The Annual Life Truths Post - 2014!

Here we are.
The beginning of another year - triggering my annual Life Truths: an updated list of harsh realities that we should all remember as we strive toward, well, whatever you're striving toward. This year though, I thought I'd first present three things for additional consideration... you know, for when you're standing outside alone, pondering the Universe with a bottle of wine.

• How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are? (33 yrs)
• What inspires you?
• What stops your inspiration dead in its tracks? Or is it a who?

I expect I'll have something to say about all of these over the course of the next year, but until then...

Here's The List

1. You are where you are because that, my friend, is where you put yourself. Do not blame your Higher Power, The Universe, or the people around you for your ill-conceived decisions.
2. It's okay to remove people or situations from your life because keeping them - however much easier that would be - is ultimately harder. If you're wrong, The Universe will one day put them back, either to correct the "mistake" or reteach you the lesson - the hard way. Recognize the difference.
3. Yes. You're fat. Does that make you feel better? Get off your ass and do something about it.
4. The Universe is trying to move you in the direction of your best opportunity. Quit acting like you know everything. You don't. So how about you just go ahead and get out of your own way? 
5. BE HUMBLE. That doesn't mean turning off your star-power. It means not tooting your own horn. Eventually rings flat with everyone. And it's incredibly poor form.
6. Life is a "Bring Your Own Water Wings" affair so stop annoying the rest of us with how you've been done oh-so-wrong, and paddle already.
7. Just because you want it does not mean it's yours to have.
8. In many cases, the things you do not say, speak as loudly as those you do. Think twice; speak once.
9. At the end of the day, you and you alone must live with your own inaction.
10. You always have a choice. Take the route that will make your grandmother proud.
11. Your true friends will say the things you don't want to hear because they love you... and because they have faith that you already know the truth, not because they're threatened by you.
12. Beware false allies and those who try too hard. Therein you will one day discover ulterior motive.
13. When saying no - to anyone for any reason - it absolutely is not necessary to offer an explanation.
14. Do not shampoo your hair every day - no matter what.
15. Do not lie. To me or to yourself.
16. Stop fighting The Universe and you'll stop making stupid mistakes.
17. One minute of your time - especially when you don't "have" it - is worth hours to someone who needs it.
18. Pay attention! This will solve almost all of your "problems."
19. Take heed: a drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts.
20. People are going to talk. Your choice is in what you give them to talk about!
21. We all humiliate ourselves. Get over it. These are the stories that make you less dull.
22. Your behavior in all situations is 100% on you. Own it or change it. These are the only options.
23. Choosing not to engage means forfeiting your right to defend yourself against what others say. Know that, ultimately, this is still the best course of action - especially when you factor in karma, comeuppance, and the opportunity to secretly point and laugh later!
24. Never put anything in writing that cannot be aired publicly.
25. People will take advantage of you until you make them stop. The tricky bit is in the approach, and I can't help you with that.

So that's it. An updated version of my annual reminder - in no particular order. Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.

Time-Out

I've been on a self-imposed technology time-out, and I must say, my suspicions about being too connected are very real. I'll keep this short because I *know* everyone is readily awaiting my annual Life Truths update for the 2014 kick-off.

1. I actually love being "inaccessible." I didn't feel the least bit harangued into reading my email, checking for text messages, or skimming FaceBook.
2. No one seems to have my old landline number except my gynecologist.
3. Upon my return to technology today, I discovered that - as suspected - nothing noteworthy happened in my absence. The world remained its usual uneventful self. I imagine something happened to someone somewhere and they probably posted a vague remark about it online in hopes people would express what is almost always insincere concern in a way that projects "love" just to be the first to obtain a slice of juicy gossip. Someone else got snarky about who knows or cares what and did the same, I'm sure. But if that happened, I missed it. Which is nice.

So let's all take a few moments to reflect on our sense of self-importance. As I say so often, if you're not a brain surgeon or emergency veterinarian,  put your phone down and take a look around. Your life is happening without you.

Exit. Stage Left

FADE IN:

INT – Conference room – morning. The busy cubicle farm seen in the background is full of holiday décor. I race in.

                                    ME

UGH! Hey y’all. Sorry I’m late.

(drops files, cell phone, and laptop onto conference room table and pulls out chair)

ALL

Hey!

What’s up.

Hi.

ME

Okay. Where are we?

SAM

We were waiting for you; talking about Christmas plans is all.

LIZA

I fuckin’ hate this time of year. Fuckin’ family breathing down my neck. Everybody wants something from me. Nobody is ever happy.

ME

I hear ya, sister! Preach it!

SAM

What’re you doing? You going home for the holidays?

AMBER

Where IS home? Your accent is weird. Sorry.

