Thursday, March 20, 2008

I kinda like it but I kinda hate it

Early this morning, I wrote a well thought-out blog on racism in America. I let it live for an hour on myspace, then I deleted it. I decided that this space, my blog space, should not be a place of heavy left-ism thought. While indeed I am a liberal gal, there is no need shoving my agenda in anyone’s face when they’d rather read about how many times I hear the toilet flush from the crapper adjacent to my office. Anyhow, I’d rather consider the implication of having an office so close to the bathroom, than wage heavy political battles amongst my friends.

My how far I’ve come from those feminist days in college. I’ve traded Wollstonecraft for Austen. In my defense, didn’t Wollstonecraft try to drown herself in oven gas?

Here in this school of education, our firecracker Dean hired 2 somewhat questionable Assistant Deans. Wait, make that 3 questionable {This part was edited out, c’mon guys I don’t wanna lose the paycheck}

And the third. The "absent minded professor". How this ditzy woman made it through college we will never know. Although I am convinced she uses her stupidity as an excuse for breaking the rules. "Oh, I can’t take my family out to eat on VCU money? I didn’t realize that. Well, just see what you can do to fix it."

She just poked her head into my office and said in her light airy voice (which is a long description for totally fake) "There are donuts in the Dean’s Office. Krispy Kreme." I believe she was expecting me to jump up, grab her, kiss her flat on the lips, cry a bit, and dash for the donut box. She was rather disapointed in my reaction which was simply "No thanks." She frooze, gave me a weasel stare, then click-clacked off to the crapper.

Meanwhile my coworker, freshly returned from a root canal, is flying high off pain medicine. She is literally dancing in the hallways. She is a child of the hippy generation and I am slightly worried she may strip and run naked down the hall.

I want what she is having.

I went out to eat with Angelica a couple of days ago. She says "Oh you got your haircut. I like it, but I kinda hate it too." Bothered by this, I say to hubby, "do you like my haircut?" He says "Yeah, it’s okay." I said, "Angelica said she kind of hates it." He says "Well, I liked it better long." So I ask my coworker Heather, "Was my hair better before?" She says "Noway, it’s a change, change is good." I say, "Yeah but I don’t get hit on anymore." She says "That’s precicely why I cut my hair. I was tired of the Bubbas hitting on me." I say, "Yeah, thats true it was always the Bubbas when I had all that hair." She concludes, "Long hair makes the Bubbas think you are young, silly, and impressionable. Men can get in the pants of the long-haired girls." So I am left wondering, at almost 31, do I really care if I am the type of girl men want to get in the pants of? I mean shouldn’t that ego-stroking end at some point in a womans life when they decide to get serious about being a person and not just a piece of meat? Uh oh, I’m philiospohizing on a liberal platform again. But let me say one last thing, most women over 30 love short hair, and I get it. It’s easy to do. professional. and confident. Just like me...with the exception of easy to do, I mean seriously...

My coworker, Dana (the-hot-one-men-drool-over-that-also-sits-beside-the-crapper), is in Vegas right now loving life. I was supposed to be in Vegas next week. But I couldn’t pull it together. So instead I will be at home watching 1970 Oscar films. Honestly they should have shut Hollywood down during that decade.

So now just 2 more fake and bake hours left of this state-employee’s day. And then I’m off to pay my state-employee-fine (aka parking), then to the shrink, then to a dirty kitchen and two children who are bubbly no matter if the kitchen is clean or not.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

One of those Deep Blogs

I’m melancholy right now. I try to avoid that feeling, running in these size 9 heels, chasing bliss as it settles on the horizon. Bliss is fleeting. It passes. And behind it leaves melancholy in that vast spot. The funny thing, bliss is so wonderful that I open up my heart and stuff as much of it’s light into me as possible. Bliss makes me rotund, I fill each crack with little glowing hearts, and puree the scraps of love into a paste that I paint on the walls of my being.

I love bliss. I consume it. Gobble it up. Until I am so fat with bliss my cheeks threaten to take off like hot air balloons.

And then suddenly it vanishes. Everything. The tiny hearts, the glowing pureed paste of love, it’s all gone. One Friday afternoon the bliss is there and I’m fat dumb and happy, then Monday morning, it hits me, something is missing. I search the curves of my cheeks and the pit of my belly. Where did it go? When did it leave? I did not see it leaving. But I know for sure it is gone. And then the melancholy whooshes in, flooding waters, filthy mud waters. Melancholy finds much room to steal in my expanded frame. My gluttony with bliss has left gigantic canyons for melancholy to fill.

And melancholy rides into my fingers, down my shins. Melancholy pools at the back of my throat, I cough, melancholy bounces, but does not dislodge.

I am melancholy for the world. The entire fucking world. So much melancholy from China and Isreal. So much melancholy in the lives of my dear friends. You don’t have to be sad friends, I still have space inside to take your melancholy too.

ask the universe for what you want

Dear Universe,

I do want to live with this melancholy. It is more than I can bear.

