Heather Time

There was a catch-phrase that really caught on around the time that my father passed away. That phrase was (insert your name) Time. It started with Scott, who was a bit overwhelmed by all of the family presence and then got an infection to boot. He said that he needed some "Scott Time," and it would be understood that he just needed to get away from the madness for a minute. Gradually the phrase was used for just about anyone, particularly my aunt's introverted husband who needed to have some Bob Time.

I've been thinking about this lately because I've really been wanting some Heather Time. My husband hasn't been working the last couple of weeks (we'll call that a voluntary temporary hiatus, scheduled to end on July 5), and so we have been spending more than an average amount of time together. This is not incredibly unusual, really, as his job usually has him home before I get home. But, before there had been pockets of time for Heather Time. There hasn't been much lately.

But, tonight he is out with the boys. Sweet Georgia Brown!

Don't misinterpret that I don't like spending time with my husband. I do and generally I prefer large quantities. More is better!

But. When I have Heather Time, I can watch all of the Felicity and Gilmore Girls and whatever other estrogen tv may suit me. I can talk on the phone without having to leave the comfort of my couch because my loud talking interferes with the tv. (Not disputing that this is true, though.) I can drink wine for dinner. Our cats will remember that I live here too and come and talk to me. I can wear pore reducing masks around the house and not have to worry about being green-faced and weirder than usual.

But, best of all, having Heather Time allows me to miss having Scott around. Makes me appreciate him more. Makes me less grouchy. Which is a much-needed development in my personality, I can assure you.

It's important to get your (Insert Your Name Here) Time. It makes you appreciate your The Rest of the Damned World Time. :^)

Melting Pot

So much stirring around in my head tonight that it's tempting to just spew out a bunch of stream of conscious stuff. Not that this isn't what I do already, but I at least try to make it make a little sense to those outside of my head.

Rhetorically speaking (don't write, this is not about you) -- what does one do when one feels like one can no longer rely on one's friends and wants to strike out fresh? Do you stop returning their calls? Gradually stop doing things with them until they get the point? What is the answer? It sounds cliched, but I really do have a friend in this situation. Ready to get out of past friendships, no matter what the cost, and move on. I see this and it's alarming to me. I don't want my friend to be alone and deny these friends. But my friend feels let down by these friends and refuses to just talk to them about it. Would rather just let them go then open those lines. It's hard to watch. I can't talk to my friend about it much -- just hope that we stay friends...

What to do when an old love pops back into your life unexpectedly?? Another friend going through this and called me to "fuss." I really don't have the answer to this, but because it's so easy for me. My past loves are very much my past. If I saw them again, I have no doubt it might be odd but only for the moment. I just love Scott too much, those other people are nothing in comparison. But, she doesn't know how to make the feeling go away. The butterflies are fluttering and it was totally unexpected. I, for once, had no advice. What do you say? I think she feels what she feels because it was unresolved and she's always going to wonder. That's why closure is so important -- it keeps you from passing out in the meat department when you run into your old love 10 years after it's all over.

I've still been friend-dating but it's hard when my friend loves her husband as much as I love mine -- no one wants to venture out solo. But, Jesus -- how the fuck do you ever get to complain about them if you can't get away??

My anniversary is looming and it blows my mind. I cannot believe that we have been married one year and yet, it seems so long already because we have been through so much already...

Father's Day this weekend. I miss my dad a lot. Much more than I ever thought I would. I feel for all of the women that are actually quite close to their dads and have a "regular" relationship with them. Dad and I never had that -- in fact, we were only starting to get close to something approaching one when his health problems started kicking in -- and yet I miss him every day. You just never think you're going to lose one of your parents (how careless, to lose him) when you're in your 30's. After all, my parents were at least in their 50's before their parents started dying. It just doesn't seem right. I should be better prepared.

It's easy to martyr Dad now that he's gone, but I know that he was no saint. In fact, I spent most of my life in opposition to him. We just couldn't see eye to eye. Even towards the end, the last fight we had was about Fox News. He really believed it was fair and unbiased. But, I knew that he loved me even though he couldn't say it and it was nice having that to fall back on.

Happy Father's Day, Bobby Chuck, wherever you are...

2nd post

I get a little vain sometimes about my writing. It's one of the reasons I have always kept some form of journal. Actually, my blog is pretty journally, just a lot more censored. (Can you imagine that this shit is being censored? Not for cuss words, obviously.)

It's just so interesting to me to go back and read things that I wrote a couple of years ago. Sometimes I have a way of voicing how I feel about things that doesn't even seem to come out of me. I certainly don't usually talk the way I write. It feels good to be able to turn a phrase that absolutely captures the meat of what I want to say...

Like this from August of 2003: So, I'm disturbed. I've built an empire on my own voice and my feelings about it and now I'm realizing that this may be a large reason why I'm drifting away from friends and having a hard time developing new friendships. My utter attachment to me and my belief that everything I have to say is completely fascinating. Because, you know what? It's not.

It's kind of sad that I still feel that way. Still can't seem to overcome my own obnoxiousness to get over myself. It's not that I don't like me, it's just that I need to be a little less interested in me and a lot more engaged in other people.

Reminds me of one of my favorite drunken "spats" (if you can even call it that) with the Librarian. We were at a party and there were only a handful of people there that we knew. The group we came with was ready to roll but the Librarian was DEEPLY involved in a conversation with someone at this party and was pretty torqued off that we wanted to just leave. Because Heather, she said to me, she is another human being. She has thoughts and ideas and it's wrong to just walk aways like that doesn't matter.

Dude, it was a party. It was time to party on -- was basically my response.

Anyways, need to get more involved with those human beings and their thoughts and ideas.

What do you think?

Aw shit, I've gone and not posted anything forever again.

Sorry.

Hello? (taps the mic) Hello??

I'm sorry, really.

I've had mental jank going on -- I've been a bit at odds.

I'm getting back together though.

Please come back!

Did you see The Breakfast Club reunion on the MTV Movie awards? I'm afraid it was a bit lamer than I had hoped for, but still nice to recall. The movie's going to lose it's edge though if TBS doesn't stop showing it into ubiquity -- can we get a year off?

Anyways, I'm not gone. I'm around.

I'll post something for you soon. How can I neglect you, you sexy bitches?? ;-)

Penis Envy

Yes, I am using the P-word in bold letters on the subject line. We are ALL adults here, get over it.

Why do I have penis envy? Because of my husband.

Tonight is his Friday night, since he is off work tomorrow, so he is playing with the boys tonight. And by playing, I mean literally -- they will be playing games.

I am QUITE envious of this. I do not have friends that I can get together and play games with. This is a foreign concept to me, but one I would love to be a part of. When they hang out, they will play Trivial Pursuit or Scrabble or golf... Mind you, all of these games are HIGHLY techno-ed up and on a computer that is then connected to a VERY large television, but still.... It's playing.

I wanna play games. Women play games when we get together, but it's more emotional -- not actual feeling like a kid again fun.

I don't feel left out because I am not there, because I could have gone. I feel left out because I don't have people that I can just hang out and do stupid things with that aren't analyzing the world's problems.

Let the world handle it's own problems for a minute and let's play Clue for Christ's sake!

That is all that I am saying.

Humor-sucking risk management PMS infested day

Over the last few days, I feel like my lifeforce -- my joie de vivre if you will -- has been sucked out of me. Maybe it's my lacking in excitement call center insurance job. Maybe it's this crappy, cloudy fall weather in the middle of SPRING. Maybe it's my disaster-strewn house on the verge of being condemned for its messiness. Maybe it really is just PMS. But, I can't help but feel like I used to be fun. I used to be funnier.

I'm pretty sure it's PMS.

The wonderful thing about PMS is that you really can't believe that you are ever going to feel happy or joyous ever again. It's just this chronic state of crankiness that doesn't seem to dissipate and is made ALL the better by my beloved husband who insists that I am only not cranky about 5 days a month anyways.

Thanks for the memories, dear. Did you know that in some courts juries have found PMS to be a legitimate reason for manslaughter?

It's something to think about, isn't it?

No, I'm not going to kill my husband, but would it kill him just to throw a Hershey bar and a "you look pretty today" into my corner when I'm acting like a beast?

I mean, I'm just saying.

I'll tell you one thing that got me to perk up a notch. (Mind you, at the state I'm in a notch is only going to take me to only Defcon 3 of the Blues, not actually cure it altogether.) Tom Cruise on Oprah. Just watched that with my friend Tivo.

Tonight, I was talking about it over dinner and Scott and Evil were both convinced that he is gay. I was starting to agree. But now, I don't know. I really think that as crazy as it sounds, he really loves that girl Katie Holmes and she really loves him. They just seem to be having a really good time, and my boy Tom was off the chain with the grinning. Not that he is depressed much, but it was crazy. He was jumping on the couch and professing his love for the whole darned Oprah audience to hear.

And NO ONE said shit about the age difference. Which I was surprised by and then impressed with. Maybe it doesn't really matter.

So, this did perk me up a bit. Seeing Tom and Katie and how happy and in love they were. I like that. It's nice. And they seem like they're just real sweethearts too. I mean, look at her -- she's a doll. I'm a little star-dusted by her. Who can blame the man?

