Last List, Lost Book
 
The wife, if you haven't heard, has been chosen by her peers; students to give the "Last Lecture." This traditional honor on college campuses around the globe has recently become quite well known due to Randy Pausch's Last Lecture--yeah, the guy dying of pancreatic cancer. (If you haven't watched it, Google it. It's worth the watch. Trust me, you won't have any trouble finding a link.) No, the wife's not retiring and she certainly doesn't have pancreatic cancer. She's not technically giving her last lecture, but she is giving the lecture as if it were her last and thus it must be about something of which she is quite passionate.

No, she won't be talking about me or the dogs. Trust me, I tried to weasel my way in there.

Anyways, our friend, Mr. Bichon Boy, made up a list of things the wife might speak on during this esteemed event. I thought his list was so hilarious that I am including it here. Blog readers will realize that this guy "gets" the wife. Remember, all credit goes to Bichon Boy, not me:

My Fibroid is bigger than Your Fibroid
How to Keep Brett Favre from Breaking your Heart
Perfect Vacuum lines for Any Carpet
Dog Poop and the Obsessive Compulsive Lifestyle
My Fibroid is WAY Bigger than Your Fibroid
Your Garage is not Secure; Lock Your Car Doors
I Just Had Abdominal Surgery and Yes, I Do Love this Pillow
Become a Debt Diet Fascist in Three Easy Steps
If Only Oprah Ruled the World
Indeed!
(If you don't get these or don't find them funny because you don't get them, you need to go back and read previous blog posts OR you need to seek out the wife and interrogate her until she coughs up explanations. Trust me, they're funny.)

I'm excited to see what the wife ends up talking about. Stay tuned and feel free to email her ideas!

Now, the book. The Lost book. I had this book in my car. It was for a former client who had asked for some reading material. Specific reading material. The book's title included the words SEXUAL IDENTITY and ORIENTATION in big (gigantic) letters. I forgot to give it to her when I saw her and thus it was riding around in my car until I saw her again. I was going to drop it off at my previous place of employment--give it to MJagger to deliver. I had planned to do this on this very day. Anyways, prior to today, the book floated from the front seat to the back seat, back to the front seat, into my briefcase, onto the floor. I'd look at it and go, "Dang! I forgot to take that book to her again!"

Did I mention the book cover title had enormous letters with the words SEXUAL IDENTITY and ORIENTATION on it?

I was at the place of employment of which I do not speak. I grabbed a pile of mail and my datebook and headed off to the main office. (Well, I'd be headed there if I spoke of this job but I do not speak of it so I must just be saying I was heading somewhere.) Work piles in hand, I get in a co-workers car and we swoosh off to our destination. While in the car, this book falls out. No biggy, but I must say I was surprised to see it. I pushed it back into the pile and promptly forgot about it. When we got back to the place of which I do not speak, I took the pile out of the back seat, plopped it up on the counter, carried the pile to the mail room, moved it to Merry Marketing's floor, picked it up & put the pile back on a counter by the brand new coffee pot.

Did I mention I work at a conservative place? Of course I didn't! I don't talk about work. But, if I did, I would tell you I find it to be conservative. Well, that's not saying much coming from me but in my eyes, it is conservative. It's not like other places I have worked where our potty mouths frothed twenty-four hours a day and where it was a very thin line between client and staff. It's not a place where you wear jeans & T-shirts and talk about very inappropriate non-business subjects. No, this is a REAL job! A job of which I do not speak because it would be inappropriate for me to speak of it--I like this job and don't want to mess anything up.

So, I do my business, visit with people, drop off the mail, grab my piles and hit the road.

Imagine my surprise when Merry Marketing calls me and asks me if I've misplaced a book. At first, I'm like, "Huh?" Then, like a ton of bricks (or, maybe seven zillion ton of bricks), I realize she is talking about the Sexual Identity book. Seems it fell out of my pile or jumped out of my pile or got left behind from my pile....and, was found in the coffee pot area by the Human Resources Director......

.....Dear god, HOW the hell did I leave that book behind??!!! I am sweating and my mind is racing but I am laughing because it really is funny even though it is not. I don't know exactly what to do. This is not the kind of thing that gets left around this office. This is not the kind of place you talk about anything of this nature. This is a non-therapy-based business! Merry laughs and indicates the name of the person who now has the book, as the HR person passed it on.

