Back from London!
'Twas a rollicking great time, one that I shall not soon forget. Though I havn't much time to write it all down right now, I did manage to keep diligent notes in my journal, often pausing to write down particularly brilliant quotes.
There were also many, many haikus.
On evening number one, I ate pig fat. The waiter marveled: "Oh, try the middlewhite; it's brilliant!" So Rinaldo* and I decided to sample the local fare, and were sorely disappointed. But: when in Rome. (Yes?)
On my last evening in London, Grace and I traveled back to Westminster Abbey for "Evensong", the nightly prayer service. Inside the nave, next to the graves of Isaac Newton and Charles Darwin (!), an all-male choir sang the Magnificat gorgeously. Tears of joy filled my eyes, and I began creating a mental list of all I had learned in the UK, in a mere three adventurous days. The first of which, I share you with now:
Am a lucky, lucky lady.
How blessed I am to have traveled to such wonderful places during my 29 years! To find myself, on a random Saturday in February, having visited St. Paul's Cathedral, Bill Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, the London Eye, Westminster Abbey, and a charming pub (in which Grace and I drank Leffes and composed wickedly funny postcards)! To sample delectable food (it improved greatly after the "pork scratchings"); to drink good wine with new and old friends; to dance until 4 AM; to shout "Cheers, mate!" to one and all; to indulge in Toblerone and British tabloids! It was all perfectly blissful and beautiful and lovely.
I can't wait to share it with you all!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Unpublished.
Where are the bags from?
Westminster Abbey, uh huh!
Watch! Watch! (
Westminster Abbey, uh huh!
Watch! Watch! (
*Sadly, we shall never know how this drunken haiku would have ended.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Oh Bloody Hell!
OY - it's been a while, huh?
Let me just say: the new job? She is quite hectic. I have been traveling more than ever, as well as learning a million and four new things per week. It's a lot for my tiny brain (which I just typed as "brian", then chuckled. Doesn't take much.).
Now, what has your blogmistress been up to lately?
Loads.
*Laughs at inside joke.*
Grace and I are about to hit the road; we're taking off to jolly old England for a much-needed vacation on the sunny UK beaches. We leave on Wednesday; but before that trip, I've got to hit up Pittsburgh for a spell. So today I am preparing for London:
You see, when you pack for a trip to the United Kingdom, you do not want to forget the essentials, those being: your beloved copy of The Office, starring the incomparable Ricky Gervais; a biography of Anne Boleyn; and your Once DVD. I mean, you will be near Ireland, at least.
By the way, in the interest of showing you pictures of stuff in my bedroom, here is a postcard that is placed strategically throughout our home:
Obviously, not as effective as I had hoped. But we'll get there.
In other news, Happy Belated Valentine's Day! J and I pretty much refuse to celebrate this holiday, because, as my dry cleaner told me yesterday: "Everyday is Valentine's Day when you are in a good relationship." Wise soul.
But my husband knows his audience: he took me to Barnes and Noble! It was a lovely treat. Four books later, we grabbed a bite to eat at Derek's in Manayunk, where I consumed exactly one seemingly benign Manhattan, which had me effectively drunk by 6:15. So I did as you do, and I made up rock songs about the movie we were planning to watch:
I now pronounce you Chuck and LARRRRRRRRRRRRY!!!
Which, incidentally, was a fairly offensive and boring film. Which, incidentally, is the excuse I gave J for why I was fast asleep by... 7:30.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
"The Orientals cheat, you know."
I watched President Obama speak today from a small pub in a hotel in Pittsburgh. I was – as per usual – the lone liberal in a sea of conservatives, so there I sat, alone, breathing in the exquisite moment. Tears pricked my eyes as I listened to our pragmatic new Commander-in-Chief speak firmly about inclusion and equality, proclaiming that all nations are our friends. And Muslims? You are also our friends, and we will all learn to coincide in peace!
If you saw it, regardless of your politics, I don’t think you can deny the purity and grace of our new President’s message. My heart still soars for me, for you, and for all our future babies.
Of course, at the airport bar just now, a middle-aged Steeler fan remarked that he does not, in fact, gamble, at least not since “those damn Oriental women started dealin’ at all the tables.” They cheat, you know."
Yes, indeed, Mr. Obama, we have a ways to go. But we will succeed. Yes we can.
If you saw it, regardless of your politics, I don’t think you can deny the purity and grace of our new President’s message. My heart still soars for me, for you, and for all our future babies.
Of course, at the airport bar just now, a middle-aged Steeler fan remarked that he does not, in fact, gamble, at least not since “those damn Oriental women started dealin’ at all the tables.” They cheat, you know."
Yes, indeed, Mr. Obama, we have a ways to go. But we will succeed. Yes we can.
Monday, January 05, 2009
The Last Year of My Twenties. Let's get real.
A few weeks ago, as G and I browsed the stacks at Border's, I came across The Complete Idiot's Guide to Overcoming Procrastination.
"Well, look at this!" I announced, holding the book for G to see. "This is what I need!"
"Ha," she snorted. "I would put off reading that."
"Yeah, me too," I agreed. But I bought it anyway.
Now the missive sits next to me, dog-eared and highlighted, adorned with 15 post-it notes, all instructing me to declutter this and organize that. It's actually working! I've cleaned out my entire office (all of my work and personal files), and I feel positively lighter. My brain is being decluttered, and I feel like I am finally in control of my own destiny, as opposed to just hiding in Friends reruns, willing myself to feel inspired to write, to clean, to cook, to exercise. To live my life. I am doing it, and that's that.
So here it is, my 2009 Resolution list. It is considerably smaller than last year's. Drumroll please:
(Joy to the World!)