But, back to me. And my wallowing. I need some shiny happy people to be goofy and pick me up out of this mood.

Maybe I'll listen to disco on the way to work tomorrow. That's a pretty good cure for most things.

Off to try to speed read my depressing book before bedtime. (Hmm, this is the second sad book I have read in a row. Must make note to read chick lit STAT! before picking up the next kind of sad/intense book from my nightstand.)

53 more days til Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince

Visitors

I have a new visitor coming to the blog, so I thought I should throw some of the pictures up and try to clean up the place a bit.

Hello new visitor. Snoop around a bit. There are varying degrees of moodiness here in this place. Yes, I will talk about you. Some people have specifically requested not to be mentioned by name, and they get cute nicknames. Some people get cute nicknames just because. Scott got called out by Rose a long time ago, so Rose doesn't get a cute nickname. Scott used to be just S, but alas no more. If you want a cute nickname, you will need to fill out a CN420 form in triplicate and file it with our registrar. (Rose, this is why I am always calling you out, by the way -- because of that.)

Just like photos where people look for themselves in party shots, some people merely stop by looking for mention of them. Tony Kahlua is one of thse people. I will often highlight his name in some way to save him from having to read all the other words. If you are looking for mention of you, try here or here. (Or at least, mention things you were around for.)

If you're just shopping, I suggest some of our vintage 2003 blogs. They're a bit wittier, in the writer's opinion, and less philosophical and melodramatically analyzing the meaning of friendship, blah blah blah. More on the early times of dating and stuff. Although, some of Bridezilla stuff before July 2004 was kind of funny too. But, hey maybe you don't want funny, which is good because we're stocked to the gills with not funny!

So, here you go -- welcome to my world, feel free to stop by again.

xoxo
H.

ps: Just ate something called Sushi Candy Roll at a local sushi place called This Old House that my friend Curly Sue took me to for belated birthday dinner and I have GOT to tell you that this stuff was OFF THE CHAIN. Oh my God! It was eel wrapped with rice and avocado but it was sooooo sweet and nummy... Mmmmm... I may have erotic dreams about this stuff, it was SO good.

And if you're looking for some summer reading, might I suggest The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. I really enjoyed this book, although it was less about the wife than it was promised to be.

And this was our view of the Statue of Liberty from the Staten Island Ferry. The ferry ride takes about 20 minutes and you can have drinks on it while you ride -- now THAT'S a daily commute I could handle!! 

A blurry picture of my favorite bar. The inside was an old beauty salon that was converted to a bar -- with dryers and everything. For $10 you could get a drink AND a manicure. I didn't do it though because I was a little afraid of a bar manicure. 

This is the view from her apartment window -- worth the crazy NY rent, almost! 

Me and my cousin goofing off in her apartment in Brooklyn. I am not into modern art, but I was really drawn to this painting that her boyfriend did. Maybe it's because it has all of my current favorite colors in it. Maybe it's becaue it matched my shirt... 

John Lithgow outside of the Dirty Rotten Scoundrels theater -- we loved this musical. It was based on the movie and the guys were HYSTERICAL! 

This is about as close to the Empire State Building as we got -- too much else to eat... er, see I mean. 

Scott and Heather goofing off on the tour bus. 

Heather in Times Square 

Ketchup

Crap, I've gone a neglected the darned blog again. Last post was 5/5... On 5/7, my beloved and I went to New York City for a week. We had a great time, though we spent a fair amount of time complaining about all of the walking we had to do. But, we like to complain -- so that was inadvertenly fun too. (No, he does not agree that he likes to complain. Which, frankly, he doesn't as much as I do -- but who does?!)

I have shared many of my NY stories in person or by phone, so I'm a little story-sharing out. Which is unfortunate for those of you out there in blogger-land, but there it is. Truth be told, we spent a fair amount of time just wandering around the city and being sort of lost and eating. There was a lot of eating. We kept searching for THE New York food experience, I think. Unfortunately, I think we had that too early in our trip when my cousin took us to Thai food at this nifty little place called Sea in Brooklyn. I had never had Thai food before, and I LOVED it. There were several other good eating experiences, but that one by far topped it. The food was good, the atmosphere was interesting, and the prices didn't make the hair stand up on the back of my neck. (Wish I could say the same for the drinks at the Trump Bar -- $36 for 2 martinis! Yikes!!)

Speaking of martinis, here's the recipe (sort of) for what I drank when I could on our trip. I found it in one of my chick mags and it's called a French 75. It's 1/4 oz gin, 1/4 oz cointreau, 1/4 lemon juice and 5 oz champagne. It doesn't sound like a great combination, but it was very yummy. Our last night there I got cut off by the bartender because I had had 8 in like 3 hours and she was concerned. Hmm, since I didn't even realize I was that drunk, guess I should have been more concerned. I mostly drank a doctored version of this, as most places don't keep champagne around 'just in case.' The doctored version involved white wine and then whatever the bartender used to concoct the lemon and fizziness -- usually Sprite. Actually, I had a champagne version, and I must say the doctored version (when done correctly, which isn't easy) was better.

Why don't I own a martini shaker again?

Here's the up-to-the-minute latest...

It seems that the pattern I seem to now fall into, now that I have found a man who doesn't continuously disappoint me, is to befriend women who find ways to do this. I thought I had managed to end this when I cut off the Gnome, but no. I was supposed to lay low with a friend tonight who was on the verge of major drama with the on-again, off-again putz in her life. Apparently, the off became on and I got put on the back burner.

The irony of this situation is that the reason he was about to become off (again) is because of his failure to keep commitments to her, or lack of follow through. When she complained about it this afternoon, she admitted to quoting from the damned not that into me book when she said, "When you don't call me, you are saying to me that I am not important enough to make a priority in your life." And then, she doesn't call.

I can't stand it, I just can't stand it. I just can not believe this is happening again. And (JUST LIKE DATING!) we are in the early stages of friendship, so I am not sure if I should call her on this or just let it go when I get the lame-ass excuse that I am bound to get. We connected on many of the same levels, we had similar senses of humor, I had a lot of hopes for this one. I can't keep putting myself out there to replicate the friendships of my youth, when clearly it can't be done.

So, I'm frustrated. And hurt. And just wishing that when the good ones were here, they wouldn't keep moving the fuck away and making me call them at all hours of the night to complain about them moving away. Damn.

Well, I'm going to mope and drink more wine and pretend like I'm not moping, which is always fun.

Anyways, that's the ketchup -- it's just regular stuff from here on out...

Pause though to throw hugs out to my cousin for making me feel better about "keeping it real" where my life and relationships are concerned. She told me that I air the things that a lot of people think about and go through, but never talk about and that she liked that. That makes me happy. :-)

kisses

Coffeehouse Name

I swear, I know that I am not with it, but this is a phenomenon that I was TOTALLY out of the loop on.

But, then again, maybe someone is just fucking with me.

Apparently, when people go to coffeehouses, they do not use their given names -- they use alternate names. I learned this from my cousin, whom I am not sure is a slice of the average coffeehouse goer.

Still, he says it is really common for people to use aliases. But, that's it. They don't change their personalities or make up a persona -- just their name.

I do not get it.

If I were going to go to a coffeehouse and call myself Locklear or Athena for the fuck of it, I would make up a personality to go with it too. It would give me a chance to act up. To be someone else for a minute. (Kind of like the other night when Scott and I pretended to be mysterious strangers in the bar... Until his friend busted us on it and I got all embarrassed.)

Why go and change your name and still be yourself?

Do you ever tell what your real name is?

Only if you see the people again, according to my cousin.

I do not get it.

I feel kind of bummed that I do not have a coffeehouse name. Not sure who I would be. I've never been able to come up with any cute alias names for myself. The last time I had an alias was in the high school literary mag, but I did not even get to pick that name. Other people chose it for me.

I would not have picked what they picked, but I did like it.

Chloe? Lois? Lana? Maryjane? Anna Karenina? Scarlett? I could be the anti-HP, Penny Harker? I could be Harriet Potter? Hermione Potter!

What do you think? What's YOUR coffeehouse name?!

Shopaholic

I am seriously getting worried about my shopping. My husband gave me shit about it the other day. Didn't go all Ricky Ricardo on me or anything, but still. He rarely has given me a hard time about my spending habits.

I'm worried that there's a 12-step program in my future.

I managed to restrain myself at the bookstore tonight and only bought things for my mom for mother's day. But, even that was very hard. I mean, it's the bookstore for God's sake. I can only be so strong.

My most recent go-nuts episodes have been brought to you by the change of season and my increased amount of cellulite. Any sane person would see this as a sign to hit the gym so they could squeeze back into their summer clothes. I heard it as a call to shop.

And I did -- HARD.

I wanted to stop, I kept thinking I should stop, but there was always one more little thing I HAD to have. And then the earrings to go with that.

Not good.

And now I'm getting ready to get unleashed in New York City?! I mean, are you freaking kidding me? You don't put alcoholics in New Orleans, you don't drop off overeaters in Hershey PA, and you sure as crap don't drop off shopaholics in NEW YORK CITY.

