Thursday, December 31, 2009

I have found my true skill

Meg met Alexander on Tuesday.

Meg and Alexander became Facebook friends on Wednesday.

Meg and Alexander nearly decided to ring in 2010 together on Thursday.

Matchmaking might be my hidden talent.

Meg, Emma and I were out last night. It was snowing by the time we got back to Mom and Dad's. Was easier just to stay the night here.

I woke up at 3:00 am to find Emma standing over me. "Meg needs you," she hissed.

I was very confused. I told her to go away, I think.

"No," Emma said, "Meg needs you." She was giggling at this point. "Your coach wants to go to Chicago with her!"

Meg is going to Chicago for New Year's Eve. She's driving alone, but meeting up with several of her college roommates who no longer live in the area.

From my room, I can hear that Meg is laughing uproariously. I get up to check out the situation. She's chatting with Alexander online.

"He told me that he would go to Chicago with me, so that I don't have to drive alone." Meg laughed through her explanation. "I told him that it might be weird: him, me and a bunch of girls that he doesn't know. I don't think he even cares. This is so awkward. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Meg, as most of you know, is the fun sister. She's the spontaneous one. She is the outgoing one. If someone wants to join her on a road trip that would otherwise be solo? Who is she to say no?

So she didn't.

But when she texted Alexander this morning, he said he was out. A choice that was probably for the best. I don't think that Meg was too upset. She was right: it would've been weird.

But they're hanging out on Sunday. Hurray!

I didn't read over Meg's shoulder or anything, but my favorite part of their conversation that she shared with me was about playing hockey together on Tuesday night.

Alexander: Remember when I knocked you over and then I pushed you down?
Meg: Yes
Alexander: That was my way of flirting.
Meg: Oh yeah? You were quite good at it.
Alexander: I like to keep it spicy.


Young hockey player love.

I am so amused.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Fact: I'm a spaz

My bad!

Am a loser. He thought my friends were planning an evening that "was going to be like an epic adventure to New York. But Michigan is just as grand, with a lot less Dick Clark (poor fella)."

So I am going to see The Groomsman after I have dinner with my girls.

Please feel free to make fun of me.


I have picked out a boyfriend for Meg.

He's the son of a girl that I play hockey with. I had an awkward moment with him earlier this season. And, since then, I have decided that he would be the perfect boyfriend for Meg.

Then he broke up with his girlfriend and I knew that he would be the perfect boyfriend for Meg.

Meg isn't great at picking out boys. (I'm not saying that because I am. I am saying that because it is true.) She likes the bad ones. The really, really bad ones. She always has. During our New Kids On The Block Stage, her favorite was Donnie, OF COURSE. Didn't he set a fire in a hotel once?

Anyway. She likes the bad boys. And then she gets burned. Most recently, it was by some kid who plays in a local band and turned out to be a huge douche. Surprise, surprise.

But what Meg really needs, I am convinced, is a nice boy. A nice boy who plays hockey - preferably really well.

Excuse me for generalizing, but hockey boys come one of two ways: really nice and really grounded or arrogant man whores. And they all like to party a bit. Which is perfect for Meg.

My teammate's kid is the former. He is SUCH a nice kid. He volunteers to coach his mom's team. And we really, really suck. The kid is a saint.

He is also Meg's age. An awesome hockey player. Has the bluest eyes. His parents are super nice. And he has a job.

So, I have decided that he should be Meg's new boyfriend. (Simple as that, right?) The big introduction was last night -- we played hockey with a big group. We'll continue it at a team outing tonight.

Soon, I will have little hockey playing nieces and nephews running about.

I am the best sister ever. (Mostly because I have a backup boyfriend for her, too.)

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Well, fuck. That hurt.

The Groomsman got a message from me something along the lines of: "What’s your plan for New Year’s Eve? Did you still want me to go out with you and your merry band of elves? My friends are all up in my business about whether or not I’m joining them on their epic adventure into 2010. What can I say? I’m in high demand!"

I just heard back from him. (Of course I did. Because I blogged about how I hadn't yet heard back from him.)

And it wasn't exactly what I expected.

"If you have the chance to go on an epic adventure, I would take it! We are still planning on going to Some Random Bar, and enjoy the musical styles of Some Random Cover Band. Of course, this merry band of elves would enjoy your company on New Years Eve, and then on into the New Year. Take the epic adventure, if something goes awry, we can be your backup plan!"

