Being rather lazy, it's no surprise I like to sleep. And, as one who likes to sleep, it's no shocker that I love to dream. I don't, however, always love my dreams because they are bizarre and extraordinarily crazy. I do, though, love to dissect my dreams and, just the other day, Ol' Scotty P. told me to "never" tell him about my dreams again because "it scares him."
I tried to find out what specifically terrified him about my most recent tale of flying a small scooter-type airplane through the Parkway Playhouse's director's home (a place which was most definitely not real due to its labyrinth style of secret rooms and layered hallways.) Did he not like my inablility to land the device, which I repeatedly crashed into the hardwood floors? Was he bothered that dream Scotty P. shut down his office suddenly to become a file clerk and tried to move us to a million-dollar home? Did he get jealous because I got invited to Dollywood and he didn't want to come with?
No, it turns out, as he explained, my dreams "scare the s**t out of him" because what goes on inside my head is "f'ing insane." (He is nothing if not eloquent, I always say.) I can see his point, but countered that if he's scared by secondhand versions of my nightmares, he should try spending a day living with what's going on inside my head. Seriously.
Regardless, I decided to continue telling him despite his wishes to the contrary. It's good for a couple to share things between them. If I had never told him about my dreams, he would never know about the time dream Steph was having a dream baby and dream Scott insisted it be named Wilhemina, if a girl, or Danny Todd, if a boy. (We had a girl, by the way, and I stuck the newborn in a cardboard box and forgot about her. We did name her Wilhemina. It all turned out because it was only a plastic baby doll anyhow. Dream Steph was glad it was a girl because as bad a name as Wilhemina might be, Danny Todd is, um, atrocious.) He also would have missed out on all my tales of dating Peyton and Eli Manning and how they fight over me in my sleep.
Okay, so I see why he would prefer I just keep a dream journal or something. But what fun would that be? A few nights ago I dreamt that the Penguins won this series against the Canadiens, a scenario which looks right now as likely as my dating a Manning brother.
But, it's fun to share these things with him - clearly more fun for me than him. It's okay, though. I think he secretly likes my creativity and wit.
At least, he does in my dreams.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
They Said, "Athlete!"
Last week, Ol' Scotty P. and I went on a swanky dinner date with two other couples who are good friends we don't see often enough, even though we all live within miles of one another. It was fabulous. I got to wear a new dress I had just found for a steal and some fancy shoes, so already, even before the wonderful food and enlightening conversation, the night was successful in my mind.
But the food was absolutely, memorably delicious and the easy, breezy conversation filled with laughter. It was joyous. For a bunch of grown-ups, we had a way better time than I ever had at the beer bashes of my twenties - even if you could not have convinced me of that back then. This fact never ceases to baffle me, as I am just so darned resistant to classifying myself an "adult" sometimes, until I'm reminded of how awesome it is to finally be one!
Lest you think it was all stuffy talk of gardening and parenting tips, I'll just tell you those things did come up, between asking classic questions like, "Which athlete would you most like to sleep with?" Now, this is one of my favorite games to play, made all the better after a few cocktails. (Another difference between being a pseudo-adult and a full-fledged grown-up: You can afford the good liquor. And mixers. And you can order these concoctions at the bar, instead of having to stick to the beer special in a pitcher. I never thought I would see the day. Life really does get good.)
Of course, this is a good question because it limits you as to choices - versus, say, "actors" or similarly vast categories. I chose Sidney Crosby because he is a stand-up guy, lives with Mario, is sweet as can be, talented, cute, has a gold medal AND a Stanley Cup ring, and is Canadian. (I like the accent.) Plus, we are smack in the middle of hockey playoffs, so he graces my screen (hopefully) every other day or so. (And, on a side note, though my campaign to bring Big Ben retribution continues diligently and he did apologize to the city of Pittsburgh, we are not quite ready to throw his name into a conversation like this. Yet. Give it time.)
A few days ago, long after this little back-and-forth took place, Ol' Scott and I were watching the Pens lose a miserable game in the Eastern Conference Semifinals and he remarked, "I can't believe you chose Sidney Crosby over everyone."