"Well, look at this!" I announced, holding the book for G to see. "This is what I need!"
"Ha," she snorted. "I would put off reading that."
"Yeah, me too," I agreed. But I bought it anyway.
Now the missive sits next to me, dog-eared and highlighted, adorned with 15 post-it notes, all instructing me to declutter this and organize that. It's actually working! I've cleaned out my entire office (all of my work and personal files), and I feel positively lighter. My brain is being decluttered, and I feel like I am finally in control of my own destiny, as opposed to just hiding in Friends reruns, willing myself to feel inspired to write, to clean, to cook, to exercise. To live my life. I am doing it, and that's that.
So here it is, my 2009 Resolution list. It is considerably smaller than last year's. Drumroll please:
(Joy to the World!)
- I will finish what I start.
- I will write. And write. And write. And when I am spent? I will then write some more.
- I will become a more loving, caring wife, daughter, grand-daughter, sister, cousin, and friend. (See also: more timely "thank you" notes.)
- I will get into supreme physical shape via increased cardio, strength-training, yoga, and healthy eating. (Okay, okay, I know it's trite, but really, what do you have if you don't have your health? Besides, I am also very interested in wearing a bikini this year with zero misgivings. Sue me.)
- I will drink less. Lest I become haggardly elder lady. In my THIRTIES.
So that's that. And yeah. It'll happen this year. I feel it.
On a separate, unrelated note, the new Bachelor looks like George W. Bush. And he just said "amazing journey" twice. I bet this time, things'll work out.
Happy 2009! I am a rock star!
So it's 2009, and I have been MIA for many, many days. Miss me?
Well, I missed you. Terribly. And for the three of you who are interested, I still have a job! And I totally meant to blog about my adventures in securing said job. Let me just tell you, I had already written the post in my head. It was entitled: "And then I got my period." (I thought it sounded like a country song chorus, right?) And since you ask, US Air lost my bag. It took me 3 cabs to find a mall. I then got stranded at the mall in Columbia, SC. My luggage arrived the next day. Broken. My return flight was canceled. I had to drive to Charlotte. My face wash exploded in my bag. My flight was delayed. And then I got my period. No, really. It was so insulting. But all's well that end's well. The end.
And now I find myself in Orlando, Florida, at the start of a new year, and it is time to review last year's resolutions. Oh boy! This should be an exercise in futility! Let's see:
Become more clear-headed. - Sure.
Perhaps drink less alcohol. - Next.
Also, consider a mantra. - "Mmm. Wine."??
One Thing At A Time. - No, that's better.
Because honestly, we can't go on with our head so - cluttered. - Ahem. Better luck in 2009!
Meet Howie Mandel. - Haha! Yes! Did it, bitches!
Provide Internet photographic evidence of said meeting. Blam. What up!
Take the GMATs. - I'm a loser.
Take them again and really rock them. - No comment.
Apply to graduate school. - Well, at least I took a class. That's really something.
Actually go this time around. (Don't ask.) - Well, we'll actually go later this year, won't we, HV?
Be amazing future wife. Think special presents and thoughtful gestures, amongst, ahem, other things. - Now I am depressed. Although I did just gift J with a day at the shootin' range, something he has always wanted to do. But I also told my mom to get him a humidifier for Christmas (he needed it!). Yeah, those two cancel each other out.
Visit a California winery. - Check! Three down!
Develop exquisite physique for July nuptials. - Meh. Not exquisite, but serviceable.
Avoid burritos. - Switched to burrito bowls. I am giving myself this one.
Watch less television. - F you, resolution list.
Finish Anna Karenina. - No. And I am taking this off the '09 list. Come on, Tolstoy. Throw me a bone.
Even though Lisa Turtle gave away the ending trying to impress that snobbish intellectual she had a crush on in that one episode.
Reduce call-screening by 50%. - If I'm being honest... No.
Call Grandmom more. - I'm a jerk.
Give more compliments. - I will give myself this one. You are so pretty.
But make sure they are sincere. - Well, you are somewhat attractive.
Stop DVRing Sex and the City on TBS. - Yes! Your puns are silenced forever, Bradshaw.
Stop worrying so much. - Sort of.
Consider another mantra for this. - "Don't worry. Be happy."
More. Yoga. - Nice work! Until after the wedding. Lazy.
Get published. - Yeppers! One article down, 894090 to go.
To this end, definitely drink less and cut out bad TV. - Look alive, HomeValley!
Post more. - I'm an asshole.
Become a friend of the blogosphere. Delurk. - Meh.
Floss. - Nope.
Organize office. - We did it!
Maintain organized workspace. - Good luck with this.
Send "thank you" cards. - Did it!
Visit Africa. - March 2009.
See the pyramids in Egypt. - Soon enough, my precious.
Go on a safari. - Not this year. Not next.
Quell road rage. - Ehhh.
Get promoted. - Or move laterally! Good for you, though.
These are stupid:
Become a better networker.
Volunteer at least three days this year.
Become a student of theology.
Pick a religion that works.
Stop offending Jesus.
Become spiritual person.
Quit complaining.
Gossip less.
Finally get belly-button ring removed, because honestly. You got that thing at 18 on South Street. Time to let go. - Change of heart about this one. Stay young.
Develop solid wedding song playlist. - Well, I think all who attended can agree. I rocked this.
Avoid most wedding cliches. - Yep.
Share your success in these quests with the Internet. - You're welcome, Internet.
And also those damn Istanbul pictures already. - Merhaba, friends.
So, was it a successful year? Meh. Probably not, resolutionary-speaking. But I will remain steadfast this year. I've discovered a newfound zest for organization, dedication, and a little something I like to call: finish what you start, you silly blog-mistress. That's what 2009 is about. And I swear, I am going to do it.
