Life's Fun Little Lessons

How Time Flies When You're in the Throes of Wedding Planning

2008-05-07T13:07:00.000-07:00

After months of not posting - I figured I owed y'all a quickie recap, at the very LEAST, detailing what exactly I've been doing.

Well, in December, Mike and I got engaged! And since then, my weeks and months have been filled with the most random shit ever.

Most of it has been fun/exciting. Registering was fun - although it was quite a lot of work. Wielding that scanner while trying to not knock stuff over in the fine china and crystal department at Fortunoff's was definitely a challenge. Picking a band was cool - we've chosen Paul Lacano and the Cocktail Shakers. It's an 11-person ensemble with horns and two singers ... they are really tremendous.

But the heartbreak in this whole situation is due to the ridiculous constraints of the Catholic church, my mother's inability to admit that I *might* have differing opinions on topics she considers universally decided upon, and the fact that - frankly - I don't care which religion my children will be raised in.

If you're Catholic, before you can marry, you must attend pre-Cana classes. It's basically pre-wedding counseling, so that you and your partner understand the depth of the commitment you are about to make to one another. What they don't tell you right up front is that they also require you to sign a contract proclaiming you will do everything in your power to raise your children Catholic.

Months back, pre-engagement, we discussed this topic. Mike's Judaism is important to him, and he told me he wanted to raise his children Jewish. My Catholicism isn't nearly that important to me, so I told him I would love to raise our children Jewish, as long as they could have exposure to the traditions I hold dear.

(Turns out, there's an entire website devoted to this topic, so in the interim, I've been reading up on the subject. The way people in these situations deal with Christmas, Easter, etc. is to tell their children that they are "helping" mommy celebrate her holidays, but they aren't celebrating for themselves. I thought that was a very intelligent and honest approach to the situation. Because I'm NOT giving up Christmas! lol )

Anywhoodle, try rationally explaining this to my mother, who began to sob, then locked herself in the bathroom - completely inconsolable. She comes from a very traditional Roman Catholic family upbringing, like my father. And while I think my dad just wants me to be happy, my mother just wants herself to be happy when it comes to things like this. Now that it's months after this entire thing blew up, I can see that she's a very selfish person at times, at no fault of her own. She was thinking about all the things SHE was going to miss out on, all the things SHE wasn't going to get to do with her grandchildren. She was focused on that fact that I was DOING this to her, and that I was insulting and walking away from all the saints and Jesus himself. What she wasn't thinking about was how much careful thought and soul-searching I had done, and how happy Mike makes me, and how happy my new path in life was making me. Sure, it's definitely not the path she may have wandered down with my father for 44 years - but I'm thrilled I found my path and my partner and ALL that good stuff.

After her tantrum that day, she was a cold, cold witch to me. I guess that was her way of punishing me. That, and telling me that "after everything," she just "didn't feel like" having the Bridal Tea she was planning for me. She also told me that "Now" she didn't want to be as involved in the wedding as she thought she did.

Yes. Childish. But she's still my mother, and I love her. And I understand her hurt.

A few months later, and things seem to be settling down. She's less passive-aggressive to me, and we've even gotten closer. Which is nice, because guess what? This isn't Hollywood, and I'm not Elizabeth Taylor. Mike's my best friend, and I'm over the moon super ridiculous happy that we're getting married. There will not be another wedding. So if she missed this, she'd miss it forever. And she's already been robbed of years of memories with Dan getting killed. I don't want her to lose out on memories of me.

So kids, that's all I got on the dramas of planning a wedding. I'll try to be good and post more, but hey - I'm a busy, busy, Almost-Mrs. H.!

Cheers.

Buffy Marathon, My First Jack-o-Lantern & Reflections on The Saw franchise

2007-10-31T10:17:00.000-07:00

Tonight will be a very special night.

Sophia and I are handing out candy, toggling back and forth between Buffy the Vampire Slayer (starring David Borneaz, not Dylan McKay) and America's Next Top Model (early prediction: Heather will win it all).

But besides reveling in the best television dramedy since ... well, ever ... I have a few other thoughts I'd like to share with you, my faithful LFLL readers.

Number one, I carved my first Jack-o-Lantern last night - not since I was back at 289 Railroad have I had the pleasant experience of penciling in my Jack's face, then cutting off the top of his head and scooping out his innards. For being alone - I think I did a damn good job! Check it:

Yes, it's true.

I just forced you to look at photos of my carved pumpkin. But you know what? You love me. So stop rolling your eyes. I'm proud of myself.

On another topic - SAW.

Now, anyone who REALLY knows me, knows I love horror movies. The truly scary ones, the really gory ones, the really cheesy ones ... I think the genre as a whole is underrated. And I love it.

