Obsess Much?

One time in college, a friend glanced around my bedroom and remarked, "Wow. When you like something, you really, really like it!" At that time, my walls were covered with photos of Pittsburgh Penguins hockey stars, Steelers posters, WVU gymnastics' schedules, and bulletin boards of movie tickets and the like.

Over ten years later...these things still grace my walls. (Although, in that ultimate grown-up move, they have moved from my bedroom to the basement gameroom.) And it is still true - when I find something I like, it becomes a bit of an obsession. Only a few weeks ago, my husband commented on that very thing when I kept going on about "Mamma Mia" while my iPod remained stuck on the "ABBA Gold" album.

I embrace this facet of myself whole-heartedly. And I'm proud of it, too. Usually, my obsessions can be categorized simply: sports, movies, television, books, clothing and accessories. When listed like that, it appears I am not so complicated.

So, I decided to delve into this a bit and find some other things about which I am super excited - and, as a personal rule, I can not include any of the above. So...

My dogs - and dogs in general. It goes without saying that, in addition to those things already named, my friends and family are tops in my life. But add in my dogs and things skyrocket. Ever since I was...well, born, I have loved pooches. My face lights up when I see a dog with its head out the window of a car, someone walking a dog...you get it. When it comes to my dogs, I will do just about anything. Seriously. Obsession is a word that does not do justice to how I feel about the Beagle and the Chessie.

The environment. Okay, not to be cheesey, but I am a bit cuckoo with my recycling and vow to never use another plastic bag ever again. I'm not perfect, but I've changed my habits considerably. You will always find me with my cloth bags in hand wherever I go - and it amazes me how positive the reaction has been, with numerous inquiries into where I got them. (Hint: The Fresh Market.) Go Earth!

Multi-culturalism. After my grand adventure to Australia, I have found I'm more interested in other cultures than ever, and have begun to pick fantasy vacation plans accordingly. My one goal for the near future is to learn Spanish, so that when I visit Mexico someday, I can get into the real society and communicate. After that, I would love to do the same with other countries around the world: Germany, Spain, Russia, Amsterdam, Brazil. I know my scope is quite large, but if I could accomplish one trip, that would be fabulous.

My writing. More and more, I hope to continue doing more of it and in a better way. It's hard, especially when I'm overly distracted. But I push on the best I can.

Maybe above all, I am most obsessed with this desire to get my voice out there, no matter how broad. Because along with my passionate obsessions in life, I've always been a writer. It's nice to know some things will never change!

Country Roads, Take Me Home

This weekend is a holiday on two counts. Of course, it is Labor Day weekend with the obligatory day off. But, much more importantly, it is the official start of the college football season.

And on an even more detailed note, the Mountaineers kick off at 3:30 on Saturday afternoon. Bring on the blue and gold, the Natural Light at unnaturally early morning hours, the Pride of West Virginia, Pat White and his quick scamper and all the rest of the glorious aspects of WVU football. I am ready to witness first-hand how Bill Stewart and the 'Eers can prove we don't need Rich Rod with all his drama and lies.

It's always a bit of a jolt to realize that, after all those years in Morgantown, with Mountaineer Field literally in my backyard, I am now so far removed. No more walking to the stadium with beers in my pockets, no more celebrations at Kegler's after a win, no more weary fans crashed on my couches after a day of football madness.

I still watch every game and cheer as fervently as ever. With DirecTV and some clever programming luck, I never miss a snap. But I do miss the comraderie that came with a whole town of crazy WVU fans united for one common goal. It's somehow not quite the same.

But, things change all around us, all the time. We can either roll with the punches or stubbornly dig our heels in to fight the inevitable. I know there are countless fans out there who can relate with relocation and a touch of loneliness this time of year. We can empahize with one another when we have to watch the games from a living room hundreds of miles removed from the campus.

But we can also take comfort in the realization that we're not alone. That passionate spirit will follow us no matter what. And that's the important thing.

Well, that and a winning season, a BCS bowl bid, and the ultimate dream of a national championship. Let's go Mountaineers!!

Dress Up and Get Going!

As a small child, I wanted to somehow transfrom into Laura Ingalls from "Little House on the Prairie." To accomplish this goal, I carried a wooden bucket as my lunch pail (which was actually the top of a snazzy ashtray - oh, to be a child of the early '80's with an avid imagination...) I had two brown braids and a bonnet, which I hung down my back when not on my head. I prayed for buck teeth while I drooped my own alligned teeth over my bottom lip. I ran down hills in a prairie-inspired dress. (This description surely will allow you to understand the difficulties I endured in school.)