Trying to play it cool?

Or blowing me off...cheerfully?

I don't think I like this game.

Just go with it, okay?

I cannot put a full thought together

A goopy mess of brain squirtle today, friends. I’m all over the damn map today.

First of all, I’m itchy. This Michigan winter has finally progressed to the point where it has sucked all moisture from my skin and it is awesome. Especially the part where I look like a snake shedding his skin.

Secondly, I’m distracted. Because I have no idea what great American state The Groomsman is in, what his plans are for New Year’s Eve, whether he wants/expects me to go out with him, the outfit I should wear if I do go out with him, if I scared him away, the outfit I should wear if I don't go out with him, etc. If I don’t hear from him by the end of today, I think I’m going to have to commit to going out with my friends. It isn’t fair to string them along any more. And it isn’t fair to me, either. I’m really over this wishy-washy bullshit.

I’ve been meaning to write about how I got a Flip HD camcorder from Santa. Good for documenting my trip to South Africa, good for capturing the idiocy of my friends and family good blogging? Maybe? One day? If I ever get over the fairly repulsive sound of my voice.

Mom and Dad leave on Thursday for a week in Florida. I’m watching my fur sisters while they’re gone, which I am honestly far too excited about. I love those beasts.

I saw Invictus. Loved it. I saw Precious. Loved it as much as you could love a film about such subject matters. Next up is Up in the Air. Three movies within a month is a lot for me; I couldn’t tell you when I had last been in a theater prior to seeing Precious in late November.

I want a pedicure. I do not need a pedicure. But I really want a pedicure.

Rumor has it that I’m taking the next two days off of work. Miraculous.

Monday, December 28, 2009

For Brandy and the Dude That She Adores

Interrupting your daily dose of whine and worry to do something little for a blogger who I admire. If you haven’t read Brandy’s blog, I encourage you to do so. If you have a little energy in your heart and in your mind to send a few prayers and good wishes her way, I encourage you to do that, too.

"My name is brandy. And I have a blog.

And a plea.

I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds. Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog- as personal as the dude that I adore (who I actually met through my blog- single ladies, let that be a very good reason to blog, the possibility of meeting someone as wonderful as my man), but I need your help. And it involves my dude.

He's a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He's the kinda guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job. He's the guy who sent flowers to me at school- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He's a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred. He's made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He's listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.

The holidays have hit us hard. He's recently been told he may have something called multiple myeloma- an incurable cancer, that gives a person an average of five years of continued life. Though this news has came as a shock, he continues to be exactly who has always been- spending his time worrying about me, rather than worrying about himself. He's the most selfless individual I know- (he stayed late on Christmas Eve to work, so his co-workers could leave early) and a post like this would never be something that he would promote or encourage but when I'm overwhelmed and feeling helpless, the blogging community has always given me tremendous support and comfort, two things I desperately need at this time.

As I write this, the future is uncertain and we aren't sure what's happening. He'll need to see an oncologist soon, to verify what's going on in his body. My hope is that everyone who reads this think positive thoughts and if you are a person who prays, could you add him to your list? (You can refer to him as 'brandy's hot awesome dude'). If you don't pray, please keep him in your heart.This cancer is only a possibility and I believe that the prayers and positive thoughts of people can make sure it never becomes a reality.

I want to give a big thank you to the blog owner who scraped their original blog plans and graciously put this up. My goal is to get as many people as possible to see and read this post. If you are reading this and want to help, copy and paste my plea into your blog or send a link through twitter, so more people can keep him in their thoughts. I would be so very grateful (even more grateful than I am to my friend who first showed me the picture of Ryan Reynolds on the cover of Entertainment Weekly. If you haven't seen it, google it. You. Are. Welcome).

I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making- but this is life. Right now. And I'm throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you and if you know anything regarding MM- please email me (my email is on my blog). This isn't a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It's just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be with the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next. Maybe it is silly, but I really do believe that positive thoughts can make a huge difference. Thank you for reading this and if you haven't already? Please tell someone you love them today.

I did."

Sunday, December 27, 2009

This girl, that girl - these plans, those plans

I heard from The Groomsman on Christmas.

