A word of warning, this post is going to be a real downer. I said in a previous post that I wouldn't get all serious on you on this blog, but I'm afraid I need to just this once. You see, we recently found out that a dear friend from Mike's childhood has been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and has been given 3-6 months to live.
Think about that. You feel some pain and don't know exactly what is wrong. You go to the doctor thinking maybe it's your gallbladder. Maybe it's kidney stones. You leave the office knowing that you likely will not live to see Christmas. Now every interaction this guy has is met with sympathy and sadness. A gosh, this may be the last time I see you kind of reception. He has two children. They are 9 and almost 6. What could possibly be going through his head right now?
He and Mike had lost touch over the years, as often happens in life. This is adding to the grief and guilt that Mike is feeling. This guy has had a hard life. He had a hard childhood - family issues, etc., gotten into drugs at one point after high school and during that time, they kind of parted ways. Nothing deliberate, really. Just people whose lives were going in different directions. But Mike is now wishing he'd kept in better touch over the years. Thinking maybe he might've been able to get his friend to go to the doctor sooner. All of this is futile, of course. Life unfolds the way it unfolds.
I never knew his friend until now but had heard a lot about him over the years. Most of Mike's stories from childhood involved this person. He practically lived with Mike's family, they were so close. So, when Mike does get back in touch with him, it?'s after he has learned of his prognosis. There is now no time to reestablish a relationship. Only time to reminisce and say goodbye. It is truly heartbreaking. I have been able to think about little else since we found all of this out. Mike and I are both very sad about it - wondering what he is thinking and how his kids will be affected by it all.
I know that there probably isn't a person out there who hasn't been affected by cancer. This story may not be much different than something you yourself have experienced with a friend or loved one. I'm not asking for you to feel bad for me or Mike. I just need to express my sadness over this and reaffirm a commitment to be a better wife, mother, daughter and friend during the short time I am on this planet. In life, none of us are promised anything after this moment and too often we push things aside or focus on the wrong things (Jersey Shore, anyone?). This is yet another reminder that what is important is that we focus our time and energy on things that matter. On family and friends. And on making sure that the people we care about know exactly how we feel about them.
Earlier this month, I got a chance to meet Mike's friend. He brought his kids over to the lake and spent the afternoon with us and our kids and then with Mike's parents when they came over for supper. What a nice guy. There was a sadness to him that I get the feeling was there all along even prior to the diagnosis. He's a good guy who has kind of a had a bad lot in life. Anyway, he talked with Mike about how he lost his father when he was 10 years old. He said his only real memory of his dad was attending his funeral. His own children will not even be 10 when he leaves them. That knowledge is tearing him up. It tears me up to know that, too. He is scared and he is sad. But he is courageous and resilient. He is coming to grips with this diagnosis he got only a month ago. One month gone already. Only a few more to go.
We all die, of course. (I have a big problem with that I may address with God one day. I probably won't though. It's His call, not mine. I suppose I have to respect it.) But few of us know how much time we have left. And let's be honest, he could live for years. We've all heard stories of these fatal diagnoses and people baffling their physicians by outliving their prognosis. But his cancer is aggressive. The chemo may be able to slow it, but it won't stop it. It's too late for that. He's getting along as best he can knowing that his clock is ticking. And ticking loudly.
A few years ago, we lost a friend and neighbor to an unexpected heart attack at age 37 - what I will be in September. In addition to a husband, she left behind a 5 year old son. At the time, I remember thinking that the only thing worse than losing a child (which I absolutely cannot fathom) would be to leave them and not get the pleasure of seeing who they become. As much as a parent loves a child, you want them to always know that and to feel that. If they don't know you or remember you, they won't. The thought of that scares me to death. I always want my kids to know how much they mean to me and how proud they make me. I have been keeping a journal for a while now that one day I can give it to them so they can read exactly what I was feeling for them as they were growing up. I hate to be morbid, but losing that neighbor is what made me decide to do that - just in case I'm not here to tell them myself. And I am also going to be more deliberate about telling my husband, parents, siblings and friends how I feel about them. I want them to know the joy and happiness they have brought into my life.
So, over these next few months, we will keep in contact with Mike's friend and will make opportunities to spend some time with him and his kids. I will continue to pray for him. Continue to cry for him and his children. I will marvel at the grace with which he is approaching his final days in the face of such physical and emotional pain. And, although he will only be in my life for a short period of time, I will be forever changed by the effect he has had on it.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Progress
Since I am completely devoid of creativity, I thought I'd revisit an old post as inspiration for this one. As you may recall, I set some lofty goals for myself when I came up with some new year's resolutions. I decided to take a look at those and see how many - if any - I have actually kept. Sound fun? Probably not, but it might make you feel better about your own lack of drive and/or willpower. Those that I did not complete successfully, I have no one to blame for than myself as you will see. Here goes:
1. I will make Meg’s scrapbook detailing the events and milestones in her first year of life. (Meg turned 2 in October)
Update - I remember setting this goal. At the time, I considered saying it would be completed by March. Thank heavens I left that part off. Earlier in the year, I enlarged some pictures and sent them to the local Walmart where I would retrieve them and then have what I needed to make her book. However, we changed computers (Went from a Mac to a PC despite all of those clever commercials that let you know what a fool you'd be if you did that) and we STILL have not been able to successfully transfer pictures from I-Photo to whatever it is I have on this HP. I have asked Mike to help figure this out multiple times. He has not. So, I snagged some pictures from Facebook and had those enlarged to fuzzy, disastrous results. I couldn't very well use blurry pictures for my beloved child's scrapbook. SO, delay. But clearly I've done my part. Mike is the one who let me down on this one. I cannot move forward until he fixes the photo problem.
Prognosis - Unmet but still possible. If Mike Will actually get off his rear end and DO somehting...
2. I will limit sweets to weekends, holidays, birthdays, other celebrations...
Update - Well, considering I am eating sugar cookie dough while typing this, no progress. I wouldn't be eating them, of course, if Mike hadn't bought them. Once again, he messes up any chance I have at success!
Prognosis - Not reachable. A stupid resolution to begin with. I should have known better.
3. I will do a better job of not cursing in front of my children.
Update - How in the hell (eek!) am I supposed to quit cursing when f@!king (yow!) people keep doing sh*t (oops!) to piss (ack!) me off?
Prognosis - unf@!kingreachable.
4. I will keep my car neat and tidy (but not necessarily clean).
Update - Well, the "not clean" part is right on target. The rest of it, this "neat" and "tidy" nonsense, is a no-go. My car is more disgusting than ever. I mean, sure, it's dirty. Bug carcasses on top of bug carcasses. Bird poop on the windshield that has been smeared by a failed attempt to get it off with the wipers. But the inside of the car... that's the real horror story. Petrified french fries. Dust all over the dashboard so deep I cannot even see the odometer. Chicken nugget-breading and colorful nerds wedged so deep into the crevices of the carseats that I'm surprised the government hasn't intervened. It's foul and I don't see any hope of improvement. I'm sure this one is Mike's fault, too.
Prognosis - Not reachable. Unless my children's health becomes affected. Then I'll have to do something.
5. I will do a better job of sending thank you notes.
Update - Well, let's see. Our dear friend Lynda came and took pictures of my girls -FOR FREE - and gave me all of the proofs. No note. Mike's cousin gave me a really cool pottery piece that's a chip and dip server. No note. My sister had us in town for New Year's AND gave my daughter very sweet and thoughtful birthday gifts. No note. Of course, anything I do for her, she sends a timely and thoughtful thank you note.
I swear I think she makes things for my kids just to point out what a crappy person I am for never sending notes. She makes me feel really bad about that with her smug way of always being kind and thoughtful. She always sends Lynda a thank you note I'm sure. How am I supposed to compete with that? If we are comparing me to her, I will always lose. It's so defeating. I'm too busy being defeated to be able to find the time or the energy to write a thank you note.
Prognosis - My sister makes it all but impossible for me to accomplish this one.
6. WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF THESE??!! WHAT WAS I THINKING? I will stop complaining so much.
Update - Well, how would you know if I've accomplished this one? All I said was that I'd stop doing it so much. You have no way of knowing how many times I would have done it were it not for the setting of this resolution. Therefore...
Prognosis - I'm accomplishing the crap out of this one.
7. I will be more patient with my children.
Update - I was laughing as I typed that back in January and I am laughing now. My children aren't laughing though. They are crying because I've just completely lost it with them over something trivial. *Sigh* But, really, if they were better children, I wouldn't have to lose patience with them. Clearly this one is their fault.
Prognosis - Still laughing...
8. I will be healthier.
Update - Okay, FINALLY one about which I can give you some good news! I have recently decided to actually pursue this one. The first half of the year was an exercise in gluttony. I ate whatever I wanted (which was mostly junky foods) and in enormous portions. To be honest, I don't remember the last time my stomach growled. I was never hungry because I was always either full or eating. I began to see pictures of myself (Damn my friends for tagging me in them on Facebook!) and realized that although I certainly looked like it, I was, in fact, not 13 months pregnant. I was, in truth, heavier than I had ever been without being pregnant.
