Shipwrecked & Comatose

This morning I was called into the HR office and handed my severance package.  As of May 31, 2012 I will be unemployed. I have known this was coming since July.  I've been prepared.  Over the months I've joked about it, saying I have "senioritis" like a high school student.  Right now I don't feel like a high school senior, but like a college senior, looking upon imminent graduation and thinking, "What am I supposed to do with my life now?"  I remember that end-of-college feeling well. Nothing felt so horrible as the idea that I was separating myself from my carefree life, my friends, my incredible boyfriend, and the 17-year routine of being a student to which I was accustomed. I was going to have to leave everything behind and try to make my way in the world.  I had no idea how to do it. Making my way in the world was tough.  It was depressing.  I never really let on to anyone just how depressed I was or how desperate I somet...

In the bridge of the theme song it declares, "Mr. Ed will never speak unless he has something to say." Then in the last verse, it says, "This one will talk to till his voice is hoarse." So which is it?  Is Mr. Ed a conservative talker who only speaks when he feels he should (he once said he talked to Wilbur because Wilbur was the only person worth talking to) or will he talk until his voice is hoarse? If you only speak when you have something to say, would you be talking until you were hoarse? Either Mr. Ed has a lot to say, or he just has weak vocal chords!

You heard me.  I'm not going to be like Obama and namby pamby this issue and make apologies.  I make none.  Ann Romney deserves every bit of criticism that's coming to her. Regressives are trying to spin this as some leftist take on the "Mommy Wars."  They are trying to make this about the eternal struggle between mothers who stay home with their kids (saints who are above reproach and are the only good true mothers in the eyes of Republicans) and mothers who work - whether out of choice or (more likely) necessity.  BZZZZZZZTTTTTTT.  Sorry.  Here's your consolation prize.  Thanks for playing.  Please pack your daggers and go home. Rosen was pointing out something that regressives fail to find obvious - Ann Romney is not, and never has been, an example of your average motherhood experience in the United States.  It doesn't matter if we're talking about working mothers or stay-at-home mothers.  None of that has anything to ...

I'm not hooking this up to FB.  Even if a friend stumbles across this, it might not make sense, because I'm not going to tell the whole story. Still, I just had to write it down. One of my major character flaws is my difficulty in handling disappointment.  I tend to get way too upset if I don't get what I want, or what I was expecting, or if plans are canceled or simply don't go my way. I know it's wrong.  I am trying to work on that.  Most of the time if I am disappointed and angry or sad about it, I try not to talk about it too much - even to my husband.  I know most of the time I'm probably being unreasonable.  While "talking it out" can sometimes help one deal with negative feelings, there are times when not talking about it can help me not dwell on the issue at hand. Well, in this one particular case, I feel I have every right to be disappointed.  When it first happened, I really really did try to be mature about it.  I tried not to tal...

Saturday night I went to see Mike Doughty at City Winery .  It's a really fun venue and when you're going downtown like that, it feels like you can get away with being a little outrageous. I fell in love with these boots at the 9 West Outlet this winter.  I love the combination of high heels, granny boots, and fleecy hiking boots.  I found they presented a unique problem though.  How can I wear them in a way that showcases all of their unique qualities?  I wore them with a pair of ordinary, straight-leg Levis and found that no matter how low I cuffed the boots, the fleece wouldn't show.  I tried wearing them with skinny jeans and not cuffing them at all and tucking the jeans into the top of them.  These boots weren't really meant to contain pant legs.  The jeans bagged out unflatteringly over the top of them.  I tried cuffing my jeans over them as well as wearing them with skirt.  Nothing looked quite right.  I had to settle...

Before you think that the title of this post means that I, or people I know, or the reader, or the entire world, should retreat to a fantasy life, I want to make it clear I'm talking about actually fairy tales that one reads.  I'm talking about stories of enchantments and dark places and the darkest realms of imagination. I was reading this piece in Slate recently about how parents are avoiding reading fairy tales to their children.  Fairy tales seem to fall into two categories.  The first is category is the stories in their original form.  These are the stories that the Brothers Grimm and their contemporaries originally intended.  These stories are dark and full of death, enchantment, uncertainty, and even sex.  The second category is made up of the versions of those stories we tell our children.  These are the ones that make it into picture books and Disney movies. As adults, once we read the original versions of many of today's beloved fairy ta...

When we die, we become the grass and the antelope eat us -Mufasa in The Lion King This weekend was my great aunt Anita's (aka Auntie Nini) funeral.  Her death was a sad occasion, especially since she was the last surviving member of my grandmother's generation.  On the happier side she was much beloved and lived a very long and productive life.  Her funeral was lovely and well-attended.  I utterly loved the eulogy my cousin Karen gave her, not just because she paid a lovely tribute, but because she stood there in a Catholic church and referred to her partner Jackie without apology.  Way to stick it to the stupid old men! When we drove to the grave site my mother informed me Anita would be buried in the communal mausoleum rather than in a burial plot.  She explained that this was because Anita's husband, my grandmother's brother Frank, did not want to be buried in the ground when he died. (I missed Frank's funeral as I was away at school when ...