Devotees will know this about me: My cure for insomnia includes a couch, a movie, and company. Doesn’t matter the time of day. Doesn’t matter who’s over. Doesn't even matter whose couch it is. Put those three things together, and I'm out.
But here’s what happened the other night. A friend of mine came over to keep me company while I was still getting over a cold – runny nose, coughing, low-grade fever. Definitely not a good look for me. But, I’d felt it only fair to change out of the sweat pants I’d been wearing for three days and take a shower. So I'd made an effort.
There I was. Me and Dog on the couch. My buddy in the big chair. I had a box of tissues, a cup of tea, my down pillows and a big blankie. I was set. Off to La-La Land in ten minutes or less.
Then we turned on the movie.
OMG. The Wrestler is so awesome.
It’s ugly. It’s gritty. It’s like Jerry Springer on Lithium.
Didn’t sleep AT ALL.
If you haven’t caught the movie yet, wait until the kids are in bed and catch it on HBO this month.
You can thank me later.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Longhorns and Rebels
I went to Dallas to accept an award for my office’s performance last year. Two awards, actually. It was a whirlwind trip. There and back in twenty-four hours.
The suite was wasted on me. All I need is a bed when I’m traveling alone.
The awards banquet was four hours long. Picture the Daytime Emmy Awards with fewer sequins. That was it.
I sat with a bunch of the people from our corporate offices and at one point a couple of them turned to me and suggested I relocate to work with them as a regional supervisor.
“Tempting, but no. I like it where I’m at.”
“You mean in Tampa? They’re talking about having the supervisors manage from the region. You might actually be able to stay where you are and do the job.”
“Well, show me that in writing, and I’ll think about it.”
I’d LOVE to do it, but I wasn’t going to tell them that. With my crowd, you can’t seem to want it too much. Makes them think you’re easy. Or, worse, desperate.
I flew home this morning early. Bought a book at the airport gift store and got well into the second chapter before I realized I’d already read it.
The man-child sitting next to me was chatting away on his Blackberry all the way up until take off. Then he shot out a few texts and promptly fell asleep.
By the time we were getting ready to land, I was halfway through the book – again – and my seatmate woke up. He was impatiently drumming his Blackberry with his fingers.
“We have the same phone,” I told him and rifled through my bag to show him mine.
“Oh, yours is newer,” he told me when he saw mine.
“Oops!” I said as I accidentally turned it on and pressed the button again trying to get it to shut off.
“No,” he told me. “Just leave it on.”
“But the pilot hasn’t said we could…” I’m such a good girl.
“I asked a pilot once if it screwed with the navigation or anything, and he told me it didn’t but that they could sometimes hear the conversations passengers were having. So they just tell everyone to keep them off.”
I took a closer look at him and noticed deep laugh lines around his eyes. Not quite the man-child I thought.
“Oh,” I said and left my phone on. I was quiet for a minute, and then I half turned in my seat and whispered to him, “I feel like such a rebel.”
“Good,” he said and laughed.
Then, I gave him a wink and unfastened my seat belt without waiting for the Captain to turn off the fasten seat belts sign, and he laughed some more.
The suite was wasted on me. All I need is a bed when I’m traveling alone.
The awards banquet was four hours long. Picture the Daytime Emmy Awards with fewer sequins. That was it.
I sat with a bunch of the people from our corporate offices and at one point a couple of them turned to me and suggested I relocate to work with them as a regional supervisor.
“Tempting, but no. I like it where I’m at.”
“You mean in Tampa? They’re talking about having the supervisors manage from the region. You might actually be able to stay where you are and do the job.”
“Well, show me that in writing, and I’ll think about it.”
I’d LOVE to do it, but I wasn’t going to tell them that. With my crowd, you can’t seem to want it too much. Makes them think you’re easy. Or, worse, desperate.
I flew home this morning early. Bought a book at the airport gift store and got well into the second chapter before I realized I’d already read it.
The man-child sitting next to me was chatting away on his Blackberry all the way up until take off. Then he shot out a few texts and promptly fell asleep.
By the time we were getting ready to land, I was halfway through the book – again – and my seatmate woke up. He was impatiently drumming his Blackberry with his fingers.
“We have the same phone,” I told him and rifled through my bag to show him mine.
“Oh, yours is newer,” he told me when he saw mine.
“Oops!” I said as I accidentally turned it on and pressed the button again trying to get it to shut off.
“No,” he told me. “Just leave it on.”
“But the pilot hasn’t said we could…” I’m such a good girl.
“I asked a pilot once if it screwed with the navigation or anything, and he told me it didn’t but that they could sometimes hear the conversations passengers were having. So they just tell everyone to keep them off.”
