Diary of a MILF in Progress

Brain dump, and other issues (or "Dana's Guide to How to Lose the Few Readers You Actually Have)

Helloooo?  Anybody still with me?  Yes, well, ahem.  It's nice to be back.  Sorry for going AWOL.

The morning after my last post, I got a phone call from my mother, with whom I was scheduled to spend my impending vacation.  She told me that my dad's best friend had passed away somewhat unexpectedly.  Which, by the way, sucks in so many ways.  So, after I cried for a bit in my cubicle, I visited my sister and relayed the news to her.  And we cried in her cubicle for a bit, and had a very bad couple of days.  There is a bit of surrealism to potentially preparing to attend a funeral at the same time as you conduct the "it's almost time to leave for the beach!" countdown.  We got word the day before we left that the funeral would be the following Saturday (the day we were scheduled to leave vacay to return to real life.)

We went to the beach, my husband and my offspring and my sister and her boyfriend and my parents.  And we did the normal stuff one does when going to the beach for the week- we sunned and attempted not to burn; Husband played golf of the grown-up kind; we all played golf of the miniature kind; we sat on the patio with no shoes on and read books while smelling the salty air; we drank margaritas and beer and wine and whatever else we damned well felt like drinking; we visited the boardwalk and ate frozen custard.  But an air of seriousness hung just above us all, especially when we attended the minor league ball game, a game for which we had purchased a ticket for our friend the week before in the event that his work schedule let up enough for him to drive down with us.

The majority of us left a day early, with only Husband and Elder Son staying back to do the last minute check out activities so that I could attend the funeral.  And we laughed at some old pictures and stories, and we cried as much as one would expect, and we took copies of the paper with his final article and his obituary and I clipped them out to put in my Bible.  Which made me pissed off at how full my Bible is getting of obituaries and Mass cards and articles of memorium. 

And I've been back and work and wanting to try to put this all into a coherant post, only to have some issues with the billing on my account resulting in my account having been in limbo for some time.

But I am working my way back into the land of the sane and living, a bit at a time, with the knowledge that I'm headed for a downward spiral at any moment.  After all, it's time to prepare for the new school year, and my annual meeting is in just over a month, and life  just gets that way. Soon I hope to be back to writing some amusing anecdotes about making my dance teacher sing soprano (when he tells us to look to the front whilst doing grand batements to the side, he deserves any contact he receives), or about how I revert to the age of 12 when I watch the Olympics (seriously, how can you not laugh at someone's goal to be the world's best breast-stroker?)

Kisses to all of you who are still reading.  Be sure to wipe your cheek before you go home, though, because I don't want your wife to get the wrong idea.

The incredible shrinking woman

I finally broke down and did it, y'all.  After seeing a few too many pictures of myself, and after realizing that there were a few too many skirts/suits/pairs of trousers that were just a bit too snug, I am finally doing something about my fat ass.

Weight Watchers.  I have great respect for the organization, but I've been in denial that I, young and active and not in need of anyone else helping me, would become a member.  But,  have my first weigh-in at 1:00 today with the at-work group, and a gaggle of my co-workers are going to be keeping me honest about my need to avoid the vending machine and refrain from picking at the never ending buffet of meeting food.

And I leave for vacation on Saturday, so I am starting a diet just in time to go to the beach, meaning that I will be trying to eat right in the land of frozen custard and fries and all sorts of other things that are easy to overdo.  Yay, me.

Getting rowdy in Athens! (Georgia, not Greece)

I was out of town this week for the first segment of a four year training progam- every year, I have a week of classes and networking, culiminating in a professional designation that provides a good basis for the certification test that I want to take (well, not so much that I want to take it, but it will be a good professional thing to do.)

Because this is a four year program, we have a group of people with whom we can expect to be associated next year and beyond.  I met my fellow freshmen on Sunday, and by the time we were forced to sing a class karaoke song on Monday night, we can faithfully say that bonding had taken place.  OUr section has 25 or so people, most of whom I hope to see back for the next few years.

We've already established that when I am let out of the office for a trip, away from the parental and secretarial responsibilities of my normal life, things can get a bit entertaining.  On Wednesday night, after the graduation celebration, a function was held at the local country club.  When the shuttles took us back to our hotels, it was not hard for me to be persuaded to continue the celebration.  The bar that was just a teeny, tiny walk away from the Marriott (where a few of my cohorts has rooms) was just the ticket for buckets of beer and whatever everyone wanted to partake of.  By fifteen minutes prior to closing time, after the girly shots and the overly trendy shots had been exhausted, I proved that I could hold my own with the good old Southern boys.  Who says girls can't shoot whiskey? 

