Scott's grounded

I leave that man out of my sight for just a few hours, and he comes home with tales of some girl at the bar "talking him up" between rounds of foos-ball. I don't like that. Meanwhile, I'm out in the world with NO makeup on and no chance of being able to come back with similar stories, since I literally do not have my game face on.

Which is really what I came here to blog about but then I get sidetracked by stories of women talking to my boy while he's out with his troublemaking friends. Yes, I am the jealous type -- no, I don't care if it's unattractive. I don't like it. Period. No point dragging it out though, because it only makes Evil Husband play Devils Advocate with me to get a rise out of me. (Would you be upset if I bought her a couple of drinks? How about if she bought me drinks? That depends, dear... Would you be upset if you woke up with your new 19" monitor protruding from your behind??)

Anyways... No makeup. Anyone that has ever read my blog knows how I feel about my makeup. I don't leave the house without it. Even "no makeup" for me usually only REALLY means "no eyeliner." But, today, after days of flakiness I just decided -- fuck it. Spent the whole day in public with no makeup on. Gotta tell you. It was refreshing. Had a mini crying jag today (was missing Dad) and didn't have to worry about mascara running. Could answer the phone without having to wipe off half my face afterwards. In short, I may be turning over a new leaf. I think I can learn to live without having my game face on -- my "A" makeup OR my "B" makeup -- every day and start taking a break.

The biggest thing I will have to learn to live with would be all the comments. Are you feeling okay? Are you tired? Are you sick? Are you getting enough sleep? Yes, no, no, yes -- you stupid people, I just get tired of wearing makeup every friggin' day! GAWD!

That's all for tonight -- if I don't see you before, HAPPY NEW YEAR!

open letter to new friends and old

I'm making a new friend (or bringing a new prospect into the cult, whatever) and, as I always do, I gave her a link to the blog. It's about the only time I get traffic (another than Cattiva I don't think I have any regular readers -- at least none that have anything to say about what I say) and I'm vain. (No, you Heather? Vain? Huh.) [note: so desperate for feedback I am now talking to myself IN PRINT as well as in person...]

Where was I? Ah yes, new friend/cult prospect... How bizarre it must have been for her to learn through the blog that my dad had died. She called to offer her condolences and then admitted she felt odd talking to me after knowing all this personal stuff about me through the blog.

I never thought about it like that. It never occurred to me that someone who didn't know me that well might not be ready to know me THIS well. It is a bit Full Heather Jacket for the newly initiated. Most people generally can only stand the watered down version at first. It takes some time to take your Heather straight up.

I understand this.

So, my dear new friend if you are still here allow me to explain.

I am lazy. Very. I want all that get-to-know you stuff, because that's nice. But who the fuck has time for that? It's not like I would have ever had time to share all the nuances of my relationship with Scott or my friends or my past or whatever in the amount of time that we will actually get to spend hanging out. But, you well know that it is THESE nuances that make a person's life what it is and therefore makes that person who they are. I like to learn those little details about people's lives and arrogantly assume that they would like to know these things about me to try to "get" me, just as I want to "get" them.

Having people that I first meet read my blog is kind of a short cut to that end. Plus, knowing someone might be stopping by in blog world has a similar impact as knowing someone is dropping by your house has on real world. I try harder to put on a show and put some material out there to make it interesting for the visitor -- just as I try harder to pick the house up and get it looking presentable for company. (Not that this is ever successful, but I solved this problem by almost NEVER having anyone over to visit anymore. What they can't see, can't embarrass me!)

So, don't think this stuff is TOO personal or you know too much. Trust me, if this is all there was to me, then that wouldn't leave much. Most of the TOO personal stuff really does stay inside Heather's head. (Or at least in one of Scott's ears and out the other.)

Feel free to read on and try not to worry that you know too much about me to be comfortable. If it gets to be too much, you can always stop reading. I stopped trying to write for other people when I realized that other people weren't stopping by and I still wanted to write. Generally, I write for an imagined audience of what I hope are close friends or people who would like to be.

I'm still hoping to find people looking for solicited overly blunt advice, but there's another blog for you. (How many planned blogs are mentioned out there? 10? Well, won't THAT give me material on slow news days!)

I'm off to bed -- so much for being well-rested before tomorrow night's show... Going to see Movin' Out at Chrysler Hall -- SO excited!

kisses new friends and old ~

H.