He grew up here, but his entire family has since relocated out of the state. He spent Christmas with his brother's family. And since I had only heard from him sporadically since our date, I wasn't counting on anything.

I don't like getting my hopes up.

I'm taking the same wait-and-see attitude into New Year's Eve. He hasn't mentioned it. (Even though his buddy Jake has.) I'm hesitant to ask. So I'm just being a shitty pal and stringing along my friends -- refusing to give more than a tentative yes to New Year's Eve dinner reservations.

I want to spend it with him.

I don't want to be the needy girl who wants confirmation that he still wants her there.

I don't want to be the unwanted girl who was too oblivious to realize that there was a reason that he hadn't mentioned it again.

And I REALLY don't want to be the girl who analyzes. everything. to. death.

Because, let me tell you, being that girl? The analyzing one? It is damn hard work.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Christmas 2009: It Could've Been So Much Worse


Made it through Christmas Eve.

Made it through Christmas Day.

While Christmas this year was not marked by endless warm fuzzies, puppies and world peace, it was certainly palatable.

The timing of Aunt Marie's death dragged out the process a bit, I think. We made it through the funeral. To be immediately confronted by Thanksgiving. We started to get back into our daily routine. To have it interrupted by Christmas.

Christmas is over. The decorations can be taken down. And the healing can begin.

Thursday, December 24, 2009


I am anticipating a Christmas like no other.

I am anticipating a Christmas of all of the same. Not tired. Familiar.

Our Christmases are celebrated in much the same way every year. A Christmas Eve party at Aunt Annette’s house where the door is always open and the food is always endless. A lot of family, special friends. And all of my cousins – all of whom I love so fiercely – in one room. Relentlessly making fun of each other. And reconciling in time to make an unstoppable team for whatever corny game Aunt Lynn forces us to participate in later in the evening.

Early Christmas morning is just the four of us. And the dogs. We’re always a little rushed – but we open gifts before beginning the day. We empty stockings. We throw wrapping paper balls at the dogs (who happily dismantle them). I open my gift from Meg first. Meg opens her gift from me.

Presents open, the day gets hectic. Showers and suitable clothes and putting the strata in the oven and making frosting for the cinnamon rolls and did someone let the dogs out? Dad’s family comes over. We eat the same meal every year. We open presents in a hectic rush each year. We take pictures and make jokes and eat more when we’re through. Dad’s family isn’t over for more than a few hours. It is crazy and it isn’t. It is familiar, our Christmas brunch. It works for us. The loud, busy, hectic, memorable morning is reflective. Christmas brunch is my dad’s family.

The afternoon and the evening are spent at Grandma’s. Largely around her tree. Consuming a morsel of food more often than not. We eat the same meal. Grandma makes the same traditional cranberry pudding.

Aunt Marie always loved the cranberry pudding.

This Christmas is going to be really hard.

But I’m still looking forward to it.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Up down up

I cried - just a touch - when I wrote about my most vivid memories from Aunt Marie's funeral. I wrote it when nearly all of my coworkers were out of the building. When I could get a little sniffly without anyone barging into my office to ask for a favor.

From there, my day rolled downhill. A coworker was snippy with me. An associate in another building lazily threw a customer in my direction. A nasty email. No food. Too much coffee. I morphed from cheery into crabby in a hurry.

And in my inbox: an email from The Groomsman's buddy Jake. (I emailed him earlier today with something along the lines of what you crazy kids suggested yesterday.)

"Of course he told us! It's not a secret, is it? I mean if you have better plans then by all means...don't let us hold you back (I'm just messing with you!) (It's so hard when you can't express emotion through text.) I'm glad you're coming. There's way too much testosterone in our group."

My mood jumped out of the dump. (A drop of hope is a powerful thing.)

It was good to read.

What I won't forget

I want to write more about Aunt Marie’s funeral and the days that followed her death. There is a lot that I want to remember. I’m very afraid of forgetting. Of letting those days – days that will define our family – slip away from my memory.

I’m afraid of forgetting Aunt Marie. Of, one day, not being able to remember the year that she chased me around the kitchen table, playfully smearing frosting all over my face when she caught me at her front door. Of not remembering that my favorite red sweater was a Christmas gift from her when I was in college. No longer being able to hear her say “I’m so pissed at ---” before launching into a story about someone who, really, she was just a little annoyed with. Still, she used that big phrase. Those dramatic words. (Emma uses that damn phrase all the time, too.)

