staying up late

Today is my mother's birthday. 6-0. For real this time.

Last year, her friends took her out and made her wear a plastic tiara and gave her a bunch of joke gifts. She didn't have the heart to tell them that official documents say she was born March 15, 1950 instead of 1951 because she was precocious and the family wanted to get her into school early. She never tells people that she went on to skip two more grades before high school. The only reason she even told me was because she wanted to deter me from skipping during elementary.

"The kids your age won't play with you because they think you're oversmart, and the kids in your class won't play with you because they think you're a baby." I guess book learning isn't all that counts after all.

I went over there after work with two gifts: a humongous one wrapped in a plastic bag with a bow and a small one in a gift bag with a fat rose printed on the side and decorated in glitter. The latter is for her, I was very clear to explain, and the former is for the house. I learned this lesson the year my father presented to her on her birthday a brand-new microwave and couldn't understand why she didn't take it out of the box for a month.

The smaller bag had another bag in it, one she can take to the gym after work every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I've been hunting down gym bags for weeks, and most of them are big enough for my mother to climb into--but all she needs is a place where her little T-shirt, yoga pants and size 5.5 wide-width New Balances can go for the 12 second commute from work to the fitness center. So I purchased a general craft-supply bag from the fabric store that's the perfect size (individual pouches for shoes!). It has a cute flowery pattern in cream and light blue, which are her favorite colors. I had carefully removed the tag because I was certain she would make me take it back because the promotional backpack embroidered with Hinckley and Schmidt suits her just fine and I ought to save my money, especially this year. I was right.

When she opened the big bag with the gift for the house, I mentioned that all of us pitched in together for this and got it on a tremendous sale. It's the 14-piece stainless steel cookware set a coworker had seen her looking at in the Macy's catalog. I made sure to find the exact one she had lingered over. She started going down the I'll-just-to-give-this-to-you-and-I'll-keep-the-old-stuff road, but I could tell she's thinking about maybe hanging onto this one for herself. I've got the receipt, just in case.

She says that the fact that I come home and let her feed me and watch Sasural Genda Phool* with her most evenings is a way better gift to her than anything I could buy at the store. I know she means that, because I feel the same way. I tried to explain that my trying to find a gift for her that will inevitably turn out to be something she doesn't need or even really want is my lame attempt to show her how much she means to me. Then the calls from India begin. I kiss her forehead and let myself out.

***

During the last couple of years, I've been listening to the podcasts from This American Life. From the beginning. In order. Tonight, as I stir the mushrooms and the onions at 12:30 a.m., I happen to be on the episode from September 14, 2001. It's the first show they did after the 9/11 terror attacks, and listening to how shell-shocked everyone sounds just takes me back to how I felt after it happened. One of the people interviewed had been on a floor directly hit by a plane and had somehow, by the light of someone's cellphone, found her way down the stairs and out of the Twin Towers. She had called her boss, her boyfriend and her mother from the office when the the door to the emergency stairs was locked, but after someone opened it and they were rushing down, there was no way, and no time, to contact them. What struck me hardest was that her family in Pennsylvania gathered with their minister and watched the towers fall on television--in their words, they had "watched her die." Her brother had even brought a suit and white shirt and tie with him because he expected there to be a memorial or funeral.

What kind of nightmare that must have been for so many people: To see the building where your loved one was sending a fax or typing an email just crumble to the ground right before you on your living room tv. And to truly believe they were dead, even if it was just for half an hour. I've never had to deal with a major loss. But I catch myself thinking about it all the time. In fact, the fear of someone I love being snatched away from me is like a shadow, constantly following me around, tapping me on the shoulder every time people talk about something tragic on the news or in the lunchroom. I don't foresee myself being able to keep on living, let alone get out of bed if something like that were to occur. I was made aware of how fragile life is when I was four years old; and I don't care if I tell them 400 times a day but the people I love will never wonder how I really felt about them.


***
It's 1 a.m. and I'm stirring the vegetables. Jon has likely been eating beef stew for lunch every day for the last week. He can wake up to something new. If the chopping sounds haven't awoken him already. Ira Glass is talking about how everyone is United We Stand right after the terror attacks, but it's weird how in a few years things will get closer back to normal. Ten years later, they have.


The phone rings. My aunt is calling my mom from Mumbai, where she's in the store hunting for wedding outfits for me. I had thought, oh I'm going to be all Indian-y for my wedding, my aunt can get the stuff from India! No brainer, right? Except I don't live in India, so I conveniently forgot that the Hindu-to-Christian ratio there is pretty much exactly the same as the Christian-to-Hindu ratio in the United States. Translation: Not a lot of white saris available in India because Hindus wear them to funerals and Christian Indian brides have started wearing western gowns these days. I've essentially made my aunt go looking for a needle in a haystack. I think this will have more than made up for having missed all those birthday parties in the backyard and all the birthday parties I may have in the future. She describes the outfit in general terms and I start to panic. I ASKED her to do this. She's put effort and love into the task. I am going to wear whatever she picks out, and I'm sure it'll be nice... I stopped myself from that line of thinking and said, "If my cousin approves of it, go ahead and buy." My cousin has great taste.


***
So here I am, rambling on as I used to do at 3 a.m. in college when I had a paper due the next morning. My mom is 60, but it seems like she's still 45. That would make me 17, which is about right when I stop and think about how confused I STILL AM about my career path. At this moment, my Aunt is probably in that labyrinthine mall we went to that one time with all the sariwallas sitting on cushions unfurling stuff that will probably take an hour to re-roll later. She is finding my wedding dress. And I'm totally OK with it. Because, honestly, as long as I get to marry Jon, the only thing that matters is that I have the people I love around me that day. So I can put my arms around them and tell them that I love them so very very much. And how I'm thrilled that they will be sharing my happiness, and I hope they will be there to share in my sorrows as well. Because I know those will be there, too. They're just hiding around the corner, ready to strike me down on a random Tuesday morning.


But for today, I am thankful for what I have. God bless America. And God bless my mom.




*My foreign-language soap opera is the only thing exempt from my Lenten No-TV vow this year. Jon can watch sports.

tough love

Wedding planning has been frustrating. It's been well-documented that I freak out when having to make decisions. The fact that we made the biggest and most crucial decision--finding/choosing each other--makes me feel so accomplished that I want to sit back and watch the rest of this thing plan itself.  Oh, it's not going to? Crap.

I've shied away from talking about the nuptials because it gets boring for other people within about 45 seconds (I feel lucky to have a whole 20-minute window with the groom before his iPhone sneaks out of his pocket). There is little to report because we only have the bare bones checked off so far. Shh, don't tell the dozens of people who continually ask me how the planning is going. And don't get me started on the-knot-dot-com reminding me that THERE ARE ONLY 191 DAYS LEFT UNTIL YOUR WEDDING! YOU HAVE ONLY COMPLETED 13 OF THE 175 TASKS THAT YOU HAVE TO HAVE DONE! YOU ARE SO TOTALLY SCREWED!


The thing is, I NEED this kind of mean personal trainer or I'd be dilly-dallying around with color swatches until the week before.


Now, don't get me wrong. Getting married? Awesome. Making beautiful things like escort cards or invitations? Super-rad. Having a big old party with most all the people I care about? I couldn't BE more excited! But calling fifty people (who are likely trying to take all my money) to get price quotes on [insert costly item here], comparing, deciding and then setting up a time to meet with them and choose? ANNOYING. And that is the limbo in which I am currently stuck.


Thank God for my friends and family, who have been so generous with their time and efforts to help. They're all ready to rock, but the underlying problem is that Jon and I still have to a) decide what we'd like to have and b) set the budgets. Sadly those two things are directly dependent on one another. And this would be a lot easier if our communication didn't consist mainly of text message, email and/or dry-erase board.

