previouslies 2: all the posts fit to print

In 2011 I did this pretty comprehensive "previouslies" post. Here's where that leaves off, including some stuff I probably would have posted about, had I been doing this sort of thing regularly:

• In December 2011 I picked my brother up from O'Hare and flipped my car. That was possibly the first and definitely the last time I will ever leave the house without say goodbye to Jon after an argument.
• In February 2012 I started a new chapter in my career, fully putting the dungeon industry in the rearview (though I didn't know it at the time). My boss micromanaged and bullied, and I was her favorite punching bag. Giving so much while being made to feel incompetent is why I didn't post all that much. 
• In December 2012 Jon and I went on a gun-shooting /wine-tasting (not simultaneously) outing in Michigan with friends. Because I am me, the first weapon I ever fired was an AK-47. I pray I never hold another gun in my life. I didn't like how it felt to have that kind of power in my hands. It was a taste of the paranoid anxiety I would later experience post-partum. 
• In May 2013 I went into labor with my first child. After an immensely stressful several months at work, my water broke in my cubicle, 20 weeks early. The baby's lungs weren't developed enough for her to survive.
• In August 2013 we bought this house. Jon and our dear friend/realtor, Mala, did the legwork to find it. We were so excited to have a garage and a yard, and had big plans (like compost!). Less than a month after we closed, the pipes from the house to the street had to be dug up and replaced. I don't think we ever regained any homeowners' excitement and our yard looked like a construction site for the better part of four years (if you don't count when it was covered in snow). 
• Madelyn moved to Chicago.
• In December 2013 we lost baby #2 at about six weeks. She had a genetic defect (Trisomy 16).
• Jon started working at the same place as I did, but on a different team, in fall 2014. He is a natural, and people noticed.
• Two days before the one-year anniversary of Baby's due date, I delivered a healthy baby girl named Ro. She literally is the light of our lives. Grieving the first two are now complicated because technically we couldn't also have had Ro if they had survived. I had an emergency cerclage stitch put in to prevent labor and was on bed rest (and would have stood on my head for the entire pregnancy if I needed to). Delivering her separated my pelvis. I needed physical therapy and a walker to get around for the next four months, and the only thing I could do for her was nurse, then give her to someone else to be walked, burped, changed, bathed and the rest. Missing that bonding created a tender spot deep in my heart, kept sore by the guilt of feeling jealous and sad when all I should be is grateful. She kicks that very spot each time she pushes me out of the way to run to her father or says NOT YOU, MOMMY. I am happy that they have a great relationship, but I'd be lying if I said being left out doesn't sting.
• Jon's entire family came out for the holidays in 2014. I was thrilled to have both sides together for Ro's first Christmas. It was especially sweet to see her 2-year-old cousin Declan play with her. I wasn't exactly the best hostess, however, what with the walker, pain and trying to wrap my head around being somebody’s mother.
• I came back to work with pretty serious post-partum anxiety and my boss told me there could be a promotion. But they were "pretty sure they wanted to give it to" the woman who joined the team nine days after I gave birth (if you do the math, she was there for about three months and I had been there, slogging away, for three years). If I wanted it, I had to *prove* I deserved it. I was too stupid to see the mind game for what it was and redoubled my efforts. This was a very cruel thing to do to a lactating, sleep-deprived person who could barely walk, and I suffered as much as you can imagine. But I got the promotion. The other person was promoted a few months later.
• We took Ro on her first plane ride to see Jon's family in Southern California in September, 2015. She was 11 months old, met her great-grandmother, said hello to her sister, dipped her feet in the Pacific Ocean and caught her first major-league baseball game. We were there for our anniversary, too. It was a great time.
• My brother got an apartment in Chicago, within walking distance of Wrigley Field. He also *finally* started making some money back on his Cubs season tickets. I got to see them win the NLCS with him in 2015, which was amazing.
• Our "rainbow baby" turned one on Halloween. We celebrated, Oz-style, and everyone dressed up. Jon's mom flew out to see her granddaughter and hand-made her gorgeous Dorothy costume.
• My father's youngest sister, who lived in Mumbai, passed away from aggressive cervical cancer. I couldn't believe that I'd never see her again.
• In May 2016, our neighbors helped us break down our rotting backyard shed. There was a possum skull under it, and evidence that it was using the supports as a teething ring.
• My brother was set up on a date with a lovely Indian girl, who is friends with the wife of his BFF. Sounds good, right? Apparently she reminded him too much of me, which is a dealbreaker.
• HighCon was on tv, skulking around in the background on CNN during a Joe Biden speech. I always knew that guy would be famous. Now he and his dude have a house in the Hamptons that I very much hope we visit one day; it's beautifully appointed.
• My brother gave us a tremendous scare in August 2016 when he was retaining so much fluid in his chest and abdomen that his organs were impaired. He called me from the emergency room and had to be admitted. I believe five pounds of the stuff was drained out of him while he was in the hospital. He changed his diet and is controlling his sodium. But that was hella terrifying.
• My mom, Ro and I walked in the India Day Parade in my hometown on August 14, 2016. It's kind of a big deal because 40+ years ago when my folks settled in this place, there were only a handful brown people, and even fewer Indians. The existing community sure didn't make it easy for them. And now there's a parade!
• I went to my 20th high-school reunion in August. I had tried on about 25 dresses (including selections owned by a friend who goes to galas) but ended up with a $20 navy cotton dress from Target. And it was great. Had we been able to bottle the nervous energy in that country club banquet hall, we could have powered a city. I found out someone I never imagined had been reading this blog for quite some time (I had included the address in the wedding thank-you cards but didn't expect anyone to follow the link. If you're still reading, hi MSE!). I also got two apologies--only one of which I remember in context now (shame on me). Everyone should go to those things. You never know what can happen! Apparently the 10-year is when people hook up, and the 20-year is when people apologize...Perspective, amirite?
• My parents went to Singapore in September 2016 to visit my cousin and attend her daughter's First Communion. I was honored to be asked to make the veil. Jon and I realized that while they help us a lot with Ro, we can actually handle it ok without Nani and Papa. It's just nice to have them around.
• Ro started "preschool" at her in-home daycare. It still felt like a big step; there was a personalized backpack and all.
• Around this time, I sought a therapist's advice (a recommendation from two middle-school friends whom I haven't seen in decades--thank you, social media). She confirmed I exhibit classic signs of high-functioning ADD (and coped much better before kids, when I pulled all-nighters and only had to worry about myself). Many revelations followed. It is still a struggle. I didn't want to take medication because Jon and I were focused on trying for another baby.
• Our workplace had a huge project that had been in the works for years. In September 2016, my husband and I spent the weekend of our fifth anniversary working 10-hour shifts both Saturday and Sunday. We managed to get lucky and spent the money we'd saved for a celebratory weekend away on tickets to see Hamilton in October. It was worth every single cent to see it before the hype got nuts in Chicago. We were legitimately blown away and treasure having had the experience.
• I worked several overnights for the big project go live, including (my one day off in nine days) when I ACCIDENTALLY CAME IN TO WORK AND NO ONE STOPPED ME. This was a breaking point, because I thought I had messed up scheduling care for Ro and fought with my family for no reason. I started applying for other jobs.
• My college girls and I went to the "I Love the '90s" concert. Coolio, Color Me Badd, Tone Loc, SALT-N-PEPA and others. Salt-N-Pepa have still got it. The others made me feel kind of sad. The Allstate Arena parking lot was wall-to-wall minivans (we arrived in an Odyssey) and women were getting sloshed on tall cans of goodness-knows-what spiked fruit drinks. We almost got in a brawl with some broads in front of us who were so busy taking selfies they didn't realize they were spilling their drinks all over us. #goodtimes
