Saturday, October 27, 2012

Allow Me to Age Myself

Does anyone know which wine goes best with egg whites and turkey bacon? Me either, but I settled for the pinot grigio. Tonight's post is brought to you by the maker's of Dude Write, and my personal sponsor in this epic Battle Royale (and life itself), Scott of It's My Mynd. So Pinot in hand, I bring you.... That's when I knew I was old.

Next month I will be 39. For those of you who haven't done the math thing in awhile, that's almost 8 hands worth of years. It's almost 4 decades. It's 11 years short of a half century. Just so you know, I'm not dwelling on it. I went out and bought some ultra low rise jeans the other day just to make sure I could still rock them. I not only rocked them, but if they were a concert, they would have had their own back stage passes! Okay, maybe I am exaggerating that last part. Still, I'm not sweating it. I've got a full year before I begin my breakdown. I'm going to go ahead and embrace this midlife crisis with both arms, in a bear hug, and maybe a little tongue action on the kiss.

There are a few things that warned me that I might be approaching "that age". I've held up okay over the years. To look at me you wouldn't guess me a year over 37. I credit moderate drinking for my lazy smile and my ability to look moderately cute when confused. Who needs all those brain cells right? Also, I have never been able to cultivate a good drug habit to give me that sunken and sad 90's Calvin Klein look. Fat fills out the wrinkles, ya know? Yet, there are things that gave me pause and made me wonder, "Angie? Are you getting older?" Here are a few examples:

What I don't have enough of.
1. The other day I went in for a standard check up. Things looked great. My blood pressure was low and they had to check twice to make sure I wasn't dead. My liver functions were dandy. My reflexes were sound. My hematocrit was above normal. However, when everything is going good, something is bound to screw it up. "Your protein is low. At our age (said the nurse, who just went to her 30th high school reunion), we should consider eating more yogurt, fish, spinach, and nuts. Oh, and you might consider taking an iron supplement." I advised the nurse (who is cool as hell) that if she started talking about bowel movements I was out of there.

Image Source
2. I recently purchased the Samsung Galaxy S3. I love it! As part of my vow to never lie to you kids, I will tell you that my first reason for choosing it was that the virtual keyboard is easier to use than the iPhone. With Swipe technology I don't even have to know what I'm trying to type and it figures it out. That ended up not mattering a lot because I found a case, screen protector, data cable, and STYLUS online for $10. That's right. I said stylus. I am that old lady you see writing on her smart phone with a pen. It's cool as hell and almost makes me forgive myself for letting technology make me it's bitch.

10 Points that will earn you nothing...
3. For Halloween this year I was asked to send out a company wide email informing everyone that we would be catering lunch and having a costume contest. At fifty dollars to the top 4 costumes, I couldn't help but to be a little excited. I thought back to my favorite scary movie moments of all time, and decided on my costume. Joan Crawford topped the list (and also provided the perfect costume for moisturizing all day long and not caring how I looked). As I was excitedly telling one of the staff about my costume I said, "All I have to do is show up in face cream with a coat hanger and yell 'NO WIRE HANGERS EVER!' and I'm good." The staffer gave me the blankest look I've seen since I asked my son if he knew at which hand of God Jesus sat. Clueless. Five points to you if you know which hand. Ten points if you know the movie.

Except in front of a less fancy house.
4. In the last year I have had one of my children tell me they are getting married and one of them got a driver's license and bought a car. Both of my kids have jobs, one of them still lives with me because they want to, and one of them made a political comment on my Facebook account. Add to that, one of my kids works in my office. Add to that I just got my very first old person (early) Christmas gift. My someday-son-in-law just bought me a snow blower. My response was, "Oh, AWESOME! Now if you can teach Jacob (my son) to use it Christmas will be complete!"



Of course that isn't all. There are many things that tell my age. Things like...
- I can tell the difference between Pica and Elite.
- I remember what it's like to play cops and robbers.
- I played kick-the-can and Ghosts in the Graveyard.
- I know who Robert Downey Jr. was before he was Sherlock Holmes or Iron Man and before he was a junkie, but played one.
- I understand the reference to "gag me" and don't think it's sexual.
- I find it hard to think of Patrick Dempsey as Dr. McDreamy because I still see him in Loverboy.
- I remember Facts of Life, Little House on the Prairie, Arnold before he was the sperminator, why Frank never wants a second cup at home, and where Lolly can get her adverbs.
- I know the best way to rewind an unspooled cassette tape.
- I know what a 45 adapter looks like.

What are your memorable "WOW! I am that old!" Moments? 

Now while the iron is still hot... go vote



Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Commitment Issues and the Year of Yes

One of my best girls and I were talking the other day about her long term relationship. After years of being together, she was a little sad that they were still not married. "You don't always want to dance, but you still want to be asked." she said. We discussed the possibilities, and me being me, went right for the heart. "Your youngest is the same age as mine. Do you really want to push this guy to ask you to marry him when in a couple of years you will be free to leave? Do you want to stay here? Is this REALLY the life you want or is it what you're supposed to want?" Sometimes you really just want to be asked to dance, even when you know the answer you will give will be, "No, but thank you for asking." It's complicated. 

