I woke up this morning and checked the floor surrounding my bed, certain there would be tire tracks left by the truck that ran me over repeatedly while I slept.

Who knew knee surfing across a floor all day coloring all of the improperly filled knots of a floor with a Sharpy would deliver such a beating? Well, I knew but that doesn’t seem to make a difference to my poor, poor muscles.

Adding insult to my injuries, I stepped on the scale this morning. See- the past few months I’ve been wanting to gain 5-10 lbs. Yep- you read it right. I don’t like the scrawny “Please feed me!” look to which many women aspire. Apparently my midwestern “No-Carb-Left-Behind” tour has done the trick… perhaps a little too well. It would seem that I’ve overshot my mark. Bye-bye Dairy Queen. I’ll always remember the good times we shared.

Well- I currently have feeling in my lower back. Better get back to work and nip that in the bud.

Tags: Dairy Queen

Granted, it’s not the same as Loretta Lynn’s humble beginnings but there seems to be a certain commonality of stoic character amongst those who chose professions involving physical labor. There is something to be said having that kind of work ethic model growing up. My father has a habit of dispensing wisdom at unexpected moments, mostly during long drives in his Econoline van (a.k.a.- the executive vehicle.)* The one that made the biggest impression on me was something to the effect of when faced with the choice between working smart and hard, always choose the latter. These days that kind of life philosophy makes for a rare breed.

As a kid, the family would attend the floor Olympics to cheer him on in speed nailing competitions. As an adult, it lead me to come back to the area where I grew up to work in the family business. That chapter is now closed and job searching is, in essence, my full-time occupation. Might I add this new “job” makes up for the absence of benefits and compensation with an astronomically high level of stress. Good times.

My father’s favorite conversation ender is to proclaim in a harsh/agitated tone that he “has been crawling around on his hands and knees all day”. Never mind that it is his choice cemented by a passion for craftsmanship that has him doing so. There’s no point in arguing further. Simply none.

This is where the irony comes in. My currently wide open schedule has left plenty of room to help my father with a out of town job. Dad needed help with the detail work that doesn’t come easy nowadays. I imagine the offer was extended so that pops and I could spend some Q.T. and bond against a wood grain back drop. So, here I stand kneel in the middle of nowhere, crawling around on my hands and knees.

Yesterday was my first day on the job and by the end of it my patricide fantasies grew increasingly more elaborate. Luckily, today has been an improvement. I’m knocking on hardwood floors as I say this but today has been downright pleasant. Chances are I won’t have to off the old guy.

The job site is in the middle of nowhere and the accommodations (the owners’ guest house) are downright lovely. No offense Super 8 but this ain’t a close contest. The house is surrounded by fields being plowed through into the night in preparation for Spring planting and ladybugs are the current infestation, and a lovely one at that. The sky is exponentially bigger than the landscapes of New England and the wind whips through these parts at gale force with no valleys and winding rows to temper it’s velocity. Farm country sure is different. Silos are the tallest structures and the air actually has a different feel. If we have time to visit my grandmother on the way back there’s no doubt that we’ll run into second cousins, former patients of my grandfather’s dental practice and my dad’s old school buddies. It gives my family more context and history which is comforting. That’s something you just don’t get being from a nuclear family in a large metropolitan area when all of your closest relatives are spread out all over the country.

Anyway – enough waxing like a poet. I’m going to get back to work in the hopes that we’ll finish with enough time to visit with Grandma in New Harmony.

*Until recently there was no back seat. When the four of us rode anywhere in the E.V. my brother and I would have to “ride the buffer” which was quite the adventure. The heavy machinery would rotate side to side at every turn as we were “secured” to the side with bungy chords hooked into the metal slots made for hanging interior panels in the higher line van models.

Tags: heavy machinery, job site, Loretta Lynn, metal slots, New England, Olympics, poet

You should see me now. I am a vision:

• Promotional Bacardi boxers
• Wonder Woman t-shirt
• Hair coiffed in a seductive ponytail as my first Crest Whitestrips application does it’s damnedest to prep me for eventual re-entry into society.

Any takers???

Ah, yeah. Didn’t think so. Whatev.