While I am waiting for my Tylenol PM to kick in (God bless it), I thought I would tell you a mini-review of all the movies I saw over the holiday weekend.

Lemony Snickett's A Series of Unfortunate Events -- Loved it. Very cute, very story book like. Definitely something I could take my kids to go see and not be afraid of damaging their psyches. Not that I have kids, but if I did I am sure I wouldn't want their psyches damaged.

Closer -- Loved this too. It was the movie equivalent of a very fine dessert. Something that's not your average thing to sink your teeth into. You get just enough of a glimpse of the people to know you wouldn't want to be much closer to them because you know they would cause you harm...

Napoleon Dynamite -- Just out on video and got sucked into the buzz of it. We both had a blast over this one. Very silly. Napoleon is just the geek to end all geeks and just seems completely annoyed with the world at ALL times, but in a very funny way. No matter how geeky you may have been in high school, this movie will probably make you feel much better about it. "What are you going to do today, Napoleon?" "God, whatever I want to, okay!"

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zisou -- This is a bad, bad movie. It was NOT for me. I guess I'm not cool enough to have the right kind of sense of humor for this. And I wanted to. But, less than halfway through it, I wound up not paying attention anymore and sending text messages to anyone who would answer them. "Help me, I'm trapped watching a bad movie!" Gload I didn't pay to see it.

The Flight of the Phoenix -- VERY cheesy, but I did get sucked in. But, if you are lactose intolerant, you may want to avoid this movie altogether.

Monster -- Just released to cable. Wow. This was DISTURBING. I do believe that Selby was using Aileen all along and when things went South, she turned on her -- but this is just my opinion.

That's all we've got and the PM is kicking in, so I'm kicking out.

Nuggets of Humor in Our Sad Holiday

While I was over at Mom's the other night, "being attentive" as she calls it, an old friend of hers called....

Wait, I'm going to tell the story backwards because either way it's going to be a long story that may only be amusing to a small select group of people who knew me WAY back when...

When I was in high school, I really liked to hang out with people and play cards on my mother's GOOD Oriental rug in the fancy living room. (Many of my friend's may recall the blue couch in that room its glory days. Someone will have explain why THAT was the most appealing spot. I always picked the floor.) And the card game we always played was Egyptian Rat Screw. (HP2 recently reminded me how to play this game, and it sent me warping back in time. Feel free to email me and I will tell you how to play. No charge!)

For the longest time, my most regular partner at the game was a dude who shared the name of a summer blockbuster starring Brad Pitt. We really got into playing and had a lot of fun. Many people often thought we should date or thought that we already were. But we weren't and wouldn't -- we never even kissed. But, we sure had a lot of laughs. Maybe that's why? But it never would have worked out because he was a raging Southern Baptist and I was a raging nothing. Until I became a raging Episcopalian. You know how nutty THOSE guys are! Boy, did he try to SAVE me time and time again. Was forever preaching. And had some of the same hypocrisies you often hear about Evangelical ministers -- running after women, sneaking around, telling lies to his parents whom he was supposed to be honoring. So, it was hard to take his preaching seriously. Which, of ourse, I told him.

Years pass, I move away and make all those egregious errors that I made in the past. Yadda yadda yadda, get over those errors, move back to town, yadda yadda yadda, meet and marry the love of my life, my father dies and that brings us back to date. Where I was over at my Mom's house when an old friend called...

She was this lady who was always a little wacky and usually drunk and just a tad slutty who my parents let act as my guardian on many NUMEROUS occasions. Ahhh, the 70's -- don't you miss 'em? She's just heard the news and OH MY GAWD, she's just sooo sorry. And "your poor mother" and how did it HAP-pen? And on and on.* Apparently she heard the news from the neighbor down the street. The mother of the very same guy I used to play cards with. The preacher.

Turns out the preacher became a monk. Can you IMAGINE? How do you go from womanizing Southern baptist to a motherfucking monk?? Don't think I wouldn't ask him that if he called! Because I would. How could I not?? The crazy lady said that when the family heard the news, he asked for my phone number so he could call. Can you imagine? What circle of hell will I wind up in if I say motherfuck to a Monk? Is there a book on this? Because I can't stand it -- I just can't!!

So, that was my nugget of humor in some of the sad days...

