Flashback City, population: me

I live with my oldest brother, who's almost two years younger than me. Another two years younger is our next brother, who happens to be in town visiting this evening on his way up north for a new gig.

What have I done with my evening, you ask? Came home, did dishes, made dinner, ate with the boys, threw in a load of laundry, and have been working on some homemade Christmas presents. What are the boys doing, you ask? Playing Super Mario Brothers.

Twenty years ago, things weren't too terribly different. I was probably reading the Babysitters Club books, and sometimes playing SMB with the boys. They were often losing their tempers when they lost lives in the game, getting angry and sometimes violent when one would take the other's turn, showing sheepish, reluctant gratitude when the other showed a rare moment of generosity and shared a life to keep the joint game going.

These days they show amusement or mild disappointment when a life is lost in the game. Their bellies are bigger and they've got some cash in their pockets, but the boyish, entranced look is still in full force when those mustachioed characters jump across the screen.

For the most part, the sound effects from video games drive me CRAZY. But we don't get to see this brother as often as we should, nor as we'd like. It's nice to hear them chuckling and encouraging each other in there. Even if it is turning them into morons.

Mom vent

Quotations....

"If you don't invite God to your wedding, I. Will. Be. Heartbroken."

"You know I love gay people as individuals, I just don't love their lifestyle." (Full disclosure, I'm wearing an HRC bracelet right now.)

"Well that's great [that my newly married nephew hired the mentally disabled-run pastry shop to bake different cakes for his wedding], but I had the idea for multiple wedding cakes first. I mean, where do you think they got the idea?" (My thought: their experience with the pastry shop?!?)

"Your brother said that this was the best wedding he's ever been to. [Pause] But what about my wedding? [Sigh] I guess it's apples and oranges."

"Oh, it's just lovely. But why didn't you get one for me?"

Come on!!!!!

Can I be Pansy?

My great grandma Pansy was an incredibly kind woman. She would ask the birthday of everyone she knew, and sent them all cards every year. After she passed away (over 20 years ago), our family members started getting phone calls from friends and exes they themselves hadn't spoken to in decades asking, "Is your grandmother ok? I get a birthday card from her every year, but I didn't hear from her this year."

For me, it doesn't get much more poignant than that.

My brother broke up with his girlfriend. Everybody thought this was it - they'd get hitched, start poppin out little ones, etc. But instead, it has ended. I am absolutely there for him, and he seems to be doing ok. Thing is, I want to be there for her, too. Rough. Plus, it feels like she needs me in that capacity more than he does.

Weird.

So I'm doing it. I told him, made sure he was ok with it, etc. And of course, he's wonderful and supportive even though it's not the norm.... and I can't help but be inspired by Grandma Pansy.

Love.

Free weekend? What?

Most of the time I'm running from point A to point Q, with a zillion steps in between, just trying to keep up with life. Part work, part family, lots of weddings, etc. This weekend, however, I had no plans. Both days were completely beautiful, and all I wanted to do was sleep, clean, eat, and and watch Veronica Mars. All in the comfort of my cozy living room.

Feeling lazy, I agreed to drive my brother to work Saturday afternoon, and I saw all the people out having fun: couples walking along in the sunshine, kids riding their bikes and skateboards, groups sitting out on patios drinking beers and laughing. I wasn't doing any of that, felt sorry for myself, and tried to appreciate it by proxy or something.

I went to the grocery store so I could say I did something productive with my day. When I parked, my CD played the song "The Pretender," and I lost it in my car. Pit party, gross. Got it together, went in the store, and sang to myself as I walked around getting the basics. One of the workers smiled and said hi, so of course I smiled back and said Hi there! He came closer and said, "I want to know your secret. Every time I see you in here, you're smiling wide. Always happy. So? You gonna tell me?" I replied, "Just optimism! That's all I got."

He really made my day. Not to mention a slew of ridiculous upbeat texts from Kurt while I was in the store. Thanks, buddy.

Let's face it. I'm a social creature. If I don't have friend or family entertainment built in to a free day's plans, I'm probably going to stay home and eat watermelon with Will & Grace. I wish I were out exploring the city on my own, but that's not how I operate. I would NEVER make it on a deserted island.

Curse you, house centipedes!

Me: Did you kill a big, nasty bug on the kitchen floor and leave it there?

Brother: [shakes head]

Me: Well there's a smashed dead guy in the middle of the kitchen floor. And I see that neither of us is wearing shoes right now.

