Big weekend looms!

It's gorgeous here in Northeastern Pa.
Summer's looming.
Flowers are blooming.
And I've got a big big big weekend ahead of me.

The fella and I are driving out to Long Island to Meet His Parents.
We're going to eat seafood, play mini golf (or "putt-putt" as I like to say), hit the beach and a bunch of other things I am super excited about.

But the most exciting thing of all is meeting the people who shaped him into the guy I've been waiting my whole life to find.

{I just love love love this photo from findstuff22, don't you?}

Happy Thanks-gorging!

After taking a brisk 3.5 mile walk today, I vow to not gorge myself at the table today - as I do every year.

I'm not a huge turkey fan, so I usually take seconds - and sometimes thirds - of green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole and Mom's super-delicious homemade mashed potatoes.

I might have two scoops of the cranberry-citrus relish and I sure as hell have a bigger slice of my bourbon chocolate pecan pie topped with my homemade bourbon whipped cream than I should have, but that's all part of the holiday right?

Not this year.
This year, I'm thankful that I'm putting a limit on myself, for my own damn good.

But that's not all I'm thankful for, in fact, that's the least of it.

I'm thankful that my Mom is well - knock wood.

I'm thankful for her more than I could ever express - for being there, for talking me down from the proverbial ledge, for just being her fabulous self and for making the Manhattans we will drink together today and be thankful for each other together.

I'm thankful for the rest of my family - my father, brother and "sister." For always being there, or just a phone call away when I need them most.

I'm thankful for being strong enough to handle what life throws at me, even if I do let it get me down sometimes.

I'm thankful for having legs strong enough to allow me to take the walk I did today, lungs that were able to breathe in the crisp morning and eyes that could see my surroundings.

And most of all I'm thankful I have people and things to be thankful for.

Thanksgivings, early.

About two weeks ago, I was thinking about how different my life was compared to this time last year.

It was a sad little reflection for me as I recalled how happy I'd been, then, and how hopeful I'd felt about my future.

For the first time in my life, I could almost see that White Picket Fence, even if it was a little imperfect. For the first time in my life, I wanted that imperfect White Picket Fence.

I was so full of love for the first time in a very, very long time.
And it felt good.

As you've probably guess, those feelings and visions are gone - long gone. It was for the best, it really was, but I'm not going to lie and say that when I imagined this time this year last year {got that?}, I thought it would be different.

I'd been carrying around those thoughts, some Woe Is Me stress and burning the candle at both ends when I got some news that made all these things seem as minuscule as broken crayons.

Not that I wanted it, but it was a reality check I so desperately needed.

I needed it to remind me what's really important.
I needed it to make me thankful for what I do have in my life:
- an amazing, strong and beautiful mother who is always there.
- a kind and loving father who would do anything for us.
- a great big brother who is such a sage for me.
- friends who are supportive and caring.

Today, we got the news we were hoping and praying for.
Today, I give thanks for where I am in my life.
I wouldn't trade it for the world, or a thousand white picket fences, perfect, imperfect or otherwise.

Analyze this, dream doctor!

Last night, I had a disturbing dream.
It was one of those long, drawn-out dreams that, even if you wake up briefly - like say to hit snooze three times and crawl closed-eyed back into bed - you fall right back into.

It involved my father and brother Michael who were vampires trying to kill me.
Not make me a vampire, which of course would have been super cool, but actually kill me.
{Blogger's note: This might not be too far from reality when, as children, my brother tried to kill me on at least seven different occasions. One is well documented in a photo my mother took of us because she thought it was "cute" that Michael was holding a shut-off chainsaw to my belly and had a maniacal smile on his face. Said photo is displayed prominently on his entertainment center - and is the only photo of us that is in such a prominent place. He - and our parents - adamantly deny the Seven Times He Tried To Kill Me. I wonder if this could count as number eight??}

Through the whole dream, myself and a girl who resembled Taylor Swift, who was a cashier in a grocery store that helped me find its soap display - apparently my OCD even makes me dream about Ivory soap - and I gave chase to my Papa and Michael.

The weirdest thing isn't that the chase spanned all four seasons.
It was the fact that as we chased them, we were doing it in RC cars and tanks because we were miniature-sized people.

