Lagging Jet Lag

So what exactly is the statute of limitations on jet lag? I arrived home from my trip to Hawaii over two weeks ago and at 2:03 am—I'm still awake. Being that I went to bed at 11:02…this is bad, especially since I was actually exhausted.

Normally, it's pretty easy to pin-point exactly what is keeping me up—but right now, things overall are pretty good, not great—but good. Work is keeping me busy, it's almost ski season and my roommate is out of town for 10 days (which means the house is clean). It's just two days away from the 6^th Annual Thanksgiving Folks Without Folks in Colorado bash (my favorite holiday of the entire year) and I'm actually prepared for it way ahead of schedule.

But here I am up and even though tired, wide awake! I tried thinking of boring things step by step, like detailed step by step and almost fell asleep and then someone down the alley started playing god-awful techno music and pulled me out of the trance. I tried reading a chapter out of a GIS mapping textbook that a friend left at my house, I tried ever combination of pillow combinations, finally got perfectly comfortable and then had to get up and turn down the heat. I finally caved at 1:52am and went downstairs for a glass of milk and watched the last 8 minutes of the Cosby show—and then saw that the Jon Stewart show was on next with Tina Fey as a guest…so now I'm up for at least another half hour. Aaaarrrgggg…..

Oi Vey...

There is nothing worse than not editing an email post to a writing group...oh wait, yes there is...not editing a post to a women's writing group. After a crazy, crazy busy week and feeling a little sleep deprived I sent a query request out to the group for help finding some templates and tools that would rock my world. I made the mistake of rewording a sentence and hitting send on the fly before noticing that two extra words needed to be deleted--otherwise it makes for an rather existential read:

The outline wizard tool has nearly brought me to be tears and it's just time to for a new solution

Yes, I actually make a living as a writer...

Anyhoo, in the ten minutes following my flawed post to a group of 500+ women, I have received 17 grammar corrections and not a damn bit of advice, so typical.

Que Sera, Sera

I landed what I thought was a dream writing assignment: unique topic, good medium, big name—what could be a real cornerstone of a portfolio piece, but instead it turned into that corner of the coffee table that you repeatedly bang your shin against in the dark.

I first received word of the assignment about two months ago and have been ecstatic about it since then. Except, for the fact that the project has been continually pushed back by the client until now, when it is of course piggy-backed on top of other deadlines and struggling to seek its priority ranking in the chaos that is my daily life of late.

I finally wrapped up the project today, or at least did what I was allowed to do with it. As a writer nothing is scarier than to hear the words, "The copy is really well put together, it just needs a light copyedit."

Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! Editing copy that is "nearly ready to go" means not only do you need to dot the Is and cross the Ts, but you need to make sure they didn't mix the two up…and then there is the bizarre grey-shrouded land of copyediting, more specifically light copyediting—how far can you go? Something can be grammatically correct, yet still painful to read and ultimately the work reflects on you, so what do you do?

Well, now that I've lamely started three consecutive paragraphs with "I" and worked in three corresponding "bullshits" – I might be bullshitting you, but I feel a little better.

And as always my horoscope confirms it:

September 20, 2006

Action you take today may significantly annoy someone else in your workplace. Other people's moods are going to put a damper on you and your work, but this is no reason to slow down or change course. Continue on regardless of others.

Que Sera, Sera – What ever will be will. Keep on Truckin' as the stoney folks say.

Archived Celebration

It's about time to celebrate FINALLY achieving archived blog status—whew! How happy it makes me to see that one of the entries is now bumped into the blog purgatory of August 2006. Ahhh, such relief to have the first entry disappear—like ripping out the first page of a diary. No matter what, the intro is required to be lame, no matter how times it is cleverly structured and preciously revised! To blog purgatory—where it belongs!

Although I am quite ashamed to so profusely discuss how much I was getting into blogging and then to let a span of 11 days pass me by. But, in my defense I've been taking care of a tween and teen and still working away—so the last 11 days haven't exactly passed, but more or less flown by with the speed of a derailed train careening downhill.

So, I guess it's just time to climb back on that horse...

