In honor of the last day of 2003, I thought it would be fun to do a "Best Of" entry. Sadly, when I started to write it I came to the stunning conclusion that I barely remember 2003.
Here is my Unofficial Story.
Man, 2003 was GREAT! Staying up into the wee hours of the morning partying with P Diddy, traveling the world on my private jet, my world tour.....it just made the year pass by so quickly. Whew! I mean. Heh. Whew.
The truth is that the majority of the year was taken up by The Project from Hell. The Project From Hell ate my life.
So, this is not so much a "Best of 2003" entry as it is "Memorable Moments from the Last Few Months" entry.
We sold our first home and bought a "Jefferson" home. That's right. We're moving on up. We love the new place. Our neighbors on either side are not as friendly as the neighbors on either side of our first home. And the neighbors across the street are not nearly as...erm...entertaining as the neighbors across the street from the first house. But the neighborhood itself is nicer and safer. And the house is bigger, brighter, and better.
The weirdest moment happened just last week while my parents were out visiting. My dad has to have a toothpick after every meal. He doesn't just use a toothpick. He savors the toothpick. It is almost a post-meal ritual. And there's something about being with my dad when he's enjoying a good toothpick that will make you want to have one, too. So, I wasn't surprised to find myself and my husband hoarding toothpicks so we'd be ready for the ritual. I was surprised, however, when one of my cats joined me on the couch with a toothpick sticking out of the right side of his mouth. He looked like a tiny, furry, feline version of my dad. I was waiting for him to burp or fart. Or, at the very least, to stretch and rub his belly while sighing happily.
The most embarassing moment? Well, that has to be the day that the tile guy and the security system guy had to come to the house and I didn't realize until after they had both been in and out of my bedroom about a zillion times that I had left my battery operated boyfriend on the nightstand in plain view.
I personally made it through the year without any trauma. Some of those around me were not as lucky. Those are the ones I'll be thinking of tonight as I ring in the new year.
"May the saddest day of your future be no worse
Than the happiest day of your past."
We hung out in Old Sacramento all day today. My dad and I had a fantastic time at the Railroad museum. My mother, on the other hand, enjoyed it for about 15 minutes and decided she was through with trains and with us and would rather stand outside and smoke.
To make it up to my mom, I took her to a scrapbooking store.
And now it's time for.....
An Actual Conversation with My Mom
Location: The drive home from the scrapbooking store
Me: I haven't gotten Christmas presents for Tosha and Erik yet. I didn't know for sure where they would be.
Mom: I got them a gift certificate. I get them one every year.
Me: Well, I figured what I could...
Mom: This year I only got them a $50 gift certificate.
Me: ...just send them...
Mom: I normally give them more but this year we've been traveling so much so I had to watch what I was spending.
Me: Yeah, so anyway, I thought I could send something to Tosha and Erik in January when I know...
Mom: Your dad brought up drawing names but I don't want to do that. I would still buy presents for everyone.
Me: I want to buy presents for everyone. I just didn't know for sure where Tosha and Erik would be for Christmas. So I thought I could send them something later when I know....
Mom: We didn't spend as much this year. We got your brother and Johannah a color printer and that's all. We don't give them as much as we give you guys. But they have a bigger family. You don't have any kids. We spend more on them because they have the kids. And they only get one thing because we buy presents for the boys. But sometimes I feel bad about that. You didn't get as much this year because we were trying not to spend so much because we were going to be traveling.
Me:
(Author's Note: Who am I kidding? I gave up right about here and just let her talk until we got home. Sometimes it is just easier that way. It is also interesting to note that she sometimes gets to talking so fast that it becomes onehugelongrunonsentencethatgoesonandonuntilIsuspectshemayactuallypassoutfromlackofoxygen.)
We've been having tons of fun with my parents. The poor things arrived by train nearly 13 hours late which means that none of us got to sleep until 4 AM on Saturday morning.
It also rained a lot on Saturday. So we decided some indoor activities were in order. We took them to tour the capitol building and drove them past our old house. We also took them to eat at Fresh Choice which was big fun because they had never been to one.
