Born without a Y

October 1, documented.

2011-11-02T13:49:00.002-04:00

I'm still learning about my wedding day. If we haven't spent time together since the big event, I expect to hear all the details as you recall them to get a sense of what it was like. My wedding experience is a collection of stories from the people I love most married (hehe) with my own fuzzy recollections. It's these personal stories that I love, even the scandalous ones. Especially the scandalous ones.

I've been anxiously awaiting the photos to further prove it happened, and today I got a preview. I look really happy. And really skinny. The upside of surgery two weeks before your wedding. I believe I achieved the classy modern princess look I was striving for, complete with fleeting moments of sweetness not typically associated with my nature. My photographer was a genius.

I'm anxiously awaiting the rest of the pictures, and hoping I looked just as fabulous come reception time. Modesty is a quality I admire, but modesty be damned -- I hard-earned the right to think I looked gooood. And I did.

Should you have your own pictures, or little snippets of happenings, I would love to see and hear about them. In the meantime, I'll be moonlighting in my wedding dress playing princess around the house.

You think I'm kidding.

Today's post is brought to you by the Number 8.

2011-10-31T14:47:00.001-04:00

I've taken my fair share of risks in life. As a planner (understatement), I try to be as calculated as possible but there have been a few times -- life changing times -- I didn't see it coming...and did it anyway.

The first was 1994. I was a senior in high school, and I wasn't sure what was going to happen that fall. I'd been wait-listed at one college, denied from another, and since I spent the year proving I could shoot Busch pounders, there weren't many other prospects. I got an acceptance letter from a school in North Carolina the third week of June. I do not even remember applying.

So I went. Sight unseen, packed up my bags and drove 500 miles and eight hours South. Culture shocked, utterly displaced, and knowing no one, I started my college career at Elon. Yes, that Elon. The beautiful, top-ranked, well-funded private University I could not get into if I were a high school senior today. You could say that worked out.

Fast forward eight years. I'm living in Winston-Salem and engaged to be married. And just like that, I'm not. I'm packing up my bags, newly single, hauling it to Atlanta, GA -- eight years ago today -- where again, I know no one. On my own, not making nearly enough to live here, but completely empowered by taking charge of my life (and the balls I grew that Fall) I fell in love, got promoted four times, bought my dream house, and got married. This too, you could say worked out.

It's not that there weren't tough times. In fact, those first years after jumping from the buildings, so to speak, were definitely adjustment periods. And there were times I questioned the choices I had made. But in the end, I was willing to chalk it up to "life experience" if it didn't work out, and that is what made all the difference.

So here we are -- eight years later -- and I'm wondering, what's next? What unseen risk am I going to take that changes my life forever? I'm already losing the weight -- which has oddly been a telltale sign in every previous eight year cycle -- I know it's coming. As is the shift in behavior and perspective. When I went to college, I stopped partying and became responsible. When I moved to Atlanta, I let go and learned to let the real me shine. Most recently, I discovered what's important.

Only with great risk comes great reward. I eagerly anticipate the unknown.

Introducing Mrs. Saunders

2011-10-15T13:12:00.000-04:00

Mrs. Saunders here. Back from my wedding and honeymoon a changed woman, and I'm not talking about my name or newly lost virginity.

A brief recap...

It's been one clusterf*ck of a month.

I haven't driven a car, worked out, gone to work, or killed a bottle of wine in 30 days. I did however manage to get married and take a Hawaiian vacation with my husband. Yes, my hussssband. Miracles somehow never cease.

I cruised through my wedding stone cold sober and exhausted, trying my best to smile and knowing this is only going to happen once in my lifetime. Or it's supposed to. I sure hope I looked the part.

As a little girl dreaming of my wedding, it was never about the dress or even the man. I was more focused on the fact that this would be the one and only time all the people I loved would be forced to watch me dance for four hours. All those years of dance class and numerous hours viewing Dance Fever, Solid Gold, In Living Color, and Soul Train culminating in my golden moment at my wedding.

You can imagine how this surgery almost killed my dream.

Which is why at one point I decided that while I may split in half the next day, this was my wedding and I was going to dance. Dance I did. I could barely stand at the end of the reception. I hope I said goodbye and thank you to everyone.

I hear my wedding was beautiful. Many tell me it was a good time. It was a very different event for me personally than I had envisioned, but I too felt it was wonderful. My vows were perfect. The ceremony was everything to me that day, and in the long run it's those little words (that we wrote ourselves I might add) that matter.

So then we went honeymooning. And surprise! I got sick because I hadn't been dealt a large enough pile of shit already. Days 1-3 were spent visiting the Minit Clinic and fully medicating. At least we had a nice view from the lanai of our rented home. Both of us exhausted from our awesome month, we spent most of our time just staring off into space or a book, sleeping, and thinking privately.

Then we went to the Four Seasons. I spent $1,000 on the spa. If you know me, you know that I don't spend $1,000 on anything, especially if it's for me and classified as entertainment or non-essential. And then there was the toast. I called to order room service one morning and was asked if I would like my bread light, medium or dark toasted. Seriously. The place gave me anxiety. Every time I wiped myself (they still let you do that yourself) I was sure it cost me a buck. While it was lovely playing celebrity for a few days, I learned that the rich are consumed with meaningless activities and over the top gestures because there is nothing else to want in this life when you can buy everything. No thank you.

While on vacation, I told my husband that I wanted to be a yoga instructor and write books. I wasn't kidding in the slightest. Going back to work on Monday should be interesting at the very least.

A note on my husband. God bless him.

Now we're home. Newly minted husband and wife, settling back in to a somewhat different life than we otherwise may have. Someday I'll be able to articulate exactly what it is that has changed, but for now I know that it's a feeling. It's a perspective. While it's been hell, and I assure you it has, I know that the experience has better equipped us to handle, well, life. We were tested early, and we succeeded. We learned a lot about ourselves, a lot about each other, and a whole hell of a lot about what's important.

Here's to Mr. and Mrs. Saunders and the next chapter.

Arts and Crafts

2011-09-25T21:00:00.000-04:00

There is only so much bad TV a girl can watch. While I have appreciated becoming intimately familiar with Say Yes to the Dress, The Millionaire Matchmaker, Stacey and Clinton, all the guest chefs on Chopped and at least 15 different movies, I'm becoming bored and itchy for more action. Sadly, it took me a week to get here, but in my defense I have been sleeping 15-16 hours a day.

In keeping with the forcefully re-iterated advice of my doctor from my post-op appointment, I'm avoiding physical activity and stress. Which means no cleaning or work, the things that normally fill 90% of my time.

With the wedding just five days away, I turned to arts and crafts. It's my mental speed right now, and it requires me only to sit up. Despite feeling like the special needs child given protective scissors and an edible glue stick, I've made some pretty nifty items.

There's the programs for the ceremony, the wine cork place cards, the old wine bottles dressed up and turned table card holders, chair bows, and of course the place cards and table cards to go in these holders. I find it poetic that I'm using the empty wine bottles from our hutch -- a tribute to my former self.

By Wednesday, I'm thinking I may accomplish decoupage and macrame -- and I don't even know what those words mean right now.

Here's hoping I don't look back on my wedding pictures and realize that my crafts aren't as fabulous as my med-head currently thinks them to be. If you happen to be a guest at my wedding, lie. Just lie to me.

One Week

2011-09-24T12:51:00.000-04:00

Today I cried over my pumpkin pancakes. I managed to walk (slowly) up the street and have breakfast in a public place with my very soon-to-be-husband. They were exceptionally yummy, but something tells me they weren't the root cause of my tears.

Those pancakes were warm and comfortable, safe. In comparison, while I am frequently warm these days, I do not feel comfortable in my skin.

One week ago today I was awaiting the results of a CAT scan that I didn't realize would change me forever. I cried, and continue to, over the loss of myself.

I realize it sounds dramatic. I have questioned frequently this past week as to whether or not what happened to me was really all that bad. Whether or not I have license to feel the way I do so strongly. I mean, I don't have cancer, a tumor, or other terminal illness. I'm apparently quite healthy and just in need of a little healing. And I'm still here, right?

Where I've landed is that it wasn't the end of the world, but it was the end of the former me. Coming close to "decomposing" and having the flesh of my body that I hope will one day bear me a family invaded so harshly has left me feeling wounded and scared. I'm more emotionally than physically damaged.

I don't know that I will ever be the same person I was before. I don't feel strong enough to insert myself back into my life as it was. I carry more fear and worry. In a word, I'm vulnerable.

One week from today, I'll be readying myself for walking down the aisle to marry the love of my life. It will be a slightly different version of the wedding I envisioned, and a different version of me. But it doesn't change the significance of marrying my best friend who has been by my side through this and so much more over the past eight years.

He told me this morning as I publicly cried over pancakes that this version of me is a change for the better. I'm softer, more willing to let others do, and more open with my emotions. He is a good man, and a better person. He loves me. Both of me. I'm a very lucky woman.

I suppose I agree, but I'm losing who I've been for as long as I can remember -- tough, indestructible, fiercely independent, emotionally compartmentalized. Least of all vulnerable, how insulting to even conceive the thought.

But this experience has shown me that I am not these things alone. I am not immune to pain and sadness. I hurt. I have feelings that do not want to be suppressed or comically addressed. I can't always take care of myself alone. It's not possible to be at the top of my game every day. Sometimes you have to just let go, even if it means letting go of yourself. And it's this self that I mourn.

One week from today, I'll be starting a new chapter of my life. Becoming a wife, changing my name, and embracing and learning to live as this new version of me. Profound. Or maybe just poetic timing.

Amazing the difference one week can make.

Desperately Seeking Courtney

2011-09-21T15:08:00.001-04:00

I'm not me. I don't know where she went. And I'm terrified.

I've been very good about doing all the things I should and shouldn't. There's the first problem. I'm not checking email for work, I'm letting things go around the house, and just laying on the couch (bed, or chair depending on time of day). Because I have no choice. Yesterday, because I wasn't feeling too bad in the morning I decided to don my Wonder Woman cape and claim my title. I ended up in my Wonder Woman underoos, a pathetic imposter.

I attempted to shower. At the end of this event, I was sweating, dizzy, and in crazy pain. I then slept for six hours. You think this would stop me. Nope. I fielded three calls from vendors with simple questions about the wedding and basically had a breakdown crying and blubbering "I can't handle it". Did I stop there? Nope. Checked the work email. Same experience. Alarmingly overwhelmed by something that in the grand scheme of my job would matter not at all if it was completely ignored.

I can't hack it. I went from driving 19 million miles an hour through the city streets on a motorcycle to braking hard core in a Hummer at every speed bump.

I hate the phone. Everytime it rings or dings I cringe. I can't even talk to people I love. I despise that little number over the mail icon letting me know how much there is that I'm not dealing with right now. I had to hide the phone today because it was making me cry.

On the other hand, I do want to be held, stroked, and told I'm loved every minute of the day. I want to be told what to do including when to eat, sleep and pee. I have completely surrendered myself, which is in direct conflict with who I am, and yet it's now coming so easily.

I've received a few lovely notes from a few even lovelier people encouraging me, relating similar expereinces and letting me know it's ok to be angry and confused. I'm grateful for their words, they help me feel slightly less insane.

But I would love to know where Courtney went, and when she plans on returning. If you see her, tell her she is needed. And to bring a new stomach.

Thankful I Suppose

2011-09-19T14:17:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling really sorry for myself. I'm doped up on pain killers, watching my stomach turn nine shades of purple and fighting on and off bouts of nausea and headaches. Not how I expected to spend my weekend, or Monday for that matter I suppose. Especially not two weeks before my wedding. And I stink.

But it could be worse. I almost died Friday. During this interval of lucidity I'll attempt to tell you why. I warn you, this isn't pretty because it wasn't. And some may ask why I choose to write about it. Well, for one, I certainly don't want to talk about it, and two writing always makes me feel better. Like I can put it past me once it's on paper.

I didn't feel well. I left the office around noon, and worked from home. I did a little yoga around six and felt better, so we went to dinner. Around 11pm I felt a demon invade my lower abdomen and try to pull every organ out through my belly button. I fell asleep, or maybe passed out, due to the severity of the pain. I woke up an hour later, a disgusting human being discharging from all orafices who passed out before I reached the bathroom which means all over myself. I was half conscious, in delirious pain and completely unaware of what was happening to me. At this point, I'm thinking food poisoning or abdominal obstruction. Four hours later, when I couldn't walk or turn to either side, it was time to find out. In retrospect, the scariest the night of my life.

I arrived at the hospital with a pain rating of 10. Appendicitis, this was the initial diagnosis. Two hours later after numerous blood tests and a CAT scan, it was determined I was bleeding internally - heavily - from what they thought was a burst ovarian cyst. Seems there was too much blood to determine for certain (all in all, 500 ML, go ahead, measure it). Within an hour I was in surgery. I spent the rest of my day on morphine, and don't recall much other than being woken up every hour for vitals. And that smell, of blood and iodine.

It was in fact a burst cyst, one I didn't even know I had. I was told that had I waited any longer or had the blood been flowing any faster I would have decomposed. No one ever wants to hear the word "decomposed" in reference to oneself, especially while laying in a hospital bed. So I guess you could say I got lucky. And then there was the question of how this affects my ability to have children. Once I understood I wasn't dying, it was all that mattered. I'm told it won't, as both ovaries are healthy and everything else looked great, except for that giant bleeding cyst. I don't know how much I believe this, but I guess time will tell.

And that's where I am. Struggling with the idea that the only reason I'm not dead is because I got lucky. Wondering how I'm going to walk down an aisle in two weeks for a wedding I've been waiting on for eight years. How all the work at the office I strategically planned to do between now and next Wednesday will get done. Hoping that children are still in my future. Fearful that the bruising and headaches I'm having aren't normal and that clots have formed in my brain. I'm a hot fucking mess who can't decide whether crying or laughing is appropriate but damn sure that both really hurt right about now.

Then I go back to the fact that I'm alive. And I guess that's all that matters. But I'm having a hard time seeing that way. I would have expected that coming out on top of a life threatening incident would make me thankful. But I'm just sad, angry and scared. I'm not even enjoying the painkillers. I mean seriously.

My soon to be husband is a bright spot in all this. If I ever doubted he loved me, I certainly don't now. He's been so supportive and positive, and there for me every minute I've needed him. I'm sure he's freaking out as his bride just fell apart two weeks before his wedding, but he's not letting it show. Instead, he's encouraging me, calming me, and even told me I look good, all things considered. He's a wonderful little liar who I love with all my heart.

That's my story. Not that you asked for it. But it does make me feel just a tiny bit better having put these very real feelings on paper. Here's to healing soon, and finding myself again.

31 Pursuits...Revisited

2011-09-07T10:45:00.000-04:00

Ah blogs...perpetual storybooks living on the web telling of who you were and what you did at that point in your life. I recently revisited Thirty One Pursuits. Many of you were with me on this journey, a journey that I defined through a list of "Thirty One Things to Do Before 32". It's how I started blogging. I wrote it during one of the most difficult years of my life, something not many readers knew at the time. I hated my job, despised myself, my relationship was ending, and nothing was as I expected it would be at the age of 31.

Here I am three years later, and my what a difference 1/3 of a decade can make. Or not. Several things on my original list are still incredibly relevant, and others not so much. So I decided to revisit it, and update my progress. Three years later.

1) Keep going to the gym:
THEN: There is no need. I have bouts of depression, work stress, man trouble and a red wine diet to keep me looking fabulous.
NOW: I can assure you three years makes a big difference to the body. No gym, but I am feverishly working my way through Exercise TV's repertoire of yoga and ab programs. Every. Single. Day.

2) Maintain stable frame of mind:
THEN: I get a medal for this--really, I do. Although I'm starting to think it's overrated and may just go absolutely ape shit on the first day of 33
NOW: They call me mellow yellow.

3) Keep in touch with family and friends:
THEN: Doing my best, doing my best. If anything I've realized how much they all mean to me and how lucky I am to have the people I do in my life. Especially the besties, and you know who you are. Thanks to all of you for being there for me.
NOW: I have no choice, I'm getting married in less than 30 days. I'm talking to everybody.

4) Choose my battles:
THEN: Admittedly was not very good at this when I started, but became aware of my desire to debate. Now, I think I'm picking too few...somewhere there is balance.
NOW: I am a master battle chooser. But still a debater, and Scott a debater hater.

5) Save more money:
THEN: I blame the economy and am currently waiting for my bailout.
NOW: I did, then I bought a house and planned a wedding. Back to square one.

6) Commit to using eye cream:
THEN: Why? Did I mention I'm hot?
NOW: Ditto.

7) Eat healthier:
THEN: There is absolutely nothing I can say about this--I tried. I failed. I don't smack down a bag a chips and don't really have an affinity for chocolate, so that's good enough in my book.
NOW: No carb diet six days a week with one cheat day. Wiser with age I suppose.

8) Thus, stop eating out so much:
THEN: Whatever. Not gonna happen in this lifetime.
NOW: Saturdays, and occasionally Fridays.

9) Potty train Gizmo:
THEN: I did this, again, with flying colors.
NOW: He has his own doggie door, no training required.

10) Relax:
THEN: I did learn to let go on some level and it did me a lot of good, really. By nature I feel I may be a little high strung, but they make drugs for that. Besides, keeps life interesting.
NOW: Define "relax", and use it in the context of my life.

11) Explore the possibilities:
THEN: I don't ever stop doing this. In hindsight it should have been "Explore the possibilities and take action." New goal for 33.
NOW: Sadly, I don't do this as often as I should. Maybe I'm more settled? Maybe I'm too busy? I need to keep a more open mind.

12) Start my book:
THEN: I did. It is going to be awesome...so long as I can get the people I am completely destroying to sign waivers.
NOW: What book?

13) Remember everyone's birthday:
THEN: Facebook made this really easy.
NOW: I send cards, too.

14) Remember everyone's anniversary:
THEN: This was impossible from the get go, and I have no idea why it was important to me to even attempt this feat.
NOW: I think I might have been bitter in 2008.

15) Stop paying for convenience:
THEN: I ditched my cleaning people, but I can afford to valet my car, ship online buys and pay people to keep their mouths shut. Should be "stop paying for select conveniences".
NOW: I still don't have a cleaning lady, and yet 2,500 more square footage.

16) Do my own taxes:
THEN: Did it, and doing it again.
NOW: Still going.

17) Plant flowers in the springtime:
THEN: Did it, not doing it this year.
NOW: I don't mow grass, I trim vines. And I have exactly 14 pots currently planted, some twice.

18) Read at least 18 books:
THEN: It may have done me some good to have a few self-help titles on this list.
NOW: I really, really, really, miss reading.

19) Cut down on travel for work:
THEN: Done. Case closed.
NOW: Not so much. It's why I miss reading.

20) See a dermatologist:
THEN: Looking forward to getting my ass slapped again in a few weeks.
NOW: New doctor!

21) Find a better dentist:
THEN: When all was said and done it cost me $1,200 to make this happen. That said, I had a few of the best hours of my life upside down and stupid.
NOW: Currently 6 months overdue for my appointment.

22) Try not to be sick:
THEN: Someday. I'm holding out for the wonder drug.
NOW: I was obviously mentally ill but it was manifesting as physical illness. Just a few minor inconveniences here and there.

23) Have more girl time:
THEN: Lots of it! I love my girls, they are amazing people--and they are the inspiration for my next adventure.
NOW: I don't have time to pee.

24) Learn to make a mean vodka sauce:
THEN: De-lish.
NOW: It's still de-lish.

25) Get engaged (or become single):
THEN: ha. Ha. ha Ha HA HA HA HA! "It's complicated."
NOW: Game over, I won. Ring on finger, wedding date set. Now he just has to walk down the aisle.

26) Master the social networks:
THEN: Facebook addict.
NOW: Make it stop. All of it.

27) Celebrate my sister's wedding:
THEN: It was lovely.
NOW: Celebrate my wedding.

28) Have more me time:
THEN: Too much "me" time can lead to insanity. Living in your head is no fun. But I do know myself REALLY well these days. Courtney, Jancie, Elise, Barbara, Billy. We're all one big happy family.
NOW: See #23.

