In the past couple of days, I've started planning our annual holiday open house. I love entertaining but it's so hard to get everyone together in one place at the same time. This year, instead of trying to do it in the crazy few weeks before Christmas, I've decided to wait until the Saturday between Christmas and New Year's, when the big holiday rush has died down a bit.

Last year's party was a big success, although I had been miserably sick, recovering from strep throat with a fever that I just couldn't shake. We had about forty relatives, some neighbors and very close friends at the house. I made mini bacon-and-cheese quiches, hot crab dip, and shrimp cocktail, some baked ziti, and bought some catered food too...hot roast beef, green beans Amandine, roasted red bliss potatoes, and--undoubtedly the MOST popular item on the buffet line--Chick-Fil-A chicken nuggets! Man, those things just about disappeared right before my eyes.

For dessert, I made a few trays of brownies and dozens of different kinds of Christmas cookies. The other big hit of the party was the electric, multi-tiered chocolate fountain that I won from my office's holiday gift exchange. I cranked that sucker up and put out long wooden skewers and yellow cake cubes, pretzels, and marshmallows for dipping.

This year the invite list has gotten bigger...I'm a little afraid that everyone is actually going to RSVP "yes!" Oh well, the more, the merrier, right?

Next steps: print the invites, mail them, and test some new recipes.

Any good recipe suggestions for a buffet?

Labels: decisions, family, friends, holidays

I was so caught up in the excitement of the Foo Fighters concert a few weeks ago that I neglected to post a few pictures I'd taken the following day in Wildwood, NJ.

Our friends were kind enough to invite us to spend the night at their condo in North Wildwood with them after the concert, so we wouldn't have to make the long drive home so late at night.

I spent my childhood summers here and I loved it. I still do. When I was a kid, going "down the shore," as we Philadelphians say, was a magical time. My extended family owned a few houses throughout North Wildwood, on the bayside, and it was always so beautiful and peaceful there.

I was never much of a beach person, but I would've spent our entire vacations on the boardwalk if I'd had my way. For as long as I can remember, the loud dance music blasting out of the speakers from the amusements, the screaming sirens and bells of the many arcades, and the smell of the sea and funnel cake and french fries mesmerized me. I loved roller coasters--still do, in fact--and I would ride them over and over again until I was dizzy. I loved the log flume, the fun house, the ferris wheel, the Gravitron. There wasn't a single ride I didn't like there. And during the day, I'd beg my mom to take me and my cousins to the waterpark on the end of Morey's Pier. We'd spend hours riding down the waterslides and tubing through the lazy river pool that ran the perimeter of the park.

As I got older, the boardwalk became a place for me to meet and hook up with guys, although the amusement rides never lost any of their appeal for me, either. I remember the painstaking process of getting ready to go out to the boardwalk at night: slapping on as much eyeshadow and lipgloss as possible, teasing up my hair and practically shellacking it with Aqua Net, and picking out just the right outfit in the hopes of finding a cute guy on the boards. I always despaired over my super-curly hair that went wild with frizz from the humidity of the coastal air.

Eventually, we stopped going to Wildwood, though I can't quite remember why. I guess I just grew out of it. Hard to believe I could outgrow something I loved so much, but that's life, I guess.

Until earlier this month, I hadn't been there in many years. I was happy to see that the boardwalk hasn't changed much, although it was much less crowded off-season. Gateway 26, my favorite arcade, is still there. Somewhere in my parents' attic, there is a Tupperware container with upwards of 20,000 Gateway 26 Skee-ball tickets. Too bad I didn't have them with me then! Sam's Pizza is still there. Kohr Brothers ice cream and Curley's Fries are still there, as is Douglas Fudge, of course.

The overwhelming number of new condominiums throughout Anglesea and North Wildwood did surprise me, though. It seemed like almost everything there was new construction. And expensive!

Here are a few pics. Enjoy!

Labels: childhood, family, friends, jersey shore, memories, nostalgia

Also, my body's still adjusting to East Coast time again.

We got home from the airport last night (this morning?) at 2 a.m.

Some highlights from the trip:

My parents went out to Vegas with us last Thursday and stayed until Monday, while we left Vegas and drove to the ranch in Arizona on Sunday morning. My father has an extreme fear of flying. As a matter of fact, this was our very first official family vacation. It only took thirty years!

Anyway, we boarded our plane in Philly on Thursday as scheduled. Then proceeded to sit in a long line of planes for an hour on the runway. Ridiculous, but flying out of Philadelphia usually entails complications like this. My poor dad. He just wanted to get it over with.

Once up in the air, things went smoothly for a few hours, until we were just about over Kansas City. Suddenly, things went haywire. A flight attendant got on the loudspeaker and asked if anyone with any medical training would please move to the back of the airplane. About a dozen people gathered back there. Turns out that a diabetic man had gone either into sugar shock or into a hypoglycemic blackout. After fifteen minutes, the pilot got on the loudspeaker and announced that we'd be making an emergency landing in KC. Lovely.

So we were grounded for about another hour. The paramedics rushed into the plane and carted the guy off, then returned him about forty-five minutes later!

We FINALLY got into Vegas around 10 p.m. Got our luggage and headed for the taxi stand...which was an HOUR-AND-A-HALF wait! I guess I picked a busy weekend to come to town: we later learned that there were multiple events taking place in town at that time: a bunch of concerts, the American Pro Volleyball tournament, several large conventions, and oh yeah...the MTV Video Music Awards were also going on at the same time we were there.

We wound up finding a private driver and paying $40 for a ride in a black Escalade to the Luxor...a ride that would cost about $12 by taxi. Sigh.

Other than those first-night snafus, everything in Vegas was great. It was hot as hell (averaging about 106 degrees) but we drank plenty of water and spent a lot of time in the air-conditioned casinos. On Friday, we had a fabulous and pricey anniversary dinner at Gallagher's Steakhouse in New York New York. On Saturday afternoon, my dad and I caught an IMAX 3-D movie at our hotel that was really cool. On Saturday night we went to Fremont Street and wandered around for a few hours.

Unfortunately, none of us hit the jackpot. We all came back poorer.

Following are some pictures of Vegas. I'll be back later to regale you with tales from the dude ranch portion of our trip. Suffice to say that I have bruises, blisters and scratches all over my body...and a newfound respect for jockeys, the Marlboro Man, and Lady Godiva. Horseback riding is HARD, yo.



The facade of New York New York.



Looking up at our hotel from the Strip.



Taken across the street from Paris, while waiting for the Bellagio fountain show to start.

