No Surprises

My mother makes the best Thanksgiving feast. Turkey. Spinach. Stuffing. Peas and carrots. Stringbean casserole. Mashed potatoes. Cranberry sauce. Pillsbury Crescent Rolls. And lots and lots of gravy. The best. For dessert, cheesecake. Oh, and a birthday cake for me.

Yes, my birthday falls on or around Thanksgiving. So, that means that at every Thanksgiving, there is birthday cake. This year Thanksgiving was with the in-laws. There were candles and singing. The following day, up to my mom's for a reprise of the meal, complete with the delicious dishes mentioned above. More singing. Prior to that, the in-laws took me to brunch. Singing in public. Today, my co-workers will take me for lunch. Please, let there be no singing. Tonight, the hubby takes me out. Tomorrow, dinner with my college friends. Sometime later in the week, drinks with some other friends. Will it ever end?

I am not big on the birthday celebrating. It's funny, because one would think that I am, based on all the celebrating that happens. But it is not by choice. Everyone wants to have a piece of the party. And it's nice. Don't get me wrong. It is nice to be liked, to be loved. And I want to celebrate everybody elses birthday, so I do understand. Make them feel special.

It's the attention that I don't like. I get embarrassed with the candles and the singing. Opening cards and gifts in front of people. I just don't like that. I do like presents, of course. And a sentimental card is always nice, too. Just keep it quiet. A moment between us. Nobody else needs to know. Plus, who likes getting older. Next year, I'll be 35. Oh, which brings me to another point: never EVER EVER throw me a surprise anything!!! I cannot handle it, I don't want it and it will be the worst thing ever. Instead of saying "We love you" that would scream "We hate you and want to watch you suffer!" in my mind. Pass it on.

They Make Me Crazy

It took me many years to come to this conclusion, but I am thankful for my family. I have been around other people's families and have come to the conclusion that we are all crazy. But it's the crazy that I'm comfortable with that makes me who I am. I am comfortable with MY crazy. I fit into that. I don't fit into other people's crazy.

We all want the outsiders who get a glimpse inside to think we are normal. We'll try to get you to fit in, to jam you in, hoping that once that happens, you'll say "oh, no, they're not crazy" but in fact the opposite happens. You see us for who we are, you understand now why I have turned out the way I have and in the end, it makes you thankful for your own. The thing is, we can only ever talk about our own family and the things that they do that are just so odd, but if somebody else mutters a word, we will take offense, make excuses, justify the behavior that we know so well. You are not allowed to call my mom crazy. Sorry. No.

So, the holidays are here and I don't get my mom's Thanksgiving dinner as this is hubby's year with his family. (But, being the brat that I can be, my birthday is coming up so we are going up on Friday and she is making a mini version of the turkey dinner I love so much. Ha ha. Lucky me.) It's hard to be at somebody elses home. I miss my family. I know his is mine, and mine is his, etc. but in my mind it is still HIS family and MY family. When we have kids, it will be OUR family. See, I'm a crazy lunatic. I just want to be around the other crazy lunatics that get me and love me regardless.

Things That Are Hard Today

1. Buying holiday gifts for the children of friends. I like to get something kind of cool, hip, that the kids will like. But if something is cool and hip then most likely every child has it. Clothes are always easy, I guess, but kids grow so fast and clothes are more for the parents than the kids anyway. Most of my friends with children don't live nearby so I won't know if they end up regifting my gift because they already have it but for some reason I get stressed trying to figure out what I should get for these children who don't even know who I am anyway!

2. Remembering passwords. I have so many online accounts, servers, email, logins, that it is impossible for me to keep track. I have services that require me to change my password every three months and it can't be the same one that I've used before and it must be a certain length and use a certian amount of numbers and letters. I only have so many variations. It is ridiculous. All logins should be the same... something that nobody else but us could figure out, like our Social, our mother's maiden name, the name of our first grade teacher and a word that you like that nobody else knows you like. The amount of times I have to have my password emailed to me is just out of control. And that usually means that I have to then assign myself a new password. So annoying.

3. Junk email. Now that the holidays are near, every store known to man has an email for me. Even when I designate it junk, it still pops back into my inbox. Tricky bastards.

4. The crowds around Macy's from November through January. I can't even get a salad without being jammed hard by somebody's elbow or plowed over by their gigantic shopping bags. It's the worst place to work during the holidays. I usually just get Macy's Rage when I enter the store, but now it's trickled onto the sidewalks. I just want a salad, for crying out loud!!!

