Pan Flute Suicide

In every relationship there comes a time in which the massage exchange goes from foreplay to work. Gone are those days where we used to massage each other for the simple reason that the other person's shoulders were in our field of vision. The urge to have any excuse to touch one another is no longer needed. Though I was prepared for this shift, it was proven even more difficult with the fact that my husband must be the planets only living person who hates to be rubbed.

Massages are something he has only asked for from me twice ever! Both times when he was in serious pain. I, on the other hand come from a long lineage of people who hold all of their stress in their shoulders, and at the end of most stressful days you can almost see gumball sized knots at the tops of my shoulder blades.

I do everything to try to avoid this pain that comes natural. I do yoga five times a week. I try ibuprofen, but sometimes a girl just needs a rub. This month has been extremely busy for me and my work and my gumballs were turning to baseballs. After asking my husband several times in a week for a massage and was met with the inevitable eye roll and sigh, he finally told me he would buy me a proper one from a professional.  I was over the moon!

There is new massage chain that has opened on the main strip just blocks from my house. I gave them a call, and it seems that they were doing a promotion for a 90 minute massage for $58. I booked the appointment.

I arrived freshly showered and with no contacts in or makeup on. I was ready to do some relaxing. I meet my therapist and I am very skeptical since when meeting her hand for a shake, it felt like a dead fish. This did not bring confidence that she had the stuff to battle the baseballs. Non the less she showed me to my "room". I love how they called them rooms when we all know they are cubicals at best. I also find it funny that they always tell you to undress to the "level that you find comfortable". I wonder if anyone ever gets under the sheet in their pajamas, or simply remove their shoes. I am not shy, or particularly modest. I majored in figure study in college. So down to all natural I go. However, I was a little surprised at the very short time she gave me to do this, almost catching me in a position I only plan on my husband and the cats ever seeing me in. I quickly got under the sheets.

As she began I was thinking, "Okay, time to relax!" I took a very deep breath and was pleasantly aware that Vivaldi' "Spring" was playing on the sound system. I thought to myself, this is so nice! I love classical music and so prefer it over all those nonsense "relaxation" sounds. This was a thought I wish I had not had!

Immediately following Vivaldi began ocean sounds. This is very distracting to me. I know that most people love the beach, but having spent a lot of time in Florida the beach to me is not relaxing. Most of the time they are dirty. It takes awhile to get there. Then it rains. There is sand in every fashion of the word. You smell of dead fish and your skin if sensitive like mine, is dry, burning and rashy from the salt.

"Okay okay, focus! The ocean is beautiful! Just pretend your are at a nice roof top pool NEXT to the beach." I get my head back in the game and am enjoying the massage. After all it could be worse. It could be pan flutes......."Crap."

As the pan flute...song? begins my mind begins to explore who in the world thought that pan flutes are relaxing anyway? When I was a kid I remember going to Cahokia Mounds and being a little creep-ed out. I had a real hippy friend in college that practiced paganism and went to sweat lodges and all that, and it was not glamorous. She always smelled, and seemed to have the worse luck in the world. I mean God love the Native Americans and all, but all the rituals and dark spirits crap, when did people decide this belonged in a spa? Pan flute song ends. Thank God!

I am crossing my super relaxed phalanges that the next song is classical again. That was way to much to ask. It was my third worse fear. Sounds of a babbling brook.

"Great!..Great! Half an hour into the ninety minutes and I have to pee!" Plus I clearly have some sort of water issue. The sound of it running makes me think of three things. One, I have to pee. Two, the toilet is running again. Three, is the beach or drowning. I am at this point really trying to coach my mind. "Just ignore the music and sounds. Try to go to sleep."

A nice acoustic guitar begins. This is what I am talking about. It's a little folksy but that's okay. I will transform my mind to the hillsides of the Ozarks or..damn! Pan flute again! Really?! In what world does pan flute and acoustic guitar even sound good to someone? The song ends and I am longing for the days of beach sounds.

Next song is a nice piano ballad. Sounds beautiful. This is what I am talking about! The therapist asks me to turn over and as I do I hear the breathy low whistle again. I begin to picture the recording studio where all this music was recorded. I picture the pianist an Asian man in a tuxedo. The guitar guy with a long grey hair pony tail and dirty blue jeans. And the pan flute a full blooded Cherokee Indian with full head dress and peyote eyes. They all talk to the recording engineer and true the already racist thought I was having, the Native American guy will work for half what the other guys will per hour. So he just plays on everyone else's record.

