Sunday, April 30, 2006

Not again!

Another Sunday recap:

12-1 pm - skating. Tough lesson, that featured a double run-through of my program, with my picky coach. I'm taking a freestyle test at the beginning of June and, since I only have time for one lesson per week, we've entered crunch time.

5-6:45 pm - soccer. First game of the outdoor season, wheee! No goals, but played well for my first game in a few months.

8:15-9:15 pm - hockey. My team blows. As the goalie, I take way too many shots. Including one to the inner thigh, just slightly below my crotch, where there is no padding. The bruise is already very attractive.

I have a lot of other things to write about but, damn, all of these sporting events make a little girl very tired.

Saturday, April 29, 2006


You know what I hate about myself?

How much I hate myself.

There is no good reason for my self-esteem to be so low. There’s nothing that wrong with me. But, still, I see myself in the mirror and I cringe. And I notice my reaction to my reflection and I’m repelled. I’m unconfident because I don’t have confidence. I’m shy because I prefer not to hear myself.

I will not win.

Because I will always have flaws. Scratches to consider a gorge. Imperfections to label as inconceivables.

I will never be perfect.

It would be awfully nice if, one day, I could come out of hiding and accept that.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Only Lucy

Yes, she’s my best friend. But oh how random she is. When I finally got to talk to her about this impending wedding (which in itself is pretty damn random) last night, she was all over the board.

Ummmm...we’re thinking about marrying at the Zoo.

We were considering kosher catering to accommodate his parents (he’s Jewish), but that’s fucking expensive. Maybe we’ll just, like, get them some kosher food.

I wanted a dinosaur-themed wedding. But I am willing to compromise and have a vintage wedding. What do you think about a vintage wedding? Wouldn’t it be fun to find a vintage dress?

...except I always have a hard time finding vintage clothes that fit.

Getting married in a vintage dress that doesn't quite fit at a zoo. Only my best friend.

Only Lucy.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

I didn't expect to get this news today

Who in her right mind leaves a VOICEMAIL on her best friend's phone announcing that she's engaged and asking if Best Friend will be in her wedding party?!



I must say, it is an awfully strange sensation to learn that your best friend is getting married. Via voicemail.

I'm not quite sure what to think. Am happy for her, of course. Mind is somewhat boggled. Don't really want to share her. But definitely don't want to have sex with her.

So I guess I let her get married.

Wednesday afternoon confessional

1. This time of year kills me. Hockey playoffs are here and, being a humble resident of Hockeytown, I am required to watch any and every Red Wings playoff game.

The bitch of this all is that the Red Wings play in the NHL’s Western Conference. Translation: their games are really, really late. Last night was a 10:00 pm start. Add that to the double overtime and my 6:30 am wakeup call? Please. A girl can only be so stupid. I went to bed after the first period, woke up at 1 am, flipped on the TV to watch the first overtime, after which I went to bed for good. I got the bad news this morning.

2. At work, there’s a mini soccer ball in the break room that I absolutely adore to screw around with while I’m waiting for my lunch to heat up. My juggling is practically back to what it was in high school! It is seriously way fun. I am giddy for approximately 17 minutes after I go into the break room to “heat up my lunch.”

3. Speaking of soccer: my outdoor team has its first scrimmage on Sunday. Wheee! Am so excited. I love, love, love playing outdoor. And it is so fun to be on a team with a bunch of really intelligent, successful girls who kick serious ass on the soccer field. Meg has agreed to be our goalkeeper again this year, with only one stipulation: that I drop $140 on a new pair of goalie gloves for her.

You totally know I did it.

4. It looks like Colin and I are kicking back into gear. All of a sudden, I’m seeing him all of the time and talking to him all of the time and – woah! – have we grown up here? It does seem different. He does seem to be trying harder. I have learned; I am maintaining skepticism and distance.

Haters, you’ll be happy to know that, because I cursed myself by writing this, things will fall apart tomorrow.

5. I really like pomegranate juice.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Turning point?

The one position in this company that I could feasibly move into and thrive in:

The one position that would let me combine what I have learned in the last year with my education:

The only way I can see myself staying here for any reasonable length of time:

Has opened.

We are currently conducting an internal search for a qualified candidate to fill the position.

There isn’t anyone in the company who would be interested in taking the job who I feel is any more qualified than I am. I’m throwing my résumé into the mix and refusing to get my hopes up.