I felt horrible in my bathing suit with my generous gobs of flesh spilling over the sides. My legs were doing that thing where they touch at the very tops of my thighs. I HATE that. In all honesty, my legs are shaped like that and will probably do it even when I'm down to my ideal weight. But, it was so bad that anytime I was in a skirt, I would have to waddle so they wouldn't rub together and chafe. Eek!
I was also tired all of the time because of all of the junk I was eating. We were going out to eat a lot because I was too lazy to cook anything reasonably healthy. So, about four weeks ago I decided I had had enough - just in time for the results to be obvious in the fall when no one would notice.... But, I am happy to report, my legs are looking better; more toned. And I have lost a few pounds. I am also back to being able to run almost three miles without stopping - a tremendous feat given the amount of time I have neglected my treadmill duties. Yay me!
Prognosis - If I keep it up, reachable. But I have to admit, it's a struggle for me.
9. I will not be so happy being frumpy and lazy.
Update and prognosis - But I am really, REALLY happy being frumpy and lazy!!
This one was actually originally written from the perspective of what my husband frequently comes home to - a tired, lazy sweatpants and a raggedy t-shirt or jammies-wearin' vision. This one has actually gotten a little better since I have rediscovered a will to be healthy. But the trade-off is that now instead of me being in my jammies when he comes home from work, I'm in my more hideous "workout" ensemble and covered in sweat and stench. Probably not much better, but hopefully after a shower, he's more pleased with what he sees.
Mercy, revisiting that list was exhausting! and i am really annoyed with all of the people who are preventing me from meeting with success as I pursue these objectives. Why on earth would I set so many goals for myself? I should have known better than to try and tackle all of the areas of my life where I am failing. Surely one or two would have been enough. And since it was so exhausting, I have clearly had my workout for the day.
Maybe I should go on and retire to the couch with a big bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. I've got a lot of cursing and complaining yet to do today...
1. I will make Meg’s scrapbook detailing the events and milestones in her first year of life. (Meg turned 2 in October)
Update - I remember setting this goal. At the time, I considered saying it would be completed by March. Thank heavens I left that part off. Earlier in the year, I enlarged some pictures and sent them to the local Walmart where I would retrieve them and then have what I needed to make her book. However, we changed computers (Went from a Mac to a PC despite all of those clever commercials that let you know what a fool you'd be if you did that) and we STILL have not been able to successfully transfer pictures from I-Photo to whatever it is I have on this HP. I have asked Mike to help figure this out multiple times. He has not. So, I snagged some pictures from Facebook and had those enlarged to fuzzy, disastrous results. I couldn't very well use blurry pictures for my beloved child's scrapbook. SO, delay. But clearly I've done my part. Mike is the one who let me down on this one. I cannot move forward until he fixes the photo problem.
Prognosis - Unmet but still possible. If Mike Will actually get off his rear end and DO somehting...
2. I will limit sweets to weekends, holidays, birthdays, other celebrations...
Update - Well, considering I am eating sugar cookie dough while typing this, no progress. I wouldn't be eating them, of course, if Mike hadn't bought them. Once again, he messes up any chance I have at success!
Prognosis - Not reachable. A stupid resolution to begin with. I should have known better.
3. I will do a better job of not cursing in front of my children.
Update - How in the hell (eek!) am I supposed to quit cursing when f@!king (yow!) people keep doing sh*t (oops!) to piss (ack!) me off?
Prognosis - unf@!kingreachable.
4. I will keep my car neat and tidy (but not necessarily clean).
Update - Well, the "not clean" part is right on target. The rest of it, this "neat" and "tidy" nonsense, is a no-go. My car is more disgusting than ever. I mean, sure, it's dirty. Bug carcasses on top of bug carcasses. Bird poop on the windshield that has been smeared by a failed attempt to get it off with the wipers. But the inside of the car... that's the real horror story. Petrified french fries. Dust all over the dashboard so deep I cannot even see the odometer. Chicken nugget-breading and colorful nerds wedged so deep into the crevices of the carseats that I'm surprised the government hasn't intervened. It's foul and I don't see any hope of improvement. I'm sure this one is Mike's fault, too.
Prognosis - Not reachable. Unless my children's health becomes affected. Then I'll have to do something.
5. I will do a better job of sending thank you notes.
Update - Well, let's see. Our dear friend Lynda came and took pictures of my girls -FOR FREE - and gave me all of the proofs. No note. Mike's cousin gave me a really cool pottery piece that's a chip and dip server. No note. My sister had us in town for New Year's AND gave my daughter very sweet and thoughtful birthday gifts. No note. Of course, anything I do for her, she sends a timely and thoughtful thank you note.
I swear I think she makes things for my kids just to point out what a crappy person I am for never sending notes. She makes me feel really bad about that with her smug way of always being kind and thoughtful. She always sends Lynda a thank you note I'm sure. How am I supposed to compete with that? If we are comparing me to her, I will always lose. It's so defeating. I'm too busy being defeated to be able to find the time or the energy to write a thank you note.
Prognosis - My sister makes it all but impossible for me to accomplish this one.
6. WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF THESE??!! WHAT WAS I THINKING? I will stop complaining so much.
Update - Well, how would you know if I've accomplished this one? All I said was that I'd stop doing it so much. You have no way of knowing how many times I would have done it were it not for the setting of this resolution. Therefore...
Prognosis - I'm accomplishing the crap out of this one.
7. I will be more patient with my children.
Update - I was laughing as I typed that back in January and I am laughing now. My children aren't laughing though. They are crying because I've just completely lost it with them over something trivial. *Sigh* But, really, if they were better children, I wouldn't have to lose patience with them. Clearly this one is their fault.
Prognosis - Still laughing...
8. I will be healthier.
Update - Okay, FINALLY one about which I can give you some good news! I have recently decided to actually pursue this one. The first half of the year was an exercise in gluttony. I ate whatever I wanted (which was mostly junky foods) and in enormous portions. To be honest, I don't remember the last time my stomach growled. I was never hungry because I was always either full or eating. I began to see pictures of myself (Damn my friends for tagging me in them on Facebook!) and realized that although I certainly looked like it, I was, in fact, not 13 months pregnant. I was, in truth, heavier than I had ever been without being pregnant.
I felt horrible in my bathing suit with my generous gobs of flesh spilling over the sides. My legs were doing that thing where they touch at the very tops of my thighs. I HATE that. In all honesty, my legs are shaped like that and will probably do it even when I'm down to my ideal weight. But, it was so bad that anytime I was in a skirt, I would have to waddle so they wouldn't rub together and chafe. Eek!
I was also tired all of the time because of all of the junk I was eating. We were going out to eat a lot because I was too lazy to cook anything reasonably healthy. So, about four weeks ago I decided I had had enough - just in time for the results to be obvious in the fall when no one would notice.... But, I am happy to report, my legs are looking better; more toned. And I have lost a few pounds. I am also back to being able to run almost three miles without stopping - a tremendous feat given the amount of time I have neglected my treadmill duties. Yay me!
Prognosis - If I keep it up, reachable. But I have to admit, it's a struggle for me.
9. I will not be so happy being frumpy and lazy.
Update and prognosis - But I am really, REALLY happy being frumpy and lazy!!
This one was actually originally written from the perspective of what my husband frequently comes home to - a tired, lazy sweatpants and a raggedy t-shirt or jammies-wearin' vision. This one has actually gotten a little better since I have rediscovered a will to be healthy. But the trade-off is that now instead of me being in my jammies when he comes home from work, I'm in my more hideous "workout" ensemble and covered in sweat and stench. Probably not much better, but hopefully after a shower, he's more pleased with what he sees.
Mercy, revisiting that list was exhausting! and i am really annoyed with all of the people who are preventing me from meeting with success as I pursue these objectives. Why on earth would I set so many goals for myself? I should have known better than to try and tackle all of the areas of my life where I am failing. Surely one or two would have been enough. And since it was so exhausting, I have clearly had my workout for the day.
Maybe I should go on and retire to the couch with a big bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. I've got a lot of cursing and complaining yet to do today...
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The real measure of your wealth is how much you'd be worth if you lost all your money. ~Author Unknown
I saw a report a few days ago in which, once divorced from Tiger Woods, Elin Nordegren would receive $750 million. That is not a typo. $750 MILLION.
I get that he was a cad. I get that he publicly humiliated her. I get that he probably exposed her to Chlamydia and scores of other STDs (have you seen some of the girls he cheated with??). I get that he completely ripped their family apart. But $750 million? Was it really worth that much money?
Think of all the perks she had being married to him. He’s a superstar. He was once beloved (and likely will be again the first time he blows everyone away on the course). Sure, it must have been hell for her marriage to end the way it did, but wouldn’t – and I’m just throwing this out there - $28 million have been enough? How about $50 million? No? What about $100 million? Surely that would suffice.
What on earth will she do with $750 million?
Here is the part of the story where I tell you what I would do.
First, I would give tax-free gifts to my family and close friends. I’m not sure what the laws allow you to give, but I’d like to be able to share my good fortune with those around me. My motives, however, are not entirely pure. I mean, yes, I would want to be able to help them financially (those poor, ingrates who do not have the millions of dollars that I do). But also, by giving them some of my wealth, I eliminate the inevitable problems associated with suddenly being rich.