I jolted upright from my sad, prone, Pens-are-losing-a-real-stinker position, "Yeah, but they said athlete! Not just anyone! Who would you rather I have chosen?"
He did not respond right away, but then said, "Yeah, you're right. They did say athlete. I guess that's a good choice." And we resumed cussing at the ridiculous play on the ice while willing the Pens to do better in Game 3. (Which they sure did, by the way, making it a 2-1 game lead heading into tonight's showdown!)
The point is this: We have grown up. Like it or not. Tank tops and pitchers of Bud Light in a smoke-filled bar have given way to fancy martinis and multi-course meals. (Most of the time. I won't pretend that you'll never see me in a tank top with a glass of Bud Light, but it is way less frequent now.)
But it's good to know that, even in adulthood, you can play a game like this one with your friends and you can stick to the rules of that game. And you can ponder over the answers with your spouse later because everyone is mature and happy to be that way. I hope that next time we see these dear friends, we can play another version of this game or one similar.
Because it's that sort of connection to the silliness of youth that lets me relish completely the joys of growing up, even if I sometimes don't really believe I have.
But the food was absolutely, memorably delicious and the easy, breezy conversation filled with laughter. It was joyous. For a bunch of grown-ups, we had a way better time than I ever had at the beer bashes of my twenties - even if you could not have convinced me of that back then. This fact never ceases to baffle me, as I am just so darned resistant to classifying myself an "adult" sometimes, until I'm reminded of how awesome it is to finally be one!
Lest you think it was all stuffy talk of gardening and parenting tips, I'll just tell you those things did come up, between asking classic questions like, "Which athlete would you most like to sleep with?" Now, this is one of my favorite games to play, made all the better after a few cocktails. (Another difference between being a pseudo-adult and a full-fledged grown-up: You can afford the good liquor. And mixers. And you can order these concoctions at the bar, instead of having to stick to the beer special in a pitcher. I never thought I would see the day. Life really does get good.)
Of course, this is a good question because it limits you as to choices - versus, say, "actors" or similarly vast categories. I chose Sidney Crosby because he is a stand-up guy, lives with Mario, is sweet as can be, talented, cute, has a gold medal AND a Stanley Cup ring, and is Canadian. (I like the accent.) Plus, we are smack in the middle of hockey playoffs, so he graces my screen (hopefully) every other day or so. (And, on a side note, though my campaign to bring Big Ben retribution continues diligently and he did apologize to the city of Pittsburgh, we are not quite ready to throw his name into a conversation like this. Yet. Give it time.)
A few days ago, long after this little back-and-forth took place, Ol' Scott and I were watching the Pens lose a miserable game in the Eastern Conference Semifinals and he remarked, "I can't believe you chose Sidney Crosby over everyone."
I jolted upright from my sad, prone, Pens-are-losing-a-real-stinker position, "Yeah, but they said athlete! Not just anyone! Who would you rather I have chosen?"
He did not respond right away, but then said, "Yeah, you're right. They did say athlete. I guess that's a good choice." And we resumed cussing at the ridiculous play on the ice while willing the Pens to do better in Game 3. (Which they sure did, by the way, making it a 2-1 game lead heading into tonight's showdown!)
The point is this: We have grown up. Like it or not. Tank tops and pitchers of Bud Light in a smoke-filled bar have given way to fancy martinis and multi-course meals. (Most of the time. I won't pretend that you'll never see me in a tank top with a glass of Bud Light, but it is way less frequent now.)
But it's good to know that, even in adulthood, you can play a game like this one with your friends and you can stick to the rules of that game. And you can ponder over the answers with your spouse later because everyone is mature and happy to be that way. I hope that next time we see these dear friends, we can play another version of this game or one similar.
Because it's that sort of connection to the silliness of youth that lets me relish completely the joys of growing up, even if I sometimes don't really believe I have.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Yippee-Kay-Yay, Broadway Lover!
