Princess in ToyLand

There are only two options when turning 40; major blow out or ultra lowkey. Unless you're me, of course. I've managed to do both; My gift to myself is a solo trip to Norway for reasons I can't begin to explain (but will try in a future post). However, due to the unfortunate fact that I am an adult (In other words, I couldn't get the time off work), I have to wait till December. In the meantime, I've invited a handfull of family (+ one co-worker) over on my actual birthday for a non-party; tacos, cupcakes, & alcohol. As for presents, there are no presents over 18. Not really anyway. Sure, your sister may get you a sweater or whatever and your mom might suprise you with pre-paid hair appointments for the next few months but other than that... Gone are the days of legos, train sets, and dolls. When you woke up on your birthday excited for the onslaught of toys comming your way. Do you remember the first time you realized you didn't even want toys anymore? I do. It was Christmas time. Toys R Us (I'd be concerned with dating myself if I hadn't already told you I was 40) sent out a massive catalog every year around this time called the big toy book, or something like that. Me, my sister, and two of my cousins (Vicki & Teri didn't live with us so I have no idea how this went down in their house) would snatch up this catalog and take turns marking (a different colored marker for each of us, of course) all the toys we wanted. Well, there was one year (I can't remember how old I was) when I eagerly grabbed at that catalog and tore through its pages, purple marker at the ready...only to discover that the toys that year seemed somewhat...juvenile. I was horrified as I turned page after page and found very little that appealed to me. And that was it. Just like that, I had grown up. I was officially too old for toys. Apparenty, my friend Mary never got the memo. I've known Mary since freshman year of college. She had a reputation for being a bit...odd. (So you can see why we became friends). Mary is the kind of person who remembers your parent's names, your pet's names, and all of your favorite things. She's sent me a gift for my birthday, Christmas, and Easter every year for the last 20 years. I remember one time I was having a particularly bad day. I came home in quite the mood, only to check my mail and discover a heart-shaped necklace made of red sparkling flowers. It was June 1st and Mary had sent it for my birthday (nevermind that my birthday is the 18th). I instantly felt my entire bad day melt. On Friday I came home from work to a giant box on my doorstep. My birthday gift from Mary had arrived (a week early, of course). I opened the box and peeked inside just enough to see that whatever she sent wasn't wrapped so I didn't look any further (I can wait). And while I don't know exactly what it is yet, I do know one thing; it's a doll. Not a collector's item but a toy. This didn't suprise me; most of Mary's gifts were toys. And it was in this moment I realized something wonderful; at 40 years old I'm still getting toys for my birthday. Yeah, my hair is going grey and I'm supremely jealous of my students at nap time, but when I open a gift from Mary, 9 times out of 10, for a split second, I get to be nine again. Mary's gift may look like a doll, or a sparkly necklace, or an overly childish (even for me) blanket, but what she's really giving me is the gift of time; not present time, but past time. An invaluable gift always.

Sand Becoming Solid

"Well if you can't get what you love, you learn to love the things you've got, if you can't be what you want, you lern to be the things you're not, if you can't get what you need, you learn to need the things that stop you dreaming..." I spent years so consumed by what I can only describe as wet, shifting sand. Long enough that I couldn't tell you when it started, only that I lived in it so long I didn't see it ending. Ever. But slowly (very slowly) and more than a little painfully it started to. Periodically the rain stopped. Then it stopped more often and the sky seemed somewhat less cloudy. Eventually it cleared up (mostly) and as I learned to put my opinion of myself over other people's perception the storm that's surrounded me for what seems like forever dissapated altogether and the regrets that once controlled me became a (somewhat) distant rumble. It's taken almost my entire adult life (to date) but that wet sand is finally starting to solidify beneath me. I'm starting to believe that a life (as opposed to an existance) is actually possible. Recently I got a job that improved my overall situation. Writing Rainbow (the Creative Writing program I started almost five years ago) continues to astound me with it's growth (here's hoping putting that in writing doesn't jinx it!), and my near constant anxiey is actually manageable. As the saying goes, I may not have gone where I intended to go but I think I have ended up where I needed to be. With any luck, that sand will become completely solid ground one day.