29) Stop biting my nails:
THEN: I fell off the wagon a week ago, but I'm getting a manicure today. Give me a week, I'll be golden.
NOW: I am so bad at this. Desperately seeking growth over the skin prior to October 1.

30) Buy a house:
THEN: Sold a house.
NOW: Bought my DREAM house.

31) Understand and embrace how fortunate I really am: Above all, this I have accomplished. It's about the little things, and appreciating what's happening at this very minute. There is always going to be something bigger, better, newer, richer, and so on...so what does it matter? Appreciate the life you have and be happy with what is right in front of you. What is most difficult for this girl is making other people see this for themselves--I hope someday everyone finds this peace.
NOW: I couldn't have said it any better then or now.

Welcome Fall (and therefore chili)

2011-09-06T13:28:00.000-04:00

I love Fall. Even when I'm not getting married. And while we won't officially welcome the season until later this month, Labor Day weekend usually marks the end of summer as the days get (just a little bit) cooler.

So I found it very apropos that the temperature dropped 30 degrees in the past three days, and that I spent the latter half of my Labor Day weekend holed up in our comfy house doing house stuff.

Which included making chili, and as it turns out the best damn chili I've ever made. My wifey skills are mad. As I sit here enjoying it for a second time, taking a break from the millions of monotonous tasks this day presents me with, I figured why not share it? So here goes, please enjoy responsibly.

What You'll Need:

1/2 lb lean ground beef
1/2 lb ground mild italian sausage
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium white onion
4 cloves garlic
1 jalapeno
1 can each of black beans, pinto beans (drained and rinsed) and red kidney beans (drained and rinsed)
2 cans plain diced tomatoes
1 bottle of lager (that's beer)
splash of Worchestire
splash of soy sauce
2 tablespoons coffee (the liquid, not the grounds)
Courtney's Chili Seasoning

1 1/2 tablespoons chili powder
1/2 tablespoon chipotle chili powder
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1-2 teaspoon salt
Pinch or three of ground ginger

How to Make It:

Brown the ground beef and sausage, set aside.
Add 1 tablespoon of olive oil to a large, heavy pot and saute onions, garlic and jalapeno until soft, about 5 minutes.
Reduce heat to low and wdd in the ground meats, cans of beans and tomatoes -- stir to combine
Add the lager through the coffee -- stir to combine
Add Courtney's Chili Seasoning -- stir to combine
Cover the pot and simmer on low heat for 1-1 1/2 hours
Taste chili -- season with salt and pepper as needed.
If desired, to thicken let stand with no heat 15 minutes, or add a tablespoon of cornstarch.

Disclaimer: I made it up as I went, all measurements approximate.

Reluctant Business Traveler

2011-08-24T23:14:00.000-04:00

It's no secret, I am not a fan of my required work travel. As the Regional Vice President for Atlanta, one might have thought more local meetings on the ground with clients. Not so much. I spend more time in Texas, North Carolina, Arkansas and Oklahoma than someone who dislikes barbecue, doesn't trust cowboys and is terrified of tornadoes ever should.

But I've been running this schedule since 2007 with only a brief reprieve and admittedly when I'm grounded for too long, I get bored. Unfortunately, grounded hasn't happened in some time so boredom is not in my vocabulary. I long to be in our new home with my very near future hubby and small black furry child. I miss the hell out of them.

Over the years I have learned not to get my feathers ruffled when flights are cancelled. I've stopped expending energy wishing for upgrades. And I write letters to Delta for entertainment purposes only. I actually heart Delta and will do my best to always remain loyal to their newer, cleaner, planes and well-fleeted wifi.

I have no idea how long I will need or be able to keep this up. Or if I will ever stop being afraid of flying. What I do know is that I can only make the best of it.

In doing that, the best part is the appreciation I have for my family that heightens when I am away. Something about 35,000 feet just makes me all weepy. There's nothing like coming home, and I suppose sometimes it takes being away to realize it.

Please return your seat backs to their full and upright locked position. We've been cleared for landing, and I'm headed there right now.

The Things You Learn You Already Knew

2011-08-22T12:46:00.000-04:00

With our nuptials just a few short weeks away, good friends of ours threw a party to celebrate our long-awaited union. All the usual suspects, lots of food and booze and the pre-requisite wedding games.

In this case, a loose version of the newlywed game due to the intoxication level of our guests at the point which the game was introduced. Our friends had to answer two questions...two about me, and two about Scott in the spirit of how we would answer these questions about each other. I'm sober and still confused, but everyone got it enough to make it entertaining.

Once Scott got the concept of reading the answers aloud -- with one eye shut to avoid seeing double -- the entertainment value was huge, with our friends knowing us quite well. Of course, it has been seven years.

Not only did we learn that our friends know us well, but I personally learned that everyone, with not a single exception, thinks I'm an OCD type-A personality fixated on cleaning and organization. Every. Single. Person. Answered that question the same way.

Is this true? Absolutely. But did I realize everyone knows me to be excessive in these categories specifically? Nope. My poor fiancé lives in a home where it's not just about keeping it clean but doing it the right way while living in fear of my tantrum when a glass is left on the counter. I wish I was exaggerating.

He loves me despite it, and while I know I won't change I at least, thanks to my friends, know the severity of my compulsion and can work toward learning to let it go. At it's dirtiest my home is cleaner than 99% of the population and I need to remember that. As well as the fact that it's not necessary to diagram the most efficient route around the house in order to put things away, or to strategically bag the groceries according to what goes where in the kitchen.

I will not, however, ever stop trying to beat my best time out of the airport in order to get home to my clean, organized house.

I am a maniac.

Trial Run

2011-08-05T21:50:00.000-04:00

Our newest niece arrived today with ten toes, ten fingers, a button nose, and the same birthday as her Daddy. She's so beautiful, I cried when I held her. She rocks, and despite having seen several little ones I love come into the world at this point, this miracle never gets old.

But this isn't about the little bundle of love, this about the process that got us here.

Like clockwork. We got into town last night and by 4:30 today we had a baby. My sister is an expert baby deliverer -- probably 10 pushes COMBINED with her first and second pregnancy. This one came so fast the nurse delivered her. And when I got there, I swear my sister could have hopped out of bed and gone for a margarita. Seriously. And did I mention that were it not for her belly she wouldn't have even looked with child? I pray this is genetic.

While my sister was busy perfecting pregnancy, I kept the 19-month old Big Sister princess today, and got a real taste of parenthood with a full time job and two dogs. Holy hell it's hard. Naturally my phone was blowing up on the day off that I am solely responsible for the well being of a precious child, and my fiance headed off for a reunion leaving me to be single Aunt CeeCee.

But that wasn't even the hardest part -- I worked through that, she helped me respond to email. Monday should be fun. After we got home, with my hands full of grocery bags and baby, my dog escaped and went bat shit crazy around the neighborhood. Every one of my sister's neighbors just happened to be outside with their kids, watching me utterly fail. Mortified did not even begin to describe it.

And then not so much. After a stimulating episode of "Mouse" (Mickey Mouse Club for those of you who don't speak toddler) and a sippy cup of milk, we settled into bed. She reached her little arms and hugged me, as if to say "good job Aunt CeeCee". I kissed her pretty little head and she smiled at me, then squeezed her little eyes shut tight. Three minutes later, after singing goodnight to "MiMi and Dadda" she was asleep. I swear I'm not making this up.

I could have melted right there standing outside her door with the monitor in my hand. This is what they mean when they say it's all worth it. I would have to agree whole-heartedly, and I can't wait to do it again tomorrow (with no work and my fiance back).

Rag Doll

2011-08-03T18:26:00.000-04:00

I feel like the rag doll that has been plucked out of the toy box, sucked on by the child, dropped on the floor, picked up by the dog, taken outside and peed on, buried in the garden, dug up by Mom, only to be handed back to slobbering child.

I'm flattered at being the favorite toy, but it's time to let Buzz Lightyear see a little action. Everybody seems to need a piece of me, but I am certain that if baby would just keep his mouth shut, the dog would get the right chew toy, and Mom would offer more options to the child I wouldn't be in such high demand.

Eventually my arms are going to fall off, and that won't be pretty.

My 15 Minutes

2011-07-26T14:21:00.000-04:00

I have committed the cardinal sin of blogging. That is, not blogging. And I really don't have an excuse except for time. Time of which I have little and am extremely selfish with these days.

After I've created my gazillionth excel spreadsheet, responded to the last of too many to count pointless and misspelled emails -- whether they all be for work or the wedding -- the very last thing I want to do is concentrate, and certainly not with a computer in my lap.

I'd much rather yell at that silly Bachelorette Ashley with her totally boring boyfriends, all the while hoping and praying that "hope my hair looks alright" Bentley shows up for one last grossly insulting comment. Let the world hate him, he is my hero. Oh I hope that man is the next Bachelor (and not that desperate tankless water heater salesman from Corona Del Mar California -- someone put him out of his misery).

So now you know what I've been filling my free time with. That, and vulnerable hot vampires, whiny fairies, a satanic baby, and black tar heroin.

But my head never stops.Observing, categorizing (watching, judging) and then outputting in a reader-friendly format...although silently, and unwritten. Such a waste of God-given talent.

Some people say I've gone soft because I'm happy. And thus, no inspiration. Maybe a little, but I assure you I still have plenty of opinions and my happiness has not reduced the number of stupid people in the world. If only.

Nope. I'm just busy. Busy with life, love, work, politics, illness, issues, and chewing off my foot because I'm friggin' hungry. All the time.

But not today. Today my prose overfloweth. And while it might not be saying much, the point is I came, screwed with trying to correct the re-direct of my url for 10 minutes, and wrote.

And I feel better. No it's not the heroin. It's taking back time for me, which I should learn to do more often.

Piece of Cake

2011-05-28T10:39:00.000-04:00

Let's be real, I've been waiting a long time to marry my man. When I got engaged, I knew I wasn't going to wait much longer, and I had my sights set on October. Being seven months out, the collective response from most women in my life was shock, as in how is she planning to pull this off. Undeterred, it was going to happen.

Truth be told, it had more to do with the grand scheme of things. I don't age backwards. And I want a baby before I'm 36. Selfishly sometime in October 2012 so I can be on maternity leave Q4 and home safe when the world ends.

But when deciding to marry in one of the most popular wedding destinations in the South with only seven months to go, getting what you want is a long shot.

Then again, that's a rare scenario. I (eventually) always get what I want. No one ever plans to fail, they only fail to plan.

Admittedly, I was a little slow getting started. How hard could this be? One visit from the Wedding Nazi, as I fondly and with incredible appreciation refer to my sister these days, set me straight and armed me with a 51-point task list. She should be doing this for a living. Overwhelmed, yes. But we all know what happens when I have a list.

Step one: find a venue. Our first choice? Booked through March 2012. And then an unhappy bride-to-be decided he wasn't the one, and a cancellation for October 1, 2011 occurred the day we visited the property to consider a Friday or Sunday wedding. And voila, we have a wedding date.

Which set the tone for every other check box on my list. The gorgeous square adjacent to the hotel will host our ceremony. We got the florist, photographer, DJ, and officiant of choice. I hired the most fabulous week of wedding planner, and the best piece of mind I've ever purchased. Invitations were a snap to find online. The dress was selected over the course of a single Saturday, and even my bridesmaids are now clothed.

Thus, I am successful in planning the iconic Savannah wedding. As well as maintaining my sanity. No bridezilla here.

Piece of cake. Which is about the last thing I need at this point.

Homeless

2011-05-23T17:29:00.000-04:00

A few nights ago I let the dog out before bed, and there it was: semen trees. You know what I'm talking about. Disgusting. But I promise this isn't about trees and what they might smell like.It's the fact that I went to bed in March and woke up in late May with 90 degree temperatures, the premier of the bachelorette and no logical explanation for how I got here.

There is little question this has been the busiest year of my life. Make no mistake, also one of the best, but right about now I'm considering outsourcing sleep. This, after coming back to work following my first-ever staycation, with not having to get up last Monday morning being the highlight. Seriously. And today I'm back in get shit done mode, which now includes re-embracing my hobbies and things that make me smile (that aren't wedding related). Like my blog.

However.

Today, I found out my domain expired. Only after I was served several 503 errors and the onset of sheer panic that I had lost three years worth of pointless musings. Seems they sent me several notifications that simply got lost in the noise of florists, clients, photogs, wedding reminders, friends, family and spam. And it appears someone has purchased it. Damn you, Chaz Bono.

There is a slight chance it's still in a holding pattern waiting for me to renew, but seeing as it's been more than 60 days (how the hell was this lost on me for 60 days?) I'm pretty sure someone has snatched it up. No pun intended.

So I'm homeless. And shamelessly using the free blogger url until I can figure out my next move.

No Words

2011-03-17T19:33:00.000-04:00

I've written this post a million times. While falling asleep in bed, on a plane, staring out my office window, sitting in traffic...you get the idea. It was a little different every time but always naturally full of wit, my brand of sarcasm and of course charm. And yet now that it's time to actually post on this topic, my god-given ability to form sentences escapes me.

I'm marrying the love of my life. And I'm speechless.

Case in point, it's taken me almost a week to develop this post. My first attempt was everything you'd expect...from a drunken, squealing 22 year-old-bride . The second, a highly emotional entirely too personal tribute to my relationship. Neither would do justice, and now we're here which is more about my frustration with finding appropriate adjectives than the fact I'm getting married. Hello?!

How do people do this every day as if it's ordinary? I feel anything but! I am invincible, complete, elated, and just one personality shy of crazy. I'm incredibly blessed to have found my best friend, and myself through him. And he's going to marry me. Yes, marry me. There will always be someone who wants to have dinner with me, I don't have to worry about cutting the vines on the house by myself, and in my bed will be a warm and comforting presence with which I will fight with for blankets.

Forever.

And I assure you, this will be forever because there is no other way. And people wonder why it took us so long to get here. Duh.

I simply cannot wait to marry this man. There isn't a single thing I fear. Except maybe the wedding itself, because really? I just want to be married. Like yesterday.

This year has been incredible. And it's only March. I had patience in my pursuit of the trifecta and holy shit it happened. Perhaps this is what has killed my mojo and created this writer's block -- I have nothing to bitch about (except Delta). I want for nothing, love for everything, and don't for a single minute take anything, especially those little things, for granted. There is most certainly something to be said for fate, faith and the power of positive thought.

And so this journey begins.Yippee!

Delta

2011-03-09T20:28:00.000-05:00

Let's forget the "Dear" this time. And the fact that because I've spent so much time flying your friendly skies I have nothing else to talk about but your shortcomings. I'm like the sorry ex-girlfriend that won't shut up about the love she lost.

And love I have lost for you, my friend.

I forgave and I forgot when you left me stranded in Bentonville, Arkansas during skunk mating season, complete with lots 'o chicken dander, thanks to your broken door. And I assure you, it was extremely painful staring at that plane kissing the jetway knowing it wouldn't fly. But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Shit happens.

Yes, it sure does. You took advantage of my loyalty and held me up in San Antonio. I know, weather. Atlanta in the spring time is a bitch. It's not the weather I blame you for. It's telling me I'm on the earlier flight which was also delayed, and then ripping it from my bosom as if we never loved. Have you no decency?

I do appreciate you getting me safely from point A to B, but lets try and do it when you say you will - expectations, my friend, expectations.

I know, you're testing my boundaries, establishing pecking order. But let's not forget. I pay YOU. And I have a choice. We have three more weeks together, let's make the best of it.

In good faith,

The REALLY Reluctant Business Traveler

P.S? You better read my freaking' letter this time.

Dear Delta

2011-02-17T12:22:00.000-05:00

You and me friend, we have a love-hate relationship. I heart you when you take me to warm places filled with frozen cocktails and fun, but despise you at 6:30am when you're taking me to Arkansas, DC and other places of no fancy. But I suppose we are going to have to make it work, because you and me? We're gonna be seeing a lot of each other.

You probably already know this, as you count up the dollars coming your way the next few months. By the way, thanks for the rate hike, my budget appreciates it. I know, it's oil prices, maybe you should consider corn.

If this is going to work, let's get a few things straight.

First, I will be a Gold Medallion this year, and even though you now have Diamond and Platinum, I still spend more time with you than I do my godchildren, so I expect a few bones in the form of upgrades. Free cocktails will work too (on the return only).

Second, be on time. I have clients to see -- this is my livelihood -- and many of them are meeting me for the first time. They have to like me. On the flip side, I'm going to try and maintain some sort of normal life outside of work, so get me home when the schedule says you will. Please.

Third, you and I both know those electronic devices in Airplane Mode do not affect any radar systems (nor does my seat in the limited recline position). Let's get over this, and let me read my iPad during take off. I will be a much happier customer. An elated customer if I get in a much needed nap when you let me put my seat back

Fourth, I do like how the flight attendants are now addressing passengers before 10,000 feet. It indicates everything is normal and takes some of the "this is the time we're going down if we are going down" fear out of take off. Keep that up, as well as your tonal indicators. You rocked my world when you changed from 4 tones to 2 tones on landing. Let's be consistent.

Fifth, stop charging those outrageous change fees. Shit happens. I'll still be flying the friendly skies with you, just not when I first told you I would. Really, it's a little ridiculous. Oh, and when I use my hard earned miles, don't charge me $150 to do so. That just makes me angry.

I would very much appreciate your cooperation. A relationship is a two-way street filled with compromise. And let's not forget Southwest is coming to town. I certainly won't.

All my love,

The Reluctant Business Traveler

Dancing with Myself

2011-01-28T17:32:00.000-05:00

When I was little, I would lock myself in my room with my purple boom box and dance in front of my mirror for hours. Complete with wardrobe change. I was awesome. When I was teeny tiny, I had a talent for entertaining our guests from the heights of our brick fireplace with renditions of Captain and Tennille's Do That to Me One More Time. It never occurred to me that turkey baster wasn't really a microphone.

These are some of my happiest childhood memories...dancing with myself. Even as a younger adult, I occasionally danced around my house and called it exercise. Somewhere along the way I became embarrassed, despite no one watching. Age, it's a buzz kill.

Or maybe not. If NKOTB can make a comeback, anything's possible.

Last weekend, while painting, I caught myself dancing -- and I mean full on pirouettes -- from the foyer to the kitchen. The hardwood floors in my new home make sliding Risky Business-style quite simple for even the most rhythmically challenged.

It started with painting (heaven help the walls). Then it progressed to dancing with the Swiffer while cleaning on Sunday. I even tried a new little twist and skip move while cooking dinner the other night. And then there's three minutes ago. Walking down my staircase (ok, standing there like it's a stage) with my iPhone as a microphone belting out Whitney Houston's Greatest Love of All...having just come off a conference call with a client.

It feels good. Like, really good. Dancing with myself. Although these days, Scott and Gizmo have handfuls of free fun tickets, and so do my neighbors who can see through my wide open wall-to-wall windows. They must think I'm insane.But I have no shame. No matter what they take from me, they can't take away my dignity.

So now I can stop worrying about what to put in that space between the kitchen and the living room. It's been making me nuts since we moved in. But now I know.

It doesn't need anything but a disco ball.

DVR'd

2011-01-27T21:18:00.000-05:00

Me and Scott, we're movie people. We never really watched a lot of TV. A little Anthony Bourdain, The Bachelor (ok, all me), and Modern Family, but that was about it.

And then we moved and got AT&T U-verse. With DVR. And every channel under the sun.

We are the last people on the planet to have DVR, and it's a whole new world to which we just gained admittance. We get it now. We record everything -- from Tosh.0 to The Middle, to movies like Cruel Intentions, Chinatown and anything else that suits our fancy. Thank you AT&T. For making my job enjoyable (a good thing) but killing my social life (a bad thing).

Did you know you can REWIND LIVE TV? I mean, holy shit, how'd they do that!

Top that off with two new HDTVs -- for the people that have been watching TV on our average 32-inch Sony for years -- and a fully wired surround sound house and you can rest assured we're never leaving again.

Is TV going to ruin my life? Or will the novelty wear off? Should I just make it stop now? Or is this my God-given American right? I'm so conflicted. Be entertained or search for richer experiences?