There are moments from that week that I won’t forget.

It has only been a month. But I remember them with such detail, so acutely, that I cannot forget.

There will never be a time that I will not recall standing at the back of the church, to the left side of Aunt Marie’s casket. The attendees are all seated. Just family remains standing. Anna, Emma and my uncle are at the casket. The funeral director is taking off her jewelry. He has to cut the band on her ruby ring. The ruby ring that she got after her amputation.

And then he began the process of closing the casket.

I looked back at my grandparents. My grandpa standing with his hands on Grandma’s shoulders. I wasn’t entirely certain that they realized what was going on. If they knew what was about to happen. That they were prepared for that casket to close.

Sure enough. The funeral director began to close the lid. “Wait,” she said, urgently. She pulled away from my grandpa. Rushed to the casket. To her youngest child. She had to stand on her tiptoes, using her hands to steady herself. She leaned down and kissed Aunt Marie’s lips. Whispered that she loved her.

My heart will never heal from witnessing that moment. I will never come to terms with how acutely wrong that image was, my grandma saying goodbye to her baby.

Shortly thereafter, we filed into the second pew. (The first remained empty.) My uncle and cousins first. Then Grandma and Grandpa. Then me. The rest of the family was still filing in.

My grandpa – who was stoic during the entire process – was seated. And he broke down, his hands gripping the pew in front of him. His head dipped between his elbows. I don’t know if he was crying – I was crying too hard to tell – but I imagine that he was. My strong and stoic grandpa, crying. Still standing at that moment, I fell down beside him. I buried my head into the back of his jacket, wrapped my arm around him, and sobbed. It was loud.

We only remained like that for a moment. The service began shortly thereafter. But something about that moment stopped my world.

I am not sure that I will ever feel sadness again without recalling the rough feeling of Grandpa’s jacket on my cheek, of my arm resting across his back.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Friends, dresses, holidays

Communication with The Groomsman since last Sunday’s date has been spotty.

I sort of feel like he’s following the advice of his friends, or The Unwritten Rules of Dating for Dudes. Like he’s doing what he thinks that he should be doing.

And I am doing what all girls do. (Or what it seems that all girls do.) Being a crazy fucking worrying mess. Who just wants to call/text/email/Facebook stalk every second of the day. But isn’t, for fear of looking like a crazy fucking worrying mess.

This is the fun part, right?

One of the other groomsman from the wedding – Jake, the guy that I walked with – has been emailing me lately.

Jake is the one who told me, at the wedding, that The Groomsman has a thing for me. And Jake was out the night in November when all this possibility with The Groomsman was stirred up again.

Maybe I should’ve thought a little more about why Jake was emailing me when he started. Just a few days after I saw him last. Coincidence? Possibly. Feeling me out for the sake of his buddy? Could it be?

I’m busy convincing myself that The Groomsman is trying to brush me off. And then, a line in an email from Jake. “I hear we’ll be seeing you on New Years Eve. Awesome!”


The Groomsman told Jake that I was coming?

Does that mean that The Groomsman wants me to be there? Because the little shit hasn’t said anything to me about it since he invited me a week ago. Which I interpreted to mean that he was hoping that I’d forget that he said anything so the he could, like, actually have fun on New Years Eve and not have to worry about not hurting me feelings since he is no longer interested. At all.

But if Jake knows that I’m going.

Perhaps The Groomsman really does want me there.


Impulse buy of the day – December 20, 2009:

Subject to change, of course. I may decide it is too dressy to New Years Eve. Or not dressy enough. Or too short. Or too cute.

What should I wear with it? Black tights and black heels? Leopard print leggings? A traditional Native American headdress?

I can’t decide about anything these days.

Except how much I like this damn boy. I have no problem sticking to that.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

To: The Groomsman

Do you know what I’m doing this weekend? I am doing everything.

I am spending my Friday night at my grandma’s house, stringing popcorn for her Christmas tree. She asked me to do it. What I need to do is go shopping. I would never say no to her.

I work on Saturday. And I will likely go into the office on Sunday, too.

I am going to find a recipe for an appetizer for Christmas Eve.

I will go back to Grandma’s on Saturday afternoon to bake cookies. Because she wants me to bake cookies with her. And she wants me to spend the night. And I will do it because she asked me to.