But it'll get done. Jon suggested we give up television for the next 40 days (check back with me in April to see if I'm even still alive) so that we can better manage our time and get stuff checked off the list. At this point, I'm ready to do anything to make the-knot-dot-com shut the hell up. Even give up The Daily Show for awhile.

milestone: year 6

Wow, SIX years of Do They Read Obituaries in Hell. Here's what you may have missed:

The next thing I remember was that I was having a really vivid dream and woke up to one of those scenes from a movie where silhouettes standing over me were starting to become clearer. I was lying on the floor. There was an ice pack on my neck and on my belly under my shirt, they had a fan on me and the guy was telling me to rock my knees back and forth. And way off in the distance, I heard someone say, "Get me my purse! I have to call her mother!"

I get to see my mom's smile during the day, and if things are quiet enough I can catch the sound of her laugh as I'm walking by. I cannot explain the boost I get inside when I hear it--as if there IS a chance that things may turn out okay after all.

Random comments about Encyclopedia Brown vs. Nancy Drew that started it all: 2
Miles of separation in March 2005: 2039
Initial text messages—determining how all future children will be named: 6

My CSI training tells me that either you're a hacker and you're spoofing Jon's IP address OR you're at Jon's computer.

After the fraudulent votes (I guess we had three) were thrown out, we placed 70th with a total of 764 votes. AND THAT IS DAMN IMPRESSIVE, FOLKS, considering there were what I believe to be thousands of other entries to choose from.

"You know, 'Women's Sizes.' That's where all the men go to buy their women. They have them in all sizes."

As the sun came up through the floor-to-ceiling windows we got the last of our stuff out of the condo. It was sad. That place was the last remainder of my old professional life, ten years of slogging crap hours for little pay doing what I enjoyed and hoping it would eventually pay off. All those weekends not going out with my friends, of living with my parents so I could save to buy a place of my own. And it's all vapor, now.

"C'mon, you know me. I bite off more than I can chew with EVERYTHING I do. But then I somehow manage to chew it all."

And now I can add balloon-animal artist to my resume.

It's just business. But when business is about one of the most important days of your life, it's hard not to take personally.

Thanks for reading!!

it's a preference, not an orientation

"Your hair is getting long, Cadiz!"

"Yeah, I guess it is. My mom and I are going to cut and donate our hair after the wedding."

"What is Jon going to say about that?"

"He'll be fine. In fact, he prefers short hair on women. And glasses."

"So he likes lesbians?"

a major award

My brother travels a lot for work, and often gets assigned to towns around the U.S. I'd never heard of, such as Truth Or Consequences, NM or somewhere near Cadiz, KY (I wish I could find that pic of the "Cadiz Laundromat" he sent me). He has to dress nice. But I guess because of the flights and hotels, there isn't too much leftover to pay the employees a whole lot. I guess he racks up airline miles, so that's a plus.

At the end of 2010, he called me to say he'd won an award from his company: "Most Traveled." Apparently, my brother had spent 40 weeks on the road, at 21 separate project sites. He was out of town for most of the year, but he made the most of it by taking side trips on the weekends. He's called me from the Staples Center, Vegas, the top of the Space Needle and from the Houston Rockets' game. A few times he even made it home to see us.

I'd asked him to send me postcards. At Christmas he handed me a stack of picturesque scenes from everywhere he'd been--not a bit of handwriting on a single one. That kid. Here is the lineup* of where he was, with side trips in parentheses:

10/4/09 Clinton, MO
10/24/09 Sibley, MN
10/31/09 Schuyllkill, PA**
11/15-22/09 Benton, KY
12/6/09 Dallas
1/16-23/10 Sibley, MN (Chicago)
2/6-14/10 Winnfield, LA
3/20/10 St. Clairsville, PA (Pittsburgh)
4/17/10-5/1/10 Truth Or Consequences, NM (Las Vegas, Los Angeles)
5/15-22/10 Okmulgee,OK (Chicago)
6/10/10 St. Croix Falls, WI
6/26/10 Chillicothe, MO
7/11-24/10 Lubbock, TX (Washington D.C.)
7/31/10-8/14/10 New York City
8/22/10-9/6/10 Walla Walla,WA (Seattle)
9/18/10-10/2/10 St. Croix Falls,WI (Chicago, St. Louis)
10/10-15/10 Watertown, NY
10/17-22/10 Rosemead, CA (Los Angeles)
11/1-5/10 St. Croix falls, WI
11/7-12/10 Coldwater, MI
11/28/10-12/17/10 Monticello, AK (Chicago, Houston)

The company gave him a little certificate along with his award, which was a $5 Starbucks gift card. I'm sure he took his time to figure out just how he was going to spend it.

***UPDATE***
Apparently I overlooked this postcard, which was in the pile of blank ones:

 

Texas Tech University, Lubbock, TX

And here was the verbose message on the back: 

"This is some statue on campus in their Quad I guess."

* I tried to check the spellings, but sorry if I misspelled your town.
**he wanted it noted that it was 14 straight 12-hour shifts

it's there. people just don't say it when they can see you.

A few months ago, two people in the span of a week told me that white people are becoming a minority. One in person to my face, and one on Facebook (where each Wall Update is a direct message to me, naturally). I was pretty confused by this because hello, look around. The latter discussion was about how racism is still around, but in very subtle ways. I just couldn't think of an example off the top of my head.

Today, a frustrated employee in a different department transferred to me this lady who I assumed was old (but actually isn't too much older than my dad). She didn't want to accept that X-Ray image quality on a disc is just as good as on huge, inconvenient, expensive sheets of film. She was trying to get her records from another facility to bring to our hospital and was told that the request her physician put in for was never made. Instead of asking her doc to re-request it, she put the entirety of the blame on that (city) hospital, and then made a really racist remark about the people who work there. I didn't catch the meaning at first because generally people don't say derogatory stuff about brown people TO a brown person these days, so I'd only ever heard that particular turn of phrase on TV. And I certainly never would have heard it in real life if she was talking to me in person.

So it didn't sink in until she added, "And you know what I mean."

I WANTED to say, "No, I don't, you racist beeyatch. Just WTF DO you mean?" But she was already on to the next complaint. And I am a professional. After about 20 minutes of gentle explanation I had helped her with her problems. Unfortunately it usually takes me that long to think of a comeback.

I'm still a little rattled. Is this what people believe deep in their hearts but know not to say? I keep thinking about CC and how people can't necessarily tell what her heritage is, so she hears stuff I wouldn't when I'm out of the room. From people we know. People we thought we knew.

So, yeah, like I told those people, this stuff is out there. Every day. I just hope that people let go of it before my future children have to deal with it. Maybe, if these statistics are foretelling the truth, they won't have to for very long.


****UPDATE****

I saw that patient's name on the list today, and I made sure I would be in the vicinity when she showed up. In fact, I got myself involved in her situation so she would hear my voice, see my name and also *see* me. She was a meek-looking little woman who snapped up information and held it like a bear trap, not willing to listen to reason. Obviously someone along the like was trying to get her off the phone and said a generic answer (that doesn't apply to her specific case) and she was proclaiming it as law. The lady nearly turned the whole place upside-down with her arguing and inability to accept what four of us (all from different departments) were trying to explain.

And later when I called to make sure the disc situation was straightened out, the girl remembered getting reamed out by this patient a few months ago so she triple-checked that the lady's stuff was correct. Obviously this woman has issues. She told the technologist that the "reason she is the way she is" (unapologetically) is that her daughter-in-law died unexpectedly "because she fell through the cracks" of the healthcare system, so she wants to be sure no one she loves will experience the same thing, including herself. And that is a tragedy. I wholeheartedly agree that patients should take the initiative to understand and speak up about their/their family's care. But at some point, you have to step back and trust that the professionals--who have been highly trained--will do their jobs.

She's coming back to pick up her films tomorrow. Great.

on the telephone

Often when my brother calls me, he doesn't really talk. He will ask what I'm doing and then has nothing to add. I'll follow up with 14 questions, to which he will have essentially the same answer: "Not much." Then I will start telling random stories, wondering if he is watching TV instead of listening. Sometimes I think he's been so conditioned to my rambling all these years that the white noise of it is sometimes soothing. Then I tire of hearing myself speak and let him go.

