Price

As recently as this morning, I was lamenting the fact that I've pretty much decided to go to a month-to-month lease. My rent will increase $120, but I'm not tied to anything. I've been debating, and the only conclusion I've come to is that I should have signed a year long lease instead of a ten month lease, but that does me no good now.

I'm getting a raise at work that will more than cover the $120 increase, so I can't really complain...and then I read about folks who are penny pinching to afford to buy apartments in NYC.

Those folks would certainly find a better way to use their "raises" than I can.

But I'm not trying to buy a place in the most expensive city in the country New York. Maybe it's my delusion that I'll someday live in a place where housing is reasonable. Or maybe it's my lingering exhaustion at having paid off my student loans and my car in a two year period and have, thus, very recently lived so frugally it hurts. But I'm just not willing to give up my Saturday Starbucks, or decent groceries, or a dinner out with Irene (although we are rather creative when it comes to our meals together).

Right now, having a life is more valuable to me than saving for my very own moneypit.

Ratatouille and Then Some

So, WG and I saw that funny little Ratatouille cartoon on Sunday, and when we got out of the movie, I decided to make the titular dish because, well, because I actually know how.

I had already been a bit snappy with WG on the way into church, and then I told him afterwards that it felt like something was trying to keep us from church. He hadn't really wanted to get ready, and then after I snapped at him, my immediate reaction was the desire to just jump in the car and go home. But we stayed.

Anyway, back to snappy, cranky me. There was no real reason for my mood. Maybe it was wedding madness (a disappointment in the festivities, a sadness that the couple didn't get anything they wanted out of the wedding, the knowledge that WG and are AGES away from any such occassion to celebrate our relationship), or a general crankiness lingering from the dumbest argument on earth (about Facebook...too stupid to even recount here), but I was in a mood.

I let WG cut up some of the veggies (in the interest of making this a joint effort), and he was so...careful with me.

"What size do you want me to cut these?"

"Is this the right size?"

"What knife should I use on the tomatoes?"

Uh...these are not the words that normally come out of his mouth. And it irked me that he was tiptoeing around my mood.

With the ratatouille safely in the oven, I went to take a nap, and it made all the difference in the world. I woke up without crankiness that had been lingering in my body all day, and I told him so.

But it wasn't until after he left that I thought about his cautious behavior in light of another conversation we had this weekend. We talked about how it seems that I've answered a lot of, shall we say, questions since being with him. In some ways, it seems like I've changed. Viewed from another light, it's just that I had no reason to answer the questions before getting into a relationship.

And I thought more about the changes we make for our significant others, whether they ask us to or not.

I told him that I wasn't going to be doing a lot of research for our trip to DC this coming weekend, because I didn't want to stress him out with my stressing out, "But you can do that if you want..." He seemed sad that I had actually made the decision to not overwork.

And then, it hit me. WG actually likes all of those little quirks about me. When he comments on my nervous energy, it's not so that I'll change it. I think he takes pleasure in telling people about his "quirky" girlfriend, and if I stop being quirky, well, then that would make me awfully boring, wouldn't it?

And I don't like him being so careful around me. Though his bossiness can sometimes rub me the wrong way, it's still an intrinsic part of his...WG-ness, and I don't want him to change that.

Maybe I have been altering my behavior a bit too much. I mean, I can calm down about some things (because honestly, I'd rather not get pre-mature wrinkles), but I don't have to completely slow down and turn into an empty shell.

Above Your Butt

Okay, so there are a few choice phrases I learned from my (otherwise crazy and unpleasant) French grandmother, and one of them is that sometimes people try to "poot above their butts," meaning that they try to do something unnatural so that they can try to impress people.

Well, the wedding on Saturday was the perfect example of such a thing.

It was, in a word, dull.

That's okay. There was no obvious major drama, but the whole wedding seemed about checking things off a list.

First dance? Check
Dance with appropriate elders? Check
Cake cut? Check
Speeches? Check
Bride and groom visit the tables? Uh...seem to have forgotten that one.
In a room of barely 100 people, I never once spoke to the bride, nor did she and her groom visit each of the tables and thank their guests for attending. That's the one I wish they'd remembered, because without a few words with each guest, the bride and groom simply seemed like pieces in an elaborate game set up by both of their mothers.

The groom's mother wanted something fancy enough to speak to her family's stance in the community. The bride's mother just wanted complete control (she put reserved signs on the tables for "her" guests and let the others simply wander around in confusion).