This is a Broadway musical kind of time of year! The Tony nominations were announced this week. I heard all about it from my gay radio boyfriend, "The Ahmaaazing" Seth Ruetetsky on Sirius XM Broadway channel which plays non-stop in my car. (Don't ask me again: Seth and I have a kind of a "thing" going on and I can't explain it right now. Trust me - it's showtune terrific and, yes, ahmaaazing.) On top of all that, the Parkway Playhouse is gloriously near to beginning rehearsals for "Annie" - the first of two musicals I will perform in this summer.
Needless to say, my life is one big, elaborate musical number in my mind right now. (And when I say "right now" it could translate to "all the time" - except seriously more right now.) I've been humming showtunes all day long and dwelling incessantly on the emotions of my favorite shows. I am, simultaneously, attempting to train for a 5K which is coming up this Saturday and, while it is slow, plodding, and not entirely likely to continue for the 3.1 miles, I do so enjoy picking a new Broadway soundtrack on my iPod each time I go out running. It's like a melding of the physical and emotional in the best possible way.
Some time ago, it was my current obsession, "Wicked." I have likely listened to this complete soundtrack no less than 1000 times in the past five months, and it never ceases to amaze me. When I saw it onstage during a freak February snowstorm in South Carolina, my already-perfect vision of it was etched forever in my mind as a fantastic memory. After it had ended, and while the tears were likely still fresh on my cheeks, Ol' Scotty P. and I slipped and slid our way over a magical snow-covered bridge to our cozy hotel room (me, of course, in ridiculously impractical Italian leather three-inch heels, holding Scotty P. with all my might so as not to tumble) and we ate take-out New York Carnegie Deli cheesecake while I wore my souvenir Wicked track jacket and remarked that it was almost as good as being in NYC. And it was, almost. Kind of like how listening to the soundtrack now is almost as good as that night in South Carolina. Almost.
Last week, for example, I chose "Miss Saigon." This is maybe not the most obvious option, but I do love it so. It reminds me of being a naive young adult who still believed in that kind of perfect, self-sacrificing love. I used to listen to my cassette tape copy of it in my freshman dorm room at WVU while I did my homework and tears would stream down my face at the tragic, sorrowful end - which I will not reveal, in case some dear readers are not familiar. (To which I say - get out there and listen! There is no greater joy than immersing oneself in a musical story from start to end, in one sitting, to discover a story told in glorious, delicious song...)
I remember the first time I saw it onstage in Pittsburgh, and how excited I was to finally put a visual to the songs I had memorized for so many years. I've seen it another time since, but somehow, it never had the same emotional kick that those cassette tapes held for an 18-year-old kid away from home, clumsily finding her way to adulthood. That is what that show really means for me, and thank goodness for it. It's a lovely memory to match a lovely show.
And then, a few days ago, in the steamy humidity of the afternoon, I could not help but pick "Oklahoma!" I so wanted to relish the memories of last summer's Parkway Playhouse production - to feel the stickiness of the backstage in the summer heat, to sense the butterflies of "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" when it begins so precious and sweet. As anyone who has ever talked to me in the past year knows, if I could bottle those nine or so performances from last year and relive them forever, I would in a heartbeat. It was therapy in the best sense of the word - I found myself on that old wooden stage in Burnsville, NC, and I vowed to hold onto that joy forever.
So, when I set out running to those terrific tunes, it was like coming full circle. I ran and I thought - about all the new memories of this summer coming up, of the changes on the horizon, of making my home here in the mountains of North Carolina.
That is the true story behind the Broadway love - what it means for me, the feelings and love that rise in my soul when I hear some showtunes and can't help but belt along. It is, as Seth would say, "Ahmaaazing!"
And I cherish it so.
Needless to say, my life is one big, elaborate musical number in my mind right now. (And when I say "right now" it could translate to "all the time" - except seriously more right now.) I've been humming showtunes all day long and dwelling incessantly on the emotions of my favorite shows. I am, simultaneously, attempting to train for a 5K which is coming up this Saturday and, while it is slow, plodding, and not entirely likely to continue for the 3.1 miles, I do so enjoy picking a new Broadway soundtrack on my iPod each time I go out running. It's like a melding of the physical and emotional in the best possible way.
