You are currently browsing the monthly archive for November 2006.

– in the power of black eye liner, great jeans and killer heels.

– in always having a box on instant pudding in the cabinet. Because there’s always room for J-E-L-L-O.

– there’s something magical in the quiet of a snow storm.

– in sometimes having a good cry.

– that everyone should own a big down comforter.

– (I love) when the song you’re listening too ends just as you pull into the driveway.

– that the ocean, sunrises, mountain tops and babies’ smiles prove there is a something greater than us.

– that love is the answer.


I was still in my post-adolescent funk last night when I started the drive home from work. It was dark. It was raining, but not that hard. Not hard enough to justify the driving that I encountered the whole way home.

First there was the Creepy Crawly.

The driver that inches their way along the road at least five miles under the speed limit. Their wipers are on top speed (even though it’s just a step above drizzling) and if you’re close enough, you might be able to make out the top of clear plastic bonnet covering white hair.

Next came Big Truck You Cannot See Around. (BTYCSA)

BTYCSA drives in the left lane. He usually has some large equipment in his cab or things tied down under a tarp. He’s going a mile or two under the speed limit but remains in the left lane. He also stays right next to the person in the right lane so there is no chance of getting around either of them. His massive size will not allow you too see around him or through his wind shied, so you have no idea what’s going on in front of him. And he kicks up so much dirt and water that you have to use your wipers even though it’s not raining that hard.

Then there was He Who Does Not Know Blinker Is On.

Blinker Boy will put on his blinker and get in the lane next to you. He will then continue to drive for miles with it on…blink, blink, blink. Is he turning? Is he going to cut me off unexpectedly? Does he hear the incessant BLINK, BLINK, BLINK?

And finally, my least favorite encounter of the evening: Mrs. Mini Van.

I HATE MINI VANS. I have never come across a person driving a mini van that was a good driver. They usually fall into one of two extremes:

One: They are so slow. There is a gaggle of children inside, toys are being thrown, stickers are all over the windows and they are just basically in your way.

Two: They are maniacs. They have a soccer ball decal on their back window, a “My Child Is A (insert school here) Honor Roll Student!” bumper sticker, they’re talking on their cell phone and they are FLYING. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been tailgated by a mini van only to have them soar by me going 80.

Put this all together over the course of a 40 minute commute and you have me gripping the steering wheel and taking deep breaths.

I better not encounter this again tonight. I spent an hour in the gym releasing my road rage last night and I’m too sore to go back today.

It was really nice to have Boobeski come visit. The minute she walked in the door it was like we were right back at 38 BP. After catching up we immediately started reminiscing about the beginning of our friendship. There were a lot of “I can’t believe I did that” moments followed by lots of laughter. How is it possible that we’ve been friends for almost six years?

As promised, the evening included good food and good drinks with Michael and his friend from work. The four of us laughed and talked (I’d like to say late into the evening…but it wasn’t really that late. We were tired…we work now!) and had a really nice time.

The next day we went shopping. And while I didn’t buy any shoes, (I know, I’m shocked too) I left with a nice assortment of…work clothes.

Work clothes? What’s happening to me? When did deciding what to wear to work become more important than finding a cute top to go with those great jeans? When did I start putting the fabulous coat back on the hanger because I should really use that money for Christmas presents? How did professionalism, practicalism and fiscal savviness creep into my life without me knowing it? And why is it showing its ugly face while I’m shopping?!

Sure, I’m not old. My boss will read this and say, “you’re so 23.” But to me, this is change.

Last night I took a late night run to CVS. Late night errands always remind me of college…Wendy’s, Dunkin’, Cumberland Farms…and I was feeling nostalgic for my friends.

I went in and headed for the sign marked Hosiery. I inwardly groaned as I walked down the aisle. Hosiery. Hosiery? Hosiery! I haven’t worn stockings since, I don’t know, middle school? OK, maybe not that long ago but I really couldn’t remember the last time. I don’t wear stockings. Grown ups wear stockings. I am not a grown up.

But despite what Glamour says, I cannot get away with bare legs all winter at work. I’m fair skinned. We’re talking super-light. Bare legs + winter = legs look like a cadaver. Let’s not even go there. Plus, I’m always cold. If I want to continue to wear adorable skirts and dresses, stockings must make an appearance.

So there I am, standing in front of rows and rows of various colors of hosiery and completely stumped. What do I buy? What is the difference between Off Black, Soft Black and Black Mist? It look me 15 minutes to pick out two pairs. Fifteen minutes. Seriously.

