Update on my trip to hell

I've made my list, and checked it twice. Some have been naughty, and some are super nice (there's even a golden girl and a mouseketeer). So I'm all set for the coming year. I even named my list appropriately: This Hand Basket is Cozy.

It's that time of year again

I hope everyone had a nice Christmas. I know I did. I did have one casualty this season. One of my wise men lost his head. I don't really know how this happened. Last night, when I looked down at my nativity set, they were all present and accounted for. The two standing ones, and the one kneeling down. Except one of them was short his head, which somehow had broken off his body and was now laying by the baby Jesus. I guess the stores were out of frankincense and myrrh.

I'll be putting my stuff away this weekend, and working on my annual year-end project—my dead pool list. I had five stiffs this year. Not bad. I think my best was seven. So now I have to come up with five new celebrities that I think might die in 2008. I have one rule, and that is to keep whoever survived from my list on the next year's list. I call it my Boris Yeltsin Rule. So I've been doing some research, and I think I have some good candidates. And before you get all "Oh how terrible," on me, here are some little facts about celebrities.

1. They die, too, just like everyone else does. They just get a bigger picture in the paper and mentions on the news. (And, if they were Anna Nicole Smith, they are apparently supposed to continue to be mentioned on Entertainment Tonight every night until the end of time.)

2. They die in threes. It's freaky, but it's true. I often wonder, when celebrities see that two of their own have died, especially ones that are of a certain age, do they get nervous that they might be number three?

That's it. I need to get my list done this weekend. If you would care to join me, go to stiffs.com and do a list of your own (you know you want to). Come on, there's room in this hand basket for a few more!

Bah Humbug

I love Christmas. I do. I love the smell of my live tree. I love getting and sending cards. My stockings are hung! BUT, some people take it too far, and I have to take issue.

1. People who put wreaths on the front of their car. I hate you even more if it lights up, or if you decorate the luggage rack on top.

2. Christmas ornaments as accessories. Those hooks are for the tree, not your ear lobes. Clothing should not light up. Neither should earrings.

3. Those blow-up things people have in their yards. They are just tacky and creepy. Especially the snow globe ones. Also those light-up reindeer that nod their heads. I add this one only because when I went home to my parents in January, they still had theirs in the yard. Because they were frozen into the ground. Which leads me to...

4. When it's over, it's over. There is no need for Christmas lights and decorations to be up past New Years.

5. The holiday letter. You know the one. People are way too busy to write out cards (just sign your name like I do. It's quick and easy), but they have plenty of time to type up what everyone did since the last holiday letter. In minute detail. If we're friends, I already know what you've been up to all year, and it's probably not any more interesting than what everyone else does on a daily basis. I think my parents still get a card from a couple in Canada who have two kids that are my age. Each year, the letter would brag and brag as those two kids got more and more advanced, and it became hilarious to get it every year. I am honestly surprised that one of them hasn't discovered the cure for cancer, and the other is not the prime minister of Canada.

6. It's a Wonderful Life. I hate that movie with the passion of a thousand suns. What is it, 6 hours long? SO BORING!!! And I can suspend my belief system to accept that Hugh Grant was elected prime minister of Great Britain, but I still can't believe that without the love of a big tall geeky Jimmy Stewart, good-time Donna Reed would be a timid spinster librarian. Please. She would have snagged the captain of the football team if she wanted to! Give us girls a little credit, Frank Capra.

7. People who are all up in arms about "Merry Christmas." Honestly, it's just the December way to say "Have a nice day." No one is trying to be offensive or disrespectful. If you don't believe in Christmas, that is fine. Just smile and nod and say, "Same to you." Because no matter what you believe, it's important that we all try to have a nice day.

OK, that's it. Back to baking cookies and watching Christmas in Connecticut.
Merry Christmas!!!!

And another thing...

Why is that man shopping for his wife's Christmas present at Lowe's? Shopping for his dad, yes I could totally buy that. But his wife? No wonder he doesn't end up with anything but a gift card. And you know what she's going to use that gift card for? Probably to buy his next birthday present. That's the kind of store you only buy something for your wife in if she has specifically requested a gift that you can only find at Lowe's. It's like buying your wife a vacuum or cookware. Unless she specifically asked for a vacuum or really loves cooking and has been dropping hints about a bright red KitchenAid mixer that would look great in my new kitchen, just don't do it. And certainly don't go wandering around the hardware store thinking you'll stumble upon something pretty. No one wants a chore for Christmas.

Baby, I wouldn't want to drive your car.