One of the best horror movies to come along in a while was Saw. Now here, I thought to myself, is the Homecoming Queen of all horror movies. It had it all.

Muted, creepy lighting. Deliciously gore-tastic scenes. A heart drawn with poop. The guy from Robin Hood: Men in Tights. And the plot was INTELLIGENT. Not only do you feel genuine sympathy for the killer (a feat not easily attained with audiences who are there just to see entrails and zombies) but there's also a true twist that really had you saying: "Wow. This was indeed worth the $9.50 I just spent (not including over-buttered popcorn)."

The second Saw was nifty. I enjoyed the different take on the location of the traps, and the OTHER twist of the plot.

Then there was the third one I didn't see on its opening weekend, because my friend's dad had a bad accident the night we were planning on seeing it (he's ok, of course). I did eventually see it, and it was really fabulous to see Lucinda Nicholson have her rib cage torn off.

But, for a movie that started out as arguably the most intelligent horror flick of the last 50 years, it's spawned itself into an unruly, rambling series more closely related to Nightmare on Elm Street or Friday the 13th. And I think it takes away from the intelligence, originality, and overall quality of the first two.

Now, I haven't seen the fourth installment - and I don't like to judge without knowing what I'm talking about. But, what's scarier than Jigsaw's own little Life Lessons in a deadly puzzle?

That the superb first and second installments might loose their credibility, and end up becoming another predictable (yet enjoyable!) horror series that will be reduced to Jigsaw vs. Jason vs. Michael vs. Freddy vs. Predator vs. Howard Dean, The Movie, to be released by Lionsgate in 2012.

Just in time for Halloween: The Extra Tooth Revelation

2007-10-14T05:25:00.000-07:00

Somehow, I survived the dentist's office.

And let me tell ya, it wasn't without a little weirdness (when is anything I ever do not a little weird?).

The office itself was lined with chrome, neon, video games, and wacky couches. It felt a little like being in a diner or at a theme restaurant in the mall. After filling out the paperwork and reading the literature they handed me ('My Dentist is a Vampire' and Other Dental Misconceptions), I got X-Rayed, poked, prodded, cleaned and ... that was it.

According to the hygienist (who I discovered likes Jaegerbombs and hanging out with her husband), she couldn't believe I hadn't been to the dentist since 1999 - my teeth, she said, were in superb shape. Apparently, I am either blessed with good genes or, I am the toothbrushing MASTER. All in all, I've got six tiny cavities they want to fill (none of which, the dentist later sad, are my fault directly - my teeth have these grooves in them which can make total cavity prevention damn near impossible) and that was it. Zero plaque. Not bad, for not going in almost 10 years, eh?

Also, a startling revelation: the human mouth contains 32 teeth, total. And unless you have any extracted, 32 is the number.

Except, because I always have to be different, I have 33 teeth. I have a random, extra, gimpy tooth on my upper right jaw. I saw it on the X-Ray. It's all the way in back, hidden beneath my gums - terrific.

I wonder if I can somehow parlay this into cash? And I wonder ... am I the wave of the next generation of super humans?? Or am I a throw-back to carnivorous times when humans needed more teeth to gnash their meat?

You decide in my new, weekly poll on the left.

GO RED SOX!

2007-10-11T13:46:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen of Red Sox Nation - please behold the debaucherous glory of the Boys of Summer clinching a spot in the playoffs!

Go Red Sox!

Numb & Dummer

2007-10-11T13:17:00.000-07:00

I made an unprecedented decision for myself about a month ago, and I am now very much regretting it.

After not having been for nearly 10 (yes, 10) years, I made an appointment with Dr. Stein, DDS.

The dentist.

Now, I'm not a namby pamby wimp. I braved getting a tattoo, I got a hollow needle pushed through my belly button, and I've broken limbs before. But the last time I went to the dentist, I think I had an unrealistic vision of what my pain threshold really was.

The story goes like this:
I had a moderately sized cavity in one of my molars, and needed to have it filled. While my dentist at the time, Dr. Rod, prepared his tools, I remember sitting in the chair and panicking - not about the pain of having a small metal drill bit burrow into the bone of my jaw, but about the odd sensation (and subsequent panic I knew it would induce) of getting Novacaine. The mere thought of another hollow needle - this one delivering a tissue-numbing fluid - shoved into my gums freaked me out.

So, like an idiot, I asked Dr. Rod to not use Novacaine.

And so he proceeded, whirring drill bit in-hand. And for the first fractions of a second of drilling, I began to think Hey, this isn't so ...

YIKES.