I'm scared, actually. Every time I get to the part of the bank website where the credit card balance is, I avert my eyes. I can't face what I have done.

It's not that I don't need clothes, because I really don't have that much since I have put on so much weight. But, I feel so guilty rewarding the cellulite for sticking around by buying it cute stuff to wear. I should be wearing muumuus and punishing my thighs for being bad.

Not to mention melting all of my credit cards.

But, I just hear the stuff calling me from the stores and it's so nice to have new things and I've always been pretty bad about overindulging as the season's change. Last winter I was pretty good, actually. I think I only bought a couple of sweaters and some jeans.

I just feel so dirty. Every time I check out of somewhere, I want to burn the receipts. My last purchase came with a survey of my shopping experience, for which I will receive 10% off of my NEXT purchase.

I do not need ANOTHER purchase, no matter what the discount is. How is that helping things??

All right. I am going to peep at my credit card balance and then hope I can sleep afterwards...

If you know any good 12-step programs, or maybe there is a book I could buy...

BOYS TOWN

I have been spending more time that usual lately with all boys. Just boys. I may have completely lost the ability to relate to other women, it is that epidemic.

My cousin has been in housing limbo for the last week or so, and so has been spending a fair amount of time on our couch. He's adapting to some of Scott's ways, so I get picked on a fair amount.

I'm a bit tired. If I fight back, then I am the bad girl and if I don't fight back, then I am the girl who feels bad.

Aww, I'm being melodramatic now. I don't even feel that bad, actually. But, it's just been a LOT of testosterone and I'm like in dire need of some XX time. (No, not the movie rating kind, the non-Y chromosome kind.)

Was it just last weekend that I hung out with the girls and helped deplete the martini supply and all of the cancer sticks?? What a long week it's been and man, did I ever realize how much I miss those times?

But, on the other hand... A lot of the time spent with the girls was spent obsessing about our bodies and our weight and talking about how we "should" be doing this or that. I do NOT miss that. It's not that I don't know that I need to do all of that, but I don't have to deal with that when I hang out with the guys. The guys don't sit around talking about how many sizes they went up since last fall -- and it's not like they shouldn't be! But, the guys don't go out of their ways to denigrate themselves the way that women do. So, that part is nice -- being able to just slouch around and not have to get dolled up.

Because let's be honest -- who do we really get dolled up for? Women. We have to look good so other women do not judge us for looking less than good.

Still... As easy as it can be in boys' town, I miss girls' town. I miss the giggling and guffawing over the weird things that draw us together. Mostly laughing about what happens in boys' town and how they see things on THAT side. Or being able to talk about my emotions without having to go through some lecture about why it's important for the other person to just listen to my emotions once in a while and NO, it does not always mean that I am having my period... (Sidenote: why doesn't someone tell men that all of the bad period stuff actually has NOTHING to do with the bleeding itself?? Why do they think it is called PRE-menstrual syndrome? Are they this dense??)

Anyways, so much for my thoughtful discussion on spending too much time with the boys. I'm tired. Think I'll go snuggle up with my boy.

CINGULAR SUCKS

I wanted to make sure that was in the biggest font possible. Too bad I don't have one any bigger.

I really don't want to post this entire story, because I am just tired of ranting and raving about it. The long and the short of it is that Cingular sucks, and I beg of any of you that if you have any reason of thinking of switching to this company that you leave. This has been THE worst customer service experience of my life.

The bottom line is that I did what they told me to do, and now I don't have cell phone service until my new phone gets here. Sigh.

I mean, I KNEW I was addicted to my phone. I knew this. But, not having it is honestly just incredibly depressing. I had no idea how many quick little phone calls I made throughout the day and really relied on. Little connections to Scott, especially, (not just nagging, sometimes just to hear his voice when I was having a bad day); to make plans for the night or the week or whatever; to pay bills; just so many, many things. And even though it has just been a day and a half, I really feel just lost without my little buddy. Not that I was crazy about the Nokia phone that I had, but at least it worked and was supported by a company.

But, you know what... Cingular Fed-Ex'ed my phone to me after my last tiraded call. So, maybe they aren't THAT evil.

We'll see how it does when it finally gets here...

XOXO
the Cynic

I am temporarily without cell phone service. I am LOST and ALONE and CONFUSED.

More on this later, because it is quite the tale to tell.

Nevertheless, I would call you to tell you about it but I cannot.

Sigh.

The Forwarder

I have a very dear friend who has a serious addiction problem. She is addicted to forwarding emails. I didn't realize this was something you could become addicted to, until I met Rose. Frankly, she's so addicted that when she meets new people and asks them for their email address, I will jump across table to try to prevent them from giving it to her before it's too late.

It's always too late. Rose can get email address faster than those spammer people do. And even though I know it's ridiculous crazy stuff that she forwards, because it's from my friend I can't NOT read it. That is not an option.

The funny thing is that many of her forwards are contradictory. She claims to have liberal values and then will send forwards out bashing liberals. She claims to not be an overtly devout person and then sends me Rosary poems. It's CRAZY, I tell you.

She sends many of the AOL or Gap or Outback Steakhouse will rebate you money if you forward this to enough people. Scott has demanded the money from her that he is entitled to from all the times she's forwarded this.

But the ones I find the most outrageous are the "people have died because they failed to follow simple instructions to keep this forward going." Um, that's a chain letter, Rose.

You don't believe that there are still forwards that say people will die if you don't forward it? HA! Read on -- this is an ACTUAL line from an ACTUAL Rose forward...

">CASE 1: Kelly Sedey had one wish, for her boyfriend of three years, David Marsden, to propose to her. Then one day when she was out to lunch David proposed! She accepted, but then had to leave because she had a meeting in 20 min. When she got to her office, she noticed on her computer she had some e-mail's.>She checked it, the usual stufffrom her friends, but then she saw one> that she had never gotten before.>It was this poem. She simply deleted it without even reading all of it. BIG MISTAKE! Later that evening, she received a phone call from the police It was about DAVID! He had been in an accident with an 18 wheeler. He didn't survive!<"

There were two more cases after this one, the next one almost as comical. Basically, the poor girl didn't have enough people's email addresses to forward it to, so she too met an unfortunate vehicular fate. (Note: Who does not have at least 10 people's email addresses if their LIVES depended on it? Is she homeless??) Luckily, in the last case, the man was wise enough to IMMEDIATELY send the forward on, not wanting to press his 3 hour forward window (bad luck operators are standing by to fuck up your life if you do not comply with our wishes) and met his first true love walking down the street (she was a hooker) and they got married and have three beautiful children who eat all of their vegetable and don't talk to strangers or put strange things up their noses.

No, I'm not going to post the silly poem here. I would inadvertently be complying with the forward requirement... Well, maybe not -- do 10 people even read my blog? Doubtful! It's basically a Hallmark-y kind of thing saying if you don't keep in touch with your friends then they're going to die and won't you be sorry.

Sheesh, if you weren't so busy forwarding them chain letters you'd probably have time to keep in touch before they died, don't you think?

I replied to my friend Rose and said that I was NOT going to forward it to anyone and if bad bad things happened to me it was ALL on her for sending me the bad luck charm in the first place. After all, if I had never received the poem then not forwarding it would have caused me NO ill will.

Of course, then again I did have a too-short haircut today, so perhaps this is advanced punishment for knowing I wouldn't forward the poem. (Aww, don't freak out L -- the bangs were just shorter than I anticipated. And surprise -- Scott liked the cut a lot but wanted blonder... Some men are just more impossible than others.)

So, if I die from Rose's forward, I want to tell the world that I loved every minute of it!! Well, except for the Tom years, but other than that!

The Heather Show

Every time I get home from English class, all I want to do is write! I am sure it's because I have spent the whole night talking about writers and I just want to get IN.

This semester was such a refreshing change from last semest in English -- even factoring in the changing of professors MID-TERM. We read some interesting things, but mostly we had interesting discussions. It's just so nice to be in a place where I am learning to THINK again. Unfortunately, what I have really learned about myself is that I really need that first push to get the think button started. I am not my own think tank by any means -- I need that boost from other people. I am able to build and expand on others' ideas, but can't really come up with them on my own much. It's a hard fact to face.

The other thing about class is that I get to put on my Heather show. You've seen this show, right? The song, the dance, the jokes, the laughter, the tears. It's all in there. When I have intelligent people to feed off of, it is a dangerous thing. More push. I really like to put on the Heather show.

But. (There's always a but with me, isn't there?) I think the hard thing is that I can't always put on the show -- sometimes I don't want to do the song, the dance, the jokes, the laughter. That is the hardest part, because people really do believe that I AM the show. And they believe this because I make them believe it. I don't want them to know that it's just me standing in a cardboard box pretending I'm on tv -- I want them to think I AM the tv. And a lot of time, they do. Because aren't we all just trying to figure out own lives and where it fits in and who has time to analyze the show? Are YOU analyzing the shows of your acquaintances or do you accept the show at face value?

