Block Party

Spring makes me want to sit outside like I used to in college, on a folding chair and a beer. Class all the way.

But now that I'm a "responsible, working adult," I don't get to do that too much. Instead, I do the adult version of that.

AKA-Sit on the patio at Como's on a warm summer night with some work friends, some beer, and people watching. We then went to Brew in View at the Magic Bag and watched,
Dave Chappelle's Block Party

Besides the hard wooden chairs, it was a good time. But as a result, I went to bed at 1:00 am, instead of my usual 10:30 or 11:00.

But a good escape regardless.

Tonight, I go see my dad in the hospital. So, I'll take a block party every now and then to remind me to have fun, despite the sad stuff.

Even in rain, it helps to know the sun can still come out.

Get Out the Way

Ah, the Sweet Spring air has arrived. Lovely sunny days, flowers in bloom, and of course bike riders.

I'm all for a spring full of new hopes and growth and all that good stuff, but what I can't stand is the bike riders in my neighborhood.

They act like they own the road, and me driving in an automobile is a huge problem for them. Get the fuck off the road. You don't see us driving our cars on the bike trails.

You know why you don't get treated like a fellow car? Cause you've only got 2 wheels.

We've got four, and we'd appreciate you riding your bike on a bike path, and quit acting like we're a bother to your lycra clad ass.

My Casa in a Hospa

My dad has been in the VA Hospital in Ann Arbor, for the past week and a half.

He is an infection that I can't remember the name of, that was caused by a complication from his chemo treatments. Can't the man catch a break?

My family and myself were really starting to get concerned, because it didn't look like my dad was improving. But I talked to his nurse the other day, and she said this type of infection takes a long time to get rid of it.

So, we're trying to think good thoughts, and visit the hospital, as much as possible. And even as sick as my dad is, he still treats his company well. Offering drinks in the form of apple juice in a box, or trying to get my cousin Shannon to take home the good medical tape so she can give it to her daughters for arts and crafts.

I've put a Bettie Page pin up poster in his room, compliments of Shannon, and I brought roses to brighten the room. Anything to make it seem less sterile and clinical.

Hopefully, my dad can come home soon. It's much nicer visiting him in Keego Harbor, where he offers chicken salad for me to take home, and when I point out that I don't have a container, he doesn't think there's anything strange about putting a big scoop of chicken salad into a ball of plastic wrap and calling it a day.

Anyway

I'm excited. Tonight I get to watch Scrubs. I love that show. Mostly, because it's a great escape from the trama's and scary things happening in my life at the moment.

And you, stupid lady at Weight Watchers, you don't scare me. I'll take my cousin's funeral or my dad in the hospital any day over your meetings about fiber and water consumption.

Don't get me wrong. The program is working for me. I wish I could get to 10 pounds, but I'm not there yet. It's cool, as long as I don't say fuck it and eat 3 pounds of cheese.

In other news, I must get the rest of my Easter cards in the mail.

Smaller

I'm starting to feel the positive impact of waking up at 6:15 in the morning.

Not because I'm getting less sleep, because beleive me, I love sleep, but I've been waking up early to go to the gym. I've lost 8 pounds so far after a month of gym and eating better.

For this I'm excited. I have had the mental shift that I need to keep me on task.

Stay tuned for updates.

Marriage is Not a Competitive Sport

The singles among my friend group are dwindling.

That isn't that surprising when you consider that me and most of my friends are in our early 30's.

But there is a plus side to still being single. You're in your 30's. That shoudn't mean you're just waiting to turn into the old spinster of the neighborhood. Hopefully, it means that you're figuring out your own life.

Trying to navigate your career, your finances, becoming at peace with your physical apperance. Knowing who you are, so that when you meet somebody you can offer your whole self. And not be waiting for him to fill in some gap. You should have learned to enjoy your own company. Like yourself as a person. And to single women everywhere, can we please stop looking at men, like they are the holy grail? And stop buying into the idea that a wedding ring suddenly means you aren't defective anymore?

C'mon. It is a toxic way to think, that as soon as we get married, we will feel complete. I don't know about you, but I've never met anybody that had me at hello.

I think the key is to be complete alone, and then when we meet someone the person will enrich or enhance our own lives, and we can do the same for them. Married people aren't given keys to the secret garden where they sit around all day, drinking wine and waxing poetic about the state of their union.

They are just like us singles, but instead of one pile of dishes or laundry, there is two. If you're happy hopefully your spouse is too.

It has taken me a while to get to this point. I spent many years feeling like there was something wrong with me, or I wouldn't still be alone. I don't buy it anymore.

And why not? Well because I'm sure that my self worth is not supposed to be dependent on someone else.

Don't get me wrong. I've had those moments where I've felt so lonley it was palable, but so has every one. Married or not.