Labels: family, funny stuff, memories, vacations

I was walking up the street in downtown Asheville to meet my mom at the Tupelo Honey Cafe for dinner when I saw this motley crew heading directly towards me. I pulled out my camera and took a picture. The boys then noticed me with the camera and were more than happy to strike this pose for me.



We saw this highway exit sign as we were driving from Asheville back to Charlotte on Sunday morning. It was just too good not to capture on film.



Another picture of the Biltmore. You know it's a big house when it can't be fully captured in the camera's viewfinder from even a quarter-mile away!

Labels: family, vacations

I'm shamelessly taking this from Teri's blog...

Five Questions

What is the single best piece of advice you’ve ever been given, and who gave it?

Ha. I don’t take advice well…mostly because I’m the kind of person who likes to figure things out for herself. A few years back, I was taking a business management class online and had to read The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz for the class discussion. This book blew me right out of the frickin’ water. So here are the four agreements (and yes, I’m cheating because I consider it all one “piece” of advice!):

Be impeccable with your word - Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love.
Don’t take anything personally - Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.
Don’t make assumptions - Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want. Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness and drama. With just this one agreement, you can completely transform your life.
Always do your best - Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse and regret.

What was the last thing you purchased for yourself, and what do you think you will purchase next?

I bought myself an automatic iced tea maker and love it. Yes, I’m a dork. My next major purchase will be either a mountain bike or satellite radio. Or both. Still not sure.

In your humble opinion, the Best! Invention! Ever! Is…

Modern plumbing. Gotta love it. I’m totally grateful for that every single day.

What makes Lori happy? What makes Lori sad?

I’m a fairly happy person, and I try to find joy in everything I do. Happiness is a choice, and it’s a brave choice, I think…it’s much easier to stay miserable and bitch about how unhappy you are than to consciously work at being happy. Don’t you think?

That being said, music makes me VERY, VERY happy, and I couldn’t imagine life without it. The internet makes me happy. My family and friends make me happy. Animals make me happy. Beautiful weather makes me happy. Reading a good book makes me happy. Writing makes me happy. Cooking, gardening, learning new things, working out, doing crossword puzzles, taking long walks…all very good stuff.

The older I get, the more I realize that material things don’t factor too much into the happiness equation. At least not for me.

Death of loved ones saddens me. Needless suffering. Child and animal abuse not only make me sad, but piss me the hell off, too. The news saddens me most of the time…I’ve voluntarily given that up for the moment…it’s just too much for me to handle.

What character on TV do you identify with most?

TV’s crap and I try to avoid it as much as I can, unless it’s educational. And let’s not broach the embarrassing topic of my American Idol addiction.

So I really couldn’t answer this question. Sorry!

I'm tagging anyone who wants to play...

Labels: deep thoughts, family, friends, music, TV, writing

Someone asked me to write about this, so here goes.

I began smoking cigarettes when I was fifteen. I was working during the summer at a Hallmark card store. There was another girl who worked with me who was a year or two older than I. Her name was Danette. We got friendly and started hanging out occasionally.

One night after we closed the store, Danette’s friends and I were hanging out at a park in Newtown Square. They were all smokers and they asked me if I wanted a cigarette.

I hesitated. My mother had just ended a twenty-five year smoking habit herself earlier that year. I vividly heard her voice echoing in my mind. “If you EVER touch a cigarette, I will break all ten of your fingers!”

Did that stop me? What do you think?

I shrugged as Mike, Danette’s sometimes-boyfriend, extended a Marlboro Red to me. I slid it between my lips as he held up his gold-plated Zippo lighter.

“Wait a minute,” I said, pulling the cigarette from my lips. “What am I supposed to do with this thing?”

They all laughed at my innocence.

“Just inhale it,” Danette instructed. “Breathe in real fast through your mouth when Mike lights it. Pretend like your mom just walked in on you doing it and gasp, like you're surprised. You might cough for a minute or two, but you’ll get used to it.”

So I did. And man, did I cough! I hacked like an old coalminer for a good ten minutes as I struggled to finish the cigarette. I remember thinking to myself, “Why would anyone enjoy this?” But it seemed like the thing to do…it seemed like everyone I knew smoked.

For several months, I was a weekend social smoker. Terrified that my parents might find me out, I didn’t buy my own packs of smokes for nearly a year after I had my first cigarette. But eventually I gave in to the impulse and began smoking every day. I never smoked at home, so I started spending lots of time at my friends’ houses, where I could enjoy my cigarettes without fear of parental rebuke.

It went on that way for eight years. After about a year, I became a standard pack-a-day smoker. Of course, my parents did find out about it. They were quite upset--particularly my mother, who'd had such a hard time giving it up herself--but they realized that they couldn’t prevent me from smoking when I was away from home.

I remember one time, when I was about seventeen, I lit up a cigarette at a family barbecue in front of everyone. At that point, my entire family knew I smoked, so I figured it was no big thing. My mother, who was sitting across the picnic table from me, took one look at me sucking on my beloved Parliament Light and promptly burst into tears. I quickly stamped it out under my sandal and never smoked in front of her again.

In the spring of 2001, when I was twenty-three, I started thinking about quitting. Nothing in particular made me consider it..I just felt like it was time. Ninety-eight percent of my friends were still smokers, and though my mother occasionally nagged me about it, no one ever seriously asked me to quit. By that time, I was dating Brian and he didn’t smoke, but he never complained about my smoking; in fact, after a few drinks on the weekend, he would usually bum a smoke or two from me! Smoking was never a true addiction for him, though, which is something that still puzzles me to this day. If you’re not gonna go full-tilt, why bother at all?

Anyway, I was up to almost two packs a day at that point due to major job stress. But inexplicably, the pleasure I’d always gotten from smoking was steadily waning. Every time I lit a cigarette, I wound up asking myself why I was doing it. Many times, I would stub it out before I had smoked even half of it. I had also recently joined a health club and was feeling like the world's biggest hypocrite when, as soon as my workout ended, I'd leave the gym and light up immediately in the parking lot on the way back to my car.

I am not an impulsive person. I don’t usually make snap judgments about anything. And I certainly didn’t decide in a split-second to quit smoking. I actually thought about it for months and months before I decided to do it. But I didn’t dare tell anyone; I didn’t want to commit to it out loud. It seemed safer if I kept it to myself. I didn’t want anyone throwing it in my face if I failed.

Friday, July 27, 2001 arrived, and I decided that that would be my quitting day. As luck (or in this case, bad luck) would have it, Brian and a bunch of my coworkers were going to a happy hour after work. They wanted me to come with them. All day long, I sat at my desk and contemplated it. I knew that if I went to happy hour and had a few cocktails, I’d wind up with a cigarette in my hand.