It got more and more comical as the following songs would begin with a harp followed by the pan flute. Drum solo followed by pan flute. When the pan flute came on over a saxophone I actually laughed out loud. The therapist apologized for tickling me. I didnt have the heart to tell her it wasn't the massage, it was their atrocious taste in music.

All in all I did really enjoy the massage, but people come on! I can't be the only person in the world distracted by this nonsense. I will probably go back there someday, but this time I will be armed with an Ipod full of Bach, and Coltrane! Although I'm not positive, but I am pretty sure they never made a piece that included a pan flute.

Murphy's Law

My wedding day was by far the best day of my life. I understand those that don't want to plan a wedding. I understand the pressure of the day, and to most eloping seems like the best course of action. I understand this, but there is really something to be said for saying those words in front of all the people that you love. The wedding is a trial of patience,  and planning one together and working through all your differences in opinion, will teach you so much about each other, and what your life will be like together. And if I have taken away one thing from the big to do wedding, it is this. Do it. Because if you can get through planning one, the marriage is a breeze!

I began the morning in wonderful spirits. I awoke after a good nights sleep, got my things together and my sister and I made our way to the hotel. We had decided that for photos ops, this was a superior plan to getting ready in the church basement. I am very happy that the photographer suggested this, since it turns out that the church that we were to be married in, was also having their annual "Free Turkey Dinner" in the basement. This would be driving in the hobos and less fortunate through the doors of the church while our string quartet would be playing. I made no fuss over this. Who doesn't love the smell of turkey? I for one think that gravy and phalaenopsis orchids should be a national treasure!

At the hotel we were all getting ready quickly, having our makeup done, by my very pregnant friend. My sister was doing my hair into what she calls her "Marie Antoinette meets New York City up-do." My nieces were admiring their dresses in the mirror, all was going well. I call down to the front desk and have them send up a bottle of champagne. Everyone is bustling around and laughing. It came time to put the dress on. Whose fitting had become somewhat of a trial. When I first got it, it was too small. Then I lost a bunch of weight and it was too big. Then I had it taken in, and it was very snug. I was sweating hoping that the filet mingnon I had for the rehearsal dinner hadn't set me over the edge. My niece is pulling with all her might to get that zipper up, and no budge. Then my sister came over and suggested that I put my arms up in the air. No dice. Finally after a ten minute struggle, my hands over my head and my face beet red from holding my breath it zips! I sigh and laugh in relief, I look at my gorgeous gown in the mirror, and mutter to it "you bitch."

We finish getting ready and walk down to the main entrance and wait for my father to get the car to take us all to the church. We do about an hours worth of pictures outside in the beautiful park across the street. The photographers set up a nice little surprise moment for me to see the groom. As we are walking through the fallen autumn leaves, we glance across the park to see that there is another wedding party there. We laughed and made West Side Story comparisons. I have a picture of my brother in law impersonating Andy Samberg and yelling "We'll throw your wedding to the ground!" How dare they take their wedding pictures in this public park the same time as us!

We'll throw yo wedding to the ground!

I  am waiting in the wings of the sanctuary as a string quartet and my best friend on trumpet play several of our favorite songs by Elvis Costello. My palms are sweating, butterflies are all a flurry, and heart is pounding. I get stage fright , and always have. I was focusing on not tripping in my four inch Betsy Johnson shoes. To my families credit, no one asked if I was nervous. I think I may have thrown up if they did. But somehow they knew I was. I wasn't nervous about getting married, just about it going right. My sister tries to keep me calm. The quartet keeps playing. Out of the corner of my eye I see several guys from the wedding party out on the church steps running back and forth without their tuxedo jackets on. Appearing to be mingling with the guests of the turkey dinner. The quartet keeps playing. Then I see the best man running out of the church onto the steps, and now the quartet has run out of songs. 

My best friend comes to the wing I am waiting in , and asks if they should repeat the set? I am freaking out  now. What is the hold up! We have been waiting to start the ceremony for 20 minutes now. It seems that the confetti cannon that was suppose to blow as we exited the church had gone off accidentally. All the grooms men were outside on their hands and knees picking up tissue paper outside, and frantically stuffing it back into the cannon. Finally the ceremony begins. 

My Dad walks me down the isle to "Maybe I'm Amazed" with my aunt on piano, the string quartet and my friend on trumpet. They rocked it! I was trying so hard not to cry and mess up my makeup. We begin the ceremony, and my father was the officiant. Next thing I know we are saying I do. It turns out that in the many many details there are, I forgot to inform him that we had written our own vows. I was trying to get his attention, but it was too late. Eh, oh well. The exact words aren't important, the content is what counts. 