Today we toured Gold Country and went to a couple of wineries. My dad and I had a great time tasting wine although I did get a bit tipsy. We also bought four bottles of wine. Woohoo! We got some Pinot Gris, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Merlot from the Boeger Winery and a very yummy Port from Madrona.
I also took some very cool digital pictures over the weekend and I will be asking my hubby to help me figure out how to post some of them here.
But now it's time for.....
An Actual Conversation with My Mother
Location: Walmart (in the checkout line)
Mom: That guy who was checking us out was talking to himself.
Me: That wasn't a guy. But, yes, she was talking to herself.
Mom: No, the one that was our cashier. I thought he was talking to the guy behind you at first. Then I realized he was having a conversation with himself.
Me: I know. But that was a woman.
Mom: (Long pause) But, he had a mustache.
Me: Yes. She did.
Tomorrow I'll be taking them to Old Sacramento. My dad is very excited to see the railroad museum. That's actually something I've been wanting to see, too.
I don't know if I mentioned before that my parents are going to be spending Christmas with us. They are on the way here as I write this.
They decided it would be fun to take the train. They were supposed to leave Denver at about 8:00 AM Mountain time this morning. They didn't actually leave until 8:20 PM. They should be rolling into town Saturday morning at about 2:30.
I've talked to them a couple of times today. They sounded frustrated. My mom sounded a lot worse than my dad. I'm envisioning my mom chain smoking her way across Colorado, Utah, and Nevada before falling into a Xanax induced slumber somewhere around Truckee. That is if my dad doesn't toss her butt out in Salt Lake City.
I'm going to be playing a little game with my friends Erik, Paul, and Nate. It's called "Where in the World are my Parents?" It will consist of me taking digital pictures of my mom and dad at all the different places we drag them to. I'll then send the pictures to the guys and see if they can guess the location. Some of the places will be very obvious (Lombard Street, Fisherman's Wharf). The trick will be to get shots of them in obscure places or to take pictures that are on the more "artistic" side (read: fuzzy, super up-close, super far away, in very thick fog).
I may try to figure out how to post some pictures here, too.
My friend Tamy was recently certified as a personal trainer and I'm going to be her guinea pig.
I'm going to be keeping track of everything I eat and all of my workouts over the next two weeks while I'm on vacation. I think I'm going to start another blog strictly for the health and fitness topics.
I feel good about enlisting her help. I trust her and she's very easy to talk to. She is also able to motivate me and she seems really excited to work with me on this.
The best thing is that I'll be getting a personal trainer for free!
Have you seen PETA's latest anti-fur campaign?
Before I start ranting and raving, let me tell you where I stand on the "ethical treatment of animals" issue.
I love animals. I don't think that their little eyes should be pried open and doused with perfume to see if it might be harmful if I were to use perfume as eyedrops. I mean....duh. I buy cosmetics and toiletries that state on the packaging that they have not been tested on animals. I think that type of animal testing is unnecessary and ridiculous.
I would never wear fur. I'm so freaked out at the thought of wearing fur that I would not even wear faux fur. Seeing others wearing fur fully gives me a serious case of the heebies.
I do eat chicken and fish. I don't eat beef. I'm not afraid to admit that I don't eat beef primarily because I think cows are cute. I don't care if anyone thinks that I'm a hypocrite because I feel bad about the death of cute or beautiful things. I also don't go around smashing butterflies but ugly bugs are fair game.
Hunting? I don't even want to think about that.
Basically, I do think we should be kind to animals. I've never hurt an animal on purpose. I accidently hit a racoon once in my car and I cried for two days. I don't want anyone to wear fur. Well, the animals themselves can wear fur, of course. Unless they are of the hairless variety. I would not support a Chinese Crested who wanted to skin a rabbit and wear the pelt. But I digress.
I just want you to understand that I'm not an animal hater. What I hate is when people take things to such an extreme that the cause they are promoting is compromised. Which brings me to this.
The wonderful people of PETA have activists showing up at performances of The Nutcracker to share their message with children. Unfortunately, the message they are sharing is "Your Mommy Kills Animals". And it is illustrated with a picture of a woman stabbing a rabbit. These flyers are given to children whose mommies are wearing fur.
Why should a child be punished for something mommy does? If someone gave something like that to my child, I would be so pissed off that I would consider scalping that person and wearing their hair as a stole.