It’s awfully unfortunate that the H.R. Princess and her precious mother think I’m banging my coworker. That cannot help my case.

Monday, April 24, 2006


Emma: went out with me, Grandma and Mom on Thursday night. Acted so well, so together, so like a normal 15-year-old without a chemical imbalance, behavioral problems, a lithium prescription and a colossally fucked up family.

I: called over to Emma’s house at the wrong time. She told me that she couldn’t talk, set down the phone. I listened to the maniacal screaming for a few minutes before passing the phone over to my mom.

Mom: listened to the fit that Emma was having for a few minutes before my grandma got on the phone and said that she would call back.

Anna: Emma’s older sister, called Mom in a panic. Emma is hitting her head against the wall. Emma says she wants to die. Emma needs to be hospitalized.

Mom: Calls Emma’s psychiatrist on her cell phone. Emma is out of control. She says she wants to die. She told her sister that she hasn’t taken her medication in a week.

Psychiatrist: says she will see Emma in 45 minutes. Call, please, if Emma refuses to meet.

Aunt Marie: Emma’s mom. Walks in the door while Mom is on the phone with the psychiatrist. Left the situation. Left Anna and her mother in the middle of her daughter’s psychotic fit. Is crying a bit. Keeps saying how mean and hateful Emma is to her.

Mom: is meeting Emma, Anna and Grandma at the psychiatrist’s office. Asks Aunt Marie to come with her.

Aunt Marie: refuses. I don’t want to see her, she says. I don’t love her. I wish I didn’t have her. She is so mean to me. I will not to go the psychiatrist. I will not see her.

Mom: leaves. But not before giving me specific instructions not to leave Aunt Marie under any circumstances, even the circumstances that were the four tickets we had to the Red Wings/Oilers playoff game at 7:00 pm.

Aunt Marie: goes on and on about how hard it is for her.

I: am mostly flabbergasted and speechless.

Anna: bitches out psychiatrist because she has Emma on lithium, and she thinks that it is too strong of a drug. Anna, a nursing student, is currently finishing up her first psych nursing course. She thinks that she knows more than she does.

Grandma: feels like it is all her fault, because she “made” Aunt Marie diabetic and Emma is very angry because she has a sick mom.

Psychiatrist: says that Emma needs to be hospitalized. Take her home to get her things. If she won’t get into the car with you, call the police. They can take her.

Emma: is concerned about packing pants without drawstrings and shoes without laces. She remembers this from a day program she was in as a child.

Anna: comes to my house. Speaks strongly, yet mostly respectfully, to Aunt Marie. You are her mother. You need to support her. She hurts you because she is sick. You need to help her get better. If her appendix ruptured, you would not hesitate to take her to the hospital. This is the same. She is sick. She needs you.

Aunt Marie: says, repeatedly, that she doesn’t want anything to do with Emma.

Dad: finally comes home and joins the jamboree. He reinforces Anna. We’re trying to save your kid, Marie, and we’re trying to save you. This is something that you have to do, for you and for Emma.

I: sit quietly and spinelessly.

Aunt Marie: abruptly leaves.

Anna: cries and cries.

I: hug Anna as tightly as I can because it’s the least I can do.

Dad: gives up all hope that we’ll use our Red Wings tickets for that night. He sells two to our neighbors. The other two are still sitting on the kitchen counter.

I: get Anna in the car to pick us up some dinner. There’s no food in the house and I’m certain that it is going to be a very long night and that Mom will need food when she gets home.

Aunt Marie: arrives at home.

Emma: along with Mom, Aunt Marie and my uncle go to the psychiatric hospital. She doesn’t take the admission process particularly well.

Mom: comes home a beaten and battered woman. She is so sad.

I: find that my heart hurts, too.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Getting help

Emma was admitted to a psych hospital tonight.

Yesterday, my mom, grandma and I went to dinner and a movie with her. She acted so well - so grounded - so normal. So good that Mom and I discussed it when we got home.

Today was different.

Horrible, mostly. I called their house, unknowlingly, in the midst. What I heard was terrifying.

I wish I had more to write. Some sort of insightful observation. A declaration of hope.

But I'm just scared for her.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Check out my halo, ya'll

This is what I like to do: make people happy.

This is what I have done twice in the last week: made Kevin very happy.

Not even doing anything that his wife or our coworkers would disapprove of, even!