-hl



*(Sidenote over my last sidenote from my last blog... Now, I can not only write about Bridezilla madness and what you can and can't say to a bride or about a wedding that I never realized... I can also write about Surreal Funeral Timeframe, where nothing seems real and people say the most ludicrous things out of a desperate attempt to try to give you comfort when you both feel so sad that you know that they can't say anything and how you wish they could. Asking how did it happen is not always the best way to go in this time frame, I have learned this. I KNOW you want to know, but can you imagine how much I really don't want to talk about it??)

M

I feel like I am supposed to have this big scarlet letter M on my chest, because I am in mourning. People talk to me in these hushed tones and get this funny crinkle between their eyes when they ask me how I am. It's no longer a generic question -- they actually want to know an answer now. How ARE you? No, I mean, really.

Really, I'm fine. I feel kind of bad that I'm fine. It doesn't mean that I don't miss my Dad and that I don't think that it totally and completely sucks that he is gone from my life. Particularly at Christmas time, let's be honest. Which also makes me feel bad, because what? It would have been better in March when there's no holidays going on?

Well, yeah. Who wants to associate the holidays with losing their parent? And now, my poor Mom has lost both her husband and her mother around the holidays. Yet still manages to put together a tree that would make Martha Stewart pee her pants in jealousy.

Where was I? Ah, yes -- fine. I'm fine. I feel like this is some sort of character flaw on my part. I try to explain it away to people. Give them reasons that I am fine. But let's face it -- I am the daughter of the "you've got to play when you're hurt" man. Would I even be allowed to be anything BUT fine?? It's not even that I'm forcing it. Mostly, I'm fine. I wish that things were the way they were before. I wish my Dad was going to be there on Christmas morning, pretending to like all the presents we gave him and complaining about how all we do is talk about when we're going to eat again. It's just all those dumb little things that you miss that you don't realize you're going to. But, it doesn't make me want to cry all the time and I don't feel sick anymore. I just feel sad that he's not here, but I AM glad that he won't have to deal with all the repercussions of all the cancer he had. He wouldn't have liked having to be that weak in front of us, that wasn't his style.

And I feel like because I'm not supposed to be "fine" that most people don't know how to talk to me, don't know how to approach me anymore. I was out shopping today and people treated me like a normal, regular, last-minute harried shopper. It was a relief. I wanted to ask them why they couldn't see this big scarlet M on me, but I knew it was because they didn't have the information. I wish more people didn't have the information. I wish more people didn't have to know about this change in me. I wish I didn't feel like I needed to tell them. I don't even really want to talk about It, but I feel like other people think I do so they ask. They check in. They take my emotional temperature.

My dad died. It's really fucking sad, but it turns out it's not the end of the world. Life does, in fact, go on. And everything seems even more ridiculous than it did before.

Next episode: how I'm trying not to be militant about not smoking.

R.I.P. R.C.P.

There's no easy way to discuss this, but I feel that before we can move on as blogger and bloggee we have to talk about it...

My dad died last Wednesday. Most of you already know this. But maybe you didn't get the memo.

There is NO way to describe how this has already changed my life in a 1000 subtle and not-so-subtle ways. I wanted to speak at his service this past Saturday, but how could I? What could I say? What can you say about the man who was this presence in your life for 31 1/2 year and is now gone. Suddenly and completely with no second chances.

I find that I frequently have to stop myself from saying things now and that's never been my strong suit. But the things I want to say are of a preachy nature to others, and what good does that do? Lord knows that's not something that would serve HIS memory well. Don't get me wrong, the man knew how to give a lecture but just like any lecture I would be prone to give -- it wouldn't do anyone any good until it's too late.

Because I really want to remind people to stop and pay attention to the people in their lives who have made their lives what they are today. To appreciate these people. To tell them they are appreciate. To remember that the people who truly love you, love you forever -- even when they are completely incapable of telling you so verbally, they tell you in thousands of other ways. It was beyond my father to tell me regularly that he loved me and that he was proud of me. Every once in a while he would be able to do so (generally after a number of beers) and even in the telling he would get a little choked up and would quickly have to change the subject to something less emotional. Like, when are you going to get that fence fixed, Heather? Or tell Scott I'm going to kick his ass in fantasy football this week. What time are you going to be here for dinner on Sunday?

