Sarcomical

What I Didn't Do in 2010 (...it's Anti-Resolution time)

Whew. That was one delicious blog hiatus I took during December! I'm not going to lie, it felt fantastic. I let myself fully be in the moment during the holidays, and it was soooo relaxing. I got together with tons of my real-life friends, entertained at home, met new people, made some cool gifts for Christmas (I'll try to share some of those here) and I really must admit ate a large amount of cheese. But I also focused intensely on doing more yoga/exercise and Mr. S. & I even got into the practice of meditating a bit, which was yummy. Overall, December was stellar.

But now holiday time is over, and just like every year here on Sarcomical, it's time for the Anti-Resolutions List!

What?? Huh?!? What is that, you say? Well, the Anti-Resolutions are things I can confidently say I will be able to NOT do throughout the next year, and feel really glad at the end that I successfully accomplished. (Oh, don't worry, I have a private list of POSITIVE goals. So we're not all cynical here, you see my dears?) The list for 2011 is below, but first, here is what I absolutely did not do in 2010, and am rather proud of, to be honest:

(Last year's list) My Anti-Resolutions for 2010:

1. Gain 12 pounds in one meal.
2. Get rid of my cell phone and communicate solely via telegram.
3. Ship myself to the White House in a crate full of hope.
4. Single-handedly resurrect the Dorothy Hamill haircut.
5. Become a roadie for a traveling production of Jersey Shore: The Musical.
6. Bring a pie to the gym once a week and eat it on the recumbent bicycle.
7. Take up professional Etch-a-Sketching.
8. Write iCarly fan fiction.
9. Design a bra made out of safety pins.
10. Slowly and subversively train my husband to bring me a cheese platter every time the neighbor's dog barks.
11. Become President of a local Jon Gosselin fan club.
12. Build a fire pit in the bathroom.
13. Throw a botox party.
14. Write a play about the perils of toe socks.
15. Create a candle that smells like rotisserie chicken.

..AND NOW, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

My Anti-Resolutions for 2011 (These Things I Shall Not Do):

1. Champion the local Palin 2012 campaign. (God, that one hurt to type.)
2. Bring vodka to a baby shower.
3. Institute Masquerade Taco Night Dance-Off Thursdays here at the SarcomiHaus.
   
4. Train heavily for roller disco.
5. Sign my dogs up on Match.com.
   
6. Set the Guinness World Record for longest pinky toenail.
7. Drink a deep-dish pizza smoothie every  night.
   
8. Learn to type on an upside-down keyboard.
9. Invent a toilet paper made from cashmere.
   
10. Fully embrace the philosophies of Glenn Beck.
11. Knit a face mask.
    
12. Build a panic room out of cereal.
13. Deface a national monument with puffy stickers.
    
14. Wear a bustle during runs.
    
15. Endorse fur.
    

Independent of Vanity

I've been spending some time on NieNie today...and if you have never been to Stephanie's blog, please take some time to visit and familiarize yourself with her unbelievably inspiring story. I always take a deep breath when I move my mouse over to the little tab with her blue typewriter icon on it (yes, I have the tab to her blog permanently up on my window), because I know that I am about to be humbled, amused, moved, and swept up in the beauty of her spirit.

I started reading Nie a few months before the 2008 plane accident she & her husband were in which caused burns on 80% of her body, so I had already fallen in love with her colorful world of handmade goodness, creativity, silly photographs, children cute enough to crumble the stodgiest character, and the sweet and deep love story between her and her husband. This young woman was a beauty by most any standards, and I like all of her followers became an adoring fan.

Since she was able to begin blogging for herself again (after months in a coma and then in therapy), we have all been able to see what a true beauty she is. She looks completely different, has had to come to terms with her new life, and has embraced it wholly and without bitterness. She stresses that she is "not her body", and exudes the same spirit of happiness, creativity, joy and gratefulness that she did prior to the accident.

I say all of this because...when I spend time reading her thoughts, seeing her daily photographs...I wonder

Could I do the same?

I am not sure. I would like to think that I could overcome the loss of my current physical self - that I could retain the sense of who I am - if that challenge was placed before me. I feel humbled (I use that word a lot in my head when I think about Stephanie) when I think about how fussy bangs can ruin my mood, or how not feeling like I fit into my jeans right can make me not want to see any human for days. It is vain. But it is there. I remember that Stephanie, before her accident, was excited because she had just grown out a haircut she thought was too short and was glad to be in a ponytail again. So...I think she gets it. I think you get it. We all have those moments, don't we? It is human.

But when I think about Stephanie now, I realize that the INTENSITY of importance I place on those things is what I must keep in check. I feel petty. I feel ashamed by my little obsessions. Things become distorted so easily. Things feel so, so, so crucial. But they are not, really.

Would I be able to feel beautiful if I no longer recognized myself? Would I be able to feel beautiful if something happened to change the way strangers saw me? Do I have the ability to take that lesson now while I am so fortunate and cultivate an inner self so lovely and strong that it is independent of vanity?

I don't know. I can only try.

p.s. Stephanie, you are stunning. xoxo

...like a science experiment. with bonus Rude Stranger Affront!

This weekend I did the thing I have grown to loathe, down to even the cellular level. The thing that makes me cringe, feel physical annoyance, wish I were in someone else's body.