Who the hell is going to believe that I've been carrying that book around for a client they do not know from a place they do not know from a therapist they don't see me as?

I have to call and confess that it is my book. No one will care why I had it--they will care that I left something of that nature lying around an office which is not counseling-oriented. They are used to business manuals and phone books and spread sheets, not counseling books of a sexual nature. Thankfully, the person who has my book is the person I just spent the day with....I call and inquire if she has my book.

Oh yes, she does indeed have my book! She tells me she has it for "safe keeping" and that I can pick it up next time I am at the office. Great, can't wait to stop by for that one. What to do about the HR person? I send an email, briefly describing the reason I had the book in the first place and how it got left behind. I keep it short and sweet; after all, I haven't done anything "wrong," just stupid.

I am assured in a one line reply that the book is being held for safe keeping. That's a lot of safe keeping I'm hearing about.

No, I haven't gone to get the book yet. I didn't step one foot in that place today. Monday. I'm saving it for Monday.....

....or, Tuesday. Maybe Tuesday.

Not so Rosy Nosy


Before I say anything else, I would like to note that it has finally happened: today, an ex-boy friend requested to be my friend on Book de la Face. I laughed out loud when I got that request. I haven't said "yes" yet but probably will--how can I pass up this opportunity for fun and sport??!!

I think I can trump my own adam's apple injury. Like, today.

I figure you can use a laugh.

I was under a desk trying to plug a lap top in at the work of which I do not speak. For some reason, I was squatting, not kneeling--probably because kneeling bothers my knee more than squatting does. I know--go figure. So, I'm squatting, almost in a fetal ball squat, knees almost touching my face, and I'm squished under this desk and I reeeeeeaaach, reeeeeach and reach to the plug, plug it in, back up a little bit, squat, back up and go to stand up.....

WHAM! I whack my head with force enough to knock most human beings unconscious.

This is not the bad or painful part, although whacking your head on the underside of a desk does indeed leave a lump and is not recommended.

The painful part is the part where the back lash from the whack, the part where my head--specifically, my nose--SLAMMED into my leg.

You may be having trouble envisioning this, as it really didn't make much sense to me, either and it was happening to me. Suffice it to say, in just a milli-second, the force of my nose slamming into my leg (which were only centimeters away from each other) rivaled the pain in my adam's apple when I ran into that no-longer-moving filing cabinet.

Go ahead, laugh. Picture my face bouncing off my leg.

My nose, already a large appendage, was still no match for my leg. I toppled over and flopped on my butt. Once again, in only a matter of days, I was seeing stars and unable to speak. This time, I had no witnesses, so my pride was in tact. It took me a second or two to figure out what had happened; once I did, I was glad to see no one was the wiser.

Right now, my entire face hurts. My teeth hurt. My nostrils hurt. I can't chew gum because even my philtrum hurts. I can't really tell if my nose is swollen or not but I am hoping it isn't. I asked the wife if it looks swollen to her but she wasn't able to tell....or, she is smart enough not to say, "Geez, your honker looks even bigger than it usually does. Can you even see around that thing?"

She did ask what I thought I'd injure tomorrow, though.

I'd laugh, but it makes my face her more than it already does, so forget it.

Oh, My Prominentia Laryngea is Killing Me!

I was going to write about how I've been discharged from Housewife Hell, but you will have to wait....this will be worth the wait....

You Addiverse readers know that I've had lots of unusual injuries and issues along the way. I've written about the bizarre happenings, from hitting my head on a tampon machine to getting stitches in my eyebrow while my friends gave the doctor all sorts of suggestions. Today, however, may be the most unusual injury I have yet to incur.

I was moving a filing cabinet. A three drawer, very wide filing cabinet. A serious, heavy, office grade filing cabinet. Not the kind you have at home--no sissy filing cabinet here. I should probably not have been moving a file cabinet as it was very large and heavy and bulky. But, being the stubborn, impatient fool that I am, I wanted that file cabinet moved out of the receptionist office and into my office (at the job of which I do not speak) pronto. No waiting for some manly man to come along. No need for a dolly. I was armed with those little things you put under the corner of stuff you are trying to move and you then move it. An unsuspecting co-worker came along (she weighs about 12 pounds) and offered to help. After assuring her I did NOT need help, I put the little doo-hickies under the corners of the filing cabinet....