It's bad, I know, but I tend to watch a lot of TV. Even if it's just set on the Food Network on a Saturday while I'm making breakfast of getting ready. So I end up seeing a lot of commercials. And, boy, are they stupid. Especially the car ads.

One shows a woman on the phone saying she's nervous about blind dates but for her date to not show up.... Oh, he's there. Outside her apartment in his car with the lights out. Stalking her? First of all, the first rule of blind dates is that you don't tell strangers where you live. You meet at a public place. BUT maybe this girl did her research. Perhaps he's a close friend or relative of a friend of hers, and she's been assured he's not a crazy person. She's googled him and found nothing off-putting. But of course she can't see him, parked outside in his McAveragemobile. So he drives away. Hey jackass how about flashing the lights. Or, here's a thought. Get your bum ass out of the car and go up and ring the bell. Because ladies, if he can't even do that, God only knows what other strikes he has against him. Rest assured, you giggly bingo-loving lady, you probably dodged a bullet in that lazy Toyota driving dick. Now you're all dressed up, so call your friends, hit the clubs and strut your stuff. And I know. They got me. I know what car he’s driving. But that doesn’t make me want to run out and buy one. It makes them a little creepy.

In another one, an exhausted father comes stumbling up to his fancy mini van parked in his driveway and throws open the door to show two little kids, watching a DVD while playing cards. In a running vehicle. Parked in the driveway. The air conditioning cooling them on the beautiful sunny day. He's so happy to have finished a tree house for them. But it doesn't have leather seats. Or a DVD player. Or the everlasting battery this van apparently has where it can be left parked and running in the driveway all to live long day. Maybe it runs on fresh air and sunshine, instead of over-priced gasoline. The kids say they are fine in the van. The scene cuts before we see the dad grab the ungrateful brats by their hair and toss them into the yard on their lazy asses.

Or is that just the version I would film?

A Thanksgiving Miracle

I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. I did. It was great to see my whole family, especially the 'rents and my sister. My aunt Kathy did an awesome job, as always. Not an easy feat with 25 people to cook for. But, the bacon on the turkey was yummy and my Grandma's scalloped oysters were the best! Mmmmm cheesy beans..... Of course, it was all even better the next day for lunch. And then everything was gone. With 25 people, there aren't a lot of leftovers.

There's also not a lot of elbow room. My cousins have a lot of kids. And they're everywhere. Don't get me wrong, I love the hell out of them, but as someone who is not used to having them around all the time, it gets a bit overwhelming. But, I learned how to play Monopoly Junior (you have to buy what you land on, and you can bump someone off!), got the snarls and knots out of Barbie's hair and her wig with a tiny little plastic comb, and I dressed Polly Pocket Princesses with Caroline. I showed her a naked, bald Disney Princess, and she would pick out the dress for me. I requested ones with short sleeves, as it's HARD to get those little arms down those rubber sleeves. Little kids really can do that??? And then Caroline would pick out shoes. Sometimes there was one pink and one white, but hey, our princesses were trendy.

And the Thanksgiving miracle...my dad didn't comment about my hair. I could always make book on him saying something within 10 minutes of seeing me again. I'd get the squint, as he would stand there, staring. "What?" I would ask. "What did you do to your hair?" he would ask. "Nothing," I would answer slowly, waiting for the comment. It's always too something. Too short, too long, too straight, too curly, too orange, too black (it was actually wet when he said that one, so it was darker than usual). I've never had a straight man take so much interest in my hair. So thanks Dickie, for letting me just be me and for coming to Thanksgiving. I was very thankful that you (and Mom, of course) were there.

You know it's going to be a good day...

when the radio station you're listening to on the way to work plays "Eye of the Tiger!" Definitely a song meant to be sung out loud. But only when the car is in motion, not stopped at lights. You don't want people to think you're insane.

It's been awhile

Since Duran Duran made an appearance here. Total classic.

Things I can do

Now that I live by myself (not counting the insane cat that holds court from a chair in the living room), there are a few things I can do that I couldn't when I lived with my sister.

1. I can eat ice cream right out of the carton.
2. If there are toast "remnants" in the butter, no one will make a snide comment.
3. I can sing out loud while cooking whatever I want.
4. I can walk around naked. Not that I have. But I could. As long as I remember to close the blinds.