All I know is I left that wedding feeling sad. Those two deserved a big party with music released sometime AFTER 1986. They deserved people on the dance floor. And they deserved to have their friends at the wedding instead of an extensive list of family and family friends.

They deserved to embrace the reality of their lives and their families and simply have a big 'ole party.

Here's what I say (though don't try to hold me to this), when the time comes for my wedding (still very, very, very far in the distance), I don't want a classy affair. I want a party. Class is overrated. Especially when it's obtained by pooting above your butt.

Friday Song Lyrics

In honor of the two weddings I will be attending in the next two weeks, we have a variety of appropriate songs.

Chapel of Love by the Dixie Cups
(because you can't get the lyrics out of your head, and it's just so darn fun to sing)

Because we're
Going to the chapel
And we're gonna get married
Going to the chapel
And we're gonna get married

Gee I really love you
And we're gonna get married
Going to the chapel of love

White Trash Wedding by the Dixie Chicks
(not that either of the weddings will be like this...well..not both of them)

You finally took my hand
You finally took my hand
It took a nip of gin
But you finally
took my hand
You can't afford no ring
You can't afford no ring
I shouldn't be wearing white and you can't afford no ring

Dearly Beloved by Faith Hill
(because if you're going to have the Dixie Chicks, then you have to have Faith Hill; it's, like, a rule)

All right: Here we go.

Good morning, dearly beloved,
We are gathered here today,
To watch two people we know make a big mistake.
They’ll stand up at the altar,
And solemnly swear: "I do".
They’ll be together forever till they find somebody new.

Single by Natasha Bedingfield
(because this is important for us all to remember, even as we watch two happy people make it official)

I'm not waitin' around for a man to save me
(Cos I'm happy where I am)
Don't depend on a guy to validate me
(No no)
I don't need to be anyone's baby
(Is that so hard to understand?)
No I don't need another half to make me whole

Independent Women by Destiny's Child
(because I do not support gold-diggers)

Question: Tell me what you think about me
I buy my own diamonds and I buy my own rings
Only ring your cell-y when I'm feelin lonely
When it's all over please get up and leave
Question: Tell me how you feel about this
Try to control me boy you get dismissed
Pay my own fun, oh and I pay my own bills
Always 50/50 in relationships

Grace of My Life by Brian Littrell
(because I still believe in the beauty of love)

You are the grace of my life
So tender, so undeserved
Hard to believe you're my wife
Even harder to put what I feel into words
If I need evidence God is good
Just looking at you is enough
You are the grace of my life
For you grace my life with your love

Hey, Your Sushi Looks Like A Car Bomb Exploded On It

Yeah, but it still tasted good.

WG and I headed over for a sushi-making good time with Irene and her man. It had been long in the works (cancelled, rescheduled then finally, and randomly scheduled for the middle of the week).

As we all know, my sushi-making skills are not exactly the best in the universe, but, dang, sushi is a wonderful little treat. And yes, my sushi was described as the title above suggests.

So, despite some messy sushi rolls (I can't roll them and Irene's man just didn't care what his looked like...WG and Irene had beautiful, perfect little rolls, but I'm not jealous), the evening was quite a success.

We ate our sushi, we answered questions out of "What If," with the best two questions being:
1) If your partner could sleep with one other person, who would that be?

WG picked Natalie Portman for me, while Irene's man picked the narsty boyfriend of one of their other friends. I acknowledged that I got the better end of that stick, and WG got a bit too excited when he said, "See! She's for it!"

2) If you could do magic for one day, what would you do?

At which point, I asked Irene's bf what he would do if he were Draco Malfo for the day, and he stared at me blankly (!) and said, "I am not what you would call educated..." And the other three people at the table stared at him in shock. How could he not know about Harry Potter?

And that t-shirt above, why that comes from noisebot, my new favorite online window shopping location. I know, I know, as a good little Catholic girl, I should probably be offended by the t-shirt. But, as a good little Catholic girl, I can also appreciate the Jesus as athletic hero comparison. I mean, come on, I think my Giants might be doing just a smidge better if Jesus was doing the hitting instead of Barry Bonds!

But we all gathered around Irene's computer to decide on our favorite t-shirts. We munched on sushi. We played a fun, thought provoking game (though WG coming up with Ms. Portman was not exactly a stretch considering his long-standing affection for her), and we ate lava cake and mint chocolate chip ice cream. We even made boba!

Not bad for a Wednesday night, eh?

