I LOVE my girlfriends since turning 30. I'm blessed to have a TON of them. All walks of live. Married, unmarried, divorced, kids and no kids, straight and gay, strong and spiritual.
We've made it through our awkward childhood and bullshit 20s and all the disastrous insecurity and miserable mistakes that come with it..... mistakes that need to happen of course but would never want to be relived. We survived to grow into our now powerful selves. We've accepted who we are, and even celebrate it.
I love....LOVE being a woman over 30 years old.
Conversations with my 30+ girlfriend tend to sound like this.
• I'm spotting again
• You need a new gyno
• Samantha has THRUSH
• Spend a little more and get the better bra
• My husband hit my Cervix last night
• How do I get lipstick out?
• Help me decorate my bathroom
• Can I make pesto less-fattening?
• You DO NOT need another purse
• I'm not certain "what is next" in my life
• We need to take Stella to see Mickey Mouse
• Let's go to an early movie cause I'll need to "empty out my breasts" by 10PM
• I have a great recipe for Lentils
• Kendall Jackson is on sale for $6.99 at Binnys
I truly ADORE these women and this life....bravo to you all for you are my heroines.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
First off.....there were no banjos. That was slightly disappointing.
My husband Eric, a true American patriot...LOVES the Park Ridge VFW. To him, those old dudes might as well be Michael Jordan. Only a MILLION times better. Not only is he a member himself of the seemingly dying institution, but he buys all their raffle tickets everytime they are offered, he volunteers as a member of the color guard, and now here we are on a Saturday night at the Annual Turkey Jamboree.
The Park Ridge VFW is nearly all WWII and Korea veterans, and the moment Eric and I walk in the door, I joke that our mere prescence drops the average age to 50. Never the less, Eric LOVES being there.
Here’s what happens everytime I go to the Park Ridge VFW:
• You are going to get a STIFF whiskey drink. No matter what you ask for, it is usually incredibly intense and has cherries in it.
• Whomever you talk to has had something REPLACED. A hip, knees, kidney....whatever. Something has failed and they want to tell you exactly what happened to them, what they USED to be able to do, and what they no longer can do.
• Any and all food that may be served is served by little old ladies under 5 feet tall. You will never....NEVER be served by a man.
THE ONE SAD THING THAT HAPPENED.
Whenever I catch one of these older gentleman talking to Eric, they always...ALWAYS talk to him about “bringing in new guys.” They are a dying institution....literally. They want new men from these past Gulf Wars of the 1990s and 2000s to take part. They DO...and then they DON’T. Eric and I were walking down the hall, and one of the “Commanders” saw him and welcomed him home. Eric has been home from Iraq a week, and there was a slight chitty-chat about it. I am proud of my husband, and in conversation I mentioned that Eric received 2 commendation medals from his tour in Sadr City. The commander's response was....”That’s nothing, I survived Iwo Jima.”
Well hell buddy......I got nothing.
Better luck next war.
THE ONE NICE THING THAT HAPPENED.
One of Eric’s VFW Color Guard Members, an elderly man named Charlie, came over to visit us with his wife. His wife was limping a little, but never complained about it. She said a nice hello and then went on to request a song from the band. While she was gone, Charlie (in stereotypical fashion) told us what happened to her foot and all the issues that went with it. Before we knew it, and without asking....he gave us her life medical history. Brain surgery, 2 bouts of Cancer....not to mention giving birth 3 times only to have 1 child live. Damn. He began to form tears in his eyes. I smiled and said to him, “sounds like a tough lady.” And he replied, “That’s my girl alright.....married nearly 58 years. It will be 58 in June.” Wow.
We both congratulated them, and I happily asked what their secret was. “Just love each other” he said, “and realize that nobody is perfect.”
Tomorrow Eric and I celebrate 1 year of marriage. This year we’ve only been together a total of 4 weeks of it. Well....here’s to 1 year of marriage....with 57 to go.
Next year banjos would make the evening perfect.
My husband Eric, a true American patriot...LOVES the Park Ridge VFW. To him, those old dudes might as well be Michael Jordan. Only a MILLION times better. Not only is he a member himself of the seemingly dying institution, but he buys all their raffle tickets everytime they are offered, he volunteers as a member of the color guard, and now here we are on a Saturday night at the Annual Turkey Jamboree.
The Park Ridge VFW is nearly all WWII and Korea veterans, and the moment Eric and I walk in the door, I joke that our mere prescence drops the average age to 50. Never the less, Eric LOVES being there.
Here’s what happens everytime I go to the Park Ridge VFW:
• You are going to get a STIFF whiskey drink. No matter what you ask for, it is usually incredibly intense and has cherries in it.
• Whomever you talk to has had something REPLACED. A hip, knees, kidney....whatever. Something has failed and they want to tell you exactly what happened to them, what they USED to be able to do, and what they no longer can do.
• Any and all food that may be served is served by little old ladies under 5 feet tall. You will never....NEVER be served by a man.
THE ONE SAD THING THAT HAPPENED.
Whenever I catch one of these older gentleman talking to Eric, they always...ALWAYS talk to him about “bringing in new guys.” They are a dying institution....literally. They want new men from these past Gulf Wars of the 1990s and 2000s to take part. They DO...and then they DON’T. Eric and I were walking down the hall, and one of the “Commanders” saw him and welcomed him home. Eric has been home from Iraq a week, and there was a slight chitty-chat about it. I am proud of my husband, and in conversation I mentioned that Eric received 2 commendation medals from his tour in Sadr City. The commander's response was....”That’s nothing, I survived Iwo Jima.”
