I’m surprised I didn’t find Jimmy Hoffa

There is a widely held belief that all women fear turning into their mothers as they grow older. Or maybe it’s just their husbands that fear that…? Anyway, when I was in my teens, I was petrified of turning into my mother. She and I had the quintessential teenage daugher/un-hip mother sitcom relationship. But the past few decades have mellowed her out quite a bit and I have outgrown all my angst and we actually enjoy each other now. Of course, she is still loony (the woman could hide her own Easter eggs, if you know what I mean) but given who she came from, she’s not too bad.

Tonight, I realized that while that fear has abated, my second fear has come true: I am carrying my mother’s handbag. Do you remember when you were a kid and the trepidation and intrigue that would overcome you when you were called upon to retrieve something from your mother’s bag? The thing seemingly had no bottom because it would swallow your arm up to your elbow…and the things inside? Who even knew what was in there? Other than the used kleenex and the loose change and buttons milling around, was anything recognizable?

I still get the shakes just thinking about it.

There was a time when I carried a slinky little bag that carried nothing but a credit card, a twenty dollar bill, lip gloss and my keys. (This was pre-cell phone era.) The realization that my bag has turned into my mother’s hit me pretty hard. I really had no idea. My bag doesn’t look like hers. It is cute, still semi-small and doesn’t even have handles long enough to hang off my shoulder (which, seriously, I have to find a bag that I can carry on my shoulder. Hands. Two are not enough.)

My bag:

Kinda cute, right? Simple, professional enough for work/casual enough for weekends. Good bag. (It is actually lighter than the photo — sort of a bone/beige tone that works with black, brown, navy, red…Perfect color.)

Okay, now look at all the CRAP that was stuffed inside:

Let’s break this down, shall we?

Starting on the left and meandering clockwise:

• There are 37- and 39-cent postage stamps. And look! The 39-cent ones are pretty snowflakes! This would be all good except a first-class stamp in the US is now 42-cents. And I don’t see any 3- or 5-cent stamps in that pile, do you? No, you don’t.
• The stamps are sitting on an inch-thick stack of gift cards from Christmas.   Have I ever ONCE remembered they are in my bag when I’m actually in one of those stores?  Of course not.  Thus, the stack of cards in my bag.
• Mouse (computer variety, not rodent)  We won’t even go there.
• Coin purse (full of vending machine coinage) and my mp3 player which is sitting, scratch free, in a felt bag that came with some jewelry I received from India.  Repurpose, that’s the goal.
• Appointment cards from dental and chiropractic appointments from as far back as April. Which could be a clue as to the last time I cleaned out my bag.
• Gratitude journal.  An impulse purchase from Target.  I used it regularly for about a month and then I feared Oprah had brainwashed me so I stopped.
• Checkbook.  Well, it’s about time.  Something that actually belongs.
• Four checks that have come in the mail that I haven’t deposited yet, under the keys to the house.
• Brown headband, wrapped around my fluorescent green Totes umbrella  and sitting next to my manicure kit.
• Oh here we go…an invitation to a volunteer dinner.  Back in June.  Better not let that get away.
• Property tax receipt (which is in my bag because if I take it out, I’ll have to file it…and I don’t love the filing) and my new bank card.  The letter says my old card expired June 1.  Well, it may have but I still haven’t broken out the new one.
• Four band-aids.  Because I may be a klutz but I am a well-prepared klutz.
• Above those, my wallet, cell phone (from the stone age), various pens, hand lotion and of course, the Extra Strength Tylenol.  Because Wimpy Strength is for wussies.
• Oh, now we have a nice little pile of lip balms, lipstick, two things of floss (one for spinach emergencies and the other in case I ever run into MacGyver and he needs floss to build a gadget to bring down a drug lord. Gotcha covered, MacG!), two packs of gum (see, floss AND gum — MacGyver could build a subdivision with all that!), a notebook, mirror, and a nice little collection of lists.  Lists that are all past their prime, mind you.  Note to self:  Add Throw away list when done to each new list.
• Rape whistle.   No advocate for victims of sexual assault is worth her salt without a rape whistle.  Duh.