....well, three of them, anyways--I couldn't find the fourth one. I figured three were better than two....

and, I began to push while she started to pull (kind of--it's hard to pull a filing cabinet).

As I had my dress boots on (read: slippery bottoms, no grip), I had a hard time getting my footing, even tho I was on carpeting. I am trying to push, feet sliding all over the place and I'm not getting very far. I look kind of like Fred Flintstone--my feet are going a billion miles a minute but I'm not getting anywhere. I am on a very steep angle trying to push this thing. My forehead is by the filing cabinet top and my feet are waaaaay behind me doing the Flintstone thing--I finally get the thing to budge and we start sliding slowly and painfully across the carpeting, when suddenly.....

.....WOOF! One of the little doo-hickey falls out of place, the entire filing cabinet comes to a
screeching halt....and I, of course (inertia, physics, science-wise) keep moving.

Which leads me to my injury. As I kept moving while the cabinet stopped, I rammed my adam's apple right into the top corner of the filing cabinet. When I say it took my breath away, I am not kidding. And, when I say rammed, I am not kidding. Adam, Eve, the serpent, the whole garden of Eden flashed before my eyes.

Now, I don't know about you, but I do not know what to do when an adam apple is injured. It's not like I couldn't breath or anything, but I'm telling ya, it hurt. It hurt BAD. Seeing stars bad. Do you put ice on it? Do you rub it?

Those who know me know that I have a very large adam's apple to begin with. It's been there my whole life, so go ahead and stare--I already know it's big. Freakishly big. The good news about hitting my adam's apple is that my general neck area swelled, making the actual apple look smaller. Of course, I would much prefer not to have a swollen neck or bruised Adam's apple.

I've instruct the wife to call an ambulance if I suddenly grab my throat and look like I'm turning blue. In the mean time, I am going to eat ice cream. I figure that should cover my first aid needs. It will make everything in my throat feel good from the inside, it will make my soul feel good and I already can't wear my pants, so why not?

......and, yes, the filing cabinet got to where it was going, injury and all. I sucked it up and pretended to be just fine (but I was really miserable--don't tell anyone). You didn't think a crushed apple was going to stop me, did you???

You know, I'm not really sure I like the filing cabinet now that it's in my office......

....the hell if I'm gonna move it or say anything. Bring on the shovel, I need some ice cream!

Broken Hearts Club

Not my heart, silly. All is good with my heart, although this day of remembrance is heavy on my heart....and, the thought of domestic violence makes it hurt just a little more.

Do you remember where you where last year on this day?

I do.

I was standing in Cheeseball Neighbor's living room, vacuuming. The wife was in the kitchen, cleaning this and that. It was the day after Cheeseball Neighbor had been robbed and we were trying to help her pick up the pieces, literally & figuratively. She had the TV on, kind of background noise. It was around 3:00 pm. I was thinking about how she needed a new vacuum when the news started breaking into whatever we had been "watching." I stood there watching, held tilted in confusion, not understanding what the announcer was saying, not exactly "getting" what I was watching.

It was the NIU shootings and it certainly wasn't making any sense to me.

And so, that day and that place and those people and Cheeseball neighbor's vacuum will always be etched into my brain. As it's my alma mater and as it's only 40 or so miles away and since it was such a horrific event in our own back yard, I will never forget. I will think of Master Reiki working in the building next to where the shootings occur. I will think of my friend, PSR grrrl, alum and grief counselor, trying to help the campus grieve. I will remember the memorial service. I will even remember the Governor I so despised give a very good speech at that memorial service.

I am wearing my NIU sweatshirt today, with my NIU t-shirt underneath. I wear it in honor of those who were killed, those who witnessed the killing, those who lost friends/children/loved ones, those who worked so hard to help the campus recover, those who make the campus safer today.

Forward, together forward. Keep moving forward.

