Have you ever had that friend that you just want to slap in the face and say, "Get over yourself!"? That's the feeling I'm having right at the moment listening to Wil Wheaton's "Just a Geek". That book is hilarious, it really is, but it made me think about the way we tend to let a single event shape the way we look at everything else in our life. For Wil Wheaton, it was the fact that he quite Star Trek. Now, you'd think a mistake you made when you were a teenager, even one that cost you thousands of dollars a week, would be something you could let go of, oh, I don't know FIFTEEN YEARS LATER!
Dude. Get over yourself. You quit Star Trek. Your movie career never happened. You have a wife. You have two beautiful stepchildren. Grow up and be grateful for what you have, and develop the talents that you do have rather than the ones that you don't. Child stars don't transition well. It's amazing how many child stars have found themselves in precisely that scenario. Find something else to do, and stop whining. Please.
All right, I feel better now. Sorry, I was packing this morning to the happy tune of Wil Wheaton, which normally should have made the experience exponentially less painful but in actually ended up just aggravating me. I can't stand it when people whine horrifically. I mean, I know I tend to sink down into the mires of self pity. I know it's easy for me to obsess about things that are past-the sting of not being able to finish Med Tech school still rears its ugly head and pokes me in the butt every once in a while. But really? Even I'm not that whiny. Get over yourself, see reality the way it really is rather than the way you wanat it to be.
Phew. All right, rant aside, I know I still owe you a blog about the Ren Faire, and it's coming, it really is. But ye olde muse just isn't feeling the VRF today. Maybe tomorrow. The sun will come out tomorrow, there's always tomorrow, and tomorrow...well, who knows. Right now I have to go finish getting my stuff together for tonight, when I finally get to watch my daughter dance her tarentella dance and enjoy my last night of being an uninvolved parent on the Virginia Ballet Scene before we move to New York and get to start the process all....over....again.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Stress Free Living, or Ode to Pink Panther
Do you know, I was reading the other day that there's no stress in your life when you're a freelance writer. I don't think there are words to express thee way I sat and rolled with laughter. No, you don't have the stress of the 9 to 5 grind, or the painful morning commute. You don't have the endless pressure of having to shop for appropriate clothing, or smiling prettily to impress the boss. Is that stress? It's one of the definitions thereof, but it's definitely not the only one.
What about the stress of constantly finding work? The pressure of often unrealistic deadlines? The tension that comes from having to do your work to somebody else's satisfaction? Yes, writing is infinitely preferable to, say, being an accountant, but whoever says it isn't stressful is either doing it as a part time hobby or they're still living the nine to five and looking with envy at all the writers of the world sitting here, just like, putting their thoughts to paper while chilling in their pajamas and watching "Pink Panther".
As I was walking this morning in my neverending quest to lost hte weight that absolutely refuses to go anywhere and listening happily to Wil Wheaton's "Just a Geek" while rolling down to CVS on a quest for the appropriate hair "stuff" to do my daughter's hair for her dress rehearsal tonight, I was feeling pretty chill. I was thinking, "They're right. The only stress that goes along with my job is what I give it!" Realistically, however, even freelance writers only have 24 hours in a day.
That doesn't mean I'm ready to turn in my keyboard for a 9 to 5er, although the thought has occurred to me more than once in recent months that I would be a lot more relaxed if I could leave work at work and just come home and chill out. Then I think about the stress of finding a baby-sitter, and the aggravation of having to find someone to stay home with the kids when they're sick, and along with the vindictive feeling of justice that comes with knowing that my husband, who telecommutes, would finally get to know the joys of being a work at home parent (right know he's working out of his grandmother's spare bedroom, without the constant distraction of children who want to play, or go swimming, or go to the park, or do the myriad other things that children want to do on summer vacation) I think about how incredibly bored I would be.