Do you suppose that they give these to children whose mommies are wearing faux fur? How terrible would that be? Even if mommy is wearing real fur, I'm fairly certain she didn't murder a bunny in the kitchen and stitch together a full length coat to wear to The Nutcracker.
Here's the thing. Maybe there are fur owners who don't know where it came from. Maybe there are some people who are completely oblivious and don't realize that their coat is made of several animals who were anally electrocuted for their fashion needs.
But I think most people who wear fur know exactly where it came from and they don't give a shit. No amount of disgusting, shocking photography is going to change their minds. Throwing fake blood on them is only going to piss them off and make them go and buy yet another fur coat! Giving horrifying flyers to small children makes me think that PETA is made up of imbeciles and the mentally ill. Things like this actually make me less likely to vocalize my distaste for fur because I don't want to be mistaken for someone so extreme.
I think the message they are trying to spread is legit, but I think their method is madness. Why wouldn't a slightly kinder (or just less psycho) approach work? Why couldn't they distribute flyers without horrible pictures that just have some basic facts? "Do you wear fur? Do you know that the animals are horribly mistreated? They live in tiny little cages until the time comes for an electric prod to be shoved up their bums and a metal conductor to be shoved in their mouth. It is a terrible way to die, I'm sure. Guess what? If this is the first time you've been made aware of this, you can do more research online or contact us for more information. If it makes you feel bad, stop wearing fur."
I'm going to start an "Anti-PETA' campaign. I'll be distributing flyers with pictures of crying children. I may even have some flyers showing a PETA activist dressed as a cute furry fox and stabbing a baby. The flyer will say things like "PETA kills babies" and maybe "PETA Thinks Your Mommy Should be Anally Electrocuted" or "PETA causes Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome in Children".
Sure, it isn't entirely true and it is pretty inflamatory. But, you know, the whole point is to shock and offend. Right? I mean, who cares if I make a valid point as long as I am able to completely offend people to the point that they are too pissed off to give a second thought to my cause?
My husband is mostly laid back and quiet. Mostly. At least that is how he appears to others.
But I live with him. And I am here to tell you that he can talk non-stop for hours about everything and nothing. I am here to tell you that, when he is bored, there is no rest for me.
For example, I am trying to write in my blog and he is bored. So he has instructed me to "look at the kitties" about a billion times in the last five minutes. He has brought into the living room an ancient black and white television and encouraged me to "look it up on e-bay". He brought out an old Valentine's Day card so I could read it. He stuffed one of our cats in a box.
Basically, he is a five-year-old boy with Attention Deficit Disorder.
The thing he does when bored and needing attention that I love the most? He dances. He puts on loud music and dances around like an absolute loon. The dancing is accompanied by several goofy faces and sometimes by singing and/or air guitar/drum/clarinet/trumpet/saxaphone/whatever. The other day, he wrapped our Christmas tree skirt around his waist and performed an impromptu hula.
The thing is....sometimes he makes me insane. But most of the time he makes me laugh. All of the time, I love him. He is the most adorable husband that ever was.
So it all works out in the end.
Do you know what Victoria's secret really is?
She takes underwear far too seriously.
We're watching the Victoria's Secret fashion show on tv right now. It involves loads of gorgeous, scantily clad nymphettes who are completely devoid of fat cells, stretch marks, or body hair. They are walking With Purpose to dramatic music in their teensy panties and bras. They have very bouncy, shiney hair. Most of them are wearing wings.
There's not a lot of smiling going on. Strutting your stuff in your chonies is very serious business. A lot of them look like they are trying to solve complex mathmatic equations as they walk a perfect line down the catwalk. Some of them look like they are going to remove their bra at the end of the catwalk and use it to flog P Diddy who is sitting on the sidelines hooting. The ones who are smiling are doing so in a "Don't you agree that I am absolutely the hottest piece of ass you have ever seen?" sort of way. Others look downright mean, like they intend to stick a pointy, pointy stiletto heel into your eye socket.