Real World Wednesday

So, here at Pink Cereal and Raspberries, I have decided to institute Real World Wednesdays. I shall talk about something that's happening outside of my cloistered little world...at least until it becomes painfully clear that I should just go back to talking about boys, books and baking.

On the way to work this morning, I was thinking about what I need to know more about, and one such topic happens to be the War in Iraq. When the war started, I was living in Boston, reading the NY Times and the Boston Globe everyday. I was also in Journalism school, so it makes sense that I was required to be more aware of the world around me.

Still, I can't entirely blame my cancelled subscriptions and move back out west for my ignorance of the news. In a way, I have become desensitized to the news about the war. I have gotten used to hearing that someone has died, that a bomb has exploded and that negotiations have faltered. And then I go on to read the six tips on how to be more productive at work, because that's what matters in my day to day life.

But the war in Iraq does and should matter in my day to day existence. It matters, because Americans are dying. It matters, because Cindy Sheehan lived in the town next to mine, and when her son died in the war, it topped the local news for weeks. It matters, because I live near an air force base, and I have long since stopped wondering wistfully where those huge, gray planes are flying off to in the middle of the night.

Seeking to educate myself on the topic, I went to the front pages of my two main sources of Internet news. Yahoo and CNN. I chose Yahoo, because that's where I get the most news -- it's where I have my e-mail account, and when I sign off, I am directed to the news page. I chose CNN, because it's where my mom, a total newshound, gets her television news.

Both sites had the same story about a bomb killing 50 soccer fans in Bagdhad. They also both featured a story about the body of a South Korean hostage being found in Afghanistan. And that's it on the front pages. The rest is news about weight loss, Wyoming, Brittney Spears and Lindsey Lohan. Oh, and a few tips on improving life in a wide variety of ways.

I know it's not just me who's lacking in information about the real news in the world, but I didn't truly realize it had completely infiltrated the news sources. No wonder I can't get the news...there are too many other stories distracting me from the real stuff!

Apparently, Lindsey Lohan's nasty cocaine habit matters more to the American public than the current death count of American soldiers in Iraq. And even then, the results I find are on an anti-war site, which may very well show some bias.

Now, I'm not justifying my lack of knowledge. It's merely that I understand it a bit more now.

Accio Brain!

After scoring in the below average range on the brain test on Lumosity (which I read about in School Library Journal), I decided to put my brain to use. Lumosity informed me that the brain begins to decrease in functional ability at age 30. That means I have just under 3.5 years to get my brain in good shape.

In the past several months, I've let some things go. I've cleaned out my over-worked little mind, and now, I'm ready to make a new commitment. I don't want to teach a class, and I don't want to tell anyone that I'll be at a certain place on a certain day of the week at a certain time. But I do need to re-engage my brain.

My recent hobbies include:
*Finishing a great big stack of books that consisted primarily of British chick-lit.
*Completing the challenging task of watching the entire Alias series (just finished! whoo!).
*Cleaning my apartment (which, you know is quite necessary).
*Reading and talking about Harry Potter (a rather time-consuming hobby!)

I'm not nearly as boring as that sad little list makes me sound. And now, I'm ready to put in some interesting things (and no, I'm not giving in to my tendency to over-do...I'm starting slow, and we'll see what happens).

To keep my brain active, I've come up with the following ideas:
1) Start my own version of the 365 Project. Check out my 365 Set on Flickr. (well, check it out after I actually start posting photos).

2) Read at least one non-fiction book for every two or three fiction books I read, so that I don't get too caught up in fictional lands. I'm actually thrilled about this one. I'm currently reading this, am about to start reading another and have these two waiting for me.

3) And, you know, every once in a while write here about, well, less me-centered things.

4) Uhm. Read about some stuff that isn't me centered (I read Newsweek a couple of weeks ago and was amazed to realize that, though I am a librarian, I am woefully out of the loop).

So, that's it for now. Working on a hobby I profess to practice (photography), read some stuff that is more nutritional than brain candy, and get outside of myself into the real world.

I can do that.

And before we know it, my brain will be back up at above average, where it belongs!

So Worth It

I have caffeine rushing through my veins, but for good reason.

In five hours last night, I read the entire new Harry Potter book. Ahhhhh. I am vindicated. I won't tell you how or why, just that I am. And that, alone, makes it worth it.

And for those five hours, I was lost in J.K. Rowling's world, as I have been for each of the previous six books.

Here is a non-Potter tidbit from the Potter Partying last night.

WG twitched spastically.