So I realized. I really like being a writer. What I don't like doing is writing without feeling, by rote, with constant repetition. Somewhere along the way writing stopped being fun, and with it I felt like I was losing a piece of myself. So my promise? I said I was going to take this year and learn to enjoy my life, and six months into it I've already lost touch with that. I'm still wrapped up in the past, with a healthy dose of excuses for not making this reality everything I want it to be. I don't have time. It's too hard. I'm scared if I actually take that step and publish my own stuff with my own name on it people aren't going to like it, and I'm going to be a public failure.
Isn't it time I got over that? People are paying me a lot of money for my writing. In fact, I've been getting paid for my writing for the last two years. Obviously I have some smidgen, no matter how little, of talent. I think it might be time I said goodbye to fear and pride and started writing the way I've always done-with a little personality, and not like a mindless drone with nothing better to do.
Anyway, after making that promise to myself I guess it's time for me to take my pajama clad bottom upstairs and take a shower, and get ready for work. I think I'll slip on my comfy capris, and a light tee shirt, and curl up with my laptop at my brand new, newly acquired desk that so conveniently holds my schoolbooks underneath. I'll wrap up my newly found blogging addiction and go feel human so that when John comes by with Chelsea's ballet bag, which was left in his car and which I, in a move that all of those mothers who know the minute their child has left a piece of clothing anywhere would be appalled at, didn't even notice was missing, I'll be dressed and looking something like the professional I am.
My sister-in-law actually gave me an itemized list of everything her kids had left over here the last time they spent the night. I want to be her when I grow up.
Lolz. The Pink Panther wins again.
What about the stress of constantly finding work? The pressure of often unrealistic deadlines? The tension that comes from having to do your work to somebody else's satisfaction? Yes, writing is infinitely preferable to, say, being an accountant, but whoever says it isn't stressful is either doing it as a part time hobby or they're still living the nine to five and looking with envy at all the writers of the world sitting here, just like, putting their thoughts to paper while chilling in their pajamas and watching "Pink Panther".
As I was walking this morning in my neverending quest to lost hte weight that absolutely refuses to go anywhere and listening happily to Wil Wheaton's "Just a Geek" while rolling down to CVS on a quest for the appropriate hair "stuff" to do my daughter's hair for her dress rehearsal tonight, I was feeling pretty chill. I was thinking, "They're right. The only stress that goes along with my job is what I give it!" Realistically, however, even freelance writers only have 24 hours in a day.
That doesn't mean I'm ready to turn in my keyboard for a 9 to 5er, although the thought has occurred to me more than once in recent months that I would be a lot more relaxed if I could leave work at work and just come home and chill out. Then I think about the stress of finding a baby-sitter, and the aggravation of having to find someone to stay home with the kids when they're sick, and along with the vindictive feeling of justice that comes with knowing that my husband, who telecommutes, would finally get to know the joys of being a work at home parent (right know he's working out of his grandmother's spare bedroom, without the constant distraction of children who want to play, or go swimming, or go to the park, or do the myriad other things that children want to do on summer vacation) I think about how incredibly bored I would be.
So I realized. I really like being a writer. What I don't like doing is writing without feeling, by rote, with constant repetition. Somewhere along the way writing stopped being fun, and with it I felt like I was losing a piece of myself. So my promise? I said I was going to take this year and learn to enjoy my life, and six months into it I've already lost touch with that. I'm still wrapped up in the past, with a healthy dose of excuses for not making this reality everything I want it to be. I don't have time. It's too hard. I'm scared if I actually take that step and publish my own stuff with my own name on it people aren't going to like it, and I'm going to be a public failure.
Isn't it time I got over that? People are paying me a lot of money for my writing. In fact, I've been getting paid for my writing for the last two years. Obviously I have some smidgen, no matter how little, of talent. I think it might be time I said goodbye to fear and pride and started writing the way I've always done-with a little personality, and not like a mindless drone with nothing better to do.