Have you ever gotten that "cold pain" from biting into a Popsicle? It's kind of a searing pain that jolts up the side of your face and then re verbs down to your toes? Well - it was kind of like that. Only, infinitely worse. Truly, the pain was so intense, that I couldn't bear to have him continue, and asked him to stop twice while I tried not to pass out.

So you see, this is why I am terrified of the dentist. Not only am I afraid of the pain (because I've been there, and it AIN'T pretty), but because I'm afraid of being numb, too. I just know it's going to trigger a panic attack.

It's a good, old-fashioned lose-lose situation.

And I'm coming face-to-face with it on Saturday at 1:15.

*Shudder*

The Great Thanksgiving Debate

2007-10-09T06:21:00.000-07:00

It's no mystery parents drive their children bananas. It's science. They're chemically predisposed to irritate their children, and I suspect the day I become a parent - I'll be no different. (Although, I will give being non-irritating a fair shot.)

However, when it comes to simple discussion - such as calmly conversing about plans for Thanksgiving - I give up on patience; especially if they have me on their Goddammed SPEAKERPHONE.

Originally, I wanted to host Thanksgiving at our apartment in Connecticut. It would have been my first time cooking Thanksgiving dinner on my own, and as we all know, I truly love to cook so this was a very exciting prospect.

After more discussion, however, M and I decided we neither have the seating space for pre- and post-dinner relaxing for eight people, NOR do I possess certain items that make pulling a Thanksgiving feast together possible (i.e. roasting pan for the turkey, nice china or silverware). So I am now vacillating among several possible choices, including inviting everyone to the Berkshires for dinner at my folks' house and even (horrors), Going Out To Dinner somewhere with both sets of parents.

(Side Note** I happen to abhor the idea of dining out for Thanksgiving. To me, that's the one holiday where good ol' home cookin' reigns supreme. Freshly mashed squash, turnip and potatoes? Juicy, fat turkey whose aroma you've been smelling since early in the morning? Homemade pies and fudge? STUFFING? Snatching piping hot chunks of meat and skin off the bird once it's out of the oven? Getting tipsy on wine at 11 a.m.? Long walk in the chilly air afterward? Yes, yes, yes, YES! Why would I want to go out to dinner where I can't wear elastic waist pants and get sloshed and make obscene jokes? Where's the tradition?)

I suppose this morning's irritation could have been avoided, if I had only not brought up something I knew would take longer to discuss fully than my 10 minute drive into work would allow. I just keep hoping that one day, I'll bring something up casually, and my mother WON'T imagine that I'm trying to ditch her, or that I'm trying to leave her out, or that I'm trying to sneakily get out of some sort of "obligation" I have to her and my dad. The minute I mentioned asking M's parents what they had planned, she jumped to ask me "Oh, so it sounds like you're hedging towards going with them for Thanksgiving and leaving me and your father here to fend for ourselves?"

And no, her tone was neither light, nor joking. She was honestly asking me that. Whether she was attempting to goad me into an argument or what, I guess I'll only ever be able to speculate. Even if I confront her (as M usually INSISTS I do, because he can't stand to see me upset when I get off the phone with her), she'll never admit to being a passive aggressive manipulator. She's not doing it maliciously, of course. But either way, it's a constant strain on our relationship.

So, no. I have no idea what will come on Thanksgiving. But what I DO know is that I'm going to be fair when it comes to divvying up our time with parents on the holidays. M's Jewish, so that means my parents are always guaranteed Christmas with M and me. And since we did Thanksgiving at my parents' house last year (with M's parents), I figured they wouldn't want to trek all the way up to the Berkshires, for the second year in a row.

And for that, I am apparently a sneaky daughter who doesn't want to be with her parents.

God, I hope that when I am in my 60s and my children have their own lives, I won't be so paranoid about who is out to get me - especially my own children.

Thoughts on "Why I can't eat a bacon, egg, and cheese every morning and be a size 2"

2007-09-27T11:05:00.000-07:00

I didn't have a chance to make my 2 egg white scramble for breakfast the other morning, so I needed to grab some nosh in the cafeteria at work.

I got my two egg whites, a low-fat yogurt, and a black Starbucks coffee and then took my postion in line.

I knew the young woman in front of me, so when she semi-turned and saw me, we said our pleasantries. She's about 5'8" and super, DUPER skinny. I mean, probably a size 0, and my best guess. But God bless her. She can't help it if she's teeny tiny.

Then I noticed what she was waiting in line to pay for.

Two fried eggs on a bulkie roll with bacon and cheese.

What the hell??

Why does she get to stay a negative pants size and eat like a fuckin' lumber jack, and I have to eat like a sissy pants and I keep getting fatter? The WTF factor is through the goddammed ROOF on this one!