Beware of the Rubber Band Theroy

Ever have a really good day, or a series of really good days and think "uh oh?" You wake up late but somehow end up early for work. Also, the boss isn't there. Niether is the co-worker you hate. Your Amazon package arrived early and it seems you've actually lost some weight. Great right? Not so fast. Beware of the rubber band theroy. And what, you ask, is the rubber band theroy? The rubber band theroy is when all the good things that happen are eventually balanced out by bad. Amazon package arrived early? They sent the wrong thing. Idiot co-worker absent? Tomorrow you'll be paired on a project with them that will last a week. Also, your boss knows you left early yesterday and they are not happy. The rubber band theroy, as coined by Dr. John Becker (of the world renowned practice found on TV), gets all of us. If you think you're exempt, you're not paying attention; Seriously, it's everywhere. Lurking around every corner, the proverbial dark lining on a silver lining. You got a premo parking space, the price of which will be a train stuck between two stations for 45 minutes. The day of a major presentation. That perfect date? It's gonna cost you the file you need most. Because your computer ate it out of spite. Three weeks ago I achieved a life long goal (which I can't talk about now but there is definitely a major announcement coming), and have been besieged by asthma attacks. I have been in the emergency room every week. Coincidence? Probably. But do not underestimate the power of the rubber band theroy..

So Whats it's Going to Be, Me or the TV?

First of all, my apologies to Pat, who I know is cross with me for not posting since November. Sorry Paddy! That said: "Crept through the curtains, as quick as the cold wind Slowly exploring the room where you sleep The stare of your portrait, the passing of your scent Left me no choice but to stay..." These lyrics (from a song called Sweet Tangerine) came to me the way most things in my life do, randomly. So did Graham. Graham who tends to forget things like Valentine's Day and lives yet to meet my family (Two years in). Graham who gets drunk every couple of Sundays and spouts conspiracy theories (though, to be fair he does this sober as well). Graham who knows that I'm allergic to mornings but calls at 7am anyway (mainly on Sundays when he thinks I'm up that early for church. I'm not). Graham who, as I write this, is staring in yet another episode of his own personal version of This is Your Life (a favorite past time). As I listen to him run through his highlight reel; pointing out his random assortment of randomness (handmaid rugs, watches, leather chair he found on the street that may or may not turn out to be worth something) and take living vicariously through others (in this case his drinking buddies) I wonder (not for the first time) what exactly is happening here? I mean, in the interest of full disclosure, Graham wasn't the type of person I saw myself with long term: Family isn't exactly his thing whereas mine tends to consume me (for better or for worse). He takes himself far to seriously, something I pride myself on never doing, ever. He has the same relationship with political correctness that I do with rap music (apparently it's extremely important to a lot of people but, by and large, I have no use for it myself). Also, he doesn't necessarily want children and I'm not sure I've completely closed that door. (Though we're about a year out from it making absolutely no sense). And yet...the majority of the stuff in his apartment may or may not be mine (read: my stuff is everywhere). His contact picture on my phone is of him carrying my pink and purple Disney Princess travel bag over his shoulder (while walking through Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn). He only has the ID channel because of me Seriously?? What garbage was he watching before I got here?). You know that hashing #alonetogether that was supposed to make us feel all warm and fuzzy (but really just underscored how completely ridiculous this nightmare was)? That's the perfect description of our relationship. There's a comfortable distance, which I'm fully aware is an odd endorsement for a relationship. But that distance is countered by amenities; I show up in Ariel's pink dinner dress, he doesn't comment. He suggests Jesus might have been an alien, I entertain this. We watch Deadly Recall together, the most ridiculous true crime show ever invented, over the phone. Speaking of TV, don't talk to Graham during the blacklist. NO ONE talks to Graham during the Blacklist. I made that mistake once, teasingly asked "So what's it going to be, me or the TV?" I'm still waiting for an answer. Then again, his devotion to the Blacklist gives me time to improve my score on Diner Dash. Like I said, it's the little things...

What Biden's Win Really Means...

