Screw you very much!

The only thing I took away from this summer's health care "debate" - or really, rather, the town hall meetings - is that the most important person in the United States is me. Not me, Molly Malone, but "me," the person at the center of the universe whoever "me" is, wherever "me" is, whatever "me" does and whatever "me" believes. "Me" is so important that it's fine for "me" to interrupt, shout down, berate and shut out the "other" who is trying to implore my help, change my opinion or simply give me his/her perspective on a situation. While I understand and trust that most town halls went off without much drama - maybe just some folks with signs, but damnit, this is America and I'm all about political expression, whether or not I agree with you - the stereotype of the town hall health care "debate" seems to be a good example of the lack of civility in this country, not for the good of the whole, but for the good of "me."

I ran into a couple examples of this yesterday. I'd just spent the weekend in Texas with my husband's family, feeling the milk of human kindness (I love them so much), only to be greeted with the vinegar of "me-ness."

Some background: I'm between 4 and 5 months pregnant with our first child. Because getting to this point in our family-building journey has been a physical and emotional torment I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, this pregnancy is not something we take lightly, nor is it something we're entirely comfortable advertising. But we've moved past the letting those who need to know, know, to being more public, if for no other reason than I've got an obvious bump, now. (It is also not my current intention to discuss it much on this blog, hereafter, but I can't promise it won't come up.)

Yesterday morning, Honey and I rose early to catch one of the first flights back east from DFW. I ate a small bowl of Raisin Bran and washed it down with some orange juice. I'd been eating that same breakfast for two or three days at his grandparents' house to no ill effect. Apparently, yesterday morning was different. As we drove to the airport, I knew something was amiss. As soon as I had a chance to find a ladies room, I hurled. I've been lucky in that I've not had much morning sickness, and what I have had hasn't haunted me much. Nonetheless, I felt nauseous for quite some time after.

Honey and I were supposed to sit one behind the other in middle seats on the flight back. They were the only seats left when we booked the flight last month. I was hoping, however, that maybe some kind person would swap the aisle with me so I could have easier access to the lav in case the bagel I was using to calm my post-puke nausea decided to take the same exit as the cereal. That kind person was not in my row. That guy said he really liked the aisle. That kind person was not in my husband's row. "Not for a middle-seat," he shook his head. I explained to both of them that I was experiencing morning sickness, but neither man seemed to care. Thanks, guys.

Luckily, nothing came back up, but I did have a few moments that were gag-worthy. But hey, they got theirs, so that's all that mattered. If I was the kind of person who stubbornly refused to swap seats on a crowded aircraft, I would say this was just my airplane karma. But I'm not. When flying alone, I've swapped seats so people can sit with their party, before (I hate seeing parties separated on airplanes), without giving a thought as to which seat in the row it is. I've even surrendered my coveted window-seat for a teenager who was a first-time flyer, moving to the middle, so that she could see outside more clearly for reassurance. That was actually a rewarding experience: She was terribly nervous. I held her hand during take off and talked her through the initial motions of the plane, and then did the same during landing. I felt very honored to have shared the moment with her, to have calmed her.

What irks me most is: I don't care whether I'm pregnant or not, and it was a request, so it was theirs to deny, but are these men so adamant about holding their aisle seat that they show no mercy to one who is sick? If I were recovering from food poisoning, would they be okay to let me vomit in their laps or shit my pants because they got theirs? (I'm sure the puke bags never get it all.) If I were elderly with a weak bladder, would they still insist on the aisle seat? And neither of them got up during the flight on their own. I had to pee a couple of times, so my guy moved. But the guy next to Honey never did. His row spent all three hours sitting. Why the hell do you want the aisle if you're not going to use it yourself? If you were just going to sit for 3 hours, could you not have sat in the middle seat? I wonder if these guys give up their seats on the bus and subway for the elderly or disabled, as signs request.

But if you can't rely upon the kindness of strangers, we can at least rely upon the decency of neighbors, right? Wrong!

For the last month, or so, there's been some silliness abrew in our neighborhood. Apparently, our neighborhood association board denied a couple of requests for some minor architectural changes that homeowners wanted to implement on their homes. I don't agree with the denials - I'm not a fan of homeowners associations to begin with - but we all signed the paperwork when we bought, so we knew that a board would have right of refusal. A handful of neighbors are rather tired of the tight restrictions and have petitioned the board to have a special meeting where they will likely address the rules for proposed rewrite. Sounds good to me.

Yesterday I came home to discover that another family, however, has been so aggravated that they've filed at least one lawsuit against the board, filing against specific board-members. Our neighbors. But they've cloaked it under: because the trusts that the association invests its dues in lost money in 2008, these board members were at fault. Seriously? You're going to sue because our investments lost money in 2008? Do you understand that investments go up and down and that every fucking person in 2008 lost money? And you're going to sue by name, as if these people don't have their own real problems to deal with? You're going to sue your neighbors, by name - not even the corporate entity - under the guise of Wall Street failure because, essentially, you're sour that the admittedly ridiculously strict guidelines deny you the privilege of building a sundeck?

There are many things we'd like to do to this house, and many which we may have to run in with the stupid board restrictions about. Some may be worth fighting for, but none are worth suing over. If the board was leaving bags of flaming dog shit on your porch, sue. If a segment of the neighborhood was prone to hurl epithets at you and the board did nothing to address it, sue. If the neighborhood was otherwise making your life a living hell, sue. But if you're just sour over the board denying you a cosmetic change to your well-built house that would still fetch a shit-load of money even in this market, suck it up. Your "me-ness" is hurting other people.

Of course, I can't claim to be above the "me." We live in a time, and in a country that prizes the individual over the community. I've been writing ad copy for car companies this summer and the track I tend to take is, this car is all about "you." We like thinking "me" is something special. I like thinking I'm something special. But I also hope I live with enough humility to concede when the good of the other is greater than my desire.

2009: The Year of Good Enough

I've been trying to decide what my inaugural post for 2009 should be about and I decided that I should begin by returning to one of my goals for 2008: my personal reading challenge. When I reviewed my post from last year describing my challenge (to read 10 books in the course of the year from my own library), I saw that the bulk of that post was dedicated to being grateful for the time we have with our loved ones because we will not always have them with us. There seems to be some sad coincidence in that.

I have fallen way behind on reading people's blogs and obviously on writing this blog. So far behind that I only learned yesterday that Mommanator's husband passed suddenly in the interim. Something that struck me was that she stated she was happy to have him 10 years longer than she thought she might. Again, I'm reminded that we need to love each other fully and seek delight in our loved ones as much as possible. We lose more than the person if we don't attempt it. I know I'm not the only one to express it, but just wanted to publicly convey my most heartfelt condolences to her and her family in their time of grief. I definitely keep you and yours in my prayers right now, Mommanator. Many hugs, doll.

