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Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Mea Culpa

I've become the type of blogger I complain about.

All gung-ho in the beginning, then erratic posts. When I started this blog, I swore that wouldn't happen. I knew it would be different for me - I'd blog a few times a week without fail. I'd be witty, insightful and otherwise brilliant.

Then life happened.

First I didn't write because I had nothing to write about. No crime there unless people want to read my grocery list.

Then I had stuff to write about, but no time or ambition to write about it. I'll admit it - my blog came in last.

Quick recap of December: work - crazy; home life - crazy; dogs - certifiably insane.

Had a scare with a layoff - escaped being part of it, but now I have a new job that I'm learning. Funnily enough, I am back working with my mentor. I had hoped I'd wind up back working for her now that we are at the same company again, but not this soon. It's all good, but unexpected.

Home life has been nuts. Mom broke her arm while walking one of the certifiably insane dogs. A total accident, but seeing as how my otherwise competent father becomes a helpless ball of hot-mess the second he walks in the door, it's me and my now one-armed mother taking care of the house. Let's just say that mom and I have different standards of cleanliness among other things. All together now: my poor mother.

As for the pups, my lab Bogey seems to be acting like a teenager - sulky and insolent, while my beagle Candie (originally Candy Cane, now dubbed Candie Finnigan after one of the counsellors on Intervention - yes, I'm sick) is figuring out that I'm a soft touch. She also apparently has allergies that our vet has no idea how to treat with anything other than Prednisone. So, I'm living at various boutique pet food stores, trying to find foods and homeopathic meds that will treat it, all the while reassuring Bogey that he is still my good baby.

So, the chaos of Christmas is behind me, and I am having a thrilling New Years Eve at my kitchen table multi-tasking: drinking cheap champagne, catching up on my NetFlix (Rent Young At Heart - inspiring) and writing this blog.

Happy New Year - may you have health, happiness and prosperity in 2009!

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

The Reunion Challenge is Ovah….

Wow… I did it. Like some kind of strange Starting Over or Oprah-esq challenge. I organized a high school reunion in 7 weeks, got a decent turnout, got donations for a raffle and raised over $300 for someone in need.

I crashed on Sunday – hard. I slept most of the day, mentally exhausted from the task and still amazed at myself that I pulled it off. There were some low points, I won’t rehash them there (ok, the person who actively encouraged me to organize it, then showed up 2 ½ hours late asking if they still had to pay and only donated $5 still sticks in my craw (whatever that is)), but still, for someone who perceived themselves as the ultimate outcast, dealing with the aftermath of a dog adoption, adopting another dog and getting in a car accident, all while furiously emailing and “facebook-stalking” people I hadn’t seen in 15 years and managing to get over 60 of them to show up in the same place on the same night, not too bad.

OK, so the fact that I think I looked like Princess Fiona in all of the pictures, without the ears and green skin, bothers me. I’ve been fighting the urge to un-tag myself in all of the pictures on Facebook, but then I remind myself of my life list. Number 18. Allow myself to be photographed, even when I don’t feel I look my best.

I’d be lying if I said that I had a completely no holds barred fantabulous time. I’m still not 100% comfortable in crowded rooms, I was kicked away from my table (my comfort zone/safety blanket) by well meaning friends, and I spent a good deal of the time worrying that everyone else was having a good time. But all things considered, I had good time. I got to see people I hadn’t seen in a while, I did something good for someone else, and I didn’t have a raging hangover the next day. That’s progress for me.

So, what’s next? I guess the rest of my life list. Ugh. I’ve been trying, working on the on-going items, like recycle more, drink more water, use the reusable shopping bags that spend more time in the spare room holding nothing more often than holding groceries. I need to do more of the substantive things – like number 1. Learn to dance, or number 15. Ask for help when I need it (and accept help when it is offered).

I’m still hiding behind my excuses for the moment – it’s the holidays, so I can’t start dieting. I’ve just wrapped up the reunion, let me chill out for a while before I start on another project. It's Miner's Day in Poland tomorrow and I havn't decorated.... I’d like to say that someday I’ll run out of excuses and WANT to do the things I’ve set out for myself. I think I’d be lying. Why else would I need to make up a list? I wrote that list one night thinking of things that I’ve always held myself back from, and now is the time to stop holding back and start doing….

People, I think I may need some help….

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Father-Daughter Bonding


I’m tired…my lower back is hurting, I’m feeling sweaty despite the chill, but I’m happy. It’s Thanksgiving night, had a fabulous dinner and just got back from the 7th Annual Bob and Beth Thanksgiving Bonding session.

My father is a man of few words…I can’t be 100% positive, but I am fairly sure that the words “I love you” have never escaped my father’s lips. In my house, a pat on the head, or a one armed hug passed for affection from my father. That’s what I grew up with, so I know nothing different. Open, full on affection came from my mother, the more reserved, quiet affection came from my father. That’s just the way it was, and is, in my family. When people asked how old my sister and I were, my father would hold his hand up to our approximate height and said, “about that high”. I have a mug shot that our dad coordinated for show and tell for my sister. Our eye color was listed and my hazel eyes are listed as brown. I got my first tattoo for about 14 years ago and my father’s first comment on any ink was about two years ago, asking me how long I had my 6th. I once completely overhauled my look, cutting off about six inches of hair, perming my straight hair and changing the color. About two weeks later he asked my mother if something was different about me.