And then, there is Rhianna. Got the tar beaten out of her by her boyfriend, Chris Brown. Wow, that'll show her, eh Chris? A beautiful, talented, very young girl, beaten to the point there are choke marks on her throat and parts of her face so swollen.....what a manly man you are.

The worst part? She'll probably go back to you. The cycle of abuse works that way. You'll be remorseful, babble about getting help and changing your ways, act all apologetic and morose. You'll go public, using the media to promote your recovery, your hard work, your apologies. And, you probably are sorry--but, more for your own career than her face you just smashed. Oh, you'll fool yourself into thinking you are sorry and that you really have changed, but I know better. I'm one of those counselors that works with those who have been abused, violated, harmed, beaten both emotionally & physically. You'll fool her and she'll at least think about coming back. I don't understand that thinking, but I can empathize with it. It's easy for me to say that if anyone ever abused me physically, I'd be outta there so fast that the door wouldn't even hit me in the ass on the way out. It's easy for me to say I have enough self confidence that I would never stay during such violence. But, I have never been in that position of domestic violence and so I can't say for sure.

You abusers are REALLY good at what you do and the cycle of abuse is a powerful thing.

So, Rhianna, I say to you: don't go back. Get help. Love yourself. Love yourself enough to say this was not right in any capacity. Love yourself enough to go to counseling and end the cycle of abuse. You are so, so talented and have your whole life ahead of you. Don't let the cycle suck you in. Don't let Chris Brown suck you in. No matter how much he says he loves you, no matter what he promises, no matter how sorry he says he is, don't go back. It will probably be really, really hard to not go back, but I implore you not to. This Valentine's Day, love yourself.

Oh dear, this is a really maudlin blog posting......especially for a day that's supposed to be filled with love, love, love (and chocolate--let's not forget the chocolate). I still feel the love and the wife & I will have a really fun day and we'll celebrate another year together and we'll have funny memories to share with friends we see today. But, there will still be that little, teeny pain in all our hearts. I'll get over myself and my emotional rantings, but it will still be there. I say to you "Happy Valentine's Day." I hope it's full of love and chocolate. I also say to you, "Keep those with broken hearts in your mind and in your prayers." They need our help.

Forward, together forward. Today and always. May you feel the love today.

High School Book de la Face Flashback

A funny and unexpected phenomenon is occurring right before my very eyes. Ever since joining Book de la Face (and I am up to 72 friends, so watch out!), I have been getting friend requests from people I went to high school with. Why high school friends are joining Book de la face at this exact moment is beyond me, but it's happening on a daily basis. Contact from old high school peers is usually fun and serves as a great trip down memory lane. (I confess that a few requests are from people I didn't recognize or who I cannot believe would want to be my friend now as they certainly did not want to be my friend in high school. Then, there are those old boy friends. They request to be my friend, read my profile and remove me as a friend. Good for me!)

An even stranger phenomenon is that the majority of people I am reconnecting with are from the band. I always knew that the band members were the cool ones, although I am sure the majority of our peers thought otherwise. I always thought I was the only one who loved being in band, being in the band room, hanging out with the band nerds, but I have now learned otherwise. It's not like we sat around and talked about the camaraderie of the band. I knew that these were my people, the ones that accepted me for who I was, the ones who understood each me, the ones that didn't bully each other. One of the first things I learned in high school is that using the "real" bathrooms was not a very safe or good option. The second thing I learned is that the band room bathrooms were always safe, clean and inviting. No smoking problem, no bullies, no drugs, no mean girls. Another thing I learned is that the band room was a great place to eat lunch, mostly for the same reasons.

The entries in Book de la Face over the past week have revolved around two topics: band as a sanctuary and powder blue gym suits (with our names sewn on them with thick white thread)/gym class in general. Oh, those gym suits--hideous. Gym class in general was hideous, although my athletic prowess came in handy during those classes. I suppose we should include the "share a bathing suit" portion of gym class as part of our flashbacks--how gross is it that they used to have us SHARE bathing suits? You always wanted to be one of the first ones to the pool locker room so you had a shot at getting a swimsuit that actually fit in some form or fashion. Heaven help you if you were late during the last gym class of the day--you were SOOOO stuck what ever was left over. The powder blue jump suits were just as hideous but at least they were your own. We were supposed to take them home every week but I am here to tell you that was not the case--in fact, I think some people went the whole year without washing them. Yes, that led to a funky stink but the lockers made them stink, anyways so I suppose in the long run it really didn't matter.