Some good news about this new year for me, is that something in me switched when the clock struck midnight on January 1. I've been decidedly angry and emotionally stubborn about some health concerns of mine, lately. Though I'm progressing with more investigation and possible treatment, I'd been furious that this was something I even had to deal with. I was furious at my body for betraying me. Then at the beginning of the year the emotional stubbornness and the fury just dropped. I'm still angry, I still feel betrayed, but I'm not wrapping myself in it like a self-pitying blanket anymore. I have resigned myself to the probable. I'm still not happy about it, but I'm no longer emotionally resistant. I'm actually more accepting of it. Unless something changes: it is what it is.

That shift also freed me to review other things in my life. It's a new year. New choices? Maybe. I don't do "resolutions," but I do set personal goals. Among my goals this year are:

• Write more, of course. I've got at least one piece lined up. I work best with deadlines, so maybe I should look for more deadline-driven writing opportunities. But in the meantime, I should just keep tapping at the keyboard. I wrote more in 2008 than in 2007, so let's keep up the momentum.
• Become more craftily self-sufficient. Re-teach myself to sew on the machine that I've been ignoring for years and make something wearable.
• Make the house look more grown-up. Replace craptastic college-era plastic shelving with real stuff; paint at least 2 rooms in the house this year; buy a few furniture pieces (new sofa-set for basement, maybe?).
• Put stuff on the walls. Frame photos I like and hang them. Maybe buy some art. That costs money and spending money scares me shitless, but our walls are scandalously bare.
• Exercise more. Specifically, start running again! I never felt better about my life than when I ran a marathon 6 years ago. I don't know that I want to do a full 26.2 again yet (maybe in a few years), but I can easily do a 5 or 10K. There's no reason I shouldn't. Plus, I should really buy a friggin' bike. It's stupid that I don't have one.
• See more live theater. There's so much that's good out there and I don't take enough advantage of it. I had the pleasure of seeing some Shakespeare with Darla D and her girls this past week and I really enjoyed it. Why don't I do it more? I dunno. Routine lifestyle, I suppose. Honey and I go on jags every few years. This should be one of them and it should really increase to a regular habit.
• Re-up my reading challenge of 2008. Same deal. So many books in my collection that I've not gotten around to reading or only half-read. 10 more to read and/or finish for 2009. Just finished Born to Buy (pictured above), which was actually book 9 or 10 from 2008 - that's right, I fell short; sue me. I'm moving on next to God in the Machine: What Robots Can Teach Us About Humanity and God. I think I heard that author on Speaking of Faith a few years ago. Honey began reading it, but said it didn't teach him anything new. But he's a techie-guy. I hope that it'll illuminate something for me.
• Ditch the high-fructose corn syrup (and hopefully later the partially hydrogenated oils). I've known since sophomore nutrition class (thanks, alma mater, for making that part of our core requisite curriculum) that corn syrup is no good for me, and neither are partially hydrogenated soybean or corn oil. But damn, that stuff is addictive. So far, I've gone a week without the corn syrup. I've managed to gain weight, but that's mostly because I have no sense of portion control and I've not been exercising as much. Still, it's as much about being mindful about what I put into my body as it is about weight loss. Temptations may surround me, but if I can ward off just one of them, then the battle is not yet lost.
• Spend more time with Honey. Evenings, weekends, whatever.
  
• Find a new job, or a new path. Not necessarily outside my field, but just some path that allows me time to enjoy my family and to pursue my outside interests. My recent down-shift to part-time should help.
  
• Stop thinking I have to define myself by my career or other "achievments." I'd like to say I'm bigger than that, but I'm not. I'm just a regular achiever living in the land of hyper-acheivers. When I really contemplate it, yes career and title are in there, but the lifelong goals I'm most concerned with are more personal in nature: travel, family, language-learning, re-learning piano, etc, etc. I love my work, but I need to stop measuring myself against the hyper-achieving hyper-tense, hyper-paid peers in this town. I'm me. That's good enough.

Maybe that's what I need to carry into this year. Things don't have to be perfect. They just have to be good enough. I don't have to find the most extraodinary wine bar/buffet for our dining area. I just have to find good enough. I don't have to run a marathon. A 5K will do. I don't have to lose 15 pounds; 6 will be sufficient. I don't have to read all the ancient classics I should've read in college. I'll just read one. I'll do what I can. And that will be good enough.

Rain, Rain go away

Chispas! This has been a rainy (and chilly) spring! And for all the wetness, I'm still sneezing and the roof of my mouth still itching. What gives? I thought rain tamped down pollen? No matter. It's rainy (uh-gain) this morning and I'm not feeling particularly inspired to go to work. Rainy days make me want to do puzzles, play Scattergories or read the paper. That said, I thought you might enjoy doing a puzzle yourself. Don't worry, it's a simple 12-piecer:



I don't have any neato function that allows you to play Scattergories directly on my blog, but if you click here, you can go to their online game site. It literally takes a minute. Their timer is pretty strict. Or if you feel like reading the paper - one other than yours - search for one here. I've never used this site before, I usually use another paper search site, but what the hay?

I've been obsessed with Flickr lately. (Welcome to 2005, Molly!) For about a year, I've been bugging Honey to add more photos to his account, so I finally just started my own. I've been adding new pictures every day and seeking out groups with pretty pictures that interest me. I've got a few "contacts" and I'm slowly stealing contacts off of them. Anyway, in the spirit of Flickr - taking pictures of my life and finding beauty in the banal, I thought I'd include this little snapshot:

I bought these this weekend from 10,000 Villages. I like the repurposing of "waste." When we visited South Africa, local artisans commonly transformed aluminum cans, plastic bags and other items most of us would consider refuse, into truly cool works of art.

With no clear exit strategy for this post, I'm including a portion of a quizzy-meme that Pearl - who discovered the tasty tragedy of high fructose corn syrup while visiting America - did a few weeks ago. It seems like a rainy day activity. The original is long, so I'll just do a few. Feel free to tag yourself.

What would you do if you opened up your front door to a dead person?
I'd freak out that a dead person was able to ring my door bell. Then, I'd call Devinoni, because he'd help me prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse.

What were you doing at 8:00 this morning?
It's 7:45, now. I'd best be in the shower by 8, if I want to get to work on time.

When did you last throw up?
May 3: morning. As I didn't have much to blow, I'd call it the slightly-less-than dry heaves, but Honey insists that even thin watery spew counts as vomit. All due - I suspect - to me scarfing down the gourmet pizza the night before with fresho-licious garlic, to which I am woefully allergic. Why do I throw caution to the wind?

Do you want to get married & have children one day?
Checked one. .. and yeah, I'd like to get as many experiences out of this life as possible.