Iron Chef is on in ten-minutes...and my (as of recently) fat ass is quite comfortable on this couch.

Case closed. At least for the night.

Let's be Friends

2011-01-22T11:37:00.000-05:00

So you see, we have been waiting on our washer and dryer for a month. I went all crazy and got the LG steam washer and dryer because damn it I can and nothing is more important to me than clean. Hot, steamy, clean. That, and I've been using a washer and dryer from 1969 for the past year. I'm not exaggerating. Really. Modern appliances are a novelty for me.

I spent more on these than we did our TVs. Both of them. Together.

These are apparently quite the popular model. They have been back-ordered twice, and naturally the day they were going to deliver it neither of us could be home.

Well, a girl needs clean underwear. Fortunately, my beloved is not above hitting up the local laundromat to clean our skivvies. Nor, is he above giving his phone number to the jesus-freak schizophrenics that hang out there for fun. As I learned a few minutes ago when his phone rang and it was "Ed".

I am again, not kidding. Seems he and Ed have similar views on the cyclical nature of our society. However, Ed, is delusional.

While I sit here writing, Scott is getting a lesson on the religious happenings of 607 AD.

It's a good thing our delivery is scheduled for Tuesday.

All Ends Well

2011-01-20T21:42:00.000-05:00

Quibbles, schmibles and numbsticks. I have no idea what that means.

WHIRRLLLWIND couple of weeks. More on that later, but let's talk about today.

Today, one of my fantasies came true. No, I didn't get married or molested by Ryan Reynolds, but I did get rear-ended. In my car, that is. The fantasy becoming reality is what I said to the Dunwoody housewife driving the Lexus that hit me..."WHAT the FUCK were you doing".

The answer is checking her look in the mirror.

Me? I have a habit of incessantly checking my rear-view mirror versus my look. This is a result of my father's story of the time he happened to notice an 18-wheeler barreling down the road behind him while stopped at a red light. My father calmly pulled in front of the left turn lane (i.e. middle of the road) and 5 seconds later the truck came plowing through the red light. Seems his brakes failed. And with that fateful rear-view mirror check, I am not a fatherless child.

So I do a lot of checking, and frequently run the scenario of what I would say if in fact someone hit me. Rehearsal paid off.

Today I checked that rear-view mirror, and saw this woman looking everywhere but at the road. I unfortunately did not have the luxury of a left-hand turn lane and watched as she hit me...in Scott's car. Lucky for me, it features a trailer hitch that went right through her bumper, protecting mine from damage. I did however get a headache out of the deal. Bitch.

This is not the way one wants to start the day. Fortunately, my bad luck was maxed out by 9am and the rest of the day turned out not so bad. Especially upon discovering the new Mexican restaurant within walking distance of the house.

Tequila solves all of life's problems....with a grain a salt and a wedge of lime.

While We Can

2011-01-05T19:34:00.000-05:00

Coming off a week's vacation over the holiday, it may seem irrational to take another two days off the first week back. But that's exactly what I did. Yep, Thursday and Friday are me days. Being the work-a-holic I am it's rather difficult to do, so I've spent the past week justifying it to myself. And now you.

It's the Type A personality in me that provoked it. While we had last week to move into our home, I didn't really have the opportunity to get us "settled"...so that's what I'm doing tomorrow and Friday. I also figure for every weekend and 16 hour day I worked November 12th through December 23th (nope, not bitter at all) I might deserve 16 additional hours to myself.

And why not? There's no reason to feel guilty. I've done what I need to for the week, I have more vacation than I ever use, and the recruitment advertising world will not come to a standstill without me.

Well, maybe, but they'll get over it come Monday. And I will be much more equipped to deal with it once our home is in order, and the bare walls no longer hanging over my head.

Home Sweet Home Sick

2010-12-28T12:59:00.000-05:00

I spent the holidays sick this year. First time for everything, and I'm proud to say I powered through it with minimal damage. Even managed a glass or two of wine because you can't not drink on Christmas.

However, given the upcoming move tomorrow, the timing could not have been more poor. I have been telling myself to suck it up and count my blessings, but it's really hard to do when wiping snot off the floor that has fallen from my nose as I mop 3200 square feet of pine flooring while sweating like a gorilla in heat.

In two days, I have cleaned this place top to bottom. And the first thought that crossed my mind when done a few minutes ago was holy shit it took two days to clean this place. Followed by where am I going to lay down, seeing as my furniture is in a box outside. What have I gotten us into?

Survey says: the joys of home ownership.

As I sit in a folding camping chair, waiting for Scott to return with the next load, I'm exhausted and elated. Those (whatever nine times twelve is) window panes are gleaming, and my kitchen is cooking ready. I've worked my ass off for this privilege, both at the office and at the house, and I am ready to enjoy it.

Just as soon as the mucus level in my head no longer causes vertigo as I go up and down the spiral staircase.

Townie

2010-12-19T12:29:00.000-05:00

Last night, we went to grab a bite with a friend at the local sports bar, the CooCoo's Nest. The idea was to grab dinner, come home, maybe watch a movie with a bottle of wine. So I threw on a fleece, grabbed my sneaks, and off we went.

Seems this place becomes Club Coo Coo on Saturday nights. Literally. The place to be in these parts. There was no way we could leave...you can't pay for better entertainment.

You see, it's a different breed in these parts. I'm not talking about the people who moved to South Forsyth for the schools and large pretty houses. I'm talking about the offspring of the people who lived here before the retail mecca on exit 14 existed, and own significantly more land than they do square footage. Which in most cases is on wheels.

The women. You have kittens and cougars, and not much in between. Dressed in clothes that were cool in Atlanta two seasons ago and two sizes smaller than necessary. All the right elements, just not the right mix. But they are oblivious, and they are h-o-t. Just ask 'em. Or watch them. Pole dancing is taught in elementary school up here, but they failed to mention rhythm is necessary to make it work.

Admittedly, I'm in awe of their bold confidence and lack of insecurity. Maybe that's what inspired me to do what I did next.

I was with two men, one my own. It's man's nature to oggle when something is writhing, even if it looks like two pigs fucking under a blanket. I wasn't irritated, merely entertained. But I'm competitive by nature, so I felt compelled to bust out a condensed version of the Pink Pony hair-whipping hip-slinging routine to Pour Some Sugar on Me -- complete with a split -- on my way back from the bathroom. Yep. I did. Anywhere else, this move would have made me a complete ass (and thus never attempted). Here, my little display was met with "do that again!".

For the record, no pain today. I can still back that ass up and get low with the best of them.

The high point of my night (I know, right? That last part wasn't good enough?) occurred in the ladies room. "You're a townie, aren't you?" she said. Wait, let me rephrase that: "Yer a townie arentcha?"

A townie. Never mind that this is a term commonly used in university towns to refer to residents not affiliated with the university. In this case, she meant someone from Atlanta. What gave me away? My lack of accent? Use of words with the correct number of syllables?

Nope. It was my fleece and sneakers.

"You weekenders come up here all casual in your flip-flops and keds while we get all dressed up."

I could have debated the definition of "dressed up" with her all night, but given that I found this distinction of being a townie to be a huge compliment, I peed and went on my way. For the record (that's two) I was not wearing keds.

There was one woman who was particularly relentless about pursuing the guys I was with, a woman who smelled like an "odd waffle" as described by one of these guys. They walked off together (read: running away), and she was still standing at my table rambling aimlessly.

It's then I decided to shut this down. I told her they were gay, but not very open about it given where we lived. "Those two guys have sex?" she said, in horrified disbelief. Yep, they do, I confirmed. She was madder than hell and stomped off screaming "I'm done, I'm done".

Well thank god for small miracles.

We decided to leave, now the heathens of the bar, because it could only go downhill from here for two gay lovers and their townie fag hag. But not before this same woman hollered "yeeerrrr gay!!!" across the parking lot as we walked to our car. Apparently not a popular sexual preference in these parts. Note to self and all my gay friends.

I suppose it's a good thing we're moving next week. But I could not have planned a more apropos way to say goodbye to our year as societal cast-offs.

In the city, I will wear my Townie distinction with Pride.

(aaannnnddd....she's back. Shazaam.)

Amazing Feats

2010-12-07T22:29:00.000-05:00

I did it. I learned how to add more hours to the day. In fact, I just invented the 27-hour day. You see, you start on the East Coast -- anywhere, say NYC or ATL -- with the objective of getting to the West Coast -- again, anywhere, say LA, SF or even Seattle. Yes, the ATL to Seattle route is probably best...that or Boston to LA.

But don't fly direct. Be sure to stop somewhere in the Central time zone, then go on to Mountain, and end in Pacific. Ensure the plane has wifi, an hour layover between each flight (for phone calls naturally) and voila! You are a super-human get shit done, taking names and checking boxes machine.

Something to aim for...now go get 'em tiger!

P.S. Whatever you do, do NOT forget the Xanax.

Thanks For Everything

2010-11-25T11:30:00.000-05:00

Today we celebrate Thanksgiving... a day when most Americans will eat turkey, drink copious amounts of alcohol, watch football and parades, and hopefully at some point stop to reflect on the things we have to be thankful for in this world. It's what I'll be doing today.

The thing is, I do this every day in some small way. And we all should, as it leads to a richer existence. I've learned to be happy, not simply content, with what I do and don't have. It's a lesson learned and a perspective gained that I am so thankful for above all else.

Are there things I want? Sure. Are there people or relationships I would like to be different? Certainly. But there is something to be said for accepting the things I cannot change and taking control of the things I can. No, I didn't learn this in AA, but should I need it someday I will at least be ahead of the game.

I do believe the key to happiness is acceptance and appreciation. What am I talking about? Well in the spirit of the holidays, let's make a list. Beyond the obvious but most important things like family, friends and food on the table, there's a whole world out there:

my puppy cuddling me as I sleep
the first snow of the season (that I'm watching fall right now)
tv nights with good company
a pot of gumbo, chili or homemade soup
books, and those who write them
the ability to work
a cup of pumpkin spice coffee
memories
the invention of the flat iron
Purple Rain
fresh, clean laundry
babies, and everything about them
waking up each morning healthy
Bucks County, PA, Lake Lanier, Bermuda, and countless other beautiful places
the ability to love

And while my short list is not all inclusive, it demonstrates what we should be thankful for.

Everything.

Patience

2010-11-13T18:02:00.000-05:00

I admit, patience is not one of my virtues. It's hereditary. Although in recent years I have dealt with situations in a way that has me beginning to think it may become my greatest.

This, from a person who plans the most efficient route out of the airport and approaches it as a time-saving game I must win -- 1 hour, 16 minutes from touch down to driveway last Thursday. New record.

This, from a person who is already living in the house I have not yet purchased and putting the baby down for night-night in her crib.

In my imagination of course, which is tired of waiting for my life to catch up.

Starting with my relationship. Seven years, and I'm still identifying myself as a "Ms." In hindsight, my patience was a blessing. Had we married two or three years into our relationship we would likely be divorced or unhappily joined in matrimony feeling trapped in a loveless existence. Because we didn't know ourselves. Nor how to communicate. Today, we rule the kingdom of couple-dom filled with respect, appreciation, compromise and understanding of one another. I'm the happiest I have ever been and feel well equipped to deal with life and all the good and bad it can throw at me. Which means I'm ready for marriage, with not a second thought about it, and it's not too far off.

Now my job. Every day my patience is tested, but who's isn't right? I'm talking about waiting for the right opportunity. There was one job left for me to do in my current company -- I'd been there done everything else and no other position really appealed to me nor challenged me. One job I could take that would allow me to do what I'm best at, live in Atlanta, and still maintain the business that has been my pride and passion for 11 years. Unfortunately, someone else had that job.

But I was told my time would come. So I sat back and enjoyed what I will forever refer to as the "down time" (relatively speaking) in my career. The time when I learned that it's about the significance of what you do, and not how important you are. When I learned that your team is everything and you are little without them. Today, that new job is now mine. Suppose I had some lessons to learn first.

Finally, we reach the home. The one I patiently searched for over four years. I found it and now I'm waiting. And waiting. Because naturally it's a short sale. My house, the one JP Morgan Chase should let me take off their hands so they can focus on their bigger problems. I've looked at others, and continue to keep my eye on the market, but nothing compares. So I wait. And wait. Oddly, I haven't been overly anxious or frustrated, Scott's got that under control. Maybe it's because I know it too will be mine in due time?

I choose to believe that good things come to those who wait. And I believe I have demonstrated that I can be patient. So bring on the trifecta, I am ready.

And waiting.

Brand Backfire

2010-11-09T19:19:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time there was a rental car company that outdid the rest -- clean, nice cars, well dressed agents, and superior customer service. Somewhere along the way, they became sickly sweet, overly polite, entirely too detailed, badly disguised sales people in monkey suits.

And they annoy the shit out of me.

I'm talking about Enterprise. We'll pick you up...and tell you our life story, ask awkward personal questions, try to slyly upgrade you by showing you your "options" and failing to note what class they fall into while tricking you into buying additional coverage by asking if you want the "basic" coverage (which actually costs you more).

Just give me my car, please.

While I hate the name, I think I'll stick with Budget. Or not go at all. The more I travel, the more I love Atlanta.

Creativity Has Left the Building

2010-10-30T10:44:00.000-04:00

Inspiration visits less frequently when busy. It doesn't like to be put in a box. These past few weeks I've been so focused on getting it done that I seem to have lost my desire for what if and why. There's a lot rolling around in my head, and no one idea can seem to make it's way out.

In all fairness there's a lot going on in my head these days, and with it also being swollen from the ceiling fan accident a few months ago (dumbest. fucking. thing. I. ever. did.) it's hard to make sense of anything other than checks in boxes.

Which I'm really good at doing. Checks in boxes, that is. Take for example, last night. I got home after a full day of making lines through tasks to find my boyfriend down and out and sickly. Well, seeing as our plans to design costumes were shot, I decided to clean the house (all of it), do the laundry (all of it) and prepare a homemade Pumpkin and Roasted Butternut Squash soup. And I did pilates while the floors dried.

Yesterday was probably the most productive day I've ever had. Period.

But my inspiration suffers during these times of GSD -- that's get shit done.

Blogging becomes a time-permitting hobby because I can't seem to come up with witty observations about the 900 million things going on around me. Case in point, I'm writing about not having the inspiration to blog. Creativity? Let's see, I was going to dress us up as an angel and a devil for an opposites Halloween party we're supposed to be going to today. This, coming from the girl who dressed us up as Brittany and Kevin, complete with kids, two years ago. You get my point.

But there may be light at the end of the tunnel. The soup last night and my ability to blog this morning, are both signs that I might be coming back to the person I prefer. The soup being much better than this post -- it was deeeeeeelicious. If it's a fluke, January isn't too far away.

Pumpkin and Roasted Butternut Squash Soup

2 tablespoons butter or olive oil
1 cup chopped onion
2-3 cloves of garlic
2 teaspoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of white pepper
1 can (15 oz) pure pumpkin
3 1/4 - 3 1/2 cups of chicken broth (depending on how thick you like your soup)
1/2 of a large butternut squash
1/2 cup heavy cream
Sprinkle of nutmeg and/or parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Peel and dice the butternut squash into 2 inch cubes -- roast on a baking sheet for 30 minutes
While the squash is roasting, melt the butter in a large saucepan or stock pot
Add the onion, cook for 3-4 minutes
Add the garlic, cook for another 1-2 minutes
Add the brown sugar, salt and pepper and toss to coat, ensuring the sugar dissolves -- cook for 1 minute.
Slowly add the chicken broth
Add the pumpkin, stir until dissolved and bring to a boil
Reduce heat to low, and cook for 15-20 minutes.

When finished roasting, blend the butternut squash in a food processor or blender until mostly smooth (it will be a little stringy and chunky)
Add the squash to the saucepan with other ingredients, cook for another 5 minutes.
Swirl in the cream.

Transfer the contents of the saucepan to a food processor or blender, and blend until smooth and thickened (in batches if necessary). After combining, return contents to saucepan and serve immediately or keep warm, allowing flavors to further combine.

Change of Pace

2010-10-16T10:57:00.000-04:00

I spent the first half of my week exercising my brain and working to revolutionize the staffing world with a fabulous client. I've spent the latter half bruising my knees, making silly faces and giving raspberry's till my lips were numb, chasing my 11-month old niece around.

Both very busy but in very different ways.

It's Saturday, and I got up at 7:45. I don't think I got up this early all week, less flight days. I definitely don't do conference calls before 10am. But I had no problem waking to expend more energy in three hours than I do most days to play with her.

While my trip is short, and bundled with a conference in the city, it's a refreshing break from the adult world to cuddle and be silly with a precious little one. The perfect way to ease stress during this busy time of year.

And even though it meant juggling 100 balls and working after she went to bed last night in order to be here and spend some quality time, it was immediately all worth it when she climbed up on me and put her little head on my shoulder, ready for her morning nap.

She sleeps while I write. And it's all I can do to stop myself from waking her up to see her pretty smile.

Blogger Hiatus

2010-10-10T19:38:00.000-04:00

Busy busy busy week ahead.

Three, count 'em, three days with the client for some hard core strategery. Immediately followed by a morning of doctor's appointments and an afternoon of conference calls. Then hoping a plane again, this time to Philly, for a conference this weekend, precluded by a little family time with my growing-up-way-too-fast-while-I'm-not-there niece.

I may or may not get to blogging, depends on the availability of wifi on my airplanes. And my ability to keep my eyes open.

Thankfully I had a wonderfully relaxing weekend with great friends, and I'm about to cap it off with some Pumpkin Curry soup (recipe courtesy of L. Rutherford) and grilled cheese.

Can't think of a better way to prepare.

See it My Way

2010-10-08T11:35:00.000-04:00

I spend a lot of time convincing people I have their best interest at heart.

When you work for an advertising agency, or any service provider for that matter, you typically take on the role of "vendor" -- such an ugly word -- in new client relationships. This classification infers that you a) charge too much, b) aren't trustworthy, and c) only know what you're talking about when your client says you do.

I've struggled with this from day one. And I've been doing it 13 years. As a service provider, aren't you hired for your expertise? Isn't the goal to partner with the client for the best possible mutual outcome?

I know this. And the clients with whom I have cultivated relationships with over the years know this, too. But when presented with new clients (or even worse, thrown into current clients who hate us where it's my job to save the business) it can be a real challenge to achieve partnership status.

I can't simply walk in there and say, "Look, I work for you. You hired me for expertise. I will exceed your expectations. I am highly ethical, I know what I'm talking about, and I will ensure what you pay me is worth each and every penny. I am your partner, and I will make you successful."

These statements are all true, but it takes years -- yes, years -- for them to see it my way, and thus earn their trust. My most recent changing of the guard took 1 year and 2 months to be exact.

It's a painful process. You have to bite your tongue, be overly diplomatic, offer services at no cost, and find ways to demonstrate your value within the limited scope they will share with you. You unfortunately also have to let them fall on their face when they don't heed your advice despite knowing it's not in their best interest and detrimental to the long-term strategy. For me, this is the worst part of the process. Because I know I can help. But they don't see it my way.

If you're lucky, after being the bigger person and thus the whipping boy for a long period of time the reward is trust and a true partnership. An exciting, professional, strategic, respectful relationship that produces excellent results and makes my job worth it every single day.

If you're not, you become saddled with a nightmare client that taxes your resources and your sanity and a partnership that will never reach potential. Do you keep the business, or do you resign it? I suppose it depends on how much shit you're willing to swallow for a little bit of profit. You could always pray for a miracle, but I am of the opinion of what a colleague (a.k.a. former client of the partnership variety) of mine recently said:

I can lead a horse to water. I can't make him drink, but I can drown the motherf*cker.

Blew Me Away

2010-10-07T11:57:00.000-04:00

I met the neurologist yesterday. Turns out, it's 85% likely that I am suffering from classic (also known as complex) migraines. Which means I experience a myriad of neurological symptoms along with the headache like lost vision, numbness, disorientation, and speech impediment. And there is no cure. Awesome.

I have no family history of migraines. I have never had one previously. I don't have any extremely stressful things happening in my life. So why now?

Because I...am an idiot klutz.