I am stunned at the number of people who mention that they ate lunch in the band room. I never thought about it until I started reading the posts. One of the other band officers (yes, I was a band officer--queen of the band nerds) wrote about the band room being a "sanctuary" and he is right--it was. I went to the band room whenever cutting Algebra II, when I had free time, when I had lunch, when I was avoiding something else, when I was in study hall, when I had to pee, when I was waiting for something, when I had the actual band class, after school, in the evenings when there was band practice. I was in the "regular" band, the orchestra, the jazz band and the memorial band. Heaven!

Thinking back, band helped me gain some semblance of sanity in a crazy, hormone-filled, overwhelming time when no one knows who they really are or what the hell they are doing. Being the moody mess that I was, band was the glue that held me together. I don't think I can thank them enough. When I think about it, I am still surprised I chose to go to a college without a band.

I jokingly have suggested that we should have our next high school reunion in the band room. The more I think about it, the more I think it might be a great idea. We could fill that room without effort.

It has been wonderful to hear from the band. The varied stories of what is happening in everyone's life right now are delightful. Married, divorced, widowed, partnered. Kids, no kids, kids who have serious illness, kids who didn't make it. Evangelical to pagan, ultra-conservative to flamboyantly liberal. High school diploma to doctorate. We all turned out so different yet we will always be the same: we were all in the band and THAT will always tie us together....

Band nerds, unite! And, thank you for keeping my sanity in tact. I owe you one.

Oh my achin'......

Knee.

I am embarrassed to admit that I have re-injured my once-cured-by-my-beloved-lady chiropractor knee....

...while doing "the Cupid Shuffle" last night at my job-that-I-do-not-speak-about holiday party. It's a very, very easy group dance, as illustrated above. (I've also included a link below to a YouTube video of the Cupid Shuffle in action. You can check it out if you don't recognize the dance or if you want to learn how to shuffle in your own home. Side note: Um, I don't know if it's a clean version or not--I believe it is--you have been warned.)

Perhaps it was a subliminal means of seeing my beloved lady chiropractor (MBLC) more often, but I believe it to be more of a "that was a stupid move" moment while dancing with the younger crowd than that. After all, I am trying to build up my funds now that I don't have to see her three times a week.

I'm seated at my kitchen table, ice wrapped around knee, feeling old and stupid. Once I am able to walk again without a limp, I will get beyond these feelings and will stick to doing walking tapes with Leslie Sansone.

Actually, I can't help it. I love to dance. (Don't tell anyone.) I am by no means a good dancer; in fact, I'm probably a pretty bad dancer. I am a funny dancer. But, I love to dance. As a drummer, I can hear the rhythm in anything they play, which adds to my ability to at least stay on the beat. To make sure there is no confusion here, I am talking about fun dancing, not serious dancing. Cupid-Shuffle-Electric-Slide-Stomp-group kind of dancing.

I am all about the "Cupid Shuffle." To the left, to the left....

I was shuffling along with the group when I made an exaggerated move and---YIKES! Searing pain thru the knee. I mean the kind that takes your breathe away. Think I stopped dancing? Of course not. Pride kept me going to the left, to the left. Once the music stopped, I limped (hopefully not too noticeably) to my table.

Of course, following this dance with "Stomp" and the "how low can you go?" multiplied both my stupidity and my pain. If I had ibuprofen and ice at the table, I would have used both. If I drank, I would have made it a double.

The wife was at home, so she missed this act of stupidity. She was smart enough not to come to the party as I was on the welcoming committee and doing some MC work and thus was not at the table much at all. As this is a new job (of which I do not speak), she really doesn't know anyone yet. How fun would that be to sit with a bunch of strangers while your other half is busy doing obnoxious things? Not very. All she knew is that I came home relatively early, went straight to the freezer and put ice on my knee.

