I think Facebook may have killed the high school reunion.
I take that back; I think Facebook is killing the high school reunion, and I'm venturing a guess that my former schoolmates and I may be its first victims.
I like to think we were always an easygoing group of people. I come from a very small town by southern California standards, and there were only two elementary schools, one junior high and one high school that people attended. Essentially, most of the 198 people I graduated with were kids I grew up with from the age of 3, 4, or 5 on.
In a way, we were like a family... that's kind of how it is with people who grew up alongside you, isn't it? You know the nuances and personalities of each other, whether or not you appreciate them for their similarities to or differences from you. We had our groups of friends and separate interests, but there is an intangible thread that connects a group of schoolmates who journeyed from kindergarten to senior year and I don't care what anyone says to the contrary. I consider it to be a truth.
Thinking back on our time together, especially in middle and high school, I don't remember our class pushing the envelope too much. Also, I don't think there was a ton of class-wide discord. What I mean by this is while, of course, there were the fights and nasty break-ups and rumors you'll find in any high school class, most of my classmates (me included) just sort of coasted toward graduation.
No one tried to pull a creative class prank or rock the boat with authority. Back then, we were not a class of risk takers. We were pretty damn apathetic in a lot of ways, actually.
I can remember chatter around graduation about our ten year reunion; things we'd bring, stories and people we'd talk about. Don't get me wrong, a lot of us disliked one another and were excited at the prospect of new faces for the first time in our lives; just because you're a part of a family doesn't mean you have to like everyone.
Either way, we were sophomores in college when Facebook launched. Our profiles consisted of a single photo of ourselves. The university we were attending (because remember, Facebook used to be only for college students). A few of your interests and hobbies.
And that was it.
But as we continued to get older and Facebook continued to grow, so did our ability to essentially creep on one another's lives. I know where my former classmates have gone to school, have worked, currently work, who they've married, what their children's names are... and it's not as if I've had to try to figure out this information, either! Facebook delivers this news on a platter.
Many of these people, I have not seen since we exited our Grad Night bus on the morning of June 20, 2002.
I know more about some lives now then I did when we saw each other on a daily basis, and there are even those I consider to be my friends now that I never knew all that well growing up (to me, this is one of the definite pluses of social media). But it has left me to ponder over the last year if a reunion is... all that necessary?
As far as I know, each class is left to their own devices; our former high school takes no part in putting together reunion festivities, it's all up to us. In the years creeping up to this 10 year mark, I was wholeheartedly gung-ho about attending it.
Then 2012 rolled around. And it had been 10 years. And I got to thinking: how has Facebook changed the dynamic of the reunion?
For one, it takes any element of surprise or voyeurism away. Gone are the fun "what ifs?" and "who do you thinks?" that I always assumed would happen (you know, like it did for Romy and Michelle). The people I still actually see from my childhood are a small number. The people I communicate with via Facebook and email is slightly larger, but not by much. And the people I disliked or couldn't care less about in high school? I don't care to find out what's going on with them one way or another.
So why in the hell am I going to go to our reunion?
Tack onto this the fact that no one has made the initiative to put together a gathering at all, and it looks as though we still might be that apathetic class that just doesn't care enough to make an effort.
And to be honest, I find that fact to be the most awesome of all.
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
27: A Year in Review
Today is my last day of being 27. As of tomorrow, I take on 28 with a bright, welcoming and hesitant hug.
Not to sound like a total cliche, but I feel each age has something you can take away from it. Not every year is going to bring huge life changing moments or eclipses of insight; some are more eventful than others, what can I say?
When I think back to where I was last year on this exact day, 26 and about to turn 27, I don't think I could have imagined how much evolution this age had in store for me. Unemployment. Moving. Personal struggles and triumphs. Africa. Pregnancy. Yowza, what a year.
I decided it might be good to give a quick summation of the things I learned, as well as a few things I'm looking forward to educating myself on, at 28.
What I've learned:
Don't ever settle for unhappiness. Even when things seem desperate, they will get better. On this day last year, I was miserable with my life. I hated my job, more so than I even realized, but put up with the misery because the money I was making was good. Also, I think I was so entrenched in my daily reality that it was difficult for me to take a step back and look at how anxiety ridden I had become. It was incredibly unhealthy.
Your self-respect is worth more than ANY paycheck can provide you. I finally found the balls to leave my job after a situation forced me to examine what I had come to accept as my day-to-day reality. If you hate what you're doing or hate the person you're working for, figure out the next step and quit. It's scary and uncomfortable, but good things can only come from following your heart and listening to your gut.
Life is meant to be enjoyed. Experiences, love, laughter... these are the things you will think about when you are close to death. Wow, that took a sudden morbid turn, didn't it? I am trying, in my pregnant brain stupor, to explain that I have been trying to soak up the goodness in every opportunity life provides me. While some of those experiences couldn't be bottled up and paid for, there are others I will NEVER regret splurging on because adventure, taste, landscapes and moments are memories. And memories (AND LOVE) will keep you company in your old age.
Love is hard work. Ok, so I didn't necessarily learn this lesson this year; it's more of an ongoing bit of discourse. Some days I am loveable. Some days, I am not loveable at all. We all must face the fact that we cannot be loveable all the time!!! So when you find yourself driven to the point of insanity by the person you're with, take a step back and remind yourself of why you fell in love in the first place. And then remind yourself that they too have to take a step back and remind themselves of why they love you.
You are most likely the person who is hardest on yourself. And you should give yourself a break. Try to remember these lovely words from Roald Dahl: “A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”
What I Think I Might Learn:
How to change a diaper.
What my mom went through to give me life.
How to bake a loaf of bread from scratch (full disclosure: I technically already know how to do this. But I haven't done it on my own yet. So there in lies the challenge/lesson).
How to be a successful freelancer AND stay-at-home mom concurrently. This may be the hardest lesson of all.
Ok, 28... I think I'm ready for you.
Not to sound like a total cliche, but I feel each age has something you can take away from it. Not every year is going to bring huge life changing moments or eclipses of insight; some are more eventful than others, what can I say?
When I think back to where I was last year on this exact day, 26 and about to turn 27, I don't think I could have imagined how much evolution this age had in store for me. Unemployment. Moving. Personal struggles and triumphs. Africa. Pregnancy. Yowza, what a year.
I decided it might be good to give a quick summation of the things I learned, as well as a few things I'm looking forward to educating myself on, at 28.
What I've learned:
Don't ever settle for unhappiness. Even when things seem desperate, they will get better. On this day last year, I was miserable with my life. I hated my job, more so than I even realized, but put up with the misery because the money I was making was good. Also, I think I was so entrenched in my daily reality that it was difficult for me to take a step back and look at how anxiety ridden I had become. It was incredibly unhealthy.
Your self-respect is worth more than ANY paycheck can provide you. I finally found the balls to leave my job after a situation forced me to examine what I had come to accept as my day-to-day reality. If you hate what you're doing or hate the person you're working for, figure out the next step and quit. It's scary and uncomfortable, but good things can only come from following your heart and listening to your gut.
Life is meant to be enjoyed. Experiences, love, laughter... these are the things you will think about when you are close to death. Wow, that took a sudden morbid turn, didn't it? I am trying, in my pregnant brain stupor, to explain that I have been trying to soak up the goodness in every opportunity life provides me. While some of those experiences couldn't be bottled up and paid for, there are others I will NEVER regret splurging on because adventure, taste, landscapes and moments are memories. And memories (AND LOVE) will keep you company in your old age.
Love is hard work. Ok, so I didn't necessarily learn this lesson this year; it's more of an ongoing bit of discourse. Some days I am loveable. Some days, I am not loveable at all. We all must face the fact that we cannot be loveable all the time!!! So when you find yourself driven to the point of insanity by the person you're with, take a step back and remind yourself of why you fell in love in the first place. And then remind yourself that they too have to take a step back and remind themselves of why they love you.