Hush Hush, Voices Carry

I'm very well aware of the fact that I have to learn everything the hard way, in fact more accurately I tend to learn things in an extremely over the top hard way… Seriously, how could I not be gravely aware of my magnetism for faux pas as I literally trip through my day?

Luckily, I have learned to find the humor and take pride in my "learning experiences." I've actually been incredibly disappointed after taking a digger on an icy sidewalk when no fellow pedestrians were around, knowing that my sore tailbone was a wasted bruise, resulting in no shared entertainment. I spend much of my day wishing I had an ice pack, the ability to maintain a poker-face and David Sedaris' career. If only I could learn to parlay my socially klutzy escapades into an NPR radio show—well not live radio of course. My saving grace is that I usually only make the really big mistakes once, except for one that is…well best summed up by Aimee Mann in song. So, let's go back to the days of 'Til Tuesday and bad over-gelled New Wave hairdos to the lesson that I've been working on mastering since the mid-80s:

Hush hush
Keep it down now
Voices carry
Voices carry

"Use your inside voice" is a phrase I'm quite familiar with. Even my whisper was built for stage. Yet, I am continuously surprised by how far my voice carries.

Last night, LeeAnn, Jessica and I ran into an old acquaintance of mine that I doubted would remember me (E. is tall, handsome, an artist, poet, welder and has really great hair…so I'm sure that I'm just one of the many zillion girls that he's meet over the past few years)—and being in the midst of a very important girls night we didn't stop to re-connect.

So, today on the way back from the farmer's market I saw E. up ahead and being that LeeAnn and I have been chatting about how small Boulder is, I said to LeeAnn, "Hey there he is again." Yet, I suppose I should clarify that either I didn't simply "say" it or the thrust of Mother Nature's wind combined with the curve of the building created the perfect acoustic tunnel, funneling my every word to him as clearly as an HD radio station as he looked up directly at us and quite surprised.

When will I learn?!?! I'm vowing to repeat SILENTLY an inner mantra of "Hush hush, keep it down…"

For which path do you settle?

So, the discussion of having too much to blog about and too many ideas to share has completely dried up all the creative bones in my body. The creative knob in my brain has shriveled and there is no inspiration in sight. No offers up to the sacred altar of entertainment and pondering from me today. Although…whenever I find myself unable to write or too tongue-tied to fill quiet space, I always wonder if that's because I'm pre-editing myself. What you might call creative or expressive self-sabotage.

What is it that is stuck in the craw of my unconscious?

On some level I think it is relationships, but I guess it's always relationships. And not just dating but relationships of all sorts. For the next three weeks, I'm watching two kids that I nannied for about 10 years ago. And it always makes me reflect on the second most annoying question asked to singletons, "Don't you want kids?" This question is always fired about a tenth of a second after the THE most annoying question, "Don't you want to get married?" Now it's not really an issue of "wanting" is it?

Anyhoo, my response to both questions was always a knee jerk and emphatic "YES" before, but I think that's changing. Instead of thinking about how many I want or names, I find myself contemplating things like if I'm too old, or what would it do to my career and how they make the inside of your car soooo dirty and everything sticky! But, my CAREER--this scares me, when did this ever become a priority.

I feel like a pathetic anti-feminist to admit that I never thought I'd still be working full-time and not at least a part-time stay-at-home mom at my age. Yet, somehow I ended up on the career path and even own my own business. Most people would feel that earned them a gold star. Not me. Not one bit. When I went home to visit this summer it made my stomach turn to hear how proud of me people were—didn't they realize I'm succeeding at someone else's dream? Shouldn't they be as disappointed as I am? I never liked the childless, ambitious adults who were totally career focused. I always thought that there was something wrong with them—how could someone be so selfish and lead such a cold and empty life. But now, I think I'm becoming one of them. Heck, I think I AM one of them. I don't even know if I want to get married anymore. I think it takes a level of trust that I don't know if I have and that I am too old to learn.

But how do we end on these paths? I don't recall making a conscious decision along the way, but so many of my friends are in the same boat. When did I take the fork in the road that offers single-serving size bags of microwave popcorn, I don't even remember seeing it. Is this an unconscious martini-induced decision that is being made across our generation?

