Travel Plans and Hopes and Dreams

We are *almost* done traveling for 2015. Just one more road trip coming up, which is going to be out of my comfort zone a bit. We are going to the Carolinas to stay in a cabin in the woods. Now, when I say "cabin" please don't misunderstand me. I found a cabin with a huge wall of windows looking out over the mountains, a pool table in it's game room, and a  hot tub. All just for me, Hubby, and TJK. I'm looking forward to it, just from the standpoint of getting away and relaxing. That's in November...and then we have nothing planned going forward. I HATE that. I need travel to look forward to.

To recap 2015, we went to:

• San Antonio
• Vermont
• Philly (more of a weekend away, but still)
• London
• Liverpool
• Iceland
• Ohio for the Football Hall of Fame inductions
• Bahamas
• Mexico (Cozumel and Costa Maya)
• The Carolinas

Some places I would really love to look into going in 2016:

• Portugal
• Budapest
• Istanbul/Cappadocia, Turkey
• South American cruise
• Northern Ireland (Dublin across the north to Galway)
• Cuba
• San Diego (one of my favorite places ever)
• Napa Valley with the 'Bombs
• New Orleans
• Quebec Ice Hotel
• European cruise (Spain to the south of France, or the Greek Islands)
• Hawaii
• Pittsburgh (to take TJK to a Steelers game)
• The Exhumas in the Bahamas (to swim with pigs!)

Obviously there is no way we can hit all of these, but I always like to make a wish list and then wherever we don't get next year, we can consider for the following year.

And a couple of longer-term ideas for perhaps 2017:

• The Galapagos Islands
• Norway cruise
• Paris and Giverny with TJK, Hubby, Shar, and Momo
• Scotland

And for 2018, which is a big wedding anniversary for us, so I'm hoping to do it big:

• African safari
• Hawaii  (if we don't get there before, since our honeymoon was there and I'd love to show it all to TJK)

Bad Things Happen In Threes

I am still devastated over the loss of my dog. It's been three weeks, and I am still crying at the drop of a hat. I know three weeks isn't too long, but I thought I would have regained some semblance of composure by now.

My cleaning lady was at my house when I got home from work yesterday, and she started talking about Gypsy and what a good dog he was - that he would follow her around the house and lie down in whatever room she was cleaning, and how quiet the house is now without him. And then I started crying and she teared up too. She said, "This is why I hate them; they break your heart." And I agreed. She hugged me and then I cried a little more, and then when she left, I took out Gypsy's ashes, still in the pretty little shopping bag that they came in. I took the beautifully carved wooden box out of the bag and held it for a minute. I looked around, trying to find the right place to put the box so it would be a memory, but not a morbid memory, for me to see as I walked through the house. I cried again, and said aloud, "I'M NOT READY! I'M NOT READY!" to no one, because I was all alone. I put the ashes back in the pretty bag and put them back on the dining room table.

I am not ready. I am not ready to have the wooden box on display. I'm not ready to see it every day. I am just not ready.

I still expect to see him every day when I come into the house. I still expect to give him scraps while I cook and to have him begging for my meal once it's served. I still want to give him all the shreds of cheese left on the plate when I grate it for dinner. I still shut the door behind me when I answer the door so he won't get out. I still have the constant wonder of where he is because it's been a while since I saw him. I still feel sad when I get up to go to the bathroom and he isn't under my feet, following me and tripping me up because he is so close.
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My best friend called me last Monday. Her dog, Maizey, had taken a turn for the worse. She had been at the vet since the previous Friday, and was not getting better. They were trying one more thing, one hail Mary to try to save her, but if it didn't work, they were going to have to put Maizey to sleep the next day.

The treatment they tried didn't work, and Maizey died last Tuesday.

Talking to my bestie about it, I was just overcome. Completely overcome. I tried to be there for her, and I hope I was, but I was still in my own head about my own dog. We cried together, because that is what best friends do.
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Last night, I got a text from my mom telling me that my sister's cat was very ill and that my sis was taking him to the vet and it wasn't looking good. They think he got a blood clot and he took a sudden and painful decline.

After 16+ years with Connor, they had to put him to sleep. And again, my heart broke...and not just for my sister. I am still struggling with my own loss and having these losses on top of it...it just doesn't seem fair.
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I'm a pragmatic person so I don't believe in any kind of life after death - I think that's something we tell ourselves to make us feel better when we lose someone. Right now, I would give almost anything to be one of those people who says "he's in a better place" or "he's in doggie heaven" or "he went over the rainbow bridge and he's running around with all the other puppies." That would be so nice right now.

The Long Tale of Sir Street Gypsy Louis of Newark

I am having such a hard time.

Most of the day and night, I'm okay. I am a really busy person, so my mind doesn't get caught up in tangles of thought when I need to get stuff done. But I keep having these bursts of remembrance and it is just. so. hard.

People without pets just don't get it. Your dog dies and you move on. You just get another dog. It's not a person dying, after all.

But this was my baby.
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This was the puppy who, almost 16 years ago, I picked out from the Newark Shelter. The weekend after we closed on our house, I NEEDED A DOG. We went to a few places to look at rescues and finally ended up in Newark. Not a pleasant place, and definitely a kill-shelter. When we got there, they were bringing in a passel of pit bulls, one pregnant, and the woman at the desk gave the people holding the leashes the signal - hand across the throat. Put them down.

So when we walked among the cages, with the roar of cooped-up dogs surrounding us, I was looking for someone to save. My first love at the shelter was a 6-week-old German Shepherd. It was tiny and adorable and sick. But it couldn't be adopted for a few more weeks and I couldn't wait. So we kept looking.

We came upon a cage filled with 4 dogs. Three of them were big, and they were aggressively trying to get our attention. The fourth was under the mass of the other dogs, trying to check us out but getting nipped and pushed back at every turn. I made eye contact with the little guy, and that was that. He was mine. We had him taken out of the cage and he was shy and sweet and nervous. He was also full of scars from who-knows-what and he had gum stuck in his matted fur. He was my boy.