• The Cubs won the World Series. I was at the game with my brother when they clinched the NLCS, and walked home through the drunken streets of the city in my David Ross jersey. It was *almost* as good as Grant Park in 2008. My brother was there for the actual win, and let me hear/see the pandemonium via phone (Shocker--I was working late that night while Jon and Ro were at home). I pray that more things in life can make my brother as happy as he was that day.
• I made Ro a pretty convincing Mary Poppins costume for her second birthday. She had a party at the jumping place and will not consider having her party anywhere else.
• I missed my first deadline. Ever. It wasn't for work, but still. A little of piece of me died that day. But you know what? The world kept turning.
• The country elected president number 45. I still feel some kind of way about that.
• My SIL a and our nephew, Declan, came to visit in November 2016. They had a blast playing together and exploring the children's museum. I wish we lived closer.
• PP and her dude bought a house on the South Side of Chicago that Quincy Jones used to live in! They didn't figure that out until more than two years later when they saw a documentary about his life and recognized their street.
• CC moved back to Chicago. I don't get to see her much because she runs content and social media for a publication that awards five-star ratings to hotels and restaurants around the world--and she gets to try those places! She got me a cool insulated water bottle from the Ritz Carlton in Lake Tahoe. It's a cool job, but damn, does that woman hustle. She recently got back from the Maldives.
• After multiple rounds of interviews, I got another job offer (commuting to downtown Chicago every day) and was about to accept. Then I peed on a stick. One thing my current job did let me do was work from home on bedrest. So I had to turn down the offer.
• Jon made Madelyn a "doggie deck" for her puppy, Frankie, who could tell I had a baby in my belly and would snuggle him. Sadly, her life was cut short because of a car accident when I was 22 weeks pregnant and she was about 22 weeks old. 
• I had a "preventative" cerclage put in at 16 weeks because by pregnancy NUMBER FOUR, they finally decided I have a bum cervix and maybe they should sew it up to keep the baby in.
• In April 2017 (Easter weekend), we revealed the baby's gender by having Ro open a series of plastic eggs in varying sizes until the smallest one burst open with blue m&ms and shared the video with the family. After all that we'd been through, we didn't want to make it into "a thing" until we had that healthy baby in our arms.
• I had an emotional Mother's Day.
• My college girls threw me a surprise baby shower, pretending it was pp's birthday party. I was overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude.
• PP took me to see Aladdin on Broadway (in Chicago). She had to escort me around the theater because of my delicate situation, but I'm so glad I went. It was so very good. SO good. I loved it. This was also the first time I used a ride-sharing service (that was weird).
• July 27, 2017 I took Ro to have ice cream with Ri and her two little girls. I dropped Ro off with my mom as she got off from work at the hospital and went for a "routine" appointment to have my cerclage stitch clipped because I was at 36 weeks. Apparently, during the 20 weeks the stitch had been holding my boy in tight, my skin had grown scar tissue all around it. This proved to be incredibly painful unimaginable ways--the MD couldn't get it out in the office, and called for backup. The backup couldn't get it out at the hospital's Labor & Delivery department, and called for backup. And the big boss (who started the practice and whom I followed from my old office because she's so good) busted out this huge, gray metal box with all sorts of Medieval-looking hatchety tools and STILL couldn't get it out. I felt all of that digging around, despite the IV meds. They took me to the OR and finally did it under an epidural. But they cut me up, so they had to cauterize the wound so it didn't get infected. At the end of all that, one of the OBs says "well, we'll know what to do for your next pregnancy." Uhhh...
• Madelyn got a new puppy and named her Olivia. She's more hyper than Frankie was, but is the same breed (Italian Greyhound).
• Again, I went beyond my due date. I was in labor for more than 24 hours and never dilated more than 2 cm, as cervical tissue that is scarred and tough doesn't really want to expand too much. TMI, but my doctor was trying to "break up" the scar tissue, manually, and I felt all of that, too. I just wanted a healthy baby; cervix be damned. But it just wasn't opening, so they rushed me in for a C-section. Apparently, he was practically knocking at the door. Kash was pulled out at 8:33 a.m. August 26, 2017. He is as limitless as the sky.
• I feel like exactly the kind of person I never wanted to be, having written only two posts here about him. I have spent just as much time marveling over his milestones as I did with Ro. But working full time with two small children? It's a wonder any of us are still alive, let alone documenting anything. Let me say that the entire time I was pregnant and rejected by Ro, I would hold my belly and say "please be mine. please be mine." And he does make me feel very appreciated.
• My MIL and Madelyn were watching Ro while I was trying to recover from the surgery and learn how to nurse this kid and make it from day to day in the hospital. Jon ended up having to stay home with Ro, who couldn't bear to be without him. My mom stayed with me in the hospital and would get up and go downstairs to work every day. I was doped up and they'd give me the baby in the middle of the night to feed--one time I caught myself nodding off. What if I had dropped him? Cue the exponential surge in anxiety. Those post-partum days were trying times, y'all.
• Guess what? Even though I didn't push to deliver Kash, the sheer widening of my pelvis to make room for him to grow messed with the ligament holding it together and it separated. Again! Hello, old friends physical therapy and the walker! 
• October 2017: We FINALLY got a handle on our Garbage yard. We got the front and back leveled and re-seeded by professionals.
• Jon turned 40 on Halloween 2017. I had presented him with a baby on his 36th birthday, and just grew him another, so I didn't think I needed to top that. He flew out to LA for a World Series Dodger game the day before his birthday (he saw them win) with one of his BFFs. Unfortunately they didn't win the whole thing, but he was back home in time to celebrate with his birthday twin.
• Ro wanted to dress as a witch for her birthday/Halloween. And she wanted another "jumping party." This time the theme was Sofia the First--the best princess of all, in the collective opinion of Ro, Kash and myself.
• There was a terrible fire in California, and the place where Baby's ashes were laid burned to the ground. I was much more sad than I expected. The cross remained standing, though.
• Ro and Kash met Santa at Kohl's. Ro wouldn't talk to Santa, let alone sit on anyone's lap, but after hemming and hawing, she got within 10 feet and practically whispered that she wanted an Elsa Barbie-like doll. Kash was his jolly self and bestowed smiles upon everyone in the store.
• We traveled to Ohio to spent Christmas with Jon's family at SIL m's house. It was really nice, and the kids did fairly well on the seven-hour drive back and forth. Ro had a blast with her cousin, Declan.
• I interviewed for a higher position at my employer. I did not get it. Jon moved to a different team in our company.
• We had a crazy amount of snow in February 2018. Jon threw Ro into a snowbank almost half as tall as he is. She sunk into the fluffy stuff and screamed with delight.
• My brother had been a bit...lax, shall we say, about checking in on his pacemaker. On Valentine's Day, 2018, he had to have heart surgery to replace it and have the new one attached to his heart. It was discovered that 36 years of stress from irregular bloodflow, 11 open-heart surgeries and living life, his liver has developed cardiac-induced cirrhosis. A week before this, a pipe in the unit above his apartment burst and destroyed his entire place. He moved in with us while his apartment was cobbled back together.
• In March I got pinkeye, then had a severe reaction to the medicine given to me by urgent care. My face swelled to Hitch  proportions, so much that I could hardly see, my eyes were smashed almost shut. I missed Angel07's '70s birthday bash, which sucked because I enjoy disco.  
• I interviewed for another position at my employer. I did not get it, either.
• Ro went to my friend's daughter's unicorn-themed birthday and rode a pony disguised as a unicorn. With all her heart, she believes she met a real unicorn. I'm hoping to let that slide for as long as possible.
• This was the year most of my friends and I turn 40. Several years ago, joking around, we talked about all going to Greece for our fortieth birthdays. The planners that they are, they actually made it happen. The gems that Jon and my mother are, they made it possible so I could go, leaving my 3.5y and 7m children for 14 days. I took off in May 2018. I am so eternally grateful for not having missed that opportunity to bond with my friends and take a severely needed mental break.