Post-Borat Guilt Syndrome

A week and a half ago, I went to see Borat. I don't watch the Ali G show, and had only read about the premise of the movie. I told my hubby a bit about it and off we went. Nervously, I laughed through the beginning, glancing over at hubby to see if he was enjoying himself. Cringing during certain scenes, practically covering my eyes, but still never looking away completely, I watched the film, and enjoyed it very much, considering Sasha Baron Cohen to be a comic genius of sorts. At one point (and if you've seen the movie, you'll know the scene of which I speak) I could not believe what was happening on screen. I sat there with my mouth agape, my hubby next to me, laughing so hard, tears streaming down his face that didn't end until the middle of the next scene. We left the theatre, singing the flick's praises, reliving certain scenes, commenting on the state of affairs in America.

A week passes. Then, slowly, perhaps after reading about the college boys who are suing the film, or about the other unwitting people who felt tricked into spending time with Borat, thinking they were really doing something kind, I began to feel guilty for laughing at their expense. I didn't feel badly for the people who easily slipped into bashing Jewish people or gays... they were showing their true colors, proudly, and didn't need much prompting. I felt bad for the people who were trying to maintain their composure, to guide Borat through his non-existent understanding of American manners or societal views. I started to think, what if that were me? How would I feel if I agreed to do something not knowing the full scope, and then made a fool out of myself in front of millions of people? How would I react?

I commend the people who were in the film, who after they realized what was going on were able to laugh at themselves and at the premise of the film. Because then they seem less like the butt of a good joke, and more like somebody who can appreciate one. Even if the joke's on them.

Cocktails and Food

One of my favorite phrases is "cocktail reception". I love the idea of free drinks in a nice environment and the surprise of which hors d'voueres (I can never spell that word!) will be passed around.

Our financial advisor actually has great parties, two of which we've been priviledged enough to attend. The first was at a fancy restaurant in Manhattan with a killer view. They had open bar and in addition to the passed trays of treats, there were fully stocked islands of choice foods. Absolutely delicious.

The party this week entailed a private viewing of an exhibit at the MoMa, which began with a guided tour of the gallery and descriptive stops at first a Van Gogh and then a Picasso painting. It was great, informative and right up my alley. Immediately followed by the COCKTAIL RECEPTION. We were greeted with our choice of champagne or white wine (I declined, preferring red wine to either, which I got soon thereafter at the full bar, with premium liquors, in the back) and then were allowed to mingle through their offices, always with a waiter in sight, bearing a tray of something delicious. The cutest, tiniest egg mcmuffin type appetizer, some kind of beef over mashed turnips displayed on a spoon, that waiter consistently shadowed by the spoon collector. Shrimp on the funkiest skewers. Caviar on a small pita. The mere visual pleasure I got from the way everything was presented was all I needed. Totally beautiful. I cannot wait until the next one.

Time to Grow Up

One thing I really hate is baby pressure. I know that I am turning 34 this month, but I have not yet been married a year. I know that my age means I should be popping them out soon, that I should be yearning for a baby, that it is expected of me. And I think that I do want kids, but knowing how drastically my life will change once we do decide to go for it is scary. I like the freedom of sleeping in. I like doing what I want to do, when I want to do it. I like not having to worry about babysitters, or packing up the stroller to go to the grocery store. I am not good with big, bulky things. I can barely navigate myself through the narrow aisles now, when I'm just carrying a purse. I also am not good with a lot of noise. Crying babies make me anxious. And what about vacations? Does this mean that it will be Disney or child-friendly places from here on out? I mean, it is a lot to think about!

Sometimes I'll get the itch... when I see an exceptionally cute baby in an adorable outfit. And I like holding babies, when they are a bit bigger than newborn. In addition, I totally love kids... when they can walk and talk and you can reason with them, or just ignore a temper tantrum. I find their cuteness to almost be too much for me to handle... my nephew in his touch football uniform or my niece dressed as an angel for Halloween can almost make me cry. Then when that kid likes me back, it's the best feeling ever. Babysitting my nephew and having him come to me to be held was again, just too much, too cute.

Then I think about the whining, the diapers, the neediness. Never having a moment of quiet, or time to myself. Becoming too focused on the kid and forgetting about stuff that I like to do. Being a mom takes over. Wearing sweatpants because I don't have time to shower or the wherewithall to make myself pretty. Eating the kid's leftovers, standing up. Advice from my mother, or worse yet, my mother-in-law, about how to raise the kid. I don't do well with being told what to do. Birthday parties every weekend (no, thanks!) and mommy groups. Talking about lactation and strollers. It's just not me. I don't look forward to being pregnant (I know a lot of women who love it... love the attention, love the idea of a baby moving inside of them), or giving birth (again, there are women who want to feel every cramp... for me, bring on the epidural and keep the drugs coming!), or the first month when I will be surrounded by people all with their own ideas about what I'm doing wrong while learning how to be a mom. Knowing me, probably all while battling post-partum. Again, bring on the drugs... I am no Tom Cruise!

