Men are from Star Wars, Women are from the Matrix

I took the day off today to address my huge “to do” list. One of my friends, who hadn’t heard from me all day, wrote me at 4pm and asked, “Are you still to do’nting??” I told my friend I was.

I had spent most of the day getting medical records and trying to make doctor's appointments; yes, I dropped a dime and called Dr. Colon. My last task today was “Call Dell Technical Support about Nathan’s lack of wireless on his laptop.” I told my friend, “I’m currently in Dell Hell.”

It was our third call to technical support. Nathan gave up after his second call, because he couldn’t “understand” the person on the phone. I was ready to fight the Dell battle, and I fought it for two hours this afternoon.

After restoring Nathan’s laptop to the factory settings, I was assured that his wireless would now work. He would also never have a low signal problem again. Did it work?

He now had wireless, but it didn’t fix the low signal problem. Was I surprised? No. Will I be the first person to write Michael Dell and ask to return the laptop for a refund? Probably not.

Anyway, when the Dell laptop owner gets totally frustrated and stressed out, the Dell laptop owner goes out grocery shopping in order to make herself a kick-ass hamburger for dinner! At 6pm, I went to the supermarket. Funny, but the whole time I was out, I felt like I was missing something; when I thought about it harder, I was missing the feeling of the phone receiver pressed against my ear.

After I gathered a pound of coffee, two 9-volt batteries, a pound of 95% lean hamburger, and a frozen pizza, I was ready to pay for my purchases. (And, yes, what do those odd purchases say about me?! Believe it or not, there is a "story" to my seemingly shopping madness.) Alas, something caught my eye as I wandered down aisle 6. It was a bag of food; no, it wasn’t a bag of cat or dog food.

It was a bag of squirrel and critter food.



I know what a squirrel is, but what exactly is a “critter?” I didn’t need to buy squirrel and critter food, but I did. What possessed me?

Well, of course, it was because I went shopping when I was hungry! Hey, if the world ended tomorrow, I might eat that stuff. The peanuts still in the shell looked appetizing right then and there.

So, I thought I could experiment by putting the food out and seeing what kinds of critters went through my critter food drive-thru. I know that sounds crazy. But, people do crazy things after being on the phone for two hours, especially if it's a two hours that ends in even more frustration!

Anyway, I plunked my groceries and my “critter” food down on the conveyor belt. I always pick the wrong line, because the cashier was asking the man ahead of me if he needed to “phone home.” No, he wasn’t ET, but he was definitely from Mars.

Another cashier guided him over to the service booth, and he began to dial. I asked the cashier in front of me, “What’s going on?” because, at that point, any amusement unrelated to computers would be good amusement for me. She said, “His wife wrote detergent on her list, and now he’s not sure what she meant.”

Probably bored and intrigued by the male-in-distress’s dilemma, she asked me, “What would you buy if the list said detergent on it?” I said, “I’d buy laundry detergent.” She exclaimed, “That’s what I said, too!”

We both raised our hands into the air and laughed out loud. She then pointed to his plastic grocery bag, made a Matrix frown, and said, “He bought dishwasher detergent.” I said, “Oh, no. Detergent definitely means laundry,” and the male-in-distress, who still hadn’t reached his wife but had overheard us, asked me, “Not dishwashing detergent?”

I said quite matter-of-fact, “No. Laundry.” He frowned, and then he said into the phone's receiver, “Oh, hi, I’m here at the supermarket. What exactly did you mean when you wrote detergent?” There was a pause, and he then said, “Ohhhhh, for washing clothes.”

The cashier and I laughed again. The male-in-distress then smiled at us. He then asked his wife in a Star Wars tone, “Well, are you sure we don’t need dishwasher detergent, too?”

The casher then whispered to me, “Oh, now he’s trying to save face.” I laughed, and then I said, “We’re all wired differently.” And, while we're all human beings, women and men most definitely star in different movies. ♥

Snatch the Pebble From My Hand

Lately, I’ve been wallowing in a sea of North, East, South, and West, failing to plot a course in any particular direction. Feeling so frazzled about both my professional and personal life, I found it ironic recently when a friend asked me for some direction. It was not direction in felines, shoes, vintage clothes, or Sephora; it was direction in relationships.

Stop laughing. Actually, thinking about it now, I’m probably laughing harder than you are right now. My friend was quite a bit younger than me; I guess at my age, one that much younger might think me wiser when she didn’t think me goofy because of my very minor infatuations with pink, felines, shoes, vintage clothes, and Sephora.

