So I should have seen something coming . . .
We had a big meeting at work yesterday. The big announcement that no one was expecting? They're closing down our site.
So. This sucks.
They are offering to let us move with our jobs. Also, if we get a job with the company and have to relocate, they're providing a "no strings attached" relocation package. And the rest get severance packages. So that's nice.
And I always think about how I might want to move. But now that I might have to . . . Ugh.
I'm sure I've already told you this or surely you've figured it out by now, but I'm kind of an asshole. I've lost touch with a lot of friends and the rest are around only because they won't let me forget. It's not (usually) intentional, but I just lose touch.
So I had this friend. We met in pre-school and although we were pretty much total opposites, we quickly became friends. So at some point, it ended up that I was her "best friend since pre-school!!!"
Our relationship suffered highs and lows but we always considered each other as a best friend.
And of course, we've mostly fallen out of touch. But for some reason today, I remembered something that I had totally forgotten. And which I can't believe I had forgotten because it was so incredibly tragic. Maybe I blocked it out.
She was her daddy's girl. He spoiled her rotten. And then when we were freshmen in high school, he suddenly had an issue with his heart.
One night, we had a music program. We belted our songs out at the top of our lungs and I left with a friend to hit the Dairy Queen for a Blizzard. She left with her boyfriend.
At home, I finished up my homework and then went to bed, just like any other night. Everything was normal.
And then the phone woke me. In the darkness, I heard my mom get up and answer the phone.
"Hello?" My mom's voice was tinged with both fear and annoyance. And then anger when she thought it was perhaps a wrong number or prank. "What? I cannot understand you!"
And then she sounded concerned. Saying things like "Calm down." Asking "Where are you?"
I had forgotten all of this and now I can only remember bits and pieces. It was my friend. They had called the ambulance to come help her dad. She thought he had a heart attack. She didn't know what to do.
So my mom and I went to the house. All the lights were on and the doors were open, but no one was home. We went to the Emergency Room and they were there. I don't remember who was there. I don't remember seeing any faces. Not even my friend's. I remember people praying. "Our Father, who art in heaven . . ." "Yea, though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death . . ."
I remember her mom clutching something. A Bible? A hand? I can just remember the clutch. Like maybe if she held on hard enough, he wouldn't leave. But he did. And I remember the wail.
I can't remember what happened after that. I don't know if we went back to the house. I don't know if I tried to comfort anyone or said a word. I remember making it home and heading straight back to the bed where my dad was sleeping and grabbing a hold of him and bawling.
And so what kind of a prick am I? This girl, who called me--for some reason wanted me to come be with her while her father was dying; she cared that much about me and I've just let it go.
Today, I went to see For Colored Girls. There is a scene where one woman says to the other something about how there's so much light in her voice. I thought that would be such an amazing thing to hear.
I remembered a time back in Jr. High when I was at church. I can't remember why this lady was there, but she gave some special presentation. Afterwards, she was milling about the crowd and I saw her set her eyes on me.
Very politely, I shook her hand and greeted her. I don't recall much of the conversation, but I don't remember saying much. I know that at some point, she looked at me and said "I can tell there's a bright light within you."
I remember being weirded out. This lady didn't know me and had spoken with me for less than five minutes. What did she know?
But it was also pretty cool. I took it as a big compliment but had no idea what to really think of it.
And I still don't know what to think about it. Especially because sometimes it seems so dark in here!
This sounds like a joke, doesn't it? But it's true! This so is so incestuous it's ridiculous!
Of course the person who is smart enough to just park on the sidewalk rather than having to park down the street is from Texas.
On a completely unrelated note . . .
Am I the only one who thinks Joanna Newsom is really Lisa Simpson?
This story flipped my wig. Seriously.
“She said to her teenage kid, ‘Here’s the fetus,’ ” the shockingly candid Bush told NBC’s Matt Lauer, gesturing as if he were holding the jar during the TV chat, a DVD of which The Post exclusively obtained.
That's right. Barbara Bush showed her fetus in a jar to her son.
Dear Mom,
Thank you for never showing me anything so gross as to scar me for life. You are the best!
Heart,
Your Daughter, Aunt Bee
I'm currently on the final movie in a Harry Potter marathon. I'm the only one left standing. Can I make it through the whole 904 minutes???
Yeah so it's been a couple of crappy years and I just kinda never feel like writing or even taking photos anymore. I've been feeling a little extra insane and apathetic. So that's what's going on here.
But according to what I've been reading, I'm going to be a whole new person soon. Hopefully, not June Cleaver different, but hopefully a little more interested again.