Do you like ice cream?
Why is this a question? Do I like air? What mental case wrote this?

Would you ever consider moving to another country to be with the one you love?
Well ... I moved to Oklahoma to be with Honey. So, yes. Another country wouldn't be much of a stretch.

Do you have strange dreams?
Clearly you've never clicked on my "dreams" tag. Which reminds me: two nights ago, I dreamt that Javier Bardem put me on this massive monster truck. When I started driving it, I lost all control of the vehicle and accidentally drove over other people's cars in a parking lot - in reverse. They were all angry and threatening to sue. And then Justin Long (the Mac kid) offered to represent me. Last night I dreamt of shoddy cruise ships, I think.

D'oh! Apparently, I need to add captions

Yesterday, I mentioned that upon discovering a childhood photo of my husband, I noticed his resemblance to Thomas Sangster, the little boy who played Sam in Love Actually. I included a photo of the young actor to give you an idea of what Honey looked like as a boy. Apparently a couple of y'all thought that was a photo of my husband.
First, I laughed my ass off. Then I felt badly that I wasn't clear about the photo. Honey laughed his ass off, too and suggested I actually post the photo. Apparently he's a little less concerned about anonymity than I am. (Happy, Jordan?)
In any event, there he is, to the left, my husband at age 11. Granted, he's not Sangster's doppelganger. Sangster has very brown, very round eyes. And Honey has blue, almond shaped eyes. (Mmm - almonds. slobber, slobber.) But their impish smirks are similar, I think. And similar hair cuts. But who really cares? I just wanted to clear up the confusion. There, to the left is the boy who grew into my husband. There, to the right - if scanning the Net, looking for his photo is any indication - is a boy who is a fixation for Brit film fans and wierdo old men. (shudder.)

"with every lesson learned, a line upon your beautiful face"

I've been keeping it in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. I see it each time I put in or remove my contacts. Or, at least, I've seen it each time since I first discovered it two weeks ago. I'm not sure why I've been saving it. It's some creepy, momentous souvenir and I'm sure my hanging onto it reveals some bizarre character flaw. But as character flaws make for interesting characters, I can forgive my own behavior.

"It" is my first grey hair.

I discovered it two weeks ago in the bathroom at work. My hair is normally a blond/red rusty honey mix, like a reddish beer with sunlight shining through it or like ... well, like that picture at the top of the blog. (D'oh!) I always thought blonds didn't grey ... or at least they didn't grey until they were well into their 50s. (And when they did, it looked good, right? Please God, make me a MILFy sextugenarian!) My dad, who has dirty blond hair had a red beard all my life. It didn't start greying until after 50. Now, closing in on 62, it's almost all white. But he has no grey hair on his head. My mother is a dark brunette. Even she has very little grey hair - just a few laced here and there and some at her temples. And she didn't grey at all until after 40.

So what is this? How does the golden retriever girl with anti-grey hair genes get a grey hair in her early 30s? I don't even have kids yet. Aren't kids supposed to be the catalyst for grey hair? I have had a stressful year. Actually the last two years have been kinda stressful for me - the thesis that wouldn't quit, finally finding my career, buying our first house and most importantly: spotty health resulting in two emergency surgeries (one saved my life, ultimately) each within two months of each other. All things considered, I should be glad a single grey hair is all that testifies to the stress and heartache that I've been suppressing.

Why haven't I tossed it yet, though? I can't put my finger on my need to hang onto it. Partly I think I want to hang onto it to remind me to take better care of myself - eat right, exercise, pray, release, breathe etc. Partly I also think it's a battle scar. When I was younger, I said I'd age gracefully and be proud of my wrinkles, knowing each one told a story. Maybe my grey hair is a storyteller of sorts. Maybe I keep it around just for the novelty of it, like how my mom hung onto the first tooth I ever lost. Maybe I'm keeping it to remind me that I'm more mature than I give myself credit for (or live up to, sometimes?). Deep down though, I can't help but think I'm hanging onto as a reminder of my own mortality and a reminder not to fear it.

Got any better explanations?

Mom really DID love you more!

Enjoy it now, folks. This is probably the only time I'll ever post a photo with an unobscured view of my face. That's me, and my little brother. I was four, and by the looks of it, he couldn't have been more than a month old. Oddly, I think my parents still have those Raggedy Ann and Andy bedsheets.

Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me referenced a recent study that proved that parents are harder on their elder children. They punish them more and generally place higher expectations on them. Younger children get away with so much more than we elders ever could. Here's what the Telegraph wrote about it. (I was amused that they referred to study done by "Maryland University.")

Part of me wants to send this article to my parents to show them that I wasn't imagining things when I'd complain to them of letting Bro get away with things that I would've been roundly punished for. But what's the point? They raised two functioning, happy, compassionate adults who've found healthy, permanent relationships with people who understand math and finances better than they do.

The resonance of this study for me now is less as a child with a grudge than as an adult pondering and witnessing parenthood, myself. Mom was the second of 5; Dad was the fifth of 5, so my complaints of unfairness fell on deaf ears. Honey and I both come from two children families, and he's the baby of his. At least we'll have two perspectives to bring to any children we may have.

Beyond that, though, this study reminded me of how it's only been in the two years that I've realized how important I was (am?) to my brother. He's always been important to me, of course, but I didn't really recognize, until lately, how much he adores me, and has his whole life. I always assumed that he lived to annoy me, until he reached junior high, by which time we became more peers and friends. When I turned 30, he sent me a really touching card extolling how great a sister and steadfast role model I've been for him. (My drunken, cussing, graceless, directionless ass - a role model? Poor guy!)

Apparently he also knew before I did that the only reason he existed was because I wanted a sibling. My mother was content with having only one child and Dad was down with it, too, but apparently I began begging for a sibling once I could vocalize it. I was so eager for one, I began telling people - friends, family, strangers on the street - that my mother was pregnant. She got pregnant so as not to make a liar of me, I assume; that, and because she and Dad decided one more was probably okay. I told this to Bro last year and he said he'd known it for a decade.

His admiration of me though has really only become more evident to me since he and his fiancee got serious about a year ago. I'm really looking forward to her being added to the family. As he began to regard her opinions and incorporate them into his lifestyle, I realized he was acting on influences of hers that I had, for years, been trying to exert on him. For instance, he now eats sushi - not frequently, but that he does it at all is amazing - and has begun to drink wine and looks for new wines to try. This, from a boy who just two years ago was immovably a steak and beer guy. I've always said he needs a girl who is smarter than he is, and I think he's found her. Why she wants to hang around my fart-bucket brother, I don't know, but I'm happy she does.