I will try and remember my own words of wisdom, the next time I'm called upon to stand around with other singles and catch the bouquet. That public humiliation stains a lot longer than red wine on the carpet.

And if you've forgotten, just remember that a glass of wine is a great chaser to bitterness.

In Sickness and In Health

My dad has been sick for the past few months. I wish he had the flu.
But actually he has lung cancer.
It sucks.

However, he's doing well right now. Considering.

He just finished his last round of radiation last week. Sadly, he's not even new to the cancer thing. He first got diagnosed back in on September 30, 2003.

When I woke up that morning, I remembered it was the 30th Anniversary of James Dean's death, because I collect random movie trivia like other people might collect stamps or tea-pots.

I had no idea that I would end the day learning my dad had been in the hospital because he was throwing up blood.
I was away in Atlanta at Portfolio Center trying to become a copy-writer.

Since I had recently graduated, I headed back home to Michigan, and my dad offered to let me live with him. This was working out great. I needed a place to live, and he needed help with his cancer treatments.

No, I didn't actually adminster any needles or any such thing, but I went with him to doctor's appointments. I helped him pick out scarves the day his hair fell out, and I stood patiently while he spend an hour in the produce section alone of Meijer''s.

And then I finally got a job writing copy and moved out.

But he is sick again.

A new tumor which is supposedly good news. And I have a new copy writer job, and no that doesn't mean I spent my days making the ® symbols either. But now it is harder because I'm not there every day. I go spend weekends sometimes and visit after work, but it's not the same.

It is strange to be taking care of my dad. A bit of role reveresal. Mostly, I'm glad he lets me. It is nice to return the favor.

I remember when I was in junior high, and my dad had called when I would have been getting ready to say hi. He was always up at the crack of dawn. Literally. It wouldn't be unusual for him to call you at 6 am and ask what are you doing?

I told him that I wasn't going to school and went to take a nap.
I woke up a few hours later to a knock on the door.
My dad had brought me soup and the new tape single of Madonna's song, Cherish.

I'm not sure how he knew that it was my favorite song at the time.
I only know that dads" have a way of surprising us, and they listen even if we think they can't hear us.

Goodbye Travis

My cousin Travis died.

He was only 27 years old. Right now, we don't how. And I don't think I'll know why for a long time, if there is ever a reason.

Travis and I were not super close, but we were cousins, and we come from a huge proud Irish family. I lived in Atlanta the same time that he did. You see, I was going to Portfolio Center and Travis was playing football for the Atlanta Falcons.

Life being the way it goes, we never did get the time to have a visit. We had a few phone calls, and I'd see him at the giant family parties. Never thinking I would run out of time. Positive we'd get to together this summer for a party and have lots of fun.

I'm sorry this happened. I know we will all miss Travis. Especially his mom and brother. I don't even have the right words to say to either of them. All I could do, is show up. Sometimes there is nothing else to say.

And know that we all loved you Travis. I hope where ever you are, you're playing a bad ass game of football.

Happy Birthday

This just isn't my week. First I have no heat, and then I wake up this morning to discover that I don't have hot water.

I do have heat, but you know I'm supposed to have hot water too. My stupid landlord told me the girls downstairs have hot water, well they had heat the other day, but I don't live there.

Just fix my hot water, dammit.

Happy Birthday to a few people today. First Happy 1st Birthday to Gwynn. You can't read yet, but trust me, I've been friends wiht your mom a long time, and she's a cool lady, and I know she loves you very much. Your gift is in the mail.

And Happy Birthday to Jeff. I sang to him this morning, but I sing awful. It's the thought that counts though. Jeff is Shane's best friend, and it feels like he's part of our family. I don't remember a time when he wasn't in my life.

Finally, Happy Birthday to Jennie's, daugther Carly.

And if you don't know any of these people, this blog is completely boring to you.

I will post another one, maybe later.

Walk of Shame

For the second time in a matter of days, I woke up in a strange place and walked out to my car where the same clothes I'd had on the night before.

Sunday night, my furnace had gone out. I huddled down in my bed, and waited it out. But I woke up on Monday feeling like I was on the brink of getting sick.

So, last night, I spent the night at Barrie's place in Ferndale. They have this groovy 3rd bedroom and I was warm and cozy all night, and the room was the perfect amount of darkness. With just a glow from the computer as a night light.

And Barrie fed me meatloaf and squash, and I brought wine, as I figured it helps most situations get better.

Barrie had to leave, so that's when her nice roommate Steve came home. He let me have the remote control, and we watched an excellent episode of South Park.

So, thank you Barrie.

You Rock.

Raw Meat and Arthur Murray

Man.

Last night was one of this strange evenings, but sadly I had no one there to witness it, so you will have to rely on my re-telling of events.

