Saved

All the plans I had made to celebrate my birthday were cancelled in this order:
1. Dinner with the BF
2. *Friend #1 coming out with me for a drink
3. Friend #2 coming out with me for a drink
4. **Dinner with my family so I could go out with friend #3 and others for a drink
5. Friend # 3 and others going out for a drink
6. Going to Cubs game

It was gray and rainy all weekend in Chicago. I was as sad as I've ever been.

*** Then there was one bright spot that saved my 29th birthday from going down in history as one of the worst ever, making all the gloom and sadness go away. My BF was about to clock in for his midnight shift, which he had requested off for my b-day but was not granted it. His captain stopped him and told him he could have that personal day he had requested after all. That was at 11:30 on the night we were supposed to have a romantic dinner. So he showed up at my house at about midnight, saving me from a night of crying myself to sleep. By that time, it was too late for a romantic dinner. We don't get those very often because we are both trying to save money, so I was looking forward to splurging. But I don't care. I've never been so happy to sit on my couch with him and talk about whatever. It was the cheapest perfect birthday gift I've ever gotten. I was beaming; it saved my weekend, and provided the one thing I was just about convinced I wouldn't have: a happy birthday.

* This after my best friend couldn't join me because she was going to a dinner party where my ex-husband and his new girlfriend would be; I'm not mad at her, I'm just saying is all...
** In fairness to my family, they DID NOT cancel on me; I cancelled on them so I could try to salvage the otherwise depressing weekend.
*** There were two other subsequent bright spots: With some of my birthday money, I purchased a new pair of Joe's Jeans and a cute summer tank.

368 or so

368 or so days until I turn 30.

It's not that I think 30 is old. I've managed to convince myself that 30 is not old. I've even convinced myself that 60 is not old.

It's just that I'm not where I assumed I'd be at 29. Or where I, at, say, 17, would have though the average 29-year-old should be at 29. You know? For example, I thought I'd be married, but not necessarily divorced. Or have published something that wasn't just on blogger. Or I thought I'd have a kid. Or at least be pregnant with one. Or at the very very least be ready to be pregnant with one. If any of those, I guess I'm technically ready. Physically I guess I've been ready since 8th grade. But I don't like to face that I might actually be ready especially because I'm:
1. In debt
2. Selfish
3. Terrified of getting fat.
4. In a relationship with someone I only see twice/week.

I don't think I could handle the heartbreak of being actually ready when I am not in the place to be ready.

So I hate birthdays not because of how old I am, but because of how old I am not. I am mentally approximately 43. Emotionally, maybe 23. But actually 28 and 363 days.

But who's counting?

When I was a kid and my mom was turning 30, she was very sad. I remember her being sad. I had some wise advice for her, even though I was no more than 6-years-old: "Don't worry, mommy. Just stay in bed on your birthday. Then you won't have to get older." I think I'll try that next year.

My mom had two kids at 30. Yet she was still sad. Maybe I'd be unhappy with where I was at if I was where I expected to be at 29 (or 30). That's either very good or very bad. Bad because I might be unhappy no matter where I was in my life. Or good because I should just be happy with where I am at now. Which is:
1. Living in my favorite place in the world
2. Dating a handsome man whom I love
3. With 2 (soon to be 3) beautiful nieces
4. And a good family
5. And an amazing job
6. And a nice rack

Maybe I should not be examining my life, which is complicated at best, at this hour. It's Thursday at 10:13 pm, which is 28 minutes past my weeknight bedtime. I'll try this again on April 30th and see what I come up with.

But I have a question for you:
How old are you and are you where you expected you'd be at this age?

Oedipus complex

I lost my glasses. Hence, I've been wearing my contacts every waking hour of my life for the past 2 weeks. This is not fun. Normally when I come home from work, the first thing I do is tear my contacts out of my face to relieve myself of the burning sensation I experience after wearing contacts from 5:00 in the morning until 7:00 at night.

But now, I have to keep the contacts in when I watch TV at night. I have to keep them in when I look at my computer screen, read a book or make my dinner. It's a nightmare. You know how Oedipus gouged out his own eyes when he realized he had fulfilled his fate when he married his mother and killed his father? Well, I finally know the pain Oedipus felt, and I am one dry, fatigued and painful blink away from doing the same to myself.