You are most likely the person who is hardest on yourself. And you should give yourself a break. Try to remember these lovely words from Roald Dahl: “A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”
What I Think I Might Learn:
How to change a diaper.
What my mom went through to give me life.
How to bake a loaf of bread from scratch (full disclosure: I technically already know how to do this. But I haven't done it on my own yet. So there in lies the challenge/lesson).
How to be a successful freelancer AND stay-at-home mom concurrently. This may be the hardest lesson of all.
Ok, 28... I think I'm ready for you.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Happy Monday!
"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find
someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them
and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
— Dr. Seuss
— Dr. Seuss
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
An Apology and An Announcement
I've spent the last couple days thinking about this blog: reflecting on what it originally started out as, reflecting on what it's turning into, and I've come up with the following.
This blog is officially 10 months old (ok, almost 10 months old). If you'll remember my first post, it was a proclamation of sorts. The week prior to RISD's creation, I had quit a miserable job. It was one of the best decisions I've ever made, but not entirely expected. I found myself without work, without money and without a plan.
A month later, my husband received a job offer and we scurried ourselves from frenetic and harried Los Angeles down to mellow San Diego, only to be hit with the realization that (1) landlords are unlikely to rent to you if you own a pitbull and (2) we needed to save some cash for our African adventure.
So we moved in with Kyle's parents (who I cannot thank enough).
At the same time, a friend of mine reached out for some assistance with her business and I realized a few things: I was good at it, I could do it from home and it offered me the flexibility I needed to focus on a different business I was helping to get off the ground. Woot!
Suddenly, July was October, and we were in Africa. In November, we moved into our new house (dog included!). And suddenly, it was December and Kyle and I found out we were going to be parents.
2011 was quite a year, folks. It was quite a year.
Which brings me to what I've been reflecting on for the last couple days. The last half of 2011 was all about transition and change and essentially, TAKING ON THE WORLD like a badass! And it was fun to chronicle that journey for the most part. It was uncomfortable at times, and some of the things I've written about that needed follow up haven't been taken care of yet, but overall, I've been loving this blog. And I still do, by the way.
However, in going through old posts, its obvious which were quality and which posts were filler, and I need to get away from the pithy writing. I need to get away from feeling like I have to post every day and that I'm a failure if I don't. And this, of course, brings me to the obvious content change that has happened since we made our big announcement in February.
All I want to write about is my baby. My BOY! I did not expect it to be such an all consuming thing mentally, but it is. I think the all consuming physical part goes without saying.
Things have mellowed out for me and for Kyle, and while we are still trying to figure out life the best two twentysomethings can, I can't deny that writing about uninteresting things, that taking a short cut with content and that putting shit on this blog just to say that I did has been making me feel icky.
It's been making me feel like a blowhard.
Thus, here are the decisions I've made and I know they will affect my readership considerably.
(1) I am done with posting links to this blog on Facebook. I figure if you like RISD enough to keep coming back, you will.
(2) I am done with boring, irrelevant posts. Yes, it will mean not posting every week day. But I feel it will up the quality considerably.
(3) I have to give in to the fact that this may become a baby blog. Or a family blog. And I have to be ok with that and embrace it for what it is: my life now.
It's funny because I find myself asking the same question I did in that first post, almost a year ago...
Care to join me?
This blog is officially 10 months old (ok, almost 10 months old). If you'll remember my first post, it was a proclamation of sorts. The week prior to RISD's creation, I had quit a miserable job. It was one of the best decisions I've ever made, but not entirely expected. I found myself without work, without money and without a plan.
A month later, my husband received a job offer and we scurried ourselves from frenetic and harried Los Angeles down to mellow San Diego, only to be hit with the realization that (1) landlords are unlikely to rent to you if you own a pitbull and (2) we needed to save some cash for our African adventure.
So we moved in with Kyle's parents (who I cannot thank enough).
At the same time, a friend of mine reached out for some assistance with her business and I realized a few things: I was good at it, I could do it from home and it offered me the flexibility I needed to focus on a different business I was helping to get off the ground. Woot!
Suddenly, July was October, and we were in Africa. In November, we moved into our new house (dog included!). And suddenly, it was December and Kyle and I found out we were going to be parents.
2011 was quite a year, folks. It was quite a year.
Which brings me to what I've been reflecting on for the last couple days. The last half of 2011 was all about transition and change and essentially, TAKING ON THE WORLD like a badass! And it was fun to chronicle that journey for the most part. It was uncomfortable at times, and some of the things I've written about that needed follow up haven't been taken care of yet, but overall, I've been loving this blog. And I still do, by the way.
However, in going through old posts, its obvious which were quality and which posts were filler, and I need to get away from the pithy writing. I need to get away from feeling like I have to post every day and that I'm a failure if I don't. And this, of course, brings me to the obvious content change that has happened since we made our big announcement in February.
All I want to write about is my baby. My BOY! I did not expect it to be such an all consuming thing mentally, but it is. I think the all consuming physical part goes without saying.
Things have mellowed out for me and for Kyle, and while we are still trying to figure out life the best two twentysomethings can, I can't deny that writing about uninteresting things, that taking a short cut with content and that putting shit on this blog just to say that I did has been making me feel icky.
It's been making me feel like a blowhard.
Thus, here are the decisions I've made and I know they will affect my readership considerably.
(1) I am done with posting links to this blog on Facebook. I figure if you like RISD enough to keep coming back, you will.
(2) I am done with boring, irrelevant posts. Yes, it will mean not posting every week day. But I feel it will up the quality considerably.
(3) I have to give in to the fact that this may become a baby blog. Or a family blog. And I have to be ok with that and embrace it for what it is: my life now.
It's funny because I find myself asking the same question I did in that first post, almost a year ago...
Care to join me?
Friday, March 9, 2012
San Diego: Hen Weekend Special
One of my best friends, Miss Jenny herself, is coming down for the weekend and I am ever so excited. We've been meaning to have a weekend sans husbands for quite some time and the fact that our all our guy friends (our men included) are heading to Vegas to bid "farewell" to my husband's life sans child gave us the opportunity!
We have lucky husbands.
So, a quick breakdown of my tentative plans for us. Apologies to any of you (Jenny included) if it sounds a little less than... exciting? Pregnancy kind of takes the party, party, party out of you for the most part.
I am no longer a baller, shot caller, if you will.
Friday:
Pick Jenny up from airport with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies waiting in the front seat. This recipe to be exact. Vegas boys, you may be lucky enough to receive some in the goody package I may have packed for you. This is also a good way for me to find out if any of you read my blog.
Heeelllllo? Guys?
Saturday:
Sleep in.
Little Italy Farmer's Market! Our plan is to pick up ingredients for a fantastic Saturday night dinner. According to the link, Little Italy in San Diego is a "hip and historic neighborhood."
We shall be the judge of this statement.
After moseying about, my next guess is pedicures, but where we will get pedicures has been undetermined. This strategy didn't work out for us in San Francisco a couple weekends ago, but here's to hoping! If it's sunny, I'm thinking picnic in Balboa Park.
Dinner will be masterfully crafted by us complete with tasty, but non-alcoholic beverages. I DO have wine and beer for Jenny though.
I would never expect her to suffer on my behalf.
We may watch a movie, we may just prattle on to our hearts content... who knows? It's a girls' weekend after all!
Sunday:
Sleep in.
Brunch at Searsucker... which I am mucho excited about.
The more I type, the more I realize how this weekend revolves around eating.
I'm ok with this, and I'm hoping she is too!
Either way, as long as the weekend involves some bit of shake face and air guitar, I'm good.
Happy weekend to all, and to get it started on the right foot, why not listen to this?
We have lucky husbands.
So, a quick breakdown of my tentative plans for us. Apologies to any of you (Jenny included) if it sounds a little less than... exciting? Pregnancy kind of takes the party, party, party out of you for the most part.