I stared at him.

My best friend says, "Is that supposed to be an impression of Sarah?"

I looked at her and nodded.

My supposed best friend then says, "It's scarily accurate."

Ahh, how nice to be surrounded by the people who love me oh so very much.

In Case You Didn't Know

IT'S HARRY POTTER DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm so excited. I have a caffeine plane in place so that I can stay up all night and read it, because I just *know* there will be a) people in the library who finish it and want to tell me all about it and b)news about it ALL over the Internet (silly Internets and their secret giving away potential).

PLUS! I get to go to a Harry Potter Party! And and and and and MY BEST FRIEND IS GOING TO BE THERE.

Uhm, all that, and the caffeine plan hasn't actually gone into effect yet.

Hang on folks, it's going to be a bumpy night.

The Reality of the Situation

I'm better at it than I was nine months ago. I'm better at it than I was six, four, two months ago.

It's called paying attention to my relationship and not simply referring to my friends, my family or the wealth of relationship advice that is dangerously available to me on the Internet.

I knew a few months ago that looking in iVillage for relationship advice would only get me into trouble. So, I stopped looking.

But, last week, when I was feeling ignored by WG after his return from the OKay Corral, I turned to friends and my mom, and I got just what I didn't need: the wholehearted belief that I was entirely right, and that there was something that needed to be done about the problem.

So, I went in, barrels blasting, to his place last Wednesday.

"So, I'm feeling a bit taken for granted. Blah blah, Sarah going on about things."

"Well, hello to you, too."

And so we went from there. Now we did have a good discussion, and I held my ground when he said, "If you've been mad for two days, why am I just finding out about it now?"

"Because I thought you would fix it, and I wouldn't need to be mad anymore." And no, this wasn't a case of mind reading; this was a simple case of needing him to get back on track and remember to call me every once in a while.

He claimed this was the same argument we have every few months. I claimed that's because he hasn't fixed the problem. He claimed I shouldn't take it personally, that he's bad at communicating with everyone. I said that I don't want to be lumped in with everyone else and that he needs to remember me every once in a while.

We settled on the fact that I just missed him tremendously, and went on our little field trip to St. Helena.

I needed to say those things, and, this week, things seem better than ever, but I am glad that I took things down a few notches from what I'd felt when I talked with others. When I saw him, I knew that he hadn't really done anything on purpose and that, when left to my own devices, I tend to overinflate the issue.

My friends help me through difficult situations, but sometimes, between their understanding (they are also women, keep in mind) and relationship articles that I can all to easily find on yahoo (they're usually conveniently located on the front news page), my emotions can become disproportionate to the problem.

Again, I am reminded that he is in the relationship, too.

Ten True Things

1. Though I profess to love San Francisco, I am always nervous about the drive there, nervous about getting around and anxious about getting home. While I can sometimes get caught up in being anonymous and just a part of the flow of the city, I can't quite catch my breath there.

2. Grocery shopping is a tremendous comfort to me. I love wandering the aisles, seeing what's on sale and putting things in my cart. This also means that I often return to my apartment, unpack all of the bags and find that I've bought nothing that goes together but lots of things I'm looking forward to eating.

3. My best "homemaker" skill is cooking, but I rarely fix anything for just myself that doesn't involve a microwave.

4. I am not nearly as organized as people think I am. Everyone always says, "Oh, you're so organized! You've even got your CDs in alphabetical order." First, I think, "Who doesn't have their CDs in alphabetical order?" and then I tell them that I'm not nearly as put together and orderly as they might think.

5. I'm still more organized than most people. I also alphabetize my DVDs and, when much younger, used to put my family's videos in alphabetical order and by rating.

6. Since January, when enacting my "calm the hell down" resolution, I have had to tell myself to "calm down," "chill out," or "chillax" at least once a day, usually more.

7. The only reason I really ever wanted to live in the city is because I like what it looked like on Felicity, Sex and the City and, of course, Friends.

8. Living in Boston those years ago was not at all like I thought it would be. And I was nervous a great deal of the time. And lonely.

9. Working eight hours a day exhausts me. It came to me today, as it sometimes does, that on a workday, I have, perhaps a good four hours to get things done. Yet, I spend eight hours a day doing stuff for other people. This bothers me immensely. Not that I have any idea what I would do with twelve hours of time to fill each day.

10. I used to want to be a journalist. I even went to school for it for two semesters. But, you know, I think I just prefer working (even at a job that exhausts me) and saving what writing energy I have for important things like blogging and writing wonderfully detailed e-mails to my friends.