But I digress ... much as I like her and am happy for them, I feel myself being replaced as the primary female peer relationship in his life. (Assuming, I had that role, to begin with.) And I've found myself kind of jealous as he's begun aligning himself with her family. And I can only assume this jealousy is because I've been used to being listened to by him for the last 28 years and now that's shifting. It's a good thing it's shifting. But, holy cow! Is it possible my parents were right: the reason why he'd copycat me was because he looked up to me? And maybe I've been the bossy older sister the whole time and never known it. Crap. Next thing I know, I'm going to find out I'm a Cylon. Frak.

The Second Coming of My Screen Goddess

Honey and I just spent this lovely, lazy Sunday afternoon and evening watching movies. It was great. Finally got to see The Queen. Helen Mirren is wonderful and as if I wasn't already happy that such a talented (and non-20something cutie) actress got the Oscar this year, having seen her performance, I think it was a hands-down win.

In the meantime, I know you're wondering what's up with the lush ginger mane to the left there. Well, I figured I should for once put up a picture of me. But Molly, we can't see your mug. That's right, folks. I still like a modicum of mystery in this tell-all digital world. But I included this picture because I think my hair looks nice and red, here. My hair varies throughout the year, sometimes browner, sometimes blonder, but always red somehow. (I do not color it.) And on the morning this picture was taken, it was feeling particularly like a honeyed orange-almond creme brulee.

But more importantly, I thought I'd use this homage to vanity as a segue into a discovery I made tonight. Apparently, Cate Blanchett is reprising her role as Queen Elizabeth in the upcoming Elizabeth: The Golden Age. I cannot begin to tell you how sauced I am about this! Cate Blanchett, in my estimation, is a goddess among mortal actors. And her performance as the Virgin Queen in 1998's Elizabeth was the moment I fell hopelessly and blissfully in love with her. I firmly believe that when Gwyneth Paltrow won the Oscar over her, when my goddess was nominated for her Elizabeth, what transpired was nothing short of rapacious nepotism and flagrant Hollywood thievery. If Gwynny hadn't been up against the powerhouse that is Blanchett that year, maybe the cornsilk waif should've gotten it. But she wasn't in an easy field; she was up against Cate and Cate blew Gwynny out of the water like so much dynamited trout! I really won't go into a whole lot of detail about why Elizabeth is on my top 5 list (usually at the top), but here are some reasons I'm looking forward to this sequel:

* Wicked beautiful cinematography
* More Cate in a position of authority. God, she nails that stuff!
* The return not only of Cate and Geoffery Rush, but also the original director, Shekhar Kapur. (We'll overlook The Four Feathers, Shekhar.)
* The addition of Clive Owen and Samantha Morton (woo-friggin-hoo!) They so rock, there's no way this is going to be anything but SO-LID!

To satisfy any other Cate-as-Elizabeth lust which you hopefully share, here are some photos. I'm off to bed, to dream of dead-on performances, magnificent cinematography and women who rule!

My First Improv

My parents enrolled me at a local Kindercare, shortly after my brother was born, when I was four. After a few weeks or months there, the Kindercare was going to put on a "circus performance" for the families by the children. The day that roles were cast, I was so excited! Kids were going to be doing the "acrobatic acts" as well as the "animal acts" and clowning and taming. It was going to be a ball!

Casting day came and roles were divvied up. Molly got bupkus. I wanted to be anything; I didn't care. As an adult, I now suppose there were probably reasons for divvying up the roles the way they did, but as a kid all I got out of it was: "sorry. not even leftovers for you." I'm sure some of the shafted kids didn't care, but as one who's always had a performing bug, this was an insult. (Seriously, it was a circus under the direction of amateurs, at a Kindercare in the Panhandle of Texas. It's not like talent or skill were important.)

During the next few weeks, the kids in the "circus" would break out in their groups to practice their parts. I remembered watching them thinking, "I could do that. Pfft. That's easy," and all those other armchair quarterback observations. I really did watch carefully.

Circus day came - must've been a Saturday - and I had been talking it up at home. I don't know how much my parents knew of it. I don't know if they thought I was performing ... they must've known I wasn't, but ... I was very eager to get to the Kindercare. Dad took me. Mom stayed home with my brother. The show had already begun when we walked in and almost as soon as we walked in, a volunteering mother eyed us and hurriedly waved us over to the entrance of the kitchen which was being used as a dressing room. "We have an extra bear costume," she explained worriedly, "are you a bear?" This was my in. Dad seemed not to know. I couldn't get busted! I nodded. Dad took his seat in the audience and I followed the mother into the kitchen. To this day, I can feel the excitement of vindication that I felt in that flourescent-lit kitchen.

The costumes for the bears were nothing more than brown paper grocery sacks turned inside out and cut with eye - and because we were so little, I believe arm - holes. In retrospect, it's quite clear to me there were extra costumes made because paper bags tear easily, so it would be best to have extra on hand. There was not an extra costume because some kid was a no-show. I remembered watching the bears rehearse quite well. There were three kids. There just happened to be four bags. I knew the routine. When these kids rehearsed, I didn't play with the other stage rejects, I watched them. I knew it.

It was time to go out. The other kids seemed to hardly notice that I was there. It was as if the other bear materializing out of no where was just as expected as anything else. Their non-chalance - and let's face it, lack of awareness - just played into my plans. We bears were called out to "the ring" and the tamer began giving us our commands. We stood on one leg danced or did whatever the hell it was the bears were supposed to do. But something happened that I didn't account for in my rush to get my just performance. The bear routine was crafted for three bears, not four. That meant, if we were supposed to stand on balls, there were only three balls to stand on, etc. The only part of the routine I remember with any clarity was the "bears sitting in chairs" routine. We walked over to the chairs and were ordered to sit. I had none so I sat on the floor. I remember the audience laughing, and feeling simultaneously embarrassed and elated. Embarrassed because my grand scheme at vindication clearly was ill-devised in the prop department, but elated because the audience was reacting to me, not the other three kids. I was both chastened and proud. To this day I don't know if Dad knew I faked my way into the performance.

I long considered that my most embarrassing moment. I don't any more, but yesterday, after years of considering it my introduction to public performance, I thought about it from a different perspective. It's kind of a metaphor for my cycles of depression and feelings of failure: I desire it. I'm denied it. I try it. It doesn't go perfectly and I end up embarrassed and without a proper chair. Sure, that's just life and that's how it goes for everyone, so I should stop complaining. But I've got a good personal anecdote to use as a metaphor.

Mimicking a Meme

I'm stealing this meme from from Sonnjea, because I liked it. I already left a message on her comment saying as much, so I hope she approves.
(Oh, please approve, SonnjeaB!!)


You can only type one word; no explanations.