Here’s what I figure: If I’ve got $750 million, and I go to lunch with a group of friends, they will expect me to pay. "She’s got $750 million. Why should we pay?” However, if I go to lunch with these people and offer to pay, it becomes, “Oh, I guess we’re too poor to buy our own lunch. Not everyone has $750 million, you know…” People begin to resent what you have. It becomes a burden and you begin to doubt if people really like you for you (the real person you were before you were buried under all of that money) or if they just want your money. If you are already sharing the wealth with your loved ones, these awkward encounters are not as likely.
Second, I would buy a beach house. Doesn’t have to be too fancy – maybe in the $15-20 million range. You know, modest. Understated. It would be big enough for my extended family to all be there together but not so big that you’d never see the people in the next bedroom. I might also buy the houses next to it, so multiple families/friends could stay. And the beach would most likely be Hilton Head. It’s nice. It’s convenient. I am a creature of habit and already know my way around. It’s already kind of a home away from home, so why not own an enormous house there?
I’d also buy a house on Nantucket. I’ve never been there, but I hear it is very quaint, very private, and very expensive. Expensive is no longer a problem, remember. I have $750 million at my disposal. I should also buy a house in Vail or Aspen or somewhere like that.
We already have a lake house, so there’s no need to buy that. It is very, VERY small but very cozy. I love it. It is the perfect getaway – relaxing, nice views. It is so small that you have no choice but to spend time together as a family. You’re practically on top of each other. It’s perfect the way it is today. A great place for our family to have many summers making terrific memories. Anyway, once I had my millions, I’d bulldoze it to the ground and start all over. Nothing too fancy, it should be rustic since it’s on the lake. So, it would be shabby chic. More in the $3 million range. (I’m not flashy, for heaven’s sake!)
I’d travel a lot, I guess, but mainly just going from beach locale to beach locale. Mike would want to go to Europe and Asia and boring places like that so I’d do that too, but I would also go to every exotic beach on the map. I may even buy an island while I’m there. Who knows.
I don’t like to fly, so traveling will have to be dealt with carefully. Actually, that’s not true. I HATE to fly. It scares me to death. I feel like being in the air is extremely unnatural and that the whole time we’re up there, the pilot is fighting off the plane’s urge to crash. So, I would have to buy a plane (obviously) and put a very experienced pilot – and co-pilot (in case the pilot dies mid-flight – which could happen!) on my payroll. It would be a commercial jet, renovated to look like a private, chartered jet. I would choose commercial because they don’t crash as often as those private planes. There are reports all the time of entire families or entire management teams going down in a private plane. Commercial would be the way to go, but I’d still want the luxury of a private plane. Actually, I would have a plane like Air Force 1. They make those planes practically indestructible. And it goes without saying that there must be alcohol on board so I can be out of my mind for the duration of the flight. Alcohol would be an absolut must. “Absolut” – get it? My money has started to make me clever…
I would most certainly employ a full-time chef who could cook scrumptious yet healthy meals for me and my family. I would have a masseuse come to the house weekly (daily seems too gauche). I would also have a personal trainer who works with me at least 4 days a week. There would no longer be any excuse for not being in good shape. I would have a hair and make-up person like celebrities do. Have you ever noticed the “Stars Without Make-Up” editions of supermarket tabloids? Those people are HIDEOUS! They have people who know how to work hair and make-up to each person’s advantage. That’s what I need. I don’t think I want plastic surgery – I just want to make the most of what I have. A team of personal stylists should do the trick.
Also, being a multi, multi-millionaire, I would assume I’d have access to top-name talent. I’d fly in Emmylou Harris, Paul Simon, Jimmy Buffett and other favorites to entertain me at dinnertime, special occasions, etc. I’d also have an elaborate movie theatre in my home and buy the rights (or whatever it is you have to do) to see all of the new releases from the comfort of my big, comfy, expensive couch. I’d need servers, of course, to be there when my bucket of popcorn runs low. If I could avoid going to the theatre and being annoyed by all of the talking, cell phones and other interruptions, my movie-going experience would be much more pleasant. Better yet, with that kind of money, I could just pay the actors to come to my house and act the whole thing out.
I do think I would get very tired of having access to everything I ever wanted under the sun. Those things would all be great, and I would finally be smokin’ hot – which I have always felt I was meant to be – but I’d have to do something. Not a job, of course. What are you going to do, pay me $50k a year? That’s pocket change to me now. I’d have to do something worthwhile. Something charitable.
I know I’d give millions to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, the American Cancer Society and the Humane Society. I think I’d get the most enjoyment, though, out of doing things like Oprah does – random acts of kindness for lack of a better, less nauseating, term. I’d like to find people in the community who need help and be able to help them. Be it put them in a new home, pay off medical expenses, send an ill person on the vacation of a lifetime, or pay funeral expenses for families who can’t afford them. Those kinds of things. And I would do it anonymously (although who else in the world, other than Elin, has $750 million and the means to do this?). It would be simple acts of kindness and people don’t show enough of that these days.
I would probably have to start a foundation or two. “The Maggie McCallie Charitable Something-or-other” has a nice ring to it. I’m not sure what all of my causes would be just yet, but I do know of one – I don’t think any person should have to pay to put a beloved pet to sleep. I’d establish some kind of foundation so that euthanizations would be paid for.
So that’s all of the things I would do with such an enormous amount of money. Let me tell you what I would not do:
I would not have a list of demands like a lot of celebrities do like –
I have to have my ice water chilled to a crisp 48 degrees and served to me in a champagne glass.
Or,
No one can look me directly in the eye until after 10:30 a.m.
Or,
I have to have total silence as I walk through an airport.
Or,
Each steak I eat must be cut into 11 equally sized bites.
Egomaniacal celebrities demand unreasonable things like that as though the rest of the world exists only to cater to them. It’s ridiculous and I would not expect or accept special treatment. If I go out to eat, I’ll wait in line like everyone else. Wait a minute – I have $750 million – I’m only going to eat at places where reservations are required! But, hypothetically, if I went to one of these restaurants, I would wait in line like everyone else because the money makes me no better a person than the next guy.
I would also not behave like these vapid socialites we see on TV and in the tabloids. In other words, I wouldn’t turn into a Real Housewife of Chattanooga. I would keep my public drinking under control and always remember to wear underwear – especially when exiting a vehicle with teams of photographers around. I wouldn’t be any dumber than I am now and I wouldn’t try to act dumber than I already do. The people I am referring to seem to celebrate insipid behavior. I would at least try to appear to be deserving of the wonderful fortune that I was lucky enough to have.
The funny thing is, I could do all of the things above – the homes, the servants, the planes, the foundations - and still never go through $750 million. And truly, what is $750 million REALLY if you don’t have anyone to share it with? Seriously. Yes, that much money could buy some measure of happiness. But if I don’t have my family and friends and good times and even the tough-times-that-suck-at-the-time-but-actually-do-make-us-better-and-stronger, then the money is meaningless. I’m not saying Elin needs Tiger to be happy, but she does need love.
I’m happy I have it even if I don’t have the $750 million.
Now, I do believe I have a lot of love in my life. And a faithful and good husband. BUT, if he cheats with even one woman, I’m taking his money and buying a big, fat beach house.
I get that he was a cad. I get that he publicly humiliated her. I get that he probably exposed her to Chlamydia and scores of other STDs (have you seen some of the girls he cheated with??). I get that he completely ripped their family apart. But $750 million? Was it really worth that much money?
Think of all the perks she had being married to him. He’s a superstar. He was once beloved (and likely will be again the first time he blows everyone away on the course). Sure, it must have been hell for her marriage to end the way it did, but wouldn’t – and I’m just throwing this out there - $28 million have been enough? How about $50 million? No? What about $100 million? Surely that would suffice.
What on earth will she do with $750 million?
Here is the part of the story where I tell you what I would do.
First, I would give tax-free gifts to my family and close friends. I’m not sure what the laws allow you to give, but I’d like to be able to share my good fortune with those around me. My motives, however, are not entirely pure. I mean, yes, I would want to be able to help them financially (those poor, ingrates who do not have the millions of dollars that I do). But also, by giving them some of my wealth, I eliminate the inevitable problems associated with suddenly being rich.
Here’s what I figure: If I’ve got $750 million, and I go to lunch with a group of friends, they will expect me to pay. "She’s got $750 million. Why should we pay?” However, if I go to lunch with these people and offer to pay, it becomes, “Oh, I guess we’re too poor to buy our own lunch. Not everyone has $750 million, you know…” People begin to resent what you have. It becomes a burden and you begin to doubt if people really like you for you (the real person you were before you were buried under all of that money) or if they just want your money. If you are already sharing the wealth with your loved ones, these awkward encounters are not as likely.
Second, I would buy a beach house. Doesn’t have to be too fancy – maybe in the $15-20 million range. You know, modest. Understated. It would be big enough for my extended family to all be there together but not so big that you’d never see the people in the next bedroom. I might also buy the houses next to it, so multiple families/friends could stay. And the beach would most likely be Hilton Head. It’s nice. It’s convenient. I am a creature of habit and already know my way around. It’s already kind of a home away from home, so why not own an enormous house there?
I’d also buy a house on Nantucket. I’ve never been there, but I hear it is very quaint, very private, and very expensive. Expensive is no longer a problem, remember. I have $750 million at my disposal. I should also buy a house in Vail or Aspen or somewhere like that.