Two months ago, I hit my head on a ceiling fan while attempting to clean a window over a bed. While it was on. High. It whacked me pretty good in the back of the head -- I was stunned, got a little dizzy and nauseaous, but then went on with my day.

Flash forward two months and here we are. Trauma-induced migrainous (it's a word) activity. Apparently these things take time to appear. So now it's on to an MRI -- one that has to be cleared with my insurance company -- to confirm this is in fact the case, and I'm not suffering from arterial tears, herniated discs, or a stroke which is unfortunately still on the table but quickly losing favor.

I will be hiring cleaning people.

Conservation Efforts

2010-10-05T11:26:00.000-04:00

As a female, it's hard to believe this but I am really not a fan of shopping. Except in the case of essentials for things like groceries and household items. Why? Because I suffer from a terrible disease known as buyer's remorse.

Most people experience this emotion when purchasing big ticket items or things they simply don't need. Me? I regret $40 at Target on t-shirts, and then spend hours justifying it. It's truly ridiculous.

About two years ago, it took a turn for just plain crazy when I stopped buying things, period. I've maybe spent $1,000 on clothes -- total -- in two years. I haven't really bought any household items (outside of necessities) because I haven't owned a home. Needless to say, I have a lot of savings.

So last night, a new catalog came to the house and I found a few items I'd really like, and quite honestly at this point probably need. The idea of losing another 10 pounds to fit into old clothes (and thus a new wardrobe) is the current Santa Clause in my life. I want to believe.

And so I struggle with should I or shouldn't I. I know it's ridiculous. So too is thinking the mortgage underwriter is going to think me irresponsible for buying $500 in clothing when I'm about to dump a truck full of dollars into a house.

That's the rub. I have ZERO concern about buying this house. The largest purchase I will have made in my life thus far. It's the things that go in it. Like, we've lived with one TV for two years, do we really need three just because we have the space?

Other than a sense of security I don't know where this desire to conserve come from. I suppose security might be enough. I've also learned that in not buying I truly don't need certain things, once a little time passes.

Overall I'm pleased I don't have the spending gene.

I just don't want to go so far that I end up wearing holey sweaters and smelling like cats in an effort to save money (when I don't have to).

The View from the Top

2010-10-04T14:33:00.000-04:00

I had the pleasure of spending the weekend in the North GA Mountains in a cabin rather appropriately named Seclusion. Which was exactly what I was looking for in this last minute weekend escape. One hour and three thousand worlds away.

We stopped at Food Lion (that's a grocery store) on the way in to pick up our essentials. There was a real live "it" in a rusted out pick-up in the parking lot. Full grown adult, sex still unknown. But definitely inbred. It was so cliche I almost didn't believe it. My first official inbred sighting. Seems there is some truth to that Deliverance movie.

I felt much better after we left town -- a town which makes Cumming feel like a booming metropolis full of highly cultured people -- and headed to our cabin. Steep, unpaved, one-lane mountain roads that wound all the up to the very top and end where our cabin sat...beautiful, new and perfect.

Just me, Scott and Gizmo. No internet access, very little phone access and not much TV either. We sat on the screen porch, talked, cooked, ate, napped, hot tubbed, and played games. In other words, we went BTWAT -- Before There Was Accessible Technology. And it was awesome. I truly relaxed. I never realized how much "connectivity" stresses me out.

There was the potential for bear sightings and whacked out meth-head serial killers that had me a tad frightened. We were very much alone in the woods. If I screamed, someone might have heard me, but confronted with either of the aforementioned fears I'd most definitely lose that battle for life. Fortunately, neither made themselves known to us. Must have been our ferocious French Bulldog.

We explored the town of Blue Ridge -- a town I do recommend -- and gave Ellijay another shot, this time in the downtown historic area. Happy to report we did not encounter any more its. But Blue Ridge wins, more there, the shops are super cute and although we didn't eat there seemed to be quite a few eateries acceptable for foodies.

We attempted a festival in Cherry Log, but it was just a bunch of locals selling crap out of the back of their trucks. Sort of like a mobile yard sale.

More than anything, we just wanted to hang at the cabin, enjoy the mountain air and enjoy the silence.

On the way home we took a more scenic route -- highway 60 through the Chattahoochee National Forest. This was probably the highlight of my weekend. A meandering drive just going where the day takes you with several stops along the way. A short hike at the top of a peak, a festival (a real one this time) in Suches, panoramic views from Woody Gap and the Appalachian Trail.

We of course ended up back at our own little piece of paradise on the lake. And I decided to keep the BTWAT experience going. I had the best Sunday night sleep I have had in years.

There's probably a lesson in there somewhere. But I'm just going to enjoy it for what is was instead.

Calm Before The Storm

2010-09-27T15:48:00.000-04:00

You know that saying when it rains it pours? In my world, it's a little more dramatic. Like, when it rains it pours, then hails, floods, blows and shakes the earth. Everything happens at once, and one day you realize you're no longer in Kansas.

Also known as my fourth quarter, to which the word "busy" is forever defined in comparison.

I'm taking the time this week to enjoy the little things. Like dinner before 9pm, Saturday's and Sunday's, sleep, and a clear head. Come Friday, they will all be distant memories until January.

Because this season is inevitable, I invested a lot of time designing process and procedure intended to help manage this annual influx of work more effectively. I'm feeling more "resourced" than ever before, but the bottom line is this: all the process in the world will not decrease the number of things to do.

In many ways I thrive off of it. I'd rather be busy than bored, and for the most part I'm planning, arguing and organizing which are more like hobbies than tasks for me. It just would have been nice if summer was the quiet lull it usual is, but certain work-affirming projects changed that this year.

As it turns out -- and why would we have it any other way I've only been house hunting for a year -- probably going to be moving sometime before December too. Things are progressing as they should and once we have bank approval on the short sale we'll have 30 days to close. There is of course also that little issue of diagnosing my would-have-been stroke. That will take a few doctor's visits, but hopefully no more trips to the emergency room. Tack on a conference speaking event, a wedding and the holidays and you could say the next three months are pretty much down for the count.

Here's hoping up I wake up in January not dead, in a new house, with a closed quarter, and maybe a husband. I mean, why not, right?

Life's Like That

2010-09-25T11:59:00.000-04:00

Change and the unexpected are constant.

We as humans aren't comfortable with change, but it's a fact of life and more often than not we end up in a better place because of it. Even when it's painful. It's life's way of correcting. At times it's in your control, at other times it's the decision of the unmerciful or gracious Universe. Everything happens for a reason.

I've had my share of painful change, but it seems the karma police have finally recognized I did my time. Lately, it's been change of the good kind. Change within my self, change in my home ownership status (almost), and coming soon, change in other areas of life. Change I have intentionally, consciously or not, instigated. If it is to be it's up to me.

It's the unexpected that has me troubled this week. It happens just about every day. It came in the form of illness on Tuesday that tested my strength in ways I haven't been challenged before. So I will spend the next few weeks visiting doctors to properly diagnose and treat me. Here's hoping this is all a formality to ensure 100% health. All this, on top of buying a house, my busy fourth quarter, during my favorite season and while I'm feeling great about life in general. Why now?

Because life's like that.

Just Another Day. In the Land of WTF.

2010-09-21T21:51:00.000-04:00

Interesting day around these parts. Back-to-back conference calls and all kinds of business to conduct. Didn't count on a two hour episode of blurred vision, numbness in my right arm and lips, dizziness and loss of the English language, and am left to wonder how much damage my demented state may have caused that I don't remember. Because naturally I powered through my day, only to be rewarded with a relaxing evening in an adjustable bed, drowsy and writing. Oh, and an IV in my arm. At the Northside Forsyth hospital.

Because I was still feeling weak I decided to hit up Urgent Care on my way home just to make sure. I mean, if I'm at a loss for language something might actually be wrong. Nevermind the rest of it. They kindly sent me here, and while everyone is really nice, I feel fine now thanks, and would like to go home. Not to mention the full moon...this place is more happening than Vegas.

But I can't. I'm awaiting the CAT-scan and bloodwork results. But damn did they triage me fast. Why? Oh, you know, to rule out a stroke. Or a complex migraine. I am personally rooting for option two, and think it's more likely in a 33 year old woman who might actually be dying from stress.

Why so blasé? Because what the hell else is there to do? Don't worry til' I got something to
worry about, right?

Right.

I will admit there's a little part of me that is actually somewhat scared right now. They are all acting really funny. Not telling me shit. And because they could in fact walk in here and tell me my life is changed forever.

But I don't think so. I got a house to buy, babies to have and a dog to walk. Oh, and a job
to get back to.

Chalking this up to reasons we have health insurance. Lord knows I'm getting my money's worth tonight.

A Message to the Entitled

2010-09-16T23:32:00.000-04:00

I stole this. Found it on (where else) Facebook, but tend to agree with it and hate that sometimes life has to be managed around it. It's supposedly from a Bill Gates speech, sometime earlier this decade it appears, but it's still relevant. Words we jaded GenX'ers live by. At least we aren't entitled.

Rule 1: Life is not fair - get used to it!

Rule 2: The world doesn't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Rule 3: You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both.

Rule 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.

Rule 5: Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping: they called it opportunity.

Rule 6: If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent's generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF. Do that on your own time.

Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.

Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one.

Sharpen Thy Pencil

2010-09-12T18:29:00.000-04:00

What a weekend. I am still trying to catch my breath and understand exactly what has just transpired other than lots of sobbing and shock. It's a truly odd sensation to be so emotional yet so detached in a single moment.

Provided the bank also thinks this is a good idea, we will have our short sale home. We even got to keep the window treatments, which you will soon understand was critical to the point this deal could have been lost over curtains. Yes, curtains. But no (additional) pictures til it's mine.

Or maybe it's best to stay in this state as we aren't out of the woods yet. I certainly don't want to be using applications on the iPad like Living Room to plan my layouts, nor make lists of the new things I will need. Or tell Gizmo about the doggy door. Because that would be premature. Right.

Truth is, I could be waiting for days, weeks, or months for the bank to approve, but for some reason I'm pretty optimistic on this point. It's the appraisal that has me worried given the state of the market. This home has a lot of intrinsic value that needs to be considered. If we could just go with Zillow I'd be thrilled. Actually, thrilled is not enough of a word -- let's try fantastically exuberantly elated -- because it would mean I robbed the bank.

In the meantime, I've been getting my proverbial ducks in a row, a saying I (interestingly enough) first learned when my parents were buying one of my childhood homes. Lots of spreadsheets and numbers, a true challenge for one who is in advertising not architecture due to lack of math skills. It is quite shocking to go from having one measly car payment a month to a mortgage and all that comes with it. Makes me want to vomit, actually. Everybody does it, that's what I keep telling myself.

Then I hear my mother saying, "if everybody jumped off a bridge would you too?"

But I want it. I mean, it's designed by the same architect that did The Mansion in Savannah, a place I have envisioned my future wedding occurring. That's no coincidence.

I know most of you have been through this, maybe a few times, so I am more than open to any advice, tips, pointers, or pills that will help me on this journey.

And your prayers to the home Gods are still very welcome.

Anticipation

2010-09-11T12:28:00.000-04:00

I did not know the meaning of the word until now.

This house buying process is for the birds. Tons of paperwork, competitive offers on top of a short sale (thankfully approved), high anxiety...and I may not even get it. We are putting our best foot forward, but we're at the top of our price range, the other buyers may not be. We shall see. At least we're well qualified. If only we were buying with cash.

The current bright spot is that I have taken that step in accepting a mortgage payment, and as one who hates any kind of debt, that was huge in itself. I have an excellent mortgage broker, who made it much easier for me (e.g. rock star numbers). I heart him.

I'm trying my best not to be emotional about it. Keeping my spirits up and staying optimistic (e.g. I think these chairs would be great here, and we should paint the bedroom blue), knowing that if it's meant to be, it will. And if not...well, then I am fully prepared for next time and know exactly where I'm comfortable.

Pray to the Home Gods for me please. Pray hard.

Well then.

2010-09-10T11:59:00.000-04:00

Pressure cooker situation with previously mentioned home. Imagine that, competitive situation, in this craptastic market. This would only happen to me.

Which means we have to make an offer today if we want it. So, naturally we're going to look at it again to make the decision. I think I love it - but not those spiral steps for my future child. And is it just too damn nice for us? I mean, we are living in a house in the woods right now. Not to mention I was looking for a 10-year home, not a 5-7 year home. But otherwise it's pretty perfect.

No one can predict the future, I guess. Except maybe my horoscope:

Today is great for signing contracts or finalizing deals. Your financial picture is looking rosier, so going out and spending some money wouldn't be the worst idea. On the personal front, romance beckons. Just be careful not to do anything irresponsible.

Like I said, well, then.

Scott is little scared right now that decisions may be made based on my horoscope.

The One

2010-09-08T14:47:00.000-04:00

I think I may have found it. Yes, it. Not him or her. I already found him, just waiting for him to open his eyes.

The "it" is my house. The one I intend to buy.

This is of course a totally emotional response, having just seen it this morning. But as of 10am everything else is dog shit in comparison. Even the really nice new homes. Yes. Even those.

Throughout this process I've learned a few things. First, I am not at the 2.5 kids + dog and family wagon stage of my life, as much as I would like to be. And buying a home in one such neighborhood won't make it so (even with the dog and family wagon already acquired). Second, I don't actually LIKE the homes in the aforementioned neighborhoods. Zero character, which sadly, can also represent the people if you find the wrong neighborhood. Finally, location really does matter, as four miles can be an eternity.

So what did I find? Naturally, something right out of Bucks County magazine, the place where I grew up.

A word to parents. Do not spoil your children by raising them in uncommonly beautiful areas where restored 1800's farmhouses, in-town re-designed lofts and well-kept regal Victorians and quaint traditionals are the norm. It will seriously kill their joy in house hunting everywhere else in America, as I have learned.

Back to the house. It's a townhouse actually. A converted mill in the hearty heart heart of downtown Roswell. In an attempt to illustrate it's fabulousness which I will fail miserably at doing (as did the pictures they used)...wide plank wood floors from old mills, tin shingles for kitchen backsplash, heart of pine doors, exposed brick, 15-20ft ceilings (not even exaggerating), private brick and stone gated courtyards (two!) plus all the modern conveniences of granite, stainless and poured concrete flooring.

I. could. die.

It's of course inhabited by the architect and his partner who have it dressed to the nines, which certainly helps, but the bones are beautiful and I personally will take it a little softer and brighter.

Look at that. Subconscious slip of tense. As if I've already bought it. Wouldn't you?

The Devil Wear Heels

2010-08-31T20:29:00.000-04:00

"Because you wear your red heels carrying your pitchfork."

This is the response I received when I asked why someone in my office (who I barely know) is frightened of my existence. Me, this lady. Apparently the devil. In red heels.

I struggle with this "people are intimidated" by me thing. Yes, there are times when I intentionally create that perception for good reason and those people should fear me. It comes in very handy in the professional world and in dealing with life's random assholes.

It's the unintentional intimidation of non-targets I fail to grasp because really? At my core, I just want to please people.

I have a hypothesis. I am intimidating. But not for the reasons people may think. I don't think it's cool, nor do I pride myself on being a bitch (although I am accomplished at it when required).

I'm not actually that mean. I'm quite sensitive. I can be a total doormat. Yep. Doormat.

So why this outward perception?

Because I know. I just, know. The what, how, when, who on any given topic or situation. The "unknown" does not scare me, for it eludes me often. And therein lies my perplexing strength. I credit my steel trap memory, intuition and penchant for problem-solving for this super power know-how.

Seriously. I just "get" it -- anything I put my mind to. It's not that I'm always right or have all the answers, but I am usually in the general vicinity and can often reach some sort of outcome or respected opinion. And while one might think this is a gift (and I'm still not sure it isn't) it has posed a lot of challenges in my life.

People don't know the real me, and until recently I had a lot of trouble understanding too. I am not conceited. In fact, I can be crazy insane insecure. They think I'm --here's that word again -- intimidating, or a know-it-all, or righteous, blah, blah, blah. What they don't know is that I want, no BEG, to be challenged. I get bored knowing. I would love for someone else to be the one that knows. Only it rarely happens, but when it does I do not let go. Explains a couple of things in my life.

I'm really not even kidding.

So after my above long-winded explanation, we reach the "why" I am the intimidating devil. Take this knowing ability and couple it with a lack of patience for people who don't magically get it like me--especially before I realized this ability was not normal. You can see how this would very quickly lead me to be rather direct and often to the point, so I can move on and consume my mind elsewhere.

Hence, a bitch. Intimidating. I don't try to be. It's just how I am. Completely unconsciously. And not because I hate you or want to make your life hell or think you're stupid (maybe sometimes). But because I want to be challenged and excited and free of knowing.

So if I'm the devil so be it. But the devil ain't what you think she is and if you try to get to know her she might just give you the world. No soul required.

The Ultimate Reward

2010-08-30T22:15:00.000-04:00

When asked why I am good at my job, my response is typically as follows: "Because I give a shit."

And boy did I ever for the past nine months. I have been working with a highly talented team of people to develop what is now the AT&T careers website. I have nurtured this baby from a bullet list of requirements to a PDF of pretty pictures, to a fully functioning, highly immersive and absolutely gorgeous live website. This must be what it's like to give birth. Simultaneously joyful, overwhelming and a little sad that it's over.

Of course, I alone have not achieved this. There were plenty of people involved, for I am not a web designer nor programmer...but I have been known to write some copy. I took it personally and project managed it to perfection. Which is most definitely why they call me a VP. Not so much. But it mattered. It had to be absolutely right. And thankfully I have a visionary client, the most incredible creative director on the planet (and no you cannot hire him), and a bevy of specialized programmers to make it so.

I've been doing my job for 13 years. And never, ever, have I felt more proud. I'm also relieved...I lost my life the past few weeks in preparation for launch, and I get it back. At least until Q4 negotiations kick in mid-September.

The ultimate reward comes in the end product...you can see it, touch it, live it. As I sat there today with less than an hour to launch, I was so emotional (as is evidence of this blog post alone, no?)...like a kid on Christmas. So much of what I do is intangible, which is why I am often more frustrated than fulfilled with my work. But not this...this I can experience.

And so can you...The Most Unbelievable Recruitment Website Ever Built.

On the Record

2010-08-25T13:26:00.000-04:00

A few days ago I got married and had three children. At least according to the "Semester at Sea Alumni Directory."

My boyfriend spent several months on a boat in college--hence the semester at sea--touring the world and gaining life experience, and they contacted him for an update. Much to my surprise when asked about a wife, he said me. And children? Well, I'll have you know we have little Pace, Krista and Cherokee, according to Scott.

Should we have real children one day, he will have zero say in what we name them.

While on the phone he looks at me and says, "honey who was born first, Pace or Krista?" when listing his children by birth order, as recommended by the kindly phone representative.

What she must think of us.

Matters of Life and Death

2010-08-23T17:04:00.000-04:00

A very dear friend of mine was in a horrible accident this weekend. She was one of the lucky ones. Whereas others lost their lives or had them changed forever, she's in bad shape but will by the grace of God recover fully.

Or will she?

What remains to be seen is the affect a tragic and significant incident like this will have on her life. There is no question coming this close to death is likely to have an impact in some way, shape, or form. In her case, I know it will be positive -- she's going to be just fine and maybe even better than before. Life has dealt her a pretty shitty deck of cards in her time, but she's been blessed with the gift of resilience. Like always, I know she will come out smiling with the support of her true friends and family who love her to the ends of the earth.

But let's face it. We as a collective take life for granted. We're here, going about our business, bitching about our spouses (or lack thereof--guilty), toiling through the days, doing the things we think matter. They don't. But it takes, in most cases, an event like this to trigger reality. Yes, reality. The things that count in the one life we have to live that could be taken away at any moment.

I challenge you to think about your life in those terms. The things that you would want to be judged by in death. Then act on it. Live it to be so. Tell someone you love them every day. Hug yourself. Stop worrying about material things. Show appreciation for the little stuff. Get rid of toxic people. Respect what you do have, if only the ability to see, hear, touch and feel.

Life is a gift, and it is truly short--even if it isn't taken from you prematurely. We all know this could happen to anyone, but we also know the reality is it might never to most of us.

