Your Birthdate: January 28

You have a Type A personality so big it makes other Type A's shrink away in shame. You never shy away from adversity - and you love to tackle impossible problems. Failure is not an option for you, and more than a few people are put off by your ego. You tend to be controlling, and you hate leaving anything up to chance. Your strength: Your bold approach to life Your weakness: You don't accept help Your power color: Bronze Your power symbol: Pyramid Your power month: October

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Home again, home again....

Okay so, I'm recovering from a visit to my parents...

Three bottles of wine, several Aleve, and a near fatality with my Dad behind the wheel of his 82 Pontiac(yes, it still runs), I've survived to tell the tale. My husband went with me and on the plane ride home he said the entire experience was like a bad top ten list from Letterman...

The top ten reasons adults should avoid visits to parents....

10) You continue to shout even after you've left-at everyone.
9) If the volume isn't at at a decibel level where they can hear it three houses away-something is wrong with the TV.
8) Everything in the fridge is low salt, low-calorie, low-fat, bland, and microwavable.
7) Dial-up internet service is considered an extravagance.
6) The daily obituaries are reviewed, dissected and debated at length.
5) The amount of reading material in the bathroom requires two baskets and a wall shelf.
4) Medication and other health related aids require an Excel database to keep track off.
3) You realize that driving in the opposite direction on one-way streets is encouraged if one is attempting to get home in time for Jeopardy.
2) You run the risk of being with your father when he gets into an argument with the mailman over the price of postage.
1) As bodily functions are discussed openly at the dinner table, you start praying for the Mother Ship to appear.

Your Scholastic Strength Is Deep Thinking

You aren't afraid to delve head first into a difficult subject, with mastery as your goal. You are talented at adapting, motivating others, managing resources, and analyzing risk. You should major in: Philosophy Music Theology Art History Foreign language

What Should You Major In?

You Were a Fox

A good observer, you often watch others while remaining unseen. Cunning and courageous, you also have a gentle side.

What Animal Were You In a Past Life?

You should be an Aquarius....duh..I am. :)

You Should Be An Aquarius

What's good about you: philosophical and idealistic, you are a great thinker What's bad about you: you require a lot of space - it's hard to get close to you In love: you're quirky and playful, but you hate to be smothered In friendship, you're: likely to have many acquaintances and very few good friends Your ideal job: pilot, snow boarder, or science fiction writer Your sense of fashion: unconventional, unique outfits that turn heads You like to pig out on: anything with garlic or unique spices

What Sign Should You Be?

It's not easy being green.....

Remember that song by Kermit the Frog? He was so pitiful, sitting on a rock-crying about being green and all of that. Wishing he could be another color. Something better, I guess. Something more exciting. Something different. We always want what we don't-or can't have. I never thought I was like that. But God, am I a classic case or what? I want something I can't have-at least, not now, and it is making me a basket case. Why does this have to be so hard?

My husband took me to lunch this week and asked me what I wanted for my upcoming birthday. Without hesitation, I told him I wanted to go home. Move back home, I mean. It has been the only thing I've wanted since last November when we left in the first place. I didn't think I'd ever be this homesick. I don't feel grounded where I am-I don't like it. I don't want to make new friends or be social. I can't even bring myself to want to. It isn't normal. So, I shared all this with my spouse. This and more, of course, because-well, he asked.

It wasn't the right thing to say, of course. I didn't think about how me being so misereable would make him feel. Of course, he then started in on how he was worried about me-how I needed to stop dwelling on what I didn't have-what I'd lost-and how I needed to focus on the future. I needed to get out more. I needed to try and find my way out of my black box. He didn't know how to help me and can't really, as I don't think anyone can. I just have to figure this one out on my own.

Right. And then I'd like world peace...and a cure for cancer...etc...

So...for today, I'm focusing on dealing with being green. Tomorrow can take care of itself. :)

Writers on Writing

So-what makes a writer tick? Is the need to tell a story? The love of the craft? The desire to see your name in print? Or is it all about the ego and wanting to tell everyone you published a book. Probably a little of all four-to be honest, and then a bit of at least 1000 more reasons that I'm too under-caffeinated to come up with.

I started writing on a dare. Truly. I threw a book across the room when I didn't like the way it ended. From the other side of the bed-my husband offered his opinion-"Why don't you write one? Your always reading. How hard can it be? Boy meets girl-screws it up-gets her back and they live happily ever after-right? There, the end."

