For whatever reason, I’ve always been good at keeping in touch with friends. Even before email, I faithfully sent letters to my friends who went to college before me. Even in college (there still was no email), I wrote long letters to my friends at different schools, filling them in on my life in Colorado. I ran up exorbitant phone bills calling my parents, my cousins and my friends scattered across the country. Even on a tight college budget, I spent about $100 a month on phone bills. This, of course, was pre-cell phones with unlimited weekend calling.
I don’t know if it’s because I was an English major and love the pure joy of a story, any story, or if it’s because I truly like people and like to stay in touch. When I lived in Boulder and had a more flexible work schedule, yet no email at the office, I would start my day by making a smoothie and sitting down at my computer to respond to my emails. I felt very Victorian, as I imagined my routine was similar to one of days past.
Now a day, everyone has email at the office, email at home and most of us sort through loads of spam in addition to the informative emails. The last thing any of us want to do is compose a long email about life. Luckily, cell phones are ridiculously cheap and allow us to catch-up without typing or putting pen to paper. (When was the last time you received a letter for the sake of a letter? Not a thank you card or invitation – just a letter. I can’t even recall and my grandmother used to be really good about it.)
I have a 45 minute commute to work each way, which leaves loads of time for phone conversations (I wear a headset). I randomly call people all the time. I keep in touch with lots of friends and family members. And I love it.
During my life, I’ve had friends who marveled at my correspondence and list of far away friends. How do you do it? They’d ask. I can barely remember to call my mom, they’d say. And I knew then that they would be the friends who I’d have to do all the work with keeping in touch.
So, when those friends don’t call back, I call again. When they don’t respond to email, I don’t take it personally. But when they don’t call me back after I’ve left eight messages over two months, I start to take it personally.
One of my best friends lives in Boulder and is horrible about keeping in touch. But over the years, she’s appreciated when I stalked her and we’d finally catch-up on the phone, which was about once a month. Whenever we’re together, we laugh our asses off and have a fantastic time.
I called her before our trip to Vietnam to wish her a happy Thanksgiving and let her know we were headed to Southeast Asia. I called her again to tell her about the trip and wish her a Merry Christmas. I called again to wish her a Happy New Year, and still no return call. Finally, I caught her on Martin Luther King day for a few minutes while she was waiting for some workers at her house. She filled me in on life, how she was moving to a new house, her Christmas vacation, but the whole time she seemed uneasy. She eventually told me she didn’t want to spend the whole day waiting for the workers and had to go call them. I was fine with that, thinking she’d call me back. She never did.
I called her again in February. Then again in March to tell her about the pregnancy. Still, no return call. Finally, I stopped calling. I know lives get busy. I know I live in California and she lives in Colorado, and I know she is horrible about keeping in touch. But it’s hard to not take it personally when someone I considered a best friend doesn’t even drop me a note or text me or leave me a voicemail saying she is overwhelmed, but can’t handle anything else right now. I understand that. But radio silence? For months. I’m baffled and my feelings are hurt.
The other day, a number from Colorado popped up on my cell phone. I didn’t recognize it, and thought it might be her from her new house. I answered with hope in my voice, so happy we’d get to catch-up. But it was the University thanking me for my donation.
I’m still hopeful the friendship will survive, but I’m done making the effort. As my friend said, even pregnant girls need their girlfriends. Thankfully, I have her and lots of other friends to share stories with.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Friday, May 9, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Bumpy Roads
A friend of mine is having a rough patch with her boyfriend right now. I won’t go into details because they aren’t mine to share, but talking to her brought up one of my past relationships.
When I was in my twenties, I dated a guy for three years. We met at a party, went on some dates, and a month later said, “I love you” to each other. Four months into our relationship we moved in together. It was fun and adventurous since we rented our friend’s trailer in a trailer park. We laughed about how our house used to have wheels. We giggled when the washer was on spin cycle and the opposite end of the trailer shook like a carnival ride.
Eventually, we moved from Vail to Boulder. Although we’d both lived in Boulder before, my friends were long gone after graduation and his were happy he was back. Quickly, I found that the time we used to spend together in Vail was now spent with his friends or alone while he was with his friends.