So here I am, pondering where my adolescence went and wearing my stockings and crossing my fingers that I don’t put a run in them.

I can totally see a quarter-life crisis in my future.

I am so ready for the weekend. It’s been one of those weeks where I feel so disconnected from myself…like I’m functioning and going about my daily business but not really here. Does that make any sense? No? I guess a simpler way to say it is I feel really out of it.

Aside from the fact that I have a ton to do this afternoon and no real time to do it and I still haven’t cleaned the house even though Boobeski is coming tonight, I think it will be a good weekend.

And despite the small fortune I spent on my hair last night, the weekend will be filled with good company, good food, good drink and outlet shopping. Discounted shoes? YES.

And my hair? I can’t stop touching it. Because it’s so soft and smells like deliciously expensive hair products that I won’t buy for myself.

And this post? Are you bored out of your skull from reading it?

I came into work early because I have to leave early today. Do you know how strange an office is a half hour before everyone comes in? It’s eerily quiet…no computers running, no printers going, no yelling from room to room. (What, people don’t yell in your office?)

I kind of enjoyed the quiet. Not so much that I would want to work in a quiet office, though. Because my office has character. And chocolate. And hardwood floors. And….chocolate.

So today has the potential to be a pretty good day. I’m having lunch with a friend, the intern might not wear her overly strong perfume (fingers crossed) and it won’t be completely dark out when I leave. Not like last night when Rt. 1 was a freaking death trap. And later this evening is my much needed hair appointment (roots=bad) which was delayed a week because of the dinner. I love the tag line for SunSilk. “Get hairapy.” So true.

In exciting news that has nothing to do with me? Daily Editor might be getting engaged soon!!!! So excited for you, girlie. You know there’s a bunch of us green with envy right now. Her boy basically confirmed he is ring shopping. (Or has ring-shopped already!) Yay!

And shout-out to the male reader who felt neglected when I thanked all the ladies. Thanks for reading, man. How about a little male perspective?

In other news, Boobeski is coming to visit tomorrow. Which means massive amounts of house cleaning tonight. Damn you, Boobs.

(It will be interesting to see how many people end up here through a Google search of “damn boobs.” Ha!)

When I started this blog I did it mostly as an outlet for my writing, my thoughts, etc. I didn’t really think people would start reading it.

But people are reading it. And what’s come of it is this amazing network of women who *shock* are going through really similar things.

Whether it be agonizing over when we will get engaged, complaining that we are bloated, hungry and bitchy or relishing in a new pair of shoes, these women are right in step with me.

So that’s pretty cool. Especially during this whole future (near future????? Please???) mother in law thing…I couldn’t have asked for better support.

Thank you ladies, you know who you are.

* I’m still fuming over the relationship with Michael’s mom. I don’t know why it’s getting to me so much. I’m almost at the point where I want to sit down with her or write her a letter…anything to get my feelings across. Because right now I feel like she’s taking advantage of the fact I haven’t said anything to her.

The last few dinners with her? Awful. And at her birthday I really feel she took advantage of having an audience to be even more standoff-ish to me. Like she’s saying, “Look, I told you she’s not good enough.”

And I’ve really had it up to here with the conservative, close minded statements. Yes, I’m liberal. Deal with it. Newsflash: liberal does not equal devil. It’s not like I’m chained to a tree, burning my bra, making out with a woman all while aborting my unborn baby just because I can.

Sorry. That was a bit much. But you get my point.

And if I was really so awful, why would her intelligent, ADULT son be with me???

Thoughts, anyone?

*My first story is being published through work. I’m really excited about it because I worked really hard on it and it means that, oh yeah, I have a real job and I actually do something. The only downside is for whatever reason I won’t be credited for it. At least not this time. No, it’s not the New York Times, but I’m still disappointed. It’s nice to see your name under your work.

*My mother is currently in the air flying to Hawaii for a week. I am not. You can see how happy I am about this.

*After tonight there will be no more political commercials. I cannot wait. If I have to see one more “the many hats of Chaffee” commercial I will scream.

*16 days till Thanksgiving! Yum!

How do you perceive things?

This past weekend was spent in Vermont with Michael and the dog. It was so nice to nap on the couch, walk in the crisp mountain air and not answer the phone. I even got to indulge in maple sugar candies which are soooo good.