Ok, despite having been a detective, details, when it came to his family, were never his strong suit. But I knew he was there when it counted. He stood in the back of my band concerts, waiting for my solo to be over before dashing back to work. He sat in the corner, embarrassed as hell, when I had breast-reduction surgery when I was 17. I remember a Mother’s Day, I couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8, and my sister had decreed that we were each chipping in $5 a piece for a present for mom. I didn’t have it and burst into tears. My father, somewhat uncomfortable, sat with me, rubbing my back and telling me it was OK, he would give the money.

I always say I didn’t start to have a relationship with my father until I was old enough to drink legally. On my 21st birthday, Dad took me to the bar he frequented, introducing me as his “Demon-crat” daughter, but I proudly hopped up onto the bar stool and ordered a beer. I felt comfortable enough that outside of the church, during a break in the rehearsal for my sister’s wedding, I was able to stomp down the steps of the church and ask him for a light. His only reaction was to make sure my paternal grandmother didn’t see me smoking, despite the fact that this was the first time he ever saw me smoke.

He isn’t all that great words at times, kind of like me, unknowingly and unintentionally putting his foot in his mouth, much like I do from time to time. He once jokingly called me “piggy”, not realizing that for a woman that was a sensitive spot. He’s said things in jest that have upset my mother, and when the tears have appeared in her eyes and she’s left the room, he’s looked at me and said “What did I do?” Yeah, I know where I get that from. But he’s a good man. He joined the Marine Corps at the height of the Vietnam War and to this day does not like to talk about the fact that he was not shipped off to the battlefront. He will always contribute to a cause, giving of his time and resources quietly to help a friend or co-worker in need. He only visited my niece when she was in the NICU one or two times. We found out later that he would break down in tears at the office when asked how she was. It was too hard for him to be there at the hospital, knowing that he couldn’t fix her or make her strong. I admire that more than he will ever know.

Tonight was the 7th year in a row that I’ve helped dad set up the barricades outside of WalMart, making sure that the crowds that will appear before the store opens are orderly. He could delegate the task, but he wants to make sure the job is done right – that the lines are set up so nobody gets hurt in a push to the door. I don’t even recall why I volunteered to help that first year, but every year, rain or shine, with help or none, we go out to set up the barricades. No deep talks, barely any conversation. Just the two of us, walking from point A to point B setting up the wooden “horsies” (as I used to call them) in straight lines.

This year the store was open, so we had to wait until after dinner to go out. We had our usual “make fun of the idiots” barbs, watching the people who pull up and park their cars despite the unnaturally empty parking log, surprised that the store isn’t open on Thanksgiving night. We drove back, in silence, comfortable in knowing that some things don’t need to be said.

I am thankful this Thanksgiving night. I am thankful that I have a full (if large) belly, a roof over my head, and two rambunctious pups. I am thankful that I have a great family – mom who I can share just about anything with, dad who will always be there for me even if he doesn’t say it, my sister who will support me without fail, my brother-in-law who is the protective older brother I never had but always wished for, my niece Tara who just may be the love of my life, my grandparents who attended every event that they could. I’m thankful I reconnected with so many old friends, Jenn, Sherri, Heather, Renee, Jeff, Suzanne – the list goes on. I’m thankful for the new friends I’ve made this year and I’m thankful for the friends who have remained in my life. This list could go on with friends and family who are too innumerable to name. To all of you, friends and family, thank you for loving me, for being in my life, and for accepting me without fail. I am thankful for all of you.

P.S. I’m joining my friend and fellow blogger Heather sending my prayers and thoughts to the people of Mumbai. She puts it much better than I here in her blog.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Fear and Present Stupidity – Reunion Edition

It’s been five years since I’ve had the pleasure of enduring that age old rite of passage – the high school reunion. Five years ago, I felt like I was in a good place – slim (for me), a great job, in a good place. I felt different from the dork that I saw myself as in high school – good hair, better makeup application, contact lenses and, I think, a better disposition.

In a few days, I’ll be attending my reunion again, but this time, feeling like I am in a very different place. Still better hair, better makeup application, LASIK’d eyes and I think still a better disposition. But this time, I feel like I am in a different place, and I’m not entirely sure I like it. Growth and change are hard.

About a month and a half ago, I was walking with my friend Ashia and asking her if she had heard if a reunion was in the offing. She told me that, like me, she hadn’t heard that one was being planned. Five years ago I helped to plan our reunion much to my close friends’ surprise, and after the fact I wasn’t sure if I would do it again, and at the time of that walk (or crawl as the case may be), I had no intention of even going, let alone planning the event. I’m sure she’ll back me up on this, but if I recall, despite my oxygen deprived state, my words were “no effing way Ash, I’d rather have anesthetic-less root canal”.

Being the nosy person that I am, I made my status on Facebook the following Monday “Beth is wondering what’s going on with the 15 year reunion”. I had a bunch of replies, and the message was that one wasn’t being planned and that people were bummed. Nature abhors a vacuum, and yes Joy, I still am a “people-pleaser” at heart. So I started planning. To my surprise, it’s been fun. I’ve talked to people I hadn’t spoken to in years. Some, I probably had never so much as exchanged a “hi” with in high school. It’s been a lot of fun seeing the people my classmates have grown up to be, even though I still can’t believe we are old enough to have children!