About a year into the relationship, I started questioning things. Prior to this one, my longest relationship had been in college for six months. I was determined to have one that lasted at least a year. So, I ignored the questions and persevered.
That summer, I asked my cousin how she broke off her engagement, and she said, “When the voices got so loud that I couldn’t ignore them, I ended it. At first, there was a small voice saying he wasn’t the one for me, but I ignored it. Then, it got a little louder, and I told it to shut-up. Finally, it got so loud, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. That’s when I knew.”
I’d recognized the voices, but I thought, “They aren’t that loud. Maybe they’re wrong.”
In the second year, we went to a couple’s counselor to try to make it work. He even moved out so we would have to make an effort to see each other instead of taking each other for granted. We broke-up and got back together about eight times until we finally decided we would stick it out until we were sure we wanted out. That was October.
By the following spring, I was wrought with emotion. I woke up at 5am, tossing and turning, so upset as to what to do. I would wait, tormented, until 6am so I could call my mom on the east coast in tears, begging her to help it get better. I fell asleep worrying, with a knot in my stomach, not listening to all the signs around me.
I booked a trip to North Caroline to see my mom and clear my heard. I spent the week talking about the future with my boyfriend in Boulder. It was like I was trying to talk myself into a life with him. The more I talked about it, the more real it became so I kept talking. My mom, being the amazing woman that she is, just listened, biting her tongue from saying DUMP HIM.
Finally, the week ended and I was on my way back to Boulder. I remember sitting on the airplane full of hope for my relationship. He picked me up at the airport, and things were good. I was happy to see him.
Then, back at my apartment, we were snuggling on the couch when the voices screamed at me, “He’s not the one for you! You have to move on!”
I looked around to see if he heard. He kept going on about how great things were, and how much he missed me.
“YOU HAVE TO BREAK-UP WITH HIM!” the voices yelled.
I sat up. And I knew. The voices were not going to let me ignore them any longer. It took me three more days to finally break-up with him, but I did it. It was the best thing I ever did for myself, and I wondered why I waited so long to do it. It was also one of the hardest things to do. He never hit me or cheated on me, which I used to wish for because then I would have had a clear answer as to why it had to end. In hindsight, he said things that damaged me, but I probably did the same to him. I had a lot of healing to do after that relationship. Sometimes I wonder if I’d listened to the voices earlier, would it have been easier?
I don’t envy my friend right now. Trying to figure out if a relationship should continue or not is difficult. There are so many variables, and everyone who listens and gives advice is carrying their own baggage. No one can see what it is like to be in the relationship, the secret goodness (or badness). It’s hard because in my experience, being unhappy meant that I needed to move on, but for other friends, that was just a layer before their relationship deepened. I listen to her, and like my mom, I try to bite my tongue from saying anything too positive or negative, knowing she has to come to a conclusion on her own – whatever that may be.
When I was in my twenties, I dated a guy for three years. We met at a party, went on some dates, and a month later said, “I love you” to each other. Four months into our relationship we moved in together. It was fun and adventurous since we rented our friend’s trailer in a trailer park. We laughed about how our house used to have wheels. We giggled when the washer was on spin cycle and the opposite end of the trailer shook like a carnival ride.
Eventually, we moved from Vail to Boulder. Although we’d both lived in Boulder before, my friends were long gone after graduation and his were happy he was back. Quickly, I found that the time we used to spend together in Vail was now spent with his friends or alone while he was with his friends.
About a year into the relationship, I started questioning things. Prior to this one, my longest relationship had been in college for six months. I was determined to have one that lasted at least a year. So, I ignored the questions and persevered.
That summer, I asked my cousin how she broke off her engagement, and she said, “When the voices got so loud that I couldn’t ignore them, I ended it. At first, there was a small voice saying he wasn’t the one for me, but I ignored it. Then, it got a little louder, and I told it to shut-up. Finally, it got so loud, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. That’s when I knew.”
I’d recognized the voices, but I thought, “They aren’t that loud. Maybe they’re wrong.”