We had asked my brother in law to arrange God Only Knows by the beach boys for the communion. My whole family are professional singers. He never says no, but the week before the wedding he says, "I just don't know, this song is a monster! It changes keys like every measure, and arranging it for four singers will be really difficult. Maybe you should pick a different song." I think all couples have the songs that are really special to you. I couldn't even fathom another song that would work and mean the same. You get to a point where you just want people to make it happen. And thanks to him they did. The music was also given to the string quartet to accompany them, and when they got to the microphones to sing, the quartet shook their heads no. They totally bailed! My sweet sisters and two brother in laws being the professionals that they are, just looked at each other and did it anyway acapella. They sounded awesome too!

We walk out of the church to the song "Waterloo Sunset" by The Kinks and the cannon goes off, and it was beautiful! Shimmering white paper floating in the air, in some pictures it looks like snow. We reach the bottom steps to what was suppose to be a black Lincoln Towncar with a special edition bottle of Tattinger in it. The driver opens the door for me into what I believe was a Lincoln LS, which is about half the size of a town car. He was picking confetti off of me and brushing the seat with his hands like he was touching anthrax. My husband gets in the car and the driver says very short, "Where to?" My husband realizes that he left the champagne in the refrigerator at the church and asks the driver to jet down the alley quickly so he can grab it. As soon as the groom exits the car, the driver is furiously brushing the seats with his hand, and huffing and puffing as though the twenty bits of paper were red paint or bubble gum. When he gets back into the car he turns to me and says, "Well you know you can't drink that in here."

I said, "I'm sorry?"

He goes off on a tangent about how he doesn't have a licence for that, that because there is no partition it is a total non negotiable. Here it is, my especially special and stressful day, and this joker is treating me, the bride, like an agent from the IRS. I started to cry. I was so mad, and thinking to myself, well if you would have brought us Lincoln Towncar that we requested, there would be a partition! My husband gets back in the car, sees that I am crying, and becomes furious. I explain to my husband that the driver has been mean, and we cannot open the $300 bottle of champagne. 

My husbands face becomes very red. And he blows like Mt. St Helen's. I know that there was no white horse, or shiny armor, but through the very lengthy string of profanities that flowed out of his mouth to this driver, they felt like a defending of honor. It was very rescuing tactical. He demanded that he let us out of the car, and that he had no business talking to me like that, or making me cry on my wedding day. He said, "Turn around! We will just take our minivan!" We are not even one block away from the church, and the driver is saying that he will not let us out of the car until he gets paid. My husband throws $200 at him in disgust. It was much like one of those Italian mobsters throwing money at a hooker. $200 bucks to go 50 feet, and be abused. So there I stand in the parking lot of the church, in my wedding gown, watching as my family leaves one car at a time as my husband tries to find someone to drive us. My uncle yells from a car "Hey lady you need a ride?" I started laughing. This really is ridiculous! It is sinking in at this point that we did in fact just fire our driver. My brother in law comes outside smiling from ear to ear and tells me my chariot awaits. I laugh as we turn to look at our ten year old, very dirty, minivan with a scratched up fender. We brush the ashes from the seats, moving the grocery bags, and empty water bottles, and popped that champagne!

After taking many pictures downtown, we make our way to the hotel. When we arrive, there are easily 200 cars wrapping chaotically around the valet, which is now located at the west entrance blocking traffic, because the main entrance is undergoing renovation. Then I remembered that the reason our reception was moved to the rooftop was because Washington University was having their annual alumni dinner which had about 800 guests. 800 guests in fancy cocktail attire all wanting to valet park. After almost thirty minutes in line, we finally get out of the car, and there are about eight greeters in the foyer directing people. It turns out that the guest speaker for the dinner, has the same last name as my maiden last name. So in droves strange wealthy people are arriving up to the roof to my wedding reception. And my guests who say they are their for "maiden name party" are charged for valet thinking that they were their for the alumni dinner, and not the wedding reception. It was total chaos. What are the chances?

The very swanky rooftop space we got from being kicked off the ballroom floor by the Alumni dinner. Talk about lucked out!

From there everything was late. The events director came to me and said that my guests were trying to do shots at the bar, this was not hotel policy, and that they would not do this. I laughed to myself. I am a bartender, of course my friends are trying to do shots! My best friend finds us in the hallway and expresses slightly slurred and uncomfortably loud that she had in fact gotten the bartender to make them shots.We got the reception started easily and hour and a half late. Then the toasts ran really long. Most of the food was cold. My DJ had to leave for another engagement, and the valet lost his car, subsequently getting him fired from his weekly gig. A friend worked the Ipod for the dances, and announced many of them in the form of a question. 