On another level though, I am dreading Saturday night. I don’t look my best – to say I’ve gained weight since the last reunion is a gross understatement. I love my new job but I feel as though I am looked down on for my title. Hell, I still live with my parents, although much to my surprise when I have shared this fact, I have been given a high five or a slap on the back.

If I was talking to my therapist, I would tell her that on the bright side, I didn’t embark on a crash diet. I know that when I was at my thinnest, I wasn’t necessarily at my healthiest or happiest. Yes, I live with my parents, but I have a great relationship with them, it for works for us, and why change what isn’t broken? I have a great job, a fantastic boss, and terrific co-workers. I no longer have to do the cost-benefit analysis of “eat a French Fry or hire a defense attorney”. I am with a company that I believe in and want to grow with, and I am happy in my job.

I am working on the inside me for once in my life. I feel like I am discovering who Beth is, not just who Beth is in relationship to other people, how they feel about me or what I can do for them. I still have room to grow, who doesn’t? I just hope that I don’t lose the core of myself. The person who says “yes” when I’m asked to support a cause, the one who has to change the channel when the Humane Society commercial comes on because I get teary when I see the abused animals. To be blunt, I need to get over myself, pull my head out of my ass, and understand that the size of my gut is of no consequence to anyone but me.

I went to see one of my doctors the other week and she kindly asked me about how I was doing with weight management and my E.D. I told her it was a process, and I mentioned the reunion. She told me that getting dressed probably would be the hardest part, but once I got started socializing, it wouldn’t matter. I’m taking her word for it, for once and planning to put my money where my mouth is. Ready or not Bishop Kenrick Class of 1993, this is Beth 2.0, and I’m on my way.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Strength

Strength comes in a lot of ways. There’s physical strength, emotional strength and moral strength. To keep the theme of self deprecation running, I’m not sure if I qualify as especially strong in any of those areas, but I have been fortunate enough to bear witness to those strengths in other people

My friend Heather ran in the Rehoboth Beach Marathon today to benefit our classmate Joe, who is fighting cancer. I know for a fact that I don’t have it in me to run 26.2 miles, and I don’t know where I would find the strength to battle cancer. I admire both for their fortitude. I am literally ready to barf after 2.5 miles, so I don’t know how Heather is able to run 10 times that, plus more. As for illness, I was a total baby when I had bacterial bronchitis back in February, and don’t even get me started about my turbinectomy in June. Joe’s ability to get through the myriad treatments is beyond me. I admit it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Joe, but from what I’ve heard the man has strength that I cannot even begin to fathom.

Another way I have witnessed strength is seeing the fight my niece fought as a 1 ½ pound 26 week preemie, and the determination my sister and brother in law had sitting by her incubator each day, silently willing her to take each breath and gain each pound. Like a lot of people, I had the Cabbage Patch Doll perception of premature babies – just like regular babies but a little bit smaller – I could not have been more misinformed. Tara was red, wrinkly and frankly a little scary looking. One of my friends at work told me that she couldn’t look at the pictures I had, although she humored my attempts to decorate the plain white onesies I was allowed to buy for her. One of the phrases that will life in infamy is “Beth, you cannot Bedazzle the baby!”. All I knew is that I desperately wanted to hold my little niece. I would drive over to Bryn Mawr Hospital on my lunch hour, hoping that I might be able to catch my sister during visiting hours, hoping that I’d have a chance to clasp Tara’s little hand. I’d indignantly call my sister if she wasn’t there, annoyed that the nursing staff adhered to regulation and wouldn’t let me in, “Kelly, don’t they know who I am?” I was thrilled when I was allowed to hold Tara for the fist time. I was so thrilled in fact that my grin took up the whole picture. Beth, you can’t even see Tara, my friend Nancy told me. Who cares, I got to hold Tara. Now, she is strong in her own way. A strong, stubborn, feisty 7 year old, who I’ve had to negotiate with to watch the Today show for 15 minutes instead of Cartoon Network, but still the same strong little girl with a will to live.

As for moral strength, my friend Jeff is my idol. Jeff is a proud gay man, not afraid to be who he is, and advocate for others who still feel the need to be silent. Until recently, I hadn’t talked to Jeff in about 15 years, but I am so happy we are in touch now, and more importantly, I am proud to call him my friend. He has been fiercely vocal about the rights that homosexual people have been denied, and kindly, compassionately educating those who are less informed. I don’t know if I would be as patient as Jeff has been in the face of such intolerance. Jeff is my friend, not my gay friend, just my friend. He has inspired me to become involved in an issue that I had formerly been on the sidelines.

Whether they are aware of it or not, all of these people have inspired me. Heather, mile after mile, running to raise funds and awareness for a sick friend. Joe, treatment upon treatment fighting a battle that he never asked to fight. Tara, having won against seemingly insurmountable odds. Jeff, unbending in his knowledge that he is fighting the good fight. I may not be there physically next all of you, but I am with you all in spirit, and I admire what you have accomplished.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Rebel Without a Clue

Believe it or not, I’ve always been rebellious in nature. I may have toed the line when it mattered – at school I was known as something of a good girl/brown-noser. One year I won the conduct award all four quarters. On one occasion, my entire class got detention except for me. Yes, I was a geek, I also knew that my parents wouldn’t tolerate bad behavior.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve found ways to rebel, most of them not very smart. I went through a period in the late 90s where I refused to wear a seat belt (yeah, Mom, I did). I have 8 tattoos, and my nose is pierced. Not necessarily a good career move for me since my profession is in the corporate world.