Last Saturday, I whipped up a schedule for the part-time employees. It's Kevin's job, he loaths it with every bone in his body, he does it at the last minute every week in order to make himself angry and miserable.

Today, I snagged a pair of pavillion tickets to the sold-out Dave Matthews Band show for him and his wife. He had been moping about his lack of tickets for weeks.

And that is why I am so awesome.

So I have that going for me.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Not quite the reaction I was looking for

Remember how my estranged uncle wanted me to teach him how to skate?

It took me a mere month to work up the courage to call him back. I did on Sunday.

He called and left a message for me on Monday; we finally connected tonight.

I was like, "yo, you wanted me to teach you how to skate, dog?"

And he's like. "Yep. But I can't right now."

I said something sympathetic. I thought he'd injured something.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked.

"Yes. I said. I can keep a secret." [Note: I never said I would keep this secret.]

"I'm getting married!"

My reaction was something similar to a choke. I asked him when.

April 29.

As in a week from Friday.

Our conversation did not last much longer. I hung up and instantly rang up my parents.

I told my dad. He was shocked.

I told my mom. It made her cry.


I guess I'd cry, too, if Meg abandoned the family to the extent that I didn't even know that she was getting married. ...or who she was getting married to. ...or the gender of the person she was marrying.

I feel horrible now.

My family is so wacky.

Uncle Alan said maybe we could start our skating lessons in June.

Monday, April 17, 2006

My Sister the Egghead

When it comes to Meg, you just can’t win.


The kid, and I’m sure I’ve told you all this before, is good at everything. Devise a contest – knitting, biology, soccer, baking, telling funny stories, sewing, scrapbooking, math, physics, acting like a boy – and I guarantee you that Meg will be a frontrunner, if not the winner.

This, unfortunately, includes Easter egg hunts.

Yesterday, The Bunny held an early-morning Easter egg hunt at Mom and Dad’s house. Meg beat me. There was a lot of swearing and screaming. And that kid out-muscled me for a few eggs that we both had our eyes on. So, in my defense, it was my lack of weight training that contributed to my poor showing. Plus, she was competing on way more sleep!

Later in the afternoon, we went over to Grandma’s house and, lo and behold, The Bunny had hid more eggs!

Why wouldn’t you, when the “kids” range between 15 and 23-years-old?

My cousins and I were all totally into it.

But not as much as Meg.

Who kicked our ass.

Grandma (The Bunny’s conduit) handed out prizes – a special prize for The Winner of the World (Meg) and scratch-off lottery tickets for everyone.

You’ll all be happy to know that Meg won $20 with her scratch-off ticket.

Damn her and her stellar skill/luck.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

'Twas the Night Before Easter

The first time Colin kissed me was a year ago - the Saturday night before Easter.

I went out with him last night. The Saturday before Easter.

I know, I know. I don't want to hear it. I know.

The entire night was somewhat surreal. The circumstances, the company, the irony of the date...coupled with the fact that I didn't get to bed until 4:30 am and was up early for a very rowdy Easter egg hunt...I haven't quite figured out how to narrate the events of the evening.

So, for now, incomplete sentences will have to do.

-I was the only girl out with a group of guys.
-They were consoling one of their own, Colin's boss/very close friend/pseudo big brother, whose wife recently left him.
-Colin and I didn't kiss.
-His friends love me.
-His boss/very close friend/pseudo big brother told me, in a really nice way, that he'd hurt me if I ever hurt him. He also told me how much Colin is into me, though he's not sure that Colin even realizes the extent of his feelings.
-There was an appearance by a guy who my dad knows. Weird!
-There was also an appearance by a guy who strongly resembled Jim Carey's character in Dumb and Dumber.
-Colin apologized. He admitted that he fucked things up before.
-I said that I would give him a second chance.
-I promised that there would not be a third chance.
-I'm not getting my hopes up.
-Okay. I am. But not too high.

Friday, April 14, 2006

I feel bad about writing this

Aviva is home from NYC for Passover. I'm going to see her today. Maybe tomorrow. Perhaps for a few minutes on Easter.

I'm not really all that enthused about it.

Absolutely horrible.

I probably shouldn't even admit this, let alone write about it. I imagine that it would be best for me to paint on a smile and skip on over to her parents' house. But isn't this blog all about continually making an ass out of myself while showing the world what a waste of oxygen I really am?