Not to be mean, but if you're very, very skinny and you can eat whatever you want and stay that way, without lifting a FINGER in the gym - then I'm sorry, I hate you.

I. Hate. You.

My only consolation is this: I was either a skinny person in a former life and I'm paying my dues now, OR, I WILL be a skinny person with a bionic metabolism in my NEXT life.

I just hope that fabulous metabolism isn't that of, like, a dung beetle.

Well, THAT was embarrassing.

2007-09-17T13:08:00.000-07:00

Today was supposed to just be a nice, boring Monday, and instead the afternoon turned into a big, fat, embarrassing mess. And it was all my fuckin' fault.

The world is full of young women like myself, striding through corporate America with our heads held high and our eyes set forward. We're going to succeed. We're independent. We've got our shit TOGETHER.

Except me, who is always making some ridiculous and puerile mistake like forgetting her car insurance payment will be auto-drafted from her checking account on a certain date, so she should make sure there's enough funds to cover the payment - and NOT write an $85 check to the eye doctor.

Right.

So, I scrambled to fix it. Called the eye doctor. Closed on Mondays. Awesome.

Called my insurance broker. Got the voicemail. Cool.

Called eye doctor back. Left long, rambling message about needing to stop payment on check and that I wanted to pay by Amex. Began stringing nonsensical sentences together. Hung up, feeling even stupider. Great.

Called bank to see what stopping a check would entail. A $25 fee, to be drafted from my account. (At which point, I wondered: Would they charge me an overdraft fee for defaulting on the stop check fee, which was all to avoid the $35 overdraft fee to begin with?)

What happened here? Since I moved to Connecticut and began actually making a decent salary, I've been nearly on top of my game! I've begin organizing and shredding and all bills get paid on TIME ... my credit score even went up. Huzzah. A whole lotta good THAT does me when I can't even fucking balance my checkbook.

I blame online banking and a residual need to do things the old-fashioned way (i.e. written checks, instead of online payments). And also on my being a complete retard.

So, after exhausting all other options (and of course, having to go into yet another pointless meeting beforehand, so I looked all anxious and so NOT pulled together), I had no other choice but to do the thing I have SWORN never to do.

I had to ask my boyfriend if I could borrow the money.

Guys, for real. What is more mortifying than admitting to yourself and someone you truly respect that you can't even organize your bills? You can't even pay your fuckin' car insurance without having some sort of "Nikki Issue"?

Naturally, my man jumped to help. But, because he is the way he is, I had to endure his "I'm not happy" and his "You've got to be more organized" speeches (via IM, which is WICKED super awesome-o, because you know THAT was the abridged version, since he didn't want to type everything he wanted to say).

The end result of this nonsense?

I end up looking like the jack ass that I am. To my new eye doctor (whom I'm going to have to call again tomorrow, to explain that train wreck of a voice mail); to my insurance broker, whose voice betrayed a note of smugness at my inability to be on top of these kinds of things; and worst of all, to my boyfriend, M - whose opinion of me matters more than anyone else and whose disappointment in me is worse than anything.

*Sigh*

Now, instead of going right home to enjoy my afternoon, I have to go to M's office and take $70 from him (endure more "you've got to me more responsible" chat), go to the bank and deposit the money, and then sit there stewing.

That is, of course, until he comes home. At which point, he'll have had more opportunity to get mad at me for being irresponsible (you can't blame the guy ... we ARE talking about buying a house together in the near future ... my obvious inability to handle money is probably not a big confidence booster that I'll be a good partner, either), and more of an opportunity to hone his talk about the importance of overdraft protection and getting organized and paying bills in a responsible manner ... shit I should all fuckin' know by now, but look who you're talkin' to.

Honestly, I am really so upset with myself for this. What am I? Still in college? I'll never be good with money and I'll never be free from this mental block I have against being organized (except at work, where I am organized to a fault).

So embarrassed. What an awesome kick-off to the week, eh?

A Visual Representation of What's Wrong with America

2007-08-03T11:32:00.001-07:00

Ah, iced coffee.

I'd like to think this sexy and delicious beverage is the modern nectar of the Gods. And trust me, on a 90-degree morning on your way to work - it can seem so.

Unfortunately, something happened to me the other day that has forced me to question the human - or the American - condition. And yes, it has to do with Dunkin' Donuts.

The only Dunks between my apartment and work is unfortunately situated at the crossroads of three major streets and a very busy set of railroad tracks. The vehicle entrance is quite literally three car lengths away from the stop line at the light. Normally, pulling in this time of day is a mini-debacle, but yesterday it was downright absurd.

