It’s Raining in Virginia September 8, 2009

What I should have done today:

• Get up with The Boy
• Workout
• Go through weekend bags and do a quick clean of the house
• Spend the rest of the day in Barnes and Nobles with a seat next to the window, a novel, and a cup of tea.

What I did today:

• Slept until 9:30
• Checked online for jobs
• Read blogs
• Followed up on a few phone calls
• Spent hours running around town doing errands including comparative price grocery shopping and check cashing and DMV visiting
• Unloaded bundles of groceries
• Reorganized the kitchen
• Went for a rainy end of summer walk

Maybe a little more productive than the previous list, but definitely not as much fun.

Happily our labor day weekend was both  productive and a lot of fun. Here’s the cliffnotes:

Friday we went to a high school football game where my almost seventeen year old brother actually played. Later I met his new girlfriend. Seeing your younger siblings develop into Real People is weird.

I cuddled and cooed my godchild and talked to my best friend (and his mom) who’s birthday was actually yesterday! Woo hoo! Happy Birthday Rachel! You’re old.

We booked a caterer! He gave us everything we wanted (carving stations, pasta bar, mashed potato bar [in martini glasses!], ice cream sundae station, pie selections, service, coffee, linens) for less than 40 dollars a person.  Sold.

With the caterer booked, photographer picked, and music decisions (Ipod playlist+rented/borrowed sound equipment) made we have officially checked off the big three of wedding planning. Only a few less interesting rentals (tables, tents, chairs) remain and the happy go lucky fields of delicious details are stretched out in front of me.

During the drive to and from the catering places we stumbled upon a great favor idea that will not only be useful, unique, and relatively inexpensive, but will also cut down on our plastic usage. Even better, I won’t have to do anything! My mother volunteered my brothers as free labor. Once I’m sure this is actually a go I’ll share some details.

We also spent some time looking for non-old lady mother of the bride dresses  and attempting to find a suit for The Boy. He’s very excited about the suit. A man after my own heart he enjoys the shopping process, I think we’re going with a black three piece suit and I expect he’ll look all sorts of dapper.

This weekend was also a big milestone in Shaba & The Boy’s relationship. It was the first meeting of the parents. Yup, our clans met and it went very well. It might have something to do with the fact that the great meeting of the minds took place at my uncle’s labor day party and the beer and whiskey were flowing freely, but I think they will get along well even without the Liquid Happy.

Finally, I drug my camera back and forth from VA to NEPA and back again without taking a single picture for what must be the umpteenth time. I want to be one of Those People who take pictures of Interesting Things and Family Functions so that ten years from now I have something to show my kids. In high school I took a lot of pictures, with an even harder to manage camera, and now that I have my fancy digital SLR I’m barely using it. After taking photos rather sparingly in college due to constant digital disasters it’s hard to get back into the habit. Any suggestions on how to re-release my inner shutter bug?

And Now I Think I’m Going For A Walk May 21, 2009

First of all, I’d like to thank you all for your kind words and emails and twitters. I wish I could say that things are gettting better but really, it’s not something I have any control over. However, I am starting to settle into the idea of what happened and what could happen because of it. It’s hard, but at least I’m not breaking into tears every few hours anymore.

I think it’s been harder on The Boy than on me. He has to deal with a fiance who is going through major life changing turmoil AND joblessness AND adjusting to living with her lover. All of which is hard. I don’t make it easy on him. He’s a sharer and I’m private. I like to mull over things, to think over them before I share them. He’ll tell me what he’s thinking at the exact moment he’s thinking it; I may wait a few hours or days to discuss the contents of an email. It’s difficult to us both to distinguish what is “being too secretive” and what is “how Shaba operates.” I’m not really sure how to make it better.

It’s not something I do on purpose. I’m not sure if it’s something I can easily change. For instance, if I’m typing my grocery list and someone looks over my shoulder I’m closing the document. This doesn’t mean I won’t share it at a later date. I guess I just like to be in control of when I share what.

Otherwise though, things have been good. We now have a working washer and dryer. We’re in the process of couch hunting. My flowers look to be coming up (or they could be weeds, I couldn’t tell). My phone interview yesterday seemed to go well. It’s not exactly the type of work I was hoping to get, but it’ll be a good experience. Now I’m just hoping that I get picked to come in for a real interview.

When I’m Old Wednesday May 13, 2009

When I’m old I will keep a treasure chest of toys and baubles for my grandchildren to play with.

There was always something about Grandma’s house toys that made them better. Even when the “toys” were just jars full of buttons or identical twin beds (perfect for playing Orphanage).

My cousins and I played a lot of pretend games in our youth.* The house we were at determined the game we played. My parent’s house was reserved for cops and robbers (a big back yard, a huge plastic artillery, and a camcorder provided many COPS-like playbacks), olympics (trampoline,  gymnast rings, a playschool mini slide that served as the 1,2,3 podium and a plethora of shooting sports medals that functioned as olympic standins**) and Titanic (old suitcases and my bunk bed).