(this summary from the man who barely reads the paper. Frankly, I was surprised he managed to come up with that.)

Now, I knew it wasn't quite that easy. Like any art-writing takes time, patience and education. So I set about educating myself. Bought books on the craft, the publishing industry, the market, etc., and embarked on what would become a very large part of my life. For a while, I was doing really well. I belonged to writer's groups, had critique partners, won awards, wrote and wrote and wrote. I enjoyed it. It was more than a craft-or a job-it was part of me.

Then the bottom fell out. I never quite could quit my day job, you see. We writers need to eat, after all. And when my company closed it's division in what had become my home-I had to pick up and move. FAR. I've been in my new digs for over a year now, and I still haven't unpacked the rest of my office. Desk and computer are surrounded by boxes and boxes of books, research material, writing stuff...memories. I haven't unpacked this part of my life. Freud could probably have a field day with me. :)

I'm not sure why, really. I guess because everything familiar went away. So I stopped writing. Dead stop. Didn't want to think about it, look at it, remember it. I was angry about moving, angry about the loss, and despondent because I didn't have the desire to start again. I'm no stranger to depression and I could certainly recognize the symptoms... It was just easier to keep the door to the office closed and not think about what once was.

So..how does one pick up the pieces of a former life? I vote for slowly and carefully, but that's me. Others may be able to snap out of it and move on. I wish I could. So start small, someone said. Maybe start a blog? Getting words down on something might be therapeutic. So....I'm getting words down. Letter after letter. Sentence after sentence.

Maybe the light is on at the end of the tunnel? I guess I'll never know unless I make my way across.

Is there anyone out there with a normal family?

Okay-so I used to think my parents were normal.

Sadly enough, when I was a kid, they seemed like everyone's else parents. They never understood anything I said, didn't like my music, and embarrassed me at the most inopportune moments. Kids-especially teenagers-are usually so self-absorbed, they don't realize that their parents are actually people. People with problems and idiosyncrasies. The severity of such ranges from mild to beyond comprehension. My parents are on the far end of the scale.

A mild example. My father's birthday was this week. I call to wish him well and my mother answers.

"Mom? It's me."

"Do you have any idea what we're paying for electric? Highway robbery!" (No hello, how are you, nada.) "I think we're being overcharged. Your father and I cannot possibly being using this kind of wattage. I think they are trying to sneak someone else's electric on our bill. They do that, you know and think you don't notice. I told your father to watch the meter man when he comes next week. We could be paying for those deadbeats two doors down. They've always been trouble. That's what you get when you let two people buy a house that aren't married."

These neighbors have lived in their house for over 20 years and are actually married. My mother refuses to recognize it. "They got married on St. Thomas, Mom."

"On a beach, for God's sake! That isn't even a real country. He probably did it to get out of paying taxes. Always had shifty eyes, that one. "

Before we can digress further into this insanity-I interject "Is Dad home? I'm at work and I wanted to call before it got too late." (I was calling from a different time zone-which you'll see has its advantages at times.)

"He's outside. Did I tell you that Mrs. So-and So passed in her sleep last week? Such a shame."

One of their other neighbors-Mrs. So and So was at the very least ninety-seven. "Oh, that's too bad." I give the usual response. "At least she didn't suffer."

"She looked so good at Mr. Blank's funeral a couple of months back. Didn't even have a cane! You just never know when your time is up. "

"Mom, can you call Da-"

"Did you know your sister bought one of those Ipod things. I read somewhere that it can give you brain cancer. You really should talk to her. I've been very worried."

"About what?"

Your sister! Honestly, Mary, sometimes I think you aren't listening. She still isn't dating anyone and refuses to even consider the idea of having dinner with that nice "smith" boy. You remember him? He was a couple of years behind you in elementary school. He's had such a hard time. No one ever gives him a chance. Your sister is going to end up alone if she's not careful. All the good ones will be snapped up. She can't live in that apartment forever."

Oh, but she could given the alternative. The nice "smith" boy is unemployed, still lives with his parents and used to set fires in the alley when we were kids. "Mom, you need quit pestering her about men. You said you weren't going to interfere."