A new twist on an old not-so-favorite

Every Thanksgiving, my aunt puts on an amazing spread with two kinds of stuffing (one with onions, one without) and my grandmother whips up her scalloped oysters. We all look forward to Thanksgiving every year. Oooo the bacon on the turkey! I can't wait! Every year, my aunt also serves that frozen squash that looks like orange mashed potatoes. And every year, my mom tries to get me to eat it. "Try it, you'll like it," like I am a finicky child. I love food, and I love to try new things. But orange mashed potatoes that are really squash is not one of those things. It's like a bowl of orange mashed blah or baby food. I think my uncle and my grandmother are the only ones that actually eat it. Even my mom, for all her attempts to get me to eat it, never seems to have any on her plate. But it's tradition. It wouldn't really be Thanksgiving without the great squash debate.

Today, I finally found a use for that orange squash that has nothing to do with babies, and everything to do with flavor. I got three boxes of the stuff, and defrosted them while I sautéed a chopped Vidalia onion in half a stick of unsalted butter. Then I tossed in a chopped up potato and three chopped carrots, along with a box of chicken stock, added some salt and pepper, a big pinch of thyme and some sage, along with a bay leaf from my Grenada trip. I brought that all to a good boil, then simmered it until the potatoes and carrots were soft. I slowly spooned in the defrosted (OK, some of it was still a little frozen) squash and brought it all back up to a boil. Then I broke out the immersion blender and went to town whirring everything into a nice creamy consistency, with a couple little chunky carrots for texture, and then poured in some fat free half and half. The finishing touch was fresh grated nutmeg from Grenada.

The results: A hearty satisfying squash soup that had me going back for seconds! And all from something I wouldn't even taste all on its own. (Although next time, I'll follow the rules of Paula Deen and start with a whole stick of butter.)

In case of a water landing, swim for it.

While going through security at an airport recently, as I was taking off my flip-flops and flopping them into my gray bin, a man looked at me in wonderment. “We’re still doing shoes?” he asked. I said yes, but in my mind, I was thinking, “We’re lucky we still have our clothes on.” Because you know, we’re not that far from checking in our clothes and flying in hospital gowns.

Another thing that baffles people is the liquid restriction. There are signs everywhere, but every time I go to the airport, there are always piles of water bottles (Michael Vick), shampoo and toothpaste off to the side. If you don’t know the rules of travel, and are too lazy/stupid to look them up, then please, don’t fly, because you’re just gumming up the works for the rest of us who know what we are doing. And, you know you’re flying, and you know what you can’t go through the security screening area wearing. Why are you all bundled up in lace-up shoes, jackets, cardigans and belts with pockets full of change? Let’s get it together, shall we. Again, gumming up the works.

Speaking of traveling clothes, nothing makes me laugh harder than seeing what some of you people choose to wear when flying. Seriously, do you own a mirror? You want to be comfortable, but it’s a plane. It’s not your living room. Have some respect for yourself and the people that are forced to look at your beer gut hang out as you try and put all your belongings in the overhead bin.

Let’s go back to the quart bags for a second. I never want to check a bag. I’ve had them misplaced and just plain lost so I’m very wary of turning them over to the airline. But, I have high-maintenance hair, and I wear contact lens. I need my hair goos and my eye potions. And that doesn’t count my makeup and toothpaste. My quart bag is always a breath away from busting open. Which begs the question, why can I bring a lighter on the plane, something I can use to actually set something on the plane on fire, but 4 ounces of shampoo will apparently bring it down?

So this weekend, while waiting at my gate in Miami, a couple came up with twins in a stroller. Everyone was all, “Oh, aren’t they cute…” While I was thinking, “You think they’re cute now, wait until they’re screaming like howler monkeys in the seat next to you.” And I was right. Those “adorable” twins screamed bloody murder most of the trip. I know, I know, babies cry. Whatever. It doesn’t mean it’s not the most annoying thing in the whole traveling experience. Personally, I think there should be two kinds of flights. Flights for people with their kids, and flights for the people that just want to sit quietly, read their books and listen to their iPods in peace, while trying to ignore the overly chatty person sitting next to them. Just because I offered you a piece of gum doesn’t mean I want to know your life story.

Be big and let go

There's no video for this song, but it's awesome and sums up my feelings for the day. Enjoy.

Talking to you is like talking to you

I love my parents. They are great people. However, like parents do, sometimes they do tend to make me want to reach through the phone and flick a nose or a forehead.

One of my most recent conversations with my dad is a perfect example. As some background, we are all in a football pool, and my mom is in charge of collecting everyone’s picks and emailing them out, usually on Saturday. I was out of town for the weekend, but could check my email, and I never received the picks. I got home on Sunday night, and still no picks. So I called my parents and my dad answered. After the usual pleasantries, it all went downhill.