You see . . . since I was in the hospital, I've been through a few tests and doctors. There were tests and blood work and many doctors in the hospital. Then the doc I saw in the E.R. took more blood. And a lovely 24 hours of peeing into a jug. Once he was confused enough, he set me up with an endocrinologist. But of course I had to wait months to see him and I finally got in to see the person who would be my primary care physician. She decided to send me to a nephrologist in the meantime to check out my kidneys. She ran some blood work before I went to see him and he was not my favorite. He ran more blood work and then told me my kidneys were fine but maybe I might like to see someone about sleep disorders? An appointment was made but I decided to nix that. I finally saw the endocrinologist who ran another giant battery of tests. For this draw, I had to lie down for 45 minutes in the dark before they stuck me with a needle. I also had a CT scan of my belly. Adrenal glands seemed fine. Nothing peculiar. Blood work didn't indicate much. So it turns out it's bad genes. Sorry, blood pressure! Bad genes! So we'll see you in 3 months to see how you're doing. And then guess what! My endocrinologist leaves. So I have to reschedule my appointment with a new guy who runs another battery of tests. Funny . . . it shows my growth hormone level is low. So let's run that again and we'll see you in 3 months. Still low, so let's run a test. They decided to inject me with a bunch of insulin so that my blood sugar would drop. If my growth hormones are working correctly, they should bring my sugar levels back to normal. Did we mention this might cause a coma? The test went fine and I was able to raise my sugar levels with no help so they sent me home telling me everything was fine. Then the test results came in and my level at it's lowest should have been a 5.0. Mine was .01. Nice. So another test and then an MRI.
All of this, and what's my diagnosis?
Wait for it.
No seriously, wait for it.
You're gonna love this.
Seriously.
It's amazing.
Are you ready?
DWARFISM!!! I'M A FREAKIN' DWARF!!!
It's a day late, but NaBloPoMo just started so this is where I'll start.
Gather 'round, kiddies! Especially you-know-who; the one who loves this story the most.
One night, my roommate and I were on one of our many late night trips to Food4Less. it was just before Halloween and, like most other stores, there was a huge pile of pumpkins under the ugly fluorescent lights.
As we left, I commented on how easy it seemed it would be to steal one of these pumpkins. Something posessed me and as we walked by, I just kinda grabbed one.
I'm not sure how it happened, really. But the pumpkin was the perfect size. The stem made a great stealing handle. I would be ashamed, but it was like maybe we were meant to be together.
I bestowed upon this beautiful pumpkin the name "Pumpkin Joe" and vowed to make it the best jack-o-lantern, ever.
Unfortunately, my mother had never allowed me to carve a pumpkin. She's an art teacher and somewhat anal about things and she wanted her jack-o-lanterns to be perfect. Of course she used the "I don't want you to cut yourself" excuse.
In any case, though I had never carved a pumpkin, I was determined to do it right. After hours of designing his face and transferring that into the hard rind of Pumpkin Joe, "Jack-O-Lantern Joe" was born on the thirtieth day of October, 1998.
Here he is. My beautiful, beautiful Jack-O-Lantern Joe.
Now . . . I'm not saying he's the most beautiful jack-o-lantern ever created, but I was pretty proud of myself. We enjoyed how hilariously wasted he looked and on Halloween, had a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Which was funny until the rain put out the cigarette.
A couple of days after Halloween, we stepped outside to see that Jack-O-Lantern Joe looked a little funny.
In fact, it seemed Jack-O-Lantern Joe had an exciting Halloween, also. It appeared he had contracted herpes.
Yeah. I know. It's scary.
You can't really see it, but there was some sort of white fungus all around his mouth and he was all saggy.
So of course, we were worried, but more so, we were disgusted.
And so we watched Jack-O-Lantern Joe's descent into hell. We couldn't touch him. It was really scary to do so. He just rotted on the corner of our balcony.
One night, as my friends hung out inside, I snuck out and lit a Doritos bag on fire and placed it inside Jack-O-Lantern Joe.
I then yelled for help and as my friends poured outside, they all stopped in their tracks.
I started rambling about how Jack-O-Lantern Joe had spontaneously combusted. I'm not sure if I should admit that I hung out with people like this, but they believed it.
This is Jack-O-Lantern Joe in all his burning glory.
After that, Jack-O-Lantern Joe just got scarier and scarier, as you can see in these last two pictures.
Eventually, I got up enough courage to pick him up (with a spatula) and salute him as he dropped three stories into the bushes below.
Perhaps it was Karma. My punishment for stealing was just a brief time with Jack-O-Lantern Joe.
Or maybe it's a lesson in looking at the bright side of things. Anyone who reads this story can't be too sad about finding their jack-o-lantern smashed in the road on the first of November!
Sandwiches. Perhaps I should expand on that . . .
It's probably not the first thing I would normally think about but I'm sitting here eating a sandwich so it made me recall something Mamo said recently.
I was home for Memorial Day weekend and the only thing I was expected to accomplish was to fix Mamo's DVD/VCR recorder. So, of course, I saved it until the last minute.
I stopped by on my way out of town to find an empty house. My Uncle Dave and Aunt Deb had come by to pick Mamo up so they could place their flowers on the family's gravestones and Mamo could take hers home. This left me a lot of quiet time to make the fixes.
When they returned, Mamo had me stay for dinner. We had BBQ beef sandwiches. I loaded mine up with pickles and then returned the top bun. Then, as I normally do, I smashed the sandwich under my palm.