The tables were turned when I came back to work on Monday. As I discussed my thoughts and feelings on relationships, this same friend said, "M and I were talking about you and I said, 'She's adorable. I can't believe someone hasn't scooped her up.' and M said, 'Yeah, she must be really picky.'

When I asked for clarification, she said, "Well picky was all we could come up with." 
Jesus wept, this is me. 

She and I know each other pretty well. We have very similar lives. I know she was being kind when she agreed on the term "picky". She and I both know it's called a "commitment issue". Still, it got under my skin enough to evaluate it and overcome it like a mother f... 

It all comes down to that first relationship. It's like a bad Savage Garden song. "Daddy never loved her much... that's why she shies away from human affection...  somewhere in a private place..." (Sorry... I knew that song always stuck with me for a reason)

In some damaged corner of my mind, I decided a long (12+ years ago) time ago that any man I chose would eventually leave. In order to prevent ever being hurt like that again I did two things.

1. I only chose men with a terrible relationship history of being leavers. Deep down I knew they always left, so I wouldn't commit to them even if they asked. (I still wanted to be asked to the dance, dammit)

2. If anyone got close enough to like me, I shut it down. There are a couple of schools of thought there. 
    a) I don't want to be part of any club that wants me as a member. Seriously, if I am your ideal you must have really low standards. Therefore you are NOT the man for me. The man for ME has really high standards. I only want people who don't want me first. 
    b) I really like you and I'd like to see where this will go, but you obviously won't love me once you really know me and then you'll leave. Therefore I cannot ever want you because you will leave. 

I'm not picky. It's not like I sit around saying, "Oh he's got blonde hair? Pass. He's a driver? Pass. He only makes ____ per year? Pass. Oh he's a Republican/Democrat? Pass." I have dated some incredible men. They were kind, courteous, generous, attractive, wealthy, both foreign and domestic, and all around impeccable specimens of the male species." I still pushed them out. Many times I made the decision for them. I faded away before they could. It's been very reminiscent of the days when I made fat jokes about myself before someone else could. 

My mom really drove it home tonight. "Keep analyzing it and I'm sure you'll figure it out." She sounded sincere, but I know my mom as well as I know myself. I've been studying that woman since birth. What it meant was, "Stop over-thinking it, Angie." She said it with heart... because she loves me. The right choice isn't always the logical one. Sometimes you can think yourself right into the wrong decision. Sometimes, as my friend Brett will tell you, it's about following your heart. It's about following your heart when your head tells you to be practical. 


So this is my year of, "Yes". I will spend the year (Nov 2012-Nov 2013), money permitting, saying "Yes", unless it is morally reprehensible. You know who you are. 

What are the things you wish you had said "Yes" to and backed down because it didn't seem logical? 


Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Nudity and Advice. Promises Kept.

Let's just get this out of the way right now. I promised some things last week that I didn't deliver on. I'll make my excuses now and get on with it. I got an impromptu side job and pretty much blew my blog off in the process. I am a horrible blog owner. I should probably be beat with a stick. I'm sorry. Here's your nudity...
Everyone wants to spoon. No one wants to fork. 
Now that I've delivered on at least one promise, I'll move on to something I know absolutely nothing about. Let's talk about how I have no idea why people would ask me for relationship advice, shall we? Yes, let's! 

Do you know me? If you've been here more than twice you probably do. I'm a bit of an open book when it comes to my failings, successes (lol), and the like. You would think that anyone who knows me in real life would know me a little bit better. Well, as it turns out, that's probably not true. Some people in my real life still feel compelled to ask me advice on their love lives and dating situations. I'm not sure if the joke is on me or on them. 

So let's get this part straight. I am incredibly good at establishing relationships. Do you want to know how to get him or her to notice you? Ask me. Do you want to know how low cut your shirt should be to catch an eye but not garner disgust and nasty glares from the other girls when you go out? Ask me. Do you want to know how to how to create the perfect smokey eye? Ask Becca.

When it comes to lasting relationships I am probably not your "go-to" girl. If you're looking for a fountain of wisdom on how to get your ex to want you back, it's highly unlikely that I would be your first choice in filling your relationship advisory council, if you know what I mean. That being said, I'll address two questions I've encountered this week. If they apply to you, you can do one of two things.

1. Take my advice and fly by the seat of your pants.
or
2. Do exactly the opposite and let me know if the results are different for you than for me.

Q. How do I get over my ex? 
A. Cry at home in your room. No one wants to see you being sad. Do not date other people for at least a year. Everyone can smell the desperation on you the moment you walk into the room. You can't transfer love by insertion. If you're going to have sex, have sex, but don't mislead yourself or the other person that it's anything more than it really is. Get a hobby. You know what you could do? You could write a blog. That's what the cool people are doing.