(Looks apologetic)

ME

(Opens mouth. Closes mouth. Makes several confusing facial expressions.)

Um. Weird. Okay. Yeah. I don’t guess I actually have a home. I mean in the classical Norman Rockwell, Charlie Brown and Snoopy sense of the word.

(Silence)

Home… is where my dogs are..?

FADE OUT:

THE END

Yeah. So THAT just happened…

On Accepting Invitations

Ah, the holidays. Filled with food, drink, annoying music, and invitations for all manner of gatherings. The thing about an invitation – and this is important – is that every single one requires a response. The good news is that you still have options.

Take the verbal. This one usually comes in person as a casual mention. You can accept, decline, or smile and say, “That sounds lovely. Thank you.”  You’re then open to make a decision based on what sort of hair day you’re having on the soiree date.

The eVite requires a bit more decisiveness. Yes. Maybe. No. If you’re on the fence, I would suggest clicking Maybe. This leaves your options open in case something else comes up while not appearing ungrateful for making The List.

Finally, there’s the old school paper invitation. You remember, the kind that shows up in your mailbox located close to the street. This one requires a firm decision before the RSVP date. A decision that no matter what, you cannot change.

[Sidebar: Every invitation requires some sort of response to which you are committed – no matter what. Now, stay with me. This is not a lesson in etiquette. That post can be found at Tis the Season… To Mind Yourself, December 2012.]

 was one of these that landed in my BFF’s hands, leaving her mouth agape at the inappropriateness of its receipt. At that moment, there was only one course of action. She shoved it into the bottom of pocketbook, raced the three miles to my house, grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, then shoved the invitation under my nose. She poured. I read.

I’ll admit, it took a moment for my brain to register the unsuitable nature of the request on ivory stock I was holding. A holiday cocktail party at the home of Mr. Wildly Misbegotten Decision made years ago.

“Clearly I’m your plus one,” I told her. I was going to throw myself under the bus on her behalf. After all, you never let your BFF walk into a lion’s den alone – or unsupervised. There could be repercussions. Or  a need to get the shovels from the shed and the map from beneath the mattress.

On the appointed evening, we arrived about 45 minutes late in an effort to blend in with the crowd. We handed off our coats, and as BFF went to present our host’s wife with the bottle of wine she’d chosen, I accepted a passing glass of wine and surveyed the territory.

Crossing the threshold, my BFF asked, “Why does it feel like everyone will be staring at me like my boobs are out?”

I meandered into the living room, raising my glass to inconspicuously peer through the bottom to survey the crowd… then choked. Loudly. I set the crystal on the fireplace mantel a bit harder than intended as I stepped between BFF and the other guests. “Don’t panic. Don’t look around. Hey! Eyes on me! The summer after your divorce – the one during which you had that unfortunate tryst with our host – well, get your coat. The trampage has come home to roost, and I’m counting four cockadoodle-doos!”

Trampage – v. Refers to that period post-long term relationship when a gal grabs her life by the balls again then sets out to exercises everyone else’s.

“No!” she whispered, eyes wide.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“Four???”

“Affirmative. And it’s still early. So I repeat, get your co…”

“Hey you two! Wow! It’s been a long time. BFF*, didn’t think I’d see YOU here.”

Oh, balls. The horror was officially unleashed.

BFF turned slowly, and though she smiled in that pleasant manner our grandmothers taught us, there was no color left on her face that hadn’t been artfully applied the hour before.

It took two more glasses of wine matching the number of horrifically uncomfortable conversations  to be had before we made what can only be described as our less than elegant departure – given that it consisted of grabbing our coats and literally racing down the sidewalk at the top speed afforded by 4” heels.

Destination: first bar. First round: “Patron! Stat! And hold the fruit unless he has a shoe connection!”

This cautionary tale has been brought to you by women who really should know better than to accept an inappropriate invitation… of any kind.

Highway to Hell

Dear Old People and Other non-Workers,

Consider this request both advice and fair warning. Stay out of your vehicle and off the road during the morning and afternoon rush hour. You don’t know how to drive and there is nowhere you need to be that’s more important than where the rest of us are going. 

In exchange, those of us who actually have a job will gladly give you the road between the hours of 9AM and 3:30PM. That’s over six hours of wide open lanes for you to putt down the road doing 35 miles per hour in a 50 mph zone, or sit nonchalantly through a green light because little Suzy wants to show you her latest crayon drawing from the backseat.

[sidebar: “stay at home mom”? NOT A FUCKING JOB! It’s a privilege so stop whining about the “fact” that you have no time to yourself. The rest of us are doing your “job” at the end of a 10 hour workday and frankly, we’re tired of listening to you complain… about anything!]