I am no longer a baller, shot caller, if you will.
Friday:
Pick Jenny up from airport with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies waiting in the front seat. This recipe to be exact. Vegas boys, you may be lucky enough to receive some in the goody package I may have packed for you. This is also a good way for me to find out if any of you read my blog.
Heeelllllo? Guys?
Saturday:
Sleep in.
Little Italy Farmer's Market! Our plan is to pick up ingredients for a fantastic Saturday night dinner. According to the link, Little Italy in San Diego is a "hip and historic neighborhood."
We shall be the judge of this statement.
After moseying about, my next guess is pedicures, but where we will get pedicures has been undetermined. This strategy didn't work out for us in San Francisco a couple weekends ago, but here's to hoping! If it's sunny, I'm thinking picnic in Balboa Park.
Dinner will be masterfully crafted by us complete with tasty, but non-alcoholic beverages. I DO have wine and beer for Jenny though.
I would never expect her to suffer on my behalf.
We may watch a movie, we may just prattle on to our hearts content... who knows? It's a girls' weekend after all!
Sunday:
Sleep in.
Brunch at Searsucker... which I am mucho excited about.
The more I type, the more I realize how this weekend revolves around eating.
I'm ok with this, and I'm hoping she is too!
Either way, as long as the weekend involves some bit of shake face and air guitar, I'm good.
 |
| Photos courtesy of famed photographer, Dawn "Butt Cut" McGaw |
Happy weekend to all, and to get it started on the right foot, why not listen to this?
Friday, March 2, 2012
A Few Things on a Friday
March 2nd always means one thing for me and has for the last seven years: it's the day my grandma, Grammy, died. Every year it hits me in the same way, "I can't believe she's been gone for this long."
Because the truth is it doesn't feel that way. It feels like it happened a few days or weeks or months ago.
And then I think about the fact that she missed out on my college graduation, on my engagement, on my wedding... and now, my pending baby, and it doesn't seem so unreal that she's been gone for that long. It hurts more when I put it in that perspective, I think.
I hope that each one of you has someone like her in your life. For me, she equaled the best kind of love out there. She was fun and gracious and warm and caring, and whenever I catch myself being a total sassypants or (let's be honest) bitch, I try to channel her, because she was never those things. A rascal? Yes. But the best kind of rascal.
I felt it only appropriate I share "her song" with you all. My sister gets credit for making it such, because she was the one that burned it on a cd and blasted it while the three of us would jam out in the car. I have a distinct memory of an especially sweet dance sesh on the way to my Uncle Steve's 60th birthday, and whenever I hear this song, I think of her and it makes me happy.
I think she'd appreciate the image selected for this particular video, too.
Wishing you a wonderful weekend with the people you love most.
Because the truth is it doesn't feel that way. It feels like it happened a few days or weeks or months ago.
And then I think about the fact that she missed out on my college graduation, on my engagement, on my wedding... and now, my pending baby, and it doesn't seem so unreal that she's been gone for that long. It hurts more when I put it in that perspective, I think.
I hope that each one of you has someone like her in your life. For me, she equaled the best kind of love out there. She was fun and gracious and warm and caring, and whenever I catch myself being a total sassypants or (let's be honest) bitch, I try to channel her, because she was never those things. A rascal? Yes. But the best kind of rascal.
I felt it only appropriate I share "her song" with you all. My sister gets credit for making it such, because she was the one that burned it on a cd and blasted it while the three of us would jam out in the car. I have a distinct memory of an especially sweet dance sesh on the way to my Uncle Steve's 60th birthday, and whenever I hear this song, I think of her and it makes me happy.
I think she'd appreciate the image selected for this particular video, too.
Wishing you a wonderful weekend with the people you love most.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Dementia Can be FUN! Part Two
Well, this weekend found my grandpa back at the hospital after another stroke. We're not yet sure if he'll be able to go home or if he'll have to be transferred to assisted living, so at this point all we can do is wait and see.
I haven't had the chance to speak with him since it happened which means I am unaware of the quality of his speech, his thinking and memory. I doubt it's improved his ability to remember though, so I'm sure there are some interesting chats ahead.
Case in point: I have to remind my grandparents every time I speak with them that I'm having a baby. I only do it about once every three times now because each call goes something like this:
Ring, Ring, Ring...
Grammy Net: (in a southern Georgia accent) Hello?
Elizabeth: Hi Grammy Net, it's Elizabeth.
GN: Oh, hi. How are you? (Sidenote: I'm almost certain she doesn't know who I am at this point in the conversation).
E: Kyle and I are just plugging along, doing our thing.
GN: KYLE! (She now recognizes who we are as a couple because she loves my husband... I'm still not sure at this point if she knows who I am, however). How is he doin'? You know, he is just the sweetest boy. They are hard to come by like him these days, you sure are lucky.
E: (now comes the fun part) Well, I'm sure you'll remember that we're having a baby.
GN: A what?
E: A BABY.
GN: A baby?!? Are you kidding me?!
E: Nope. Not joking! We really are.
GN: Well this is certainly a surprise (at this point I nod into the phone because they have "known" since December). Who's the father?!
E: Kyle... remember? My husband?
GN: KYLE! How is he doin'? You know, he is just the sweetest boy. They are hard to come by like him these days, you sure are lucky.
E: He's doing good. Hey, can I speak to Papa George?
GN: You want to speak to George? You know, something happened to George. I can't figure out what it is (she has very little recollection of his health issues over the past 2 years). Let me see if I can get him.
At this point, I hear her plod along or I hear the sound of the dial tone. If she hangs up on me, I usually wait a couple days to call back. Occasionally, she'll actually remember that (1) I've just told her I'm having a baby and (2) she needs to hand the phone to my grandpa. If these two things have happened, the phone call progresses as such:
Papa George: (in a Texan accent) Well hi there, Ginny!
Elizabeth: It's Elizabeth, Papa George. Not Ginny.
PG: Oh, Elizabeth! I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that. Is there some reason I associate you with a Ginny?
E: Yeah, she's my sister, remember?
PG: That's right. So, your grandmother (this is a good sign because he's referred to her as my aunt in the past) tells me you're pregnant?
E: Yup. Due in August!
PG: (in a very stern voice) Well I hope you'll be getting married, young lady! How are you ever going to graduate?
E: Papa George, remember, I graduated in 2006. And I am married. You were at my wedding? It was 3 years ago.
PG: WHAT? That can't be right. You're still a teenager.
E: No, I'm actually almost 28. Pretty crazy, huh?
PG: (long pause) Time sure does fly, Ginny.
E: Yes, it does, Papa George, it certainly does. Well I have to go, I'll call you soon, ok? And take care! Love you.
PG: Love you too, Ginny. And say 'hi' to your mom and dad for me (please note there is no mention of Elizabeth in this sentence... Still not sure how I got ranked last in my family).
And then I call back about a week later and we have the exact same conversation if I'm lucky. If I'm not lucky, a usually drawn out call happens, where the same pleasantries and questions are repeated over and over and over again.
Naturally, I'm Ginny the entire time.
So ends Part Two of our three part series, Dementia Can Be Fun! Tune in next time when I follow up with an unexpectedly racist joyride and more.
I haven't had the chance to speak with him since it happened which means I am unaware of the quality of his speech, his thinking and memory. I doubt it's improved his ability to remember though, so I'm sure there are some interesting chats ahead.
Case in point: I have to remind my grandparents every time I speak with them that I'm having a baby. I only do it about once every three times now because each call goes something like this:
Ring, Ring, Ring...
Grammy Net: (in a southern Georgia accent) Hello?
Elizabeth: Hi Grammy Net, it's Elizabeth.
GN: Oh, hi. How are you? (Sidenote: I'm almost certain she doesn't know who I am at this point in the conversation).
E: Kyle and I are just plugging along, doing our thing.