I will brainstorm. And I will come up with an awesome gift for the coworker who I know will buy me one.

I will feel guilty for not going to Heather’s Christmas party.

On Sunday morning, I will skate. The first time since my massive fail. It will be okay.

I’ll play hockey for the first time since last Tuesday’s massive loss. I will get annoyed with my teammates.

At some point, I will have a headache.

And hopefully do a little bit of laundry.

My Sunday night will be spent with Emma and her dad, decorating the Christmas tree. The whole family is going over. Because perhaps the voices and the movements of eight people will help to disguise the absence of one. Aunt Marie.

Another busy weekend.

It’s the standard. I hope you get used to it. I hope you find me so charming and fun and adorable that you have to get used to it. Because it is who I am. And you like that person.

I hope.

Let me squeeze you in.

Let me make you a priority.

I don’t need more sleep. I need to see more of you.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Funeral food

The company attorney just dropped off this enormous, decadent pastry gift basket. He gives us one every year. And every year, everyone goes nuts.

Except me.

I have never eaten anything out of that stupid basket.

It all looks delicious, yes. I can appreciate it. But I want nothing to do with it.

That pastry gift basket, in my mind, is filled with funeral food.

When my grandma died someone – I definitely couldn’t tell you who – sent that to our family. It was huge, even for our enormous extended family, and I spent way too many days looking at all of the pastries even though I had no appetite. It was sent to the funeral home, I think, and then shuffled over to Mom and Dad’s house. I never ate one.

An identical basket of pastries – the same fucking thing – was sent to the funeral home when Aunt Marie died. I ate nothing from it. I winced when it was sitting on the counter at her house a few days after the service.

I hate that fucking basket of pastries.

I feel much the same way about orchids. Logically, I can see that they are very pretty and I can smell that they have a lovely scent. But they are death and they are sadness and, quite frankly, they are rather unwelcome anywhere near me.

Pastries dusted with confectioner’s sugar and orchids. Quite the catalysts.

I am nuts.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

It's all exhausting

I don't know what my deal is, but I totally have no appetite. And haven't had one in quite some time. I'm eating - so don't get worried - I'm just not pounding down the food like I normally do. Skipping dessert? Not snacking? No wonder my pants feel so loose. It's exhausting.

I haven't heard from The Groomsman since he dropped me off at home on Sunday night. Checking every possible form of communication on an hourly basis? It's exhausting.

My hockey team this year? Blows. I am so sick of losing. Losing is exhausting.

I'm really worried about my mom. She's trying not to let anyone on to how much she's struggling, but she really is. She is doing just the essentials. Coasting through. She is finally through her semester, so I was hoping that she could get a little bit of a reprieve. But now her good friend, who has terminal cancer, is in the hospital. She can't catch a break. I'm home every second that I can be there. But there isn't anything that I can do. I feel helpless. It's exhausting.

This week is kicking my ass. In addition to the normal two job craziness, I booked myself up every night this week: movies with Lucy on Monday, dinner with coworkers followed by a hockey game on Tuesday, dinner with Mom and Dad tonight, working tomorrow night...

...fretting about The Groomsman for every second of it all.

It's exhausting!

I'm exhausted.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

If I had my way:

Let me be perfectly fucking honest here, friends.

I am completely dreading Christmas.

I mean, Christmas hasn’t been CHRISTMAS!!!! for quite some time. It was when I went away to college and wasn’t home for all of the holiday preparations that the holiday lost a bit of its luster. December meant final exams. And then rushing to pack up, go home and furiously purchase presents, bake cookies, make jolly, hang stockings with care, etc.

One year – maybe when I was a sophomore – I told my mom that Christmas really didn’t do it for me anymore. I think she was bummed to hear my admission. “One day you’ll have kids and it will be really great again.”

She’s probably right.

And I don’t hate Christmas. It is all of the things that I love: tradition and family and copious amounts of food. It’s the hype, I guess. All of the preparations and the stress leave the day feeling unbalanced. All of that work for this? Maybe Christmas seems lacking because I am fortunate enough to have my entire family gathered together on a regular basis, without the stress and the insanity that goes along with Christmas.

This Christmas, though, is different. I could skip this Christmas all together.

I have no Christmas spirit.