Happy New Year, y'all.
Well, I missed you. Terribly. And for the three of you who are interested, I still have a job! And I totally meant to blog about my adventures in securing said job. Let me just tell you, I had already written the post in my head. It was entitled: "And then I got my period." (I thought it sounded like a country song chorus, right?) And since you ask, US Air lost my bag. It took me 3 cabs to find a mall. I then got stranded at the mall in Columbia, SC. My luggage arrived the next day. Broken. My return flight was canceled. I had to drive to Charlotte. My face wash exploded in my bag. My flight was delayed. And then I got my period. No, really. It was so insulting. But all's well that end's well. The end.
And now I find myself in Orlando, Florida, at the start of a new year, and it is time to review last year's resolutions. Oh boy! This should be an exercise in futility! Let's see:
Become more clear-headed. - Sure.
Perhaps drink less alcohol. - Next.
Also, consider a mantra. - "Mmm. Wine."??
One Thing At A Time. - No, that's better.
Because honestly, we can't go on with our head so - cluttered. - Ahem. Better luck in 2009!
Meet Howie Mandel. - Haha! Yes! Did it, bitches!
Provide Internet photographic evidence of said meeting. Blam. What up!
Take the GMATs. - I'm a loser.
Take them again and really rock them. - No comment.
Apply to graduate school. - Well, at least I took a class. That's really something.
Actually go this time around. (Don't ask.) - Well, we'll actually go later this year, won't we, HV?
Be amazing future wife. Think special presents and thoughtful gestures, amongst, ahem, other things. - Now I am depressed. Although I did just gift J with a day at the shootin' range, something he has always wanted to do. But I also told my mom to get him a humidifier for Christmas (he needed it!). Yeah, those two cancel each other out.
Visit a California winery. - Check! Three down!
Develop exquisite physique for July nuptials. - Meh. Not exquisite, but serviceable.
Avoid burritos. - Switched to burrito bowls. I am giving myself this one.
Watch less television. - F you, resolution list.
Finish Anna Karenina. - No. And I am taking this off the '09 list. Come on, Tolstoy. Throw me a bone.
Even though Lisa Turtle gave away the ending trying to impress that snobbish intellectual she had a crush on in that one episode.
Reduce call-screening by 50%. - If I'm being honest... No.
Call Grandmom more. - I'm a jerk.
Give more compliments. - I will give myself this one. You are so pretty.
But make sure they are sincere. - Well, you are somewhat attractive.
Stop DVRing Sex and the City on TBS. - Yes! Your puns are silenced forever, Bradshaw.
Stop worrying so much. - Sort of.
Consider another mantra for this. - "Don't worry. Be happy."
More. Yoga. - Nice work! Until after the wedding. Lazy.
Get published. - Yeppers! One article down, 894090 to go.
To this end, definitely drink less and cut out bad TV. - Look alive, HomeValley!
Post more. - I'm an asshole.
Become a friend of the blogosphere. Delurk. - Meh.
Floss. - Nope.
Organize office. - We did it!
Maintain organized workspace. - Good luck with this.
Send "thank you" cards. - Did it!
Visit Africa. - March 2009.
See the pyramids in Egypt. - Soon enough, my precious.
Go on a safari. - Not this year. Not next.
Quell road rage. - Ehhh.
Get promoted. - Or move laterally! Good for you, though.
These are stupid:
Become a better networker.
Volunteer at least three days this year.
Become a student of theology.
Pick a religion that works.
Stop offending Jesus.
Become spiritual person.
Quit complaining.
Gossip less.
Finally get belly-button ring removed, because honestly. You got that thing at 18 on South Street. Time to let go. - Change of heart about this one. Stay young.
Develop solid wedding song playlist. - Well, I think all who attended can agree. I rocked this.
Avoid most wedding cliches. - Yep.
Share your success in these quests with the Internet. - You're welcome, Internet.
And also those damn Istanbul pictures already. - Merhaba, friends.
So, was it a successful year? Meh. Probably not, resolutionary-speaking. But I will remain steadfast this year. I've discovered a newfound zest for organization, dedication, and a little something I like to call: finish what you start, you silly blog-mistress. That's what 2009 is about. And I swear, I am going to do it.
Happy New Year, y'all.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Imminent.
"What are you working on?" The kindly older gentleman seated next to me at the coffee house inquires, as I toil away the hours on my Dell laptop.
"A business plan," I say, smiling.
He grimaces. "A business plan? Ha! That's what they ask you to do before they fire you!"
Quite.
"A business plan," I say, smiling.
He grimaces. "A business plan? Ha! That's what they ask you to do before they fire you!"
Quite.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Welcome to the Bitter Barn!
Since Festivus is upon us, I think it is high time that we begin the traditional "airing of greivances" that comes along with this age-old, Seinfeldian holiday.I'll start, okay?
I really, really believe, with my whole heart and soul and mind and being, that mass-emailed letters for "job opportunities" are the absolutest lamest method for contacting a prospective candidate, and they sort of make me hate the Internet. I am not some chump, Mass Emailed Letters for "Job Opportunities"! I am an actual, thinking, living, working person, who is frankly insulted by any form of communication that begins: "Dear Candidate". Asshole.
Yesterday, I did some light job-searching on Careerbuilder. I found an opportunity that looked somewhat appealing amidst all of the sewage that recruitment companies and scam artists post. And lo! The ad copy read: No online or emailed applications. We believe you are more than just your resume. Call our HR department directly, at...