(no wait, that is not true)

Dear Universe,

As long as I have this big ass hole left by that bastard bliss, I want you to fill it to the brim with everyone’s melancholy. Why should everyone carry even the slightest bit of sadness when I have the room for it all here in my chest.

Oh, and while you are at it, can you please give me all those things that I pray for, you know, the job, the house, the perfect relationship with my family.

Signed with love and melancholy,


Sunday, March 9, 2008

I ran 4 miles today!!

I know what you are thinking...woman do you do anything other than run?
The answer is no. Not right now at least. The 10K is less than a month. And for the first time since I started training I believe that I can, with certainty, finish the 10K, and maybe even run the whole thing.

I was running up a menacing hill today when my mind do I prepare stuffed grape leaves; I'll need grapes leaves, that's obvious, rice and garlic, red peppers, olive oil, capers? I bet that salty flavor is capers, no maybe diced greek olives. Or capers. Or both.

And then it hit me. I just ran a whole stinkin' 5 minutes without thinking about a pain in my knee, how far I have left to go, how slow I'm going, how sweaty I look. It's almost as if I was a natural runner. One of those gazelles that pass you blessed by the wind, the kind that make you spat on the ground and say to your Big Mac ass "Well, arn't they lucky to be born fit".

Admittedly running for five minutes and thinking about something other than being in pain may not qualify me in the "gazelle" category. But I'll take a seat somewhere between total newbie and 10K runner.

Yesterday hubby and I went to Ellwood Thompson (march out the dollar signs...$$$$). Eighty bucks will get you roughly half a bag of groceries. Mind you, a fancy half bag of groceries. Among my delectables: okra patties, mock tuna salad, soy green tea ice cream, italian tofu, vegan spinach pie, and stuffed grape leaves.

Mmmm stuffed grape leaves.

Friday, March 7, 2008

I'm a Trainwreck in the Morning

Chloe (shreiking): Mommy! Theres a scary mean spider.

Me (shuffilling through my bag to find my keys): That's not a spider, sweetie, its a piece of string, just pick it up and throw it in the trash.

Chloe: No it's not, it's a yucky spider.

Me: Okay, just don't touch it.

Payton: Chloe, its just a string. See?

(Payton picks up the string and dangles it in Chloes face)

Chloe (shreiking): Ahh! Payton get that out of my face. Mommy Payton put the spider in my face.

Payton: It's not a spider!

Me: You two wait outside while I find my keys.

(I turn over the couch cushions while Payton and Chloe walk to the door)

Chloe: Mommy there is a kitty.

Payton: She looks hungry.

Chloe: Mommy the kitty wants to come inside.

Me: Don't let that cat inside!

Chloe: But she is huuuungry!

Me: Don't let that cat inside!

Chloe: The kitty likes me. Mommy I want to sit on the porch.

Payton: You don't want to sit on the porch, you just want to play with that cat.

Me (searching my coat pockets for my keys): Go on outside. I'll be there in a minute.

Payton: I'm going outside too.

Me: Okay don't let that cat inside.

Payton: Okay....oops Mommy! The cat got inside.

Me (frantic): Get him out, shoo shoo.

Payton: Look Mommy I found your keys in the door.

(5 minutes later dropping the kids off at daycare)

Chloe to daycare provider: Ms. Sheila, we got a new kitty.

Ms. Sheila: You did? What did you name it?

Chloe: Brewster

Payton: We didn't get a cat.

Chloe: Uh-huh, we did so.

Me: Chloe we found the cat on our porch, it isn't our cat. I have to go now, eat all your lunch today.

Chloe: I'm saving the peas for Brewster.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

It's a Good Hair Day

Every morning I run in the same outfit. Gray sweatpants 2 sizes too big, baggy around the legs. And the blaringly bright yellow-orange t-shirt with black VCU logo on the front. This shirt puts bicycle reflectors to shame. I'm thinking about expanding my running outfit to include a pinwheel hat with a hershy kiss ribbon that says MASSIVE DORK!

This morning I ran 2 miles in my garish outfit past groups of middle school kids waiting for the bus. I'm sure they mistook me emergency road crew. Or perhaps a singing VCU telegram. Go Rams. Thankfully none of them threw rocks.

Hey notice me!

The shirt is bad of course, but the pants are worse.

They are so baggy that when i sweat the fronts cling to my thighs, while the back of the pants go flapping in the wind like two long gray colorguard flags. The extra fabric catches the cold air and streams it up the back side of my legs. This is not comfortable.

My neighbors kid came over this past weekend after I came home from an especially productive run. She took one look at my get up and said "Are you still wearing your pajamas?" I've become THAT mom of the neighborhood.

At least I never go anywhere without lip gloss.

I ran about 2.5 miles this morning. My new pink watch should arrive tomorrow. It's so adorable. It does all this gadgety stuff like measure your heart rate and distance, and it also shows the time. I hope this watch cures my 15 minute mile syndrome.