We already have a lake house, so there’s no need to buy that. It is very, VERY small but very cozy. I love it. It is the perfect getaway – relaxing, nice views. It is so small that you have no choice but to spend time together as a family. You’re practically on top of each other. It’s perfect the way it is today. A great place for our family to have many summers making terrific memories. Anyway, once I had my millions, I’d bulldoze it to the ground and start all over. Nothing too fancy, it should be rustic since it’s on the lake. So, it would be shabby chic. More in the $3 million range. (I’m not flashy, for heaven’s sake!)
I’d travel a lot, I guess, but mainly just going from beach locale to beach locale. Mike would want to go to Europe and Asia and boring places like that so I’d do that too, but I would also go to every exotic beach on the map. I may even buy an island while I’m there. Who knows.
I don’t like to fly, so traveling will have to be dealt with carefully. Actually, that’s not true. I HATE to fly. It scares me to death. I feel like being in the air is extremely unnatural and that the whole time we’re up there, the pilot is fighting off the plane’s urge to crash. So, I would have to buy a plane (obviously) and put a very experienced pilot – and co-pilot (in case the pilot dies mid-flight – which could happen!) on my payroll. It would be a commercial jet, renovated to look like a private, chartered jet. I would choose commercial because they don’t crash as often as those private planes. There are reports all the time of entire families or entire management teams going down in a private plane. Commercial would be the way to go, but I’d still want the luxury of a private plane. Actually, I would have a plane like Air Force 1. They make those planes practically indestructible. And it goes without saying that there must be alcohol on board so I can be out of my mind for the duration of the flight. Alcohol would be an absolut must. “Absolut” – get it? My money has started to make me clever…
I would most certainly employ a full-time chef who could cook scrumptious yet healthy meals for me and my family. I would have a masseuse come to the house weekly (daily seems too gauche). I would also have a personal trainer who works with me at least 4 days a week. There would no longer be any excuse for not being in good shape. I would have a hair and make-up person like celebrities do. Have you ever noticed the “Stars Without Make-Up” editions of supermarket tabloids? Those people are HIDEOUS! They have people who know how to work hair and make-up to each person’s advantage. That’s what I need. I don’t think I want plastic surgery – I just want to make the most of what I have. A team of personal stylists should do the trick.
Also, being a multi, multi-millionaire, I would assume I’d have access to top-name talent. I’d fly in Emmylou Harris, Paul Simon, Jimmy Buffett and other favorites to entertain me at dinnertime, special occasions, etc. I’d also have an elaborate movie theatre in my home and buy the rights (or whatever it is you have to do) to see all of the new releases from the comfort of my big, comfy, expensive couch. I’d need servers, of course, to be there when my bucket of popcorn runs low. If I could avoid going to the theatre and being annoyed by all of the talking, cell phones and other interruptions, my movie-going experience would be much more pleasant. Better yet, with that kind of money, I could just pay the actors to come to my house and act the whole thing out.
I do think I would get very tired of having access to everything I ever wanted under the sun. Those things would all be great, and I would finally be smokin’ hot – which I have always felt I was meant to be – but I’d have to do something. Not a job, of course. What are you going to do, pay me $50k a year? That’s pocket change to me now. I’d have to do something worthwhile. Something charitable.
I know I’d give millions to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, the American Cancer Society and the Humane Society. I think I’d get the most enjoyment, though, out of doing things like Oprah does – random acts of kindness for lack of a better, less nauseating, term. I’d like to find people in the community who need help and be able to help them. Be it put them in a new home, pay off medical expenses, send an ill person on the vacation of a lifetime, or pay funeral expenses for families who can’t afford them. Those kinds of things. And I would do it anonymously (although who else in the world, other than Elin, has $750 million and the means to do this?). It would be simple acts of kindness and people don’t show enough of that these days.
I would probably have to start a foundation or two. “The Maggie McCallie Charitable Something-or-other” has a nice ring to it. I’m not sure what all of my causes would be just yet, but I do know of one – I don’t think any person should have to pay to put a beloved pet to sleep. I’d establish some kind of foundation so that euthanizations would be paid for.
So that’s all of the things I would do with such an enormous amount of money. Let me tell you what I would not do:
I would not have a list of demands like a lot of celebrities do like –
I have to have my ice water chilled to a crisp 48 degrees and served to me in a champagne glass.
Or,
No one can look me directly in the eye until after 10:30 a.m.
Or,
I have to have total silence as I walk through an airport.
Or,
Each steak I eat must be cut into 11 equally sized bites.
Egomaniacal celebrities demand unreasonable things like that as though the rest of the world exists only to cater to them. It’s ridiculous and I would not expect or accept special treatment. If I go out to eat, I’ll wait in line like everyone else. Wait a minute – I have $750 million – I’m only going to eat at places where reservations are required! But, hypothetically, if I went to one of these restaurants, I would wait in line like everyone else because the money makes me no better a person than the next guy.
I would also not behave like these vapid socialites we see on TV and in the tabloids. In other words, I wouldn’t turn into a Real Housewife of Chattanooga. I would keep my public drinking under control and always remember to wear underwear – especially when exiting a vehicle with teams of photographers around. I wouldn’t be any dumber than I am now and I wouldn’t try to act dumber than I already do. The people I am referring to seem to celebrate insipid behavior. I would at least try to appear to be deserving of the wonderful fortune that I was lucky enough to have.
The funny thing is, I could do all of the things above – the homes, the servants, the planes, the foundations - and still never go through $750 million. And truly, what is $750 million REALLY if you don’t have anyone to share it with? Seriously. Yes, that much money could buy some measure of happiness. But if I don’t have my family and friends and good times and even the tough-times-that-suck-at-the-time-but-actually-do-make-us-better-and-stronger, then the money is meaningless. I’m not saying Elin needs Tiger to be happy, but she does need love.
I’m happy I have it even if I don’t have the $750 million.
Now, I do believe I have a lot of love in my life. And a faithful and good husband. BUT, if he cheats with even one woman, I’m taking his money and buying a big, fat beach house.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
A Message From your Favorite 85 Year Old
I am beginning to feel like an old lady. I get so irritated with the way we do things these days and long for "the way we used to do things". Today, Kate came home from Vacation Bible School singing:
Father Abraham
Had many kids;
And many kids had Father Abraham.
What?!
Exactly when did Father Abraham stop having sons? Are we really that sensitive that we think we have to change "sons" to "kids"?!! Would Kate have come home crying because she felt left out since Father Abraham didn't have any daughters? Of course she wouldn't have. She wouldn't have cared. And let's not forget that even in the Bible, Abraham only has sons. Period. That is part of history. Are we going to re-write the Bible and give him a daughter named Makayla? (I won't even mention how much I long for the days of traditional baby names - Makayla has GOT to go!) So why is it necessary to change the lyrics of a children's song?
I think we take all of this political correctness - this, let's not leave anyone out-business to the extreme. It's ridiculous. Shouldn't we be volunteering in schools or recycling or trying to cure cancer instead of worrying about semantics?
And you know that in school now, children no longer sit Indian-style. They now sit "criss-cross applesauce".
Really?
Seriously, really?!
This one I guess I understand better than sons/kids because of negative stereotyping, and perhaps if I were of Native American heritage I would better understand why it is offensive. But, why is it an insult to have a name for the way a person sits? It's not like it's called I-Think-I'm-Better-Than-Indians-style...
And, while we're talking things that annoy me, I should probably mention how much I loathe the fact that we have kindergarten graduation ceremonies. Yes, I will attend them when my children have them because I'm sure it will be a cute ceremony (plus, there is a lot of shame in being the only parent not in attendance). But c'mon - what are these kids doing to warrant a graduation? Way to take a nap, children! Good singing, class! Nice pipe-cleaner dexterity, boys and girls! REALLY!
And I am also not a fan of giving everyone a trophy - including the teams that lose. There is a lot of value in learning to lose. Kids have to learn that things do not and will not always go their way. We have to prepare them for that. They should learn to want to be winners, but they should know how to handle themselves if they are not the ones who come out on top. You know that guy at work that you don't like who feels a sense of entitlement, who is a jerk to everyone and contributes nothing of value yet takes credit for other people's work? He got a trophy when he didn't earn one. He doesn't know how to lose and therefore does not know how to function on a team. I don't want to work with him. And I certainly do not want my kids to be like him.
So,
* Abraham now has "kids".
* We sit in a way that is called but has absolutely nothing to do with applesauce.
* Five year olds dress in caps and gowns to signify their making it through a grade whose most important feat is considered learning to not ingest paste.
* And, losing teams are awarded trophies.
Here are some things that I believe we should be concentrating on instead of the above mentioned items:
1. Making people stop littering and expecting others to clean up their messes.
2. Being more considerate of others by not talking on your cell phone so loudly in public places that everyone has to listen to your conversation.
3. Making people stop driving like complete asses (texting while driving, not letting poeple over, not using turn signals, etc.)
4. Holding poeple accountable for their own actions and not rewarding them for blaming other people for their mistakes/misfortunes.
5. Teaching our children to be kind to people, to be honest, and to be patient. Also, teaching them that things of value have to be earned in this world.
Those are all easily accomplished and would actually do far more for the injustices in society than any of the things in the start of this post. They are certainly more important than the time, energy and cost associated with all of them.