Angels began an Hallelujah chorus in my mind's soundtrack. I called immediately. The conversation went like this:
"Dave": Hello! Are you calling about the ad online?
HV, smiling: Yes! I am interested in X opportunity!
"Dave": Wonderful! Let me just ask you some questions. Name? Email? Address? Background? Degree?
HV answers all that is asked, delighted at "Dave's" attentiveness.
"Dave": OK, we are a firm representing many Fortune 500 companies in the area. I am going to send you a packet to fill out and get back to us. We do background screening for these companies first, and then we'll set you up with a floppity-jillion interviews and you'll make $500,000 in your first 3 months. And the best part is, it only costs you $29!
HV, dejectedly: Wait... You want me to pay you $29? Isn't your fee typically provided by the client?
"Dave", condescendingly: Is $29 a problem for you?
HV, sarcastically: No, "Dave", I can afford it. I have just never heard of such a thing.
"Dave": Well, we have to pre-screen for our clients!
HV, resignedly: Well, you can send me the packet and I'll take a look.
"Dave": Fantastic. Now, would you like to pay by debit or credit card?
HV, angrily: Seriously, "Dave"? I don't know you from Adam, and you want me to give you my credit card information?
"Dave", smugly: Call us when you're ready. [Hangs up abruptly.]
Which brings me to my next grievance: I fucking hate "Dave".
And the "Economy".
And the potential threat of losing my livelihood.
To name just a few.
J came home yesterday afternoon to find his glum wife bemoaning her career future. And that husband of mine? Who is awesome? Talked me off the ledge. We came up with FIVE possible solutions! And we made budgets! And by the time I hightailed it to the Olive Garden to meet mom and Gina for dinner (yes, the frugality starts tomorrow), my future prospects seemed a hell of a lot better.
And I will leave "Dave" to "Karma".
And at this time, I would appreciate it if you too would hop into the Bitter Barn with me. What are some of your year-end grievances?
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
I'll Be Lovin' You Forever
So I wasn't sure how I felt about going to see the New Kids on the Block. Dude, I'm 28. And I had already suffered a particularly potent type of heartbreak in 1993. The Kids had recently been generating a ton of bad press (had they changed their name to NKOTB yet?), when my brother Mike unceremoniously mocked my unabiding love of Jordan, Joey, and the gang: "Melis - they're OVER. They're so gay!"
And her:
And you guys? I cried. I was thirteen, and my eyes filled with tears, and I probably screamed that he was a butthead, and I ran to my room and slammed the door.
And then, weeks later, I conceded defeat. I had to let them go, you know? I threw my full support behind Jason Priestly and Mark-Paul Gosselaar, and called it a day. NKOTB eventually broke up, and we all moved on.
Suddenly, it's 2008, and Grace is buying $91 tickets for a New Kids reunion show at the Wachovia Center. (Email to Grace: You know, that is a ridiculous amount to pay for those tickets. Email to HV: I know. But we will have fun!)
I didn't give the concert much thought until the date approached. I was looking forward to seeing Grace and the girls, and hopeful that the Kids would play "Funky, Funky Christmas", but that was about it. Before the show, we drank numerous beers and gorged on Chickie's and Pete's crab fries. Then we grabbed our seats, and the lights dimmed.
And... PANDEMONIUM ensued. I started screaming my face off with the rest of the sold-out crowd. My heart was pounding! My palms were sweating! And lo - the Kids appeared before our eyes, rising up from the center of the stage like angels, and looking damn fine approaching 40, thankyouverymuch.
My eyes filled! I bit my lip and wondered what in God's name had come over me?
And then I realized.
I owed this to her:
And her:And her:
And - oh yeah - her:
That's right, folks: 1990 HomeValley. The little girl whose sole purpose in life was collecting New Kids paraphernalia, and loving on Jordan, Joe, and Donnie. The kid who attended her first NKOTB concert that year - her first concert ever - and probably felt just as teary and excited the first time those dudes appeared (ahem, 18 years younger) on the stage that night.
And believe you me, she and I had a blast together a few weeks ago at the Wachovia. Although, we never did hear "Funky, Funky Christmas".
I'll be lovin' you forever, indeed.
Monday, November 24, 2008
There but for the grace of God...
Sorry, but if you are looking for the funny, you won't find it here today. It's been a long week, y'all.
Each day, I remind myself that every moment is a gift. I am quelling my urge to procrastinate, and I am trying to celebrate life every second I am breathing. J and I had a wonderful date on Tuesday night, making homemade burritos, drinking wine, watching our shows, and laughing a lot. But when we crawled into bed that evening, I burst into tears. Grief washes over me like a wave some days, and I am prone to fits of crying.
Now, I am not grieving because I lost Donna, though I will miss her dearly. I am grieving for all that was lost to her friends and family. Everything they must continue without: a sister, a daughter, a friend. Her "life celebration" was heartbreaking and beautiful. The funeral home was filled with all things that were Donna: her Morrisey memorabilia; her pin collection; her stuffed animals; her roller skates; the books she loved. There were pictures and slide shows and, most poignantly, silent video of her living, moving, breathing, laughing. Her loved ones presented a gorgeous portrait of a life - of her life - that ended so abruptly. I was overwhelmed by the injustice of it all. As the minister eulogized: "I think we can all agree, folks, that 31 years? It's just not enough. Thirty-one years is NOT enough."
Amen to that, brother.
At the service, I spoke with another coworker.
"I was the last person to see her alive," he said, his eyes filling. "I drove her to get her car, which she was having cleaned. She was chatty on the ride there - same old Donna. I stayed to make sure everything was okay. When she got in the car, she rolled down her window and smiled at me. 'Smells much better in here!' she said. Then she drove off. You know, they found a Wawa receipt in the car. She must have stopped there, and then the accident happened. I dropped her off at 5:15, and they called the accident at 5:33."