Is Jan going to send the picks? It's 8 at night. 95% of the games are over and I have no picks.
Yeah, you're getting too good, so we're not sending them to you anymore. (I'm in second-to-last place, so.... )
Nice. No, really, I just checked and I have no picks.
Oh, she sent them this morning.
OK, well, I didn't get them.
Well she sent them. Did you check?
Yes, I checked yesterday, this morning and just now. I have no picks.
Well she sent them (What time did you send them?)... She sent them at 10.
I don't have them.
She sent them this morning. Did you check?
Really?!?! This is the conversation we're having???

It's like talking to a wall sometimes. I laughed about it with my sister, and my friend Chris, who said he had a similar conversation with his dad. Our moms, sharp as tacks. Our dads... well, bless their hearts.

I talked to my mom last night. She told me that my dad has to go into the hospital on Sunday in another town to get new heart medication. He has an arterial fibrillation, and this new medication has the chance of actually stopping his heart, so he has to stay in the hospital for a few days for observation. I called him today. Just to chat. I ended up babbling about stupid things, like the frog that got in the apartment that I had to rescue from the cat, and the mistake I found in a Star Trek reference in an article I was editing, and the huge white birds that I finally figured out were herons and egrets. I just wanted to talk to him before he went in the hospital. He said he was nervous, and I told him not to be, that it would be OK. I am sure he appreciated hearing from me, but there's a part of me that thought he was probably thinking, Frogs? Birds? Really?! This is the conversation we're having??

Body Count

5 stiffs, 31 points. Godspeed, Deborah Kerr. I am going to watch The Grass is Greener this weekend as a tribute.

You're gonna carry that weight

A friend of mine (yes, the same one with the "rock and roll" poster and mini fridge in his room) asked me how someone we went to high school with was doing. Someone I had not given any thought to since sometime at the end of June 1989, which was probably the last time I saw J (I'll protect his identity). So I of course responded with "How the hell should I know?" My friend then went into a long rant about what an ass J was IN HIGH SCHOOL, and how he once threatened to kick J's ass in the hall. First of all, no, that probably didn't happen, but whatever! It was HIGH SCHOOL. Seriously. I said, "you've really got to let that go."

It got me thinking about grudges. Everybody has them. Big ones, small ones and ones that you share with other people. And even though you can't see them, they take up a lot of space. In your head. In your heart. They're heavy to carry around, especially if you have to carry it by yourself.

It's easier, sometimes, to let them go. Just be the bigger person, take a deep breath and let go. Accept that some people just suck, and they are careless with your feelings. If you have something to say to them, say it. Get it off your chest. Even if you just write it in a letter you'll never send. Scream if you need to. Or cry (it's better with wine). You'll be surprised how much lighter your head feels without a big fat grudge taking up space that you can use for other things. We all have baggage, but it's nice if it fits under the seat in front of you or in the overhead bin.

Although, if someone was a bitch in high school, and over the years she continued to be a bitch, you're totally allowed to laugh your ass off when she and her second husband show up on Dr. Phil. (It's even OK to burn it on a DVD, isn't it?)

Video Rewind

I don't know what happened to the video I had up yesterday, and You Tube is not coming up today. So play "Stuck in a Moment" by U2, and just imagine Bono's hotness.

Oh what a night

I am a pack rat. I save things that really should have been tossed a long time ago. Like my Duran Duran poster. I bought it when I was 15. I still have it. Well, at the moment it's in Atlanta, but I left instructions that it is to be saved. Why? It just sits rolled up in the closet. I'm surely not going to be hanging it up anytime soon. There are certain things that, while totally cool tacked up to your wall up until you graduated from college (what? I couldn't bear to take it down) that now that you're a grown up have no place on your bedroom wall. Even if you do put it in a frame (which I did not, but someone I know has a poster hanging in his room that, while he claims it says rock and roll, I'd call it "Dorm room, circa 1991). He also has a mini fridge in there, and a lifestyle that pretty much resembles that of a (maybe) recently graduated frat boy. But I digress.

I was in New York in February for my sorority anniversary, back in my small college town. Everything was the same, and yet completely different. Our favorite bar was still there, but was dark and quiet. Quite the contrast from the crowded, noisy, and yes, kind of disgusting place we spent every weekend night (and some school nights. And ok, some days too) so many years ago. Well, not THAT many. One of my sorority sisters said that she wished she could go back and have just one night at that bar. To be 21 again (or 20 or 19, but, well, whatever, my ID was good) and have one night to do it again. Not knowing what she knows now, no. Just a night where we were all young and dancing and had not a care in the world except whether or not our Pi Kap/Delt/Sammie/TKE (those damn TKEs) crush was there and was checking us out. I am with her. I would love to have one night back, where my biggest worry was whether or not it was going to be snowing on the walk back to the sorority house (because of course I didn't have a coat). I don't know if I'd just want to go back to that girl I was, not knowing what I know now. To repeat the same stupid things. To get my heart broken again, or break a little piece of someone else's. But then again, I guess I'd have to agree with her. Ignorance is bliss. It would be better not knowing, and just happily take a swig of my Milwaukee's Best Light long-neck (We were in college. We were poor.) and dancing to Groove is in the Heart or Just Like Heaven. Good times. Really good times.

