Storm Troopers on a Monday?

I went to run a few errands yesterday during my lunch hour. After picking up lunch, buying some books and going to the bank, I decided to head back upstairs my office. It was then that I saw him! A Storm Trooper heading my way. Yes, that’s right. In the middle of lunch rush, in the middle of the Merchandise Mart, there was a Storm Trooper. For a brief moment, I teetered between being a 6-year old and being terrified of the guy and being a grown-up and wondering if I was hallucinating.

Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to Suffering…

Okay, yes, I am a Star Wars geek. I wanted to be a Jedi Knight when I was a kid. I have seen all the movies and I liked them all (Episodes IV, V and VI were the best), even though I really wish that George Lucas had rethought the whole Jar Jar Binks thing. If you ask my friend Scott, he will tell you that I am a bit obsessed and that I have a shrine to all that is Star Wars. A bit of an exaggeration…however, I will admit, the Storm Trooper peeked my curiosity. I wanted to know where he was headed and where he got the costume.

Nostalgia and other things

In 8 days, I will turn 29. Ouch. When I was 10 and still pretending that I was married to Ryne Sandberg (and that my name was Julie), I thought that 23 was old. In my little kid mind, 23 was the age that I would get married. 24 was when I would have my first kid. I would live in suburbia and raise my family and have the perfect life.

When I turned 23, I was going through a battery of medical tests. It was obvious that I couldn't meet my goals. There were other things going on. Or so that was my excuse.

When I turned 25, I had just moved to the city and I was discovering my singleton-self and enjoying life on my own. Or so that was my excuse.

When I turned 27, I was sad. My mom had me when she was 27 and I was wondering when I was going to catch up and get back on pace. I thought that it would all come together.

Now, I am brinking on 29 and I am still clueless. I look at my life and part of me is thrilled by what I have done and part of me is in a constant state of "wonder ifs."

I wonder if my college boyfriend and I had married. I wonder if I had gone to grad school after I graduated. I wonder if I had seen him for what he was instead of pretending he was nothing more than a transition. I wonder if I didn't let fear rule me. I wonder if I put $20 in my savings account each week. I wonder if I stayed home a bit longer. I wonder if I went to Consumer Economics class and learned how to budget and balance my checkbook. I wonder if it would be different if I had the courage to close the gap and take the risk.

I wonder where I would be. There are very few things in life that I regret. I choose to believe that everything in life is a lesson learned for the future. However, I regret that I lack courage to act on my feelings. I wish that I could just act instead of worrying about the outcome and the ramifications. I wish that I believed in myself a bit more. That I could say, I like you and want to be with you, without thinking that the other person would laugh at me. I wish that I could be as strong as I pretend that I am.

In 8 days, I turn 29. I wonder if I will have the strength to do something about it.

Another Day...and I did Laundry

So, I am a single girl in the city. I always thought that my life would be a pleasant mix of Bridget Jones (I am a bit klutzy and awkward) and Sex in the City (I enjoy a good cocktail and crazy nights on the town). However, after an exciting night of a burger that I “grilled” on my George Foreman, watching reruns with the help of my Tivo and doing laundry, I am beginning to wonder.

Don’t get me wrong. I have great friends and I usually have a ton of fun, but I think I am getting into a rut. It has been a while since I have dated anyone and I am not complaining – I don’t want to be that girl – but I think that I am approaching a crossroad and I am not sure what to do.

My friend, Matt, told me the other day that I am great girl. (P.S. The great girl speech is almost as bad as the friends speech). He told me that I needed to go out and meet people. He told me that the bar is the wrong place (really, because I thought slurring guys in striped shirts was the way to go). He did not tell me where to go though. I mean, really, where does one go to meet people? The bar? The library? The grocery store? Online? At the office? Where? I don’t want to sound like I am desperate and searching, but I am beginning to get curious. As we get older, how do we meet people? I mean, potential dating type people, since I seem to have no problems meeting and making new friends. There are three-minute dates, social clubs for religions, online dating services…all of those seem unnatural to me. But, what are the other options? I am sure that people are meeting and dating, given the number of weddings that I have attended in the last few years. I just don’t get the meeting part.

I don’t know. This is obviously not something that I am going to solve in one night…given that I have not solved it in 29 years.

On a random side note, congratulations to my friend, Tara, on her new job. Thankfully, she got it, even though she listed me as a reference. Also, I have posted the link to my friend Jen’s blog—Discombobulation Station. It is a great blog, as she is a great and witty writer. I hope that the three people that may be reading this go to her page check it out.