Damn.
There's already been so much build up. Oh well, if you're reading this you're most likely just killing time while at work.

So I got home around 6:30 pm, and was starving, so I ate Fruit Loops for dinner. Tasty.

I then rushed to the library, as they were finally re-opened in Royal Oak, after being closed all summer for renovation.

That was exciting. I got some good new books and paid my late fee, and finally returned some books that had been rattling around in my trunk.

Then I headed over to the grocery store to grab a few ingredients for a casserole where Stove Top stuffing played a major role, balanced with a few chicken breasts. So I wrestle my way to the meat counter and order two chicken breats, but the girl behind the counter, must have thought I said two pounds of chicken.

That explains how i ended up with a giant plastic bag of chicken. I decided to keep it, since it was only a little over $5 dollars for the whole bag. I leave the store, and start driving home with a bag of raw chicken riding shotgun.

I then take a trip to the Arthur Murray Dance Studio, thinking I'd inquire about dance classes.

Like everything else in life, they really prefer you had a partner. And unlike the movies there was no cute guy waiting inside to be my dance partner.

When I got home, I crafted up a casserole, feeling a bit like a 1950's housewive. While it cooked, I cut up all the chicken and put it in indivdual bags.

Again, confirming my fear that I'm actually stuck in 1957.

On that note, Happy Valentine's Day!

Shafted

Oh, how I wish this was a blog about some hot date I had recently. That would've been a fun way to break in my new couch, but sadly that isn't the case.


The title instead refers to an incident that happened to me yesterday morning.
As usual, I'm rushing into work with piles of stuff loaded in my arms, and already have morning panic:

New job, and per usual I'm about 10-15 minutes late. Rushing toward the elevator, this nice lady holds the door, and we hear this clattering noise... a quick check confirms that I just dropped a pile of my cd's that I was hoisting up to my office area, to load onto itunes, has actually fallen down the elevator shaft.

Never to be seen again. At least not by me.

I can't even remember which ones I lost. Maybe it's a sign, I didn't need that music anyway.
Most of it was burned cd's that friends have given me, so I guess I can get new ones. I'm just not good with mornings.

This morning, I got stuck in heavy traffic, got stuck behind a huge Semi, and then ran out of washer fluid on a wet and snowy morning on the expressway.

At least it's almost the weekend. I'm getting my taxes my done tommorow, so that's got fun written all over it.

Hopefully, I'll be getting some money back.

If I Only Had A Ski Mask

I started a new job a few weeks back.

That was good news. Until pay day. You see, my direct deposit hadn't kicked in yet, so I had to use an ATM after hours.

And unknown to me, my money is being held hostage against its and my will.

I'd wrestle it free if I could, but alas don't own a ski mask...

So bring those late fees and other misc. bank charges.

I've learned my lesson.

In other news, oh wait. I've got no other news.

WTF

Last night I was in a bad mood. Blame it on the cold or the fact that it's winter. Or Monday. I don't know why.

But I had planned to scrub the bathroom and or clean out the refrigerator. None of these things happened. I took a bath instead, and watched some bad tv. I was supposed to have Scrubs season 2 in the mail from my friends at Netflix. But it didn't come, so I did something I never do.

I turned on the Bachelor and that's why I've got the WTF in the title, because really. C'mon. Last night was a 2 hour special where the girls bring the Tool to meet their parents, and it was like watching a puppy getting eaten by a Wolf with a bloody mouth.

The first girl, Monnayanh or something she was so in love...apparently that she subjected the guy to this horrible grilling by her bitchy family. It was absurd. All of it.

I couldn't watch anymore and turned it off, and instead went to read, a crappy celebrity magazine because they make me feel better. They're so lacking in substance, it's like a nice cotton candy cloud for my brain.

People stop watching the Bachelor and they will stop producing it.

Please. No more cheesy men. No more crying women, convinced they've found the love of their lives in a few short weeks, and on national tv.

C'mon now.

If I Only Had a Time Machine

Do you wish you could reverse time? Just like Superman?

I do. But then again, if we didn't take chances of making ourselves look stupid, where would like take us?

It would be a long boring ride...

I have had my share of stupid moments, but the thing is you can't go backwards.

All I can do is dust off the dirt of humilation, and move it forward.

If I had a time machine, I would be on a beach at Lake Michigan right now.

Super Friday

It's Friday, and I can't wait to get off work and go see if I can find Paris Hilton trolling 8 Mile this weekend...

Wait for it...Here it comes. That's bull-shit, because I don't care about Paris Hilton, or any other celebrity coming to town. Unless John Cusack wants to come over to my upper flat and cook me dinner, it makes no difference to me.

I'm only glad that the Superstars are gracing us with their bedazzled presence to put some money into Detroit. It should help us out, as long as Kwame dosen't spend all the cash on Ho's and Fur coats.