Yet, when the hour was rapidly approaching 3:00 a.m., I was the one clearheaded enough to be calling a cab by to the hotel that housed the two of us who were not at the Marriott(the group had dwindled to half a dozen).  DeAnna and John had already stumbled their way to their own rooms, while Brian and I observed the continued closeness of two of our classmates.

"So," Brian observed, "it seems that Chris and Paulette have, uh...bonded."
"'kay, I'm actually glad you said that. I figured I was jus' like over assuming that. Go'dammit."
"Yeah, not over assuming. It's just sorta a cliche, y'know?"
[Dana sighs exasperatedly] "It's just that...crap. I'm not her mother, and she's a grown up and all, but... I can't help but be trying to keep everyone else from not doing the stupid shit that I've done. I don't want someone making a mistake their gonna not be OK with later."
"OK, firs' of all, you are being awfully coherant for it being the time it is. But also, care to fill me in on that? What'd you do?"
"Not going there," I told him, sighing again. "She's getting married in two months..."
"And we already are. And your cab's here."

We told Paulette that the cab had arrived, and walked through the lobby to meet the van. When we approached the cab, I noticed that Paulette and Chris were not behind us, so we waited. Slumped against the wall, it was hard to tell who was supporting whom. Our faces were nestled awfully close. An outside observer would probably not have filled in the blanks of our coversation, however.

"I know is not my business," I began, "it's jus..."
"Yeah. But you're looking out for her."
"I'm not her goddam moral compass. But we're not supposed to leave each other alone in the middle of the night either. Our first class starts in...really soon. Eight o'clock is freakin' early."
"Which is why you need to go. That, and...marriages... I'll go find her"
So I entered the cab, and off he went in search of the drunken damsel, trying to save her from distress.
"He's not coming?" he cabbie asked.
"He's staying here, he went to find our friend, she's the other one who's supposed to go back."
"Blond girl?" I nodded. "She went off that way when you guys came through, I think" he said, pointing toward the hallway.
And Brian returned, alone.
"I don't see them," he said, "and I really don't want to be that guy."

So, off I went for a solo cab ride, now doubled in price because of the charge for wait time.  And I managed about 3 hours of sleep before my alarm sounded.  My final packing completed, breakfast consumed, I hauled my sorry, hungover ass to the shuttle, surprised to see  Paulette already loading her luggage into the car.  We made it to the continuing education center in time for our 8:00 class.  DeAnna  had to leave to puke.  Bill looked a bit the worst for wear.  There was a noticable lack of make-up and styled hair, and a plethora of baseball hats and shlumpy clothes.  Further reminder that, while I may  have been trying to act like everyone's freakin' house mother the night before, I still have not turned into a responsible grown-up

Murphy's Law can suck it

I look like crap today.  My hair is being uncooperative, I have my glasses on and pretty  much no make up.  I was running late this morning, so I didn't have time to shave my legs (luckily, my skirt is pretty long).

Not only did Casey show up to work today, but I've managed to bump into him about five times.  Was he here the day when I had good curls and super hot shoes?  Nein.  Did he see me when I had my big meeting, and I was all put together and professional?  Nyet.  On the day when I did CPR training, so I was all strong and lifesaving and full of good humor; were there any accidently encounters in the hallway or cafe next door or kitchenette?  No such luck.

Skinny b!tch

I'm a mean and horrible person, in that one of the reasons that I am happy about the pregnancies of some of the marketing girls is that I want to see them get fat, even if only for a few months.  Everytime a childless woman rolls her eyes at a new mom's lack of priority in getting her old body back, I bite my tongue, because I know that no amount of Pilates or treadmill or anything else is going to change some aspects of multiple c-sections.  Welcome to the world of control top hose, ladies.

Tough

Last night, during a round of goofing around with his sister that should not have been happening, the Elder Son's cheek made firm contact with the footboard of one of the beds.  Screaming ensued.  Ice was applied.  Tears were wiped away.  The affected cheek was kissed.