I can't stop thinking about that fucking Wawa receipt, either. One minute you stop for a coffee, or a snack. The next - nothingness.
When I got home, I looked up her myspace page, presumably to further torture myself. Her last login was the day she died.
And these, Internet, are the thoughts that keep me awake at night now. The idea that you can be going along in your regular routine - checking myspace, picking up your car, stopping for a coffee... And then, that's it.
And I sit here, in the coffee house, staring at my monitor, and the post-it I've attached to it, per Allie's suggestion: Life. I think, this time, I will hold onto this resoluteness: to remember that each moment is a precious, precious gift. That no matter how bad it gets, we are all so lucky to be here still.
I hope you will too.
And tomorrow, by God, I will lighten this place up a bit. Talk about the New Kids concert, or something. That ought to get us smiling again, no?
Each day, I remind myself that every moment is a gift. I am quelling my urge to procrastinate, and I am trying to celebrate life every second I am breathing. J and I had a wonderful date on Tuesday night, making homemade burritos, drinking wine, watching our shows, and laughing a lot. But when we crawled into bed that evening, I burst into tears. Grief washes over me like a wave some days, and I am prone to fits of crying.
Now, I am not grieving because I lost Donna, though I will miss her dearly. I am grieving for all that was lost to her friends and family. Everything they must continue without: a sister, a daughter, a friend. Her "life celebration" was heartbreaking and beautiful. The funeral home was filled with all things that were Donna: her Morrisey memorabilia; her pin collection; her stuffed animals; her roller skates; the books she loved. There were pictures and slide shows and, most poignantly, silent video of her living, moving, breathing, laughing. Her loved ones presented a gorgeous portrait of a life - of her life - that ended so abruptly. I was overwhelmed by the injustice of it all. As the minister eulogized: "I think we can all agree, folks, that 31 years? It's just not enough. Thirty-one years is NOT enough."
Amen to that, brother.
At the service, I spoke with another coworker.
"I was the last person to see her alive," he said, his eyes filling. "I drove her to get her car, which she was having cleaned. She was chatty on the ride there - same old Donna. I stayed to make sure everything was okay. When she got in the car, she rolled down her window and smiled at me. 'Smells much better in here!' she said. Then she drove off. You know, they found a Wawa receipt in the car. She must have stopped there, and then the accident happened. I dropped her off at 5:15, and they called the accident at 5:33."
I can't stop thinking about that fucking Wawa receipt, either. One minute you stop for a coffee, or a snack. The next - nothingness.
When I got home, I looked up her myspace page, presumably to further torture myself. Her last login was the day she died.
And these, Internet, are the thoughts that keep me awake at night now. The idea that you can be going along in your regular routine - checking myspace, picking up your car, stopping for a coffee... And then, that's it.
And I sit here, in the coffee house, staring at my monitor, and the post-it I've attached to it, per Allie's suggestion: Life. I think, this time, I will hold onto this resoluteness: to remember that each moment is a precious, precious gift. That no matter how bad it gets, we are all so lucky to be here still.
I hope you will too.
And tomorrow, by God, I will lighten this place up a bit. Talk about the New Kids concert, or something. That ought to get us smiling again, no?
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Haunted
A coworker was killed in a car accident last night.
She was young and vibrant, not unlike myself.
We were not particularly close, but we were very friendly. She worked in our local office, so I saw her more frequently than most. A few months ago, we had a long conversation. I was in the office, showing her my wedding photos. She was complimentary ("You are still glowing!"), as she always was, and inquired coyly if my brother was single. That day, she peppered me with questions about my relationship with J.
"I hope you don't mind me asking you so much," she said, smiling. "Someday, we'll have drinks and I will tell you my story."
She was ebullient outwardly, but I always sensed there were dark issues she dealt with privately. It always seemed as if it were a struggle to be happy, and she put on a brilliant show. I wish I had known her better. I wish we had gone out for those drinks.
In times like these, when someone so young dies so suddenly, I am haunted by thoughts of their last days, weeks, months. I wonder, what would she have done differently, knowing she had mere months, weeks, days to live? I shudder at the thought of my own life being snatched away in an instant. So I drive slowly and carefully. Recommit myself to a life with purpose. Reach out to friends. Vow to be a better wife and daughter and sister. Stop screening calls.
Like life, these resolutions are fleeting. Next week, I'll be late for an appointment, speeding again. I won't answer my grandmother's call because I will be too busy. I'll snap at my husband. I wonder why it seems impossible to hold on to this feeling, this combination of sorrow mixed with grief, and also pure joy, because we are alive and we can hug our loved ones, and have another girls' dinner, take another vacation, watch another Adam Sandler movie.
Rest in peace, Donna. I hope, wherever you are, you are happy.
She was young and vibrant, not unlike myself.
We were not particularly close, but we were very friendly. She worked in our local office, so I saw her more frequently than most. A few months ago, we had a long conversation. I was in the office, showing her my wedding photos. She was complimentary ("You are still glowing!"), as she always was, and inquired coyly if my brother was single. That day, she peppered me with questions about my relationship with J.
"I hope you don't mind me asking you so much," she said, smiling. "Someday, we'll have drinks and I will tell you my story."
She was ebullient outwardly, but I always sensed there were dark issues she dealt with privately. It always seemed as if it were a struggle to be happy, and she put on a brilliant show. I wish I had known her better. I wish we had gone out for those drinks.