In the second year, we went to a couple’s counselor to try to make it work. He even moved out so we would have to make an effort to see each other instead of taking each other for granted. We broke-up and got back together about eight times until we finally decided we would stick it out until we were sure we wanted out. That was October.
By the following spring, I was wrought with emotion. I woke up at 5am, tossing and turning, so upset as to what to do. I would wait, tormented, until 6am so I could call my mom on the east coast in tears, begging her to help it get better. I fell asleep worrying, with a knot in my stomach, not listening to all the signs around me.
I booked a trip to North Caroline to see my mom and clear my heard. I spent the week talking about the future with my boyfriend in Boulder. It was like I was trying to talk myself into a life with him. The more I talked about it, the more real it became so I kept talking. My mom, being the amazing woman that she is, just listened, biting her tongue from saying DUMP HIM.
Finally, the week ended and I was on my way back to Boulder. I remember sitting on the airplane full of hope for my relationship. He picked me up at the airport, and things were good. I was happy to see him.
Then, back at my apartment, we were snuggling on the couch when the voices screamed at me, “He’s not the one for you! You have to move on!”
I looked around to see if he heard. He kept going on about how great things were, and how much he missed me.
“YOU HAVE TO BREAK-UP WITH HIM!” the voices yelled.
I sat up. And I knew. The voices were not going to let me ignore them any longer. It took me three more days to finally break-up with him, but I did it. It was the best thing I ever did for myself, and I wondered why I waited so long to do it. It was also one of the hardest things to do. He never hit me or cheated on me, which I used to wish for because then I would have had a clear answer as to why it had to end. In hindsight, he said things that damaged me, but I probably did the same to him. I had a lot of healing to do after that relationship. Sometimes I wonder if I’d listened to the voices earlier, would it have been easier?
I don’t envy my friend right now. Trying to figure out if a relationship should continue or not is difficult. There are so many variables, and everyone who listens and gives advice is carrying their own baggage. No one can see what it is like to be in the relationship, the secret goodness (or badness). It’s hard because in my experience, being unhappy meant that I needed to move on, but for other friends, that was just a layer before their relationship deepened. I listen to her, and like my mom, I try to bite my tongue from saying anything too positive or negative, knowing she has to come to a conclusion on her own – whatever that may be.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Birds of a Feather
When I was single, I dropped married friends. I didn’t do it on purpose, but slowly, after a few invitations to do things got turned down, I just stopped calling. Then, on a whim, I’d remember how cool the person was and call again. We’d hang out, have a great time and promise to see each other more often. Then, as before, they would be busy with their husband and I’d stop calling again. It only seems to get worse with kids.
Or maybe it was a combination of them wanting to spend time with their husband and us not having as much to talk about. When I was single, I’d spend hours talking about who I was dating, analyzing why he did or didn’t call, wondering if it was going to work out, wondering if the woman at his office was indeed “just a friend.” I’d hike along with friends listening to them agonize over their recent asshole boyfriend and I’d empathize and tell my most recent asshole boyfriend story.
Once, when I was dating a great guy/asshole, I was bemoaning why he didn’t call more often and why he never asked me out in public with people if I meant so much to him when one of my married friends said, “Forget about him. There are much better guys out there.” WHAT??? FORGET ABOUT THE ASSHOLE?? Does this smug married woman have any idea what it is like to date in your 30s? She met her husband at 24 and married him at 30. They had their ups and downs, but she never had to face her 30s single. She was clueless. Needless to say, my calls to her, her husband and two kids grew less frequent. Clearly, we were in different stratospheres. And clearly, she did not understand me.
Or did she? When I finally met my husband who is not an asshole, I finally started to understand her comments. They weren’t said to be smug or demeaning, but because she could see what I couldn’t.
Sunday, I hung out with three single women. All amazing, beautiful, successful, smart women. And all single. (Stupid men.) And I felt like… well, like a fish out of water. I felt like when I opened my mouth I was on watch. And then, just like a smug married, I made an incredibly insensitive remark. We were talking about population control and how people shouldn’t just have kids because society says you should. One of the women said she didn’t’ think she wanted kids, but she better decide soon. I said, as the conversation pulsed along, “The decision might be made for you.” She shrugged. Simple. The conversation continued for a bit, and we all broke apart and headed our separate ways.
