another one bites the dust

One of my very best friends got married last week. It was a beautiful wedding, and she looked absolutely gorgeous. We have been friends since we were very young, about two or three years old. I didn't expect to get so emotional, but as I stood there on the altar, watching her walk down the aisle...I almost lost it.

I regained control of myself and stayed composed for the rest of the ceremony. After the vows were spoken, rings and kisses were exchanged and we'd all walked back down the aisle, it was time for the reception. (Oh, by the way, the wedding was outside at her parents' house, and the reception was in a huge tent. And yes, it was FREEZING outside.) The cake was good, the food was good, the DJ playing the music was good. Then it was time for the father-daughter dance. Once again, it was sort of bittersweet to see the person that I have come to know as a sister dance out the last few steps of her childhood.

I stood over to the side, next to my other childhood friend, also a member of the wedding party. We watched as the final notes of the song faded away and she began her first dance with her new husband. I was doing okay, and then she smiled at us and motioned to my friend and her new boyfriend to come dance. As she walked over the makeshift dancefloor, I was left standing by myself. It was so poetic, so painfully poetic.

I have never felt so alone in my entire life.

When you attend a wedding, and this is multiplied times two if you are actually in the wedding, people will continue to ask you, "So, any prospects? Are you, ya know, seeing anyone?" All I can ever say is, "No." The freakin photographer at this wedding asked was I dating someone after I was left standing solo during the slow dancing. No, no, NO. As I was repeatedly and painstakingly reminded, no, I am not currently dating anyone.

And people keep saying, "Oh, don't worry. It's okay. No big deal. You'll find someone." But I'm not worried. I know it's no big deal. And as I have said time and again, what about someone finding me? I know I don't want to get married for a long time, if at all. I have my own doubt about the whole institution of marriage and whether or not it's right for me. But I can't help but feel a little twinge (okay, a lotta twinge) of jealousy. I know that the decisions my friends have made are not the same ones that I have made for myself. But sometimes it still hurts.

I found myself growing somewhat irrationally upset at the wedding. Not angry, just upset. I had to excuse myself as I felt my face get hot and my eyes sting with tears. I quickly exited the reception tent and made my way inside. Why did I get so upset? Why was I bothered so? I don't know if I am facing the reality that we are all growing up, or if I was mourning my own self, or if I just miss my old friend. Whatever it was, it hit me and it hit me hard.

This also makes me think back to a conversation I had not just a few days ago with a good (make that fantastic) friend of mine. We were just sitting there, talking, when she asked me did I think that there was one person for everyone.

This is an interesting concept to me.

I used to think so. I used to think that there was one person out there for me, so beautifully and wonderfully made that I could not wait to find him. Then as time went by, my feelings changed.

Another close friend of mine once said that she thought there isn't just one person for everyone, but you find someone that you really love and you make it work. I hope there's not one person for everyone. Do you know how many people there are in this world? It seems as though it might be damn near impossible to find that special someone.

Like I said before, I don't know if I want to get married. But I do want to find that one person that I feel like I could spend the rest of my life with, that I just can't get enough of. As Carrie said in Sex and the City, "I am looking for love, can't live without it love."

Just not right now.

I am content to hang out and have fun with my friends, and I have some really great ones. I don't need anyone to complete me; I can complete myself, thanks.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I feel that nagging, aching pain, just gnawing at my heart and hollowing out my chest.

It hurts.

squish, squish SQUEAK!

Ah, rainy days. I love rainy days. I love nothing more than to either go to bed with the rain tap, tapping on my windows or to wake up to a steady drizzle. (Only trouble is that I want to stay in bed all day!) I even have a fantastic noise machine with a rainstorm setting that lulls me to sleep.

Then there are the downsides to rain. I hate having to travel from car to building and feel all chilly and rained on and such. Traffic moves slower, and accidents are a bigger threat on slick roads. Plans get rained out, and there's always that one person who gets taken by surprise by the rain and rushes out to their car because they left their windows down. (i have done this on several occasions; I just thank God I don't have a car with a sunroof anymore...don't even GET me started!) There is the 6 inch or so section of your jeans that feels the need to soak up as much excess water as possible.

I remember being a little kid and getting off the school bus, excited to stomp in the puddles on my way up the driveway. Only problem was that L.A. Gears, though stylishly and fashionably made, had those little holes so that my eight-year-old feet could breathe. While this was helpful on hot summer days when I needed a little localized air circulation, it wasn't so conducive to puddle-jumping. The water quickly and gleefully found its way into those little holes and straight to my sock-clad feet.

Out of all these, though, there is one thing I hate the most.

I'm jogging into the school building, trying my best to dodge puddles, stay dry and hold on to all my personal belongings. As I reach the door, I do my best to wipe my feet on the mat, provided there is one. I walk through the double-doors and down the hall to my class. And then there it is.

SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK.

Squeaky Shoes McGee. That's who I am. It's even worse when you come in late, or if you are walking down a hall in which several classroom doors are open.

SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK.

After squeaking down the hall, I squeak into my classroom, over to my chair.