Our great aunt’s house, with in ground swimming pool and diving board, was the set of many a’ shipwreck/island adventure games. We can’t be the only kids who used the diving rings/sticks as makeshift “food” and “treasure”.

My grandmother’s house, the few times we were there, was Peter Pan land. Mainly because she had a bedroom with a crib in it and she didn’t care if we took spoonfuls of chocolate syrup “medicine.”

We played a lot of runaway games at my cousin’s house thanks to her fake kitchen set and crawlspaces. Cops and Robbers got thrown in a lot too, she had fake speghetti sauce that often doubled as blood. Sometimes we played orphanage there, but man, her grandma’s house was Orphanage central.

Two twin beds with identical bedding. Raggedy Ann dolls in the middle. Sparse furniture. Old luggage. It was perfect. We played it so much our families still refer to the third floor of that house as The Orphanage.

Sigh. Memories.
What pretend games did you play growing up?

*Ok, fine, we’ve been known to still have Faerie Garden Parties on occasion. Complete with faerie vernacular and pseudonyms. Sometimes we dress up. We are both, indeed, college educated women.

** We also had matching USA Olympic track suits. We were so cool.

Figi Island!** March 13, 2009

Do you know that feeling you get when you realize a task will take much longer than you anticipated? Or that you completely underestimated the amount of studying you needed to do for an exam? That heart-racing panic you feel when every cell in your body catches up to your brain’s “Oh Shit!” signals?

Welcome to my life.

I have about eleventy trillion due dates and deadlines currently. Presentations, papers, and tests. Resumes, cover letters, roommate issues. Graduation, moving, deciding when I should quit my job. Everything requires some of my time and attention. Luckily, I have a handy dandy planner that’s been gathering dust next to the baguette crumbs in my purse. I’ve since formulated a plan and the panic has subsided, at least for now. Because it’s one thing to write in “Write 3 pages of final paper” under Wednesday and an entirely different thing to actually complete that task.

However when the options are a) do it or b) fail. Well, really, who chooses b?Certainly not type A-minus’s like me. You know, A-minus, like Type A but not so scary. I want things done, and I want to be among the best, but I not going to scream at you if you’re ten minutes late. I’m not going to recheck my answers three times. I’m Type A-light, if you will.
And because of this, I refuse to let my school deadlines get in the way of my happy-go-lucky weekend and my favorite approaching holiday .

This afternoon I’m joining my college mentor and much-older-sister-I-never-had for walking, wine and popcorn. Then it’s back to SmallTown for a rendezvous with my best friend, before hanging out with my parents and awaiting The Boy’s arrival for a 5 day love-filled extravaganza!*

I hope your Friday is fantastic!

*I have been told this will not include a proposal. However, I’m no longer “in the loop” so I’m not entirely certain it’s the truth.

**When TGIF was still THE thing to do on Friday nights I swore the jingle sounded like “figi island” not TGIF. No one else agrees, but I stand by my misheard song lyrics!

I’m Still Pissed About The $8.75 December 21, 2008

T’was the end of my night shift,
and all through the town,
the snow was a’blowing,
no one was around.

My papers were stacked by the desk with care,
in hope my relief soon would be there.
I longed to be home all snug in my bed,
With visions of hot shoes filling my head.

In coat and scarf I waited, head sans a cap;
Anxiously awaiting my mid morning nap.
So I dialed her phone, it made such a clatter,
I wanted to hear just what was the matter.

As soon as she showed I left like a flash,
De-iced my car and sped off in a dash.
The roads, covered in new fallen snow,
made certain the fact I’d have to drive slow.

When, what to my despise , do I hear?
But a request to stop for bagels and smear!
Because I’m a pushover and none to quick…
I decide to the trip, see, I’m no prick!

More tired than ever, to the shop I came,
I hemmed and hawed, then called them by name;
Three onion, two egg, three cinnamon raisin,
Two whole wheat, two plain, this place is amazin!

I’d finished! I’d ordered! Let’s get on the ball!
I’m ready to hit the proverbial wall!
And then the clerk, said, with out batting an eye
“Today you get four extra, free!  Your total is 8.75!”

So out to my car my short-changed ass flew,
To dig up some change, and found quarters, a few
And then, more attention to my bill I took,
That chick charged me extra, sniveling crook!

As I dutifully paid her and turned back around,
My face was contorted into a mean frown,
I drove home in a fury, my own two year old fit,
I was tired and hungry and my fuse had been lit.

My father at home, was resting his leg,
It was his order I brought (he likes the bagel of egg.)
I tried to be nice, when he welcomed me home,
But I would have preferred he just left me alone.