I think it was easier when there wasn't so much room for choice. Back in the day, you got married and you had kids. No choice. Less time to think about whether or not this would be something we want. I think I need to throw caution, and my birth control, to the wind, and see what happens next. I think that in the end, regardless of how cold and realistic this post may sound, I will be a good mom. My selfishness will wane and I will love my kids like every mother does. Happy that they are healthy and reveling in their unique personalities, my day made when they are content, taken care of, sleeping soundly through the night.

Swimming with the Fishes, and Everything Else

I don't know why I'm thinking about this (perhaps because it is so dark and wet outside today) but nothing scares me more than dark water. Water that is dark in color. Water at night. I get the shivers just thinking about it. I know it makes sense... it is the fear of the unknown... what lies beneath, what I can't see.

Rationally, sometimes I know that I'm being silly. For example, in a beach town in the Algarve, Portugal, hubby and I took a dip in the pool. Even though it was beautiful outside, the ocean was chilly and we both share a fear of the ocean anyway. (Sharks are a big thing for him). The pool was in an isolated room, right near the beach, but with no clear windows and white lattice-work walls, hanging fake plants. Not glamorous, but the water was nice and nobody else was there (surprise, surprise), so we swam. Near the one end of the pool (it was not a large pool), there was a dark shadow. I know it was just a shadow, but I kept convincing myself that it was something sinister. I had to tell my hubby about it, of course, and once when he was swimming with his eyes closed, he came to the surface only to find himself in the dark corner. He yelped like a little girl and splashed around frantically trying to get away from "it". In order to stay sane, we had to exit immediately.

When I was little, growing up in the country, my parents would take us swimming in the lake behind our house. It was not legal to do that since we were on private property, so in addition to having to be extremely quiet for fear that the cops would hear, I was constantly worried about snakes and snapping turtles, not to mention the seaweed which I was convinced was someone deep down grabbing for my feet. Maybe that's where the fear originated. Then Friday the 13th did not help. I can't enjoy the sexy act of skinny-dipping because that happens at night, and even in an illuminated pool, I will freak myself out.

The only place with water, day or night, that is truly safe is my bathtub, but then I have to deal with the foggy mirror when I get out. Thanks a lot, Fatal Attraction!

To Do List

Things I want to do before I die:

• See the world
• Publish something
• Start my own company
• Have a baby
• Own a house
• Learn how to ski over a jump, even a small one
• Run another marathon when I'm 40
• Learn how to cook a delicious meal, and then have one of those dinner parties you only read about
• Dye my hair brown
• Learn how to fly a plane
• Fly in a helicopter

Things I've already done:

• Run a marathon
• Lived in Manhattan
• Graduated college
• Held a job and supported myself since then
• Got married
• Designed some things I'm proud of
• Made friends I know I will have for life
• Maintained a clean driving record
• Maintained a clean police record
• Traveled to Asia

Manage Her

There is nothing to do at work today. Yesterday I was not in the office because I had a funeral to attend. But there was nothing to do yesterday, either. All day long, I am on the Internet. I feel guilty, but what else can I do? Wasting time, trying to find new and exciting ways to pass the day. There is NOTHING to do here.

Yet, I have a manager who prowls around, looking around cubicle walls, checking what is on your screen, telling you to do busy work, or 'think about how we can improve such-and-such process'. I don't like that. I am here to work, and I will work if there is work to do. But I cannot make work for myself. I know I am supposed to be billing my time, but it's not like I'm slacking. Nobody else is working either. Except her. Walking around, spying, serious look on her face, trying to be light, but never funny. Just annoying. A total micro-manager who wouldn't know how to do what I do but who has a real knack for paperwork. The worst kind there is.

Gloomy Tuesday

Do you ever think about what it must feel like to know you are going to die? I mean, we all know that we will die someday, but we have no idea how or when. I think about my grandmother, knowing that she can't live much past 98 years old, that sometime soon, she will die. I think the scary part must be knowing that and wondering what will happen to you, hoping that you just go to sleep and don't wake up again, instead of the awful alternatives. I think about people who are diagnosed with a terminal illness, of my father when he was sick with cancer, knowing that death is imminent. Trying to tie up lose ends and let those around you know that you love them. Is there a peace in knowing it will all be over soon, or is it too heartbreaking to comprehend since life passes so quickly? Are there huge regrets, or can you shrug it off, knowing it will be over soon and regrets will mean nothing when you are dead.