Am I the only reasonable person out there? Or am I truly just out of touch and unable to accept the way the current world works? I know, I know, I sound like everyone's great-grandmother with all of this ranting. Wait, maybe I should say great-grandperson. I need to be less offensive to my male readers.
My apologies.
Father Abraham
Had many kids;
And many kids had Father Abraham.
What?!
Exactly when did Father Abraham stop having sons? Are we really that sensitive that we think we have to change "sons" to "kids"?!! Would Kate have come home crying because she felt left out since Father Abraham didn't have any daughters? Of course she wouldn't have. She wouldn't have cared. And let's not forget that even in the Bible, Abraham only has sons. Period. That is part of history. Are we going to re-write the Bible and give him a daughter named Makayla? (I won't even mention how much I long for the days of traditional baby names - Makayla has GOT to go!) So why is it necessary to change the lyrics of a children's song?
I think we take all of this political correctness - this, let's not leave anyone out-business to the extreme. It's ridiculous. Shouldn't we be volunteering in schools or recycling or trying to cure cancer instead of worrying about semantics?
And you know that in school now, children no longer sit Indian-style. They now sit "criss-cross applesauce".
Really?
Seriously, really?!
This one I guess I understand better than sons/kids because of negative stereotyping, and perhaps if I were of Native American heritage I would better understand why it is offensive. But, why is it an insult to have a name for the way a person sits? It's not like it's called I-Think-I'm-Better-Than-Indians-style...
And, while we're talking things that annoy me, I should probably mention how much I loathe the fact that we have kindergarten graduation ceremonies. Yes, I will attend them when my children have them because I'm sure it will be a cute ceremony (plus, there is a lot of shame in being the only parent not in attendance). But c'mon - what are these kids doing to warrant a graduation? Way to take a nap, children! Good singing, class! Nice pipe-cleaner dexterity, boys and girls! REALLY!
And I am also not a fan of giving everyone a trophy - including the teams that lose. There is a lot of value in learning to lose. Kids have to learn that things do not and will not always go their way. We have to prepare them for that. They should learn to want to be winners, but they should know how to handle themselves if they are not the ones who come out on top. You know that guy at work that you don't like who feels a sense of entitlement, who is a jerk to everyone and contributes nothing of value yet takes credit for other people's work? He got a trophy when he didn't earn one. He doesn't know how to lose and therefore does not know how to function on a team. I don't want to work with him. And I certainly do not want my kids to be like him.
So,
* Abraham now has "kids".
* We sit in a way that is called but has absolutely nothing to do with applesauce.
* Five year olds dress in caps and gowns to signify their making it through a grade whose most important feat is considered learning to not ingest paste.
* And, losing teams are awarded trophies.
Here are some things that I believe we should be concentrating on instead of the above mentioned items:
1. Making people stop littering and expecting others to clean up their messes.
2. Being more considerate of others by not talking on your cell phone so loudly in public places that everyone has to listen to your conversation.
3. Making people stop driving like complete asses (texting while driving, not letting poeple over, not using turn signals, etc.)
4. Holding poeple accountable for their own actions and not rewarding them for blaming other people for their mistakes/misfortunes.
5. Teaching our children to be kind to people, to be honest, and to be patient. Also, teaching them that things of value have to be earned in this world.
Those are all easily accomplished and would actually do far more for the injustices in society than any of the things in the start of this post. They are certainly more important than the time, energy and cost associated with all of them.
Am I the only reasonable person out there? Or am I truly just out of touch and unable to accept the way the current world works? I know, I know, I sound like everyone's great-grandmother with all of this ranting. Wait, maybe I should say great-grandperson. I need to be less offensive to my male readers.
My apologies.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Lost Without LOST
I am grieving. I learned Sunday night that some very good friends of mine died recently. They died either on an island, in a plane crash or in some other way that was not completely explained to me. I’ve been very sad ever since because I will miss them. I have cried for them (went to work with swollen eyelids today). I have questioned their purpose in life. I have speculated as to what really happened to them even though I am clearly not to know or understand. I am happy for them because I believe that they are now at peace. And they are with the ones they love. But my friends Jack, Kate, Sawyer, Sayid, Hurley, Charlie, heck… even Rose and Bernard… I will miss all of them. We’ve been through a lot together.
I get attached to TV shows and characters and I am sad when we must part ways. If it is my decision to leave, I can handle it. Like my friends on Wisteria Lane. I decided after spending a year with them that I had too many other friends and I had to cut some people out of my life. So, Susan, Gabby, Linette and Edie had to go. I was okay with that. I most likely won’t even catch up with them when it’s time for them to say goodbye to the rest of their friends. We’ve drifted apart – and I’m okay with that. It happens.
It happened with me and Jack Bauer. Gosh, I loved him. He was so heroic! For seven years I watched him save the world and cheat death. But I also saw him lose a lot. He lost his wife, his girlfriend, another girlfriend and several friends at the CTU. His job was too dangerous. So many things kept happening that it finally just got to be too much for me. Do I wish him well? Of course I do. He’s Jack Bauer! But I had to end our friendship. He stuck around for another year, but I just couldn’t do it anymore.
I can remember back to the first time I realized that TV friends I had come to know and care about would be leaving my life. I knew these wacky roommates – Jack, Janet and Teri. Their meddlesome landlord was always causing problems for them and they were always getting their wires crossed in some zany misunderstanding – usually revolving around someone’s mistaken assumption that two people were having sex. Anyway, one day Jack fell in love and moved in with a girl named Vicky. Janet got married and moved away. Teri became a nurse in Hawaii. The threesome would be no more. Sure, they might keep in touch, but the dynamic they shared would never exist among them again. I had an opportunity to remain friends with Jack and Vicky, but it just wasn’t the same. They only stuck around for a year.
Then there was the Keaton family. Oh, how I cried when their oldest son, Alex, who I used to pretend to make out with, would be moving to New York for a job on Wall Street. Had I meant nothing to him all of those years I followed his life? He just left! I was crushed! Once he moved away, I began hanging out with this group of misfits who spent all of their time in a Boston bar. The hung out for what seemed like weeks at a time at this bar. I’m not sure any of them actually worked. Well, one guy was a mailman. He always wore his uniform.
At some point, I became friends with a group of kids from Bayside High. I am embarrassed to admit how much time I spent with those guys. I even hung out with them a little when they went to college. I was older than they were so really I should not have spent the kind of time with that that I did. We eventually went our separate ways. I kept up with one girl who moved to Beverly Hills and hung out with another group of students I knew – although, I think she got a boob job before she moved. I followed one guy when he became a detective in the NYPD. One girl ended up as a stripper in Vegas – she was pretty gross. I don’t think she had a boob job. I had to opportunity to see her dancing and shaking and I’m pretty sure hers were real.
Eventually I lost touch with those kids. I moved on to this group of friends in New York. They were MUCH cooler than the Bayside High students. These guys hung out in a coffee shop most of the time and had really cool hair. They also slept with each other a lot and in different pairings. I was getting kind of tired of them so when we parted ways I wasn’t too upset when they left.
Now, I was very upset to lose my other New York friends although they were really horrible, horrible people. Our friendship ended when they were sentenced to jail for one year for breaking a Good Samaritan law. For many years, Jerry, Elaine, Kramer and George were just awful to their respective boyfriends and girlfriends and others with whom they came into contact. But they were sarcastic and funny and I knew I would miss them.
Another group of people I hated to see go were the Soprano family in New Jersey. I’m not sure why I liked that family. They were believed to be in the mob. The more time I spent with them, I had a bad feeling that someone would die that I didn’t want to see die. I don’t think that happened. Actually, I have no idea what happened to them. One minute they were there and the next they weren’t. It was like, everything just faded to black and they would never be heard from again. Weird.
But the six years that I knew the Kwons, Mr. Locke, Desmond and the gang were very good years. They always kept me guessing. They made me angry. They made me think (usually I hate that). They made me think about spirituality and about good and evil – real heavy stuff. Things I don’t normally think about on Tuesday evenings. Things that, in their absence, I am unlikely to ponder going forward.
And these people didn’t simply leave me. They died. I had invested so much into them. I had gotten to know them. To care about them. And they are gone now. I know, I know. I’ll make new friends. Probably sometime in the fall, I’ll be introduced to a whole new crop of friends. But it won’t be the same. It won’t be those people in that group. I don’t even know yet if I’ll want to make room in my life for any new friends. It gets pretty time consuming and I have two kids and husband who need my attention.
Plus, I’ve already got plenty of other friends. There’s the group I hang out with from Dunder Mifflin. They are pretty funny, but I work in HR and the things they do make me very uncomfortable. It’s just not appropriate for the workplace. Then there’s Ted, Barney and their friends who frequently get together for drinks over at McLaren’s. I like them, but I’m getting pretty annoyed with them. Ted is making me guess who the mother of his kids will be. I want answers now – stop teasing me! I guess my best friend right now would have to be Liz Lemon. She reminds me of a much cooler version of myself. And what a life – she works at 30 Rockefeller Center in New York for a guy who looks like Alec Baldwin.
So I guess I do have people I can still spend time with. I will just have to move on and be thankful for the time we spent together. I’ll have to enjoy my summer outside with all of my real, actual friends. If you are one of them, I will have to lean on you in this time of grief.