Swallowed the Jagged Little Pill

10 years ago, Jagged Little Pill was the CD that every girl owned. We embraced the "You Can't Do That On Television" alum as our voice. She wrote the words that we didn't have the courage to say and sang with the anger that we all felt at times. I was a sophomore in college and had just broken up with my first love. Alanis was my venting CD. I confess to playing the song with the extra lyrics about dancing in the shower a few too many times.

Flash forward 10 years... Since Alanis first found things ironic, a lot has happened in my life. I graduated college and began a career in the dreaded Corporate America. I moved to the big city with roommates and then into my own place. I owned my first car. I lost one of my best friends, Leon, a year after I graduated. My first love married. (That was harder than I would ever like to admit). Friends have come into my life and moved away.

I sit and think of all that has changed around me and I wonder why I still feel the same. I still feel like an insecure little kid; I still look at people and wish that I could get myself put together better; I still wonder what I am going to be when I grow up.

10 years older and I am revisiting the Jagged Little Pill of my younger years. Alanis has done the same thing. The lyrics are the same, but there is a serenity to the songs. They are beautiful and haunting. 10 years has changed us both and yet sometimes I think I am exactly the same. Only older and viewing life through slightly wiser eyes.

Drinking and Dialing

Last Sunday, a friend and I had one of those impromptu afternoons that leads to nothing but trouble. We started with Bloody Marys at our bar and then hit a street fest. Too much heat and too many beers from a cooler keg put us into fine form. Until we decided that people should join us and we started using my cell phone with a vengeance. What is it about alcohol that makes a person think the phone is something that he/she should be using?

It was bad enough when I was in college and I would stumble home drunk and use my dorm phone to call everyone I knew. (You could always tell a drinking night by looking at my phone bill…the calls would be 3:01 AM, 3:03 AM, 3:05 AM…) The advent of the cell phone made it worse. You no longer have to wait until you get home to make those fatal phone calls. The cell phone allows you to embarrass yourself while the night is still young.

I unfortunately have taken to drunk-typing as well. At first, it was emails. Embarrassing emails. Crazy long notes filled with thought-provoking pontifications—or so I thought. Emails that you find in your sent items a few days later and wish that you had never hit the “Send” button.

Then the text-messaging cell phones were invented and all hell broke loose. I remember when I first discovered the value of the text message. It was St. Patrick’s Day 2002 and we were barhopping after the parade. Since we were on the move, we used text messages to coordinate locations with people as they joined us throughout the day. It was a brilliantly funny, libation-filled day. It was also the beginning of the end for me. No longer can I trump the “drunk” excuse for dialing a person at 4 AM. Now I have to excuse away messages that I have no control over deleting.

I’ve come to realize that sometimes, I am funny after a few cocktails and that sometimes people do want to hear from me…though, sometimes, they really don’t want to talk to me either—at least not at 4:00 AM. I guess it is finding that happy medium.

PS: As it is I am writing this after a few (okay, several) libations.

My Sis

My sister's birthday was Thursday and I just wanted to wish her (belatedly, since I am writing this post early Saturday morning) a Happy Birthday. I was bummed that I was not able to spend her birthday with her -- she lives out of state.

My sis is one of the best people that I know. She is a beautiful, intelligent, warm-hearted person. She works hard at her job--and is great at it. She is a giving person and is there for anyone in need. For me, she is a voice of reason, support and friendship.

Anyway, I just wanted her to know that I was thinking of her and missing her. Happy Birthday Debs!!

My Dad's Accident

My dad was in a car accident today. We were driving separately to a family party—my cousin Glenn’s 40th birthday party. He was calling me every five minutes or so to give me traffic updates and directions. It was comical, because I was jamming to the new Alanis Morrisette acoustic Jagged Little Pill and I was constantly lowering it to answer the phone. After a bunch of calls, I finally answered the phone with the phrase: “I think you’re phone stalking me, Dad.” In the next second, I wished I had never said those words.

He said he had been in an accident and his car was wrecked. My heart sunk. In a meek voice that didn’t sound like my own, I asked him if he was okay. He said he was and then told me where he was and said I would see him and the ambulance and fire truck. I started driving to him. Wishing that my car would move faster. Wishing that there were not 4 more exits before my exit. I began to panic. My dad’s definition of okay often involves smashed fingers and separated shoulders. I had worst-case scenario visions swirling in my head. I could think of nothing but getting to him. The tears started flowing and I tried not to speed. The regret sank in and I began to think that if we were in the car together, as we were supposed to be, this wouldn’t have happened.

