A (roughly) chronological list of crushes I’ve had

Davy Jones (I blame Nick at Nite)
Patrick Dempsey
Charlie Schlatter a.k.a. the poor man’s Patrick Dempsey
Jake Ryan
Fred Savage
Joey McIntyre
Tom Cruise circa Cocktail
Shane McDermott from Swans Crossing
Eddie Vedder
Jody Reed, Red Sox second baseman
Brady Anderson, Orioles outfielder
Paul McCartney
Paul Rudd
Jason from The Real World: Boston
David from The Real World: Seattle
Danny from The Real World: New Orleans (Gay, I know. Irrelevant.)
Jason Mewes
Shane McMahon (Vince McMahon’s son. Yes, from WWE. Shut up.)
Christian Bale
Doug Mirabelli, Red Sox backup catcher
Tom Brady
George Clooney
Steve from Sex and the City
Jason Bateman
Jonathan Papelbon, Red Sox closer
John Krasinski

This list is fun. I wish I could think of more, because I’ve had tons of crushes, many that were even more hideously embarrassing-slash-inappropriate and, therefore, funny. Also, I never really thought I had a type, which is funny because I clearly DO. Overwhelmingly, I favor brown-haired guys with boyish faces, medium builds, and blue or brown eyes. Thinking about it, this holds true for everyone I’ve ever crushed on in school, dated, hooked up with, or been married to. On a narrow spectrum, I keep liking the same guy: somewhere between “sensitive yet strong intellectual” and “strong yet sensitive athlete.”

God, I am predictable.

 

Just A Few Things I Want to Do

Drive cross-country.
Visit all 50 states.
Pull off red lipstick.
Learn to cook a few things really well.
Visit Ellis Island.
Write a novel.
Get in good physical shape.
Take a driving vacation in a left-side-of-the-road country.
Go skydiving.
Get an armored vehicle and ram into slow drivers.
Have a randomly pleasant encounter with a famous person, e.g. in line at Starbucks.
Grow my hair long before I get too old to get away with it.
Buy a hybrid vehicle.
Request (and receive, naturally) a raise/promotion.
Have a secret admirer.
Take/send my parents on vacation.
Do a full day spa package: massage, facial, waxing, mani/pedi, etc.
Develop a clever boutique hotel concept.
Talk more with my nana about her life.
Downgrade speed limits to “suggested speed guidelines.”
Grow a vegetable garden.
Have a heated swimming pool and an outdoor hot tub.
Get LASIK eye surgery.
Learn to keep houseplants alive.
Go on safari.
Sing karaoke… in Tokyo.
Paint a picture good enough to hang.
Win big in Vegas, then blow it all in one debauched night.
Go on a trip by myself.
Win a cheesy raffle prize.
Get published.
When I’m old, yell at Olivia to drive me to Bingo.
Swim across a sizable body of water.
Go on a ghost hunt.
Take the Trans-Siberian Railway.
Wear more dresses/skirts.
Have a nephew, if not a son.
Learn how to make coffee at home that is actually drinkable.
Quit biting my nails.
Make a fancy cake a la Food Network Challenge.
Buy a good quality camera and learn to use it properly.
Become a Photoshop whiz.
Learn web design.
Volunteer regularly.
Go home.

 

I can see the newspaper announcement now: “The bride arrived on an ATV, Big Gulp in hand.”

Who knew that the CMT network could be so awesome? I’ve never watched it before, but last night we crashed on the couch in a post-cookout stupor and watched four episodes of My Big Redneck Wedding. 