I get attached to TV shows and characters and I am sad when we must part ways. If it is my decision to leave, I can handle it. Like my friends on Wisteria Lane. I decided after spending a year with them that I had too many other friends and I had to cut some people out of my life. So, Susan, Gabby, Linette and Edie had to go. I was okay with that. I most likely won’t even catch up with them when it’s time for them to say goodbye to the rest of their friends. We’ve drifted apart – and I’m okay with that. It happens.
It happened with me and Jack Bauer. Gosh, I loved him. He was so heroic! For seven years I watched him save the world and cheat death. But I also saw him lose a lot. He lost his wife, his girlfriend, another girlfriend and several friends at the CTU. His job was too dangerous. So many things kept happening that it finally just got to be too much for me. Do I wish him well? Of course I do. He’s Jack Bauer! But I had to end our friendship. He stuck around for another year, but I just couldn’t do it anymore.
I can remember back to the first time I realized that TV friends I had come to know and care about would be leaving my life. I knew these wacky roommates – Jack, Janet and Teri. Their meddlesome landlord was always causing problems for them and they were always getting their wires crossed in some zany misunderstanding – usually revolving around someone’s mistaken assumption that two people were having sex. Anyway, one day Jack fell in love and moved in with a girl named Vicky. Janet got married and moved away. Teri became a nurse in Hawaii. The threesome would be no more. Sure, they might keep in touch, but the dynamic they shared would never exist among them again. I had an opportunity to remain friends with Jack and Vicky, but it just wasn’t the same. They only stuck around for a year.
Then there was the Keaton family. Oh, how I cried when their oldest son, Alex, who I used to pretend to make out with, would be moving to New York for a job on Wall Street. Had I meant nothing to him all of those years I followed his life? He just left! I was crushed! Once he moved away, I began hanging out with this group of misfits who spent all of their time in a Boston bar. The hung out for what seemed like weeks at a time at this bar. I’m not sure any of them actually worked. Well, one guy was a mailman. He always wore his uniform.
At some point, I became friends with a group of kids from Bayside High. I am embarrassed to admit how much time I spent with those guys. I even hung out with them a little when they went to college. I was older than they were so really I should not have spent the kind of time with that that I did. We eventually went our separate ways. I kept up with one girl who moved to Beverly Hills and hung out with another group of students I knew – although, I think she got a boob job before she moved. I followed one guy when he became a detective in the NYPD. One girl ended up as a stripper in Vegas – she was pretty gross. I don’t think she had a boob job. I had to opportunity to see her dancing and shaking and I’m pretty sure hers were real.
Eventually I lost touch with those kids. I moved on to this group of friends in New York. They were MUCH cooler than the Bayside High students. These guys hung out in a coffee shop most of the time and had really cool hair. They also slept with each other a lot and in different pairings. I was getting kind of tired of them so when we parted ways I wasn’t too upset when they left.
Now, I was very upset to lose my other New York friends although they were really horrible, horrible people. Our friendship ended when they were sentenced to jail for one year for breaking a Good Samaritan law. For many years, Jerry, Elaine, Kramer and George were just awful to their respective boyfriends and girlfriends and others with whom they came into contact. But they were sarcastic and funny and I knew I would miss them.
Another group of people I hated to see go were the Soprano family in New Jersey. I’m not sure why I liked that family. They were believed to be in the mob. The more time I spent with them, I had a bad feeling that someone would die that I didn’t want to see die. I don’t think that happened. Actually, I have no idea what happened to them. One minute they were there and the next they weren’t. It was like, everything just faded to black and they would never be heard from again. Weird.
But the six years that I knew the Kwons, Mr. Locke, Desmond and the gang were very good years. They always kept me guessing. They made me angry. They made me think (usually I hate that). They made me think about spirituality and about good and evil – real heavy stuff. Things I don’t normally think about on Tuesday evenings. Things that, in their absence, I am unlikely to ponder going forward.
And these people didn’t simply leave me. They died. I had invested so much into them. I had gotten to know them. To care about them. And they are gone now. I know, I know. I’ll make new friends. Probably sometime in the fall, I’ll be introduced to a whole new crop of friends. But it won’t be the same. It won’t be those people in that group. I don’t even know yet if I’ll want to make room in my life for any new friends. It gets pretty time consuming and I have two kids and husband who need my attention.
Plus, I’ve already got plenty of other friends. There’s the group I hang out with from Dunder Mifflin. They are pretty funny, but I work in HR and the things they do make me very uncomfortable. It’s just not appropriate for the workplace. Then there’s Ted, Barney and their friends who frequently get together for drinks over at McLaren’s. I like them, but I’m getting pretty annoyed with them. Ted is making me guess who the mother of his kids will be. I want answers now – stop teasing me! I guess my best friend right now would have to be Liz Lemon. She reminds me of a much cooler version of myself. And what a life – she works at 30 Rockefeller Center in New York for a guy who looks like Alec Baldwin.
So I guess I do have people I can still spend time with. I will just have to move on and be thankful for the time we spent together. I’ll have to enjoy my summer outside with all of my real, actual friends. If you are one of them, I will have to lean on you in this time of grief.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Reach Out And Touch Someone
I mentioned in my last post that there was a reason I had chosen a ridiculous phone number when I bought my first legitimate (non-bag) cell phone. The number I chose at that time was XXX-FART or XXX-BUTT or something equally mature. One of my all-time favorite stories is the reason for my choosing this phone number. Most of my all-time favorite stories are stories about hilarious things that have happened to other people. But this is one that happened to me that I think is so great on so many levels. It's embarrassing. It's relatable (I hope - or else I'm just a big ol' loser). It's funny. It's one that needs to be shared. So now, here is that story.
Growing up, my best friends were two girls - sisters - who lived at the end of my street. (I will not use their names in order to protect their identities and reputations.) We did all kinds of foolish things together. We would re-create and act out episodes of Three's Company - three girls; we had to rotate who would be Jack Tripper. We would pretend we were waitresses (way to set lofty goals for yourselves, gals) who would receive $1000 tips from handsome men (Good God). We were huge Dukes of Hazzard fans so naturally we would pretend that we were John Schneider's nephews. (You read that correctly - we were idiots). We had a singing group (Heaven help anyone who had to be exposed to this) named the "Cool Fools" (well, we got the "fools" part right anyway...). And... we made prank phone calls.
A lot.
We would do the hilarious Call-The-Butterworth's-House-And-Ask-If-Their-Syrup-Was-Truly-The-Richest-And-Butteriest routine. We would do the always clever May-I-Speak-To-John?-You-Don't-Have-A-John?-Well-Where-Do-You-Go-To-The-Bathroom? gag. We would do the old When-Someone-Answers-The-Phone-At-Their-Residence-Start-Trying-To-Order-A-Pizza bit. Hilarity!
But the most fun we had was calling people's homes whose phone numbers spelled something dirty. Anyone whose last four digits spelled FART (3278) or BUTT (2888) or ANUS (2687) or SH*T (7448) or DAMN (3266) or ...well... go see what 3825 spells... got multiple calls from us. The unsuspecting resident would answer the phone and one of us would say:
Do you realize your number is 822-BUTT?
We would wait for them to say something in return - although it was clearly never as clever as what we were saying.
Then we would hang up.
And die laughing.
I must point out that this was before the Wii and XBox and things like that. It was before cell phones (certainly before caller ID) and iPods. It was pretty much before any type of the mind-numbing entertainment that we have today existed. As a result, we had to come up with our own ways to keep ourselves entertained. And, unfortunately for the people with those phone numbers, a lot of times this meant bothering others. But no matter. That's what kids did before caller ID made it virtually impossible to do it anonymously.
We did this so often that for years, when I would dial a number, I would try to see what it spelled as a means for me to remember it. If someone had a zero or a one in their number it was a total bummer because those numbers just mess the whole thing up. Unless you have a one at the beginning or end of it. Then, a person's number could be 822-1ASS or 822-FAT1. But I digress...
I can't say for sure how long my friends and I made these prank calls. But I'm going to guess it was for years and years and years. It simply did not get old. The person on the other end of the phone always had a different reaction so it was a new game each time we played.
Some people would laugh.
Some people would say they already knew it.
Some would hang up immediately.
Some would threaten to put a trace on the phone so we could be identified. (yeah, right - as if that kind of technology existed in the 80s.)
Some would tell us what naughty little children we were.
Some even told us they'd hunt us down and kill us down if we ever bothered them again.
At some point - though probably not until much later than everyone else our age - we matured and started finding other forms of entertainment. Once we could drive, we were no longer forced to sit at some one's house and try to annoy people. We could go somewhere else to do that!
So, we grew up and life went on.
Years later, I was in college at Auburn. My prank calling buddy had actually introduced me to my roommate. She was someone from our hometown who went to another school. I knew her only through my friend and had only met her a couple of times before we moved in together.
She and I became fast friends. She is still one of my best friends today. She was and probably still is the kind of person who seemed at first very sweet and nice, but once you got to know her had a pretty bawdy sense of humor. We got along famously. Then came the Christmas holidays when everyone would be going home for a couple of weeks. She and I exchanged numbers so we could try and get together over the break.