In times like these, when someone so young dies so suddenly, I am haunted by thoughts of their last days, weeks, months. I wonder, what would she have done differently, knowing she had mere months, weeks, days to live? I shudder at the thought of my own life being snatched away in an instant. So I drive slowly and carefully. Recommit myself to a life with purpose. Reach out to friends. Vow to be a better wife and daughter and sister. Stop screening calls.
Like life, these resolutions are fleeting. Next week, I'll be late for an appointment, speeding again. I won't answer my grandmother's call because I will be too busy. I'll snap at my husband. I wonder why it seems impossible to hold on to this feeling, this combination of sorrow mixed with grief, and also pure joy, because we are alive and we can hug our loved ones, and have another girls' dinner, take another vacation, watch another Adam Sandler movie.
Rest in peace, Donna. I hope, wherever you are, you are happy.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Melissa P. HomeValley, Reporter-At-Large
So, what exactly did my Facebook hiatus spawn?
Well, I did go to the gym on Friday. I did apply for several different jobs, now that my corporate fate is in peril. I did talk to my old colleague about that production job in New York, and you know what? She thinks I am actually qualified and says I will get an interview in the next two weeks. And, my friends, I did submit some writing samples to a local newspaper, and this week I have my very first assignment.
Apparently, life is what happens when you close your Internet browser and walk away from the Facebook.
Who knew?
I had the opportunity to travel to DC yesterday for a brief meeting, and afterwards, with an hour to kill, I meandered around the Northwest quadrant, marveling at the Capitol building. Staring at it, my heart swelled once again with hope for our country, for the world, and for myself.
It's been a very good week.
Well, I did go to the gym on Friday. I did apply for several different jobs, now that my corporate fate is in peril. I did talk to my old colleague about that production job in New York, and you know what? She thinks I am actually qualified and says I will get an interview in the next two weeks. And, my friends, I did submit some writing samples to a local newspaper, and this week I have my very first assignment.
Apparently, life is what happens when you close your Internet browser and walk away from the Facebook.
Who knew?
I had the opportunity to travel to DC yesterday for a brief meeting, and afterwards, with an hour to kill, I meandered around the Northwest quadrant, marveling at the Capitol building. Staring at it, my heart swelled once again with hope for our country, for the world, and for myself.
It's been a very good week.
Friday, November 07, 2008
A Life With Purpose
This morning, as is typical when I work from my home office, I stumbled down the stairs incoherently and immediately turned on the television. I scrolled the DVR menu until I found what I was looking for: yesterday's Oprah.
Ah, O. Just what I need to start my day, to live my best life.
Yesterday's guest was one Mr. Will Smith, who is so lovable I just want to squeeze him. He spoke about how he had just turned 40, and that now, he does not want to do anything in his life without purpose.
Right! I said aloud to my television screen. I want to live my life that way too, Mr. Smith! I thought. And then I made a mental list of all the things I wanted to accomplish today, including: mailing our marriage license to the translator (ah, destination weddings), going to the gym, eating perfectly healthy, applying for a new job, writing a blog post, sending my resume to an old colleague who has a TV producer position available for me in New York (it's such a stretch, I just can't not send my CV on a wing and a prayer), etc.
I came upstairs shortly thereafter for a conference call. I booted up my computer and clicked on Internet Explorer.
When suddenly, I realized it.
Facebook.
Facebook is the enemy of all productivity. It is the devil's minion. It must be stopped!
I had been fervently rooting through Facebook pages for 30 minutes, when I froze with this devastating realization.
Holy crap on a cracker - I am addicted to Facebook. I have a problem.
And now I need to make it right. But how? How does one restrict utilization? How do I go about my daily life not knowing what you all are doing at this precise moment? Without seeing your pictures from the weddings and Halloween parties you have recently attended? Without your clever wall posts? How?!?
*Deep breath*
So, I am officially exiting Facebook for the remainder of this Friday. Baby steps. I don't want to overwhelm myself, or my constant craving for information about all of my FB friends.
Melissa P. HomeValley... what are you doing right now?
Over and out.
Ah, O. Just what I need to start my day, to live my best life.
Yesterday's guest was one Mr. Will Smith, who is so lovable I just want to squeeze him. He spoke about how he had just turned 40, and that now, he does not want to do anything in his life without purpose.
Right! I said aloud to my television screen. I want to live my life that way too, Mr. Smith! I thought. And then I made a mental list of all the things I wanted to accomplish today, including: mailing our marriage license to the translator (ah, destination weddings), going to the gym, eating perfectly healthy, applying for a new job, writing a blog post, sending my resume to an old colleague who has a TV producer position available for me in New York (it's such a stretch, I just can't not send my CV on a wing and a prayer), etc.
I came upstairs shortly thereafter for a conference call. I booted up my computer and clicked on Internet Explorer.
When suddenly, I realized it.
Facebook.
Facebook is the enemy of all productivity. It is the devil's minion. It must be stopped!
I had been fervently rooting through Facebook pages for 30 minutes, when I froze with this devastating realization.
Holy crap on a cracker - I am addicted to Facebook. I have a problem.
And now I need to make it right. But how? How does one restrict utilization? How do I go about my daily life not knowing what you all are doing at this precise moment? Without seeing your pictures from the weddings and Halloween parties you have recently attended? Without your clever wall posts? How?!?
*Deep breath*
So, I am officially exiting Facebook for the remainder of this Friday. Baby steps. I don't want to overwhelm myself, or my constant craving for information about all of my FB friends.
Melissa P. HomeValley... what are you doing right now?
Over and out.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Letter to My Future Babies
Dear Beautiful, Kind, Open-Minded Babies: C, V, and A,
I hope this is not premature, but: you're welcome.