The tag on the cage said that he was a "Black Lab Mix" - which, I didn't realize, was code for a pit bull mutt. I just saw his sweet face and kind demeanor and I had to take him home.

My husband was not so sure. He did not grow up with a dog and thought we should get settled in the house for more than 2 days before bringing a dog home. I would hear nothing of it. We took him home that day, after a stop at Petco to have him groomed (he stank) and at my parents's house to show him off. My mom freaked out that I was bringing a pit bull into my house (and, despite her being totally in love with him, she still, to the end, had a hard time telling people he was a pittie).

We name him Gypsy, as we will not conform to your gendered name expectations. Boys are gypsies too, was my answer when people questioned his moniker. He was manly enough to deal with a girly name anyway, haters.
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Day one, day two, day three...all is well. He is not quite as manly as we had expected. He is sweet and all that, but he does not bark. He chirps. Like a bird. Our friends mock us for having the one and only chirping pit bull in the world. I street-fight them to defend Gypsy's honor.

Suddenly, he starts getting mean. I think he got comfortable. He realized he now has a nice house and all the food and treats and toys he can handle. He is not living on the rough and tumble Newark streets any longer. He comes out of his shell, and he is kind of a dick.

But he is only mean to me. Me, the one who saved him from sure death. Me, the one who catered to his every whim. Me, the one who took him running in the park. This dog was trying to eat my face. I didn't know what to do. My mom was in a panic - "you need to get rid of him! He is going to murder you in your sleep!" No. He is my baby and I said I was going to save him and that's exactly what I am going to do, whether I have a face left or not.

I got scared though. This was one strong dog. He was hard to fight off. I counted the minutes till my husband got home so he could control this dogmonster. Finally, I got a trainer, who taught me in 3.5 minutes that it was all my fault and that this was not an evil dog; I was just a bad human.

Dogs are pack animals, and Gypsy thought I was beneath him in the pack. I was basically too nice to him. When he wanted to sit on the couch, I'd move so he could have my spot. When he wanted a treat, I gave him 10. Once I stopped being a dog's doormat, my sweet puppy was back and he never left me after that.

Oh, and she also tried to teach him to walk on the leash, proclaiming it to be a simple thing. He never did learn that trick - he was always just so happy to be outside going for a walk that he didn't care if he walked in circles. He just wanted to be out there.
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For the next 15-and-some-odd years, he was my loyal companion. He was waiting at the window when I pulled up to the house. He sat outside the bathroom door and waited for me every time I peed. He curled up on the couch next to me and chilled. Now don't get me wrong. This was not a lovey-dovey kind of dog. He didn't cuddle. But he was a sweetheart and he loved us.

When True Jersey Kid was born, we were nervous about how he would be with her. I mean, he was a pit bull and they eat babies, right? My mom, in particular, was sure we were going to have to get rid of Gypsy because he was going to murder the baby's face. Well, TJK was born, we brought her home, Gypsy sniffed her and then went and laid down. Did not care about this alien in his house. And the truth was: When people told me that my dog might not get along with my baby, my answer was always that the baby would have to be the one to go because I knew and loved my puppy and this baby was a stranger. Luckily, that decision never had to be made.
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Gypsy loved to go the park and was horrendous on the leash. He would pull me around the park like I was a rag doll, and he would have that pit bull smile on while he did it. This terrified people and when they saw us coming, they would hide their little chi-chi dogs while he dragged me past them. He wouldn't have hurt a fly though. He truly just wanted to play with everyone - dog, cat, bird, human, whatever - and was very exuberant about it. His exuberance came off as aggression, which was really okay with me because no one messed with me when I was with him. His playful craziness came off as homicidal, and that kept me safe. So while he wasn't a protective dog, per se, he did protect me in his own way.
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I was walking Gypsy around the neighborhood when he was maybe 8 months old, just taking a stroll around my development. This man is sitting in his driveway on a lawn chair (do people do that everywhere or just the Italians in Jersey?) and he saw me coming and basically freaked out. Ran at me. Got on the ground. Had my dog all up on him and did not care. Then finally talked to me: Can you wait here a minute? I have to get my wife, she will love this dog so much. He looks like our dog who just passed away.

So this guy runs in the house and he and his wife bolt back out. She ignores me and rolls around on the sidewalk with Gyspy, who is totally cool with it. They tell me all about their dog, with tears in their eyes, and we kind of become besties. Then, a few weeks later, they come to a BBQ at my house. The guy pulls me aside and offers me $1000 for my dog. I look at him like he's insane, for several reasons:

1. I paid $100 for this dog and got $50 back when I had him fixed. So this is a $50 street dog.
2. You can go to the shelter on any given day and get a pit bull for $100 with a $50 rebate for fixing; why do you want to pay $1000 for mine?
3. Um, you freak, this is my baby and you know that and do you think for one minute I would sell him to you for any amount?

So I tell him no, hell no, hell fucking no. The next day they go and get a new dog who could be Gypsy's twin and we never see them again. Very strange.
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I am very protective of my dog, and I will not have him disparaged in any way.

So we start hanging out with Diddy, who is a co-worker of my husband's and also Patsy Darling's boyfriend. He is annoying when he drinks and we fight all the time (not any more, but we did back then).

I'm pouring tequila shots for us all and as we are doing the shots, of course Gypsy is right underfoot. Some tequila gets spilled on him. Diddy starts yelling that my dog is 50 Cent. He is all shot up.

I get furious because in my drunken state, I am assuming that because my dog is black and is from Newark, Diddy is calling him a thug. This becomes an ongoing joke, and Gypsy comes upon another of his nicknames: 50 Cent.
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We go to CT every year for Thanksgiving and 4th of July. In 2004, TJK was going up to CT for her first Thanksgiving. She was 11 months old. We leave Gypsy home, with a friend of ours staying at the house to watch him.