The generation plagued by divorce, single-parents and distrust. Or is everyone else actually really happy single?

I've read a lot about the new trends towards marrying later, and how the chronological norm is ever-evolving and that people are "nesting" later. But I don't buy it. I've seen them at Home Depot and the mall, there are people that do nest. Who are they? Did they settle like "settle"? Are they happy? Do you have to move from Boulder to Ohio, get married and come back?

Archived Disappointment

No worries, this not a "My childhood sucked rant" ahead—that would be way too vanilla and blasé for me and eliminate my need for happy hour, but instead just a little continued adulthood disappointment rant. Again, nothing I need to pay anyone $100 an hour to discuss, just some minor-level whining.

So, the whole blog experience is quite new to me. I understood (but don't want or care about) the need for real-time information about news things like politics, stocks or crock-pot recipes. But I didn't understand why people wrote blogs just for fun, especially folks like me that get paid to write all day—isn't it just unpaid work, and why do that? Yet, I have finally succumbed and I'm hooked. There is actually an inner-dialogue on loop in my mind that goes something like, "Hmm, would this be blog worthy? How would I fit this into a blog format? What's already on the list of potential topics for today—is it timely or could I save it for tomorrow? Would anyone care? Is this too revealing? Will anyone be offended—who can I try to offend? Is it too early in the day to blog—what if something better happens? Do two entries in day make me look like I have waaay tooo much time on my hands? Much like the use of waaaaayyyy toooo many letters does?" This is not to say that I make time everyday, but I at least make time to contemplate it.

OK, now I'm sidetracked thinking about what other subconscious inner-dialogue got bumped by the recent addition of the blog bit… So, anyhoo as I established in the Introduction/Exposition (T—lit vocab words for $500) my blog is new, so there are only like 6 lonely entries and no archives. Blogs entries are archived by month and year, so needless to say, I have never in my life been so excited about September 1, 2006. On this day, I would receive an archive link to August 2006 and start fresh in September, hiding what my little blog lacks in quantity. But it didn't happen. I mean did get my link—but all the August entries are still listed. Everything looks exactly the same. I am so disappointed. I still haven't met the blog quota. Still not tall enough for this ride.

I Believe in Monkeys

So, as I mentioned (since I know you're all taking notes, and yes—Virginia, there is a quiz) that my horoscope discussed the upcoming social events in my house:

A brief recap for the kids jonesing for a smoke in the back row:

Tonight you might host a social event in your home, KA. You might be a bit nervous at first, wondering if all will go as well as you hope, but your efforts should produce the results you want. You might be introduced to new contacts, which could lead to increased opportunities in your profession. Take a walk after everyone has left. Your mind will be going a thousand miles an hour, and you'll want to clear your head.

Well, I'm happy to report that I put in more cleaning effort than expected (when you realize that people will be sitting on the floor—it makes one very aware of the merits of vacuuming) and I'm even happier to report that I had much more fun than I could have expected playing Scattergories! Can you say "Fab Five Freddy"— that's a 3-point, nothing but net, "fictional character starting with an F" thank you!

Anyhoo, my horoscope also mentioned meeting new contacts that might lead to increased professional opportunities. Well I haven't yet figured out how you link a geologist, lawyer and a copywriter together. Trust me--I even sacrificed my precious Wikipedia.org surfing time today to ponder this. And the only thing I've come up with linking us (other than LeeAnn of course!) is that they live in the same building as Disco Doug, a cultural party icon of Boulder in the late 90s, who is now a tennis pro. Yeah, you saw that one coming. So, at this point I actually hope we are drifting very far away from the professional opportunities and I'm just gosh darn content with the fact that I met two new, very cool folks that like to play "bored" games and drink wine!

Hobbies for M "making (comma) cookies"

Jaws of Life

Yesterday, for the first time in over 6 years—I went to yoga. This wouldn't be out of the ordinary as many folks my age have become lapsed athletes that are often now lapped when they once again attempt to get back on the fitness track—except for the fact that I live in Boulder. And Boulder is a town where you can hire a fitness trainer to get your little rug-rat crawling faster by instilling the finer points of drafting at an early age.