Love,
Mom
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
The Jerkstore Rang
Yesterday, I swore I wouldn't be dragged into it. But it happened. Again.
A business associate pulls out her cell phone at a luncheon in central Jersey, smirking. "Check this out," she says conspiratorially to me. She shows me her phone and I begin reading an email as she scrolls.
The email details a "plan" for Americans: from now on, all wages will be pooled together and split equally. This will allow for workers who are too lazy to work overtime to still be paid equally as well. The supervisor will give eloquent speeches in the breakroom, etc.
And suddenly my blood is boiling. I push the phone away, smile, and say merely: "Please."
She giggles. "[Our multi-millionaire business associate] sent that to me today. Hilarious, right?"
This woman sits next to me adorned in fur. She places her phone into a large leather Coach bag. She calls her assistant and asks, "Which car did my husband drive to work today? Was it the burgundy car?" When asked how many cars she actually has, she smugly replys, "Five." She's taking the family on a cruise to the Cayman Islands next month. I'd estimate her annual income is between 400,000 and 500,000. She must be worth millions.
"I already get taxed too much," she assures me.
Well fuck, for your sake, I hope that radical socialist doesn't get elected today. Spread the wealth? Is he insane?
A business associate pulls out her cell phone at a luncheon in central Jersey, smirking. "Check this out," she says conspiratorially to me. She shows me her phone and I begin reading an email as she scrolls.
The email details a "plan" for Americans: from now on, all wages will be pooled together and split equally. This will allow for workers who are too lazy to work overtime to still be paid equally as well. The supervisor will give eloquent speeches in the breakroom, etc.
And suddenly my blood is boiling. I push the phone away, smile, and say merely: "Please."
She giggles. "[Our multi-millionaire business associate] sent that to me today. Hilarious, right?"
This woman sits next to me adorned in fur. She places her phone into a large leather Coach bag. She calls her assistant and asks, "Which car did my husband drive to work today? Was it the burgundy car?" When asked how many cars she actually has, she smugly replys, "Five." She's taking the family on a cruise to the Cayman Islands next month. I'd estimate her annual income is between 400,000 and 500,000. She must be worth millions.
"I already get taxed too much," she assures me.
Well fuck, for your sake, I hope that radical socialist doesn't get elected today. Spread the wealth? Is he insane?
Friday, October 31, 2008
The Curious Incident of the Squirrel in the Night
It started around 3 AM. A slight thumping noise coming from the roof, followed by falling debris, just outside our second floor bedroom window. I woke with a start.
J, who is known to bolt upright in bed when I wiggle my pinky finger in the night (huh? wha? what are you doing?) remained sound asleep beside me, snoring softly. My heart pounding, I tried to gently coax him awake. When that failed, I nudged him sharply.
"Did you hear that?" I ask. Of course he didn't. We listen together.
Suddenly - Thump. Thud.
"Probably a bird," he says sleepily. But I won't be appeased.
"Can you just check?"
J begrudgingly gets out of bed and stands by the window. He is very still for many minutes. "Did you fall asleep?" I whisper.
"Probably an animal burrowing into our neighbor's roof," he says disdainfully. He scurries up to the third floor to investigate further, and, seeing nothing, he gets dressed to head outside.
With a flashlight. At 3:15 AM. On Mischief Night, no less!
Thoroughly freaked, I head downstairs with him. He stands in the middle of the road with his flashlight for many minutes. When he finally comes back inside, he tells me he can't see anything.
We get back into bed.
"Maybe it was the wind," I suggest.
"No... There is no wind."
DUN DUN DUN!
We lay awake for a moment, when we hear the thudding again. Scratching. Rocks falling onto the second floor landing from the roof.
J jumps out of bed, fumbling in the dark for his jeans once again. "I'm going out there," he says courageously.
"Be careful!" I warn. And then my gallant husband steps out of our bedroom window, into the abyss, armed only with a flashlight. At 3:25 AM. On Mischief Night!
I struggle to keep the heavy window open, as J starts swatting at the roof. A downpour of leaves and rocks fall from above. "Looks like we got ourselves a squirrel's nest," he says, thankful to have solved the mystery. I shut the window so the debris doesn't come into the bedroom.
A moment later, J knocks urgently on the second bedroom window, away from the nest.
"We've got a raccoon," he whispers. "And he's right here!"
"J, get in, you'll get rabies!" I cry. He retreats back into the bedroom.
"Do we call the police?" I ask. Hello, 911, we've got a situation with a raccoon burrowing into our roof. Send back-up.
"No, but we'll need someone to come and fix the siding up there." J is a bit exasperated at this prospect.
"Well, at least now we know," I tell him, and then we booth marvel at that quiet little fucker - henceforth known as Eugene - who apparently has been subletting our roof for quite a while, given his elaborate bachelor nest.
We attempt to sleep, as I comment: "You are very brave, J."
Then, a few moments later, "J, we are those white trash neighbors."
"I was just thinking that," he mumbles.
Sorry, Eugene. You've been evicted.
Eugene.
Bad-ass raccoon killer.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Lordy Lordy
It's been a hectic couple of weeks for your pal HomeValley. I have been to San Francisco and Baltimore and Connecticut and Columbia, SC since we last met. I have vehemently defended Obama; I have listened to lots of satellite radio; I have edited my darling baby brother's college application essay (!); I have learned that my job is being eliminated. You know, just your run-of-the-mill couple of weeks, really.
OK, so let's not all freak about that last point. Yes, my current job is being eliminated, but there is another job on the horizon for me with my current company. Yes, I am eligible for severance; yes, I must interview for the new job. But come on! I've got the only two things I have ever needed in this life: charm and charisma. (Tell 'em, Allie.) I reside in a beautiful and peculiar glass half-full world most of the time, and all is well.