Some time ago, it was my current obsession, "Wicked." I have likely listened to this complete soundtrack no less than 1000 times in the past five months, and it never ceases to amaze me. When I saw it onstage during a freak February snowstorm in South Carolina, my already-perfect vision of it was etched forever in my mind as a fantastic memory. After it had ended, and while the tears were likely still fresh on my cheeks, Ol' Scotty P. and I slipped and slid our way over a magical snow-covered bridge to our cozy hotel room (me, of course, in ridiculously impractical Italian leather three-inch heels, holding Scotty P. with all my might so as not to tumble) and we ate take-out New York Carnegie Deli cheesecake while I wore my souvenir Wicked track jacket and remarked that it was almost as good as being in NYC. And it was, almost. Kind of like how listening to the soundtrack now is almost as good as that night in South Carolina. Almost.
Last week, for example, I chose "Miss Saigon." This is maybe not the most obvious option, but I do love it so. It reminds me of being a naive young adult who still believed in that kind of perfect, self-sacrificing love. I used to listen to my cassette tape copy of it in my freshman dorm room at WVU while I did my homework and tears would stream down my face at the tragic, sorrowful end - which I will not reveal, in case some dear readers are not familiar. (To which I say - get out there and listen! There is no greater joy than immersing oneself in a musical story from start to end, in one sitting, to discover a story told in glorious, delicious song...)
I remember the first time I saw it onstage in Pittsburgh, and how excited I was to finally put a visual to the songs I had memorized for so many years. I've seen it another time since, but somehow, it never had the same emotional kick that those cassette tapes held for an 18-year-old kid away from home, clumsily finding her way to adulthood. That is what that show really means for me, and thank goodness for it. It's a lovely memory to match a lovely show.
And then, a few days ago, in the steamy humidity of the afternoon, I could not help but pick "Oklahoma!" I so wanted to relish the memories of last summer's Parkway Playhouse production - to feel the stickiness of the backstage in the summer heat, to sense the butterflies of "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" when it begins so precious and sweet. As anyone who has ever talked to me in the past year knows, if I could bottle those nine or so performances from last year and relive them forever, I would in a heartbeat. It was therapy in the best sense of the word - I found myself on that old wooden stage in Burnsville, NC, and I vowed to hold onto that joy forever.
So, when I set out running to those terrific tunes, it was like coming full circle. I ran and I thought - about all the new memories of this summer coming up, of the changes on the horizon, of making my home here in the mountains of North Carolina.
That is the true story behind the Broadway love - what it means for me, the feelings and love that rise in my soul when I hear some showtunes and can't help but belt along. It is, as Seth would say, "Ahmaaazing!"
And I cherish it so.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Crosby on the Bedpost
Right now, my Sidney Crosby jersey hangs triumphantly on my bedpost, right where I hung it after the last victory over Ottowa. It will remain there until the Pens no longer are alive in the NHL playoffs - hopefully sometime in June when they lift the Stanley Cup in a repeat of their 90's repeat. I wear it every other day and then I hang it up in its spot for the next installment - a routine I hope to continue for some time. It's a happy reminder in the morning, to know that there is something toward which to look forward and about which to smile.
So much else in my sporting world is less than happy. The Mountaineers' devestating loss in the Final Four, poor Santonio's trade to the Jets, and, of course, Big Bad Ben. Goodness gracious, you'd think he had killed someone...like, say, Ray Lewis or Dante Stallworth. You'd think he'd been convicted of something...like, say, half the rest of the league. But, no, not really. He is, apparently, evil enough to dominate the negative press of every major sports-shouting show and internet site and, thus, I can no longer watch those shows or read those articles. I can't explain my views in this blog because I can't exactly pin down my views.
But, don't count me in with the rest of the frenzied bandwagon "trade him!" followers. In my mind - and plenty of others' - he's still a great quarterback. All these people loved him in the final 40 seconds of Super Bowl XLIII. What, now because he may be sexually aggressive he's no longer able to throw a precision pass under pressure? I guess that is the same logic that because Tiger is a man whore he can no longer...putt. (I don't know enough about golf to make an intelligent analogy here. All I know is that it's fun on the Wii and boring as crap in real life.)