We get home on Sunday and of course, Gypsy bounds for the door when we get there and greets us as his long lost family (which we are). As soon as she sees him, TJK says her very first word: Gypsy. She pronounces it "Gypy" which becomes another of his nicknames.

My kid did not say Mama or Dada or No for her first word. She called her dog. For some strange reason, this was always a source of pride for me.
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There are a thousand stories I could tell about Gypsy Lou, and I may come back at times to add them when they come to mind.

This is a dog who was so loved. So loved that for the past 2+ years, he has been peeing in the house due to kidney disease, and we just cleaned up after him every day, sometimes multiple times a day. So loved that again due to kidney disease, he got up 2-3 times a night for the past several years and we had to get up with him and let him out (okay, so Hubby did most of that). So loved that even though he had been sick for a couple of years and wasn't himself and walked sideways and had several strokes...I couldn't let him go. I still saw a spark in him, that spark of a puppy who still wants to run and greet you even though his legs won't take him any more.

I can't talk yet about the whole process of saying good bye. I'm going to leave this here and just say that every word has been typed with tears in my eyes.

Miss and love you, LouLou.

I Am Old Enough to Have a Sixth Grader

I don't really get how it happened. One day, I was in my early 20's, riding high, having fun, being wild and crazy. And then the next, or so it seems, I was, well, aging, yet still riding high and having fun and being wild and crazy and yet also being a mom.

Somehow, I became the mom of a child in her last year of elementary school, on the precipice of entering middle school, which of course leads to high school and then to college. And I don't like it one bit.

My kid is aging me.

I'm thrilled with the young lady she is, and I love having a child who can dress herself and make breakfast for herself and arrange times to hang out with her friends by herself (instead of me having to be her social secretary and setting up the dreaded "play dates"). I love having some of my freedom back, as she develops her own freedom. All in all, a pretty good deal.

But, hello. I still feel like a 22 year old in my head (although my frown and laugh lines betray me far too often to say I *look* like a 22 year old). I cannot possibly be old enough to have a 6th grader, who is 11 going on 25. Who wore lipstick to school yesterday. Who needed the right necklace to match her dress. Who fussed over which shoes were perfect with the length of this particular hem. These are not the things that a child of a young woman such as myself would be considering!

True Jersey Kid, in the dress, jewelry, makeup, and flowers she selected for herself. She pretty much kicks all the ass.

Yet, here we are. I'm getting older and so is she.

I keep wanting to freeze her in time because she is so perfect...and I guess as much as those attempts fails, I fail to freeze myself in time, as well.

The good news: we are both growing into strong women, and I'm happy with how we each have grown. The bad news: I think she will be a grown up before I am ;)

A Weird Thing About Human Resources

There's this weird thing about working in Human Resources. I mean, there are LOTS of weird things about it, because people are weird and the situations they get themselves into are weird and having to deal with people's weirdness is...weird.

But I'm repeatedly faced with something in my role that challenges me, because I'm a pretty up front and honest person. If you come to me with an issue and you're wrong, I'll tell you so. If you are making a bad decision, I'll call you on it. So what do I do when I'm privy to information that I can't share? What do I do when I can't tell you what's coming because it's confidential, so I have to look you in the face and lie to you? Or give you recommendations or suggestions that are way off, because I know something you don't know and I have to lead you a certain way because of that knowledge?

Most of the time, what this entails is knowing that someone is going to be let go. Now, if you are being straight up fired, I'm the one to do it and I have made it clear to you that that's where we are headed. I have no issue with that situation.

But what happens when it's a layoff, and you haven't necessarily done something wrong but it's just time for you to go? You have no idea it's coming. I'm making plans for your departure and yet I have to smile in your face and sit in meetings with you while you make plans for the next 6 months...when I know you won't even be here anymore.

It feels like dishonesty to me. It feels like I should be giving you a heads up. Like, "Hey man, you might not want to bring that extra plant into work for your office...you're just going to have to bring it back home next week." Or, "Hey man, your three-year money-saving plan isn't going to be quite that long...why don't you consider a three-day plan instead?"

Of course, I can't do that. It's part of the job - confidentiality. I have to keep it to myself and make plans for when you won't be here anymore but act to your face as if you will. It's a really weird thing for a person who takes pride in her openness and honesty at work to handle. As I move up the ranks, it's something I have to contend with more and more because more information is entrusted to me. And while I love the increased pay that comes with moving up the ranks, having to lie to people's faces is something I could do without.

Random Stuff in My Head

I leave for London a week from today and I feel so unprepared. I mostly have to figure out dogsitting for my beloved elderly pitbull and pack my suitcase. Packing is always dreadful for me because I have a system and I follow it, and then I throw everything else I own in the suitcase just in case. I literally plan out each outfit I'm going to wear, for day and evening, with shoes and jewelry and whatever other crazy accessories I conjure up. I make a spreadsheet. I try all the outfits on with their corresponding accessories and shoes. I go through them multiple times, counting the days and the events I'll be attending (sightseeing at Tower of London? check! An evening at the theater? check!) and reviewing each outfit for comfort and packability and appropriateness. I get them all into my suitcase, with room to spare! And I feel great about it! But then, the panic enters. What if I spill something on a shirt? What if my pants rip? What if I am suddenly summoned to see the Queen? OH MY GOD PUT EVERYTHING IN THE SUITCASE AS A PRECAUTION! DEAR GOD, DO IT NOW! And that is how I pack.

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A friend of mine is moving to Colorado in a few weeks. We became friends because our daughters were friends, but then our daughters started actively disliking each other. But we are still friends.

We could not be more opposite. We call that out in ourselves all the time. She is the yoga-loving hippie and I am the rocker girl. Because of our core differences, we have had issues with each other in the past. It's bound to happen. But nothing insurmountable, and I will miss them being around.