Toward the end of the dream, Taylor twin and I went to the house next door to the house my brother lived in when he lived in Pa. seven years ago (got that?) and Papa killed the Taylor girl because she went in first, and Michael came out to talk to me, teeth bared naturally.

He was like "This has to happen. You can't keep hunting us. You tried to kill our leader in the grocery store with your soap hunt."

I was crying and trying to get away from him, but he had me cornered in the garage attic we used to play in - one that was ironically bat infested.

The reason I was crying and pleading with Michael?
Not because he was going to kill me, but because he wouldn't make me a vampire, something I'd so enjoy, what with my already fang-like canine teeth, penchant for black and insomnia.
What a jerk!

You say "child-less." I say "child-free."

"It is dangerous to confuse children with angels."
~~~~ David Fyfe

It's a well-known fact that I am not the most patient person in the world.
It may also be widely known that I can, in fact, err on the side of - gasp - bitchy.

But what might come as a surprise, especially considering I am a single woman who is past the age of 30, is that I am not a fan of children.

At all.

Sure, I've had good friends and coworkers who've had children and I've enjoyed watching those children grow up, but being a mom just isn't for me.

I often wonder, as I did this evening as I wandered through Target, how parents do it.
{Back story: Every single time I shop at Target I am surrounded by children screaming bloody murder. I don't know what the store does to them, especially since I am always pretty happy to be shopping there myself, but it's bloodcurdlingly ridiculous.}

"A child is a curly, dimpled lunatic."
~~~~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

It was so horribly noisy on today's trip I almost wish I had a Xanax to take.
It got me to thinking.
What would I do if I were a parent?
Does that inner anger I felt today go away when it's your own kid?
I'd like to think that I sure as hell wouldn't let my kids carry on the way I've been appalled to see time and time again.

I've been told that the pixie version of Nikki threw a tantrum or two, but it was something Mommalah never tolerated for longer than a minute.
Granted, I grew up in the days you were allowed to spank kids - which you should still be allowed to do, given the jerk kids I've seen in my day - but my parents took my brother and I out to fancy dinners and we never, ever misbehaved.
Not out of fear, mind you, but out of respect.
{But there is a story where Mommalah infamously dropped trou on my brother right in the middle of the Wyoming Valley Mall back when there used to be fountains. She sat herself right on the side of one and let him have it for being bold. He he. Never mind that there was one instance the dropped trou offender was me. That's moot.}

That's how we were raised. To be humans. To behave in public. To speak when spoken to. And that's carried over into both of our adult lives.

When I was 14, my parents got me my beloved dog, Zakk. A boisterous and bold yellow Lab who could have used a few spankings himself.

He saved me from myself. He taught me how to love and care for something other than myself at a very crucial point in my development, and that too carried over into my adulthood.

I nurtured and cared for Zakk until the day he died 14 years after we got him, exactly half of my life at that point, and I've nurtured and cared for sick parents, boyfriends and friends, so it's not that I am a cold-hearted bitch - which I suppose is debatable depending on our relationship.

I admit I've heard that "tick-tock, tick-tock" bellow maybe once or twice - and even have had names picked out since I was 10 like any good girl - but it goes away right quick. And to be quite frank, I never imagined I would love a kid as much as I loved my Zakk. He was my kid and his death devastated my family and I.

Every time I see a parent with a bad child, or hear an "Ethan, no. ETHAN. Ethan NO!" or similar, I cringe. Would I be able to hold back the scream I, an innocently-shopping bystander, want to let out at that kid that's not mine?

Or would I be the one cooing "Shh" and looking around smugly like my child was made out of gold? I shudder to think.

I raise a toast to myself - and anyone else who doesn't really feel like they're missing out.
Yet.