Now, should you people find yourselves unexpectedly on the road post- agreement; here are a few simple Rush Hour Rules to which you’d be well-counseled to follow:

1.     Stay out of the left lane. Period.

2.     If the posted speed limit is 50mph, assume that the Rush Hour Regulars will be doing 65mph. You’re not a regular. You’re not special. Shut up. Your choices are: go faster or pull over at the next Starbuck’s for your morning $6 non-fat, decaf latte. The rest of us have a life that you do not want to make us any later for, lest we just give up and follow you. And we don’t drink decaf.

3.     You do not know the traffic patterns, and this my friend, is the key to Rush Hour success. The regulars know which lane to be in on which stretch of road. We know that the number 4 bus that just turned into the lane ahead, is fixin’ to move to the left, so the smart money is to skirt it on the right. Jamming the rest of us up with your ignorance exposes your gross lack of necessary experience… and that makes us mad.

4.     A horn blast – regardless of length – is less insult and more warning; a reminder that my vehicle will in fact eat yours if you don’t start paying more attention to your driving and less to whatever else is going on in there.

5.     See that long skinny pedal on the right? ACCELERATOR! It’s what makes the car go fast. Do you understand fast? If not, refer to number 2 above.

6.     Are you the self-righteous ass who stoically insists on maintaining the speed limit or below no matter what; flipping the bird every time someone flys angrily past? Take a moment and wonder at that, then mull this: You – YOU – are going to be the direct cause of an accident. YOU are an unexpected hindrance who will kill or be killed. Get out of the way.

7.     When finding oneself behind or beside a bus, it is ones duty and moral obligation to take whatever steps necessary to get in front of said bus – be it school or metro – thus allowing ample room for others to navigate around it as well. Don’t be the dick who won’t speed up to go around. Maybe you’re perfectly happy stopping at every driveway and bus stop, but the rest of us are going to ambush you for keeping us trapped.

Here’s a little reminder to ruminate over while disrupting rush hour: we work for a paycheck of our very own. The bigger the vehicle the better the chance the driver is fully insured. Full coverage always translates into, “I’m not afraid of your angry words, finger flip, or need to unnecessarily slam your brakes because you think I’m following too closely.  Not. Even. A. Little.”

In fact, I would suggest you remember that I’m behind you. Eventually, you will have to stop; and a stop means time… and time means I can come give your window a little tap so that we may discuss the error of your ill-mannered behavior.

With my civic duty now complete, and knowing that you’ve read the Rules of Rush Hour so are duly informed, please sign the dotted line… before someone pushes you over it.

Reality… The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

My girlfriend C-Rich is a classically-trained singer whose talents are apparently only on display with her church choir.

Hey!

I heard the chortling. I don’t judge her on her religious beliefs and I’m sure she’s not judging something about me – so get off my nuts about my churchy friend. I’m embracing diversity.

Anyway, *glares at readers* the instant message excerpt below got me thinking…

Peace 9:39 am
    We can no longer friends due to your anti-coffee-ness. I'm sorry. It's not me. It's you.

 C-Rich 9:40 am
    It’s just a phase.

 Peace 9:40 am
    Most of my life is a phase I'm still looking to outgrow

 C-Rich 9:42 am
    I'm still trying to figure out what I want to be when I finally accept that I'm an adult

 Peace 9:43 am
Right?!?!?!?
I mean, you and I, we grew up thinking we'd be one thing; and now we're another. It's very disconcerting

 C-Rich 9:44 am
    Yeah.
    I did not dream of being a Business Analyst slash Project Manager

 Peace 9:44 am
That, my-friend-who-is-no-longer-my-friend, is something I COMPLETELY understand. I still get a little freaked out when I try to draw the line from there to here. And, because it’s always super-productive *eyeroll,* I "what if" the crap out of every decision that led me to this incredibly uncomfortable chair.
That's both a metaphor and a truth. I need a different chair.

 C-Rich 9:47 am
    You're going to forget the coffee thing because everything else we share is magical.

 Peace 9:47 am
    It is. I’m not.

… about how the direction of our lives changes, and wondering why, once we realize we’re completely off-track, we become like rubber-neckers at a car wreck. We absolutely slow down to look at the grisly mess, but only stop to do something when we have both the time and no choice.

Have you ever tried to draw the line from where you were headed to where you are? Don’t. It's depressing. And sometimes unseemly.

But, having done it...

I took a seat in Dr. Pinot Grigio’s office to reflect on what I discovered so that I could appropriately place blame, because, you know, that’s way easier than admitting that you fucked up your dream using your own primo decision-making skills. Anyway, by the end of my two bottle session I’d managed to uneasily identify the forks that took me “elsewhere,” and sadly they seem to have two common denominators: impulsivity… and me.