A few months ago, he called while we were watching the Dexter finale. If any of you have seen the show, you know that a WHOLE LOT OF CRAZY always happens, especially during the last episode. I let the call go to voicemail to call him back after I had calmed down (I'm always terrified on behalf of the hero). I figured that because my brother was in Houston for work, he must have scored tickets to the Rockets and was calling to tell me.

When I called back, I found out that my brother was in the Emergency Room. Remember that spurting blood thing he had going on with his leg? He already had surgery to fix it, but the problem had re-started at the ankle. It started spewing after he took a shower, and thankfully a coworker staying at the same hotel brought him to the hospital.

At this point, I started losing it. What kind of horrible person chooses to watch TV over answering the phone when her baby brother is bleeding profusely in some strange hospital a thousand miles away? Jon was trying to convince me that I am not a horrible person, but it still felt like it. I tried to be calm, because if I freaked out audibly, my brother would regret even telling me about it. He forbade me from telling my parents under the threat that he will never let me know what's happening again, and assured that he was fine. He was going to make an appointment with the doctor who did his other vein surgery when he got back to Mobile.

My brother's new phone thing is when I ask him a question he claims a) he's already told me the answer, b) I never pay attention/remember/listen c) that he won't repeat himself. And then he says I'm just like dad (no offense, dad, you're great). No one on Earth can get under my skin as much as this boy. And he takes sadistic pleasure in driving me batty.

So I never could determine if he had met with the surgeon again or if there was an upcoming procedure. He didn't want to tell mom, and he kept saying he'd already answered that question. I fired back that he's certainly not important enough that people take notes every time he speaks, and anyone who thinks so is on drugs. He said he'd tell mom I think she's on drugs and hung up.

Then he told mom that he was having ankle-vein surgery. The next day. And when she found out I had known about this whole situation, she was upset. For obvious reasons.

I think part of the reason my brother moved so far away is because my parents and I are consistently hovering over his eating, sleeping, partying and medicine-taking habits. It's selfish, really. We have grown fond of the little brat and would like to have him around for another 50 years or so. But my brother was taught at a very young age to live in the moment. If he wants to go to a bar and do shots with his buddies, that's what he's going to do, no matter how many cardiologists recommend against it. It makes my parents absolutely crazy with worry. But that stubborn part of his personality is likely what has helped him stay alive.

My mom got over her anger. We'd rather someone know what's going on with the kid than all three of us to be in the dark. But we spent the day of his procedure feeling a little out of sorts. We weren't there. We didn't know what has happening, hell, we didn't even understand exactly what they were doing to him. It's a blessing his roommate took the day off work to take him home and watch over him. That Mark is a good guy.


Shortly after he woke up and was able to keep graham crackers down, the phone calls began. The only upside to surgeries is the absolute hilarity of talking to my brother when he is on powerful drugs. The usual phone habits are out the window, and he's downright chatty. Unfortunately, he's also saying all kinds of brazen and ridiculous things, such as proclaiming to be able to take down a male nurse five times his size in a fistfight, or demanding an explanation from his heart surgeon as to why such a rich doctor drives a Ford Taurus. Who knows what he had said to the hospital staff this time. He called me at work about a dozen times. Later, I relayed a few tidbits of what he had been saying, and the response was, "Oh no. OH NO." It wasn't too embarrassing, but it was entertaining. But it's nice to know that--even while he was high as a kite and not making a lot of sense--he still wanted to talk to me.

Digging out

It only (ONLY) took 3-4 hours to get the driveway passable. And the whole time I wanted to throw the shovel down and jump up on that size-of-a-house mound with the neighbor kids.



-- Posted From My iPhone--everybody needs an editor.

that poughkeepsie church is right: whoever is praying for snow, please stop

For as long as I can remember, whenever it snows my dad never fails to bring up 1979. As in "Oh, well this is NOTHING compared to '79." Or  "I was the only one on Ogden Avenue in '79. There was so much snow, you can't even imagine it!" Or "We got stuck in a drift and I didn't have something in the car, so I had to dig out that big Oldsmobile (Delta '88) out WITH MY BARE HANDS." Or "You were just a baby in the carseat, you didn't know what was happening." And "Yep, this is nothing like '79."

The newscasters say today's snowfall beat '79 by several inches. I am so glad that I can finally have something that will trump that. But I think '79 is so etched in my parents' memory because they had only recently experienced snow for the first time in general, let alone a blizzard. Nothing will probably top that one for them. But this is a doozy.

The hospital had warned us to "come prepared to stay," so yesterday morning I had a bag full of overnight stuff, books and snacks. Because of my old career, I get sort of excited whenever disaster looms, so I had been looking forward to hunkering down with books, granola bars and first-aid kits to be useful during an emergency at work. So when I was sent home at 3 p.m.--before the snow REALLY started to come down--it was disappointing. They told me to be back there by 7 a.m. to relieve the people who had stayed.

By 9 p.m., the workplace was on lockdown and leaving was a terminable offense. By midnight, they had shut down the city and by 3 a.m., no plows were even allowed on the road. My coworkers called at 6 a.m. and said not to come in but stay in touch. They are preparing to stay another night. HOWEVER, PATIENTS ARE STILL COMING IN FOR THEIR TESTS! There must be a lot more snowmobiles around these parts than I thought. 

So I am at my parents' house. My mom is actually battling the flu, so it's a plus that she can rest, because no one is allowed to call off on days like this (if we were able to come in). Jon and I talked on Skype for two hours as the snow was building and building. He has set up a time-lapse video of the balcony. But because my parents live in a loop, the effects are much more dramatic here. There's about four feet of snow piled up in front of our front door, and the drifts are up a quarter of the way past my sedan's windows.

Work called again, and some crazies I work with are trying to make their way there. The police have announced that if you go out in this, you are essentially on your own. And if you get stuck, you will get a ticket. Godspeed, my friends. 

This is the shot out the front door. We'd try to get out through the garage, but there's about that much snow in front of it, too--we know because the wind has forced in a good pile under the garage door.

p.s. Here is the link to the NYTimes photo of First Baptist Church's sign in Poughkeepsie, NY

from now on, Jon is in charge of letting people in

Since sometime over the weekend, the outside security door (the one allowing anyone from the foyer-area to enter the building) in our 1960's apartment building has been stuck on buzz-to-let-someone-in mode. I mean constantly. As if someone was standing at his front door just holding it down or some blasted kids (and they're around, sticking their gum to the lobby wall en masse this summer) taped it down. Jon and I walked in shaking our heads. I am paranoid in general, making sure the apartment door is always double locked even when just going to get the laundry and that the chain is on when everyone is home. I was pretty irritated by this breach in security because that meant the lock, deadbolt and chain were all that separated us from all the serial killers prowling around suburbia.

Today there was a sign posted from the management company saying several people have complained about the door and there is nothing wrong with the system, except that the buzzer in somebody's unit is stuck in the down position. It asked that we all check our units to make sure it's not ours.

I went upstairs, took off my coat, put my purse on the ottoman and hung up my keys. Then I looked at our personal intercom, with its set of TALK, LISTEN and DOOR buttons that have been so well-used that the raised, once-gilded letters are worn in the center and barely legible. I gasped. DOOR was jammed under the edge of the intercom frame opening. Free-for-all entrance to our building since Sunday and it was all my fault! In my haste to let my parents enter, I didn't notice that the button hadn't popped back out after I held it down. And I hadn't thought to look earlier, because, duh, I could never be that stupid. Just to be sure, I walked all the way downstairs. The buzzer was a-buzz no longer.

There is certainly some bad karma coming my way. Because for nearly three days, I was cursing the doofus who doesn't understand how an intercom system works and put all of us at risk for intruders.

Holy crap, it's 2011.

