star inside

Glee-ful

2009-10-29T15:13:00.000-07:00

I won't even try to explain my absence. So let's just move on...

I hope you're all watching Glee on Fox. It is such a great show, and totally takes me back to my days in show choir. Now, I realize that high school was many years ago, or maybe my school just wasn't as modern as some others, but our "glee club" wasn't nearly as fun as the one on this show. We didn't get to sing contemporary songs or wear normal-ish costumes. (I would post a photo of our red/black, spandex, flame-design dresses, but it's just too embarassing!) And I have to give major props to Tim Davis, because the vocal arrangements are just incredible! What's more impressive is that most of the actors are singing their own parts. And even if you're not into the music like I am, the writing is very funny and well, anything that Jane Lynch does is alright in my book. Anyway, all this is to say that if you're not watching, you should be. Wednesday nights at 9PM on Fox.

Technology Overload

2009-07-30T21:32:00.000-07:00

I have long wished that the hackers and virus-makers of the world would find something more productive and positive to do with their time, so that I wouldn't be expected to remember endless usernames and passwords just to access the many websites that I frequent. And while we're on that subject, why does every site require a login? And why do they all have different requirements? It makes my head hurt just thinking about it, and even though I have written a book (literally, albeit a small one--ok, it was more like a large brochure) on identity theft and safeguarding your personal information, it makes me angry to have to follow the rules about memorizing everything and making passwords hard to guess. Because guess what? If they're hard for someone else to guess, they're hard for me to remember!!!

But I digress.

For the past three years, I have found it increasingly difficult to come up with interesting things to post on my blog. I thought maybe I had run out of material worthy of being shared, or maybe I had lost my creative edge, or maybe my life was simply not that interesting anymore. But then I realized... technology overload is to blame.

With all the mediums we use today to stay connected with friends and family--multiple email accounts, text messaging, IM, Facebook, Twitter, a blog and a professional website (and those are just the ones I use; some people also use MySpace, eHarmony, et al)--there simply isn't enough time in a given day (or even week) to update them all. Well, unless you make that your full-time job. But who would be willing to pay me to sit at my computer all day and update everyone with the inane details of my life? And it's rather narcissistic, really, that we all seem to believe we are important enough that anyone would even care about what we are doing or what we have to say.

I wish I had a solution to this growing problem. But it seems that as life gets busier, it only becomes more difficult to find time to keep up the updates. So I am open to any suggestions from blogland on this topic. Discuss amongst yourselves.

My New Website

2009-02-13T11:37:00.000-08:00

After singing for six years, I finally got around to creating my own website. Everyone has one these days, so why shouldn't I? And hopefully it will bring in some new work! So go to nicole-kelley.com to view my schedule, read my bio, hear my demo, and see photos of me performing!

Confessions of a Former Blog-aholic

2009-01-12T14:10:00.000-08:00

Bless me, gods of the Blogosphere, for I have sinned. I have strayed from my once-upon-a-time addiction of informing my faithful readers of the minutia of my daily life. And by now I have surely lost favor with those now-faithless readers.

The holidays were crazy. The dog ate my laptop. I was abducted by aliens for research.

But really, I've just been busy. And/or maybe somewhat uninspired.

But it's a new year. And so, in the spirit of new year's resolutions, I ask your forgiveness for my past transgressions. And I resolve to try harder to entertain you this year. I am determined to find the will to get back on the wagon. To get back into a regular habit of entertaining the blog-reading public. To try to fill my schedule with things interesting enough to write about. To try to find humor or life lessons in the seemingly insignificant happenings. To try to redeem myself to those readers (if there are any left) who have painstakingly endured my absence.

I have a new website. Which will hopefully (despite the economy) produce more singing work. Which will hopefully set the stage for some interesting stories to tell you.

I have a new-ish job. In the past, the workplace has served me well for material.

I plan to take a (real) vacation this year. That should at least produce some good photos, and hopefully some good stories to go with them.

We're trying to have a baby. Which, if successful, will undoubtedly produce (both in the resulting nine months of pregnancy, as well as the 18-ish years of parenthood that typically follow) enough fodder for more frequent posts.

Happy new year!

Twilight

2009-01-12T12:06:00.000-08:00

OK. I know I'm probably the last person on the planet to discover the Twilight saga. But no matter. I still love it. And I'm still going to tell you about it.

I've always enjoyed reading. I'm not a particularly fast reader. But I enjoy books, even if it takes me a ridiculous amount of time to finish reading them. I had heard of these Twilight books, but they were for young adults. So I didn't bother. However, my husband having been a film/TV major back in college, we had to see the movie shortly after it came out around Thanksgiving.

Now I know what you're going to say. And now that I've read all four books (and seen the movie again after reading the first book, to see if it really IS better to read before watching), I agree with all you purists that the books are better and you should read them first. How could they not be, really? It's nearly impossible to pack 500+ pages of detail into a 90- to 120-minute film. Especially when so much of the book is the thoughts of the narrator/main character. But that's not to say I didn't enjoy the movie. In fact, that's what got me hooked.

I found myself spending my lunch hour the following Monday driving all over town to four different bookstores to obtain a complete set of hardbacks. And the next day I started reading. Every lunch hour. Every night before bed. Every day off. In record time (for me, at least) of three days, I had finished the first 500-page book. I thought it was just because I already knew the story that I was able to fly through the pages, but I found as I embarked on the 560-page journey of book two that I was reading even faster, sometimes staying up until 3AM, unable to put the book down. And book three (longer, at 630 pages) also flew by. Now (after a brief hiatus from reading because of the holidays) I'm 150 pages from the end of book four (a whopper, at 750+ pages), and I finally find myself slowing down. Not because I believe, as some others do, that book four isn't as good. But rather, because I'm sad to see the story end. I'm totally invested in these characters and this story, and so I'm dragging it out.

And as an added bonus, I've discovered some great new music from both the movie soundtrack and the bands thanked in the author's acknowledgements.

Anyway, if there is anyone left on Earth who HASN'T read it, you simply must. It's thrillingly intense, sexy, romantic, intelligent, and yet mostly age-appropriate. Don't let the 2500-page commitment deter you. It's easy reading, and so captivating that you'll fly through the chapters quicker than you ever thought possible.

The (not at all) Wicked Stepmother

2008-09-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

It's been one year and 4 months since our wedding, the same day my Mother-in-Law had a fatal stroke. And not quite two weeks ago, my Father-in-Law got remarried.

The wedding ceremony and reception were tastefully executed, paying the proper respect to the loving relationship that Joe and Terry had shared for 43 years, but not making it another memorial service. However, it was still uncomfortable for many in attendance. Especially my dear husband, who was asked to stand beside his Father in support of this new union, when he really just wanted to punch a wall several times that weekend. I imagine that the event brought a reality and a finality to his Mother's death, more so than even the ceremony we held at Christmas to place her ashes in a niche. And I know he misses her greatly everyday, but this particular day those feelings were brought to the forefront of his consciousness. His sister had a difficult time as well. As did several of Joe and Terry's friends, who just couldn't pull it together and truthfully shouldn't have come if they couldn't be strong and supportive for the family. And of course, it was a much happier occasion for her guests, which was awkward for those of us who didn't know how to feel about it.

Her name is Susan. They met on eHarmony just 2 months after Terry died. She is lovely, kind and generous, and always tries to be sensitive to the situation with Dave's family. And she brings laughter and joy to Joe's life, for which I am thankful.

But she isn't Terry. She isn't the Mother-in-Law I signed up for. She isn't the woman I had only started to know and love when she was taken from us. And now that Dave and I are starting our own family, I find myself torn about this new, and somewhat unfamiliar, relationship. Neither I nor Dave begrudge his Dad a new partner with whom to enjoy his retirement and travel and be happy. But I know that Dave is not comfortable having a stepmother, especially this quickly. And I cannot imagine having my children call her Grandma, because their Grandmother is gone.

So many of my friends have told me that I will have no control over what my kids will call their grandparents, because you can't predict what they will say when they first use words to address them. So I guess I'm hoping that the first one will come up with some clever, cute phrase that will stick, that doesn't include any form of the word "grandmother". Or that I can guide it somehow. Maybe Papa Joe and SueSue?

2008-09-15T11:23:00.000-07:00

So I have a new job. Actually, I have had for about 3 months now. But given my latest experience with new jobs, I was reluctant to post anything until I knew how I felt about it (which is why there was never a post about my previous job, which SUCKED). Anyway, now the jury is in about the new job, and the unanimous verdict is that I LOVE IT!

Nevermind that I'm sick this week because the past two weeks have been insanely stressful and busy (we had our biggest tradeshow last week, which falls under my responsibility to plan and execute -- it went off with rave reviews, by the way). I still enjoy it. I like the people, I'm challenged by the workload, my boss actually cares about and provides feedback on my projects, I'm learning new things, I'm traveling less than before (but still a little bit, and to much more interesting places), I'm getting paid fairly (though I'd take more if they offered!), the benefits are good, the company structure and culture are a great fit for me, the headquarters are new and beautifully decorated, the commute isn't bad (and it's close to my husband's office, so we carpool sometimes), and we have a fancy coffee/tea machine and baskets of snacks. They even got me an ice cream cake for my birthday last month and sang to me. I do miss the view from my old office atop the 12th floor, but that's really it.

It only took one bad employment experience to learn what's most important to me in a work environment. So I guess for that I'm thankful. But I'm more thankful to be out of that job and into this one, where I feel like I actually have a future and where I don't have to be miserable for one third of my life!

Psychic Revelations

2008-08-10T09:14:00.000-07:00

My sister-in-law, Becky, visited a psychic recently. I don't necessarily believe in psychics, palm readers and the like, but I definitely think it would be entertaining to try it sometime. What I like even more, though, is when someone else tries it and learns something about me!

Apparently, when the psychic "saw" Becky's brother (my husband) and his wife (me), she saw a little girl soul tapping me on the shoulder.

Now I'm sure there could be many ways to interpret such a revelation. But since Dave and I have been talking about maybe trying to get pregnant in the next couple of months, the only interpretation I seem to be able to see is that there is a baby girl ready to join our family, just waiting for us to go off the pill (and apparently getting impatient -- we'll have to teach her when she gets here that tapping can sometimes be impolite!).

But like I said, I don't put my faith in these people who can "see the future" -- rather, I put my faith in God's plan for my life. However, it is really fun to think about having a little girl relatively soon -- maybe in as short as 10 months! (A note to my parents and anyone else who has been asking every time you see us: this is NOT, I repeat NOT, an announcement that we are pregnant.) We already have a name picked out. I have a couple of gender-neutral baby outfits that my grandmother gave to both me and my cousin when we were just teenagers. And the other day I was book shopping and found a baby food cookbook and a bedtime story book on sale -- so I bought them with the justification that we will hopefully need them someday. I guess now we just need to buy some pregnancy/parenting books, have a glass of wine, and get to it! :-)

Holiday Housewarming

2008-01-22T12:39:00.001-08:00

Hoping that most of our invitees would have more freedom in their schedules to attend our party, we avoided the craziness of the holiday season's festivities and held our holiday/housewarming party the first Saturday in January. And attend they did... in droves! There were about 50 of our closest friends and family packed into our little 1250-square-foot condo! I suppose the heavy rains that weekend helped clear everyone's schedules of other non-rain-friendly activities. But we were nonetheless honored that they all chose to spend their evening with us, some even making the trek from LA (about 55 miles on average) for our little soiree!

Our signature drink flopped (way too sweet, but thankfully we had the cocktail carousel there to save the day!), but the multitude of hors d-oeuvres were a hit. For a good portion of the night I couldn't even see my little Gracie walking around amidst the hundreds (literally) of legs. But she was the belle of the ball and she survived. As did the expensive new rug and wine glasses. Not a single glass was broken, nor spot made on the carpet. What lovely, respectful friends we have! Then toward the end of the night the party migrated to our third-floor loft (where the pole is installed) for a little debauchery. (OK, no real debauchery was had, but there were some amusing moments as friends tried to spin round the pole without the benefit of the months upon months of training I've received. That's why I need to hold a class at my home for my girlfriends - so they can know what they're doing next time!)

So now our house is warmed.

Cheers!

Greek Week

2008-01-22T11:45:00.000-08:00

Last October, Dave and finally got to take our long-overdue, reschueduled honeymoon. After all that happened last year, we were in desperate need of a vacation.

So after two full days of travel (including the time difference), we arrived in Santorini, Greece. Although it was nearly midnight and totally dark, I could tell the Santorini Princess was going to be beautiful come sunrise. Our hotel staff had been eagerly awaiting our arrival since late that afternoon (we had a delayed flight from Athens and got to spend several hours in the Athens airport; we made good use of the time by buying a Greek-English language guide book and learning some key conversational phrases), and took us on a tour of the property that ended with perfectly chilled champagne in our room. I cannot say enough about the staff's friendliness, professionalism, and the level of service we received. Or for that matter, the friendliness of the Greek people in general -- they are just lovely!

We awoke the next morning to the most breathtaking view. Out the front door of our "apartment" was the lower deck of the pool. And because our hotel was built on the caldera, on the other side of the pool was a cliff straight down to the ocean. One morning we ordered room service for breakfast, and ate on our porch as we looked out over the vast Mediterranean Sea and the tiny specks of the other Cyclades Islands. Another night we went up to the top deck and had cocktails and appetizers while we took in a beautiful sunset. Add to that the fact that immediately to our right was the restaurant, and two doors to the left was the spa, and we couldn't have been happier with our room.

We spent our first day relaxing by the pool while George and Igor served us delicious and creative drinks, followed by a 90-minute couples massage in the on-site spa. That night after dinner we took a stroll to a nearby village for drinks at a local pub (or whatever the Greek equivalent is).

On day two we rented an ATV to go exploring around the small island. I think we covered every inch of road (and some areas that were not necessarily accessible by road) that day. We saw an ouzerie next to one of the 250+ churches on this island alone (even our hotel had a little church -- they were seriously everywhere!), and spent an hour trying to understand the story the owner was telling in broken English. Something about a donkey whisperer. The next two days pretty much went like this... breakfast at 11 am when we finally decided to get out of bed, a couple hours at the pool, several hours of riding around exploring and taking photos and stopping at roadside cafes, ouzeries, etc., then dinner in Oia at one of the many scenic restaurants there. Friday night we went out to a local club. I had tired of my casual clothes and flip-flops, and was excited to get dressed up and wear some high heels. Even though we were on an ATV. And even though we had to walk up and down cobblestone streets that were very steep because of the location of the town on the cliff. But it was still fun. Saturday night there was a rain storm, so we ordered room service and busted out a bottle of Ouzo for some strip Phase 10. (If you'd like the rules, we videoed the whole thing so I could remember how to play for future use, and I'd be happy to share -- the rules, not our video.)

Sunday we traded in our ATV for a Crossblade (way cooler than a regular Smart car), and went to the island's wine museum for a tour and some wine tasting. That night we were driving into Oia for dinner and came across a restaurant with a firepit. Since it was chilly that night, we decided this was where we should eat. Well, it turns out that this particular restaurant was where the local business owners came after they closed up shop. So we stayed for quite a while, listening to them sing and watching them dance, and soaking in the local culture. Monday was cold and windy, so we did some shopping and enjoyed a conversation at a cafe in Oia with another couple from Southern California.

The next morning we flew to Athens. We had planned one day in the capital at the end of the trip, to try to see some of the amazing historical and mythological sites there. Our cab driver was hysterical. He went on and on about where we should go (at least I think that's what he was saying -- we only undersood about every 10th word), and gave us some maps of the city that looked like they had been used more than a few times. Then when he dropped us at our hotel, he insisted I take his bright orange Shell Oil laniard (which was rather dirty) to hold my cell phone (which didn't work in Europe) and hotel key (which was a card, not a key). He was the sweetest man. Anyway, we spent 6 hours or so walking around the city, visiting the Acropolis, several temples, the national garden, the Olympic stadium, et al. And then after a quick nap, we found a great little wine bar near our hotel and had a leisurely dinner with a couple bottles of wine and played cards for three hours.

Then it was time to come home. Ten days is a perfect amount of time to feel like you've really gotten away, but in Europe it's just not enough because you're barely starting to become accustomed to the more relaxed lifestyle.

As soon as we finish editing and captioning the hundreds of photos we took, I'll post a slideshow if I can figure it out, or at least a few more photos.

The Happiest/Saddest Day of My Life

2008-01-21T17:30:00.000-08:00

There aren't words to adequately describe the juxtaposition of emotions we felt on our wedding day. No one ever expects to couple such a joyous event with such a devastating loss. But the day itself was beautiful. The weather was perfect. I felt like a princess. And our photographer was amazing. So although we didn't get the celebration we had planned, and although our wedding-day memories are tainted with tears, we did manage to get some incredible images of Dave and I before the ceremony. (Regrettably, we didn't get any images of our families or wedding party -- those were planned for later in the day, and so they never happened.)
*Most images courtesy Natalie Moser Photography

More Than Meets the Eye

2008-01-07T16:23:00.000-08:00

If you're my age and grew up with boys in the house, you know about the world of Autobots and Decepticons. But what you don't know is that Transformers are so much cooler as an adult.

Maybe it's the nostalgia talking, but I loved this movie when we saw it in the theater. And when we watched the DVD the other night that I got for Christmas, I loved it just as much (it helps to have all the HD technology for this one). When Optimus Prime and Megatron showed up, along with several other original characters, well it just took me back. Sure, it won't be winning any Oscars (except maybe for the special effects), but it was wildly entertaining. Now I just need to buy the toys.

I Work at Dunder-Mifflin, Irvine Branch

2007-11-07T19:39:00.000-08:00

We may not sell paper, but our product is equally dull to those of us charged with marketing and growing the business. And we have many of the same employees...

Our Michael Scott is not a petite man, but a rather large, athletically built man. Though the inappropriate humor and cluelessness about managing employees remains identical. We recently went to Hooters for his birthday lunch. Enough said.

We have the distinct pleasure of having not one, but two Dwight Schrute characters. Neither is a beet farmer from Amish country, but one is a Jewish mother who thinks she runs the place and has an opinion and some self-proclaimed expertise about EVERYTHING, and the other is a tobacco-chewing redneck who tries to blend in in the OC and is all about gaining exposure to the executives. Or maybe he's our Andy Bernard.

Our Pam Beesly is slightly hotter and slightly sluttier than Jenna Fischer, but has a similarly dull job, consisting mostly of answering phones, copying and faxing, distributing mail, and running personal errands for our two fraternal co-presidents.

Our Jim Halpert is young, not super-ambitious, and I'm pretty sure he has the hots for our "Pam".

Our Ryan Howard is my boss' boss, and although he's young to be in such a role, he is very sharp.

Our Kelly just left. She was a talker with NO FILTER whatsoever, always wanted to be involved in everyone's business, thought she was a fashionista but was never actually that cute, and I think secretly had the hots for one of the execs.

Our Oscar quit regrettably soon after I started. But we're hiring, so I have high hopes of getting a gay man in here to round out our workplace diversity. Plus, if our old "Oscar" was ever in the closet, it was a closet with no doors.