So, the question is: do I once again invest oodles of money into having MBLC fix my knee? I really am in no mood to drop that kind of money again; yet, it worked last time to end the pain, so I assume it would work once again this time. Baby needs a new pair of glasses, some pants that fit and some new gym shoes--impossible purchases if I utilize MBLC three times a week for three weeks. My glasses have these little mysterious chunks out of them and I think it looks pretty tacky; besides, I need new lens so I can see MBLC more clearly when I do return for treatment.

Speaking of pants, I went to the store yesterday to buy a one-size-bigger pair of black dress pants. (No, not to wear to the work party--they are to wear to work now that my other ones no longer fit.) I've decided the problem is due to age & changing hormones, added to the sitting-at-the-desk job spread, not food consumption or lack of exercise on my part. It's all right there in the hips-thighs-pooch-butt line of action. Dr. Northrup concurs that our bodies change as we age and although I am not one bit happy about it, it is what it is. Finding pants that are looser in this "department" was a god-send. No more straight legged pants for this girl. Who knew they make pants for women that are designated as looser in the hip area? I took some one-size larger pants into the fitting room, bit the bullet, got over it and moved on to some pants that did fit. I'll just have to ignore the labels and focus on how much better and much more comfortable the pants are.

I am feeling good about myself once again and am ready to face normal middle age spread. Bring it on, your naughty changing hormones! I shall not fear you--I shall embrace you!

Well, it's time to remove the ice so I'll stop babbling here. Go put on your dancing shoes, turn up the volume on your computer and start doing the Cupid Shuffle. You can't have a bad day when dancing....even with knee pain. To the left, to the left!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ExC1oGN5J28

Pleasuredome?

Before I get yipping about Xena, I want to share with you my "cat-haired cheesy potato" experience today. I was presenting information on the job of which I do not speak to a group of church going Methodists...and, part of the shindig was that I got free lunch made by these fine, upstanding women. Merry Marketing was with me, so there was fun to be had by all. There were all sorts of tasty home-made treats--from still-warm-from-the-oven dinner rolls to ham balls. (Ummm, there is something very wrong with anything called a ham ball. I am told they were very tasty. They did indeed look like balls of ham. As a vegetarian, I kept my lips off the ham balls.)

Since I don't eat ham balls, I loaded up on the cheesy potatoes, rolls and salad. I take a big fork-ful of cheesy potatoes, perfectly warm and not too hot, put the big honkin' pile of taters into my mouth.....

....and, I feel something. Something coarse. Something wrong.

I reach to my lips and try to casually remove whatever it is that is in my mouth....

.....I pull it out and look at it. It is a hair.

Not a brittle person white hair. Not a human hair. No, there was no doubt in my mind that what I was eating was a coarse, half grey, half white cat hair. Trust me, I took time to study this foreign object before surreptitiously placing it in my napkin.

I know you want to know: what did I do next:?

Hell yeah, I ate the rest of the potatoes! Did you think Addi Warrior Princess would let a measly cat hair slow her down?? Okay, okay--I admit to a little gag reflex at the moment I pulled that baby out of there, but I got over it. Besides, the dessert was so awesome that I totally forgot about the cat hair for at least the next few minutes.....

Alas, I was unable to attend the Los Angeles version of the 2009 Xena Warrior Princess Convention.... although, had I a manic moment or had I a bit of cash laying around, I would have gone in a heartbeat. You loyal readers know that I am a huge, obsessive, overzealous fan of Xena, as evidenced by the name I use in this blog, the names of my dogs and my warrior princess daily demeanor. Heck, even my employees at my job of which I do not speak know that I am a Xena whore. For those of you who need a refresher or just want to stare longingly at my Xena convention photos, you'll have to go back to October 2007 blog entries. Trust me--it's worth it.

The LA convention looked absolutely scrumptious, with most of the major characters in attendance. (Well, the actors who portray the characters, that is.) When I saw that line up, I thought my head would explode. I was so envious of those I knew would be in attendance. (Lao Ma, for the Gods' sake!) I admit to a few crazed moments of "how the hell can I get there?" but the moments passed and I stayed home. Thankfully, the internet allows me to be a voyeur extraordinaire.