The way I am least proud of rebelling is by smoking. I’m proud to say that I kicked the habit about 5 years ago, with a few slip-ups here and there. I started smoking in high school. I was way too geeky to smoke in the girls room – I knew I would get caught thus marring my “good girl” reputation. I smoked the minute I got out of school. I worked in two offices where the whole place was a smoking section–no going out onto the stairwell for these guys. When I started driving I puffed away on my drive to and from work, making sure to toss the buts since it was my parents car and I didn’t want them to know. The more recriminations I got when I bought my pack of Virginia Slims Ultra Light Menthol, the more I wanted to be known as a smoker.

One day I made a point of heavily smoking was the day of the Great American Smokeout – I would be damned if someone was going to tell me what to do. Clearly I’m not the brightest bulb. It wasn’t that I was against other people quitting, I was against me quitting. I was going to make up for all of those years being the quiet little mouse, doing what I was told to do. I was going to smoke if it was the last thing I did, and having been diagnosed with asthma when I was 15, that was quite likely.

Back in the spring of 2003 I got a bad upper-respiratory infection. Just the thought of a cigarette made cough. Lord knows I tried; I'd take out a ciggie, whip out my lighter, and hack away like a patient in a TB ward. So, Virginia Slim and I took a break. In my in mind, we weren’t breaking up, we were on a break.

Then I started exercising, and I decided to see how I did without the smoking. I hadn’t quit – I still had a pack in my purse, still had a lighter in the side pocket. We were still on a break.

It’s been five years. I’ve started saying I’ve quit. I do slip up – when I was stressed out at my last job, I stepped outside a sucked on that cigarette as if my life depended on it. Back in October in the aftermath of Accident #2, I bummed a cigarette off of my father.

I think like any addition, I’ll always want a cigarette. I’m not sure that I’ll ever fully kick the craving. I actually like the smell of second hand smoke. That has got to be a first. But Virginia Slim, I’m sorry to say it’s not you, it’s me. We’re no longer on a break, we’ve broken up.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Finding My Voice

My sweet, silent little Candie Girl is starting to get verbal. We went out into the yard the other night and she started howling like the beagle she is. While hearing these howls is startling, I am so happy that my puppy is finding her voice. This sweet little pup was a stray, turned in as a nuisance. She’s come a long way from the scared dog who was cowering in the corner of the dining room, terrified of the scary people who swept in and “stole” her from her foster home. She still has a ways to go, but it makes me happy to see her venturing around the house, even if it is to places I don’t necessarily want her to go. I hope that it means she is happy, confident and realizing that this is her home.

There is a scene in the movie Zoolander, where the main character looks at his image in the reflection of a spoon and asks the question “What’s my destiny?” It’s a question I’ve been asking myself, and the answer, like Derek’s reflection in the mirror, is “I don’t know”. I’m taking baby steps, and a big part of that is finding my voice and speaking my mind. I know that the time is over to be silent.

I’m ashamed to say that gay rights is an area that I’ve been relatively silent on. I can admit that part of the reason for that silence was fear. I’m a single woman, with a pretty bad track record on the dating scene. If I speak up on gay rights, will people assume that I am gay? An ignorant and stupid feeling, I know.

Well, the time is over to be silent. When something is wrong, it’s wrong. I have two friends from high school who are homosexual. They deserve the same rights as me and it should be a no brainer. I refuse to accept the fact that because someone is born the way they are means that they do not deserve the same things that I do. I may not know a lot, I may not be a Theology scholar, but I do know that God does not make mistakes.

Hearing that Proposition 8 was upheld in California infuriated me, and seeing the comments on my friend’s Facebook page, asking him if he has read his bible and citing bible quotes made me even angrier. I know that he did not choose to be gay any more than I chose to be straight, have brown hair or be short.

If my friends have been blessed and have found their life partners, then they should have the chance to make that person their husband or their wife, without needing a court order to do so. There shouldn’t be a fear that their loved one won’t be able to visit them in the hospital or be able to share in the fruits of their combined labor when one has passed.

It amazed me the first time I heard that at one time in this country the union between a black person and a white person was considered illegal. Imagine that – at one time the union that produced our President-Elect was considered a crime. I hope that someday my children will have the same reaction when hearing that gay marriage was once outlawed in this country.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Spamalot

I’ve been keeping a secret. I hope you’ll indulge me, but it really is too exciting to keep to myself.
I’ve won the British Lottery for 60 Million Euros!!! All I need to do is give my banking information and social security number to this nice person who will help me collect my winnings. Oh, and they’ll also help me with my pesky erectile dysfunction, get a job working from my home processing rebates for Google and help me lose my belly fat without having to diet and exercise!

I am appalled at the amount of spam I get on an average day. The offers range from free diapers and discounted prescription medication to requesting my assistance in getting some deposed dictator’s millions freed from overseas banks.

I know there must be a market for this, otherwise, why would I be inundated with this crap? For the past few days now, I’ve been getting emails from young ladies informing me of the sex acts they like to perform. I feel like responding that while I am very happy for them, they are most definitely barking up the wrong tree.

There are days I get annoyed, especially when I need to wade through the 50+ emails in my spam folder to make sure something I really wanted to see didn’t get filtered there, while hitting the spam button on my tool bar when the errant messages wind up in my Inbox. I wish I could pay someone to wade through my mailbox and sort out the crap from the important stuff. And by important, I mean the notifications from Facebook that someone sent me Flair…oooh, Flair!!!