I went to the mall.

Priority one was to find some jeans that didn't make me feel bad about myself. In order to do that, you have to try on a lot of jeans that actually DO make you feel bad about yourself. Yay. The level of degradation depends upon the rate of occurrence at which you mindlessly enter stores catering to 12-year olds and/or 24-year olds with hips that could slide down rain gutters. I've found that I can be an easy with room to spare size eight at the Gap, but am approximately size seventeen-thousand in, say, Forever 21 or H&M. Also, I don't recommend going after you've spent a chilly season being depressed on the couch watching Law & Order marathons on USA. I mean...things don't exactly situate themselves in what you know as their optimal arrangement after such a period. Just so you know.

Well, enough about my sloth consequences in the dressing room. I actually was left with more of an impression from the day by a random interaction with a horrible, bully of a woman. Well, I don't know, it's possible she's actually a rather fine woman who does charity work and hand-addresses letters for her elderly arthritic neighbors.

HOWEVER.

On this day...at the moment in time when our lives intersected...she was sort of vile.

If there's anything I dislike with more intensity than trudging in and out of dressing rooms, it's walking among hordes of people who do not believe that space and particles and motion have anything to do with them. They are floating in their own continuum, chatting and daydreaming while walking through the bodies of us boring earthbound folks.

This woman (Horrible Fine Charity Bully), was turned & talking to her daughter, walking in a crooked line and generally not paying attention to the universe. Enter ME, walking directly toward a rack of tops, seeing Horrible Fine Charity Bully to my right and actually slowing down so as to avoid the impending collision. She stopped just short of nailing me in the arm and uttered a sweet-sounding "oop! sorry!". Whew! Impact averted! "That's okay!" I said, thinking what a polite lady.

Oh, but then...

Immediately following, I heard her make an animal-esque hacking noise of disgust. A SCOFF, if you will. Followed by snarky grumbles. I turned around and saw her continue down the aisle with a contorted face (apparently) still venting her anger to her teenage daughter. I was sort of transfixed, a little in shock over how this 40-something woman, who seemed the kind who might have a good job in a colorful, lavish office - who was well-groomed and nicely coiffed with a pretty teen in her charge, felt the need to be loudly pissy after {SHE} almost ran into {ME}, apologized with fabulously feigned sincerity, and I had been (dare I say) pretty damn gracious. She had snapped afterward and was suddenly and oddly ugly about it, and I was surprised.

I was admittedly still observing this when she turned around, and a furious gasp opened her mouth wide. "OH MY GOD and she's LOOKING at me!" she hissed to her daughter, and I couldn't hear but oh, I could see...there were more words MANY MORE WORDS and lots of eye daggers. I didn't have much time to react, as it was so brief and I was still puzzled over this woman's responses. I just turned around and my eyes widened, as if asking the tank top in front of me "wowww...what the whatwhat is WRONG with that angry lady?"  Her eyes were on me even as I could peripherally see her daughter encourage her out of that section of the department store. But I wasn't feeling any of my own ire bubbling up. I wasn't upset that this stranger had almost assaulted me with her torso and was then smack talking me to her high school child in a display of woeful parental example. No, I really wasn't. I still felt peaceful and calm. I know that there was a time when I would fight Rude Stranger Affront with Bitchy Viper Sass-Back, but I'm glad that I'm not as easily roused to defend myself in anger. I guess after being 27 for six years in a row you really do grow into your maturity. 

When I shared with Mr. S. what had happened with Horrible Fine Charity Bully while he was off having an easy breezy fun time looking at nerdy electronics in Best Buy, I told him the reason I felt myself staring at this woman during that span of about fifty seconds was because it was like watching a mad science experiment. I got temporarily locked in; despite my better intentions, it was sort of fascinating to observe.

You know...much like an episode of 16 and Pregnant.

What I Didn't Do in 2009

Oh yes, it's time to revisit the old tradition around here fondly known as The Listing of the Anti-Resolutions. While personally I always have an evolving list of actions and changes big and small that I strive toward in my life, I am less fond of the idea of making sweeping grandiose lists at the beginning of a new year simply because of the date on the calendar. HOWEVER, the new year seems a perfect time to list a few things I DON'T want to do in the coming four seasons. Why, do you ask? Well, come on, surely you can imagine how great my satisfaction is when I can look back and confidently say I successfully did not do one solitary thing on the list of things I didn't want to do in 2009. Remember this list?

Things I Didn't Do in 2009

1. Grow a handlebar moustache.
2. Trip a waiter. On purpose.
3. Purchase underwear from Craigslist.
4. Knit some earrings.
5. Try to have small children screaming in public arrested.
6. Incorporate more sly winking into my conversations.
7. Join the teenage neighbors when they sunbathe on their front lawn.
8. Eat only things that are purple. Or striped.
9. Enter the female wrestling circuit under the name "Bam-Bam DeVille".
10. Give up walking altogether and transport solely via Hippity Hop bouncy ball.
11. Master the fine art of de-lousing.
    
12. Wear one of those personal fans on a necklace string and turn it on during social gatherings to get "that Beyoncé Effect"
13. Start biting my toenails.
14. Ditch everything in my closet and re-populate it only with apparel from the Disney store.
15. Become a hibachi chef at Benihana.