She and her husband (a cool guy who I consider a friend as well) had a party last weekend to see us all before they move. And they are just so zen about moving. So happy to be going to a place with a big sky and lots of open land. So at peace with leaving the hubbub of NJ/NY behind them. And it made me think about the prospect of moving. With TJK being the kind of kid she is (very traditional, very close with her friends, very close with my parents, in love with our house and neighborhood) I would never uproot her like that. I couldn't do it. But if I had my druthers, would I move?

I've always said no. I am a True Jersey Girl, after all. I couldn't live anywhere else. But lately as I have traveled, I've looked with new eyes. I've come to appreciate a slightly slower pace, as well as slightly more space. I love where I live because I'm 10 miles from NYC, an hour-ish from Philly, a half hour from the beach and a half hour from skiing. Everything you could want is less than a day trip away. Looking for high end stores? They are here. Target? Here. A gas station? Right on the corner around the block. Nothing is far. But maybe that's not such a good thing all the time. What would it be like to live with a little bit of peace? Some quiet, even?

I don't know if I will ever find out, but it has made me think and consider. I'll have to live through R&J in the meantime...but maybe someday, the world will have to get ready for True ??? Girl, on the hunt for a new stomping ground.

Tweenager Aboard

[I never use my daughter's real name online, and since the early days of my blog (when people read it and it wasn't just for me to vent), I called her Princess. But then when I switched over to twitter, I started calling her True Jersey Kid (TJK for short) so I guess I'll keep using TJK for her because it seems to suit her well.]

Eleven is a strange age. TJK is basically 2 completely different people at this stage of the game - a mature young woman who wants to spend all her time with her friends and focuses all of her energy on having fun and hanging out, and a little girl who still desperately needs her mommy and wants to be involved in everything I do. And these two people can switch out at any given moment with no notice at all.

Example: TJK and I have been watching Pretty Little Liars together. Binge-ing it, really. Her friend and her friend's mom watch it as well, and we are all trying to get to the same point so we can finish the catching up together and then hopefully catch some episodes as they air live. So when TJK is home in the evenings, we watch. However, I am now just as invested in this show as she is. And I want to see what happens next!

TJK, most days, goes to a friend's house after school. She does not think twice about me, does not think about Pretty Little Liars, does not even really care which friend's house she goes to - she just wants to go. And I am fine with it because she has a good group of friends, they do their homework before they play, and I know how important friendships are to her. Not to mention the fact that I get a little bit of downtime alone after work, which is a plus. But keep in mind, this is nearly every day, which then limits my PLL viewing to almost nil.

Last week, on Thursday (which made it her 4th night in a row away from home), I decided to settle in with an adult beverage and some PLL. When TJK came home and found out, she cried. Literal tears. She was so upset and felt that this was a personal attack on her. Why would I watch without her? How could I do this to her? This was OUR THING that we do TOGETHER and I had broken that sacred bond.

My response: Well, we need to get through this episodes if you want to watch with our friends, so we need to get on this. You have not spent any time at home in weeks, and I have been ok with it, but I want to watch this show. You can catch up when you are home or else I can just tell you what you missed. MORE TEARS. I did not understand. She curled up in my lap and cried on my shoulder while I held her tight and promised that no, I will not watch any more episodes without her.

One minute- out and about, doesn't want to come home, wants only to be with her friends. Next minute: curled in a call on my lap like a baby crying because she wanted to do this thing with me. It's hard to parent a child when you don't know which personality you have to deal with in that moment.

And I know it only gets worse from here. We are still in the tween years...which means that she loves me, thinks I'm really cool, likes spending time with me, doesn't mind when I sing and dance and act crazy in front of her friends...and we all know that goes away in a year or two. So even though I never know which kid I'm dealing with....I'm trying to enjoy every moment of it.

Fashion Forward, Part Deux

A couple of posts ago, I wrote about how I was sort of ahead of my time these days on the fashion tip. Friends would mock and judge my fashion decisions (which were really not all that daring...I think they were just used to me wearing jeans and black shirts all the time, the same as they did). I cared a little, but not enough to stop me from looking to the runway and making bold choices. We are going to Chili's for dinner? Ok, sounds like a reason to wear this faux-fur boa collar and over the knee oxblood boots!

Anyway, after I posted that, I had two new experiences that made me reflect on what I had written. One was with the colleague who was hating on my double-ball earrings. I wore them again (well, different pair, different metal, same style). She said, "Oh! You're wearing those again! I have to tell you, I had never seen them before and then you wore them and I didn't know what they were all about, and then I saw Madelyn (a co-worker) wearing the same style! You are both so fashionable, I guess I was out of the loop completely on the weird earring trend." Yes, honey, you are. She went on to say that she realized that when she hated on mine, it was only because it was new to her and now that she'd seen them a few times, they were growing on her. I had a few choice statements for her, which I kept in my head, and I just smiled and told her to just follow my lead if she wanted to keep up.

Riri wears the same earrings I wear. Or, I wear the same earrings she wears. Are they really that crazy?

Then, I was out with the boyfriend of the friend who mocked my capes and statement jewelry a few years back. We were hanging out inside at a brewery and all was well. Then we went to sit outside for a bit and I put on my new favorite sunglasses. He starts laughing and says, "Oh TJG, what are those glasses about? You are so strange!" Mind you, these glasses are nothing crazy. I have way crazier glasses than these! And that made me think for a minute. Anything outside the norm - outside of the black, jeans, simplicity, plainness that people were used to seeing me in for so many years - and I was going to be judged.

Really? These sunnies are that crazy? I think not, and I love them.

But who was judging me, exactly? Were these people whose fashion sense I admired? Were these people who took risks and kept on top of trends and created their own versions of them? Were these people who could stand anything outside of the complete and utter norm? No, no, and no. So why would I even care? And I realized that I didn't...and that in fact. I kind of liked it that these people looked at me funny. Because really, they are stuck where they are, wearing the same tired things they have worn for the 15 years I have known them.