Until that day comes when I can afford to hire a manservant to deal with my Inbox, I need to approach my mailbox with both a sense of humor and a sense of skepticism. Gotta go, I need to go redeem my $100 American Express gift card.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Be Kind for Everyone You Meet is Fighting a Hard Battle

I’ve been meditating on this phrase. Perhaps it’s melodramatic, but it is so true. Not to sound Dickensian, but when I was younger I went through some pretty rough times. I was horribly depressed – struggling to understand what was happening and desperately wanting to be understood. In the midst of all this, I felt that I had suffered many hurts, real and imagined. I am sure I brought some of them on myself. When I was in my “black” moods, as I called them, I was not a terribly nice person. I snapped, I shut down, I blew up. I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling – that I was in a dark pit and I didn’t know how to crawl out.

It took me a long time to get help – I am not ashamed to say that I went to my doctor and sought medication. I know that there are a lot of people who feel that anti-depressants are a crutch. I can’t speak for everyone, but for me, I have a real problem, and it is no different than high blood pressure or diabetes. It’s a chronic condition that I need to treat. However, the medication only treats the symptoms; it doesn’t wipe away the past or fix behaviors.

About a year and a half ago, I started to see a therapist, and honestly I didn’t have a great deal of hope that going would help. In the beginning I spent a lot of sessions just crying, but recently I feel like I’ve started to have some breakthroughs.

At one point back in junior high, I found myself on the outside. Through one way or another, I was expelled from my group of friends – shunned in the play yard, excluded from activities. I’m sure that it was a two way street, but at the time I was bewildered. The other day, one of those girls reached out to me. She told that she too had been going through a hard time, one that I could not have even imagined. She told me that she wanted to make amends. It was a no brainer – to say I forgave is pious – there was nothing to forgive after all these years; I should be thanking her instead.


We were all fighting a battle then – we all are fighting a battle now. Some keep it hidden; others like me wear it on their sleeve. This is an important reminder to me: be kind for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

My therapist says to me from time to time “What about being kind to Bethany?” The first time she said it, I scoffed, but I’m beginning to understand. How can I be kind to others if I can’t be kind to myself? That kindness comes in different ways – what I really wish is I could travel back through time to that sad, lonely, confused 13 year old and tell her that it would all be OK. I never could have imagined that I would be meeting up with some of those same people from grammar school, junior high and high school, and having a great time doing so. I know that I would not be the person I am if I hadn’t gone through what I have. In some ways that’s a good thing, in other ways, that may be bad thing. I am who I am – the good and the bad, and my past experiences have given me insight and, I hope, compassion.

To anyone reading this who I snapped at, ignored, or generally acted like an ass, I am sorry, and I hope I have an opportunity to give you a heartfelt apology. I too am fighting a battle, one that I hope to win.

Friday, November 14, 2008

These are My Confessions



The fat chick on the left – yep, that’s me. When I first saw this posted on Facebook, I had a mix of emotions – sadness that I let myself go, anger that it was posted in the first place, determination to lose weight, amusement at the sight of my prison guard brother in law wearing Mickey Mouse ears.

So it’s been about a month and half since I’ve seen that picture. The sad thing is that it was taken in March and I most definitely have gained more weight since then. The even sadder thing is that I haven’t done a damn thing about it.

I’ve had a lot of things going on and have been using that as an excuse. Work was stressful. Looking for a new job. Going on vacation. Starting a new job. My birthday was coming up. Thanksgiving is coming up, then Christmas and New Years. Lord knows Arbor Day is a huge party day. And don’t get me started about the President’s Day feast. The list goes on and on.

Who am I kidding? Myself – at times yes. I do live in a fairly delusional place where at times I think I’m thinner than I am. Then I have times where I envision myself in “Fattest Woman in the World” status, having to get the fire department to knock out a wall and haul me to work on a flat bed truck.

The fact of the matter is I’m afraid. I’m afraid of failure, I’m also afraid of success. I’ve lost the weight before, but I’ve gone crazy with it; abused my body, abused my mind. I’m scared of going down that road again. I know I have safeguards in place so it won’t happen again, but I am pretty good at getting around those safeguards. I’m good at convincing myself “just this once”.

I don’t know when I am going to get my ass in gear. I know it needs to be soon and it needs to be for the right reasons. Not because my HS reunion is coming up (but if I could wake up on November 29 magically 80 pounds lighter I wouldn’t complain), not because my doctor is harassing me, but because I want to do it for me.

I have motivation – I want to do things and not get out of breath. I want to turn the damn fan off in November. I want to challenge Marley to a marathon, ok, maybe a half marathon, better yet a 5k. How about a brisk walk around the block?
I want to own the confidence I'm trying to fake. I’ll get there, one pound at a time.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Today’s Episode of Wild Kingdom

Yesterday I became I’m convinced my new puppy Candie is afraid of me. Rationally I know it’s because I’ve been the one to put her in her cage at night, and I haven’t been home the past few days, but argh! Some background on this assumption: Tuesday night I took her up to bed and attempted to let her have some limited roaming rights by not locking her in her cage, instead putting a gate up at the top of the stairs.

