Monday, August 20, 2007

Caller D.O.A.

I am thinking of editing my caller ID on my cell phone. See the house phone from Fleaflicker used to come up as "Home." But at some point it seemed sort of weird. Afterall, I was a thirtysomething year old married gal living far far away from the residence corresponding to that particular number. So, around the time LA-B and I bought our townhouse in the Valley, I changed the name to read "Mom & Dad."

It stayed that way for quite a while. At least 6 months after Mom passed away. I guess it must have been around Christmas time 2005 when I finally changed the ID to "Dad."

Though,Dad followed Mom into the great hereafter, I have yet to rename that number. I should, I know. But I don't know what to change it to. For a while, the number was shared by The Editor, Cup O'Joe, and Immy with a T - far too many names to list on the 2" square screen. Now that The Editor has relocated to an undisclosed location with her "Sweetie" it seems even more appropriate to change it. But to what?

It is a little unsettling to see the caller ID read "Dad." It's like getting a call from the great beyond. And of late, that's not too off. It seems the only time anyone ever calls my cell phone from that number it is to deliver the news that some family member or friend thereof has died. A few months back "Dad" called with news that Uncle Freddy had finally lost his battle and last week the ID popped up to tell me that my Uncle Bones was gone. Just today, Immy with a T called to tell me that the wife of my Dad's racing friend died.

I cringe each time I see that ID because I know what the call is about. So, I am changing the name. I am renaming the number formerly known as "Home" to the sadly more appropriate "D.O.A."

Friday, August 17, 2007

Let's Hope The King is Really Dead

He is surely rolling over in his grave because of this...

It's wrong on so many levels.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Stupid Jerk

I’m somewhere between Chicago and Phoenix and I am sitting in my 10th airline seat in 7 days. I am tired. I am sharing a row with 2 lovely older ladies and I feel all at once guilty and privileged in describing them as such.

Earlier today, while sitting in a booth at Lynn’s Paradise Café in Louisville, KY, my 20 something traveling companion looked at me and said, “I wonder if people think we are mother and son.” Time stops there.

There is an article in the current issue of The New Yorker entitled “My Near Death Experience” in which the author, Paul Simms, recounts his life passing before his eyes as he falls off a “thousand plus foot sheer granite” cliff while taking what he described as a “really long walk.” I feel as though I stepped onto that same said path this morning.

I wish I could tell you that I rose to the occasion with a witty retort. As is so often the case, I have since come up with a litany of snarky comebacks.

“I wonder if people think it’s sad that I have to sit across from a 7 foot idiot with a bad haircut.”

“I doubt it. No one would ever look at me and think I could give birth to something so hideous.”

“Yes, I am sure they are (thinking we are mother and son) and wondering how I ever managed to get through 7th grade while carrying such a huge deformed fetus.”

“Yes and they are praising me for my restraint in not beating the crap out of my insolent offspring.”

Instead I paused as my life passed before my eyes. In my case, I didn’t see visions of myself as a little girl on my banana seat bike, or the faces of lost loved ones. The life I saw was my here and now. I saw my amazing husband and our adorable 10-month-old baby. I saw my fancy new “producer” credit on a network TV show and my spacious town house purchased at just the right time before the housing market went nuts. I saw my well-adjusted friends and their well-adjusted lives and good jobs and wise choices. I saw my ability to weather a storm and recognize a blessing. And then I saw our waitress deliver my plate of Lynn’s infamous Kentucky Bourbon Ball French Toast (as seen on Food Network’s Throwdown with Bobby Flay) and I saw the envy in my young and immature companion’s face as he said “wow that looks good, can I try a bite?”

“Hell no. You can sit there and insult me and in the next breath ask me to share my breakfast. “ And I proceeded to joyously devour the most amazing platter full of breakfast I’ve enjoyed in quite sometime.

Sure, I may be 40. I may be old enough to be someone’s mother. But I am not to old to take my toys and go home when someone is mean to me.

Take that you 26 year old apartment sharing loser with a stupid dog with a predictable name given to her by your ex-girlfriend who left you with the lease to an overpriced downtown loft weeks after talking you into signing a lease. That’s right, no French toast for the formerly fat guy who oozes insecurity from every pore of his nearly 7 foot husky frame and is too stupid to realize that he never has anything to do at work because you are a third, nay, fourth rate “editor” that no one wants to give their tapes to because you can’t tell a story to save your life

No, you may not have any of my breakfast.

Anyway, the flight ended and the 2 lovely ladies deplaned and I staid put for another leg of a really long trip.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

The Question FIve

I saw this mini-meme on Cup O Joe and decided to play along. If you are a glutton like me, just follow the instructions below and leave me a comment.

Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.” I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. If you don't have a valid email address on your blog, please provide one. You will update your blog with a post containing your answers to the questions. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

1 -- If you could be a rock star, who would you be?

I think most people would expect me to go with the obvious here. However, as much as I love the KING, I can't say that I would want to BE Elvis. First and foremost, he's dead. Also, too much drama. Nope, if I were a rock star, I'd want to be one who has garnered a great deal of success while still managing to live a somewhat normal existence. For that reason, I would choose to be Larry Mullen Jr. As the time keeper for U2, Larry has mad cash for sure. He is arguably the best looking of the 4 Irishmen and has managed to avoid making many of the regrettable fashion faux pas to which his front man has fallen prey . Despite being a member of one of the most successful rock bands of all time, Larry can still walk down most any street without being bothered. Yep, I'd be Larry.

2 -- Since you're still a newish mom, what's been your favorite part of the parental experience?

Hands down - HUGS. Holding that snuggly little life form close, feeling her tiny heartbeat next to mine, her warm breath in my ear, her feather soft hair tickling my cheek - that's Heaven.

3 -- Is there a food or beverage that must always be in your home?


4 -- You've been hired to select any book you wish and make a movie out of it -- what do you

"Are You There God? It's Me Margaret." Not a "disneyfied" version, but a dark - "Ghost World" or "Welcome to The Dollhouse" sort of version. Hmmm, I wonder if the rights are available....

5 -- I hear people say this a lot, so I'll ask you: Where does the time go?

Time goes on ridiculous work trips and gets stuck in traffic. Time stands in line at the grocery store and sits on hold with the cable company waiting to complain that the internet is down again. Time has petty arguments with co-workers and stares mindlessly at entertainment gossip websites. Time settles a dent into the couch and gazes at the boob tube night after night after night after night.

Oh, if only Time would stop going to waste.