But four hours in the car each way did not make me happy. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the time with Michael. Actually, driving with him is something I really enjoy. But when faced with a four hour trip, there is bound to be some mishaps along the way.

On the way to VT we hit traffic in Massachusetts. Some type of bridge work that really should have been done in the middle of the night, not on a Saturday afternoon. Really.

The main reason for the holdup was that two lanes had to merge into one. There was a big orange sign that said “RIGHT LANE ENDS ONE MILE” that most people took to mean the right lane was ending.

But not all people.

No. Not Ms. Mini-van. (Have I ever written about how much I hate mini-vans? No? Remind me to.) Ms. Mini-van was so concerned about getting ahead just a few more feet that she would speed up in the right lane and try to pass all of those (specifically us) who had followed the sign and gotten in the left lane. Luckily for us, the guy in front of us wasn’t having it either. He straddled the middle line just enough so she couldn’t pass him and we stayed right behind him so she couldn’t get in front of us.

But she wouldn’t let up. There she was, right next to me rolling her eyes and getting agitated. And I had enough. My window was down. I turned around. I may have thrown my hands in the air. And said “you’re going to get in an accident! Get over it and get behind us!”

Another eye roll, but she got behind us. Michael was surprised at my passenger-seat road rage. But HONESTLY. Some people.

On the way home we hit traffic again. This time it appeared to be for no reason, until….Oh. I-84. How I loathe you 84. The worst leg of the trip when I head home to NY and here it is again, dumping traffic onto 90 when all I want to do is get home!

We decided this would be a good time for a pee and snack break so we pulled off into a rest area. You know, a fancy one, with a McDonalds and a Papa Johns. And an Auntie Anne’s Pretzels. Like I said, fancy.

We parted towards our respective bathrooms. I waited for a stall and when one of the doors opened, the girl coming out looked and me and kept on going. So I went in. And saw that she hadn’t flushed. What? Ew. What is wrong with people?

I wasn’t about to wait again so I flushed it for her as I pressed myself against the door willing her excrements to stay in the bowl and away from me. When I was done I went out to wash my hands.

Sink #1, no soap. Sink #2, no soap. Sinks 3, 4, AND 5….NO SOAP! Sink #6 finally had soap and it was the icky rest stop smelling soap. You know, the pink kind.

Michael was waiting for me when I came out and we were hungry so we decided to get a pretzel. Well apparently they don’t make the parmesan anymore (the best kind) so I settled for a regular and he chose a cinnamon sugar.

“We only have one regular right now, but we have an almond one,” said the cashier.

“That’s it?” Michael asked.

“We’re making more now,” she replied. “They’ll be ready in about seven minutes.”

I’d be damned if we were going to stay in that rest stop for another seven minutes.

“We’ll take the regular,” Michael said.

Can I just tell you that the regular was dinky and unsatisfying. What ever happened to big, doughy pretzels?

The rest of the trip was uneventful. The dog made up for lost time in his yard by running around and barking at the sky. I made dinner and we settled in for some Sunday night TV.

A great weekend. Minus the traffic.

And the pretzel.

Last night left me completely emotionally exhausted. Do you know how hard it is to keep your mouth shut when you disagree so vehemently with the conversation going on around you but you know that saying something will just make it worse?

Back to that in a minute.

Dinner went basically exactly as I anticipated. Michael’s mom thanked him very sincerely for the card both of us wrote in.

She shared a look (you know the kind) with her friend across the table when Michael’s grandmother made a reference to our first Christmas tree.

She snapped at me for my choice of outerwear:

Me: Brrr, it got cold out!

Her: Well, Molly. Maybe if you were wearing a proper jacket, you wouldn’t be so cold. I mean, really. It’s not that cold out.

Me: I came directly from work. This jacket was just fine this afternoon.

Her: Well, it’s not really worth complaining about, is it?

Right. Silly me. What was I thinking–rushing home from work to attend your birthday because 6 o’clock (rather than 6:30) is really better for you–and not bringing a suitable jacket for the drop in temperature that was bound to happen in the two hours we were in the restaurant??

Oh, the conversation that left me wanting to just die?

The nicest way to put it is that it was very, very, very close minded and bigoted. And I had already used my bathroom break escape to avoid an earlier conversation so I couldn’t leave the table again without looking like I had a serious bladder problem.

I love Michael. I really, really, really, really do.

And now I completely understand why he doesn’t like to go to his mother’s for dinner.