• I carried both a manual and electric breastpump through three countries and pumped/dumped everywhere from the beach to the club. I would be damned if my vacation was the end of my ability to produce food for my kid. I was worried Kash would reject me when I came home and steeled myself for the possibility, but he was very happy to see me. As was Ro. Thank goodness.
• Work stress escalated to new heights. There was a lot of drama that I thought would have been resolved while I was out on maternity leave, but in a shocking development, it had been left, festering, at my feet when I returned. I meticulously cleaned up that dumpster fire, then desperately tried to get away from my boss within the company. I finally realized that wow, I *am* competent, and even actually kind of good at this job. Imagine! My "work wife" and I managed to get onto another team, which came with new challenges.
• My brother invited us to Cubs Family Day at Wrigley Field on June 26, 2018. Kash was just learning to crawl, and he managed to army crawl on the actual field. Ro ran the bases but she was more excited about the inflatable jumping contraption. We have photos from the dugout that will last a lifetime.
• My dad *finally* relented and got rid of the hideous, overgrown evergreen trees in front of my childhood home (which had probably been there since 1978). Now the kids look forward to playing on the extra-wide stoop/sidewalk when the weather is warm. They can't play at our house because #mosquitoes.
• My cousin and her family came to visit from Singapore. We took the week to be tourists in our own area (Chicago is the best city in the world) and had so much fun at the Arboretum, Millennium Park, the Museum of Science and Industry, Shedd Aquarium, Brookfield Zoo, IKEA, the waterpark, all kinds of restaurants and playing around at home. I wish our families lived closer.
• Jon arranged for a few friends to do a cool escape room for my birthday as a surprise. Unfortunately we didn't beat it but it was fun. I would love to do another of those. He may have even ordered a bunch of random locks and stuff in the hopes of opening his own escape room...
• Little man turned one in August 2018: It was baseball-themed and I was a mess. I stayed up almost all night painting a comparable refrigerator box as Dodger Stadium with Kash's "stats" on the big screen (I had made a similar painting of the Emerald City for Ro's first birthday). We rented a park pavilion and a lot of the guests arrived before we did, with the food. But I think people still had fun. There were water balloons and so much Cubs-cake frosting all over the baby.
• Ro took gymnastics at the park district. She would not participate. I had to do the moves with her on the floor (sometimes moving her arms and legs for her), and she did not warm up until the last week of the second session, when she was all about it. But she could do all of the tumbling perfectly at home. Apparently those age ranges reference social readiness as well as physical capabilities.
• My old team banded together and ousted my old boss to another area where she would not have any direct reports, kind of like a coup. The person who had filled in for me while I was on maternity leave with Ro was promoted to her position. I can't help but wonder if the boss realized that she backed the horse that would kick her.
• My brother rented out his boss's brand-new bar for my 40th birthday. I curated a '90s hip-hop playlist that was appreciated by a surprising number of people. The paint was barely dry in the bar, but we closed that sucker down. And apparently the bartender was very generous and my friends--many of whom got babysitters for the evening--were not accustomed to drinking that much. We moved to a nearby hotel bar and closed THAT one out as well. I still hear about some of the subsequent hangovers.
• Ro wanted to be Sofia the First for her birthday. I ordered a beautiful costume as soon as it became clear I wasn't going to be able to make anything that year, not even four hours' sleep in a row. Her jumping party theme was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
• Work really went off the rails. Without belaboring the details, senior leadership hired a consulting firm to basically blow up everything I had designed and implemented for the previous six years...except it wasn't actually broken but working quite efficiently, as we proved time and again. And yet, when we pointed out the flaws in their plans, one of those jerks had the audacity to say "It doesn't matter that you don't want to do this, your CEO signed off on it." Clearly he didn't care about improving the business; they were going to take their money and bounce. Their proposal was for two people (myself and work wife) to essentially move the equivalent of the leaning tower of Pisa from one end of the yard to the other, brick by brick. But it would still be leaning and not improved much at all. We took our concerns up the chain and were told "it's dumb, but we have to do it" and that contracts had been signed. The consultants estimated it could all be completed by two dedicated people within three days. It took these two people more than 500 hours to do it over a three-week period, and I was still fixing it for months afterward . The deadline? October 31. I pushed and pushed and got it extended all the way to November 1. I worked more than 100 hours those weeks. I worked overnight October 30, because I didn't want to miss my baby girl's and husband's birthday. The consultants sat in my cubicle and wouldn't leave because #deadline. I got to the bakery at 7:02pm, begging them to unlock the doors so I could pick up birthday cakes. I missed trick-or-treating. I missed seeing them dressed up. I pretty much missed her entire fourth birthday. The adults didn't even have dinner because they were all waiting for me and it was simply too late. It was too late for too many things. I don't know that Jon will ever forgive me. But by that point I was so brain-dead, I didn't have the mental capacity to realize I should have just gotten up and left. That the expectations were beyond ridiculous. I got my resume out instead.
• Ro started ballet and tap class. She participated! A little. She says she "loves ballet," but I think the real thrill is seeing her dad or my mom or me through the window, watching her.
• Kash became obsessed with any kind of sports. But mostly BASEBALL! And when someone says "Go Cubs!" he loves to yell "NO! I SAID GO DODGERS!" Jon is over the moon. Ro roots for the Cubs. Sports makes people do strange things.
• February 4, 2019. I interviewed outside the company and didn't hear back. I thought they ghosted me. I accepted that I was staying and that staying was probably for the best.
• My brother bought a house eight minutes away from us in May 2019. It is the same raised-ranch layout as our house, short one bathroom and one bedroom. It has a deck AND a patio. And a garden. It's adorable and so much space for him. We are planning on crashing there while we sell our house. I have been taking one ball from the ball pit he gifted my children and leaving it hidden somewhere in his house, every time we come over. Eventually, he will have all of them, squirreled away under his bed, in his pantry, in the liquor cabinet...
• Jon is dedicated to making our home the "smartest" around. I swear, every piece of electronic gear is synced with a smarthome device, or motion detector, or app or camera. It's very helpful with the children, but a hacker could look in on us anytime in nearly any room to see that we are just trying to get through the day like everybody else. And we don't seem to get tired of pizza.
• May 2019. The outside employer called to see if I still wanted the job. I told my current boss what the offer was and she took a day or so before saying they wouldn't counter offer. Message received. I gave my two weeks' notice and shocked everyone who assumed I'd be a lifer. CC and I promised ourselves not to do that back at our first post-grad job in 2004.
• We hired a master gardener (my brother's BFF's wife's mom) to re-landscape our front yard. What a difference! She added hydrangeas, which I carried in my wedding bouquet. Of course, now that we are looking to move, I'm starting to warm up to this house.
• Ro adamantly doesn't want to play any sport but soccer, BECAUSE SOCCER IS HER FAVORITE. Jon turned on the Women's World Cup this summer and watched the U.S. take the title. Ro asked, "what is that on tv? Can I watch Moana instead?"
• Three months before what would have made16 years (on and off) at the organization, I took the leap to the new job. I'm so scared and a bit heartbroken. But not nearly as sad as when almost two weeks at the new gig went by without my talking to another human being out loud (just on instant messenger/email) outside of saying hello to the receptionist at the front door--then found out the old job already replaced me. I pray that I haven't made a mistake.

