screw you, grandpa joe

It's Easter. Which means my husband is working. Which means I am watching TV at home.

Willy Wonka's on and today, I am seeing it with fresh eyes. And I am appalled at what these fresh eyes are seeing.

Charlie is, what, maybe 11 years old? He's a kid, right? He looks like a kid. His voice is like Peter Brady before they performed as the Silver Platters. Definitely a kid. In my mind, I always assumed Charlie had a paper route to help out because his grandparents were all ill. I didn't really think much past that, and didn't consbider Charlie's paperboy route all that material to the health of his family...mostly it was walking around money for a poor kid. It's not like they're using it to pay the utilities and keep the lights on.

So today I turn it on (thanks ABC Family for giving me something to watch today), and actually pay attention for the first time EVER. Grandpa Joe is lying in bed with his fellow inlaws and wife, bemoaning how it's not fair that Charlie works so hard, and instructing Charlie's mom that Charlie really deserves to have more time for fun and just being a kid. Charlie's mom replies, "Well, with the four of you bedridden FOR THE LAST TWENTY YEARS it takes a lot to keep this household going." Joe goes on to declare what a shame it is that Charlie's dad is dead, and how, "as soon as he gets his strength back he's getting out of bed to help out."

Charlie's mom says, "Dad, you've been saying that for years and I've yet to see you set foot out of that bed."

Joe? Joe says, "Well, if only the floor wasn't so cold...."

One of the next scenes with the family is where Charlie brings home a loaf of bread with his pay from the paper route - and hands the change to Grandpa Joe, to pay for his tobacco.

Wait a damn minute. These four people have been lying in bed, apparently using bedpans and never getting up, for TWO DECADES? Charlie's only been alive for a little more than half of that time. If they were bedridden in that house when Charlie's mom and dad first married, it's a wonder Charlie got here at all, if you ask me. So then on top of it, good old Grandpa Joe is fully functional and exploiting child labor to cover his addiction to smoking? Really? I take my hat off, Joe, because it takes some seriously huge balls to finger-wag your own daughter for letting her son work when you're fully functioning and have been for decades, except for your apparently chronic disdain of cold floors. Floors which, if you had any gumption at all, could have been covered with a rug purchased by you. But I guess that's reaching, isn't it?

The real nail in the coffin here is that Joe can get out of bed only when there is something of material gain - in this case, a trip to the Wonka factory. Work to help your exhausted daughter and let your grandson have a childhood? Joe's too sick. Personal gain? Suddenly Joe's tapdancing across that cold fucking floor.

I don't know how to feel about this. For years I perceived Grandpa Joe as Charlie's guardian, BFF, and partner in crime. Now? Between this revelation that he's really just been hanging out, letting other people pay his bills, clean his bedpans, and serve him food? Throw in his misbehavior with the fizzy lifting drinks and I think it's fair to say that Joe is a greedy old asshole who has sabotaged and screwed over his grandson time and again.

Way to go, Grandpa Joe. I bet you were the first one to sign the Facebook petition for universal healthcare, too.

cycling through idiocy

I love January. LOVE IT. Not the bare-ass cold, not the need to wear four layers just to walk to the car (including a helmet in case, like me, you are not swan-like in your movements and run a moderately high risk of cracking your head open when slipping on an icy sidewalk), not the chapped lips, rash-riddled dry skin, the short days, no. All of that is ICING ON THE CAKE. The reason I love January?

That's right bitches. Resolutions.

People scoff at my list. It's not just a couple of options I keep in the back of my head like going to bed on time or losing weight. I make a list. In Excel. So I can have a box to check off and utilize the menu options for Edit - Font - Strikethrough when I've completed whatever task is at hand. It's usually around 15 things. I don't always complete the list but I have come really damned close in the past and therefore always begin the next year with high hope of total accomplishment.

I am just now for the first time recognizing the ironic fact that it has never once occurred to me to include "Complete Entire List" as a resolution. Interesting. Sadly it is too late to add it to the list for this year but I will consider it for 2010. Once the list is locked, it's locked and that's all there is to it.