Anyway, she was delving into the currently calm yet always potentially stormy relationship waters. It appeared she needed a floatation device to grab onto. There I was, a Hello Kitty inner tube in the Pink Sea.



Despite thinking “Hello Kitty” and “pink,” I currently saw myself like this.



Quite miraculously, she saw me like this.



I prefaced her request to listen to a scenario by saying, “I’m no relationship expert!” She knew my history; however, that didn’t scare her off. She presented her scenario to me, and I tried to offer assistance.

After talking to her, I realized that after being in total un-relationship for the last 8 years, I really had no idea how to make things work between two people anymore. I was rusty and somewhat jaded. And, I wondered if by giving her my thoughts, I was pretty close to practicing Relationship without a license, even though I was way beyond the marriage license point of my life.

A few days later, I fielded some more questions. Actually, given her young years, she was very wise. Lately, I wondered if I couldn’t learn a few things from her during these exchanges.

At one point, she asked me something that I knew I could answer well. I said, “That’s simple, Grasshopper.” I had called her “Grasshopper” a few times before, because I was beginning to feel a bit like Master Po from “Kung Fu.”

Before I could bestow my wisdom upon her, she asked rather perplexed, “Why do you keep calling me Grasshopper?” I laughed, and a woman nearby who overheard her question asked, “Don’t you know the TV show, Kung Fu?”

I said, “I doubt she does. She’s a bit young for that.” I told her it was a TV show about the adventures of a monk named Kwai Chang Caine in which there were flashbacks to when Kwai was a young boy getting advice from a Master Po, who always called him “Grasshopper.” Yes, she didn’t say, “Oh, that show!”

Instead I redirected and asked, “What year were you born?” She said, “1976.” I said to the other woman, “See, she totally missed out on Kung Fu,” to which the woman said, “1976! That was the year I graduated from high school.”

Anyway, when the woman was finally out of earshot, we continued our discussion. In some ways, I thought that while I wanted to help my friend in any way I could, this was also a good trial run for those years when Iz would come to me to ask advice, which I hoped wouldn’t be in the form of the question, “Mom, which should I pierce first? My tongue, my bellybutton, or my nipples?”

So far, Nathan had only really come to me to get him out of school early, ask for money, request the car, or give me a huge bear hug when I was sitting at my desk. He was not one to share, especially his feelings nor any of those related to women, who he had already deemed entirely too difficult to deal with. I still had hope that Iz might come to me for all those things and relationship advice!

Today, I had mentioned “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus” to my friend. Of course, I had read the first two chapters once upon a time; she answered that she had already listened to the audio book. Well, she was already way beyond me; Master Po had some catching up to do, and at this point in my life, perhaps it would be a good time to try and read the whole book.

I’m sure our relationship conversations will continue. To tell you the truth, I look forward to them. I’m not sure if she’ll learn much from me. She’s very insightful all on her own, which is something I’ve always admired about her.

I do think I’m going to learn a lot from her or perhaps even relearn everything I had forgotten so long ago. Even though I currently only had questions about my own life, it was nice to know my friend thought I might have some answers for hers. And, if I didn’t feel like Master Po in my own world, it seemed like Grasshopper was going to remain in my Master Po world until she could snatch the pebble from my hand. ♥

WIZY's Birthday Weather Forecast

I love you, Sis. ♥

Love, Izzy

Does every potential Mom want to have a girl, or was it just me? Actually, when I found out I was pregnant with Nathan I hoped he would be a girl. Yeah, yeah, we say we just want something “healthy,” but who are we kidding? We all have a secret gender agenda.

After Quinn and I found out I was pregnant, we did what any normal couple does. We immediately made a $100 bet on whether we were having a boy or a girl. I know that’s strange, but it’s true; Quinn said we were having a girl, and I said we were having a boy. I reasonably decided early on that if I wanted a girl, I had to pretend that I didn’t want one.

Second, and more normally, we compiled a list of baby names and posted them on the refrigerator. After coming up with one boy name (Nathan) and about twenty girl names, I knew it was inevitable. Nathan was coming in eight months.

I could pretend all I wanted, but the refrigerator, as if a large neon Ouija board, announced “Nathan, coming soon to a crib near you!” There’s something to be said about mother’s intuition, too. Not being that close to either my brother or father when growing up, I felt that a boy might just be divine being both godly and fabulous.