"Now, the bride and the father?"

In the end it was the best day of my life! The best part about having things go wrong, is how you handle it. And I really couldn't care less. It was my wedding day, and if I fell in a cake or caught my dress on fire, it wouldn't matter because at the end of the day, I would be Mrs. Newlywed. I wouldn't change a thing! I had a blast, and it turns out, I think my favorite part was riding in my minivan, in a gown that cost more than the car, sipping $300 champagne and my brother driving us.

End of the night, barefoot and catastrophes over!

Air Pudding!

I understand that this economy is rough. We have all had to make sacrifices. Gone are the days of monthly pedicures and trips to Whole Paycheck. (Whole Foods) Even a day trip in the car seems silly with the way the gas prices are. I can fly to Orlando round trip twice in the amount of money it takes to drive there.

I have tried to be a conscientious consumer. We have all been told that we are killing the earth, blah blah blah. We have replaced a real reasonable amount of our household light bulbs with the ones that make us all look like Betty White. I always try to buy things on sale and use the occasional coupon. We are anal about recycling. I always carry my own grocery bags to the store. And when I do use plastic, I recycle it as well. I have not bought a paper towel in four years. (You can purchase lint free washable rags from any linen company for about 13 cents a piece.) If there was a reasonable and sanitary way to free myself from buying toilet paper, I would seriously consider it. Basically, if being green means cheaper for me, I'm on board.

What is frustrating, is that here we all are. Brushing our teeth with the water off, Turning up our thermostats when we leave the house. Doing everything to keep consumer prices down by keeping our usage conservative, and what do we get in return? Air pudding. 

I'm sure that I am not the only one that is realizing that our consumer products that we all know and love and have been using for our entire lives are changing. God forbid the owners/stockholders/CEO's of these companies take a hit like the rest of us. Oh no! They have figured out a way to keep the cost of doing business to a minimum and raise their prices to boot! They are probably making more money than ever!

The "air pudding" effect is a phrase my husband coined to describe something as having substance, when in reality is superfluous. A good example would be Lady Gaga, or replacing actual product with literal air. It started small. The "Campbells" tomato soup that I have been eating for years as my once a month tomato soup and grilled cheese treat, was ruined by air. The soup used to come out of the can much like cranberry sauce. It was dense and expectantly so, since the can says on the label, "condensed soup". You could add a whole can of milk to it and get yummy creamy tomato soup. Now it pours out of the can like the milk your suppose to add to it. They added air, and there is probably all of 1/4 the original product in the can. And as long as we are on "Campbells", my mother has a couple of recipes that call for Cream of Chicken soup. The cream of chicken has not ONE piece of chicken in it. As well as pouring out of the can like something not far away from mucus. It is slimy, not creamy, and I am sure everyone has noticed the air pudding effect when asked to bring the green bean casserole to Thanksgiving. 

Potato chips seems to cost twice the amount of money, and I don't think anyone is fooled by the big puffy bag. It has half the chips it used to. And your lucky if you get one whole actual potato in chip form, and not crumb. Air pudding.

I have used Colgate toothpaste for over a decade easily. The large tube used to last about 6 months and the small about 3. I brush my teeth twice a day, sometimes three. The last small tube of toothpaste I bought less than 5 weeks ago, I am struggling with to get the paste out. It looks like the tube is half full, but its all air pudding.

Not to be redundant, but after making my own tomato soup today out of cans of whole peeled tomatoes, I was putting my grilled cheese together with "Velveeta" (don't judge) and there was a giant hole in the middle of the brick. Air pudding!!

I read somewhere that when Frank Mars founded snickers in 1930 it did really well. In the 1960's however, the company came up with a business plan to make it the $2 billion dollar a year product that it is today. Make the candy bar just a little smaller every year. No one will notice a couple cementers a year. And raise the price versus cost a little every year. Remember when we were kids how big a Snickers bar was? It's easily half the size today! It's not as long, or as wide.

I know we are all suppose to really feel bad about things coming in big sizes since we as Americans can't seems to get off out ass a couple times a week and walk. There are all kinds of perfectly able bodied Americans that raise the prices at the grocery store by asking the shop to accommodate them with electronic scooter carts. Do you know that one year ago, I decided to keep track of how many people I see at the store with those carts that may be on crutches, or are elderly, or have cancer? You know what the percentage of those people is. 0%. I have seen more strong cancer patients rocking echo scarves on their bald heads walking with a basket than in a scooter cart. 