Brother: [smirk]

Me: Look, I'm not sure which of us was actually in the kitchen last, but I'm going to say it was you. And that's how we're gonna play this thing.

Brother: [continued smirk]

Me: [leaves the room]

Lucille Ball does humidity

I chopped my hair last weekend. Fine, not me, but somebody with scissors and talent. She straightened it after, and it looked amazing. It's slightly shorter in the back than the front, which totally freaks me out, but looks hot with the straightness. Yesterday I wore it curly and felt like a poodle. What can you do? She colored it, too, a shiny brown with a hint of auburn. When the poodle-osity became too much, I put it up in a clip. It sort of bubbled up top (as if I had a bump-it, guffaw), and I looked in the mirror and saw Lucille Ball staring back at me.

Today I tried a little something different, and the frizz will NOT get under control. According to weather.com, our humidity level here is in the 60's and 70's, as in a 70% humidity level. As in closer to drowning than breathing. So no, there will be no self-straightening of the hair anytime soon. Out of curiosity, I decided to check the humidity levels in Phoenix. They're at 20%, but with a daily high of 109 degrees. One Hundred and NINE! I'm good here.

Consider me poodled.

How do you tell the kids?

I'm watching a documentary about a Holocaust survivor, who was a twin and one of the research subjects of Dr. Mengele. She's (obviously) a tough broad type, and very interesting. She's all about forgiving the nazis, and brought a nazi concentration camp doctor to the 50th anniversary ceremony of Auschwitz's liberation to sign a witness document. Holy shit. It's fascinating to me that she wants to purge all of these feelings and forgive, even at the expense of all of the other survivors present who had no interest in such forgiveness.

I'm seeing these terrible images on the screen, images I've seen before. I think we learned about the Holocaust in middle school or junior high, but I didn't see these graphic images until probably high school. And I was devastated. We read Elie Weisel's "Night" and I couldn't comprehend the incredible inhumanity.

I've considered these ideas before, but it wasn't until I started watching this documentary that it occurred to me: if I have children, I have to explain this to them. We have to talk about it. And their sweet trusting minds will have to learn and try to understand that our predecessors let this happen. For some reason, this devastates me even more. How is that possible? I'm ashamed to pass on this history to them. Ashamed of the human race.

And at the same time, this woman in the documentary is incredible. Aside from her survival, her forgiveness, her work to educate today's youth, her full-time work as a real-estate agent . . . they just showed her running on a treadmill.

Unbelievable.

At times we even talk alike

Recent realization. But first, background.

When I drink, I'm more forward, louder, more brazen, more likely to sing, bossier, more honest, and generally more outgoing. I've had more than one friend tell me they love the drunk me, in a way that clearly implies that drunk me is more fun than sober me.

I've learned to live with it.

My brother, on the other hand.... well, I can't speak for his friends, but I don't like seeing him drunk. He gets sloppy, combative, and argumentative. I think these traits recently came out because the drinking happened after a bad day, so this is probably an unfair generalization. But it happened the last two times I saw him in a state. So thumbs down.

Here's the realization: we got our genes mixed up or something. I enjoy drinking now and then, but I don't do it daily, and not even weekly these days. But apparently it makes my personality flourish. He, on the other hand, loves and appreciates drinking in a truly artful way. He brews beer. He analyzes ingredients, savoring what he has. And what happens? He turns into a pumpkin.

It's not fair, man.

New career?

I'm kinda the kid in the family who's all responsible and whatnot. Not that my adult brothers are irresponsible, exactly, but they're more nomadic, have less traditional jobs, no health insurance, etc. So I'm the boring, dependable one. Ok.

Inspired by my recent, construction-affected, commuting time, I've started considering new careers. I was talking to a Swell friend about her counseling work, and she said, "You would be really good at this." I brushed it off, but I think I might really love it. I mean, I could not. I could hate it, be overwhelmed, take it home with me, tire of listening to other people's problems, whatevs. But in a life where my job is sort of my focus right now, I wish it was more interesting. Could this be a new me?

I mentioned it to Dad the other day, joking about a new idea for what I wanna be when I grow up. I wonder if he was thinking, oh no, the one kid we didn't have to worry about financially is going to quit her job and go back to grad school to ultimately make way less money. Great.

I don't know if I'll have the guts to mess with this. But it could be really exciting. Thinking.....

Energy energy energy energy

Life is waking me up, baby. Let's recap some events.