You accept, because it's just less complicated to accept. I ACCEPT that. After all, I am the producer and creativer director of the show -- if I didn't want you to buy our product, I wouldn't be promoting it so strongly. But, what goes along with that is that there will be people I will never get to know beyond their role as audience in my show, because... They do not have time to understand and I do not want to expose the level of neediness it would take to get beyond the Humor Walls.

And even though I sound almost bitter about it, the truth is that I'm not. Because the hard truth is that if I am putting on the show, then I don't have to come out of my cardboard box and be a real person and get to know YOU and what's behind your show.

And, there IS that.

My brother

I've been drinking wine tonight because I've been having problems sleeping, so I thought... Why not wine?

Why not indeed?

Just the right amount of wine makes me just the right amount of sentimental. And tonight, that sentimentality (word?) has lead me to think about "my brother".

I don't have a real brother -- I am an only child, as everyone knows. But, I have always considered "JD" my brother. He is my godmother's youngest and I have known him as long as I have been alive. We hung out this past weekend for the first time in years.

It was awesome. I learned that my brother and me, we have more in common than I thought. But, more than anything, I remembered why I think of him as my brother. Because he's so fun and so real at the same time. I know that if I were ever in a capital r real jam that my brother would be there for me. I do not know how I know this, and I had not thought about it before this weekend but it really came to me. Not that JD is known for his "being-there-ness", I give him shit about his being there for my godmom on a regular basis. But, still... I know. It's nice to know.

It's nice to know that someone that close to me knows (far more than I) what it's like to not have your dad around. It's nice to know that someone actually gets my sense of humor. It's nice to know that someone can love his mom as much as I do, and yet still be driven completely insane by her at the same time.

JD is something else. He has a brother, but I don't consider HIS brother MY brother -- if that makes any sense. I love his brother, and I'm sure in his own way his brother loves me too. But, JD and I are closer in age, closer in Zodiac sign (if you buy into that crap), and just closer in understanding what it's really all about. Or, I would like to think so.

My favorite way to get him to do things for me is to remind him that I taught him what sex is. No, not in THAT way -- trust. We were too too young; I just told him what it was. He had no idea, but his wife says he's figured it out really well now and thanks for that. I don't care about all that, I just need the leverage. :-)

So, this one is for my brother JD -- next time you hear that Devo song, Whip It -- you think of me, and let everyone else wonder why, okay? Heh, heh.

kisses all --

HPL

What year was 'size 8'?

If you really want to have a reality check (and, trust me, I understand if you don't), then cleaning out your closet is a good way to start.

Wow.

There were LOTS of things I have been saving to fit back in to. The problem is that I have to keep buying stuff to fit into and never seem to go back in time to those previous sizes. (And the title is a huge joke -- size 8 was in the 90's... The EARLY 90's.)

Granted, I've started working out recently. But, I haven't put my back into my work-out (and, trust me again, my back shows it) and it doesn't look like my time to go to the gym is going to be increasing any time soon. And then I had the even bigger epiphany -- many of the clothes in my closet I would not wear again even if I could fit in to them.

Still, it's not the happiest experience on earth. Except for maybe the nostalgia. Look, honey, here's the dress I was wearing when you felt me up in the lifeguard stand. It's depressing to see the cute clothes that I have allowed myself to grow out of. The only "good" thing is that I routinely buy cheap clothes, so at least I haven't lost a life savings or anything. This is part of the reason, though, that there isn't the motivation to get back in to these clothes. Because they were poorly made in the first place, never great looking, etc -- I'm okay with giving them away.

I still have some stuff in there that I am saving to fit back in to. But, the amount of stuff is much less than it was before.

Now I have more room to rifle around and then sigh... I have nothing to wear!

Like a babbling brook or rambling rose...

Too bad there's no H word to go along with that... Lately I feel like I have "nothing to say." Someone asks me how things are going, I will generally say "about the same" or "same old, same old" or something along these lines. These are the times that make me feel boring and wish that I had something exciting to contribute. The trouble is that when when things are not boring, that is generally not such a good thing. Not boring = drama in my world and I am against that.

Yes, I have been known to stir up the drama to have something to ponder, but on a general level -- not really a fan.

So, when there's "boring" what to blog about? Hence my lengthy diatribes on friendships and the meaning thereof. Perhaps if I were out developing hobbies I might pick up some of these friends I'm always whining about.

Indeed. But who has time for that?

I'd much rather be whining and babbling to you -- my invisible internet friends. Hello.

I could expose some of the truths behind the sacred walls of marriage. But, there really isn't anything terribly too exciting to reveal if anyone who wasn't involved in it would realize if they ever bothered to think about it.

Which is probably a revelation of something in and of itself.

So, let's ramble about that since I feel the need to clack on the keyboard and if I talk about Smallville anymore then I run the risk of scaring off my 4 remaining readers. (Although DAMN it was a good episode tonight! Juxtaposing good Lex and bad Lex with the question of what makes up our true nature?? You just did not ever get that stuff on Friends, I'm sorry.)

Marriage is a sacred thing. The religious spin on it alone is enough to "prove" that. But, society as seen through Hollywood really holds this out as truth. The fact that half of them do not work does not seem to be deterring anyone from believing that it's a big old band aid to cure what ails you. But, it's just crap. Marriage isn't sacred. It's just two people who have decided that they would rather exclusively put up with each other's crap than sort through the myriad of alternative crap that available out there. Generally, there is some sort of carrot that ultimately pulls you into this exclusive union and usually it's love. Or something we call love.

But let's be serious. What I think of as love and you think of as love are probably two different things. We are as different on the inside as we are on the outside so the idea that we could all have the same idea of what love means is ridiculous. There is no way it can mean the same to all of us because we all process things based on who we are. So, even though we are drawn to our mates by something called love, what they think is love and what we think is love may not equal out to be the same thing. There are lots of things that Scott does for me in the name of his love for me. And vice versa. (Not just the dirty things, you heathens.) But, does he do the things for me that I consider to mean love? Do I do the things for him that he considers love? Not always. Because how can we know unless there is a clear set of parameters? And who wants to have that when that seems to put limits on love? Isn't it more important to accept these love gestures for what they are and try to have your own gestures accepted as such in return?

Well, sure. But, that's not really that easy. That's what marriage is, I think. Figuring out what those guidelines are with someone who is willing to put up with your crap exclusively. At least, that is what I have so far.

I do know that I learn more on the journey with this man than I have ever in my life. So maybe this love stuff is something after all, eh?

On a skew tangent -- go see Fever Pitch. Thought it was totally adorable really addressed the theme of relationship sacrifices on a level heretofore unseen. More realistic, ironically. (No, I haven't read the Nick Hornby book and yes, I know that I should)

Also, JAR if you are reading -- happy birthday on Sunday! 31 girlfriend, you are officially in your 30's now -- suck it up! (The lemons after your tequila shots, that is)

xoxo y'all

TODAY IS MY TWO YEAR BLOG-I-VERSARY! YAY!

It's not like this is a date I have set on my calendar or anything, but it did just so happen that I looked up the original entry (p-u, cheeeeeesy!) and happened to notice the date.

I just looked at last year and not only did I not notice the date, but I had a rather rambling post about how I wasn't inspired to post anymore.

I'm still not overly inspired, but Lord knows how I loooooooves to hear myself talk and... there you go.

Just a quicky, gotta go get ready for work but wanted to note that I noted the day.

Or something.

love you mean it --

HPL

Friend Dating

What I should be writing about was our fascinating camping experience. But, you can only tell a leaking air mattress story so many times without getting tired of telling it...

But, as part of our fascinating camping experience, we went to a Sertoma event at the Holiday Travel Park campground. They should call it Drunkapalooza, but inexplicably they do not. If I were in charge of the naming, that would definitely be a contender! It was an all-day, all-you-can-eat, all-you-can-drink affair. That's right -- all you can DRINK. Good stuff, too -- thank you very much.

So, during the fest I drunkenly befriended a cool chick and we exchanged phone numbers. And here is where my blog theme comes in... Friend dating.

Now that I am a "grown up", opportunities to meet new friends and bond with them do not come up as often as when I was younger and in school. When I meet someone that I like and want to hang out with, I tend to pursue that friendship vigorously. There's not a lot of people that even pass the initial Heather test, so when someone does I really want to try to keep hanging out with them.

But, just like dating you don't want to be too intense, you don't want to chase too hard. I don't want to seem "too eager." So, I called and we chatted briefly and that was about it. I'll probably call again, but don't want to cross that line.

And then what to do if it doesn't work out? Recently, had a situation with another friend where basically stopped hearing from her. Asked if there was a problem and no response until 2 weeks later when she said that she had been busy and then it had been so long that she didn't want to call because she figured I would be mad at her for not showing up at something, blah blah blah. I'm sorry, but that's just lame. It's the friend equivalent of she's "just not that into me." If you want to be friends, then you make time to call, you make time to send a one-liner email that you've been busy, blah blah blah. So, I copped the most popular phrase of the last year and declared that she was "just not that in to me."

These two situations juxtaposed really have made me feel again that meeting new friends is like dating. I feel silly saying it, but it's true -- you have to date people to get to know them and what they're about to see if you want to hang out with them and invite them into your home and your social circle. And there are those times where I am frankly just not that into someone and maybe they are that into me and then what to do?