On the First of January I was talking to highcon, explaining how this year I'm not worrying about what other people are thinking, obsessing over whether I've offended somebody or being paranoid when it comes to saying the right thing at the perfect moment. Especially this year, when we have to make a lot of decisions that others will likely criticize. And as someone who is constantly trying to control things that are completely out of her control, this is a problem whether or not nuptials are on the horizon. Generally, I'm not big on resolutions, but this is something I really should work on. I was feeling pretty confident about sticking to it.

Highcon listened patiently. Then he said he wished he had a recorder to capture all the promises people have been making to play back for them later.

As a backup, I'm going with the safe bet held by nearly everyone out there: Exercise.

it's not her, it's us

One of the things people have been saying to me about this whole wedding-planning thing is, Only nine months to go? Girl, you'd better lock down a photographer before all the best ones are taken! We took this seriously, because if there's one thing that we're not skimping on, it's the photography.

Last year I went with my mom to her coworker's baby shower. It was at this very expansive, luxurious home in a swanky neighborhood. And it was lovely. During the party, a sweet-looking woman came in with a big gift bag and a camera, and suddenly she was in tears. As she dabbed at her eyes, she kept saying, "It's just so beautiful to have come full circle! I shot their wedding, and now here I am to see that they're having a baby!" It was so emotional. I couldn't help but think, Wow, this photographer is really invested.

So when we started looking for photographers, I immediately thought of that woman. I asked my mom to get her info, took one look at her stuff and really identified with her style and eye for composing shots. Jon looked at her Web site and completely agreed. It was awesome that we were both so definitively on board. She was not booked for our date, so we set up a meeting with her last Saturday, just as the snowstorm was starting to come down.

She invited us to her condo in the city (on a weird side note, it was the same building I had to gone to see with Ri when she was looking to buy). It was similar in size to our old place, and cozy too. She offered us some pastries from the Greek bakery I used to go to in the city all the time--and one of them was my favorite, apricot, which you don't see every day. I was noting these small *signs* as we talked.

We were there for a little more than two hours. She explained that it's not just us deciding on whether we want to book her, but she has turned clients down because she'll "spend a lot of time staring at our faces," so she has to get a good vibe from us, too. Later on, Jon and I admitted we spent most of the meeting wondering if she was going to want to work with us or not. She showed us how much attention to detail she gives and how she personally edits every single shot herself. Then she showed us the albums and we especially liked the way one of them was done. We were sold, but tried to play it cool.

For the question-and-answer portion of the evening, she explained that she does do a lot of Indian weddings, but for this past year there was a majority of destination weddings. Of course, Jon commented on her fancy computer and she said she gets the fastest there is out there because her time is money and why wait for all those high-res images to upload when you can upgrade? We agreed wholeheartedly.

I did attempt to pitch a barter-for-upgrade idea, but as soon as it came out of my mouth, I realized that this particular method only works when both parties are familiar with the quality of the other's work. She politely declined. And then we started talking about the money. Jon and I really wanted this woman to work with us. But we are on a budget. She mentioned that some couples just sign up for the lowest package to secure the date and upgrade later. YES. And upgrade I'm sure we would.

She hugged us both and said she'd love to work with us. We headed out into the storm with a box containing the rest of the apricot pastry and the security that we'd found the photographer we'd always wanted. On the first try! And trying to figure out how we could come up with more money to upgrade to a nicer package.

We discussed it and emailed her around 7 p.m. the next day. As soon as I hit "send," Jon and I actually high-fived. We got one of our big goals accomplished!

But when I opened my email this morning, I had a message from the photographer.

It was really great meeting you both.  I'm afraid I have some bad news.  I had a proposal that was sent over 3 weeks ago for another couple for your wedding date.  I didn't think they were going to book because I haven't heard from them.  Oh course since I haven't heard from them and since the proposal was never signed, I still continued to meet with you both.  Just this afternoon they signed their proposal.  If I can help you both with finding another photographer, please, let me know and I'll be more than happy to send a few your way.  It was really nice meeting you both and good luck with the rest of your wedding planning.  

At the end of the day--and it really doesn't matter why--we're not getting this photographer. Maybe she actually didn't want to look at our faces for weeks after the wedding but wanted to let us down easy. Maybe the other people signed up for the bigger package right off the bat and it simply came down to the guaranteed amount of money. I can't blame her for that. It's just business. But when business is about one of the most important days of your life, it's hard not to take personally.

and for that, you're getting a bestselling thriller in your stocking

"Did you know there's a new book out about the '85 Bears?"

"Hold up a second: Are you suggesting that I get you A BOOK for Christmas?!?*"

"No, I already bought it."

"Um, what kind of guy shops for himself right before the holidays?"

"This guy. If I want it, I buy it."

"You dork."



*As much as I don't like owning books, I love to give them. And my brother claims not to read, which is why it frustrates him when I keep giving him books. Yet somehow he's intimately familiar with the contents of certain sports books--many of which he has received as gifts. From me.

he told me to meet him directly at the mall

Tomorrow my brother is flying in, and I actually have a day off! I'm really looking forward to it, because I haven't gotten to see him much the last couple times he was home. And I'm hoping he will help me with my holiday shopping.

I told him they're predicting 4-8" of snow, but I don't think he took that text very seriously. Watch him show up without any warm clothes.

tomorrow, it's december

I kid you not, people, I often stop myself in mid-date-writing to say HOLY CANNOLI, SELF, IT'S ALMOST [insert something that I thought was way off but is right upon us, such as DECEMBER]!!

So all day I was in a tizzy. Because I have to deal with a lot of dates in my job.

But this also means that we've completed yet another NaBloPoMo November! Hooray! Congratulations to Syar, Madelyn, Cofo and Jon, as well as the readers and commenters, without whom this kind of endeavor wouldn't be fun at all.

The thing is, this past month I didn't really *feel* like I was producing much in the way of quality. I know time is lacking, but I think I could get back to what I think were better posting if I keep at it. So I'm going to try not to slip into the abyss of non-posting that was consuming me before. Let's see how long that lasts.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! As any blogger will tell you, it's the attention that really keeps it going. MUAH!!!

can't get you out of my head

I am persistently troubled with things being stuck in my head. But worst, by far, are the songs. In fact, at my first job, a coworker and I had a contest over which of us could get a song stuck in the other's head without actually singing it. And as much as I dominated that game, it got a little close at times.

I heard somewhere that if you have a song stuck in your head, doing a little quick mental math can boot it right out. And that probably works, but I have such little patience for arithmetic that I often give up on it before I get too far. So said annoying song remains intact.

But today I was listening to a radio interview with Amy Sedaris, who is famous for her books, her comedy, her sibling, David and her show with Stephen Colbert--Strangers With Candy. She said that Colbert once told her that the best way to get a song out of your head is to think of that old SpeedStick deodorant brand-recognition jingle-ender, "By Mennen!"

They had so many commercials back in the day:


For the ladies:


And even En Espanol:


It really works!

two young kids in love

Last night, Jon and I shot the wedding of the daughter of one of my work friends. It was intimate and beautiful, and we were very happy to be there. Out of the 1500 we took, here is one of the shots I especially liked:

Heather and Glenn, November 27, 2010

Photo by Jonathan Muller

tradition, modified

For years, my high school friends gathered at an all-night diner every Thanksgiving night after all the turkey was put away into Tupperware and all the parents had gone to bed. Around midnight. The last few turkey days, however, the tradition has fallen by the wayside due to excessive age + tryptophan. So around 9 p.m. the text messages would start with apologies about it being late and various members of the group being tired.

This year was much the same, so we decided to cancel. I set up in the middle of the floor with this bridesmaid dress I was taking up for a friend, sort of freaking out because when I was pinning it on the person I was unaware there was a slight train on the back. Then my phone buzzed.

MFM was sitting at the diner wondering where everybody was. She had originally said she couldn't make it, but then decided to sneak out and hang with us. So I changed out of my pajamas and headed out there.

It was a much-needed break. I had been agonizing over whether to cut the dress or somehow pleat the hem on the underside. I couldn't bring myself to snip it. But MFM tiptoed into the house with me and gave me the encouragement to make the cut. And everything was great. The dress looked awesome when we shot the wedding today, and my friend was happy.