Perhaps I needed to get dirt under my fingernails instead of putting polish on top of them? Hadn’t I always wanted to know the difference between a train’s hopper and gondola cars? Didn’t I want to understand the rules of hockey? (Okay, after 13 years of hockey, I still haven’t mastered that one.) Disclaimer: Yes, I know these are all things you can do with a girl, too; I’m just sayin’ these were things I imagined doing with a son back then.

When I was two weeks overdue, my doctor ordered an ultrasound. The technician asked, “Do you know the baby’s breech?” I responded that I had no idea, and then she said, “The cord is around its neck. And, if you wanted to know, I can’t even tell you the baby’s sex because of its position.” I said, “That’s okay. I already know I’m having a boy,” still hoping that reverse desire psychology would bring me a baby girl, who would mostly likely be named a week after her birth due to the fact I was still pondering twenty girl names.

So, I was scheduled for a c-section the next day. Early the next morning, my healthy baby arrived complete with penis; I think Quinn still owes me the $100 from that bet too. And, as you all know, I am blessed to have such a good man like Nathan in my life.

Anyway, a few years after my divorce, I began to think that my chances for a daughter were slim to none. It seemed the only girl in my life would continue to be the one that walked on four polydactyl feline paws and answered, when she felt like it, to the name, Rover.

Somewhere during that time, I had seen one of my favorite movies, Crossing Delancy, in which the main character’s name is Isabelle; I especially loved her nickname which was Izzy. I knew then that if I ever had a girl that would be her name. And for a while, it seemed that Isabelle might end up being a feline until I met Iz’s Dad, John.

I was 40 when we got married. Again, I thought the chances for children, let alone a daughter, were slim. After returning from Martha’s Vineyard one weekend, I was standing in the parking lot with Nathan waiting for a shuttle bus to the satellite parking lot. As the bus pulled in, I remember smelling the fumes and getting a bit nauseous.

I thought, “Hey, what’s the date?” I then thought, “Nah. It couldn’t be.” And as we waited to board the bus, I saw a car with boat trailer swing around and drive onto the ferry. The boat’s name was “Isabelle.”

I stood there frozen. Nathan said, “Mom, let’s get on the bus.” I then drove home thinking over and over, “Nah, it couldn’t be.”

I dropped Nathan off at Quinn’s, and I headed to the supermarket. I picked up dinner, and then I bought a bottle of red wine. As “Nah, it couldn’t be” replayed one more time, a tiny voice asked, “Could it be?” I made my last stop at CVS where I picked up two pregnancy tests.

When I got home, I unpacked my bags, and I began dinner. I looked at the bottle of wine. I looked at the pregnancy test.

Shaking my head, I opened the pregnancy test thinking it would be a test I would surely pass. After opening the bottle of wine, I went into the bathroom thinking, “Nah, it couldn’t be.” There it was – the blue line; at 40 years old, I was knocked up!

Shocked, I did another one. I paced the kitchen floor and actually thought, “How did this happen?” I guess I knew how it happened, but I was wondering how it happened so fast at 40.

I checked the test again. There was the blue line. It said, “I told you so!” And, I put the cork back in the bottle of red wine.

So, a little over a month after marrying, I was pregnant. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or my doctor. In fact, I continually surprised him during my pregnancy by being able to sit “Indian style” on the examination table through my ninth month; he once said, “It’s like nothing has happened to you!”

Once again, baby names were pondered. I only had one, and it was Isabelle. I tried hard to think of even one boy name, but it was no use; nothing came to me.

Being an old pregnant lady, I opted for amniocentesis. Being that I had always been impatient and impulsive, I knew I wanted to know who had taken up residence inside me. Was it Izzy or baby_boy_who_will_most_likely_be_named_by_the_hospital_staff?!

One afternoon, the phone rang, and I could see from the caller ID it was my doctor’s office. The nurse said, “Everything is fine, “ and I did a little dance and thought that I was on my way to a “healthy” baby. She then asked, “And do you want to know the sex?”

I answered, “Yes!” half excited and half dreading trying to come up with at least one boy name. She said, “It’s a girl!!!!” I said, “Wonderful!” and after I hung up, I thought, “Welcome to my world, Izzy. I’m so glad you’re not going to be a cat,” and so was Rover for that matter.

This past Tuesday night, I rushed home from work to attend Isabelle’s second grade orientation night. Before we left, I asked her to sign a birthday card. I handed it to her, she wrote her name, handed it back to me, and I glanced down at the card which now read, “Love, Izzy.”