Most of this year's resolutions are action-based. Usually there are a few low-hanging fruits on there like Actually attend dental appointment or Send a card a month to a friend. This year, I'm moving on up.

Elephant in the room: I've been sad sacking around for the better part of a year and change, with few local friends and nothing to do. If you don't go anywhere or talk to anyone, you don't have a lot to write about that is interesting. But this year? Big plans. It's on. Like what?! You heard it here first! LIKE DONKEY KONG.

A taster of this year's resolutions:

• Take a tap dancing class in NYC. Why not? It's so very When Harry Met Sally, or for you kids reading this blog, Charlotte on Sex and the City.
• Attend a few Sacred Harp Sings. Nothing says fun like singing as loudly as you can at people facing you.
• Experience something new 6 times this year. That gives me a month to come up with it, a month to worry about it, and a month after to gloat about my awesome adventure while drumming up a new one. I was considering snow boarding but that has a bit too much of a cost commitment to getting proper clothes for something I'm not sure I even want to do more than once. I want to date snowboarding, I don't want to marry it. So snow tubing is looking like it's got a way better chance.
• Explore the Northeast Corridor. This year I will see at least Vermont. And Boston for a second trip (We went in January the weekend of a heavy snow which was awesome by the way).
• Do Yoga once a week
• Take up violin again (sixth year on the charts)

As you can see, I've picked a few things that are a little high on the ridiculous scale. Tap dancing? I've never tapped in my life. Granted there was the year I took Irish Dancing in the basement of a church in Bethesda, so maybe it will go alright. In early January, I attended a yoga class and it was weirder than cat shit [point of information: weirder than cat shit is a family phrase. Does your family use this phrase? - ed.]. After spending what seemed like an eternity "fire breathing", or panting like a dog WITH YOUR TONGUE OUT, or in my case, sitting there looking around at other people "fire breathing" while sort of pretending to do it, pretty much all we did was sit on one foot and stretch the opposite leg, then switch. The apex of bizarre presented itself around 50 minutes into the hour when the hippy dippy class leader said, "Okay, now take a deep, cleansing breath... and pull your anus and genitals UP into your navel."

Anus is a dealbreaker. Who can relax when a stranger is talking about your anus? Furthermore, in my life? In my body? There is a place for everything. The butt stays with the butt. The navel is not a cachepot or collection point for stray body parts. Because I have no stray body parts. Mine stay put.

Kundalini yoga is off my list. I will try Hatha and if that goes as oddly, I'm breaking up with the Yoga I've casually dated on and off over the last decade because Yoga is a bad date. You take Yoga out to dinner and Yoga can't just order a meal. Yoga wants to have a conversation with the hapless waiter to discuss the precise preparation and offer preferences such as cast iron pans due to the toxins associated with non-stick pans. The waiter just wants to take the order. Yoga wants to debate it. So I will try Hatha, but sibling Kundalini can lose my number.

By picking goofy stuff like tap, snowboarding, and the unexpectedly odd experience of yoga, I select things that I find entertaining. Idiotic for someone like me, in my mid-30s with little to no prior experience, but entertaining nonetheless. Maybe the difference between my 20s and 30s is that I now PLAN to be goofy. Back in my youth, there was the time in college where I dropped out of student government to become a synchronized swimmer - that lasted two weeks. Then as a noob in the workforce, I got laid off, and decided to apply to the Au Pair program, but only in Switzerland, because English is my only fluent language so I figured that would be okay. Then there was the time I applied to drive a beer truck because I figured I could get a workout and save money on buying career clothes. And it would be fun to have my name on a shirt. I remember my cover letter said, "Although I have never driven a beer truck, I am keenly familiar with many Labatt's products." Can you believe I didn't even get a call?

So stay tuned. To ramp it up even more I've applied to join the Junior League in hopes that these northern ladies will know what a cheese straw is and how to host a good party.