Eventually, I aged out of that behavior and grew out of the clothes. In the years since, I have come to understand that Laura Ingalls was just one in an impressive line of characters I copied and modeled.

For years, I wore a red wig and belted along with the "Annie" soundtrack, orphan-ish in my mom's aprons on a windowseat. When I left for my freshman year of college, the last thing I did in my hometown was take a picture of Brenda Walsh to my hairdresser for 90210-like tresses. (You know, with those delicious bangs and wispy face-framing edges.) To this day, I study Carrie Bradshaw's fashion choices in envy and have develped a dangerous shoe collection.

Does all this prove my inability to simply be myself? Am I hiding some pain behind my misplaced identities? Is it time to call the psych ward? None of the above, I say. At one time, I would have believed I am alone in this sort of emulation. Now, I think all sorts of well-respected folks behave similarly at times.

Maybe I am the only one who will come out and admit that, yes, I do sometimes want to be a fictional someone in a more perfect world than mine. Television and movies were often my best friends. Just as we certainly find real-life people who strike our fancies and inspire us, we can do the same with characters.

It's harmless, really. We are all influenced by outside sources in one way or another. But at least it is only my ouside persona I copy from others. Deep down, I know who I am and am hardly swayed from my standpoints and opinions.

And it's always been that way. Whether donned in red wigs and bonnets, or maybe because of them, I have consistently been a strong personality. And I'm proud of that. From wherever that might have come, be it a book or a movie or my very own family, I can be sure it is here to stay.

For that I am proud. I still enjoy wardrobe suggestions from time to time. But as for important personality traits, like loyalty and standing up for what is right and being a good person, I'll take all the credit. The shoes on my feet or the bonnet on my head is trivial. It's how you behave while you walk through life.

And I walk with my own convictions.

Digging My Ditch

What a melancholy day. Leroi Moore, saxophonist extraordinare of the Dave Matthews Band and all-around cool cat, died yesterday. I feel a little numb, a little angry, and a lot sad. No more dark sunglasses on the side of the stage, no more ominous baritone at the start of "Bartender", no more crazy solos to drive the masses wild. Truly, a grace is gone.

Leroi's passing only reminds me that life is short ("But sweet for certain!") As a perfectionist procrastinator, I often waste hours fooling around online or engaged in ridiculous tasks like the rearrangement of the shoes in my closet. Often, I look back at my day and focus on places I could have done more, been better, accomplished something greater. Guilt will at times set in, and I remind myself that there is tomorrow.

But there isn't always. And that scares me. Leroi, only 46 years old, likely did not believe while he rode his ATV last month that he would die as a result of his injuries that day. At such an age, death would appear a blip in the future, unavoidable for sure, but far away on the horizon. Just as it does to me.

How many times can you hear "don't take it for granted?" Sure, we all know that and pledge to hold onto each moment. But, do we really? I pride myself as one who will soak up moments and hug joy at all turns - but I know deep down I don't act this way each and every day. Somedays I simply pout my way through in a self-contained pity-party for one. I often go to sleep while thinking of a new day's better and brighter promise.

So far, my tomorrows have been bountiful. Today, I am smacked in the face with a horrid jolt of reality and I know I need to grasp on to the lesson. Leroi Moore touched millions of fans; his contribution to the band mattered to the music community and to the world and to me, on a level of my soul I can't properly convey with words on this page. His legacy will continue on forever, preserved on our iPods and in our lovely memories of live shows. His talent will not pass on with him. It's here to stay.

I hope the same can be said of me. I will work hard to make it so. The scale will certainly be far less grand, but the passion will not.

Rest well Leroi Moore. Today, we all live on the corner of grey street.

Don't Believe Your Own Press

Sometimes I really wonder about my fellow bloggers. (Don't worry, the irony is not lost on me.) Minute-to-minute updates on their lives, strewn about the "internets" far and wide, for all to see.

I carefully calculate what I personally reveal, both on my blog and in real life. I am private (again, the irony) and choose to keep it that way, to divulge the deepest corners to my closest peeps. Some read this blog for sure. Besides them, who knows - maybe no one else reads it. However, paranoia is one of my most consistent character traits and I'll keep it that way.

Lately, I have found some very interesting "bloggas." Topics, though varied, were highly personal, complete with family photos and semi-gory descriptions of kids' births and lots of "tooting one's own horn." I felt strange peeking in - after, of course, I read any available posts and inspected all pictures.