1. Yourself: achey
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend (spouse): geekasexy
3. Your hair: ponytail
4. Your mother: conniption
5. Your father: laughing
6. Your favorite item: computer
7. Your dream last night: frayed
8. Your favorite drink: wine
9. Your dream car: efficientinormous
10. The room you are in: dark
11. Your ex: long-gone
12. Your fear: terrortalitatarianism
13. What you want to be in 10 years: momartisterrific
14. Who you hung out with last night: friends
15. What you’re not: starving
16. Muffins: belt-top
17: One of your wish list items: hybrid
18: Time: 7PM
19: The last thing you did: Eat
20. What you are wearing: pajamas
21. Your favorite weather: sunny
22. Your favorite book: Lamb
23. The last thing you ate: bread
24. Your life: wonderful
25. Your mood: content
26. Your best friend(s): Honey
27. What are you thinking about right now: movies
28. Your car: expiring
29. What are you doing at the moment: movie-watching
30. Your summer: desirous
31. Your relationship status: latched
32. What is on your tv: absent
33. What is the weather like: snowy!!! (FINALLY!)
34. When is the last time you laughed: dinner

Faithful till the end

That is my goal for the last three days of the year: to faithfully post and browse each day. How's that for a resolution?

Christmas at my in-laws' was pretty good. To the left there is a picture of Babydog and her Pug cousin playing. They played in the middle of the living room, in front of the Christmas Tree the whole time we were unwrapping presents. Occasionally, they'd take it to the foyer or the kitchen, but mostly they enjoyed tussling in the center of everything. It irritated my brother-in-law who kept trying to break it up, but Honey and I quite liked it. They know where the pack is and where the fun is, so why should they not get their party on where we were getting our party on? Later they tussled under the dining room table where we were playing Texas Hold 'Em. It's hard to keep a poker face with grumbling fur tickling your feet.

In the meantime, I had a job interview yesterday afternoon. I was ambivalent going in and only slightly less so coming out.
THE PROS: seems like a relaxed environment; they prefer to pay freelance; it would be a slight raise with the prospect of more raises more quickly than with my current employer; though I'd start off in yet another admin-ish position (howl of pain), it seems they prefer to promote people on quickly to bigger and better things according tor their talents; as it is in my part of the city, my commute would probably be cut by 2/3 meaning I might actually be able to get home before 7PM on weeknights.
THE CONS: the position is kind of vaguely defined right now, though Honey thinks that's actually a pro; I know someone who freelanced with this company briefly and had a very negative taste in his mouth afterward, specifically because of the hostile attitude of one of the superiors - though I don't think I'd report to him; it's not the exact direction I want to go with my career - it's more of a side-exploration into another more bread-and-butter part of this industry for me; there may be no contract, the position would be indefinite and Molly, after three months in any position begins to get too comfortable.

I guess my two big concerns are: is that one guy really a hostile guy and can I really promote pretty quickly? And the latter is as dependent on me as it is on them. I could make a point to make sure to make myself available to someone each day or week until someone put me in a position I'm wanting more. As well, I could accept the job on a 3 month basis, say, as a test run. As for the hostile guy, I've dealt with hostility before and there's always the possibility that he's just a jerk who feels the need to do some piss-testing and all I'd need to do is learn when to appease him and when to stand him down.

My current job ends in a couple of weeks. I guess I'm also holding out hope that some really great project will pop up with my current employer in the next few weeks for which they'd like to give me a new contract with a different position. My current employer is less on the bread-and-butter end of the business, but they're on the end I'm more personally interested in. When I get back to work Tuesday, I'll feel them out and let them know I have an offer I need to move one way or another on by Thursday.

Sorry to ramble on about my employment woes. ... If you've made it this far, why don't you ponder this? President Ford died Tuesday. I'm as apathetic to his passing as I was to his life. Does that make me a bad person, an unconcerned citizen? Talk amongst yourselves!

Feliz Navidad!

Glad tidings and joy to you, dear reader wherever you are! It's Christmas morn and the nephews are still asleep with 10 minutes to go until their "designated hour of unwrapping" so I thought I'd use this time to send a seasonal salutation to all in the blogosphere.

In the past week, I've felt Grinchier than usual. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I didn't go to church at all this advent. This is the first year EVER where I've not at minimum gone to a Christmas Eve service. I haven't sung "Joy to the World" with a throng, nor any other carol. That chips away at me some, I think. The other bit of Grinchiness is what it is every year - and probably has been since I was a teenager, and certainly since I reached adulthood: some rue at the focus on consumerism this holiday brings. But that's just the world we live in, so I guess I'd best deal with it. Luckily, in our household, we're not that wrapped up in that aspect: we get eachother and others gifts, but we don't go hog wild and we refuse to do so if/when we have children.

But this chilly, Christmas morn, following a night of restless sleep at my sister-in-law's house, with Honey in the kitchen preparing Dutch Babies, I am content. It's Christmas and the dogs are happy. The kitchen will soon smell of baking eggs and powdered sugar. And since I haven't had a chance to lift my voice with the hosts in a sanctuary this season, I will make a list of my favorite Christmas carols, both ecclesiastical and secular (in no particular order):

1. Angels We Have Heard on High
2. Merry Christmas from the Family
3. Joy to the World
4. O, Holy Night
5. All I Want for Christmas is You
6. Hark the Herald Angels Sing
7. Mary's Boy Child
8. O, Come All Ye Faithful - especially with a bunch of brass in the sanctuary: WOW!
9. O, Little Town of Bethlehem
10. It's Cold Outside

MERRY CHRISTMAS! May you all enjoy a blessed day in whatever tradition (religious or otherwise) uplifts you!

Behind the Curve

... in so many ways. This past week has been crazy. If you're visiting this site and wondering why i haven't commented on yours lately, it's because i've been verbally remiss. i've probably popped in and checked out your blog, but haven't had enough active brain cells to comment. for that, i apologize. in the meantime, here's a video on YouTube that apparently everyone else in the world has known about for months, but which i just discovered via a coworker, Wednesday. it makes me smile and makes my heart happy. i hope you like it!

(incidentally, i haven't figured out how to actually put youtube vids up on my blog, like some folks have. if you know how, please share. i feel like a luddite not knowing how to do this)

Fastest. blog. ever.

The next 48 to 96 hours are going to be hectic, but for the most part exciting. As for today? I get a temporary promotion at work (hence the image) which may last through tomorrow. At work they're calling it "filling in" but I'm calling it a temporary promotion because what i'm learning while i'm filling in i can apply to my next job. and hopefully there'll be some eyes watching who are already thinking ahead to whom they want to fill upcoming positions with. Tonight? Another crunch-night adding onto my thesis. This weekend? Babydog's first herding competition. Sleep? Overrated!
Now to put on my shoes and hustle to my assignment!
ps. thanks to some police org in the UK for giving me an image that illustrates my day and uses a model who looks like she could be my sister ... or uncanny cousin.