A Five Star Weekend

1. Friday. Watching the Giants. Even as they fumbled and bumbled, they are still my Giants. And I love them.


2. Saturday. Following a years' long tradition and seeing Harry Potter with my best friend from college and her boyfriend. Having my own boyfriend along for the first time.

3. Quite simply, realizing the joy that comes from no longer being a third wheel. All. The. Time.

4. Sunday. Doing nothing and everything. Appreciating that my parents have, officially now, been married for a (mostly) happy 29 years. Truly enjoying the moments of my life, including the glorious weather, the meal prepared by WG and a rousing game of Settlers of Catan (I won).


5. Monday. Having a real day to myself but still choosing to go spend time with Mama, Daddy and the dogs. Baking muffins. Being at my apartment to enjoy the shadows dancing across the living room floor.

Running and Raging

I am a woman. I've roared. I expect people to hear me. I come with groups of women in too many numbers to be ignored.

I also know that I should never be head of a major corporation or president of this company, because, and there are women who may cry "anti-feminist!" at me, I know my limits. No, I'm not talking intellect. I'm not talking ability. I'm not even talking about physical strength. No, my friends, I'm talking about hormones.

If I were in charge of the world, or even head of, say, a nice friendly company like Hallmark (ha!), there would be certain days each month when bad things would happen. When hormones run, unchecked, through my body, bad things happen. Customers get bad service (try though I might to be polite). Friends get an earful about my thoughts on the attrocities of life in general. My mother gets tearful (sometimes) conversations about the unfairness of my personal existence. WG ends up with me having some kind of an issue with him not paying me enough attention. In other words, I sort of become a spoiled brat.

In my few moments of clarity when my estrogen is racing through my veins, I understand why societies used to send women out of the village during "that time of the month," because, really, I shouldn't be allowed out to socialize or make decisions.

There would be nuclear war. Co-workers would be missing their eyeballs (because, honestly, I think that popping out the eyeballs of certain co-workers might result in them shutting up for a change). And you'd better believe that no slow, attitudinal, cashier at Target would get off without my telling them exactly where to head.

WG barely escaped with his life when he told me that he thought mood swings were mostly in women's heads, that we act on them during our periods, because society tells us what to expect. I maintained control but did inform him that he should try having estrogen pumped through his veins once a month and see what happens.

I asked, "What would happen if you suddenly had five times more testosterone in your body once a month?"

"Uh, I'd be more aggressive?"

"Exactly. Now you're starting to get it."

I let him live.

But only because he's such a good kisser.

The truth is that while our periods shouldn't prevent women from being in positions of power, some of us (myself included) might want to consider taking a day or two off at a certain time of the month and just getting the hell away politely removing ourselves from the things that most threaten our sanity...or, you know, everyone and everything.

p.s. my plaid-skirted avatar over there is my attempted ode to Harry Potter's Private School Chic (generally I'm against that whole Catholic-Schoolgirl-Uniform-Is-Sexy thing, but that could be because I wore such a uniform for 12 long years).

Housework 101

My mother tried. She really did. But somewhere along the line, I seem to have missed out on several "wifely" training classes. Or maybe that was her point. I can certainly be a wife, but I will be oh so much more than a Stepford Wife (as previously mentioned).

I like to cook and bake, but when left to my own devices, will readily enjoy a snack of the last of the questionable cheddar cheese, some raspberries and goldfish crackers (you know the little Pepperidge Farms delights I mean). On evaluating one such snack a while ago, WG said, "I've seen you eat worse."

Most of all, I have a very modern, un-wifely trust for convenient appliances. Namely, the dishwasher.

The dishwasher is my friend. When visiting WG in the early days, I was crushed to learn that he had no dishwasher in his old, 1920's home. How could he not? I have not lived in a house without a dishwasher since the earliest days of my childhood when I didn't care anyway.

Most of all, I assume the dishwasher can wash ANYTHING. I am always quite upset to discover those four bowls that didn't quite get clean enough, yet I continue my blind faith that the dishwasher will make my wildest dreams come true.

Way back in May, the dishwasher, uhm, jammed. Apparently, I do not believe in pre-rinsing my dishes, and so there was an...accumulation of...leftovers in the dishwasher.

I realized that it needed to be cleaned, or as WG said, "You seriously need to rinse your dishes before you put them in here."

"What's the point of a dishwasher if I have to wash my dishes first?"