And here I am: Perched at the edge of a giant bed in a Grandstay Hotel in Wisconsin. Working on a certification for this new job. I'm alone and very lonely. I forced myself to stop in the tiny downtown near my hotel is and had ice cream for dinner sitting on a wrought-iron chair/table and peoplewatching, imagining a simpler time. Then I FaceTimed my family and felt sadder. Kash was reciting I Love You, Through and Through and I Am a Bunny to me because we've read them together so many times. Ro told me about all the fun they had with the sprinklers and the waterballoons at Nani's house and ran off to whatever she was playing. I wished Jon Godspeed and hung up.

I cobbled together what must've happened during the last few years by scrolling through photos on my phone. Now, more than ever, I can feel years--not just hours--whooshing past while I'm standing still, trying to process it all. I had a practical stranger re-create a photo of me taken in 2012 at this same training facility. Side by side, it is plain just how much I've gained in seven years. Weight. Wrinkles. Scars. Gray hair. Sorrows. Joy. Memories. Knowledge. Experience. Wisdom?

Is this what it's like to get old?


For old time's sake, check out this ancient post about parking, back when I didn't use capital letters.

dresses

Early on, we decided that a trip to India to shop for the wedding was just not going to happen. We figured cost of trip/time off work would easily trump the markup--ridiculous as it is--on what we'd buy here. Plus it's been established that when I have more than several things to choose from, I become paralyzed (I stand by my statement that I would gladly plan anyone ELSE's wedding so I could do all the fun creative stuff but not have to make any decisions--or pay for it).

So we made several trips to Devon Avenue, or "Little India" or the "Desi Corridor."

All I knew was that I wanted everyone to wear Indian clothes. Hey, my family is Christian, so I wasn't going to be tied to Jon and get to walk around a fire or other Hindu* stuff everyone assumes you'd have if you're marrying an Indian. So I had to get the Indian in wherever I could get away with it. Which was apparently in the clothing, but only for the girls. Ah, compromise.

My mom and I had been to Devon several times looking for my own outfit, and we quickly realized that getting six of the same sari--the most universally flattering of all outfits, in my opinion--was going to be really difficult. I had been combing the online shops, and every real-life shop kept saying they'd order for us, but I didn't feel comfortable ordering something I hadn't gotten to see in person. You just never know what you're going to get when you find something on the Internet, right?

We decided to get *complementary* saris in the same color family. I'd seen it done and it was awesome. But finding six individual pieces that went together without looking disjointed was a near-impossible task. We started with one that had thick gold stripes of flowers, but the next one wasn't nearly as blingy. So then who would get which one? I could smell the disaster coming a mile away.

One place we kept going (and making the shop guys dig out everything in any sort of blue-green color time and time again, two of which we ended up buying for the backdrop), finally had enough with us. They knew my mom and I as soon as we walked in after a few months. On our third trip, when I was in the dressing room trying stuff on, cc and pp started talking to the girl our age behind the counter. She pulled out some bright pink saris with peach borders that had been special-ordered and just arrived from India. We were sold in about five minutes.

Granted, it was pretty hastily wrapped (there was hardly anything hanging off the back), but you get the idea. The detailing goes really well with my wedding dress, to boot.

A sari has three parts: the blouse, the petticoat (skirt you wear underneath and tuck it into) and the actual sari, which can be six or nine yards. People wear them all sorts of ways, too. The blouse and petticoat are handy in case of a wardrobe malfunction, which is always a possibility (and quite possibly may have occurred,) when there is alcohol at an event. We were going for the pinned-over-the-left shoulder look with the end hanging down the back.

We decided that because there were going to be girls and boys on both my side and Jon's, it might be nice to differentiate by color. So I went with a royal blue that I thought would go well with the lighter hair and bring out the blue eyes in Jon's sisters, and a "peacock" not-green/not-teal that went really well with the girls on my team. Because I was feeling so productive, and we were getting a deal, I also picked up all the petticoats and the jewelry for the girls, which included necklace, earrings, bracelets and a maangtika (a jewel that hangs from your hair onto your forehead). I made some really sophisticated drawings to share with the girls who couldn't make it out to Devon.

I know, I have mad drawing skills.

Each sari came with a little extra on the end, from which the tailor** makes the perfectly matching blouse. All of the girls got to choose their own blouse styles, of which there are OH SO MANY. This drawing doesn't even come close to the books the tailor had to choose from.

I also sent them a video on how to wear a sari so they knew what they were up against. Then I followed that up with a promise that a whole team of Aunties would be present to help them.

I know you just scrolled through to look at the pictures [insert TLDR here], which is fine. Here's what you really wanted to see anyway. Photos are cropped to protect the innocent, but it really is a shame, because we had the most beautiful bridesmaids I've ever seen. Keep in mind that I'm only going off the few photos so generously shared with us, so I don't have all the angles.

 Team Cadiz, minus the captain.

 Team Jon, including the captain. 

 

 Team Jon from the back.  

Trust me, these people looked AMAZING. I know I'm biased, but everyone keeps telling me. And five out of five doctors agreed; that's better odds than toothpaste.

*Hindu is the religion, and Hindi is the language. You can speak the latter without being the former. Or vice versa.
** By the way, our tailor, Dilip Uncle (not my real uncle), was great--for no extra, he found this great georgette fabric for the long-sleeved blouse that not only matched perfectly, it was light enough that she wasn't going to be hot. At least I hope she wasn't hot. 

diy flowers III

By far, the most torturous portion of the flowermaking ended when we could put down the floral tape, but we still had a lot of work ahead of us before we could get to the final product.

First, we had to open up all of the tightly wrapped flowers. Any lazy floraltaping was certainly discovered when the centers fell out or petals started falling off.

This was another stage where they were pretty nicelooking and we considered just leaving them that way. But we were too committed by this point.

Then, the painting--by watercolor. Madelyn and pp had a talent for this step and risked sore backs and stiff shoulders to help us get through it.

 There's a reason tattoos are used to identify criminals; they're pretty distinctive.

 

 This is pp. It's only fair to out her, too.

Coffee filters are very absorbent, but they also take a long time to dry. Jon devised a very complex "station" consisting of two folding chairs and some twine, but it worked fabulously.

No two were painted exactly the same.

Jon had always said he wanted the orange to be used sparingly throughout the wedding stuff, just a pop of it here and there. I like the way monochromatic looks, so we decided the flowers would all be tones of green-blue--one good thing about making faux flowers is that you can have any color at any time of the year, even roses. Everyone seemed to think that a little variation was nice, so the painting got purposely splotchier as we went along. Madelyn even went so far to paint a few of them orange, just for kicks. 

 

The orange ones were gorgeous, especially when wet.

After they were dried upside down, the petals were all sort of stuck together and misshapen.

 I love the way that texture looks with the paint.

So that meant re-forming them again. And topping that off with giving each and every petal a signature roselike curl.

Jon did the bulk of the curling, with help from a few people like my parents. I did some, but dang it wasn't my favorite part of the process by far. I'd rather tape, if that says anything.

 Everyone was right, the ones with more variations of color really were the best looking.

 

Mfm and Angel07 were INSTRUMENTAL in arranging these badboys into the vases. I won't bore you with all the things we tried before we decided on tulle and foam for innards, but there was plenty of discussion and trips to the store. Jon and I just prepped the vases for them, and these two went to work, making sure the dozen or so roses in each vase were secure and lovely to look at.

These two did a much better job than I would have. You'll see more of Mfm's work when you see our bouquets.

We thought it needed just a little something. So we added some orange ribbon. And then the ribbon wouldn't stay put, so we used some of the big return labels left over from the invitations to seal the deal.

 Doesn't seem like much to show for so much work, does it?

Oh my goodness, was this a labor of love. I will forever use this flower project as a yardstick against which I will measure the insanity of any other project I try to undertake. There is NO WAY Jon and I could have pulled this off (with seven days to spare!) without the love and support we got from our family and friends. Even the people who continually checked in with me to make sure I was on track were essential for me not to have lost my mind over this.

And I'm happy with the way they turned out. Which is something I never say.

How one of the finished pieces looked at the end of the night.

The materials for each of these centerpieces cost $7.00. That is a STEAL. If we paid my mom, my dad, Madelyn, cc, pp, mfm and Angel07, as well as myself and Jon $10.00 per hour (and that would be a very low wage considering the occupational hazards of tape, skewers, hot glue and sheer fatigue) that was spent on these, each of these centerpieces cost around $1,800.00 apiece. THAT IS A CRIME.

That said, I won't be subjecting my loved ones to this kind of torture anytime soon. I thank each and every one of them from the bottom of my heart.

Aren't you all glad I'm only planning on doing this once?