These product companies are making us thin; they are pioneers! Look at us! Our product has less calories! Less saturated fat! Or even the newest bull crap on the nutrition wave "whole grains".  Not that whole grains is crap, but I'll eat it in whole grain form like bread, or cracker. I don't want need or see necessary whole grain ice cream! But guess what, I'm not buying it. You don't care about me or my health. If you did, you would care about the economy and make the margins of profit the same, and not raise the price because your CEO can't afford his monthly hole in the water yacht excursion. And this is for you "Duncan Heins"! If I want whole grains, I will eat my normal salad and Triscuit lunch. Please don't change your bakery style blueberry muffin recipe to include "whole grains" only to disguise that you are now using chemically created sugar. Shame air pudding, shame.

We as the consumer deserve the right to our crappy food! It's comfort food, and hey Americans!, it's not meant to be eaten everyday. We have all seen the documentary "Supersize Me". And we all get it. The scooter folks get it, they just choose to ignore it. We aren't uneducated to the labels, so stop blaming obesity to that. In fact, I would like to see a fat tax. We tax other things that are bad for us. Why stop at cigarettes, and alcohol? We know they are bad for us, but darn it we are as entitled to them as we are our firearms. We are entitled to guns even though they kill people. Tax my potato chips another 30 cents, sure but keep the product the same. With 2 lbs of potatoes!

The rich people of the world are telling us that we the consumer are the problem. With our waste, and our gluttony.  Well it looks like it may just be the opposite. Tell me Campbells folk, if you kept the product the same and sales went down, would that be green? I say yes it would. I think Al Gore would applaud your public school attending children, and your Mercedes trade in for a Prius. 

No one even makes anything in the US anymore, so quit telling me I need to use one square of TP, while you continue to pollute the air with your factories of air pudding. So in closing, my middle finger to the product companies will be this. Tonight I will eat my final batch of blueberry air pudding muffins, and go back to making them from scratch. I will keep the water running while I brush my teeth, and used half a roll of toilet paper while extracting my "whole grain" product. Air pudding...up yours!

15 Seconds of Fame!

There are a few times in my life that I have felt really special. Like really genuinely special. I am usually watching enviously as the guy ignoring the "No shirt, No shoes, No service!" sign in front of me in line at the gas station wins $100 on the scratchers ticket. The passenger in my car with the second order gets the free latte. The person in front of me in line at the airport gets bumped up to first class. Usually, I miss favor by only seconds, but sometimes I catch it!

The day my husband asked me to marry him I was definetly special. The day my wedding reception was moved from the quaint little dining room to the roof top swanky PDiddy palace spot was also a day I lucked out!  All the way into the honeymoon. Where our hotel room was bumped to the top floor with a balcony and a view. I get drunk on favoritism. Now I know what everyone is thinking...Of course you get free stuff and get lucky, life is always easier for pretty tall blondes. (Not that I think that I'm that great, just that people have said to me many times...it's cause your hot. Oh yeah you..(insert special treatment here) happened to you cause your hot.

I will be the first to admit that there have been times in my life where I got favor ( I say "favor" instead of luck, because I believe that God grants favor to those who ask for it. Go Ahead! Judge away, but you may find a cynical attitude toward this theory may find you behind more winning lottery tickets and less parking spaces than those "lucky" people )granted because someone liked the way I looked, but it happens a lot less than you'd think. Then there are the times when I feel like I've just missed favor. I find myself on a movie set with George Clooney, and they pick the only other tall blonde extra right in front of me to be play a ticket agent. I watch her jealously as they put her through hair and makeup, and an adorable little stewertess uniform. I kept thinking.."Come on! I was so close!" moments later I am brought back to reality when I say to myself, "Are you seriously complaining! You are no less than 6 feet from George himself, you've looked him in the eye several times. Everytime they reset the scene he smiles, and your COMPLAAINING! Get a grip girl! This is one of the coolest things you've ever done in your life!"

But there is always a catch. Something really cool happens to me, then something really crappy happens. I got to be on a set with George Clooney, and I lost $200.00. Got a $300 tip from a customer, and my scooter got stolen. Since then the streak has continued. I fall at work and sprain my back, then I meet Brian McKnight. My car gets stolen,  got a promotion. Accidentally burned half my hair off with bleach, bank tells me they made a mistake and have credited my account.  Broke a laptop, my sister buys me one for no reason at all. You see why I was nervous when the following took place.

I have a pretty cool job by all definitions. This year alone I have met, John Legend,(pretty celebrity) Bill Belhemy (douche), Sommore (major douche), Brian McKinght (wonderful!), Bilal (cool and professional) , 88 Keys (WAY cool), a bunch of dudes from Tribe Called Quest, and I know I am forgetting many more. I get to work from home 60% of the time. This is definitively favor!