In the real world, I know plenty of respectable people who are great at their jobs, and up to whom others may very well look. I also know that these same folks have made mistakes - sexual and otherwise - in their lives. I don't really think differently about them and don't suspect others would either, even if they knew the facts. I might not agree with the actions or mistakes or missteps or...whatever. I also don't want to start down the slippery slope of legislating/criminilizing morality and/or stupidity. We simply don't have the manpower in this country to keep up with all that!
So, for now, I'll just sit here on my bed with my Crosby jersey and keep all my energy on the ice, where it would be now anyway, even without all the other distractions. I know Sid and Geno and the rest of the Mighty 'Guins will give it their all, making the 'Burgh proud no matter how far they go in the post-season. Because on the ice, at least it's still all about the game.
So, Let's Go Pens!! Because I want that Crosby jersey to stay put a while longer.
So much else in my sporting world is less than happy. The Mountaineers' devestating loss in the Final Four, poor Santonio's trade to the Jets, and, of course, Big Bad Ben. Goodness gracious, you'd think he had killed someone...like, say, Ray Lewis or Dante Stallworth. You'd think he'd been convicted of something...like, say, half the rest of the league. But, no, not really. He is, apparently, evil enough to dominate the negative press of every major sports-shouting show and internet site and, thus, I can no longer watch those shows or read those articles. I can't explain my views in this blog because I can't exactly pin down my views.
But, don't count me in with the rest of the frenzied bandwagon "trade him!" followers. In my mind - and plenty of others' - he's still a great quarterback. All these people loved him in the final 40 seconds of Super Bowl XLIII. What, now because he may be sexually aggressive he's no longer able to throw a precision pass under pressure? I guess that is the same logic that because Tiger is a man whore he can no longer...putt. (I don't know enough about golf to make an intelligent analogy here. All I know is that it's fun on the Wii and boring as crap in real life.)
In the real world, I know plenty of respectable people who are great at their jobs, and up to whom others may very well look. I also know that these same folks have made mistakes - sexual and otherwise - in their lives. I don't really think differently about them and don't suspect others would either, even if they knew the facts. I might not agree with the actions or mistakes or missteps or...whatever. I also don't want to start down the slippery slope of legislating/criminilizing morality and/or stupidity. We simply don't have the manpower in this country to keep up with all that!
So, for now, I'll just sit here on my bed with my Crosby jersey and keep all my energy on the ice, where it would be now anyway, even without all the other distractions. I know Sid and Geno and the rest of the Mighty 'Guins will give it their all, making the 'Burgh proud no matter how far they go in the post-season. Because on the ice, at least it's still all about the game.
So, Let's Go Pens!! Because I want that Crosby jersey to stay put a while longer.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Summery Summer Goodness
It's not quite Spring proper, but it feels like Summer, so I've moved on. Sorry, Nature, but I feel secure that once my over-confidence in this weather fully manifests, you will snatch it cruelly away from me and replace it with cold, wet nastiness. So, time is of the essence and I must revel in the joys of Summer Planning-Palooza, 2010:
**After last summer's inaugural performance in "Oklahoma" I have, once again, been given the chance to be part of the Parkway Playhouse's Summer Season. This community theater has changed my life and I am not being overly dramatic. (Dramatic, maybe, but not overly so.) For 64 years, the Parkway has delighted the Burnsville area and I am prouder of being a part of it than I have even been of anything in my entire life. (Check it out at parkwayplayhouse.com. If you are in the Western North Carolina area, it will be good times if you stop by and see it live!!) The unbridled happiness I experience when working hard to bring the production together is more rewarding than I can translate.
This summer, I will be part of "Annie" - wherein I will not play an orphan, contrary to popular belief based upon the age I appear (and likely act, though people don't say that to my face) - and "Guys and Dolls" - in which I may (fingers crossed) get to play an adult! (Or at least a teenager.) I can't wait for late-night practices, cast meltdowns, and general comraderie with other actor-types. It's a blast. I can think of no other way to spend the summer, and don't comprehend other opinions. (Namely, ol' Scotty P.'s, who sincerely seems baffled by me during these months of rehearsals.) Who cares? The show must go on and, in this house, it will, believe you me...