He left me to sleep and went into the kitchen,
And that’s when I started to unleash silent bitchin;
I heard the bag rustle, I heard the milk pour,
I angrily wished the living room had a door.

He stumbled around for what seemed like forever,
Who knew that breakfast was such an endeavor?
Then the room fell silent, I thought he was done doing,
Then to my horror I heard all the chewing!

Dear Readers bear with me, as I tell you my plight,
But come on, is this statement not all sorts of right?
Am I correct in assuming there’s nothing more gross
Than the audible mastication of folks?

As I gritted my teeth, into my pillow I weeped,
And then into my nostrils, the smell, it doth seeped.
The fragrance was that of my young brother’s matter,
He has yet to learn the art of controlling his bladder.

My night it seemed, could not end any worse.
I’m afraid that for me, winter solstice is cursed.
My father has thankfully now retired to bed,
I suppose that is where I too shall soon head.

This poem’s not perfect, but it served me well,
And If you don’t like it, I curse you to hell*
But now I’ll hit publish and dive out of sight,
Happy Solstice to all, and to all a good night!
* not really, it is Christmas after all.

Brandy Likes Tom Cruise, I Hate A Christmas Story. December 11, 2008

You know I don’t like A Christmas Carol, but I despise A Christmas Story. I know I probably just lost a few readers with that admission, but whatev. I stand by my opinion and my opinion is….it’s dumb.

After hearing people gush about it for years and consistently noticing the goofy ACS related gifts in catalogs, I decided to actually watch the film a few years ago. I settled down on my couch, awaiting the cinematic genius I had been hearing about. I had high hopes, and though it started out sort of slow, I figured I’d get to the good part eventually. I kept waiting for the good part. I waited. I waited some more. And the good part? It never came. It was MIA. I did not laugh once (this also happens when someone forces me to watch Will Farrell in any movie besides Stranger Than Fiction).

I thought it was pointless, immature, and a waste of my life. I hate the voiceover and the kid’s glasses. I hate the lamp and the Santa slide scene. I hate the tongue-stuck-to-a-pole and the damn “You’ll shoot your eye out” catchphrase. In short, there is no redeeming quality to this film. It sucks like a Dyson all the way around the Christmas tree.

Now, before you begin to hum “you’re a mean one, Ms. Grinch” there are some holiday movies that I enjoy. I love “It’s A Wonderful Life,” I think “Home Alone” and “The Santa Claus” are hilarious no matter how many times I see them, and “Love, Actually” is my new favorite. So that brings the total of Shaba-approved Christmas movies to…drum roll please….four.

Wow. I guess am I kinda Grinchy, considering there’s like five “new” Christmas movies released every year. Seriously, how many heart warming, sweater-featuring, carol-singing flicks are necessary? Dear Warner-Bros, next year let’s make a depressing holiday movie, just to shake things up. The kid won’t get the toy, the divorced parents won’t look past their differences for the sake of the child, Virginia will find out that there really isn’t a Santa Claus, the bank will go under, and Scrooge will hire the ghost busters and go back to counting his coins. The soundtrack will feature only three tunes “Dominick the Donkey” and the barking dog version of “Jingle Bells” and “I’m Getting Nuttin For Christmas.” We shall call it: Suicide Season.

I’m not doing much to prove my un-Grinchiness am I? Drat.

Ok, so if I list my favorite Christmas songs will you believe that I actually enjoy the holiday? I mean, not as much as Thanksgiving or St. Patrick’s Day, but still, it beats Valentines.

Without further ado (about nothing),

Shaba’s Top Ten Christmas Songs

10. Tie between Christmas Time Down South and Jingle Bell Rock (my family loves the John Denver Christmas cd)

9. It’s Beginning to Look A lot Like Christmas (This song makes me imagine walking through NYC in December s in a black and white movie/KAY commercial world. Swoon. Dear Pleasantville, can I live in Black and White world? Please?)

8. Mele Kali ke Maka (We also love Bing Crosby. He is Father Christmas in my mind)

7. Santa, Baby (I enjoy singing this, even though I can’t carry a tune in a bucket)

6. The First Noel (especially by Celine, even though her face annoys me. Does she or does she not look like Bambi’s mom?)

5. Silver Bells (Sigh. So pretty. Same feeling as number 9)

4. Christmas in Killarney (Hello, Shaba is an Irish girl.)

3. Carol of the Bells (Who doesn’t like this song?! Dun dun a dun dun dun a dun)

2. Let it Snow (I want to pop popcorn by a fireplace with The Boy, maybe here. Because I think the champagne glass tub is the coolest thing on the planet. Sad fact? I’m not being sarcastic. I really do want to go.)

1. Winter Wonderland (The line “to face unafraid, the plans that we made” just screams ROMANCE! LOVE! SQUEE! The clever use of this line would be the only way I’d be able to stand a cliché Christmas-time proposal. This is similar to how a New Year’s eve proposal requires the When Harry Met Sally speech for it to be passable. Men, take notes.)