"You won't break your dishwasher."

Oh.

So, ever the helpful boyfriend, he attempted to clean out the jam by putting Ivory Liquid Dishsoap (NOT dishwasher soap) into the dishwasher. Shockingly (she said with as much sarcasm as possible), that did not work. I had quite the bubbly mess on my floor. I thought I had entered a sitcom. Isn't that like the most over-done sitcom plot? Wait, no that's a washing machines.

With towels all over the kitchen floor, my parents came over, my dad handed over his wratchet set (as WG had decided that now the food trap needed to be removed and emptied), and WG fixed the dishwasher (I could write for days on what it meant that he, and not my dad, fixed my favorite appliance).

And what have I learned?

I've learned to rinse my dishes (not because anyone told me to - only because I get so annoyed when my bowls are still coated with goop after a good, long banging about in the dishwasher).

...and that's about it.

I've still got tremendous faith in my dishwasher. This morning, I turned on my little buddy, leaving muffin pans, measuring cups and measuring spoons in its safe care.

Though I may need a brush-up on my housework skills, no one can tell me I lack faith.

Bookworm

I have three -- count them, three -- books left in my big pile of 46 books. I think I started that count sometime in October, when I told WG that I had a lot of books to read, and he wanted to know what I meant by "a lot." That pile has grown over the past several months, mostly as I added in about 10 Young Adult books and just over half of the Lemony Snicket Series (now I'm done with the Snicket, done I tell you!). So, for good measure, let's just say that the pile topped 50 and and came close to 60, and that I've started one of the last three. My goal was originally to get through the pile by the time I went to DC in June (and picked up more books, which I have not added to the official pile), but I've revised my deadline to simply be BEFORE HARRY POTTER. So, I have until NEXT Friday to read three books. I have confidence in my reading ability.

Of course, my path along the way has been thwarted by books like California's Napa Valley (it's got gossip and ghostly history and all kinds of neat things...and of course, I've found out things about the winery where WG works that he neglected to tell me). And, then my number came up for my hold on Ann Brashares first novel not for teenagers. And, of course, there have been others, because, who really can pass up Chuck Klosterman's take on why John Cusack ruined romance for so many men. So, with these, and others, it's easy to understand why the "official" stack has been going down at such a slow pace.

Finally, in this ever so literary post, I have to say that I did something last night that I've been meaning to do, oh, since I figured out that being an English major didn't totally suck: go to an author reading. I tend to ignore these, for reasons unknown even to me, but this time, it was important to go. The author, Lisa See, had appeared at an event I sort-of helped coordinate in my old job, and I was curious about her new book, Peony in Love. So, off I went, with my mother in tow, to one of the last remaining independent bookstores in California, and we sat and listened and laughed as the author talked about this book, past books and a future book. She also fielded questions from crazy audience members with questions about the content of their own books (which, undestandably, Ms. See could not exactly answer. It was lovely.

Now, I can't wait to finish my three books so that I can start another official pile.

In addition to talking about her book, Ms. See talked about her writing style and process. And I think I'm going to go ahead and copy her, since I can't get into a routine of my own. She writes 1000 words, five days a week. I always start out with huge goals of 10 pages a day or something ridiculous like that. I'll try this 1,000 words a day. And I'll keep y'all posted, since I know you're just chomping at the bit for me to finally write the Great American Chick Novel.

ZZZZZZZ

"I have never met someone like you. You absolutely shut down whenever you are tired or hungry."

WG has said these words to me more times than I'd like to county, but he's right. My brain ceases to function when I am tired or hungry. I can function under stress (what I cannot do is maintain the image of complete control just so he doen't get stressed because I'm stressed), but throw in a bit of exhaustion or a tinge of hunger, and you have one interesting mess on your hands.

I've complained about it for years. Honestly, I have. My tongue gets twisty, my words stop making sense, and I simply cannot process what you are telling me. It's obnoxious. It also makes quite the dent in my whole "I'm a smart woman" image, when I so frequently am bumbling and stumbling and making no sense at all.

My new solution (we'll see how this works) is, uhm...three fold.

1) I will try to get enough sleep (thus taking the "tired" part out of the equation)
2) I will actually eat enough (Mama, I eat, but clearly, I'm missing something in my diet), and I will pop a few nuts or a sliver of cheese in my mouth when I know I'll be dealing with people for an extended period of time before I can have a proper meal
3) I will not DWELL on my exhaustion and hunger. If I don't think about it, I won't notice it as much. Denial is not ALWAYS a bad thing.