When I was finishing my bath, I heard a crash and found that she had escaped and ran downstairs. I ran after her, found her sitting on the floor and picked her up, at which time she promptly started crying. I held her like a baby, and she literally ran over my shoulder and plopped to the ground. It would have been funny if it (a) hadn’t been happening to me and (b) wasn’t going on after I had taken a sleeping pill. So, I sat on the ground, comforting her – me crying (I broke my dog!) and her looking at me like I was completely crazy. I picked her up again and went upstairs with her. Five minutes later, yep, you guessed it, she escaped again. This time we had a little chase around the dining room table until I cornered her and got her upstairs.

So last night, in an effort to correct the perceived fear, I came home from work with toys and treats in hand. She demolished one of her new toys in less than 5 minutes, leaving a trail of fluff from the decimated toy around the dining room. I then went to feed her and Bogey and suddenly had two friends for life – as long as I had a Milkbone or chicken jerky in my hands.

After dinner we went out for a nice leisurely walk, and by that I mean she weed, turned around and dragged me back to the house. I ran out to Office Depot for 20 minutes and came home to find out that she not only discovered the location of the trashcan, but managed to open up the cabinet door so she could have an after dinner snack. In other developments, Candie has rediscovered her voice. The dog that didn’t make a peep for four days has now broken out into random howls, and yes, you can’t say you didn’t warn me about beagles. Amusing at 8:00 at night (she makes me sound practically melodic), not so much at midnight.

Oh boy, this is going to be fun.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Today's posting, Take 2

I'm feeling at a loss for words at the moment. My mother always said if you don't have anything good to say, then don't say anything at all. I'm digging my way out of a funk, so please excuse the silence, whining and general moping at the moment. I had written something earlier and just deleted it - I felt like it was too negative, whiny and unattractive overall.

I wish I could write a light, breezy Sex and the City type of blog, but who the hell am I kidding? The real title would be No Sex and the Suburbs. It would be about a bitter caffeine addicted 30 something with a taste for Pinot Grigio on the rocks and a penchant for sarcasm.

That's all for today - I'm off to make a liver treat necklace so my dog will play with me....

Monday, November 10, 2008

Clearly I'm no Annie Leibovitz

But here is a picture of my babies!

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Lather, Rinse…Repeat

Over the summer I took care of my friend Ashia’s dachshund while she was in Africa. While I wanted to help my friend out, I also had an ulterior motive. I have been wanting to add another dog to the house, but wasn’t sure how the arrangement would work out. So, in June, Jackson became a part of the family, and the arrangement worked out really well. We were all happy when Ashia came back, but also sad to see Jackson go.

The first week of October, I got in a car accident at the corner of my street, and my parents suggested that I make a trip to the SPCA to take my mind off of the accident. So, off I went, with my niece and my mother in tow. We met an adorable 9 month old Bichon/Poodle and christened him after Lost’s bad-boy, Sawyer. Let’s just say that things didn’t end well – Sawyer bit everyone he met, and my happy-go-lucky lab was hiding under the downstairs toilet to escape. So, back to the SPCA went Sawyer after a disastrous Friday, and I started planning my high school reunion to take my mind off of the failed dog adoption.

I started to think more about some dog needing a home, and stumbled across a rescue organization called BREW (Beagle Rescue, Education and Welfare). I filled out an application not knowing how long the process would take. I had the phone interview a day later, and that weekend had a home evaluation done by the organization.

So today off I went to Baltimore to pick up my new baby, a beautiful red and white 2 year old beagle named Candie. Aside from getting car sick, she seems to be adapting well to her new home. As I type this, Bogey is sitting under the kitchen table and Candie is laying right behind me. No one is hiding, and so far, no one is biting.

After getting her settled into her new surroundings, I made quick trip to the dry cleaners, and on my way home, got rear-ended at the other end of the street. No one got hurt, this time I wasn’t at fault, but I really hope and pray that this is the end of the cycle – car accident, adopt a dog, return a dog, adopt a dog, car accident. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Monday, November 3, 2008

We're Coming Up on (Re)Election Day

The title is with apologies to Duran Duran offshoot, Arcaida

Call me a dork, I'm sure some people already do, but I feel such a sense of empowerment having the ability to vote. When I was little, my mother would take me into the voting booth with her, and I looked forward to the day I was able to enter the booth by myself and mark those boxes. To this day I vote in every election, both primary and regular, even if there is only one candidate for my party.

When I was a senior in high school, one of the assignments for my Theology class was to register to vote if you turned 18 during senior year. That was one assignment I had no trouble completing. In fact, and I distinctly remember this, I was really mad that my birthday came exactly one week after the election, making me ineligible to vote in the election that November. A few months after that, I helped to work at the polls for a colleague of my father’s who was running for office, in spite of the fact that he was a member of the opposite party I was registered for. I just loved having an opportunity to be involved with the electoral system.

My political ideals fall out of step with my father’s, a life-long Republican, most of the time. In fact, he once referred to me as a Deamon-crat to one of his friends. Some people would say that the fact I am the polar opposite to my father politically is obviously a sign of rebellion. I would argue against that. It is because my father raised me to think for myself that I have the beliefs that I do. I hope that my father is proud of the fact that he raised a daughter who can think for herself, even if it leads to some lively if not uncomfortable discussions at the dinner table. Even if the candidate I vote for doesn’t get elected, I know that at the end of the day, I participated and didn’t stand on the sidelines.