Anyway, after making that promise to myself I guess it's time for me to take my pajama clad bottom upstairs and take a shower, and get ready for work. I think I'll slip on my comfy capris, and a light tee shirt, and curl up with my laptop at my brand new, newly acquired desk that so conveniently holds my schoolbooks underneath. I'll wrap up my newly found blogging addiction and go feel human so that when John comes by with Chelsea's ballet bag, which was left in his car and which I, in a move that all of those mothers who know the minute their child has left a piece of clothing anywhere would be appalled at, didn't even notice was missing, I'll be dressed and looking something like the professional I am.
My sister-in-law actually gave me an itemized list of everything her kids had left over here the last time they spent the night. I want to be her when I grow up.
Lolz. The Pink Panther wins again.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Coolest Weekend Ever...
As I'm sitting here with exhaustion digging into me with claws I can't help but smile thinking I earned every second of it. This had to be the coolest weekend I've ever had, and whether y'all want to hear about it or not I need to take a day or two to gush about it! :-)
Friday marked the last day of school for my kids, which we happily commemorated by running errands and binging on Taco Bell. Saturday morning I dragged my mom, my aunt and one of their friends up to do Potomac Mills. If you don't know what Potomac Mills is-well, you're culturally deprived! Potomac Mills is this HUGE outlet mall in Dale City that has absolutely everything-including a dress I could stand to be seen in public in for my brother's wedding, which is an accomplishment in and of itself! (You have no idea-I have to be the only female I know that really, truly loathes clothes shopping. It's just not normal.)
Anyway, after a few hours of being privileged to the kind of talk children are never meant to hear (never mind the fact that I'm 26 with 3 kids of my own!) and eating a burrito about the size of my arm I was feeling fat and happy as we cruised toward Fredericksburg. I'd picked up a dress that my mom kindly offered to pay for so I could pick up some shoes, some tee-shirts for my kids from the Disney store that the rat...ah, nice people decided to pull out of OUR mall and some essential oils that I would normally have paid a small fortune for but managed to get at a steal from this nifty little vendor in the middle of the mall.
Have I mentioned I love Potomac Mills?
Anyway, from there I got to turn around and head straight back up to D.C. to watch the man, the myth, the legend George Strait at the Nissan Pavilion. That, ladies and gentlemen, was the experience of a lifetime. The man is a god...and I don't say those words lightly. Normally when a performer walks onto a stage you can see either a healthy dose of nerves or that hyped up expression that comes from being keyed up on caffeine and applause. George Strait just sauntered out like the professional he was and launched a set of oldies, newbies and plenty of goodies that wrapped up in not one, not two but three encores. It was amazing. I think the crowd would have kept him on stage all night if they could. 
It's easy to see why the man made artist of the decade, even rolling onto the stage with hearing aids in each ear. Yes, Mr. Strait, we noticed. It's just that you're so incredibly awesome, nobody cares.
Of course, as incredibly honored as I was to see George Strait live I think the coolest moment of my night was hearing Blake Shelton get up on stage and put on a live performance of "Austin", which is, oh, I don't know, my favorite country song of all time! I thought I was going to pass out. You have to understand, if George Strait is a good Blake Shelton is like a minor deity. Anyone who can get up on stage at the Nissan Pavilion and call thousands of people "10 acres of rednecks" (and live to tell the tale!) has something going for him. I'm just not sure what that something is!
Of course, if George Strait was a pro Blake Shelton was a comedian with a guitar-starting with his own brand of charming naivete that led him to schedule a gig in Baltimore and a gig in D.C. the same day. Everyone knows traffic in D.C. sucks-now. Apparently Mr. Shelton didn't get the memo, and he paid for it by sitting in traffic for not one, not two but two and a half hours.
Should we tell him that was a good day, and he's lucky he totally missed 66?
Anyway, he kick started the evening with a beer and a toast to George Strait and made everyone's night by singing the FreeCreditReport.com song, claiming that he wanted to play a song everyone could sing along with but "all the songs people know are George Strait songs." And he closed the evening up with "Ol' Red", which had all of us rolling in our seats.