Today: wearing a floor length pleated skirt (TOTALLY outside my comfort zone) that swirls around me when I walk. I love it. And I have gotten so many compliments from everyone I have seen. My goals for getting dressed in the morning are:

1. Feel confident in what I have chosen. This means no tugging, pulling, hiking up, etc.
2. Feel good about myself when I look in the mirror before I walk out the door.
3. Feel like what I am wearing is a representation of me and my personality.

Today I hit all three of those marks. I don't always. But today, I feel confident, I feel good about myself, and I feel like me. So any of you haters out there: Come at me, bro.

Recording History

So the truth is that I live a really great life. I have a job that I don't hate (most days), a brilliant and smart and gorgeous daughter, a husband who is so wonderful that all my girlfriends want to find a man like him, a beautiful house that's fully paid off, a convertible BMW, and all the purses and shoes a label whore could possibly want. And on top of that, I have so much fun. We just do fun things together and make every bit of life an adventure on our own terms. So what that means is that no, we are not jumping out of planes. But we are hopping in the car on a moment's notice to go to the racetrack and then to wander the boardwalk and then find some new place to eat. Or that we are hearing about that new brewery and popping in on day one to celebrate with the owners and letting them know that we will be back often. Or going to see an old punk band at a theater an hour away and seeking out a new joint in that neighborhood for dinner and cocktails. So it's not that we are adventurous, per se. It's more that we just decide to do stuff and then we do it.

Most people I know have calmed down a lot. They have kids, some of them. And they just don't want to be tired all the time. And I get that, because I am fucking tired all.the.time. But my motto since high school has been "I'll sleep when I'm dead" and I still adhere to that. We generally do something at least one weeknight per week, and then Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday. We just like to go. We like to explore. We like to be together as a family, bonding over visiting our favorite places again and again or finding a brand new favorite.

I decided that I wanted to document our summer in some way, and a scrapbook seemed to be my best bet. I'm forever picking up postcards or business cards and taking pictures of every little thing...why not put all that to use? But yo, I'm not that kind of girl. I am not the picture of a scrapbooker. So I'm going to make my own way of it - modern scrapbooking? cool scrapbooking? urban scrapbooking? punkbooking? I have no bloody idea. But I want to be able to have a way to show my daughter, when she gets older, here is what we did when you were 11, before you were a teenager and potentially shunned us from your life. Here's all the fun we had. Here are all the cool places we went and all the awesome things we did. Here's you, here's me, here's Daddy, here are Grammy and Pop, here are your friends...and here's how we all spent our summer.

So off I go...starting my documentation of the Summer of 2015, which starts with Memorial Day weekend. So far, we have 2 breweries, mini golf, a diner visit, a trip to Asbury Park to the boardwalk and Johnny Mac's and dinner, a visit to the racetrack for food truck day, dinners out, a concert by TJK herself where she dressed as Dolley Madison...and that is just the past 4 days.

This is going to be one full scrapbook.

Fashion Forward

I'm seeking new fashion inspiration all over the place these days, more and more so as I get older. This is a pretty big deal for a girl who has spent most of her life in monochrome. I loved every color...as long as it was black. It comes from my days of being a punk with black hair, as well as knowing that black makes you look thinner...or so they like to tell us.

A few years ago when capes were new and they weren't even on people's radars yet, I bought one. I loved it. It was a pretty marbley-grey and fit perfectly. I felt uber fashionable in it. We went out to dinner with friends and my girlfriend mocked my cape, saying it was too weird and who exactly wears a cape? Um, me, because I'm a fucking superhero. But still I felt self-conscious about it for a minute. Was I being too daring? Going too far towards the runway and too far from reality? When I was younger, I would have stuffed that cape in the closet and never looked at it again. But what do you know...fast forward to a year later, when capes were everywhere. That same friend was all of a sudden sporting a cape.

The big jewelry trend was the same way for me. I love me some big, bold jewelry, and not just a statement necklace. Right now I'm wearing a hammered gold ring that is so long that it goes from mid-hand to nearly my fingertip. I've always been really into bold accessories (maybe because my wardrobe was always black on black and the funky jewels gave it some personality?). Again, friends commented on my jewelry and how it was "too much" - and what do you know, again? Fast forward to them wearing the same stuff I was wearing 2 years before.

Yesterday I wore a pair of those big pearl double-sided ball earrings (which I love) to work and had a colleague stare at them for a good 10 minutes while we talked. I could literally feel her gaze on them. She then said, "I don't know what to make of those earrings; I think I don't like them." At some point in my life, I would have cringed and felt awkward and self-conscious...someone doesn't like something about me! Now, however, I told her that I loved them and that she would be seeing a lot more of them. I was actually happy that I wore something to work that people were sort of appalled by!

Today, I'm in a kimono at work, which I would have admired on other people when I was younger but never had the guts to wear it. Now I'm finding my own "voice" when it comes to what I wear, and wearing what makes me feel good and pretty and strong. And most importantly, I'm wearing what makes me feel like ME.

I guess I have realized that I like working trends into my wardrobe. I like seeing what celebs and fashionistas and runways tell me about fashion, and then taking those ideas and making them my own in my own way. I like not wearing all black and I like standing out rather than fading into the background. And I also love knowing that you might look at me strangely today, but in two years you'll be copying that look from me and I will be happily onto the next.

Black vs. Blonde

So these are the things that keep me up at night: what color shall I dye my hair?

I spent a good portion of my best years with jet black hair. I often had some dark red chunks of color thrown in just to make it a little less goth, or something? I have just always felt like black hair complimented my personality. I'm dark. I have a dark sense of humor and I mostly do not like people. I am sultry and sexy and a little mysterious. I am full of sarcasm and vinegar and I really don't give a fuck what you think about me. So black hair has always matched me well.

I am the goddess of darkness and evil.