Also in the pile should be my camera but I couldn’t quite figure out how to take a photo of my camera with my camera …and MacGyver wasn’t here to figure that one out.

Admit it, you’re repulsed but also just a little bit in awe, aren’t you?  I’m a little sick, quite frankly.

Continuing on…

I just want to smoosh your cheeks and kiss you on the nose, each and every one of you. Your comments on the last post were like bright spots of sunshine in my otherwise dismal day. I wasn’t really expecting to hear why you come back here regularly, but it sure was nice to hear that I’m someone you would want to be friends with ‘in real life’ (right back at ya!) and that I am not too slovenly in the grammar department. (My high school English teacher would disagree…but I never wanted to be friends with her anyway!)

I did promise to tell you mine if you told me yours so here goes.

The Tale of Debra’s First ‘Stranger’ Blog (oooh, sounds scary!)
The first blog I found, other than my real life friends’ blogs, was back when I was on LiveJournal. They have an ‘Explore’ function (or did at the time, I don’t really know anymore) and I was just clicking on different blogs to see what other people were writing about. That’s when I found a blog called No, A Door is Not a Duncan. Is that not the best name ever? (She has since changed the name but I will forever know it as the former.)

And I’m going to digress here but that reminded me of when I was a kid, my parents had a car that talked. Instead of a warning beep or a red light on the dash, this man’s voice (we called him Jeeves) would tell you what was wrong. My sister had a thing of not being able to close her door all the way so Jeeves would always say, “A door is ajar.” And my sister and I would yell, “A door isn’t a jar! A door is a door!” and laugh hysterically until a) one of us wet our pants and/or b) dad’s arm would swing into the backseat and knock our heads together.

What? Of course that had nothing to do with this post. D-I-G-R-E-S-S. Look it up.

Anyway…this blog is written by Raquel D’Apice who I learned is a stand-up comedian in NYC and she can tell a story that will make you laugh until a) you wet your pants and/or b) somebody comes and knocks you in the head. She also has these great posts where she highlights her dad and tries to bring his personality through…and I have to say, they are some of the best writing on the blogosphere that I’ve ever found. (If I get ambitious this weekend, I will try to find some of them and link them here for you.) The first night I found her, I spent over three hours just reading back through her archives. And I have linked to her ever since.

Debra and the Blogging Expedition (It sounds like you need a parka and hiking boots with cleats but you really don’t)
Now I find blogs much the same way you do. If there is a blog I enjoy reading, I click through their blogroll to see who they read. I like to read comments on other people’s blogs and if someone is particularly witty (or they have an interesting moniker), I click through to their site and take a peek. The best way to find a blog, of course, is when they find me! I absolutely love it when new people comment or email and a new friendship starts to form.

What keeps me coming back? The main thing is the connection. I’m not interested in bloggers who write about their day; I want to know how the day made them feel. I read blogs that give me enough insight into the authors that I care about them but not so much that I’m uncomfortable with all the details they are sharing. I love people who teach me something new or give me a new perspective on something. Basically, I like reading smart, funny, insightful blogs — like yours! (And a shared love of Vincent D’Onofrio doesn’t hurt! *grins*)

I tend to stay away from blogs that are negative, mean spirited or laden with profanity. And I know this is more of a laziness/time constraint issue on my part, but if a blog doesn’t allow Full Feeds to come through to my feed reader, adios muchacho! I just don’t take have time to click through. (There are four bloggers who get away with this with me because I love them and they are worth the effort…but nobody else.)

Other Business (Funny and Show’s cousin on their father’s side)
XUP made a good point in her comment that I need to address as well. She said, “I really like blogs where the blogger continues the conversation past the original post, engages his/her commenters in further conversation/ideas.”

I need to do that. From here on, I do solemnly swear to TRY to answer any questions that arise and acknowledge your comments with a comment of my own. Of course, that means, if you ask a question and are actually concerned about receiving an answer, you’ll need to circle back through…but I suppose we have to start somewhere, don’t we?