Of course, Highcon is only in town for the weekend, so a few of us got together at a bar after the wedding. It's not the same as Thanksgiving, but it's always great to see them.

That's what lack of sleep'll do to ya

So last night I got two hours of sleep. And not because I was up trying to get any nonsensical Black Friday Deals, either. Remember that time my brother and I camped outside of Best Buy all night in the freezing weather for a tv my dad made us return? Yeah, we're not doing that again.

Last night I was furiously trying to alter a bridesmaid dress a coworker has to wear for her daughter's wedding tomorrow (she's both Mother Of The Bride as well as Matron Of Honor). Only after I had it all pinned equidistant from the floor did I realize there was a small train on the dress, which is why it wasn't even no matter how many times I'd repin it. I took a break to meet MFM at an all-night diner at midnight and resumed when I got back. I abut to go to bed at 8:30 am when my coworker called to see if I could come in early. Yeah, that wasn't happening.

I guess the dress came out well bc the coworker tried it on with the shoes and it looked amazing on her. Phew!!! All that paranoia was draining.

But now I'm so tired I can barely think. I almost got rejected for a Best Buy card tonight because I confused some numbers between my telephone number and my social security number.

I just don't have it in me for these almost-all-nighters anymore.

-- Posted From My iPhone--everybody needs an editor.

the laundry room is empty!

I'm so thankful that I have the whole day to spend with Jon, doing laundry and basting a turkey before the folks come over. And it's not even the weekend!

I am also thankful for you, and you, and you, and you, and YOU.

Be safe, and tell the people you love how you feel about them.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

rockstar--rocking that Prius

So I went to a newer branch of my bank the other day, and to my surprise, next to the spaces allotted for the disabled, there were a few other very close specifically designated spots:

 See? We're talking about right up next to the door.

It says, "Reserved for Low Emitting/Fuel Efficient Vehicles."

Am I the only one who hasn't seen this before? 

P.S. If you're traveling for the holiday, please be careful.

cruisin' down the street in my six fo'

"Isn't it weird that some 80% of songs are about love?"

"Not really; everybody wants it."

"Yeah I guess you're right."

"That's why they're always writing songs about b*tches and hoes."

"Um, what?"

" 'Cuz they're in love. Sigh."


-- Posted From My iPhone--everybody needs an editor.

move over, martha stewart

Jon's sister, M (not to be confused with Madelyn--he has three sisters), sent us a package filled with beautiful handcrafted items as an inspiration for the wedding. She makes all sorts of awesome stuff all the time, and we are so glad she's going to be helping us. Aren't these cute?

and don't text and drive. think about the people who love you.

Today I went to pp's house to relive the glory days of college when we'd totally miss the sun during the winter b/c we'd be up all night and sleep all day. And when we were up, we'd lounge on the couch watching movies. She made a delicious breakfast, and we settled in to watch Remember the Titans. I can't believe I hadn't seen it before!

pp lives in the citay, so I tore myself off her comfy couch and headed home. I had tried a new route on the way in and it got me there on time, so I thought I'd try another new route on the way home. BIG MISTAKE. Turns out 94W goes pretty much north for a good bit and then I was on it for awhile and started secondguessing myself. So I turned around and started driving again. And then I secondguessed THAT and got totally confused somewhere around Skokie, IL. And then there was traffic. Where the heck is everyone going at 4pm on a Sunday?!?

I finally got myself home around two hours after I'd left. I know pp would just be shaking her head reading this, so let me just say I'm shaking my head in disgust myself. And guess what? It was dark. But I found my way. At least I further developed my Lata Mangeshkar/Kishore Kumar station on Pandora and sang my heart out during the times when I thought I knew where I was going. I haven't been able to car-sing in a long time since my commute is like ten minutes.

And while I was trying to get the map on my phone to actually point me in the right direction, I realized that it wasn't really safe to do that unless I was pulled over or at least at a light. Which brings me to today's point: November 21 is World Day of Remembrance for Road Traffic Victims (via Guyana Gyal).

It would have been nice to save five minutes by not exiting to figure out where the HECK I was going, but not nearly as nice as it will be to walk down the aisle, have a family and see my momma smile. There are enough idiots out there on the road that if we let our guards down for a second, it could prove very costly.

compost: 1 year later

Remember when I was trying to make compost? It was around this time of year in 2009 and I raked all the leaves in my parents' back yard together. Then I put them in a big barrel and crushed them up with a weed whacker.

 

Yeah, so not all of them got pulverized, but enough did to do the job.

Then I made some catchalls for the leaves and layered the leaves with some dried grass clippings.

 

They look a little sloppy, but I was recycling that chicken wire and it wasn't that malleable. 

There were four of them in all.

It doesn't look like a lot, but that's about eight to ten big brown lawn refuse bags worth of leaves. They take up way less space when shredded.

So after all that work, I sort of forgot about it. Every once in awhile, we'd put in some kitchen scraps, but once it snowed, going all the way back into the corner of the back yard seemed like a lot of work. Come springtime, the compost had reduced down by about 75%, but I still didn't see any "black gold" that was supposed to have happened. It might have if I had turned over the compost as I intended. 

But this year, as we were raking the leaves (the weed whacker wasn't working so I didn't try to compost them, which is too bad because there was a pile about the size of my small sedan), I went back to check on the compost. 

The contents of my chickenwire bins had reduced to a small mound on the ground. I wish I had taken a picture of it, but IT WAS REAL COMPOST! IT WAS GREAT! All soft and coal black and full of nutrients! Just like the book had said! I was so excited! So we cleared out the dead stuff from the garden and spread it all over. I'm not sure if that was the best thing to do, but I didn't want to forget about it again. 

 

 If it doesn't snow this week, I'll go out and add a picture.

It's because everyone else is out partying

I'm not sure you've heard, but the apartment (built in the '70s) is not quite as nice as the condo (built in the '00s). Cereal boxes are too big to fit in the cabinets, the kitchen drawers don't really work (in fact, jon built us a separate IKEA standalone cabinet w an awesome chopping block-ish top) and we can't put anything too far back in the fridge or it'll freeze solid.

And the parking. Some of you are aware of my longstanding love affair with parking. The spaces are not Hummer-friendly to say the least, and I think we'd have all benefitted greatly if they were diagonal instead of perpendicular. Many of the cars have scrapes on them from bad parkers and one nicer ride's front end got smashed by an overzealous resident who may never confess. It's just too tight up in there. So every night when i come home, most of the close spots near the doors are taken. I vacillate between parking far away from the crammy area but having to walk in the cold, or jamming my vehicle into a too-small spot where it might get nicked just to save myself a long walk to the entrance.

The only exception? Friday nights. When I get home at 9pm on Fridays, most every great spot is open. Often I can pull right in without a bunch of adjusting, and I'm right by the door. It's awesome. T hat, on top of the affordability, makes this place totally worth it.

-- Posted From My iPhone--everybody needs an editor.

love a gadget-lover and the gadgets'll grow on you

Tonight after I left work, I stopped at my parents' house for a little couch time with my mom, some aloo bhaaji and chapati and an episode of Sasural Genda Phool from like two weeks ago (yeah, I'm behind). And I left my phone there.

I cannot describe to you how immensely odd that is. Tomorrow I will be sans alarm clock (the one we have is really complicated and can do dual times, but I don't get it), as well as communication with anyone via text or telephone. Worst of all, I can't watch an episode of Leverage or listen to a This American Life podcast or play Angry Birds on it tonight while I'm trying to fall asleep. Sad, I know.

The funny thing is, originally I was the last person in my group of friends to get a cellphone.* I was resistant to having a "homing device" after a bad experience with being forced to carry around a neon pink pager and then interrogated as to why I did not respond within the "acceptable 20-minute window" by a crazy ex. Yeah, that pager is now an algae anchor at the bottom of a lake in my parents' neighborhood.