Then on my bike ride home, it hit me. That was a smug comment. I knew the feeling because I’d been there recently. I know what it is like to look down the barrel of motherhood. The clock is ticking. There is no man on the horizon, and the idea that motherhood – the most innate of all things a woman is supposed to be – might possibly pass by. The last thing you need is to be reminded of the clock. I know the comment came out as insensitive. Out of touch. Smug.
Maybe there is a reason married people and singles don’t hang out as much as they did when everyone was single. We’re just in different places, and sometimes, it's hard to understand the other place.
Or maybe it was a combination of them wanting to spend time with their husband and us not having as much to talk about. When I was single, I’d spend hours talking about who I was dating, analyzing why he did or didn’t call, wondering if it was going to work out, wondering if the woman at his office was indeed “just a friend.” I’d hike along with friends listening to them agonize over their recent asshole boyfriend and I’d empathize and tell my most recent asshole boyfriend story.
Once, when I was dating a great guy/asshole, I was bemoaning why he didn’t call more often and why he never asked me out in public with people if I meant so much to him when one of my married friends said, “Forget about him. There are much better guys out there.” WHAT??? FORGET ABOUT THE ASSHOLE?? Does this smug married woman have any idea what it is like to date in your 30s? She met her husband at 24 and married him at 30. They had their ups and downs, but she never had to face her 30s single. She was clueless. Needless to say, my calls to her, her husband and two kids grew less frequent. Clearly, we were in different stratospheres. And clearly, she did not understand me.
Or did she? When I finally met my husband who is not an asshole, I finally started to understand her comments. They weren’t said to be smug or demeaning, but because she could see what I couldn’t.
Sunday, I hung out with three single women. All amazing, beautiful, successful, smart women. And all single. (Stupid men.) And I felt like… well, like a fish out of water. I felt like when I opened my mouth I was on watch. And then, just like a smug married, I made an incredibly insensitive remark. We were talking about population control and how people shouldn’t just have kids because society says you should. One of the women said she didn’t’ think she wanted kids, but she better decide soon. I said, as the conversation pulsed along, “The decision might be made for you.” She shrugged. Simple. The conversation continued for a bit, and we all broke apart and headed our separate ways.
Then on my bike ride home, it hit me. That was a smug comment. I knew the feeling because I’d been there recently. I know what it is like to look down the barrel of motherhood. The clock is ticking. There is no man on the horizon, and the idea that motherhood – the most innate of all things a woman is supposed to be – might possibly pass by. The last thing you need is to be reminded of the clock. I know the comment came out as insensitive. Out of touch. Smug.
Maybe there is a reason married people and singles don’t hang out as much as they did when everyone was single. We’re just in different places, and sometimes, it's hard to understand the other place.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Colorado Dreaming
Autumn. Fall. It brings to mind warm sweaters, cool nights, leaves changing. That is, if you live somewhere with seasons. When I moved to Los Angeles over five years ago, I grinned when I realized fall meant a light sweater at night, no crowds at the beach and a new television season. I used to hike almost every weekend, and even nature in Los Angeles changes with the seasons. It is just more subtle. And I was happy with this.
All of this seems to have changed. I got married. Friendships got magnified. Between my wedding and my friend Maggies’s wedding, I spent most of the summer on trips and adventures with my Colorado friends. I love lots of things about Los Angeles. The year-round farmer’s markets. The Pacific ocean outside of my window. An endless choice of restaurants and shopping. But this year, I’m missing the cooler weather and my pack of friends in Colorado.
I talked to my friend Tricia who lives in Vail this weekend. She was talking about walking around in the village, the covered bridge, the place where we celebrated New Year’s eve 2001. She told me she’s taking a wagon ride to Beano’s cabin in Beaver Creek tonight. And all of a sudden I could picture it all. I could feel the cooler air and imagine walking around Vail near the creek; the aspens turning gold. Aspens catch light in an amazing way. It sort of bounces off the leaves, filtering the light so it twinkles. When I used to camp, I loved waking up in an aspen grove just to see the morning light.