Today is my sister's (and my cousin Teri) birthday. On our way home from church we stopped at the store to pick up ingredients to make her a cake. Despite my mother's profound distain for getting out of the car while running errands (usually she makes me go in) she dashed into the grocery store (cause apparently I take forever *eye roll*). She gets back in the car saying "I had a bit of a crazy moment" and proceeds to tell me that she was standing on line, puting all of her items on the belt when she realized my sister (who wasn't with us) had her credit card. Thankfully, she was behind one of those people who apparently has never been in a grocery store before and/or has never paid for anything. Ever. My mother apologized to the cashier as she gathered up her things and put them back in the basket and headed for the door. Halfway to the door, she remembered she had cash that I had just given her. She runs back to the line (where the woman still hasn't figured out how buying food works) and explains that she can buy the things after all. She apologizes again as the cashier hands her back her basket. She starts to go to the back of the line but the woman who should be next (if the woman the cashier is waiting on ever pieces together the enigma of the square piece of plastic in her hand and the doohickey in front of her) insists on mom going ahead of her. "I'm sorry" mom says again accepts the woman's offer. "You are so nice" the woman, finally cracking the purchasing code, freeing them from Supermarket Stump, exclaimed. "Yeah, we've all got to come together" the woman who let mom back in line remarked. "Yeah, the man behind her chimed in, suddenly I feel like we can finally start to heal this country." We can finally start to heal this country. Indeed.

Disney Heels and Pat Shout Outs...Redux

Well, it's finally happened. The. Shoes. Are. Here! By now I hope you aren't thinking 'what shoes?' THE SHOES. Ask Pat, he knows. For those of you just joining us, I've been on a mission to own a pair of ice cream shoes; that is, shoes designed like ice cream cones, sundaes, etc. Why? I'll say it again, they're ice. cream. shoes.. And, courtesy of Sweet Feets Treats on Etsy, they're mine, all mine (insert evil laugh here). They are everything I've dreamed of in every way save one; I can't wear them to Yorktown's final class this Thursday. It's a toy store themed virtual escape room and I've obtained the absolute perfect dress; white with glitter strawberries. Glitter strawberries, people! These shoes would be the perfect complement, except for the fact that I'm stuck in Zoome-ville and the kids wouldn't be able to see them. Ugh, why is life so unfair? (#firstworldproblems). The first thing I did when these shoes arrived was post pics on Instagram...who am I kidding? The first thing I did was prance around my apartment, grinning like the crazy woman I truly am. The second thing I did was post pics o Instagram, which garnered some interesting results; a friend of mine asked where he could get a male version (since the shop owner is happy to customize shoes, I'll include the link again here in the event he's serious about this. Which he should be). But, my favorite response by far was from my cousin Teri who asked if I bought them for Halloween. Oh Teri. You'd think after 30 years you'd know. I didn't buy ice cream shoes for Halloween, I bought them because I'm princess Mar-li. And I really, really needed ice cream shoes.

Falling In Love Again....

One night, last March, this guy suggested we go back to his place. It was St. Patrick's Day and we'd had *a bit to drink.* It was also only our second date and this man was my supervisor.... When we got to his apartment he flipped on the TV. George Went's girth filled the screen. You know, Norm from Cheers. He played the main villian in my favorite episode of Columbo. Which, oddly enough, I spent a portion of our evening talking about. Specifically I described my favorite scene: Norm; a gangster who killed two people (one of whom being his brother), has been lured to a restaurant under the pretense of meeting with Lt. Columbo. Turns out Norm's murderous activities have drawn the ire of another gangster. A more powerful one with much greater resources. Norm sits at a table for hours, trying unsuccessfully to drown his anxiety with scotch and soda (easy on the soda). It becomes increasingy obvious that the meeting is a trap and Norm is in serious trouble.... I stood there, transfixed, as I watched the TV screen. I couldn't believe I was watching the very episode I had described only hours before. I actually accused Graham of somehow facilitating this. A year and a half later, I'm only 90% sure he didn't. Why am I telling you this? Well, aside from the fact that I have nothing better to do than ramble about the randomness of my life (and, apparently Pat has nothing better to do than read it) I was flipping channels the other night and what did I find? You guessed it, Norm! and, just like that, the memory of that night came flooding back. Cheers!