"If a child annoys you, quiet him by brushing his hair. If this doesn't work, use the other side of the brush on the other end of the child."
~~~~ Anonymous

Lucky girl.

No matter what's going on in my life, or the world, as long as I have these four people, I can make it through anything.

{Roosters. Charlotte. September 2008.}

My family, made up of a Pennsylvania chapter and a North Carolina chapter, is pretty damn wonderful. Sure we're sometimes ridiculous and dysfunctional, but show me a family who isn't. I'll show you a family who doesn't exist after a 22-minute episode is over.

I could go on all day about them (and it still wouldn't be long enough), but right now I want to focus on my brother, Michael. Six years my senior, he's been my sage since the day I was born.*

{Roosters. Charlotte. September 2008.}

I've been pretty down in the dumps recently, and after playing phone tag, Michael and I finally connected tonight for a brief but profound conversation. He said nothing I didn't already say and journal myself, but coming from him, My Big Brother, the world suddenly spun correctly on its axis for the first time in eons.

Do they have to go to Big Brother School to learn these things, or does it just come naturally when you have a Baby Sister who's in need?

* Even though he tried to kill me at least seven times during my lifetime, facts he vehemently denies, but I have them all on record. As do the authorities, should he feel the need to try for an eighth.

Sundays in the country.

Just around the bend,
is a place of truest love -
my home, sweet sweet home.
Surrounded by countryside,
it is the one place I'm me.

Lately, the strife in my life has made going home sweet home all the more sweet.
It's nice knowing I can go there and let the guard no one ever gets to see down, down.

Today was just one of those perfect days.
The sun was blinding as it reflected off the pond, as it dried my clothes out on the line, as it blasted into the orange kitchen brilliantly.
The wine, music, laughter and food were great (as always), and knowing I am loved unconditionally is a hell of a pick-me-up.

Someone kickstart my heart!

Spent weekend in Hershey, where I met up with my brother and "sister" for a Motley Crue concert.
Had a blast as we oft do on the rare occasions we are all together - drank too much, ate too much ... and it twas just what the doctor ordered.

Until I woke up mucho early this morning and high-tailed it from The Sweetest Place on Earth to my desk - in less than two hours.

Was fired up that my trip home was smooth sailing (read: not too many jerks on 81 for once), and set about my day. Petered out at about 2 p.m. and here I am - ready for bed at 6:23 p.m. WIMP!

Better change the "Kickstart" lyric from "When I get high I get high on speed" to "when I get high, I get high on sleep!"

Loaded question.

From the moment I joined MySpace, I was addicted to surveys.
The addiction came naturally: I'm a nosy, inquisitive kinda girl, so I love reading other people's answers, and, likewise, love having people read mine.

I was so frequent a surveyor, that a coworker - who we will call "Tiffany" for shits and giggles - did nothing short of an intervention, so, as one of my 2007 resolutions, I resolved to keep surveys to a minimum.

Proudly, I have kept that vow now for nearly two years.
I still do some here and there, just to keep my public interested (JOKE!), so now it's an occasion when I post one, and not some eye-roll inducing occurrence.

Of course, when I see one posted from one of my favorite fellow survey junkies, I can't help reading it and I cannot tell a lie: I sometimes copy a survey, fill it completely out and then delete it without posting. This way, the addiction gets fed and I don't make anyone sick of me.

Tonight was one of those nights, and one question in particular stuck out.
"What would your one wish be?"
My immediately reply was what it always is: Unlimited wishes.

Of course, that struck me as something so completely selfish, but I refuse to change my answer.

- I'd wish that my upcoming Christmas present Uggs will miraculously find their way to my feet before my trip into the tundra that might be New York City tomorrow.
- I'd wish that my credit card would somehow pay itself off.
- I'd wish that the monster cover story I'm working on and mapping out in my head could telepathically be translated to the computer without typing.
- And I'd sure as hell wish that I was Heidi Klum's identical twin sister.

And then I'd wish that narcissistic wishes like that would be negated by the wishes I already have, and the ones that I pray for, such as:
- "I wish Mom and Dad would feel better."
- I'd wish that all my loved ones, like my brother, could have their own dreams come true.
- I'd wish that God wouldn't let kids get sick, hurt or worse.
- I'd wish that our world wasn't so far gone in regards to ignorance, strife and the mayhem that gets closer every day.

I'd wish a lot of things I guess, but mostly, I'd wish that, if all my wishes came true, I'd stick to paying them forward.

And then I'd wish to come up with a better term than "pay it forward" because the saying really just rubs me the wrong way.