It all made me miss Colorado. Of course, when it is 10 degrees there with a blizzard of snow, I’ll be happily walking around in flip-flops, but today, I miss Colorado and I really miss my friends.
All of this seems to have changed. I got married. Friendships got magnified. Between my wedding and my friend Maggies’s wedding, I spent most of the summer on trips and adventures with my Colorado friends. I love lots of things about Los Angeles. The year-round farmer’s markets. The Pacific ocean outside of my window. An endless choice of restaurants and shopping. But this year, I’m missing the cooler weather and my pack of friends in Colorado.
I talked to my friend Tricia who lives in Vail this weekend. She was talking about walking around in the village, the covered bridge, the place where we celebrated New Year’s eve 2001. She told me she’s taking a wagon ride to Beano’s cabin in Beaver Creek tonight. And all of a sudden I could picture it all. I could feel the cooler air and imagine walking around Vail near the creek; the aspens turning gold. Aspens catch light in an amazing way. It sort of bounces off the leaves, filtering the light so it twinkles. When I used to camp, I loved waking up in an aspen grove just to see the morning light.
It all made me miss Colorado. Of course, when it is 10 degrees there with a blizzard of snow, I’ll be happily walking around in flip-flops, but today, I miss Colorado and I really miss my friends.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Gratitude and Lunch
Since I couldn’t have twenty bridesmaids, I decided to have a bridal luncheon honoring the women who make my life wonderful, full and hysterical. They are the women I call most often. The ones who saw me through way too many bad relationships, job changes, times of poverty and deep debt, the loss of my stepfather, graduations and of course, the development of my relationship with my husband. To me, this luncheon was incredibly important. The luncheon, just as I envisioned it, was sort of magical.
My mom and I decided to have the luncheon at her mountain house – the one she lived in with my stepfather that she now rents out as a vacation rental. This is the house that I thought of when I started thinking of North Carolina as home instead of Virginia. The house itself is nothing spectacular. It’s an A-frame house two miles up a dirt road. But once there, it is peaceful with a breath-taking view - on a clear day, it's a seventy-miles view. It was the best place to escape to after finals in college. In the winter, I would snuggle down into bed and sleep all day. Since it is about thirty minutes from town, the most there is to do is relax, take walks and relax some more. I couldn’t imagine all my friends flying to North Carolina without seeing this part of my life.
I felt like utter and complete crap the Friday before the wedding. I was fighting a cold and popping pills like a strung-out junkie. When I pulled up to the house with my friend Jen, people were already there. My sister-in-laws (I have 3 now!), aunt and mom had set everything up beautifully. My best girlfriends were mingling in the living room and on the deck taking in the view. My 90-year old grandmother chatted with them. All of these amazing women were in one place. And all celebrating me and our friendships.
Before we ate, my mom wanted to do a blessing. We gathered in a circle on the deck, and I took a few moments to introduce everyone and to say how I knew each person. All of my friends had heard of each other so it was great for them to put faces with names. Jen was my best friend at the University of Colorado. Cheryl was my oldest friend - 34 years of friendship! Krista and I met in the dorms freshman year. I met Heidi in Hollywood. Tracy is my local friend - a true North Carolina native who procured the moonshine for the wedding. Tricia, one of my always happy friends, is the one, ironically, I've shared the most grief with. When I met Maggie, we didn't like each other because we were in the shadows of our ex-boyfriends and blind to how cool each other are. Rebecca was my "husband" when I lived in LA right after college. She picked up the bills most of the time and I cooked and cleaned. Kristin is my calm, cool friend who I love to talk cooking with. And my cousins who were like sisters to me growing up. I didn't mention everyone, and if any of them read this, they know just by being there how important they are to me.
For 35 years I was mostly single, and these women made life so much more fun. They supported me when I was going through changes, but most of all, they kept me laughing. After lunch, I handed each woman a card I’d written for them thanking them for being in my life. Then, in a nice quirky turn, my aunt suggested everyone say why they liked me.
I sat like a queen at the front of the living room, sipping hot ginger tea on a 95 degree day in an effort to be healthy for the wedding, and listened as friend after cousin after friend told stories about me and said how much they loved me. It was amazing. My aunt said, “Only on your wedding and your funeral do all your friends come together. How lucky you are to be alive now to hear all the good things they are saying!”