It would be a lie to say I'm not proud of myself, especially for not doing number 7. Well, also number 1...though that would have been quite a conversation-starter. But enough chest-pounding over my success, it's time to set the groundwork for the next twelve months. Oh, let's see...what do I NOT want to do in 2010? What can I feel proud of not accomplishing this time next year. Hmm...how about this?

My Anti-Resolutions for 2010:

1. Gain 12 pounds in one meal.
2. Get rid of my cell phone and communicate solely via telegram.
3. Ship myself to the White House in a crate full of hope.
4. Single-handedly resurrect the Dorothy Hamill haircut.
5. Become a roadie for a traveling production of Jersey Shore: The Musical.
6. Bring a pie to the gym once a week and eat it on the recumbent bicycle.
7. Take up professional Etch-a-Sketching.
8. Write iCarly fan fiction.
9. Design a bra made out of safety pins.
10. Slowly and subversively train my husband to bring me a cheese platter every time the neighbor's dog barks.
11. Become President of a local Jon Gosselin fan club.
12. Build a fire pit in the bathroom.
13. Throw a botox party.
14. Write a play about the perils of toe socks.
15. Create a candle that smells like rotisserie chicken.

...think I can manage it?

A Salute to the Culture of Oversharing...

We love to see the bloopers.

When I get a DVD, which - come on, what with DVR? - is pretty rare these days except in the case of my favorite television sitcoms, I look most forward to seeing the outtakes - the bloopers. I like the idea of knowing how a character is supposed to respond, then being let into those moments when it all goes to hell and an actor breaks character. I like seeing how that person really laughs, how they naturally react after they've made a mistake.

We love to see the bloopers. We enjoy the imperfections.

Sometimes I ask myself why I slowed down my writing here so drastically in the past year or so. I ask myself why I stopped blogging regularly about the mundanities of my life, even though I was able to make you laugh through much of them. The truth is, you aren't the only one subjected to my self-imposed cut-off. Let's just say I developed a distrust of the safety of sharing and of embracing others into my "world", and that's something that I have been wrestling with a lot over this time. 

Accompanying this depression-slash-hermitage-slash-intense level of MEH-ness, grew a general crabbiness each time I tried to sit down to write. The truth was, all that was really going through my head was the mishmash of how I was trying to unravel my own confusion and gain some deeper understanding of my life events, my purpose, my direction, my my MY ME ME ME blahblahblahblech. I really grew exhausted of subjecting this space to what I felt was merely becoming a virtual spewing of self-therapy. And I thought, after FIVE years here, is this all I have to put 'out there' again? I'd really rather be be making you all insanely jealous with some kick-ass project I was taking on or bragging about my clumsy yet successful completion of some marathon or at the very least come off as the Über Sexy Confident Mastermind Take Charge of the World Creative Genius I wish I felt like.

In all fairness, I bet some of you would have really liked if I had borne the discomfort and written it all out anyway. Not that I haven't read about someone's struggle or heartache and felt intensely grateful for their ability to share, their adeptness at putting into words something that I myself had felt yet been unable to clarify so well. The fact is that some of those moments deeply define and even cement our relationships online; that's part of the inescapable nature of this culture of virtual friendships and stranger adoration.

We love to see the bloopers.

If I had been writing more during this time, I would have probably told you about feeling abandoned and betrayed by people close to me, about our dealing with my husband's diagnosis as a diabetic, about feeling inadequate in my talents, about turning into a vapid lump for long periods of time, about compartmentalizing to the point of numbness, about our first concerns regarding the possibility of children in our future, about reawakening, about making new friends, about almost auditioning for a musical, about INSOMNIA DEAR GOD, about yoga's amazing and strange healing, about a quest for mindfulness, about having to induce a little brown chihuahua to...er...regurgitate the ear of a plastic teddy bear and crying guiltily the entire time, about taking on special photographic projects, about learning to say the word "photographer" without a self-deprecating shoulder shrug and a ready dismissal of my abilities, about my hair finally growing to bra-strap length and the trip to the stylist who ripped out about a 1/4 pound of it with her fingernails, about our desire to move ANYWHERE but here, about new dreams of writing and creating...

As I grow past this shedding of skin, yet another stage of life that I suppose I have had to go through as part of my experience...my desire is to make myself Write It Out whether I feel the muse slap me against the head or not. I want to be more wildly open with you again, if only to be more wildly open with myself. Perhaps I'll even tell you the next time I crack open the door of a theater, peek around the velvet curtain just inside it blocking out the sun, barely view some young beauty in a sweatshirt reminiscent of Fame chatting up some guys, and turn & run like hell back to my car with my Singer's Anthology to drive away and get a giant self-loathing Oreo Blizzard from the Dairy Queen drive through.

After all...we love to see the bloopers. We enjoy the imperfections.

Vintage Sarcomical: Barbie & Ken Reception AND the Inebriated Throwdown Afterward

*This is the first of the Vintage Sarcomical posts from the original blog. I'll occasionally be posting some of my old favorites here for your SUPER COLOSSAL ENJOYMENT. This post was originally published November 7, 2007.

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Sooo.......