GN: KYLE! (She now recognizes who we are as a couple because she loves my husband... I'm still not sure at this point if she knows who I am, however). How is he doin'? You know, he is just the sweetest boy. They are hard to come by like him these days, you sure are lucky.
E: (now comes the fun part) Well, I'm sure you'll remember that we're having a baby.
GN: A what?
E: A BABY.
GN: A baby?!? Are you kidding me?!
E: Nope. Not joking! We really are.
GN: Well this is certainly a surprise (at this point I nod into the phone because they have "known" since December). Who's the father?!
E: Kyle... remember? My husband?
GN: KYLE! How is he doin'? You know, he is just the sweetest boy. They are hard to come by like him these days, you sure are lucky.
E: He's doing good. Hey, can I speak to Papa George?
GN: You want to speak to George? You know, something happened to George. I can't figure out what it is (she has very little recollection of his health issues over the past 2 years). Let me see if I can get him.
At this point, I hear her plod along or I hear the sound of the dial tone. If she hangs up on me, I usually wait a couple days to call back. Occasionally, she'll actually remember that (1) I've just told her I'm having a baby and (2) she needs to hand the phone to my grandpa. If these two things have happened, the phone call progresses as such:
Papa George: (in a Texan accent) Well hi there, Ginny!
Elizabeth: It's Elizabeth, Papa George. Not Ginny.
PG: Oh, Elizabeth! I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that. Is there some reason I associate you with a Ginny?
E: Yeah, she's my sister, remember?
PG: That's right. So, your grandmother (this is a good sign because he's referred to her as my aunt in the past) tells me you're pregnant?
E: Yup. Due in August!
PG: (in a very stern voice) Well I hope you'll be getting married, young lady! How are you ever going to graduate?
E: Papa George, remember, I graduated in 2006. And I am married. You were at my wedding? It was 3 years ago.
PG: WHAT? That can't be right. You're still a teenager.
E: No, I'm actually almost 28. Pretty crazy, huh?
PG: (long pause) Time sure does fly, Ginny.
E: Yes, it does, Papa George, it certainly does. Well I have to go, I'll call you soon, ok? And take care! Love you.
PG: Love you too, Ginny. And say 'hi' to your mom and dad for me (please note there is no mention of Elizabeth in this sentence... Still not sure how I got ranked last in my family).
And then I call back about a week later and we have the exact same conversation if I'm lucky. If I'm not lucky, a usually drawn out call happens, where the same pleasantries and questions are repeated over and over and over again.
Naturally, I'm Ginny the entire time.
So ends Part Two of our three part series, Dementia Can Be Fun! Tune in next time when I follow up with an unexpectedly racist joyride and more.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
If You've Ever Loved a Pet and Had to Say Goodbye
I'm not gonna lie... the below video is not necessarily one I would call happy. But in its own way, it is all about happiness and our pets and the unconditional love they provide us.
A friend from college posted this earlier today and I am almost certain I have never cried so hard at a video or film or movie as I did watching this six minute short. For me, it encapsulates all that it is to be a pet owner: the indescribable joy they bring you, the support they provide when you feel like not a single human in the world understands you, the fear and sadness of recognizing the inevitable fact that they will likely die before you no matter how much you wish and hope to the contrary.
Last Minutes with ODEN from Eliot Rausch + Phos Pictures on Vimeo.
Of course, I say all this knowing that Moe will live forever no matter what. He just has to.
A friend from college posted this earlier today and I am almost certain I have never cried so hard at a video or film or movie as I did watching this six minute short. For me, it encapsulates all that it is to be a pet owner: the indescribable joy they bring you, the support they provide when you feel like not a single human in the world understands you, the fear and sadness of recognizing the inevitable fact that they will likely die before you no matter how much you wish and hope to the contrary.
Last Minutes with ODEN from Eliot Rausch + Phos Pictures on Vimeo.
Of course, I say all this knowing that Moe will live forever no matter what. He just has to.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Sending Out Happiness
I had an epiphany of sorts over the weekend that made me damn proud of myself.
You know how some people, when they hear good news from their friends or family (or even strangers and acquaintances), say, "I'm so happy for you!" but... aren't really? Either, the sentiment isn't genuine and they're just blurting it out because that's the seemingly appropriate response, or they say it knowing they should mean it, but really are jealous or resent the person's achievement or good luck?
I came to the realization this weekend that I am not one of those people. When I say I am happy or excited for the people I love, either in what they've accomplished or things that have happened (or is going to happen) to them, I mean it. 100%.
So I had a "Yay, me!" moment.
It may seem silly to applaud myself over something as simple as being genuine in my happiness for others, but I wouldn't feel proud if I thought every person is this way. The truth is, I don't.
And don't think I'm saying I've never experienced envy or jealousy. Any human who says that is a liar. Or a sociopath.
You know how some people, when they hear good news from their friends or family (or even strangers and acquaintances), say, "I'm so happy for you!" but... aren't really? Either, the sentiment isn't genuine and they're just blurting it out because that's the seemingly appropriate response, or they say it knowing they should mean it, but really are jealous or resent the person's achievement or good luck?
I came to the realization this weekend that I am not one of those people. When I say I am happy or excited for the people I love, either in what they've accomplished or things that have happened (or is going to happen) to them, I mean it. 100%.
So I had a "Yay, me!" moment.
It may seem silly to applaud myself over something as simple as being genuine in my happiness for others, but I wouldn't feel proud if I thought every person is this way. The truth is, I don't.
And don't think I'm saying I've never experienced envy or jealousy. Any human who says that is a liar. Or a sociopath.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Adventures in Pregnancy: Episode One
Did everyone have a good Valentine's Day? If you're single or think that it's "overrated and sooooo commercial," I hope yesterday was good for you anyhow!
Yesterday's news... pretty exciting (and terrifying and joyous)! Might as well jump to the details:
Baby Sutherland is due August 12, 2012. 08.12.12! An auspicious date to be due on, I must say, but I have a gut feeling he or she won't be making an appearance until the end of that month. Maybe on Auntie Jenny's birthday? Certainly a great person to share a special day with.
I summed up my expectations of him/her in an email to my best friends from college as follows: Pale, lanky, freckled mess of a child with a penchant for mischief, arguing and revelry, as well as a wicked sense of humor and impeccable spelling skills.
I summed up my expectations of him/her in an email to my best friends from college as follows: Pale, lanky, freckled mess of a child with a penchant for mischief, arguing and revelry, as well as a wicked sense of humor and impeccable spelling skills.
Seems pretty spot on to me. For anyone up in arms over that sentence, calm your steeze. Of course I think it is going to be the most precious person ever.
A few things I've learned thus far in this adventure known as pregnancy:
1. Pregnant women are crazy.
Hear me out on this one, because I am exaggerating, but only to a point. Being pregnant kind of makes you feel insane (and you sometimes act insane, too). In the last three months, I have overreacted about so many ridiculous things it is embarrassing. Kyle did some laundry one night in January (we don't have a washer and dryer at our place, by the way). I was exhausted (because that's another joy of pregnancy) and so excited to crawl into bed, but I had to wait until he returned with our sheets. The top sheet was damp, folks. And not damp like a pair of jeans that you know is going to dry throughout the day so you just suck it up and wear them. It was wet to the point of being unsleepable, which meant we weren't going to have a top sheet, merely a duvet. No big deal, right?
I bawled like I had just seen a pack of puppies get run over by a truck. The kind of sobbing where you can't catch a breath. For a solid 20 minutes.
Hear me out on this one, because I am exaggerating, but only to a point. Being pregnant kind of makes you feel insane (and you sometimes act insane, too). In the last three months, I have overreacted about so many ridiculous things it is embarrassing. Kyle did some laundry one night in January (we don't have a washer and dryer at our place, by the way). I was exhausted (because that's another joy of pregnancy) and so excited to crawl into bed, but I had to wait until he returned with our sheets. The top sheet was damp, folks. And not damp like a pair of jeans that you know is going to dry throughout the day so you just suck it up and wear them. It was wet to the point of being unsleepable, which meant we weren't going to have a top sheet, merely a duvet. No big deal, right?