My father's dying didn't suddenly make the relationship we had rosy and beautiful, we certainly had our ups and downs and generally didn't see eye to eye on many things. But the one thing that I'm glad of is that in these last few years, I (at least) had been able to really understand that while these differences frustrated me immensely they didn't mean that we loved each other any less. I know that he loved me, because of the things that he did for me through the years, even at times when he wasn't even able to do things for himself. I know that he loved me because he tried to shelter me from the bad things in life, so I wouldn't have to experience them myself. And I know that he loved me because I just know.

You know too. Someone loves you that doesn't tell you and may not even do a great job of showing you. Try to understand that they are giving you as much as they can.

I always tried to tell my dad how much I loved him, but I hope that I was able to show him sometimes too.

This is where I become prone to the preaching -- take your loved ones in your arms and never let them go til you know they know you love them. That's what I want to say, because it really is true -- you really don't know when they'll be gone from your life.

much love all ~

This pretty much says it all about my night out last night...

The surprising thing is that for once, these aren't MY boobs! ;-)

But this played a part too. I know I shouldn't be posting porn like stuff on my blog -- but f* it. And now y'all can see the new hair color.

Not sure if it's going to stay around for a while because it's a bit darker than I anticipated, actually. But, I'm going to try it out for a few weeks in the interest of not causing my beloved hairdresser yet another nervous breakdown!

Last night was a TON of fun. I haven't had that much fun and cut loose in a long time... And today, I remembered why as I have staggered about the house grunting in pain with every step I take and sounding like a bowl of Rice Krispies every time I get up. But, then again I am old enough to realize that I do, in fact, need more than 5 hours of sleep in order to feel like a productive member of society.

The GOOD news is that I have yet to get a single Christmas task accomplished nor any decorating, but I have somehow managed to not have a nervous breakdown over it. Probably because our house is such a disaster that I have little time to think of much else.

In the spirit of "my dad can beat up your dad", I give you my husband can out-bling your husband.

Finally colored my hair. It's kind of a toffee color, I think. I like it. It's a lot closer to my natural color which will be easier maintenance wise. Maybe. I think I'm just used to being blonde now, so it's hard to switch.

I get home, Scott comes scooting down the stairs to see how I turned out. He was a bit taken aback by the color change, but I think he'll get over it. I start teasing him about how he can't say I can't make a decision about changing my hair color now and he says, "You might want to be a little nicer to me..." Then he goes into the other room and gets me a gift bag. Inside the bag is a cute little bear and I'm all awww, that's so sweet. And then I realize the cute bear isn't the gift -- the cute little bear is wearing big diamond earring studs.

Hubba ding a bling bling!

I've been saying I wanted diamond studs forever but because I knew I planned to wear them in my second hole have always felt a little guilty for this desire. Like, I'm not worthy to have something so blingy just to put in an extra hole.

I've changed my mind! Kapow! I've got zing, I've got sizzle -- I'm loving it!!

It was this time last year that we got engaged -- a year ago tomorrow actually. I feel like a princess -- having a day that bling gets bestowed upon me. Hee hee!

Thanks to my honey and thanks to all of you for listening to me rave about my diamonds -- they are just so much fun!

Diamonds may not be my best friend but it's nice that my best friend likes to give them to me...

H.

I am really fucking angry right now.

We went out with my husband's co-workers tonight to say farewell to one of his co-workers. Bon voyage -- turns out there are greener pastures in Indiana, who would have thunk it?

Well, ONE of his co-workers is a woman who I have had varying degrees of issues with. We'll call her Sheila, for identity purposes. Sheila likes to talk about sex -- A LOT. I am uncomfortable with the level of sex talk around my husband (much less what I DON'T know about) and I don't even consider myself to be an uptight person. However, I also know that Sheila has had a lot of misfortune in her personal life, and because of which I try to be understanding. Sheila has a lot of self-esteem issues which has led her to be involved in abusive relationships. Having been there/done that -- this is not something I take lightly.

Tonight, Sheila has a bit too much to drink. This is not unusual. She has a break-down because of the too much to drink and who has to go rescue her in the bathroom post-vomit (thankfully!)? Yours truly. She is a COMPLETE wreck. No one loves her, she wants what I have with Scott, she can't understand why everyone treats her so bad... Etc.