Why do I feel like friendship is all or nothing??

Well, I know why, actually. So do you if you've been reading all along... I can't figure out how to track back but I do all kinds of posts about how great my friends are. Look, y'all -- I can only throw roses at your feet but so much!

Anyways... Becoming friends with someone is truly like dating. You have all the get to know you crap and then it's time to decide if you're going to show them your dustbunnies and your bongs or what. And, just like dating, when you have that bad experience with the friend who is just not that in to you, it's hard to get back in the saddle and start cultivating new friendships. Because who has time for all that work??

So lastly -- friend who is just not that into me, if you are out there and you're still reading this blog (but, if you're not that into me, why would you be reading this blog??) -- I know that it seems as if I am harping on this point, on this phrase, but it is really just because I am feeling clever for comparing it to our situation. I know that I have always been the "tough love" giver in our friendship, and shit who wants to listen to that crap? Honestly, my tough love has always been about not wanting to see people that I care about get hurt or manipulated or used or abused in any ways -- especially if there is anything in my power that I can do to stop it. I know that I come across as a bully, but I hope that you never felt like you couldn't talk to me because of that. Some people charge for that kind of shit, swear!

New friends, old friends, it's a long trip we're on. Can't wait to see who I meet along the way and where it's all going. Grab yourself a Full Heather Jacket and join the club.

(Hmm, guess whose Benadryl has kicked in?)

Smug Marrieds

A dear friend recently wrote the following to me in response to something I had written about in my blog...

I hate the unwritten rule that newlyweds are never allowed to talk about stuff like that --their lives are now supposed to be perfect because guess what you won the lottery--you're married! You and Scott give me hope for the smug marrieds.

So, because we are not spouting sunshine from our asses, THIS is giving hope to the singletons?

As a result, I have been mulling over this single vs. married thing. Here's what I've churned out so far...

It WOULD seem as though once you get married, you are in fact supposed to start having sunshine coming out of your ass. So far, however, haven't set any toilet paper rolls on fire -- so I think it's safe to debunk that particular myth. Now, I am NOT going to sit here and try to tell you that married life is SO much harder and "you crazy single kids should just live it up and enjoy it while you can." That's just crap. The truth is that life just wasn't supposed to be either way, but society just likes us paired off and so it gears everything in that general direction.

Here's the thing they don't really come out and tell you in the handbook though -- society wants us married off, but really just because that's the "acceptable" way to reproduce. Why is reproducing SO important to society? Because if there's more of us, then there's more of us buying things and the species gets to go on forever and while they're doing it they're going to be buying LOTS of stuff.

Wait, this isn't my consumerism rant. Sorry. I have to clean out my attic, so I often get a little "more stuff = the devil" when that happens.

Where was I? Ah, yes -- smug marrieds. But, backing up -- singletons. I think the only division greater than the Republicans and the Democrats is that between the Smug Marrieds and the Singletons. Smug Marrieds are those couples who are always keeping up the guise that being married is just grrreat and there isn't anything better and aren't we just so friggin' happy all the time?? The fact is that I happen to be married, but I am not overtly smug about it. My reason is that while I believe very strongly in marriage, I really don't think it's for the weak-hearted. Don't get me wrong -- not spending holidays alone and not having to tease my hair on Saturday nights and always having someone to kiss on New Year's Eve and whatever else movies are selling these days -- these are all good benefits. So, while I am not alone, I am also NOT alone.

Being married is like having another job. (This is why I'm so amazed at parents -- that is having 3 jobs if you work outside of the home. How DO you do it??) There is now another person whose needs and concerns and feelings are now a part of your decision making process. Your life becomes we-speak, which is why married people are seen as smug. But, really -- you have to consider the other person because they really are now part of who you are. A line in one of my favorite getting married books was "a sock on the floor isn't just a sock on the floor anymore -- it's a sock on the floor for the rest of your life." And that's so true. And there's the constant balancing of where the lines are drawn and what you let go and what you don't and trying not to point out what you've let go and what you haven't.

Frankly, I could go on and on. But, I also know that when you don't have that other person in your life and that that is something that you truly long for and desire -- that all of this may sound like woe is me, smug married whining. And maybe it is. But, truly -- it's just different. It's very rewarding in many ways, but I truly believe that is because the person with whom I have chosen to share my life with complements me in so many ways. Most of you know, I was married before. Been there, done that -- so to cliche. So, I didn't have a burning desire to be married -- but I wanted to be married to Scott. Maybe that's what makes me smug, maybe that's what keeps it real. Maybe that's just too much "secret couple talk" to be airing out here. But, fuck it -- let's get the elephants out!

Questions?

Elephants

This morning over brunch with HP2 and Scott, I divulged a confidence from HP2 that I didn't realize that was a confidence. HP2 was not terribly upset that I divulged the confidence, but merely that it was done in front of her. She said that it just seemed like something that was going to be divulged during that secret couple talk that no one talks about. (Ooops, probably shouldn't be releasing that either.)

I've been thinking about secret couple talk ever since. I've picked it up and held it up to the light and examined it from many angles.

Here's the main angle... I do not understand societal conventions, and I have just now really REALIZED this. It's not that I do not understand that they exist. I get that they're out there and that are things that one just does not talk about. What I have a hard time understanding is why it is that we cannot talk about these things? How do we get to this point that we have to keep things in the dark and keep them out of the light? Sometimes they are bad things, sometimes they're just things that we see as bad. But we never talk about them, we never confront them. Not really.

They come up sometimes, but we're always hiding. Avoiding the truth. Delaying the truth. I'm so tired of it.

More secrets. We had to read The Minister's Black Veil by Nathaniel Hawthorne for English Lit. I think I just got it. He decided to wear a black veil every day and the town immediately thought it was because he had done something terribly wrong and shunned him. But, no one ever asked him why he wore the veil -- they asked what he had done, what he was hiding. The truth was that if you didn't have something to hide yourself, you wouldn't think that other people were hiding things.

So, I don't mean to spill your secrets. But, I try to spill mine too. I try to keep things open and in the air. I really want people to believe that what you see IS what you get. But, I'm not sure if that really is true or not.

Alone

Sometimes I think that I can't really relate to anyone, nor can anyone really relate to me.

This is one of my most self-pitying moments. The truth is that I KNOW that I am not really like anyone else. I assume we all have these moments from time to time when we fully understand how isolated we are from other people. I think that these moments have just been coming along a little more regularly for me.

I see my life as a series of facets. The sides of me that people see and the sides of me that they don't. Some people see different sides, some people choose to believe that other sides don't exist. Some people do not even know that those other sides exist. To most of the people that are in my life, I am single-faceted. I am only one Heather to them.

I may be the Heather that listens and gives soap-box advice to their problems. I may be the Heather that only gives the advice and doesn't listen. I may be the reading in the corner of the cafeteria Heather. I may be the Stand-up Comedian Heather. I may be the Drama Queen Heather. I may be grumpy Heather. I may be any one of the many pieces that are me. There are VERY few people who really see and accept the full, true me. And among this small group of people there may be even fewer who truly understand me.

Are you reading this wondering which one of those groups you may be in? Maybe. The truth is that I don't let many people past my guarded walls. There's a lot of trust that is involved in that, and frankly I don't handle disappointment well.

This goes back to my earlier allusion about the best friend thing...

My husband works with a woman whom I like, but she has a friend that I have met through her whom I like more. The friend of friend and I have more in common and have similar perspectives on life in general, it seems to me. A few weeks ago, there was a situation where we were all hanging out. She said that we should hang out some time and I said that I never approached it because I thought she and the other woman were best friends and I thought it might be weird since I only knew her through person. She said "no, L--- already has a best friend. We've known each other a long time, but I am not her best friend."

Yadda yadda yadda, this conversation sort of trickles back to L. She doesn't understand why her friend says this, but acknowledges -- begrudgingly -- that they are not "best" friends. That there is criteria for best friends that the two of them do not quite share.

This is fascinating to me. That this best friend dynamic still exists. Yet, I know it does. I myself am fortunate enough to have two friends whom I consider to be "best" friends. I know why they have this label, and I think that each of them also knows why. They couldn't be more different and I think this is why they are both able to share the "label" without any sort of bad blood about it. Not that they are the sort of friends to ever have bad blood about my other friends -- which I think is part of the reason too.

Some of you may be wondering where Scott may fit in to this best friend equation. The truth is that anyone who has a good relationship with their husband can understand where I am coming from when I say -- my husband is above all others my very best friend. I love him more than anyone, I trust him more than anyone, I would do anything for him and I know that he feels the same way. HOWEVER. There is no substitute in this life for a good girlfriend, period. There is no way I can talk to my husband for 8 hours straight and still have more to talk about 8 hours later. As much as he makes me laugh, it's not the same kind of laughs I have with my girlfriends and he is never really going to "get it" the way they do. As much as I love and respect and praise this man above all others, he is -- at the end and beginning of every day AND in between -- only a man.

I mean, I'm just saying. :-)

Total digression, but I'm tired and a little wined up.

drama rama lama ding dang!!