I quietly told Brian that I wouldn’t be joining him for happy hour that night, that I’d decided to quit smoking that day and that I was scared to death I’d fail. Not being a true nicotine addict, he really couldn’t understand what the problem was. He didn’t recognize the correlation between booze and cigarettes for me. Namely, booze = lowered inhibitions = me saying, “Awww, what the hell! I can quit tomorrow!” = cigarettes.

I managed to convince him that I wouldn’t be upset if he went to happy hour that night without me. I went home (I was still living with my parents then) and brooded. And by “brooded,” I mean that I sobbed inconsolably for five straight hours, crumpled up on a lawn chair in the backyard as night fell upon me. Seriously. I wept as if my best friend died. And in a way, I guess that was true; cigarettes had been my friend for eight long years. Cigarettes, and the rituals that I associated with them, had seen me through many good and bad times. I was completely devastated about my decision to quit smoking, as much as I understood (with the small amount of sanity I had left at the time) that it was the right thing to do.

That night, I wondered if my life would ever be the same again. I wondered if I’d ever be able to go out with my friends to happy hour again. I couldn’t imagine ever having fun again without being able to smoke. I couldn’t imagine getting through a stressful day at work without taking a few well-deserved cigarette breaks outside. I couldn’t imagine sitting in rush-hour traffic in my car without puffing away on a Parliament Light. ESPECIALLY when I was in my car; that was my favorite time and place to smoke…the windows and sunroof open, music blasting.

But life went on, as life does. And to my surprise, it got easier for me to not smoke. I learned to sit out the cravings. I figured that just because I felt like I wanted to have a cigarette didn’t mean that I had to give in to it. Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days, days turned to weeks. And the more time passed, the more determined I was to stick to my goal. I didn’t want to start from scratch all over again. What can I say? I’m very stubborn. When I set my mind to something, I don’t let anything get in my way.

My personal secret to quitting successfully? To never, ever, EVER smoke one more cigarette again. Ever.

I don’t mean to sound flip or cute. Not at all. But that’s what worked for me. It’s simple, but not at all easy. Not easy by a long stretch.

For a time after I quit, I had to stop hanging out with my smoker friends. This, as you might imagine, ruffled some feathers. And I did stop drinking for about six months after I stopped smoking. I just felt strangely incomplete with a cocktail in one hand but no cigarette in the other. Even now, I rarely drink.

Does that mean I’m not tempted to smoke now? Nope. Though it’s been almost six years since I quit, I still think about cigarettes every now and then. And I expect it will be that way for the rest of my life. It’s not often, but sometimes the urge to smoke hits me like a fucking stampede of cattle, and I have to take a few deep breaths until it passes.

Especially when I’m sitting in my car in traffic.

Labels: accomplishments, family, friends, health, life events, memories

I'm officially tagging MYSELF from LiveLee's meme. So without further ado, here are TEN THINGS ABOUT ME:

1. I am a reformed smoker. July 30, 2007 will be my sixth year of being nicotine-free. Quitting smoking was definitely the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life. And I still get the odd urge every once in a great while. But I know that I don't have to give in to it.

2. I've kept a diary since I was in second grade. I have stacks of books at home that track my life from pretty much age 8. Sometimes I read back on my very first diary and laugh my ass off. I was a pretty precocious child.

3. Keeping on the writing theme: I've been working on something (not sure how I want to categorize it at the moment, so I'm not going to label it) for the past several months. I've written around 42,000 words so far. Fiction. We'll see where it goes. I haven't shown it to anyone yet, not even my husband. It's kind of like my baby. I'm not sure I want anyone to scrutinize it just yet.

4. Living in a hotel for the past two weeks for my new job hasn't been bad, but I'll tell you what has been really difficult: eating out at restaurants three meals a day, five days a week! I never thought I'd say it, but I'm about ready for a home-cooked meal.

5. I love to sing and I sing constantly. I'm not very good, but what I lack in talent, I like to think I make up for in enthusiasm. I especially like to sing in the car. At the top of my lungs. Currently I've been singing along with Alicia Keys' Unplugged on my iPod.

6. For most of my life, I've been pretty certain that I wasn't interested in having kids, but in the past several months I've started feeling like I'm ready. Not sure what's prompted this change, but I'm hoping that 2007 is the year for procreation. (Hear that, honey? Step it up!!)

7. My greatest fear in life is losing loved ones, especially my parents. I'm not really afraid of dying, but sometimes I think about my parents' inevitable deaths and I get very upset. So I try to enjoy every moment that I can with them because I know someday they won't be around.

8. My biggest goal in life is to be happy. In every possible way. I'd like to think that I've been pretty successful in that regard. Overall, I'm pretty damn cheerful and I think of myself as a positive realist.

9. One emotion that I just cannot understand is envy/jealousy. I have rarely felt either. I don't pay much attention to what other people have versus what I have. It's a very foreign concept to me. I guess I'm lucky that way. I tend to focus more on living a life that is meaningful to me, and the only person I'm really interested in competing against is myself. If that makes any sense.

10. The thing that makes me most angry is when people don't listen. That includes people who interrupt, people who try to conduct a conversation with someone else when you're on the phone with them, and people who don't make a sincere effort to understand where someone else is coming from.

I'm tagging anyone who wants to be tagged. Good night!

Labels: accomplishments, deep thoughts, family, friends, life events, meme, memories, writing

I'll admit it: I was a few minutes late to work that morning. Walking across the parking lot to my office building, I stared up at the sky, which was bright blue, cloudless and still. It was a perfect late summer day. I wished I'd called out sick that day. It was just too beautiful to be cooped up inside.

I entered one of the elevators with another woman who had a cell phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder. She was listening intently to whomever was on the other end of the line, occasionally inserting a gasp or a murmured "Oh my god." I rolled my eyes.

I had just sat down at my desk and taken my telephone off the auto-answer setting when it rang. The caller ID displayed my parents' phone number.

"Lori? Are you at work? Have you turned on the television?" My mother was so breathless I could hardly understand her.

I responded, "Of course I'm at work--you just called me here! Slow down. What are you talking about?"

"A plane hit the World Trade Center...I'm watching it now on Good Morning America...oh my god, it's terrible!" she babbled. I assumed she meant a small prop plane. Hmmm. There must have been some kind of awful accident, which was a shame...but hey, life goes on.

She kept me on the phone for over ten minutes, giving me a play-by-play of what was happening. I kept trying to log on to MSNBC or CNN to see it for myself, but those sites were totally locked up.

Finally, around 9 a.m., I told her that I'd call her back in a minute. Our friend Phil lived and worked in Manhattan, and I figured I'd call him to see what was up. But before I had a chance to even dial his number, I heard a scream from one of the sales rep's offices at the far end of our suite.