And for now, I have taken far too much of your time so I will end here. How a person with nothing to say can spend this much time writing is beyond me. I should be studied. Or perhaps write for Jerry Seinfeld.

On the flip side

Okay, we have all asked and been asked this question countless times. So, why do you blog? And from what I have heard many of you say, we’re pretty much in this for the same reasons, which are any or all of the below:

• we like to write / express ourselves
• we want to document our lives / hobbies / families
• it is a way to keep in touch with distant friends and relatives
• our friends are doing it / they talked us into it
• we want to make new friends / enjoy the blogging community
• it is a means of venting / a stress release
• it is an extension of our business / a way to make a little extra cash (well, the A-listers say this anyway)
• yada, yada, yada

But I don’t recall anyone asking this question. So, what causes you to read a blog? If we did some side-by-side comparisons, I seriously doubt any of our Favorites or Google Reader subscription lists are identical. Sure, there are a few core bloggers many of us read regularly (Dooce, anyone?) but what draws you in to a new blog? What piques your interest enough to add someone to Bloglines or to your Blogroll?

In short, what keeps you coming back?

You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

Shifting my focus

Okay, before I start in on some lengthy tirade of what may sound like how much I don’t like my job, let me say one thing.

I do like my job.

It is challenging. I am empowered to make most decisions. I work with almost everyone in the department. I love all those aspects but…I think I’ve figured out why I’ve been worn down and weary and ready to move on. Do you want to know? It has taken me days and weeks and months to figure this out so I hope that you do.

It is because there are NO. MILESTONES.

It is endless. Like frenetically trying to empty the ocean, one Dixie cup at a time. You know you’re working like the devil but can you actually see any progress? No. Because the ocean Just. Keeps. Coming.

I sit in the same meetings every week. I hold the same conversations day in and day out. I hear the same excuses, field the same questions. No matter how much I get done today, tomorrow is going to be exactly the same. I feel sometimes like a prisoner, scratching lines on the wall, counting down the days to retirement sweet freedom, not really knowing what day it is…just that another has passed.

I need milestones; little markers of accomplishment, that in times of self-doubt or defeatism, I can look back on and revel in how far I have come. And I need to be able to look ahead and see the pending finale and know that by achieving that ‘end’, I will have completed a task and provided a deliverable and produced something of value. You know this about me. I’m a list maker. I NEED to check things off. It drives me. In past jobs, reaching one of those milestones would be the time that my inner voice (who sounded much like a sweet Julie Andrews) would say, “Good job! You’re done with that now. Take a deep breath and let’s start in on something new.”

I can’t remember the last time I was able to take a breath, deep or otherwise.

Now, my job entails an ocean and a Dixie cup and all my inner voice can say is, “Step it up, lady. You think that ocean is going to empty itself? Well? Do you? C’mon, double time!” (Julie Andrews has gone and left something that sounds a lot like a cranky Sandra Bernhard.)

Although there is nothing wrong with sitting by the ocean and slinging Dixie cups, it just isn’t satisfying. I have to be able to see progress. I have to know that what I’m doing is valuable to someone.

I need a milestone.

I really need that breath.

A brilliant soul, who I rely on more than oxygen, heard me out on this and wisely said, “You just need to turn around. Your focus is on the ocean and you are completely ignoring that big puddle behind you.”

I’m making a puddle, ya’ll. A BIG old puddle. A pond-ette, if you will.

There are milestones around the puddle. I can see them. I wasn’t supposed to empty the ocean, I was just supposed to build a pond. I can do that. It is finite. It has value. I have a purpose.

And when I’m finished, Julie Andrews will return, pat me on the back and let me know it is okay to move on.

After a nice deep breath.

I’m going bed (s)hopping

I used to own a waterbed.  I know, how very ‘lava lamp and black-light poster’-ey of me. But I did. It was a king sized/bookcase for a headboard/four drawers underneath monstrosity and I loved it. It was warm and floaty and comfy and always made a cool {ggguuurrrggggllleee} sound when I settled in for the night.