Today is Wednesday which means three things.
1. Trash day
2. Piano night for Payton
3. Date lunch with Chris

It is rare, when you have 2 children and no family in town, to get dates with the hubby. We both work at VCU now. So we have instituted date lunches. They are awesome and he always lets me pick the restaraunt. Today = Crossroads (notorious for their vegan cookies). I ate Mock Tuna salad with vegan ceasar, a glass of water, and a cafe au lait with soy. Yum. However my lovely onion breath has brought a rather unpleasant aroma into my window-less office.

At least I am having a good hair day.

Big Hair

I went to get a hair cut.

I asked for this:

Isn't she cute?!!

But they hacked off too much in the back:

I'm sure it's lovely and fine, but I'm used to this:

(Why do I look so sad in all these pictures???)

I was able to donate 2 healthy chunks of hair to Locks of Love.
I think I need to grow into it, I was expecting to have Mandy Moore's face too, not just her hair, and I thought I made that point pretty clear to the stylist. I want her hair, naturally green eyes, a small frame, and cuteness that makes you pucker. All I got was a close mockup of the hair.

Oh well.

Now how do I make the top look less like a helmet?

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

This morning I ran 2.75 miles.

This morning I ran 2.75 miles. I was aiming for 3 but completed 2.75. After running, I climbed into my car to realize my 2.75 mile run took me 45 minutes. Using my stellar math skills, I realized that was roughly 15 minute miles. 15 minute miles. Are you kidding me? I can walk faster than that. The 10K is exactly 1 month away, thats 4 weeks, worse yet 31 days. I have to kick it up a notch here, I should be running 4-5 miles at no more than 13 minutes each. OMG no wonder this exercise thing takes up so much of my friggin morning. At this rate I'll be running 105 minute 10K. Again, I'm no math genius but thats like an hour and fourty-five minutes!! The monument 10K is hosting 2 Kenyans who run 4 minute miles. Let's see thats 25 minutes for the Kenyan and nearly two hours later, what is that rounding the corner? Oh it's the crippled guy on crutches, not bad. Wait whats that behind him? Oh it's the 90 year old woman carrying her grandchildren on her back. But wait. I see yet another coming around the bend. Could it be Tiffylou? No it is the cleaning crew picking up debris, the race is over. Hopefully she will finish before it gets dark tonight.

Wait. Let me start again.

This morning I ran 2.75 miles. OMG 2.75 miles is great! The End.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Oh How I Love NYC

Without NYC is there really any point to human existence?

NYC embodies the essences of humanity. Art museums, green spaces, wall street, graffiti, poetry, cafes, Metro Cards, sweet roasted peanuts, buildings of mirrored glass, yellow taxis, knee high boots, double decker tour buses, Juicy Coutre windows, gothic cathedrals, and the f word in 25 different languages.

This city is owned by students, playwrights, business men, tourists, artists, and rats, oh the rats. Gum spots splatter the pavement in Time Square, thousands of sticky carcasses once sloshing around in the wet mouths of children, adults, foreigners, now permanent black dots along the sidewalk.

But get me out of Time Square. That's the stuff of high school band trips.

Let me rest on the cold green benches in Bryant Park. A week ago starved models gathered at this park, yanking magnificent sewn fabric over their boney frame and intentionally-tousled hair.

Or let me run my hand down the frozen stone siding of Parson's School of Design, baffled by the gravity of creative minds fostered in this building.

In New York, I am part of everything. I am passed by hundreds of people with cell phones cocked between their shoulder and face. I am part of everything. Yet, among strangers I am part of nothing. I like the ying/yang of this metropolis.

A month ago Heath Ledger's life ended here.

As I stand in front of the Trump Towers a motorcade passes me. Security and flashing lights, this is obviously somebody important. A foreign diplomat? Trump himself? (It was actually Hillary Clinton, on her way to a guest appearance on Saturday Night Live)

I dine in an upscale restaurant in Pershing Square. It's near closing time, the guests filter out laughing off bottles of wine. From my booth I examine the impressive John Donnelly sculpture at the top of Grand Central Station. A healthy male figure enveloped in fabric reaches outward. Two smaller figures lay by his feet, a man preparing for combat, and a woman heavily contemplating the effect of men's hasty actions. I later found out these three figures were Mercury (God of commerce), Hermes (God of boundaries and interpretation), and Minerva (Goddess of many things, among them commerce and crafts).

And then snow falls. The city becomes quiet, with an occasional splash from passing taxis and the click of pedestrian lights, as they change from "Walk" to "Do Not Walk" and then back again.

There was much to think about. The failing war in Iraq, the democratic party destroying itself, the 16 year old who killed her family over some guy, never ending budget cuts at work, a new bed for Payton, losing weight, the pooling condensation at the bottom of my water glass.

Here I am nothing. Here I am everything.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Aww Rats....

Critters in the NYC Subway