Another plane--a jet--had hit the second tower. Immediately, all business ceased in the office. We gathered around the radio of a senior sales rep and listened to the news broadcast. Two or three of my coworkers kept whispering the same word, over and over again: terrorism. It must be.

I glanced over at my friend Christina, who was pale and visibly shaken, moreso than the rest of us. I approached her and asked her if she was okay.

Her eyes were glassy as she answered, "My mother might be in one of the towers this morning."

"What? Does she work there?" I asked, grabbing her hand.

Christina nodded. "Kind of. My mother lives in New York. She has her own dry cleaning delivery service and she has a lot of clients at the World Trade Center. I know that she's supposed to be there this morning--she stops there every morning to pick up and drop off people's clothes."

"Have you been able to get a hold of her?"

"No," she whispered. "All the lines are busy. I just can't get through to her cell phone." Her lower lip trembled and a single tear wound its way down her cheek.

Closing my eyes, I tried desperately to envision Christina's mother, a woman I'd never met before, alive and well and safe. When I opened my eyes, Christina was back at her desk, crumpled over like a forlorn ragdoll.

I returned to my desk and decided to call Phil. Of course, the entire telephone system was down in New York. I thought about my best friend, who was scheduled to fly home from a business trip in Orlando that morning.

I spent the next thirty minutes watching live webcasts on MSNBC and CNN and talking to Brian on the phone. We'd just gotten engaged ten days ago. The entire situation seemed unreal. Then the latest breaking news appeared on my monitor: the Pentagon was on fire. The White House was being evacuated. The Washington Mall was on fire. The stock exchange was closed. Airports around the country were shutting down. This must be the end of the world, I thought.

My phone rang again. It was my friend who was in Orlando for a business trip. She told me that she and her coworkers were going to rent a car and drive home to Philadelphia, since the airports were shut down.

I trotted back to the sales rep's office to listen to KYW. By this point, speculation was flying around the room. Were we at war now? With whom? Was this another act of domestic terrorism, like the Oklahoma City bombing?

Shortly after that, we watched in horror as the first tower, and then the second tower, collapsed. The vice president of our office announced that we were free to go home for the remainder of the day and be with our families.

I looked over at Christina and my heart ached for her. She had no family to go home to--her father had died within the last year, and she still had not heard from her mother. I walked over to her desk and asked her what she planned to do. She replied that she was not going to leave the office until she got a hold of her mother.

"I'll stay with you," I volunteered. I couldn't leave her alone in an empty office, waiting to hear about her mother's fate. Everyone else left as Christina and I sat together at her desk, watching the chaos unfold on CNN's website. Another plane was reported down in a field in Pennsylvania. Other than Christina's occasional shaky breaths, we passed an hour in silence.

Shortly before noon, Christina's telephone rang. Her eyes widened, but she made no move to answer it. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the receiver and picked it up, not even daring to say hello.

I was greeted by a torrent of frantic, jumbled English and Greek. It was Christina's mother. She had been delivering dry cleaning to a client in the second tower when the first plane hit. She told me that everyone thought it was either a bomb or an earthquake. The floor that she was on began evacuating almost immediately, and it was a damn good thing. Ten minutes later, the second plane hit her building, and she would have been trapped on the floors above the plane had she not started down the stairs just then.

She passed many people in the stairwell who could not continue. She tried to encourage people to keep going, but they simply refused and sat down. They were too tired or too out of shape to do it. Sprinklers were spraying water all over the place, drenching everyone. Then the building lost power.

In all, she climbed down sixty-some flights of stairs, and spent over an hour getting out of the building and onto the street. Once outside, she watched as people began jumping out of windows from the ninetieth floor (or higher!) of the towers. She decided to head home on foot, and was standing mid-span on the Brooklyn Bridge when the first tower collapsed.

I handed the telephone to Christina, who spoke to her mother for a few minutes before being disconnected. I stayed with Christina for another half-hour, just to make sure she was okay to drive herself back to her apartment. Then I went home.

For the rest of my life, I know that I will no longer be able to look at a perfect late summer/early autumn sky without thinking about all the death and the horror that took place that day.

Labels: bad news, family, friends, life events, memories, scary, work, writing

My friend sent me this link to a story about an American woman living in England who wrote that motherhood bores her. The comment my friend sent me with the link was "No, these kids won't be too scarred for life." After reading the article, I have to say I disagree with her.

When I was a kid, my mom didn't play with me all that much. Instead, she encouraged me to go outside and knock up for the other kids on my street and play with them. There were days that I hardly saw my mother, except at meal times, because I was so busy playing with the kids in my neighborhood. Yes, there were times she took me to the playground and pushed me on the swings, or occasionally treated me by taking me to Chuck E. Cheese--and that was HUGE deal; it wasn't an everyday occurrence. Hell, it wasn't even a MONTHLY occurrence. I had to do something pretty damn spectacular in order to spend the day at Chuck E. Cheese--like get very high marks on my report card.

But my mom didn't stop her life because of me. She worked part-time as an ER nurse, and if she had errands to run on her days off, she took me with her. I didn't have a choice about how we passed our days together. If we weren't out grocery shopping or going to the bank or the post office, she spent most of our time at home with her nose in a book. I was made to understand that adults were entitled to having some time away from kids, and I was perfectly OK with that. My mother often told me, in a most loving way, that it was not her job to entertain me constantly. So I learned to entertain myself. Sometimes it was hard, because I was an only child, so there weren't any siblings around to play with. Yet I found things to keep myself busy, by reading books and playing games by myself if the neighborhood kids weren't available. I give full credit to my parents for making me the independent person I am today.

From my observations, I would agree that many parents I've seen these days have become too child-centric. Children should learn to amuse and occupy themselves. I think it helps them grow. It's not good for kids to believe that it's all about them 24/7. Because when they grow up, their expectations are completely skewed.

I don't know. Maybe I wouldn't be a good parent. If you do read the linked article, be sure to click on the reader commentary -- I'm amazed by how divisive this piece is. There are some really harsh comments and it's clear how passionate people are on both sides of the issue.

But do you think the backlash this article is getting would be anywhere near as severe if it were written by a father? I don't think so!!!

Labels: childhood, family, friends, meme, parenting

You know, I completely forgot (until reminded by Teri) that I never recapped the Michael Buble (henceforth known as MB for ease of writing) concert I attended a few weeks ago in Hershey, PA.

Some of you readers from way back might remember that my mom and I were originally supposed to see MB at Turning Stone Casino in Syracuse, NY in April. Then, the night before we were going to leave, my grandpa (mom's dad) died. So as you can imagine, it put quite a damper on things, and we never did go to the concert.