I've tried picking up my feet, which only makes me look like a show pony, high-stepping down the hall. I've also tried angling my feet differently as they hit the ground, but then the resulting sound is more like a SQUELCH.

SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEAK.

So what will I do? Short of wearing different shoes and carpeting the school hallways wall-to-wall....I guess I'll just live with it.

Until it becomes SQUEAK, SQUEAK, CRASH! Arms and legs flailing, books and things flying, cheeks reddening and pride diminishing, all ending with me in a weeping heap in the middle of the floor.

In case I haven't mentioned it before, someone falling on their ass is always funny. Sad, but hilariously true.

leftover meatloaf

So, I'm sitting here, watching Megan Mullally on her new talk show. For those of you not in the know, she played Karen on Will & Grace.

I have come to the assumption that the last stop on the celebrity has-been bus is talk show town.

She's fun enough, I guess. But today my interest was piqued more that just a little when I heard who her guests would be. Julianne Moore, normal. Jamie Kennedy, somewhat normal. And special musical guest....

Meatloaf?

Seriously, Megan? Did you even have to ask him? Hell, did you even have to pay him?

Mr. Loaf (or "Meat," as I have come to know his friends and back up singers call him) is looking a little rough for wear nowadays. I hate to say it, but even in his heyday he didn't look too great. He didn't sound very meaty, either. He was very shaky as he caressed the red hanky attached lovingly to his mike stand. I literally thought he might pass out, he looked so weak.

BUT I did love that one song he did, "I'll Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)." Though I never did find out exactly what that "thing" was. Hm. Now that I think about it, that was such a befuddling song. I also liked the one about Rock and Roll Dreams. I was in elementary school when my sister purchased the cassette tape for Bat Out of Hell II. I remembering getting a secret thrill as we listened to it, and seeing the word "hell." I also remember reading the liner notes and seeing the word "fuck" and going back to it repeatedly to see if it was still there. My sister was such a junior high badass. :)

ANYway. I digress.

Meat apparently has a new CD out, titled (somewhat surprisingly) Bat Out of Hell III.

My question is how many times is that damn bat going to come back?

these boots were apparently NOT made for walkin'

So, I love shoes. And I love boots. If any of you have read any of my previous blogs, then you might know that I had a little spat with a very dear pair of Steve Madden cowboy boots of mine (I believe the title is sweet sixteens and charmed thirds). We had since made up, and I have really just been waiting for the right moment to bring 'em out, bring 'em out.

This morning as I consulted my sophisticated weather system (which means I go to the front door and stick my arm out), I pleasantly surprised to find it was so cold. Yay, this means sweaters and boots and pea coats (oh my!)

As I prepared for class, I grabbed a favorite sweater, warm jeans right out of the dryer (this makes me think of that Seinfield episode, you know, the one where Kramer always likes to have warm clothing, so he always puts them in a dryer, but then he sticks them in the oven, and....never mind), and then I pulled on my too cute boots.

I clip-clopped my way into Self Hall, held my head up high and enjoyed my boots. We got out of class a little early, and it seemed like a good day.

Oh, no. Not so fast.

As I was venturing down the hall with my good pal Kristin, I felt my feet do that familiar dance and....BAM!

Right in from under me (you'll remember that they didn't really fall "out" from under me), my knees hit the floor with a thud, my bookbag hit the ground, and my coffee cup smashed against the cold, hard tile.

Granted, no one in the hallway at the time laughed or pointed or kicked me whilst I was down, but no one really stopped to help or check or anything. Kristin freaked out, and I just wanted to curl up into the fetal position and rock myself over into a corner.

So now I have wounded knees, injured pride and a pair of shoes I'm ready to throw into my closet and never look at again.

Needless to say, we aren't friends anymore and it may very well be awhile before I want to go out with them again.

Damn you, Steve Madden. Damn you and your cute cowboy boots to hell!!!!!!!

nothing left to "loose"

I hate that. For those of you that know me, I am a grammar Nazi, and it pains me so much to see lose spelled looose. The real looser is the person who puts it on a church sign, as I have recently observed. There is this one church, on Church St. (ironically, or maybe not) that I like to think of as the Church of Bad Grammar. Every time I pass by, which used to be often, something else is wrong. Now, I know that no one can be perfect all the time, and I make my own fair share of mistakes. However, if you are going to be assembling a church sign that will be visible to everyone, or a banner, or a marquee, or whatever, please please PLEASE make sure it is correct. Gah!

Also. I noticed that it is quite often that children feel the need to run 'round displaying their artwork with spray paint on walls and street signs and such. These "delinquents" have come into contact with several street signs in the area, and my favorite is the person that spray paints the word "DON'T" above the word "STOP" on a red stop sign.

I don't get it. Does this person honestly think that a driver will pull up, look at the sign, and then think to him or herself: "Oh, wait. That's one of those "Don't Stop" signs. What was I thinking putting on my brakes? I'll just cruise on through."

If you want to be a real menace to society, why not just take the whole thing? Cut out the middle man. There is a large percentage of the Alabama population that is illiterate anyway, and they won't take the time to discern what letter means what.