I took a closer look at him and noticed deep laugh lines around his eyes. Not quite the man-child I thought.
“Oh,” I said and left my phone on. I was quiet for a minute, and then I half turned in my seat and whispered to him, “I feel like such a rebel.”
“Good,” he said and laughed.
Then, I gave him a wink and unfastened my seat belt without waiting for the Captain to turn off the fasten seat belts sign, and he laughed some more.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Stealing Strawberries
Sometimes I think about my life as another person would describe it, how they believe it may be:
Carrie called me this morning while she was still waking up. Little Carrie was talking in the background and I could hear Carrie making coffee. Cabinet doors were shutting. A mug was placed on the counter.
I tell her I’m reading this great book. It’s called The Pretend Wife by Bridget Asher. You should check it out. How was your yesterday? Mine was good. Well, Boy and I had an awful fight. I really don’t want to talk about it. I’m cooking today. I’m shopping. I’m planting flowers.
And I think this will make me feel happy. That’s why I plant flowers. For every argument, every heartbreak, there's a different flower planted in my garden. And I don’t like to talk about the things that really bother me. And I wonder why I sing along with Suzanne Vega at five in the morning. I wonder why I can’t sleep. I wonder why I still drive a station wagon. Why sometimes I feel like a lousy parent when deep down I know that I’m not. I wish I wasn’t so serious sometimes. I miss being carefree. I miss the little girl who steals strawberries.
When I walked Dog, I picked a tangerine off my neighbor’s tree and sat in the grass with Dog while I ate it just so I could remember what it was like to be a kid again.
And for a second, I do.
My mother sharing the story of how when I was a toddler and she took my sister and me to a berry patch to pick strawberries and they found me sitting in the patch eating strawberries. And how she was politely asked not to bring me back.
The too serious, too quiet adolescent wearing the Madonna lace glove and carrying a copy of Lolita in her book bag.
The teenage mother with a baby on her hip answering, again, the question of how she didn’t charge any set fee for babysitting because when they’re your kids it’s called parenting.
The twenty-something girl answering the twenty-something boy that, “Well, I’m not sure why exactly I don’t have a boyfriend. It seems impossible to me, too. Maybe some men are just put off by the car seat in my station wagon.”
The woman in the dark blue sweatpants at Walgreens at five in the morning, buying Coffeemate and singing along with Suzanne Vega while she browses the candle aisle.
Carrie called me this morning while she was still waking up. Little Carrie was talking in the background and I could hear Carrie making coffee. Cabinet doors were shutting. A mug was placed on the counter.
I tell her I’m reading this great book. It’s called The Pretend Wife by Bridget Asher. You should check it out. How was your yesterday? Mine was good. Well, Boy and I had an awful fight. I really don’t want to talk about it. I’m cooking today. I’m shopping. I’m planting flowers.
And I think this will make me feel happy. That’s why I plant flowers. For every argument, every heartbreak, there's a different flower planted in my garden. And I don’t like to talk about the things that really bother me. And I wonder why I sing along with Suzanne Vega at five in the morning. I wonder why I can’t sleep. I wonder why I still drive a station wagon. Why sometimes I feel like a lousy parent when deep down I know that I’m not. I wish I wasn’t so serious sometimes. I miss being carefree. I miss the little girl who steals strawberries.
When I walked Dog, I picked a tangerine off my neighbor’s tree and sat in the grass with Dog while I ate it just so I could remember what it was like to be a kid again.
And for a second, I do.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Really?
Someone is coming to look at my house today. Yeah, I can’t believe it either.
After watching the value of my home fall $40,000 in one year, I came to the decision that it’s a way bad investment. I mean, when the bank is telling you, “Have you thought about a short sale?” you really need to reassess.
I’m not in a huge hurry, so we listed it about $100,000 over market value. There are two other homes on my street being listed as short sales for much, much less, and we figured we’d just wait until one of those sold to use their selling price as a guide.
My realtor called me yesterday and asked, “Paige, are you sitting down?”
“Ye-e-e-s?”
“Someone wants to come see your house tomorrow,” she told me.
“Are you sure?”
“That’s what I asked them, but they assure me it’s your house they want to see.”
“Crap, this means I’ve got to clean, doesn’t it?”
So, today I’m cleaning AND mowing my lawn AND painting that trim in my bathroom that had to be replaced two years ago when I replaced my bathtub. All before one o’clock.
Thank God, I’m my mother’s daughter. Because, believe or not, there’s a good chance it’ll all get done.