Our Angela isn't so much a religious fanatic, but she's pretty high-strung and very straight-laced and shockable. And she dresses equally as conservatively.

Our Toby is our new HR person, so I don't know much about her yet. But from my initial interactions, I'd say she's going to try to rein in our "Michael" with some new policies and procedures.

We're a small team, so we're missing some key characters -- Meredith, Stanley, Jan, Karen, Creed, Kevin, Phyllis, Roy, etc. There's actually some crossover in characters with our employees, so the antics are no less entertaining.

And who am I, you ask? I prefer to think of myself as part of the film crew. Or maybe just a casual observer of the Orange County small company worker bee, taking notes for future episodes.

Are you a Dunder-Mifflin employee? Find out which one here.

Home Sweet Home

2007-11-06T16:58:00.000-08:00

Terry left Dave and I an incredible gift that allowed us to purchase our first home. So after the grueling process of househunting and escrow, I am pleased to announce that we are (as of August 24 - yet again my husband gives me an amazing birthday gift!) the proud owners of one Ladera Ranch, CA condominium. And we couldn't be happier.

It's small, but perfect for us right now and through the next five years. It has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, dramatic vaulted ceilings, beautiful wood floors, and a huge loft (which right now is an office/pole room, but will later become the guest room when the current guest room becomes a nursery!). It's in a great area, with beautifully manicured landscapes and shopping centers containing every store one could ever need (I can walk to the Happy Nails and the Starbucks -- need I say more?!). The community is Gracie-friendly, with a dog park called Wagsdale (how cute?!) and doggy-stops along the many trails that offer bags and trash cans. Our neighbors are much like us -- young couples and young families -- and I think we'll make some very good friends there.

Plus, with all the wedding gifts we received from our generous friends and family, everything in the house (save for a few items) is new! And we just finished painting and I'm nearly done decorating, so it's just about time for a housewarming party to properly break it in!

Thankfully, the recent fires in Orange County did not come near us. I truly believe that Terry is our personal angel in heaven, watching over us and ensuring that we are taken care of. And although nothing can ever take away the pain of losing a Mother or Mother-in-Law, we get to remember her everyday when we come home to the house that she made possible. We are very thankful to be so blessed!

For Terry

2007-11-04T09:11:00.000-08:00

I remember the day I met Dave's parents. We had only been dating for a couple of weeks, but they would be in town for his housewarming party, and even though it was early in our relationship, he wanted me to meet them. So after he took me out for my birthday, we picked up his parents and had drinks. I remember thinking that they were a warm and vivacious couple, and feeling comfortable with them immediately, despite the self-induced pressure of wanting to impress them. We spent the entire next day helping prepare his house for the party, and I had so much fun getting to know them.

I remember our first Thanksgiving together. Dave's parents invited me to join their family at their vacation home in Sunriver. I remember how welcome they made me feel, and what wonderful hosts they were. I remember spending time in the kitchen together and eating a lot of incredible food. And playing games and doing puzzles and trips into the village.

I remember a lot of trips to Portland, and a lot of their trips to California, where we spent wonderful times together.

I remember my bridal shower in Portland. I was unsure at first whether I wanted to do it, since my bridesmaids already had a shower planned at home and I wouldn't know anyone there except my future mother-in-law, sister-in-law and niece. But I decided to go -- it seemed that Terry's friends really wanted to throw this shower for me -- and we had a fun night at the theater, followed by a lovely shower, followed by a fun night at the niece/nephews' school auction. I remember being thankful that I decided to go, and how I felt closer to my new family than before.

I remember having arguments over the wedding guest list. And being thankful that Dave's parents were so willing to help, both financially and logistically, but feeling overwhelmed by all of their input. I remember dinner with both sets of parents two days before the wedding, where they met for the first time. And feeling lucky that they got along so well, and excited about family events that we'd all share together in the future. I remember feeling rushed and completely stressed-out with last-minute preparations the day before the wedding, and not being as kind as I should have been to those who had come out for the rehearsal that morning. I remember arriving late to the beautiful rehearsal dinner that Joe and Terry had put together completely on their own, and not even enjoying that time because I had had such a crazy day. I remember taking a half of a Xanax to help take the day's edge off, and then not remembering much else after that.

But I do remember our wedding day. Everyone remembers their wedding day. It's supposed to be a beautiful day, a culmination of all your planning, the happiest day of your life. I remember hanging out with all the girls in the bridal cottage while we got our hair and make-up done, drinking champagne, rehearsing my vows, talking about the event that evening and the honeymoon and the new life that Dave and I were about to begin. I remember how excited Terry was to see the rings and my dress.

And then I remember her collapsing while I was being laced into my dress in preparation for the photos that we were about to begin taking. And I remember not being able to wake her up. I remember the ambulance pulling up behind our cottage, just in front of the acres of vines, and I remember her husband's face as he left with her to go to the hospital. I remember my fiance's face when he asked me to please tell him what was happening -- the reaction I had anticipated all those months, one of joy to see me for the first time as his bride, was missing; instead he looked scared and shocked. I remember having to tell him about his Mom because everyone thought he should hear it from me, and telling him that no matter what the outcome, I'd be by his side and everything would be ok. And I remember the sadness that fell over everyone there -- our families, our wedding party, the winery staff, the vendors.

I remember Dave's father instructing us to proceed because we didn't know what had happened, or how serious Terry's condition was. I remember starting late so we could all compose ourselves before the ceremony. I remember that it was not a happy ceremony as it should have been, because there was an important set of parents missing. I remember Dave and his sister being rushed to the hospital immediately after the ceremony, because Terry's condition had worsened. I remember greeting our guests at what should have been our reception without my new husband, thanking them for coming, and checking in with my brother-in-law for constant updates. I remember conversations with my Matron of Honor, the Best Man, my father, and the wedding coordinator about our Plan B if the worst should happen. I remember there were no toasts, no photos taken, no dancing. Just dinner, and then everyone left.

I remember arriving at the hospital in my wedding gown and pacing the ICU waiting room and surrounding halls until my husband came out. I remember him asking me not to come into her room, because he didn't want me to remember his Mom that way. So I waited with friends and family outside each time he went in to be with her. I remember our first night together as a married couple, and how it was not romantic, how we didn't get to enjoy our beautiful room, how the sex we had waited for seemed inappropriate and so didn't happen, how we just went to sleep holding each other, crying until there were no tears left. I remember the next day, listening to Joe update everyone who had come to the hospital that his beloved Terry was going to die. That she had had a stroke from a blood clot in her medulla, that she was in a deep, irreversible coma, and that there was no hope that she would come out of it. That all we could do was stand vigil and love her to the end and wait for him to lose his wife. I remember helping the Best Man cancel our honeymoon. I remember the following day, when Joe made the difficult decision to honor Terry's wishes by taking her off the machines that were artificially keeping her alive. I remember many prayers asking the Lord to take her quickly, so she wouldn't suffer long when they removed the breathing tube. I remember Joe's and my dear husband's faces when they told us that Terry had at last gone to Heaven. I remember saying goodbye to her, promising to take care of her son. And how she didn't look like herself -- like her sweet spirit had been gone from the moment of the stroke and her body was empty in the hospital those two days. I remember going out for drinks afterward, to celebrate her life.

I remember spending our first two weeks as husband and wife not on our honeymoon in Greece, but in Portland, staying with Joe so he wouldn't be alone in their house, helping with funeral arrangements, celebrating a very somber Mother's Day without Terry, and attending her funeral.

I remember how it took my husband over a month to even look at a single wedding photo, because the memories of that day were not happy the way they are for most newlyweds. And how we have only a handful of professional photographs of the two of us, and a lot of candids from family and friends of the ceremony, but no photos whatsoever of our wedding party or families, or of the reception that never happened. And how Terry wasn't in any of the pictures we have from early in the day, except in the background. And how we still -- six months later -- haven't watched our video.

But now, above all else, I hope to always remember Terry. And to remember the impact she had on my life and the lives of everyone she met. To be the kind of wife to her son, and daughter-in-law, and (eventual) mother to her grandchildren that she could be proud of.

A Little Bit Naughty, A Little Bit Nice

2007-03-27T09:34:00.000-07:00

After giving me a perfect gift our first Christmas together and then giving me the best birthday gift ever, I had come to accept that Dave was simply a better gift-giver than I. But this year for Christmas, I thought I had come up with the perfect gift to put our gift-giving skills on the same level. And yet he still one-upped me.

We love wine. We're getting married in six weeks at a vineyard. For his birthday last year, I got him a really good wine bottle opener (along with several other things, of course). So for Christmas last year, I decided to go big and get him a wine fridge. After all, even though it was a more expensive gift than I budgeted for, it would benefit us both for many years, so it was worth it. He loved it so much that he wanted to sleep under the tree in the living room with his fridge that night. Even now, three months later, he still gets excited every time we pull out another perfectly chilled bottle of red, white or champagne. I did good -- real good.

But even so, he outdid me. He may have even outdone himself (though I don't know if a gift will ever truly be better than a diamond ring). I have been addicted to S Factor for nine months. I've never missed a week, and it's the first workout I actually crave all week long. So for Christmas, he made it possible for me to workout whenever I want. He got me...

a pole! (photos coming soon -- just of the pole, not of me on it, you perverts)

It's in the middle of the living room. We don't usually take it down when we have company, unless it's the parental units. He loves to show it off to his friends -- that his fiancee is a pseudo-stripper. I've even shown some of our closest friends a few pole tricks (clothed, of course). And I can't deny that I like having it up, too. It's a reminder of this new power I've discovered.

I'm thinking of having my girlfriends over for dinner, wine and some pole-dancing/lap dance/striptease lessons! (No boys allowed!)

Garza Azul

2007-03-27T08:17:00.000-07:00

Hey there, faithful readers (if there are any of you left)! I can't believe how long I've been away. A lot has happened in the last six months, and a lot has changed. So here I bring you the first of several installments chronicaling the new and improved life of Nicole.

We went to Mexico for Thanksgiving. But this vacation was not to a typical resort town in Mexico, with tourists everywhere, modern amenities, overpriced restaurants and multiple entertainment options. Rather, we were headed to a tiny village just south of Guadalajara. True Mexico, where no one speaks a lick of English, but where everything is authentic and somehow charming despite its primitiveness. At first mention of the trip, I was a bit concerned about having no phone, no Internet, no connection of any kind to the outside world. But I quickly embraced the idea of a relaxing retreat from our stressful lives, with nothing to do for an entire week but lay by the pool, read, play games, shop in the local villages, and eat authentic, home-cooked meals.

After a five-hour flight from Los Angeles, followed by a one-hour drive from the airport in Guadalajara to the house we rented in the remote area of Lake Chapala, we were ready to settle in and start the relaxation. But we soon discovered that there were a few omissions in the description and photos on the American owner's web site. First, the house was home to the largest spiders I've ever seen. And you couldn't kill them because they ate all the other bugs. I had to take a Xanax every night just so I could fall asleep with the 3-inches-in-diameter spider on the wall directly above my head. The pool was infested with wasps and all other manner of flying, stinging insects. I got stung once and decided not to go back, so I didn't come home with a winter tan like I had hoped. Our room was filled with gnats the first night because someone left the light on the night before we arrived. Said room was also on the side of the house with no hot water, so showering was a major production. And there were bats there, including one baby bat who took up residence in the corner of our bathroom.

But it wasn't all bad. We played A LOT of games. Which is one of my favorite things to do. We spent time in the surrounding pueblos, and I learned that I actually know more Spanish than I thought. I woke up every morning at whatever time I wanted, and did Pilates on one of the many balconies overlooking the lake. We were with a great group of friends, one of whom was formerly a professional chef. So we ate a lot of fantastic food made with the freshest ingredients and, of course, did our fair share of drinking. And Dave and I took some photos on the grounds (which were beautiful) that we were able to use in our save-the-dates.

I don't know if I'd go again. It was definitely lacking in some of the luxuries that I prefer on my vacations and just in life, in general. (I'm really not a roughing-it kind of girl.) But it was an adventure, and the memories are priceless.

Affianced

2006-09-10T11:30:00.000-07:00

I apologize for my recent, sudden disappearance. I was not kidnapped. I was not murdered. But I assure you, my lack of posting activity was for good reason...

I'M ENGAGED!!!

Dave was determined to surprise me after letting it slip one drunken night in Las Vegas that a proposal was forthcoming. Remember the funny money clip? And surprise me, he did.

It was my 30th birthday party. August 18th. White trash bowling. Trucker hats for everyone (everyone got a hat when they arrived, and your hat color determined your bowling team -- seriously, how clever am I?), wife beaters (with black bras, of course!), cut-off jean shorts, pizza, wings, jalapeno poppers, beer, a private suite of bowling lanes. It was awesome. Much thanks to all my friends and family who came to help me celebrate (and who unknowingly would share a moment with Dave and I that I will never forget).

Picture if you can, me in three-and-a-half-inch heels (who has time to get bowling shoes when you're busy hosting and socializing?), a piece of pizza in one hand, a bowling ball in the other. I may have been slightly inebriated. Not sure, but I may have been. Between my first and second frames, my lane shut down. I stumbled back to press the "Reset" button, when Dave pointed out a ball that had just rolled up and was glowing in the dark (it was Rock & Bowl that night at the bowling alley). "Hey Blonde Girl" it said, in big, bold, silver letters. Curious, I started to read the other writing on the ball. But then I came to a drawing of a ring and the words "Pop" and "The big question is here."

I spun round to see Dave standing behind me with a ring box and a huge smile. Suddenly, everyone was paying attention, and I think there was some screaming. He dropped to his knee and asked me to be his wife, and after giving my pizza to someone nearby, I immediately accepted. And this time, there was a ring in the box. A beautiful ring, the exact one I wanted, and it's colorless, so it sparkles like you wouldn't believe (as soon as I get a good picture of it, I'll post it).

So I've been a little busy with wedding plans these past three weeks (it will be May 5 at a local vineyard), but I will try not to neglect you anymore.

Hugs and kisses!

2006-08-14T17:52:00.000-07:00

What do you do when you discover that someone who was once your best friend is not the person you thought they were? What do you do when it turns out that your friendship, like the better part of their life, was based on nothing but superficiality, lies and manipulation? How do you face them, when you don't like who they've become? How can you possibly help, when they are on a path to becoming the worst version of themselves? What do you say to someone when single mistakes in their past turn out to be a pattern of ongoing stupidity -- when clearly no lessons have been learned, no changes have been made, and there are no more excuses that could ever justify their actions? How can you believe anything they say ever again -- even an apology or a promise to try harder or do better -- when the most sacred trusts have been betrayed? And how do you deal when your heart hurts so deeply for the dozens of people whose lives they are destroying?

You know, 'cause I'm just wondering. Hypothetically, of course.

Safe!

2006-08-10T10:42:00.000-07:00

In quite possibly the cleverest blog contest I've yet to see, Pauly D, capitalizing on the popularity of reality shows everywhere, has decided that today we will vote out one of yesterday's commenters. You should check it out. But you can't vote me off, because I have apparently won the coveted immunity card for casting my vote in the predetermined nth spot. So go on over and vote off one of my competitors.

What a girl needs...

2006-08-04T16:27:00.000-07:00

Have you ever Googled yourself? It's always interesting to see where you show up on the Internet, and even more interesting to learn about your doppelgangers.

Try this variation, borrowed from Chronic Listaholic -- type "[Your Name] needs" and then list the top ten results. I included five extras, just because I thought they were funny.

Nicole needs:

Nicole needs a family that can provide her with the accommodations she needs. Yes -- preferably a large house wherein I have a large bedroom with a large walk-in closet filled with a cute new wardrobe.
Nicole needs a boob job. Again? I'm not going for the porn star look!
Nicole needs to calm down. Absolutely. I think a massage would really help with this particular need.
Nicole needs inspiration/encouragement. Indeed. I've been rather uninspired/unencouraged at work lately.
Nicole needs a new page. If you mean a new home page for the new web site I have yet to publish, but for which I have owned the domain for the past two years -- then yes.
Nicole needs to shut her mouth. That's a little rude! And besides, I'm technically not talking through my mouth at the moment.
I think all Nicole needs are some boobs and then she'll look better. Seriously, what is it with you and boobs?!
Nicole needs a new play. Would a musical count?
Nicole's Needs: Exhibitionist & Voyeur This must be a more recent development resulting from my new favorite workout.
Nicole needs a lot of help. Clearly.
Nicole needs an intervention. Only where Girl Scout cookies (and ice cream) are concerned.
Nicole needs to get to a photo shoot. That sounds like fun -- I could use a new headshot.
Nicole needs friends. Don't we all need our friends?
Nicole needs a man. Done.
Nicole needs a babysitter. Only when I'm really drunk.

My Boyfriend the Comedian

2006-08-01T17:24:00.000-07:00

Dave came with me on an overnight gig in Lake Arrowhead last week. And here's what he pulled out of his pocket when we checked in to the hotel:

Yes, it's a ring box. And no, there wasn't anything in it. He thinks it's funny to tease me like this, but I say it's just mean!*

*I should explain this a little more: In Vegas last month, he got very drunk and we got in a bit of a tiff over some of his antics. During his efforts to make up with me, he let it slip that he is planning to propose in the next month. So this is his way of messing with me to try to throw me off, because he wanted it to be a surprise. If I didn't know his intentions, it would certainly be a slap in the face.

A Year in Review

2006-07-22T18:07:00.000-07:00

One year ago today, I arrived at the site of our upcoming event to set everything up so I could arrive at a normal time the following morning. I had no idea that you would be there. Or that you would be YOU. I was surprised and delighted to find that you were my age. And you seemed sweet. And normal. And I can't deny that I found you attractive. You were completely unexpected.

I woke up early the next day so I could look my best for you. I mean, for the event. ;-) And, as fate (read: Emily) would have it, my responsibility during the event was logistics. Which meant that I was to spend most of the day with the vendors, including you. I found you so intriguing. Our conversations were so easy and entertaining. I don't know if you noticed, but I went out of my way to spend extra time with you, to talk with you more, to flirt as subtly as I could manage, to do little things for you to make you remember me (I know you'll never forget the Peanut M&Ms). But I was not confident enough to say anything to you when we parted that afternoon. Plus, there was that whole vendor-client thing.

Over the next week, you popped into my head many times. Finally, following a pep talk by a couple of friends, I mustered up the courage to call you. I had been hanging on to the event file at my desk, because it had your cell phone number. You know, in case of emergencies. Or in case I wanted to ask you out, something I had never done before. After practicing what I would say, I nervously called you, praying that you would at least remember me. Even if you were already taken.