I guess the moral of the story is this: the next time you are driving about your local residential area, pay attention to the signs. If you come across one of those tricky "Don't Stop" signs, and you aren't sure, err on the side of caution. Go ahead and take the extra time to stop. If you decide not to heed this warning, proceed with caution at your own risk, my friend.

paper mache ponderings

There are some things that I see in my day to day life that disturb me a little bit. Even frighten me. Just random advertisements or products that it seems one could never ever want or even need. Or television commercials that are either too unbelievable or should have never been made. My favorites are late night infomercials and only-on-TV products (which you can usually find at Wal Mart or CVS) with a special one time only in the next 37 minutes offer! (Coincidentally these one time offers seem to still be going on a week or two later when I happen upon the same commercial again.) I love the one that asks you if you have trouble using normal curling irons and it shows the woman jabbing herself in the eye with the giant curling iron and fingering her frizzy hair with what can only be desribed as disgust. I think it's the one for the Revo Styler (yes, that's right, I remember the product name), this fancy rotating brush that styles and shines and slices and dices and cleans your entire home top to bottom (you get the idea) in one spin.
Here's what I'm thinking: (Okay, I never meant for any of this to be bold or unbolded, that's just my computer playing tricks on me) If you, as a woman with horribly frizzy hair and that may or may not have Tourret's or some other condition that causes your body to go into spasms that launch curling iron into your eye, cannot seem to manage using a simple curling iron, how in the HELL are you going to keep from getting a ROTATING brush stuck in your tangled mane? Just a thought.

A new commercial I caught on TV that made me giggle recently was for birth control. All these women were at a party, swilling cocktails, and I assume they were gossiping, and one woman made a comment about birth control, something, I've only really seen it once and have not had ample time to memorize it. Anyhow, this other girl says, "Yeah, and you shouldn't take it if you smoke!" The other girl responds with, "Right! And inform your doctor if you have heart palpitations, radioactive urine, blah blah blah" and then proceeds to rattle off all the precautions you normally hear voiced over in birth control commercials. But she does it like she just so happens to know and was just waiting for the perfect party topic to roll around so that she could flaunt her knowledge and experience on the subject. Cause I just KNOW that when I get together with all of my girlfriends, all we can talk about are MAOI inhibitors and glucosamine phenylhydrate levels (I just made that up, note, I just made that up)....oh, my gah, as if!

Then there's the tampon commercial where the clever and quick thinking girl inserts a tampax pearl into a hole in a boat she and her guy are paddling around a lake to stop a leak. Don't even GET me started.

I could go on all day about commercials, but that's not even what I intended to write about when I started this blog.

No, I was thinking of something a little different. Who can remember back to a time when you had fun birthday parties and things, and there were games and cake and ice cream and sometimes, a pinata? (Imagine the little tilda over the n) You know, with all the candy inside? All the kids would hit at it while blindfolded until someone hit the jackpot and there was candy everywhere?

Well, I was strolling down the party aisle with a good friend when we happened upon the pinatas. There was one shaped like a dinosaur, a peppermint, a race car, and......Dora the Explorer. Dios mio.

This made me stop dead in los zapatos. Now, I understand that children love, love Dora with all their corazones, but why would you want to string up an paper mache version of the Hispanic tot for the kids to beat the shit out of with a stick to get candy? It just seems like one big, bad ethnic joke to me. "C'mon, let's all cane the Mexican girl to get her candy." No esta bien, mis amigos. No esta bien.

That's all for now. More to come. Much more...

Slow down so I can "ketchup"

So, I'm dining with my sister at the local Arby's restaurant, and I find myself in a situation to which I am not unfamiliar.

I sat down with my tray of curly fries and Arby's signature roast beef, and I see there are several items on the table, possibly left over from the previous patron to occupy the booth. Several nakins and unopened condiment packets. At first glance, one might think this table was dirty and move on.

But, oh no. Not I. I saw deeper to the heart of the matter.

I don't know about you guys, but many a time have I been eating at a fast food restaurant and found myself with a surplus amount of condiments and napkins. But instead of just throwing them away, we would always leave them on the end of the table, thinking "We'll just leave these here for the next person to come along and use, so they won't go to waste. What a good deed we have done!"

But I ask you - how many times have you sat down to a table and thought, "Sweet! Check out all these ketchup packets and napkins already on the table! Now I don't have to get up and get any! It sure is lucky that whoever sat down before me was charitable enough to leave them for me!"

Hell, no, you haven't. If you are anything like me, you think "Ugh, gross, that is so nasty" as you gently push them further away. Or maybe you thrust them forcefully. Either way, I know I only trust condiments I get with my own two hands.

One more quick comment on cleanliness. Does anyone remember a time when Arby's had the sauce, ketchup, and horsey sauce right on the tables, in the squeeze bottles? Talk about on unsanitary. I never thought too much of it until I saw a kid sucking on one like a kitten nursing on its mama cat's nipple. Yes, sir, that was the end of using the squeeze bottles for Summer.

Anyway. That's all for tonight. More later.