But the real point of this is not to figure out how to fix my problems (contrary to the first 259 words of this post).

The point my friends? It HAPPENS. TO. HIM. TOO. Now, the hunger and stupidity connection? I think that's predominantly a female issue, but exhaustion? Well, let's just say that when I picked him up at the airport on Sunday morning, WG had essentially not slept in two days. There was just too much do to! There were people to see! Talking must be done! Oh, and poker! And, uhm....whatever else they do in Oklahoma.

So, when I fetched him, he was pretty much a walking zombie. He told me, at a rapid pace, about the three different kinds of breakfast offered on the plane. Twice, he told me this, in the ten minutes it took to get from baggage claim to the car.

But midway through a conversation on the smooth, flat road back, he was out.

As soon as he got into my apartment, he just dropped his keys, wallet and cell phone on the table, barely got his shoes off, and collapsed, fully clothed, on top of the covers, and didn't get up again for five and a half hours.

I napped alongside him for a bit, but mostly, he just conked out across the bed. He was dead to the world. And the cat was sound asleep in my closet.

My boys had a napping day. I read. I jogged. I sat on my balcony to breathe the fresh air and soak up the sunshine (wearing my SPF 50, of course).

Eventually, he stumbled out from the bedroom, with his face and his hair all swirly and whirly from sleep.

And he was too cute for me to say, "I told you so."

Because It's All About the Music, Folks

Another Rousing Round of Friday Song Lyrics

1) Because it's so appropriate to my current life situation:

Kissing a Fool by Michael Buble

You are far
When I could have been your star
You listened to people
Who scared you to death
And from my heart
Strange that you were strong enough
To even make a start
But you'll never find
Peace of mind
Till you listen to your heart

2) Because I can't get this song out of my head:

Hey There Delilah by the Plain White T's

Hey there Delilah
You be good and don't you miss me
Two more years and you'll be done with school
And I'll be making history like I do
You'll know it's all because of you
We can do whatever we want to
Hey there Delilah here's to you
This ones for you

3) Because my mom thought of me when she first heard it:

I Already Do by Chely Wright

Caution's in the wind
The hardest part is through
You don't have to try so hard
To make me fall for you

I've surprised myself
With what I've gone and done
Just today I heard myself
Swear you were the one

4) Because the men I know are guys

I'm Still a Guy by Brad Paisley

I'll pour out my heart
Hold your hand in the car
Write a love song that makes you cry
Then turn right around knock some jerk to the ground
'Cause he copped a feel as you walked by

These days there's dudes getting facials
Manicured, waxed and botoxed
With deep spray-on tans and creamy lotiony hands
You can't grip a tacklebox

With all of these men lining up to get neutered
Getting out of being feminized
I don't highlight my hair
I've still got a pair
Yeah honey, I'm still a guy

5) 'Cause it's that kind of a day.

59th Street Bridge Song by Simon and Garfunkel
Slow down, you move too fast.
You got to make the morning last.
Just kicking down the cobble stones.
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy.

I've got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you,
All is groovy.

A Bit About Her Life

I woke up this morning feeling good about myself, my life, my relationship and, you know, the world, in general.

Yesterday was one of the fuller days off I've had, but it was marvelous. I drove WG to the airport (or as I said to myself this morning, "I dropped him off in Oklahoma."). He's been ready to head back for a visit, and, quite frankly, since he mentioned this particular week about a month ago, I was excited about the prospect of him heading home to get his fill of family and friends. It would leave me time to spend the fourth with my little triangular family. This is the third time he's gone home, and it's entirely different than the past two times. This time, I know he's leaving with us on solid ground, and I'm a busy woman.

He asked me on Tuesday, "So, what are your plans for the weekend?," because, of course, he knows I'll have them.

"Well, the fourth with my parents, Thursday I work late, Friday dinner with L & J and Saturday work, Mass w/my parents and dinner with N, then I pick you up on Sunday."

He just smiled and nodded, 'cause he knows I'm not going to leave myself an open weekend, just to do nothing. And he also knew that, even by Tuesday, my weekend would be planned. They're actually planned through the second week in August, but who's counting?

I was so happy, yesterday, to just sit about the house, reading books, running a few quick errands to the pet store and Longs, where we ran into one of my mother's old work friends, who started spouting off the various injuries and ailments currently being experienced by other co-workers. After two minutes of the list of bizarre ailments (including brain impairment as a result of blood thinners), my mom looked at me, looked at her watch and gave out the excuse no one who really knows her would buy, "Oh, we've got to go, my husband will be wondering where I am." And so, we ran off on the remainder of our errands (with no further thought of informing my father of our whereabouts).