And I'm so glad I did call you. And that you remembered me. And that you were interested. And single. (Or, so you said. But I'm glad you stopped seeing that other girl when I called.) And since then we've had so many good times and made so many memories:

Fantastic Diamond 2005
Meeting your parents on my birthday
Labor Day weekend in Las Vegas with Mark and Johnna
Cabin weekend in Lake Arrowhead with my work girls
Meeting my family at my sister's wedding
Your Halloween costume party
Thanksgiving with your family in Sunriver
Our first Christmas together
New Year's Eve at my gig (you're such a good sport, and I love that you're my biggest fan!)
A very romantic Valentine's Day at Pane e Vino
Spa weekend and wine tasting in Paso Robles
Skiing and playing house in Sunriver
Jen and Jason's wedding weekend in Palm Springs
Memorial Day weekend at Joel's Santa Barbara house with Aaron and Whitney
Your birthday weekend in Portland
Our crazy fourth of July weekend in both Las Vegas and Lake Arrowhead (and the incident in the middle of the desert which I would rather forget!)
Fantastic Diamond 2006
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat with Emily and Mark
And, of course, all the laughter you bring to my life that make even the day-to-day things seem special

We've had such a fun first year together. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life making more memories with you.

I love you!

You Know You've Become Famous in the Blogosphere When...

2006-07-20T12:03:00.000-07:00

...someone on the other side of the country, even if he is the vice-president of my fan club,* writes a post about me.

*Sorry, Carl -- the office of president is reserved for my boyfriend.

Any Dream Will Do

2006-07-18T14:30:00.000-07:00

Dave and I saw Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat on Sunday with Emily and Mark. The cheese factor was pretty high, but I always enjoy seeing a show. (Wicked was next on our list, but was regrettably sold out the moment tickets went on sale.)

And it got me to thinking...

Why have I never done a musical? I've been singing and dancing all my life, and Lord knows I'm a little bit dramatic. So why haven't I put these skills together and to good use? In high school it wasn't cool to be associated with the drama kids, and being a cheerleader I'm pretty sure that's why I didn't get involved in the musical theater program. And in college I didn't sing as much, so I could focus on my dancing. Then I got into a career, and well, I just never found the time.

But there's nothing quite like the rush of performing to a live audience (although I also love doing studio recordings). I enjoy singing with my three bands and occasionally at church, and I think I would love to be in a musical. Preferrably as the star, but any part would do. A good friend of mine played the lead in Miss Saigon several times, and I always envied that experience just a little bit. I know the music for most of the popular shows, having seen quite a few live and owning the soundtrack for at least 20 more.

So I think I'm finally going to audition -- just for a local production. (After all, my resume is pretty unimpressive in this field. And I don't think I'm the touring type.) So stay tuned...

S is for

2006-07-16T13:25:00.000-07:00

Sexy.
Strong.
Sensual.
The Shape of a woman's body.
Striptease.

I've recently become addicted to Sheila Kelley's S Factor. I took my third class today, and already I feel stronger, leaner, more flexible, more feminine and more comfortable in my body.

Now don't get me wrong -- I'm not saying that stripping for money is something I plan to do now or in the future; it's not the point of the classes to teach women how to be strippers (although I imagine that you'd probably do just fine in that profession if this was the only training you ever received!). But a well-timed lap dance for my man is not out of the question, and now I'll have the skills to do it right. Plus, with the incredible workout you get with this program, I'll have the toned-up body and the resulting confidence to do it, too! I didn't realize that strippers are so athletic -- pole tricks are not easy and require a lot of strength, balance and grace. And, it takes a lot of practice to get your muscles strong and limber enough to control and slow your movement to the point that it drips in anticipation.

Anyway, it's really empowering and a much more interesting workout than the gym. So ladies, if there is a studio near you, I highly recommend checking out an intro class. Just beware of the repercussions -- I'm sore and bruised in very unusual places. And of course, Dave wants to install a pole in the house now.

Belly Up

2006-06-05T10:32:00.001-07:00

I won a goldfish once at a carnival. I had never had a fish before, but I looked online for instructions on how to care for my new pet.

The first time I changed the water in his bowl, I carefully poured him into a cup with some of the old water while I washed out the bowl and refilled it with clean water. I added the recommended number of drops of whatever that solution was, and it was fit for inhabitance once again.

But then I had a thought — I couldn’t pour the old, dirty water into the new, clean water. That would defeat the purpose of the cleaning I had just completed. And furthermore, my little fish had been swimming around in his own filth. So I decided he should have a bath before he went back into his freshly-cleaned home.

I ran some room-temperature water, gently cupped him in my hands, and ran him underneath the stream twice, back and forth. Then I gently slid him into his clean bowl.

But he just floated there, on his side. I thought maybe he was in shock, or scared, or maybe he was playing possum. But when he still didn’t move after a few minutes, I realized I had killed him.

Regrettably, this was only a couple of years ago. So I can’t even blame childhood innocence for my crime. Thankfully, dogs are much easier to care for. And way more fun to have around.

The Bird

2006-05-29T16:42:00.000-07:00

I returned home after work one summer afternoon to find that the door leading from the carport into the kitchen had been left open. Not just unlocked. Wide open. Living in Utah, and especially living close to BYU, this was not much cause for concern (the crime rate there, as you can imagine, is relatively low), but was another frustrating reminder that the two boys I lived with were not exactly the most responsible people.

Nevertheless, I went about my regularly-scheduled business of sorting the mail on the kitchen counter and checking the messages on the answering machine. That's when I noticed that the vertical blinds next to me were rustling, and I could see a dark figure near the base of the sliding glass doors -- about six inches from my feet. At first, I wasn't sure what it was. But I wasn't about to wait around to find out, so I grabbed the cordless phone and hurried into my bedroom down the hall.

Why my gay dance partner was the first person I thought to call, I'm not entirely sure. I mean, he was smaller than I, and certainly no braver. But my boyfriend was still at work, so I called him in a panic.

Me: "Troy, there is a crow in my house. You have to come over right away to help me!"
Troy: "What do you want me to do about it?"
Me: "Kill it, of course!"
Troy: "I'm not killing a bird. Where is it now?"
Me: "I don't know! I'm locked in my bedroom."
Troy: "Go see where it is. Maybe you scared it and it flew out already."
Me: "Okay. Hang on..."

I emerge slowly from the safety of my bedroom, being careful not to make a sound. Peering around the corner, I can see that the large black bird is not in the place of my initial discovery. Maybe he's right, I think. Maybe it has left the house.

As I turn around, I notice to my horror a silouhette in the dark living room, perched on the arm of the sofa. It's looking at me. Directly at me. With glowing eyes, it begins to fly, claws outstretched, making the most terrible sound my ears have ever heard. I scream and drop the phone, run into my room and slam the door, when...

SMACK!

The bird has charged right into my door. It wanted to attack me. It was coming to peck my eyes out!

Now what am I going to do? I left the phone in the living room (I didn't have a cell phone at the time), and I'm home alone. What if it pecks through the door and eats me alive? My mind is racing, when I hear a group of boys in the kitchen calling my name.

Who has come to save me from this evil bird? It's my dance partner and his housemates. Apparently, my scream and the thud that followed caused some concern. So he gathered up the troops and came to save the day. I was free at last. But let me assure you, there is nothing funnier than six gay men trying to shoo a crow out with a broom.

Clearly, Alfred Hitchcock's got nothing on me.

Top Ten Reasons Why I Have an Ulcer

2006-05-08T09:13:00.000-07:00

Dave and I are trying to save for a house, which in Southern California comes at the bargain price of $600,000. For a two-bedroom condo!
And my ring.
And our wedding.
And our eventual children's college funds. (Okay, so we're not actively saving for this one quite yet, but it stresses me out just to think about it! Or maybe it's the whole having kids thing that stresses me out. Either way, stress!)
I am overworked, underappreciated and seriously underpaid (I know, who isn't, right?!) at a job that most days, I hate.
So I'm looking for a new one.
Of late, the gradual falling out with my sister and with a friend have come to a head.
I am going back to school at the end of this month (read: less disposable income and less me-time).
Bathing suit season is upon us.
Most of the things I want to write about here (read: vent), I can't. But trust me, they're stressful.

So yeah, I could use a Xanax. Or a bottle of wine and a long massage. Or a vacation. Or maybe a cocktail mixing all of the above for optimum results.

A Humble, Not-Pre-Written Acceptance Speech

2006-04-16T19:44:00.000-07:00

If you've been reading lately, you either think I've lost touch with reality and should be institutionalized, or know that I participated this past week in Kevin Apgar's genius marketing idea, the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign for Paul Davidson's forthcoming book, The Lost Blogs.

It was a lot of fun to write as someone else (Helen of Troy, in case you didn't catch it), and I've discovered some great new reads in the blogs of other participants (see the "Lost Bloggers" links at right).

As an added bonus, I was surprised and thrilled to learn that I have been chosen as one of six winners in this contest/exercise by Pauly D himself. (And, of course, I'm super-excited to receive my personally-autographed advance copy of his book.)

So thanks, Pauly D, for this honor. And everyone else, be sure to pre-order your copy of his book!

Lost Blogs: Day Five

2006-04-14T17:12:00.000-07:00

How did I get here? From Queen of Sparta to Princess of Troy, and now a refugee. I have lost everything. It wouldn't matter if my love were still here. But I have lost him, too. And I don't know how to start over without him. I don't want to.

I look at the few survivors around me, and I weep. It is my fault that they are here. If not for my affair, they would have remained in the peaceful existence they knew before all of this. But Aphrodite's spell, nay, curse, was too strong to resist. All the women who have lost their husbands. All the children who have lost their fathers. I feel their scornful eyes upon me wherever I go.

I know what I must do. It will not bring back their loved ones. It will not bring back the wonderful kingdom that was conquered by the combined Greek army. And it will not undo the ruin that our city has become. But it might save me in the next life.

-Helen

This post is part of Kevin Apgar's Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign (GRBBMC) for the upcoming release of the very talented Paul Davidson's new book, The Lost Blogs. If you want to read the possible blogs of hundreds of other historical figures (though much better-written, I'm sure), c lick here to pre-order your copy of Paul's book. At the end of this five-day contest/exercise, the characters of all participating bloggers will be revealed. If you wish, you can leave your guesses in the comments.

Lost Blogs: Day Four

2006-04-13T14:42:00.000-07:00

A firey orange glow now envelopes this land that was beautiful just yesterday. We had much time and took precautions to fortify the city in preparation for their attack, yet we did not anticipate a siege of this kind.

They came in the middle of the night, hidden, waiting for the opportune moment when their strike would hurt us the most. We weren't ready. And now our kingdom is being consumed by the flames of a terrible war.

We are far outnumbered, and the carnage is great. Even with some of the greatest warriors on our side, I fear we will lose this battle. Worse, I fear it will be years until the damage is fully done and we can start to rebuild what will hopefully be left of our kingdom.

Paris left me to fight today. He and his brother are no match for Menelaus, though. His brute strength and furious rage will overcome their experience and skill. I can't bear the thought of what is going to happen. And I can't go back to my husband if he kills the man I love. I am leaving the city tonight with my sister-in-law and a handful of other women and children.

This post is part of Kevin Apgar's Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign (GRBBMC) for the upcoming release of the very talented Paul Davidson's new book, The Lost Blogs. If you want to read the possible blogs of hundreds of other historical figures (though much better-written, I'm sure), c lick here to pre-order your copy of Paul's book. At the end of this five-day contest/exercise, the characters of all participating bloggers will be revealed. If you wish, you can leave your guesses in the comments.

Lost Blogs: Day Three

2006-04-12T18:51:00.000-07:00

Preparing for bed tonight, as I was brushing my hair, I nearly lost my breath when I saw the reflection in the mirror. Not of myself, despite the vanity that some may say I possess. But rather, of the horizon. I turned and looked out my window at the sea that stretched out before me as far as I could see. The view was surprisingly and alarmingly tranquil.

Hundreds of ships, possibly a thousand, sails to the calm, quiet night winds, making their way to our shores. They were distant and slow-approaching, but I knew it wouldn't be long before they arrived. And my husband was certain to be on the lead ship.

My love lay sleeping -- peaceful, unaware of tomorrow's inevitable conflict. I couldn't bring myself to wake him with this news. I wanted only to enjoy one more moment of bliss with him before I was forcibly returned to the life I so willingly fled. I wanted to be free for just one more night.

So I drew the curtains closed and pushed the image out of my mind of what was to come. And I lay down beside my love, one last time.

This post is part of Kevin Apgar's Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign (GRBBMC) for the upcoming release of the very talented Paul Davidson's new book, The Lost Blogs. If you want to read the possible blogs of hundreds of other historical figures (though much better-written, I'm sure), c lick here to pre-order your copy of Paul's book. At the end of this five-day contest/exercise, the characters of all participating bloggers will be revealed. If you wish, you can leave your guesses in the comments.

Lost Blogs: Day Two

2006-04-11T12:43:00.000-07:00

I awoke today, numb to the happiness I have known these last few months here, and instead filled with a dark and looming sense of impending doom. I am afraid -- not for my own life, for that is of no concern to me. But for the life of my love. And his family, who have been so kind to me ever since I arrived, unannounced. His father could just as easily have ordered my return, to avoid all this nonsense. His brothers could have thought me a cold, heartless, unfaithful wretch. But instead they chose to welcome me, to embrace and accept me and my choices.

How I dream of a day when we could be free! Free to start over together and leave this all behind. And I would willingly leave it all -- it was never about the money or the power for me. With my new love I feel more beautiful than any man has ever made me feel.

My husband told me I was beautiful, but he never loved me like this. Like all the others, he lusted after me. But he was interested in nothing more than the crown that would be his when my father passed on. The crown that should have been my departed, beloved twin brother's. No, this was never love. Rather, he has been plotting with his powerful brother and forming alliances with other kings and planning our demise. And as he draws nearer, my heart aches, for I know that my dream of a new life will never come true. I know the fate that will befall us. And I am powerless to stop it -- it is our destiny.

Still, I can't help but feel guilty. For although I deserve this horrible fate, I have brought disaster with me to this once peaceful kingdom. I will be the reason for the innocent lives that will surely be lost if this battle occurs. Perhaps I can convince my husband when he arrives to simply take me back and leave the people unharmed. I don't think he could look at me and kill me, anyway. But I must first convince myself that returning to my sad existence with him would be preferable to death.

This post is part of Kevin Apgar's Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign (GRBBMC) for the upcoming release of the very talented Paul Davidson's new book, The Lost Blogs. If you want to read the possible blogs of hundreds of other historical figures (though much better-written, I'm sure), c lick here to pre-order your copy of Paul's book. At the end of this five-day contest/exercise, the characters of all participating bloggers will be revealed. If you wish, you can leave your guesses in the comments.

Lost Blogs: Day One

2006-04-10T23:54:00.000-07:00

Call it boredom. Call it fate. Call me aldulterous. But just don't judge me.

You have no idea how taxing it is, pretending to love a man your father chose for you to marry. A man who is not kind, not intelligent, not funny, not handsome, not charming. A man who to me, has no attractive qualities. Of the thousands of suitors that hoped to inherit my mortal father's throne by marrying me, many so much more handsome and charming than my husband, I was not allowed any say in the matter. This life that I would not have chosen, this forced pretense -- it eats away at me every day.

Of course I feel badly about leaving him. And I feel worse about abandoning our daughter. But for the first time, I felt something -- anything. For the first time I experienced an emotion that I never imagined I could feel in this life. It was as though the gods intervened when we met and gave me a taste of the life I could have had. And now that my senses have come alive, he is all I want. I want to feel, to taste, to touch, to experience love, to be happy.

But I fear that my husband will not allow us much time together. Surely when he returns to find me gone, he will come after us with all the force afforded to a man in his position. The very power that, by my father's decree, made me his wife.

This post is part of Kevin Apgar's Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign (GRBBMC) for the upcoming release of the very talented Paul Davidson's new book, The Lost Blogs. If you want to read the possible blogs of hundreds of other historical figures (though much better-written, I'm sure), click here to pre-order your copy of Paul's book. At the end of this five-day contest/exercise, the characters of all participating bloggers will be revealed. If you wish, you can leave your guesses in the comments.

Bridesman?

2006-04-05T10:04:00.000-07:00

What would be the proper name for a male bridesmaid? It's something that I've recently been seeing with increasing regularity at weddings -- men in the bridal party along with the traditional female bridesmaids. Dave was in a friend's wedding over the weekend. On the bride's side. He wasn't on the groom's side, so you wouldn't call him a groomsman. So I've decided that he is a bridesman. Or perhaps a manmaid. ;-) Your thoughts?

In any case, he looked very handsome. And I have to give him credit for being secure enough in his manhood to carry a bouquet! At least he got to wear a tux, instead of a bridesmaid dress!

The wedding was in Palm Springs at a swanky resort, and the weather was perfect. I'm definitely a fan of the destination wedding. It's a nice excuse for a weekend getaway for the guests, and for the couple it helps shrink the guest list to a more reasonable (and affordable) size.

We're thinking a vineyard might be a romantic setting for our own nuptials. But I promise, that's all the planning we've done for now.

Playing House

2006-03-22T13:50:00.000-08:00

My boyfriend's parents treated us to a weekend of skiing and relaxation two weeks ago at their Sunriver, OR vacation house. We ate great food (my boyfriend is a fantastic cook!) and drank good wine. We stayed up late, slept in, took naps. We skiied on freshly fallen, perfectly powdery snow. We played games. We soaked in the hot tub after a little coaxing on his part (I was not about to walk outside in a bikini, where it was snowing and zero degrees!). It was peaceful and lovely, and so much fun to play house with him!

Red is NOT the New Blue

2006-03-20T09:36:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a pretty big day -- we went shopping. For my engagement ring! And although I don’t get the final word on the ring that will be purchased, and although I don’t get to know when or where or how he is going to ask that very important question, I am so excited when I think of spending my life with this man that I can hardly wait!

Neither one of us has been engaged or married before, so this was a completely new experience for us. And it was definitely a little overwhelming. But still, so much fun!

We visited all the jewelers at a local upscale shopping venue. We received numerous lessons on the four “Cs” of diamonds – color, clarity, cut, carat. We tried on hundreds of rings to find the shape and size and design that looks best on my dainty little hand. In the end, we kept coming back to one particular style that we both loved.

Having a pretty good idea of what we wanted at this point, we decided to make our final stop at Cartier to take a peek at their selection. Now, I realize that Cartier is a high-end store, but I thought it was in roughly the same category as Tiffany & Co., where I shop fairly regularly. So I expected that there would be at least a few things there in our price range.

Our sales representative was very helpful. We tried on nearly every ring they had on display. She detailed the history of Cartier and provided some general information on their financing plans (the very fact that they have financing plans should have tipped me off to the horror that my eyes would soon behold!). She explained how you pay a little more for the Cartier name and the red box, but that the pieces hold their value better because of that Cartier inscription.

Then I tried the ring. The very same style we fell in love with hours before at another jeweler. The one that will likely be worn on my hand for the next 50+ years. (Unless he completely throws me for a loop and chooses something else.) It was exquisite. A 2-carat, nearly flawless, round brilliant diamond perfectly set on a platinum and pave-set diamond band. With a matching eternity wedding band. I can’t adequately describe how beautiful it looks on my hand. When I took it off my finger, I caught a glimpse of the price. And that’s when I almost fell over.

$66,000.

Surely, it was a misprint. Maybe the comma was in the wrong place. Or maybe that wasn’t in U.S. Dollars. Because how could a ring possibly cost as much as a luxury car? Especially when the center stone is only 2 carats! I mean, the exact same ring was just under $10,000 in every other store!