Last weekend: went to Ohio (pronounced oh'-hee-oh) and visited with siblings, rents, and grandparents. Woke up Saturday morning with a cute little mouse on my toe. For the record, and in all honesty, I was VERY calm. It ran around the room, we left; it ran around the house, we sat; it ran into the bathroom, Dad followed. No more mouse. Poor guy.

After a charity pancake breakfast and some shopping, I got to see Grandma in action when she smushed a big, fat, black spider on the counter with her fingers without a single flinch. (Never gonna be me, folks.) We got some good guitar time in, which always feeds my soul, and I got to see Emmers' India pictures before we made the trip back to Chicago. And..... scene.

Now that I'm back, work is overwhelming, class is overwhelming, the filthy house is overwhelming, and my big, fat gut is overwhelming. Some of us can only do one thing at a time. So! I'm working to preserve my optimism. I revel in compliments at work, and use them to fuel motivation for those intimidating tasks. Went for a jog/walk tonight. And even though I had to walk three quarters of it, I got one kissy face from a cyclist, and one "nice buns, honey" from a group of trouble-makers standing on the corner. Clearly, I'm hot stuff.

Remember that song, "standin' on the corner, watchin' all the girls go byyyyyyyy"? That's me! I'm the girl!

So even though I feel bloated and creaky, with full blown allergies, I'm focusing on the good stuff. I've got fixins for grandma's bean soup over there in the kitchen, I've got some research to do for class, in which I'm doing very well so far, and there's a guitar here a-callin my name.

Booyah.

DESperate for pizza

I get the shakes sometimes. I'm anemic (low iron), so when I don't get enough to eat, or haven't eaten anything in a few hours, I get the shakes and I get light-headed.

I started to notice my light-headedness about 45 minutes ago, so I perused the pantry. Nothing looks good. So I ordered a pizza! From Giordano's, and they have great stuffed pizza. They said 20-30 minutes, which surprised me, since the stuffed pizzas take longer to cook.

After 20 minutes, the shakes started. I don't want to eat anything in the house that sounds mediocre, when I have delicious, cheezy pizza coming, right? I started looking up every time someone walked by in front of the house, every time I heard a car. That's often, in the city, in case you didn't know.

Then I saw a pizza delivery car stop on the corner out front, and a man was fiddling around the car. Finally! I picked up my money, walked to the front door. Nope. Another pizza place. A different delivery.

And one sad girl sitting in the living room feeling sorry for herself.

It has now been 48 minutes . . .

SUCCESS! It's here!!!!

Seeya. Pizza time.

REVELATION!

Rick Steves IS Ned Flanders.

Think about it. Observe it. Take it in. Accept it. Know it.

Oh the Drama!

All kinds of gossip, kiddies. All kinds.

First, two weekends ago I got a little action, which was nice. Some friends of friends visited the city, and one of them was very tall. Fine, he was also funny, nice, and laid-back. But I think it was mostly the tall thing. (The last guy I dated was short, both physically and metaphorically.) So tall man and I had a good time, with no strings attached since he lives far far away. Satisfying.

Next, my youngest brother got in some trouble with a buddy, and buddy has since placed all the blame on brother, unfairly. Since then, the two have had a falling out, and buddy is campaigning against brother, trying to make friends pick sides, and making up stuff in the process. Fine, kids get in trouble, drama ensues, right? Right. Well buddy's MOM proceeds to email brother on facebook, basically telling him to leave her poor baby alone. !!!! My own nasty high school flashbacks aside, this woman is so out of line that I'm seeing red. I spent an hour last night sitting up in bed, thinking of all of the horrid things I could say to her. I ended up with this: "Please refrain from sending personal email messages to my underage brother on the internet. It is wildly inappropriate."

Of course I won't exacerbate the situation by contacting this ridiculous stranger. Even I can see that she's trying to protect her baby and protect the current image she has of her baby. (He couldn't possibly have wanted to do any rule-breaking on his own. It was that horrid Brother who influenced him. Yes. That MUST be it.) But don't think I don't have my own inner Momma Bear! A grown woman harassing my baby brother online . . . who does she think she is . . . her kid is the older one fergawdsakes . . .

Luckily, little Brother is more of a man than most 25-year-olds you meet, so he's handling it pretty maturely. He impresses me all the time, really.