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.

some things never change

This morning I woke up to the smell of freshly made blueberry muffins and a pot of tea on the stove. Bless his heart, my fiance knows how to put me in a good mood. He's definitely a keeper. 

I was so excited that I drank up all the tea without realizing it had two tea bags in it. Some of you longtime readers may have heard about my reserved-for-emergencies-only caffeine policy. During college, I weaned myself off the stuff so I could hit that sauce when I needed to pull an all-nighter (ask pp, it wasn't that uncommon). So nowadays when I have a cup, I'll be up for a minimum of 40 hours, easy--and likely to be found bouncing off the walls. 

That's where I'm at right now, skippity-doo-dah-ing all over the place. I'm betting H had no idea he'd get so much entertainment from one pot of tea.

Cadiz and H, you are the last team to arrive. I'm sorry to tell you that you have both been eliminated from the Race

Way back in March, Angel07 celebrated her birthday in style--Amazing Race style. She and her man, Mark, did a fantastic job thinking up challenges and putting together a very fun day for all of us.

You long-term readers know how much I love CBS's The Amazing Race. In fact there has been much talk in the comments over the years about getting teams together and how well we'd all do against one another. H and I were so convinced we'd be a perfect team that we even filmed and submitted an application video a few years ago. However when we watch it now, it's easy to see why we never got a call. Regardless, he's great with directions and I'm an excellent driver (I know everyone says that, but my dad's training and years of weaving through traffic at high speed combined with constantly having to turn around has made me quite effective under pressure).

That gorgeous afternoon--60 degrees in Mid-March!--we got to Mark's house about 30 seconds before the final check-in time. Phew! However one half of the Wonder Twins (dressed in matching green-and-white stripedy shirts and black winter vests) kept us waiting anyway; apparently there are a few exits off the highway with the same name and she had taken the wrong one.

We received a RACE INFO packet containing maps, instructions that explained the CLUES, ROAD BLOCKS (for one team member) and DETOURS (for both team members), and a pen.

The race took place in a suburban area with which H and I had zero familiarity. Other teams knew it well, but we were confident we'd win handily anyway. We rarely miss an episode of the show and know all the pitfalls. This may have worked against us.

Mark gathered us all in his driveway and gave us the first clue which led to the big mailbox in the center of the cul-de-sac. Everybody took off running for that red-and-yellow envelope.

H and I sprinted toward the car, where we got in and opened the clue: "Make your way on FOOT..."

It was a number-to-letter puzzle. Other racers just ran to the park to sit down and figure it out, but H and I were already behind, so we solved it while we ran. Splitting the paper and doing it together was a pretty quick method.


Mark was at the first location, a children's park with picnic tables, a jungle gym and some really confused kids. We whispered the solution in Mark's ear. He gave us our next clue:

All of the envelopes, boxes and clues were clearly marked with TAR colors. These guys were not playing around.

We were the second team to get this 60-piece kids' puzzle. Apparently in our haste, we didn't see the pile of scotch tape dispensers on the other table. Only after we heard other teams using it did we get some, which really helped. But that put us in second-to-last place. On the back of the completed puzzle was the next clue:

We ran back to the car. I am much more out of shape than I thought; H got to the car while I caught my breath and picked me up on our way to Wendy's, where we got our first DETOUR, "Eat it or Play it."

In "Eat it" each team member had to gulp down a small Wendy's Frosty. That was out because H has lactose issues. "Play it" was a simplified game of war, conducted by A07 and the Kind Dentist. We got very lucky and won right away, putting ourselves ahead of several teams who were already there. A07 handed us the next clue:

We took off to the train station. The thing that sucks about scavenger hunts and the like is that the first team to get there wastes a bunch of time determining the exact location while subsequent teams just look for the cars and follow.

No matter, I had Eagle Eye H with me, who found a plastic Easter egg right away.

Luckily ours had keys in it; decoy eggs contained paper clips.

The next clue was in an out-of-the-way-place. Next to the station was the stadium for a local minor-league baseball team. There were several lots, which were pretty much empty, but spot #15 was off to the side. We had learned our lesson about showing other people the way and parked out of sight. There was a yellow-and-red box under a spruce tree that contained the next clue, a ROADBLOCK, and Mark was chilling on a lawn chair behind the tree.

H has definitely seen more American movies than I have, so he did the challenge. But they were tricky questions, such as "Which singer/songwriter composed the music for Princess Bride and Wag the Dog?" another neither of us can remember, and the one H got correct, "Name the actors who played the aliens in Earth Girls Are Easy," even though he hasn't seen the film. Mark gave us the next clue, which ended up being the root of our demise:

"Keep your eyes open for the "light" at the end of the tunnel."

I mentioned that there were several parking lots at the Flyers' stadium, right? Some of them were cordoned off; more specifically the west-end lots were chained off. We headed to the west pell-mell and spent an UNGODLY amount of time driving/walking around lots that happened to be situated near an overpass, under which we could see the sun setting. I guess we overinterpreted the clue and were looking at the outside edge of the lots and near drainage pipes that could have been "tunnels." This took forever because we had to park the car and search on foot.

Unable to find the clue, we drove around again in a panic and almost hit an SUV coming around the corner who probably didn't expect anyone to be there. When we finally stumbled onto the next clue, it was (of course) at the first place we had stopped--and apparently walked right past somehow. A small plastic treasure box sitting at the base of the lightposts in the middle of the parking lot. There were several left, so we knew we were among the first to find it (this clue threw off a bunch of teams). We used the keys from the Easter egg to open it and get the next clue:

We headed back to Mark's house for what would be our final test. We were hot on the heels of the Wonder Twins, who at the last second changed from the left-hand turning lane to the right and took the other direction on the highway back to Mark's place. We continued to the left and went in what was the WRONG direction. This proved to be a big mistake, because traffic was building and we had to go all the way around before nearing the house.

When we did get there, we discovered the Wonder Twins arrived about 15 minutes before us and ultimately took first place. A few other teams had also finished the last challenge--a ROADBLOCK that I would do. However, pp and her boyfriend were still out there, so it wasn't over yet. My task? Match the country with its flag, a challenge often featured on the television program to see if racers could remember where they had been. This proved to be more difficult than I had imagined, especially because the last time I'd looked at an Almanac list of flags was probably in 1998. And there were eight more flags than spaces, some with only slight changes (like two for New Zealand with different-colored stars).

Kind Dentist was holding the answer key and telling us how many we each had wrong. I was hung up on Croatia, Kenya and Egypt. I should have changed them one at a time, strategically. D'Oh! As you can see, I had New Zealand (wrong-colored stars), Poland (the red is on the bottom), Belarus (not even close), England (much different than the U.K. flag) and Croatia (that's actually the Belarus flag) incorrect.

We came in last. It was a humbling moment for H and I, who thought we had this race in the bag. When I asked the Wonder Twin who completed that last challenge, I realized I never had a chance; she had been playing some sort of Facebook flag application game and locked it down in a matter of seconds. Who says Facebook is just a time waster?

Later we heard that two teams bypassed certain challenges altogether and just followed other teams. So technically we came in third to last. But it was a great experience. All that running around, navigating unfamiliar territory, putting our heads and hands together (however four adult hands are too many with a puzzle that small), there were plenty of opportunities to yell, but we kept cool and worked together despite the frustration. Which was comforting. Plus, we were able to redeem ourselves later with a couple rounds of Taboo.

One thing's for sure, though. I will never again look at Amazing Race contestants with disdain. Luck plays a much bigger part than I thought, and it's way more challenging than it looks on tv.

milestone: year 4, month 1, day 8

Apparently the four-year anniversary of this blog sailed by on March 7 and I didn't even notice.

On the first and second anniversaries of this blog, I compiled quotes from old blog posts for my own amusement. Like this and this. I didn't on the third, because that year was kind of busy what with the layoff on my birthday, the startup stuff and in March I was raising hell as a landlady (not doing that again).