It’s just way, way too soon after Aunt Marie’s death. And I’m watching my mom struggle – she doesn’t say anything but I can hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes – and she doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need to be baking cookies and putting up a tree and buying presents for Anna and Emma because they don’t have a mom to buy them presents.

It is too hard to have Christmas this year.

And I would prefer to skip it.

Monday, December 14, 2009

These are my confessions

Is this how it is supposed to be? Feeling like you're going to vomit all. the. time? Because that's how anxious I feel. Like I'm going to puke at any moment.

I assume I'll feel a little better when/if I hear him. There's no time frame for that. Hence the anxiety.

I told Ashley about him when I saw her on Saturday afternoon.

I told Lucy over coffee tonight. Colleen was informed via text message shortly thereafter. Only because I knew that she would give me a hard time for finding out from Lucy, so I cut that rant off at the knees.

Telling my friends about him is a mildly big deal. I generally keep matters of the heart to myself - and to the internet! ha. - because it feels a little safer. If the boy never calls, then I never have to explain it to anyone. If it doesn't work out, I only have to be embarrassed to myself. (And to my blog readers.)

So, yeah. Now they know. Not much - there honestly isn't all that much to tell. But they're aware.

Balancing friends and boys is always such a mess. Lucy and I had been making loose plans for New Years Eve. Having people to her house, maybe. Going to the bar on her block, perhaps. Something casual and local and easy. Likely involving some form of melted cheese.

Last night, The Groomsman invited me to the NYE celebration with him and his friends. Plans that are already made, already decided upon.

Do I ditch my friends? Do I drag them along? Should I try to do both? Can I ever make everyone happy?

If things work out with The Groomsman and me, my life will get a lot more complicated. My days are already so packed. Fitting in another person. Another entire awesome, adorable, complex person. That won't be easy.

I'm up for the challenge.

And hoping that he is, too.


Oh, you guys, I am in trouble.

He is so adorable.
He is so sweet.
He is so. much. fun. to be around.

I like him so much that I don't know where to begin.

Friday, December 11, 2009

My calendar says Christmas is in two weeks

That’s trouble. Big trouble.

I don’t have ANYTHING done. I have not purchased a single present. Not that I have many people to buy for – just my parents, my sister, Anna and Emma and cousin Danielle (who I drew in our cousin exchange on my dad’s side of the family).

I’m a terrible shopper. I am a wretched purchaser of presents. Here is, generally what I do: walk into a store. Look at everything, but do it too quickly. Decide that there is nothing that I could possibly purchase for the recipient because it is not The Best Gift That Has Ever Been Given. Pout. Advance to the next store. Repeat.

Shopping for my mom tends to be the most difficult but, this year, Meg and I have created a hefty list to purchase from. I have hope.

I have hope, but little time.

This weekend is practically over before it has even started. Tonight, I think I’ll visit my parents. Tomorrow, I work until the early afternoon, visit Ashley at the mall for a while (likely: more talking than purchasing) and hustle over to Lucy’s house so that we can see a movie. On Sunday I have that d-a-t-e. And I think I’m expected to travel into the wilderness and assist my father in chopping down a tree.

What is a girl supposed to shop?

I know that everything will get done. Because it always does. But what is a holiday without a little stress? Or a lot of stress.

I seem to recall next weekend featuring a Christmas party, a hockey game, the decorating of two Christmas trees and a cookie-baking date with my grandma.

Oh, goodness. I really am in trouble.

Thursday, December 10, 2009


Ashley doesn’t know I saw The Groomsman last Friday; she doesn’t know that I’ll see him on Sunday.

Lucy doesn’t know I saw The Groomsman last Friday; she doesn’t know that I’ll see him on Sunday.

Colleen doesn’t know I saw The Groomsman last Friday; she doesn’t know that I’ll see him on Sunday.

Meg doesn’t know I saw The Groomsman last Friday; she doesn’t know that I’ll see him on Sunday.

I told my mom that, last Friday, I went to dinner with Lucy. I lied to my mom. Who would be all too thrilled that I went on a date. I lied to my mom so that I wouldn’t have to talk about it.

I don’ t want to talk about it.

I CAN’T talk about it.

I’m having a hard time blogging about it.

And that, my friends, is the strangest thing of all. Normally, I am all too willing to write each detail. To analyze it in depth. To draw conclusions based on a Lifetime movie and the color of his car.