I went to For Eyes today and picked out new glasses, which I cannot find a picture of to post here. While I was there, a woman actually came in and inquired about buying glasses sans prescription lenses. She said, with a straight face, that she just had Lasik surgery and wanted them "just for fashion." This is easily the dumbest thing I've ever heard a woman ask without the slightest hint of self-awareness of the ridiculousness of her inquiry. It's not so much the buying frames for the purposes of fashion that bothers me, although let me be clear that this does in fact bother me, but it pales in comparison to the other problem. It's more the paying thousands of dollars for a surgery that frees you from glasses only to head directly to For Eyes to buy glasses that concerns me. When she left, all the people in the store talked about what an idiot she was. It was gorgeous.

Finally, if only I had the capability to share with you the audio of my eye exam. The opthamalogist was a woman, probably in her mid 30s. You know how they put that scary contraption up to your face and do that "1 or 2? 3 or 4?" to get you to tell them which lens provides the clearest vision for you? Well, this woman was doing it in the highest pitch most annoying voice I've ever heard. I actually started laughing out loud half-way through the exam because I was thinking how much I'd like to record her voice so I could post it on my blog. I don't think she liked me very much.

I see gay people

I'm in the middle of teaching my sophomore journalism students the non-fiction novel "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote. I'm reading along with them because I procrastinated and didn't read it in advance. I'm quite a bit ahead of them, but
frankly, I probably should have read it, oh, I don't know, last summer. But this post is not about my sophomoric procrastination. No, it's about the woes of being a teacher in the conservative strong-hold, DuPage County, IL.

When the movie "Capote" was released, the other journalism teacher and I knew it would be an excellent choice for a film to show after completing the novel. It really should be called "Capote's In Cold Blood" rather than simply "Capote" because it is as much about the process of researching the story as it is about the man who wrote it. In the department in which I work, when we have a film we wish to show, we propose it to our boss, who then sends out a mass email to all the other teachers in the department notifying them that a teacher has requested permission to show a particular film, in this case Capote. The teachers in the department are then supposed to approve it or raise concerns they may have about showing the film, be them curricular concerns (i.e. it's already used in another class) or concerns regarding whether the film is appropriate for teenagers. So I submitted the proposal, and shortly after my boss distributed the email to my colleagues. When I get such emails, I simply delete them without even second guessing the film. Why? Well, #1, I have enough shit to deal with without having to worry about what goes on in one unit in one classroom in my school. But #2, I trust that my colleagues are making an informed choice and aren't showing a film that is going to destroy the delicate moral fiber of the innocent teenagers in our classrooms. Apparently, I'm the only one who has this reaction. Several months went by after I made the proposal, and my boss still had not given me the verdict. So I asked her about it recently, and she said there were a couple of "good points" raised about the film (which she had never seen). Two people questioned my proposal. The first person asked "Is there any other author on whom we spend so much time dissecting personally after reading a novel?" To that I say, "Hey, Jackass. Watch the film and read the book. Once you do, you'll realize that Capote isn't just about Capote; it's about how a revolutionary writer and journalist pursued a story and compiled a ground breaking novel." The second person evidently is more in-tuned to the religious/conservative population in our school. He/She (but let's face it, in my department, more likely a "she") said "With the gay issues raised in the movie, the Mormon population in our school might have objections to the film." Oh, I see. Because the mere fact that gay people exist is enough to offend the Mormon church. There are no point-of-entry raunchy gay sex scenes in this movie. There isn't even a single kiss between two men. In fact, all the viewer sees is Capote and his monogamous lover vacationing in a villa in Spain together. Now, is that the gayest thing I've ever heard? Sure. But is it OFFENSIVE? Hell no. Let me tell you what the Mormon church should find offensive.: the shitty music my students listen to wherein the "artists" throw the word "bitch" around like it's a pronoun; the MTV programs my students watch wherein hot tub hookups are standard procedure for first dates; rainbow parties, grinding, homophobia, racism and plagiarism. But two men in a committed relationship as nothing more than a footnote in an otherwise incredible film is not offensive. If we have to tip-toe around what the Mormon church, or any church for that matter, finds offensive, we'd never be able to teach half of the novels or films we teach in this country.