So yes, we're "grown ups" now, but we can't let go of that time completely. It's what brought us here. So while it's no longer appropriate to decorate your room with posters stuck up with blue gummy mounting squares and frat paddles, (and the thought of a Beast Light makes you want to gag) you still hold on to those things that take you back. The Duran Duran posters and the concert t-shirts. Tucked away in drawers and closets, to be taken out and looked at fondly, like an old photo of a bunch of laughing sorority girls in jean shorts with leggings and flats. In February. Damn we looked good.

I'm stuck

I have something rattling in my head, and I'm not sure how to express it, so in the meantime, enjoy the hotness.

Rainy Saturday Activities

My great-grandfather, Andre Wathier, was sort of an air traffic controller for trains. He sat in a booth in Oneonta, NY, and directed trains coming into the round main station. He had to make sure that two trains weren't coming through the depot at the same time on the criss-crossing tracks. A very stressful job. So stressful, the doctor told him he couldn't do it anymore, because his blood pressure was through the roof. So, he changed his profession and began to fix clocks. And make clocks. He fixed beautiful grandfather clocks by making new wooden gears. He also painted. Mostly nature scenes, but people too. There are a couple of Andre himself, working on one of his clocks. His paintings are now scattered among the family. I have a street scene in France, the Sacre Coeur of Montmartre in the distance, and tiny little man painting it in the middle of the street. I also snagged these panels. When I was little, my mom had them hanging in our foyer, but they were soon relegated to the attic. When I moved to Atlanta, I claimed them for myself. I just love the colors and the style. They are such a contrast to the lakes, trees and docks that were the usual subject of an Andre painting. They are now hanging in the dining room of my new apartment. I needed to put something in between them. I debated hanging a mantel shelf, and then I decided to take elements from the paintings, and create these smaller versions. The paint chips from Behr at the Home Depot helped me match colors, and then it was off to Michael's to get some acrylic paints and canvases.
I traced, I cut patterns, I used my exacto-knife. I think they turned out pretty good, if I do say so myself. And I can see why Andre picked up painting. It's very relaxing, and a nice way to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon.

It's worse than camping

Well, ok, maybe not THAT bad. It's day 18, and I still do not have my stuff. It is still in the possession of Advantage Moving & Storage in Atlanta. They have promised me that it will come on Thursday. The day after tomorrow. I'd hate to be them if it does not.
So, what is it like living in my new apartment and going to my new job without 95% of my life, you ask. Well, let me tell you. I did manage to squeeze a few things in the Honda Civic. (For a small car, you can really cram that thing full.) I did plan ahead and, thanks to the recommendation of my cousin, purchased an Eddie Bauer air mattress. It's not so bad. It's not my bed, but it's better than the floor. If anyone comes to visit, they can check it out for themselves. I do have my skillet, saucepans and a frying pan, so I am able to cook. I did have to get some knives and a big spoon though, so I wouldn't have to resort to tearing things apart or stirring hot things with my fingers. I am eating off of paper plates and bowls, however, with plastic utensils. And let me tell you, paper cups make wine taste funny. Thankfully, I brought some coffee mugs and my coffee maker (the first thing I put in the car), so I am set for my morning fix. Since the movers have my coffee table and my "big" TV, I have my tiny TV setting on a folded up cardboard box. The cable box is sitting on a McDonald's McNugget box. Up until this past weekend, I was sitting on a beach chair. Saturday I picked up a couple of really nice chairs at Pier 1, so now I am higher off the floor, and a little more stylish. If anyone wants to contribute to the Michelle Needs a Sofa Fund, let me know, and I'll send you the address. I have my computer, but the movers have my monitor, so I haven't been able to be online except for at work (staying late to write this). I miss my monitor.
I was able to squeeze a couple weeks worth of clothes into two suitcases, so I have only now repeated a couple things at work.
So that's it. Just me and the cat, waiting less-than-patiently for the rest of our belongings to arrive. Thursday can NOT come soon enough. I wish it were Thursday right now!!!
Cross your fingers for me!