Don't wait around for something to spur the positive change in your life. It's yours to live, make the most of it.

Change of Plans, or Planes

2010-08-18T21:07:00.000-04:00

Today was one of those days that didn't exactly go as planned. I am still in my living room, when I should be in a hotel room watching a movie and ordering room service in the city of L.A.

Last night, I got really sick. What kind of sick I will leave to your imagination. I can't say this was entirely unexpected...I had been feeling off all week, especially in the mornings and at night before bed. The timing was just impeccable. I slept maybe three hours, and when it came time to get up and head out the door I knew I was in absolutely no state to get on a plane. For my sake and everyone else's.

And I immediately felt guilty. Because I had to fly for work and I had two meetings to conduct over two days. It didn't matter that I really, truly, would not survive five hours in the air, not to mention a meeting. I still spent the rest of my day trying to get another flight, stressing myself out and worsening the situation.

When I called Delta, they told me the next flight with open seats was 7pm. I though that was perfect...give me time stabilize and I'll only miss one meeting. Not so much. When 4pm rolled around--the start of my three hour booking window--it was oversold. And for the next five hours I called Delta every 15-30 minutes to see if that flight or future flights would open. Depsite the fact that I felt only marginally better.

When it became apparent that I was not going anywhere and my last option closed, it finally dawned on me. WTF? You're sick you idiot. Do you really think you are going to FLY ACROSS THE COUNTRY in this state? You don't need to be super woman. Take care of yourself, and do what you can from home. The key being, take care of yourself.

So simple, and yet so damn hard. I don't do nearly enough of it.

Just My Type

2010-08-17T18:30:00.000-04:00

Just found this online while debating my "type" with my boyfriend (beyond hot, smart and way out of his league). Thought I would share the Myers-Briggs personality test in the event you are curious about yourself! It's free, so check it out.

Take time with it -- 20 to 30 minutes -- and answer honestly, not what people say you are. As an example, let's take me. Naturally. People think I'm an extrovert and highly social. I'm not. It's a struggle. But I have adapted over the years out of necessity. Kind of like a highly functioning alcoholic. So when asked if I thrive in social situations with large groups of people, that would be a "No".

Fun little exercise and you might learn a thing or two. Or your significant other.

Dislike

2010-08-16T13:50:00.000-04:00

I heard a rumor the dislike button is now available on Facebook. I have yet to investigate it for fear of abuse once possessed. I dislike all kinds of crap out there, and will likely end up insulting and even alienating people should this little button find its way into my applications.

My number one pet peeve? No pictures of yourself. What's the point of being a Facebook stalker if you can't look at photos? Or being on Facebook period? This is not just a dislike, but a Facebook fail. And to the people who post pics of their kids / pets only? Let me tell you, I immediately assume you are much less attractive than when I knew you, or that your self-esteem is currently supported by anti-depressants.

Next up is Four Square. I do not care where the hell you are. Period. But burglars and serial killers might. And who wants to be a fake Mayor anyway?

And finally, there are the people that don't know how to use it, i.e. updating their status with what was meant to be a wall post. The "oversharers" also fall into this bucket, especially the ones that update us on personal hygiene habits or sexual experiences. No thanks.

For all that I hate, there is much that I love. Like connecting with old friends, knowing what's going on in my current friend's lives even if it's been a few weeks since we spoke, and of course all the interesting information made available through people's experiences.

If only there was a "Like" and "Dislike" button in real life. It would sure simplify a few things.

Corrections (or, Clarifications)

2010-08-15T11:39:00.000-04:00

Just like a newspaper. So in a recent post, I relayed a lesson I learned about emotions in the workplace. I was not at liberty (ethically speaking) to share the details of the specific situation, so I likened it to "calling your boss an asshole".

I did not, in fact, call my boss an asshole. Even if I didn't like said boss, like I said, I'm not an idiot. It was merely an example, albeit it poorly written, used to illustrate another situation.

And for the record, I have a great boss. They say managers are one of the top reasons employees leave a company. It's the reason I stay.

I can't lay claim to being your Corporate hero. At least in this instance.

Beauty Therapy

2010-08-14T21:23:00.000-04:00

My nervous system is shot. I'm overwhelmed and worrisome about most aspects of my life right now. Knowing this too shall pass, I am handling (hiding) it quite well. The only noticeable physical evidence is the daily 4pm tension headaches and the occasional over-the-top berating of an unsuspecting asshole.

But I am starting to notice cracks in the foundation, and since I don't wear make-up, I know it's my well-being that's compromised. There is not enough wine in the world to make it go away and underneath the nearest large rock was occupied, so a Calgon moment was in order.

Unfortunately, the bathtubs in this house are punishment not pleasure (just ask the dog) so I went to the only other place that I knew could soothe me. The spa. Oh, and the salon. I have been cut, colored, waxed, plucked, rubbed, tugged, cleansed, extracted and scrubbed of my burdens.

Except one. I'm now poor. Today was expensive. But no doubt cheaper than 30-days in an outpatient clinic. I have yet to be filed, clipped and polished, but I plan to tomorrow after I scrub the kitchen floor by hand. I have to pay penance for my indulgence, naturally.

I had just one uncomfortable moment today, which is saying something given the services performed. During my facial, the esthetician lifted my shoulders, began to massage and whispered kindly, "girl, you got the weight of the world back here". And that's when I cried. Laying on my back with rubberized algae and seaweed on my face in front of a complete stranger.

Because she was right, and she knew. She was so kind to me, trying to make it all better. Letting it out may have helped more than all the beautification, and I did get the bonus pity pamper for an extra 30 minutes. Awesome. And I suppose it could have been worse. I could have been having my colon cleansed and crying like a baby. Thank God for small miracles.

After the finishing touches tomorrow, my pretty self will be in working order once again to face the world with a smile and confidence at all it wants to throw at me.

Fortunately, I'm so smooth it's gonna roll right off.

The Sht my Grandma Says is better than the Sht your Dad Says

2010-08-13T00:38:00.000-04:00

I worship my Grandma. When I was little, I believed she was a Saint. Saint Marie, who God hand-picked to make the world a happy place. I used to try to wrap my head around how God would give her wings if we buried her in the ground when she died. It gave me nightmares.

I spent a lot of time with her and my Grandpa as a kid, all my Grandparents for that matter. Blessed. Grandma may have single handedly got me through my parents' divorce. I could talk to her about anything, and still can. As an adult, that now goes both ways and in recent years I've met the woman behind the wrinkles and does she have one hell of a story to tell.

Not that she's done living. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Saying I am Catholic is not entirely accurate. On paper, yes. In practice, not really. She, on the other hand, religiously went to mass, gossiped about the congregation, and is still bitter that her least favorite priest baptized me as a baby. When she leaves this world to join my Grandpa, all I want is her Christmas nativity scene. Dibs on the retro-fabulous plastic Baby Jesus.

So she tells me the other day that if she had to do it all over again she wouldn't be Catholic. Because of those perverts. And she whispered it, hiding from God herself. Naturally, because she has something to fear, at least under Catholic law. This is the same woman who told me a few months prior "you don't have to get married, just live with him, what's the difference." Followed by, "don't tell your Mom or Dad I said that." Sinner.

The woman also loves to gamble, drinks beer, does her own yard work (and owns a "collection" of saws), and will judge you 'til the gavel beats you dead. But still refuses to mutter a curse word and refers to things she doesn't agree with or like as "not nice". As in, "that's not a nice President".

During our conversation last week, I was telling her about my adventures in house hunting, and that I had I found a place I liked but it was slightly more than I wanted to pay for a home. Her response?

"Maybe you can Jew them down, honey."

Jew them down? Like she was talking about the sun coming out. It did not even cross her mind that this may be offensive. To be a fly on the wall at her ladies' lunches. I had to laugh.

And at this too. The other day, she drove up to a toll booth where there was supposed to be a cashier, but no one was there. She thought it was too dangerous to back up, but not to get out and walk across the toll lanes to the next open booth. Seriously.

She is not afraid to tell you what she thinks, either. No shortage of opinions. Especially about her own children. Seeing as my father is one of them, you would think she'd censor. Not so much. Then again, my Dad tells me to not have children...despite the fact that I am, yes, one of his children. Must run in the family.

Discovering that your parents are people is one thing. Learning your grandparents are people is another entirely. And Grandma isn't the only one of the "atricarchs" in my family living to the fullest. My 90 year-old Pop-Pop? Got himself a girlfriend (my deceased Nana's best friend nonetheless) and a dry sense of humor that might one day get him shot.

It's been awesome getting to know these people on a different level, especially Grandma--being the polar opposite of the opinion I held of her for 30 years. They have stories to tell of times we can only imagine, and they continue to approach life as if we don't live in the morally bankrupt world of today. But even more than their history, is their here and now. Their "golden years" where they just don't give a damn anymore and are free to be who they be.

We could learn a thing or two from their generation.

Now go call your Grandma.

Not What I Expected

2010-08-11T14:51:00.000-04:00

I've spent the past three years house hunting. Yes, three years. For one reason or another I never actually committed, which in itself is telling. There is a recurring pattern of non-committal behavior within me that I choose to deny but the reality is I don't like anything that doesn't offer flexibility. Or better stated, options.

Just look at my life. Options abound. I am not married, I have no children, my job (not company) changes every two years, I don't have a set schedule, I do whatever I want pretty much whenever I want to...I have zero non-flexible commitments.

In some cases, it's not that I don't want them, but I want the right ones. And there are endless criteria that change on a daily basis in regard to the "right" house, car, computer, job, husband, and so on. I'm looking for guarantees where I know there aren't any.

I first learned this while trying to buy a car last year. It took me three months to get up the courage to commit. I love my Volvo, I do, and when I first sat in her I knew she was the one. But as to "why" she was the one probably had more to do with the fact that I was frustrated and freaking out about not having found a car at that point, and she was very nice and would do. Turns out, she more than "did" but I may have just got lucky on that one.

I find myself in a similar situation with a house. I am ready to buy. But. What if I don't like the location, what if I really like it but it's a bad investment, what if I have to move for my job...and so on, so on, and so on. A hundred different reasons I shouldn't buy that house.

So I went house hunting again this past weekend, with a twist. I have been increasingly frustrated with the crap on the market. Yes, buyers currently have the advantage, but really, who wants to sell their house in this piss poor market? So, I decided to revise my search. I started looking at town homes. Because as much as I would like to believe I am nearing the "building a family" stage of my life, there aren't really any indicators that prove this to be true. Other than my active imagination.

And I found one that I love (I think). It's larger than most of the single family homes I've seen, it's much more updated...crown molding throughout, granite, stainless, iron spindles...the whole shebang. It's also well within my price range to the point where it doesn't even scare me a little from a financial perspective. Not to mention the added benefit of no exterior maintenance, which means I can focus on the improvements I like...the inside!

It might even have, if only in perception, more flexibility. The maintenance is one thing, but I have this vision of being able to rent it out easier than a single family home if I do have to move for one reason or another. It just feels more "transactional". Which is the exact opposite of what I thought I wanted.

Clearly not what I expected, but then again when it comes to big decisions in life this tends to be my M.O. Let's see, going to college in the south...on a whim, never even visited the school. A Volvo SUV...not what I thought a young professional would be driving. Living in Atlanta...was never even on the radar. Working in recruitment advertising (for 13 years)...most definitely not what I expected. Seems the decisions I make on a whim with little to no thought appear to be the best ones.

So we'll see what happens.

Farewell, Waffle House

2010-08-07T11:09:00.000-04:00

Waffle House is a Southern staple. In college, it's where I went at 3am to scarf down smothered hash browns in a drunken binge state. As an adult, well, it's purpose hasn't changed much but add to that the occasional weekend breakfast--best damn cheese eggs you will ever eat, promise. It's cheap, usually close because you can't drive a mile without seeing one, and good for what it costs.

All that said, the decor and cleanliness leaves much to be desired. You get used to the toothless waitresses and larger than life, sweating like pigs-on-a-spit grill cooks, but I could never accept the food on the floor (dropped in transit, by kids, whatever), waffle batter all over the kitchen and spotted silverware. Or the finger prints on the windows. Anyone who knows me understands that I am just, oh, insanely OCD in regard to cleanliness. Use your imagination to figure out how I get through these breakfasts. I'll give you a hint: there's a happy place involved.

I know, you must be thinking, why the hell would you ever eat there in the first place? But if you're from the South you understand, and if you're not, well don't judge. I've been in much worse pizza/sub shops in NYC, unlicensed Asian kitchens in the West, and eaten at several ramshackle BBQ pits that add cockroach for crunch in the central states.

Before yesterday, if you would have suggested stopping for breakfast at the Huddle House I would have said absolutely not. It's a second-tier Waffle House...you have got to be kidding me. Seems I was very wrong.

Turns out, Huddle House is like Waffle House. Only red. And clean. Yes, my friends, clean. And the food just as good and just as cheap. The staff is even a tad more attractive. Fortunately, the cheese eggs are also up to par. Where did this place come from? And why am I just learning about it?

Hello, Huddle House. Your name sucks, but you get my business over the Waffle House any day.

Revelations

2010-08-03T22:46:00.000-04:00

I had a few today that I'd thought I'd share, because I love to share. Thoughts, not my stuff.

First, I learned a very valuable lesson courtesy of some really great advice from my boyfriend who is good for so much more than sex. So the story goes...I'm a smart girl. Sometimes, however, I let my emotions get the best of me and that can lead to trouble.

Especially in the work environment. Like calling your boss an asshole. Please...I'm not an idiot and if you knew my boss you would understand how far from the truth that statement actually is, but you get the point of my behavior. I've been doing this 13 years and there is very little I haven't seen. My passion can get the best of me.

I lost perspective that it's "just recruitment advertising" for an hour or so yesterday and got yelled at by someone I respect. A lot. Two very powerful words worked their way into my vocabulary--"you're right." Which of course means I'm wrong (BLASPHEMY!), but in this case 100% accurate. I learned to separate my emotion from the facts, and when that happens all is bliss. Suppose all that couple's therapy is finally making it's way into other areas of my life.

Second, I'm not cut out for suburbia. And I'm spoiled. We went to Outback tonight. Why? Because we wanted something new. Seems we tapped out the three independent restaurants in the Cumming area our first month here so "variety" is now the chain circuit. But as I sat there drinking wine that cost more than my entire dinner, I realized this is your Average American's paradise. I wanted to vomit over that bloomin' onion, but I gained perspective that not everybody has a Muss & Turners, Taqueria Del Sol, or Fontaine's. And it made me sad. For them. I had to leave the city to realize this, but nonetheless, it kinda humbled me how lucky I am to have (ok, had) really damn good food. Humility while it lasted..it's off to Cantina or Bistro Niko with ladies tomorrow.

And finally, the mystery bloggers. Sneaky little shits. Turns out a few women I know are blogging under pseudonyms, but because I'm an INFP I figured it out like nobody's business. And they are GOOD! Ladies, own it! From a friend that recently moved to Nashville to a co-worker who would probably be mortified if she knew I knew, I'm uber-pleased to see the blogging happening. And of course the fact that links to this blog sit on their pages.

Awesome.

Another day, just a little bit smarter. Naturally.

Murphy's Law Effectively Demonstrated

2010-08-01T13:17:00.000-04:00

I tried to be spontaneous Friday. I bought last minute tickets to the Steve Miller Band concert thinking a night on the lawn under the stars would be a great way to end the week.

There are times I am certain I am mistakenly carrying someone else's Karma. Someone like Osama Bin Laden.

We decided to eat somewhere near the amphitheater before the show in Alpharetta. Admittedly, I do not know this area very well, but seeing as it is the model for non-descript, over-developed, sunshine and friggin' butterflies suburbia, certainly we could find a restaurant.

Certainly not. Not a single strip mall with food. Which means we must have been (circling) on the only road they forgot to develop. Not even a family bar/restaurant a la Applebee's.

We settled on a Mexican restaurant after 45 minutes of tooling around in a place I will never live, and I thought...we should have planned.

Mexican is good even when it's bad. Unless you happen to stop at El Porton, which takes bad to the depths of inedible. A place where the speciality margarita is the"jumbo", the chips are cardboard soaked in water, and the salsa a lively combination of tomato sauce & jalapenos (this makes it "Mexican"). And it was packed. Upper-middle class suburbanites actually made plans to dine in this place.

After my chicken El Paso came out as beef, and I realized the only difference between the enchilada and burrito was the size of the tortilla, I needed more tequila. This I knew, was the one thing that would be good--you simply cannot hurt something that comes straight out of a bottle. Bottoms up, two shots of Patron.

So what's this?

That would be my $31.95 margarita. $25 shots of Patron. GREAT idea. We forgot the word "silver" and thus, $100 for shitty mexican. I assure you we were the largest two-person ticket that place has ever seen.

Off to the concert, dinner behind me, it's all good...I'm staying positive.

The Verizon Wireless Amphitheater is a lovely venue. If you're geriatric.

When I go to a concert, I sing and I dance. And when I can't, I'm not happy. As was evident at a Billy Joel concert sometime in early 2000 when I slapped the balding middle-age buzz kill that kept kicking my friend's chair. Because she was dancing, at a concert. For the record, he got thrown out.

This was the Steve Miller Band, a.k.a. the midnight toker? I don't care if he's 70-ish, there should have been hoards of former hippies sparking up in the lawn all smiles. While I spotted a few wandering aimlessly, the majority of attendees were card-carrying members of the middle-age variety. The problem?

No lawn. Fo' shizzle. My motivating factor in buying these tickets! There would be no bare feet, soft grass and drunken swaying for me tonight.

What to do but once again, drink. I love big old $10 concert beers, and what a way to stay positive. Something just fun about them. Unless of course some fool decides it's a good idea to punch a hole in the bottom of the cup and cover it with a magnet. Apparently a new way of dispensing beer, with terrible results for the consumer. Just ask my dress.

And the 200 other concert go-ers now covered in beer, having wasted 3/4 of it. I didn't even get to keep the magnet.

At this point, I am positively over it.

So we decide to go find our seats. On our way, we thought we'd take in the view from the upper concourse before heading down, but we were told we "couldn't stand there" by the concourse Nazi. I could have taken him, but if I'm gonna get arrested, it's going to be worth it. I suppose the price you pay for a clean amphitheater in the 'burbs is an antiseptic experience with lots of rules. Too many rules that completely kill the experience.

I can't sit on the lawn, I can't stand on the concourse, but I can sit in my seat and quietly bob my head to the music. Not a chance. We abandoned our seats and sat in the concession area where we could move freely, drink beer, and bum cigarettes from guys in wheelchairs (yep, sure did).

And then there's Steve. Playing all his greatest hits at just a little faster tempo than I remember them. Yes, Steve, I couldn't wait to get out of there either.

Concert FAIL. I'll be sticking with my beloved Chastain (sponsored by AT&T), where even Lee Ann Rimes was a good show.

Blow My Mind

2010-07-28T14:35:00.000-04:00

I have 900 million things I'd like to write about today. Because I'm going in 100 billion different directions. Work is busy, life is busy, and my mind is overloaded. Which probably explains why I want to curl up and go to sleep at 3pm the past few days. But not why I'm taking the time to blog.

Random Observation:
There is no such thing as complimentary valet parking. If you think there is, then you don't get it. Thoughts like these insert themselves in my mind while I'm thinking about how I will get to Target, Home Depot, the post office and eat a $10 sandwich all within 45 minutes. Ah, consumerism.

Political/Socio-Economic Issue:
I watched a documentary last night--The Shock Doctrine. The underlying message is that Capitalism and free market economies destroy countries, and use catastrophe (a.k.a. the shock) to bring the public along for the ride. See Ronald Regan, Margaret Thatcher, George Bush, and Augusto Pinochet (look it up). While I could dedicate an entire month of posts to this topic alone, watching it raised a much bigger question in my mind.

All-consuming Question:
What is real?

The world is full of opinions, theories, ideas, and arguments from all sides of the issue...how do you know what's right? By right, I mean facts. My idealistic self is so consumed and disillusioned with this world and the nightmare it's becoming, and I just need the facts to figure out how to fix it.