Amen, Aunt Karen. I am incredibly lucky and blessed.
(And thanks to ginger tea, sudafed, nyquil and antibiotics plus a little wedding magic, I felt great on our wedding day!)
Monday, July 30, 2007
The Breck Girls
My bachelorette weekend was everything I imagined and more. I feel incredibly blessed to have such a great posse of women in my life. A huge thank you to all of you who made my last single-girl trip one for the memory books.
We might be older, but we’re still fun….
Heading up the mountain for the shortest hike ever.
Pre-dinner Breck Girls. It was waaaayyy to light out for us.
We even had a sponsor from Kentucky who put on my super panties. (No idea why this pic isn't bigger.)
Walking up the street for some danicing.
Getting ready to "throw my panties to the wind." It's a Mexican tradition that we've completely bastardized. Rumor has it the panties are supposed to be sexy, not super-sized.
We might be older, but we’re still fun….
Heading up the mountain for the shortest hike ever.
Pre-dinner Breck Girls. It was waaaayyy to light out for us.
We even had a sponsor from Kentucky who put on my super panties. (No idea why this pic isn't bigger.)
Walking up the street for some danicing.
Getting ready to "throw my panties to the wind." It's a Mexican tradition that we've completely bastardized. Rumor has it the panties are supposed to be sexy, not super-sized.Thursday, July 26, 2007
Growing-Up. Sort of.
We are 16 days from the wedding. I know because my registry at Crate and Barrel tells me so. And yes, when I am bored, I look to see what people have bought and not bought.
My stress level is amazingly low right now. I think there is a pulse of adrenaline flowing through me like a steady drip of an IV, but I am used to that now. There is enough in my system to keep me from falling back asleep when I accidentally wake at 6am, but not so much my hands jitter from it. I try to take it as it comes.
Tomorrow, I jet-off to Colorado for my bachelorette weekend. My friend Krista has been incredible with spear-heading the event, planning it, emailing the 10 women to coordinate things plus letting us use her family’s condo in Keystone. It’s not exactly Vegas, but I’m not exactly 25. I picked Colorado over Vegas partly because I knew more of my friends could make it, but mostly because I like Colorado more than Vegas.
I know they have some craziness planned for Saturday night. We’ll be hitting the streets of Breckinridge, and I’m guessing, since it is off-season, we will be a sight. There are no drunken spring-breakers to compete with. I told them no veil, no penis necklaces and no list of men I have to kiss or get underwear from. When did I get so old?
On a trip to Boulder a few years ago, we went to my favorite used clothing store where I always score things like Prada shoes. On this particular trip, I found a navy, marabou bolero. And I had to have it. In some small place in my brain, I thought I would wear it out in LA. It was fabulous.
Little did I know how fabulous… later that night, after way too many car bombs (the drink, not the explosive), the bolero became a prop in a series of modeling shots. Let’s just say it took on a life of its’ own. So, in honor of that night, I decided that I am wearing this gem for my big night out on Saturday. I can’t decide if I should take it a little classier with a just a plain white tank, or a little cheesier (does it get more cheesy than a marabou bolero?) with a gold tube top, jeans and gold sandals. I am bringing both get-ups so they can choose.
My friends like costumes so I am thinking (naively) that I am beating them to the punch. Plus, I’ve NEVER worn the jacket except for our modeling shoot. It’s amazing how easily women can entertain themselves. So, if you happen to be in Breckinridge this weekend and see a woman with a marabou bolero on, stop and say hello.
My stress level is amazingly low right now. I think there is a pulse of adrenaline flowing through me like a steady drip of an IV, but I am used to that now. There is enough in my system to keep me from falling back asleep when I accidentally wake at 6am, but not so much my hands jitter from it. I try to take it as it comes.
Tomorrow, I jet-off to Colorado for my bachelorette weekend. My friend Krista has been incredible with spear-heading the event, planning it, emailing the 10 women to coordinate things plus letting us use her family’s condo in Keystone. It’s not exactly Vegas, but I’m not exactly 25. I picked Colorado over Vegas partly because I knew more of my friends could make it, but mostly because I like Colorado more than Vegas.