All that you can't leave behind

I am packing up my life to move to Florida in a week. I am trying to purge and get rid of things I don't need since I only have so much stuff allowed in the moving truck and even less in my car. No sympathy or sentimentality! I thought I was doing good in the living room, until I opened one of the cupboards. Holy shit, how did I get so many versions of Trivial Pursuit? Is the Millennium version better than the 20th anniversary edition? It certainly takes up less space. And then there were my Disney videos. Wow. OK. Purge time. I will keep my favorites. Sleeping Beauty, Jungle Book, Mary Poppins. And the video that has Lambert the Sheepish Lion on it. And that's it. The rest went in a bag to be given away. Then I was packing pictures, and there was one of my mom, and I remembered something. I was in the car with her. I think I was 4 or 5. Sitting in the front seat, of course. No seatbelt. We were going somewhere. She wouldn't tell me where we were going. I kept guessing. Ice Cream? Movies? The zoo? No, she kept saying, smiling. She was fibbing. We went to see Cinderella. I was amazed by it. It was beautiful, and scary too. I loved it. My mom told me it had always been her favorite one.
Smiling, I went in the giveaway bag, pulled out the Cinderella tape and put it in the keep pile. Sometimes, you just have to hold on to the little things.
Happy Birthday, Mom!!!

Walking on Sunshine!

And it feels GREAT! My big news is that I have accepted a position at a magazine in south Florida. It's a fabulous opportunity and I am super excited.
And terrified. But in a good way. Kind of. I don't know anyone there. BUT, when I moved to Atlanta almost 12 years ago, I only knew one person. And he was really only a college acquaintance with a couch I could crash on until I found my way. Soon though, I got a job at a publishing company and my own place. (Well, his roommate came with me, which in hindsight was probably not the best idea. All her drama and baggage definitely did not fit under the seat in front of her OR in the overhead bin. But it was never boring; I'll give her that.) I was on my way!
I've met a lot of people in Atlanta over the years. Some good, some bad and some that are so great they have exceeded my wildest expectations (you know who you are). I will miss them all (Well, not the bad ones. They know who they are too.).
I will miss Jenny most of all. She's been a great roommate and an even better sister.
And I need to give a shout to my brilliant friend Paige, because without her, this opportunity might have passed me by.
I am going to be very busy over the next couple weeks while I pack and move (already found a place to live!), but keep checking back!
The Sunshine State is about to get a little bit BLUER!!!!

In other news: I am officially skin cancer free, but one step closer to hell. I had Brooke Astor. 3 stiffs, 21 points.

I Won't Let You Down; I Will Not Give You Up

I have to admit it; I've become wrapped up in a new (old) guilty pleasure. I bought George Michael's "Twenty-Five" double CD, and it is currently in heavy rotation in my car's CD player and on my iTunes. I have loved this boy, George, ever since I was a peppy blond (yikes) cheerleader, when he stared intently at me from the poster on my wall. I don't know exactly when I fell for him, but it was probably around the time he asked me to wake him up before I go-go'd. One look into those eyes and WHAM! I was hooked.
I know what you're thinking. But back then I didn't know that. However, in watching the videos on DVD (oh yeah, you know I bought that too), how did I NOT know (Exhibit A: "Last Christmas")?!?! Maybe deep down I knew, but I didn't care. The music was great and, let's face it, he was hot! Hot enough to distract me from Nick. No, Simon. No, John (Ladies, you know who I'm talking about.).
The old songs make me think of my carefree high school days, when I really had no idea what he was singing about, but it sounded good. "Freedom" was fun, and "Careless Whisper" was a high school dance staple. And then he went solo, and it only got better. And hotter, and a little dirty. I remember having to watch the premier of "I Want Your Sex" with my MOM, so we could talk about the "message." (A pitfall of having a high school teacher for a mother. P.S. the message was George Michael was even hotter half-draped in a black satin sheet, or at least that is what I got out of it.) The thought of "Father Figure" still makes me giggle and blush. George Michael as a hot cab driver, all brooding and stubbly, up against a wall…
My friend Jennifer and I, crazy Cosmo readers that we were, knew the names of every single supermodel in the "Freedom '90" video. I can't even keep up with my magazines anymore, let alone the people on the covers.
And then, like high school friends, George and I drifted apart. He'd pop up now and again. If I needed a dance song for a mix, "Too Funky" or "Monkey" could be called upon. In a rush of nostalgia, I bought "Ladies and Gentlemen: The Best of George Michael" when it came out a few years ago. "Outside" and "Fastlove" were the flirty sexy George of old. Seeing him in concert would have made the Acid Washed Summer of Michelle and Paige complete (although Madonna, Prince and the reunited Duran Duran were quite the 80s trifecta).
"Twenty-Five" has the songs I know and love, but it also has great newer material that I hadn't heard before. "Freeek" and "An Easier Affair" are my two new favorites, although I don't think he wants our sex anymore, because it is not included. But that's OK; the rest of the package is fantastic. And in spite of all the news and scandals and ups and downs, I still love this boy, George. I wonder if I still have that poster somewhere…