So I'm going to indulge myself with a snippety roundup of the last two years because no matter how I try, I haven't felt like posting lately* and reading back over the old stuff might get the juices flowing again.

Also, next week H's best friend's sister is getting married and she's flying us out so H can photograph her wedding. I am taking a detour to San Diego, where I will hang out with cc and her son, b before taking the train back to L.A. for the wedding. So I might not be around and this could take you an entire week to read. (I will not be offended if you don't; it's mostly for me). Here goes:

2007

"whatever, i know your record; the less you know about the teams, the better you do. and i'm NOT going to be shown up by my sister in a pool with all my friends."


and it didn't help that there was a tv news camera crew at the wall, obviously capturing fodder for their let's-say-goodnight-on-a-bright-note shot. you know, because 55 minutes of murder and mayhem is perfectly canceled out by a 30-second segment featuring stickyfaced kids or furry baby animals. sadly for us, H lost his footing and wiped out on his back directly in front of the cameras while i spun around on my palms and skates.


fine, it could be that the girl's a lifelong country fan-- that's fair; they're sort of in their own musical universe. and besides, i myself couldn't find the cheese in a maze if all the clues were based on classic rock. somehow during my formative years, the only music available to me fell into two categories: sappy country and even sappier hindi movie music.


I think the time has come for me to trade the day-old pizza boxes and pajamas-as-streetclothes lazy college email style for the language of grownups. You, my dear readers, deserve the extra keystroke effort required for me to make use of capital letters.


I started with my parents because a) it's much easier to throw out other people's stuff and b) I inherited saving techniques from my father, Mr. Just In Case, who is gunning for some sort of keeping-stuff championship. Granted, junk he saves comes in handy once in awhile, but the useful-to-spacewaste ratio is severely skewed toward the latter.


When your parents come from a place like India, you have to take the good with the bad. I'm talking about a society that generally says "Do not even look in the direction of the opposite sex" for years, then suddenly one day: "Hurry up and get married so you can make as many grandchildren as possible. 1-2-3, GO!"


When I was little, I wanted to be a cardiac surgeon. I held onto that dream for a really long time (especially when my dad said he'd buy me a convertible when I got my MD). I realized somewhere in the middle of high school that if I couldn't watch fake doctors doing fake surgery with fake blood on tv without my stomach churning, medical school was probably not a realistic option.


"I could have told you that you're not retarded, silly girl," she said. "What I want to know is this: Did the guy say when you're going to get married?"


The woman is knowledgeable, and she don't waste no kinda time. Back in college, I wouldn't be satisfied with a trip to the mall unless I had systematically touched every hanger in every store, a habit that elicited threats of bodily harm from pp. She goes in knowing what she wants, targets it, takes a sweeping glance at the rest of the offerings and exits. She's like an assassin. A trained killer who can quickly calculate markdowns.


"However, if the situation were completely different: Let's say I was carrying something heavy, and you were not carrying anything at all but you didn't think to help out? Then I would have to put whatever it was down and kick your ass."


A recent conversation with H revealed that an integral part of my physical education--the Square Dance--was not a part of the curriculum where he went to school in California. I was appalled to hear that fourth-graders out there weren't forced to devise methods of partner dancing without actually touching their cootie-infested counterparts. How else do kids learn the complex techniques that make for the stilted, awkward interactions they call *relationships* in junior high? Maybe that's why people in California are so very laid back; they don't know how to Do-si-do.


13) I can't make rice. Please don't tell anybody.


Movies to which I wish I could have awarded zero or fewer stars: 1 (I'm looking at you, The Puffy Chair)


His homing tactics went on to include driving three hours to sit outside my college dormitory and interrogate my friends, who feigned ignorance about how I was sneaking into the building through the the back basement laundry room as they spoke. I believe that pager ended up at the bottom of a lake, to be joined by the relationship shortly thereafter.


"Uh, I did NOT spend all that time and money raising you just to die because you can't do a puzzle.*"


One definite downside to this whole working-days concept is that for years, my brain learned to shut itself off between the hours of five and nine in the morning, which is exactly when some key daily decisions need to be made. Mission Critical choices, such as what I'm going to wear.


And while that may be true, If you go through enough crap with people--no matter how much they make you want to tie them to a chair and duct tape their mouths closed so you can beat them about the head and explain just how wrong they are--one day you'll wake up and they're part of your family. And everybody knows, no matter what you do, it's not easy to break away from family.


"No kidding! Last week there was an eight-percent-visibility monsoon when I was driving to the airport to pick you up, and as soon as you got in the car it was gorgeous the whole time--right up until your plane took off again five days later, when it promptly started drizzling. You really are magical."


2) This girl, Amy "The Kisser," would smooch my brother every day in kindergarten. But when she started touching him with her tongue, the engagement was off.


2) He can't plan his life. This was supposed to be a pretty straightforward antibiotic annihilation (because that wound around his pacemaker had been open and covered with gauze for more than a year, they went in, took out the pacemaker, flushed the spot where it had been with the most powerful antibiotics, put in a new pacemaker generator, closed him up and put him on IV super-antibiotics for two weeks.) Now it's looking like healing may take longer, which will delay going back to school, which will drag out his already-six-year attempt to graduate even further.


People like to tell me they think I'm overly paranoid and to "just chill out," "let it go," or "don't worry so much." But honestly, if a reminder that you could lose the things you care about most in this world smacks you in the face at least once a day, you'd start to clutch onto everything just a little bit tighter, too.


Sure enough, it came. Swiftly, semi-unexpectedly and deadly-ly. We got back from that great lunch and had a meeting with the mother office to learn that our entire office is getting laid off, two months (and one day) since I started. Happy Birthday from The Man!


It's a good thing I grew up with a dad that accelerated at hairpin turns, so I was only slightly fazed when my chauffeur for the evening was texting, dancing and even reading me a Forward joke in a bad Indian accent from his Blackberry, all while zipping around cars on the highway.


"Well, there have been known to be ugly babies out there. You can’t just generalize."


There's a frigging LAMBORGHINI parked outside the office, for use in the new Christian Bale batman movie, The Dark Knight. They've blocked off all the streets on our block and on the way into the office this morning, my colleague almost got run over by Bale in a sleek black car flying up the street. When you see the movie, look for a bewildered dark-haired woman in white pants and a dark brown shirt, hopping onto the curb to save her life.


As we walked down the path, we saw a bunch of girls in hijabs carrying brightly-wrapped gifts into the meeting hall attached to the pool, which was obviously rented for the occasion. I wondered if those nasty people in the pool (and I say people because no one said anything to him, including the lifeguard) had seen the girls, made some assumptions and taken it out on us. I couldn't help but worry for those girls and their party.


Get your boobs checked. And your pipes. And the rest of yous. It's way less sucky than the alternative. This may be hard to accept, but you are not invincible, after all. As someone who's spent way too much time pacing around helplessly in hospital waiting rooms, trust me when I say that your loved ones will thank you for taking care of yourselves.


Don't get me wrong, it wasn't even close to the first time H had hung out with my parents; it was important to me that they all met each other straightaway, mostly because he lives so far away and I wanted them to know he wasn't a serial killer or someone who couldn't appreciate the virtues of a good chapati.


It took every ounce of energy I had for nearly 35 minutes not to turn around and yell at the top of my lungs: LISTEN LADY, APPARENTLY YOU HAVE SOMETHING IN YOUR THROAT. WHY DON'T YOU PUT SOME EFFORT INTO COUGHING IT OUT AND DO SO IN AN ABRUPT, ALBEIT LOUD, MANNER? YOUR METHOD IS DRIVING ME FRICKING BALLISTIC! But instead I sat there, eyes glazed over, pretending to read but contemplating exactly how I'd word my bitter, hateful blog diatribe against her.


I like to chat.
I am a bad liar.
Someone told me my face is louder than my mouth. And it's true.