So I will continue.

Aviva is on my shit list. I haven't told her that she's on my shit list, so I cannot blame her for being "sooooo excited" to see me today.

Telling someone that she is on my shit list because of her continuous self-centered behavior isn't on my list of things that I'm good at.

So I will pretend like I never noticed that Aviva groaned after I told her that I had an interview in Chicago. "But I want you to move to New York!"

Or that she never wished me good luck or asked me how the interview went.

Or that, when I talked to her yesterday, she didn't remember that I didn't live at Mom and Dad's anymore.'s only been 7 months since I moved into my apartment.

It's a pretty consistent thing with her. I could tell you the name of her coworkers; I doubt she could tell you what city I work in. We talk on the phone almost every week - about her, mostly, but for the required "when are you moving to NYC?" question that she throws at me at the end of EVERY. SINGLE. CALL.

Which isn't annoying at all.

I like her constant hinting that I should drop everything and move to a new city so she can have the comfort of an old friend. As though, if she mentions it enough times, I will break down and move to NYC so she can tell me every detail of her life IN PERSON while, I imagine, still remaining ignorant to where I live and what I do.

I don't know. Maybe I expect too much from her.

Maybe I'm the self-centered one.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Cure a headache in 120 minutes!

I did it! I’m better!

I cured my headaches by watching two straight hours of My Super Sweet Sixteen on MTV.

No more headaches!

Because my brain has liquefied and seeped out of my ears.

Ah, television.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Living the life of the sickly

No tumor. No bleeding. No absence of a brain. Nothing else apparently wrong in my head (although the doctor who read the CT Scan made a note of something somewhat abnormal and "incidental"). So we're back at the start. The doctor suggested a neurologist. And I'm irritated.

I had been feeling better. Mostly. Not 100%. But better to the point that I was willing to forgo the appointments and the prescriptions just to get on with my life. Dealing with this on a daily basis has gotten very old, very fast.

That's exactly what I told my mom when she called me after my appointment. She didn't let on if she was for or against what I told her - and she didn't mention the ten-step plan she had previously devised, a plan to go into action regardless of the end result of yesterday's appointment. I guess she must have been okay with letting the headache monster run its course.

After leaving the doctor and making a quick pit stop at my company's corporate office, I went to Mom and Dad's house and watched Oprah and slept on the sofa with my boy, Stevie. I woke up feeling absolutely craptastic.

And I feel much the same today.

I don't know how people do this. I don't know how they live their lives feeling poorly.

It's only been a month, and I already feel like I'm going insane.

Monday, April 10, 2006

I'm sick of appointments

In a few short minutes, I am leaving work to go and find out how big my brain tumor is!


But I am leaving work to go to my doctor's appointment. I have a feeling that I won't find out anything. This past week, my headaches haven't been as persistent or as painful as they were the first three weeks.

I am not as miserable, so I could just as well leave the entire situation alone. Unfortunately, I don't think my mom will let me get away with that. She's already talking about seeing an ENT and another internist and blah and blah and blah.

I just want to be done with this crap.

Meg and I went shopping for invitation supplies for The Party yesterday. It looks like the invitations will be (drum roll please) pink and brown! Just like GFF and Dazed. Tee hee hee.

My hockey team lost 7-0 last night. The crazy goaltender in me was very close to going on a killing spree after the seventh goal was scored. I restrained.

The only other thing that is happening in my pathetic life is the new role I have taken on: professional ticket broker. The musical that my cousin Danielle is in is going to be in town in early June. And EVVVVVVERYONE wants to see it. So I spend my days emailing with my aunt, coordinating ticket requests. Four for the evening show on the 11th. Six for the matinee on the 10th! Thirteen (!!!) for the 8th.

At $80/ticket, it'd be nice if I was making commission.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

To keep with the baby theme:

I think my mom wants grandbabies. Bad.

Yesterday we hit the drive-thru for a healthy snack of coffee and Cinnabons before heading to the hospital for my CAT Scan appointment.

My face is covered in frosting and I am in sugar-induced bliss when my mom says "don't you ever want to date someone?"

I gave her The Look.

The I-Know-You-Just-Bought-Me-This-Delicious-Treat-But-You're-Annoying-Me Look.

And then I shrugged my shoulders.

And Mom missed the hint. The I-Don't-Want-To-Discuss-This Hint.