Burden:
Yes, somehow, it is my job to fix it.

I know, I know, I know. It's up to me to learn about the issues and form my own opinion. What I want to know is where are the cliff notes, because how the hell am I supposed to save the world when I'm working 12 hour days and the other 12 hours are dedicated to sleeping (a little), eating, drinking (a lot), house hunting, remembering birthdays & anniversaries (sometimes), cleaning, running errands, and so on and so on.

Random Useless Thought:
I have a thing for hip-hop on my drive home. The harder the day, the nastier the song. Yesterday was Cypress Hill, and as I rolled up 400 singing "headed up the river with a boat and no paddle" in my Volvo SUV, I couldn't help but think, where is my opposite? The black guy cruising in his tricked out El Camino singing Celine Dion at the top of his lungs. Yet another example of the random clutter.

Thing I can't stop thinking:
Stop asking me stupid questions and taking up space in my brain! Can't you see I have a life to live and a world to save?

Summary:
The mind is a powerful yet debilitating tool. When it feels like it's going to explode, I just have to get it out.

At the expense of my blog.

Good Eats

2010-07-25T12:20:00.000-04:00

I'm fat...so fat that despite the sunshine I can't bear to get in a bathing suit and lay on the dock. Dinner last night was SPECTACULAR. The menu? Choice filets, asparagus and this wonderful tomato salad.

Tomato Salad with Blue Cheese and Bacon
4-6 tomatoes, different varieties (Roma, Ugly Ripe, Vine Ripe, Heirloom, whatever your fancy)
Blue Cheese, crumbled
Bacon, thick cut and crumbled
*don't microwave it, fry it and make it the good stuff
1 avocado, sliced

Dressing:
4 tablespoons of olive oil
2 tablespoons of cider vinegar
2 teaspoons dijon mustard
1-2 garlic cloves, minced finely
Pinch of parsley, sage and thyme if you so please
Salt and pepper to taste

Combine and whisk together the olive oil, vinegar, mustard, garlic, and herbs until smooth. You can put in fridge for up to 6 hours.

Slice or cut tomatoes into quarters, season with salt and pepper. Just before serving, top with avocado, bacon and blue cheese, and drizzle with the dressing. Garnish with basil.

YUM! Nice light, cold, yet rich salad most certain to please. Enjoy!

Hobbies

2010-07-21T12:51:00.000-04:00

Ever since I got my iPad, I don't really have any. Unless you count Free Cell, neurotically checking Facebook, Plants v. Zombies, and taking pictures of the places I have lived via Maps. The below would be my favorite.

Yes, Ladies & Gentlemen, the crack house I used to reside in. It didn't used to look like that, I swear. Or maybe it did, and I was too drunk too notice.

Anyhoo...being able to take that photo is in itself remarkable. Just Monday I didn't know how to take screen shots with the iPad or iPhone. Luckily, I have a really smart team--the same team that gets it done when everybody else tell them no, so that someone else in the company can present the same idea a year later and call it "new". I digress.

They showed me how simple it was to take a screen shot, which got me to thinking, "what else can this shiny flat thing do?". Well, the short list:

1) Predict the weather
2) Find me a house to buy
3) Monitor my sleep patterns and wake me at the appropriate time
4) Decide what's for dinner (or make reservations)
5) Manage my budget and bank account

If only it could blow dry my hair. My hopes are high.

Oh, and it let's me blog without breaking out the big guns. With or without wireless keyboard, I might add. I'm in love.

It also predicted separation therapy may be in my future.

Damn it Frank

2010-07-20T22:07:00.000-04:00

Frank was my favorite. Ali's too. As if it wasn't obvious by her muted, teary excitement as she gave away roses to men she didn't like. Sleep with them? Sure! Marry them? Not a chance. Needless to say, I'm all kinds of into the Bachelorette this season.

Because it sucks.

I always believed you could find love on TV, and that for sure all 20 men would fall madly in love with one woman they have to share. And she of course would have her pick and live happily ever after.

I'm high. Along with 9.9 million other viewers, and my entire family.

All ridiculousness aside, I did feel previous Bacehlor's and Bachelorette's were maybe not so influenced by producers to keep the less than ideal picks of the litter on the show. This season they introduced a whole new brand of crazy to guard and protect the audience.

It is PAINFULLY obvious with this lovely albeit excruciatingly boring woman that she's just not that into you. Or you. Or you. Or you, you, you and you.

Now Frank, there's another story. She was digging the little man. When I saw the promotions for last night's episode, featuring my favorite Frank and a mystery dark haired woman, I questioned my character judgement. But alas, he was just being real, and maybe a bit of a drama queen.

Yes, we all thought he was a freak whilst telling Ali he just couldn't stand having to share her with other men, and thus no doubt, being a contestant on the Bachelorette should not have been on his bucket list. But these were completely normal feelings that most people would prefer not to experience when in a new relationship. As is still loving his ex and needing distance to figure that one out. Men.

I support you, Frank, for being true to you, but damn you for leaving me with nothing to look forward to each week. And for that last little completely unnecessary, save for publicity, trip to Tahiti. That was lame in a Justin entertainment wrestler kind of way.

The Great Debate

2010-07-19T15:26:00.000-04:00

Let me start by saying that I am about as qualified to debate this topic as I am to perform heart surgery. That is, stay-at-home versus working mom. My experience is limited to a 30lb furry two-year-old and three years teaching day care.

But lack of experience has never stopped me from forming an opinion.

A dear friend of mine (we'll call her Sally) is a working mom, not by choice. She was venting to a group of friends over lunch about her exhausting existence. And the useless ass she married. Different post.

Here's the short version. A stay-at-home mom (we'll call her Shirley), apparently on the defensive (or her period), went bat shit. Complete with the stated facts that Sally "is selfish" to work and her children "will suffer emotional instability" as a result. Oh, and that Shirley's job is "no different" and "just as hard" as Sally's.

I would have pummeled Shirley and her pissed in her wine. But enough about that crazy bitch.

Raising kids is life's hardest job, regardless of your situation. But it is in fact, different. Very different...to be a stay-at-home versus a working mom.

The reason? With some exceptions, being a stay-at-home mom is a choice. If you stay at home with your children, it's likely because your husband does well enough or you're willing to adopt a different lifestyle to do so. It might not make the child rearing any easier, but it is a choice.

It is also true that many women make the choice to work, but they usually aren't the ones you hear complaining. More often, if you're a working mom it's because you're the breadwinner or simply need the combined income to live.

I'm not here to argue whether women should be at home with their kids or in the working world, given the choice. Different strokes for different folks. I think it depends on the person. I respect the hell out of both sides, and honestly don't know where I'll end up when that choice becomes a personal one. Here's hoping it is a choice when the time comes.

My opinion, or shall I say judgment call, is on the majority--the stay-at-home moms who make that choice, and the working moms who have no choice. As in the case of Sally & Shirley.

Drum roll please. It is harder to be a working mom than it is a stay-at-home mom (per the majority definition above). The word "hard" is relative, but all other things equal the trophy goes to working moms.

And thus, as a gentle reminder to you whiny stay-at-home moms like Shirley, you made the choice. The world at large (including your husband) is bored of hearing how hard your life is. Despite my personal lack of experience, I can assure you that "hard" is relative. You won't really know what it means until that husband who pays for your lifestyle loses his job or leaves you. Because you won't stop whining.

Because I must be fair, if you're a whiny working mom who made that choice you shut the hell up, too. Stop judging the stay-at-home moms you think are lazy pigs.

Fortunately, I believe the stay-at-home and working moms of the whiny variety are few and far between, at least in my circles. Women should be supporting one another, not competing. But these whiny women, they are out there. Every day on Facebook.

I'll leave all the mothers, stay-at-home or working, with this thought. Somewhere, there is another woman who can't have children. Across the world, down the street, at your lunch table, who would do anything to be in your position, whatever that may be.

So count your blessings and quit your bitching. Remember that. Shirley.

How was your weekend?

2010-07-12T14:22:00.000-04:00

Inevitably, Monday starts with this question. But no one ever answers it. "Fine" and "Busy" are highly subjective terms that don't say very much about how you spend your free time. I would like to think that in our "live for the weekend" American culture, the answer to this question would be much more interesting.

But apparently it's not. Is it because weekends aren't that exciting, or are we just not talking about it?

I think I live a much more exciting life than most. Scratch that, I make better use of my time. Sure, I have to clean, cook, fix, care for, and so on. But I also take opportunities...to visit here and there, to update this or that, to try a new food, and so on. I'm not talking trips to Dubai or 5-star dinners...more like a local museum, planters for the deck, and a new Indian restaurant. And the occasional last minute trip to Vegas, naturally.

Life is way too short to spend the (limited) free time we have doing things we don't want to. I know we all have responsibilities, but be real about what absolutely does and does not need to happen. The weekend is your time.

So, what are you doing next weekend?

How iPad is Changing My Life...in 12 hours.

2010-07-10T12:03:00.000-04:00

My iPad. I finally got it. We missed the FedEx guy twice, so we scurried down to Alpharetta to pick it up despite the fact they would try again on Monday. So worth the drive and shitty Indian dinner we had while there.

What a wondrous piece of machinery that warrants every single penny I agonized over spending. I cried, really, when I downloaded my first book. It's so inexplicably crazy special to me.

With just a few hours of exploration under my belt, I am a big fan of iBooks and Amazon Kindle Store for iPad (I know, right?), mail, google maps, video, free cell, and general web surfing. The ease of set up and sync of all of my Apple devices and the ability to turn on (and off) 3G from my friends at AT&T at whim only adds to the experience.

Today, I will take that little beauty down to the dock, read a bit, then jump in for a lounge on my new blue lake floaties. They are indestructible and very comfortable. And they better be for $90 a piece. Neighbors swore by them, and I do spend at least $90 each year replacing the Wal-Mart variety, so we'll see.

We'll also be house hunting a bit today. We'll be taking the iPad on that tour too, for use of the large map and all my saved property detail. We've seen about 20 properties thus far, and the very first house we walked into is still the top contender. Go figure.

Tonight, I will use the AllRecipes app, propped up on my counter to guide my culinary journey to dinner. The Mac will thank me for no longer spilling oil, spices or otherwise on it's precious little keys.

Just a few ways in which the iPad brings pleasure and utility at this point in our relationship. I'm sure it will start cooking dinner, walking the dog and cleaning the house in no time.

My name is Courtney. And I am SO NOT a PC.

Author's Note re: Previous Post:
Groupon. Sorta sounds like a trendy name for an orgy, but alas, it's a lovely little service that provides daily deals via email for restaurants, products and services in your local area. Like laser hair removal. The very next day after my last post, I got a groupon for four treatments at $125! Of course I bought it, and I can't wait. Check it out.

Who Nose What Will Happen

2010-07-08T11:15:00.000-04:00

I've been seeing an ENT--that's ear, nose and throat--doctor. Surgeon actually, which is why every appointment is a 4-hour ordeal. It's worth it though, as he does actually spend time with me and this guy is incredibly knowledgeable. He pretty much explained away every ailment I have been suffering from since before I can even remember, including things you would not expect an ENT to know or treat.

Primary symptoms are irritating and incessant post-nasal drip (that's snot down the back of your throat), stuffiness at nighttime, and headaches on cue at 4pm each day. The diagnosis? Slightly deviated septum, irregularly small nasal passages, and TMJ caused by an orthodontist taking too many teeth out of my mouth and allowing my jaw to shift. Watch me eat. I open my mouth to the right. Never noticed this. Nice.

The treatment? A little allergy med to see if some of the symptoms are environmental. The next step possibly being surgery. Which is where the question comes into play.

I have been graced with this bump on my nose. I think it's hereditary, however, I seem to have it worse than other family members. I'm pretty sure I took a few smacks to it in gymnastics and brawling with my sister as well. It was a giant burden on my self-esteem as a child--think really big hair, small face, and bump on the nose--but eventually my face kinda grew into it and I learned to control my hair. The bump is still there, and I still detest pictures of my profile, but I have somewhat come to accept it.

If I get this surgery, it will be incredibly easy for them to simply "shave" away my bump. And of course, I do have a deviated septum thus it's 100% covered (take that Ashley Simpson). Had I been presented with this option at 22, I would not have hesitated for a moment. However, at 33 I find myself considering it, but incredibly fearful that I will be slashing away a sense of myself too, and as a result will hate the way I look.

On the other hand, does it hold the power to significantly increase my hotness by putting to rest this affliction of my vanity? Confidence is sexy. Not that I'm currently lacking of course.

It's not that I am opposed to plastic surgery. I guess I've just been fortunate enough to not be so bothered by any one body part that surgery was a consideration. I suppose I'm also (surprisingly) not all that vain. Physical beauty doesn't last so focus on building who you are, right? Maybe that's part of it. If I do get it, does it make me vain and will that in itself pull into question my beliefs? Not to mention, I want to write books, and I am currently way too pretty for that profession so I need to ugly it up a bit.

Yes, these are the things that go through my head. I think I'm over-thinking this, so I'm just going to stop.

I would like a little laser hair removal, however (and if anyone knows of way to get that covered by insurance, I'm all ears).

Moonlight Madness

2010-06-28T12:39:00.000-04:00

I had the pleasure of experiencing someone else's mid-life crisis this weekend, albeit from a distance. I will call this man "Captain", as he was in fact the Captain of his own enviable pleasure yacht. Huge, outriggers, the whole nine, probably a million dollar boat. He was a classic, almost-too-cliche-example of what happens to a man striving to reclaim youth post-divorce, and my entertainment for the evening.

This happened on our very first boat tie-up but there was nothing virginal about it. Captain's boat happened to be in our chain, as a friend of friends we were hanging out with at the Full Moon party on the water.

The first thing I noticed was the cheesy purple cabin lighting, required of course for Disco Yacht. Complete with 18-22 (barely) year-old girls of the easy variety. Naturally, the men we were with spoke of abandoning our ship for theirs (men really aren't selective, admit it). Yea honey, you go over there and bring me back some gonorrhea.

In addition to his harem, there were several young men, Jersey Shore rejects, on board. Pop a pill, slam a beer, FIST PUMP!! This is where I became confused. Why the guys? My guess is they brought the girls. Because really, what 18 year-old likes old guys with money? Nevermind.

A little more about Captain...he's in his mid-fifties with a married 36-year-old girlfriend who wasn't on the boat with his barely legal harem because she was at home with her family. Did you get that? I could not make this shit up. And I am sure there are some men reading this thinking 'damn that guy is awesome'. Hence the notion of women as the superior sex.

Imagine the dicotomy...brie, crackers and wine next to jello shooters and Boone's Farm. Ryan Adams and T-Pain in a duet. Sweet.

The voyeurism came to an end when another Jersey Shore reject in Daddy's yacht (deemed "Syphillis") nearly took off the side of my friend's very nice boat, trying to squeeze into the chain next to Disco Yacht. We untied and started our own little party a bit closer to the beach. I suppose we all have our limits.

I hope Captain had a good time. It was clearly a case of people taking advantage of a wounded fantastically rich guy, but maybe being used isn't so bad. Being a grotesque cliche is, pathetic, however.

One little item I forgot to mention(besides busting in on some guy 'going down' on some girl during the boat tour). The aforementioned girls of the easy variety turned their coke-filled noses up at we women who wore clothes on our boat.

For the record...we swim naked, bitches.

It's Done

2010-06-24T11:25:00.000-04:00

I did it. I bought an iPad. My motivation was likely more the constant turmoil of the decision than the device itself, and I finally said "what the hell". Of course I have intense buyers remorse about the whole thing--do I really need it, why did I do that, that was irresponsible, and so on.

Maybe I'll stop punishing myself the first time I go to iBooks and immediately have something new to read. Or the first time we travel and I only take it...the tiny little shiny device.

So that's done. Now onto a house.

Shamefully Confessing

2010-06-22T22:15:00.000-04:00

I am 100% into watching the Bachelorette. I spend Sunday nights watching True Blood, which is of course the smartest, sexiest, evilest, funniest show on television without a doubt. By Monday, I am so over stimulated and Scott can't take any more so I stupify myself for two hours with Ali (enter California pretty but really fucking boring blond girl) and her mens. It's the mens that provide the entertainment.

From the Weather Man, who sadly (I can't remember his name) they sent home after he got really funny in episodes two and three, to Justin the "entertainment wrestler" who makes me want to vomit everytime I see his face, to Roberto, the obviously hot and purposely placed latin lover that Ali just "digs". And then there's Kasey. Poor guy. For the rest of his life he will be known as the pathetic tattoo guy. Let's not forget Frank...he's is my favorite. Kinda reminds me of my creative director in a distant way, which is probably why I like him. The rest of them look or seem to be like people I knew in a previous life, so therefore I tune them out. It's awesome to watch a bunch of loser guys (less Frank) compete for a seven.

So this week, they sent some guy home that I didn't even realize was still on the show. WTF? Somehow, that freakshow entertainment wrestler and his fake broken leg managed to survive.

And while I could muse all night with my opinions--which by the way my boyfriend shares (as does Joey Z) in proof that we went out to dinner last night at the Regal Beagle and promtly asked them to tune into the Bachelorette--there is a MUCH more entertaining and opinionated source giving you blow by blow action.

Go here now: www.ihategreenbeans.com

I promise you will not be dissappointed. But please come back and visit me too, every now and then.

Fancy Talkin'

2010-06-21T13:33:00.000-04:00

I like language...words, phrases, double entendre, metaphors, similies and so on. I use all sizes and shapes of words, but always try to ensure they are warranted and purposeful. So I am fond of eloquence and descriptive terms to explain things, people and feelings.

Today, I ran out to grab a quick bite. I found some scrumptious-looking pimento cheese (back on the Southern food diet again), and needed a high quality carb on which to slather it. I wandered over to the bakery counter and found some multi-grain baguettes that, in my mind, minimized the guilt of the absurd calories in the cheese.

I asked the girl for two of the "mini multi-grain baguettes" and pointed in that general direction of the case. She grabbed the wrong ones, and after much awkward direction from me (not that one, no, the ones next to it), she finally landed on the bread I wanted.

"Those, ma'am, are called brioche, not baguettes" she said in a not-too-friendly tone. I may not know my bread varieties but it is still your job to smile at me and be nice.

Anyway, she printed out the ticket to identify the price and contents of my non-descript paper bag for the cashier -- in this case the "brioche". Or maybe not. On the ticket it read:

$1.59
Hot Dog Bun

Brioche my ass.

B.Y.O.B

2010-06-16T15:44:00.000-04:00

I've been in the Northeastern part of the country for two weeks, and in addition to the many comforts of home I have had the pleasure of enjoying once again, there is one that as a child I was not privy to but have come to love. Bring your own bottle (or beer)!

Most of the restaurants in the PA/NJ area are BYOB, and I assure you, I am bringing my own. Every time. Quite possibly the greatest concept. Yes, the food is a little pricier, but I am still spending less than I do in similar ATL restaurants where I pay $11 for a glass of (highly average) wine.

I've also gained about six pounds because pasta is on every menu (I'm sure there's even Mexican pasta). And because I just can't say no to a chicken philly or real pizza (and yes, you can bring booze to those little joints too). Another name for New Jersey is Fat.

I'm not sure if it's Bring Your Own Bottle or Bloat Your Own Belly. Either way, it rocks(at least until beach time).

Just a few more days of food & booze bliss and then it's back to absurd alcohol prices and fewer dinners out. But at least biscuits & gravy and grits will return to my diet. Thank God for that.

A Few of My Favorite Things

2010-06-08T20:44:00.000-04:00

I'm on vacation. Sort of. Work is a bit busy right now, so I am balancing relaxation with conference calls. Like today...bagels and a brisk walk at 8am, followed by an 11am conference call. Beach time from 1pm to 2:30, and back home just in time for yet another conference call. Much more bearable when taken after a few hours in the sun by the ocean.

The Jersey shore is where I'm spending time this week, working and relaxing. My Dad's beach house, which is just fantastic. Temp is about 74-78 degrees, sunshine and a nice cool breeze. The BEST beach weather.