**For the umpteenth time (thank goodness) I will see DMB live and thus summer can be complete. Somehow, after all these years of loyalty, we have scored Gold Circle seats at the Charlotte show and I'm already dizzy with the idea of being that close to my musical gods. Summer is somehow a bit sadder when you don't see crazy Dave dancing and hear (hopefully) "Two Step" live on a humid, sweaty evening. It will be a long wait until July, but let the countdown begin! ("Celebrate we will...Life is short but sweet for certain...")
**After almost four years at my current job, I'm moving on. I don't know what to expect. For the first time in my life, I'll be my own boss. And knowing full-well the type of employee I can be, I may become fast frustrated with myself. But, to grow in this life, you have to take chances and move ahead and that is what I intend to do, as I think positive thoughts and hope to quell any panic attacks.
But don't be crazy! I will be leaving my current job at the end of June and won't begin the new venture until at least September. So, I'll have plenty of time to enjoy the rest of my summer adventures! Let's not forget what type of employee I am...
**Along with the more glamorous, there is the glorious mundane: the sunny days outside with the dogs, dinners downtown Asheville, my birthday(!), family visits, new flip-flops with freshly painted toenails, not-so-white legs, weekend cabin trips, ice cream cones, the smell of sunscreen, sundresses, blonder hair, and all-around heavenly sunny times.
Bring it on, Nature! I'm ready!
**After last summer's inaugural performance in "Oklahoma" I have, once again, been given the chance to be part of the Parkway Playhouse's Summer Season. This community theater has changed my life and I am not being overly dramatic. (Dramatic, maybe, but not overly so.) For 64 years, the Parkway has delighted the Burnsville area and I am prouder of being a part of it than I have even been of anything in my entire life. (Check it out at parkwayplayhouse.com. If you are in the Western North Carolina area, it will be good times if you stop by and see it live!!) The unbridled happiness I experience when working hard to bring the production together is more rewarding than I can translate.
This summer, I will be part of "Annie" - wherein I will not play an orphan, contrary to popular belief based upon the age I appear (and likely act, though people don't say that to my face) - and "Guys and Dolls" - in which I may (fingers crossed) get to play an adult! (Or at least a teenager.) I can't wait for late-night practices, cast meltdowns, and general comraderie with other actor-types. It's a blast. I can think of no other way to spend the summer, and don't comprehend other opinions. (Namely, ol' Scotty P.'s, who sincerely seems baffled by me during these months of rehearsals.) Who cares? The show must go on and, in this house, it will, believe you me...
**For the umpteenth time (thank goodness) I will see DMB live and thus summer can be complete. Somehow, after all these years of loyalty, we have scored Gold Circle seats at the Charlotte show and I'm already dizzy with the idea of being that close to my musical gods. Summer is somehow a bit sadder when you don't see crazy Dave dancing and hear (hopefully) "Two Step" live on a humid, sweaty evening. It will be a long wait until July, but let the countdown begin! ("Celebrate we will...Life is short but sweet for certain...")
**After almost four years at my current job, I'm moving on. I don't know what to expect. For the first time in my life, I'll be my own boss. And knowing full-well the type of employee I can be, I may become fast frustrated with myself. But, to grow in this life, you have to take chances and move ahead and that is what I intend to do, as I think positive thoughts and hope to quell any panic attacks.
But don't be crazy! I will be leaving my current job at the end of June and won't begin the new venture until at least September. So, I'll have plenty of time to enjoy the rest of my summer adventures! Let's not forget what type of employee I am...
**Along with the more glamorous, there is the glorious mundane: the sunny days outside with the dogs, dinners downtown Asheville, my birthday(!), family visits, new flip-flops with freshly painted toenails, not-so-white legs, weekend cabin trips, ice cream cones, the smell of sunscreen, sundresses, blonder hair, and all-around heavenly sunny times.