She continues. Some crap about finding someone to spend your life with and working to find whomever it is and blah, blah, blah, blah.

If I'd thought it would be effective, I would've stabbed myself in the eye with the plastic knife nestled in the bag my Cinnabon came in.

Instead, I sat quietly and sheepishly and thought about how I am a loser and a loner. A loser loner. A loner loser.

Then I went for my CAT Scan (results at my 2:45 doctor's appointment on Monday).

And I had dinner with Colin.

Completely unrelated to the conversation I had with my mother. Trust me.

The excitement may kill me

Note to self: do not read Girl From Florida before going to sleep. You will have odd dreams of you and your little sister being pregnant.

Note to everyone else: Is Baby Girl here? Is she not? Oh, the anticipation!

I swear, it’s like I’m expecting my own.

(But that only happens in dreams.)

Thursday, April 06, 2006


Dear Mom,

I don’t know if you read my blog. I’m not sure that you know what a blog is, and tracking my internet activity seems a bit too tech-savvy for you, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You’re pretty smart, after all.

Anyway, Momma, I respectfully request that you skip the following post. Not because it chronicles my sexual escapades and drug abuse. No. It has nothing to do with your darling daughter's juicy secrets. And it’s nothing that you won’t learn in time.


Okay. Enough with that disclaimer bullshit.

We’re throwing a surprise party!

A 30th anniversary party - six months late, thanks to an unlucky stretch o’ luck. But isn’t six months late better than not at all?

Fuck yes it is!

Sooooo. My dad got his act in gear and booked the country club for the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend. Meg and I have been furiously emailing each other about guest lists and invitations and color schemes and the cake. We’re excited.

And my mom so deserves this.

Even though she is going to hate the surprise aspect of this whole shebang.

Meggie and I are furiously trying to get Dad to agree to wrap up the invitations and give them to Mom when we celebrate Mother’s Day (a week early, because I have The Big and The Important for work that weekend. We’re celebrating a week early. If we finalized a guest list that day, we could pop them in the mail on Monday. Plenty of time for guests. And then Mom wouldn’t be completely surprised, and we wouldn’t leave anyone important off of the guest list and all of that. It is the perfect compromise.

So, of course, my dad is not going for it.


Oh well. I suppose I’ll trust his judgment, since he’s been married to this broad for 30 years and is her “soul mate” and “best friend.”

And because he’s giving me a really, really good reason to buy a new dress.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Little Sister's away message I could've gone without seeing

i talked to him. and i didn't say anything i've wanted to say for the last 4 weeks. i talked to him. holy shit.


How incredibly disappointing.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006


I'm sick of being sick.

I'm sick of charting every pill.

I'm sick of how quiet my apartment is.

I'm sick of waking up in the middle of the night in a sweat.

I'm sick of being alone.

I'm sick of never having anything remotely interesting to blog about.

I'm sick of never being skinny enough for myself.

I'm sick of my insecurities.

Monday, April 03, 2006

For scheduling purposes

One thing I'll miss about this stupid job, if I ever get my act together and leave it, is my schedule.

Certain parts, anyway.

Tomorrow, I'm not due in until 11 AM. Glorious! But I'm planning on going in early so I can sneak out to have dinner with Lucy. Equally glorious! And I don't even have to tell anyone my plans, because my boss is incapable of remembering my schedule. I like her for that.

Thursdays are nice, because I don't go in until 2 PM. The staying 'til 10 part bites my ass, but apparently working 2-5 doesn't quite get me to 40 hours/week. Damnit.

Working Saturdays is as fun as splashing yourself in the eye with hot grease. Fridays off, however, rev my engine. I get to skate in the mornings (what is this sleeping in you speak of?). Mom is off of work - I get a lot of quality (read: power shopping) time with her. And it's the perfect day to schedule CAT scans (2:15 this Friday!), quality time with La Doctora del Cha Cha and the like.

Does this make up for the fact that I am mildly disgruntled and stuck in a position with no way up that isn't even challenging?

Um, not quite.

But I'm trying to be positive here!

...I'm hoping it will cure the headaches.

Celebrate bad times

Why am I so crabby this morning?

I cannot be sure.

For now, however, I am placing blame on the fact that in my company's weekly RahRah We Love Working! newsletter, my one-year anniversary was celebrated.

Um. Barf.

We could've let that one fly under the radar.
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