Not wanting to seem like I didn’t belong there, I tried to regain my breath and finish our conversation. When we left, I asked my love if he happened to see the price tag. He told me he, too, had almost had a heart attack.

Apparently, we’re just not Cartier kind of people.

A Special Announcement for All Members of the Nicole Fan Club:

2006-03-20T07:45:00.000-08:00

Yes, this is for all one of you...

I am a totally legitimate recording artist now. Sure I've had a CD out for nine months now. But with the software that is available today, anyone with a computer and a microphone can record their own CD. But I have one-upped the thousands of unsigned garage bands out there...

I am on iTunes.

It actually happened a few months ago, but I forgot to tell you. Sorry.

Anyway, if you want to listen to clips or buy the songs, just search for "Wartime Radio Revue." I sang on the "Kiss the Boys Goodbye" record.

Oh. And if you want the entire album, contact me. I can get it for you cheaper than buying all the individual songs on iTunes. Plus, you'll get the CD cover with my name in print. ;-)

Cheers!

My name is Nicole, and I am addicted to SuDoku.

2006-02-22T15:20:00.000-08:00

Last time I traveled by plane, I was delighted to find that the airport bookstore had a SuDoku book, pencils, and even a pencil sharpener, all for the airport-bookstore bargain price of around $17.50. By the time I arrived at my final destination, I had completed nearly half of the puzzles in the book, and had a massive headache from staring at the same nine numbers for the last six hours straight.

At work, I take a SuDoku break to solve the sometimes diabolical daily puzzle. I find a sickening pleasure in decreasing the time it takes me to complete it, or in actually being able to complete the most challenging ones. There are many sites that offer puzzles, tips, etc., but I am partial to this one.

But let me ask you this, dear readers...

Can anyone tell me how many possible combinations there are? At what point are we going to run out of new puzzles to solve?

Although I am generally good at most kinds of math, this kind of calculation is not something I can figure out on my own. So I'm counting on my friends in blogland, or possibly my mathematical-genius younger brother, who has recently gone MIA from the blogosphere.

Aaahhh...

2006-02-22T09:08:00.000-08:00

I had the best weekend. Don't even try to argue with me about it. It was the best.

We arrived Friday night at Sycamore Mineral Springs Resort after sitting in six hours of holiday weekend, rush hour, Southern-Californians-not-knowing-how-to-drive-in-the-rain, traffic. First order of business: a long soak in the private mineral springs spa conveniently located on the deck of our room, accompanied by a delicious bottle of local Pinot Noir. Second order of business: none of your business!

Saturday morning, after sleeping in and another soak in the spa (in the rain, which was surprisingly fun), we were both treated to a relaxing massage. Then, it was off for an afternoon of wine tasting. Several vineyards, the equivalent of a bottle of wine each, and at least a case of purchased wine later, we indulged in an afternoon nap before heading out for dinner.

Dinner was interesting and may deserve its own post, but a long paragraph will have to suffice. Imagine the tackiest place you've ever been. I guarantee you, it will pale in comparison to this place. Upon first arriving and getting a brief glimpse of the lobby, we were a little apprehensive. But we were given a recommendation from a trusted source that the food at the Madonna Inn restaurant was excellent, so we pressed on. While waiting for our table (because who would think a place like this would be so popular as to need a reservation), we had the opportunity to more fully explore the premises. Red velvet jacquard walls with elaborate gold-framed mirrors surrounded us. Even the wall made entirely of mirrors had extra gold-framed mirrors hung on it. Flying golden cherubs were everywhere, most holding candle-lights. In honor of Valentine's Day (at least I hope that's the reason), there were no less than ten large, red-and-white papier mache hearts hanging above us at any given spot. Thousands of white lights produced an ambient glow that I'm sure was intended to be much more subtle. A swing band of nine men in their 60s, who I can only imagine had been playing there since the grand opening in the 1960s, was playing on the stage in front of the dance floor. All chairs and benches were made of thick, pink leather-like material and dark, elaborately-carved wood. The carpet had huge pink and red roses surrounded by greenery. Multi-colored, heavy, ornate goblets were set on pink linens at every table. Our table was apparently special -- it faced a man-made lattice corner, and we sat with our backs to the other restaurant-goers underneath a huge man-made tree. The food was good, as promised, and Juro (our waiter) gave us two free desserts -- I just wish we had thought to bring a camera to memorialize the whole experience. Too bad we didn't get to see any of the rooms while we were there!

Sunday morning, we slept in again and enjoyed another soak in our private spa before heading home via a leisurely, scenic drive down the coast.

Despite the fact that I got sick from slowing down after a couple of weeks of non-stop busy-ness, it was a lovely, romantic weekend that I hope to repeat in the near future.

Important Public Service Announcement: Don't Talk to Strangers

2006-01-19T20:23:00.000-08:00

We had never spoken before. He always just sat quietly behind me in history class. But he seemed nice, and relatively harmless, and I thought maybe he didn't have a lot of friends. So I agreed to be his date for the upcoming homecoming dance. After all, I was popular and a cheerleader, so I knew it must have been hard for him to muster up the courage to ask me.

The next day, there was a teddy bear and a note on my car. Sweet, right? I knew I had made the right choice and I was looking forward to getting to know him and introducing him to my friends.

The plan was simple. My parents were hosting dinner at our house for me and my friends and our dates. Everyone was going to arrive at 6. Not being the most punctual girl myself, I didn't mind when he was a few minutes late. But when we were all nearly finished with dinner and he still hadn't shown up, I could feel the steam starting to rise off my skin as my blood began to boil. I did him a favor! How dare he stand me up!

Just as we were all getting ready to leave, he arrived. No apology. No explanation. No corsage. My teenage naivete told me that maybe he just didn't know that you were supposed to bring your date a corsage. So I let it go, and we all headed off to the dance.

Still fuming and hoping the drive would go by quickly so I could regroup with my friends, I wasn't paying much attention to anything he was saying or doing. But my attention was immediately captured when I realized we had just blown through a stop sign and were now about to be pummeled by a large van. With no time to brace myself, we were spinning across a busy intersection, headed toward the condominium complex on the other side.

You know how a crash never sounds like you think it will? How, after the screeching tires you expect to hear shattering glass or crunching metal, but all you hear is a single smack? When we slammed into the parked car, this crash sounded exactly like I thought it would.

Stunned and disoriented, I barely heard the voices outside the car. But regaining coherence, I realized that we had crashed just outside the home of some friends of my parents. They called the police and then called my parents to come get me.

A few minor cuts and bruises (and about an hour) later, I made it to the dance and found my worried friends. But I had some explaining to do, because I arrived sans-date. I couldn't bring him, you see, because when I left the scene, he was handcuffed on the curb, mid-arrest.

Apparently, the car had been reported as stolen. And, as it clearly wasn't his, it was also uninsured. And he didn't even have a license! People, do you realize what this means?!?! I could have been kidnapped or even killed, and no one would have ever been able to find me, because T.H. might not have even been his real name! Come to think of it, I never saw or heard from my multiple-identity criminal friend again after that night. Maybe he wasn't even a student at my school! Just think what could have happened!

And that, children, is why we should never talk to strangers.

I Think I'll Stick to Shaving

2006-01-13T16:34:00.000-08:00

I normally hate forwarded emails, but every now and then you receive one that is so funny you simply must share it. This is one of those stories, compliments of my friend Kara...

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal -- the Epilady, scissors, razors, Nair, and now... the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight -- come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet.

So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax; you just rub the strips together in your hands, they get warm, you peel them apart, press them to your leg (or wherever else), and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.

So I pull one of the thin strips out. It's two strips facing each other, stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh, hold the skin around it tight, and pull. It works!

OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-Rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (yes, it was a long strip). I inhale deeply and brace myself... RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind! Blinded from pain! OH MY GOSH!!!

Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip.

CRAP! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out... must stay conscious... do I hear crashing drums?

Breathe, breathe...

OK, back to normal.

I want to see my trophy -- a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip. There's no hair on it. Where is the hair? WHERE IS THE WAX?

Slowly, I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake... remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.

DARN! I hear the slamming of a cell door.

Vagina? Sealed shut!

Butt?? Sealed shut!!

I penguin walk around the bathroom, trying to figure out what to do and think to myself, Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!

What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water! Hot water melts wax! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits, and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right?!

WRONG!!!

I get in the tub -- the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment -- I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub. In scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.

So now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain! God bless the man who convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom! I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone.

It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my butt and hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!" There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or whole or hoo-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now... I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. Yeah, right! I should be the joke of someone else's night.

While we go through various solutions, I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water, and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need post-traumatic stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace -- the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on, and OH MY GOSH!

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.

It's so painful but I really don't care. IT WORKS!! It works!! I get a hearty 'congratulations' from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair...

The hair is still there... ALL OF IT!!!

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week, I'm going to try hair color......

Sink or Swim

2006-01-13T09:19:00.000-08:00

I have a freakishly good memory. But there are times when my fond memories, recounts, or even photos of an event are simply not enough – I need videographic evidence. The following is a true story that, had I had the foresight to memorialize on video, would surely have won me the $100,000 grand prize on AFV.

Many years ago, I lived in Utah. I had a friend whose parents owned a ski boat, and we would often take it out on one of the many nearby lakes to go wakeboarding.

This particular summer day, we were meeting some friends at the dock for a day of fun in the sun. My friend suggested that the two of us should launch the boat, so that we’d be ready to go as soon as they arrived. I explained that I had neither backed a truck/trailer, nor driven a boat, into a lake before. But he assured me that it was easy, and promised to walk me through it from the driver’s seat of the boat. So I reluctantly got behind the wheel of his 1981 Bronco.

Things were going well at first. I was heading slowly toward the ramp, and the trailer carrying the boat seemed to be backing straight into the water. This is a snap, I thought. Why was I so intimidated? When my friend told me we were far enough in, I obediently pressed the brakes.

This is where everything fell apart.

Why am I still moving backward? The brake pedal is floored. I must need to apply the parking brake. Nope. Not helping. Let’s try pulling back out. Interesting – still sliding backward, despite my attempt to drive forward. This can’t be good.

My friend and I were yelling back and forth, trying to figure out what to do to gain traction on the mossy ramp, when I was suddenly slammed against the driver-side door. My friend had jumped over the bow of the boat and climbed through the back of the truck into the driver’s seat to try to do it himself. Not surprisingly, he had the same trouble I had.

But then it got much worse.

My feet are wet! Oh my God! There is water gushing in through the bottom of the doors! “We have to bail!” he screamed. So I gathered as many of our things as I could in 1.3 seconds and climbed out the passenger window.

Less than a minute later, I was standing on the roof of my friend’s truck, knee deep in water, in the middle of the lake. (Okay, not really the middle, but pretty far out from shore.) I couldn’t see my friend. Where did he go? I wondered. And then I spotted him.

He was diving in and out the water, trying to grab hold of the front bumper to pull the truck back to shore. Finally, he realized that, while he worked out every day, he was simply not strong enough to swim a truck, a trailer, and a girl to shore without a little help. So he swam back to shore, leaving me standing on the truck. Still knee deep in water. Crying.

After catching his breath, he started to laugh hysterically, when we both realized that the boat (thankfully, it was already detached from the trailer when we started sinking) was floating away. So he ran to the dock and jumped in to swim after it. As he docked the boat and called a tow truck, I decided that I couldn’t just stand there on top of the truck all day. So I swam to shore, fully clothed, through water that was now full of gasoline and oil.

And with perfect timing usually only found in movies, our friends pulled up at that very moment.

Amazingly, after being successfully towed out of the water and drying out for the next 48 hours, the truck still worked! And this little bath even fixed the broken radio! (But, as a trade-off, the headlights were permanently shut off.)

Years later, I was telling this story to someone, and their response was, “I can’t believe that was you! That story is famous around here!” And that’s when I realized that this would have been a winning video clip. But, of course, I didn’t think it was all that funny while I was immersed, so to speak, in the situation.

Intervention

2005-12-30T14:14:00.000-08:00

In a former life, I competed internationally in latin ballroom dance. My partner and I spent nearly all our time (and a most regrettable sum of money) on lessons, choreography, costumes, travel, etc. And it was worth it. We didn't always win, but I learned a lot and had so much fun, and our biggest competition took us to England and France, places I had wanted to visit for a long time.

My passion for dancing never waned, but after several years, it was getting too expensive and too time-consuming, and I wanted to pursue other interests. So I retired at the young age of 25.

Troy and I stayed in touch at first, but it wasn't long until I stopped hearing from him. When I started singing with a swing band, I invited him to my gigs so we could dance again, even if only for a few songs, but he never showed. As time passed, we were more like strangers than friends who spent so many years together.

And then I got an unexpected call a few months ago. He told me that there would be a producer calling me later that day to set up a time to dance for some footage for a documentary they were filming about him. So after a four-year hiatus, I put on my dancing shoes again that night. It's funny how when you love something, you don't realize how strenuous it is. We used to spend two hours a night, four days a week practicing. And with all that exercise, I could eat anything I wanted. But that night, we were both completely out of breath in the first five minutes. And my body moved differently with a few extra years and pounds. But it was still a blast to dance again. (Even though I was sore for a week in places I had forgotten about!)

After we danced, they did an interview with Troy. Initially, I was asked to wait outside the room so he could be candid, but then he asked me to stay. I was saddened and horrified at the things I heard. He is a crystal meth addict. And homeless. And unemployed. And so many other things are wrong in his life. I spoke with him after we were done shooting, wondering how I could help him. But there was nothing I could do. As I learned with my brother, you cannot convince an addict to get help. They must decide on their own that it is time to quit. I didn't know what this was all for, but I sensed and hoped that somehow the experience was cathartic for him.

I got another call today. Troy is coming home. He was shipped off to rehab the morning after I saw him, where he has been for the last two months. He sounds happy, healthy, and optimistic, and I couldn't be more relieved. I learned that this was all for a show called "Intervention" on A&E, airing Sunday, January 8 at 10 pm ET. And since I could never do his story justice, I encourage you all to watch. I'd be curious to hear what you think.

The Little Blue Box

2005-12-21T14:55:00.000-08:00

I have purchased many things from the store with the signature blue box over the years. In fact, nearly every man in my life has, at some point, received a gift wrapped in a little blue box with white satin ribbon tied in a perfect bow. And yet, I have never received a gift in the coveted blue box. Got a ring once, and even that didn't come in the blue box.

It's not even a status thing. I promise. It's just that the jewelry and other items that they sell are superior in quality. And don't I deserve the very best?

My boyfriend and I celebrated Christmas last Sunday, because we would both be spending the holidays with our families on opposite coasts. And while I still longed for a gift in the little blue box, this was our first Christmas together and I did not expect that this would be the year I would finally get it.

The first gift I opened: a wireless router. Not on my wish list. But it was meant as a joke, and I get it. He always complains that he can't use his laptop at my house. (Yes, I still have a desktop.)

The second: lingerie. Even though it was from my favorite lingerie store, so far, both gifts were more for him than for me. He is usually so romantic and thoughtful, but I was beginning to question how well he really knows me.

Moving on to my third gift - the one in the Victoria's Secret bag. I was sure it would be pretty, but not exactly what I wanted for Christmas. But inside the shiny pink bag lay the most beautiful turquoise blue box my eyes ever did see, complete with perfectly-tied satin ribbon. That would have been enough, but then inside the long-awaited little blue box was a beautiful pearl necklace. I never used to think I was a pearl girl, but when I put on the necklace, I became a believer. They are so smooth and radiant and heavy on my skin. And I feel so elegant and grown-up when I wear them. (And a little like Bree Van De Kamp.)

And so my years of waiting for the little blue box ends. Here are some simple (if also slightly cliche) truths that I now believe whole-heartedly:

Good things do, in fact, come in small (preferrably blue) packages.
All good things are worth waiting for.
Do not judge a book by its cover (or, in this case, a package by its wrapping).

Merry Christmas! I hope Santa is good to those of you who have been nice, and even better to those of you who have been a little naughty this year.

Giving Thanks

2005-12-15T14:28:00.000-08:00

I apologize to those of you who are still reading my blog (despite the lack of any recent posting activity) for my long, unexplained absence, and I hope that you all had a lovely Thanksgiving. In the spirit of the holiday season, I felt like publishing a list of some of the blessings for which I am thankful this year. Here they are, in no particular order:

I am thankful that everyone in my family is healthy. That there is no active cancer in anyone at this moment.
I am thankful that my parents celebrated 31 years together this year.
I am thankful that I still have two grandparents, although I miss the other two very much.
I am thankful for my niece, and for her sex-to-be-determined-but-much-to-my-chagrin-not-disclosed sibling that is on the way.
I am thankful for a wonderful boyfriend who loves me no matter what -- no matter how hormonal, how stressed, or how sick I am at any given moment.
I am thankful for my future in-laws for welcoming me into their home over Thanksgiving weekend.
I am thankful for a healthy voice, and many opportunities to share my love of music.
I am thankful for a job, albeit one that I do not always love.
I am thankful for my work girls, who make it bearable.
I am thankful for a home, albeit one that lately feels too small.
I am thankful for my girlfriends for their love, support, and for all the memories.
I am thankful for my puppy who can make me smile and laugh at the end of the day, no matter what else happened that day.
I am thankful for my anonymous friends in blogland, for the humor they provide and the thought they provoke.
I am thankful for forgiveness, and for my salvation.
I am thankful that I can breathe and see and hear and speak and walk.
I am thankful for the occasional moments of peace amid all the holiday dashing, during which I can reflect on how fortunate I have been this year and throughout my life.

May you all have a blessed and spectacular holiday!

Random Stories About Strange Men

2005-11-07T14:02:00.000-08:00

He Doesn’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore
Three years ago, after the devastating breakup of my 4-year relationship with J, I reluctantly reentered the dating world. For whatever reason, I decided to give the online dating thing a try. The first guy I met in-person seemed normal at first. We met at the local dog park on a Sunday afternoon, so our “kids” could meet and play. We went out a couple of times over the next week, and on Friday we planned to make dinner together and watch a movie at his place. I don’t know exactly why, but I decided that night that a relationship between us was not going to happen – that the “X” factor was missing, and was unlikely to develop. So I broke up with him. (Although after only one week, I’m not sure it was a true “break-up” – mostly, I just stopped returning his calls and emails.)

He kept calling and emailing, and I thought maybe he just didn’t get that I wasn’t interested, or maybe he just needed some time to get over it. But then I got a nasty message on my phone followed by another in my inbox. Bitterness reared its ugly head once more in the form of a hate letter and dead flowers on my doorstep. FREAK.

Apparently, though, this kind of psychotic behavior is cathartic, because I never heard from him again after that.

The Boy is a Dancing Fool
Last year, I made the grave mistake of dancing with someone at one of my big band gigs. To this day, I cannot reason why, but when he asked for my phone number, I gave it to him. Even though I had just started dating someone else. And even though he had scary, way-too-intense eyes. Having learned my lesson before, I mustered up the internal fortitude to do the right thing and tell him that I simply wasn’t interested – that I was seeing someone else.

So when he kept calling (sometimes three times a day), I got really annoyed. And then when he started showing up at all my gigs, sometimes even popping backstage where I was hiding, I got scared.