I have to admit that sometimes I miss the drama. The why didn't he CALL me and the and then Suzy said that Janey told her... and all that jazz. I don't miss it enough to invite it over and feed it a meal or anything, but I do miss it.

But, fortunately I have found a substitution for all that drama. It's called Smallville and it's on the oh-my-God WB. Yes, I am becoming the poster-child for the only white shows on theWB and I could NOT be prouder!

Now, I do admit that Smallville is really addictive when combined with other substances (insert your drug of choice here), but I'm starting to get where it's the other substance on it's own.

The background is that this show is about Superman's life as Clark Kent when he was growing up in, you guessed it, Smallville. Clark's got all these super-powers that he has to hide because his parents (the adorable Jonathan and Martha Kent) don't want them to take him away to study him. He's from another planet. He's madly in love with Lana Lang and his best girlfriend Chloe (the nosy journalist, hmm) is madly in love with him. And there's Lex Luthor who is actually Clark's best friend.

And it's the Lex and Clark relationship in juxtaposition (who had an English terms test tonight, huh?) with Lex and his father Lionel. Lex has what can only be referred to as a complicated relationship with his father. He believes his father is trying to kill him because he learned the truth about his father's past; meanwhile, his father tries to convince the world that Lex's theories are crazy and that Lex is in need of mental help. BUT, is Lex crazy or is Lionel really rich enough to buy that many people into his conspiracy?

But, that's too far along. Because the dynamic that builds first is that between Lex and Clark. Clark and Lex truly are close -- not at all what you would think. Lex can almost taste what's different about Clark and really struggles with pushing for information while trying to maintain some kind of honesty in their relationship. In the beginning their chats were a little cheesy. And maybe they still are and I've grown immune to it.

That's probably it.

I just want one more person to get into this cult with me so that they understand. I NEVER though I would get this deep into the Smallville. I thought it's a bunch of pretty people and how clever to explore Superman as young Clark Kent. But, this show is worse than crack. It's like comparing Starlight Mints to crack. Y'all know my affection for the Gilmore Girls and they will always be my original WB ho's. But even my addiction to this can't hold a candle to my Smallville problem. I have lost sleep. I have pulled conspiracy theories and yarns up the wazoo. It's just crazy how much it can mess with your head.

Frankly, it's poetic. Because there are so many elements to it that are in the cheesiness and schmaltz that turn it into something better. There is the quippiness of the dialogue. To see Lex and Lionel verbally spar with their references to obscure dead Asian Emperors is like being able to see a really good sword fight in person. There is the weird things that kryptonite does to people. There is Red Kryptonite Clark -- an exploration in the dark side of not just his personality but of anyone's. You're not all good all the time, no one can be. There has to be an outlet somewhere. But the people who love us, they refuse to see that dark side. They doubt it. And then, there is the music. The theme song will get an earworm on you like no tomorrow. There's probably one of those hidden messages in it which is why you get so addicted to the show. (You better waaaaaaacth this shooooow. From now on. Uh huh. <-- sung to the tune of that Save Me song.) During all of the dramatic moments, there is the very low flute playing. The music slowly rises as the drama gets more tense and builds and builds and then the music stops. Like it never was playing and you were just imagining it. But, then it slowly softly starts again. You're not even sure you're hearing the song, and was that the teeniest piece from the Superman movies that just played?? And then there are songs that were completely ubiquitous a few years ago and then they slowly faded away to the point where when you heard it you were like "Oh, I love that song" after so recently being tired of hearing it all the time.

(What, like you never got so sick of Don't Worry Be Happy that you were worried that you wouldn't be happy again? But, then a few years after it finally faded away and you heard it you found yourself begrudgingly singing along and then really getting into it and actually being happy?)

Where was I? Yes. Smallville. Ah. It's just awesome. Go watch some but don't tell me what happens in Season 4, I'm trying to stay in order.

SOMEBODY SAAAAAAAAAAVE MEEEEE!

Sometimes It Ain't Fun & Games

The thing with the insides of my head is that sometimes they are not funny party stories. Sometimes they are the philosophical bullshit that I pull out from the recesses that I like to analyze with people from time to time. Sometimes some of you will review them with me and I LOVE that. I really enjoy it at 2 in the morning after several bottles of wine, but I don't always remember it then.

But, it's like this. It's Full Heather Jacket here at Inside Heather's Head -- sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it ain't. You take it all when you sign up.

With that in mind, since my last gossip update I've thought a lot about the friend thing. I thought about the people who continue to try to keep me in their lives, even though I'm evasive. I've also thought about the people who I have tried to keep in my life, even though they are evasive. Some of the people in the latter group have turned to me time and time again when things aren't going well in their lives and I have always tried to be there for them -- and then when things are going well and I want to share in that too (who wouldn't?), they don't have the time to keep in touch.

The thing I have to remind myself of time and time again is that we are all at different places on our journey. On this walk through our lives. Some people we have to work harder to keep up with and some people have to work harder to keep up with us. If I am not going to make the effort to try to keep in touch with people who work so hard to keep me in their lives, then I simply cannot feel bitter about the people who treat me the same way. It's a pattern, it's a circle, it's just the way that it is.

I do feel bad about friends that I have let drift away. I do try to keep that going. The honest truth is that sometimes it just wears me out to catch up. How's so and so, how's such and such, what's happened since 1998 when we last REALLY talked?? Yuck! And I know this is part of it for those who don't make the effort to keep up with me. They've got their own things going on that are IMMEDIATE (family, closer friends, jobs, etc) and you lose the ability to stretch it out past more than a couple of layers. It doesn't mean that you don't care about the people in the other layers, they just didn't happen to get into the innermost fabric of your life.

Shit happens.

I want to talk about "best friends" too, because I stirred up something interesting with that this week but we'll save that for another time.

For now, I'll say that if you have one really GOOD friend that you can trust with your innermost YOU -- then you should count yourself as lucky. That's more than a lot of people have. I know that sounds like some cheesy internet forward shit, but I think it's true.

I have often wondered how it is that every man loves himself more than all the rest of men, but yet sets less value on his own opinion of himself than on the opinion of others. -Marcus Aurelius, philosopher (121-180)


This was one of my quotes of the day in a word of the day email I get daily. (If you're interested, you can sign up here.

It came to me the morning after a "fat day." Which I'm going to share with you now.

Scott and I have recently joined the YMCA because we are trying to get back in shape. This is an uphill battle for anyone, but for us it's very daunting. We have a long ways to go and we're very much aware of it. It is a struggle to get motivated to go, much less keep going and going. But, we try.

The other night I was over at my mom's house for a visit. I had to cut my visit short because I had an appointment with a personal trainer. (It's the Y, so it's not QUITE as glamorous as it may sound.) She gave me a mini-lecture on how it wasn't enough to go work out, you have to diet too. I mean, duh. Does she think I don't have access to the news? But honestly, can't there even be a minute of "I'm proud of you for trying to get off your butt and do something."

Nope.

Then, my appointment with the personal trainer turns into a mini-lecture about how I shouldn't make jokes about my weight, it's detrimental to my plan (damn, there goes my stand-up routine) AND did I know that I had to do more than just work out? I had to diet too??

Sigh.

Let me share with my faithful readers that yes, I am aware that I have to diet. Thank you for the news flash. But, I also know that not dieting AND not exercising has just GOT to be worse than exercising and not dieting. I mean, baby steps, right?

Then, I come home and watche Kirstie Alley's show Fat Actress. The show is a reality show like Larry David's show -- not quite reality, but based on it. Here's the thing -- the show was pretty funny, but the scary thing is that it plays on the fears that all overweight people have and that is that people are really dogging you out as much as you think they are. As much as you may be dogging yourself out. All that talk about how important it is to love yourself and respect yourself goes out the window when you see dozens of people calling her a blimp and a whale and enormous and huge AND adding to the stereotype that black men love fat white girls. Wow. It was depressing. Unless you've been there, unless you've lived with those insecurities that just when you thought you were at your hottest was when everyone in the room was in fact making fun of you for thinking you were so hot -- you will not know what I am talking about. And frankly, that makes me glad for you.

And also a little jealous.

Then the quote. Then the reminder that I shouldn't let other people's opinions of me matter, since in all other matters I seem to hold my own opinion SO highly. (Just ask anyone who's had my advice barked at them!)

So, I guess I'm going to keep on keeping on and hope that I get picked for one of those extreme makeover shows soon.

Damn, already didn't stop making fun of myself...

Just a quick note to say -- sure was nice writing about something "controversial" and getting all those comments! :-)

Always nice to know there's someone out there reading.

History in Heather's Head

For those of you who have heard this story a thousand times, feel free to check back in when the news is refreshed.

My friend the Librarian was in town this weekend. The Librarian rarely lets her hair down, so when she suggested we hit a local pub for a pint, I was a bit taken aback. While out, we run into an old friend (mostly of the Librarian's) who shares some news of shared acquaintances. Turns out "Derrick and Vidalia" (not their real names, duh) are getting married.