Scratch it and Gimme a Beat

The tempo on my mix tape life has gotten faster and much more upbeat in the last week, to match the nervous and excited racing of my heart, thanks to my brilliant friend Paige (who can be found at site AND site). I don’t want to jinx it, but I could soon have very big news!
PS: Bonus points for anyone who can name the song this post's title comes from.

I light my torch and wave it

With all the excitement of yesterday, I forgot to post this in celebration of the full moon. On a Monday.

The first cut is the deepest

Actually it wasn't deep enough. I went in today for a consult with a
new dermatologist. Yeah, consult/schmonsult. She dug right in there.
But before she did, she explained everything. (Unlike my original
doctor, who was probably distracted by the deep furrowing line in my
forehead) On the scale of mild, moderate and severe, my mole was
moderate. Precancerous. But everything should be fine, and she said
she took enough out to test, and hopefully enough so she won't have to
go back in. If I could understand the pathology report, which might as
well have been written in Mandarin Chinese, I could tell you more
about the traces of cells. No strenuous activity or heavy lifting for
2 weeks. And once all those shots of litocain wear off, I am probably
going to need a Vicodin.
I'll have my results in 2 weeks. So think happy thoughts, and WEAR
YOUR SUNSCREEN!!!

Out, Out Damned Spot

Well, I got my test results from my mole. I have to go back for an excision. Yay!

I Don't Like Sundays

It always happens around 3 in the afternoon on a Sunday. I get that feeling in the pit of my stomach. Ugh. I have to go to work tomorrow. I try and keep myself occupied so I don’t think about it. Stay busy and have fun. Not too much fun though, it is a school night, after all. Damn! Now I am thinking about it again. Work. That commute, fighting slow drivers and suicidal squirrels. Why do morning DJ’s think they are so funny? All to get to that office. Where work is. Can’t be late. Gotta be at my desk at 9. No later than 9. Because that is when the phone rings. And work begins. Someone needs help.
One day down. Four more to go.

I am so random

Ok, thanks Paige. I was wondering about what to post today, and you solved my temporary dilemma.
Here are 8 random facts about me.

1. I saw a commercial the other night for Monster Ballads Platinum Edition, a 2-disc set of the 32 greatest rock ballads from the 80s. I almost called the number and ordered it on the spot. I didn’t, but I might just have to order it online. I am a sucker for monster ballads of the 80s. AND, the drummer of one of the featured bands had my mom for math in high school. She said he wasn’t very good at math, but maybe you don’t know what you got (till it’s gone).

2. In spite of being exposed by my sister, all of my cousins and my friend Jennifer, I have never had the chicken pox. I had to get immunized against it a couple years ago.

3. For the first 6-½ months of my life, my name was Sharon. Then I almost ended up Hazel, Marcelle or Madeline.

4. I was on ESPN when I was 14, carrying the Canadian flag during the national anthem. Hartford Whalers v. New York Rangers. The singer was standing right next to me (he was actually in MY spot). When I lowered the flag, it totally blocked the camera shot of him, so I can only imagine the scrambling in the booth and names I was called as they switched cameras to show him off to his best advantage.

5. My favorite city is Washington, D.C. I love to walk through the American History Museum and visit the monuments.

6. My favorite pizza is mushroom and onion from Cortese’s in Binghamton. I also LOVE their house Italian salad dressing.

7. I watched part of Demolition Man today. Again, I don’t know why.

8. I love trivia, and I have a million worthless bits of it in my head. I have finished a game of Pop Culture Trivial Pursuit in one turn.

So here’s the deal. Now that I've answered these questions, I have to tag eight more people. I am new to this blog world so I only have 4 to tag. Nancy, Paige, Mamie, Bill.

Here are the rules: Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Tears and mascara don't mix

Two stiffs, 16 points. Godspeed Tammy Faye.