"Me? Interfere? I never interfere. It just isn't normal for a woman to be wandering around with plugs in her ears ignoring men who might-just might-be THE ONE. Do you realize that people ask me why she isn't married? What can I say? That she doesn't like men? You know what kind of rumors that will start. I lie awake at night worrying about her ending up an old maid. This is all her fault because she's too stubborn to see that men are intimidated by women who are smarter than they are."

So she should act like a bimbo simply to attract a man? "Mom, it isn't really any of your-"

"And those jeans! She went to your grandfather's last week dressed like a bum. He tried to give her five dollars because he was worried she was buying her clothes from those charity shops. She wouldn't take it and he got insulted. So he went down to the corner and bought lottery tickets instead."

I bang my head on the desk three times and HAD to ask. "Did he win?"

"Of course he did. And then he bought more. I told your sister she should have just taken the five. It isn't good for him to be gambling. He gets too riled up."

Over scratch off tickets? "Um? I'm at work. Can you please call Dad? I'd really like to say happy birthday."

"He's outside. Did I tell you about your cousin's new car? A woman her age buying a yellow beetle! She should be ashamed of herself. And it has a flower vase on the dash. Can you imagine? Your father thinks she'll have an accident. You'd think she'd have more sense buying something like that. Your aunt is humiliated every time she parks it in their driveway. "

A woman her age?? My cousin is actually my age.... Now I'm biting tongue, praying for patience, and trying very, very hard not to start making static noises with my tongue and telling Mom that I have a bad signal and I'll call Dad back-eventually. But the Catholic guilt starts building, and I just can't bring myself to do it.

So instead, I hold the phone away from my ear for the next 15 minutes and offer one syllable responses automatically. Finally, my father enters the scene and by the grace of God, Mom surrenders the phone.

"Here's your father. Remember to tell him happy birthday or his feelings will be hurt."

What the hell did I call for! At this point I want to start screaming. Yet I bite my tongue and am nearly blasted out of my chair. "HELLO?"

"Dad? Use the other ear." Now I'm shouting.

"WHAT?"

"THE OTHER EAR!" The one that has the hearing aid.

"Mary?"

"Happy Birthday!"

"Thank you." Then he says to my mother. "Something is the matter with this phone."

She says from the background. "Tell her about the Lipitor."

"What?"

"THE LIPITOR!"

"What about the lipitor?" I ask quickly-having been in this kind of dual parent-one phone situations before. Then I mouth a foul word as I realize the chain of conversation I just set off. Lipitor?? God! What was I thinking!

"I have to take it every day now."

He wasn't in the first place? Yet, I'm not going there. Not touching that one. When the discussion flows into medication, prescriptions, doctors and ailments, I'm toast. Being experienced on such matters, I interject something that will be slightly less painful. "Did you go to Mrs. So-and So's funeral. Mom said she passed."

"Oh, yeah. We went." He clicks tongue and I can picture the head shaking. "You just never know."

Bang head again-harder this time.

"Blnk and Sons did a good job. She looked good."

I bet she looked dead. "That's nice, Dad. I'm sure her kids appreciated you guys going to pay your respects."

Mom from sidelines. "They're going to sell her house. She loved that house. Poor thing is probably rolling in her grave at the thought of strangers moving in there."

Well, she isn't going to need it, and all five of her kids already have houses of their own. But I don't bother point this out....

"I got new glasses." Dad pipes up. "They even came with a hard-sided case. Pearl Vision told met that-

Oh no... glasses??? I can't..I just can't.... I start hearing the Charlie Brown telephone voice-and nothing more. My eyes go glassy and the dazed expression comes over me. I'm entrenched for at least the next 30 minutes....

To my delight-a coworker finally comes around the corner. I mouth "HELP-PARENTS" She gives me a wicked grin and pulls out her cell. I wait for the call-waiting click on my line.

IT COMES!

"Dad? I'm getting another call-My boss is supposed to be calling me about an important project. I'llcallyoubacksoonandhappybirthday! Okay?

Thankfully-He heard the words boss and important. "Okay-okay. You go ahead. You shouldn't be calling from work, anyway. They might get mad."

"It's okay-Bye Dad!

Bye."

relief comes in waves. Slumped in my chair, head lolled back, I remark. "I called them, you realize. I dialed the numbers, knowing full well the ramifications of such action." I reach into my bag to dig out the Snickers I was saving for this kind of moment. I break it in half and hand her a piece. "They make me crazy."