A few weeks after that, I was chatting about MB with my boss Tim. He asked me how the concert was, and I reminded him that I didn't go because of my grandfather's death. Then I mentioned that there were several dates added to MB's tour, and that he would be coming to Hershey in July.

"Hershey?" my boss echoed. "My cousin does all their PR stuff. When's he gonna be there?"

I told him that MB would be there the Sunday evening before July 4, but that tickets had not yet gone on sale. After about fifteen minutes and a couple phone calls, my boss's cousin had procured two outstanding tickets for my mom and me. Nineteenth row, center stage. Miraculous!

After I informed my mom that we would again be attempting to see MB in concert, I made a reservation at a cute little motor inn not far from Hersheypark. The plan was that we'd go up early on the concert day, do some sight-seeing and shopping, go to the show, and return home the following day.

On the day of the concert, we headed to Hershey. It only took an hour and a half to get there from Limerick, and my mom drove, which was an unexpected bonus. Unfortunately, we got to the motel thirty minutes before check-in, and they wouldn't let us into our room. No biggie -- we got lunch at a nice little restaurant down the road called Duke's.

After lunch, we checked into our motel and got settled. It was only 3 p.m., so I suggested we visit Chocolate World, which is right across the parking lot from Hersheypark.

We pulled into the enormous lot and found a relatively close spot to Chocolate World's entrance. I jumped out of the car and waited for my mom to get out of the driver's seat. She closed the door and started walking away, just as I noticed a strange noise emanating from underneath the car's hood. I called her over and asked, "Is that the noise your air conditioner makes after you turn off the car?"

She paused and stared at the car, her expression turning quickly from puzzlement to dismay to pure horror.

"I locked my keys in the car!" she wailed. "And the car's still running!"

Well, all I could do for the first few minutes after this declaration was laugh. Not very helpful, I know. Then I somehow managed to calm her down, despite her occasional moans that we were clearly not destined to ever see MB in concert.

Luckily, she had the presence of mind to remember that she had Subaru's roadside assistance. She called the 800 number and within twenty minutes, Subaru had dispatched a local locksmith to help us. It took the guy literally three minutes to break into the car, roll down the passenger window, and reach in to shut the car off. All this with zero damage to her car. Amazing.

After she signed the work order and gave him a very generous tip for his services, we headed into Chocolate World. I really don't have much to say about that trip, since (gasp!) I'm not really a chocolate lover. I bought a lot of junk for my coworkers and for my husband, though.

We returned to our motel, took showers, and got generally gussied up for the show. We stopped at the motel office to ask about restaurants near the concert venue. The woman there told us there was a Red Robin right around the corner from the Giant Center. Long story short, the line of waiting customers at the Red Robin was out the door and around the building. We looked at each other as we drove past and said, "Uh...no."

Instead, we had a lovely dinner at a local biker bar. Yes, you read that right. A biker bar. I have plenty of photos to commemorate that meal, trust me.

After we ate, we hightailed it over to the Giant Center. Now, on to the important stuff:

- Our seats were indeed awesome.
- The female to male ratio of attendees was about 8 to 1. But there were many more younger women there than I thought there'd be. A lot of teenagers, actually.
- MB's opener was a fellow Canuck named Jan Arden. I had no idea who she was until she sung the one and only hit she's ever had, a little ditty called "Insensitive." I remember this song because they played it every single night on a now-defunct radio program called "Between the Sheets" on 104.5 FM about ten years ago. She was damn funny, though. If the music thing doesn't work out for her, she could definitely be a stand-up comedienne.
- MB is as cute as puppies! And funny too!
- There was a lot of audience interaction, which I think makes a good concert great. At one point, he jumped off the stage and went running back to the furthest rows of spectators, shaking their hands, giving hugs and kisses to people, and posing for pictures with them as his band played. That was definitely one of the best aspects of his show.
- He also has quite the potty mouth. I think my mom was a little disappointed by that. I was just surprised -- he sang all these retro standards but then he swore like a sailor while interacting with the audience between songs. It was unexpected.
- He allows, and even encourages, people to take pictures of him onstage. I spent a good twenty minutes at the base of the stage, with MB just an arm's length from me, snapping his photo. This is one of those times I really wish I had a digital camera. Or even just a scanner. I have some fantastic pictures of him looking directly into my camera and singing -- I was literally standing at his feet. I think that's the closest I've ever physically been to a famous person.
- He ended the show by singing a cappella WITH HIS MIKE TURNED OFF. Boy's got a real set of lungs on him. The audience was dead quiet and he really projected all the way to the back of the house. Very impressive.

Overall, the show was way more entertaining than I had anticipated. Initially, the only reason I went to this concert was because I knew how much my mom wanted to see him, but I wound up having a really great time. I would even go to see him again!

Plus, my mother will never be able to live down locking her keys in her (running) car. That little incident will provide plenty of comedic fodder for months, perhaps even years, to come...

Labels: concerts, family, funny stuff, Michael Buble, music, travel, vacations

Looks like this summer will be quite eventful for me. Tonight is the Def Leppard/Journey show.

Next weekend, I'm taking my mom to see Michael Buble.

Then I'm going with her to see Steely Dan and Michael McDonald in August (shut up).

And about five minutes ago, I bought tickets to see these guys. also in August:



It's gonna be a great summer!!

Labels: concerts, Def Leppard, family, Foo Fighters, music

I have a dilemma on my hands, people. As some of you may remember, we moved into a new neighborhood in August 2005. Since then, we've met most of our neighbors and they're very nice people.

BUT. (You knew there was a "but" coming, right?)

There is this family who lives two houses down and across the street from us. A husband, wife and at least two little kids. Maybe more. They also have a beagle.

My problem is the way this man treats the beagle. I have witnessed the guy screaming at the top of his lungs at this poor little dog. For the record, I have never seen any of the family members actually take the dog for a walk. Instead, they tether the dog to a stake in the front lawn and leave it out there for hours. It howls and whimpers, and occasionally the man sticks his head out the front door and yells at it to shut up. Why do people like this even own a dog?

Somehow, I've managed to look the other way about this since we moved in, but something happened yesterday afternoon that made my blood absolutely boil.

We had invited my parents and grandmother over for brunch to celebrate Mother's Day. They left around 2 p.m., and Brian and I stood on our front porch to wave goodbye as my mom's car began slowly driving down the street. As she passed that family's house, the beagle somehow got loose and darted in front of my mom's car in the street. My mother slammed on her brakes and thankfully, the dog ran back up on the lawn, unharmed.