One of the more "entertaining" postings I found was from AfterEllen.com, of which I am a fan. (You straight people--maybe not so much a fan, I suppose. Ah, but you are always expanding your horizons! I bow at your feet for that.) Even I was taken a-back when I saw the photos from the Lucy Lawless concert. Lucy sings, you know. I'm not a big fan of her singing, no offense to her; I just prefer she act. She puts on concerts whenever she's around for a Xena convention. I'm pretty sure the Xena conventions will stop but the concerts will go on. I'll have to become a fan when that happens. Anyways, I clicked on the link (of which I share with you below), reviewed the data (read: looked at the photos, mouth agape), called the wife over ("You need come over here right now"), showed her the photos and entry and took another gander at the photos. LUCY! What ARE you doing?!!!

As Melissa Etheridge says, "Bring me some water!"

Talk about someone who knows her fan base.

(What's Rob think about all this?!!)

There are links to convention coverage via this site and, of course, via Google searches, but I know most of you will pass on that endeavor. I am all good with that, as not everyone can sport a good old-fashioned addiction to a cancelled television show....

My latest trauma (besides not being able to attend the LA convention) is that I have to decide what to wear to my work party on Friday. I have to wear a red top of some kind, as I am one of two "greeters" (Merry Marketing being the other) and the two of us greeter-types have decided to do the matchy-matchy thing. Well, not really--just both of us wear red. I can't pull off the hot stuff she can wear; I'm more of a "stick to a red t-shirt" kind of gal. I have toiled long and hard about this. I don't have a red Xena shirt--THAT would have made this easy. I think it will be a good party as it will have many vegetarian options and it will be ham-ball free.

So, the Naughty Lucy link: I didn't want to give it to you before getting to the end of this blog as I knew you'd click on the link, stop reading this entry and never come back to finish. I know how you are. Heck, I even learned that the wife skims my blog entries more often than not. Think she's gonna come back to this blog after clicking away from it? No. So, the link:
http://www.afterellen.com/christiekeith/blog/lucy-lawless-in-the-pleasuredome


Don't say I didn't warn you.

That Saved a Wretch Like Me

Dear Big Three,

(No, no--not the auto industry--THE big three, as in the Big Kahuna, Son & HG--I defer to my Catholic roots in writing to all of you.)

First of all, look closely at this photo. Yes, those are MORE pants of mine that no longer fit. I thought I'd torture myself this fine morning by trying on all my pants (why I decided to do this, I do not know). A whole 'nother slew of them dang pants didn't fit. Now, I know there are world crises and wars and famine & global financial disasters, but in my small world, another pile of pants that don't fit really mess me up. When will the madness end? I'm not doing very well with this middle-age-spread thing; besides, I can't afford to buy new pants. I know you are friends with Leslie Sansone, so please help her help me. I can't go to work naked, after all.

Speaking of which, if I did write about work (and I most certainly do NOT write about my job but if I did), I would inquire about all this Jesus-ness that continues to envelope me. I'm not complaining or making fun of this, mind you--I just want to understand. If I did write about work (and I am so not doing that but if I did), I would ask about the two day training you sent me on with my evangelical, born again, uber-conservative co-worker. Now, I really, really like her and she seems to really, really like me and we get along handsomely and we have a great working relationship, but putting me in a car with her for a total of over eight hours plus having me spend two whole days interacting with her...I have to know what the deal is. I don't want to miss the message or the meaning or the purpose.....

.....After all, a wretch like me needs all the help. Missing the forest for the trees would probably not be a good thing.

If I spoke of the work training, I would recant the countless painful moments of Evangelical Eve talking about all these Cheese head things and me not being able to tell any of my funny Cheesehead things because my minions do not know of my wife. (Well, they don't officially don't know about my wife. They aren't morons and I'm like Queen of the Queers--one look at me and it's pretty obvious, in my view. Queer, queer, queer!) I have so many, many, many wife-family stories and there I am, brain ready to have an aneurysm trying to stay quiet, trying to concentrate on driving instead of bursting in pain. I mean, this lady has a great sense of humor and even though we are exact opposites in most ways, we are also very much alike in others and I KNOW she would love these Cheese head stories.....

....but, there's that really-uber-Christian thing and I don't want to offend her and she's my worker and I'm her boss and I need her to continue her respect for my boss-dom and it's really not something that technically should come up in the work place and I don't want her to jump out of the car or stop talking or start laying her hands on me in immediate, emergency prayer...

