I'm assuming you'd like to hear the story of my first trip into my new home state, right?
Any objections?? Speak now....(**crickets**)
Okay good. Here we go:
It was a Tuesday. I flew Virgin America and had an uneventful flight from NY to CA:
Monday, September 2, 2013
Implode
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Saturday, August 31, 2013
CALIFORNIA!
Yes, faithful readers....it's me. On this last day of August, 2013...with no furniture delivered as yet, my head spinning from the enormity of what I've managed to accomplish over the last month and my fingers poised over my old, slow, yet amazingly faithful 2006 laptop (Connor (16) has commandeered my beloved MAC, sighting mental anguish as his computer is stuck on the moving truck), I shout these words to anyone who's still listening:
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Sunday, December 23, 2012
Eliza the Inspirational Elf
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Monday, October 1, 2012
There She Goes Again
TAP. TAP. TAP.
IS THIS BLOG ON?
Lame Excuse #1: I lost my password for the blog and couldn't log in.
In Actuality: I lost my freakin' mind.
Lame Excuse #2: I could swear I'd received an email from someone saying that the Internet would be closed for....(we hear the rustling of pretend papers)...like, three months.
In Actuality: I lost my freakin' mind.
Lame Excuse #3: I've spent the past three months traveling around the world on my private jet with George Clooney and they don't allow computers in international air space.
In Actuality: This is completely, totally, 100% untrue.
Hello, my loves. How I've missed you!
I was gone so long, I was afraid to look. At my inbox (86 unread messages. 86!)...at the comments from my last spiderweb-laden, antiquated post. (I'm still annoyed that I had to lose the comments showing up on the main page. Hey! Maybe they've fixed that since I've been gone! Huh.)
I've worked. A lot. Now it slowed down...just a smidge...and I found myself thinking, "Remember when you wrote just for you? Oh and also for those poor, neglected subscribers on Kindle?? Remember???"
(Hangs head)
The most self-centered, egotistical thought just popped into my mind: "I can't imagine how they've survived without me."
Yikes. Did I just say that out loud? I promise you that I did not mean that....and I will seek therapy first thing in the morning.
Now I find myself wondering if there's an App for that. I mean, maybe I can just download a PDF and have Siri read me the riot act about taking people for granted while she sternly reminds me that, contrary to my innermost thoughts, I am not the center of the freakin' universe, all whilst I'm comfortably commuting to or from work, in my chariot. I mean, my car. You know, kind of a "get over yourself" book on tape? Surely iTunes must have that.
Siri! Set a reminder: Look into self-help book on part-time narcissism...'cause I'm not really all that bad. Oh and look up the meaning of the word DENIAL while you're at it.
I know you've all just plowed ahead...living your fabulous lives without me. I understand...really I do. I mean, what choice did you have?
I could say that I'm back for good (yeah, we've all heard that one), that I've got it from here (this song is getting old), that I miss each and every one of you with every fiber of my being (insert collective eye roll here, followed by a deep, affectionate sigh).
As I've come to realize, I am my own worst enemy.
But you've got to give me credit for tenacity...
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Saturday, June 9, 2012
Damn You, Responsibility.
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Monday, March 26, 2012
Give 'Em Hell
In the dream, I’m having a cocktail. This is precisely why I am unaware that this is a dream…everything seems perfectly normal. Then I happen to glance at a clock. It reads 1:00…and realization dawns. One o’clock? Like, in the afternoon?? Don’t I have a JOB? Oh and a KID. Oh, CRAP…did I leave Connor somewhere?? I grab my phone and try to dial but the numbers are all jumbled…and WTF is wrong with this freakin’ phone?! Then I hear the faint melody of a familiar song…and I’m straining to make it out. And I think, “Is that Foreigner?”
This is when I wake. My eyes focus on the red numerals projected onto my ceiling: 6:27. The volume of Foreigner’s “Urgent” is increasing…and I wonder (not for the first time) how the conversation must have gone around that brainstorming session when someone said, “We need to slowly increase the volume. Start off low…and work our way up to annoyingly loud. Too many morons are stroking out because they neglected to turn down the volume before they set the alarm.” I imagine everyone around the table nodding knowingly.
I stumble out of bed as I punch the button to silence the music. I start down the hall towards the heavenly aroma in the kitchen, vaguely aware of the sliver of light under Connor’s door that tells me he’s up and about…but I’m incapable of speech till I get that first sip of coffee.
On the return trip to my room, I knock on Connor’s door and take the responding grunt as an invitation to enter. It is not…but that doesn’t stop me from pushing open the door. He’s watching I Love Lucy and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. I casually note that the milk has taken on an odd shade of purple.
Me: “I had that stupid dream again. You know, the one where I think I left you somewhere and my phone’s on acid.”
Connor: (Eyes never leaving the screen) “Huh.”
Me: “I always get this sense that I’m far away, like it’ll take half the day to get home.”
Connor: “Um.”
Me: “And I just know it’s a weekday and I’m missing work. But I can’t call anyone because of the trippy phone.”
Connor: “Cool story, Mom. Tell it again…”
Me: “Why are you still here at 6:52?”
And I watch his face. For a split second there’s panic, then his eyes settle on the actual time…prominently displayed on the cable box, right underneath Lucy. He has a full ten minutes left to go. His features relax and settle back into that look of 15-year-old boredom I’ve grown to accept….but I think I see a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Connor: “Way to go, Mom. That wasn’t very nurturing of you…”
And I roll my eyes in mock-exasperation as I’m pulling his door closed behind me…but not before muttering, “I have to pee. Have a good day.”
And he groans.
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Sunday, January 29, 2012
Star Light, Star Bright
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