I bawled like I had just seen a pack of puppies get run over by a truck. The kind of sobbing where you can't catch a breath. For a solid 20 minutes.
And 5 minutes after I stopped crying, I was hysterically laughing at how much I had overreacted.
If that's not crazy, I don't know what is. But the hard thing is it gives people an out around you sometimes; they (or more specifically my husband) chalk every grievance I have up to my hormones, although some are quite legitimate. It's a catch 22.
2. Maternity jeans are handcrafted by angels.
Folks, I know why the caged bird sings: it's because she's pining for a pair of maternity jeans. It is some underground secret apparently amongst the mom set. They are like wearing the world's most comfortable couch on your lower half. Yes, I can still fit into my pre-prego pants. Ladies, you'll get me on this one: you know when you've gained weight and your pants fit a little snugger, so people can't tell but you can? Nothing says "I feel fat" like jeans creating visible muffin top. So I bought a pair of skinny maternity jeans from Gap and they are glorious.
2. Maternity jeans are handcrafted by angels.
Folks, I know why the caged bird sings: it's because she's pining for a pair of maternity jeans. It is some underground secret apparently amongst the mom set. They are like wearing the world's most comfortable couch on your lower half. Yes, I can still fit into my pre-prego pants. Ladies, you'll get me on this one: you know when you've gained weight and your pants fit a little snugger, so people can't tell but you can? Nothing says "I feel fat" like jeans creating visible muffin top. So I bought a pair of skinny maternity jeans from Gap and they are glorious.
Oh, and word to the wise: don't ask a lady carrying a baby how much weight she's gained. It's totally rude and none of your business. Unless she divulges to you, play the fun game of "does she weigh more than her husband yet?" in your head.
3. Everyone has an opinion when you're pregnant.
I didn't realize every person had an opinion on pregnancy, childbirth, child rearing, etc. until I got pregnant and everyone and their mother felt it essential to let me know theirs. And please don't think I've hated all of it; I've never done this before and I appreciate the support and information from those who have and have given me their non-opinionated insight. I'm talking about the judgy-judges. "Oh, you're having black tea? You know caffeine's not good for the baby." "You're eating seafood? Is that alright for you to have in your condition?"
People, I am not an imbecile and I have been sucking down information almost as often as the water I drink to satiate my unquenchable thirst. I assure you the decisions I'm making are well informed and mine to make.
4. La Quercia prosciutto and limeade taste GREAT together.
At least they did a month ago when I slammed them both down in the parking lot of Whole Foods in my ravenous state.
5. Pregnant women drool more than pirates. Or baseball players. Or [insert crazy gremlin troll from any 80's movie].
It turns out there are a lot of pregnancy symptoms people don't talk about and one of them is excess saliva. What the hell? I'll be sitting at my computer, working away and I'll catch myself drooling like an inbred yokel. It is bizarre.
This is all the insight I have for you today, folks. I plan on making this a regular feature, but don't worry. While RISD will obviously detail the journey Kyle and I are on towards parenthood, it is not going to be just a mom-brag blog.
This is all the insight I have for you today, folks. I plan on making this a regular feature, but don't worry. While RISD will obviously detail the journey Kyle and I are on towards parenthood, it is not going to be just a mom-brag blog.
Oh, and one more thing. Thank you so much for all the love and kind wishes you've sent our way. It has been heartwarming and life affirming and we really, truly appreciate it.
Y'all rock (I am naturally drooling while I say this).
Y'all rock (I am naturally drooling while I say this).
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Post 101: Dementia Can Be FUN! Part One
Yesterday was my 100th post and I didn't even realize it! There should have been balloons and cake and a marching band. I will say there was Indian food, so that's always a plus.
Sugary desserts or not, GO ME and thank you to my three loyal readers!
I felt I should mention it in my 101st post (ahem, this one), but I needed something compelling to write about in order to convey this milestone... and it led me to wanting to divulge about my senile grandparents. I should warn the faint of heart that this will not be soul warming or politically correct, so you might want to "x" out this page if that's what you're looking for.
To explain the deterioration of my paternal grandparents, I have to paint a picture of how strange they have always been. Growing up, my sister and I always understood we had an "awesome" set of grandparents (previously mentioned here and here) and a "meh" set of grandparents.
Our "meh" set didn't want to be bothered with seeing us and for the majority of my life, I've seen them once, maybe twice a year. Even though they were my dad's parents (and by parents I mean his father and stepmother), my mom would be the one to reach out to them. The three of us would meet them at the Napa Airport every summer: they would fly in on their little plane from Sacramento, we would eat lunch and they would head back to "the big city."
They were very predictable. We received a birthday card with a dollar for every year we were alive until we hit ten; after that, it was a standard ten dollar bill until we were twenty, and then it was just a birthday card until those stopped altogether. Our annual Christmas cards contained fifty dollars until we hit twenty as well.
For those of you who think I'm greedy, I realize how pathetic it is that I associate them with these cards and cash, but honestly I don't have many memories otherwise.
There were no phone calls between us unless we dialed them and they chose not to screen us through their answering machine. They spent more time visiting extended family in Texas and Georgia. They were passionately into exercising and eating health food (I happen to think I eat a rather healthy and balanced diet; theirs by comparison, was more a "lacking in all fun" sort of menu, but healthy nonetheless). They enjoyed their privacy. Oh, and they're sort of racist. And by sort of, I mean really.
It wasn't horrible or anything. It was reality. And we had our awesome grandparents, so we didn't ever feel like we were lacking. Until the good set died. And then our apathy towards the remaining pair was really apparent.
I warned you I wasn't going to sugarcoat things.
A couple years ago I received a strangely scrawled message from my grandma saying she had been trying to get a hold of my family for weeks and had not been able to find any of us. She said she'd called all the phone numbers she had for us and that either no one answered or it was strangers. This was news to me, as none of our numbers had changed. It should have tipped us off then, that her brain was starting to fail, but I just chalked it up to her chicken scratch writing in her address book.
Last year, we received an urgent message from her saying that my grandpa was in the hospital due to a seizure. He was intubated and in a medically induced coma and had been for 4 days when she finally got a hold of us to relay the info. Once my dad got up to Sacramento, he discovered that my grandma had dementia and that my grandpa (now comatose) had done an exceedingly good job of hiding that fact from us.
So the games began.
My dad took her into get tested for it while my grandpa was still out cold. She was asked thirty questions, all those which a person of normal brain capacity should be able to answer like, "What is your name?", "What year were you born?", "What year is it currently?"... you know, fun stuff.
She got eleven right and during this time, my father was enlightened to learn she thought it was 1997 and that she had been born in 1972.
Neither were accurate statements, in case you're wondering.
So ends Part One of our three part series, Dementia Can Be Fun! Tune in next time when I follow up with some tales of the 21 group hug salute, unexpectedly racist joyride escapades and more.
Sugary desserts or not, GO ME and thank you to my three loyal readers!
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| This photo is meant to represent me forging trails in the... uncharted* world of blogging (*please note, uncharted may be grossly overstated). |
I felt I should mention it in my 101st post (ahem, this one), but I needed something compelling to write about in order to convey this milestone... and it led me to wanting to divulge about my senile grandparents. I should warn the faint of heart that this will not be soul warming or politically correct, so you might want to "x" out this page if that's what you're looking for.
To explain the deterioration of my paternal grandparents, I have to paint a picture of how strange they have always been. Growing up, my sister and I always understood we had an "awesome" set of grandparents (previously mentioned here and here) and a "meh" set of grandparents.
Our "meh" set didn't want to be bothered with seeing us and for the majority of my life, I've seen them once, maybe twice a year. Even though they were my dad's parents (and by parents I mean his father and stepmother), my mom would be the one to reach out to them. The three of us would meet them at the Napa Airport every summer: they would fly in on their little plane from Sacramento, we would eat lunch and they would head back to "the big city."