We went to my niece's birthday party this past weekend. This was definitely a Barbie year. She turned 5, so she is all of the sudden in desperate need of many, many dolls. And apparently, my sister and I (31 and 26 years old, respectively) and my husband (only a slightly resisting participant) needed to express ourselves through the art of Doll Manipulation. It was graceful. It was beautiful. It was moving.

It was...disgustingly hilarious.

It all started out nicely enough. Very "Just the Way You Look Tonight"-ish. Aw.

They seemed to be enjoying the festivities.

Then Barbie got a little, um, over-the-top...

...so Ken decided he needed to take it up a notch.

This is when Barbie started letting her competitive obsession take over.

After that, it was just a sad display of showboating. It was not attractive, and truthfully was a little embarrassing to watch.

Oh, the Ugliness that ensued:

She got all up in his face talking about how he never could cut his mother's apron strings and didn't know how to please a woman because he was so selfish.

...Then she passed out.

Ken then got up, feathered his hair, went home and watched Baywatch while cutting up Barbie's favorite shirts into tiny, tiny pieces.

more tightly than you ever bound me

this was the moment of Yes
the day of Not Afraid

time hung high for quieting the mind
and becoming enveloped in now

will this ache define you
or will you redefine it?
she was never sure how to answer that question
but most often forgot to pose it

the bruising
the bruising and pulping of her heart
she wanted to gently soak it in warm milk
and rub ointment on the blackened shadows

then shoot it off into space

it was easier to be fearful of the imaginary goblins of the future
than confront the apparitions of the present
who had decided to linger for tea
and swish around in front of the archways

casting inverted darkness on the bare floor

with a broom one cannot swat them away
pests can be eliminated with swiftness
fumigation is only successful if you aren't knotted to what you mean to destroy
take a step and it only pulls them in concentric unison along

she wanted to travel without the sticky web of familiar unwelcomes
imagined a lighter existence
i'm sorry but i have to let one of you go
after clumped years of simultaneous dependence and despise

i'm tired of choking as you wrap the tangle tighter against my throat

she could saw through but one taut stronghold at once
Fear was first in the priority of elimination
with knobbed muscly fingers it clung to her legs
shrieking and falling on its weight to add drag to its escort

but i'm your favorite
you love me best

clinging to you is not the afterbirth of love she replied
but instead indicates the slow suicide of my soul

and i want to put the knife down

i need to breathe Yes more than no
and embrace Not Afraid more tightly than you ever bound me

©2009 melissa glenn

Oy With the Me, Me, Me...

(A few people tagged me for this "25 Random Things About Me" thing going around on Facebook, and I finally had a chance to really sit down and do it. Trying to come up with a few things I haven't already said in the almost 5 years I've had this blog proved difficult. But I believe I may have come up with at least a few things you didn't already know.)

1. You could probably get me to do almost anything in exchange for a package of Archway Dutch Cocoa cookies.
2. I secretly think I'd be a kick-ass jazz lounge singer.
3. I truly, truly detest the mindless small talk that takes place among neighbors and co-workers. I like to conserve my words for people and moments that feel genuine, and I'm not a girl who feels very comfortable trying to forge a mock friendship out of nothing in common whatsoever, except for forced proximity.
4. I am really glad Greenlee is leaving All My Children. Yeah, I said it. And I don't even care that I just told you all that I DVR that bizness.
   
5. I'm pretty much non-functional before 11am. If you see me before 11am and I appear to be human-like...I AM FAKING IT. (Yes, that is me. Proving that yes, I have always been this way.)
   
6. I have a distinct memory of holding the tape recorder up to my clock radio to record "Red, Red Wine" by UB40 and sitting on the floor next to my bed rewinding it and playing it back over and over again.
7. When I was in high school, a girl and two of her guy friends blew up our mailbox in the middle of the night because she was mad that her boyfriend (my ex-sort-of-boyfriend) still liked me. Amidst my friends throughout that year, I called this fine lady The Turtle, because she had a disproportionately short neck, and therefore always appeared to be pulling her big-faced head inside her mean-ass shell. That was the only time in my life where I really openly mocked someone for an extended period of time (until Crazy Tommy Cruise and Bobblehead Giada came along, of course).
8. I am a little crazy about striped knee socks.
9. I stole a pad of sticky notes with penguins on it from JC Penny when I was in 4th or 5th grade...and I was so guilt-ridden that although I kept it hidden in my bottom desk drawer, I could not allow myself to use it. I ended up throwing it away, but not until I was in high school.
10. I have never traveled outside of North America. This makes the sweeping, romantic part of me very, very sad.
11. If I could choose one location as my ultimate once-in-a-lifetime dream vacation destination, I would choose Iceland. Second place is probably a tie between Spain and Wales.
12. Sarah McLachlan's music helped get me through some of my lowest moments in college.
13. I can barely tolerate violence and blood in movies. I'm a wincer, a hand-over-the-eyeballer, and I'm so sensitive to it that I avoid it at all costs. However, I do love the Godfather films. They're up there with my favorites - the cheeky romantic comedies and chest-clutching dramas - as different from them as they are. I simply close my eyes and cover my ears at the right moments, and Pacino & I get along just fine.
14. The texture of marshmallows disgusts me.
15. My right pinky is slightly crooked at the last joint. It is quite possible I broke it a little bit during the summer after my Junior year in college while I stayed and worked in campus housekeeping (and conferences. and the post office. and the student union.). We were cleaning those huge dorm windows when one slammed down on the wee pinky. It swelled up and turned a couple of colors for a while, but I never got it looked at. Thus...crooked pinky.
16. I have never been pulled over.
17. If I knew we could afford to live comfortably in New York City I would move there tomorrow.
18. For a period of time, I was very nearly obsessed with Civil War history.
19. When I was about 5, I decided to run away from home one day. I wrapped a few things into a red handkerchief and tied that to one of those brightly-colored canes you get from the fair (because, you know anytime someone goes on a journey in the cartoons, they put a handkerchief on a stick, right?). I got as far as the garage door before my mom questioned me as to where exactly I was going to run to, and I ended up chickening out.
20. Longevity seems to prevail at least on one side of my family. For example, my great-grandmother lived to 103. After she hit 100, she said she was quite frankly tired of it already.
    