For some reason, I smiled. It wasn’t because the penmanship was neat nor was it because she cooperated in less than a minute on a task. It was because she loved that name, Izzy, like I did all those years ago when I sat glued to “Crossing Delancy” on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

We headed off to the orientation; okay, after ten years of orientations, I’m rather tired of them, especially because I’m facing 10 more years of them. (This is probably the only downside of having two children ten years apart; you’re in school forever!) Though, I really have nothing to complain about, because Suze recently informed me that she had done 24 orientations with only two remaining, and to quote her: “What a sobering thought!”

When we arrived at the school, I had flashbacks to my elementary school like I always did when I went there. Why do all elementary schools smell the same? The smell is a cross between stale paper and white school glue with a pinch of canned peas thrown in for good cafeteria measure.

The one thing I love is how small everything is. The water fountains are two feet off the ground making you feel like you’re in Munchkinland. The thing that amazes me is those tiny chairs; I ponder the seats all night wondering, “Was my ass ever that small!”

Anyway, as we walked through the library on the way to visit last year’s teacher, a little girl walked by us. She smiled at Isabelle and said, “Hi, Izzy!!!!” Totally surprised, I asked Isabelle, “Is that what everyone calls you?” She smiled and nodded yes.

Then I had a “Jean moment.” (Brenda and/or Steve coined this term, and I define it as a situation in which you are struck by thoughts, emotions, or actions when and where you least expect to be struck by them.) It’s no matter that I’m not where I thought I’d be at this point in life; I’m fortunate to be surrounded by most of the people I want to be at this point in my life. Sometimes things just don’t go the way you want them to, and even I don’t hear “I love you” a lot anymore, I will always love hearing “Hi, Izzy!” ♥

What About the Blog?

When I first told one of my friends that I got my new-old job back, she immediately asked, “But, what about the blog?” Yes, this was before, “Congratulations!” I think it was my neighbor, Ellen, who is the best husband in the world, but I can’t be sure. Anyway, I really loved the fact that she was more concerned about me being laid off from my blog job, the one that is definitely my passion, than about me having a “real” job.

So, as many of you have noticed (okay, just a handful of you), I haven’t written anything in a while. I thought when I got my job that I’d be able to do both. While I have done both, it’s taken a toll on me.

I love the toll it’s taken, because I want to be here; however, I can’t do this blog with the intensity that I did it with once before. I love to write like I do here. And, someday, I’m hope I am able to pay my mortgage by doing just that; but for today, it's just not going to happen.

Actually, I don’t know what happened, but I hit a wall. Was it pressure at work, pressure at home, or pressure I put on myself? I don’t know, but I realized that before 2011, I have to get my life (read "shit") together.

That being said, I have to make sure I’m healthy; there are medical records I need to pick up and doctor’s appointments I need to make. Of course, I need that dreaded colonoscopy, too; no, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me. Given my Dad died of colon cancer at 69, I should have had one when I was 45; however, I’m shy in that area and have put it off too long as I have with other things in my life, like general happiness.

Quite unsurprisingly, one of my friends has hounded me about the colonoscopy for the last few weeks. He has even promised me shoes if I go soon; I asked, “Ah, so Manolo Blahniks?!” He asked, “Can you get those at Payless?” And, no, I will not let him buy me shoes, though it might be nice to have him drive me there if I need him to.

Lastly, I have a house and a relationship I need to let go of. For the last two years, I’ve been hiding under a rock, well, I’ve somewhat been pinned by a rock that has “unemployment” spray painted on it. I need to address that, too; however, I’ve been afraid, and I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I so want to be happy.

So, I am still going to write here, but the frequency might not be the same as it used to be for a few months; I will write when inspired. Lastly, I wanted to thank Tomas, Georgie, Brenda, Steve, Nancy, Suze, and Cathy for being my most devoted readers; if I missed someone, it’s not because I don’t adore you, it’s only because my CSI-IP-address stalking needs to be improved. I love you all. ♥

Battle of the Bands

Blog soundtrack:



I have a 17-year-old son; naturally, we differ in a lot of areas like politics, clothes, sleeping habits, and especially music. When Nathan was younger and impressionable, I tried to gently push some of my music his way; of course, my thinking was flawed, because Nathan was never impressionable. He had always had a mind of his own; I only had to remember back to seventh grade when he proudly announced he was the only one in his grade to vote for the Libertarian candidate in the school's mock election.

About a year ago, Nathan started making CDs of “his” music for the car. He and I would often squabble about whose CD we were going to listen to when he was driving the car with his learner’s permit. Since Nathan got his driver’s license, he started making more CDs to listen to (read "blast at such a high volume that I could hear him coming home a mile down the street") while driving on his own in Big Red (a.k.a, his Dad’s 1995 red Suburban).