For some reason, they have Sting backstage assisting as a "dresser". All of the shots show him from above the crotchal area so I can't verify exactly how much he's enjoying himself. He is making some rather lecherous facial expressions, though. (Oh, actually....now they are showing him performing and he appears to be wearing a skirt. Or perhaps it is a long skort. Whatever it is, it is providing camoflauge for any unruly appendages he may or may not have.)
I always hear people talking about the Victoria's Secret Fashion show but I've never witnessed it myself. One thing that I always hear is how the girls are all far too thin. Well, maybe my brain has been completely ruined by watching too many music videos and reading too many girly magazines, but I thought they looked fantastic. Very thin? Most definitely. I would ever EVER expect a "normal" non-model type to ever look like that. (Ok, that isn't true. I actually know people who do look like that.) I am also not saying that larger women couldn't look equally fantastic. I'm just saying that you won't find me talking smack about the Victoria's Secret models. Well, at least not about their bodies.
That walk is another thing. Do you think part of how they stay so thin is that bizarre walk they do? Shaking your bootay in that manner has got to have some toning effect. Especially when they are wearing shoes that add a foot to their height. And sometimes they are really booking down the catwalk...almost like "wogging" only sexier. And how many calories does one burn changing clothes at warp speed?
Well, I'm getting bored with it at this point. Even my husband is bored. I didn't think men ever got bored of looking at nearly naked hotties, but there you have it. So, I'm going to "model walk" down the hallway and try to shrink my own booty on my elliptical trainer.
I will not need Sting to assist me in getting dressed. I'll be rocking the Hanes her Way under baggy sweats and a t-shirt instead of a satin thong and a bra that cost more than my car. My entire body will jiggle more than Tyra Banks' pushed up tatas. I will be an out-of-breath, sweaty mess.
And I will be quite proud of myself.
I am slowly recoving from this flu (or cold or plague or SARS or whatever) that I've had since before Thanksgiving. My doctor gave me oodles of drugs and a note to stay home for a few days.
When I filled my laundry list of prescriptions, I had to have a "consult". This is where the pharmacist terrorizes you with visions of bleeding eyeballs, projectile vomiting, inability to sleep, inability to stay awake, hallucinations and other potential side-effects of your medication.
I'm fortunate in that I rarely experience side-effects. Not too badly, anyway. So when the pharmacist listed "tremor" as a side effect of a new inhaler for my asthma, I didn't think much about it....until I started shaking like a neurotic chihuahua. As an added benefit, the cough syrup I've been taking keeps me in a semi-catatonic state and it makes me itch.
I feel so pretty.
Dear God,
Please forgive me, for I have sinned. I'm not entirely sure what I did but I'm certain it must have been terrible. Otherwise, why would you have smote me with Terrible Lungs of Goo?
Is that right? "Smote"? Have you given me the plague? Have you smote me with plague? Is that....ummm....anyway.
If I am heartily sorry for my sins, will you forgive me and let me breath again?
Let's see. I'm sorry for calling that man in the white truck an asshole. It was judgemental of me. It's just that, when he blasted by me at 70 miles an hour on a rain slicked road, he scared me a bit. Actually, I'm sorry for using terms like "Jesus Christ!" and "Holy shit!" when similar drivers nearly cause me to wizz myself. Sorry about that. Really.
I'm sorry for any coveting I've done lately. I can't think of any specific examples right now. But Lordy, am I a covetor! Whooo-boy. Yeah, so anyway....sorry.
I should probably apologize for writing this entry. I suppose some would consider this mocking The Lord and that is probably a bad thing. I meant no harm.
So, I hope you are having a good holiday season so far. And, again...sorry for, you know, everything. Thank you in advance for not killing me with some wretched respiratory infection. I'm sure I'll feel much better tomorrow. Ok. Good night.
Love,
Michelle
I used to see him everywhere. He was leading a group of rambunctious boys up the escalator at the mall. He was drinking coffee at a smokey back table in Denny's. He was dancing with a group of giggling girls. He was driving down main street with his best friend. He was always right at the edge of my peripheral vision but I could never turn fast enough to capture him.
The picture in the yearbook shows all of us at a basketball game. We are leaning into each other, over each other, friends clinging to each other smiling broadly or with heads thrown back in laughter. It was a split second in time; one of those moments when, for an instant, we were perfect. We were happy, untroubled, untouchable, immortal.