Okay, okay--so, I'm writing about work. My life's too short for all this. You know all of this, anyways. You hover above. Heck, you put Evangelical Eve in my car and my life. No dancing around. It's my blog, so I'll recall it from my perspective and you can give me the low-down on the whole thing and you can help me keep my job when they miraculously find this blog and start screaming at me to remove it or face lawsuits.

So, I'm sitting there and I'm thinking, "how can I broach this subject of the wife?" because I can't go on in this car any longer without saying something, anything. I am tired of dropping pronouns--I sound like I have forgone the English language at times. ...

In the meantime, she's telling me about how the staff truly believe that God has brought me to them. Dear You, we are back to that, again! And yes, I believe you did indeed did do that. I know I am there for a reason. But, is the reason for me, for them or for us?

Then, I have a brainstorm--I'll share some photos and innocently make sure there's a photo with the wife in it somewhere. This seems to be a casual way to test the waters. I wanted to show her the picture of me meeting Lucy Lawless, anyways; I can stick a photo of the dogs and one of my family in there. Genius!

I hand her the envelope. We have a hoot and a holler about the Lucy Lawless photo and she makes fun of the actual thought that there are people who go to Xena conventions. "Is this like a Star Trek thing?" she asks. I most certainly assure her it is. She then looks at the photos of the dogs, which leads to discuss about her dog and our dogs and dogs in general. Then, she gets to the family photo. She exclaims that my mom looks exactly as she had envisioned and we talk about how my mom & sister have the same holiday sweaters on and it wasn't even planned. Eve goes down the row one by one. She gets to the wife and says, "Who's this?" I try not to piddle on myself and try to sound very confident: "That's my significant other." Eve doesn't miss a beat and asks, "What's her name?" I tell her. Eve notes she has a great smile and looks nice and I can tell she is no worse for the wear about any of this. Incredibly, she then asks, "is she the one who had surgery?" I indicate that it is and then we talk about how concerned I was and how that was a really stressful time and how I didn't think appropriate to talk about at work. I add that we thought it might be ovarian cancer; Evangelical Eve quietly states, "I was thinking it was breast cancer."

Well, that most certainly answers the question of did she or did she not know. She then goes on about ovarian cancer and pancreatic cancer and how those two diseases tend not to have good prognosis. Nothing weird. Just on with the discussion.

You would think this would quell all fears, but strangely it does not. It makes it a whole lot easier to talk while in the car but there is still concern on my part about the whole Jesus thing. I'm feeling brave, so I inquire all about her born-again-ness. This leads to a very in depth discussion of her Christian faith, her conviction, her view. "Love the sinner," she adds, but it is not directed at me or anything in particular--it is aimed and everything and everybody. Of this, I am sure.

Out of the blue, she inquires if I am bringing the wife to next week's agency holiday party. (Don't ask why we are having a holiday party in February. Must have been too busy around your birthday.) I turn and look at her, as this is not what I ever expected her to ask. I shake my head and say no, adding "I don't think they are exactly ready for that." She doesn't agree or disagree--she just nods quietly, an acknowledgment on many levels.

For that, I am grateful.

We return casually to talk of religion and spirituality, Cheeseheads and Flatlanders, dogs and families. Work would be fine. I was fine. She was fine. Although I know she would have told me more about being born again, she was very polite and followed my lead through the whole thing. A true Christian, in my book.

And so, I ask of you again: what DO you want from a wretch like me? Any clear messages would be greatly appreciated.

In closing, I want to thank you for your time....and, for helping the wife have such a quick recovery. I am saved of my wifely duties and am glad not to be doing all those dreaded household chores; in fact, I am back to my own sloppy self, as evidenced by this second photo. Oh, I'll clean it all up by the end of today, as I do every Sunday night, but I have to say it's nice to be back to my old self. I promise to not be a slug and to help the wife with all those chores...as long as I do not have to do them all. I am really, really grateful. I can't make you any promises about washing the floor, but I'm all good with the rest of it.

Sincerely, Addi Warrior Princess

P.S. Thanks for the Blago Bust.