I’m only thinking about that old bed (that has not been with me for years, just so you know) because I have recently come to the realization that I need a new mattress. I’ve been doing some research on the Interwebs and everything is pointing to that fact. Do I wake up several times a night? Do I have backaches or soreness in the morning? Has my best night sleep in the last six months happened somewhere other than my bed? Yes, yes, and omg yes.

Every time I want to roll over or even stretch out in bed, I wake up. Sometimes I wake up and my lower back is so stiff, it takes a few minutes of yoga stretches and deep breathing to sit up. Last night, things were so bad that instead of lying in bed the normal way, I decided to lay across the foot of my bed. Of course, I had to sleep curled up like a pill bug that just got poked but it was the best night’s sleep I’ve had for a long time.

Although that particular criterion wasn’t found on Google anywhere, I would guess if the answer to Did sleeping like a pill bug at the foot of your bed result in a good night’s sleep? is Yes, it is time to start shopping.

Friday Five, #52 (aka the last)

1. Yes, my head still hurts (and I have an earache that is making the entire left side of my face and jaw hurt! WTH?!) but I thank you all for the sweet comments! I’m hoping this is just my body’s adverse reaction to the weather which means I should be coming around any time now. But regardless of how I feel, it is Friday and that means a Friday Five…and this week it means the last Friday Five, so I felt I had to pull it together enough to post. So here we are. The last Friday Five. Such that it is.

2. This week at work has been a little less productive than I would have liked, needless to say. I ended up going home Tuesday and Thursday at noon so I could work with less light and noise (which did seem to help) and today I’m staying home all day. We have a ‘team building’ event starting at 11 which I really don’t feel well enough to attend so I’m going to stay home and work. I’m hoping to actually get some things done while the team is off.

3. Our division is starting a new ‘green’ committee to work on environmental concerns around the office. I think the first goal is improving our recycling. Most of our division sits in rented office space and the only recycling available to us has been soda cans. I think in the company-owned facilities they are able to recycle plastic bottles, paper, etc. So there is much room for improvement. All of this is part of our company’s goal to have ZERO landfill waste across all our facilities worldwide by 2020. I can’t even imagine zero landfill waste in my own home, let alone across the enterprise. But it is a worthy goal, regardless. (I’m imagining compost heaps in the corners of each parking lot so hopefully someone else has thought this through and has a better idea.)

4. Believe it or not, I had actually planned to leave town (and the state!) this weekend but with my headaches and general not-feeling-good-ness, I will postpone. Having all the Mondays off in July and August has inspired me to do some road trip planning and I think I found a nice spot to hibernate for a couple of days when I’m up to it. I don’t want to say where or when, for obvious reasons, but there might be a lake involved. Yes, indeed.

5. And speaking of Mondays off, I may have to give some of them back. Depending on what role I am asked to take in the next few weeks, I may be needed at work on Mondays. Wouldn’t that stink? I’m going to do my best to not get into that position but sometimes we just have to put on our team shirts and play along, I guess. More on that to come, I’m sure.

Enjoy your Friday and weekend!

Hiatus

Just checking in to say I won’t be back here for a few days. I guess you could say I’m on medical leave. I’ve been having horrible sinus/migraine/tension headaches for the past few days and they don’t appear to be letting up any time soon. Working on the computer all day is about to kill me so coming home and getting online again really isn’t going to happen.

I miss you all and will be back soon. (Please God!)

On the bookshelf, #2008-33

Play With Me, by Janice Maynard

I don’t want to review this book, it was so bad.

In fact, I don’t even want to admit to reading it. But I did.

And I didn’t care for it.

It is the story of three women, who one year from their thirtieth birthdays, make a pact to make their fantasies come true. Which for all three women involves initiating a relationship with the man of their dreams. The rest was cloyingly sweet, wildly unrealistic and yet still pathetically predictable.

In retrospect, this probably wasn’t a good day to give ‘light-hearted romance’ a whirl. I’m going back to The Grapes of Wrath now.