Here's to leaving my house in 2009! And having something fun to write about!

bffs and frenemies

1 a.m. on a Wednesday night. It's going to be in the 40s tonight, but we still have the window fan on low. We are swaddled in blankets, safe as houses on our quiet suburban street. This street is not busy; there are no multi-family houses, no
college flop houses. Instead, this street is host to older couples, young families, and medical residents. Manicured lawns of green roll out like carpet before cozy Cape Cods and older Colonials. Nothing interesting happens here.

Until 1:05. I am awakened from my slumber by a loud shriek. It is so shrill that I jump from bed to see if someone is in danger. I hear two girls arguing, an odd thing for this time of night on a weekday, this street besides. I creep to the dormer window in the den and eavesdrop blearily.



"Well then walk home."
"NNNNNNNNO!"
"Well then what are you going to do?"
"I don't KNNNNOW HEATHER! I can't leave my dad's car HERE!"
(a pause in the discourse)
"Amber. I am the ONLY one on your side in this."
"I. Don't. CARE!"
"I'm walking."
"HEATHER!!!! COME BACK HERE!!!"
(voices muffle into the distance as the two girls walk further down the street)

FACTS OF THE CASE:
Heather's dad's car is either inoperable, or Heather is inoperable.
Heather does not care that Amber is the only one on her side in this.
They live within reasonable walking distance.
They are likely dependents of referenced Dad as they have his car.
It is just after 1 a.m. on a school night.
Amber is not leaving her father's car here.

I don't know precisely what was happening, but let's pull together two scenarios and see if one of them may fit.

SCENE ONE.
Heather and Amber, new High School Seniors, devise a round-robin scheme where Amber's parents think she's at Heather's, studying, but Heather's parents believe their daughter is at Amber's. Instead, they met up with some boys from their class, notably Colin and Shep, to hang out in Shep's parents' newly finished basement and make out. Colin managed to bogart a 4-pack of Jack Daniels Hurricane Punch, a sticky-sweet Hawaiian Punch-inspired beverage, as well as half a bottle of gin that his dad bought for a Christmas party years ago and will never miss.

After three hours of Wii and Rock Band, the four couple up and enjoy some terribly misguided and awkward fondling. It is during this awkward fondling as Shep tries to round third that Amber's cell rings. It is her mom, asking where she is as it's past curfew. Amber bullshits a little, waving off her mother while adjusting her blouse and elbowing Shep accidentally in the eye, upon which he reacts with a groan of dismay. "Who was that?" inquires Amber's mom. The ruse is up and the girls are on the road, only to realize that Amber's new license coupled with Hurricane Punch is malfunctioning. Her phone rings as Amber is three blocks from the house now to drop off Heather, and a mile or so from her own home. Accidentally, she drops the phone, and as a new driver who is also tipsy, Amber over corrects and drives her slow-moving vehicle into someone's yard. The car is undamaged, Amber and Heather are undamaged, but Amber is now afraid to drive. The car stands guard outside a stranger's house, as if an oversized lawn jockey has been delivered by mistake. Heather is not of driving age yet and therefore unable to continue this pursuit. And so the walking begins. Amber is terrified of what her parents will say, Shep called her a bitch for leaving him with blue balls and a black eye, and Heather is the only one on her side in this. Stamping around in the street, Amber begins to freak out. And thus the conversation occurs.


SCENE TWO.
Heather is home, watching Fringe on TiVO, when she gets a curious text message from Amber, reading,"OMG srsly nd ur help dont tell ne1 come get me at Daves"

Heather dials Amber immediately and Amber confesses that she told her parents she was at Heather's, but was actually at Dave's. They made out and fell asleep, only to result in a startled and very curfew-tardy Amber. Heather explains she doesn't have a car to come get her and encourages her to call her parents. Amber says, "Look. My dad's car is in the driveway. He leaves the key in the cupholder. Just put it in neutral and it will roll out of the driveway, then turn on the car and drive it and GET. OVER. HERE."

Heather is a nice girl. She's a follower who colors in the lines. Her mother doesn't like Amber and frequently comments that she's a bad influence. She balks at Amber's directives to not only steal a car, but to drive it without a license. Amber threatens to retract her friendship if Heather does not help this sista out. With a deep, worrisome sigh, Heather pulls on her Juicys and creeps out the back door.