Deb and Dave looked at me like I was weird and he made some remark.
"You know who she gets that from!" Mamo answered for me. "She gets it from her dad! He always smashes his sandwiches, too!"
And I realized it's funny the habits you pick up from your parents. The way you smash your sandwich and dent your pop can. You cross your legs the same and throw your socks at people when you take them off.
I didn't say they were all good habits!
I was going to stay far away from this topic.
Freedom is so many things to me. Having the right to speak, the right to be healthy, to be who you want, to do with your body what you choose, to love whomever your heart desires and having the right to have that love be recognized.
I don't know how to define it. But I feel like it should make you happy.
Take for example this friend of mine . . .
This friend had dated this person and it just wasn't working out. So they cooled things, but remained friends. It wasn't long before they decided to give it another go. But this person did not want to commit to my friend.
That's not necessarily a bad idea, of course. They're both young and have plenty of time for such things.
Then they were hanging out all the time. Going on trips together. Neither wanted to date anyone else. Neither had time. And yet still this person wouldn't allow for them to be called a couple.
Somehow the pressure of this all built to a point last night and they decided to give up again. When my friend told me about it today, I was surprised by the lack of emotion. My friend wasn't all that bothered by it.
In fact, my friend seemed in a super great mood. I think my friend was finally unburdened and could breathe.
That's an example of freedom. Not because my friend is now completely single, but because they could breathe.
There you go. Freedom is feeling like you can breathe.
I'm definitely no poetry buff.
I've always liked Max Ehrmann's "Desiderata." Especially after I read somewhere that Johnny Depp tries to live his life as the poem suggests.
You are a child of the universeI also enjoy the poems of Anne Sexton. I'm not sure that I have a favorite, though. But I always liked her fairy tales like "Snow White." I won't give away the ending, but the ending is good.
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Her stepmother,
a beauty in her own right,
though eaten, of course, by age,
would hear of no beauty surpassing her own.
Beauty is a simple passion,
but, oh my friends, in the end
you will dance the fire dance in iron shoes.
Well, let's try this again.
Let's try the monthly NaBloPoMo thing. This time there's prompts so maybe I'll find it easier?
I don't think I've grown up yet. And as a kid, I never ever imagined I would be working for a giant bank.
I wanted to be a lot of different things. For awhile, I wanted to be a college professor. And like all kids, I had ideas of being an actress or a singer. Sometimes I thought about the law. And who hasn't had ideas of being a photographer?
The job I wanted most and that I wished for the longest was to be a DJ. I knew all the words to every song on the radio. I'd listen to the "TOP TEN AT TEN!" and report the results to everyone at school the next day. You need to know who sings that "One More Try" song? Timmy T! Duh!
Little did I know the days of the decent radio DJ was about to end. And that everyone and their mom would be sharing their favorite music on podcasts and blogs.
Like me! And to help fulfill my dreams, let me share a song with which I'm totally obsessed. Stars "The Ghost of Genova Heights"
Today is the last day of November which marks the last day of NaBloPoMo. And I actually made it!
I know. It was only a month. But that month was hard! YOU try making sure you've got some time to sit in front of a computer and tell stories every day before midnight comes around! I'm worn out! Expect zero posts in December! I wanted my last post to be long, eloquent and meaningful. But this week has driven me to drink. I guess that will have to wait for another day. But not in December!
Last night, I went trick-or-treating for the first time in probably fifteen years.
Sophia was pretty on when it came to the candy. She was really good and holding that bag open. Some of the other stuff freaked her out, though. Particularly the coffin that had a creepy skeleton in it. It took her a few minutes to get over that one. She didn't quite get the door-to-door stuff so well. She'd take the candy and then try to push her way into everyone's homes. When we got back home, everyone was trying to steal her candy. And while she didn't want to share, she was really enjoying flaunting the fact that she had candy and nobody else did. Anytime someone even moved to touch her bag, she'd holler and dash away. Of course, wherever she went, there was someone else to try to steal her precious precious candy. Toward the end of the night, the living room cleared out a bit and Sophia sat on the couch with me. She would dig in her bag, bring out a piece of candy and ask her favorite question "What's that?" Then it was pajama time, so she put her bag in her sight but far from anyone else in the room. When she went back to get it, Mary asked "Can Grandma have some candy?" "No!" "Can Mommy have some candy?" " . . . No!" "Can Aunt Bee have some candy?" "Aunt Bee?" We were all surprised and waited for her to say no. And then she came over and gave me a sucker. None of us could believe it. Raw and Mary were cranky. It didn't help that Sophia then proceeded to give me every piece of candy in her bag. "I drove the van! I held your hand while you trick-or-treated!" "I stayed at home with the baby so you could go trick-or-treating!" Of course I wasn't going to keep her candy. Just knowing I'm awesome enough that she'd want to share was enough for me. Sweet victory! Well, sweet victory and then the couple of pieces I snuck into my pocket as we were putting the candy back into the bag. Okay it was three pieces!