SHINY OBJECT!!!

Here’s the rub. At the time, I’m sure every decision seemed like a perfectly sensible one. After all, who makes life-altering proclamations and path deviations just all willy-nilly?

*slowly raises hand*

I suspect this is how I ended up with a house in the middle of nowhere that will never be out of the remodeling stage, and four dogs.

Admittedly, I should probably be grateful things didn’t go completely sideways, given the circumstances. Though it is, by no stretch of anyone’s imagination, the career I dreamed of, at least I can go to work in jeans without combing my hair to have Nerf gun fights, neurotically IM crazy crap with C-Rich, and collect a paycheck enough to sustain my chronic need for mani/pedis and even more shoes.

Still… if I should find a Genie in a bottle…

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

I'm a Big City Girl.

A Concrete Jungle Cat.

I actually appreciated living next door to someone for a year, three years, five years, and never knowing the their name, and vice versa. I prefer not to be noticed unless I decide to be. I value my privacy and prefer to completely ignore people in order to preserve theirs. It’s not a bad attitude – I consider it a public service. Do unto others and all that…

Fast forward to present day, living in a place where everyone knows your name...

When I first moved here, I had no intention of staying more than 12 months – tops. It was just a pit stop I had to make en route to getting where I was going. With that in mind I remember thinking, “how bad could it be, really?” I figured if I had to be here, I’d let myself get caught up in the Americana of it all.

The small town I landed in is the kind of Mayberry where you throw your car keys on your dashboard because you never lock the door to your house. A place where they have a parade for any old reason and the entire town shows up to watch the mediocre marching band play their way down Main Street while majorettes chase their dropped batons; where the street is lined with little – albeit expensive – shops, and you can’t get a traffic ticket without your neighbor popping over the hedges to comment on it within moments… assuming you have a neighbor.

I was charmed!

For a while.

I soon realized that supermarket shopping here is a full make-up undertaking because there are a significant number of residents, like myself, whose sole Sunday goal is to get in and out before church adjourns and the masses flood in with their hungry, miserable children. These are my people. We stop to chat, inquire about each other’s lives, and promise we’ll get together soon because that’s the polite thing to say. It’s not untrue – but it is somewhat unlikely. Truth is, we’re on a mission: get this chore checked off the list and resume our day our way.

Sunday, 9:38 a.m.

I slide into the first parking space I see and barrel into the market. It’s getting late, I have a long list, and soon the little monsters I want to stuff into a freezer will be exiting early mass and arrive to disrupt my inner peace.

Shit! I forgot my eco-responsible shopping sacks. Do I go back? I should. I hate hauling in those plastic bags, and it’s just 6 minutes each way….

No. Too much room for error and personal contact if I’m any later getting through the aisles ahead. Freeing a basket from the stall, I stop just inside the sliding door to root around my pocketbook for my list and coupons. Aaaaaaand of course there’s some woman rubbing antibacterial wipes over her handle struggling with her kid because the stupid seat is broken. *heavy sigh*

“Excuse me. Hi. Here. Take mine.” We swap baskets and I head for dairy (no, I don’t know why I always start there) certain that The Universe is going to let me off the hook for any further interaction, given my good deed.

Moments later I’m standing in front of 30 feet worth of yogurt, 20 of which is now the Greek variety which I hate, looking for vanilla. Plain vanilla. Looking turns into searching. Searching turns into sighing. In a voice lowered enough that I hope it won’t be heard by anyone but my target, thus tipping off some acquaintance that I’m there, I ask the kid stocking the yogurt, “Excuse me. Are there any small containers of just regular full fat yogurt to be had?”

I do not exaggerate when I say that heads of shoppers within earshot whipped around so fast, I actually felt the loose tendrils from my hastily executed ponytail lift off the back of my neck. And then...

The kid laughed.

Out loud.

I blinked.

I blinked again.

“I.. uh… there’s…”

I blinked at him once more knowing that my placidly inquisitive fake smile had gone from “quick question” to sarcastic “oh, it's like that?”

“YOPLAIT!” he nearly shouted.  “Up there.”

I looked to the top shelf where he pointed, looked down at my Chuck T’s, then looked back at him, eyebrows raised. As he scrambled to retrieve the 4 ounce containers he asked, “how many do you want?”

“All of them. They’re for my dogs.”

Somewhere behind me a disparaging snort and crass remark was issued in my direction. I had to wonder what he/she/it would think about the fact that my next stop was for an over-priced organic chicken that would soon become dog food. I would’ve asked, but I wasn’t trying to make new friends this morning.

Instead, I walked away smiling. Today the supermarket felt a little bit like home.