Next, my girlfriend is getting married in 2 months, and her mother unexpectedly passed away last week. Holy shitballs, you guys, talk about bad timing. She's devastated, of course. As is a big fat chunk of their community. Blargh. So I'm pretty sad for my friend and her dad. Dayum. I was able to fly out for the funeral, and my badass buddy wrote and delivered the eulogy herself. And I'll tell you something else - she kicked that eulogy's ass something fierce. She's going to be ok. She knows she's strong, but I don't think she realizes how effing strong she really is.

In other news, I'm doing splendidly in my first grad class, though I'm behind this week and need to take my midterm in the next few days. Super scary. I'm also super broke, which is always a good time.

I'm off to wash my purse, which is currently marinating in the 7-up I didn't close tightly enough for the ride home from work. A delight.

I pray when it's convenient

How hypocritical is that? Desperate times make for shameless hope and pleading. I've pretty much resigned myself to being agnostic. But when life gets ugly in the worst way (Grandpa's stroke, lump in Mom's breast, Grandma's ovary cyst discovery), I start asking for help right quick. I pray, and I mean it. It usually goes something like this.

Look. I don't know if you're out there or not. For all our sakes, I hope you are. I need this. I don't care if I deserve it. The person I'm coming to you about certainly does. Please, please, please keep her happy, out of pain, aware of how much we all love her, and give us more time with her. I know I can't keep her here forever, but I'M NOT READY TO LET GO. Please. Please.

There are usually a bunch of intense pleases after that, and sometimes some what-iffing, but I do my best to nip that in the bud.

Well I got lucky again! Or was heard! Or something! Grandma had laproscopic (sp?) surgery. They removed an ovary and some other junk and tested it. It was "going downhill," but hadn't become cancerous. The surgery was outpatient, and she's back home taking care of Grandpa.

God bless modern medicine. I'll hold on to that woman for as long as they'll let me.

Grandparent memories!

Let's flash back to Christmas time, shall we? Picture it. Pekin, Illinois, 2009. My grandparents are celebrating their 65th wedding anniversary. No, that's not a typo. We surprised them and put up decorations the night before, after they'd gone to bed.

So we're sitting around the table, and Dad's talking about Grandpa working too hard around the house. Let's hear it from them, kay?

Dad: So I went to check on Pop, and he was on all fours. He couldn't get up! Wait, let me rephrase. He couldn't stand up. [inappropriate]

Grampa: *chuckling* No, you were right the first time - hah!

Everyone over 50 proceeds to crack up, while I put my head down on the table in feigned embarrassment. But come on, who expects to hear that from the folks over 80? Joyce told me it's his way of coping with the inevitable changes of aging. Why not mock it yourself, have a good laugh at life? FanTAStic attitude. I'm just not there yet. Still, I kinda want to remember this forever.

Next glorious story, and my favorite:

Nic spent a day and night at Grandma and Grandpa's without any of the rest of us there. He was messing on the computer while they were in the family room watching the Lawrence Welk show on PBS. They love that show. Nic passed by the room and noticed that neither were in their chairs. That was curious, and maybe a bad sign, so he entered the room cautiously. Lo and behold, Grampa heard a song he liked, so asked Gramma to dance, and they were jitterbugging around the living room! Nic watched for a few moments, then went to get his camera. He managed to snap 3 shots before they even noticed he was there!

Can you imagine being so happy and spontaneous after SIXTY-FIVE years of marriage, six kids, a miscarriage, some strokes, and generally working your ass of for most of your life, that you would be ballroom dancing around your living room, so taken with the fun of it that you don't even notice when someone else is there? I tear up now just thinking about it, them, how wonderful they are, how lucky they are, how crazy, honest, carpe diem-y, silly, bizarre, and lovable they are.

GUSH.

Ruh Roh

It's my year of weddings. Six. Even though it's a little stressful, I'm looking forward to so many fancy parties with so many people I love. I get to be in two of them, and I already have the dresses. Got the second one this month. Tried it on tonight.

It doesn't fit.

Now, when I say it doesn't fit, I mean it doesn't zip up because I'M TOO BIG. ACK!!!!! And it's not even a fatty part of my body! It's around my rib cage under my chest. Holy moly shitballs, I don't know what to do! I'm going to go to the dress shop tomorrow and do a little panicking, see if they can take it out at all. Holy holy holy mackerel. I mean really. So the plan is to basically drink water, eat lettuce and chicken and veggies, and exercise for the next month. And pray.

Speaking of holy mackerel, there's a restaurant near my new office that is called Holy Mackerel. I love it. Not the restaurant. Fish are gross. But what a great name, right?

More fun to come.