Bring it on, Nature! I'm ready!
Thursday, April 8, 2010
What-sa Goin' On?
Since my last blog post, it has miraculously become summer from winter by the beginning of April, I snagged a snazzy new pair of brown clogs on a tremendous sale, and the Mountaineers got all the way to the Final Four in the NCAA tourney. (Some other stuff happened, too, but I try to hit the high points.) Ol' Scotty P. and I have made some pretty big decisions about our joint future - namely, a swimming pool would really be sweet right now and, unfortunately, a new Beagle puppy is not a wise addition to our little family.
In honor of this fresh new time of year, a renewed sense of dedication to this blog. I vow to do the following:
**I will play less Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook and use my time more sensibly. This will particularly make Scotty P. happy, since he firmly believes I spend roughly 75 percent of my time on this sparkly little computer game - when it's really a little less than that. We'll find a healthy compromise.
**Even though I receive almost 500 e-mails a day from Bluefly.com, I will not (repeat: WILL NOT) succomb to these discounted designer wares. I will not buy any beautiful Kate Spade heels or cashmere fingerless gloves or flowy Free People dresses, no matter how lovely those things may look together for some night on the town and no matter the special sales Bluefly claims are TODAY ONLY! My will-power will just have to defeat Bluefly's relentless temptation. Stay strong and breathe...and avoid Bluefly.com like it's a New England Patriots fan with the swine flu.
**I will work harder to write more regularly, since that usually helps to quell the other time-wasters. Wish me luck!!
In honor of this fresh new time of year, a renewed sense of dedication to this blog. I vow to do the following:
**I will play less Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook and use my time more sensibly. This will particularly make Scotty P. happy, since he firmly believes I spend roughly 75 percent of my time on this sparkly little computer game - when it's really a little less than that. We'll find a healthy compromise.
**Even though I receive almost 500 e-mails a day from Bluefly.com, I will not (repeat: WILL NOT) succomb to these discounted designer wares. I will not buy any beautiful Kate Spade heels or cashmere fingerless gloves or flowy Free People dresses, no matter how lovely those things may look together for some night on the town and no matter the special sales Bluefly claims are TODAY ONLY! My will-power will just have to defeat Bluefly's relentless temptation. Stay strong and breathe...and avoid Bluefly.com like it's a New England Patriots fan with the swine flu.
**I will work harder to write more regularly, since that usually helps to quell the other time-wasters. Wish me luck!!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Today, I Will
Today I have lots of obligations. Tomorrow I have those same obligations, but we are only going to talk about today. Because of today's to-do list, I currently suffer from acid reflux, a sour stomach, a headache, eyes that are on fire, and cold feet. (Well, to be fair, the cold feet are the result of chasing one contemptuous Chessie into the icy yard to cease her digging up our entire yard, as well as the neighbor's, in her quest for moles. While in hot pursuit, I eliminated shoes from the equation and only wore my socks. It was not my brightest moment. I also did not stop the dog from her hunting instincts, which kind of makes sense when you think about it.)
It is fairly easy to get caught up in negatives. Being a natural defiant personality, I will attempt to list some positives to rebut that initial tempation:
**Right now, one overly repentent Chessie is curled in front of the fire, quiet and behaved and ever the model of dog obedience. She also licked my face several times upon finally coming inside. My read on this was an apology for her earlier ill-tempered refusal to listen. I don't know if dogs' brains really function this way, but I will stubbornly hold to my thoughts that they do. I can't stay mad at her because she doesn't ever stay mad at me, even when I did lose my temper and swat her nose. We love each other like that.
**Concurrently, one lazy Beagle is curled at my feet on the couch, snoring away into the afghan-covered pillow upon which she is snuggled ever so sweetly. I know she wants up on the couch because it is warm and fluffy and comfy. Sometimes, I like to think she also wants to comfort me as I trudge through my numerous have-tos. There is something about a Beagle at your feet which makes even the dreariest of tasks perkier. She is such a baby, and that is why I baby her...or the other way around.