And now for the history. Derrick and I had actually dated many years ago. He broke up with me, I stalked him, the rest is for history. A few years later, in what would then be an unrelated story, I met Vidalia. I stalked her, too. (I have a tendency of doing this with women I feel promise in. The need for female friendships in people I can actually relate to is strong. Perhaps, another blog on this topic.) We were friends -- good friends. It came to the point that we were pretty inseparable and most things that we did, we did together. Later, in what would then be an unrelated story, Derrick re-entered my life. We started by hanging out and this somehow turned into us being "umm, friends." (AKA -- friends with options. If you are unfamiliar with both of these terms, I'm sorry.) Vidalia met Derrick for the first time right before we (Derrick and I) turned our friendship into umm, friendship. Frankly, because they were flirting so much, I half-expected that the umm, friendship was because of his flirting with Vidalia. Whatever, I was single, I was bored -- umm, friends it was. He was single, he was bored -- there you go.

A few months go by. If even that long. It started shortly before the disastrous hair color night with my hairdresser Gothgirl and ended (tapered off, really) a few weeks before my 29th birthday. The umm thing hadn't completely ended, but the cards were on the table. Frankly, I was ready to move on, and I will admit he was even readier. I think we were just both waiting for the next best thing to come along.

Little did I know that for Derrick, it would be Vidalia.

A little more background. I loved Vidalia and loved that we were friends. She was completely honest with me, to the point of breaking my heart on a number of different occasions. Frankly, she was a lot more brutal even than I am. But, as much as I feared it, I respected it. Because, she had never really had a female friend, and she picked ME. I felt important, I felt needed. She seemed to trust my judgment and opinions. She was a couple of years older than I was, but I was drawn to her opennness and honesty. I was drawn to her lack of bullshit. So, when she developed an interest in Derrick, this took me by surprise.

Part of it was because she just wasn't honest about it.

Here's what happened, in as short a version as I can muster. A group of us went out for my 29th birthday. They (Derrick and Vidalia) spent a lot of time flirting, as did I -- with other boys at the bar. I was surprised that he came and wasn't upset that he spent a lot of time talking to Vidalia. The next night, he asked me for her phone number "to refer her to a contractor." I didn't think that much of it. The next day, she tells me that SHE asked HIM "out for coffee". She admits that she likes him "as a person." For days, this bugs me. I finally admit to her that I have a problem with them going out, she says she will back off. A little while passes, it comes to light that she has gone on a "big" date with him. I try to be cool about it, but a few more days pass and I realize -- something isn't right, I'm NOT "cool about it." I call her, try to talk about it, and we get into a big confrontation about it. I am told that I have to decide how I feel about it then. I am told I have to "grow some balls and get off the fence" (a line I will never forget, as long as I live) and that's that.

Keys are exchanged, life goes on. Vidalia and I are no longer friends, and she is with Derrick. And now, they are getting married in June.

Here's the thing. I have never "mourned" Derrick. He was a fun, cute guy. I like him. But, I don't love him. I don't wish things had turned out differently. He really wasn't right for me. Yes, we had been "umming" shortly before he and Vidalia had gotten together, but that was on a time line. That was going to end. The thing that I do not understand, have NEVER understood is why, why, WHY did she not just come to me and say that she was capital I interested in him and really wanted to BE with him. Why not just be honest with me? When I say I have a problem with it, it's weird for me -- why sneak behind my back? Why not open an honest discourse?? The fact is that if she had JUST come to me and talked to me, YES, it would have been weird and awkward -- but life would have gone on. We would have still been friends. Why was it so much more important to be with him than to just talk to me about wanting to be with him??

The Librarian says this confirms Vidalia's feelings -- if they are getting married, she took the leap for the man who was The One. I'm sorry, this is crap. Which I said to The Librarian. She countered that didn't I believe Scott was The One? Sure, but then we broke up in December of 2000. You don't KNOW someone is the one that early on, life isn't a movie. Scott thinks I am still hung up on Derrick. This is because Scott doesn't actually listen to anything, like I don't know -- my VOWS! Of course, HP2 agrees with me -- it's all about the fact that Vidalia wouldn't just come to me and have a talk about what was going on. And then, cutting me off completely because we had a "problem."

The fact is it isn't Derrick I have wondered about all these years later, it's Vidalia.

We have not been friends for FAR longer than we ever were friends. And other friends tell me, flat out, that I am a fool for missing her and wondering how she is and whatever. But, I do. I hope I don't sound too arrogant, but I do believe that she missed out for throwing what we had away. Perhaps she has made other, better (?) female friends along the way. But, as for me -- I know that true friends don't come along every day. I know that people make mistakes with their friends that they wish they could take back. I wish I could have tried to ride it out better than I did. But, so much time has passed now, I really think it is a moot point. I don't think we could have the same thing that we did, and I don't think either of us would ever want to.

But, still I wonder.

And even though I should end there, let me add this... How many people are dating or getting married or whatever who actually no longer speak to the person who introduced them in the first place? What do you say when people ask how you met??

Well, there was this chick but we don't talk to her anymore because she was crazy and close-minded...?

Wow...

Knowledge is... power?

Tonight is my English Lit class. I really enjoy this class. To the point that I no longer regret dropping my only other class, because that freedom has really allowed me to absorb and appreciate the only class I am taking.

But, truthfully, as with most things in my life, the thing I enjoy the most is the camaraderie. I like many of my classmates and enjoy the discussions that we have as a class. Most nights before class we are all trapped in the hall waiting for the previous class to let out. Generally, the topics of discussion will center around the story we were required to read for that class and what sorts of things we think the teacher will ask on our little quiz. And our basic opinions about the story. My buddy from class, Bill, generally will never like the things I like and will love the things I hate. I have grown used to this dynamic, and we were generally kid around quite a bit about this.

Bill is actually one of the reasons that I signed up for this class on this particular night. Bill was in my 111 class and had experienced the horror that was my "teacher" in that class. I really wanted to take 112 with someone who had gone through this experience, but almost all of my classmates from 111 were so burned by this dreadful "teacher" that they didn't want to take any other English class again for quite some time. But, Bill is going to be an English major, so wanted to keep rolling. I thought Bill was a pretty cool guy, laid back with a similar sardonic sense of humor to my own. This has remained true, but tonight I learned something of the dark side of Bill.

It started innocently enough. The group was outside class as usual, in our various "cliques", and we were just chatting about the stories for the evening. Somehow I brought up Napoleon Dynamite and was expounding on just how much I loved the movie. I told Bill this would be a sure sign that he wouldn't like it. I was explaining about how it was the story of a high school outcast and his various ups and downs. I said that if you were an outcast in high school, Napoleon was so far out there that he would probably make you think you were cool. Bill said this reminded him of this guy Arnold he knew in school, and then he laughingly (!) recounted the story of the time that he and his friends had covered Arnold in duct tape and thrown him in a dumpster.

Thrown him in a dumpster covered in duct tape?!

Another classmate Robert and I were horrified. We seemed to be waiting for Bill to tell us he was kidding and pretending to be Andrew from The Breakfast Club. Maybe this is where they got the idea?? But, Bill was oblivious (at first) to our horror. Said it was hilarious. Particularly because Arnold was so hairy.

Particularly because Arnold was so hairy?!

Robert and I asked about Arnold. This was awful, we said. Was he okay? Bill didn't know what happened to Arnold. But, it was funny -- you had to be there, he said. Did Arnold think it was funny? we asked. Bill (never the quickest draw in the west) is starting to realize how horrified we are. He says he was only 15 -- does this somehow make up for that?! If you're 15, it is then okay to tape someone with duct tape and throw them in a dumpster?

I wish I didn't know this about Bill. I don't like knowing it. This knowledge changes everything. Bill hasn't been on my top ten list in a while, but I didn't really hate him.

But, now I think I hate Bill. I think I want to cover him in duct tape and throw him in a dumpster.

I sit behind him in class, I can verify that he's pretty hairy. Maybe then he would understand how Arnold felt.

I was no Arnold or Napoleon, but I certainly wasn't cool and people definitely thought I was a little odd. (Not that they still don't, but as you know this is much different when you are an adult. Now, I'm just quirky.)

I wish I knew what happened to Arnold. I'm worried about him. Do you wonder how much he thinks about that? Do you wonder how something like that changed his life? To always suspect that people think you're a little weird is one thing, to have them affirm it by covering you in duct tape and throwing you in a dumpster. Well, that's just something else, isn't it?

Full Frontal Heather

Someone said of me the other day "what would a day be like without Heather?" I was forced to comment, you know -- sometimes I'd like to know. I'm all Heather, all the time -- it's more ever-present than CNN.

I hope I don't sound overly arrogant when I say that I am aware that I am amusing. My odd, non sequitur thoughts are original to people, and they never fail to comment how much they appreciate my left-field sense of humor. What they don't realize is that not everyone gets me. I am quite often alone in groups. I can't relate to a lot of people and they can't really relate to me. Here YOU are, reading the thoughts inside my head. Maybe you think this gives you a clue what it's like. But, it doesn't. It's a strange place up there. The randomest things people say remind me of things even more random -- and unlike most "normal" people I seem to lack the filter to stop saying them.

Ever heard of that lead balloon?