Naturally, when eHarmony matched us up at the beginning of this year, I had a meltdown and immediately closed my account. He still comes to my gigs, though – um, AWKWARD!

Coffee: The Silent Killer
Last Saturday, I answered a knock at my door to find the most dreaded of all solicitors – the Orange County Register paperboy selling subscriptions. (Okay, maybe not the most dreaded, but certainly in the top ten.) He was more than a little pushy, tried every sales trick in the book in response to my many excuses, and didn’t listen when I told him I simply wasn’t interested. Finally he left, and I thought no more about our little exchange.

Until later that afternoon, when I left the house to go to a friend’s for game night. I was stopped dead in my tracks at the top of my stairs when I noticed a white, unmarked box sitting atop an Orange County Register. I replayed our earlier conversation in my head and recalled the following statements:

-“Help a guy out, and maybe something good will happen to you. It’s all about karma, you know? What goes around comes around.”
-“I’m out here doing this to keep me off the streets – to keep me from doing drugs and living a life of crime.”
-“You don’t have to talk to me through a cracked door. You can let me in – it’s not like I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”
-“It’s because I’m black, isn’t it? If I was a white guy, you’d get the subscription.”

Now I was really freaked out. Don’t get me wrong, I do not think myself so important that someone would be out to get me. And I’m not usually the paranoid type. But for whatever reason, this particular situation unnerved me. I didn’t want anything to do with that box and whatever was in it.

So I called my community’s security patrol to remove it. No answer. I tried my community’s maintenance guys. No answer. What is a girl who lives alone, whose boyfriend is out of town, left to do? I called the police. I explained to them that I did not think it was a bomb, that it was probably nothing, but that I was a little freaked out by this guy and simply didn’t want to touch the box. Always erring on the side of caution, they proceeded to send two “special” (i.e., bomb squad) officers to my house to take a report and remove the suspicious package.

Obviously, since I’m alive to write this, it was not a bomb. But the irony of this little incident is that it turned out to be…

A coffee mug.

That’s right. A gift from the paperboy, who was apparently hoping to bribe me into purchasing a subscription.

And I thought he was trying to hurt me. Don’t I feel sheepish.

Blogthing of the Day

2005-11-03T08:41:00.000-08:00

Your Fortune Is

He who laughs last, thinks slowest.

The Wacky Fortune Cookie Generator

Blogthing of the Day

2005-11-02T18:38:00.000-08:00

What the...

Your Band Name is:

The Amish Suburbanites

Band Name Generator

Blogthing of the Day

2005-11-01T10:19:00.000-08:00

Little quizzes are always a fun distraction from the day's work. Thanks, karlababble, for introducing me to these.

I thought I'd try this one first, since my real name is French. Apparently, the computer didn't know what to do with that.

Your French Name is:

Demi Joubert

What's Your French Name?

Enter the Trojans

2005-10-30T11:23:00.000-08:00

Ok. I know that it's cheesy, but I love costumes. I'm not generally a big Halloween fan, but I do love an excuse to play dress-up. And there's also the massive quantities of sugary (and preferrably, chocolatey) goodness.

Well, the boyfriend decided to have a Halloween party this year. So I decided that we should wear a couples costume. Fearing that Ken and Barbie would be too cliche (kidding, of course - I can't stand Barbie), we decided on "Roman God" and "Venus, Goddess of Beauty". Some of the friends thought I was Helen of Troy and he was What's-His-Name-Who-Loved-Her-Thereby-Destroying-Sparta. (Of course, we all know that was Paris.) But we really just looked like Greeks. So, for your viewing and mocking pleasure, here is photographic proof of how much my boyfriend loves me:

Meet the Parents

2005-10-22T11:05:00.000-07:00

The baby of the family (my younger sister) got married a couple of weeks ago. So I thought, what better time to have the boyfriend meet the family? This way, he can not only meet my parents and my siblings, but also the entire extended family on both sides. Not intimidating at all, right?!

You'll all be relieved to know that he not only passed the test -- he aced it! Most importantly, my papa thinks he's wonderful. Just one more reason why I love him.

Important Cancer Update

2005-10-18T10:35:00.000-07:00

I learned yesterday that there are no more pre-cancerous cells on my shoulder. And although to many I'm sure it seemed such a small thing, to have exams and biopsies and excisions and minor surgeries, to me it was terrifying. So call me overly dramatic if you must, but I am incredibly relieved that it is over. Last night I slept well for the first time in about two months. Today my stomach is untying the knots of the last few weeks.

The two-inch scar on my right shoulder now serves as a constant reminder to wear sunscreen, to stay out of the sun, to schedule appointments with my dermatologist yearly. It reminds me of my cousin, who sees a much larger scar every day when she gets dressed. It reminds me that skin cancer is not something to take lightly.

Since it's my blog, here's my campaign message for all of you in blogland:

Always wear sunscreen.

Get checked yearly.

Don't think it can't happen to you.

And have a happy and healthy fall/winter!

Three Little Words

2005-10-02T22:43:00.000-07:00

I suppose I've known for a while now that he cares very much about me, and that he thinks about me when I'm not with him. This has been made clear since our first date by the thoughtful little things he does, the way he looks at me, the way he talks to me, and how he remembers even small, seemingly insignificant details.

But now it's official -- He Loves Me!* So I just wanted to share this moment of happiness with my friends in blogland.

*Addendum: And I love him!
Sorry, my love, for not making this announcement in the original post. I assumed it was implied. Thanks, Carolyn, for pointing out the omission.

Back in Circulation

2005-09-23T13:37:00.000-07:00

Does everyone remember cabin weekend 2005?

Well, we spent last weekend in the mountains again, and it was even more super-fun! Partly because new boyfriend is so much better than old boyfriend. Partly because we were wakeboarding instead of snowskiing (although I do love both). Partly because we weren't renting a tiny cabin (although the jacuzzi was a very nice feature), but were shacked up in a gloriously large house, thanks to Mark's recent rise into the ranks of homeownership. But mostly, I think, because we expanded the group this time. Plus, there were babies!

Don't get me wrong, I love Em and M. But how much more fun when we double the group from two fun couples to four?!?! And then add the three and a half cutest little ones in all the world. Besides my niece, of course. Carolyn and Ralph brought Boogie (aka Dobe) and Dak (aka Flirt), and Shannon and Marty had Ava and on-the-way-but-as-yet-unnamed baby #2 in tow.

As if our Thursday game lunches at the office weren't enough, the girls successfully persuaded all the significant others into having two very long game nights, fueled by massive quantities of alcohol. There were fresh-squeezed, homemade lemon drops (new boyfriend has a very fruitful lemon tree). There was Amarula, Em's new favorite Brazilian liqueur, compliments of old boyfriend. There was Sangria. There were margaritas on the dock. There were boat rides. And did I mention there were babies?

I love weekend getaways. And I love my work girls!

Vegas, Baby!

2005-09-07T10:55:00.000-07:00

Labor Day. It's the official end-of-summer blowout. Some parties are civilized BBQs with friends and family, and others are slightly, well, less-civilized.

This year, we went to Las Vegas to celebrate (read: our celebration was more of the less-civilized variety). Hungover from our night out on the town, we decided it would be a good idea to hit the lake. ('Cause nothing makes your hangover headache worse than dehydration from more booze and an entire day in the sun.) Lake Mead was overflowing with boats, all packed to capacity and complete with drunk drivers. Always a good time.

There were shenanigans, tom-foolery, and bally-hoo throughout the day, and it was a blast. A few highlights:

Twitterpated

2005-09-03T13:04:00.000-07:00

Flower: [about two birds fluttering around] What's the matter with them?
Thumper: Why are they acting that way?
Owl: Why, don't you know? They're twitterpated.
Flower, Bambi, Thumper: Twitterpated?
Owl: Yes. Nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime. For example: You're walking along, minding your own business. You're looking neither to the left, nor to the right, when all of a sudden you run smack into a pretty face. Woo-woo! You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head's in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you're walking on air. And then you know what? You're knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head!
Thumper: Gosh, that's awful.
Flower: Gee whiz.
Bambi: Terrible!
Owl: And that ain't all. It could happen to anyone, so you'd better be careful.
Owl: [points at Bambi] It could happen to you…
Owl: [points at Thumper] …or you, or even...
Owl: [Flower looks at Owl shyly] Yes, it could even happen to you!
Thumper: Well, it's not gonna happen to me.
Bambi: Me neither.
Flower: Me neither.

Yeah, that's pretty much how it happens.

Bring It On!

2005-09-02T10:44:00.000-07:00

Em and I have been charged with the very important task of creating the marketing department's poster for our company's annual employee conference. With a back-to-school theme this year, the posters for this pep rally are supposed to be reminiscent of the posters we cheerleaders spent the better part of our high school career creating for our beloved football teams. In addition, these posters will be judged, and the top five will receive special recognition. With many combined years of cheerleading and poster-making experience between us, and being an unbeatable team in our highly-competitive Thursday game lunches with the girls at the office, we were clearly the only acceptable choice for this assignment.

We began at once, excited over the prospect of once again picking up our sponge brushes to create masterpieces that would be envied by all others. Always the team players, we held a brainstorming meeting to allow everyone in the department to share their ideas for the poster. Of course, we came prepared with eight mock-ups to get the creative juices flowing. To our dismay, the idea chosen by the majority was not within the scope of our original vision for the project. Fearing that this new idea was not going to produce well enough to win the competition, we did what any good marketer would do and decided to create comps to help persuade the others. To-scale, of course.

During our nostalgic painting session yesterday (I promise we do actual work most of the time, but it's days like yesterday when I really love my job), we came up with a super-fun way to be able to do nothing but paint posters for a living. Without having to stay back in high school for the rest of our lives. Because, let's be honest, as cute as we are, no one will want to see our asses in a cheer uniform when we're 40. It may have been the fumes from the paint, but I'm telling you, this business plan is sheer genius.

Stay tuned to see the final version of our poster, which is sure to be pure perfection.

And keep a lookout -- our handiwork may be coming soon to a high school near you.

Bonne anniversaire a...moi!

2005-08-27T08:41:00.000-07:00

If you've been reading, you know that I've had a pretty rough week. Monday's news left me crying until the well of my tears had run dry. Tuesday's discovery really just pissed me off. Wednesday, I had to have a biopsy. They say that bad things happen in threes. But even so, the outlook for the birthday festvities on Thursday did not look good.

Since the week was sucking so badly, I decided to take Friday off. I spent the better part of the morning at my favorite spa -- I got a massage, a mani/pedi, and even got my hair done. Then I went shopping (always a favorite activity). I took the puppy on an extra long walk. I enjoyed a long workout, not feeling rushed for the first time in a long time. And then, after taking as long as I wanted to get ready, the new man and I went to a comedy/magic show, where I laughed so hard that my tummy still hurts this morning.

So the hellish week ended happily after all. And my birthday was a happy one, despite the other not-so-happy events of this week. Thanks to everyone for your support about my dad. And thanks to everyone for the birthday cards, flowers, gifts, lunches/dinners, etc. I've never doubted that I have the best friends and family around, but if ever there was a week when I needed a little confirmation, this was it. So thanks for being there.

I heart you all!

To the Evil Key-er of My New Car:

2005-08-24T19:58:00.000-07:00

What kind of mother raised you to believe that it is acceptable to so badly damage the brand-new car of someone who has done nothing, I repeat: NOTHING, to you whatsoever?

Did the shiny (and did I mention brand-new?) silver paint allow you to see your monstrous reflection, and did it repulse you so much that you had to destroy said reflective surface?

Has life been so unkind to you that you felt it necessary to demonstrate to someone else WHO YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW that life is unfair?

Did you assume, based on the new car, that I have been even a little bit successful, and did it make you so angry that you needed to cut me down (or cut my car with your key, as it were) so you wouldn't feel like such a complete failure?

How would you feel if you worked really hard for something, and then within three weeks of getting it, someone ruined it?

I just want you to know that I forgive you (but only because I am required to do so). Whatever has happened to you that made you so hateful, that turned your heart into such an abyss of blackness, that stripped you of any conscience whatsoever, must have been so much more terrible than the foot-long scratch you inflicted on my unsuspecting (and previously unblemished) door. So I feel pity for you. I hope you gain a soul sometime in this life.

Dear God, It's Me, Nicole.

2005-08-22T20:41:00.000-07:00

Nothing else matters when you are faced with the harsh reality that your parents will be gone someday. That you will one day mourn the loss of the first two people you ever loved.

In 1998 my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She has always been a strong, healthy woman, so it was no surprise to anyone when she fought it and won. Until 2002. When the doctors told us that it had come back. With even stronger resolve than the first time, she fought back again. And so far, she is winning. But until the doctors tell us that she is officially in remission, I live everyday in fear that my mom might not be there when my first child is born.

My father has been her rock, ever stronger for her, ever more supportive of her, ever more loving. Their faith and their relationship continually strengthened by this test. He has always been, and is still, my hero.

Which is why it came as a great shock to me this evening when he told me he has prostate cancer. How could this man, who I have idealized all my life, be fallible? Equally inconceivable to me is the thought that my daddy might not be there to walk me down the aisle someday.

And this, mere weeks after learning that my cousin, who is my age and one of my dearest friends, has just had her own brush with skin cancer.

At this moment, I cannot imagine how I am going to deal with this. They say "prepare for the worst, but hope for the best." But I refuse to accept this. I refuse to even entertain the idea that I could lose both parents so early in life. And yet at the same time, I am forced to realize that life is so fragile. That we may not have as much time as we once thought.

Friends in blogland, tell your parents you love them today. Tell your children you love them. And if you have ever been religious in your life, please pray for my papa. Thanks.

Unrelated

2005-08-20T11:10:00.000-07:00

As a teenager, one of my primary household chores was to babysit my four younger siblings so my parents could go on a date or sometimes just run errands. Why they continued to entrust me with this responsibility when so often things went horribly wrong, I still do not understand. But I was less expensive than outsourcing the babysitting duties (you didn't think I did it for free, did you?), so maybe that's how they justified it.

On this particular instance, my five-year-old baby sister had an extreme case of brattiness (not unusual for her at that time). In all my 13-year-old wisdom I decided that it would be fun for the three boys and I to gang up on her and teach her a lesson. I think most of us have told a sibling that they were adopted at some point or another. But we took it much too far. What ensued got me grounded for two months, and left emotional scars for which I don't think she has yet forgiven me. Here is how it played out:

Me: You know, you're adopted. Mom and dad aren't your real parents. If you don't stop being such a brat, I'm going to call the orphanage and have them take you back. Because we don't want a bratty little sister anymore.
Sister: [screaming, and starting to cry] I'm not adopted!
Me: Oh, yes you are. Just ask any of the boys. They know, too.
[All three boys confirm this sad, sad truth.]
Sister: [crying harder] Even if I am adopted, mom and dad don't want to get rid of me.
Me: Well, I'm in charge right now, so what I say goes. Besides, mom and dad don't want you around anymore because you're such a brat.
Sister: [crying harder still] You don't even know the phone number for the orphanage!
Me: Sure I do, it's 555-TAKE. (wasn't I clever?)
Sister: I don't believe you!
Me: You'll see, I'm not kidding. [I pick up the phone and dial, pretending to talk to the orphanage and asking them to take her back right away.] You better go get packed.
[At this point, my sister is crying uncontrollably. One of my brothers comes down the stairs with her suitcase, packed. Another brother sneaks around the house to the front door and rings the doorbell.]
Me: They're here for you. Say goodbye to everyone. You have to leave now.
[Now she is screaming and crying so hard that she is hyperventilating and turning blue in the face. At this very moment, my parents arrive home. She runs to them and tells the whole story, and I get in major trouble for masterminding this whole plan.]

I realize this story doesn't paint a very good picture of me. And it's true, I certainly wouldn't have won Sister-of-the-Year for most of my teenage years. But we all laugh about it now, because there was no permanent damage done, no therapy required. And thankfully, we're all really close now, despite many an incident of this very type.

Of sticks and stones

2005-08-18T19:02:00.000-07:00

Let us all give thanks to Rico, for inspiring this little stroll down memory lane...

The scene: my childhood home in master-planned suburbia, circa 1993
The principal players: my youngest brother, myself, my mother, and a large handful of very helpful ambulance and hospital staff

It's funny how things can be so important at the time, but later you can't even remember the details. Like what school assignment I thought so important as to lock myself away in my bedroom while "babysitting" my four younger siblings, three of whom are boys, so my mom could do a bit of long-awaited and much-deserved shopping over this particular Christmas break.

Growing up with five children in the family, there was truly never a dull moment. Our house was always full of people and often full of noise, because we lived in the cool house. A trampoline in the big backyard. A pool less than 100 yards down the street. Cable. A constantly growing movie collection. Every Nintendo game known to child-kind. A pool table. A built-in basketball court on the driveway. A pantry and refrigerator stocked with all manner of goodies.

So I didn't find the noise of our full house on this particular day distracting. I was in my room, drowning out the pandemonium that could be heard throughout the rest of the house with my music and tending to my very important school project, as all good babysitters should do. But then, insolence! I was interrupted.

"Nikki!" screamed my youngest brother. "I got a splinter in my leg -- come help me!"

"Don't be such a baby!" I screamed back. "Go get the tweezers and take it out yourself!"

"But it's really big and it hurts really bad -- I need your help!" he insisted.

The nerve! I stormed out of my room to the entry hallway, where he and several other kids who could have been his friends or my other brothers (I can't remember) had been running and sliding on our hardwood floors. Remember how at age 10 we could find fun (and trouble) in the simplest things?

"Let me see it. I can't believe you're being such a baby."

So he proceeded to pull up the leg of his sweatpants to show me this "splinter."

And then... Stomach. In my throat. Room. Spinning. Blackness. Stars.

When I regained full consciousness, I saw a foot-long stick piercing my brother's leg. Yes, you read that right: PIERCING. It went in his knee and came out his calf.

You see, in California we have earthquakes. Big ones, sometimes. And occasionally, things settle. Like the ground. Or the boards comprising our hardwood floors. And when sliding on said floors, one must be careful not to catch an edge.

So I ran to the phone and called 9-1-1. They must've thought I was crazy.

911 Operator: 9-1-1, what is your emergency?
Me: My little brother has a splinter in his leg.
911: A splinter?
Me: Well, not really a splinter. More like a stick.
911: A stick? In his leg?
Me: Yes, it went right through his leg. From the knee to the calf. And it's stuck inside, sticking out both places.
[silence]
Me: Um, I'm pretty sure we need to go to the hospital to have it removed. We live at [insert address].

The ambulance arrived mere seconds before my mom got back. Now I'm not a mother or anything, but I'm pretty sure an ambulance in front of your house isn't exactly what you want to see when you return home.

But the story ends well. My parents went with my brother to the emergency room, where they had to do surgery to take the stick out. In three pieces. Of course, this left me to continue babysitting the other kids. Because, clearly, I was responsible enough to be trusted with that again.

Like I said, never a dull moment at my house.