Somehow this 2” by 2” laminated card that said "driver's license," given to Nathan by the state of Massachusetts, had made him King of his Driving Domain even if his name was not on the automobile title of said domain. One day, I went to drive Nathan to his Dad’s house. He quickly said, “I’ll drive,” and as he climbed into the driver’s seat he proclaimed, “The person who drives gets to listen to his music!”

I got in the passenger’s seat and said, “But, but…” Nathan said again to me as if I had suddenly sprouted two hearing aids in each ear, “The person who drives get to listen to his music, Mom!” I was waiting for him to say, “Period,” after that, but he’s not a fan of punctuation or writing in general, never mind the verbal punctuation.

So, I sat there waiting for the “noise.” Some of it wasn’t too bad, especially when a song came on that I actually knew. I was pleasantly surprised by a Journey song one day, but within 5 minutes, the pleasant memories were replaced by audio anxiety when Metallica began to shriek.

These were difficult days, because I knew then that I was old. I had flashbacks from 1981 when I arrived home from Brandeis armed with music by the Pretenders and the B52s. I remember my Mom having a listen and then rolling her eyes; God, if I hadn’t already, I had truly become my mother when it came to music with Nathan.

Somewhere along the way, Nathan took pity on me. When we happened to have to drive together, he would skip songs he knew I wouldn’t like. He’d stop at a particular song and say, “You might like this, Mom.”

I know the teen years are years when you really have to reach out to your children. What struck me was that it seemed that Nathan was trying to reach out to me with his music. I didn’t say it, but I thought, “How sweet,” because I didn’t want Nathan to think that I was thinking that he might actually be trying to find common ground with his mother of all people.

Then, it happened. I actually loved two of “his” songs that he had played for me; in fact, I was fond of blasting them at high volume in my car. One night, I walked into his room and proudly said, “Nathan, I’ve got two of your songs on my iPod.”

Of course, he looked at me like I was crazy. While common ground could be reached, you should never verbalize it to your teen. He must have been feeling generous that night in matters of the Mom. He asked, “Which ones?”

I told him and then said that I was on my way to liking a third song. He asked which one. I began to hum it, and he said, “Oh, that’s 1901 by Phoenix.”

Anyway, I put the song on my iPod last week. I then said to Nathan, when he wasn’t “bouncing” (leaving) or sleeping, “I’ve got that song on my iPod now.” He mumbled something, and I knew he was thrilled and was probably going to tell all his friends how cool his Mom was; okay, so I could dream about that and that he might let me be his Facebook friend again!

Last night, I downloaded the whole album by Phoenix. I was bopping around the house listening to them. And, I thought how proud must Nathan be of his old Mom, the woman unloading the dishwasher to his music; again, I could dream!

I even went so far as to see if they were touring. As it turns out, they were going to be at Agganis arena on October 19th. So, I sent a text to Nathan that asked, “Phoenix playing BU on 10/18. Want to go? Or is it not cool going with your Mom? Or do you want me to get tix, so you can go with a friend?”

I knew I overstepped the common ground. It was good Nathan and I had common ground. But a second after I pressed "Send," I had the feeling that “going with your Mom” was putting me too close to Nathan on the same common ground.

Nathan was surprised that tickets were still available. He asked how much they were, and I told him. Then Nathan placed Lake Chaubunagungamaug between us, which for me roughly translated to “You listen to music on your side, I’ll listen to music on my side, and we won’t attend concerts together.”

Nathan said, “I’d rather go with friends.” There was a sad smiley face after that. I don’t know if he was sad because he felt like he was hurting my feelings or sad because he really wanted to go with his friends.

No matter, I took it like a Mom and said, “I will get a date and go.” I put a smiley face after that. True to 17-year-old form, Nathan responded with “Ewww.”

I told him that if he wanted to go I would help him get tickets. I guess I always knew that Nathan wasn’t going to respond with, “Oh, I’d love to go to a cool concert with my Mom instead of my much cooler and unrelated-to-me friends.” Hey, you can blame me for trying to spend whatever time I could with him!

In another year, he’ll be off to college. I’ve only felt old three times in the last few years; they were when Nathan became a freshman in high school, when he went to the prom, and now knowing he is a senior in high school. Anyway, I will keep trying to work my way into his life, which I seem to be slowly dropping out of, but for now, I am happy with our common ground, even if it is only in the car and every now and then. ♥