In other news, wait, I don't have much other news. My dad is feeling better from his cancer treatments so that is obviously much more exciting than a Kid Rock concert. The one thing I will say about the celebrities that were born here, for the most part, they stay loyal to Detroit. They're proud to be a part of this town.

As they should be. We have some faults but we're a very lovable Mid-western city.

So, bring it...

The Real Bosom Buddies

Insert Random breast jokes here:

I didn't write this, but I had to include it here.

It gives you a pretty accurate description of life in an advertising agency. I think it is a little more accurate than our friends the Bosom Buddies. Although, you gotta love Tom Hanks.

And from my friends at the Onion:

Man Who Does Everything At Last Minute Wonders How You Do It

February 1, 2006 | Issue 42•05

CHICAGO—Ted Henson, a copywriter at Green/Allium Advertising and notoriously disorganized procrastinator, is awestruck by his coworkers' ability to manage multiple aspects of their lives. "I'm surrounded by, like, these amazing super-multitasking rock stars," said Henson as he watched creative director Kyle Peters put some layouts in a metal file cabinet. "How do you deal with all this lame bureaucratic bullshit? You have to tell me your secret kung-fu organization system." Henson remained in Peters' office for over an hour, talking about Peters' filing system, the filing system in the film Brazil, and other Terry Gilliam films, causing him to miss a 2:30 assignment deadline.

Knitting IS the new Yoga

If I was ever skeptical that knitting is relaxing, last night convinced me.

The funny thing is, I don't knit. But some of my friends do, and they invited me to come hang out, at Sweetwater's Cafe and chat while the three of them knitted.

And it was so soothing watching the knitting that I almost fell asleep.
I went for the company. Part of me, wishes that I could knit, but you don't understand. I'm not cut out of that cloth.

I discovered this in 7th grade when we made a tote bag in Home Economics.
It was my first spin on a sewing machine. And I was awful. It was a simple pattern with basically 2 seams, and a drawstring top. Which is why most of my friends finished it in 2 days.
But it took me two weeks. And I got a C. The teacher had no vision, dammit.

I attempted to redeem myself in 8th grade.
This time we were making shorts. I managed to sew the legs together, and then I accidently sewed the shorts to my pant leg.

After this, I decided sewing wasn't for me.
But I greatly admire those who can thread needles with the greatest of ease.

I tip my thimble to you.

A Kick in the Head

Maybe that will get my headache to leave. I' ve had a headache off and on for a few days, and it's back.

Stupid constricted blood vessels...
Amy had me over for dinner last night. We had orange pancakes with orange segments on top, and man were they good.

Nope...It's still here.

How about this? I've made an appointment for my taxes to be done next Saturday. It's the one time, I'd rather pay somebody then have to do math, when done incorrectly may cause infliction by the IRS.
So, I'll pay somebody who understands accounting. I took accounting 1 and 2 and nodded along as if FIFO, and LIFO made sense or that I cared if my balance sheet was exactly balanced. I just don't. A penny off? Who cares?

Math people care, and I love them...I'm just not one of them.
The only reason that I passed accounting was because my Aunt Carol was my tutor, and she was amazing. Not only was she excellent at math, she always made me some tasty homemade dinner too. And one night, she even came and got me when I'd run out of gas.

Thankfully, my job requires no such math skills.
If my high school math teacher could see me now, I'd give him the big bird.

Because as I suspected:

Writing + Concepting = Copywriting

See any math?

No.

I don't miss story problems.

But now I may never know who will get to the next train stop first if they left at the same time but on different trains.
Will it be Ramon or Robert?

I say take a plane. It's quicker.

Problem solved.

Chinese New Year

Happy New Year to everybody in China.

Now, whip out those party hats.

Seriously. Last night, I went out with my new co-workers and ran into some old friends.

We all gathered to celebrate a tradition, that I feel lucky to be included in. We started out at Goodnight Gracie's in Royal Oak. That was cool. I've lived in Royal Oak for a year, and hadn't ever set foot in the place. I don't like martini's much, and I don't smoke cigars.

But of course, a bar being a bar, they served other drinks. I had a tasty gin and tonic. And I knew the bartender, so he bought it for me.

We then headed over to the Peking House, where I'm not kidding. They've got giant lazy susan's in the center of the tables, so once the dishes are set, you simply spin the wheel and decide what you may eat.

A good time was had by me. I was tired this morning, but I blame it on my new morning routine. I now wake up an hour earlier than i had to at my previous job. It's ok, but it's taking some time to adjust. I'm still lucky that we don't start till 9 anyway.

Kind of like banks. Without the pile of money or the tellers, so yeah. It's just the same.

Have a good weekend. Scratch a dog or two.