 I went to my first Elvis Costello show in Chicago a few weeks ago. And it was really fun! He was doing the spinning song book tour, that he hasn't done in many years. They have a vintage giant light up spinning carnival wheel, and he pulls audience members up to spin it. The song it lands on is the one they play. However, the show was at a very nice, older theatre. The crowd was older, and incredibly lame. They only stood for the few really well known songs, "Alison, Veronica, Pump it Up" and they didn't cheer a lot. Very lame.

After the show we waited around to see if we could meet him. And no such luck. He was annoyed after signing only a couple autographs. So as we walked next to his Cadilac beast and I was shouting "Great show Elvis! Please remember this face!" I know I sounded like a crazy person, but I didn't care.

Then sure enough we went to see him 5 weeks later here in St. Louis! It was much more rock show! He came out loud! And the pit was general admission.  This is why I love St. Louis. Rock show front rows are for the determined, not the wealthy.  So when I bought general admission seats, I was prepared to get my "shelbows" (My husbands word for sharp elbows: assume hands on hips and shelbow your way through a crowd...seriously it works!) out and get to the front row! I was dancing and screaming along. After the opening number, Eddie Vedder came out and did Substitute by The Who with him. People were goin nuts! It was a real rock show!

A very tall, very gorgeous women tapped me on the shoulder, and when I saw her I immediately recognised her from Chicago. She was the women whom Elvis instructed to pull people up. She leaned in and said softly in my ear. Mr Costello would like to know if you would like to spin the wheel. I squealed!

"I would love to spin the wheel!" She put her finger up to her puckered lips, and gazed down to her feet. As if to say "shut up before I am mobbed!" Then when the song ended she escorted me to the steps of the stage and Elvis notioned me to join him center stage. I almost threw up. I got that really tight feeling in my stomach you get when you cant tell if you have menstraul cramps or gas. He asked my name in the microphone. And then repeated it back several times. I don't know what it is about hearing one of your heros/crushes say your name, but I felt like Beyonce. "Say my name!"

When I was asked to spin the wheel, I thought to myself. "You got this! How many times did you watch The Price is Right with Nana? Grip. Pull up on your tip toes and give it all you got!...Uh oh, it only moves one way..(Wah wah wah..) The spin was unbearably lame! But the song was great! "Human Hands".

Next thing I know I was seated in the "socitey lounge" and handed a cocktail next to Steve Nieve. My chubby, hairy, favorite keyboard playing British nugget! I was then asked if I would get up and dance in the gogo cage. You can't imagine the feeling of relief that came over me. Before I was a bartender I gogo danced at a 1960s tiki themed bar for 6 years! If there is one thing I can do in my sleep..it's gogo!

By the time the song had ended, the nausea had subsided. I had a blast! I even got to meet him after and he signed my poster. Just as I thought that was the top of the top, the coolest thing that will ever happen to me...my stomach sank. What is in store for me now? Stomach cancer? Mugging?...Ooh I know, anvil!
I felt the nausea return.

Turns out my universal punishment for my awesome night on stage with Elvis Costello was jury duty..And not just called. Oh no.  I served on a criminal trial. Blog to come....still looking out for anvils though!

Parents: Somewhere between Newlyweds and Babies

My husband and I met back in 2005 when he was a manager of a rock club and I was a bartender. It was a wonderful way to fall in love. Listening to music every night, drinking cocktails, hanging out with friends after work. We were total socialites. Then as inevitable as nesting is in every relationship, we began to stay home more and more. We found ourselves saying things like "oh we forgot so and so was playing a show last night." Knowing darn well we decided to avoid crowds, and people in general. Remote in one hand, his hand in the other. Those cozy nights turn into spring BBQs for 2. Next thing we know it we haven't been out in almost a year! Other than holiday's and special occations like birthdays.

Even worse, now that we both work day jobs, I go to bed at 12:30. I remember when I would have just gotten out around then a few short years ago. And you know what? I like it..no I love it!! There is nothing better than yoga, a hot bath, HBO, and asleep at a reasonable hour. I wake up feeling like a million bucks! It appears as though I am a reaponsible adult, and I actually like it.

So after several years of nesting and hibernation, we are ready to start getting out again. We go to a local rock club to see a show and I was shocked. First of all there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of people our age. Everyone is either really young, loud, and dumb. Or they are old enough to be considered empty nesters. I can't help but look at the crowd more than the band. We stick out like double headed dragons. We are slightly dressed up, eveyone else looks like they just got off work, or rolled off the futon in their parents basement, smoked a bowl and stole a PBR from grandpa on the way out the door.