21. After said great-grandmother died, I was able to go pick out some of her old books to take home. Not until quite a bit later (a few years) did I find things hidden inside of some of them. In her youth, she collected a lot of four-leaf clovers...it was something of a hobby for her. She often pressed them into her books...which is where I found several of them. I like the idea of them remaining in between their original pages, so those books sit carefully atop a shelf untouched.
22. I have only kissed 5 boys in my lifetime. I kind of wish I had kissed more. But I'm more than okay with the one I finished with.
23. My husband and I met in the first 2 weeks of college because my roommate and his roommate were boyfriend/girlfriend from their hometown. We met in the Dining Commons during lunch one day, and I remember he was very tall and made me laugh. We started talking on the phone at night when our roommates passed the phones to us at the end of their conversations. I told him after another couple of weeks that I really didn't want to date anyone at all until I finished my Freshman year. I said let's just be cool. Let's be friends. He said Oh, okay. ...That worked for about another week and a half. (Hmm...can you tell here that we attended a private Christian college? Oh boy...)
    
24. I have never been on a camping trip. I think I might like it, depending on the location and safety quotient.
25. Speaking of safety, I have a massive fear of large bodies of water. And heights. I would call these fears irrational, but honestly it seems pretty rational to me to be afraid of the power of gravity pulling you to your death or the giant, deep, blackness of the ocean sucking you into an abyss of tentacled monsters and OH HAI NO AIR. And please, do not even get me started on space. The mere idea of being in space could make me cry if I let my brain take that one and run with it.

Monkey Breakfasts

How many people are greeted in the morning with their breakfast arranged to look like a somewhat frightening interpretation of a primate?

I sense that, though I may not be able to claim solitary ownership of such an honor, I am at least in a minority among women AND men.

Even taking silly breakfast plates out of the equation, I am what is and should be considered fortunate in the partner department. True, we've had our share of typical relationship waves, and because of how young we were when we were married (22 & 23), we've had to spar and strain through each others' evolution into almost completely different organisms in our 10 years together (14 if you count the dating, but who really sees it all during dating, anyway?). I mean, hell. I feel like a virtually-unrecognizable person from when I even began this blog 4 1/2 years ago. (Seriously. I cringe at the thought of going deep into the archives.)

My point is that we have developed a massively deep love and appreciation for one another. We know each other incredibly well. We have a secret sense of humor between us. Our conversations, and even some of our 'arguments' often take a Seinfeldian (-slash- SNL -slash- Barney Stinsonesque) turn. I swear it's true, as annoyingly made up as it sounds. We understand each other. We know we're best friends and we've realized we can balance that with a romantic relationship. We're growing up together.

And we've had to deal with some of life's ass-kickings together.

As regulars around here are aware, 2008 (otherwise known as The Year that Shall Not Be Mentioned), was a difficult one for us. I felt emotionally bitch-slapped by my family and it was hard to process. It threw me into a downard spin and just kept on twirling. We both felt betrayed, and for months, the situation escalated. Just as we had decided to say Screw it, we need to stop caring and live our life, we got some results back from a physical and blood tests which technically diagnosed him with a disease that affects the body's ability to regulate blood sugar. Yes, I could just call that what it is and what you are thinking, but you see, we have decided after these 3 months not to label him that way in our conversation, because we believe in a) the power of words and b) the fact that we will be able to aggressively normalize the condition and that eventually he will be, while still eating carefully and being vigilant in health, free of affects or signs of it. We have altered much of our lifestyle to approach this new reality.

When we first found out, we were still so emotionally raw from the 3 or 4 months prior that I'll admit, it was a severely low moment. We cried, together and separately. We took turns being angry, a few misdirected moments toward each other but more pointedly with the way our lives had just been changed. I mostly felt incredible fear at the mere thought of anything threatening to make me lose him EVER, no matter how far away. We all know, if we have partners, that there will be a day down the road...but still, in our stage of life it feels so very far ahead in a misty, distant future. However, my dear not-teenaged readers, we are getting closer to moments during which our sweet cloudy dream of endless living with the person we love is going to be challenged, and we begin to REALLY feel our humanity. And how much we can not possibly squeeze enough out of loving each other.

My heart...it still softens when I remember one of the first things he sadly said to me shortly after he told me the results:

"...but, I won't be able to make you pancakes for breakfast anymore!"

I love that boy.