Humor at the Expense of Others

2005-08-17T20:38:00.000-07:00

AKA Lessons in Proofreading

I know. You've probably seen some of these before. And maybe it's weak sauce that I didn't make up something funny of my own. But for some reason, these made me laugh out loud at home by myself when I came across them again today. So I felt compelled to share. Enjoy!

Headlines
Something Went Wrong in Jet Crash, Expert Says

Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers

Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over

Miners Refuse to Work After Death

Juvenile Court to Try Shooting Defendant

War Dims Hope for Peace

If Strike isn’t Settled Quickly, It May Last Awhile

Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures

Enfield (London) Couple Slain; Police Suspect Homicide

Red Tape Holds Up New Bridges

Man Struck by Lightning Faces Battery Charge

New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group

Astronaut Takes Blame for Gas in Spacecraft

Kids Make Nutritious Snacks

Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half

Hospitals are Sued by 7 Foot Doctors

Typhoon Rips through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead

Signs
(in an office restroom) Toilet out of order…Please use floor below.

(in a laundromat) Automatic Washing Machines: Please remove all your clothes when the light goes out.

(in a London department store) Bargain Basement Upstairs

(in an office) Would the person who took the step ladder yesterday please bring it back or further steps will be taken.

(in an office) After tea break, staff should empty the teapot and stand upside down on the draining board.

(in a secondhand shop) We exchange anything – bicycles, washing machines, etc. Why not bring your wife along and get a wonderful bargain?

(on the window of a health food shop) Closed Due to Illness

(found in a safari park) Elephants Please Stay in Your Car

(at a conference) For anyone who has children and doesn’t know it, there is a day care on the 1st floor.

(near a farmer’s field) The farmer allows walkers to cross the field for free, but the bull charges.

(on the door of a repair shop) We can fix anything. (Please knock hard on the door – the bell doesn’t work.)

Church Bulletins
Don’t let worry kill you – let the church help.

Thursday night - Potluck supper. Prayer and medication to follow.

Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our church and community.

For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.

This afternoon there will be a meeting in the South and North ends of the church. Children will be baptized at both ends.

Tuesday at 4:00 PM there will be an ice cream social.. All ladies giving milk will please come early.

This being Easter Sunday, we will ask Mrs. Lewis to come forward and lay an egg on the alter.

The service will close with "Little Drops of Water." One of the ladies will start quietly and the rest of the congregation will join in.

Next Sunday a special collection will be taken to defray the cost of the new carpet. All those wishing to do something on the new carpet will come forward and do so.

The ladies of the church have cast off clothing of every kind. They can be seen in the church basement Saturday.

A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall. Music will follow.

Weight Watchers will meet at 7 p.m. at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.

The senior choir invites any member of the congregation who enjoys sinning to join the choir.

Please join us as we show our support for Amy and Alan in preparing for the girth of their first child.

Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.

The associate minister unveiled the church's new giving campaign slogan last Sunday: "I Upped My Pledge--Up Yours."

8 new choir robes are currently needed, due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.

The outreach committee has enlisted 25 visitors to make calls on people who are not afflicted with any church.

Ushers will eat late comers.

The Ladies Bible Study will be held Thursday morning at 10. All ladies are invited to lunch in the Fellowship Hall after the B.S. is done.

Evening massage - 6 p.m.

The Pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday morning.

The audience is asked to remain seated until the end of the recession.

Low Self-Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 to 8:30 p.m. Please use the back door.

The third verse of Blessed Assurance will be sung without musical accomplishment.

The Rev. Merriwether spoke briefly, much to the delight of the audience.

The pastor will preach his farewell message, after which the choir will sing, "Break Forth Into Joy."

During the absence of our pastor, we enjoyed the rare privilege of hearing a good sermon when J. F. Stubbs supplied our pulpit.

Next Sunday Mrs. Vinson will be soloist for the morning service. The pastor will then speak on "It's a Terrible Experience."

Due to the Rector's illness, Wednesday's healing services will be discontinued until further notice.

Stewardship Offertory: "Jesus Paid It All"

The music for today's service was all composed by George Friedrich Handel in celebration of the 300th anniversary of his birth.

The eighth-graders will be presenting Shakespeare's Hamlet in the church basement on Friday at 7 p.m. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.

On a church bulletin during the minister's illness: GOD IS GOOD Dr. Hargreaves is better.

The concert held in Fellowship Hall was a great success. Special thanks are due to the minister's daughter, who labored the whole evening at the piano, which as usual fell upon her.

The 1997 Spring Council Retreat will be hell May 10 and 11.

Pastor is on vacation. Massages can be given to church secretary.

22 members were present at the church meeting held at the home of Mrs. Marsha Crutchfield last evening. Mrs. Crutchfield and Mrs. Rankin sang a duet, The Lord Knows Why.

A song fest was hell at the Methodist church Wednesday.

At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be "What is Hell?" Come early and listen to our choir practice.

Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It is a good chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.

Next Thursday, there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.

Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on Oct. 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in school days.

And the winner is...

2005-08-16T16:22:00.000-07:00

Undercover Celebrity.

For the rest of you, here are the answers from yesterday's game:

Wadsworth, Clue
Elle Woods, Legally Blonde
Ralphie as an Adult/Narrator, A Christmas Story
Bill Lumbergh, Office Space
Old Woman in Deli, When Harry Met Sally
Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Carribbean
Sherri Ann Cabot, Best in Show
Vivian, Pretty Woman
Xander Cage, xXx
Ralphie as an Adult/Narrator, A Christmas Story
Cher Horowitz, Clueless
Milton, Office Space
Elle Woods, Legally Blonde
Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Carribbean
Will, Good Will Hunting
Mr. Green, Clue

Why I prefer to buy movies instead of renting...

2005-08-15T11:44:00.000-07:00

...because then I can watch them over and over when I'm home sick from work, learning some of my favorite lines to quote in everyday speech.

Since I'm stuck in bed all day today, let's turn it into a game, just for fun. Here are some movie quotes that have recently amused me. Try to guess the character and the movie (leave your guesses in the comments). I'll provide the answers in a later post. Bon chance!

"...the double negative has led to proof positive. I'm afraid you gave yourself away." (1985)
"I just don't think that Brooke could've done this. Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't kill their husbands. They just don't." (2001)
"NOW it was serious. A double-dog-dare. What else was there but a 'triple dare ya'? And then, the coup de grace of all dares, the sinister triple-dog-dare." (1983)
"Hello Peter, what's happening?...I'm going to have to go ahead and ask you to come in on Sunday..." (1999)
"I'll have what she's having." (1989)
"You need to find yourself a girl, mate. Or perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one, and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch, are you?" (2003)
"People say 'oh, but he's so much older than you' and you know what, I'm the one having to push him away. We have so much in common, we both love soup and snow peas, we love the outdoors, and talking and not talking. We could not talk or talk forever and still find things to not talk about." (2000)
"In case I forget to tell you later, I had a really good time tonight." (1990)
"The things I'm gonna do for my country." (2002)
"Aunt Clara had for years not only perpetually labored under the delusion that I was 4 years old, but also a girl." (1983)
"Daddy's a litigator. Those are the scariest kind of lawyer. Even Lucy, our maid, is terrified of him. And daddy's so good he gets $500 an hour to fight with people. But he fights with me for free because I'm his daughter." (1995)
"...they've moved my desk four times already this year, and I used to be over by the window, and I could see the squirrels, and they were merry, but then, they switched from the Swingline to the Boston stapler, but I kept my Swingline stapler because it didn't bind up as much, and I kept the staples for the Swingline stapler and it's not okay because if they take my stapler then I'll set the building on fire..." (1999)
"The rules of hair care are simple and finite. Any Cosmo girl would have known." (2001)
"I think we've all arrived at a very special place. Spiritually, ecumenically, grammatically." (2003)
"...I got her number. How do you like them apples?" (1997)
"They all did it. But if you wanna know who killed Mr. Boddy, I did. In the hall. With the revolver. All right, Chief, take'em away. I'm gonna go home and sleep with my wife." (1985)

Why I Love Being an Aunt

2005-08-06T12:11:00.000-07:00

My niece (aka, the cutest baby to ever walk the planet) just had her first birthday. Of course, this momentous occasion was commemorated at her first party, complete with her very own cake to dive into. Now, if you don't love this face, you are seriously dead inside.

Speechless

2005-07-13T20:30:00.000-07:00

Well, voiceless, anyways. My vocal cords apparently have the stamina of a 13-year-old male virgin. I'm at a weeklong worship conference for church, and after two days of singing, I have absolutely no voice left. What's more, I have a voice lesson tomorrow with the best vocal coach. In all the world. The very man I've been dying to take a lesson from, even though I totally couldn't afford it, for over a year. Seth Riggs. And then, after a week of vocal overuse and the resulting fatigue, I have two gigs this weekend.

I shouldn't complain -- I'm fortunate to have so much work this month. Most musicians would love to have my schedule. But to do a show without a healthy voice is torture. Argh!

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

2005-07-07T19:35:00.000-07:00

My first-ever CD was released last Saturday. Of course, this very limited release is not expected by anyone to go platinum, or even gold for that matter. But I don't have to tell you, especially since most of you who read this haven't heard me shut up about it since I started recording it, that I was incredibly excited. And although it is highly unlikely to win any Grammys, or lead to great fame or fortune, and although I remain a star only inside my own mind, I feel so richly blessed to have so many opportunities to do something I love, and to actually get paid to do it!

So I've decided to use this post to dedicate this, my debut album, with overflowing gratitude first to God, for giving me this talent and the opportunities to discover and develop it. To my parents, for always believing in and supporting me. To Pete and Christi, for challenging me and teaching me how to constantly improve my voice. To Kara, for the countless hours spent together in our youth singing around the piano, and then for marrying Pete's son and having Emma, thereby allowing me this amazing opportunity. To Shannon, for getting me to sing again after the near atrophy of my vocal chords, even if it was at the Foxfire. To Shadd, for insisting that I sign your copy of the CD as if I was a big star. To T, J, D, J, J, J, and P, for being so patient and understanding of my schedule over the past year, even when it would conflict with our plans. To Gracie, for enduring many nights when mommy wasn't home. And to all of my friends and family who love me even when I use the word "gig". Cheers!

Afternoon Tee Party

2005-06-16T09:43:00.000-07:00

I fear the amusement of this afternoon will come at my own expense.

You see, this morning I shook off the dust and cobwebs from my golf clubs, which have been severely neglected for the last 16 months. And now, after letting my golf muscles (and any skill that I might have possessed in my former life when I golfed somewhat regularly) atrophy to the point where I'm not even sure I remember how to hold the club, I am supposed to play with someone who I want to impress. I can only hope that he'll have a sense of humor as I try to remember how to swing that thing so that it makes contact with the ball. Or as I search endlessly for my ball in the trees. Or as I pull out flip-flops from my bag so I can at least be comfortable during the hours I will surely spend in the sand.

I'm quite sure I'll achieve the highest score. (Not a good thing, for all you non-golfers.) Should make for entertaining stories, anyways. Fore!

An Interview With My Favorite Celebrity

2005-06-02T20:04:00.000-07:00

I simply couldn't resist playing, now that the "about me" questions have inevitably evolved from email to blog. And so, for your reading pleasure, my responses to the interview questions posed by my favorite celebrity:

1. Name your favorite 80's teen icon.
Ah, the 80s -- so full of iconic teens, many of whom unknowingly found their way onto the walls of my peach-and-mint-green-adorned bedroom. With so many worthy candidates, I think it's only fair to crown a king and queen in this category. And the winners are...

King: Kirk Cameron
Queen: Elisabeth Shue

2. If you were a boy, what were your parents going to name you?
I'm not sure my parents even considered such a notion. Based on logic alone, it would seem to be a toss-up between the masculine form of my name, Nicholas, and my first brother's name, Richard. But I'd hope that it would have been something more interesting, like Jean-Pierre.

3. If today were groundhog's day (like the Bill Murray movie) what would you have done differently, knowing that you could re-do it tomorrow?
I'd have blown off work, rescued M from the prison that his office has lately become, and spent some quality time together, something that has been regrettably difficult to do these last few weeks. We'd enjoy lunch and a nap while soaking up some sun at the beach, then head to my all-time favorite amusement park for some rollercoaster-riding fun. Then we'd have a lovely dinner, discussing over a bottle of wine how great it is that we can wake up tomorrow and still have jobs, despite this little escapade, and then we'd catch a show -- maybe at the comedy club, maybe a concert, or maybe a musical. We'd end the day with a rematch of Trivial Pursuit. And this time, I'd win because it's my groundhog's day, dammit!

4. If your name no longer contained letters, only numbers, what would you go by?
512153914... 3914 for short... bonus points for anyone who can figure out the super-difficult secret code without the help of your decoder ring.

5. What's the worst lie you ever told and got caught for? - I won't make you "out" yourself on a lie that no one's discovered.
Not unlike most teenagers, I thought I was so much cleverer than my parents. My girlfriends and I created a chain of lies that was clearly unbreakable, because, after all, our parents were complete fools, right?! I was sleeping at Kara's... Kara was sleeping at Wendy's... Wendy at Kathy's... Kathy at Jannell's... Jannell at Sam's... Sam at Melissa's... Melissa at Kristine's... and Kristine at my house. (Are you amazed at the genius of our young minds?!) Problem was, it was prom night. And we, of course, were all going to a hotel party after the dance. In the morning, we awoke to an irate phone call from my father. Which parents broke our unbreakable chain of lies, I'll never know. But I'll never forget the look in my father's eyes when my boyfriend dropped me off that morning -- a combination of fierce anger and severe disappointment. I've not lied to him since.

_____________________________________
Want to play?
The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions -- each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

All Grown Up

2005-05-17T22:18:00.001-07:00

As she walked gracefully down the petal-laden steps to become my sister-in-law, his smile extended from ear to ear and his eyes filled up with tender tears. She was beautiful. And about to be his forever. Happiness, love, excitement, and a slight sense of disbelief filled the thick South Carolina air last Saturday afternoon.

I can't believe how grown up he is. Although we are separated by little more than a year, he is still my little brother. The little brother who I played with and fought with. The little brother who I have always loved. The little brother who I worried about for so many years. The little brother who I prayed would be kept safe. The little brother who I always believed was an incredible person with a huge heart. The little brother whose life has so dramatically changed in the last few years.

And I'm so proud of him. I'm proud of the amazing man he has become. I'm proud of the life he has chosen. I'm proud to call him not only my brother, but also a friend.

There are not appropriate words to express my emotions that day. Perhaps words will eventually come, but for now I will just say that I love you, little brother, more than you know. That I'm proud of you. That I thank God every day for keeping you safe. And that I am so excited for the new life that awaits you and your lovely bride.

Southern Comfort

2005-05-03T22:46:00.000-07:00

Oh, the dangerous charm of the Texas accent of a tall, dark, and handsome stranger... and I'll just leave it at that for tonight -- more details to follow.

Please Wipe Your Feet

2005-04-25T21:16:00.000-07:00

So JS still wants to go to church with me, because K (the ex-turned-girlfriend-but-inevitably-soon-to-be-ex-yet-again) is apparently an atheist or agnostic or some other thing that is absolutely incompatible with a Christian. He said he feels like it's "our" church (mine and his) and that it didn't feel right to be there with her.

How very curious. Do you think that maybe she didn't want to be there in the first place? That it was nothing more than a ploy to make you believe she had changed on this very important and divisive issue? Didn't it seem at all strange that she never wanted to go to church, and had successfully convinced you not to go either, until you broke up and she found out that you were going without her -- and, in fact, that you were going with me? And so many other glaring examples of how she controls him and manipulates him into choosing a relationship with her over a relationship with God. But I digress.

So he wanted to continue going with me. Having begun this spiritual journey together, this part of our relationship was very special to me. And I didn't want his growth to stop just because she wouldn't go with him. So I foolishly agreed. I thought it was the right thing to do. I was sure that I could be strong enough to be his friend. We made plans to go to services together. We signed up for classes. We talked about getting baptized.

Then yesterday, after what by my count was the ninth time he had cancelled, I entered into the anger stage of the grieving process. Of course I miss him (the him I knew, not the him he's become now that they are back together, which I assure you is a completely different him, and one who I quite frankly don't like very much). Of course I wish things were different. But I realized that he is essentially carrying on one "perfect" relationship with two people. There are the things about her that he thinks he loves (although from what I've heard from his friends, this list can't possibly be very long), and then he has with me the things he knows he wants. And I'm enabling this destructive behavior. Because every time he is unhappy with her, I am there to make him happy again. And every time he is frustrated by their relationship, I am there with a relationship that is so much less work. And every time they break up, I am there for him. And this is a one-way ticket to nowhere. For all three of us. Because true fulfillment should be found in one person. Not two.

After realizing that I have become a doormat for his dirty feet, and after realizing that this, regrettably, was not the first time I had been so accomodating of someone else's needs that I found myself trampled by their boots, I decided it was time to start standing up for myself. To recognize that this is not a characteristic of a healthy or normal relationship. To declare that I deserve better -- more respect, more consideration.

My dear friends, you will all be relieved to know that I will no longer be in contact with JS. That he cannot cause me any more pain. That you won't have to hear about it anymore. I may still be sad at times, because I didn't want it to end like this. I may still cry on occasion, because, despite the flaws revealed out of my heartache over the last few weeks, there are some wonderful things about him that I will really miss. But I can't change his mind and I care too much about him to watch him hurt himself anymore.

So to my dear JS -- adieu. I pray the Lord your soul to keep -- lest your faith be sucked out by the godless witch*.

*I hereby reserve the right to hate her just a little bit until I'm completely done healing.

Sick

2005-04-12T13:29:00.000-07:00

"I cannot go to work today,"
Said Nic, while in her bed she lay.

"I have a hole in my stomach wall,
It hurts just lying in a ball.

My tummy's empty, my mouth is dry,
I really fear that I may die.

I'm nauseous and I don't feel well,
I've counted sixteen heaving spells

And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?

My finger's cut--my eyes are blue--
It can't just be the stomach flu.

Each time I gag, I gasp and choke,
I'm sure my heart's irreparably broke--

My head hurts when I move too fast,
Oh, how much longer must this last?

My back is wrenched, my throat, it burns,
To just feel healthy, how I yearn.

My body's cold, my stomach aches.
I don't know how much I can take.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.

My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.

My belly's sore, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.

I'm dizzy and I cannot hear,
I fear the end is drawing near.

I have a hangnail, and I feel like--what?
What's that? What's that you said?
You think it's all just in my head?
I wish it was, now I'm going back to bed."

Adapted from Shel Silverstein's "Sick" in Where the Sidewalk Ends.

Grading on a Curve

2005-04-11T19:56:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post is not worth reading. It is yet another futile attempt to explain my current heartache. To make it seem normal.

When I was in school, I was almost always that kid who scored 100% on an exam, throwing off the curve for everyone else. Luckily for me (so I wouldn't be hated all the time), the grading system was usually pretty straightforward. If you scored anywhere in the 90s, it was an A. In the 80s, a B. And so on. You had to score below 60 to fail.

Being the type-A that I am, this kind of rigid scale has always worked for me. Always made sense. There is logic. Constancy. Objectivity. Absolution. The possibility of actual perfection. Which is why I always preferred the true A to the inflated grades one receives when a curve is used. Why I didn't feel bad when I threw off said curve for the others who didn't study as fastidiously as I.