The minutes crawl by. The two-block walk in the dark to Amber's is creepy. Why is she doing this? Amber is so bossy. She always treats Heather like crap. But she's really popular, too, and Heather is... not. Maybe if Heather does this and does it successfully, it will shift the power in their relationship. Heather arrives at Amber's, and her stomach sinks a little when she sees that the car is where she said it would be, as is the key in the cupholder. Heather rolls the car down the driveway, and trying to constrict her panic, she keeps to the right and varies between 20 and 25 mph to Dave's house five miles away.

What Heather did not notice was the gas gauge. As they arrive back toward home, the car ceases operation. Amber calls Heather a stupid bitch; who else wouldn't check the gas? The car has lurched to a dead stop. Amber's dad works in the city. He will be awake and walking out to the driveway in a matter of hours. Plus, Amber is REALLY late now. The long walk home begins.

what have we become?

Alright. We are going on hiatus to work on a side project which is located here.

I just haven't had much of anything interesting to write here that I wasn't already writing in emails or on message boards, so I've been super lazy and for that I am sorry. However on a wild hair (hare? Note to self: check which hair it is) I thought, hey, times are tough and why not pollute the internet with the toxic overflow of one more blogspace? I mean, if you want to go retro you really should think in Love Canal terms, right?

Doing my part, and see you in the way-back,
moi

So that was Monday.

Today is Tuesday and I'm done kvetching and feeling reflective.

Except that it's my friend Jenny's birthday! And I have known Jenny for fourteen years. Who does that?! That's insane. That's almost half of my life, I've known Jenny.

Well, a little more than half. Like, what, two thirds? I suck at math.

Anyhoodle, Jenny, I wish you the happiest of birthdays today, this birthday which I remembered all on my own after double checking with only TWO people that I was right!!!! And I was right, by the way. Totally today.

Sidenote.

Did anyone else know that Red Hot Chili Peppers were in the movie Less Than Zero? I didn't notice it until tonight when I was watching it. Weird. Still, it seemed like a good foray since I started the night with The O.C., moved on to Gossip Girl (is it me or does Chuck totally look like a switch hitter?), then ran out of overprivileged teen angst, so I queued up Less Than Zero. You don't get more angsty than that.

milestones

It's like a tic, this looking for anniversaries. But I do. I always seek out the annual remembrance of things I've done or changes in my life. Oddly enough I really suck at remembering birthdays.

Last week was the anniversary of moving here. Of uprooting our lives, driving North with cars packed low with pets, computers, booze, and other belongings we didn't want going to storage for three months. Of driving into this town, wide eyed and hopeful that the apartment we rented online wasn't awful (it really was), and hoping that it all fell into place. My 6 weeks of unemployment and solitude, where I didn't know anyone but in a strange way it was fine and I didn't mind. The eventual start of a new job gave me some focus (even if my favorite thing about the job is the scenery from the building). The doctor toiled endlessly at what seemed (and still does) like he's trying to empty the ocean with a spoon. And now it's been a year.

We've added a new pet to the family, and she's wonderful. We've sold one car and bought a new fancy one. I've somehow remained employed although I'm not sure how. We bought a house on a nice street with thoughtful neighbors. We've accumulated new debt but we also acquired a new bathroom, which we really needed.

I don't know, it's weird how I feel. I'm telecommuting today from the crappy rundown coffee shop I haunted for hours on end last summer. It felt like the right place to be today for some reason. It lets me be the social hermit that I didn't know I was until last year - I like to be around people but still in my own space, with a computer and iPod. Yet the people here are friendly and unafraid to talk to strangers, which it seems is not really the case at work. When I came in today and bought my large coffee and pumpkin cake, the guy at the counter said, "I haven't seen you for awhile. Where ya been?" That is eight words more than most people at the office say to me, or have ever said despite my best efforts to befriend them. It's just different here and sometimes I wonder if I took a wrong turn, heading into the business world. The truth is I love the power I can wield in a business meeting, though, and I like feeling like a part of things. I'm just a little disillusioned right now I guess. It happens to everyone from time to time, I think.