After watching the value of my home fall $40,000 in one year, I came to the decision that it’s a way bad investment. I mean, when the bank is telling you, “Have you thought about a short sale?” you really need to reassess.
I’m not in a huge hurry, so we listed it about $100,000 over market value. There are two other homes on my street being listed as short sales for much, much less, and we figured we’d just wait until one of those sold to use their selling price as a guide.
My realtor called me yesterday and asked, “Paige, are you sitting down?”
“Ye-e-e-s?”
“Someone wants to come see your house tomorrow,” she told me.
“Are you sure?”
“That’s what I asked them, but they assure me it’s your house they want to see.”
“Crap, this means I’ve got to clean, doesn’t it?”
So, today I’m cleaning AND mowing my lawn AND painting that trim in my bathroom that had to be replaced two years ago when I replaced my bathtub. All before one o’clock.
Thank God, I’m my mother’s daughter. Because, believe or not, there’s a good chance it’ll all get done.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Guilt and Crab Grass
Dog and I started a running routine.
I signed up for this email course from About.com – “Three Weeks to a Thirty Minute Running Habit.” I signed up for it Saturday, and they sent me Day One immediately. I run in the mornings, so I figured, Great, I’ll do that tomorrow. Except “tomorrow” was Sunday, and Dog and I made a deal that we don’t run on Sundays. I woke up yesterday morning to find Day Two in my inbox and felt a pang of guilt and a little panic. Still, a deal’s a deal.
So, I’m on Day Three of the course, but today was the first morning we ran. Nothing like starting out two days behind.
Dog and I got up and got out. We ran one minute. Then we walked one minute. Then he peed. Then we started to run the next interval but he smelled something good. So he could get a better whiff, he dropped a tiny catnip toy belonging to Dog’s Cat that he'd hidden in his mouth. He likes to smuggle stuff out of the house and leave them around the neighborhood at random, so he can find them at a later date. I stuffed the slimy toy in my pocket, and then we ran. And then we walked some more.
On our way home he spotted a woman out on her morning walk. He just LOVES this woman, so I braced myself and held on to his leash while he picked up our pace and made a beeline for her.
She laughed good-naturedly while he was molesting her. Thank God! We chatted for a minute, and then both of us regarded the lawn Dog was nibbling grass from.
“At least they got rid of all those sand spurs,” she commented.
These people pulled out all of the grass and planted lirope in the area between the sidewalk and the street. Then, they let it fill in with weeds and that grass that’s really a weed and when you try to pull it out, you end up pulling up half your yard. It's been going on for six months.
“You know? I keep hoping they have a concept they’re working toward, and if we’re all just patient and push on through this ugly in between stage together, it’ll look great,” I said.
She and I looked at each other.
“Okay, well, have a great day!” I said brightly.
“You, too.”
Dog and I walked the rest of the way home.
So much for Days One, Two, and Three.
I signed up for this email course from About.com – “Three Weeks to a Thirty Minute Running Habit.” I signed up for it Saturday, and they sent me Day One immediately. I run in the mornings, so I figured, Great, I’ll do that tomorrow. Except “tomorrow” was Sunday, and Dog and I made a deal that we don’t run on Sundays. I woke up yesterday morning to find Day Two in my inbox and felt a pang of guilt and a little panic. Still, a deal’s a deal.
So, I’m on Day Three of the course, but today was the first morning we ran. Nothing like starting out two days behind.
Dog and I got up and got out. We ran one minute. Then we walked one minute. Then he peed. Then we started to run the next interval but he smelled something good. So he could get a better whiff, he dropped a tiny catnip toy belonging to Dog’s Cat that he'd hidden in his mouth. He likes to smuggle stuff out of the house and leave them around the neighborhood at random, so he can find them at a later date. I stuffed the slimy toy in my pocket, and then we ran. And then we walked some more.
On our way home he spotted a woman out on her morning walk. He just LOVES this woman, so I braced myself and held on to his leash while he picked up our pace and made a beeline for her.
She laughed good-naturedly while he was molesting her. Thank God! We chatted for a minute, and then both of us regarded the lawn Dog was nibbling grass from.
“At least they got rid of all those sand spurs,” she commented.
These people pulled out all of the grass and planted lirope in the area between the sidewalk and the street. Then, they let it fill in with weeds and that grass that’s really a weed and when you try to pull it out, you end up pulling up half your yard. It's been going on for six months.
“You know? I keep hoping they have a concept they’re working toward, and if we’re all just patient and push on through this ugly in between stage together, it’ll look great,” I said.
She and I looked at each other.
“Okay, well, have a great day!” I said brightly.
“You, too.”
Dog and I walked the rest of the way home.
So much for Days One, Two, and Three.
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