I can understand sharing such info with your family and friends via e-mail or the like. But to splash it all upon a blog? Something is funny to me. I learned more about these people than I know about actual friends and family!

Then, it hit me. I also know more about Brangelina's twins than I do about real people around me, and I can name all their siblings. I shake my head at Suri Cruise's Burberry coats and couture, waiting for Katie to stop drinking the Kool-Aid. I kept tally of Britney's custody battle and her psychiatric admissions. This over-saturation in regards to superstars has become normal, a way of life. It is not unusual to be more highly-informed about celebrities than to know what your spouse did at work today.

So, in light of this, what if strangers stare in on your family photos and revel in (or mock) the minutia of your life? If it's good enough for the Lohans, it's good enough for us, right? It's like a self-created TMZ.com where you post your own press - this idea could be pure genius after all! Everyone wants the attention of the masses nowadays - blogs just give us all our own little spotlight.

Hats off to the fancy pants who can do this, I say! Good for you! Just don't expect me to follow. I don't want to pretend the paps are following me to the grocery store, to catch me without makeup or in an unflattering shot to "red-pen" my cellulite. I don't want to play that game, or pretend on my blog that people actually care.

But, in the privacy of my own home, I'll continue to rehearse that Oscar acceptance speech in front of the mirror. Because that's not the same thing, you know. That's just being prepared!

Game On!

So, I basically don't sleep in my own bed anymore because the Olympics run into the wee hours of the morning, but that's okay. Just like the tremendous athletes, I make sacrifices for sport. (At least, in my case, for watching sport - as I am woefully horrible at participation.) Anyway, I often fall asleep on the couch in the middle of the coverage, only to have to startle awake and rewind on the DVR to catch up.

Not last night, though. Last night, I paced (quietly, so as not to wake Scott or the pups) as I anxiously watched Nastia Liukin (my personal favorite gymnast the past few years) and Shawn Johnson compete against the world and each other and the pitiful scoring system to make their dreams come true.

At times, it was so tense in my own little world, I hid in the hallway and peeked around the corner, through my fingers. This is a familiar routine - I have spent many football moments in the hallway, crawling the floor as I could not bear to watch. Luckily the gymnastics meet turned out in my favor. (The football games - can you say Pitt Panthers and Jacksonville Jaguars? I thought as much...)

It is awesome every four years to relish a few weeks in the joy of athletic superstars dancing on the grandest world stage. Michael Phelps, with his carbed-up diet and bazillion gold medals and cute mom crying in the stands, never gets old for me. I watch those beach volleyball girls, with the shoulder tape and lost wedding ring and crazy consecutive winning record. I probably watched that men's 4x100 swimming relay about fifty times in complete disbelief. I adore the fluff pieces on hard childhoods and obstacles overcome. Heck, I watched the equestrian trials. And I liked it. (Question: How do you think the horses enjoy the plane flight across the world? And what does that cost? I'd even enjoy more fluff in the equestrian trials!)

It also makes me warm and fuzzy to think that in this crazy world, maybe we can all get along. My cynicism creeps in every now and then, but I try to stuff it down in the spirit of the games. I cheer on America, certainly for my favorites, but I also love to see how excited people get when winning a medal for their country's first time. That is good stuff.

So, only a little over a week before this all goes into hibernation for another four years. I'll enjoy it while I can. And when it's done, I'm sure my husband will have my side of the bed ready and waiting for my return.

Go Team!

Brett Favre, Get Off My TV

This morning, I am innundated with stimuli and all of it rotates around Brett Favre. (For those non-sports lovers, bear with me as I rant - and get ready because football season is on the horizon and little will matter more here in about a month! And if you are a non-sports lover, well, my condolences...)

What the hee is wrong with Mr. Fav-ray? Make up your flippin' mind already, will ya? And now, he jumps ship to the Jets. All because, after years of threats (or promises, if you're on my side of that fence) he finally followed through with retirement, captivating headlines for weeks with his puss-face. He even edged out news of Big Ben's legendary $100 million Steelers contract - and now, he has the nerve to not simply go away (as he tearfully pledged) and is all over my TV yet again!

It occurs to me as I listen to all this, I'm most bothered by the waffling, the inability to make a choice and stick to it. This, cooincidently, is the same gripe I have about my husband. So, Brett Favre is the Scotty P. of the NFL! Now, that is something about which to think!

I take (sometimes) inordinate time to make a decision. When about to purchase a new pair of fairly-pricey shoes, I will at times leave them in the store for weeks as I silently ponder whether I need those shoes or not. (This is not the case with clearance items, which must be snatched up fervently, lest they end up in a rival shopper's closet - everyone knows this.) To paraphrase Alicia Silverstone's "Clueless" character, "Think about it. I'm that picky about my shoes - and they only go on my feet!"