They were very predictable. We received a birthday card with a dollar for every year we were alive until we hit ten; after that, it was a standard ten dollar bill until we were twenty, and then it was just a birthday card until those stopped altogether. Our annual Christmas cards contained fifty dollars until we hit twenty as well.
For those of you who think I'm greedy, I realize how pathetic it is that I associate them with these cards and cash, but honestly I don't have many memories otherwise.
There were no phone calls between us unless we dialed them and they chose not to screen us through their answering machine. They spent more time visiting extended family in Texas and Georgia. They were passionately into exercising and eating health food (I happen to think I eat a rather healthy and balanced diet; theirs by comparison, was more a "lacking in all fun" sort of menu, but healthy nonetheless). They enjoyed their privacy. Oh, and they're sort of racist. And by sort of, I mean really.
It wasn't horrible or anything. It was reality. And we had our awesome grandparents, so we didn't ever feel like we were lacking. Until the good set died. And then our apathy towards the remaining pair was really apparent.
I warned you I wasn't going to sugarcoat things.
A couple years ago I received a strangely scrawled message from my grandma saying she had been trying to get a hold of my family for weeks and had not been able to find any of us. She said she'd called all the phone numbers she had for us and that either no one answered or it was strangers. This was news to me, as none of our numbers had changed. It should have tipped us off then, that her brain was starting to fail, but I just chalked it up to her chicken scratch writing in her address book.
Last year, we received an urgent message from her saying that my grandpa was in the hospital due to a seizure. He was intubated and in a medically induced coma and had been for 4 days when she finally got a hold of us to relay the info. Once my dad got up to Sacramento, he discovered that my grandma had dementia and that my grandpa (now comatose) had done an exceedingly good job of hiding that fact from us.
So the games began.
My dad took her into get tested for it while my grandpa was still out cold. She was asked thirty questions, all those which a person of normal brain capacity should be able to answer like, "What is your name?", "What year were you born?", "What year is it currently?"... you know, fun stuff.
She got eleven right and during this time, my father was enlightened to learn she thought it was 1997 and that she had been born in 1972.
Neither were accurate statements, in case you're wondering.
So ends Part One of our three part series, Dementia Can Be Fun! Tune in next time when I follow up with some tales of the 21 group hug salute, unexpectedly racist joyride escapades and more.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
For My Beautiful Sister on her Birthday
"A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost." -- Marion C. Garretty
Here's the thing about the above quote (aside from the fact that it's very true): if I were to base my relationship with my sister Ginny through our interactions in childhood, we might be in some trouble. She was always the sassy one (still is most of the time), getting us into trouble (still does occasionally), stealing my clothes, starting physical fights for no reason other than she liked fighting, then telling on me after I won said fight (I believe it's called self defense in some circles)... the list of naughty things she did when we were little goes on and on.
But there are also the things that cannot be ignored: our fierce propensity to stick up for one another, her ability to make me laugh, our innate understanding of who the other truly is deep down at the heart of it all... We really have made it through the thick of things time and time again, only to find ourselves as best friends.
It feels awesome to be able to say that.
My parents have told me that when they brought my sister home from the hospital 26 years ago, I spent two weeks being a complete nightmare: crying, screaming, throwing tantrums left and right... essentially, anything I could to show my anger at that fact that I was not the only baby anymore. My mom says around day 14, I kind of realized my efforts were for naught and that, no, in fact, you can't just take her away. She was there to stay, just like me.
And thank goodness.
So, to my beautiful, caring, thoughtful, mischievous sister: I love you and a very happy birthday to you.
Here's the thing about the above quote (aside from the fact that it's very true): if I were to base my relationship with my sister Ginny through our interactions in childhood, we might be in some trouble. She was always the sassy one (still is most of the time), getting us into trouble (still does occasionally), stealing my clothes, starting physical fights for no reason other than she liked fighting, then telling on me after I won said fight (I believe it's called self defense in some circles)... the list of naughty things she did when we were little goes on and on.
But there are also the things that cannot be ignored: our fierce propensity to stick up for one another, her ability to make me laugh, our innate understanding of who the other truly is deep down at the heart of it all... We really have made it through the thick of things time and time again, only to find ourselves as best friends.
It feels awesome to be able to say that.
My parents have told me that when they brought my sister home from the hospital 26 years ago, I spent two weeks being a complete nightmare: crying, screaming, throwing tantrums left and right... essentially, anything I could to show my anger at that fact that I was not the only baby anymore. My mom says around day 14, I kind of realized my efforts were for naught and that, no, in fact, you can't just take her away. She was there to stay, just like me.
And thank goodness.
So, to my beautiful, caring, thoughtful, mischievous sister: I love you and a very happy birthday to you.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Happy Birthday, Papa Burt.
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| Photo courtesy of Deb at Smitten Kitchen |
Today marks what would have been my grandpa's 90th birthday. He only made it to 80 and it still manages to surprise me how seemingly long he's been gone, as well as how it feels as though he only passed just a couple weeks ago. He died the day I moved to college and while I'd like to believe that 18 was relatively recent, the fact that I'm two years from 30 cannot be ignored.
I am a very different person from the one I was 10 years ago.
Sometimes I like to imagine what it would be like if he and my grandmother were still around. What it would have been like to have them at my college graduation. At my wedding. I used to say to them when I was little, "But you are going to live forever, thankfully!" to which my Papa Burt would always reply, "Elizabeth, if you live long enough, you're gonna die." He was pragmatic, if anything.
A man of very few words, he was a puzzle I knew like the back of my hand and one I could never figure out all at the same time. I still do, really, feel like I knew him so well and not at all. It's hard to explain.
There are things I have about him ingrained in my head that are vivid, and it's comfortable when a memory suddenly floods in. How he used to style his snowy white hair with Brill Cream. His tan or gray Members Only jackets and how he always smelled like Brut cologne. His love of Cowboy Western movies. His homemade vanilla ice cream. Playing "Clair de Lune" on the organ. 3 O'clock Diet Cokes, always with extra ice and a straw. Turbo speed in his light gold Saturn.
I realize how lucky I am to have had a set of grandparents like my Grammy and Papa. When you get older and start to see the intricacies of the world, you realize that not everyone is lucky to have wonderful grandparents (or even a mediocre set); amazing grandpas and grandmas are truly a thing to be treasured and cherished.
So while I will always greedily wish I had more memories, more time with him, I am forever grateful that in all the inexplicable luck, or destiny, or whatever you want to call it in the world, that he was mine.
That he was my grandpa.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Current Web Lovin'
Did everyone have a good weekend? Wunderbar! Mammoth was a snowy heaven straight out of Narnia. Photos of our short adventure should be expected in the next day or two!
It's raining in San Diego... bliss, I tell you, bliss! So while I type away, cozy in an over-sized black sweater with a hot cup of herbal tea steaming on the table, I figured I might as well share a few things I'm loving on the web these days.
I already told you that I have a personal Pinterest account, but Ivory Sparrow launched ours today! Check it out for all things wedding, bride and love inspired. Feel free to follow us if you're in the mood.
A friend of mine posted this article from Huffington Post and I must say, if there's anything to remind a person of the shortness of life, it's a list of the top five regrets of the dying. Not to be completely morbid, but while I feel most people hope death is a long ways off, it's an inevitably for all of us, and wouldn't it be nice to die knowing you did or tried everything you wanted to?
In the "shopping I'd be doing on the Internet if I actually had the money to" department, I've found the following for future decor inspiration: Terrain. I've tried putting into words what my interior decor style is, and I tend to gravitate toward the following words: natural, funky, organic, largely muted with pops of color. How would you describe your style? It's more difficult than you'd think (or maybe I'm the only one who has issues with it?)!