This is the BEST show ever to bless the airwaves. In the space of two hours, we saw a groom shoot a wild hog to feed his guests. We saw a bride whose wedding day crisis was that she couldn’t find her teeth (her mother’s loving response: “Want mine?”). We saw a guy whose from-the-heart vows included the sentiment, “You’re hotter than a Hot Pocket.” We saw a bride and groom arrive at their demolition derby-themed ceremony by crashing into one another. We saw a nuptial archway festooned with Budweiser and Natty Light empties. We saw a wedding party walk down the aisle in John Deere t-shirts, carrying bouquets in beer cans. We saw centerpieces made out of spent ammunition. We saw one reception take place at a flea market, another in an outsized garage, yet another in a paneled legion hall decorated with hay bales and taxidermied animals. We saw four-wheel muddin’, mattress mud surfing, mother and son mud wrestling, and something called mud bogging. We saw guests engage in greased pig chases. We saw a wedding cake made to look like tires. We saw gifts of bowling balls (the touching inscription: “Think of me when you touch your ball”), butcher kits, fog lights, snake boots, and claw-machine stuffed snowmen. And we saw a splendiferous array of camo print, in the form of wedding gowns, tuxes, veils, you name it.

It was a feast for the eyes, truly. For all the senses, really, what with the rebel yells and blinking Christmas lights and devoted husbands-to-be pissing their old lady’s name in the street.

I highly recommend you DVR every episode you can find, right now. And while you’re at it, Mobile Home Disaster is pretty sweet too, if you’re a fan of home makeover shows. I’m telling you, the one about the single dad with five sons brought a seriously,-I’m-not-even-being-a-jackass tear to my eye.

 

Saturdays are overrated anyway, right? …Right?

Well, I got my acceptance letter for grad school this weekend. God, what am I getting myself into? I mean, yay!

 

A method to my madness

I fulfilled my wish yesterday. I wandered around Target like daydreaming fool, touching everything, losing myself in the tiny joys of texture and scent and packaging. I got my Boots fix, picking things that reminded me of warm weather and places I’d like to be: orange, bergamot, and olive body butter, organic bergamot and grapefruit foaming hand soap, coconut lip balm. This morning I schooled myself on what the fug a bergamot is (basically, a hybrid orange-pear-grapefruit-lemon. It’s grown primarily in Calabria, Italy, and my ancestors also came from Calabria, so I guess we were destined to become acquainted).  

I also bought some Method aroma sticks that smell like cut grass. With the exception of maybe charcoal grilling and Coppertone, does a more summer-like scent exist? Also, I love the way Method organizes their cheerful product page: everything’s right there, just ripe for the picking. Soooo dangerous.

And now a music recommendation: The Best of Blind Melon. Seriously! They’re so good. I never took them seriously at the time because “No Rain” was a silly hippie song and nobody could shut up about the Bee Girl and then ”Tones of Home” didn’t impress me and then Shannon Hoon died and it was like, oh well, smell you later, Blind Melon. BUT my sister played this CD recently and both Joe and I got hooked. Blind Melon had SO much more depth than most people knew. And now they have a new singer, who sounds a lot like Hoon, and they just put out a new record called For My Friends and IT’S GOOD TOO. I’ve only heard the whole thing once because I can’t get past Track 3, “Wishing Well.” It’s just awesome. Blind Melon! Who knew? 

 

Ups and downs

So I’ve slacked off a bit in my exercise routine, already. The last time I worked out was Saturday, but all this week I’ve been good about bringing fruit and yogurt and carrots and stuff to work, so it’s like when one thing’s working, something else suffers, but as long as the good choices outnumber the bad, it’s all good, right? Right!

Today I was refilling a prescription on CVS.com when I noticed that they’re carrying Boots products, and so is Target. Has this been the case for a while? How did I miss it? Granted, my visits to CVS these days are mad dashes that only happen on days when I’m not running so late that my mom will yell at me about working too much, but I always find a few moments to peruse the cosmetics.

I love Boots. Ten years ago, when I was on study abroad and just learning how to function in another country (England may not be Uzbekistan or anything, but it was still intimidating in terms of basic necessities. They didn’t have a Target equivalent, and it took me two weeks to find a hairdryer, which was just maddening, but hello, welcome to the rest of the world), Boots was my favorite place to browse and feel at home. Their coconut shampoo is the yummiest I’ve ever smelled, and they had products specifically for brunettes-blondes-redheads long before John Frieda got there, and their tinted moisturizer is fabulous.