Mrs. Leuken certainly did not make Baked Alaskas and Peach Cobbler this way in seventh grade Home Economics class; she gave out written recipes. On the other hand, my mother's idea of a recipe is to tell you to put a "fistful" of this and and a "little bit" of that and "don't forget to throw in some" of whatever else. Repeating it too many times or writing it down is too taxing, and she'd remind me that if I had stood around and watched when I was a kid, this wouldn't have been a problem.


I have to say, the concept of eating all Chicken McNuggets and then touching a screen 10,000 other people have touched with their licked fingers is kind of gross (and when the screen goes black between games, you can see all the grease on it, too).


"Oh, by that time I'll be dead, so it'll have to be flowers you can put on my grave. But I'm going to be cremated, so I won't even have a grave, so you'll just have to put them on the table and think of your poor, dead mother."


And poor Highcon--who had told Kaiya he wouldn't be able to make it--he spent most of the party concealed in a stuffy Grim Reaper costume disguising his voice and introducing himself to everybody as "Fareed." That worked until someone whose actual name was Fareed showed up, and no one bought the story that Highcon's name had suddenly changed to Julio.


"He said, 'Mom, why are you talking about all this other stuff when I called you for business reasons'? And I was like, "What business reasons?" And he said, "My Christmas List."


I do not care WHO you think you are, it is NOT okay to clip your nails during a crowded and herkity-jerkity train ride.


Even all these years later, cc can make herself crack up just by thinking about my reaction to those flying tampons; it freaks people out on the train or in the elevator when she laughs to herself for no apparent reason.


When there are too many people in a revolving door, there's no room to move your legs and actually make it revolve. It took some fancy coordination and Fred-Flintstone-like quick babysteps, but we finally got out of there. I turned around and said to H, "What the HELL was that?" He was like, "What? That's not how you do it?"


The reason today is called Black Friday is because that is the color the tips of your toes and your nose turn after waiting in line outside in the middle of the night in 20-degree weather.


"Well, according to your blog, I'm too simple to operate a revolving door, so I wouldn't want to tackle something as complex as winter gloves."


a) The people downstairs give dance lessons. promptly at 3:15 yesterday, the lilting strains of "if you don't know me by now... you will nevereverever know me... OOOoooOOOO" started, then continued. On repeat.


"I never wanted Charles to be in charge of me."


"Boy, you have a very nice voice on the voicemail! Your mother must have taught you how to speak so well. Please give me a call and have a pleasant morning. Bye, I love you."


So sometimes, if he's been standing too long or taking too hot of a shower or if the wind blows the wrong way or if the cable goes out, a vein in his left leg will spontaneously burst, spurting blood everywhere. And I don't use the word "spurt" lightly.


All I want to do is curl up on the couch with my knitting and watch Roll, Bounce.


Let me clarify: I refer to Jo Ann Fabrics (or any craft store) as "The Crack House." Mostly because I get a rush out of going there and acquiring items that are probably not good for me. Like boxes and boxes of choice cuts, gadgets, pattern envelopes, balls of yarn, loose sheets of pretty paper and a whole mess of other stuff that will likely get crumpled in my closet for decades to come. And with every trip, I suddenly find my pockets empty and my home bursting with heaps of craftery. It's nothing like the tragedy of an actual crack habit, but it's an addiction nonetheless.


At 8:45, we started moving. Then we stopped. More groans. Leather Jacket was on his third piece of gum and in a jolly mood. He began to tell me that the last time a train he was on hit somebody, the person didn't make it and that the transit authority actually let people off during the cleanup. He said police were walking around, covering things up here and there. It took me a second to process that.


But if you've spent more than 2.5 seconds here, you've probably noticed that I live in the Land of Worst-Case Scenarios and I believe that if I spend some time hashing out every possible bad outcome, then maybe they won't come to fruition after all. I know this is not logical, but it helps me sleep at night.


"Like if I told you, 'Cadiz I just murdered someone,' I know you'd probably say something like 'That bitch probably deserved it.' "


I spent eight of my formative years learning to play the cello. I figured that having played an instrument where you have to know where to place your fingers without markers while swinging a bow would make holding down five colored buttons and strumming a flap on a plastic guitar incredibly easy on the very first try. I figured wrong.


2008

I plodded along. I didn't realize until it was too late that the flimsy cardboard pizza box was coming open at the side and after a thump, I saw my lunch face down on the concrete.

We were laughing so uproariously that we didn't even notice the door open. All heads swung around to face the giant girl who had come back upstairs, this time with a giant yellow Labrador tucked under her arm, and invited herself in.


He swears that if I make my kids call him "Mama" he will make his own children address me as "Dork."

For years, I've said that I lived at my parents' house because I had to stockpile money for the impending Depression, and that all my years spent learning to make clothes, knit and generally be crafty were preparation for the hard times I was sure are coming. I was mostly kidding, of course.


If I had gotten to see my boss before she died, I would have told her that not only did my brother finally graduate after seven years, but he'll be turning 26 in September and continues to raise hell every single day. I think it would have made her happy to hear.


"We all make sacrifices. Like when I started dating you, I had to come to terms with saying goodbye to my liver-flavored chapstick."


Even though we were stuck on a bridge the bayou for three hours in the dark with hundreds of other cars because of a fatal accident, with no idea when we'd be able to see the inside of a bathroom.


Strangers walking around and touching our things, sitting on the couch where I fall asleep every night at 10 pm, fondling my pillow, opening my fridge and seeing my stockpiles of string cheese. It's a little too much to think about.

While we were still working there, we decided (based on no historical knowledge whatsoever) that gangsters used that safe to hide ungodly amounts of cash, guns or booze during Prohibition. Or bodies. It's over the top, I know, but any sort of intrigue makes sitting at a desk job seem a little more sexy.

My brother is the only person I know in real life who can get away with shenanigans like that. He will shrug his shoulders, smirk and hand you a card that says HAPPY BAR MITZVAH for your birthday or one with LA ABUELA MÁS FABULOSA on Father's Day. Somehow it works for him; people find it absolutely hilarious.


"Okay. Let me get this straight, you're coming HOME for LESS THAN A DAY and you need to bring SHAMPOO? You're coming HOME! Not some cheap motel with no complimentary cleansing products! HOME!"


This was one of those scaredy times: I had my jacket over my arms and would hold it up to the bridge of my nose or higher whenever a villain had someone by the throat. This Joker is much more terrifying than anything I'd seen on the Adam West television program. And I was pretty sure he wouldn't be challenging Batman to any surfing contests.


My brother called while he was high as a kite on pain medication and said he told the nurses that he was a pimp, but that no one believed him. Someone called him out on it and he said, "You're right, I'm not a pimp. I don't believe in beating on women and treating them bad."


Somebody really should determine the distance-walked to distance-walked-in-heels ratio. You know, for the record.


"Oh yeah, I remember that. And your name on there is Cod-zee, right?"


There was a lush park of green grass in the center with a gazebo, and all around were perfect little houses with perfect white picket fences; everything so gleamingly new (or so it seemed). I kept looking around for the Truman Show-cameras.


I had figured that by 30 I'd be married to a Nice Indian Boy with a couple of kids, living in suburbia, working at a job that "hasn't been invented yet" and serving as scout leader on Tuesday nights.


"Nah, that's a little too old. If your name is Gertrude, you might as well be dead. Something not too oldish, that still has spunk... I got it! Beverly! Still youthful, but yet—you're old. Yeah, BEVERLY!"


If I were smarter/more alert/not so flustered I would have said Sorry, my mom still cuts my hair (what would he know, it was in a bun) and be on my way. But what did I do instead? Hemmed and hawed until he threw in two for a reduced price of one and wrote a check, thinking Hell, at least I have an excuse for being late to the status meeting.


He will leave things to the last possible hour, and then squander 55 minutes of that hour hysterically pacing and complaining about how he has no time left and so much pressure. And then in those last five minutes, he will come up with something brilliant and shrug it off as no big deal when he's patted on the back about it. That's just how he rolls. But it's one hell of a rollercoaster if you're along for the ride.


