 54th street, both with red and blue flashing lights. Hmmm, I wonder what is going on? I proceed past Madison and notice 8 huge body guards, 2 at each corner of the front Escalade, all with the security earpieces on. Could it possibly be President Obama? There is a small crowd gathering, but nothing like a crowd when you see Angelina. I'm in a rush to catch the train, but slow down as I approach the front Escalade. The back seat passenger door is opened and I glance inside. There is an old man (grey/white hair) sitting and reading some papers, leg dangling out the side where the door is open. Shucks, no one important. I start to walk a few more feet when I see the body guards shuffle. I pause to try and get one more glimpse and I realize is it none other than...wait for it (thank you Barney Stinson)...the former president, Bill Clinton! My first reaction is wow, he looks like shit. Then I hear this woman yell, "Looking good Bill!" I want to yell, "Eat a steak", but refrain. And just so I wasn't disappointed, Bill looks right at me, waves and then gives me a one of a kind Bill Clinton thumbs up. Perfect!

What does any of this have to do with tacos? Again, nothing. Tacos are what I made for dinner. A homemade taco dinner is my idea of comfort food and seeing Bill Clinton was a reason to make tacos......

I Did It!

2009-03-11T13:32:00.000-07:00

Today I officially accomplished my new lifestyle plan...I did it! I only ate 4 meals instead of 5, but close enough, right? The morning started off very low-key, no pricks sitting across from me on the train. However, I also decided to wait to eat breakfast once I got to my office. Who knows what kind of jerks would have crawled out of the woodwork had I ripped into my granola bar on the train? I had a delicious breakfast of SpecialK strawberry cereal with FRESH strawberries on top. Cereal might be one of my all time favorite comfort foods, but there is no way I could take the SpecialK challenge and eat cereal for breakfast and lunch. I must say the fresh strawberries were a nice added touch. For lunch I had my trusy Lean Cuisine spinach and mushroom pizza and for my 3:00 PM snack I chopped up a pear. The best part of my day was returning to Physique 57! I haven't been there in about 2 weeks and as much as I was dragging myself there, it really was so rewarding. The instructor for the class was my all-time favorite, Alexander, who pointed out loud that my "legs were quivering which is a sign of not working out for a long time". Thanks, Alexander. It's good though, nothing like a little humiliation to get your butt back into gear! When I got home, my husband and I made sandwiches for dinner. I had a delicious vegetarian chicken patty. Is it me or does anyone else think that the contents of a vegetarian chicken patty are probably worse for you than killing and eating an actual chicken?!

All in all, a good day. What is wrong with me, exercise AND no wine?!?

Celebrity Sighting = Pizza & Wine

2009-03-10T06:48:00.000-07:00

Day 1 of my new "lifestyle" did not go according to plan. It started out okay, but didn't end up with the results that I had hoped. The morning starts off on the train, heading to work. I am minding my own business, rocking out with my iPod (of course at a low vloume), trying to relax as I prepare for yet another day in the appliance world. I reach into my bag to retrieve my first meal of the day, a Kashi TLC Cherry Dark Chocolate granola bar, and the guy sitting across from me on the train gives me a glaring look. I ignore his scowl and open up my granola bar and take a huge bite. This annoys my friendly train companion even more, and with each bite that follows he rolls his eyes. Now, I don't know how many of you have tried the Kashi TLC bars, but they are not that big, so it was only a few moments of eating. I wanted to say to him, "Hey buddy! What the hell is your problem? Am I really making that much noise? Am I chewing with my mouth open? I don't think I am, so why don't you go back to your NY Times paper and mind YOUR own f'ing business!" I have to admit I am not a big fan of people eating on the train, but when I think of eating, I think of the Mexican take-out or the Big-Mac and french fries they just purchased in Grand Central. I don't think eating a tiny prepackaged granola is all that offensive. Please tell me if I'm wrong. I overcome my urge to yell at the guy, but I do sit back, crank up the tunes and revel in my first scrumptious meal of the day.

3 hours later, once at work, I am feeling slightly hungry, it's only 11:30 but to stay on track of my 5 meals a day plan, I go to grab my yogurt out of the refrigerator only to find out I forgot to put it in there. It's still sitting in my bag! I don't know what the protocol is on eating warm yogurt, but it can't be good. I toss it in the trash and opt for a green apple. It's fairly satisfying. Thank goodness I ate it though, because the showroom all of a sudden gets slammed...I mean packed with people, one right after another and I don't even realize that it is now 5:30! Warning, when I don't eat enough during the day, I tend to get very cranky! So to save my husband from the agony of dealing with a cranky wife, I decide to stop and get a bag of chips on my way to the train. I buy a diet coke (caffeine free of course) and a bag of Sun Chips. In my mind Sun Chips are a bit healthier than regular ol' Lay's. I am so excited to rip into my bag of Sun Chips that I run into Mark Consuelos on the sidewalk...literally run into him! I'm a bit dumbfounded as I already have a history of seeing him and his wife at my gym. What's even better is he casually acknowledges me as the chick from his exercise class! I play it cool AND feel cool. I know this seems a bit pretentious, but I don't care. I don't think I'll ever get over celebrity sightings. I'm a Hollywood freak, love TV, love movies and love People magazine. Therefore, I love when I see a celebrity myself.

I immediately call my husband, tell him not to be too jealous as I am again hobnobbing with Mark and then tell him I think this calls for a celebration. I say, "Let's go out to eat!" Funny thing though, my husband and I, 2 NON-practicing Catholics, decided to give up for Lent, going out to dinner during the week. He reminds me of this and I remind him since we are not practicing Catholics we technically don't need to give up anything for Lent! Really, it's all about me wanting to NOT cook dinner because I am famished. He agrees and we then head to our favorite local pizza joint where I devour 2 pieces of bread (with butter), 1/2 of a caesar salad, and 2 delicous pieces of pizza drizzled in pesto and sundried tomato sauce. I am dying to go for my 3rd piece but restrain only because I wanted to finish my glass of wine! Didn't I say I was going to try to give up alcohol for the week? I tell myself, "but it's a celebration!" Tomorrow is another day.....

New to blogging

2009-03-08T14:53:00.000-07:00

Ok, so today is my first day setting up a blog. I have decided to do a blog regarding my 3 favorite things: 1.) alcohol, 2.) food, and 3.) dishwashers. Well, not neccessarily dishwashers, but appliances which happens to be my career . Alcohol, I enjoy too much and I am going to try to go for a week without having...any. Food, is my passion, but also my nemesis. I am probably the most self-conscious person you will ever meet and battle food every single day. As I said, I work with high-end appliances which allows me to cook on a daily basis. I love exploring recipes, concocting recipes and just throwing food together. Since I was married this past September, I have probably put on about 15 lbs. I should have mentioned I am a vegetarian. (I don't eat eggs, but will drink milk and eat cheese.) I am also one of the worst vegetarians I know, meaning I'm not a huge fan of vegetables, so my diet consists of carbs, sugar, carbs, and a bit of lettuce. Could this possibly be the reason why I have gained 15 lbs in 6 months?

So besides really testing out this site and trying to figure out how to post something, I also want to tell you that my goal in this blog is to document the next few months of exercising, trying to eat 5 small healthy meals a day, eliminating a constant consumption of alcohol AND throwing in some classic appliance stories. I know the last one may sound completely boring, but am I wrong to find fascinating the fact that some people do NOT know the difference between ovens and dishwashers?

Please stay tuned.....