But, really, what is so hard about a step back and a moment to consider before you announce your intentions, whether to your family - or the world? And what is so difficult about sticking to your guns once you decide which way those guns point?

Then again, that is my own view of the world and the way in which it should work. I know some of this comes from my internal need to have stability and consistency and to be able to count on what I am told will be the truth. Some people might not feel the same - clearly that is the case.
No matter. My husband's indecision is a minor drop in the bucket compared to all the glorious qualities he holds - and we have gotten to the point where it is a funny joke of sorts, which actually (believe it or not) has lessened it quite a bit!

Now, if only Brett Favre could learn the same lesson. I guess all we can collectively do is sit back and hope karma works its magic, whatever that may be. And, if you are anything like me, you can secretly hope Aaron Rodgers comes out like gangbusters in Green Bay.

Not that any of it matters. Everyone knows the only pigskin that's relevant is played on the shores of those three rivers in the 'Burgh. Even Scott is firm on that point!

Friends For Life

Last night, Scott and I celebrated our anniversary. We chose to try out a new-to-us Mexican joint in Asheville called "Papa's and Beer" - great name, even better food. While we sat on a bench outside, we discussed our time together as husband and wife and looked on at a group of girls, all dolled up and gossiping amongst themselves as they, too, waited for a table.

At that moment, I mentioned that when I see girls like that, all fancy shoes and purses out for dinner and drinks together, it makes me feel a twinge of sadness that I don't have my good girlfriends here in North Carolina. I sort of feel a bit left out.

After I assured Scott that, yes, I do indeed appreciate doing things with him just as much, we began a discussion about our new lives here. It only took a few moments before I re-evaluated my initial statement and decided that I would much rather spend time alone than with some flighty friends I only partly enjoy.

In my younger days, I would take any opportunity to party and hang out, even with less-than-loyal buds who, quite frankly, were back-stabbers and sabatours. (A fact I seemed to repeatedly learn too little, too late.) Now, though my best girlfriends are miles away in both distance and, at times, lifestyles, I know I am far richer indeed.

I don't really need a Tuesday night out to know they are a phone call away if I ever truly needed them. I am certain they feel the same way about me. Sure, it would be grand to see one another more often, to prolong the laughter and relish longer in our bond.

The way I see it now, it's more valuable to have those kindred friends close to my heart, rather than "frenemies" close to my home. I would never trade my present for my past, no matter the temporary highs I used to get from the hectic pace of social reckless abandon.

Those several times a year when I am blessed to share a cocktail and a smile with a good, old friend, my heart fills with the kind of joy that can't be brought with come-and-go drinking buddies. My soul giggles for weeks afterward.

And as for my husband? He really is a captive audience for those fancy shoes and purses. So, for what more could I ever hope?!

August 5, 2000

Eight years ago today, I married my husband Scott and officially removed my "single girl" status. Everything about the day is clear in my mind and I could not have hoped for a more fabulous fairy tale. My dress, the party, our friends and family together in celebration - all pitch-perfect. (No doubt you'll find me today in the gown. After all, I am still a girl who loves frilly things and crowns!)

On those first few anniversaries, when things were all romance and flowers and cards, Scott and I danced and laughed and shared the sort of tender moments which are expected of "newlyweds." Lest I lead you astray, our marriage was hardly a walk in the proverbial park - but, we held eternal optimism of our bright future together. The anniversary was tinged with an expectation of Hallmark perfection and we tried desperately to deliver.

In the past few years, our lives have truly transformed, both as individuals and as a couple. We literally grew into a new version of our old selves - which took both practice and therapy in order to properly adjust!

And here we stand, eight years into this antiquated idea of "til death do us part." Greeting cards will appear today, a dinner out is planned, there may even be a gift or two. However, it's beyond that now, moved into the realm of comfortable contentment, and I am safe to say we are both good with that. The emphasis on simple, everyday affection is lovely. Today is only affirmation of that which we feel all days.

Beyond the ceremony in the ever-important wedding day is, of course, the marriage. As logical as this should be, it does tend to get lost sometimes in our culture of throw-away unions. While I will never judge the choices of others, I am happy to say I get it now, more than ever. It makes me glad to be loved in such a special way, to appreciate the struggle and reward that comes with sharing your life with another.

Happy Anniversary for sure!
(Now, off to try on the dress...)