The "man" of the house (I use that term with reservations) was doing some kind of garden work at the time and saw everything that happened. He hollered an apology at my mother, who I am sure was quite shaken by the close call. Then, as soon as the beagle returned to him on the lawn, he scooped it up in his arms and started beating it and screaming at it.

I watched this from our front step and Brian had to physically restrain me from marching across the street and giving this asshole a piece of my mind. How a grown man can beat a 25-lb dog is completely beyond me. Worse, what exactly are his young children learning from this? More than once I have seen the guy scream at and smack the dog right in front of his kids. It makes me sick and I feel like I should take action.

So the question is, what do I do? Do I ring his bell and try to speak to him about it myself? Do I call the Humane Society and let them deal with it? Do I send an anonymous letter? I don't even know their names, but I could find that out easily enough.

I am not a violent person, but when I see animals or children being mistreated, it just about puts me over the edge.

Labels: decisions, family, holidays, neighborhood stuff, pets

I'm back, and I finally feel somewhat normal again. For two straight weeks after my grandpa died, I felt like I was in a total fog. I had the worst insomnia EVER, and sleeping is the one thing I truly excel at doing. It took me hours to fall asleep, and when I finally did, I was waking up intermittently throughout the night. I'm still having a bit of trouble sleeping, but not as much as before. But for the most part, it seems I've gotten back into my usual routine...going to the gym, cooking real meals, cleaning up the house, doing yardwork. Thankfully.

The weekend was mostly a washout, due to all the rain we got, so I did some housework on Saturday. Then I got sucked into watching VH-1's 100 Greatest Teen Stars. Seeing all those poster boys from Tiger Beat reminded me how completely boy-crazy I was, even as a little girl. Come to think of it, I'm still kinda boy-crazy. I just love men! I can't relate to women who stop looking at other men as soon as they're married, or even in a relationship. How is that possible? I am constantly checking guys out. And not just sexually--though I regularly encounter one or two guys I could imagine fucking within an inch of their lives, if I and/or they weren't married or otherwise attached. I can usually see at least a few redeeming qualities in most men, even those who wouldn't be considered conventionally attractive--especially if a guy can make me laugh. A guy with a great sense of humor is so freaking hot to me...it almost trumps any other quality or personality trait, in my eyes. I guess I just appreciate the differences between men and women.

Anyway, back on track. Yesterday, I took my mom out shopping for the afternoon. My biggest purchase was a post hole digger from Home Depot, woohoo. Then I came home and mowed the lawn, did some laundry, hung some pictures, and installed the new cellular shade I'd bought for our bathroom window.

Next weekend: going to a bridal shower in upstate NY. Good times, y'all.

Labels: celebrities, deep thoughts, family, home improvement, sex, TV

Well, I haven't posted here in a week, and it feels like it's been a month, honestly.

My grandfather (mom's dad) had a massive double stroke last Wednesday and died on Friday night at the hospital. It has been a very exhausting week.

I think I'm still in a bit of shock. My grandpa had been pretty healthy and perfectly independent. He moved in with my aunt six years ago, but other than that, he still drove, still did his own laundry, and at age 82, was still mentally as sharp as a tack.

No one is quite sure how or exactly when the strokes happened. He was alone at home, doing laundry. My uncle came home from work around 5 p.m. and thought my grandfather was sleeping, because he was in his chair in front of the TV, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded over his belly, eyes closed, head upright. So my uncle quietly tiptoed around him, trying not to disturb him.

About ten minutes later, my aunt got home from her job and tried to wake him. He didn't respond, and it was only then that she noticed his hands had turned blue.

They called 911 and he was admitted to the ER, where he had a CAT scan of his brain that showed the double stroke. I got to the hospital at about 8:30 that night. He was moved to a private room around midnight. My cousins and I stayed until 2 a.m. in his room, holding his hand and talking to him, even though he never regained consciousness.

The next morning, the doctor called to tell my mother that Grandpa's breathing had become agonal, which typically means that death is imminent. We rushed to the hospital again and stayed for several hours, but his condition neither improved or worsened, so we all went home to get some food and sleep.

We went back to the hospital around 6 p.m. Everyone but me left at 8 p.m. I spend a few hours alone with him, for which I am ever so grateful. I sat next to his bed, held his icy-cold hand (he had no circulation in his left arm), and told him not to be afraid, that we loved him and believed that he loved us too, and to do whatever he needed to do and that we'd all be okay.

I went to work on Friday morning and got a call from my mom around noon. He had developed a high fever -- 104 degrees -- and the doctors believed that he was bleeding into his brain. I left work and went straight to the hospital. His breathing was not nearly as labored as it had been, but his face was beet-red from his temperature. The stroke had affected his hypothalamus, which is the organ that regulates body temp.

By 6 p.m., his fever was above 106 degrees, and his breathing was down to about ten breaths per minute, which is half the normal respiration rate. We knew he would die that night. And he did, at exactly 11:15 p.m., while I held his hand and my mom and uncles surrounded him.

His death was extremely peaceful. We watched his heart rate on the monitor slowly descend until it flatlined and saw him take his last breath. I am so, so glad that I was there for it. I needed to see it. And my mother needed me. Everyone else left shortly afterwards, but my mother and I waited for the house physician to stop by his room to officially pronounce him dead.

The weekend was a flurry of activity: picking out his burial outfit, making the funeral arrangements, writing his obituary, picking out readings for the Mass, booking the restaurant for the luncheon following the burial, and getting the word out to the extended family about his death.

I still can't believe it.

Labels: bad news, family

...but going to see Def Leppard in concert most definitely takes some of the sting out of it!!

WOOHOO! A few friends and I are going to the Def Leppard/Journey concert in June at the Tweeter Center in Camden. You cannot possibly imagine how much this excites me. Going to see DL live represents the fulfillment of a lifelong dream for me. I can barely sit still, I am that amped!!

When I was a kid, my parents were pretty much like the Gestapo. Every television program, movie, and album I wanted was heavily scrutinzed before my parents decided whether or not I could watch it or listen to it. For example, I was not allowed to watch MTV (then again, the MTV of my youth was like Mr. Fucking Rogers' Neighborhood compared to the soft porn they broadcast these days!). I was not allowed to own any cassette tapes with the parental warning labels on them. I was not allowed to talk on the phone on school nights after 7 p.m.

Yeah, it sucked. And yeah, they had hell to pay for it in later years, when I rebelled by sneaking my boyfriends into my bedroom in the middle of the night and spending almost two straight years stoned off my ass. Let me tell ya, I could roll the TIGHTEST joint ever! Ahem. But those are stories for another post...