When I finally caved and got a cell, it was never the latest model. I always went for a very small, functional piece that didn't necessarily have fancy ringtones, a color screen or do pictures. Even though I'd been dating my gadget-phile Jonathan for several years I had a pretty old-school functional phone. But then he got an iPhone. He started showing me new and exciting ways it could change my life. And dag-gummit, it sure did.

So here I am at the computer, reading and commenting into the wee hours of the night because I'm not completely sure how I can get myself to fall asleep without that dang phone.

*Technically I was the first one to have a cellphone: A Zach-Morris model for use only during emergencies driving to and from Champaign, so I never really used it, thank God.

my chompers were JUST FINE before this guy got to work

More than three weeks ago, I went to the dentist. Because of the insurance situation (when I was freelancing, I had none), and because I am a little insane, I hadn't gone since December 2008. So of course the dentist managed to dig up a few cavities.

This was disappointing to me because a) I am a very religious brusher (and as of late, regular flosser) and b) Up until now I'd only had one cavity, which I got when I was 26. I figured that was because I inherited my father's family's awesome, awesome (both in size and pearliness) teeth, but my mother recently informed me that she'd always had our teeth capped to protect them from all that dang sweet-eating (another trait I inherited from my pops).

So I was bummed about the cavities. DDS Novocained me up and fired up the drill. And I could tell he was being thorough. I didn't think much about it--mostly because I was really numbed up and kept slapping myself in the jaw to check if I was still numb. Later on that day, it felt kind of weird. So I went back on my lunch hour to get my fillings taken down a little to even out my bite. Unfortunately, in the following two weeks I had a serious and near-constant toothache. I was popping Advil like Pez.

I went back to DDS and he said "90% of pain after fillings is due to them being too high." So he whittled them down a little more. My bite felt much better. I mentioned that I grind my teeth at night, and he said that may be aggravating the situation, so he told me to get some Sensodyne toothpaste and a night guard. On my way out, he casually mentioned something about root canals. I would say what, but I have blocked that sentence right out of my memory.

So here we are, 22 days after these fillings and I've swapped toothpaste and added this ridiculous night guard to my daily toothcare regimen. At first, my jaw was sore from the weirdness of this foreign thing in my mouth, but I was told that is normal. Then it was fine. But THEN this morning I had some cold yogurt and the toothache is back!!!

Is this the usual case with fillings? I don't recall that last one being like this. Am I just paranoid? Please, Good People Of The Internet tell me this is going to go away. Because, now that I think of it, an unrelenting ache coming from deep within her jaw can really make a girl CRANKY.

older, not necessarily wiser

In 2005, I posted 183 times. So far this year, I have come up with  42 things to post about.

Back when I started this thing, ideas were certainly not easy to come by, but dude, it wasn't anything like this. The concept of blogging was hitting the mainstream, encased in shrinkwrap with that new-car smell. Now it's a household word--and has all sorts of connotations. People are "over" it. Today's general concept of blogging* is something of a "Snuggie" while 2005's blogging was the  "Slanket:" the high-quality original pushed out of view by incessant late-night commercials hawking the cheaply made knockoff. I've never been swayed by trends. In fact, people who pick up on a fad and drop it for the next one even before understanding the first are irritating. I'm in this for the long haul.

But all of a sudden I'm sad about it. I still love this thing. I mean, without it, I never would have met my future husband. We always thought of our story as unique and interesting, but it's probably happening all over the world now. Which is awesome; The One doesn't always live around the corner from you. I guess I'm just melancholy. The weather is changing. And while we had a gorgeous autumn, now it's dark a lot of the time I'm awake. I don't get to spend much time with my family or my fiance. And there's so very much to do and less and less time to do it. I can't even point to where the time goes.

It's a lot like how things were in the dungeon. But wobblier. And with a touch of arthritis.


*This in no way reflects upon all of you wonderful bloggers out there; you guys are still awesome

I haven't read a book since May

And I'm certainly not proud of that. I blame it on the inordinate amount of time I spend on television consumption.

J took a nap when he got home at 3 and woke himself up at 10 to hang out with me when I got home.

Guess what we're doing? Watching 30 Rock.

-- Posted From My iPhone--everybody needs an editor.

they won't know you're the bride unless you pile on the bling

We went to an Indian Wedding Expo today, and there was a fashion show. A pretty well-known Bollywood playback singer was singing during the catwalk.

This dude was, from what we could guess, a late addition. I think he was a bouncer. And he was pretty proud of being the biggest guy there. 

 This woman was Queen of Something. We weren't sure what.

The singer was pretty talented. And a good multitasker. Unfortunately, he didn't think anyone would see him checking his phone DURING his performance because he was kind of behind the curtain.

For the last song, he picked out some Caucasian people in the audience. "What's your name? Sandra? And you? Esperanza, that's nice. Amy? Well this song is for you three. And all the rest of my American friends." Then he busted out a very commendable version of Bryan Adams's Everything I do, I do it for you.

once you have the guy, the rest is just gravy, right?

Dude, there are SO MANY WEDDING SHOWS on television. It may just be because I'm thinking about it more as we dip our toes into planning this thing, but everywhere you turn, there is someone talking about getting some nuptials together. Tonight we happened to catch this VH1 show called My Big Friggin' Wedding. It's, well, very Jersey Shore-ish. And a little scary.


I've been spending a lot of time just looking around. I realize that while I never fantasized about the details of my wedding, I knew I wanted to be doing Indian Stuff and having it outside. I guess that's a start, but it also leaves a lot up to the imagination. And there is SO much to look at on the World Wide Web; it is as Jon says, a great yet very terrible thing. What's worst, those of you who have spent more than 15 minutes with me know that I am what they call The Opposite of The Decider.

The saving grace is that there are some very smart, talented and capable people around who are willing to help. I don't know what I'd do without them.

spent the whole week looking forward to all i'd accomplish today

Today was my day off.  I woke up at 7a. I didn't actually eat, but snacked. I did all the laundry. I took a bunch of CDs my mom gave me so I could import their contents onto her iPod and realized that she already had 80% of them. I mended a couple pieces of clothing that I'm not ready to part with yet. Then a contractor came to see about a leaky pipe. We went and painted some pottery, then watched Dexter over pizza.

I have no idea where the time goes. Am I just underestimating how long it takes me to do stuff? Because this lack of checklist checking off is really getting me down.

"till i was told it was built in 1992"

Conan O'Brien has an awesome American Express Commercial, shot apparently in Jaipur. Here's the "making of" video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlzUdZWetK8


Here's the extended cut:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIZCtDJtFPw


Conan could stand to work on his Hindi, but he's probably a little busy.

St. Martin's Summer

The last two days have been GORGEOUS in this part of Illinois. Sixty-eight degrees, y'all! WAHOOO!
Of course, I haven't really been able to take advantage of it because of all the working and side projects, etc, but I sure have appreciated the heck out of it through the office, house and car windows. Jon took the opportunity to take an oil bath under my car, which would have been a lot more miserable if it were 22 degrees like most years, so that was nice, too.

The last time I remember such a spectacular Indian Summer St. Martin's Summer was in 2005. Right around the 3rd. Longtime readers may know that on that particular night, I went to Midway Airport at 1:10 a.m. (after my shift) to pick H (Jon) up from the airport and meet him in person for the first time. The funny thing is, I didn't know where this little meeting was going to lead, so I breezed over the experience in my subsequent post--the only reference to Jon was, "My company that night showed tremendous patience and sportsmanship, despite all the tailgating, screaming at traffic, time requesting, running, hostess pleading and inhaling of food that my tardiness demanded. The only comment was, 'you know, Cadiz, you definitely get an A+ for planning. It's just the execution that needs a little work.' "

What I didn't mention was that it was 60-some degrees and we were running around Navy Pier, Millennium Park and all over the suburban Chicago area in November without coats as if it were springtime. It was such a great weekend. For so many reasons, but the weather certainly helped.

Two years later I described that first visit again. For the record, Jon is a pro at revolving doors now. In fact, for a long time, the running line was that whenever Jon came to town, he'd bring the gorgeous So-Cal weather with him. Even in January, when we had to ice skate in a big puddle.