Okay. Well, my goal was the have 100 entries before my birthday on 4/30 so I could post my 100 things list on that day. Unless I go on some kind of crazy writing binge in the next 10 days, I don't think that's going to happen. Just one more goal I won't have met before my 29th birthday.

Bo Knows Sue Ellen Mischke

Money is tight right now, and to avoid the pricey temptations of spring in Chicago, I come to the suburbs to stay at my parents' house for the weekend. Sitting home in the city during the winter cold is one thing; but in the spring it's a whole different story. So I came to the 'burbs on Friday.

Today I went to the area LifeTime Fitness with my parents, or, as I like to call it, Gym of America. My dad claims it's so crowded that he's had to wait in line to use the showers after his workout. There are rows and rows of equipment, yet not a drop of free water to be found in the entire place. The towels they provide are roughly the size of a buffet napkin, and the personal trainer-to-member ratio is 6-1, which, if they fired 10% of that staff, they'd be half-way home in solving the overcrowding problem. In spite of this, the workout was quite satisfying because it came with a complimentary Chicago area celebrity sighting, which qualifies as a quasi to a not-at-all-a celebrity sighting for those of you outside Chicago. Bo Jackson lives in a suburb near my parents' house, and evidently he belongs to every gym within a 5 mile radius of it. I know this because I've seen him twice in my whole life, and both times it was at a gym, but not the same gym both times. Plus, a friend of mine belonged to a completely separate gym, and he worked out there too. He's a monster. Anyway, the point of this story is that he (along with just about every other disgusting middle-aged man there) totally checked me out. My mom says he does that to all the ladies at the gym, but I like to think he was drawn to the wife-beater I wear when I work out.

The weekend in the suburbs was, otherwise, pretty uneventful. I baked a carrot cake, completely from scratch for tomorrow's holiday. I also discovered a violent twitch in my arm. It's so bad that it looks like that scene in Alien where the alien comes out of that guy's stomach- except the alien appears to be trying to emerge from my arm. I hope an alien doesn't come out of my arm at the dinner table tomorrow.

Uninspired but still really f-ed up

Since I have nothing to write about, I'm stealing this idea from Isabel. I'm a freak so it wasn't hard to compile a list of . . .
6 Weird Things About Sue Ellen Mischke

1. When someone is talking to me, I lift my toes for every word they say or tap my fingers for every word they say. With songs, I do this so obsessively that I can tell you what position my toes or fingers will end in after one of my favorite songs. If I mess up, I'll start the song over and and do it again. If I'm driving, I do the same thing with road signs. The goal is to end up with both toes down or all of my fingers down. God, that's weird.

2. I talk to myself out loud all the time, but most often in the car. It's typically a made up conversation with someone that isn't there, and I'm usually telling them something about this imaginary fabulous life I've made up for myself. Usually I'm being interviewed by someone about how I fell ass-backwards into fame, stardom or riches. I also practice being interviewed for jobs. This is why I'm such an awesome interview. They can't ask me a question that I haven't already asked of myself and answered.

3. While I secretly love being interviewed, I also love interviewing people I meet. I'd try to make a mute person talk if left alone with him for long enough. Sometimes I regret that I've initiated an interview with my subject. It's not going to be a surprise to any of you to find out that not everyone I meet is worthy of being interviewed. But I take my chances anyway and launch into a Barbara Walters style one-on-one every chance I get.

4. I fidget constantly. I usually curl my toes (that is, if they aren't being used to keep track of the words to a song) or put my hair up in a ponytail and then take it out again.

5. I pee a lot- easily 15 times/day if I'm near a restroom the whole day. I don't necessarily have to go 15 times/day, it's just that I'm afraid that suddenly I won't be allowed to use the restroom and then I'll be wishing I peed before "they" took away my bathroom privileges. To make matters worse, I keep the door open most of the time (but not in public of course), and I don't flush every time (I mean, when you pee 15 times/day, it's nothing but water anyway). This probably irritates my roommate; I know it irritates my boyfriend. I also use roughly a catcher's mitt-worth of toilet paper each time.

6. I chew pink Orbit bubble-mint gum constantly. I never even chewed gum until I discovered pink Orbit. Now I'll risk being late for an event or work or an engagement to stop at the store and buy a fresh pack. I have a Costco membership for the sole purpose of buying pink Orbit in bulk. It's the perfect gum. Sometimes I chew it so much that my jaw hurts from chewing all day long.