Am I ungrinch-a-fied now?

Oh Hai, December December 1, 2008

I failed NaBloPoMo. I thought about writing some posts and backdating them. But decided against because #1) I’d feel like a loser. And B) It would be completely forced and boring and I’d hate myself later.

I blame Thanksgiving. And wine. And the Post-Thanksgiving Monopoly Smack Down.

The Boy and I dominated the board, bankrupting his ten year old cousin and showing no mercy. We’re Rockefellers.

It almost made up for losing Trivial Pursuit both times I played. Those damn Sports and Leisure questions get me every time.

Thankful November 27, 2008

I’m thankful for:

my health and that of my family and friends,
the roof over my head, the clothes on my back and the food in my pantry; simple things that I take for granted
another year disaster free
a steady paycheck and financial security
the lessons learned
the experiences shared
the progress made
the possibility of change
fantastic friends, both near and far
family gatherings
kittens
The Boy
pumpkin pie
non stop Christmas songs
bell ringers
piggy banks
lazy days
everyday successes
every single day

and,
You.

Wish me, The Golden Child, The Boy, and The Philosopher luck today! While you’re reading this we’re running around in the cold. Pictures to follow.

Happy Thanksgiving.

A Few of Your Favorite Things (Contest!) November 26, 2008

My mom is the reason I started watching Lady O to the Prah. I remember watching Oprah with her back when Donahue was still on. We watched as her show morphed from just another talk show to the huge movement it is today. When O started her book club, my mom and I read the books together (Hi Janet Fitch? I love you.) We’d bond over episodes and hijinks. And we always, always, longed for the Favorite Things Episode. It’s definitely the best episode of the year, though apparently this year many audience members are going to be disappointed.

But back to my mom, because she loved this favorite things idea so much my mother decided that every Christmas instead of buying gifts for the other families we exchange with, we’d put together family gift baskets of our “favorite things.” Sometime the baskets are themed (snack foods, comfort items, bath stuff, etc) but most of the time it’s just a random assortment of stuff we like.

And because I’m the Queen of Indecision, I am always the last one to decide what I’m contributing.

I have lots of favorite things, don’t get me wrong, but the items I’ve thought of don’t lend themselves very well to gift baskets. Like, say, blogging. Or The Boy. Or AlexMac’s perfect retorts and acceptance of my crazy (last night I said “Kitchen dance time!” and we danced for a good five minutes in the kitchen, flailing arms and legs everywhere, there’s a video. It’s scary.) , Fresh flowers, hand delivered. My bed. Laughing. A really good book. That first bite of my favorite foods. A nice comment from a new reader. ahem, hint hint you lurkers. Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes…. See? Not really gift basket appropriate.

I was hoping that maybe some of you could offer suggestions…
What are some of your favorite things? What would you like to receive in a gift basket?
Keep in mind the object of the game is to not spend a bazillion dollars, think less than 10 bucks a pop.

As a thank you for your help, I’ll pick a random winner to receive the entire Shaba Family Gift Basket!

Thanks kids!

I Have A Secret… November 21, 2008

I’m a blog stalker.
I have 3 blogs on my reader that I never, ever post comments to. Not because I don’t like what they write, obviously I do, since I’m reading them, but because I don’t feel adequate enough to do so. That and one of them is no longer active. I read that blog like my favorite novel. I think I’ve read the archives five times. Can we say obsessed? Yes, yes we can. I feel strangely embarrassed about this, probably because not only do I feel like a loser for blog stalking, but because I read these writers and instantly feel….jealous?

Of their anonymity, of their non-anonymity, of their jobs/relationships/writing talent, of their support systems, of their blog bff’s.

And then, after I work through the hot burn of jealousy, I’m hit with a wave of shame. I hate this part of me. I feel confident in my ability most of the time. I feel happy with my life, and all it’s craziness and joy. (Hot, committed, completely wonderful lover? Check. Bright future on the cusp of a new exciting chapter? Check. Kick ass friends and family? Check. Bank account with reasonable* balance? Check. Good physical health and a grasp on reality? Check and well…check? Maybe?) My life, internet and real, is a damn good one. And really, given the chance? I wouldn’t change a thing**.

So why do I feel the need to compare myself and my life to that of imaginary*** people?
Anyone else guilty of such craziness? Please tell me I’m not the only one.

(You’re totally the only one, Shaba, you weirdo. Now go live your life and stop sucking.)

*If I can still buy groceries, I consider it “reasonable.” Christmas, you bastard, get out of my money!
**Besides maybe a bit of Dooce like fame and an extra 50 grand. And perfect hair. And a magic wand. And rice krispy treats, because they’d be SO GOOD right now.
*** For all intensive purposes, since I’ve never met them.