After my recent softball outing, I had a few doubts about yoga. Part reasonable terror and part ridiculous terror based on an incompetent Bally's instructor years ago that pushed me way too far into a pose. So, as I headed out the door the last words from my roommate the ski coach were "Don't get stuck, and if you do get stuck and it looks like the fire department has to drop by and use the Jaws of Life…have LeeAnn call me first, that would be some great shit."

Needless to say, I'm not too sore and I'm excited to go back. I'm also standing a little taller, sitting a little straighter at my desk. But I think it has nothing to do with stretching and 100% to do with the fact that I didn't get stuck. I suppose to the majority of the folks functioning in proper Boulder-mind set that means I didn't go far enough—but there's always next week. Booyaa!

Barrel of Monkeys

I'm a total wuss. But, that's not really news to anyone. While I like to think of myself as strong-willed, tough and maybe even a little defiant, I'm also hyper-sensitive, hate conflict and totally fear disapproval. Explain that one. Basically, I was that straight-A student, who never learned how to graciously miss an answer or to not follow directions in a noticeable fashion. I always rebelled within the proper Catholic School boundaries, can you say petition anyone?

So, this morning while getting coffee, I reached for a lid...and of course I selected the lid that was connected to ALL the other lids in the stack like a chain of those plastic barrel monkeys. Yet, unlike barrel monkeys, the lids lack the plastic tails that allow them to remain connected. So, during morning coffee mayhem I ended up dropping at least 17 lids onto the coffee condiment or "accessory" table. I never thought that those little lids had it in them to reproduce the sound of a gong.

Quick-thinking panic situations--not good BEFORE coffee either. But, what is the appropriate response?

The table is kind of sticky and gross from everyone pouring sugar or even worse simple syrup and those two tablespoons of coffee that projectile squirt out the tiny, tiny "sip" opening in the top--no matter how much space you leave. And don't even get me started on the wake of stickiness left behind from trying to insert a straw into an iced drink. I swear the ice cubes plot against me every single time.

Is it OK to throw the lids out? It seems wasteful.

Do I put them back in the stack? That seems dirty.

And what exactly are the politics of lid separation? Like when you get just two lids innocently spooning together, can you separate and put the now lonely lid back in the pile? I mean I know my hands are clean…but what about everyone else's?

It was a lose-lose situation, I knew whatever I did I would receive a disapproving look from the barista. But, I can't disappoint my coffee life-line, it's only Tuesday and there are three more work days to fuel for. And most disturbingly, why am I still thinking about this 12 hours later?

Which leads me to horoscopes. I'm such a wimp that I actually check my horoscope for the next day before I got to bed, so I can brace myself for any trauma, conflict or disappoint that might make me wish I had stayed in bed.

I was once a devout horoscope skeptic and then years ago at a copywriting job I actually had to write them. So, I know that a lot of them are a bunch of clichés strung together with vague adjectives. But then I started checking my horoscopes at the end of day, to test them and make sure they weren't self-fulfilling prophecies and I became an addict. So, tomorrow night I was inspired to move our regular "bored game" night from the usual pub venue to my house, and to change the line-up of players a little bit, so I'm of course a little nervous having a few new folks over to our house of mirrors, and as I'm about to turn off the computer for the night…I checked my horoscope for tomorrow, and here is what is said:

Tonight you might host a social event in your home, KA. You might be a bit nervous at first, wondering if all will go as well as you hope, but your efforts should produce the results you want. You might be introduced to new contacts, which could lead to increased opportunities in your profession. Take a walk after everyone has left. Your mind will be going a thousand miles an hour, and you'll want to clear your head.

I guess life can be a barrel of monkeys.

Insult to Injury

I felt that my humbling softball experience last night, was a sign to get back in shape. I began by pumping up my physio ball, a workout in itself. I now understand why parents have the faraway look of all joy in life being sucked out of them when they are left with the task of blowing up water wings.