Sue Ellen Mischke

I won't pretend that I'm not surprised by the results of this quiz, which I got from the site of a self-proclaimed "Jesus freak" on Blog Explosion.


How evil are you?

That's just silly.

Note that I've changed my photo a little bit and changed my name. Sue Ellen Mischke, of course, is one of Elaine's friends on Seinfeld. Elaine thinks it's inappropriate that she doesn't wear a bra, so she gets her one for her birthday. Sue Ellen wears it with no shirt on, but a blazer over it. Sue Ellen and I have nothing in common; I wear a bra all the time. I just think it's a funny name. This is my half-assed attempt at anonymity.

300+ useless channels

The Cubs are playing today, but I can't watch the game. You'd THINK with 300 channels I could find ONE of the channels that the Cubs game might be on. I can watch the fucking White Sox if I want, which clearly I do not, because they are on WGN. The Cubs used to be the only team on WGN and WGN was the only channel on which the Cubs games aired. These days, however, the rights to The Cubs games are divided among at least three different channels, only one of which is included in my 300+ channel package. Why are all these channels so eager to air Cubs games? The Cubs lose. A lot. Oh wait, I know. They want to air the Cubs because jackass fans like me tune in whenever possible even though we are fairly confident that the outcome will not be favorable for us. So I had the Sox game on, simply because I need to see baseball right now, while I listened to WGN radio to hear the Cubs game. This approach got confusing because every time Hughes or Santo would call a play (more Hughes than Santo of course, since Santo really just yells, sighs and speaks in fragmented sentences), I'd look up at the TV expecting to see what all the excitement was about. I gave up and now I'm watching the Masters because golf is my new favorite sport to watch on television. I hate loud sports, and that's why I hate football. But golf and baseball are so peaceful, that is unless of course you are watching baseball on Fox where all of the graphics get an obnoxious sound attached to them. But generally, I can watch baseball or golf all day long, drifting in and out of naps only to wake up and find I've missed only a few innings or holes. It's brilliant. I used to hate golf for this exact reason, but in my old age I've come to appreciate the announcers who speak quietly so as not to disturb the audience at home whom I am sure they know spend at least a few holes each round snoozing.
Well, back to nappin'.

The Summer of Tara

Thanks to the sage advice of Esbee, I went to Aerosoles today in search of two pairs of sandals to get me through the summer. Normally finding two pair of anything isn't a challenge for me, but this shopping trip came with a new set of rules. I would only allow myself to buy shoes that are both cute and comfortable, while still fitting into my limited "eyes on the prize" budget. I did find cute shoes that were moderately (there's that word again) inexpensive, but it remains to be seen if they'll actually be comfortable. I walked around the store for roughly 23 minutes to try to get a sense of how my injured foot would take to them. When the saleswoman told me I basically had to buy them because they were now considered "worn" and thus, unreturnable, I figured I should pull the trigger. Incidentally, this does not break my vow not to shop 'until Spring except in cases of emergency.' First of all, it's Spring. Secondly, the fact that I cannot wear anything on my feet that isn't a sneaker constitutes an emergency because I am only 5'3".

I purchased a brown pair and a black pair, both of which are pictured here. They are not bad looking shoes overall. Sure, the heels are high, but it is my theory that I have foot problems not because of the height of the heel, but because of the pointy toe factor. So we'll see how it goes. Rest assured, I'll blog about it either way.

From my achin' feet to my achin' back. . . the new mattress arrives on Tuesday. As I got the mattress in a sort "back door"/ "fell-off-the-back-of-the-truck" manner, the mattress won't arrive at my house; I'll have to pick it up on my own. I also ordered one for my parents, so I'll actually be picking up a full size for myself and a king for my Ps and delivering them to each location in a rented truck (and they say Americans won't do the jobs the illegal immigrants are doing!). The BF is working that night, and my roommate will be on a love-in with his boyfriend, so I had to ask an old friend to help out. I'm looking forward to a good night's sleep on a mattress that isn't older than my freshmen.
It occurs to me that these two events could change my life, or at the very least my summer. To walk around pain-free in my back and my feet- all summer long! I'll be a new person! I'll have to change the title of this blog to something like, "I'm finally not making mistakes anymore" ... "I've figured it all out."
Stay tuned!