Boo, the coconut shampoo isn’t anywhere on the Boots U.S. site. I stocked up last time I was there, four years ago, but of course it’s long gone. Maybe they don’t even carry it anymore; that would be sad.

Anyway, this is all just a long way of saying that I really think I’m going to leave work early and soothe my mind in the Target health and beauty section.

 

A good week

I took today off. Last week I was seriously reaching some kind of a breaking point. I love my job but the workload is insane and it’s impossible to stay on top of it. Every time I think I have the tactical, need-it-yesterday stuff under control so that I can focus on the strategic stuff in my goals (and my boss’ goals and her boss’ goals) that oh yeah, form the basis of my performance evaluation, five new things hit. Usually I’m good in these conditions; I don’t mind being super busy as long as I’m focused on the right things and making a positive impact. But lately I’ve been so overloaded and so burnt out that I can’t seem to get anything done or deal with people, and for many reasons I’m not willing to put in more than 50 hours a week, and fuck it, we all need a day sometimes. So I marked my calendar with an All Day Event, declined meeting requests and told people, “Yes, seriously, [your thing] won’t be ready until Thursday.” (Unsaid: “So suck on it.”)

Then Joe got us tickets to the Sox Patriots’ Day game vs. Texas. Amazing seats: season tickets, loge box, directly behind the plate, and only $20 above face value per ticket. Practically unheard of. So I rescheduled a few more meetings and suddenly had two days off.

Oh god it’s been great. Monday was perfect, sunny and cool but warm in the sun. I had my comfy Red Sox sweatshirt over a tank top and it was just enough. The first Fenway frank of the year tasted like filet, and some Legal’s chowder took the edge off the wind blowing in from center, and the Sox swept the Rangers, and it was good. After the game, we watched some marathoners pass the “One Mile To Go” banner (pardon the ridiculous phrase but MAD props to anyone who can run that far) and crammed into the T like sardines and spent 45 minutes trying to get from Hynes to Arlington. We came home on the crowded commuter rail and observed mirthfully as the ticket taker yelled at some asshole meathead guys who were riding between cars with the doors open.

Yesterday mostly sucked. It interrupted my mental state and I booked too many meetings to make up for being out and everybody was annoying me and I had to stay late.

Today was all about spending time with Olivia. It wasn’t the relaxing Me Day I fantasize about (pedi, brow wax, facial, shopping) but it was perfect. She’s in a phase where she seems to prefer Joe to me. It’s not all the time, and I know it’s nothing to get upset over, but it’s weird when your kid recoils and yells “nooo!” when you try to hug or cuddle her. So we needed some one-on-one time. And we could not have had a better day: a sunny 85 degrees. I gave her a bath this morning and dressed her in her cute H&M My Little Pony t-shirt, gray cargo pants, and striped purple socks. We went to the park to swing, and she napped with me while I watched a movie (an Indieplex flick called “Love Serenade” about two sisters vying for the same grody guy in rural Australia), and then we explored the backyard. She went down her new slide about twenty times, sat at her new picnic table, and picked up rocks and leaves. I showed her how the garden hose worked and we sprayed the [dry, nasty, fertilizer not helping one bit] grass.

Now I’m in the living room with the ceiling fan and baseball game on (as of 8:29 p.m. the Red Sox are trailing the Angels 4-2 in the top of the 5th. HA!) and my skin has that tight, sun-drenched feel. I guess I can deal with going back to work tomorrow, since there are only two days left of the week. I don’t care how many emails are waiting–I didn’t check my Blackberry once today, yay–because it was worth it, and today was just GOOD.

(Back burner items I don’t really want to think about: shelling out thousands of dollars to remedy the stormwater basin in our front yard, which involves hiring a civil engineer and working with no less than two town agencies. Also, waiting to hear about grad school. My application is in, my transcript has been requested, my recommendations are submitted. Fingers crossed.)