Elder Son was sporting quite a shiner this morning.  I warned the Husband of his son's injury (he was working late last night, and the kids were asleep by the time he returned) and also sent an email to the school to let Elder Son's classroom teacher know the reason behind the bruise and swelling, and noting that he said it didn't really hurt anymore.  I got a return email from the teacher that read:

Thank you for keeping me in the loop.  [Elder Son] explained his 'eye' to me.  He is very happy!

Fabulous.  First he's peeing indiscriminately and now he's happy to have a black eye.  I just love raising boys.

Because I really need to get the 'smoochy time' post away from the top of the page

Christ on a cracker, I am tired.  I am gearing up for my next board meeting and the end of the school year in rapidly approaching (concerts! class picnics! figuring out how to fulfill the final required service hours!) and I have a cold.

In other words, I am useless.  So what if there are amusing stories in my life, like my Elder Son's new habit of peeing in the driveway?  Or angsty yet heartwarming tales of my recognition of my rapid downward spiral (eating disorder red flags? check.  setting myself up for inappropriate situations? check. retreating from the people who keep me sane? check.), and the emotional strength to stop myself from hitting bottom?  Eh.  Can't put the words into something worth reading.

Hang in there, faithful readers.  Mid-June will come soon enough, and I'll get my shit together enough to regale you all with stories of my insane in-laws, dysfunctional birth family, neurotic offspring and stupid-ass co-workers.  Because Lord knows there will be plenty of blog fodder coming the further we get into summer.

Oh, romance is not dead

The Husband just called a bit ago to check in, since he'll be home in a few more hours after being gone since Thursday.  He requested that I get the house picked up, to get the kids situated for tomorrow morning (packing lunches and checking backpacks and such) and he asked about how the offspring had behaved in his absence.  I told him of the overall demeanor of the demon children little sweeties.  He's checked in each day while he was gone, letting me know how the band performance went, or what line the gang was waiting in at the amusement park, or letting me know what yummy thing he had ordered for dinner.

Then he said that as soon as I put the kids to bed, we would have plenty of time "to get smoochy."  Since being on my own with all three kids for three straight days, and trying to get all of the housework/grocery shopping/blahdeblah while keeping them from killing each other (or going off the deep end myself) is just the thing to get me in the mood. 

At least my cranky pants make my ass look good

I'm in a pissy mood.  This may be explained partly by my lack of sleep.  My lack of sleep can be explained by a combination of being sad that my hockey team was eliminated from the playoffs last night after some questionable calls in the 3rd period and overtime, and partly by my allergies.  Perhaps I am in a pissy mood because The Husband has been working a lot and therefore is under sooo much stress, and I am therefore both handling the stress of picking up his slack and dealing with him bitching about his stress.  In any case, this is my venue to bitch about the things that piss me off.

I do not want to hear my cubicle neighbor complain about  how overworked she is, since she has plenty of time to have loud conversations about what she is buying her mom for Mother's Day, and about other people's boyfriends being jackasses, and about her newly renovated kitchen (digital pictures of which she feels the need to show to everyone who enters our cube farm.)  I also wish she didn't make such a huge fucking deal about how she and Casey were CPR training partners for the past two years, so she has to wait until he has signed up for training this year (she is in charge of tracking the registrations) before she can choose which session to attend.  When I see Casey at happy hour in a few days, I will have to remind him to sign up so that she will Shut.the.Hell.Up.

I hate going to training on how to use the oh, so complicated (note my sarcasm) A/V equipment in the conference rooms, and having people make it much more of a deal than it is.  OK, so the conference call used the touch screen instead of an actual phone.  But, seriously, the touch screen has a freaking phone keypad and a button that says "Call," so the process for making the call is Just.Like.Using.the.Phone.

I have dance class tonight, and will therefore be missing dinner at home.  I left two choices of dinner in the fridge for The Husband.  Is that enough for him?  NO.  I also have to give him every option of what to have WITH the main dish.  As though he cannot open the goddamned freezer to see that vegetables we have, and look in the goddamned pantry to see that rice/pasta/potato side dishes are available.

Seriously, world, don't make me have to get my boots dirty.

I am not really a typical girl

I am so pumped that the Caps won tonight, I can barely see straight.  Maybe the wine I was drinking contributes to it (they said "rock the red," so I had me some shiraz), but I have to say that The Husband is about to get lucky.