Yeah. That's how it is most of the time. I've always been a little odd. When I started public school in the fourth grade, I couldn't have stood out more if I had been lacking opposable thumbs. My clothes weren't quite right, I was forever just missing the latest fad. I had THIS personality when I was 15. To be perky yet sarcastic in a teenager's body? I didn't quite fit in with the misfits and I didn't fit in the in crowd. I was just me.

Odd.

So, what would a day be like without Heather? Who knows? I don't think I would want to be anyone else, because I kind of like the view from here. So, don't get me wrong -- I'm not downing who I am. But, sometimes it would be interesting to see things from some other vantage point. To figure out how and why people do see things the way they do. How having Heather in their day really does impact it...

I'd like to know that. Wouldn't we all like to have a George Bailey day?

Hearts & Flowers & Crap

I hate Valentine's Day. I know now that I'm married I'm supposed to revel in the day that celebrates love, but who are we trying to kid? I think what the day is really about is separating the single people from the couples and then trying to further divide the couples into who is REALLY loved and who isn't.

Remember when you were single? (For some of you dealing with expiration dates, this isn't much of a stretch. For others, you may pull something trying to remember.) Remember the stages you went through with THE day? Anger, frustration, sadness, and then just resignation. It came, it went, you were mostly unscathed. Then you had 10+ months of freedom until the process started over again with Christmas. It seemed as though the entire world was geared towards couples, and if you were a singleton -- well, fuck you.

I'm sorry, but I think that sucks. Being single is hard enough, why have a whole day celebrating couples? And people in love? And people pretending to be in love because a day on the calendars says it is so.

"Awww, it's Valentine's Day -- time to get the flowers and the heart shaped cards and the fuzzy wuzzy bears and the big boxes of chocolates and crap. Why can't you just lighten up, Heather?"

Because, I think it sucks. I mean, sure -- I'm a hypocrite (and I admit it, do you get that from the other bloggers out there?), we're doing lovey stuff. We're getting massages and going to a nice dinner and someone's probably going to get lucky. But, I feel almost wrong for doing it. Because the fact is that I don't really like all the hype that goes into the day, all the emphasis that is placed on its importance. And how if nothing happens -- that means even more!

Ladies, do you really think that your normally lackadaisical man is suddenly going to step up and do all kinds of crazy romantic stuff just because a day on the calendar SAYS he should?? And if he does, so what? A day on the calendar SAID he should. Yes, I'm materialistic -- I want jewelry and flowers and heart shaped cards and shit, but I don't want that because you feel the need to give me some guilty evidence of your love for me. I would really much rather have you show me that you love me every day in little ways that mean something to me (and won't take up space on my counter or in my jewelry box) than buy me flowers because a day on the calendar SAYS you should. I don't get it. What does that mean to me? You bought me stuff one day, but make me carry out the trash the other 364?

Anyways -- this is my rant. I'm not saying don't go out and do the lovey stuff, but do it the rest of the year too. And be kind to your single friends on Valentine's Day -- if they're anything like me, they feel like they have a big giant "S" on the foreheads for the whole day. (Okay, poor analogy because Superman had that too, but you see where I'm going...)

Time to say Goodbye, Girls


All I can is all good things must come to an end... I mean, we'll see each other. We still have a regular appointment every week. But, it's not like the visits we've BEEN having. But, at least my husband will be happy that my time with the Girls has come to an almost screeching halt compared to where it was.

You see, I've been dating the Gilmore Girls pretty regularly for the last few weeks. I've spent most of the last few weekends with them. I've heard such good things about the show for so long that I decided to start tivo-ing (when is this going to officially become a verb?) the reruns on ABC's Family channel. (Weekdays at 5pm.) From what I can gather from the GG website (which is here), I didn't get heavily involved until the middle of season three. Which means I've watched about a season and a half of the "old" episodes and started about halfway through the new season. It's been a little confusing, but the ride's worth.

Tonight, I hit the last episode of season four, and then the reruns cycled back to the beginning. I thought this would be kind of cool because then I could experience the show from beginning to where I am now... But, I think I may be done.

I'm not clearing them off the Tivo yet, mind you. But, the older ones don't have quite the verve that the newer ones do. I know how things turn out, it feels weird to be doing all that getting to know you stuff so late in the game. (It's one of the reasons I pretend to advocate waiting to sleep with someone until you've dated them for a while if you think you're really going to want to DATE them.) The characters are in the early stages (obviously), and I'm not sure I want to know that side of them. If I had met them that way, I'm sure I would have all the more appreciation for how much they wound up growing and filling out. But, as it is -- they just seem off. Lorelai's not QUITE as silly as she becomes, Rory's wit isn't quite as subtle, what is UP with Sookie being SO clumsy, and Emily's hair? Richard falling asleep at dinner? Luke doesn't want Rory to be like Lorelai?? Are you kidding me?!

So. I think I might have to settle in to just one episode a week. The new episode. Just the new ones. Or the newest ones. I could probably stand to see the first half of season three... But, that's before Rory goes to college, which are becoming some of my favorites...

Okay, I'm obsessing again. It's not too late for you, gentle reader. You can start and meet them from the beginning, weekdays at 5pm on the ABC Family channel. Check your local listings and set your Tivo -- you'll be happy you met the Girls. I know I have been.

My husband, on the other hand, well -- that's another blog...

What a Week I'm having... (5 points: what movie is this from?)

I don't even remember the order of some of these events...

One day I'm getting dressed for work and as I'm struggling into one of my favorite pairs of jeans (favorite meaning "pair that still fits") they EXPLODED off of me. Not just ripped, explosed. They were barely hanging by a thread by the time they were done. Nothing like a debilitating experience to start your day with. While I recognize that on some levels this probably happened because the jeans weren't of THE highest quality, I have no choice but to acknowledge that the real reason this probably happened is because of my repeated cramming of my cellulite into the jeans -- despite their protests to stop. After I changed clothes and got to work, I managed to dribble coffee all over the front of white sweater.

And inauspicious beginning to anyone's day.

Later on in the week, I got into a heated discussion with a customer about his bill. I tried to explain his billing to him, and how he hadn't even made a payment on the item he was claiming to have been overcharged for. When I explained this to him, he said he understood what I was saying but still didn't believe me. Asked to speak to my manager, who had already been listening to the call. He then proceeded to tell my manager that I had called the man a cracker. That's right -- a cracker. Apparently, the fact that I am also a "cracker" had somehow escaped his notice. Perhaps he was just trying to come up with a slur and redneck slipped his mind. Not sure. But, that was definitely one of the funniest things to happen to me in a long time...

Also, this week I managed to somehow get involved in 45 minutes of beratement from a woman who would make Leona Helmsley look like Mother Theresa. Every word out of her mouth was condescending and insulting -- not only to the company that I work for but also to me. Forty-five minutes of my life that I will never get back. And while at the end of the day, I managed to satisfy her requests and even get her to calm down sufficiently, she never apologized for her attitude (as many irate customers are often wont to do) -- which led me to believe that was her attitude all the time.

I've also been repeatedly dealing with Mr Krazy. Mr Krazy has a very high-pitched way of getting upset about things -- which is kind of funny in its frustration. Every time I have to give him yet another condition of issue for his policy, he will start freaking out before he even hears the "but" part. I've tried to figure out how to deliver the but part before the if part -- but haven't quite narrowed that down.

In other news, I got to meddling in people's lives again and managed to set up two of my co-workers. And the mad drama that ensued for the first 12 hours of this was something straight out of 90210. I swear I haven't been witness to this much drama since I was in high school passing artfully folded notes. He can't like me, he likes you. Why did I even come out here? Why didn't you just say you liked him and he liked you? OH, he does like me? When is going to call/write/email/carrier pigeon a note? Oy to the vey -- calm down. It's like I tried to tell the dear girl -- this is the part that is fun. It's the delicious agony of knowing that you're both interested and enjoying the flirting. The sooner you try to get to the next chapter, the sooner you settle into... well, being settled. I'm not really trying to down being settled, but once you get there you always look back fondly on the early flirty days.

... Our narrator flashes back... When Scott and I FIRST started dating, he stopped by my house unexpectedly one night while I was studying for my licensing exam. We hadn't even had our first "official" date yet. I was literally tickled pink. It's those little surprises that are so much more common at the beginning of the dating that make the whole thing SO much fun and make all the bs with other bad dating experiences worth it....

Anyways, Friday night we went out for nice dinner and then saw Seinfeld. He was SO funny. I mean, who didn't know that he wouldn't be? But even funnier than that. I really thought I was going to blow a blood vessel in my brain from laughing so hard.

Saturday? Why, that was the sex toy party in the trailer park with my friend and Scott's co-worker whom I barely know and the two lesbians presenting the items. That was pretty bizarre. I mean, I had fun -- who doesn't have fun shopping for sex toys? -- but it was still pretty awkward. I felt bad for Scott's co-worker hosting the party, since she clearly invited a lot more people who decided not to show. Which I can't imagine why not, frankly. I'm not really incredibly kinky, though I like to pretend I am, but I'm all about trying new stuff. Aren't you?

And that's it. You're all caught up. We can now go back to our somewhat shorter blogging tales...

H.