Anyhoo. In 1987, my cousin Tracie, who is eight years my senior and was, in my eyes, the arbiter of all things cool, turned me on to Def Leppard. I was about 10 years old. This was around the time when Hysteria was first released. For me, it was love at first listen. Not only did I immediately adore their music, but I also developed an extreme prepubescent crush on Rick Allen, the one-armed drummer.

All of my weekly allowance was funneled to the purchase of magazines like Metal Edge and Hit Parader, as I began to accumulate photos of the band. At one point, I had over four hundred posters and pictures of Def Leppard taped to the walls of my bedroom. My parents were suspicious, but they never made me take down those posters. Tracie, knowing how strict my parents were, made me a copy of Hysteria on a blank, unmarked cassette tape. I listened to it nearly every waking minute of each day, until it eventually was eaten by my Walkman.

I decided to take the chance and buy my own copy of Hysteria at Wall to Wall Sound and Video (remember that store?). Shortly thereafter, my parents were on to me. They read the playlist and saw song titles like "Women," "Pour Some Sugar on Me," and "Armageddon It" (my mother: "Is this that SATANIC music?!?") and immediately took the tape away from me. I was crushed. I begged and pleaded with them to give me back the tape, to no avail. They wouldn't even reimburse me the damn allowance money that I spent to buy it. I was crushed...but only briefly.

You see, what they DIDN'T realize was that I knew that they'd hidden the tape in one of the drawers of my father's dresser. So as soon as my parents weren't around, I snatched the tape and dubbed another copy of it for myself. Then I replaced the original back in my dad's dresser, and they were never the wiser.

I was a sneaky, underhanded, conniving child. Indeed.

So going to see Def Leppard in concert now is guaranteed to bring back all of those fond memories for me.

Plus, they're playing with Journey. Freaking Journey! DON'T STOP...BELIEVIN'!

(I know, Steve Perry hasn't been with Journey in years, so I'm kinda bummed out about that, but still. There is NO way I would miss this show.)

My real concern is, should I break out the acidwashed denim and curl my bangs sky-high for this show?

Labels: childhood, concerts, decisions, Def Leppard, family, friends, memories, music

Last night I brought dinner over to my grandmother’s apartment and hung out with her for an hour or so. I’ve decided that I need to spend more time with her, no matter how much it bothers me. Because I’m not doing it for me, I’m doing it for her.

She has lived alone since my grandfather died from cancer in 1995. She never made any friendships outside of her relatives, because she believed that her husband and her family were her first and most important priorities. Unfortunately, all the family members of her generation have died. She is the only one left.

She only held a job outside her home briefly, before she married my grandfather. Other than sewing and housekeeping, she never had any hobbies or interests. My parents and I have tried to convince her to go to a local senior center, with the hopes that she would make some friends and benefit from the social interaction, but she refuses, saying, “But I don’t KNOW anyone there! It would be a bunch of strangers and me.” Maddening. So instead, she literally sits in an armchair in front of her television from sunrise to sunset, watching the Game Show Network and reruns of Hawaii Five-O and Magnum, PI. Her legs have gotten weak from disuse, so she won’t even walk the half-block from her apartment to the Rite Aid drugstore at the corner of her street to buy a newspaper. She has never driven a car, so she is dependent on my parents and, less often, my self-centered aunt who lives in south Jersey to take her to the supermarket and to doctors’ appointments. It’s a sad existence.

In the past couple of years, she has begun a downhill slide. It’s really hard for me to watch. Her doctor believes that she has had a few mini-strokes. Nothing major, but enough to affect some of her motor skills and some of the executive function of her brain. She has been diagnosed with early Alzheimers. Last year,she mailed us two Christmas cards, both with Brian’s name spelled “Byron.” She’s starting to forget to balance her checkbook properly, so my father has taken over her bill paying. She also hasn’t been taking all of her (many) prescriptions on a regular basis. Worst of all, she has been having frequent episodes of loss of control of her bowels and bladder, which I know must be a terrible and humiliating experience for her.

When I was a kid, both my parents worked, and she was my primary caretaker before I was old enough for school. I have so many memories of her; she was strong and vital and animated. Now she’s just a shadow of her former self. It breaks my heart.

Last night, I brought her veal Parmigiana and spaghetti from the Italian place up the street from her. As I sat next to her, eating my lobster ravioli, I watched her struggle to cut the veal into edible pieces. At one point, I interjected, “Can I help you with that, Grandma?”

She ignored me and kept doggedly sawing away at the veal cutlet.

A few more minutes passed, and she still hadn’t made any progress, so I again said, “Let me get that for you.”

Resigned, she slowly released her weak grip on her knife and fork, and I stood over her, cutting up the veal into bite-sized pieces. It was then that I was struck by our role reversal, and my heart lurched. Was it really so long ago that she cut my meat for me? How had things gotten to this point?

I quickly finished cutting her veal and excused myself to the bathroom, where I quietly cried.

Labels: childhood, family, memories

This past Saturday was Brian’s 34th birthday. As has been the tradition, his parents drove down from Rochester to spend the weekend with us.

My in-laws are lovely people. They are very generous to us, and we all get along quite well. That’s all that anyone could ask for, really. So I feel some latent Catholic guilt when I say that Brian’s mom is quite a handful.

It’s not that she’s rude or mean. She’s just EXTREMELY talkative and high-energy, the ultimate extrovert. And if you’ve been reading my blog lately, you’ll remember that I am quite the introvert. So to spend an extended amount of time with someone who is my polar opposite really wears me out.

We took the day off on Friday, and they arrived at our house around noon. I had put together a casual, make-your-own-hoagie lunch for us, and afterwards we took them to walk around Valley Forge Park for a while. I was hoping that would take the edge off some of her energy.

Well, that was not the case. In fact, she was more hyper than ever. We got home around 4 p.m. and I decided that I’d have to start drinking heavily if I were going to last for the rest of the night. So I popped open a bottle of pinot grigio for her, and mixed the first of many Fuzzy Navels for me while preparing dinner (which was delicious, if I do say so myself—I made chicken piccata, roasted red bliss potatoes, and a copycat recipe of Texas Roadhouse green beans with bacon and onions. Mmmmm!).

After dinner, we chatted for a bit, then watched Walk the Line. Yes, I just now FINALLY got around to getting it. Outstanding movie, by the way. I can see now why Reese won the Oscar for best actress. She was phenomenal. I’m still puzzled that Joaquin didn’t win best actor, though. His performance was beyond great. However, I’m still waiting to see Capote, so I can’t draw any comparisons between him and Philip Seymour Hoffman.

After the movie ended, I could barely keep my eyes open. So I excused myself and went to bed, which I think disappointed her. I guess that was a little rude…the hostess going to bed before the guests, but oh well. I needed to escape the chatter before I ripped out all my hair.