"My dad kept me on the phone for almost two hours yesterday," she tells me.

"Lipitor?" I can't help but ask.

"Worse." She shakes her head. "He crashed his email and refused to call tech support because he can't understand them.

Who can? But I sympathize. "You should have let me know. I would have bailed you out. Or worse case, next time just crawl to my feet with the phone at your ear. God knows I'll recognize the distress. "

She tells me, "I shouldn't feel that way about my own parents."

"I shouldn't either."

We sigh collectively and ponder the guilt issue.

Decision made, I tell her. "My mother's birthday is April 27th. If you aren't at work-I'll hunt you down."

"I'll put it on my calendar."

We toast our chocolate. :)

Husbands, meatloaf and kitchen disasters.....

Let me first start off by saying-I do love my man, wouldn't trade him, couldn't live without him and all of that....

But nowhere in my wedding vows did it say the words-you must forgive, forget, ignore and tolerate the man when he creates raw havoc in your kitchen while you are attempting to cook dinner for said man.

"What are you doing?" (I ask, walking into the kitchen as he is holding an outside weather thermometer over a red hot stove burner) He had removed the baby carrots that I was attempting to simmer.

"Hmmm?? Oh. Well, this is the do-hickey that Dad sent me for Christmas. I was going to hang it up outside. You have to heat up the stuff inside so it works."

I look at the item in question and ask. "Why not just tap or shake it? Wouldn't that be umm...a little less hazardous?"

He rolls eyes and sighs. "Takes too long. This is a much better way of doing-"

*****CRACK!*****

Well, to make a long story short. I spent the next hour cleaning up red liquid splatters off my cabinets, countertops, stove, microwave, window and sink. The man-spent that time cleaning up himself and out of my sight. My floor is completely ruined, as the bright red mercury-type stuff sunk right into the pourous vinyl. Truly, it looks like someone was murdered in my kitchen.

I forgot about the meatloaf in the oven during all this catastrophe and everything on the stove top had to be tossed as it was contaminated. So aside from the blackened and dried lump of meatloaf, dinner was destroyed.

Man enters kitchen as I'm still on my knees trying to salvage flooring. This was after repeated attempts with every household cleaner I could find, then desperate attempts with Clorox, nail polish remover, white vinegar....etc..

"Um... is there anything I can do?"

"Get out."

"I could help."

"I said get out."

"I think I may have something in the garage-"

I kneel up and spit out a rather impressive stream of obscenities about male stupidity, safety, and families that can't give normal Christmas gifts.

Hands up in defeat. "I can see you're upset and you have every reason to be. It was irresponsible and I should have been paying more attention."

Could we like-record that? I'm thinking. Because after 15 years of marriage, I KNOW there will be yet another incident of this sort.

"I'm really sorry."

"You realize we'll need a new floor." I tell him-realizing that now is probably a good time to throw in that little dig. "Like we have extra money laying around for that." Oh, let's heap on the guilt. "And until then, I have to live in a crime scene."

Hands in pockets, sheepish expression. "I didn't realize how hot it was getting."

Newsflash! "Really? Well, the orange burning might have been a clue, don't you think? The vinyl is completely ruined. " The vinyl that I've NEVER liked, incidentally, and secretly wanted to replace with hardwood-or at the very least pergo.

"Well, pick out some new vinyl online and we'll take care of it as soon as we can."

"I don't want new vinyl." I sniff dramatically. Then for good measure, I look around at hundreds of red splatters with the most pitiful expression I could muster and let my bottom lip wobble.

He's thinking-God! Tears? Please, anything but that! "Whatever you want, honey. Just pick it out. Tile? How about some tile? Or some of that laminate pergo? We'll get whatever you want."

:)

Sometimes, you just can't help but love them...

Well, I set up the blog a couple of weeks ago-but didn't post. Wasn't sure what I'd say, and kept asking myself why would anyone bother to read it? I used to keep a Judy Blume diary when I was a kid-but only wrote things that didn't actually happen as my brother used to let his friend's read it if they paid him. :)

When I caught on to that tidbit, I started writing better stuff so he could charge more and split the proceeds with me. :) We made a tidy little profit. Probably how I turned out to be a fiction writer. I imagine they all still wondering if I really didn't wear anything under my choir gown.

So I shall try to make this interesting-if anything-for myself.