Resurfacing

I'm sure none of you out there (all two of you including my dear, concoted pal, Niamh) missed me much in the last 31 days. Sorry for the radio silence. If I haven't been moving in at home, I've been moving at work. It seems like this is the summer of packing tape. And when I wasn't moving somewhere I was hosting someone. Most notably my parents who came up for my 30th birthday.

So, to cap, in the last month, I've moved at home, moved at work, turned 30 and passed the 5th anniversary of my participation in the time honored institution of marriage.

Honey and I went to Disneyworld this last week to celebrate our 65th Birthdayversary. (We both turned 30 this spring and had our 5th wedding anniversary this summer, hence birthdayversary.) That's also where we went for our honeymoon. I love Disneyworld. If you wanna just chill by the pool or play golf or do nothing, you can. If you want a sugar rush and cheese-ass entertainment, you've got that, too. If you want to just zip around on adrenaline (ie, rollercoasters), you can do that, too. AND they've got buonissimo restaurants and fireworks almost everynight. You can't go wrong. ... except we learned it's probably best not to go in July. Too crowded. We've gone before in February - crowds fine, but too chilly to swim - and in May. May was perfect: not too crowded; weather still warm enough for the water parks.

We hadn't been back since early 2002, and it seemed enough had changed to make it "new" but still enough had remained the same to make it familiar. "Pirates of the Carribean," my heretofore least favorite ride had been improved upon, enough to make me actually like it. They've added an animatronic Depp as Sparrow throughout the ride, as well as Davy Jones greeting you as you enter the tunnel. "Space Mountain," the ride I'm most ambivalent about, has unfortunately not been improved upon. It desperately needs a facelift. The damned dorky 1970s bad scifi set has got to go. I much loved the one in Paris better.

There's much to catch up on, I'm sure. But that's the best nugget so far. Sorry to all 2 of my minions for being off the charts lately!

30 days to 30 years

Yup. It's time to start reflecting and thinking about where I want to go from here.

Overcoming Reluctance

I bought new shoes, yesterday. I've been needing a few pair for work for a while, but have been reluctant to buy any. I'm very terrified of spending money on myself for necessary items. In fact, the more necessary the item, the more terrified I am of purchasing it. And my "will not tolerate any clothing item which costs more than this" price point is unrealistically low: $20. I've recently upped it to $30. Y'know - inflations

Here's how it usually goes:

• Molly realizes she needs some new item of clothing because her old ones are wearing thing, are otherwise too damaged, or are hopelessly stuck in 1985.
• She frets over this for weeks while her clothing items wear even more thin and she really doesn't have any choice.
• She goes to thrift shop and doesn't find what she's looking for - at least nothing that doesn't have a hole in it or a stain on it or that is in her size.
• She goes to a consignment shop and doesn't find anything that looks like it's appropriate for anyone under 50.
• She goes home and complains to Honey that she can't find the clothing item(s) she needs.
• Honey gets exasperated and tells her to just go to a freakin' store and buy what she needs because he doesn't understand why she won't go spend the money she needs to buy the clothing item(s) she needs
• Molly finally breaks down and spends a day shopping in which she purchases basically what she needs - ie, if she needed another 3 skirts, she got one - but finds that she spent most of her time in the clearance section because she was afraid to spend another $35 - $50 per clothing item that she really went shopping for in the first place. So, she ends up bringing home some bargains that are great, but she can't wear for another 6 months when they're appropriate for the weather. I am the queen of bringing home 10 tank tops in December when what I really desperately needed in a bad, bad way were 5 sweaters.

But not this time!! This time I needed at least two pair of office worthy shoes and I got them. AND I even paid full price for one pair. And for the first time in a long time, the shoes I tried on felt comfortable, because I decided to disallow myself to visit Payless. Payless is fine, but let's face it: If you have a bad back like mine, flat arches and are basically a wuss, they don't have shoes that allow you to comfortably withstand 12 hours. And I end up having to spend another $15 on a replacement pair every few months or so because they fall to crap so quickly. Why not just pop the $60 now for shoes that will not make me want to kill myself by 3PM, and which might just still look decent in another year and not all scuffy gross?

I was still proud of my thrift, though. I bought 3 pair shoes for just under $115. Two pair were on sale, and one were the most comfortable shoes I'd ever put on in my life. I may actually begin to purchase from that brand more. Honey has several of their pair, which I've never been able to justify to myself for $80/pop. But after buying this pair - it might be worth it. My feet have never felt more loved!

Thriftiness is good, but if all it does is simply give me shabby crap that doesn't hold up, then it's not thriftiness at all. It's mere shortsighted cheapness. Just like the US avoiding spending $1B in levy repairs and upgrades pre-Katrina was cheap and ultimately cost us $30B in damages. I will no longer be deluded by the illusion of immediate savings. $60 on a pair of shoes may end up saving me tons of pain in the long run.

The Dread of Happiness

Any day that I wake up is a good day, really. It's better than the alternative, so far as I can see. And in less than 100 days I will be turning 30 years old. Thirty.

30

When I was a kid, I used to love every year that I got older. And until a year or two ago, I was still unashamed of my age. In all fairness, I should still be happy, elated with each birthday. Not everyone makes it this far. Had I been born in a third world country or in some other far less fortunate situation, I may have died in infancy or y'know ... lost my adult set of teeth by the time I was 23. But I'm healthy and I live in the wealthiest nation on the planet. Thirty isn't just attainable, it's expected.

But I'm dreading it. I dreaded 20, some. Not like I dread this birthday, but ultimately for the same reasons. I have not accomplished what I thought I ought to have. This time what scares me is that not only do I feel like I have not accomplished what I thought I ought, I fear I have not accomplished what everyone else feels I ought. I'm going to be thirty years old, and I've only ever held entry level jobs. I'm an expert at being a "go-to" "do-this-for-me" assistant. I'm smarter than that, but frankly I really don't know how to promote myself beyond that. I don't know how to thrust myself higher. Sadly - though I do feel like my current job is a step in the right direction for me and will open other doors - I worry sometimes that I lack the confidence it takes to move beyond entry level assistant type positions. The only thing that I've done that everyone else (y'know, social expectations) supposes I ought, is gotten married.

The grand irony of that is that that is the one thing that at 20 I never anticipated I'd do - at least not before I was 30. Frankly, marriage is one of those social expectations I decided to ignore by the time I was 16. Who wants to be defined in a society solely by her relationship to a man? Men are no so defined. Why should I be. The only reason I am married is because Honey and I are positively silly over each other - even when we want to kill eachother. Had Honey never emerged in my live, I suppose I'd still be single and probably okay with that. I'm okay with being married. I'm okay with being childless. I'm okay with being a grad student. I'm not okay with reaching 30 on my nominally third or fourth entry level job. I'm scared. And I'm embarassed. Embarassed mostly because this part of the country requires that you have a career plan and that you be defined by it and motivated only by it. Scared because I do want a career, but my motivations are ... just to be happy. And how elusive is that?