Well hell buddy......I got nothing.
Better luck next war.
THE ONE NICE THING THAT HAPPENED.
One of Eric’s VFW Color Guard Members, an elderly man named Charlie, came over to visit us with his wife. His wife was limping a little, but never complained about it. She said a nice hello and then went on to request a song from the band. While she was gone, Charlie (in stereotypical fashion) told us what happened to her foot and all the issues that went with it. Before we knew it, and without asking....he gave us her life medical history. Brain surgery, 2 bouts of Cancer....not to mention giving birth 3 times only to have 1 child live. Damn. He began to form tears in his eyes. I smiled and said to him, “sounds like a tough lady.” And he replied, “That’s my girl alright.....married nearly 58 years. It will be 58 in June.” Wow.
We both congratulated them, and I happily asked what their secret was. “Just love each other” he said, “and realize that nobody is perfect.”
Tomorrow Eric and I celebrate 1 year of marriage. This year we’ve only been together a total of 4 weeks of it. Well....here’s to 1 year of marriage....with 57 to go.
Next year banjos would make the evening perfect.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Eric is home now and this effing year of fear and worry is over. I don't think I've really taken a moment to breathe in everything that has happened. I fear that the moment I do, I'll start crying and crying and never stop. Or I'll try to figure it out and exhaust myself . He came home on Saturday from Iraq (for good thank God) and I want to hit the ground running. Whatever our old life was, which I can't even really remember....I want back. A life I can't remember that I know included two people who are obviously different by this year of insanity....I want back. Or some new and improved version of it I guess. Truth is, I haven't let myself calm down yet. I'm still working...and now Eric's pay checks will have stopped.
Of all things, Eric worked as a mortgage lender for a company that did everything stereotypical to turn our country into a giant pile of cheating-money dog crap and thus went belly up over the summer. I make the money now. And I'm scared. I know I need to keep working....stay on the treadmill and push, push, push in constant motion of making money cause in this economy all you hear and see are people who are losing their jobs and I need to keep working and do we really need to spend money on that and what groceries can last the longest and I really need to spend time with Eric and get us "right" and take care of my family which means I need to work and make money cause what if there is no work coming up and I can't relax.....I can't breathe.
Eric calls me winding myself up as "going Chihuahua".
Of all things, Eric worked as a mortgage lender for a company that did everything stereotypical to turn our country into a giant pile of cheating-money dog crap and thus went belly up over the summer. I make the money now. And I'm scared. I know I need to keep working....stay on the treadmill and push, push, push in constant motion of making money cause in this economy all you hear and see are people who are losing their jobs and I need to keep working and do we really need to spend money on that and what groceries can last the longest and I really need to spend time with Eric and get us "right" and take care of my family which means I need to work and make money cause what if there is no work coming up and I can't relax.....I can't breathe.
Eric calls me winding myself up as "going Chihuahua".
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Have you ever heard of burning lasagna? I never have. Ever. Every single dish of lasagna I've ever seen has been perfect. Creamy, cheesy, gooey and delicious. Every single dish. I even got this recipe for CROCK POT LASAGNA....I didn't even think it was possible to burn something in a crock pot. It is. A crock pot is essentially an adult version of an Easy Bake Oven.....right? Just a stronger light bulb at the bottom? Or there are three light bulbs....WARM, LOW and HIGH.
I burnt lasagna....in a crock pot. How effed up is that?
To make matters seem even more heartbreaking, it was the first meal I made my medal-decorated husband home from his year-long tour of duty in Iraq. Crap. The house REEKED of....burnt. A HUGE BOWL of burnt.
Being a great husband, he offered to eat it. Nasty. No way....I threw it out and we ordered Pad Thai from down the street. Ate it while happily watching Family Guy within a gray looming fog of burnt stink. Crap.
That tends to be my life.....things that seem incredibly easy for most people....for whatever reason....when I try it tends to turn into the biggest pile of comedic crap you've ever experienced. So....might as well write about it. Maybe people have experienced burnt lasagna before. Not me. In my head it's always warm and tomatoey and yummy. Then I tried to make my own.
A few days later, talking to my mom....she told me that "sometimes crock pots can run hotter than others."
Note to self.
I burnt lasagna....in a crock pot. How effed up is that?
To make matters seem even more heartbreaking, it was the first meal I made my medal-decorated husband home from his year-long tour of duty in Iraq. Crap. The house REEKED of....burnt. A HUGE BOWL of burnt.
Being a great husband, he offered to eat it. Nasty. No way....I threw it out and we ordered Pad Thai from down the street. Ate it while happily watching Family Guy within a gray looming fog of burnt stink. Crap.
That tends to be my life.....things that seem incredibly easy for most people....for whatever reason....when I try it tends to turn into the biggest pile of comedic crap you've ever experienced. So....might as well write about it. Maybe people have experienced burnt lasagna before. Not me. In my head it's always warm and tomatoey and yummy. Then I tried to make my own.
A few days later, talking to my mom....she told me that "sometimes crock pots can run hotter than others."
Note to self.
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