As I age (quite gracefully, if I do say so myself, but aging nonetheless), I feel like black hair shows every imperfection in my face. I am very pale ("alabaster" is my shade, I have been told) and until now I have always liked the contrast of darkest hair with lightest face. Now though, I fear it makes me look older, which is not something I am particularly looking for at this stage of the game. Light hair keeps my skin looking lighter and fresher and non-wrinkly. Black hair reveals every secret my face is trying to hide with a good makeup job.

(Now, don't get me wrong. I am not a wrinkled mess. I have very few wrinkles and pretty good skin. A former boyfriend's mom used to call me a porcelain doll because my skin was so perfect, and I'm not that anymore. That was in high school. But I'm still pretty happy with what I've got.)

I really needed a drastic change a few years back and my hair has always taken the brunt of my rash decisions to go insane. During a spontaneous visit to the salon, I went from black to blonde in one afternoon. And I then went even blonder. I liked it, but was it really representative of me?

I am sweetness and light and everything nice. Except, I'm not.

I am currently a medium blonde. I don't love it. It feels mature and serious and while I may be at an age that is mature and serious, I am not. I have a high-level job and own a house and a BMW and have a kid...so yeah, I guess there's some of that in there. But I'm also the broad who will decide on a whim to fly off somewhere and spend a weekend letting loose. I'll jump in a mosh pit. I'll be decidedly unladylike in my consumption of beers and then argue my feminist politics with drunk fratboys till they give up or pass out because I outdrank them.

So I feel like my hair does not represent me right now and I don't know what to do. Part of me says, just go platinum blonde. Go for it. Dye your hair whitish blonde and cut it short in a pixie and say fuck it all. Another part of me says, Go for it. Dye your hair jet black again, maybe with dark blue highlights this time, and leave it long and gothy and punky and say fuck it all.

The truth is, as I try to make the "right" decision for my hair, I will never be younger than I am today. I dyed my hair pink a couple years ago and I felt like I had really had my fill of that when I was 20. But I did it because I wanted to and I loved it and so did everyone else (except my boss, I suppose...). So I think I just need to do what I want to do and not worry about age or any of that, because I won't be any younger next year so the window will just keep closing on what I think is "appropriate" for me.

Now, if I could just decide between way too blonde and way too black, I'd be in good shape.

Kids and Kissing

I had such a strange thing happen the other day and I don't know if I'm handling it right. I'd love advice because I want to do the right thing, but I don't want to sensationalize it by talking to people who know the players about it, I don't want to post it on facebook for advice because the person involved will see it, and twitter is too simplistic for this kind of question. So I figured I'd blog it and no one will see it or give advice, but maybe typing it all out will give me some clarity.

We were having dinner with one of Princess' friends, who is a girl of about 10 years old. I am forever trying to find out what boys Princess likes and she won't tell me...so I asked this friend (let's call her Jessica) who she herself likes. I was trying to prime the pump so I could then ask her who Princess likes. Jessica replied to me by holding up 2 fingers. I said, whoa, two boys? And she said no, actually, one boy and one girl (both around her same age). That answer surprised me a little, but I tried not to show it. We talked some more about it and she was very matter of fact about it (which impressed me - no guilt, no fearful questioning, no worrying that I wouldn't be accepting. What a difference a generation can make!).

Then, she told me that she had "done stuff" with the girl, which included kissing in her bed. They had gone into her bed, which is the top bunk of a bunk bed she shares with her younger sister, and set up pillows all around it so no one could see in. That's where I kind of got concerned. I mean, its one thing at 10 to have crushes or to like boys or girls or whatever. But the sneaking into her bed? The putting up the pillows so it was secret? The kissing in bed, at 10 years old?

After she told me all about this girl and boy she liked, she said that she was bisexual. Used that label, that word to describe herself. That threw me for a loop. Where had she learned that word, at 10 years old, and who told her that was the label for what she is?

I asked her if her mom knew about the people she had crushes on and about the kissing. She said no.

So the question is - should I tell her mother? My gut says no because I don't want to out this kid to her mom. I am friendly with the mom and she is a nice person...but she is very religious so I don't know how she would react. I don't know if it's my place to tell the mom something that the kid confided in me, something that she deliberately did not tell her mom. Maybe this opens a door for Jessica to talk to me about things she can't talk to her mom about, and I can guide her. Which, in all honesty, I did not do this time around because I was in shock and didn't know what to say. But I would be better next time.

But then I think about it and if this was my kid telling another mom that she was bisexual and kissing girls secretively in her bed...I would want to know. I'd want to deal with the kissing-in-the-bed part because I don't care if its a boy or girl or alien, they are not to be in your bed and you are not to be kissing. These are 5th graders we are talking about here.

I think my best bet is to leave it alone. I'd hate myself if I told the mom and then she punished the kid in some way for liking girls. I don't think I can take that chance, knowing what the repercussions could be.

Blizzard of 2015

I have to say, although the much-hyped Blizzard of 2015 was a dud, I still enjoyed it greatly. Because I work in Human Resources, I am usually up at the crack of dawn making the decision on whether my company stays open or closes. The part of me that's an employee feels like we should always close because it's sure nice to have an unexpected day off. The HR part of me needs to make sure we stay open if at all possible so business gets done. But the almighty blizzard made the choice easy and the staying at home enjoyable,

We made the call on Monday to close the office at 2pm so everyone could get home safe before the worst of the snow and wind hit. I was home in my jammies by 2:30pm, and Princess was at a friend's house around the block, and I had a nice afternoon alone with my dog. Then, around 9pm, we decided to close on Tuesday. This was great on several levels....for one, I had off on Tuesday! Secondly, and maybe most importantly, I didn't have to set an alarm! So I slept till around 10, watched The Interview with hubby (while Princess was at yet another friend's house), and then went out to a local craft beer bar and dinner. The roads were clear, no one was really out, and it was a peaceful day.