But in life, and most specifically in love, I find that the scale is nowhere near as predictable or precise. It is fickle. Complex. Multi-faceted. There is no formula for perfection. No single right answer. No proof of why things are as they are. There is a curve that is based on others' expectations of you, which are based on their opinion of and respect for you, which is often based on nothing solid at all. Or there is something of a reverse curve, where 99% is actually much worse than, say, 50%. Let me explain...

J and I dated for nearly four years. We were practically perfect for each other. Practically. There was just one thing that was missing. I have been assured that I will never know what that one thing was, so for the sake of making my point, I'll assign it a point value of 1. Which takes us from 100% to 99%.

D seemed at first to be wonderful. He treated me like a queen. But, as it turned out, he was a compulsive liar. Now, this is a major character flaw, so I'll take off extra points. Let's say 25. 75% - generally considered an average score, so I'm being generous here.

JT was fantastic. He was honest. He was fun. He was intelligent. But he, too, had a fatal flaw. He is in town for roughly 12 hours every month. Total. And sometimes those hours are not consecutive. A relationship is impossible when you only see each other once a month, so he lost 10 points. 90% - still an A by most standards.

M was honest, too. He worked nearby. Even lived close. But there was no chemistry. This is a big problem, so he lost 15 points. 85%.

JS was seemingly perfect. (And, yes, I know that this being the most recent of them all, I'm bound to feel this way. And I promise that at some point, hopefully soon, I'll shut up about him. But for today, just go with me on this one.) He was intelligent. Funny. Honest. Communicative. Affectionate. Spiritual. Lived and worked within 25 miles of my home. There was chemistry. But he was occasionally and temporarily emotionally disabled. Minus 5. 95%.

There are many others I could use to illustrate the point I'm about to make, but my dating stories aren't even interesting to me anymore, so I'll spare you the details.

The thing is, in all of these relationships, I was mostly happy. Mostly fulfilled. They were mostly good. Often great. Nearly perfect. But it's that one thing that isn't right, that one thing that you can't live with (or in some cases without), that one inadequacy that takes you from 100% to anything else, however small the variance, that makes it fail in the end.

And when something is so close to perfect and then it doesn't work out, it is sharply more painful than if it was much further off the mark. Because you were hopeful. Sure, even. That the long and laborious search might finally be over. That the right person and the right timing may have finally come together. Which is why I say that in love, 50% would be so much better than 99%. At least you'd know to expect failure. But who expects failure when something is 99% great? And is it even possible to find something worthy of an uninflated 100%? I, for one, have my doubts.

How to Annoy Me

2005-04-09T15:10:00.000-07:00

AKA Adventures in Online Dating

Send me an email that proves to me that you looked at the photos in my profile, but did not read a single word I wrote or look at a single item on the list of qualities I am looking for in someone. Demonstrate extreme superficiality to confirm for me, once and for all, that all of the good ones are either married or gay.

Feliz aniversario.

2005-04-09T10:48:00.000-07:00

JS' birthday is in two days. But the gift I had planned for this occasion cannot be given. Our romantic weekend getaway will not come to pass. The private hot spring just outside our luxury suite will remain empty. The side-by-side massage tables will remain untouched. The special table by the window overlooking the gorgeous landscape will remain available. The bottle of wine will remain unopened.

All because he doesn't know what (or, rather, who) he wants. Because he keeps changing his mind. Because he can't break free from her and the disastrous cycle that they are in. Because he's not ready to find what he's been searching for. Because he's not strong enough to do the right thing. And still I want to be with him despite these flaws. Because the heart knows no reason.

Happy Birthday, JS. I hope you get everything you want and need this year. I wish for you to find the happiness you seek.

Dead Inside

2005-04-03T15:38:00.000-07:00

That's how I feel today. The part of my life that I shared with JS is over. It was my favorite part. And now it's gone. And I feel empty.

Last night, after a heartbreaking conversation that seemed to go in circles, I was depressed and defeated, alone and afraid, and most of all, hurt. And he wasn't there to hold me and tell me it would be okay. So I cried myself to sleep. This morning I went to church alone. He wasn't there to share it with me. This journey that we started together, this bond that I thought we shared - it was just me now. Making matters worse, he was there with his ex. So I cried all the way there. And through much of the service. And all the way home. I was sure that the well of my tears had surely run dry after the last 24 hours, and yet I cry still as I write this.

It's killing me that it's over.
It's killing me that he chooses his ex. Again. Who is, by his own admission, not the right person for him. And he is not right for her. They are too different. They fight all the time. The issues that caused them to break up the last five times have surely not changed.
It's killing me that he chooses an unhealthy relationship. One in which he is manipulated, used, unappreciated, taken for granted. One in which he cannot fully be himself. One that will ultimately never make him happy.
It's killing me that he thinks this could possibly be love.
It's killing me that he lets her have such power over him.
It's killing me that he can't see through her. That she is only going to church for him. Not for herself. Otherwise, she would have gone on her own. That it is just a ploy to see him again. To try to connect in a way that they never could before. A way that he and I have connected.
It's killing me that, after telling me that I am the perfect girl for him, that I have everything he wants and needs and more, he is able to walk away.
It's killing me that his heart still hangs on to her. That he isn't able to move on. That because of this, and even though we are right for each other in so many ways, he can't love me the way I want and deserve to be loved.
It's killing me that he can't even explain what draws him back to her. Why he feels this way about her, even though he knows they will never work.
It's killing me that I couldn't make him feel that way. That I couldn't make him forget her.
It's killing me that this relationship had so much potential, and yet we don't get to develop it any further. That it wasn't even given the chance to grow.
It's killing me that he's making a bad decision. Whether he chooses me or not, she is not good for him.
It's killing me that I am powerless. That I can't do anything or say anything to make him change his mind.
It's killing me that I can't conceive of anyone better suited for me.
It's killing me that all I have now are memories.
It's killing me that there are no more plans to be made. No more fun to be had. No more interesting conversations over dinner. No more laughing until our stomachs hurt at the comedy club. No more church dates. No more ski weekends. No more making dinner together at home. No more sleeping in each other's arms. No more tender kisses.
It's killing me that he was happy with me, and yet those feelings weren't strong enough to overcome the leftover feelings for her.
It's killing me that my plans for his birthday must now be canceled.
It's killing me that I don't feel like it should be over. That I truly believe we were brought together for a reason that has not yet been fulfilled.
It's killing me that, against my better judgement and without fully realizing it, I fell for him. That I love him for so many reasons.
It's killing me that I miss his laugh. His smile. Our conversations about everything and nothing. The fact that they were always interesting and we never ran out of things to talk about. And so many other things about him that I love and miss.
It's killing me that he doesn't even know this.
It's killing me that I want to be with him. To wake up in his arms and discover that this was only a bad dream.
It's killing me that I can't stop crying.
It's killing me that I can't eat or sleep. That I feel absolutely sick over this.
And the hollowness I feel inside, the pain that consumes me over this whole thing - that's killing me the most.

All the Easter Eggs in One Basket

2005-03-28T19:59:00.000-08:00

Easter. A fine holiday, to be sure. But not usually as high on my list of favorites as, say, Christmas. Or my birthday. Or Valentine's Day. But this year, I was truly excited about Easter. JS and I were going to church together, like we've been doing for the last six weeks or so.

The service was wonderful. Amazing music. Thousands of voices raised together in praise in a worship center that was packed to capacity. A great message from pastor Rick. And JS by my side. There is something indescribably fantastic about sharing spiritual experiences with someone you care about.

And while I'd like to be mature enough to say that, if for no other reason, I'm thankful that JS came into my life because we both have strengthened our relationships with God since we've been dating, I regret to inform you that this alone would not satisfy me. You see, the more time we spend together, the more I care about him. The deeper I fall for him. The closer I come to opening up my heart and loving him. But as much as I want to, I can't.

Because I'm afraid that he'll get back together with his ex. Again.* Because he still admittedly has some feelings for her. Because I fear that these feelings preclude him from having any real feelings for me. Because I don't want to fall and get hurt. Because when I look at his online profile, I find new photos and recent activity (and, yes, I know how hypocritical that last one is). Because I fear that he is dating other people, or at least looking to do so, even though he tells me that he isn't. Because I feel so good when I'm with him and so insecure when I'm not.

But I have foregone my other options. I saw three months ago and still see in him today that inexplicable and yet essential something that is both promising and exciting, and have long since let the others with less potential go to pursue that something. I don't know what will happen between us in the coming weeks or months or even years. And that terrifies me. So along with the eggs, I'm having to place all my faith in that basket and just hope. And pray for patience and understanding.

*He so quickly realized the foolishness of that decision that it wasn't even worth the time it would have taken to blog about it. Although I have plenty of things to say about the ex. Plus, it was an exhausting 48 hours.

X Games, Here We Come!

2005-03-14T18:51:00.000-08:00

So, cabin weekend 2005 was super-fun.

I had a minor bout of depression just before we left. Not because I was afraid of breaking one (or more) of my limbs into a thousand pieces. No. Because JS was dreadfully sick. So sick that he wasn't going to be able to come. All the planning. All the anticipation. All the excitement over the fun that was to be had. All the pre-paid, non-refundable reservations. I was so sad as I left my gig to drive up the mountain. By myself. With two other couples. And while I do so love being a fifth wheel, this wasn't exactly the weekend I had envisioned.

Being the only single member of the group, I got stuck with the sofa bed instead of getting one of the two rooms. I awoke Saturday morning tired and sore from a not-so-good night's sleep, and feeling less-than-enthusiastic about skiing solo with the lovely couples. Luckily, skiing turns out to be rather like riding a bike. I was sure of what I was doing after our first run, and by the end of the day, I had graduated from green circles to blue squares and I was feeling pretty confident that I'd be back to my talent of yesteryear in no time at all.

But the fact that I didn't fall even once during my first day back on the slopes wasn't the best part of the day. By the time I got out of the shower that evening, JS had arrived at the cabin.* He was still sick, but feeling much better than before. The others had decided to do a bit of late skiing, so he and I enjoyed the jacuzzi and a glass of wine for a while until they returned from a hard day's work. After dinner, we all played games and stayed up way past our bedtimes. I was still stuck with the sofa bed, but at least I had some company for the second night.

When we hit the slopes on Sunday morning, I was so happy that even a crippling fall couldn't have broken my spirit. JS is an even better skiier than I imagined. The grace and ease with which he shooshed down the hill both inspired and challenged me, and by the end of day two, I was skiing black diamonds again.

So the weekend getaway ended happily after all.** No falls. No broken bones. No broken hearts. Just some super-cute pictures and some really good times.

*To be fair, I actually knew he was coming up. We had spoken earlier in the day. But isn't the story so much better if he surprised me?
**Except for the part where my car got towed, but I chose not to include that part, on account of I think it sucks the fun out of the story.

"Break a Leg"

2005-03-08T19:41:00.000-08:00

A pre-show phrase I've become accustomed to, working in the entertainment industry. However, I fear that I may actually do so this weekend.

In approximately three days, sixteen hours, and forty-nine minutes (approximately), I will once again brave the wintery slopes on skis after a hiatus of something like seven years. Of course, I'm terribly excited about the weekend getaway that JS and I will be taking, especially since it will include apres-ski soaks in the jacuzzi in my new Brazilian bikini, game night in front of a toasty fire with Em and M (cute, huh?), and far too much alcohol. But I can't help but feel a tiny pang of apprehension about the whole skiing part of the weekend.

With my ex, J (seriously, what is it with me and men whose names start with this letter?!), I took up snowboarding. So it's not like I've been completely absent from the slopes for the last seven years. But I haven't donned skis and the requisite torturous ski boots in what seems like an eternity. Freezing my cold feet further, JS is an incredible skier. And I used to be, too. So now I feel pressure to jump right back onto the black diamonds of my youth. But I fear I may be stuck on green circles all day. Or end up gliding gracefully down the hill on the toboggan attached to the helpful ski patrollers' snowmobile, broken limb braced for the bumpy ride.

I can hardly wait!

Retardation of the Purely Mental Variety

2005-02-14T15:17:00.000-08:00

Apparently, JS and I are slowing things down a little. Apparently. But to be honest, I can't really see how.

He had just ended another relationship when we met. It is, in fact, still up for debate whether said relationship was actually over at the time of our first date. Which, given how we met, is cause for some concern. But I digress. This past relationship was never an issue until last weekend. Until he was suddenly "in a funk". He was starting to feel not ready to get into another serious relationship so quickly, which was, by all indications, the direction we were headed. Now, I can certainly respect that. I've been where he is and I don't want to be his rebound, either. So I'm totally okay with slowing the pace of our budding relationship until he is sure that he's ready to pursue something more than a casual dating thing. But what doesn't make sense is that it seems like nothing has really changed.

He still wants to take me out. He doesn't want to date other people. We can't sleep over (which is a funny distinction, considering we weren't doing that anyway). We can't see each other every day (again, wasn't happening before). We can't pick out rings (okay, so maybe I threw that one in). But seriously, considering how new this whole thing is, do these things really count as slowing down? Or is it just the caution that comes from having been hurt before?

It seems to me that the only thing that has changed is what defines "us" in his head. Maybe he was falling faster than I was to begin with, and it freaked him out. Maybe his ex or his friends are giving him a hard time about how quickly we started dating. Whatever the explanation, I guess I shouldn't complain. I should just shut up and be grateful that he is a good communicator and actually thinks enough about our possible future to want to share his feelings with me, and to try to work through those feelings instead of just calling it off.

But then, just when I thought that all I would have was a cute new Brazilian bikini (with two matching sarongs and flip-flops) and an imported bottle of alcohol to console me on what would have otherwise been a romantic Valentine's Day, he showed up at my office to take me to lunch. With a dozen. Red. Roses. Now, I ask you, do Valentine's Day dates and roses constitute slowing things down? Because if so, I say let's slam on the brakes! And can you imagine what full speed ahead must be like?

Licoes na vida, no amor, e em portuguese...

2005-01-31T17:40:00.000-08:00

JS has been in Brazil for work all week. I'll be honest - I intended to use the extra time to get to know JT a little better. After all, we met after JS and I had already hung out a few times, so I thought it only fair to give equal time to each bachelor.

What's weird, though, is that despite my other options here, I find myself missing JS. And it forces me to wonder if I could possibly know and care enough about him in this early stage to be missing him. I check my email constantly to see if there is a new message in Portuguese waiting for me. I'm even learning a little Portuguese myself! There is a six hour time difference between here and Brazil, making it difficult (not to mention horribly expensive) to talk on the phone. So you can imagine my surprise when he called me on Wednesday. From Brazil. And twice more on Saturday. And again on Sunday. And again today. (ed. note: Most everyone who reads this blog knows from several recent dating disasters that I am quickly and easily turned off by guys who show too much interest, too fast. So this is kind of a big deal that I'm not annoyed, but rather excited, to get his calls.) He comes home in two days, and will apparently come bearing gifts. YAY! But it's not the gifts that I'm most excited about. (Although it's definitely earning him some extra points!) I'm really excited to see him. To talk to him.

Today when we were talking, he mentioned that he has to go back in a few weeks. And with this announcement, there arose much booing from the masses. He is supposed to be gone from the 14th to the 21st. More booing still! Valentine's Day and President's Day. Now I don't actually celebrate President's Day. I promise you, my faithful readers, I'm not that weird. But I have the day off from work, so it could have been a fun long weekend. And as for V-Day, or Singles Awareness Day, as it has come to be known in my household for the last two years, I was certainly not expecting that we would have plans. After all, this thing, whatever it is, is still very new. But then came the good news. He is postponing his trip so that he can be with me on the 14th. And a thundering could be heard throughout all the land as the crowds united in a harmonious cheer, YAY again!

And so it would seem that I do have plans on February 14. More importantly, though, in this short-lived, although very trying, dating drama of late, the verdict has at last come in...

And the jury's unanimous decision is...

JS.

Spreadsheet, meet trash bin*.

*Edited. Thank you, Emily, for pointing out that computer files are not actually recycleable. Damn that Microsoft for brainwashing all of us!

What's in a Name?

2005-01-22T10:02:00.000-08:00

The immortal genius of William Shakespeare tells us that "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." After the drama that was yesterday, I, for one, hope this is a truth universally accepted by the opposite sex.

I don't think I'm alone when I say that when it comes to dating, it is either feast or famine. Why this is the case, I think I will never understand, but nonetheless, it is what it is. After a period of, shall we say, draught, I recently found myself dating not one, not even two, but SIX different men. Am I the only one hearing a refrain of "It's Raining Men" right now? I should preface this by explaining that I am not good at dating. Relationships, no problem. But dating, and all the games that come with that territory, are not among my favorite things. I am and always have been more of a one-man-at-a-time kind of woman. However, having learned several harsh lessons about putting all your proverbial eggs in one basket, I decided that perhaps I should give this dating-multiple-men-and-being-ever-so-careful-not-to-let-them-find-out-about-each-other thing a try. After all, men do it all the time, right? But that's a topic for another day.

First, a legend, of sorts. For the sake of simplicity, I shall, for now, refer to them as bachelors 1-6, so as to avoid any confusion over similar initials (keep reading, you'll understand). Bachelor #1 is my little drummer boy, who I met at a gig last May. Bachelor #2 is a friend from high school, who I recently reconnected with at our 10-year reunion. Bachelor #3 is a dentist who I met on a plane to South Carolina when going out to visit my family for Christmas. Bachelors #4, 5, and 6 I met online several weeks ago. (I know, but I haven't the time or energy to explain that one right now. Maybe another day.)

Knowing that I could never keep track of who was who with six men, I knew I had to quickly narrow my options. But having had only a few dates with each bachelor, and therefore only a fraction of the information needed to make such a decision, I knew it would not be an easy task. Honestly, I don't know how she does it on The Bachelorette! I had pretty much given up on #1, due to his insane touring schedule, so he was an easy first cut. #2 and I were just too fundamentally different. #3 was too hands-on on our first date, so he got 86ed pretty quickly. #4 was super sweet, but had been married and had a daughter. Those are not issues in and of themselves, but I found that he slipped too quickly into that place in a relationship where you're so comfortable that you don't have to talk to each other anymore. And in my world, you should still have plenty of things to talk about after three dates. So I was down to #5 and 6. That was certainly more manageable. Now I can switch to calling them JS and JT, respectively.

JS is wonderful. We have great conversations, we laugh a lot, we have similar interests, and I'm not going to lie - he's a great kisser. But JT is fantastic, too. We also have a lot of fun together, we have interesting conversations, and we have a lot in common. (I know you're wondering, and no, I haven't kissed him yet, but he's oh so pretty, I can only imagine [and believe me, I have imagined it from time to time] that it would be fabulous!) How is a girl to decide? I like them both equally as much, and it's really too early to be able to make an informed decision. But I don't like lying to either of them when they ask about my plans for tomorrow, the weekend, etc.