Let's not leave Julianne Hough out of the mix. A short lived opening act, the lovely Miss. Hough was completely drowned out by her guitar for most of her set (for which I would have summarily beheaded-or at least fired-her sound man) but she managed to be a joy to watch on stage nonetheless. I had forgotten she had also opened for Brad Paisley when we saw him in concert last year, so it was nice to see how she'd matured as a performer. That's going to be one to watch, ladies and gentlemen.
Anyway, the weekend wrapped up with a trip to the new Virginia Ren Faire-but that's a story for another night. After all, when you're talking about a legend you can at least give him the dignity of getting a blog post to himself!
Friday, June 12, 2009
Desperately Seeking Sleep...
So, in a move to end all idiotic moves, I successfully managed to drown my cell phone in the washing machine today. Why? Because I was desperately trying to get some laundry done when I was wayyyyyyyyy too tired to be operating heavy machinery (even my washer!). Memo to me: When your eyes are too bleary to run the coffee maker, don't, whatever you do, try to do productive-type things around the house. It just doesn't end well.
And today marks day 7 of Garrett's path to recovery after getting his tonsils and adenoids out. I swear, if I'd known teh poor kid was going to be so miserable I wouldn't have bothered! Okay, yeah, I probably would have (ENT said his tonsils were huge), but still. I would have been better prepared-and drafted backup for more than a couple of nights! As it is I haven't slept for more than 3 1/2 hours at a pop since Garrett's surgery, since we have to get up every four to dose him (which is always accompanied by plenty of righteous indignation). I'm pooped.
I'm supposed to be sitting down tonight to work on my final paper for my strategic marketing class, but I really don't feel like it. I so only accomplished half of what I wanted to do this week. I have grand ambitions of being able to take off the second half of July and the first half of August to help get this move taken care of. Of course, by take off I mean have my regular clientele caught up for about 4 weeks ahead of time, which is a great idea except for the part that with Garrett being as sick and miserable as he is I'm struggling just to get through what I HAVE to do in a day. Extra? Yah. Right.
So, a quick poll to all of you Twilight fans out there. Who hated the movie? Seriously? I loathed the movie, which isn't saying much when you consider the fact that I had to beg, lie and steal to get ahold of the book. I thought they butchered the book. Royally. So guess what? I'm now counting down until New Moon comes out in November.
Yes, I know. It's irrational. It's illogical. It just plain doesn't make sense! But there you have it. New Moon was, by far, my absolute favorite book of the Twilight quartet, probably because it made Bella much more three dimensional. She's heartbroken. She's shutting down. Then comes along this incredible man who pulls her out of her misery and puts her back on the straight and narrow. I love the way Stephanie Meyer portrays Bella's quest to get over Edward and move on with Jacob. She seemed so real here, much more so than she did in Twilight.
So yeah, in case you couldn't tell I was just a little pressed on New Moon. So now, even though intellectually I realize there's almost no chance that it's going to be better than the first I now almost have to go see it. I'm probably going to end up going to see it in the theatres. How pathetic is that?
I'm discovering that I really enjoy blogging. It's taking the pleasures of venting to a journal and slapping them up there for a live audience to see. No, it's not always witty, although I'm sure I could be if I wanted to. I don't want this to be a major publicity scene. This is the one place where I get to share my thoughts about politics, religion, movies, books, current events and my oh-so-boring life with everyone else out there.
Explain to me why we couldn't wait to grow up? When we were kids we couldn't wait to grow up and be adults. We had all these big plans for what we were going to do when we didn't have our parents staring over our shoulders. Now that we're adults, who can say they did half of what they said they were going to do as a child? I know I haven't. I still haven't gone any farther out of the states than Canada. I've never gone skydiving or white water rafting, and my significant other looked at me like I was crazy when I suggested it. Around here I'm the woman who cleans up the messes, puts away the laundry and occasionally escapes into glorious geekiness.