So thank you, Blizzard of 2015. Many are cursing you for curving to the east or west or whichever way you swerved to avoid us, but I could not be happier. And to your cousin who looks like s/he might be headed our way on Sunday night...bring it on!

Short List 2015

You know what a short list is, don't you? It's the list of 5 people (a laminated list, if you are Ross Geller) who you can sleep with and your significant other can't get mad. It's basically your get-out-of-jail-free card.

So I was reading back in this blog (wow, I was quite amusing and a lot of fun, if I do say so myself) and I found two short lists I'd made in the past. I haven't looked at them yet (no cheating!) but I am going to link to them. I can't wait to compare.

ETA: Here is my 2006 list and my 2005 list. Only Eddie Vedder and Jared Leto are repeats! How interesting.

1. Eddie Vedder: I have gone totally old school lately. I saw Pearl Jam in concert (for the millionth time) last October and it just reinvigorated my obsession with the band and with Eddie. He is just so passionate and when he sings, his soul shows. I love that. Not to mention that he is so gorgeous and that his voice is just so mmmmmmm.

Oh Eddie....loved you in 1992 and love you now.

2. Jared Leto: Ok so I can't say I love his look lately. The Jesus thing doesn't really do it for me. but at his core, Jared is just so good looking that no matter how ridiculous his current persona is, it does not matter. His bone structure is amazing. His eyes are OH MY GOD. And I wish I had his hair (although I would wash it).

I'd even do you with your Jesus hair.

3. Michael Pitt: I developed a crush on him a few years ago and it hasn't quit. I had never heard of him before and then I saw him and fell in lust. I even started listening to his band, Pagoda. But really, it's all about that face. I mean, those lips. Nuff said.

Oh Mr. Pitt. You can reach out and touch me any time.

4. Aaron Paul:I thought maybe I really had a crush on Jesse Pinkman, the character he played on Breaking Bad, and not really Aaron himself. But no. If you hear this man talk about his wife and the way he totally reveres her...it's breathtaking. So I guess really, I wouldn't sleep with him because I love the relationship he has with his wife but he's still on my list because yum. Look at that face.

Yo, bitch! Get in my bed!

5. Channing Tatum: My type is usually long hair, dirty, tattooed...you know, that boy who you know is going to be trouble because he is going to crash on your couch and eat all your food and play with his band all night and get arrested for something or another. Which is why Channing Tatum surprises me. I love him despite him being completely against my type. I love his all-American face. I love his body. I love his abs. I love his general hotness without seemingly anything going on behind the eyes. And I don't know why. Other than holy hotness, this is one good looking man.

At ease, soldier.

BONUS: If I ever run into this guy,whoever he is, he's all mine. YOWZA.

Back At It

I had gotten myself to where I was really pretty fit. I was running 5k's and lifting weights and feeling really good about myself, about both how I felt and how I looked. And then, I don't know what happened, but I got out of the habit. I got tired, perhaps. I started spending more time on the couch with my daughter. (And I know, this is bad for me AND for her. I don't want her to think that's how to spend your time.) I stayed out of the exercise habit for a couple of years and really became lazy.

But I feel like I'm back. I have been working out for a few weeks now, and once again I feel that soreness I love. You know that soreness you get in your muscles that tells you that you have worked out hard and well? I love that feeling. I complain about it (a lot), but I love it. It feels like accomplishment. It feels like success. It feels like hard work paying off.

And as I'm sitting here waiting for the day to end, I'm finding myself looking forward to tonight's workout. It's going to be a tough kettlebell workout, and I know my thighs will be screaming and my heart will be racing and my arms will be quivering...and I can't fucking wait.

A Good and Happy Life

I haven't blogged here in so long. It's not because I had nothing to say or because I didn't have time...it's because life just got in the way. Something about the calendar turning to 2015 made me think about this blog again and remember how much fun it was to document all the fun I was having in my life. And I figured, my life is just as fun now as it was back then (if not more so)...why am I not posting about it? Even if no one reads a word on this page, I love to write and I got away from it when I got away from this blog. So here is my plan. My resolution, shall we say:

I will blog here at least once a week in 2015. I am committing to that.

I don't even remember what I used to blog about, other than my Princess (who is now 11 years old) and Hubby, and partying with Patsy Darling and Diddy. So of course, there will still be posts about all of that, since they are all solid parts of my life. But I'd expect some fitness posts, some green smoothie posts, some travel posts, some craft beer posts, maybe some fashion and politics posts...and I guess we'll just have to see where the year takes me to find out what else.

This is really going to be about me getting time to write about my life. I swear, I stop myself all the time and say "Wow, this is a good and happy life you have here." I want to challenge myself to getting it down on paper (or screen or keyboard or whatever). I'm up for the challenge!

Edited to add: I just found this on a blog post from 2007, about what I hoped to accomplish in the next few years...and I did ALL of these things. Time to be proud of me ;P

I hope to: be promoted to Director, go to Oktoberfest in Germany and maybe back to New Orleans or Vegas, take my daughter to her first concert, and get one of those Sharper Image massage chairs.

Tagged

I have obviously deserted this blog for twitter. But one of my twitterfriends, Nibbler, tagged me on his blog and he is always so incredibly sweet to me so I'm gonna do the meme for him. It should be simple enough - 5 Things About Yourself - but I feel like I have told everything about myself that I want out there on teh intrawebs. I'll give it a try though, especially since no one is even going to read this!

1. I am really, really bad at math and Im nervous that I am going to pass that on to my daughter.

2. I could not possibly live without my ipod. I listen to it probably 12 hours a day.

3. I want to get a tattoo on the inside of my wrist but think I might regret it.

4. I have more pictures of Gerard Way and Jared Leto on my ipod than I do of my daughter. Eek.

5. I have learned recently that I have a highly addictive personality. I knew this already, but its become even more apparent lately.

Consider yourself tagged if you want to do this one.