I begin to take an assestment of all our friends.."Baby,...Baby...Moved away....Baby" Okay so it seems everyone is having babies and I guess it is the natural order of things to go back into hiberation. I want to go out with friends and have conversations about important things, listen to music, but we have two things working against us. No baby, no money. If we had money we could find all sorts of people to meet out with at supper clubs or the sympohony. Or if we had a baby, we could meet people at whatever place it is that those people go to in the 30 seconds of free time they have.

I'm not opposed to a baby. I don't think it's the right time, but my husband on the other hand sees a plus sign on a urine stick like the end of a barrel on a firing squad. So where does that leave us? Career people with hobbies that like to travel? I am okay with that. Ah but then again we are back to the money issue. I've gone back to working out and painting. My wonderful husband has been spending his free time working on the plethera of guitars in the basement. So if hobbies are the thing that couples arrive at after the honeymoon constant hot sex, and before having a baby, then are we no different than our parents?

The parallels between our marriage and my parents are different enough. They got married very young and had children young. But it was the early 1970's and the economy was in the crapper then too. Gas had doubled, and inflation was out of control. They had to share a car, lived paycheck to paycheck and laughed at the idea of ever owning a house. This sounds oddly familiar.

I find myself calling my mother a lot and asking her. What can I make for dinner out of  a can of stewed tomatoes, butter, half an old onion, some cumin, and pickles? Okay, it's not usually that bad, but she has great ideas about dinners on the cheap, and how to clean your bathroom with house hold products.

But here is it. The weirdest era of our relationship. Our parents, are our closest friends. We spend more time talking with them then anyone else. And ya know what? I am really okay with this! There will be plenty of time to catch up with our friends when we join their world of diaper Jeanies and designer vegan strollers.

To our parents! Terri, John, Nancy, Richard, and Lori. You guys are the coolest and best people I know and we are so lucky to have you!

The Broken Ass and a Promotion

January is a wonderful time of year. One of my favorite months for all it represents. Reflection on the past year, the smell of hope and change in the air. And a chance to review my life much like an employee evaluation of myself.

I pretend in my head that I (January Mrs. Newlywed) is interviewing past year Mrs. Newlywed 2010. How are you valuable to the people in your life? Could you be a better friend? Do you feel you called your mother enough? Have you been reading your bible? Have you been a good wife? In what areas can you improve? What would make your life happier? How are your finances?

I won't bore you with all the details, but one year back in 2005 I did fire myself. I felt I wasn't living up to the expectations of my 2006 self, and it was time fill the position with someone more qualified.

After fifteen days of sober contemplation the interview was final, and a decision was made. I would ask for a promotion. Although bar tending has served me well financially, it was time to put more focus on my life. Less late nights spent away from my husband, slinging cocktails with a poor attitude to ungrateful people. I had noticed as many things were slipping through the cracks at my place of employment, and we gravely needed an events director. I made a proposal, went through detail after detail, and mustered up the confidence to go to the owner, and ask him to create a job for me.

Butterflies in my stomach and sweaty palms, I got through my monologue and he agreed that he needed it, and he thought I would be good at it. We agreed on the money and one week later, I am the Special Events Director for the downtown hot spot.

The first week was stressful, but really fun. I created party packages, set up catered events and returned about a thousand phone calls. I thought I was super prepared for the first weekend.

Friday I got into work and quickly began moving tables and getting things set up. I had bought some candles and different decor to decorate the tables for the private events. I even made thank you cards for the people who booked the events. Two hours later with everything set to go, I realized that the 70 person party I just set up, was actually Saturday night. I had a good laugh, and thought..eh well growing pains.

Saturday night I arrive and begin resetting all the stuff I had set up the previous night. It was going to be crazy. We had 3 birthday parties, a 70 person small business party, an artist showing in the gallery, a CD release party in the main room, and another 2 large groups for bottles service. Needless to say I was a little overwhelmed. Rushing around to get everything set up, get the deposits applied to checks,and make sure as soon as one reservation got up I could quickly reset the tables for the next catered party.

I run to basement to get one of the 4 cakes that had been delivered. It was in the shape and likeness of a Jose Cuervo bottle, and weighed about 10 lbs. I set the cake on the table and make a B line for the kitchen to get a stack of 25 plates. As I'm carrying them out I hit the first step and my leg slides right out under me. It was as if it was in slow motion. I had a decision to make. Throw the plates, try to grab something and risk broken glass in a servers face, try to save the plates and aim for my ass, or ....too late. Broken tail bone, badly bruised elbow, two very very swollen vertebrates, and 25 broken plates...Did I mention they were the only clean plates left in the house?