I waited through three rotations of a red light at the same intersection before the entrance to Dunks opened up and I could pull my car in. Naturally, the line for the drive-through was about 12 cars long (all of whom were eating up very precious parking lot real estate), so I opted to (horrors!) park my car and walk in to get my coffee.

I aimed the nose of my car carefully to the most easily accessible parking spot - it was a tight squeeze with the turning radius of my car being so poor and the amount of traffic in the already tiny lot. As I was about to pull in - when I was graced with a visual example of why the world hates Americans.

A giant, white, Lexus SUV had pulled into the Meineke parking lot next door to Dunks. This once-lovely, now haggard 30-something woman apparently has a much more important life than any of the rest of us poor saps angling for morning iced caffeine. The bitch drove her too-big car up OVER the curb that separates the two business' parking lots, then drove OVER the whole thing, and came to a crash landing right in front of me - in my parking spot.

Stunned (but not terribly so, Connecticut drivers make all Bostonians look like magna cum laude graduates of Mr. Muffler's School of Driving Etiquette), I sat behind my wheel for a moment, before I said "What the hell?" (making damn sure to move my lips so she could read them)

I guess I'm the asshole, because she looked at me, still 7 feet in the air behind the wheel of her Lexus, and laughed. She laughed! And then, as if her amusement at my frustration wasn't bad enough, she said (and, I quote): "Fuck you."

... go ahead and re-read that. I'll give you a minute.

-Ahem. Again, I'm sorry that I was in your way. Your way through someone else's parking lot, up over a curb, thereby cutting off 4 other cars who had their turn signals on, indicating their intention to go to Dunks. I am such a jerk!

Anywho, I found a different parking spot, and I got my coffee and life - well, it went on.

I have no quip to wrap this post up nicely. Nothing witty to say about this. I only wanted to share with you, dear reader (all none of you!), the importance of being polite to others and courteous behind the wheel.

Because as the great philosophers Pj and Karen once said:

"If ya act like an asshole, you're gonna get treated like an asshole."

9/11, Sushi and thoughts in between

2007-08-03T10:46:00.001-07:00

Time has passed, and enough physical miles have been put between myself and my brother's death in Afghanistan in 2001.

No one knows me from the news stories anymore, and no one recognizes my last name as being the last name of the first Massachusetts soldier killed in the war on terrorism. Different year, different state, different everything.

Today, at a sushi lunch with colleagues, the discussion turned to Sept. 11 and a philosopher who has researched the terror attacks and their underlying cause. Which of course, is supposed to be the U.S. government.

I sat silently, napkin folded in my lap, gaze cast downward. Back and forth the conversation went - six calm adults reasonably discussing a regularly mentioned topic. Of course, being a stranger in a new job in a new state, my colleagues didn't realize that sitting with them was a person whose very sanity lie with the knowledge that her older brother died for a noble cause - not because President Bush's palms were itching for more oil.

These days it's incredibly simple to point the finger at someone else. Americans do it all the time! And how easy is it to blame the government for such senseless acts, because there's really no one else with a face to blame.

I guess, at a certain point, it doesn't matter whose fault it was. Two buildings collapsed after being FLOWN THROUGH by two giant passenger jets. Whether it was some Triple Classified, uber-secret planning on the part of the government or a group of over-bearing, psychotic, desperate fundamentalists - down came the steel and glass, and down came thousands and thousands of lives. So many people have had their lives (or their sanity) ruined because of this nonsense.

People - I'll reiterate that a flying, 136-ton metal plane, filled with jet fuel, going 530 mph into a building will probably do some damage. Especially if you figure that the jets went through the upper middle of each building. I'm not really an architect, but I'm willing to bet that when piecing together the mystery of "Why the hell did the towers fall, anyway?" there really wasn't a whole lot of the traditional forensic analysis. It's kind of obvious. How could someone possibly think that the towers could survive such a devastating blow?

The thought that there is someone out there vainly trying to pin the blame on Bush is more than just a little incendiary. Say what you want about his being a buffoon (he kinda is) and say what you want about his foreign policy (not great, people). But a man who could mastermind (or help mastermind, or CHEER LEAD the masterminding of) such a heinous act - no. Sorry, not buying that. And I'll never buy that it was somehow the U.S. government's fault - as if they planned the attacks on our own soil to gain something - that so many thousands of people died.

But I guess if you're feeling a little low on the world-power totem pole, and you desperately want the attention of the world community, ya do what ya can to get your point across!

Piss people off, get attention, make a complete fucker out of yourself, no matter who you hurt in the process.

Hey ... it worked for Al-Qaeda, why shouldn't it work for gullible Americans?