Now, he has made extremely good progress toward maximizing his health and goddamit, he's also completely shrunk out of all of his clothes (boys suck) and has many more muscles for me to run my hands over, so don't worry. The path ahead looks VERY good. Finding this out when we did has ensured I will have him for MANY extra years and our eating & workout changes are working in my favor as well. Also, I have informed him that women in my family have a history of making it into their 90's, and I'd like to go first. So...you know.

My point is, I'd like to be having Monkey Breakfasts for a really long time. This guy...he's good.

What I Didn't Do in 2008

There is a fondly-held New Year's tradition here at Sarcomical - the listing of Anti-Goals for the upcoming year. You see, I don't list things I actually WANT to do, but things I DON'T want to do. Yes, THIS is a list you can confidently pen and know within the depths of your slightly lazy soul that you will look on them in one year's time without that sickening sense of failure. These non-aspirations laugh mockingly in the face of well-intended and sincere goal lists, for these items are either wholly unattainable or wholly unappealing, (thus my ability to carry out avoiding them is quite easy...well honestly, requires no effort whatsoever). I mean, just LOOK at all of the things I managed to NOT DO in 2008 (from last year's list):

1. Make guests drink out of the dog bowl.
   
2. Start stalking a local weather man.
   
3. Adopt Angelina Jolie.
   
4. Condition my hair with brownie batter.
   
5. Build a life-sized Lego castle for myself to host tea parties in.
   
6. Find a Doberman-sized dog sweater and wear it to all social functions.
   
7. Start wearing diapers so I don't have to get up from my computer to pee.
   
8. Try to take a bubble bath in the kitchen sink.
   
9. Convince The Husband that "Why, of course that poster of Paul Rudd has always been above our bed. Why do you ask?"
   
10. Ghost write the autobiography of Tom Cruise.
    
11. Petition for the return of Mr. Belvedere to television.
    
12. Try to breed ants.
    
13. Bleach leopard-like spots into my hair.
    
14. Lick a tree.
    
15. Replace my regular bras with coconut shell bras.

SEE?!? Do you SEE how easy that was? I can confidently say I did not do one thing on that entire list.

And now, I present to you, The Sarcomical Anti-Goals for 2009:

1. Grow a handlebar moustache.
2. Trip a waiter. On purpose.
3. Purchase underwear from Craigslist.
4. Knit some earrings.
5. Try to have small children screaming in public arrested.
6. Incorporate more sly winking into my conversations.
7. Join the teenage neighbors when they sunbathe on their front lawn.
8. Eat only things that are purple. Or striped.
9. Enter the female wrestling circuit under the name "Bam-Bam DeVille".
10. Give up walking altogether and transport solely via Hippity Hop bouncy ball.
11. Master the fine art of de-lousing.
    
12. Wear one of those personal fans on a necklace string and turn it on during social gatherings to get "that Beyoncé Effect".
13. Start biting my toenails.
14. Ditch everything in my closet and re-populate it only with apparel from the Disney store.
15. Become a hibachi chef at Benihana.

In which I (very professionally) profile the woman who left Hope Floats next to the wine tonight.

Name:  let's say Amanda
Age:  29
Occupation:  hmm...how about 7th & 8th grade English teacher?

Amanda was feeling especially low this evening. She's been single now for 8 months, ever since finding out her boyfriend of almost 2 years (David) had a second secret MySpace profile where he searched for other women who were "fun, free, and looking to meet a spontaneous guy with the entire package for casual dating and possibly more".

After another lonely dinner of Lean Cuisine microwave lasagna, Amanda decided she needed to get out of the house for a while. She ended up in Meijer, because the book stores and mall are teeming with annoying couples on the weekend, and she couldn't stomach the idea of being in a bar or club with her friends tonight because just the thought of hearing one. more. single. cocky. loser. bastard. approaching her with "hey, so I see you're with that brunette over there; can you tell me...what's her situation?" made her ill.

As she crossed the store after picking up some catnip mice for Percy, she saw some cheap movies on the endcaps of the cash registers. She noticed Hope Floats, and had an impulse to grab it, but her peripheral vision indicated a few other shoppers nearby. She fought the impulse until there were no humans in the vicinity because, hey, Hope Floats, you know?...and then slyly tossed it into her basket.

Amanda figured if she was going to watch this thing alone, she might as well have some wine while lounging. Maybe a bottle of sauvignon blanc? That sounded nice. Yes, just what could take the edge off the anxiety over how many people are going to be asking her on Thanksgiving, "Oh, how's David? Is he still with that investment firm? I bet he just had an awful time of it lately what with the stock market and all of that business" and then "Oh, you're not seeing David anymore? Oh, well to tell you the truth, when I met him I thought he seemed a bit stand-offish. So, are you on the dating scene again, or whatever the kids are calling it these days?", which will surely continue over the entire holiday season, at every party and every family dinner until after the new year.

Yes, Amanda thought wine sounded like a good idea.

But just after grabbing her favorite bottle and plopping it into her shopping basket, she realized just how sad the whole thing seemed and almost laughed. Besides, she didn't think she could really handle watching that stupid Sandra Bullock get the cowboy even after she acts like a total bitch to him, I mean come on is that really realistic, they don't try that hard to win you over, if he was a "real" guy he would have said God, what a mess talk about baggage, and moved on the next girl that came along who wasn't complicated or emotional and JUST WANTED SOME CASUAL DATING AND POSSIBLY MORE. aaagh. puke.