It's good to get to go online and be the zany, dorky and somewhat geeky woman I know I can be. Live long and prosper!
And today marks day 7 of Garrett's path to recovery after getting his tonsils and adenoids out. I swear, if I'd known teh poor kid was going to be so miserable I wouldn't have bothered! Okay, yeah, I probably would have (ENT said his tonsils were huge), but still. I would have been better prepared-and drafted backup for more than a couple of nights! As it is I haven't slept for more than 3 1/2 hours at a pop since Garrett's surgery, since we have to get up every four to dose him (which is always accompanied by plenty of righteous indignation). I'm pooped.
I'm supposed to be sitting down tonight to work on my final paper for my strategic marketing class, but I really don't feel like it. I so only accomplished half of what I wanted to do this week. I have grand ambitions of being able to take off the second half of July and the first half of August to help get this move taken care of. Of course, by take off I mean have my regular clientele caught up for about 4 weeks ahead of time, which is a great idea except for the part that with Garrett being as sick and miserable as he is I'm struggling just to get through what I HAVE to do in a day. Extra? Yah. Right.
So, a quick poll to all of you Twilight fans out there. Who hated the movie? Seriously? I loathed the movie, which isn't saying much when you consider the fact that I had to beg, lie and steal to get ahold of the book. I thought they butchered the book. Royally. So guess what? I'm now counting down until New Moon comes out in November.
Yes, I know. It's irrational. It's illogical. It just plain doesn't make sense! But there you have it. New Moon was, by far, my absolute favorite book of the Twilight quartet, probably because it made Bella much more three dimensional. She's heartbroken. She's shutting down. Then comes along this incredible man who pulls her out of her misery and puts her back on the straight and narrow. I love the way Stephanie Meyer portrays Bella's quest to get over Edward and move on with Jacob. She seemed so real here, much more so than she did in Twilight.
So yeah, in case you couldn't tell I was just a little pressed on New Moon. So now, even though intellectually I realize there's almost no chance that it's going to be better than the first I now almost have to go see it. I'm probably going to end up going to see it in the theatres. How pathetic is that?
I'm discovering that I really enjoy blogging. It's taking the pleasures of venting to a journal and slapping them up there for a live audience to see. No, it's not always witty, although I'm sure I could be if I wanted to. I don't want this to be a major publicity scene. This is the one place where I get to share my thoughts about politics, religion, movies, books, current events and my oh-so-boring life with everyone else out there.
Explain to me why we couldn't wait to grow up? When we were kids we couldn't wait to grow up and be adults. We had all these big plans for what we were going to do when we didn't have our parents staring over our shoulders. Now that we're adults, who can say they did half of what they said they were going to do as a child? I know I haven't. I still haven't gone any farther out of the states than Canada. I've never gone skydiving or white water rafting, and my significant other looked at me like I was crazy when I suggested it. Around here I'm the woman who cleans up the messes, puts away the laundry and occasionally escapes into glorious geekiness.
It's good to get to go online and be the zany, dorky and somewhat geeky woman I know I can be. Live long and prosper!
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Just a Geek
So, a friend of mine quite kindly loaned me a digitized copy of Wil Wheaton's (you'd all remember him as Wesley Crusher from Star Trek) book "Just a Geek" and I have to admit, I'm an addict. He actually does the reading for the audio book himself, and even though I'm only about a chapter into it (hey, you can only walk so slowly when your final destination's only about a block away!) I have to admit I'm in awe not only of his booming, vibrant personality and witty sarcasm but also with the brutal honesty with which he rips himself apart. I mean, I know baring all for Hollywood was the latest trend this season, but many stars try to cushion their mistakes and their missteps with cushioned excuses and plenty of fingers pointing toward their drug habits.
No, not everyone in Hollywood is a druggie. Even I know that, and I'm probably the least pop culture proficient person I know. Not having cable will do that for you. That doesn't, however, stop many of them with living lives that seem to exist between rehab sessions. For Wil Wheaton, his drug of choice seems to be the arrogance of youth mixed in with the heady feeling of invulnerability and the unshakable belief in success that plagues us all through our twenties. That, at least, is a misstep I can respect!