Sadly, when Jon moved to Chicago it seemed the streak was broken. It's been HELLA cold the last two winters. Sometimes when it's brutal, he likes to tell me the temperature in his hometown. And while I go to great lengths justifying this Midwest weather, I enjoy these heat-wave bursts more than anyone. The good news? It looks like I might have an ally on his side of the family!

nearly rotten

So today I walk into my office and my mom has left me some orange juice and a bagel, prepared just the way I like it, on my desk. She knew I had to get up at the crack of dawn to do a side job for several hours before my shift started, all the while fasting for 12 hours because in between I had a blood test (to get 20$ off my health insurance every month). That woman is so good to me.

Later, she stopped by to say hello and I asked if she could pick something up for me because my work hours wouldn't allow me to make it. My coworker began lecturing my mother about "cutting the umbilical." I didn't appreciate this. Because--while I AM very blessed--I do my best to try and reciprocate, a lot of which that coworker does not see. But it really got me thinking about how I am kind of spoiled.

To make matters worse/even better, today was a gorgeous 68-degree F day here in Illinois. For mid-November, that's remarkable to say the least. After working ten hours on his feet since the crack of dawn, my fiance swung by my workplace to grab my car, change the oil (and we're not talking about just taking it to JiffyLube, either), bring the car back, and put it in a kickass parking spot so I didn't have to walk near the forest at the end of the night. He's had a headache for three days that won't go away and I know he didn't have the best day at work, but he made time to come by, even though I was busy and couldn't come out with the key for nearly 20 minutes. Jon is THE best.

Yes, I realize how lucky I am. And I thank the heavens for how good I've got it every single day.

and there's nothing you can do about it

Last Friday, my coworker was driving along with her two kids in the car, minding her own business. She was crossing the intersection on a green light as one is supposed to do, when a vehicle to her right decided to just jump on into the intersection. Apparently that driver didn't happen to see the HUGE WHITE TRUCK my friend was driving and slammed into the passenger side, where her son was sitting. Everyone was fine, save for the possible broken ankle of the son and the seatbelt marks on everyone, but the huge white truck was completely totaled.

That same day, another coworker of ours was in a five-car pileup. Hers was the first car stopped at a light. The fifth car was driven by an elderly man, who plowed into the fourth car hard enough to cause a chain reaction all the way to the front.

Both of these coworkers were obeying the laws, keeping within their limits and these boneheads just hauled off and caused terrible accidents. You can be the most perfect driver on the road, and if you happen to cross paths with some idiot, you could be seriously injured. The reminders that these things are possible at any time with no warning makes my brain hurt.

I know, cocooning yourself in the safety of your home is no way to live. But it's easy to forget that the world is a dangerous place.

this coming from the boy who changes clothes like three times a day

"There's a store in L.A. that sells almost all the Jordans. Even the really old ones."

"Are you serious? Why out there? Why not in Chicago?"

"I guess it's more of an L.A. kind of thing, I don't know. They have other shoes, too."

"You had so many of those ridiculous shoes when you were a kid."

"Yeah, I had the [insert unsure rumination about which Air Jordan models he may have had over the years]. This place has the MJ 3s, but not in my size."

"Wait, didn't those come out in the early nineties?!"

"Uh huh. Some of the ones they have listed have notes like 'the plastic has yellowed.' "

"Wait, so YOU would be willing to wear USED GYM SHOES?!?"

"Cadiz, we're talking about MICHAEL JORDANS. Of course."

"I'm not going to even ask what they cost."

move over snuggie?

Apparently this Norwegian onepiece sweatsuit is all the rage. I rather enjoyed the "extreme sleepover" promo photos at cushzilla.com. (Via www.gofugyourself.celebuzz.com). I would totally show you some of the pics, but I can't' figure out how.

In other news, we downloaded the Netflix Streaming to the actual Wii so now I won't have any way of knowing when that someone has been playing Guitar Hero instead of going to sleep early anymore because I'll never have to change the disc.

My apologies for this lackluster post. But it'll seem better if you check out those ridiculous photos on cushzilla.com.

take a little time today to make a turkey out of your handprint

On the way home from work, NPR had some Canadian radio program on* with Lynda Barry who has written a book about drawing, and how everyone does/can do it but somewhere around age nine people become aware that others can judge them on it and that's when they start nonsense like "I can't draw." She described putting pen to paper or other actions you can do (I'd like to consider knitting or even dancing work the same way) give you a little boost that few other things do. Examples: doodling during a boring meeting makes it go just a teensy bit faster, and smiling after creating a turkey out of the outline of your hand works at any age. It was pretty interesting.

It got me thinking about this past weekend, when my mom and I volunteered at a fun fair of sorts for breast cancer patients/survivors. My mom has been working at this event for years, long before it pertained to her personally, but it was my first time being there. They had booths of all kinds and massages and paraffin hand wax treatments. Mom signed me up to help at the Henna/Mehndi table, and a beautician and I gave the attendees temporary henna tattoos. We worked nonstop from 9a to 3p! It was a big hit, and I think it brought a smile to a lot of people there. They so totally deserve to be pampered. Which made it totally worth the effort.

And on top of it, there was the personal joy I got from doodling. What Barry was saying on the radio really rings true for me. Drawing and painting introduced me to the wild concept of staying up all night. I couldn't get enough, and had an art class nearly every semester in high school. I was almost talked into going to The Art Institute in Chicago instead of University before my parents flipped out over the possibility of my being a "starving artist." I tried to get into classes in college, but if you weren't a declared Fine Art Major, you basically had to fight to the death for a spot/be randomly selected and that only worked once. Of course, just as I was about to graduate college, my mom was like "You know what you should do? Graphic Design! That's not starving artist, that uses COMPUTERS!"

ANYway, there is so little room in my life for that kind stuff anymore. And I miss it more than I realized. We were so busy, I hardly took any pictures of the mehndi event, but here is a rudimentary version of one of my most popular designs that day (I was just starting to get a feel for the cone at this point, which is why it looks so globby).

Trust me, these were better as the day progressed. THERE! I just reacted to the thing Lynda Barry was saying, by worrying you guys would be all judgy judgerson about the quality of my Mehndi work! She's really onto something there.

*The program is called Q and here is a link to the November 4 podcast. Lynda's segment starts at Minute 32, right after the interview with Bryan Adams, and it is about 20 minutes long. The part at the end about the amputee's phantom limb was REALLY interesting.

nightmare: the only guaranteed way to get me out of bed in the morning

I had a horrible nightmare this morning. I spent 20 minutes here describing it in detail, but I've deleted that to spare you further opportunity to think I'm a freak. So I'll gloss over the gory parts and say I dreamed about two unknown people coming into my place of business for a shooting spree, cornering me and threatening to shoot in several places (including under my chin) and then being distracted by a very unfortunate nurse. She was eventually dispatched, and what woke me up was seeing/feeling her demise.

Very upsetting, I know. And of course I couldn't go back to sleep, so I hopped on the computer to figure out what it means. Here is what www.swoon.com had to say:

Killing: To dream of being a witness to a killing portends a change that will not be entirely to your liking. 

Guns: Whether you saw it, heard it or used it, any type of gun featured in your dream forecasts an injustice, either to you or to someone in your close circle, that you will have to fight hard to overcome.

Blood: Be prepared for a period of hard work against hostile forces if you saw blood in your dream.

Death: To dream of a death often signifies news of a birth.

Fear: As a general guide: If you conquered the cause of your dreamed fear and/or the sensation disappeared during the dream, the forecast is that you will overcome your difficulties; however, if the feeling persisted and/or the cause was indefinable, you should expect to have to cope with problems arising from the deceit or dishonesty of someone you trusted.

Threat: You are being strongly warned against gambling or speculation if your dream featured any form of threat or threatening atmosphere.