Last week when I dropped the gift off at her parents' house, I asked Kai's mom if she was going to cry at the ceremony. "No way!" she had said, "Why would I cry? I'm happy!" But of course she did. And it's rumored that her tough-guy little brother was wiping his eyes, too.


As if the harried looks on our faces and the piles of paper on our desks weren't obvious, I answered that we were extremely behind and it looked as though we'd be there till about 8 p.m. that night. He responded, "Oh. Well, would you like some wood to knock on?" and sailed out the door.


Even if I must switch careers, I have worked in several facets of my industry, including a place I visited during school and said, "I'm going to work here someday." So I can leave with no regrets.


I realized that this is the exact expression that comes over your face when you have had quite enough and decide to check out of the listening portion of a sermon by Mom, Dad or myself. It's precisely the face you make 2.5 seconds before you take an enormously long pause, say "Ok, I gotta go" and get the hell out of the house.


Today I've been making Very Important Decisions that my boss would have handled if she were still here. And I feel a little like a fraud telling people what to do. I mean, I get it, but I feel like a kid at the adult table—grabbing a turkey leg in my fist will get the job done, but it would destroy any credibility I have.


So while things become even more uncertain in the coming weeks, I'm going to lean on family, friends and food to stay afloat. But it'd be really nice if I can figure out how to use the remote controls.


"I'm a mess. And this morning when I called you on the walk to work and said I had to go back home because I forgot the bag with my files in it? Yeah, when I got into the house and looked around, I found it on my shoulder—it was flipped behind me and my purse was over it, so I hadn't realized it was there."


But the highlight of the evening for me was when The Boy told his mom he'd like a hug from me, and was too shy to ask. I was delighted to oblige.


It's just that we all have to take a hard look at just what we're honoring, decide if it's really something we can be proud of, and if it isn't, we should do something about it—no matter how long it's been a part of "the tradition."


I sincerely hope that after years of being in the same room with genius minds, I have managed to absorb some of the smarts it's going to take to pull off this little endeavor.


So the boss and I did what any self-respecting dynamic duo would when faced with shutting down and hitting the road. We knocked back a few drinks.


29. He says he doesn't dance, but I think I caught him—once.


"Holy crap, if we're both this touchy about age now, what's going to happen when we really ARE as old as mold?"


The line was out the door and people weren't bothering to wait for a booth. Instead we lined up and colored in our circles on the stage where I reprised the role of Calamity Jane and sang festive holiday songs on risers more than 20 years ago. Ah, the memories.


I left my brother a message saying that being on Michigan Avenue right then, with all those people so happy to just be there, felt as though all the sports teams in Chicago won the championship on the same night.


-You are legally guilty of first-degree murder if you take part in, well, any step involved in the events that led up to the crime. (Even if you weren’t the one holding the gun.) So if anyone ever asks you for help doing something shady, say NO!--angel07


"Nice, Dad. Your daughter is 30 and you're 28?"


Even then I have contemplated starting a new trend where he has his place across the street from mine, a la Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera.--pp


To hell with the "loveable losers." It has been almost a full week since the nightmare, and I sat there and watched the BoSox win yet another series and get one step closer to the World Series.--my brother


I'd like to say a few things about what it's like to be a fan of the team that beats the most cursed team in all of sports—not counting the Washington Generals. First of all, it feels fantastic.--H


All these years when I've waited in pre-op with my brother before his procedures, I thought getting blankets out of a warmer must be so awesome. Yeah, not really.


So basically, in order to accomplish something good we actually have to take action and not just sit in the corner and pray and hope good stuff will happen and if it doesn't—feel guilty about it.--Alexandra


Working from home is rough—you can't turn it off and you feel guilty if you take time to watch The Colbert Report during nonmeal times when you could be working. On top of it, the laundry/housework is sitting there mocking you, and you need to remind yourself to take a shower.


And after he mentioned something about another Aquabat giving the dad some paper to sign, he asked Alex if he was ready, doublechecked with the dad, counted to three...and then The Commander HEAVED THAT SIX-YEAR-OLD HIGH INTO THE AIR AND INTO THE CROWD.


"Hang on, I'll ask...Yes, mother, he said his family dresses up in their finest Pilgrim-wear every year."


All I can think about are those people who were hurt and are still being held hostage in that hotel in Mumbai. This terrorism thing really blows.


I am still trying to figure out why it's got to be so black and white: I'm either working 24 hours a day or unemployed.


I'm not advocating the throwing of health and wellness out the door for work (it's not for everyone); but that extra cash gives me a tiny window of financial security during which I can hopefully find a job.


We decided to share some spiced apple cider wine, which came in a commemorative cup. That stuff was pretty rough going down, but I have to say it left me with a very warm belly. And a buzz.


She said I could air-dry and go, put a little gel to bring out the curl and go, roller-brush with a dryer and go or do a bunch of other things. I liked the "and go" parts the best.


It's so ridiculous because for three years H and I said goodbye for months at a time and he's only going to be gone for ten days this Christmas. The funny thing is all those times we'd wish for a snow day to cancel flights, but it never happened.


a) It's virtually impossible to demonstrate something while trying to keep only your arms in front of the camera.


Have I truly expressed how much the people who love and support me are appreciated? Do I really need to watch so much television? What needs to change to prevent my being taken advantage of in the future? Maybe that life-assessment I didn't go through when I turned 30 is catching up with me four months late, but I suddenly feel like a bomb is going to go off if I don't get my crap together as soon as possible.


Unfortunately for my mom, everybody and her momma wanted one, too, and the shelves were bare. To hear Mom describe it, getting a Cabbage Patch Kid that Christmas probably inspired that Schwarzenegger action flick Jingle All the Way.


3. When I'm home by myself, I often forget to eat. When other people are around, I'm constantly snacking and asking if they're hungry, too.



If every American could feel included, there's a much better chance we will work together to turn this ship around. And in these frightening times, the hope that things will get better is what I'm relying on to make it through.


And if enough time and resistance wears away at my enthusiasm, a big part of my identity will be relegated to the spice rack--busted out about as often as a non-Chinese family springs for dim sum or hot and sour soup. And that just makes me want to cry.


There was the bug-eyed kid who looked like he'd skipped fourth grade that I was sure figured out a way to access dirty pictures on school machines. The weird broody kind of guy who gave me the feeling he was hiding an uzi in his big backpack and waiting to take us all out for high crimes of procrastination. The girl with the twitch I kept catching in my peripheral vision. The sad-looking person who seemed a little too relaxed, like she had already finished all her work and was just in there for fun. Beeyatch.


I have been logging in some serious hours in front of the television--escaping into the drama of fictional people really takes the edge off of my real-life issues.


I do not know WHAT THIS EFFING BANK WANTS FROM ME! I AM TRYING TO BE A RESPONSIBLE HOME OWNER, BUT THEY SEEM TO THINK THAT THEY DON'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH ME UNTIL I'M ON THE BRINK OF HOMICIDE.


It takes me a full day to accomplish what she does in a few hours. And if you lend a hand in her kitchen and don't hear some form of "move your hands and feet faster," either she's not feeling well or you're not in the right kitchen.


All this is making me question my mothering capabilities; if I can't wrangle one grown woman, how the heck am I going to raise children?


For me, the best way to hone a skill is by playing for keeps. And this project slowed me down and steadied my hand--it's amazing how few envelopes you waste by actually stopping to think about what you're going to do before dipping the pen.


I can only describe the woman's accent as having had a terrible accident.

*Even though for a month I have promised a post about the AWESOME Amazing Race I participated in for Angel07's birthday--I took the photos on my mom's camera and saved them onto Blogger at my parents house when I was there for her recovery, but apparently part of dial-up is that it only pretends like it's uploading photos and they are no longer on here. So I have to go back and get them on a jump drive. Sorry ladies!