Then I proceeded to do the Ab-Focus DVD. The entire DVD is a complete smoke and mirrors productions hiding what is basically an hour of sit-ups and crunches. The catch is they have you perched in bizarre positions trying to balance the stoopid ball so that you don't realize that you are doing crunches. Even though I was smart enough to see through their sneaky tactics, the DVD still prevailed. I am literally sore to the core. I predict that breathing will become increasingly difficult in the next few hours.

Glory Days

For the last two years a good friend of mine has been asking me to sub for her softball team, and each time I've had prior commitments that have let me gracefully avoid getting trapped in the storage closet trying to locate and dig out the old mit, so I could once again round bases. But with a season of kickball under my belt, I was finally willing to offer myself on the sub alter of recreational softball last night when she called in need of a spare player so they wouldn't have to forfeit their first game of the season.

Now, I was a actually pretty good softball player throughout my childhood and teen years. In fact I spent several years on the all-star roster of the Canyon View Little League as the first-string catcher. I was short, but also quick, tough and highly skilled at psyching out the batters. Put me in full catcher gear and just try to get past me, just try. But now, too many years later to count...I'm still short and chatty--but not so quick and tough.

I hope these girls didn't think they were getting a ringer, I just spent the entire game trying to avoid utter humilation. At my first at bat, I quickly found that a slowpitch looks nothing like a fastpitch--and that the strike zone is a mysterious black pad behind the plate--huh? I even have to admit to clawing after a passed ball like a crab who had never used it's claw before...a few times. But the ultimate humbling moment of the night was simply returning the ball to the pitcher--me, a girl who could once make a line-drive throw to 2nd base from a squat at home plate--let the ball bounce in front of the pitcher....repeatedly. I guess my glory days of softball are in the past and kickball is more my speed...but I am forseeing a batting cage field trip in search of a little redemption soon...

BBD & The East Coast Fam

OK, so I'm fairly new to the world of MP3s and downloaded music--I've always been a firm believer that album art is art. So, I thought having all my CDs loaded for convenient rotation would be abosulute heaven and joy, the end of scratched CDs and cracked cases...but instead I have developed an aboslute fear of random play. It's not like in my truck when someone digs out the stashed copy of the Spice Girls and you can simply claim that someone left it there on the last roadtrip. We all have that get pumped for the meeting tune hidden somewhere to help us get by, or belted a little Air Supply in the car by ourselves, no lying. But the same excuse doesn't work for, "Gee, who left a copy of Wham's 'The Jitterbug' in my ipod--wow that's weird."

But now my fear of itunes increases. I've always been a music collector and prided myself for unscathing pretentious, yet classic taste. So, today I learned how to use the Smart Playlist feature--where itunes makes a mix of the top 100 songs you listen to. I'm mortififed to admit the Boys 2 Men's 'MotownPhilly' was listed amongt my top 25 most frequently played songs. WTF?

That is just sad and wrong. I don't even want to admit to knowing myself today.

Hey Ho Let's Go!

Oi! Is the ever hipper British version of "Hey!" - with a fabulous nod to the yiddish "woe is me" and note of exasperation, surprise and disgust. But hey, that is life. There is of course a little bit of historical DIY punk in it too.

Ruby. Who wouldn't want to be a Ruby? The Stones, Beatles, Drifters and Soul Coughing all give you musical nods. It's old school sweet like a soda shop or diner, yet Rock-a-Billy sexy. And how can you not think of the Ruby Slippers - yes, yes we all know that they can help you escape Kansas with just 3 clicks of your heels--a mighty feat indeed. But why does no one ever wonder wear the heck the Wicked Witch of the East got a Bedazzler and a bazillion red sequins? What a stylie DIYer was she?

"Hey, Rube!" The universal cry for help amongst the traveling carnival and circus folks. "Hey, Rube" meant that an 'outsider' was attacking one of the group and that everyone must join together and rally against the 'norm'. And of course, the good Doctor, Hunter S. Thompson also titled his ESPN column, later made into a book, "Hey Rube."

So, you put it all together and Hey Ho Let's Go! oi! Ruby