Some items on Terrain I'm jonesing for:
And finally, this weekend I was told my Mr. G impression from Summer Heights High doesn't actually suck, so I've been watching YouTube clips to brush up and perfect it.
I assure you I'll be looking for a headless jersey dress to add some performance art to my act. Perhaps buy a rabbit mask as well?
Wet or dry, I hope you're enjoying this fantastic Monday.
It's raining in San Diego... bliss, I tell you, bliss! So while I type away, cozy in an over-sized black sweater with a hot cup of herbal tea steaming on the table, I figured I might as well share a few things I'm loving on the web these days.
I already told you that I have a personal Pinterest account, but Ivory Sparrow launched ours today! Check it out for all things wedding, bride and love inspired. Feel free to follow us if you're in the mood.
A friend of mine posted this article from Huffington Post and I must say, if there's anything to remind a person of the shortness of life, it's a list of the top five regrets of the dying. Not to be completely morbid, but while I feel most people hope death is a long ways off, it's an inevitably for all of us, and wouldn't it be nice to die knowing you did or tried everything you wanted to?
In the "shopping I'd be doing on the Internet if I actually had the money to" department, I've found the following for future decor inspiration: Terrain. I've tried putting into words what my interior decor style is, and I tend to gravitate toward the following words: natural, funky, organic, largely muted with pops of color. How would you describe your style? It's more difficult than you'd think (or maybe I'm the only one who has issues with it?)!
Some items on Terrain I'm jonesing for:
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| A baker's table that may come in handy after my pastry making class this Saturday! |
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| Reclaimed wood tray? Yes, please! |
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| Adorable tags for homemade gifts... Feeling some Valentine's Day inspiration here! |
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| I think every kitchen might need this sign. |
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| These old fashioned mason jar salt shakers remind me of Grammy. |
And finally, this weekend I was told my Mr. G impression from Summer Heights High doesn't actually suck, so I've been watching YouTube clips to brush up and perfect it.
I assure you I'll be looking for a headless jersey dress to add some performance art to my act. Perhaps buy a rabbit mask as well?
Wet or dry, I hope you're enjoying this fantastic Monday.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
What Can Happen in 9 Years
For the last 2 years, I've been saying to Kyle, "This is our year. This is totally gonna be our year." Friends, 2010 was NOT our year and 2011 was DEFINITELY not our year... but for once, I'm thinking 2012 might actually be the ticket.
Today is special to me for a couple reasons. One, before Kyle and I got married and had an "official" anniversary of June 20th, we had our anniversary of just being together (you know, the whole exclusivity, off-the-market game). Today marks nine years. Nine years! That's almost a decade, which is almost a third of my life of being with the same person.
Kyle and I met the first day we moved into the dorms freshman year. I introduced myself to him along with two other guys (who still happen to be some of my best friends to this day), but only walked away remembering his name (sorry, Trav and Jacob! I've got it now!). I feel I should mention here that I was dating someone else at this point. We were together the entirety of my fall quarter and he lived a couple hours south, so we did the long distance thing.
All I can say about that boyfriend is that he was one of the sweetest, funniest guys I have ever known... I could not say a single bad thing about him if I tried. But sometimes sweet and funny is not enough, right?
I spent a lot of time with Kyle (and Trav and Jacob), though just as friends. We had a sociology class at an ungodly early hour with the pudgiest Indian teacher known to man, so we'd meet beforehand at the dining commons and have breakfast (we eloquently called it "Breakfast Club"). On Tuesdays, bagels were served and Thursdays, donuts. Kyle really liked Thursdays.
I started to realize how much I looked forward to waking up at the crack of dawn every Tuesday and Thursday morning.
Fall quarter came to an end shockingly fast and during winter break, while snug in my bed in Laguna, I had a dream. I dreamed that Kyle and I were hanging out on a couch holding hands and when I woke up, I remember feeling so calm and peaceful that I started to get a nervous tight feeling in my stomach. The nervousness came from realizing that this dream in my head felt so right in my gut, but seemed sticky when I considered reality. Breaking up with my boyfriend became a thought I seriously began to consider, not because I wanted to "trade him in for Kyle" or anything like that, but because I knew dreaming and thinking of this guy, who I had come to think of as one of my best friends, hinted at feelings that were not necessarily... platonic?
So I ended it with my boyfriend, which was hard because I couldn't give him any good reason for it. I figured if it was meant to happen with Kyle, it was meant to happen and I kind of sat back and relaxed about the whole thing.
Little did I know, Trav and Jacob (yes, the same two from the very beginning!) had heard of the breakup, sat Kyle down and told him to go for it (it being me, I guess?). My husband used to be a very shy guy, so they had to assure him they thought it was mutual.
They really had to assure him.
And luckily for me, he listened... and made a move on January 17, 2003 (the man's no Rico Suavé, but I can remember every detail of it, which I will not be sharing here, and it is a very sweet memory).
Here's the thing about having a blog: you get to filter every bit of your life that you write about. It's easy for me to talk about the love and the happy moments and sweet memories, but it's also easy to ignore the hard stuff, the gritty things people can gloss over when they talk about their daily lives.
Being with the same person for nine years has been no easy task because, let's face it, relationships and marriage are not easy! They take hard work and effort on both parts, forgiveness and acceptance and constant reminders of the good, the great, the love that's there at the root of it all. Focusing on the reasons you fell in love with a person is sometimes more difficult than dwelling on the things that drive you crazy about them. But if you can, if you can force yourself as often as you can to concentrate on the positives, relationships can really be an amazing, synergetic thing.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, thanks for putting up with my bullshit all these years, Kyle... it sure has been fun putting up with yours! ;) I love you, honey.
The other reason this date holds significance in my life is that it is the day we officially welcomed Moe into our little family! I've already told you the story of how we found him and decided he was "the one," but I haven't told you about the buildup toward his official appearance.
We met him and his foster parents at an adoption fair outside of Centinela Pet Feed at the very beginning of 2009. It was a set appointment through Forte Animal Rescue and apparently 7 other people/couples had already tried to get him. His fosters were a discriminating couple, and didn't want to give him to just ANYONE (this is a good thing, because sometimes the people who want pitbulls want them for the wrong reason); they didn't get the right feeling with any prior visitors. Luckily, they felt good about us, and once they had done a house inspection and he had met the neighbor dogs, we set his "move in" date for two weeks later.
I was in New York for work the entire week leading up to his arrival, and while I do love myself some Big Apple, the days dragged by because I knew what the end of the week held for me: my dog, Moe.
The plane ride home was excruciating. Since it was our six year anniversary, I swung by the grocery store on my way back to the apartment to grab a bottle of champagne in order to toast our togetherness and as a celebratory welcome to our new furry family member.
His fosters dropped him off, which I know was not easy for them; he had been a part of their little family for four months and they had grown to love him. It wasn't easy for Moe either. He was depressed (and I mean DEPRESSED) for about three weeks. He moped around our apartment and sometimes had to be goaded into getting out of bed.
It was like living with the pitbull version of Judy Garland, minus the major drug and alcohol problem.
I don't know when it clicked for him that he could be happy with us, but it did, and since then, he's never stopped smilin' and he's never looked back.
So you see, what seems like an innocuous date to some is truly a huge one for me. It is the day two of my soulmates came into my life to stay. For good.
And I am forever grateful for January 17.
Today is special to me for a couple reasons. One, before Kyle and I got married and had an "official" anniversary of June 20th, we had our anniversary of just being together (you know, the whole exclusivity, off-the-market game). Today marks nine years. Nine years! That's almost a decade, which is almost a third of my life of being with the same person.
Kyle and I met the first day we moved into the dorms freshman year. I introduced myself to him along with two other guys (who still happen to be some of my best friends to this day), but only walked away remembering his name (sorry, Trav and Jacob! I've got it now!). I feel I should mention here that I was dating someone else at this point. We were together the entirety of my fall quarter and he lived a couple hours south, so we did the long distance thing.