I know they have some craziness planned for Saturday night. We’ll be hitting the streets of Breckinridge, and I’m guessing, since it is off-season, we will be a sight. There are no drunken spring-breakers to compete with. I told them no veil, no penis necklaces and no list of men I have to kiss or get underwear from. When did I get so old?
On a trip to Boulder a few years ago, we went to my favorite used clothing store where I always score things like Prada shoes. On this particular trip, I found a navy, marabou bolero. And I had to have it. In some small place in my brain, I thought I would wear it out in LA. It was fabulous.
Little did I know how fabulous… later that night, after way too many car bombs (the drink, not the explosive), the bolero became a prop in a series of modeling shots. Let’s just say it took on a life of its’ own. So, in honor of that night, I decided that I am wearing this gem for my big night out on Saturday. I can’t decide if I should take it a little classier with a just a plain white tank, or a little cheesier (does it get more cheesy than a marabou bolero?) with a gold tube top, jeans and gold sandals. I am bringing both get-ups so they can choose.
My friends like costumes so I am thinking (naively) that I am beating them to the punch. Plus, I’ve NEVER worn the jacket except for our modeling shoot. It’s amazing how easily women can entertain themselves. So, if you happen to be in Breckinridge this weekend and see a woman with a marabou bolero on, stop and say hello.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Austin
I meant to post this right after our trip to Austin, but never got around to it since I was deathly ill (and no one in Austin got sick!!). After rooting for the Longhorns in the NCAA championships, I feel it only fitting that I comment on their fair city.
Shock. Yes, I am in shock. I like a part of Texas. As a former Coloradoan, this is akin to saying I am in love with my brother. It's just wrong.
Austin is everything that people hype it to be. Great people, fun places, easy to get around. I’d been before but in the whirlwind of a wedding. I didn't remember the river running though it, which I loved. It was hot and humid, and people were all over the water like little bugs skimming on top. I felt like crap, or else I would have joined them.
We scarfed down greasy, Tex-Mex, which tasted delicious, but I still prefer Cal-Mex (don’t forget my health watch). I sampled queso. I like cheese in most forms, and queso fit the bill. Cheese and chips? I’m sold! Thank god that isn’t part of Cal-Mex or I’d be the size of a house. And there were a lot of people of the large variety there, but they didn’t stop me from ordering the deep-dish apple pie for dessert at dinner.
It was awesome to see my friend, meet her son and spend time with her husband, who I swear I’ve only hung out with at weddings. I loved their parenting style and their adorable son. They took us to a barbeque at their friend’s house, and guess what?! Their friends were nice, too!
I could almost see myself living there. I started to picture it. But the fiancé still loves the ocean so it looks like we’ll stay within walking distance of it for awhile. But believe the hype about Austin. It’s in Texas, but it isn’t really Texas. It’s Austin.
Shock. Yes, I am in shock. I like a part of Texas. As a former Coloradoan, this is akin to saying I am in love with my brother. It's just wrong.
Austin is everything that people hype it to be. Great people, fun places, easy to get around. I’d been before but in the whirlwind of a wedding. I didn't remember the river running though it, which I loved. It was hot and humid, and people were all over the water like little bugs skimming on top. I felt like crap, or else I would have joined them.
We scarfed down greasy, Tex-Mex, which tasted delicious, but I still prefer Cal-Mex (don’t forget my health watch). I sampled queso. I like cheese in most forms, and queso fit the bill. Cheese and chips? I’m sold! Thank god that isn’t part of Cal-Mex or I’d be the size of a house. And there were a lot of people of the large variety there, but they didn’t stop me from ordering the deep-dish apple pie for dessert at dinner.
It was awesome to see my friend, meet her son and spend time with her husband, who I swear I’ve only hung out with at weddings. I loved their parenting style and their adorable son. They took us to a barbeque at their friend’s house, and guess what?! Their friends were nice, too!