Today, I had the chance to experience a few of my favorite things. REAL bagels. Perfect texture, lots of cream cheese and coffee only had north of the Mason Dixon line. The beach, without humidity and a cool breeze, and very few people...just the locals! And of course, an outdoor shower. I would shower outside every day if I had the means of building one at my current home.

These otherwise minor enjoyments mean the world to me...and I am so excited to wake up tomorrow and have more...including Panzone's pizza.

Jersey Girl? Sure. But the classy kind. You can visit Snooki at Seaside Heights with the rest of the embarassing population.

Me, you'll find in LBI, and I would highly recommend it to anyone.

Summer Reading

2010-05-31T12:54:00.000-04:00

I've spent a lot of time reading lately, and thought I would share a few of the nuggets I have enjoyed just in time for the summer reading season. Whether you're an old fashion reader (e.g. real books) or a kindle-carrying modern reader, these books are available and good reads, depending on what you're looking for:

1) Apologize, Apologize: Enjoyable, highly entertaining read. It's the story of Collie and his priveledged yet insane upbringing (as in "truly gone fishing") that highlights the chaos money can bring, and themes of acceptance, love and forgiveness. It's one of those stories that makes you laugh out loud while evoking tears at the turn of the page. This is a neutral gender story, meaning mens and ladies will both enjoy.

2) Shanghai Girls: Story of two women and their journey from Shanghai to America. Fans of Lisa See (Peony in Love, Snowflower and the Secret Fan) will like this book, although I don't feel that it measured up to previous novels. Light, simple, not a true committment.

3) When Will There be Good News: Excellent, well woven mystery. Kate Atkinson is the author, who also wrote Case Studies, another mystery I enjoyed.

4) Little Bee: Disturbing yet moving story of a refugee and a British Couple. Written from the perspective of two different characters, the story reads like a suspense novel with shocking and poignant turns throughout. I read this book in a day.

A short list to get you started, more to come as I keep in reading. Here's to summer!

The Price for Pretty Toes

2010-05-29T19:35:00.000-04:00

Several weeks ago, I got a pedicure. I get them often, love me some pretty toes and fingers. At the time, I had a blister on my foot from a pair of gorgeous yet hideously painful open toe pumps I just had to wear while trapsing through airports these past few weeks. They were divine with the corporate uniform, giving me that little bit o' sexy needed to bring on the confidence (or arrogance, whatever).

Back to the pedicure. After soaking my piggies in the water, the skin around my blister starting coming off so they cut it (mistake #1) and then cauterized it (mistake #2, although I did not know it at the time) and continued with the polishing.

Flash-forward two weeks. The small burnt blister still on my toe does not seem to be healing. And what's that odd sensation of pain & numbness in my foot? Concern (and probably well-masked disgust) from my boyfriend led me to the decision of visiting Urgent Care this morning to check it out. Little dab of this, little plop of that, a lecture about blisters and heels, open wounds and pedicures and I'm outta there.

Not so much. Let's try local anesthetic to the foot followed by minor outpatient surgery to digg out (vomit) the burnt blister and unearth the pussness underneath. Ick. Disgusting. Diagnosis? Infection under the skin unable to heal due to cauterization of the evil blister.

Seeing as I didn't plan on this, I had driven myself to the doctor. And seeing as it's the weekend and I usually bury my Blackberry, I had no phone. Have you ever tried driving with your left foot and your right heel? It can be done.

So, my now giant purple toe has put a little damper on my holiday weekend. But there's always a silver lining. My doc in a box has extremely liberal views of dosing pain killers -- that, or I have no idea what I'm in for once the anesthesia wears off -- and has cared for me with a generous supply of maximum strength Lortab. Let's hope it's the former.

Lesson learned this time? Vanity = Pain.

Unless you get Lortab.

Appreciation

2010-05-28T20:46:00.000-04:00

Funny thing about appreciation. It comes naturally to some people, others horribly oblivious to the gesture. Often times, people don't even know what they are taking for granted until POOF! -- it goes away.

Me, as evidence of my post last night, am one who tries very hard to be highly aware of the things and people around me I should appreciate. Sometmes it comes naturally and other times I have to work at it, but I understand that appreciation goes a long way for oneself and others.

I am someone who gives freely without expectation. I am the inspiration for the book "Women Who Give Too Much". I do it because I like it. I derive immense happiness from taking care of other people and things, often seeking purely my own satisfaction. However, this makes me an enabler to my own demise of being taken for granted.

Like most people, I have my limits. And though mine may be "outer" limits, so to speak, they are still there and recently I have become aware of them. Yes, indeed. So I started an experiment. I just stopped. Stopped doing, caring, providing. The things that come naturally I have put to a hault. Not across the board but in certain instances, particularily those where I think some learning may need to occur. In this case I am the subliminal teacher, not the student.

Thus far, it's had it's ups and downs. A few things I ended up having to do myself purely out of the fact they had to get done, but others have left people wondering "are you ok?". Yes, I'm perfectly fine, just tired of wiping your ass thank you very much. I've had some small wins and some frustrations, but the former outweighs the latter to the point where I think I'm going to keep this up for a little while.

And in the meantime, with all my now free time I will be taking care of yours truly. Cheers!

Perspective

2010-05-28T00:18:00.000-04:00

Today didn't start with grand expectations. Just your usual, mundane Thursday...work, a few conference calls to make my head spin and a doctor's appointment. Let's see. High blood pressure, TMJ and reflux...did I mention I went to an ENT? These ailments were in addition to the reason for my visit. Crooked septum and, apparently, really tiny nasal passages I have been ever so blessed with in this life. Fun.

And then I got home. My boyfriend, while he may not yet be able to find it in his heart to commit, has definitely learned how to make me truly, genuinely happy short of putting a ring on my finger. He'd been smoking salmon since about 3pm. Yum, delicious. While I was settling in, checking late day email and changing out of my frumpy corporate uniform, he had an idea. For the record, he's full of them, but this one was so romantic (and frankly out of character) without even really trying.

He suggested dinner on the dock. Since we've been living on the lake, we've tried to make the absolute best of it, and in six years I can't say we've ever dined on the dock. Two adirondack chairs--check. View of the lake--super check. Cool evening temperature, complete with sunset--check. Amazing dinner, courtesy of the man--check. Need I say more?

Alas, this was only the beginning. Dinner was wonderful, more than I could have imagined for a random Thursday night. But then, we decided to take the boat out. The boat in itself is yet another blessing...thanks to a father who had no further need for a barely used water toy. Family rocks.

We heard there was a new beachside bar/restaurant that had opened on the lake, so we loaded up the dog, a bottle of wine and our happy, full selves and set out to check it out. We really had no intention of actually going, but the next thing you know the boat was beached and we were playing in the sand, conversing with the rednecks and sipping our cocktails listening to a live band.

At this point, I'm a little buzzed and SUPER appreciative of the evening with which I had been bestowed--I don't think I could have planned it better. Our dog was making friends, we were enjoying the people watching, and then on cue--fireworks. Big, bad, Fourth of July envy fireworks.

Seriously? Did this night really happen? On a Thursday nonetheless?

We then set off for home, guided by the light of the full, beautiful moon. Not even kidding.

With some fear of sounding like an emotional, sappy woman that you (and I) would like to slap, I am so incredibly humbled by the things I have in life. For all that I don't, I have this: the ability to appreciate all the good that DOES come my way. I could not have asked for a better evening, and for once in my life it's wonderful to be able to simply enjoy it without thinking about everything else I have yet to deal with.

Work will continue to crush my spirit, I will continue to worry if this man will ever marry me, and I will stress about aging (although gracefully). But for right now, I have this night...and the happy accident that it was... and right now, it's all a girl needs to be happy.

So....

2010-05-22T16:53:00.000-04:00

I'm actually in the Mac store trying out the iPad for blogging purposes. Will she or won't she? That is the question. Typing is actually quite easy, music more so than other things in my life right now...so we shall see.

Blogger M.I.A. (but what if I had an iPad?)

2010-05-18T13:05:00.000-04:00

You would think I forgot how to type seeing how long it's been since I last posted.

But alas, I've just been busy racking up airline miles, first class upgrades, and free cocktails. And attending client meetings of course. This week the travel comes to an end for a little while, and thankfully I am ending on a high note.

Mixed in with the business travel has been plenty of personal travel as well...a family vacation to Florida, a beach side baptism, and in a few weeks, graduation and a 90th birthday party.

So that of course left my weekends tied up, and needless to say blogging became a bottom priority. Which brings me to the question of the iPad. If I had one of those little suckers, I could have been blogging on airplanes, in the car, in airports...really anywhere. And I might not have consumed four books in under two weeks as I would balance the book reading with the blogging (I hate that I read books so fast).

I'm still up in the air. I keep weighing the pros and cons and still can't seem to come to an answer. You'd think I was depleting my savings and promising a first born with the thought I've put into purchasing this gadget.

I like the ability to surf the web, email, type on a larger key pad and read books. And of course the 900 million apps I can download. But I love the camera/video feature of the iPhone, and would really like one machine that does it all. My MacBook achieves this, but it doesn't come with 3G and it's a little big to lug everywhere. My company funds my phone, so that's a non-issue, BUT, what if I got an iPhone for work use? How does that influence the purchase of an iPad?

Anyone have it, anyone love it, anyone hate it? Comments, suggestions, and so on are welcome.

In Good Hands

2010-05-04T23:33:00.000-04:00

Scott and I are blessed to have several little people in our lives. Not midgets, babies. The children of our siblings and close friends all seemed to arrive at the same time, lighting up our lives and helping us to amass significant knowledge of how to (and how to not) parent. And of course the foresight to immediately stop having sex.

These little ones represent a special kind of karma, and it's so wonderful to see the people we love the most manifest in these tiny humans. Mostly girls, with just two little boys in the whole lot of them. Spending time with them and watching them grow is a privilege we don't take lightly. I love these little ones so much it's hard to imagine I have enough room in my heart for my own...at least right now.

One of the responsibilities as Godparents and good friends is babysitting and care giving, at which we have excelled. My day care training and Scott's refusal to grow up pair nicely to make us the perfect people to watch over these babes. And we have proof.

This is little E, and while his parents were present, we did supervise his first experience of boating and boozing. It's ok, Daddy pulls him in a wagon and drinks hard liquor on Friday...it's the new happy hour!

This is BB, and she is Scott's Goddaughter who we babysat this past weekend. She was super sweet, and a very quiet little one. I have no idea why.

How to Sell Your House...to me.

2010-04-25T19:47:00.000-04:00

I'm a buyer, not a seller, and I am frustrated. No existing house to sell, excellent credit, 20% down payment, flexible on occupancy and yet...no house. I can't find anything I love. And yes, I have to love it, I will be there a while.

I have some requirements and I'm in a position to wait until I find them. That said, I'm also one of those people that can see potential, therefore flexible in some of those requirements, price pending. Just look at our lake house. Total. Shit. Hole. When purchased, that is. Today, perfect weekend home wanting for nothing (except maybe some gravel around the house and an outdoor shower).

So why can't I find anything? Well, first let me state that there are zero homes on MLS that I am not aware of in desired neighborhoods. I have been watching for some time. Inventory in this middle tier (i.e. not $100K and not $1M) seems to be lacking--either too old (Garden Hills, VA Highlands, Dunwoody) or too cookie cutter (Roswell, Alpharetta, Marietta, wretch). There are several foreclosures and short sales of beautiful homes but I just don't know that I have the will and patience to wait for the bank to approve my offer...that is if they ever respond in the first place.

So, outside of access to bank-owned homes, I have a method. I find them online, then do a drive by before I call in the agent for the tour. Trial and error has taught me that pictures only show so much and I have wasted much time looking at homes that I know I won't buy the minute I drive down the street. The pictures either tell too little or there simply aren't enough of them. I get it, highlight the appealing aspects of your home. But know that the not so appealing aspects aren't going to disappear just because you don't put them in pictures.

And damn, it's frustrating. When we sold our home, we took picutres of everything...inside, outside and from every perspective...even the funky little hand painted (while probably drunk) brick wall that very few people would actually appreciate. We wanted people to know what our home had to offer and exactly what they were getting, therefore ensuring that outside of open houses anyone that came to look at our house was seriously interested and no surprises were waiting for them upon arrival.

We sold our house, very quickly. And even closed the day the market tanked in 2008. We did also take the time to stage our home (ourselves, with some fresh paint, a few candles and a couple pillows), which I highly recommend. Style is subjective, so go neutral and inviting. Oh, and although you might think this is common sense, please keep it clean. I assure you I won't want to buy a house with dirty pots and pans on the stove or laundry on the bedroom floor. Yes, I've seen this...in pictures to sell the house nonetheless.

As I said, I'm the buyer. And all I want is the same courtesy I extended when I sold my house. Be descriptive, put it out there, and don't waste my time. A few of my favorites:

What does this tell me? The room is green, it has some carpet, two windows and a ceiling fan. That's it. Is it a bedroom, dining room, office? You get my point. And there are nine million pictures just like this out there.

Again. WTF? Beyond the hideous color, it's a bathtub. And it's dirty. Seriously.

Now this, this is what I am talking about. Upon first glance, classic Collier Hills 1960's era ranch. Look to the left. That would be Interstate 75. They could have taken this picture to omit that little detail, but they didn't, and therefore I did not waste my time.

...and the flip side. Beautiful home, inside and out. What they don't show you is the eyesore accross the street in the form of a metal fence that looks like something you might find at the state pen. Not to mention, I don't think I'd ever want to meet the people that live there.

There has to be an easier way to buy a house.

Won't You Be My Neighbor

2010-04-24T12:02:00.000-04:00

Neighbors rock. That is, if you have good ones. Good neighbors qualify as people you can hang with and have a good a time, all in the comfort of each others homes (without having to drive anywhere). We used to live in a rockin' neighborhood--perfect for the young professional set. Wine socials, deck parties, pool parties...it was a blast.

Then we moved, and so did everybody else. At the lake, all the folks around us are what we refer to as "full-timers", people that live here year round. Until recently, we were "weekenders", but our temporary living situation now allows us to play in the other category.

We've known our neighbors around us for a long time, but only recently became social with them. It's a very friendly little cove on the lake, but everyone is a bit older than us. I've come to learn it doesn't matter.

Last night, our neighbors invited us up for a glass of wine. This couple in particular are retired school teachers--smart, eccentric, interesting, and fun. They've lived in Europe, traveled extensively, are highly active in the community and for the past 25 years have lived in the house right up the hill. They've seen a lot and have many stories to tell, as does their home.

Let me put it this way...all that stuff you see in the Pottery Barn catalogs? These people are the inspiration. What I mean is, their house is decorated to a "T" without trying. The items they have amassed over the years complete the modern lake cottage look, with not a single PB catalog ever opened or store visited. I can assure you they have never gone to Home Goods looking for the perfect basket to complete a room.

Wood ceilings, terra cotta walls with green moulding accents, beautiful built ins, and an organized chaos of decorative accents--each of which holds a story. Stained glass window panes from England, an authentic wood lobster trap bought on the cheap in Maine, snowshoes and copper pots found in Germany...all of which are displayed on a high shelf that runs the length of the great room. Not to mention, a great-grandmother's iron stove and an upright piano that isn't just for decoration--I indulged in a little Heart & Soul, and can't remember the last time I had so much fun trying to remember Fleur de Lis and Chopsticks.

I have not yet mentioned the screened in porch, which has destroyed my idea of what I thought I wanted in my own home. Enviable awesomeness. Overlooking the woods and the water, complete with a mish mash of rocking chairs and gliders in various woods collected over a lifetime. There's even a water feature providing a complimentary tune to the tree frog chorus.

I love these neighbors and this house. As I took the tour, commented on the incredible ambiance and marveled at the collection of memories, my neighbor said "it's just me"...completely unaware of how beautiful her home is, and how other people spend thousands of dollars trying to achieve the same authenticity with manufactured baubles and expensive paint.

Couple this setting with great conversation and a shared bottle of wine, and you have a truly wonderful evening.

So nice to be neighborly.

On the Road Again

2010-04-21T21:33:00.000-04:00

Just can't wait to be OFF the road again.

Business travel, the next five, count 'em, five weeks! Oh joy. Then again, business travel is how I started blogging. Stuck in Delta Crown Rooms due to delayed flights with nothing to do except vent...to the internet. Of course, I no longer have that Crown Room membership and my status is simply Silver so traveling has lost some (ok, all) of it's perks.

Instead of sipping free cocktails in First Class, I lean against my coach window and think of all the things I appreciate when on the ground. Like a work day at my desk. My team. Dinner with my boyfriend. Comfortable shoes. The fact that this travel shit is not a weekly occurance any longer.

A little travel does help to mix it up, but it is exhausting. Early flights, late nights, heavy meals, lots of wine and unfamiliar beds all add up to one tired and highly reluctant business lady. I am completely in the zone while in meetings and at dinners, but going to bed at night and waking up in the morning are painful...as is the presentation being given at 2pm on the second day of the meeting. Truly, truly painful. Needles in the eyes painful.

The day after I return, which would be today, I am usually a raging bitch (confirmed) because of the aforementioned exhaustion on top of email jail and two days worth of work to accomplish in six hours.

And then there's this...

Note to Self. Do not schedule OB-GYN appointments as a childless woman in your thirties the day you return from travel. You will not take the news that your eggs will start getting old in two years very well. At all. Oh, and the little issue of high blood pressure will only get worse as you think about the four more weeks of travel ahead of you that you won't be spending working toward getting married and having those babies before your eggs need walkers.

I have spent so much time on airplanes that I failed to recognize I'M GETTING OLD on the ground.

I think it's time to quit my job and start living my life.

OMG! Whatever.

2010-04-15T15:11:00.000-04:00

I love bookstores. I could spend hours getting lost in random passages.

My perusal usually starts with the "featured" tables, followed by "Literature". I then subtly meander over and spend WAY too much time in "Self Help", and end in the "Children's" section to remind myself that life was once innocent after ingesting morbid (and often laughable) content in the aforementioned section. Basically, Apologize, Apologize, followed by Atlas Shrugged, a much needed Women Who Love Too Much and for dessert Sylvester and The Magic Pebble.

It's quite possibly one of my favorite things to do. Which is the one and only reason I an hesitant to buy an eReader (ok, iPad).

So onto the point of my story...

I came across a book called OMG! How to survive 101 of life's most f*cked situations. It's one of those novelty jobs, but I picked it up looking for a little humor. I happened to open to this scenario:

"Your Friend's Blog Sucks"

Yes, I really did. Right to it, which goes on to describe the situation as having a friend who makes you read her blog that sucks, and how to deal with it.

So...first, I don't think hating your friend's blog is one of "life's most f*cked situations". If it is, I'm sorry for you. Second, don't read it. Period.

What irritated me about this "scenario" is it didn't tell you what to do (because the answer is obvious), but went on to say (in so many words) that most blogs are vehicles for self-absorbed people who enjoy crying to the world.

And YOUR book is a fad with horrible clip art for those lacking in intelligence, you talentless hack.

That expressed, I won't go so far as to say there isn't some truth to it. People who can't write should not write blogs. But of course, we know that's not the case. Just go read any of hundreds of "company" blogs.

Those that can will of course write from personal experience or areas of passion. It's what makes a good writer, well, good. And the audience able to relate, I might add.

In any event, this of course does not apply to yours truly...seeing as my blog doesn't suck and I don't make anyone read it.

I can be self-absorbed at times, but if I wasn't then you wouldn't be entertained now would you?

Where have all the good people gone?

2010-04-13T18:35:00.000-04:00

I am not the kind of person who will take your word at face value. There are a few that are the exception to the rule, namely my close friends, family and a few professional contacts. In general, I "get" people and can understand intentions simply by the way someone walks into a room, responds to an email, or looks (or doesn't) at me. Overall, I'm skeptical of most motives.

Why? Because people are full of shit.

They tell you what you want to hear, speak in generalities, play the blame game, distort information, angle for position, tell half truths and so on...please, feel free to add to my list.

Why? Because most people don't like confrontation, and these full of shitters I speak of know the party they are manipulating likely won't challenge the statement or action. Some may call them smart...I, I call them disingenuous.