One thing I think that my father and I both agree on is that it is both a privilege and an obligation of each American to vote on Election Day, regardless of their political beliefs. Dad and I don’t agree on who may be in office, but we can both rest assured that we actively participated in our political process.

Call me a dork, but in this case, it’s a badge I wear proudly.

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Grace Under Fire

Ask anyone how I react in a crisis – I’m pretty sure they’ll tell you I’m useless. I flake, I crumble, if all else fails, I cry. Not one of my finer qualities.

My mother and I were reminiscing about someone my sister had briefly dated when she was in 8th grade. I’ll spare you the gory details, but it somehow ended up with repeated phone calls that my sister didn’t want to take. I wound up answering the phone – with my mother and my sister both telling me to say she wasn’t home. In the heat of the moment, I blurted “She said she’s not here”. Obviously not one of my finer moments, but it got the job done.

As I’ve gotten older, I haven’t gotten much better. Unfortunately, when things get heated I tend to panic. Someone once told me I go from A to Z without letting B through Y happen first. Not very elegant, but it’s a true statement about me. Over the years, I’ve worked on correcting this, with varying levels of success.

As much as this part of my personality gets in the way sometimes, I’ve started to accept it for the positive, while still trying to control my negative reactions. In terms of planning, it means that I try to see the end result. In terms of my actions, I try to see what the result of those actions may be. The key, I think, to fully embracing this is taking a deep breath, and asking myself “OK, Beth, what next?”

A big project crops up at noon that has to be completed by the next morning? I’ll spend an hour freaking out that I’ll be at work until midnight. That hour would have been better spent by planning a course of action, asking for help and getting the project done. Getting flustered and upset just gets in the way.

I’ve been single for the past few years. Of course that means I, with apologies to Helen Fielding’s heroine Bridget Jones, will die alone with my body found two weeks later, half eaten by wild dogs. Why shouldn’t I take my neighbor up on that offer to fix me up with some of her co-workers? Why not go on another blind date?

The more I think about it, “What next?” is the question I’ve been asking myself a lot these days. The future is not written in stone, just because my life is one way now, that doesn’t mean it's how it is going to be in 40 years. The next step I take is my choosing and impacts that happens at Z.

OK, Beth, what next?

Friday, October 31, 2008

Some Shallow Thoughts (For Once)




Would someone please tell me when harem/hammer pants came back? Or for that matter, stirrup pants?

I was doing some deep, soulful, introspective reading the other night – OK, it was OK Magazine and In Style, but both of these publications had features on these pants. And yes, I checked the date – both were from October, 2008.

At the risk of sounding like my idol Dennis Miller, I don’t want to get off on a rant here, but while I am on the subject of questionable fashion, when did leg warmers become acceptable outwear for non-dancers?

Don’t get me wrong - I’m all for recycling. Pucci prints, mini skirts, tasteful fringe, the remake of Knight Rider, the reunion of NKOTB, but c’mon. Harem pants? People, I wore harem pants – I looked I was wearing a diaper; it’s not a look I really think the free world needs to see again.

Let me also say that with almost 100% certainty I am not the foremost expert on fashion. The very fact that I was in a section of WalMart that has clothing should be a big clue. While I’m on the subject, if anyone wants the title of “My Favorite Person –EVER”, please feel free to submit me for an episode of What Not to Wear. Getting secret footage shouldn’t be that hard. To prove my case, I've provided a picture of me in my best Flashdance fringed t-shirt. I thought I looked hot.

Considering today is Halloween, perhaps I should root though my closet – I think I hear my old legwarmers calling…

By the bye, if you are talking to my mother, please don’t let her know about the stirrup pants – she’s still bitter about the fact that I made her toss her treasured stash a few years ago.

UPDATE
Just heard from mom. She read about the stirrup pants. I'm officially out of the will.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Roller Coaster Day

Yesterday was one heck of a day.

After months of talking, and concerned looks over the dining room table, we got the diagnosis that we all dreaded hearing - Grandmom has Alzheimer's. I know we as a family are not alone, but when you hear those words, you certainly feel like you are. I think the hardest part for me was hearing that she knew she had two granddaughters, but couldn't remember our names. Of course that was followed up with the fact that she not only remembered she had a great-granddaughter, but her name was bright and clear in her memory. To paraphrase Jan Brady, "Tara, Tara, Tara".

I guess if you don't find something to laugh at, you'll cry. I know this is going to be a long road for my family, and while I've been holding it together, I can't guarantee that there won't be some tears.

On a brighter, completely unrelated subject, I have to admit that the day came to a terrific end, ending Philadelphia's 25 year draught, and the Phillies 28 year draught. I casually/jokingly mentioned to my mother that I'm thinking about getting the Phillies "P" as a tattoo to commemorate. She's horrified, but I'm not quite sure I was joking.

To those of you who reached out yesterday - thank you so very much. I know I will be needing your support in the near future, and I hope that you will let me do the same for you.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Debate Time

My poor mother…I start a lot of conversations that way. Mainly when recounting my teenage years (those of you who knew me back then probably understand this), but I also say this when it comes to politics. Dad and I are at opposite ends of the political spectrum, mom is somewhere in the middle, and I’m honestly not quite sure where my sister lies. I always said K was the smart one.

So, last night, Mom, Dad and I went out to dinner, and, as usual, the conversation turned to the election, and as usual, my mother walked away saying that she will never debate politics again.