 

Just something small and weird that happened

Yesterday going to work, I was behind this black Nissan Pathfinder that had a bunch of Patriots stickers and one distinctive sticker that looked like it was in Arabic. Then on my way home, I kept noticing the guy behind me because he was tailing kind of close and looked like an FBI agent: dark suit, dark tie, face obscured by shadow. When he went into the next lane and moved ahead, I saw the same sticker. Same Pathfinder! I smiled because this stranger’s and my days were totally synchronized and I’m a dork who appreciates stuff like that. Unless he was following me on purpose, in which case, I’m on to you, pal. You’ll never find the bodies.

When I regaled Joe with my powers of petty observation, he reminded me about when we drove to Florida and kept seeing this ginormous RV with Maine plates and the word Zanzibar emblazoned on the side. We saw it in North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia on the way down, and each time we saw it we’d bellow, “ZANZIBAR!” Then, on the way back, a full week later, we saw it again in Connecticut of all places, on a gray stretch of I-84. “Aw, Zanzibar,” we said wistfully, saddened because vacation was over.

God, I want to go away somewhere NOW! We’re thinking the Pacific Northwest later this year: Portland, Seattle, Vancouver. Hopefully coinciding with Pearl Jam’s west coast tour dates.

And I want to leave work right now. It’s going to be 75 degrees and sunny. Far too nice to stay inside and participate in an ops review.

 

Yay for funfetti

Damn, I impressed myself today. I got up and did the 5:00 a.m. workout again. I had Kashi cereal for breakfast. I’ve been drinking my barrel o’ water. I had a tuna sandwich on multigrain and some spinach for lunch. I have strawberries and blueberries in my little Vera Bradley lunch bag for later on. Haha it always starts out like this, doesn’t it? It’s all noble intentions, extra effort, and ”Sure I can do this every day, because it’s not a pain in the ass at all!” optimism.

Today a woman at work told me, “I love your hair! What a great frosting job.” HA, I haven’t heard it called frosting since I got my last spiral perm. Thanks for making me feel like Angela Bauer.

 

A little feel-good, fortune cookie triteness for your Monday

I worked out before work today. This is a major coup; I’ve been complaining for months about having no time to exercise. Nothing about my schedule has changed, but today I quit making excuses and dragged my ass out of bed when the alarm went off (5:00 a.m., rather than snoozing until 5:18-5:27. Why does the snooze always go off in niners?). I went into the living room where my yoga pants and sneakers were, put them on, and did this program. (Leslie Sansone leads a pretty good workout. It’s aerobic walking with interval training and the 4-disc set I have includes a resistance band strength routine.) I did the two mile program, as I’m just starting out and 35 minutes is the perfect duration. I’m planning to alternate this with the strength disc a few times a week, and once I’ve built up my endurance, I’ll move up to the three mile on the weekends.

I’m also thinking about doight Weight Watchers online. I’ve already pretty much decided, but part of me is still noodling. I tried it once before, with modest success (about 22 lbs), and it was a big mindfuck. I kept manipulating my POINTS to maximize food intake (two Bocaburgers with mustard = two POINTS, I still remember that) and I hated the meetings and the inane conversations about how to survive Thanksgiving (eat fat-free pumpkin-flavored cool-whip mousse while everyone else is having pie? Fuck that, seriously) and I gave up. A little while later, I had very good results (62 lbs!) doing Atkins, but it was hardcore, and I couldn’t sustain it, and I’ve never been able to duplicate my success. I loved being able to put cream in my iced coffee but I missed fruit like mad and eventually it all felt wrong. I’m realizing that the tried and true “moderation and exercise” method is the only one that truly works, and that the exercise piece is absolutely critcal, and there is a middle ground between dinosaur food and plastic food.

This is about the fiftieth time I’ve set out on this journey, and maybe this time won’t be any different, and I’ll lose steam in a few weeks and it will be another lame attempt, but I feel really good today. Getting up and working out was a good thing, even at that painful hour. It was worth it, and I really want to do it again, and I really want to WANT to do it again.

So, let’s see I guess.