Also, please see August Rush. Guaranteed to lift your spirits, and make you as giddy as me.
More to come.
Monday, October 13, 2008
I'm Melissa P. HomeValley Ft. Lauderdale, and I Approve This Message.
Well, I am finally able to come back to the blogosphere: my friends, I have finished Breaking Dawn. And though I am crestfallen that I can no longer escape into a world of passion and intrigue and vampire covens, I must perservere. It's the final stretch of the 2008 presidential campaign, and Internet, I am completely busy running my mouth in mixed company about my support and admiration and respect for one Senator Barack Obama. Which any etiquette book will warn you is taboo. Still.
I can't be on the campaign trail for Senator Obama because I work too damn much. I've missed rallies and countless volunteer opportunities. I figure, the only thing I can do is publicly endorse Barack, everywhere I go. I wear pins; I download applications to my Facebook page; and I talk. With Republican coworkers. I am not winning many friends in my ultra-conservative workplace, I assure you.
I try to be fair; I attempt to listen to everyone's opinion. The other night, knee-deep in political conversation at a dive bar in Columbus, I asked Conservative Curt* what the crux of the matter is for Republicans?
He thought for a moment.
"Trust," he said firmly. "We need to trust the experience of our candidate."
"I respect that," I told CC. "But I think it is actually fear." And then I quickly shut my mouth by sipping my Miller Lite, and I pretended to become preoccupied with the dude performing a Pink Floyd cover on an acoustic guitar.
Later in the week, when I wasn't campaigning, I discovered that I am The Person That People Like to Tell Things To. (Official title.) Here are some things I learned from virtual strangers this week:
- Stan's** wife cheated on him last year with a friend. She wanted a quickie divorce, he granted it, and now she wants him back. She is also involving the children, and that ain't right.
- Chuck** just ended a 13-year relationship. He's lonely.
- Randy** was on his way to a family reunion in New Hampshire. He's retired now, though he rarely leaves his home state of Missouri. He dropped out of high school when he was 15 to join the army. He fought proudly in World War II and has done quite well for himself. All of his children went to college.
- HomeValley** is exhausted from frequent travel, graduate school, and general domesticity. She is currently in Philadelphia, though she traveled to and from Jamaica, Queens, this morning. Tomorrow she heads to Baltimore with a familiar-looking fellow she thinks she may have married recently; Thursday San Francisco by way of Denver; Sunday evening Philadelphia by way of Los Angeles; Tuesday Columbia by way of Charlotte, North Carolina. She is also at work on her autobiography The Person That People Like to Tell Things To.
* Name has been changed to protect the Republican.
** Names have been changed to protect the chatty.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
How Lucky We Are
Ugh, I am so boring these days.
All I do is work, and travel for work, and study for my Managerial Economics class, and sing Meiko songs in my head perpetually (see: entry title), and read Stephenie Meyer books. Good Lord, they are so addictive and delicious and brilliant; I can't stop obsessing over the characters, and that makes for really boring entries. (Because do y'all really want to hear me wax poetic about Edward Cullen for pages and pages?) (Um, if you do, just say the word. We'll go to town.)
Hey! I took my darling sisters to Manhattan to see Wicked a few weeks ago. That was fun! I would describe it here but I have lost the ability to be descriptive, apparently. I will say that the more time I spend with Cat and Meg, the more time I want to spend with them. I actually miss them terribly most of the time. Cat is fourteen now and is brooding and angsty; she is blissfully sarcastic and lovely and intelligent and enigmatic. Meg is ten and adorable, with green-framed glasses that adorn her tiny freckled face. She loves monkeys and playing school in equal measure, and has reached a difficult crossroads: should she decorate her bedroom as a jungle, or as a classroom? She also has a "bacon dance" which she performs when a certain Wendy's commercial plays. When she tells stories, she painstakingly recounts every detail of her tale. She has a remarkably dry sense of humor, and smiles incessantly.
I really love those kids.
And now I must run to a business dinner, one that will be no different than a host of other business dinners, as I miss key moments and memories with my husband, siblings, and dearest friends.
But I've got Meiko on my iPod, and Breaking Dawn.
All I do is work, and travel for work, and study for my Managerial Economics class, and sing Meiko songs in my head perpetually (see: entry title), and read Stephenie Meyer books. Good Lord, they are so addictive and delicious and brilliant; I can't stop obsessing over the characters, and that makes for really boring entries. (Because do y'all really want to hear me wax poetic about Edward Cullen for pages and pages?) (Um, if you do, just say the word. We'll go to town.)
Hey! I took my darling sisters to Manhattan to see Wicked a few weeks ago. That was fun! I would describe it here but I have lost the ability to be descriptive, apparently. I will say that the more time I spend with Cat and Meg, the more time I want to spend with them. I actually miss them terribly most of the time. Cat is fourteen now and is brooding and angsty; she is blissfully sarcastic and lovely and intelligent and enigmatic. Meg is ten and adorable, with green-framed glasses that adorn her tiny freckled face. She loves monkeys and playing school in equal measure, and has reached a difficult crossroads: should she decorate her bedroom as a jungle, or as a classroom? She also has a "bacon dance" which she performs when a certain Wendy's commercial plays. When she tells stories, she painstakingly recounts every detail of her tale. She has a remarkably dry sense of humor, and smiles incessantly.
I really love those kids.
And now I must run to a business dinner, one that will be no different than a host of other business dinners, as I miss key moments and memories with my husband, siblings, and dearest friends.
But I've got Meiko on my iPod, and Breaking Dawn.
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