So the last year has been good in a lot of ways, but it's also been a very lonely year and a stressful one. Still, I think I'm okay with where I've landed. And ultimately, I think that's what counts on anniversaries - look back for a few minutes, then turn your face forward and start walking toward the next big thing.

long time coming

I had Spring pictured differently. I had Spring 2008 pictured differently, too, but let me explain: not better, really - just different.

Easter is so long ago now, isn't it?

When I pictured my first spring of residency, I pictured an exhausted husband (check), we would be fully settled into our house, we would be slathered in months of 70 degree sunlight and greenery, and having friends over all the time.

Where we are is different. Not better or worse - I have to say that again because I don't want to imply that I am unhappy when that isn't really the case.

Spring in New England is different. Highs in the 60s are considered balmy. The grass and trees come much later than I've ever seen. It's May and I still have tulips getting around to blooming in the yard. Every place I've lived, tulips were long gone by mid-April, and temps soared past 80 by now. It's odd - it's like it came here overnight. All of a sudden, god turned the lights back on, and instead of the 4:20 sunsets of December, we have daylight until 7:45. Everything is that bright yellow-green of surprise, and little tufts of grass show up daily. Our backyard, which for months was a mud pit that could have been the show point for wrestling bikini-clad women, is suddenly hirsute. The grass is thick, luscious and soft, and with the weeping cherry still shedding some of its pink petals, it looks as though my yard is covered in a thin sheet of pastel snow. Beautiful! Surprising, too.

I have spent so much time getting my own house straight, though, that I've not really done the friend thing. It's gotten to the point that I almost dread going out to meet people - it's a tiring process, you know? The one woman I've met here who I really liked was the wife of one of my husband's attendings, and she was really cool. She's also a career woman with two kids. Aside from that, it's not appropriate to hang out with her, which sucks and makes this path even more difficult. Residency is almost militaristic in that you really should not socialize outside of your rank. Well, that's fine, except because we are chumps who started late and then picked a path twice the length of any sane person's education, the people in our rank are 10 years our juniors. Have these people ever watched Facts of Life? Do they even know who Charles Ingalls is? I mean really. And most of them have never worked. They are nice, don't get me wrong, but they are not my people, at least not so far. I am starting to wonder if any of my people are here locally. I'm not convinced they are.

And yet I love living here. I do. I love my job except for the commute. I love going to the city every couple of weeks. I love my house, my car, the area... all of it. So why am I stuck on the friends? Surely they're here. I'm just not looking in the right place.

My uncle died on Easter Sunday. It's still weird to think about that. He was a brilliant man in his day. He was also very lonely, prone to binge drinking, and eventually housed in a shell of a body that betrayed him from the brain on down. Still and all he was such a weird, eccentric little guy that we all thought he would outlive us. He didn't, and that's okay, but it made Easter a little weirder than it already was. I had worked all day on a spreadsheet, and then the news of his departure came around 9 pm, and I was here alone due to yet another middle finger of a call schedule at the hospital. Just strange.

Plenty of good has come from his death, though, things I would not have believed. Family has reunited which, to me, is astounding. I picked up his old college violin again and have returned to taking lessons. This week I am playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to the staccato rhythm of pep-per-o-ni-pi-zza. I guess it's reaffirming to see that we all impact each other in ways we never knew: I am sure Bubby had no idea I still had his violin, given to me 20 years ago. I'm sure he had no idea it's been professionally restrung, the bow re-haired, and that the instrument he never really liked will find new life in my hands.

It makes me wonder how I've impacted other people. I wonder how those little nuances have made some part of me continue to live on beyond my own awareness. Maybe that's what Spring is all about.

whoosh

I know I've cut the blogging down. I know this. And I am Sorreh!!!!

I'll try to update this weekend but right now, there is so little of interest going on that I am scraping for something to write about.