...

Amanda ditched the movie and decided to get two bottles.

She and Percy are snuggled on the bed watching a DVR'd episode of Gossip Girl right now.

technorati tags: NaBloPoMo

Stolen

After a year or so layered with family estrangement & fighting, two (TWO) gut-punch medical revelations, a suicidal almost-brand-damn-new car, a stolen wallet & credit cards from our driveway you stupid punks (maybe aforementioned car killed itself in shame?), a depressing financial cul-de-sac, and a general layer of Meh spread on top of the entire crap sandwich...you could possibly understand that I couldn't help but laugh for just one second (maybe seven) when The Husband came back from his business trip a few days ago and let me know that GUESS WHAT I ACCIDENTALLY LEFT MY BLACKBERRY PLUGGED IN AT THE HOTEL AND THEN THEY STOLE IT.

Of course, we were assured that "our people are typically VERY good at turning things in like this". Uh-huh. Right. How SHOCKING it is that someone with little money and a low-paying job in a not-great area would see such a shiny silver pretty thing, unplug it from the wall, TURN IT OFF SO NO ONE CAN CALL IT, and take it home to kiss and caress and love while they figure out whether to sell it or try to scam their way into getting a number put on it. WHAT A SURPRISE.

Oh, maybe they are getting a pretty box with a big red bow to put it in before they turn it in to the front desk? You know, to make the reunion even that. much. more. special. Because they want to do the decent thing, but they want to do it with Flair. Yes. Of course.

You know, when I was about 8 or 9 years old, I went to a birthday party at the roller rink and my parents gave me a $10 bill for snacks. Do you have ANY IDEA how much candy or pizza or gross heating-carousel hot dogs could have been purchased with that?!? I set the money down next to me as I laced up my little skates, and made the mistake of absentmindedly walking away without it. Less than five minutes later, I ran back and it was gone. This asshole always-visiting-the-principal boy who was in my class had been right there, and people saw him walk around with the money (probably buying a giant piece of cheap, greasy pizza), but he denied it and no one could prove it. I cried into the shoulder of the parent chaperone. Would it have been that hard to turn it in and not stick it in your pocket? I felt violated and angry and cheated, and couldn't understand why anyone would take something that wasn't theirs and not have the decency to care that it belonged to someone else.

I would like to go back and kick that jerk in the balls.

...Same to YOU, Country Inn & Suites cleaning skank lady.

Also? Am SO READY for 2009. Please. 2008 can suck it.

technorati tags: NaBloPoMo

My Musical Flashback: "Walk Like an Egyptian", the Bangles, 1986, age 10

It struck me as I was making my "Memory Lane Overload - 80s & 90s" playlist on Rhapsody the other day (ahem) just how much of our formative lives is heavily-ridden with musical bookmarks that trigger precise feelings, states of mind, and actual pinpoint moments more than almost any other cue.

I'm a music FaReeeak! And also a bit of a Contemplative Geek at times. This means of course that I can't resist - documenting some of the memories I flash to when hearing certain songs sounds like OH SO MUCH FUN. So, I think I'll do it.

Starting now.

My Musical Flashback: "Walk Like an Egyptian", the Bangles, 1986, age 10

this house full of girls, girls, girls

five sisters and then there is me

diving into the "play makeup" and Aqua Net

your slumber parties were rarely without costumes and acting skills employed

enough blush to be seen from space and now it's time to practice

tease, tease, tease that hair!

cue camera operator!

take 4

dancing from bed to bed, egyptian-walking and lipsynching perfection

music video Stars need their Pringles and pizza

screening event with your parents

Success! once again the audience is impressed

(we put on many acts

mini-movies were made of pure genius HAHAHA

would make phenomenal blackmail today)

scrubbed-up and pajama'd, scary movie time if you dare

your mom brings popcorn sprinkled with something delicious

what was that? to this day i have no idea

crunch crunch hold hands!!! eek gasp

never as scared as i were you and your sisters

but you also told the best ghost stories

you taught me the art

of whispering a dream into a sleeping girl's ear

giggles as she recounted confused pieces of it in the morning

wake up

pancakes and eggs and loud and lovely

   

p.s. in memory of your mom.

Maggie! Also, Welcome to the Take Luck Club

Today, my blogger friend Sarah and I went to see Maggie Mason (of Mighty Girl and Mighty Goods fame) talk about blogging and her book, No One Cares What You Had for Lunch - 100 Ideas for Your Blog.

I started reading Mighty Girl at the beginning of my blogging here at Sarcomical, about three years ago. Through reading her clever observations about life and what she heard in conversations when she was out in public, I realized the importance of paying more attention to the little things going on around me, so I could use those bits and pieces to generate interesting blog material.

I must say, in person her sense of humor is just as clear and witty as it has been in her writing style. She was really very sweet, smart, and also? My God, her outfit was damn cute. The girl's rep for being great at putting things together is not an exaggeration.