Wednesday, I went out with JS. Thursday with JT. Yesterday (Friday), JS again. Tonight will be JT again. As if I wasn't agonizing over the situation enough, re-enter Bachelor #1, also JT. (Do you see how it's about to get very confusing?!) Last night, as I was on my way home from work to get ready for my date with JS, JT(#1) called. He is back in town, and wanted to get together for dinner. I told him I already had dinner plans. He suggested coffee. I realize now that it was foolish, but at the time I couldn't think clearly, so I met him for coffee. And, just as I should have predicted, I was all twitterpated again. I even agreed to see him again before he heads back out on the road. Not much later, as I was getting ready (still for the date with JS), JT(#6) called. Needless to say, after having spoken with all three bachelors within about twenty minutes of each other, I was a little overwhelmed.

Now, keeping track of who did what and who said what is not terribly difficult with three. But here is the twist in this sick little reality show of mine - their names are James, Jamey, and Jim. Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of cosmic joke at my expense?

And so, dear friends, I apologize for seeming to fall off the face of the blogging earth, but surely now you can understand.

First Things...Well, Not First.

2005-01-03T18:44:00.000-08:00

A few things about me (we'll go with 29, in honor of my 29th birthday this year):

In my world (the reality that exists in my mind), I am a rock star (or jazz or swing or any of the other genres I sing, but a star nonetheless!).
I am a dog person – to be specific, I am a mutt person. I’ve adopted both of my puppies from a local shelter, though I am quite sure they will not be the last who will be rescued by my suckered heart.
I have an irrational fear of birds, stemming from a near-eye-pecking-out incident with a crow that I dare say was tantamount to Hitchcock’s famed movie.
I come from a big family – 4 siblings, 2 sisters-in-law, 1 niece; but my extended family is where it gets really impressive – roughly 60 cousins and 17 aunts/uncles.
My parents are still together after 30 years, and what’s more impressive, they still adore each other.
I am an ice cream fiend, despite the advice from my doctor to avoid dairy.
For that matter, I am a sugar fiend. (Is there anyone who doesn't look forward to Girl Scout cookie time?)
I competed internationally in latin ballroom dance for 5 years.
I have a tattoo. (But I’ve never pierced anything other than my ears.)
I have had cosmetic surgery. (Any guesses?)
I am a natural blonde.
I am a perfectionist, overly self-critical, I can't take a compliment, and I'm much too competitive.
I cannot feign mystery – I have always worn my heart on my sleeve, at times to my detriment.
I fall in love too easily.
I am perpetually 15-20 minutes late for EVERYTHING. Much thanks to all my friends and loved ones who accept me this way and don't complain, at least to my face. An even bigger thank you to my employer for not firing my sorry ass for being late every day.
About halfway through (if it's really good, I'll make it to 3/4), I skip to the end of books so I don’t have to read the whole thing.
I have a strange addiction to collecting DVDs, specifically Disney, even though I do not yet have children.
My music taste ranges from musicals to jazz to rap to classical to country to rock to…you name it.
I love rollercoasters - the faster, higher, loopier, crazier, the better!
I could jump on a trampoline for hours. (And even at my age, I can still do most of my younger, gymnast-day tricks!)
When it comes to board games, I can't get enough!
Video games, however, are another thing entirely. I never even passed level 1-1 on Super Mario Bros. Hand-eye coordination: NONE.
I've never tried lobster.
Anyone who's eaten lunch with me even once can tell you that I am a picky eater. Mostly based on texture. Shrimp, for example, make me want to throw up a little. In my mouth. Bananas, mushrooms, bleu cheese, most nuts...same thing.
I did the vegetarian thing for two years. But I quickly saw the error of my ways, and have since evolved into a filet-loving carnivore, never to turn back again!
I hyperventilate when I snorkel.
I am something of a chameleon - I am a girly ski bunny, a snowboarding/wakeboarding grommet, a preppy golfer, and a kick-ass mountain biker (although this one I'm still learning), all in one.
I learned to speak French when I was about 10 (thanks, Dad!), but didn't make it to France until I was 22.
I live a very blessed life, and I am thankful for it every day. New Year's Resolution: Never take anything for granted.

Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum

2004-12-04T23:26:00.000-08:00

I had practically given up on dating. I had been disappointed too many times, I was exhausted by all the games, and it was starting to seem, well, not worth it anymore. But the undeniable spark I felt when I first met him renewed my hope, and made me think twice about throwing in the proverbial towel just yet. Everyone, including him, told me how difficult it is to date a musician. But somehow, I thought that I was stronger than that - that I was independent and secure, and that it surely wasn't as difficult as they all made it out to be.

At first, my confidence was reassured. We spent some wonderful times together. I had more fun with him than I had had with the sum of all the men I had dated over the past year. We laughed and had good conversation. We listened to great music and ate great food. We played in a wind tunnel and laid on a bed of nails. He taught me to jump down stairs on a bike. Good times.

But then he left on tour. With him on the other side of the country, or in some cases in another country entirely, our actual dating reached a state of seemingly perpetual hiatus. As the tour rolled on, our phone and email conversations became increasingly infrequent, and regrettably one-sided. He assured me not to take it personally, that he was, in fact, interested, but that he was just focused on his career. At some point, I came to accept the fact that we just can't date right now. I resigned myself to hoping that our paths would cross again. (Lesson: Be careful what you wish for!)

Now and then he shows up at my gigs, unannounced. And, once the butterflies settle, I land right back in the center of square one. My attraction to him, the beginnings of feelings for him, all come rushing back, and I find myself once again wanting that which I cannot have. It's a vicious cycle, really. One that precludes me from fully letting go, moving on, and being happy with someone else. And although I realize that I shouldn't want to be with him, and that his lifestyle and my wants and needs don't work together, I also realize that these kind of choices often have no founding in logic.

So as the mad dashing of the holiday season begins to subside, I wish my little drummer boy peace and happiness, wherever in this vast world he may find himself on Christmas day.

Overjoyed

2004-11-08T14:21:00.000-08:00

I don't generally consider myself a star-struck kind of person. You know the type - the ones who get so excited upon encountering a celebrity that their voice reaches a pitch normally reserved for pre-teen girls. The ones who have an alarmingly sizeable collection of autographs and photos. The ones who you fear may turn out to be stalkers. Not usually my thing.

Last Saturday, I had a gig with one of the bands I sing with. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a fundraiser for some private school in LA. Then, sometime around the third song of our first set, I noticed him. He sat at a table off to the side of the room. Dark glasses. Long braids. Unassuming, with a surprisingly small entourage. A bodyguard the size of what I can only imagine the abominable snowman would look like (only not quite as snowy white). Arguably one of the greatest musicians of our time. Stevie Wonder.

I had heard he might be there, but when reality set in and he was sitting before me, I froze. I never get nervous when I sing. I've met a few famous people in my life, and I always seem to hold it together pretty well. But this time it was different. Surely, he knows most of the songs we are playing. Surely, he will notice if I forget the lyrics or if I sing the slightest bit out of tune. Not usually things I worry about.

Despite all the self-induced pressure, I made it through the gig with only two minor mistakes. And he seemed to be enjoying the music, singing along and rolling his head the way he does. In the end, I was able to meet him and take a photograph. And I didn't turn into aforementioned psycho. He was kind, gracious, and surprisingly humble. It was a great honor to play for him, and an experience I will never forget.

A Tribute to Dance Dance Revolution

2004-11-06T11:20:00.000-08:00

Watching the kids in the arcades jumping around on the arrows, trying to make time with the music and the arrows on the screen, I always thought there wasn't a thing in this world that could get me to do this. But XBOX, in all their infinite wisdom, has created a way for me to experience the joys of aforementioned game in the comfort of my own home, without fear of public humiliation. For those of you not yet initiated into the cultish world of DDR, it is truly a marvelous thing. Allow me to explain...

With endless selections of clubified beats and helpful commentary, you jump and stomp on a floor pad, trying to snychronize the movements of your feet on the arrows to the arrows that come up on the screen. But don't be misled - it's not as simple as it may first appear. There are varying levels of difficulty, and, as Shannon and I learned last night, you are upgraded without warning to the next level when you master a song. The rhythms and combinations range from moderately challenging to absolutely impossible. If you are skilled enough to pass a song, you are scored and graded. This is the catch. You become addicted to increasing your score, to perfecting your moves, to beating the computer or your friend, depending on how you set it up to play. And then, just when you develop the slightest bit of confidence in your DDR abilities, you make the foolish decision to challenge your friends to a dance-off. (Beware, Emily and Mark - we are going to kick your arses.) So you see, it's a never-ending cycle that we get sucked into.

Therefore, to all of you at XBOX and Konami, we salute you. Thank you for bringing us endless hours of entertainment (and a great workout), and for being so gracious as to accept obscene amounts of money on our behalf.

Lessons in Forgiveness

2004-11-06T10:25:00.000-08:00

I haven't always been a patient or forgiving person. I remember babysitting my four younger siblings, a duty I resented since, after all, it was never my choice to be the oldest, and losing my temper on a regrettably regular basis. It seems that two, if not all five, of us were always fighting when my parents returned from their date nights, which I now can appreciate how desperately they needed. Most often, my sister, the baby, was the unfortunate recipient of our constant torture. I remember thinking that I could never be a teacher, and I had serious doubts about my ability to be a mother someday.

And then I met Gracie. My four-year relationship with J had fallen apart two weeks prior. Having lost Bella only months before, my heartbreak and lonliness had caused nearly irreparable damage. So Shannon and I went to the shelter after work one day. I wasn't sure I was ready yet, but what would be the harm in looking, right?! Wrong - I should have known that I can never walk into a shelter without walking out with a new pet. There she was, in the same "featured pet" space that brought me my first fluffy bundle of joy, the death row cage. I had seen her picture on the web site, but she was different here. Her picture portrayed a large dog with a sad face, and here in front of me was a small puppy with a sweet face. I opened the door to say hello, and she climbed onto my lap and nuzzled against my chest. Check, please! I was a goner. That was November 1.

By December 5, I was ready to take her back. I realized I was in over my head. Buyer's remorse, I guess. She was not 1-1/2 like they told me - she was a puppy, still apparently teething and chewing on everything! That, coupled with the worst case of separation anxiety of any being on this planet, caused destruction approximating that of warfare and natural disasters. My roommate's couch, my roommate's phone (later I would learn that my roommate was mean to her, causing the chewing bias toward her things over mine), electrical cords, shoes, lingerie, a brand-new sweater, my down comforter, just to name a few of the unfortunate items left in ruins after encountering the unnatural strength of her young jaws.

I soon learned to puppy-proof the house, and we moved into our own apartment, away from the horrible roommate, and her behavior noticeably improved. Now that we've practiced our routine for two years, she is finally starting to trust me. She knows that I will always come back when I leave for work. She has learned the difference between the kennel and the shelter. She understands, for the most part, what things are off-limits. But every now and then, she inexplicably reverts to the terror that I first brought home. There is no rhyme or reason, no way to predict when and what she will do. And when it happens, she looks at me apologetically, with that same sad look from the photograph, a look that begs "do you still love me?" And I cave. And I realize that her snuggles on cold winter nights, and her excited bouncing when I first open my eyes in the morning after she patiently sits at the foot of my bed awaiting her walk, and her thankful kisses when I play with her, and her gentle paw on my leg as she sits quietly next to me when I am sad, and the way her whole body wags when she is happy, are worth more than anything I may ever have to replace.

Puppy Love

2004-11-02T21:14:00.000-08:00

I remember the day I met Bella. It was April 28, 2001. J and I had decided to stop by the shelter, but we were just looking - we weren't ready for a pet just yet. She was the first one we saw - you know, the one in the "featured pet" cage, a euphemism that we would soon learn meant she was on death row. "Adopt me today," her card read, "I'm ready to go home." Her name was Brandy then. I remember how fluffy and soft and cute she was. I remember how sweet her disposition was when we let her out to walk and play a little. I remember how we decided maybe we were ready, and how we couldn't wait to take her home.

My family always had pets when I was growing up - dogs, cats, rabbits, even a chicken. But they were kept outside, not really a part of the family, just animals that we had to clean up after, feed, and often fear. But Bella was different. She was our baby, our little one-year-old sweetheart. And the first pet that was really mine.

She stayed in the house with us, even slept on our bed, we spoiled her lavishly, we loved her deeply, and she was perfect. I remember how quickly she was housebroken after a single accident. I remember never having to worry when we left her alone at home, and I remember crying the first time we left her at a kennel, seeing the sad look in her eyes as we went away. I remember how she hated baths, and how when her fur was wet, she was so small. I remember how we could never find a toy that she wanted to play with, and how there was nothing that she wouldn't eat. I remember trips to the bark park and the dog beach, and the thousands of compliments on our little social butterfly.

But most of all, I remember July 2, 2002. I remember waking up late and not taking her for a morning walk, a ritual we had never missed until that day. I remember wishing that she hadn't been so well-behaved that morning, waiting patiently until I awoke instead of jumping on me when the alarm went off. I remember rushing home to my apartment, without so much as a pat on her head or an "I love you," to get ready for a very important meeting. I remember the horror in J's face when I answered the door and he was screaming at me. I couldn't hear what he was saying. Maybe I didn't want to hear it. And then I remember running, falling to the cold, hard asphalt and disappearing into J's embrace. And my fists pounding on his chest. I remember looking through the thick wall of tears to see her lying on his car seat, motionless. And collapsing again. And how every time I looked, I hoped she would move. Breathe. Grin. Lick my face. Just one more time so I could say goodbye.

I remember her little ceremony - just J, his mother and me in a little room, Bella in her little box. I remember how perfect she looked - not like she had been hit by a car, but like she was sleeping. We laid her on the blanket that she first came home in, we gave her the one toy we finally got her to play with, we gave her one of her favorite treats, we gently placed a photo of the two of us in the box. It was quiet in that little room, just like she always was.

But now the flowers on her grave are wilting. The photo on her headstone is fading. The lines in the grass are long gone. Her face is blurring in our minds, sharpened again only by photographs that never did her personality justice. We see her in our dreams. We remember her only in our hearts.

Happily Ever After: A Love Story

2004-10-31T19:24:00.000-08:00

The scene: Lazy W church camp, circa summer 1987

From the moment they met, Angela knew there was something special about John. Although she was but a young girl, she had feelings for him that she would not experience again until much later in her adult life. Yes, this was more than a crush - it must have been love. But John didn't return her sentiments with the enthusiasm she had hoped. And so, at the young age of 12, Angela felt the first pangs of heartbreak that would become all too familiar over the next 16 years.

Fast forward to early 2003...

Angela and John's paths cross again, thanks to the ingenious intervention of two mutual friends. Except this time, the tables were turned. With less than a year of healing from her most recent heartbreak, a 4-year relationship that she was sure would turn out to be everything she had dreamed of, Angela was not ready to open herself up to love. But John would not give up - something told him that he should persist, that this second chance meeting was not just coincidence.

After months of inner struggle between her heart and her head, Angela realized that the feelings she had could no longer be denied. Her jaded heart had given up long ago on finding her ideal, her soulmate; and yet, here was this man who seemed to be everything she wanted, everything she needed. This relationship was different than anything she had experienced thus far. And so she decided to give love another try.

Long story short...

In November of 2003, John (who, incidentally, I went to high school with) proposed to my cousin Angela at the very spot where they first met. In August of 2004, they were married in one of the most beautiful weddings I have had the pleasure to attend.

I have never seen two people more in love, or better suited for each other. And even though their experience in married life is limited to these last few months, I know they will never be apart. They are perfect for each other in every way, sharing many important interests and personality traits, and complementing each other in all other areas. Most importantly, their love is deeply rooted in their faith - the very faith, in fact, that initially brought them together, and they grow closer to each other as they grow in their individual relationships with God.

Their story is proof to me that there really is someone for everyone who will make us happier than we could ever imagine; someone who we will love, and who will return that love, stronger than we may ever think possible. Everything I want, everything I need, everything I dream of having when I finally find that person who is my ideal, I see in them. They give me the faith and strength I need to continue in the cosmic dating process that will eventually lead to my own happy ending.

'Tis the Season

2004-10-20T21:41:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago was the fateful American Idol-Season 4 audition. I stood, powerless before the panel of merciless judges, internally debating whether I actually wanted to go through with this whole thing. Always the cautious optimist, I was preparing myself mentally for the pangs of rejection, but still hoping for success and the promise of stardom. It’s funny how when you finally hear the judgment you have so long agonized over, you realize what you wanted all along.

You see, this dream ended almost as quickly as it had begun. But when I was eliminated after the second round, I was pleasantly surprised to find that, rather than feeling stripped of my lifelong dreams, I felt a calm sense of relief. I’m not going to lie – rejection is never fun. But I realized from the peace I felt that I was truly okay with the outcome. What struck me, though, wasn’t my reaction, but the reactions of the other 5,000 hopefuls. Most of them were crushed by the opinion of the three people who saw them at this one audition.

Watching them leave, dreams shattered and spirits broken, I felt incredibly fortunate that, although I may not have made it onto American Idol, I have a singing career waiting for me on my less-than-victorious return. And I realized that, cliché as it may sound, happiness is more about our perspective than our situation - you know, the whole "glass is half full" thing. Life doesn’t always turn out the way we want or expect, but if we focus too much on the little things that sometimes don’t go our way, we miss out on the million other things that do.

And so, as autumn afternoons make way for winter nights, and visions of Thanksgiving turkeys and pumpkin pies dance in my head, I begin to think of the countless blessings in my life, most specifically those little things that we all too often take for granted.

Idol Dreams

2004-09-22T18:03:00.000-07:00

Since I can remember, I’ve been singing and performing for whoever would watch and listen. Shannon and I can justify singing karaoke on pretty much any occasion, and I’ve been singing with three local bands for a little over a year. I truly love to sing, and I suppose on some level, I’ve dreamed of being a star for most of my life. But, like most fantasies, this dream may be better left in the reality that exists in my mind, rather than actually chased in life.

I have been persuaded by my girls at work (Shannon, Emily, Carolyn, and Mary Ann) to audition for American Idol. We are a bunch of reality show addicts – we watch even the worst of them (and if we miss one, Carolyn always has an update), and we have gone so far on occasion as to create betting pools for some of the favorites. Last season, American Idol made that list. So when they raised the maximum age this season, my “I’m too old” excuse was no longer valid, and I was promptly given the official rules and audition information by Emily. I couldn’t come up with a different excuse that would satisfy the girls, who, sensing my apprehension, insisted that I make a timeline and post it outside my cubicle so they could check my daily progress and make sure I don’t back out of the audition. So it looks like I’m going to do it.

You would think that I’d jump at the chance to more actively pursue a singing career, but I find myself having serious reservations. Rejection is hard to handle in any situation, but when it could be televised nationally, I just can’t imagine how I’ll deal with it. In fact, the pressure of being on television in general is hard to handle. I really enjoy my “day job”, and I already get to sing on the side, so I haven’t felt a need or strong desire to pursue a full-time singing gig. Not to mention that my participation in the show would be a logistical nightmare.

But despite those fears, which torment me in the night, I can’t disappoint the girls. So as the anxiously anticipated audition date draws nearer, the flutters of both excitement and nervousness intensify in my stomach.

And so begins the story of the star inside me who might just get her chance to break free…