I decided to surf the internet while brightening my smile but I can’t claim it as my own idea. It was a pass-time activity recommended on the box. The others included were neither appealing or practical. Showering/getting ready or while driving were among those options but let’s be honest: I’m not headed anywhere in my current get-up.

Talking on the phone was suggested – way too awkward with this weird stuff precariously covering my teeth. So here I am communicating the old fashion way: through my blog.

Oh! I almost forgot the last suggestion was to watch television and I indulged whilest sipping a glass of Bailey’s. (Don’t worry about me drinking alone. I have cramps and that’s the closest thing to chocolate in the house.) I watched the Princess Diaries II – IN FULL – on the Disney Channel as I decided to forego the traditional Friday night network TV programming for people with limited social options. (Sorry Ghost Whisperer, but we both know you don’t stack up to the midweek prime-time line up.) I’m not sure why I just announced that but I get the feeling that I should sign off before I admit to enjoying several of Justin Timberlake’s catchy singles.

Wait— did I jus…..?

Nevermind. Goodbye… bye-bye

Tags: cramps, Disney Channel, Justin Timberlake, Princess

Last year I had the good fortune to work with a great group of creative folks on a short film for the 48 Hour Film Project competition. There were 92 submissions for Boston. Only one person on our team had entered the competition before. No one in our group had collaborated previously unless you count burger eating as collaborative, in which case the director and I had a great rapport established.

Regardless of the above factors, it turned out to be my most fun and challenging experience of 2007. Also, quite relevant to the direction I see for my professional life. My official role was that of wardrobe consultant. (FYI – I am the biggest Halloweenie and play the role of ad hoc stylist for those nearest and dearest.) For those unfamiliar with the competition, the film genre isn’t known until it is drawn out of a hat at 6:30pm on Friday night. Shortly thereafter, the three elements that all teams must incorporate are announced: a character, prop and line of dialog.

The one (and only) genre option that struck fear into my heart from a wardrobing standpoint was Sci-fi. Naturally, it was the option that we drew.

I won’t lie: almost birthed a litter of kittens right there. 48 hours flashed before my eyes and each terrifying moment involved fashioning aluminum foil suits for an army of robots. I controlled the urge to skew my plot suggestions for brainstorming session to fit into the caricatures I knew I could deliver: “How bout ‘Space Odyssesy of L’il Bo Peep/Beauty Pageant Contestant/Beer Wench’?”

As it turned out there was little need for costumes and I was tapped to write the background story used in the final scene. My trusty iBook (may she rest in peace) and I locked ourselves in my car and “borrowed” someone’s WiFi connection. It ended up being my first writing credit! (Look out, IMDB – here I come.)

Several of the people from last year’s Chili Willy Posse have signed on to Chocolate Gorilla. At some point during the frantic all nighter I hope to learn the origin of the team name. Regardless of the answer, I like chocolate and gorillas are cute. It’s all cool as far as I’m concerned – especially since I’m on the writing team. (YAY!)

So right now, I’m really stoked and nervous to boot. The nerves thing ought to subside once I’m in the thick of it since the whole point is to push myself and write in a format currently outside my comfort zone. You never know till ya try, right?

….right???

Write.

Tags: Boston, Chili Willy Posse, director, wardrobe consultant

Last Christmas Santa helped me to boldly burst to the forefront of modern technology… circa 2003. I got a lovely little Plantronics bluetooth device designed to connect me to the world at large while running errands and sitting in traffic. My no-nonsense stance on driving and talking is such that I won’t even talk to friends while they’re driving unless they are using their hands-free thingy.

As a proponent of preach practicing, (with very few exceptions) I hold myself to the same standard. I also tend to lose small inanimate objects. Lipsticks… computer cables… pens… cell phone headsets. My last one was of the wired variety and went the way of the dodo two or three years ago.

After so many replacements I just decided that driving should be considered ‘me time’.

I sing along to the radio or my iPod. It’s great – no one has to hear when my attempts at figuring out the harmony fall a half step below the actual note. Granted, I would look a whole lot less crazy if I had an earpiece but that’s neither here nor there.

Being the luddite that I apparently have become, last week was the first time I used my new toy. (I thought about it at the 3 month point, but didn’t want to rush into anything.) Everything went well. The person with whom I was speaking could hear me. Score!