All I can say about that boyfriend is that he was one of the sweetest, funniest guys I have ever known... I could not say a single bad thing about him if I tried. But sometimes sweet and funny is not enough, right?
I spent a lot of time with Kyle (and Trav and Jacob), though just as friends. We had a sociology class at an ungodly early hour with the pudgiest Indian teacher known to man, so we'd meet beforehand at the dining commons and have breakfast (we eloquently called it "Breakfast Club"). On Tuesdays, bagels were served and Thursdays, donuts. Kyle really liked Thursdays.
I started to realize how much I looked forward to waking up at the crack of dawn every Tuesday and Thursday morning.
Fall quarter came to an end shockingly fast and during winter break, while snug in my bed in Laguna, I had a dream. I dreamed that Kyle and I were hanging out on a couch holding hands and when I woke up, I remember feeling so calm and peaceful that I started to get a nervous tight feeling in my stomach. The nervousness came from realizing that this dream in my head felt so right in my gut, but seemed sticky when I considered reality. Breaking up with my boyfriend became a thought I seriously began to consider, not because I wanted to "trade him in for Kyle" or anything like that, but because I knew dreaming and thinking of this guy, who I had come to think of as one of my best friends, hinted at feelings that were not necessarily... platonic?
So I ended it with my boyfriend, which was hard because I couldn't give him any good reason for it. I figured if it was meant to happen with Kyle, it was meant to happen and I kind of sat back and relaxed about the whole thing.
Little did I know, Trav and Jacob (yes, the same two from the very beginning!) had heard of the breakup, sat Kyle down and told him to go for it (it being me, I guess?). My husband used to be a very shy guy, so they had to assure him they thought it was mutual.
They really had to assure him.
And luckily for me, he listened... and made a move on January 17, 2003 (the man's no Rico Suavé, but I can remember every detail of it, which I will not be sharing here, and it is a very sweet memory).
Here's the thing about having a blog: you get to filter every bit of your life that you write about. It's easy for me to talk about the love and the happy moments and sweet memories, but it's also easy to ignore the hard stuff, the gritty things people can gloss over when they talk about their daily lives.
Being with the same person for nine years has been no easy task because, let's face it, relationships and marriage are not easy! They take hard work and effort on both parts, forgiveness and acceptance and constant reminders of the good, the great, the love that's there at the root of it all. Focusing on the reasons you fell in love with a person is sometimes more difficult than dwelling on the things that drive you crazy about them. But if you can, if you can force yourself as often as you can to concentrate on the positives, relationships can really be an amazing, synergetic thing.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, thanks for putting up with my bullshit all these years, Kyle... it sure has been fun putting up with yours! ;) I love you, honey.
The other reason this date holds significance in my life is that it is the day we officially welcomed Moe into our little family! I've already told you the story of how we found him and decided he was "the one," but I haven't told you about the buildup toward his official appearance.
I was in New York for work the entire week leading up to his arrival, and while I do love myself some Big Apple, the days dragged by because I knew what the end of the week held for me: my dog, Moe.
The plane ride home was excruciating. Since it was our six year anniversary, I swung by the grocery store on my way back to the apartment to grab a bottle of champagne in order to toast our togetherness and as a celebratory welcome to our new furry family member.
His fosters dropped him off, which I know was not easy for them; he had been a part of their little family for four months and they had grown to love him. It wasn't easy for Moe either. He was depressed (and I mean DEPRESSED) for about three weeks. He moped around our apartment and sometimes had to be goaded into getting out of bed.
It was like living with the pitbull version of Judy Garland, minus the major drug and alcohol problem.
I don't know when it clicked for him that he could be happy with us, but it did, and since then, he's never stopped smilin' and he's never looked back.
So you see, what seems like an innocuous date to some is truly a huge one for me. It is the day two of my soulmates came into my life to stay. For good.
And I am forever grateful for January 17.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Christmas Card Failure
I have a confession to make: this was the first year I dropped the ball on sending out Christmas cards in nine years. Nine years!
It started my freshman year of college. During my free time between classes, I'd often meander through the UCSB Bookstore looking at books and tchotkes and sweat pants. It was a relaxing and enjoyable ritual, and I always got a bit excited when the week after Thanksgiving rolled around. Why? The arrival of the holiday cards, of course! It would take a few days to weed through my favorites and eventually select "the one," but I truly looked forward to it and loved sending them out to my family and friends.
Once Kyle and I got married in 2009, I figured it was acceptable to start sending out photo cards. He cried and moaned and bellyached the entire time (although you couldn't tell from the finished product):
It was such an intolerable experience the year before (what with all the arm twisting and pathetic pleading on my part), I decided to make Moe the star of 2010's Christmas card. He's much more photogenic than either of us anyhow and he thoroughly enjoyed his photo shoot at the beach.
Really, just a great looking dog, am I right?!
And finally we come to 2011. I thought my holiday season was already crazy and stressful, so why not put myself through mild hell and try to get Kyle to take another "family" photo? Why not?
A friend agreed to suffer with us, and after hundreds of shots of Kyle complaining and making the faces you'd think only a preschooler could come up with, we had a winner! I even went so far as to design the card... all I had to do was print it on cardstock and seal it in envelopes. That's all I had to do.
If you haven't caught on (and I am a little worried for you if that's the case), no printing or sealing or mailing happened this year. I even gave myself some wiggle room by making it a "New Year's" card. Alas, the farther we plod into 2012, the more ridiculous it seems to send this out. I think my holiday card ship has sailed.
It doesn't mean I can't share it here though, right? I figure enough of the people who would have received it via the US Postal Service read this blog, and I'll allow those who don't to just believe they didn't make the list this year. Serves them right, the unsupportive bastards!
I kid. I kid! We all know I excommunicate all from my life who don't read Running Into Screen Doors... because there is some Pulitzer Prize-worthy writing going on up in here. Pulitzer Prize-worthy.
Happy weekend, everyone, and of course, happy 2012!
It started my freshman year of college. During my free time between classes, I'd often meander through the UCSB Bookstore looking at books and tchotkes and sweat pants. It was a relaxing and enjoyable ritual, and I always got a bit excited when the week after Thanksgiving rolled around. Why? The arrival of the holiday cards, of course! It would take a few days to weed through my favorites and eventually select "the one," but I truly looked forward to it and loved sending them out to my family and friends.
Once Kyle and I got married in 2009, I figured it was acceptable to start sending out photo cards. He cried and moaned and bellyached the entire time (although you couldn't tell from the finished product):
It was such an intolerable experience the year before (what with all the arm twisting and pathetic pleading on my part), I decided to make Moe the star of 2010's Christmas card. He's much more photogenic than either of us anyhow and he thoroughly enjoyed his photo shoot at the beach.
Really, just a great looking dog, am I right?!
And finally we come to 2011. I thought my holiday season was already crazy and stressful, so why not put myself through mild hell and try to get Kyle to take another "family" photo? Why not?
A friend agreed to suffer with us, and after hundreds of shots of Kyle complaining and making the faces you'd think only a preschooler could come up with, we had a winner! I even went so far as to design the card... all I had to do was print it on cardstock and seal it in envelopes. That's all I had to do.
If you haven't caught on (and I am a little worried for you if that's the case), no printing or sealing or mailing happened this year. I even gave myself some wiggle room by making it a "New Year's" card. Alas, the farther we plod into 2012, the more ridiculous it seems to send this out. I think my holiday card ship has sailed.
It doesn't mean I can't share it here though, right? I figure enough of the people who would have received it via the US Postal Service read this blog, and I'll allow those who don't to just believe they didn't make the list this year. Serves them right, the unsupportive bastards!
I kid. I kid! We all know I excommunicate all from my life who don't read Running Into Screen Doors... because there is some Pulitzer Prize-worthy writing going on up in here. Pulitzer Prize-worthy.
Happy weekend, everyone, and of course, happy 2012!
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