I know this is morbid, but I think we all get caught up in the mundane acts of living. Paying bills, going to work, etc. We forget to stop and enjoy the little moments, to tell the people we love that we do, to seize the day.

The other thing that I was wondering about (I was at a funeral yesterday, hence this post) was what will happen when there is no land left for cemetaries. There are more and more people on earth every year, which means more graves will be needed down the line. Even though people are living longer, they will all still die eventually. Where will we all fit? (Not me; I want to be cremated and sprinkled somewhere beautiful, natural, serene.) Will mandatory cremations be a thing of the future? Ocean graves? Stacking graves? Guess I don't have to worry because I will be gone long before it's an issue. Let our grandchildren figure it out. Oh, and they can pay off my credit card debt, as well.

All That is Good and Pure

When will people learn that just because someone is highly respected in a religious community, it does not make him an ethical person. You would think that after the huge string of accusations against priests for molestation, that people would get the hint. It does not make sense for men to be abstinent. God is not enough. Now, you don't hear of the same accusations against nuns, but perhaps if there were altar girls, things would be different. Who knows.

Now this highly respected evangelical leader has been accused of having a gay affair. First, he denied it all. Ok, Clinton, whatever. Then he admitted that he invited the guy over for a massage and bought some meth from him. But, faithful readers, he then claims that he did not use the drug or have sex with the man accusing him of doing just that. The accuser claims to have been the preacher's lover for three years, and only learned of who he was after seeing him on TV, staunchly opposing same-sex marriage. Of course, the preacher is married to a woman. And of course, the lover was then doubly-jilted, hearing that his married lover publicly decries all that is gay. The accuser chose now was a good time to tell the media; after all, elections are next week.

So, we had traveling "salesmen", back in the day, peddling pardons for a small fee. (Surprisingly, going to the confessional today is free.) People didn't catch on then that anybody could sell you a pardon for your sins, just as anybody today can tell you your fortune. Money talks, people. Then pedophile priests. Or illegitimate children, a la Jesse Jackson. And don't forget the great Tammy Faye/Jim Bakker scandal. Affairs. Tax evasion. Duping people out of their hard-earned money.

Wake up. Don't trust politicians. And don't trust religious fanatics. They are all after one thing. Well, two, actually. Money and sex.

Those Who Can, Do. Or Do They?

Why is it okay for highly paid executives to arrive late to a meeting that they organized and specifically stated starts at 9:AM SHARP? They walk in saying "sorry", but if I were to walk in 15 minutes late, there would definitely be some chiding mentions of docking my pay or having me stay late to bang erasers together or something.

Why do these same executives think it is okay to talk about how healthy the company is financially, telling us to go home and revel over that fact, glad to be working for such a well-off organization, when my salary could probably only cover one of their kid's annual private school tuition? We all know that when the company is doing well, the only people who are feeling it in their bank accounts are the people like them. Who DON'T NEED MORE MONEY!

Why do corporate execs claim to have an "open door policy" and say "you can ask us anything" only to give the standard answers to important questions. Best to make the underlings feel safe and secure so as not to cause a mutiny, I suppose.

As much as corporate America has given me the life that I have been living for the past 10+ years, sometimes it still makes me sick to think about the people who have control over it all. Who am I working for exactly? And why? They don't even know my name. For me, I guess, the security in knowing that I will get a paycheck each month, that I have good health insurance, that I have a 401k and good vacation is why I give into the man, and work my job, for no recognition and no big pay-off. But, damn, just once I wish those with all the power would share the wealth. I don't want their power, or their job, or the recognition they get for what those beneath them accomplish... I just want the money. Throw a dog a bone once in a while, for crying out loud! Christmas bonus, anyone?

Mama Told Me There'd Be Days...

Marriage is not easy. It is not the end-all, be-all. It is not always easy to give into "til death do us part", especially when you are seething with anger at something your spouse has done. It is not easy to hold your tongue and not say nasty things to the person you love, or to threaten to end it all, right now when you feel wronged. It is not easy to not doubt your decisions, or wonder whether it's meant to be.

Marriage might be harder than dating. The reason being that marriage, at least to me, is supposed to be it. Forever. Til death. When our spouse upsets us in a way that surprises, the eternity of the situation seems overwhelming. Like "I have to live like this forever!?" Then the other side of the coin, walking away seems just as overwhelming. It's being stuck between two vast seas, standing on a cold, lonely, floating piece of ice. The best way to deal, I found out, is to stay on that piece of ice and float with it. Eventually you'll bump into your significant other, floating alone, waiting to bump back into you. (Isn't it penguins that mate for life? So perhaps not such a silly analogy after all.)