A couple of days into the break, I called my friend and roommate. As I dialed, I looked closely at the digits and to my delight, they were very familiar.
You guessed it - her home number was 823-FART!
It was like the mother ship had landed for me. What a coincidence that all the time I spent doing this in the past, my future best friend was out there all along being the proud owner of this phone number!! And what was so funny about it all was that for as much as I loved potty humor, she was completely annoyed by it. She would likely see no joy in this scenario and just roll her eyes at me when I told her the great news.
Her mother answered after a couple of rings and she and I exchanged pleasantries. She then called Wendy to come to the phone. When Wendy picked up, the first thing I said was,
Do you realize your number is 823-FART?
She let out kind of an exasperated giggle which I expected. Then she said something that I didn't. She said,
"Actually yes. Someone called and told my dad that several years ago."
Now the stars were aligning for me. It was the perfect storm of my past self uniting with my future/current self. This little habit of prank calling people had finally come full circle for me. It was something out of a coming of age movie (although one that would never be made due to the subject matter) where in an instant my entire life to that point (18 years) flashed before my eyes.
WENDY!!!, I said.
THAT WAS ME!!!!
Of course, she was nowhere near as impressed as I was over the whole thing. She was probably rethinking the whole roommate thing at that point. I'm sure she gave me some kind of a courtesy laugh and then we pretty much just moved on.
Over the years I have delighted in telling that story. I mean truly - what a coincidence. It's held the same weight for me that one of Oprah's A-ha! moments would have for a normal person. It just never gets old. Now if only I could befriend someone who lives at 822-3825 - I could die happy and fulfilled.
Growing up, my best friends were two girls - sisters - who lived at the end of my street. (I will not use their names in order to protect their identities and reputations.) We did all kinds of foolish things together. We would re-create and act out episodes of Three's Company - three girls; we had to rotate who would be Jack Tripper. We would pretend we were waitresses (way to set lofty goals for yourselves, gals) who would receive $1000 tips from handsome men (Good God). We were huge Dukes of Hazzard fans so naturally we would pretend that we were John Schneider's nephews. (You read that correctly - we were idiots). We had a singing group (Heaven help anyone who had to be exposed to this) named the "Cool Fools" (well, we got the "fools" part right anyway...). And... we made prank phone calls.
A lot.
We would do the hilarious Call-The-Butterworth's-House-And-Ask-If-Their-Syrup-Was-Truly-The-Richest-And-Butteriest routine. We would do the always clever May-I-Speak-To-John?-You-Don't-Have-A-John?-Well-Where-Do-You-Go-To-The-Bathroom? gag. We would do the old When-Someone-Answers-The-Phone-At-Their-Residence-Start-Trying-To-Order-A-Pizza bit. Hilarity!
But the most fun we had was calling people's homes whose phone numbers spelled something dirty. Anyone whose last four digits spelled FART (3278) or BUTT (2888) or ANUS (2687) or SH*T (7448) or DAMN (3266) or ...well... go see what 3825 spells... got multiple calls from us. The unsuspecting resident would answer the phone and one of us would say:
Do you realize your number is 822-BUTT?
We would wait for them to say something in return - although it was clearly never as clever as what we were saying.
Then we would hang up.
And die laughing.
I must point out that this was before the Wii and XBox and things like that. It was before cell phones (certainly before caller ID) and iPods. It was pretty much before any type of the mind-numbing entertainment that we have today existed. As a result, we had to come up with our own ways to keep ourselves entertained. And, unfortunately for the people with those phone numbers, a lot of times this meant bothering others. But no matter. That's what kids did before caller ID made it virtually impossible to do it anonymously.
We did this so often that for years, when I would dial a number, I would try to see what it spelled as a means for me to remember it. If someone had a zero or a one in their number it was a total bummer because those numbers just mess the whole thing up. Unless you have a one at the beginning or end of it. Then, a person's number could be 822-1ASS or 822-FAT1. But I digress...
I can't say for sure how long my friends and I made these prank calls. But I'm going to guess it was for years and years and years. It simply did not get old. The person on the other end of the phone always had a different reaction so it was a new game each time we played.
Some people would laugh.
Some people would say they already knew it.
Some would hang up immediately.
Some would threaten to put a trace on the phone so we could be identified. (yeah, right - as if that kind of technology existed in the 80s.)
Some would tell us what naughty little children we were.
Some even told us they'd hunt us down and kill us down if we ever bothered them again.
At some point - though probably not until much later than everyone else our age - we matured and started finding other forms of entertainment. Once we could drive, we were no longer forced to sit at some one's house and try to annoy people. We could go somewhere else to do that!
So, we grew up and life went on.
Years later, I was in college at Auburn. My prank calling buddy had actually introduced me to my roommate. She was someone from our hometown who went to another school. I knew her only through my friend and had only met her a couple of times before we moved in together.
She and I became fast friends. She is still one of my best friends today. She was and probably still is the kind of person who seemed at first very sweet and nice, but once you got to know her had a pretty bawdy sense of humor. We got along famously. Then came the Christmas holidays when everyone would be going home for a couple of weeks. She and I exchanged numbers so we could try and get together over the break.
A couple of days into the break, I called my friend and roommate. As I dialed, I looked closely at the digits and to my delight, they were very familiar.
You guessed it - her home number was 823-FART!
It was like the mother ship had landed for me. What a coincidence that all the time I spent doing this in the past, my future best friend was out there all along being the proud owner of this phone number!! And what was so funny about it all was that for as much as I loved potty humor, she was completely annoyed by it. She would likely see no joy in this scenario and just roll her eyes at me when I told her the great news.
Her mother answered after a couple of rings and she and I exchanged pleasantries. She then called Wendy to come to the phone. When Wendy picked up, the first thing I said was,
Do you realize your number is 823-FART?
She let out kind of an exasperated giggle which I expected. Then she said something that I didn't. She said,
"Actually yes. Someone called and told my dad that several years ago."
Now the stars were aligning for me. It was the perfect storm of my past self uniting with my future/current self. This little habit of prank calling people had finally come full circle for me. It was something out of a coming of age movie (although one that would never be made due to the subject matter) where in an instant my entire life to that point (18 years) flashed before my eyes.
WENDY!!!, I said.
THAT WAS ME!!!!
Of course, she was nowhere near as impressed as I was over the whole thing. She was probably rethinking the whole roommate thing at that point. I'm sure she gave me some kind of a courtesy laugh and then we pretty much just moved on.
Over the years I have delighted in telling that story. I mean truly - what a coincidence. It's held the same weight for me that one of Oprah's A-ha! moments would have for a normal person. It just never gets old. Now if only I could befriend someone who lives at 822-3825 - I could die happy and fulfilled.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
I Caved
I have done something I'm not proud of. It was something I said I would never do and yet... here we are. It is something I got mad at my husband for doing a few years ago. It is something I formed at pact with one of my coworkers about that we would be the last hold-outs.
I got a blackberry.
Now, before you go all "but you hate cellphones already and now this?!" on me, let me explain.
I work three days a week. My job is one that is very difficult to do in only three days. I need to stay connected with work in case a serious situation - or just one that needs my attention - arises. I've been carting my laptop around everywhere - convenient enough I always said. But geez, to drag it out of my car and out of it's bag and THEN to have to connect with the network and enter a bazillion passwords, etc. - I found myself not using it very often. So, I would check work emails from my home computer using the nefarious "Webmail". The problem was, Webmail didn't like my computer and for whatever reason, I could only open emails. I could not respond. So then I would have to open Webmail to check in and then respond via my personal email address.
That was no good because if person responded to that, I could only read it at home. I needed up having half of a conversation at work and half at home. Not good if you are trying to remember what you said you'd do about something.
Several months ago, I saw an ad for the Droid. As soon as I saw it, I knew Mike would come up with some reason why his blackberry was no longer any good thus necessitating the purchase of a Droid. At that point, I knew that when we would have that conversation (which we did about 14 minutes after I saw that first ad) I would ask for his blackberry cast-off.
Those of you who know me well know that I have long resented cellphones. I can remember in high school getting one of those 80 lb, enormous bag phones that had that tightly curled cord that you had to use all of the strength you could muster to stretch to your ear as you drove. I had that phone for ages and only in case of an emergency. I went to Auburn (War Damn Eagle) which was two hours away from home so I needed it in case disaster struck on my way to and from school. I kept that phone until many years later when I was in my first job post-grad school (Go Vols!).
I was living in Murfreesboro (Go Blue Raiders!) at the time and I traded my Acura hatchback for the much safer and more sensible Volvo S40. I was inside signing all of the paperwork - as you can imagine I got a superb deal on this vehicle. I was single and in there by myself handling the negotiations. Actually, negotiations probably isn't the right word. They told me what the price was and I paid that price. A practice I've learned since being with Mike is not at all how you should ever purchase a car, but I digress... - and one of the salesmen who was transferring my belongings from the old car to the new one came in giggling. This is not a direct quote because it has been so long since all of this happened, but he said something to the extent of,
"Hey, boss! Bet you haven't seen one of these since the 80's!!" at which point he triumphantly lifts up my bag phone for all to see.