I will be happy to have reached 30, but God do I want my 30s to be far more productive than the last decade!

Madame Molly Makes Predictions

Tonight's the night I don one of the few formal dresses that still fits - a red bridesmaid dress - make myself some cheap ripoff of a cocktail (no amaretto in the house? chocolate syrup will do) and coerce Honey to watch at least the first hour of the shallow, self-congragtulatory pretty dresses parade that is the Academy Awards. What can I say? I'm a sucker for pomp and pageantry - I cry at every Olympic opening ceremony, even the ones I don't watch, like this year's. I've tried to inculcate the little girls next door into my annual hollywood-cult ceremony, but aside from the pretty dresses, they don't seem to be that excited about the prospect of stirring music accompanying schmaltzy, weepy thank you speeches. And frankly, the younger one isn't all impressed with the pretty dresses. (She's the one who turned down our invite to the local St. Patty's day parade yesterday on account of there being no promise of chairs, warm weather nor brevity. Her loss. We got CANDY!)

Just like 10,000,000 other people on the web or in the world, I thought I'd make some guesses as to the winners of tonight's botox, saline and collagen sponsored event. Truthfully, I've only seen one of the best picture noms, and two of the best documentary noms. But that's never stopped me before, and also, since I've been getting bags under my eyes for this show since I was 5, I kind of know what the academy likes. (Hint: if you're a woman and over 35, you'd better be nominated for some big time "oh the humanity" role, or else, your night will "just be an honor to be nominated" night. Oscar likes young breasts.) Without further ado, here are my guesses, category at a time:

Best Actor: Phillip Seymour Hoffman. True, I'm making this prediction because he is one of the many actors I'm in love with, but also he's been getting good buzz, he's a little pre-due for it, and Oscar seems to like to reward accent-actors before they're due. Possible win: Joaquin Phoenix; Surprise win: Terrance Howard.

Supporting Actor: Matt Dillon. Crash has to win something, I think it's a good contender for best picture just because again, seems to be popular, but it could be that Academy members wanted to ensure it got something in case the Brokeback juggernaut crushed it. Possible win: Clooney; Surprise win: William Hurt. Super-surprise "we feel guilty about last year" win: Paul Giamatti.

Best Actress: Reese Witherspoon. She's been racking it up elsewhere. Her only real competition is Felicity Huffman. And she's just the right age: 30. Oh, yeah, and she's pretty talented on the whole. Possible win: Felicity Huffman; Surprise win: Judi Dench.

Best Supporting Actress: Michelle Williams. Hers was the one performance that I consistently loved in Brokeback. Heath was great, but I felt Michelle's agony more than his. He carried pain and isolation, but she knew his secret and never confronted him. This is the hardest category for me to call, simply because I have total girl crushes on the other nominees - except for Amy Adams, and that's only because I'm unfamiliar with her work. Each of these actresses have either in the past, or in their nominated roles have proven that they are unwaveringly committed to the action in the scene, to the moment. Even when the movie they're in blows donkey balls. But I think it's Michelle's night. Possible win: Amy Adams; Surprise win: Frances Mc-freakinggoddess-Dormand.

Animated Feature: Wallace and Gromit In the Curse of the Were Rabbit. This was the only of these nominees I saw, but it was genuinely good. And more importantly, it's made the best of 2005 lists of many a critic. As great as I'm sure Corpse Bride was, the only other possibility in this is Howl's Moving Castle, simply because it looks awesome and because the Academy seems to like anime and Miyazaki.

Art Direction: King Kong. Kong is going to get something, but only something technical, so why not this? Plus, I have to admit, Kong was a complete visual treat, from Anne Darrow's cloche hat to the scar above Kong's eye. Though frankly, with the exception of Pride and Prejudice, the others look pretty darn pretty to look at, too. What I've seen of the brit-flick basically looks like soggy bogs and lots of fog. Gee. How romantic.

Cinematography: Brokeback Mountain. Classic beautiful sweeping vistas, always a crowd pleaser. Other possible winner: Goodnight and Good Luck - lots of smoky rooms, and black and white is always nice.

Costume: Memoirs of a Geisha. Period piece, non-western culture - seems to be a winner. Other possibility is Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, they did a good job of making costumes overwhelming where necessary and understated where necessary. Plus, that was a damn cool orthodontic creepy helmet. This is one of my favorite technical categories. I LOVE costume design!

Directing: Ang Lee. He aptly captured the relaxed pace of life in the West and the meditative quality of the outdoors out there, without making it boring. Having never lived my life as a gay cowboy, I can't say if he captured the lonlieness of that, but damn, Ennis' trailer at the end of the movie - if that ain't lonely, what is? Possible win: Paul Haggis; Surprise win: Steven Spielberg.

Documentary Feature: Darwin's Nightmare. Any film about how we're ruining the planet is a good bet, but throw in the aspect of how we're doing that is also perpetuating bloody civil wars in Africa and toss in an adorable young prostitute who we love and who is then brutally murdered, and you've got yourself and Oscar. I'm really eager to see this one. Possible win: Enron - The Smartest Guys in the Room; Surprise win: Murderball (saw it last night - great!)

Documentary Short: God Sleeps in Rwanda. Mostly because Hotel Rwanda didn't win a few years ago. And it's still pretty fresh on Academy voters' minds. Possible win: Mushroom Club. Both movies are about post-war devestation fall out; both Oscar attractive.

Film Editing: Munich. Mostly because it has to win something and I know nothing about editing. Possible win: Crash.

Foreign Language Film: Joyeux Noel. Because in this time of war, we want to believe that for one day, at least, we can set aside our guns and celebrate our commonalities. Possible win: (And I hope this, just because i'm in love with South Africa!) Tsotsi; Surprise win: Pardise Now (but it would be a HUGE surprise.)

Make Up: The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. It was amazing how they got Liam Neeson to look like a real lion! Possible win: Revenge of the Sith.

Musical Score: Constant Garder. Just because. I've only heard the score from Brokeback. It's good, but it may be too sparse.

Song: "Hard Out Here for a Pimp." Because it's infectious, and the academy is probably ready to trim off some white crusts a little. Heck didn't Eminem win for the song from 8 Mile a few years back? Why not, eh?

Animated Short: The Moon and the Son - An Imagined Conversation. Just taking a random guess here.

Alright, this is getting too long, so I'm going to cut to the chase and give my predictions for the last three ones I like the most:

Best Screenplay Adapted: Brokeback Mountaint. Everyone seems to be so impressed how a feature length movie has stayed pretty darned true to an 11 page story. Possible win: History of Violence.