Why this is, I am not quite certain.

Maybe I’m protecting myself. If I don’ t blog the beginning, I don’ t have to blog the end. I can put on a brave face and pretend that it meant less than it did.

Maybe I’m growing up.

Maybe this is different.

Maybe I just don’t feel like writing.

Wednesday, December 09, 2009

Currently making me happy

  • My new plaid skirt.
  • Lemon and honey in my tea.
  • This post, without which I never would have read the fabulous, tingly, intriguing, warm
  • Esquire article that makes me want to spend my evening in an airport.
  • Work planning for various summertime responsibilities, giving me ample reason to think about my trip to South Africa.
  • Saturday afternoon shopping date with Ashley.
  • A long, long overdue Saturday night movie date with my lovely Lucy.
  • And a much anticipated Sunday date with The Groomsman.
  • Yoga class tonight.
  • Freshly highlighted hair: goodbye, mousy blondbrown!
  • A workday that has flown by.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Vulnerable is torture

I get ahead
Of myself
And what it logical
It’s just what I do.

About everything.
Not just boys.

(See: every knitting project I’ve started)

So, yes.
When you didn’t respond to my text message
About the days I was available this week?
I noticed.
In a check-my-phone-every-10-minutes-even-though-I-know-better way.


Because that return text hasn’t come
(Get on it. Seriously.)
I will need to worry
(That is also just what I do.)
And start some sort of an internal countdown clock
To what?
Possibly another text message.
I mean, you might not have received the last one. These things happen.
Or to when I’m supposed to move on.
Like I had to last time.
Not that you know that.

But I did.
Move on, I mean.
Onward and upward.
To that professional athlete kid.
Who is a manwhore.
But cute.

Here is what I am saying:
I would like to not get attached
If you’re planning on not getting attached.

Maybe that isn’t the way that dating works.
But I don’t do dating.
I’ve never done dating.

I am equal parts.
And scared.
And breakable.

With the slightest dusting of hopeful sprinkled in.

Monday, December 07, 2009

Tuesday, 11/17

I was standing in my kitchen when I realized that I had missed a phone call from Meg. I called her back immediately; I always do.

She told me that Aunt Marie was dead.

"What?" Shock is a very powerful thing. My brain jumped to that Sunday. Two days prior. She was alive. We had seen her. Touched her. She couldn't be dead.

She was dead.

I stayed in my kitchen, staring at my phone. I wanted to call someone. I wasn't sure who I wanted to call.

Lucy was in class. I texted her.

My cousin Liz - from the other side of the family - was next. I'm not sure why I called her. I wanted to call someone. I wanted to call someone who knew Aunt Marie.

Liz already knew. My dad called her mom. Her mom called her.

We said nothing of worth. Just a lot of "it's so sad," and "her poor girls."

I blogged. I needed to write it as much as I needed to say it. I needed to see the words.

At some point, my dad called. He didn't tell my anything that I didn't know. But it was good to hear his voice.

Lucy called. And she was amazing, like Lucy is. Asking all of the right questions. Interjecting sympathy in just the right places. Articulate and kind and thoughtful. While we talked, I packed up my things. I assumed that I wouldn't be home that night.

I called Ashley while driving to Mom and Dad's house. Ashley knew Anna. I think she met Aunt Marie once. It was close enough.

Ashley - she's more like me. Less eloquent. Less sure of what to say. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she picked up the phone. And talked to me the length of the 20 minute drive home.

Meg was home when I got home. The dogs were there. Mom and Dad were not.

We weren't entirely certain what we should do or where we should go. I sat down at her laptop to write my boss an email telling him that I wouldn't be at work the next day.

And then we drove to Aunt Marie's house.

There were so many cars parked outside of their house. The lights inside the house, illuminating the front porch, seemed so bright.

I parked my car in the street. In front of a neighbor's house.

My mom must have seen us coming. We were on the edge of the property when we reached her. She was crying so hard. Oh, I hope I never have to see her cry so hard ever again.

We both fell into her arms. It is exactly what was natural. Meg on Mom's right shoulder. I was on Mom's left. We cried hard, then. Hard because our Aunt Marie was dead. Hard because we saw how heartbroken our mom was.