So much for my mental health

I had a doctor’s appointment, so I took a whole sick day and called it my mental health day. I slept late, and took my time getting myself ready and out the door to the dermatologist for my annual mole sweep. I have to be careful, because I am very fair and will fry like bacon without at least spf 45 (55 on my face).
As it turns out, the one spot I was worried about was fine. Not so much a mole on my back, which he deemed questionable and promptly shaved right off to be tested! Super. Now I have that to worry about.
Then, he asked me about my feet. I had some heel problems last year. I told him they were fine, and I get pedicures every two weeks, so any dry skin is scrubbed right off. And this kindly old gentleman looked at me and said, “You know, you can continue to use that lotion I prescribed and save the money from pedicures for a Botox treatment to get rid of that line on your forehead.”
You mean that line that appears as my eyebrows shoot up to express the “Are you fucking kidding me?” thoughts racing through my brain?!?!?
As if reading my mind, he quietly said, “But you probably enjoy pedicures.” A hell of a lot more than having botulism injected into my forehead for no reason, that is for sure!
At least tomorrow is one day closer to Friday. Sigh. I need a drink.

Jour de Bastille!

When I went to France in high school, I bought a sweatshirt for the 200th anniversary of Bastille Day 1789-1989. A cheesy souvenier, perfect for the tourists. Imagine my surprise when I got home and was at the mall and found this poster of Kip Winger. WEARING MY SHIRT! Granted, in a more rocker, hair band kind of way, but still, Kip Winger and I had the same shirt. And almost the same hair.
I am off to celebrate the independence of my people. Liberte, Egalite and Fraternite for all, which is delicious with some fromage and a bit of the bubbly. Viva la France!

Perk me up before you go-go

I must admit to a general malaise today. I don’t know why. It’s Friday, the sun is out and the boss is out of town — all elements that would usually make for a great day. But, I am in a funk. And my lucky bamboo is dying. That CAN’T be a good sign. To stop myself from putting my head down and taking a nap, I came up with a little Friday-Pick-Me-Up Playlist. Which really means theses are the songs on my iPod that I didn’t skip over. Most of them are my silly 80s songs, but that is what is so great about them — shiny happy tunes that always bring a smile.
Enjoy!

Hold Me Menudo
Wake Me Up Before you Go-Go Wham!
Are you Gonna Go my Way? Lenny Kravitz
Shake your Love Debbie Gibson
A Little Less Conversation Elvis Presley
Church of the Poisoned Mind Culture Club
Radio Ga Ga Queen
Make a Circuit With Me Polecats
The King of Bedside Manor Barenaked Ladies
The Metro Berlin
Love it When You Call The Feeling
Celebrity Skin Hole
Wind it Up Barenaked Ladies
Raspberry Beret Prince

Now, I must admit to feeling a little better. And it’s almost quittin’ time!

This Hand Basket is Cozy

Yes, to answer the question I’ve been asked three times already today. Yes, Lady Bird Johnson was on “my list.” She was number 4. I now have 1 stiff and 7 points. I know. I’m going to hell.
I’ll see you there.

But is it Historically Accurate?

My mom was cleaning stuff out of their house (FINALLY) recently, and she said she came across something I had written when I as little. She said I would get a kick out of it, so she mailed it to me. Here it is, a report on George Washington that I wrote in 1979. (The spelling errors are as is. Hey, I was only 8)

George Washington was born on February 22nd 1732. He went to lots of battles. George was a brave man. The land use too belong to England. But the french wanted our land. And they had a fight. And the french lost the fight. And the English won the fight. George was in that fight. He helped the English win. One day he left his wife and kids because he had to go to the Revolutionary War. The war was betwen England and Amerrca.

Riveting stuff, huh?? When my mom showed it to my dad, he said, “Well, you can tell she wanted to be a writer.” I don’t know if you could make that conclusion based on this report. I can picture myself writing it out with one of those huge pencils we had at school, trying to be careful with my printing and staying on the lines. Is that a lower case b? Could be, could be an o too close to an l.
But my dad was right. In between wanting to be a movie star or a ballerina (even though I never took lessons and am as graceful as a giraffe in roller skates), I was always writing something. Little stories or parts of stories; I even wrote a whole play when I was in the 6th grade. Snow White and the One Dwarf, which was acted out brilliantly by myself, my sister Jen and our friend Marie.
Fast forward to today, and in addition to magazine articles, I still write little stories and parts of stories, always planning to flush them out. I have notebooks full of half thought-out plots and ideas. When an idea gets in my head, I have to get it down on paper before I can do anything else. It’s in my blood, and I love it. And I have finally taken my friend Paige’s advice and set up my very own blog to hopefully write even more stuff that people might read. It’ll be a mix of different things, and I hope you like it. I promise to do my subjects more justice than poor George and all his fights.