I lied there sobbing. People are swirling around, yelling things like "Are you okay?" and "Don't move her!"..."Can you move?" I just kept crying. It hurt. It hurt bad, but it felt good to have an excuse to cry on my first extremely stressful day on a job.

But look on the bright side! At least I have jury duty tomorrow! I want to punch my 2011 self, but she can't move. Confined to a circular ass pillow and thermal back pads, I'll save the ass kicking till next year. Happy New Year everyone!

Planes Trains and Near Death Experiences

After a very crazy week of shopping,wrapping and packing, my husband and I started on our holiday journey to Orlando. We arrive at the airport and it was mild holiday traffic. I am in wonderful spirits at the excitement of Christmas, and seeing my new baby nephew build. My husband however does not like to fly. It all starts as we get in line for security. We remove shoes, coats, liquids, laptop, and put bags and purses on the tables. Even I admit that it is getting a little ridiculous. Each passenger needs four bus tubs now, and I wonder what it must look like to someone from the 1900's to see how we travel. As my husband goes through the metal detector, he is asked to remove his shirt. He throws them a glare and as he removes his shirt and is down to only a rock T, he turns to me and says, "Yeah, lets not f*$@ing fly anymore."

As I'm redressing I listen to him go on and on about our civil liberties, and how all Americans are wusses, and as long as we all continue to travel this way, nothing will change. I look at him and suddenly I see him wearing a rug for a shirt and smell proverbial nag champa and marijuana. My husband in his now exterior of rock and roll and mod scooter attire, once followed the Grateful Dead. for a year or so. I forget this because it was long over 15 years before I met him, but once in awhile, I remember. And this was definitely one of those once in a awhiles.

We had a lovely week with my family. Shopping and more wrapping and eating! And lots of quality time over wine and what my sister describes as a two day cheese plate. (A plate full of fantastic rare cheeses, of which are suppose to last 2 days. So don't be greedy!) I loved playing with the baby and seeing my husband play with him. We even went to "Seaworld" the night before Christmas and saw the penguins and manarays! But alas, all good things must come to an end. And soon it was time to pack and face the worst thing Orlando has to offer. Their airport.

Orlando international airport is the worst of the worst in my opinion. Mainly because it may as well be called place to bring your unmannerly children. Children from all over the world are brought to this airport, either so excited to see Mickey they are peeing their pants and screaming, or worse, they are at the end of their vacation. Tired, exhausted, coming down from the sugar highs and whining! It is amazing how many languages I have heard children whine in in this airport.

Second worse thing about this airport is that security is always a total zoo. They have one line for forty gates. And many passengers are traveling with more than one child. We wait in line and finally get to security and I set off the metal detector, due to about 20 bobby pins in my head, and followed by a pat down from sweet chubby Hispanic woman that I rather enjoyed. Not that I'm a sicko or anything, but who doesn't like to be gently touched from head to toe.

We finally board the aircraft, and take off about ten minutes late. Irritating because it is Christmas Day and we have a connecting flight to catch and many family members waiting to eat and unwrap presents. Non the less, I plug my head phones into the armrest to enjoy the free XM satellite radio and listen to Christmas music. (As you all know my favorite.) Nancy Sinatra is talking on the Seriously Sinatra station about her favorite Christmas's with her Dad, and just as Old Lang Syne plays we hear a very loud thud and cracking sound. As though a wrench was thrown into the the left engine. The passengers all look at one another as if to say WTF? Moments later I feel the plane make a hard left turn. Funny I took three years of Geography in college and I'm pretty sure that there are no left turns between Orlando and Minnesota. Sure enough the Captain comes on the speaker and says, "Um folks it appears that we have lost an engine, and we have been instructed to turn around and land you all safely back in Orlando. We have no further information at this time, but we here at Air Tran believe in safety first."

My husband turns to me and says, "Safety first uh? Maybe then you would have checked the engine before we took off." It was an nostalgic feeling, listening to Old Lang Syne as we plummet and level and plummet and level all the way back to Orlando. Suddenly, I didn't care so much about my presents. And if you smelled me, you may have caught just a hint of proverbial patchouli...Maybe my husband was onto something, lets take trains and bring back the road trip.

We of course made it back safely and had another couple hours to spend with my family eating leftovers and a cat nap. We got home in time to have dinner with the family and do presents and all was merry.