I could almost see myself living there. I started to picture it. But the fiancé still loves the ocean so it looks like we’ll stay within walking distance of it for awhile. But believe the hype about Austin. It’s in Texas, but it isn’t really Texas. It’s Austin.
The River in the middle of the city!!! Picture paddling a boat on it... Ahhh.... summer....
Clearly, someone has a sense of humor.
And don't forget. Austin is the state capital.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
The Whole Package
We've all heard it: you don't just marry the person, you marry their family. Actually, it's not just the family - you get the friends, too. This past weekend, my fiance's friends from Portland came to visit.
Saturday, I met up with everyone at breakfast. Breakfast went well. They were great. Funny, personable. After eating, we went back to my fiance's apartment to hang out and talk. They asked how we met. We asked them how they met. We talked about first dates. We told them about meeting sushi. Liam, the husband, said, "We had sex on our first date. It was great!" His wife corrected him and said, "No, no. We didn't have sex. I gave you a blow job." Alrighty! This comment led to how great nudie bars are in Portland, and how they love going to them. Apparently, dancers can bare all and the bars can serve alcohol (this is illegal in LA and Las Vegas). Plus, the strip clubs have really cheap food. Great! Just what I want! A $5 steak with a side of pussy!
After stripping, the topic of guns came up and how easy it is to get a license to carry a concealed weapon in Oregon. She has one. She even has a holster to carry it in the back of her pants, but all of her pants are too tight so she carries her small gun in her purse. In case of a mugging, it probably isn't the best idea. Hold on! You can't have my purse! I need my gun!
Before Saturday, I thought I was open minded, but as the day progressed, I started feeling incredibly white bread. Maybe we should try something other than missionary position. I've never even shot a gun that wasn't armed with water. As for stripping, the closest I've gotten was when I took the much-talked about stripper class. I kept my clothes on and danced in front of other women. It was PG-13 at best.
Thankfully, in between stripping, guns, and porn, which Liam openly says he loves, he also told stories about the bitches (his words, not mine) my fiance dated before me and tales of the cultural differences my fiance encountered when he first arrived in the states. Suffice it to say, Germans are clueless about costumes for Halloween. I loved hearing stories that my fiance wouldn't think of telling me.
Towards the end of the day, they asked what I thought of them. "My fiance's gun-toting, porn-loving friends? Ya'll are great!" Luckily, we all laughed, and I was telling the truth.
Saturday, I met up with everyone at breakfast. Breakfast went well. They were great. Funny, personable. After eating, we went back to my fiance's apartment to hang out and talk. They asked how we met. We asked them how they met. We talked about first dates. We told them about meeting sushi. Liam, the husband, said, "We had sex on our first date. It was great!" His wife corrected him and said, "No, no. We didn't have sex. I gave you a blow job." Alrighty! This comment led to how great nudie bars are in Portland, and how they love going to them. Apparently, dancers can bare all and the bars can serve alcohol (this is illegal in LA and Las Vegas). Plus, the strip clubs have really cheap food. Great! Just what I want! A $5 steak with a side of pussy!
After stripping, the topic of guns came up and how easy it is to get a license to carry a concealed weapon in Oregon. She has one. She even has a holster to carry it in the back of her pants, but all of her pants are too tight so she carries her small gun in her purse. In case of a mugging, it probably isn't the best idea. Hold on! You can't have my purse! I need my gun!
Before Saturday, I thought I was open minded, but as the day progressed, I started feeling incredibly white bread. Maybe we should try something other than missionary position. I've never even shot a gun that wasn't armed with water. As for stripping, the closest I've gotten was when I took the much-talked about stripper class. I kept my clothes on and danced in front of other women. It was PG-13 at best.
Thankfully, in between stripping, guns, and porn, which Liam openly says he loves, he also told stories about the bitches (his words, not mine) my fiance dated before me and tales of the cultural differences my fiance encountered when he first arrived in the states. Suffice it to say, Germans are clueless about costumes for Halloween. I loved hearing stories that my fiance wouldn't think of telling me.
Towards the end of the day, they asked what I thought of them. "My fiance's gun-toting, porn-loving friends? Ya'll are great!" Luckily, we all laughed, and I was telling the truth.
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