Q. How do I get the man/woman of my dreams to see that I'm not like all other men/women?
A. For starters, don't ever tell anyone that you're not like everyone else. You're unique... just like everyone else Snowflake. The person of your dreams won't need you to tell them you're different and worth their time. If they do... your dreams suck. You go out and be you. The person of your dreams will see you being a dork and will love you for being a dork. Any time a man has ever said to me, "I am not trying to get in your pants." it turned out he was trying to get in my pants. I would feel the same now if some guy told me, "Hey girl (that's for you, Bill), I'm not like the other guys." The most genuine people I know have said to me, "Listen, I want to get in your pants." Then I laughed at them and we became great friends that never had sex. So if you'd like to never have sex again, this is also good advice.

If you're looking to find that perfect aging playboy bunny with a slight limp and a glass eye, my friend Rook can hook you up. I'm told his methods are questionable but reliable all the same.



Monday, October 8, 2012

I Need a Hero

I put out the signal and screamed his name. I waited and waited, but Batman never came. Here's why.

I'm over at SprocketInk today covering all the news that's fit to be printed... okay just one piece, but there are others too! Check it out!

Friday, October 5, 2012

Confession of an Unexcited Parent

I love my kids. I love them like a fat kid loves cake (I was a fat kid so I can say it). I love them in a way that only a parent can really understand. When they are messy, crabby, and selfish I love them. They do things that make me want to pull my hair out. They sometimes make choices that make me wonder who they are and where they came from. I have even sometimes wondered if we're related at all. When there is understandable reason to want to put them out of the house with every filthy thing they hoard in their rooms, I still love the hell out of them. They're my kids. That's how I roll.

Now that we've established that I'm not some cruel, heartless, despicable excuse for a mother, I need to tell you something. Their school events do not excite me. The thrill was gone for each event after the first time. When event day rolls around I check the clock, count the minutes, and make plans to shift my ENTIRE LIFE around to attend. I know what you're thinking, "Angie, we see your Four Square checks ins. You go to work and you go home you lazy twat." All I have to say to that is, "Okay, you're right. I have no life."

Today I sent a text to a friend mentioning that I'd be attending my son's Cadet Choir concert tonight. "Excited?" He asked. My response? "Me? LOL No. I am always proud, but if you think parents get excited about these things you will be really let down when you have kids. I just checked with the parents around me and we all agree the thrill is gone after Kindergarten."

For the most part, I was being honest. The other parents did side with me. We're minute counters. We gaze lovingly at our children on the stage. We cheer when they do something great on the court or the field. We shout encouragement when they hit a rough spot. However, excited we are not. Truthfully, half the time, even our kids aren't excited. Nervous? Perhaps. But unless it's a big showcase event, you won't hear, "I am so excited!" Not from any of us.

Both of my kids played instruments. Listening to them practice at home was torture. My daughter had the squeaky, screeching tenor sax. My son had the booming tuba and the low droning and sometimes squeaking baritone. Going to band concerts is a proud moment of seeing your child walk onto the stage and take their chair. After that, it's an hour of squeaking and often off-note hell. Do I enjoy it once I'm there? Sure. Do I roll my eyes the entire day leading up to it when I think that I will need to leave work early to make dinner, get the errands done, and get my workout in before I have to get ready? Yep. 

Football was much the same. The game was exciting when my son got playing time. It was exciting before I felt ostracized for becoming the loud coachy side lines mom. Afternoon games stretch into the evening. The warmth of the day cools and settles into the bones. I started counting the minutes until I could take my child to Burger King or McDonald's for a celebratory treat. The treat was always offered as a reward for a job well done, but really, it was a celebratory treat for me... for making it through the event without calling my own audible. "OMG CAN WE JUST GO HOME ALREADY?!" Yay me!

Tonight though, at the day long dreaded Choir Watch 2012, I paid my $5 and sat in the auditorium. I watched my son climb the stairs to the stage and take his place on the risers. When the Cadet Choir took their turn in the spotlight, I focused on his face and the glare off his glasses, watching as he sang. To my surprise, out of the group of approximately 75 students half an auditorium away, I heard my son's voice. The smile on my face grew by a mile and my heart swelled with pride, but it wasn't excitement. Maybe it was something better. We didn't even need a treat on the way home to make it all worth it. It was that good.

Just off center, inside the red circle, is the man, the myth, the legend, my son. 






Thursday, October 4, 2012

Guess what! No, guess again...

It's Thursday, which means I'm over at SprocketInk being all judgey, preachy, snarky, bossy, bitchy, and gossipy. You know that sounds like fun. Don't deny it. Stop over. We'll have a play date.

Monday, October 1, 2012

Android Love

Today I'm over at SprocketInk talking about my new love affair. There's touching and smiling and cooing and... effusive praise.
My Zimbio
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