An excerpt . . .

Time and again, the Chicago-is-real theory simply does not stand up to scrutiny. There are no man-eating vines on the wall of Wrigley Field. No Al Capone. No John Wayne Gacey. These are stories invented to frighten children.

This is not to say that there are not Chicagoans, but I would suggest that they are a nomadic people, whose lost home exists only in their minds, and in the glowing crystal memory cells they all carry in the palms of their hands: a great idea of a second city, lit with life and love, reasonable drink prices at cool bars, and, of course, blocks and blocks of bright and devastating fire.

from: The Areas of My Expertise
By John Hodgman

Looks like a torture rack, feels like a torture rack

It's almost 11:00 and I am not sleeping yet. I have a lot on my mind- mainly, my feet- specifically the left foot. I don't have a ton of shoes, but the shoes I do have are mostly impractical. The heel is usually high and the toe is always pointed. I opt for this pointy look because I feel it makes me appear taller and thinner. Most people probably think the idea that shoes can make a person look tall and thin is absurd, but I stand by that premise. People always want to know if such shoes hurt, but they never did. I swear to God; they never did.

Well, a few weeks ago when I was at the gym, I had a little mishap. While awkwardly operating an equally awkward weight machine to exercise my calves, I felt a shooting pain in my left foot. This lead to an even more awkward dismount from the machine, wherein, upon putting my weight on my left foot, I folded up like a cheap table. I'd like to think no one saw me but, as it was "peak hours" at my gym, I'm pretty sure everyone in there got a good laugh out of my clumsy fall. I hobbled out of there, head down, iPod on, tears streaming down my face (tears of pain and embarrassment). In retrospect I probably should have either
A. taken a couple days off for the gym or
B. had it looked at asap.
Instead, I just rubbed it a little bit and ignored the pain that seemed to be dulling with each day.

The days following this incident were casual days at work, so I was able to wear my Puma tennis shoes. No heel, no pointy toe. The pain lingered, but it eventually subsided within a few days. That is until the following week, when I put on my pointy-toed torture racks again. And now the pain is back for good. My dad and my boyfriend both suggested that the shoes were the cause of my pain. Fools, I thought! Don't they know Carrie Bradshaw wore shoes like this all the time? She seems to have no problem prancing around NYC in her pointy-toed Manolo Blahnik heels. Why would I be any different?

Well, apparently Carrie Bradshaw has some kind of genetically engineered foot that can handle that kind of abuse, whereas I do not. As it turns out, my expensive pointy-toed shoe wardrobe was a silent killer. Now I have to find an alternative to the heels, at least until I get the nerve to see a podiatrist, who will probably tell me never to wear heels again. Or worse, he'll say I can wear heels only if I wear the ones from that commercial from the 80s . . . "Looks like a pump, feels like a sneaker." Anyway, this problem is weighing on my mind even more heavily because of the fact that I only own one pair of cute tennis shoes, and those are Pumas, and, cute as they are, they don't go with everything I own. On top of that, I have like 2 pairs of pants that aren't huge on me. That includes my premium denim collection, which I am now calling my Premium Denim Sweatpants collection. None of these things can be replaced or tailored because I have to get out of debt by the end of next year (I'll explain why in another post), and I can't spend a dime on anything but groceries, bills and the occasional night out.

To recap, here are the things keeping me from sleeping right now:
1. left foot pain
2. no shoes
3. no clothes that fit me
4. no money to replace or alter clothes
5. I'm not Carrie Bradshaw
A girl can't be expected to sleep with such problems.

Any suggestions? Any podiatrists out there?

Bad news/Good News

Spring break, the last extensive recess of the year, officially comes to an end tonight, hence the sad face. I'm feeling a little melancholic tonight. The storm, this being my last night with my boyfriend for a while and the end of this break . . . it's all getting me down. To make matters worse, I can't find a damn thing to wear to work, and it's going to be rainy and gloomy tomorrow. Can't wait to wake up to all that. A true Monday indeed.

There is one bright spot to report. Esbee invited me to be a part of Wordaholism. It's a really bitchin' site so stop by to check out my contributions and the contributions of the other blog members. I am hoping to post at least once each week, and once summer break comes, even more.

And don't forget to check out my renter by clicking on the thumbnail on the right or click here. It's good stuff.