I just wanted to get there and hug him. I called my sister, because I was in such a state that I couldn’t remember the intersection. He hadn’t called her yet and my mom was with her. I told her that I needed to talk, but that she couldn’t say anything. I wanted my dad to be able to tell my mom. I told her that I needed her to be rational and to help me focus, so that I could get there. She calmed me in a way only a sister can. She also told my mom. In the background, I heard my mom call my dad as my sister talked to me. Then I saw the exit. A few miles down the road, I saw his car. Thankfully, the ambulance and the fire trucks were gone, because I am not sure I would have ever been able to see that.

I parked my car. Got out. Ran to my dad. I hugged him and made sure he was okay. Aside for some scrapes on his chin and a nice air bag abrasion the length of his arm, he seemed fine. My dad, the protector, kept telling me he was okay and that I shouldn’t worry. On my way there, I had called the party, talked to my aunt—my dad’s sister—and sent the party into a bit of a panic. Glenn and his brother left the party to come and check on my dad and to report to my aunt that he was all right. The police were there, sweeping up the glass. I asked my dad what had happened. A car had turned in front of him. He was able to turn his car enough to spare the other vehicle the brunt of the accident. It could have been so much worse.

After the paperwork was complete, my dad went to check on the other driver again. He wanted to make sure that he didn't worry. I love my dad for that—for his selflessness and his courage. I love his heart.

We went on to the party. My aunt and I fussed over my dad, which drove him a little crazy. As a family, we all seemed to appreciate each other a little more today. The whole thing was scary as hell, but it ended up okay. I am extremely grateful for that.

Tivo

I have been a fan of my Tivo ever since I bought it. I love “tivoing” random shows that I normally would’ve missed. I love Tivo picking out shows it thinks I would like – though admittedly, sometimes it is way off the mark and I wonder what kind of girl Tivo thinks that I am. I love being able to pause the TV and more importantly, fast forward through commercials. Overall, I have been a big fan of Tivo. You might even go so far as saying a bit addicted to it.

Today, I randomly went to the Tivo site. I wanted to check the time of tonight’s While You Were Out episode--a friend and her husband are the couple on the show. One of our mutual friends was going to set her VCR and tape the episode, since I tragically had forgotten to set the Tivo. I went through the online Tivo schedule and found the time / channel. It was then that I discovered Tivo Central Online. Did you know that you can program your Tivo from the Internet? Brilliant. I logged into the site, picked the show and the recording quality and received an email confirmation. In a sad comment on my social life these days, that might be the highlight of my week!

To Veterans with Love

I wanted to take a moment to honor those that made the Fourth of July possible and those that protect our freedoms today. My hope is that we never forget those that served our country especially the veterans of World War I & II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Persian Gulf War and the Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I hope we remember those that gave their lives so that we could be free. I hope that we never take for granted the democracy that our forefathers fought so hard to secure.

I extend my thanks to everyone in the military—past and present--for serving our country with strength and pride. A special thanks to those that fought in wars or “conflicts” that the people of their time did not understand or accept. How hard it must have been to leave everything that you knew and loved to fight in a faraway place because your country asked you. How much harder it must have been to return “home” to looks of scorn and indignation simply because you went.

It’s strange how the years blur the memories and people forget. A field trip to a memorial seems to make everything better. I wonder as they walk the tribute, if they pause to think about those living silently in their memories. The ones that carry the burden of loss and suffering like they used to carry their gear – on their backs and in silent agony. Do they realize these soldiers’ contributions and sacrifices? Do they understand?

All that we are and all that the future holds is because there were and are young men and women who believe in and are willing to die for our country, our freedom and our flag. That is nothing to take lightly.

On a personal note, I want to thank my Dad for serving his country when called to do so--it is your integrity and sense of duty that have always impressed me. You saw #35 come quickly in the winter of 1970 and without thought, fulfilled your duty to your country. I am honored and proud to have you as a dad.

We took a trip to DC as a family this summer and to experience the Wall with him is something that I will never forget. To see it through the eyes of someone who saw more than anyone should in one lifetime is to have your heart swell with pride and break at the same time. He is my hero. To him and all of the heroes and heroines of this great nation, I salute you.

Happy Fourth of July!

"A nation reveals itself not only by the men it produces, but also by the men it honors and the men it remembers." President John F. Kennedy (10/26/1963)