A Quick Sketch Biography of True Jersey Girl

One of my awesome twitterfriends, Chris Brogan, has the best way of communicating and starting conversations. He poses questions, short and sweet and thought-provoking, on twitter and we all think and respond and dialogue about them. Now he's taken it up a notch and asked us to do a Quick Sketch Biography. Now, Im fairly sure mine is going to be less-serious and less-techy than anyone else who answers, but its my biography and that's who I am. Its a great little exercise. So here's me, quickly, based on Chris's prompts:

The thing most people know me for is: being a little crazy and being able to have a good time no matter what else is going on.

The people I associate the most with are: people who also make having a good time a priority and who are good people despite their sarcasm and angst.

People who have influenced my life are: my parents. They raised me to think for myself, to speak my mind, to be strong and independent, to stand up for what I believe and to be able to take care of myself. They raised me to care about and be sensitive to other people (ok, so I struggle with that one sometimes). They taught me patience, mostly by displaying such undying patience with me as a rebellious and unruly teenager and continuing to show patience with me as a rebellious and just slightly less unruly adult. They taught me to love learning and reading and writing and traveling and being an active part of the world. Thanks mom and dad <3

One challenge I took on and overcame was: becoming a good mom, despite my mostly non-maternal instincts, my innate selfishness, and my “the-world-revolves-around-me” attitude.

My early years, before you probably got to know me were: wild and insane and a blur and definitely the best of my life.

You might not know this, but: I devour all the political shows on Sunday mornings, watch the cable news channels every night, and read the Sunday paper (nearly) cover to cover because I love knowing what is going on in politics and the world, even though it infuriates me.

I’m passionate about: my daughter, my family and friends, traveling, margaritas, and good music.

In the next year or two, I hope to: be promoted to Director, go to Oktoberfest in Germany and maybe back to New Orleans or Vegas, take my daughter to her first concert, and get one of those Sharper Image massage chairs.

Bamboozled

I wanted to do a post on Bamboozle because really, it is my favorite weekend of the year. Bamboozle is a two-day alternative/emo/punk/metal concert/festival/thingee held in the parking lot of Giants Stadium each May. It started as a much smaller festival in Asbury Park and has progressed to a huge event.

The crowd at Bamboozle.

Last year was the first time I went, and that was really only because Jared Leto was going to be there with his band, 30 Seconds to Mars. And well, he's hot. It was so much fun and I found so many new little bands that I would never have heard of if not for the concert. This year, My Chemical Romance was headlining Saturday night and Linkin Park was headlining Sunday night, so there was no way I was missing it. If I couldnt find a babysitter, I was prepared to sell Princess to the gypsies if need be.

PatsyDarling and me, drunk at noon.

So Saturday started out great, with me, Patsy, and Diddy doing what we do best - sitting in the parking lot drinking. Hub went into the concert early by himself while we stayed and drank till we could barely stand. By then it was about noon or so and we headed inside to see some bands and continue the drinking. The truth is, I dont remember much about Saturday's shows other than seeing MC Hammer (and no, I dont remember if he was wearing the hammer pants) and pushing my way up front to see MCR. I had a whole list of bands I wanted to see, including times and which stages they were on (yep, Im a dork) and I know I referred to said list often because I do remember my friends mocking me about it. But the only way I know I saw some of the bands is because I posted it on twitter. Said by me on Sunday: "Oh, I did see Paramore, and I see from my twitter posting that they were good!"

Me at Bamboozle. Very drunk.

My Chemical Romance was good - not the best I have seen them. In fact I guess it was the worst I have seen them since the other times have been kickass and this time, despite my love for Gerard Way and my excessive alcohol intake, I knew his voice just didnt sound great. But I was standing on Frank Iero's side of the stage and he's so purty, it made it all worthwhile. I think he is overtaking Gerard as my dirtyboycrush of the moment.

Frank Iero = total hotness

Sunday started off in a similar way to Saturday - we met up with my cousin in the parking lot and she shared her vodka with us. What a nice family I have. However, I remember a lot more about Sunday. We saw some of my favorite bands - Armor for Sleep, Circa Survive, Brand New, Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Thrice, From First To Last, and Taking Back Sunday. I also saw Halifax who I've never seen before and they were really good. Linkin Park was awesome. This was the first time I have seen them even though I have loved them for yeeeaarrsss, and I wasnt disappointed. I actually think Chester's voice is better live than on cd.

All in all, good times. However...my body ached for days afterwards from the two solid days of standing and walking and mosh-pitting. So now we're considering the Virgin Festival in Baltimore in August, but we're wondering if our old, decrepid bodies can take it. What a drag it is getting old.

I Never Blog Anymore

I have been completely neglecting this blog and probably no one even comes here anymore since I never post. I know, I suck.

If anyone even cares anymore, here's what's been up with me:

- Had an awesome party the night before my basement flooded, and am having another party on May 19th even though my basement does not have walls or carpet or anywhere to sit. But the beer fridge and the blender work, so its cool. Its a CD exchange party where we all make CD mixes of our favorite songs and then burn enough copies for everyone, so you end up with lots of new music. I am struggling with what to put on my mix though because I know my friends hate my music. I am thinking I am going to do an all My Chemical Romance and Bjork mix, just for PatsyDarling, because I know how she loathes them and I want to torture her. Here's a pic of me and PatsyDarling at the last party, drunk as usual but festively dressed:



- Just came back from Disney, which was fun. But tiring. I'll probably get around to doing a post about it. Eventually. Maybe. We'll see.

-Went to both days of Bamboozle, which was awesome. Saw My Chemical Romance up close again, and saw like 30 other bands including Taking Back Sunday, Linkin Park, Brand New, Spill Canvas, Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Armor for Sleep, Circa Survive, Thrice, From First to Last...and the list goes on. Highlights (other than MCR and Brand New) were seeing MC Hammer and Weird Al. Yep, you read that correctly. Good times. Drank again with my (slightly) underage cousin, although this time she provided the alcohol.

Ummmm yeah, I think that's about it.