Here’s the tricky part – the lone on/off button would lead one to believe that there were two modes, namely on and off. There are actually four (count ‘em four) settings.

• On
• Off
• Inactive Stealth
• Social Butterfly

I’m okay with the first two. Those are standard. The last two… not so much.

Number three is problematic since chances are it’ll be tuckered out from silently partying in my purse by the time I need to use it.

Number four is problematic ’cause if your number is in my phone, chances are you will be getting a call from me. Normally this would be good news. I have been told on several occasions that I am an engaging person with whom to converse on the phone. It’s true: I am equal parts chatty and nosy inquisitive.

Off the bat, you’ll notice that I’m not talkative. I may even be downright rude.

More likely than not, you will hear me paying for a cab at 3AM or belting out a Pat Benatar ballad Jamiroquai song. For that, my dear friend, I am/will be truly sorry.

Tags: bluetooth, bluetooth device, cellular telephone, Pat Benatar

The other day I took the 83 bus to Inman Square (Cambridge).  I’m not typically a bus rider, but my colors are changing.  It’s not having to worry about parking that sold me.  Add to that the benefit of not having to schlep to and fro a remote/most likely resident permit spot and you have a no-brainer.

When I sat down I rested my umbrella near my feet and reminded myself several times not to space out and forget it.  Hey- it happens… to me… a lot.  Many moons ago (1999) I kicked myself very hard when I left my Monet umbrella on the PATH train.  In addition to my love of impressionist imagery, this particular umbrella had sentimental value.  My mentor and first boss gave it to me as a send off gift when I left for New York “so that (I) would always be covered.”  It’s nice to have such reminders in the big city.  [The real utility ended up being less about staying dry than shielding against having an eye poked out when charged by a herd of harried commuters with their own rain gear.] 

Lately I’ve chosen to stop beating myself up about misplacing that particular possession.  Thanks to emotional object permanence, I don’t need it.  Better yet, I’m glad I lost it.  Now I am reminded of the thought behind the gift every time it rains.   Furthermore, acknowledging that umbrellas are transitory objects is a more positive way to frame the issue.  They belong to the planet at large instead of the individuals who carry them.  

One is blown away by the wind and boomerangs back with live-in childcare.

Don’t have kids? 
Grieve your lost umbrella with a fruity cocktail.  You’ll likely get a small one as a lovely garnish.

Tags: bus rider, Cambridge, Inman Square, New York

I sure hope those boys get paid time-and-a-half for working on Sunday.

‘Scuse me, would somebody be so kind as to pass the Doritos?

Last month I skimmed the NaBloMoPo writers’ community on Ning.com. Creative types… chillin’ online… kickin’ it old school. As a seasoned online community band-wagoneer my trigger finger got to itching. What followed is unclear… first- the pretty lights… weeeee!!!! oo- soooo dizz-z-zeeee…

Next thing I remember I had regained consciousness to find a confirmation e-mail awaiting my attention. After reading the induction letter I realized – much to my horror – that implicit in my joining I had actually agreed to <gasp!> do something. Turns out that participation based online communities do exist outside of those urban legend-based Dateline NBC pieces designed to scare the crap out of middle Americans tragically conjoined to vinyl barcaloungers.

Here’s the deal: members pledged to publish one entry per day for the month of November, the idea being that on when the clock struck midnight on November 30th each person would have raw material for a book manuscript. Even if it only leads to me writing this one piece, that’s one more than I may done anyways, right? As for my own participation in this campaign, let me break it down with a simple equation used to calculate complex probability ratios:

Joining 11/15 + general uncertainty of life direction = 0%

Regardless, here I am – a month and a half later typing furiously so that I can lighten the load of “to-dos” brought into the New Year. That and I wanted to alleviate the guilt from not having responded to the bloggers who “tagged” me for a writing assignment. (They seem to be quite lovely – between the two of ‘em there wasn’t one threat of karmic reprisal for breaking the chain.) Considering the latency of my own response, tagging other folks would be a bit hypocritical. The buck stops here: I will be “it” for the rest of my days. The other requirements will be satisfied, so that’s gotta count for somethin’, no?

✓ Link to the person people** who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
✓ Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
❑ Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
❑ Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Without any further ado I present seven tidbits which expose me for the quirk-meister that I am.