"Don't you ever do that to me," she sobbed. "Don't you dare. You are not allowed to die before me. You can't die and leave me to find you."

We stood there for so, so long. On the edge of the property.

It was cold. I didn't feel it.

Sunday, December 06, 2009

I'm still not getting my hopes up

Early yesterday evening, The Groomsman received a text from me.

Something along the lines of: Yesterday was fun! We should do it again soon!

I heard from him shortly thereafter.

"I had a lot of fun, too. Let's get together sometime this week."

So there you go. Something? Something may be happening.

Saturday, December 05, 2009

I'm going to try not to analyze this

It went okay. I think?

I don't know.

What I don't want to do: get my hopes up.

What I do want to do: see him Or next week.

The Groomsman has a little more shy in him than I realized. Not that he wasn't talkative or that we couldn't hold a conversation - that was fine. He just wasn't as outgoing as he is around his friends - friends that he's had since grade school. Which makes sense. I get that. (I wasn't either, I'm sure.)

I'm nervous that he'll be too shy to call.

He gave me "let's do this again" line. But that obviously means nothing.

So I guess I just need to wait and see? Be patient? Not pick out a wedding dress? (Just kidding!)

Yesterday was fun. It was good. I like him.

But apparently that's not enough for me. I can't be happy with step one. I have to impatiently wait for step two.


I am paralyzed with the fear of doing something wrong. Of coming off as disinterested. Or as a stalker.

I am so bad at this stuff.

Friday, December 04, 2009

I like December so far

The World Cup draw - when we FINALLY find out what teams are behind A2 v. A3, B1 v. B4, etc. - was this afternoon.

We made out. Like frickin' bandits.

We're seeing so many amazing teams.

Argentina. Brazil. Mexico. Germany. Italy. Almost all of the teams (minus the Netherlands and USA) on our wish list.

I am absolutely giddy.

And now I have to wait nearly 200 days until this fantasy becomes a reality.

Oh, and also I have a date tonight. hahahaha.

Thursday, December 03, 2009

Wide-ass Wednesdays: A Conclusion

At the beginning of October, I decided to get my act together. Registered to run a 10k on Thanksgiving Day and feeling a little chunky: no better time than the present, right?

Not exactly easy going, my friends. Not easy going.

I didn’t quite – I still haven’t quite – figured out my new schedule. I’m getting there. But for a while, it was a struggle. A groggy struggle. I didn’t run like I should have. It didn’t happen how I wanted it to. There was the new job to contend with, in addition to the usual suspects: hockey, skating, reality television, Facebook, my bed.

I didn’t do as well as I wanted to do.

Although, truthfully, I’ll never be happy with my fitness. You can always get better, faster, stronger.

As was the plan, I ran the 10k on Thanksgiving morning.

I finished in 1:01:26, which was about where I wanted to end up. I hadn’t run in 10 days. I was exhausted from a viewing, a funeral, watching my mom grieve over her sister. So 1:01:26 was fine. Perfectly fine. I am satisfied.

And I lost five pounds.

Not because of anything I did in October or November. But because Aunt Marie died and I didn’t eat for a week.

I would rather have the five pounds back. I’m not going to count it as part of my success.

I will settle for 1:01:26. And try to do better next time.

Wednesday, December 02, 2009


He hasn't called.

He's so not going to.

I don't get it.

He has a thing for me. That might sound arrogant. But I'm really, really certain of it. I caution on the side of repulsion. And he is not repulsed by me.

He has a thing for me. But he also has no spine.

What the hell?

Who could possibly be so cautious? So afraid of rejection? Such an enormous wimp?

(Besides me, I mean.)

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

Thanksgiving (we can still have fun)

We made pies. But first, we made margaritas.

Our youngest cousins came over.

So did their new puppy.

We started out all business.
(As you must be, to make 11 pies.)

Anna made pretty crust. Her mom would approve, she said. I agree.

We made pumpkin, pecan, apple.

Then Meg channeled Gaga.

And so did the iPod.

Anna was inspired to jump from the couch.

And grab a bottle of booze for a singalong.

Cousin Liz found a stick of butter worked best as a microphone.

And then - with the last pies in the oven - we rested.

Good thing we did.

Meg, Anna and I ran a 10k the next morning.

And it was Thanksgiving as usual.

If you ignored the big, gaping hole. And the tears. And the broken hearts.
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