I hadn't thought of him for a long time. If pressed, I couldn't tell you the exact color of his eyes. I can't remember what his laugh sounded like. I don't remember how tall he was or what he smelled like. I don't remember the last thing he said to me.
But when his obituary fell out from between the pages of an old journal the other day, it was as if he had punched me in the stomach for forgetting.
It snowed the night he died. He was driving home from a club in a nearby town when he lost control of his car on a icy curve of the highway. The driver who hit him was not hurt.
After he died, I had nightmares. My mom says that that I slept on the couch in the living room right outside their bedroom for weeks. I don't remember that.
I'd like to say that when I think of him now, I can remember everything I loved about my funny friend. I do remember that he made me laugh. I remember that I had such a crush on him in 5th grade. I remember that everyone loved him. I remember that he was going to really go places. But I don't remember everything. Not like I thought I would be able to do.
What I remember most vividly is how alive he looked at the viewing. He looked like he was sleeping. And I remember the smell. I have no idea if it was the makeup or if it was embalming fluid. I just know that it was wrong. It was the smell that made me realize that he was really and truly gone.
When he died, I thought I'd never get over it. I thought it would hurt forever. I thought I would be sad for the rest of my life. It wasn't just about his death. It was my first realization that nobody is safe. It was the first time that I realized that we weren't immortal. It was the first time I knew that everyone I loved would die.
Through the years, I have lost some more friends to death. I have lost some to misunderstandings. I have lost some just because that's the way life is.
Since then, there has always been a part of me that hold back just a little bit. There's a part of me that sizes people up and measures whether or not they are worth the pain of making them part of my life. People change. They leave. They die. And it hurts.
What this means at this point in my life is that I have a small group of friends who I love with every fiber of my being. These are the people I have encountered in life who are so amazing that they are worth getting close to.
Then I have a constantly changing cast of characters rotating through the acquaintence program. I am insulated from that second group. I try to not get too close to them. I try to not know much about them. That way, when they go, it won't matter.
It may be interesting to note that none of the people I would say I am "closest" to are geographically close to me. The closest ones are about an hour's drive away. The furthest one is in Canada.
Sometimes I wonder if this is just another way of distancing myself.
My family is weird.
Sometimes truly bad things will happen and my own family members will not tell me about it. Then weeks later someone will tell me about how my grandmother almost bled to death in the same tone that they might say she found expired milk in the fridge.
My mom tends to be overly dramatic about some things sometimes. Not always. Just sometimes. She's one of those people who will tell you a long, drawn-out story about something leaving you biting your nails to the nub and expecting the worst. In the end she'll say something like, "It all turned out fine but you can imagine!"
My family is close. By that I mean that there are reunions and we try to spend holidays together and everyone knows everyone's business (or at least thinks that they do). Being part of my family means that you will most assuredly be the topic of hundreds of hushed conversations humming over phonelines nationwide involving very personal and/or very false information.
But we are wretchedly bad at communicating. It seems like the situations most deserving of being told to everyone are the ones you don't hear about until eons after it happened. Most of the things you are told about up front are seldom as serious as they are made out to be.
A typical family conversation might go something like this.
"I made chicken and noodles the other night. You know...from that recipe Aunt Gracie gave me. It's such a shame she died. I think she would have liked the dishes I served the chicken and noodles on."
"What? Aunt Gracie died????"
"Well, I didn't want to upset you. By the way, I think George is relapsing. He's been drinking and driving."
"Did he get arrested or something? How do you know he's drinking and driving?"
"Well, he drove all night to come visit us and when I was helping him get his bags out of the car, I saw empty cans of beer or something on the floor."
"Or something?"
"Some kind of alcohol in a can."
"What did the can look like?"
"It was a small can. Blue and silver."
"Was it Red Bull?"
"Yes! That's it! Red Bull. That gets you drunk."
"No. That gives you wings."
With all of us living in different states, it can get quite confusing and frustrating. I've gotten much better about not flying off the handle over these things. Well, maybe not MUCH better but there has been some improvement.
There are a couple of people that I'm really worried about at the moment. I'm not sure how worried I really should be so I'm trying to err on the side of not being a total freak. I just wish that I could beam myself over to where they are and see for myself how bad the situation is.