So, the time came to talk to her at the table afterward, and Sarah (being shy, her words) and me (feeling inferior in the presence of Maggie's mind and very cute boots) both had to suck it up and just say hi, even though we felt as if we were quite stumbly during the conversation. I mean, what do you say, really? "Hi, we know who you are, and see that baby and husband of yours over there? We know them, too. And we really, really like your shopping site. And you're very awesome. I'm a fabulous blogger, by the way. No, really. And I am totally NOT phased by your internet stardom." NO. No, you do not say that. Instead, you find yourself saying things like "Thanks for coming!" and "The two of us met online!".

Wow. Clever.

It felt very much like Brian Regan's act "You Too and Stuff", where he talks about that awkward feeling you get when you meet someone or are talking, and then for some reason you go and say something stupid like "Take Luck!", because your ability to string intelligent words together in certain social situations seems to vanish into thin air. Then all you are left with is blaahbitty.

technorati tags: Maggie Mason, Mighty Girl, Mighty Goods, Awkward!

Some Things Friday #62: Purse-Whacking

*Don't miss the video at the VERY end of my dog that needs therapy.

Some Things I Love:

1. Lots of words that start with 'V'. For example...velour, vast, vanquish, velvet, vista, vampire, vilify, valiant... One of the exceptions to this rule? Vagina.
   
2. Soft, fluffy IKEA Flokati rugs. I would like to take a nap all over one. Right now.
   
3. Egyptian and other ancient art...it captivates me.
   
   Check out some of the permanent collection features at the Met.
   
4. Little food with toothpicks in it. Preferably colored toothpicks. More preferably, green.
   
5. Friday Hot Little Number of the Week: Ryan Dimple-icious Reynolds (mrawr)
   

Some Things I Hate:

1. Jell-O with pineapple in it. Or grapes. Or oranges. Or any fruit except for the glorious strawberry.
   
2. The cars with the blinkers that go reallyreallyreallyfast! like they're on crack.
   
3. Living in a subdivision - either give me hermitage in the country or the life-buzz of city dwelling, I'm so weary of this annoying dullness.
   
4. Thinking your period has stopped for an entire day, and then realizing suddenly the next day when you get back to work from lunch that no, it has, in fact, NOT. Then you have to go into the communal "special drawer" of storage in the bathroom and steal from someone else's stash. And it's not your brand. And you really like your brand. So the afternoon kind of sucks.
   
5. This commercial. The Husband came into the room last night to find out why I was suddenly crying with accompanying sobbing noises (I'm sorry, I was a little bit tired), and all I could tell him was to rewind the television. He watched it and said "Great, thanks. That was depressing." What can I say, we're suckers for a pouty face. And then we looked at our three and he said "...and just look how YOU GUYS don't appreciate us."
   

Some Things I Just Don't Get:

1. Why so many people love Larry the Cable Guy. (On a side note, the next person I hear say "Git 'r done!" is going to get whacked by my purse, old-bitchy-lady-style.)
   
   
2. Why everyone in the media is suddenly acting like Anna Nicole Smith was some sort of beloved American icon who we want to obsess over a month after her death. What's with the weird montages and the emotional backstories? I know it's very sad, and I know it's a trainwreck, but haven't we already seen enough? Does her life and what she did with it really warrant all of this?
   
3. People with Micky Mouse heads on top of their car antennas.
   
4. The appeal of the cold soup.
   
5. I've shown you this before (well, not this particular video, as this just literally happened two minutes ago), but I have no idea what Lucy's problem with the stairs is when she does this. As you will see, several times all she'd have to do is just OPEN HER MOUTH and take the toy off the step, but apparently that is too, oh I don't know...SCARY.
   (p.s. turn on your speakers)
   
   

Half-Week Haiku 30: Yep, You Got It, I Feel Like Crap

Just HOW sick I am is still in question, but I definitely feel crappy tonight. Yay me. Big freakin' hairy disgusting goddam Yay. A little bit feverish, very tired, and plain old yech. The lumpy throat? Now verging on scratchy and pissing me the hell off. Pretty sure I'll feel better by tomorrow, but right now I just want some soup and a blanket and Gilmore Girls. AHA! Gilmore Girls just might do the trick. Well, that and a shot of vodka (hey, my hot Russian sis-in-law says it kills the germs dead, so shut up). Oh, and if my husband would COME HOME FROM WORK ALREADY DAMMIT AND TAKE CARE OF ME LIKE THE PITIFUL LITTLE GIRL THAT I AM! *sigh*

On the up side, I looked really good at work today.

I'm trying to be entertaining here while not at my best, so hey, JUST DEAL. Some of you've asked to see my new hair color (L'Oreal Couleur Experte in Caramel Glaze), so here you go. Please ignore the a.) Cheesy GlamourShots Pose, but you know, if I've got control of the camera I'm going to try to look cute dammit and b.) the shiny-ness of my face, ick. Anyway, I like it. It looks a bit more reddish because of the flash, but it was really cloudy today so hey suck it up. Just kidding. I'm sick. Did I tell you? Be nice to me.

So...I have to go watch Rory and Lorelai NOT TALK TO EACH OTHER SOME MORE. And also, get a blanket. Oh, yeah that Haiku thingy. Here's what I'd like you to do for this week: Haiku how YOU revert to child-like behavior when you're not feeling well. What do I mean? Allow me to demonstrate:

whimpering vocals
blanket and fuzzy slippers
"honey, i can't reach"