I woke up on Saturday at 7 a.m. and took a loooong walk by myself. Then Brian and his dad went golfing, as they always do, so it was up to me to entertain her. Of course, it was gorgeous on Saturday, sunny and in the 70s, but we spent most of the day inside at the King of Prussia mall. Brian’s cousin is getting married in June, and his mom and I were looking for dresses to wear to the reception.

After five department stores and four hours, we must have tried on thirty gowns each. She finally bought a dress at Lord & Taylor for $140…and I found a fabulous, floor-length chocolate brown dress on the clearance rack at Strawbridges for $40! Yahoo, baby! I was thrilled by the bargain, since the dress was originally $180. Both dresses are beautiful, but I swear…if I heard her complain about how flabby her arms look, I thought I’d have to slap the taste out of her mouth. The woman is a size six. Give me a fricking break.

We got home around 4:30 and started getting ready to go out to dinner. My parents came up to the house and we went to a local restaurant. I was so relieved that they were there to carry the conversation that I sat at the table like a mute for most of the meal. Afterwards, we went back to the house and had cake and coffee. My parents headed home around 9:30, and I just barely made it throught the first half of the 10 o’clock news before announcing that I was going to bed. She must think that I am totally lazy, but I don’t care.

They left yesterday morning around 10:30. By 10:33, I was fast asleep on the family room couch.

It was a successful weekend, but I’m kind of glad his parents live 350 miles away. I’m not sure if I could handle her energy level on a regular basis. She’s so high-strung that I just want to lay down and go to sleep after spending a few hours with her.

However, I know that many people have it worse than me, as far as their relationships with their in-laws, so I do realize how lucky I am.

Labels: bitching, family, marriage, movies, shopping, stress, weekends

I love surprises -- getting them and giving them.

My mom and I usually take a trip together every year. It's pretty fun, a nice bonding experience, and we somehow manage not to kill each other by the end of our vacation. In 2003, we went to Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon. In 2004, we drove up to Niagara Falls and then on to Toronto. Last year, we didn't take a trip because of the time and expense constraints (mine) associated with moving into a new house.

Just a few weekends ago, while we were out shopping together, the topic of this year's potential trip came up in our conversation. We both agreed that we wanted to go somewhere...but couldn't really figure out where we wanted to go.

As we drove from place to place, discussing what we should do, Michael Buble's latest CD played in the background. I introduced my mom to his music a few months ago, and I'm almost sorry that I did. She is IN LOVE with this guy, who's my age, by the way. I mean, she behaves like a hormonal teenager in a Beatlemania-type induced trance whenever she talks about him. It's kind of creepy, actually.

But after thinking about it, I decided to surprise my mom last week. I was crawling the web and happened upon Michael Buble's website. Lo and behold, he is in the midst of touring right now. In fact, he's playing the Borgata Casino in Atlantic City in early March! I rushed over to Ticketmaster.com to see if I could score a couple tickets to his show...but it was sold out. In TWO DAYS. Amazing, considering he's not exactly mainstream. Bummer.

So I searched his name on Ticketmaster's general search. Turns out that the only concert not sold out is in April at the Turning Stone Casino near Syracuse, NY, which is about a four-hour drive from here. It's not my first pick for a vacation, but my mom's worth it, and I knew she would be totally psyched to go. So I took a chance and bought two tickets, plus went to the casino's website and booked a room for one night.

I could barely contain my excitement after my purchases. I called my parents' house to share the news, but she wasn't home from work yet. I waited in agony for her to call me back. Finally, my phone rang several hours later, and I set her up perfectly.

After making the normal small talk, I said, "So, you know how we were talking about what to do for our trip this year?"

She said, "Yeah..."

"I made an executive decision about it tonight," I said, hardly able to keep the glee out of my voice.

Her tone took on an alarmed edge. "WHAT?"

I said, "I booked a night at the Turning Stone Casino and Resort in upstate New York in April."

"You did WHAT?" Hoo boy. Now she was reeeeally upset. "Why the hell would I want to go there? Can you cancel the reservation?"

Clearing my throat, I said, "Well, I did book it for a reason. Do you know why I booked it?"

"No, I don't, and frankly, I'm pretty pissed that you..." she began.

I cut her right off before she went into full tirade mode. "BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO SEE MICHAEL BUBLE IN CONCERT THERE!" I shrieked.

She gave me the EXACT reaction I'd hoped for. She began screaming and laughing. "Oh my God! You didn't! We're not! Oh, I can't believe it! I'm so excited! You're the best daughter ever!"

Labels: concerts, family, Michael Buble, music

I am a generally happy person. Don't get me wrong -- I've had spells of depression, and there have certainly been times when I didn't think anything was going right in my life. But for the most part, especially in the past year or so, I've been pretty content. I believe that most of my happiness depends on me. I don't look to other people or things to make me happy.

I remind myself often of all the things for which I am grateful. I do this almost daily, not just when I'm feeling down. It keeps things in perspective for me and helps me keep a good attitude about life.

Briefly, and in random order, I'm grateful for:

A job that I truly enjoy and look forward to going to almost every day (for the first time in my adult life!).
My wonderful, supportive husband who really loves me and who makes me laugh every day.
My parents, who think I am wonderful and who would do anything for me. It's great to be at an age where we have a true friendship.
Good health. This makes me feel immeasurably fortunate, because I know and have heard about so many people who suffer with various physical problems.
A few close friends who love me, whom I trust, and with whom I am completely comfortable being myself.
My two kitties, Bailey and Sebastian, who wake me up every morning by licking my face, and greet me every evening after work by rolling around on the floor and purring. They make me so happy!
A beautiful home where I feel safe and secure.
Two functioning vehicles -- especially my Highlander, which I plan to drive until it completely dies on me.
Enough money to live comfortably.
Music. I just couldn't imagine living without it.

Everything else is gravy, as far as I'm concerned.

Have a happy weekend!

Labels: deep thoughts, family, friends, marriage, money, music, pets, weekends, work

Hope everyone who celebrated a holiday had/has a great one!

We just got home from visiting Brian's family in Binghamton, NY for the weekend. I don't have much time right now to write because my parents are coming up here for lunch, but I did want to say one thing:

Madonna's latest CD, Confessions on a Dancefloor, RULES!!!!!

I got it from Brian last week before we left for NY and have been compulsively listening to it since then. It is fucking brilliant. There. I said it.

If you like to dance, you MUST get this CD immediately! No matter what you think of Madonna, the music is irresistible.

Enjoy!

Labels: deep thoughts, family, holidays, music