Best Screenplay Original: Syriana or Crash. Both are critically acclaimed. The former speaks to an angry political sense of a lot of people and academy votres, and the latter is a story about L.A. which academy types have to love. Possible win: The Squid and the Whale; Surprise win: Matchpoint.

BEST PICTURE!!: Brokeback Mountain. It's the one to beat this year. And while Crash may have more actual relevance in the lives of movie viewers and academy voters - My God! Confronting the daily racisms we act like we're over; how dare they?! - the story of a pair of gay cowboys is both on the edge of current phobia breaking and is fairly unexpected in today's age. Gay? Sure. Gay AND a cowboy? Whoa! Further prediction: in 15 years, we'll've had so many gay-"unexpected category" movies that even though homophobia won't be eradicated in the US, but rather subverted the way many racisms are today, any film that confronts the subversion of the still hurtful homophobia will be admired, but will be tossed aside to make way for whatever the cause du jour is. Possible win: Crash. (Frankly, rooting for it, though I haven't seen it.) Surprise win: Any of the remaining 3; particularly Munich. Any film that is blasted by conservative Jewish groups for being anti-semitic and is equally reviled by Arab groups for being anti-Muslim Palestinian is first and foremost a must-see, but also a sure loser. Seems to have a rep as one of those movies that questions the moral legitimacy of too many people to make anyone happy. No easy good guy or bad guy. That means no Oscar.

Have fun watching Jon Stewart swing it tonight!

Valentine to Cotswold Cheese; Saluto tutto to jobbo

I begin this Friday with a salute to Cotswold Cheese. We finally finished our hefty brick, yesterday, after having it for two beautiful weeks.
Darling, Cotswold. You are such a tease. Yes, you rarely visit our humble cocina, but when you do - ah! what joy you bring us. You look like a flawed cheddar, but we know better. When I lift you to my mouth and catch your aroma, I know you enjoy being consumed as much as I enjoy consuming you. You like it don't you? Don't lie. If you didn't want to be taken you wouldn't bedeck yourself with those spicy chives, you lucious coquette! Our Superbowl evening was grand, but your lingering prescence in our refrigerator was too much for us to handle. You were the first to be finished. Before the roquefort, before the wensleydale, before even the applewood smoked gouda! Darling, you know you're cherished when you're gone before the smoked gouda. I know not when we'll go on another cheese splurge. Perhaps in a few months for a Memorial Day get together, or perhaps not again until Thanksgiving. Until then, my love, I'll be dreaming of you. Yearning, salivating dreams.

In other news, today is my last day of work in my current job. On Tuesday, I begin my first full time job in over 16 months. Since I joined the ranks of the laid off, in late 2004, I have done a few freelance penny-scraping gigs, but mostly have either worked part time in a firm or have tended to ill loved ones. I really like my current workplace. I was doing admin stuff, which isn't really what I want to do with my life, but they paid me well, were flexible with my school schedule and flexible if life threw me stuff and as importantly as anything else, it was a friendly office to work in. After having worked for almost 4 years in an office where morale was in continual decline until it could only be described as funereal when I left, and after having been regarded there just slightly more important than wallpaper, it was nice to be in an office where the associates and principals would routinely ask me, "Okay, what do you really do? Because you're too smart for this!" Wow! It sucks to leave them, but the suckage is abated by two factors. 1) I really am looking forward to this new job. It's definitely more up my alley - in the enteratinment business; it's ground floor, but it'll be a good learning and growing opportunity and I think will produce more work for me in the near future.

... and 2) I've decided I seriously dislike one of the associates at the soon to be departed job. I'm a very easy going person. I forgive all sorts of personality issues and hang ups. People accuse me of being too nice. They're definitely right - I don't always defend myself like I should - but I'm also just seriously not that bothered by stuff that bothers other folks. But what I don't have any tolerance for is being patronized (or watching people patronize others) and general assholery. I'm happy to be helpful to the associates in my firm, but we're a small firm and each associate, junior, senior intern, etc is responsible for his or her own administrative upkeep. The only person in my office I secretary for is the principal. And even he is competent enough to do for himself most of his own business. As of Wednesday, one of the associates has tried to treat me like his personal secretary, even making "suggestions" as how to answer the phone. After talking with a couple of other people, I've found he does this to everyone, treating those of all rank in the office as his inferior. Yesterday he wanted me to maintain a contact list for him in my MS Outlook. I told him I didn't keep other people's information in my Outlook. He looked genuinely surprised and hurt. Tough buddy. The bigger fish in this office know how to use it for themselves, and maybe he should too.
... so he makes it easier to leave! The others however, I will genuinely miss.

I'm so psyched about my new job though. I really feel like it will open doors for me. I also hope it inspires me to activate the self-promotion gene that seems to have skipped me in favor for my brother. I need to learn to just push. People who know me know that I'm highly competent, I just need need to learn to advertise it better. But I'm movin' on up! Anyone want to cue "The Jefferson's" theme?

An open letter to my imaginary, solitary reader, Niamh

Dear Niamh,

Merry Christmas! I know you think my greeting is belated, but I don't care how finnicky you are about a specific date, Christmas doesn't end until Epiphany. Until I wake up on January 7, I consider myself in the season of Christmas.

I hope this winter finds you and your box turtle, Dame Edna doing well. Have you found her a friend, yet? There is a pretty dog named Bruno at the Grinshill Animal Rescue right now. He apparently isn't good around other dogs or cats, but so long as you keep Dame Edna in her terrarium, I'm sure she'll be fine. Plus, he looks like a spirited fellow; I'm sure the two of you would give each other a good run for your monies! Or perhaps you could home Gromit. I know you'd been thinking of a rabbit, as well. AND you have a larger garden than your neighbors, so maybe you could give him a decent size pen to play in. But never mind me. I only want everyone to have menageries because as hard work as animalitos are, they're so good for your health.

Most all is well on the western front. My honey and I are on holiday with the family in more temperate climes, this season. Much as I like to think Christmas must be cold, if not snowy, I have to admit I'm enjoying the respite in the short-sleeved weather. We saw The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe on Christmas day. I loved it. The child who played Edmund was great. I felt more drawn to him in the movie than in the book. Plus, I felt like the movie did a better job of creating dramatic tension than the book did. My only criticism is that there were perhaps two too many pregnant pauses. At one point - and I can't tell which - I remember thinking, wow, didn't they just have a "dramatic moment?" Maybe we could vary it up a little bit more? Christmas day was otherwise quiet.

Anyway, Niamh, have a great week. Don't let the chaps at the pub rib you too much about the jumper your daughter bought for you. They're simply jealous!

Cheers,
Molly