Two thousand zero zero party over whoops out of time

Another holiday season is coming to an end.  I’ve been listening to NPR in the car, and there have been several “Best of 2013”, “Most Interesting of 2013”, “Most Polarizing of 2013”, etc. lists going around.  I’m ambivalent about all those lists.  I hardly ever agree with the choices because I see events through a different lens than the authors of the lists, but I enjoy the reminders of the events that have taken place in just 365 short days.  It’s surprising how much can happen in just a year.

But what’s been on my mind lately hasn’t been recent memories–it has been more distant memories, specifically those of my teenage years.  Two things have prompted teenage reminiscing:  my mom just got her first smart phone and my uncle found a copy of an old VHS tape of my dance recital from 1986.

I am excited that my mom got a smart phone.  Now we can text, we can Facetime, she can try all these new apps.  The phone paid for itself when she got to see my nieces and nephew on Facetime all the way across the country on Christmas Eve.  Awesome.

And as my mom was asking me all these questions about her smart phone (as she was talking to me from her “land line”, as we call her home phone), I started to think about not having a home phone anymore.  Matt and I don’t have a home phone, we each have mobile phones.  You want to reach me, you call me.  Want Matt, call his number.  When I was growing up, however, you called a person’s house and you got whomever answered the phone.  It was a crap shoot.  And for a long time during my growing up years, an answering machine was nonexistent.  No one home?  Call back later, chump.

How do teenage girls do it these days?  For me, the home phone was the key to maintaining hope. My mom wouldn’t let me or my sister call boys — “if they like you, they will call you.  Ladies don’t call boys.” — so we had to rely on the boys to make the first telephonic move.

I didn’t have a lot (count any) boyfriends in my teen years, but had lots of crushes and wanted desperately for my crushes to call me on the phone.  Thank goodness I grew up before smart phones because I totally relied on the “he must have called while I was gone” excuse.  The “he has a sister that is always on the phone so he can’t use it to call me” rationale.  The ever-popular “he’s not at home to call me” logic.

I was the teenage princess of denial, but I had the perfect tool to feed my delusion with the home phone, sans caller ID and voice mail, stuck to the wall somewhere in the house, totally not mobile.

I feel sorry for teenagers these days.  There’s no way to create an illusion of “I missed his call” anymore.  There are no more “missed calls” — the number and time and date of every call that came in is captured until deleted.  There’s no way to call his house and hang up when he answers and not get busted anymore (I don’t think, but I don’t know all the rules).  Everyone’s number and name (and sometimes their picture) pops up when they call you. 

The only thing that you can’t hide is the fact that when they don’t call, you know that they don’t call.  So sad.  I’m sorry, all you teenagers.  Technology’s not looking so great now, huh?

Then there was THE dance recital.  My uncle found the VHS tape and I sent it off for conversion to DVD.  Loved watching us dance to what we thought at the time was the greatest dance ever choreographed.  A little sad to have another delusion exposed.

For your enjoyment, here’s a loop of me (in the middle), shaking it like I was 16.  Hard to believe that I didn’t have a lot of boyfriends, right?


My favorite “F”s

I saw this meme today:

And I thought, “Ah, two of my favorite “F” things: French Bulldogs and Fridays.”

(I used to have a favorite word that started with F, but I was politely asked by my boss to stop saying it at work. She was right — I was saying it WA-A-A-Y too much. The frustration was getting to me. I have implemented a Cuss Jar (actually a pail) to help me curb my wicked tongue — I have to pay every time I cuss. So far, it has helped a lot. Even the cursing at home has abated. The recent vacation might have also helped.)


So, I started to think about other things that I liked that began with the letter “F” and there are a lot!  In no particular order:

1. French Bulldogs

2. Fridays

3. Filet-o-Fish

4. Freedom

5. Family

6. Fables

7. Friends

8. Fernando by Abba

9. Feta cheese

10. Fetal position (when I’m sad)

11. Fiction

12. Fifth Amendment (“I do not have to incriminate myself”)

13.  Finger foods

14.  Forgiveness

15.  France

16. Fireflies

17. Flowers

18. Fleur-de-lis

19. Flip-flops

20. Frosties

Wow, it’s interesting to see how many of my favorite “F”s are food.

Have a “F”-ing Awesome Friday!!

It is Halloween time, so here is a list of scary things

I climbed on the elevator at work today and a maintenance man followed on behind me.  As the elevator moved up the floors, it made some weird noises and shimmied and shook.  The maintenance man looked at me and said, “We’ve been having problems with a couple of elevators in the building.  Four people have already been stuck in one over on the other side of the building this morning.”

My stomach twisted.  On my list of fears, getting stuck in the elevator is right up there.

I would be on the floor of this elevator, crying like a baby


So, naturally, I started to think about my list of fears.  In no particular order, they are:

  1. Getting stuck in an elevator
  2. Plummeting to my death in an elevator
  3. Spider crawling across my face
  4. Eating raw chicken
  5. Being mistaken for Roseanne Barr
  6. That I won’t be able to retire (due to lack of $)
  7. Sitting next to someone with bad BO on a long plane flight and it making me nauseated and then throwing up in mouth
  8. Anything to do with heights
  9. Realizing that the “Rhythm Is Going to Get Me” if I don’t run faster
  10. Bears, anywhere, anytime

That is one thing that I like about growing older.  And about taking antidepressants.  I have a lot fewer fears than I had when I was younger.

The Indigo Girls have a song called “Kid Fears” where they ask in the chorus “What would you give for your kid fears?”  I have always assumed that they mean by that question that the fears of a child are much less serious than the fears of an adult.  I have actually found the reverse to be true.  I grew up in the 80s, during the middle of the Cold War, the Iran hostage crisis, the Reagan administrations, etc.  And I remember going to bed afraid that nuclear war would break out during the middle of the night.  Such heavy fears for a 10-year-old.

Our world isn’t any more stable, but now I realize that I have the capacity to deal with a lot of the things that life throws at me.  Except for plunging elevators.  That shit scares me.