I haven't had one of these types of scary dreams in a long time. I think I'm good for a long while.

yesterday was my work friend's 30th bday

And now I can add balloon-animal artist to my resume.

hey, at least i've saved on sick days

Have you noticed that if you get the flu shot, instead of dripping and coughing and puking and feeling like utter garbage for three days but getting over it, you've got prolonged sniffling, clearing of throat and acheyness that drags out over weeks and weeks? As more people get the flu shot every year, I wonder if we'll have hordes of functioning-but-irritated people instead of a good smattering of really sick people who stay home a few days. I'm not sure which is better.

Take me, for instance. I work in a hospital and while I'm not actually administering direct patient care (unless you consider the healing powers of a cheerful smile in the face of serious grumpiness), there are a lot of germs floating around the halls. So I find the flu shot necessary. But I've been feeling generally blah for a few weeks: sniffly, sore-throaty and really really tired. So I take an allergy-fighting med so I can work undisturbed all day, then basically collapse at the end of the night. This is really wreaking havoc on my extra-curricular time. You know, the hours I need to catch up on Spanish/Hindi soap operas and make baby booties.

I guess this is just a rite of passage of winter. But I'm so ready for it to be over. And I could really do without the bloody nose first thing in the morning.

it's the time of the season

I'm coming out of hibernation for NaBloPoMo again, folks. I wish I had great excuses for why I don't post more often, but my free time happens to occur in the morning, which is when I do my very best sleeping. It is what it is.

Anyway, I'm not one to break a 5-year streak, so there will be something up here every day. Here's a little recap of what's been going on the last few months, for those of you playing along at home:

• In June the condo was [insert angels singing here] sold, after 2 years and four months on the market. I don't know how she did it, but even though it almost fell through a couple of times (apparently the renter/owner ratio was hovering at dangerous levels--something the association has now decided to deal with by trying to get people to vote on not allowing anyone else to rent out their units) my realtor made it happen. 
• J got a new job out in suburbia. I work evenings, he works mornings, and though we see each other once a week, at least we're not separated by 30 miles anymore!
• We flew out to Cali and drove his car back (I can sort of drive manual transmission now).
• We're saving for a wedding that may happen sometime in 2011.

And that's about it. A lot of people I know just had/will be having babies, so I've been busy making stuff. I love babies!

Let the monthlong posting begin!

I am here with you, because I've been there

Last week, one of my cousins overseas had a baby. Apparently he was admitted into the ICU shortly after being born and we weren't getting any details. I cannot explain to you the terror my parents and I experienced those few days until we found out it was just an infection and that everything would be fine. The parents and the grandparents of this baby now have a minuscule glimpse at what that terror is. As much as they love us, that part of the family has never really been involved, so they have no idea what my parents went through all these years with literally no family around.

I pray they never have to find out.

***

This week, I had an 11-year-old patient whose paperwork said "status-post Fontan surgery." And suddenly the words became blurry. Fontan is not a word I see every day, and it took me by surprise, right back to those days of not knowing what was happening or what would happen, or if I'd ever get to see my brother again. I can't help but cry.

I don't have any idea how she found out, but my mom got wind of this patient and happened to bump into the kid's mother in the hall. Seventeen years ago, our family was in a similar situation. The other mother's first question? "Please tell me your son is 40!" After scolding the woman for thinking she was old enough to have a forty-year-old son, my mom told her all about my gem of a brother. Soon, they were both crying together. 

***

Yesterday, a friend from high school emailed me about a 19-month-old she knows who has been battling a heart condition since before even coming out into the world. And they have another (healthy) baby on the way. I am definitely sending love to her family, because I know it's not going to be easy, even though I really really hope that it will.

***

Basically, my heart breaks every time I think about how much my brother has suffered. And while it's such a miracle that he's 28, a college graduate who went away to school, has a real job that takes him all over the country and handles his business every single day--never once using his situation to make excuses, he will never be free from the medicine and the checkups and the memories. It's almost too much for me to even think about, let alone imagine. And I will never be free from my own set of memories. It kills me that there are other kids and other families out there that have to go through it too. All I can do is pray for them and hope that they will surround their kids with as much love as we have been lucky to have.

28 years, six days

My brother and I are opposites in pretty much every way. I tend to walk into a room of people I like with an exclamation announcing my arrival. When I get excited, I speak faster and louder. And I remember my mother telling me when I was a kid that "there's no need to show EVERY SINGLE ONE of your teeth when you smile." But I can't help it.

The kid, however, is slow to smile--he's got this thing my dad does where they aren't smiling but you know they really are because the dimple on the side of their chins turns into a wink (it's also the tipoff when my brother's lying). He enters a room quietly, observing what's going on. And usually everyone else in the room exclaims when they see it's him.

So even though I knew he was probably coming, it was still a nice surprise when he stopped by my office yesterday to say hello. Sadly, he's downtown this weekend and booked up nearly every second, so those few minutes are pretty much all I'll get to see him until he comes to town again. I didn't really even get to wish him a happy birthday.

I love you, bro. Don't make me have to get pregnant to get you to move home.

why I should write more stuff down

"So did we discuss everything that we were supposed to as we made this long drive and actually had time together?"

"I don't know, had you made a list?"

"In my mind. But as you know, that's sort of unreliable."

"I have always found your mind to be completely illegible. I've never been able to read it."

-- Posted From My iPhone--everybody needs an editor.

road trip!

Very shortly, Jon and I will be driving his little red car from my future in-laws' house in California to Illinois. By the end of the trip, I hope to be confident driving a manual transmission vehicle outside of a high school parking lot. And have a lot of random postcards.

Any suggestions on places to stop?


-- Posted From My iPhone--everybody needs an editor.

in the future i'll rephrase when asking for "a little bite" of his lunch

"Ugh. I don't know in what universe I thought I could have completed this thing by today. I've been working on this for two hours now and only finished like five inches."

"Sadly, this is a common problem. You always seem to bite off more than you can chew with these types of projects."

"C'mon, you know me. I bite off more than I can chew with EVERYTHING I do. But then I somehow manage to chew it all."

"I know. I've seen you eat sandwiches."

birthday

After that last post, particularly the "this is a Cadiz post, of course" bit, I decided to take the advice of some of you to revamp my attitude.  Some of you remember the failed "no complaining" experiment of 2006. But today is a day of birth and rebirth, so we're going to give it a go. This year will (hopefully) be about focusing on the positive.

I am so thankful for all the love and support in my life. And, as always, it's always the little things that say the most.Yesterday our volunteer, Susan, brought homemade red velvet cupcakes into the office before I clocked in. They nearly disappeared almost as soon as she set them down, so not one but three different people grabbed one and set it aside so I'd be sure to get one when I got there. And that doesn't include the one my mom had.

When people can keep a red velvet cupcake on their desk and refrain from eating it, just for you? Damn, that's love. And don't get me started on my family and friends. You guys are all the best.

the closer we get, the farther apart we are

So Jon and I finally attained our goal of being in the same zip code for what we hope to be a long long long long time. We've been here for almost three months.

HOORAY!

I continue to work evenings--generally 11:30a-8:30p. This will probably go on into the unforeseeable future as my shift is the least desirable/hardest to cover and my counterparts aren't going to be retiring anytime in the next two decades.

Jon got a new job.

HOORAY!

It's no longer in the city (no more getting up at the bootycrack of dawn to get him to the train). It's a not-temp position for a bit more money. He will be out of the house for about the same amount of time but be paid for more of those hours than before! And there's benefits!

HOORAY!

But this is a Cadiz post, so of course there's a downside, right? He starts at 4a, gets home at 2:30p and will be sleeping by the time I get home. I am sleeping when he has to get up. At least when we were in our various forms of longdistance we could talk to each other in real time.

wah, waaaaaaaaaaah.

I know, I know, this is an awesome development. It really is. Did you check out the font sizes on those HOORAYs? There are people with even crazier schedules than ours, some of whom have kids. I'm certain we can make this work, even if it means one or both of us has to take two naps instead of a full night's sleep. And there are always Sunday mornings, which have generally been pretty great.

But I can't help but feel like we're stuck in a Paula Abdul video.