1. There’s an involuntarily face I make when tearing up lettuce for salads. My nostrils flare, the soft palette** is raised and my lips purse ever so slightly. “Lettuce face” is especially pronounced with iceberg lettuce, though romaine is also a trigger. The inventor of the bag-o’-salad is my personal saviour.

2. When I was a teenager my mother told me the date I was conceived. My ears began to bleed and I now have a bonus reason to “Remember Pearl Harbor”. Seriously Mom- TMI.

3. I have a weakness for men with prominent noses. I’m not sure what it is. The resulting effect is equivalent to some sort of cryptonite/catnip alloy.

4. I have a hard time walking by someone with a tag sticking out of their shirt without fixing it. When appropriate, I usually tap them on the back to let them know.

5. I like folding laundry… and no: I will not come over to your house to fold yours. (OK- I might but only if you are clearly not doing it right.)

6. I frequently use three different words as prefixes or suffixes: ninjas, monkeys, and pants. Adding them to just about any word or scenario = insta-comedy.

7. I have the tendency to tidy up when I’m at a friend’s party. I don’t break out the vacuum or re-arrange the cabinets but I do try to help with recycling bottles, bringing dirty dishes to the sink and tossing discarded napkins/cups/paper plates. Having hosted a few parties myself I am all too familiar with how much it sucks to wake up the next morning and survey the wreckage.

*Credit for this witty colloquialism goes to my l’il brother and his turdy friend who, in days of yore, would follow me around the house chanting that phrase over and over and over and over…
**Thanks Girl Robot and Lily Potter Knits!
***For those who haven’t had vocal training, raising the soft palette opens up space in the nasal cavity and allows for greater resonance without putting additional strain on the vocal chords. The exercises used to teach this technique involve weird facial expressions (fake beauty pageant smiling, yawning and curling the upper lip while raising the nose) to create the effect until muscle memory kicks in.

Tags: ado, itching, Lily Potter Knits, New Year's Day, online communities, Remember Pearl Harbor, Robot, seasoned online community band-wagoneer

It’s the tongue that’s always bitten
…the love that’s ‘undeserved’
Marked by eyebrows raised in judgment
While words remain reserved

It’s the test you know you’re taking
…though class is out and school is closed
Sovereign states of disconnection
Loss and hope lay juxtaposed

More thoughts run through my head in 60 seconds of blank staring than most people process in a day. Very few of these musings resemble my actual life. Actually, there is marked disparity. (Think: apples and orangatans.)

The most recent collision of reality and my inner world happened as I accompanied my best pal (Winnie*) on a shopping sortie to Copley. Cast in the role of consumerist wing woman, I kept my eyes peeled for classic silhouettes that fell within her color palette.

Of course, altruism takes a back seat once I cross through the threshold of a BCBG Max Azria store. The back of that store has a gravitational pull under which I am powerless. Their party frocks are fab and I can immediately visualize myself coyly sipping a cocktail served in impractically shaped glassware. As I thumb through the racks of floor length gowns Winnie quips in her affably sarcastic sing-songy tone: “Never too early to plan for prom, eh?”

Touché, my dear friend; touché indeed. After 20 years of best friendship, she knows me all too well. The thought of another person knowing the floor plan of one’s mangled psyche may be terrifying to some, it is one of my greatest comforts to share this reciprocal shorthand. I just laughed and lobbed it back: “Hey- ya never know. This could be my year.”

Here’s the kicker: already, I have enough formal wear that you’d think I was an aspiring game show hostess investing vowel money in a professional wardrobe. That makes perfect sense considering:

*Tuesday 1/2 price burger night is the social highlight of my week

*My boyfriend:
—lives in Asia.
—takes pride in not owning a pair of shoes.

The storm in my brain came up with two possible solutions as impractical as they are warped.

*Host a Spinster Gala.
Breathe mints optional;
Cat required.

*Check with Vanna White to inquire about a closet swap: her wash-and-wear travel clothing for my finery.

“Yo Whitey- hit me back, ahhh-ight? I gots a favor to axe.”

N.B.: Alternate suggestions welcome as class participation is encouraged and will count for 30% of your final grade.

Tags: Asia, aspiring game show hostess, BCBG Max Azria store, head, kicker, New Brunswick, possible solutions, Vanna White, wash-and-wear travel clothing