I also stayed the night at my parents' house for the first time since Christmas. I only live about ten miles away, and it's nice to go back to my place. But this was lovely, too. Our relationship is, perhaps, the best it's been since things got serious with WG, and I was happy not to keep watching the clock last night. We ate, we laughed, we watched our fireworks. This morning, I had a breakfast of strawberry shortcake with my mom, afterwhich, we took a walk around the block and continued our lovely discussion of all things relating to life as we know it.

I headed back to my apartment in enough time to start the laundry, take a shower, have something resembling lunch and get to work on time, feeling refreshed.

And now, for the, buried lead big news of the post.

I've gone and done it. Remember that hobby of mine that I tended to forget to mention on dates? That whole photography thing?

Well, I've gotten over the (only expressed in my head) notion that I mustn't sell my photographs because of the gallery showing that is, of course, somewhere in my future, and I've submitted nine photographs in a lovely black portfolio to a greeting card company. That's right. I drove them over to the post office myself.

My pretty little pictures are out there, all on their own, and I won't hear from them for another six to eight weeks.

Wish them luck!

p.s. I found this post from the exact same time last year. What is it about July that makes me re-evaluate my priorities?

And I'll Gladly Stand Up Next to You...

It's the Fourth of July! And as some folks out there were ever so happy to celebrate Canada Day not too long ago, I'm thrilled to be having Independence Day...and not just because it gives me a day off.

Here are Three Beautiful Things About the Fourth:

1) My family's (continuing) tradition of eating barbecue for dinner and then getting Taco Bell on the way to the parking lot where we watch fireworks. I say, without sarcasm in my voice, that the Fourth of July celebrates my right to eat fabulously delicious junk food while watching beautiful, loud, dog-frightening fireworks and listening to Country/Americana Music on the radio. (the Taco Bell, my friends, is only on the Fourth of July). This year was no different, and it was a treat to sit with my mom, my dad and my two dogs and watch the show. We also were entertained by the adorable group of little boys (think four years old or so) as they did the play by play on each one, "Oh, there's a firework!" "I like the red and green ones." "That one was purple, though." "I like the Christmas colors." "Just so you know, there's no Santa Claus or elves or anything..."

2) It symbolizes the true start of summer around here. I know it's supposed to be Memorial Day, but it's not. And at 105 degrees, I'm now convinced that it's summer.

3) Singing "And I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free..." at the top of my lungs as we drive home on roads crowded with others who have come from similar fireworks experiences all around town.

Saying No

At the American Library Association Conference last week, the higher-ups in the organization were heavily recruiting new members, new worker bees. One person, it might possibly have been the new president, said, "Say yes!"

My immediate, gut reaction was, "No."

From the first day of high school, when an excited, scared, group of 200 children wearing our crisp uniforms crowded into the smelly cafeteria, my generation has been encouraged to be "well-rounded." Well-rounded, for all intents and purposes, really means "so busy you can't see or think straight and your family and friends start to despise you." That's what it means. For the past thirteen years, I've been told that I need to do a little bit of everything.

Well, my friends, that just doesn't work anymore. In high school, and to some extent, in college, we could feasibly commit to 100 different things from cultural clubs to jobs to religious organizations to family and friends, and not really disappoing anyone. How busy we were was somehow interpreted as a measure of our future success.

But I'm tired.

No, I'm exhausted.

And mostly, I'm tired of being exhausted.

I'm sick of apologizing to people for being late or for having overbooked myself.

I've gotten a lot better at this in the past few months weeks, and I've got to tell you, my quality of life has dramatically improved.

I also apologize a whole lot less.

In the past, oh, fourteen months, I've finished graduate school, gotten a new job, gotten actively involved in my professional organization, taught at my church...I could go on, but this isn't a contest...anymore.

And, in the past two months, I've tied up three major commitments, and I find myself looking for the next thing I should be doing, for the next drain on my time and resources.

But, I'm not looking too hard to find that next thing.

Instead, I'm taking a breath. If I don't have so many extracurricular commitments, maybe coming to work each morning won't seem like such a burden. When I say "no" to more professional involvement, I'll open the door to actually enjoy a weekend.

So, to those I know and love, I say, for the second time in five months, I'm back!