**Tonight I get to go to dance class, where I can lose all sense of stress in favor of physical challenge and laughter with a bunch of teenagers. Never, in all my life, have I ever felt better or more myself than when I am dancing. I might not be the most technically proficient dancer and I might never master all the skills, but my soul is happiest when I am trying. Unlike any other thing in my life, being even mediocre at this one hobby has made me happier than any of the other things I have tried or mastered. Who cares if I could (literally) be mother to my classmates? They remind me of all the best and worst aspects of being a teenager. I am happy with my place in life and happy to test my ablities with theirs. It makes me a better dancer and gives me a better outlook on llife, too.
**Yesterday, I found a specific dress at Target which I have loved, loved, loved since Christmas-shopping season and it was half-off. And it is super cute and I love it even more now that it is in my closet. No matter that I have no less than one hundred dresses hanging beside this new one. I will not apologize for my love of clothes, nor will I ever again make a ridiculous statement like, "Please stop me from buying any more dresses." (Which I uttered this past summer after one dress spree too many. Perish the thought those words even escaped my lips!)
Because if I wasn't buying too many dresses and dancing, curled up with dogs at my feet, who would I be? Not someone I would want to know, I'll tell you that!
So, back at it now, acid stomach and all. At least I know what's really important. And let me tell you: a Beagle can do wonders for icy cold feet - they are almost completely warmed up now! Sometimes it really is the littlest things that bring the most peace.
It is fairly easy to get caught up in negatives. Being a natural defiant personality, I will attempt to list some positives to rebut that initial tempation:
**Right now, one overly repentent Chessie is curled in front of the fire, quiet and behaved and ever the model of dog obedience. She also licked my face several times upon finally coming inside. My read on this was an apology for her earlier ill-tempered refusal to listen. I don't know if dogs' brains really function this way, but I will stubbornly hold to my thoughts that they do. I can't stay mad at her because she doesn't ever stay mad at me, even when I did lose my temper and swat her nose. We love each other like that.
**Concurrently, one lazy Beagle is curled at my feet on the couch, snoring away into the afghan-covered pillow upon which she is snuggled ever so sweetly. I know she wants up on the couch because it is warm and fluffy and comfy. Sometimes, I like to think she also wants to comfort me as I trudge through my numerous have-tos. There is something about a Beagle at your feet which makes even the dreariest of tasks perkier. She is such a baby, and that is why I baby her...or the other way around.
**Tonight I get to go to dance class, where I can lose all sense of stress in favor of physical challenge and laughter with a bunch of teenagers. Never, in all my life, have I ever felt better or more myself than when I am dancing. I might not be the most technically proficient dancer and I might never master all the skills, but my soul is happiest when I am trying. Unlike any other thing in my life, being even mediocre at this one hobby has made me happier than any of the other things I have tried or mastered. Who cares if I could (literally) be mother to my classmates? They remind me of all the best and worst aspects of being a teenager. I am happy with my place in life and happy to test my ablities with theirs. It makes me a better dancer and gives me a better outlook on llife, too.
**Yesterday, I found a specific dress at Target which I have loved, loved, loved since Christmas-shopping season and it was half-off. And it is super cute and I love it even more now that it is in my closet. No matter that I have no less than one hundred dresses hanging beside this new one. I will not apologize for my love of clothes, nor will I ever again make a ridiculous statement like, "Please stop me from buying any more dresses." (Which I uttered this past summer after one dress spree too many. Perish the thought those words even escaped my lips!)
Because if I wasn't buying too many dresses and dancing, curled up with dogs at my feet, who would I be? Not someone I would want to know, I'll tell you that!
So, back at it now, acid stomach and all. At least I know what's really important. And let me tell you: a Beagle can do wonders for icy cold feet - they are almost completely warmed up now! Sometimes it really is the littlest things that bring the most peace.
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About Me
- Stephanie Stark Poling
- Steph's days are complete with little Franco/Mr. Buddy Pants, Pittsburgh Steelers football, Penguins hockey, all things WVU, cold beverages, new handbags, shoe-shopping, pups, and lots and lots of movies. And, of course, her glorious, nutty family.