Have some integrity, people. I'm not always right. I'm not always wrong. You won't always like me. You won't always hate me. But I will always stand behind my words and actions and you will always get the truth. Not the contrived version, but the actual facts. Why? Because ethical treatment of people is important to me. We're so busy saving the animals we failed to notice the values we left in 1940.

When you look at the world around us today, it's hard to believe we ever lived in a time where you didn't have to question your neighbor, friend, co-worker, partner. Where deals were handshakes, and lies where white. Somewhere along the way our egos took over and it became about the "me" and not the "we".

And this Idealist is really bothered by it. Pissed off actually. Why? Can I ask "why" ONE more time in this post?!?!

Because I can control my actions, but not those of the people around me. Which means I am affected by these egotistical depraved assholes who drive this world's proverbial handbasket to hell a little faster every day, regardless of the values I choose to uphold in my own existence.

What can I do? I can uphold my own principles, and...

I will confront your lies.
I will put you in your place.
I will be your personal karma police.

And that's a promise I make to you, full of shitters of the world.

P.S. I'm not perfect, and did not mean to infer this in any way. I have had my share of not so strong moments. But in general, I be good people. Just ask my Mom.

David the Rodeo Lamb

2010-04-07T10:35:00.000-04:00

Last night, I had the pleasure of dinner in Buckhead with two wonderful women I am proud to call my friends. It was perfect...outdoor patio, skyline view, good food (not fried!), and great conversation. For a little while I forgot that I moonlight as a hick in Cumming, GA, albeit temporarily.

Last night, I was also reminded of how very different Cumming, GA truly is from the big city I love. Thirty minutes up 400 is more like a time warp to 1942 than 30 miles outside of Atlanta.

Case in point, Scott went to the Kroger up the road to grab some dinner for himself, which is where he met David the Rodeo Lamb. I will let the video speak for itself, and let me remind you--this is outside my grocery store.

Redneck Champagne & Flowers

2010-04-01T22:18:00.000-04:00

It's beautiful outside. And it's about time.

With that comes the desire to be and live outside, thus the landscaping projects, dock set up, and all the other necessary steps to create the season's outdoor paradise. I've challenged myself to do it with $500--to include the purchase of furniture, outdoor rugs, furniture pads, all the associated greenery and of course the accessories. I am going BIG this year. I figure the lake house is finally up to my standards of a true home, so outside should match. I will document my progress in the coming weeks.

Game on.

There is of course the grilling as well...the way we end the days that are filled with the tasks of creating the oasis. Burgers, steaks, chicken, shrimp, crab legs....YU-UM! Scott has mastered this art, along with his smoker and this alone is reason to celebrate the coming of the outdoor season. While there was no oasis building today (unless you consider recruitment advertising paradise), the day still ended with a bag a charcoal and a Weber.

Hot dogs. Yep, hot dogs. Had a hankerin'. Mustard and pepper relish. Absolute freakin' heaven. Accompanied by nothing other than Kraft Mac & Cheese...although the deluxe kind because I'm 33 not 3 (sometimes). Paired with none other than cheap white wine chilled with ice cubes.

Imma livin' the good life. Outside.

Everybody Needs a Little Magic

2010-03-31T15:07:00.000-04:00

I've asked for a magic wand to teach people to be smart. Or in other words, fix stupid. Which I am incapable of doing on my own. So maybe Merlin will lend a hand and send that wand my way. In the meantime, I'm just going to smile, nod and say "bless your heart" a lot.

Should my wand never materialize, there is fortuntely other magic happening in my life. Today, I was sitting on the floor in front of a full legnth mirror drying my hair, and noticed that the infamous Hub belly was missing. Yes! It was g-o-n-e. I think I was 28 the last time I saw my belly button while sitting down, and there it was...not a roll around it! I'd like to tell you I'm exercising regularily and eating right, but I'm not. I've been limiting my alcohol intake (this is the magic part), and as a result, no bloating and weight loss.

Magically, I am once again a hottie (albeit a little older this time) and I can't wait to wear a bathing suit!

What Does it All Mean?

2010-03-26T18:24:00.000-04:00

So today, I'm crusing through World Market buying stuff simply because it's on sale (who doesn't need two sets of beaded string lights?!?), and my sister calls me. It's the middle of the day, and I just talked to her the day before so I know something's up.

Turns out, she's been trapped on Facebook and catching up on my blog. She tells me she dreams of the house. Wait. What?

Yep, that house. The one in my very last post. She too has the same dream.

She says it so casually while I, on the other hand, am dumbfounded. She's more interested in the fact that one of her friends announced her marriage on Facebook (eloped to Vegas, smart girl).

My sister's dream isn't a nightmare, but the scenario is the same. She starts by going up the steps (dark wood), going through the rooms (same colors!), and ending up in the attic. She's also looking for something, but she digs through old trunks. In my dream, I go past the trunks...but they are there.

Ok, so now the same dream is happening to two different people and I still have no idea what it means. I still haven't had it again, either, so no closer to finding what I...I mean we...are supposed to.

The mind is a very strange thing...but I suppose it's not just the mind at play here.

9, 10 Never Sleep Again

2010-03-24T14:33:00.000-04:00

No, I'm not dreaming about Freddy, but it's equally if not more frightening. When they say "morning people" or "night owls", I am definitely a night owl. Or at least I thought I was. My preference might be shifting.

My mood slowly starts to grow darker as the night does the same. I usually go to bed in high spirits, but there is a little voice in my head that screams TAKE THE ADVIL PM. Why? Because I often wake up during the night, and once I do it's game over. I might as well be living in an apocolypic version of the world. In the middle of the night the smallest concerns are equal to the threat of nuclear war and if I don't resolve them by morning, well then I might as well just crawl in a hole and die.

Yes, it's that dramatic. At least until 7am.

Waking up from a nightmare is something else entirely. And I'm having a recurring one again.

On several occasions in the past month, I have dreamed of my grandparent's house. Pop-Pop doesn't live there anymore, and Nana passed away many years ago. It was the house my Nana grew up in, as did her children including my mother. I loved that house as a little kid. There was a fantastic screened-in porch that today drives the fact that this feature is above most everything else on my current house hunt checklist. There was also a walk up attic that held the treasures of my Nana's old clothes & shoes. Hours of entertainment for my sister and I.

The bedrooms upstairs all had a theme...the Blue Room, the Gold Room and the Green Room...and picking which one you wanted to sleep in as a kid was pretty freakin' cool. The master bedroom was up there too, as was a bathroom with an old fashion tub with only a rubber hose for a shower.

In my nightmare, a darker, sinister version of the house I once knew taunts me. My dream never starts with the house, it ends with it, and what happens before I get there could be anything. I end up in the house when my dreams take a turn for the dark side...I'm put in a difficult situation, I'm scared or upset, or even just uncomfortable.

Just like that, the first part of the dream is a distant memory and I am standing in the foyer. I head up the dark wood stairs, and it just gets frightening once I reach the top. The emotion is the same, exactly the same, every.single.time. Something is there that I need to find that might hurt me (at least I think it's me). I go room to room--starting with Blue, then to Gold, where I look in the closet. But when I come out of Gold, I am scared to death of the Green Room, and the Master bedroom at the end of the hall, so I run back toward the bathroom, but end up walking up to the attic. The attic extends beyond what I remember to a hidden room at the top of an additional staircase, and I think, where the hell did that come from? I start to climb, and then I wake up.

I'm completely freaked out just putting that on (digital) paper. Even thinking about the house now in daylight evokes the dark version, not the one of my childhood. Which frustrates me beyond description because dammit, my childhood was happy and my therapist says so.

Finally, a few nights ago and the last time I had the dream, I recognized that I was there and it was happening again. It was the lucid experience of this nightmare. I woke earlier, before going into the attic. But I think it's what I'm supposed to do...go into the attic and all the way up. I am terrified of what will happen when I reach it, but I also feel compelled, yes compelled, to do it.

I have no idea what any of this means, but let's just say I'm sensitive to my dreams and if you've read this blog for any amount of time you know why. I can't make the dream happen, but next time it does I hope it brings more answers.

In the meantime, I will resort to Advil PM (if not valium) to ensure my damn eyes stay shut and the weight of the worlds' problems do not fall on my shoulders. Oh, and until I learn to control my dreams and again enjoy the night as peaceful.

Check me out...

2010-03-22T21:50:00.000-04:00

Blogger made significant improvements to blog template customization, so baby's got a brand new bag. Trying on a new style for a while...how ya' like me now?

I almost went with books, thinking that by putting pictures of books on my blog I might actually write one. It felt too, well, "bookish" ...how else to describe the feeling of primary colors in plaid and dark wood. The now present swirls of ecstacy evoke feelings of freedom and whimsy, which is much more my speed.

No, I'm not drinking. I didn't tell you? I've been on the wagon. A little experiment that is so far going fabulously. One day I will look in the mirror and ask myself what the hell I was thinking breaking up with wine so suddenly, but for now I'm enjoying the unexpected drop in poundage, better sleep and clarity. Imagine that. Anyway, I'm just excited for change (and no this not a subtle reference to the Healthcare vote...for the record, I'm happy with my healthcare, thanks, not that you asked me.)

Speaking of change, seen Kate Gosselin's hair on DWTS? Fucking. Awful.

Rich is Relative

2010-03-21T19:40:00.000-04:00

Being born into a middle class American family was just lucky. If I ever wanted for anything as a child, I didn't know it. I wasn't spoiled...but was well fed, had your average roof over my head, and got new school clothes every year. My family even took vacations, to places like Disney, but only twice....mostly it was camping.

When I got to college, I realized I was poor in comparison to some of my classmates. Yes school was paid for, but I had to get a job and even then I bounced checks at grocery stores to get cash back. I never went to any place by plane or boat on spring break, and when I graduated I knew I had to get a job or starve.

When I got into the real world making $20K a year I thought I was rich. I learned about things like sushi, fancy cocktails, designer jeans, and the meaning of "trendy"...managing to pull it off because of stores like TJ Maxx and Ross.

When I finally started making a little real money, I realized how poor I had been, and I began enjoying the even finer things in life like designer bags, $100 weekday dinners, Pottery Barn furniture, exotic vacations, and the meaning of "keeping up with the Jones"...which I did.

And then I woke up.

And slowly the rest of the country is, too. Our period of more, bigger, better, and status is slowly coming to and end and only those that have learned to appreciate the simple things in life will survive. In fact, it's almost embarrasing to spend a lot of money...on anything...these days.

Did I lose my pants in the stock market? No. Am I upside down on a house? We sold it in October of 2008 (impeccable timing). Have I lost my job? Still getting up tomorrow morning, although a bit more grateful to be than in other years.

Nothing has changed yet everything has. Call it the recession, and yes it happened and is far from over, but with it is coming a morale correction and getting back to basics. Not like bread, food and water..those would be necessities. But family, friends, and simple pleasures.

I don't mean to preach or intend to make any kind of judgement. I'm also not a holier than thou evangelist on a soap box. I still have a flat screen LCD and cable, my Volvo SUV, and a boat. But I've learned something, something that I hope a lot of other people have the pleasure to as well.

A flurry of housing circumstances put us in a position where we live well below our means and don't spend a lot of money, purely out of lack of places and things near by to spend it on. We're temporarily living at our lake house, and while some may think "oh that's tough", let me stress that it is more of a wilderness cabin built circa 1965. True we've made it very comfortable, and home. While the goal is to get back to the city, the longer we live here, the happier I am becoming in general.

In the meantime...staying home and cooking dinner is a lot of fun. Planting $50 worth of flowers gives you five months of pleasure. Playing with the dog for 30 minutes is great exercise and makes you smile. Buying t-shirts at Target instead of J. Crew and putting $100 in savings is just plain smart. And ending the day snuggled in bed talking to each other instead of the TV is much more romantic.

And it's easy to do. Simplify.

How do they do that?

2010-03-16T12:49:00.000-04:00

My horoscope for today:

You may be all over the map, distracted by one thing after another now. However, each time you lose your focus, instant karma makes you aware of what you did and swiftly sets you back on track. There isn't much time to waste today if you want to fit in everything that you must accomplish. Luckily, you are able to surpass your own expectations if your intentions are clear.

I am distracted, because the truth of the matter is I have TOO MUCH WORK to do. I'm one person, I have three (or more) jobs. And it doesn't matter how focused I stay, I am not going to accomplish everything I need to regardless of intention unless a miracle occurs.

Wait for it....

This is what the Universe sent me today:

Those who achieve great things, defeat long odds, and become legends, Courtney, didn't have anything you don't have.
They just kept showing up, expecting a miracle, long after everyone else got practical.

Here comes one now...!

The Universe

About that weekend...

2010-03-15T16:21:00.000-04:00

Contrary to expectations, my Saturday night began with what I thought was a lovely dinner and outing with friends, and ended in a first-time ride in the back of an ambulance and three bags of fluid at Piedmont Hospital.

I will spare you the details of my escapade other than to say that it was not pretty and probably the low point of my life in regard to humiliation. The human body can be very, very cruel and unforgiving when given something it does not agree with nor want.

I was so looking forward to our weekend in the city. I did not expect to become aquainted with Piedmont Hospital (which I managed to avoid in the six years I lived there), rather I wanted to be shopping at Ikea and enjoying the dog park. Speaking of our dog, he had a lovely $300 stay at the Hotel Indigo, while I lay awake in a hospital bed and Scott slept in a chair.

The good coming out of this is the overwhelming sense of love I have for that man who stood by my side (ok, held me up) and did unthinkable things to keep me comfortable (and from dying). He tells me I would have done the same for him, which is true, however with not nearly the calm and appropriate response that he demonstrated. This man deserves a medal. I hope he soon forgets all he experienced.

Needless to say, I will be cooking my own meals, drinking water and planting flowers this weekend.

Buyer's Remorse is Relative

2010-03-13T15:20:00.000-05:00

The past couple of months I've spent my Saturdays doing house work--painting, drilling, organizing, cleaning. And of course buying--cabinet knobs, area rugs, candles, and all the other little things that make this place a home.

This is the first weekend we haven't had something we *have* to do. Granted, we spent two hours Friday night painting the ceiling, but getting it done left today wide open. I decided to commit to self-maintenance for the day, so I went and got a mani/pedi and a brow wax, and bought myself some new underwear, and a pair of earrings.

I immediately felt guilty about the earrings because I didn't really need them. I just wanted them. The underwear were essential, for the record.

It occured to me that I sometimes forget I am a woman (in the emoional sense, the physical reminds me every day), and with that comes the right to spoil myself from time to time. It also occured to me that I have not purchased myself clothing since last July...nor a bag, shoes or other girlie item. I spent $80 on myself today, and feel like I've spent the money that should be feeding my unborn children.

Tonight, we'll spend $200 on a hotel room in the city (this is what happens when you live in the country and want to go to Atlanta) and probably another $200 on food and drinks, and I won't think twice about it.

It's all relative. When I buy something just for me, I feel terribly guilty and wasteful. When I buy something for someone else or the "greater good", I feel great. Why can't I be like those women who throw down $2,000 for a designer bag and not care? Me? I buy a refrigerator.

I did go through a period where I bought myself whatever I wanted for awhile. A closet full of Coach and really cute clothes that are now too small for me is what I have to show for it. I suppose once I had it, I didn't want it anymore and jersey knit, fleece and an all purpose Kate Spade nylon bag became staples of my wardrobe.

On the other hand, that refrigerator is still kickin'.

WTF?

2010-03-10T22:51:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure how you access my blog, but if are visiting the main blog page, you may have noticed that my fonts have fallen out in every section except the most recent post. Why? If you are viewing one post, and not www.bornwithoutay.com home page, it's fine. What's the deal? Opinions and fixes welcome.

My True Calling

2010-03-09T13:47:00.001-05:00

So y'all know I'm an INFJ and sometimes an ENFJ. If you don't know what this means, start by going here (or here for the cliff notes), then come back and read on.

Type identification has long been associated with career path. If you're good at X, you should be Y. My X is many things and a very small percentage of the population (I'm special damn it), but my two favorite Y's (besides my blog of course) are "Author/Writer" and "Psychologist".

Since I'm currently not getting paid to do either, I figured, why not try and do both! In my spare time, naturally, because unfortunately my day job, too, is on the list. The goal is to ultimately replace one with the other.

It's true that I write--you are reading, therefore I write--and I have been known to save (or end) a few marriages, and guide people in the right direction using my intuition and crystal ball. In my world, they are now one, and I've been self-treating all this time anyway through writing.

I know what you're thinking. Crazy bitch. For the record, all therapists are crazy. It's what makes them good at their jobs. They can relate to what's wrong with you. I am fairly certain that the people who have asked, and then truly listened to what I have to say, would tell you I provided good advice and was, in the end, right.

In wanting to take the idea of comments, questions and feedback one step further, I have opened the digital therapy line in the form of an email box. Super high tech, I know. Again, not getting paid to do this. The benefit to you is free advice. Or just the opportunity to bitch at me should you so choose.

So reach out and touch someone. Me. answers@bornwithoutay.com

Living in the Moment

2010-03-08T12:13:00.000-05:00

Right now, I am working (sort of). And I wouldn't call myself happy, but maybe content. However, I know that tomorrow I will be booked back-to-back all day, and therefore in the present moment I am also anxious because of future events.

I am therefore, not living in the moment.

While I have found that experiencing the "now" does in fact bring more enjoyment, it's incredibly difficult to do, let alone keep up. It's a vicious, evil circle. How can you live it the moment when a decision, task, event--whatever--is imminent and not think, worry, ponder about it?I have learned that living in the "now" can positively impact the "then", whereas living in the "then" during the "now" usually brings negative consequences.

Even knowing that it's still hard to do. So frustrating.

Now, I'm going to go back to work.

County Conscious

2010-03-05T17:05:00.000-05:00

If you live in GA and don't spring for the "special" license plates, then you know that at the bottom of the plate there is a sticker identifying the county you live in. I never really thought much about it, until today.

Living at the lake house temporarily, we are now Forsyth County residents. As I have said before, the lake has always been an escape, and with that escape comes the country way of life. It's endearing after a tough work week in the city, and the modified pace makes one stop and smile.

Not so much when you're living here. Now it's just a bunch a stupid hicks that won't get the hell out of my way.

That said, I went to register my car today. After a near traffic stop last night, I figured I'd best be renewing my tags to avoid losing my license, car or otherwise. It was an efficient process and I'm glad to have it behind me.

I will not, however, apply that little sticker that says "Forsyth" to the bottom of my license plate. No one can make me do it. As far as all commuters are concerned, I live in Cobb. And I just might in a few months again anyway so what's the point?

Case closed.

The Man in Me

2010-03-04T14:50:00.000-05:00

He's screaming to get out and live his intended life.

I realize that statement might sound odd, but being told that someone thought my blog was an homage to hemaphrodites was too. Seriously. This happened.

I get it, Born Without a Y, although technically hermo's (heard it here first!) have XX and XY chromosomes so they in fact would be born with a Y. My only hope is that upon reading the blog, and not just the title, the realization was made that I'm just some fabulous female with a lot to say. Quite eloquently I might add.

If I was a hemaphrodite, I suppose I might be pining for a penis and a blog might be the appropriate place to discuss such emotions. But I assure you I am all woman and there is nothing intersexual about me. One male sex organ in my home is quite enough, thank you.

While the hermo thing falls under the category of "doesn't happen every day" and is interesting in itself, I think there is a funnier element to be told. It came to be while my friend's new boyfriend--well, actually, her new boyfriend's friend--was checking her out on Facebook. I thought only chics had freaky Facebook stalking friends? Maybe he's a hemaphrodite.

Anyway, this questionable friend found that she was a fan of the blog (naturally) and proceeded to tell her boyfriend he figured out what was wrong with her. Something had to be, because people like her don't exist. Now, there is plenty wrong with her, and all my friends for that matter--that's why we're friends. Outward perfection blended with just enough internal psychosis to keep it interesting. But she isn't a hemaphrodite. The upper half of her body can tell you more than I ever could.

Well, now that THAT's cleared up.

Should you find I have inspired an interest in learning more about this subject, I recommend the following:

Jaime Lee Curtis
Middlesex
Boys Don't Cry

Happy Hermo Hunting!