People, including the aforementioned "boss" began snickering at me and I felt like I had just walked out of Amish country - no make-up, hair secured in a matronly bun. Surely no cultured woman would really still own a dinosaur like this. But then again, a cultured woman would have been smart enough to bring a man with her when she was buying a new car. (While I was there, I kept hearing a tearing sound which, years later, I finally discovered was the new one I was being ripped while I was at Darrell Waltrip Volvo.)
All of this to say, I was shamed into buying a real, actual cellphone. Of course at the time, I bought the cheapest one I could find. Again, I'm not buying into society's constant need to be connected to anything and everything. I remember at the time, a friend (who shall remain nameless for the purpose of this story to protect her identity) and I went together to buy them. We both asked for an easy to remember phone number (I think I chose XXX-FART for mine**.) and had to have explicit instructions to understand how this new piece of technology worked. Of course, it was the late 90's so this really wasn't new technology. It was simply new to those of us who had not yet embraced the future of communications.
Then, of course, time went on and I met Mike. He was Mr. Cellphone - couldn't do his job without one. He let me have his flip phone and he upgraded on one for himself, and so began our relationship of me getting his used phones and him getting the latest and greatest model.
The came the blackberry.
The reason I hate cellphones is because while I was living in Murfreesboro and working at MTSU, I would see students leave their classes and immediately call their friends, parents, whomever as though there was something critically important that just could not wait until later in the day after classes. My thought was, "how freakin' important do these people think they are?"
I just must be able to be reached at all times - I'm that busy and I'm that important.
I still feel this way, by the way. The fact that I am now a sell-out does not change this sentiment. But the blackberry elevated that to a whole new level. You could no longer have a conversation with someone because they were scrolling through their email at the dinner table. You no longer had anyone's attention in meetings, because they were click-click-clicking on their keypads responding to emails. It is ANNOYING! And everyone does it. I just don't want to be that distracted all the time that I miss out on things I need to be paying attention to.
AND - I don't want to start speaking in "texts" all the time. Texting is not really a word, by the way. "Text" is not a verb. It is a noun. OMG, it's a noun!! LOL!!! What self-respecting adult types this way? I can tell you a lot of them do. Text abbreviations look like some silly language I would have used with my buddies in middle school. I mean really, WTF?!!
My reasons for getting the blackberry were honestly very pure. I wanted to have the convenience of checking work emails on my days off. That's it. I don't need to be able to check the Internet from my phone. I don't need to download different songs so that my ringtone is cooler (or really, with my musical taste, lamer) than yours. I don't need all of those bells and whistles. All I need to do is check work emails and place/receive calls. Isn't that really the function of a phone? To call someone? Who decided we should be able to shoot videos with them?!
And don't get me started on the new word that I hate: "apps". This is a loathsome word to me. A grown person should not be talking about all of the cool "apps" they have on their phone. I remember when this word was used to refer to an appetizer when I was a hostess at a restaurant. I hated it then and I hate it now. If you have neat "apps", please keep it to yourself.
I'm sure that now that I have the blackberry, I'll wonder what I ever did before it. I'll probably never go back to a regular cellphone. I'm too good for it now I suppose. I bowed to the pressure to have one. I caved and I admit it. But I will not be zombie in meetings, at dinner, and in day to day conversations with people. I will give everyone my undivided attention whether I'm getting an email on my phone or not. I will...wait...
Wait. Hang on...
I'm getting an email...
Let me check it...
How does this stupid thing...
Oh, I press this...
scroll...
scroll...
scroll...
scroll...
How funny!...
LOL!!!...
Wait, what was I saying?
** For more information on how I arrived at this number, please see the next post.
I got a blackberry.
Now, before you go all "but you hate cellphones already and now this?!" on me, let me explain.
I work three days a week. My job is one that is very difficult to do in only three days. I need to stay connected with work in case a serious situation - or just one that needs my attention - arises. I've been carting my laptop around everywhere - convenient enough I always said. But geez, to drag it out of my car and out of it's bag and THEN to have to connect with the network and enter a bazillion passwords, etc. - I found myself not using it very often. So, I would check work emails from my home computer using the nefarious "Webmail". The problem was, Webmail didn't like my computer and for whatever reason, I could only open emails. I could not respond. So then I would have to open Webmail to check in and then respond via my personal email address.
That was no good because if person responded to that, I could only read it at home. I needed up having half of a conversation at work and half at home. Not good if you are trying to remember what you said you'd do about something.
Several months ago, I saw an ad for the Droid. As soon as I saw it, I knew Mike would come up with some reason why his blackberry was no longer any good thus necessitating the purchase of a Droid. At that point, I knew that when we would have that conversation (which we did about 14 minutes after I saw that first ad) I would ask for his blackberry cast-off.
Those of you who know me well know that I have long resented cellphones. I can remember in high school getting one of those 80 lb, enormous bag phones that had that tightly curled cord that you had to use all of the strength you could muster to stretch to your ear as you drove. I had that phone for ages and only in case of an emergency. I went to Auburn (War Damn Eagle) which was two hours away from home so I needed it in case disaster struck on my way to and from school. I kept that phone until many years later when I was in my first job post-grad school (Go Vols!).
I was living in Murfreesboro (Go Blue Raiders!) at the time and I traded my Acura hatchback for the much safer and more sensible Volvo S40. I was inside signing all of the paperwork - as you can imagine I got a superb deal on this vehicle. I was single and in there by myself handling the negotiations. Actually, negotiations probably isn't the right word. They told me what the price was and I paid that price. A practice I've learned since being with Mike is not at all how you should ever purchase a car, but I digress... - and one of the salesmen who was transferring my belongings from the old car to the new one came in giggling. This is not a direct quote because it has been so long since all of this happened, but he said something to the extent of,
"Hey, boss! Bet you haven't seen one of these since the 80's!!" at which point he triumphantly lifts up my bag phone for all to see.
People, including the aforementioned "boss" began snickering at me and I felt like I had just walked out of Amish country - no make-up, hair secured in a matronly bun. Surely no cultured woman would really still own a dinosaur like this. But then again, a cultured woman would have been smart enough to bring a man with her when she was buying a new car. (While I was there, I kept hearing a tearing sound which, years later, I finally discovered was the new one I was being ripped while I was at Darrell Waltrip Volvo.)
All of this to say, I was shamed into buying a real, actual cellphone. Of course at the time, I bought the cheapest one I could find. Again, I'm not buying into society's constant need to be connected to anything and everything. I remember at the time, a friend (who shall remain nameless for the purpose of this story to protect her identity) and I went together to buy them. We both asked for an easy to remember phone number (I think I chose XXX-FART for mine**.) and had to have explicit instructions to understand how this new piece of technology worked. Of course, it was the late 90's so this really wasn't new technology. It was simply new to those of us who had not yet embraced the future of communications.
Then, of course, time went on and I met Mike. He was Mr. Cellphone - couldn't do his job without one. He let me have his flip phone and he upgraded on one for himself, and so began our relationship of me getting his used phones and him getting the latest and greatest model.
The came the blackberry.
The reason I hate cellphones is because while I was living in Murfreesboro and working at MTSU, I would see students leave their classes and immediately call their friends, parents, whomever as though there was something critically important that just could not wait until later in the day after classes. My thought was, "how freakin' important do these people think they are?"
I just must be able to be reached at all times - I'm that busy and I'm that important.
I still feel this way, by the way. The fact that I am now a sell-out does not change this sentiment. But the blackberry elevated that to a whole new level. You could no longer have a conversation with someone because they were scrolling through their email at the dinner table. You no longer had anyone's attention in meetings, because they were click-click-clicking on their keypads responding to emails. It is ANNOYING! And everyone does it. I just don't want to be that distracted all the time that I miss out on things I need to be paying attention to.
AND - I don't want to start speaking in "texts" all the time. Texting is not really a word, by the way. "Text" is not a verb. It is a noun. OMG, it's a noun!! LOL!!! What self-respecting adult types this way? I can tell you a lot of them do. Text abbreviations look like some silly language I would have used with my buddies in middle school. I mean really, WTF?!!
My reasons for getting the blackberry were honestly very pure. I wanted to have the convenience of checking work emails on my days off. That's it. I don't need to be able to check the Internet from my phone. I don't need to download different songs so that my ringtone is cooler (or really, with my musical taste, lamer) than yours. I don't need all of those bells and whistles. All I need to do is check work emails and place/receive calls. Isn't that really the function of a phone? To call someone? Who decided we should be able to shoot videos with them?!
And don't get me started on the new word that I hate: "apps". This is a loathsome word to me. A grown person should not be talking about all of the cool "apps" they have on their phone. I remember when this word was used to refer to an appetizer when I was a hostess at a restaurant. I hated it then and I hate it now. If you have neat "apps", please keep it to yourself.
I'm sure that now that I have the blackberry, I'll wonder what I ever did before it. I'll probably never go back to a regular cellphone. I'm too good for it now I suppose. I bowed to the pressure to have one. I caved and I admit it. But I will not be zombie in meetings, at dinner, and in day to day conversations with people. I will give everyone my undivided attention whether I'm getting an email on my phone or not. I will...wait...
Wait. Hang on...
I'm getting an email...
Let me check it...
How does this stupid thing...
Oh, I press this...
scroll...
scroll...
scroll...
scroll...
How funny!...
LOL!!!...
Wait, what was I saying?
** For more information on how I arrived at this number, please see the next post.
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