In the meantime, I just pray they are ok.
This entry is a hodgepodge of little tidbits that really don't amount to much but will perhaps provide some entertaining reading. Think of it as the USA Today of entries. Unless you are a huge fan of USA Today in which case you'll be offended at that comparison and you can think of it as the Weekly World News of entries.
Our training went better today. We have a mixed class. Some people have a lot of experience with this particular tool and some people have never seen it. In fact, by the completely lost and vacant expressions on their faces during the training you would think they had never seen a computer. In the meantime, Erik and I sit in the back of the class and play Dope Wars on his Kyocera.
I did the Master Cleanse fast today. It wasn't bad at all. I actually like the way that stuff tastes. By "that stuff" I mean a mixture of lemon juice, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper. It sounds completely disgusting but tastes like hot lemon tea. Mmmm. Still, there is no way on God's green earth that I could drink this stuff for 10 days. There's nothing that I want to consume for 10 straight days. Nothing. But I figure even a couple of days will do me good.
Tonight I did the 45 minute "Fat Cruncher" on the elliptical trainer. I am feeling like such a superstar. That should last until I get up and my muscles are so tight that I have to hobble around the house like an old woman. Still, working out like that makes me feel invincible. Afterwards. During the workout I am praying that my legs won't give out.
As I type this, the Kirby Guy is packing up his stuff. My poor husband let them in. He thought they were just really nice people who were going to vacuum our carpet for free. He was mucho disappointed when I explained to him that he would be sitting through a sales demo while I was working out. It was very cute when he whined, "But I want to watch hockey!" as I headed to the back of the house.
By the way, we will not be purchasing the Kirby tonight. Don't get me wrong, the thing seems awesome. I just am not ready to spend as much on a vacuum as the carpet cost. I now have that heeby jeeby creepy crawly feeling thinking of all the grit and grime and germs and dust mites that will overthrow us and take over the house because we did not buy the Kirby. How well I will sleep tonight remembering the conversation about the billions upon billions of dust mites mating and dying in my bed. Ahhhhhh.
My hubby is getting his braces on his top teeth tomorrow. He's pretty excited because he's been wearing this hideous contraption called a Schwartz device. He figures the braces can't be as bad. Poor, deluded boy. Good thing he likes soup.
Speaking of him, it is time for me to challenge him to a Need for Speed tournament so I'll end this mental meandering here.
I did it! 40 minutes on the elliptical trainer tonight. Woohooo! As a reward, I ordered a new yoga tape.
My plan is to keep it at 40 for a bit. There don't seem to be any programs for longer than that. There are definitely 40 minute programs of higher intensity so I can aim for those. I'm not sure what my next fitness goal will be so I'm focusing on my 20 pound weight loss goal for now.
Go me! Go me!
My friend Erik and I have been talking about doing the Master Cleanse/Lemonade Fast thingy. The only problem is that if Erik loses ANY weight he will blow away in the wind or perhaps cease to exist altogether. He wants to do it for the cleansing benefit but can't do it for long because, you know, he doesn't want to die. I, on the other hand, could live off of my own fat (and support a small third world nation) for awhile so I'm not concerned.
So we're going to do a mini-fast and see how we feel. I have fun plans with my friend Janice this weekend, though, and have no willpower for healthiness when margaritas have been promised. Ultimately, the idea of "detoxing" definitely appeals to me. We made a batch of the "lemonade" today and it actually tasted pretty good. We'll see.
I call a Do Over on this day.
It started as soon as I got to the office. I had to make a gazillion photocopies and the freaking printer kept eating them. Then the proxies for the machines in the training lab needed to be reconfigured so we had to call in the techies to bail us out. The training that was to start at 9 finally started at 12:30. That would be shortly after I dumped an entire cup of very hot cocoa all over myself.
It did not progress much better from there. Our trainer has bad teeth and a unibrow and he is fond of asking ridiculous questions. "Does anyone know why we plan? Anyone? Why is planning important?"
Too bad nobody planned ahead to make sure that proper software was installed on our machines. Yeah. Training was deemed a wash at 2:30. We'll try again tomorrow.