So, to all you bookworms out there, and all the Trekkies that are holding back from picking up the book because Wil Wheaton's conversion from backseat actor to budding author just seems too, well, wierd, jump on the bandwagon and pick up a copy of Just a Geek. You can buy it online. You can pick it up in the bookstore. You can even download a copy of it from Amazon for your Kindle (like that isn't the coolest invention EVER!). Just get it, read it. I promise, you'll feel better about yourself, your future, your past and your sense of humor when you do.
No, not everyone in Hollywood is a druggie. Even I know that, and I'm probably the least pop culture proficient person I know. Not having cable will do that for you. That doesn't, however, stop many of them with living lives that seem to exist between rehab sessions. For Wil Wheaton, his drug of choice seems to be the arrogance of youth mixed in with the heady feeling of invulnerability and the unshakable belief in success that plagues us all through our twenties. That, at least, is a misstep I can respect!
So, to all you bookworms out there, and all the Trekkies that are holding back from picking up the book because Wil Wheaton's conversion from backseat actor to budding author just seems too, well, wierd, jump on the bandwagon and pick up a copy of Just a Geek. You can buy it online. You can pick it up in the bookstore. You can even download a copy of it from Amazon for your Kindle (like that isn't the coolest invention EVER!). Just get it, read it. I promise, you'll feel better about yourself, your future, your past and your sense of humor when you do.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Just for the Fun of It...
How often do we as adults get to do something just for the fun of it? It seems like the older you get, the more reasons you have to have to do something. If there's no reason to do it, we don't do it. It isn't necessary.
When did fun stop being necessary?!?
I want to do something wild and crazy, just for the fun of it. I want to paint my face and dance in the rain and wear pigtails in public and sing at the top of my lungs and do all sorts of things I'm supposed to be too old and too mature to do, just because they're fun. I want to write about all the funny things my kids did today just for the fun of it and not because someone's expecting an e-mail (but oh, you should have seen Garrett trying to row across his baby pool in a plastic Halloween candy bowl!).
I want to go out and do the craziest thing I can find to do, just for the fun of it. Let's hear it for growing up.
http://www.hulu.com/watch/76261/the-tonight-show-with-conan-obrien-super-mario-set
When did fun stop being necessary?!?
I want to do something wild and crazy, just for the fun of it. I want to paint my face and dance in the rain and wear pigtails in public and sing at the top of my lungs and do all sorts of things I'm supposed to be too old and too mature to do, just because they're fun. I want to write about all the funny things my kids did today just for the fun of it and not because someone's expecting an e-mail (but oh, you should have seen Garrett trying to row across his baby pool in a plastic Halloween candy bowl!).
I want to go out and do the craziest thing I can find to do, just for the fun of it. Let's hear it for growing up.
http://www.hulu.com/watch/76261/the-tonight-show-with-conan-obrien-super-mario-set
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Do People Ever Really Know You?
The good news is that Garrett came through surgery like a champ...oh wait, I should probably catch y'all up here. My youngest had his tonsils and adenoids out yesterday morning, and he's pretty miserable about it. I'm sitting here debating whether or not it's worth it to go for an hour or so of sleep and taking the time to wax philosophical. Do the people we live with ever really know us? Or do they co-exist in a kind of blissful time warp that prevents them from realizing who we are?
In other words, do you reach a point where you've lived with someone so long the two of you just stop being friends and turn into blissfully oblivious roommates? Or is that friendship a rock solid foundation on which you build? And do the people you love ever really see you, or do they only see what they want to see?
In other words, do you reach a point where you've lived with someone so long the two of you just stop being friends and turn into blissfully oblivious roommates? Or is that friendship a rock solid foundation on which you build? And do the people you love ever really see you, or do they only see what they want to see?
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