OK, so I started it by mentioning that the candidate for the party I support is looking for people to canvas this weekend (no, not mentioning names, but if you really want to know, check out the flair on my Facebook page). My father then started to defend his candidate (after first asking me to clarify who I was talking about – he still holds out hope that I’ll “convert”). Mom dove in defending her beliefs, not backing down – at one point I felt like a spectator, even though she was echoing many of my sentiments.

Deep down, I think all of us realize that we won’t sway the other’s opinion. I know it makes spectators uncomfortable, but I love that we live in a country, hell, that I come from a family, where we can disagree – the left, the right, the center and we can all walk away relatively unscathed.

I’m not going to deny that I’ve learned things by debating my father, and I am not going to deny that there are some things that Dad believes in that really tick me off. But the fact that he holds true to those beliefs is part of what makes him the man who helped raised me: never back down from a fight – never give up. My parents both drilled into me to stand for something – I got my bull headedness from my father, and I like to think I got my strength from my mother. Both have helped me to become the woman that I am.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

I'm just sayin'

Instead of donating the uber-expensive wardrobe purchased for Sarah Palin, wouldn't the RNC do more good by auctioning off the clothes and donating the money to deserving charities?

Monday, October 27, 2008

Baby's First Blog

I've decided to continue my random musings in an official blog (thanks for the suggestion Suzanne!).

I don't know exactly where I am going, but I hope to find out some things out about myself along the way. I got to thinking the other night about things that I've never done because I've never had the balls to do it, or have been too lazy to really put into action.

I started up a list, a life list if you will. Some things I think I can cross off, others I think will be ongoing. Some tasks that I've set for myself I hope will make me become a better person. Others are just for sake of living life.

I don't know if I'm quite ready to publish the list - then I really have to do everything on there. I hope I'll meet up with some of you along the way if you want to come along for the ride.

On another, more serious note, I was sad to read this morning that it's believed the body of Jennifer Hudson's young nephew was found. Such a senseless tragedy.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Shock and Awe

OK, maybe surprise and gratitude are more appropriate words. Over the past few days I’ve posted a few somewhat out-of-character musings to Facebook. I’ve been contacted by some folks with words of encouragement, and for that I thank you. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be interested in my babblings. I’m not sure if this is a trend or a passing phase, but I am pretty sure this is not what my therapist had in mind when she encouraged me to journal. But this feels right for me at this point in my life.

Just so you don’t think that it’s all deep thoughts and introspection, I’m not about to pull an Oprah and go “all positive, all the time”. Despite being the one planning my high school reunion, I am still thinking about seeing if Angelina Jolie can go in my place so no one sees the size of my derriere. I plan to continue reading trashy gossip magazines, and my main source of information remains Perez Hilton.

I hope to come out of this period of introspection more centered, more grounded, clear headed and confident. I want to make amends to those I’ve hurt, including myself. I hope that I have started down that road, and not just made a wrong turn. I want to learn from my mistakes. Not to be a walking cliché, but my goal is to live out loud, with no apologies, no regrets. I want to own every one of my laugh lines when I’m old and smile knowing that perhaps only I know the story behind them.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t sign off with this: Go Phils!!!!

Friday, October 24, 2008

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Scary, right? It’s right there in the phrase - scare. By nature, I try to avoid doing things that scare me, and most of the time it’s fairly easy and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in that.

Do one thing every day that makes me happy? Sure – a bagel for breakfast, hang out with my niece, meet a friend for a drink. But doing the thing that scares me, could that also make me happy in the end? The other day I did something that terrified me…not it wasn’t kissing David Beckham and getting caught by Posh (although David, if you’re in town – call me), I didn’t drive blindfolded or run with scissors.

But I did it, that thing I was avoiding, and yeah, I was scared. And guess what? The world didn’t end. Just about everything is the same as it was the day before, except I am changed by it. I proved to myself that I could do something I was afraid of, was actually running from, and it actually turned out really well.

I wonder if I can do all of that other stuff I’ve been avoiding. Today I did something else that maybe didn’t scare me, but I certainly avoided. I emailed my old boss to congratulate her. I got a lovely response back. I’m not sure I would have done that a few weeks ago. An email – something so minor, I send dozens each day, but this one was different.

I don’t know if I can commit to doing something scary every day – but maybe every other day? Do one thing a week that scares me? I think I can do that.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Perspective, Changes and Turning 34

As I near my 34th birthday, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and evaluating about my life. I’ve come to recognize some pleasant and not so pleasant things about myself. Yes, I hold on to things for too long, I allow my fears to run my life, I hide behind my lack of confidence and I busy myself with everyone else’s needs. But I’ve also come to see some positives. I have my health, I have a good job, strangely enough, I'm good at accounting :), and most importantly, that I have a wonderful family and great friends.

Over the past few weeks I’ve had some wake-up calls. I was in a car accident around the beginning of the month, and cried and moaned to all who would listen about how unfair it was that I was getting hit with the liability for it, despite the fact that everyone walked away uninjured. Then I found out that the first responder was told that his cancer is out of remission. I bemoaned the cost of health insurance, and I found out an old classmate was losing his insurance despite his battle with cancer. My problems are so small.

For a while now, I’ve joked that I wanted to be known as the spinster with all of the dogs. That I’ve made peace with my life and how it is; so much in fact that I had myself believing it. Now I finally realize that this isn’t enough. I want to leave my mark. I am done with being an observer in my life and am ready to be a full participant.