I really have to refrain from slapping her and I am not a violent person. I try to reason with her. Look, you have to love yourself before anyone else can love you -- do you think I could have what I have with Scott if I didn't have some respect for myself first? Do you think someone is going to just rescue you from your life? Fuck that. Respect yourself, respect what you have accomplished. Jesus Christ -- this woman is a single mother of a BEAUTIFUL daughter who is an accomplished dancer and the woman is successful in her own right. Makes tons of money on her own, for herself and doesn't even appreciate what she has. And why?! Why?!

Because she doesn't have a fucking man to snuggle up with at night! It makes me so angry I can hardly type. Men are men.

I love Scott. I do. But that's because he is SCOTT -- he is not just some man who came along and did the right thing the right amount of times. He earned it. Yes, he fucks up A LOT and there have been plenty of times I have wondered what I was thinking but I did NOT want to be with him because he was a man -- I wanted to be with him because he was Scott and he was THE man for me. It makes me so so so so angry to hear women who say they want to be with a man and they NEED a man and they think it is pathetic because they have gone for X amount of time without having sex. Are you kidding me? Sex is sex. You can get that anywhere and you are kidding yourself if you think just any man that can "hold you so tight" is going to solve that. You don't need to be held tight -- you need therapy. You need to learn self-respect and self-worth.

And you know what, contrary to what I always say -- it is NOT that simple. It is hard hard work to believe that you are worth something and that you don't deserve just anything and that you do deserve to be with someone who treats you decent. But maybe when you believe that you won't keep talking about sex to anyone and everyone who will listen. That's NOT who you are -- and YOU do deserve better.

I'm not sure if it is possible to be addicted to beauty crap, but if it is I definitely am. And have been for as long as I can remember. One person can regale with glee the stories of "all of those little bottles" and no one ever worries about not having any makeup if they come by my house and realize they need to put some on. I usually have a pretty fair amount. I don't generally venture too far out of my earth tone makeup colors but I do have an array of them.

What is it about makeup? I think it's the magic of it all. I love it so much that I'm pretty sure I've blogged about it before -- but who cares? Is ANYONE keeping score here? Where was I...? Ah, the magic. I get up and do my shower thing and then I transform myself into someone that has smoother pores and more defined eyes. Not too much, just enough to look better. It takes a fair amount of makeup to look like you're not wearing any but it's worth it.

And with apologies to my Avon lady, I must say that I love Clinique. LOVE the Clinique. Just stopped by tonight and donated part of my Christmas bonus and loved it. I've always gotten good service (have to go to Dillard's though, the Hecht's girls aren't as good -- so said the Dillard's girl) and just love to play. Although, I am convinced that they go to the same school of comments. Every time I go to the Clinique counter I generally get one or all of the following comments:

Do you exfoliate?
Have you tried moisturizer? (This one is pretty funny because it generally comes after a chat with the consultant about how I have such dry skin and I have a really hard time with that.)
You have such a gorgeous mouth -- people pay money for lips like this. (I swear I am not making this up -- I have heard this more than twice. It can't be a coincidence, they must tell them to say this.)
You are so funny.

I think funny people must not visit the Clinique counter very often because they're generally pretty amused by me. I used to think this was just a suck-up thing to make me buy things, but I just learned they don't earn commission -- so I'm back to my original theory. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm funny but I'm not THAT funny. You just need to get out more.

Anyways... Bought this scary but cool lipstick tonight. I've been looking for a shiny red lipstick for a while but whenever I try to buy one it's always wrong. I realized I needed expert help. So, I was directed to the Queen of the Lipsticks. This stuff requires at least a Bachelors degree in proficiency at applying lipstick, so it's not for the faint-hearted. I am a little faint-hearted when it comes to lipstick, having had one too many experiences that left me looking like a cheap hooker but I'm desperate. So, you have to very precisely paint this stuff onto your lips and then you have to let it dry. Very carefully. If it doesn't dry just so, or if you (God forbid!) try to blot your lips then you are completely screwed. The stuff will flake and the flaking will never end. You'll be flaking til you die! THEN, you have to put the shiny stuff on. But don't put it on too soon or the colored stuff will get gritty and you're screwed again.

But that's not the scariest part. The scariest part is that it doesn't come off. Well, at least not easily. I washed my face and about half of it was still clinging on. Then I used 3 layers of Vaseline and it STILL didn't come off. What does it take? I'm thinking nuclear reaction.

I may need to get a lip implant after all -- I think I lost a few layers scraping this stuff off.