30DBC - Day Four

Work...why oh why do you make me feel as if I have fun full force at a brick wall, gotten up and then repeated that same process 1,653 times in a row? sigh
Thought it was time to take a break and just do a post from the 30DBC to rest my mind a little bit. you know, before I start running into the brick wall again for a couple more hours.

Day 4 - Your parents
What are we supposed to report here...if we have them? If we like them?

My Dad (AKA Coach) and my Mom (AKA Alice B) are both high school teachers. Actually at the same high school -- have been there for maybe 35 years or so. Alice B teaches AP Calculus, Honors Geometry, Computer Science...basically super smart nerdy stuff. Coach teaches Health and Phys Ed and used to coach the baseball team. Couldn't be more different if they tried. I think if they had known each other in high school they would not have ran in the same circles -- Coach was a baseball player and Alice B was in the band. And even in college, Coach was a baseball player and Alice B was a math major with a physics minor. I didn't play a ton of sports nor am I mathematically inclined -- I spent a large part of my childhood convincing myself I was adopted.

Growing up with Coach and Alice B for parents, I knew I never wanted to BE a teacher because I saw all of the "back end" of things. The grading papers, the lesson planning, the calls and letters from angry parents, basically the total BS that comes with teaching that very few people talk about.

But it is truly amazing to see the impact they have had over the years on all of their students. the students who grow up, go to college and start careers and families and still take time to write a letter to my mom or dad saying how much it meant having them for a teacher or a coach.

It's probably also worth noting that they were(and still are) at the high school that was actually MY high school. I even had my Mom as my teacher for math sophomore year (so, so awkward....not a terrible experience but one that I don't think I would recommend) I would always hear about what a b*tch my mom was (usually by someone who failed one of her tests or got caught cheating) and how awesome my dad was (because he would have "movie weeks" where they just watched inspirational sports movies) But I always felt the need to be a good egg in high school, never really did anything to get in trouble because, well my parents would hear abut it right away. So you really couldn't get away with much of anything. Not that I was dying to be some high school hell raiser anyway.

I've talked at great length in previous posts about getting a love of baseball from Coach. I am still trying to figure out what I got from my Mom. I don't mean that in a bad way....just that it is not apparent to me yet. Maybe one day it will be. Or maybe it is to others and I am just too blind to it, haha. I think maybe I get a certain amount of snarkiness/b*tchiness from her. (HI MOM! in case you are reading this)

It probably goes without saying that having two teachers for parents, we weren't living the high life in a big house or driving nice cars or taking flashy vacations. I still remember summers when their contracts were to be up for negotiation in the fall and that meant no vacation or frivolous things at all over the summer. But they always made sure my brother and I were taken care of. That we always had the "must have" toy under the Christmas tree - often that meant offering "extra credit points" to the first student who could bring them a Pound Puppy or Cabbage Patch Kid. I remember always getting to be whatever I wanted for Halloween, even if that was a "punk rocker" for 3 years in a row. And while other kids may have tales from vacations to tropical destination or even Europe, can many say they have been to every stinking civil war battlefield and president's home within a 300 mile (give or take) radius of Philadelphia?? I can. It comes in handy sometimes when I am watching Jeopardy, so thanks Coach and Alice B!

One big thing I did get from both of them is a very solid work ethic -- which is likely why I put up with so much at work. So with that, I will leave you all and get back to it for a few more hours.

I'm a Philadelphia Sports Fan. Go f*ck off.

I mean, that’s the response you would expect me to have, right? That's the picture that's been painted of what a Philadelphia Sports fan should say, isn't it? Maybe it is just the amount of texts, emails, messages and general trash talk I got from people after the Redskins beat the Eagles in Philadelphia this past weekend, but I have had it up to HERE with people giving me a hard time about being a Philadelphia Sports Fan. So if this posting gets a little ranty or veers a bit off course, my apologies. And this post isn't for everyone, so I won't be offended if you decide to stop reading now.

This has just been brewing for a while now, so please don't think this is just some sour grapes over a football game. I am just sick of it. The bad image of Philly Sports Fans. It’s one of those things that just stuck and never went away. Yes, I get it everyone. We booed Santa Claus. I love when people come at me with that remark and I ask them to tell me about it and they just stare at me with a blank expression. Hey everyone, if that's gonna be your basis of argument, let's at least take the time to learn the damn story behind it all, shall we? Let’s set the record straight about what happened back in December 1968.

The Eagles were beyond TERRIBLE and the team owner was the most hated man in Philadelphia. The halftime show was supposed to be a Christmas pageant but because of bad weather, team officials scrapped the pageant and instead sent a guy onto the field in a Santa suit with the introduction of "The Philadelphia Eagles wish you a Merry Christmas." The fans were venting their frustration at the crap season and an owner they hated and started booing. Do I think it was okay? No, not really. Do I think we are all just a bunch of a-holes who hate Santa? No, not at all.

I think they were passionate fans who were beyond frustrated. The Eagles were ending the season with a 2-12 record. And that day they were more that 58,000 fans in attendance. 58,000 people showed up to see their crappy Iggles because Philadelphia fans are passionate about their teams. There are many teams today with winning records that can't get that many butts in the seats. And I do agree with a lot of you out there, sometimes that zeal and passion leads some people to do stupid things.

But I am so, SO tired of getting grief from everyone JUST for being a Philadelphia sports fan. People who are holding on to some Santa story from over 40 years ago that they don’t even know. I have seen some rude, degenerate and disrespectful fans from just about every team out there. If you want personal experience, one year I had two women physically threaten me in the ladies room at FedEx field when I went to an Eagles Redskins game. That very same game, I had a grown-ass man, probably in his late forties, shove me (and I fell to the ground) because I was wearing some of my Eagles gear. I did NOTHING to provoke him. Even if I had (and seriously that is not something I would ever do), would that make it ok for him to purposely push a female?

A few years ago, I scored some great seats right behind home plate for a Nationals game here in DC against the Phillies. I proceeded to be heckled by (again) GROWN MEN for the first 3 innings….started out with them telling me the Phillies sucked, Phillies fans were the worst, etc. Standard Philly-fan bashing. After I am assuming they got a few beers in them and wanted to get more creative, they then started throwing things at me – food, wadded up napkins, peanut shells. I was seriously considering leaving but boyfriend-at-the-time told me to just ignore them. They then kicked it up a few thousand notches by getting really lewd, vulgar and sexual in nature with the things they were yelling at me. The usher did nothing. I also think they always stick 85 year old senior citizen ushers in the "fancy seats" because they figure that is a safe zone. Not so sometimes. Not so.

Listen up, very few people really and truly CHOOSE their sports allegiances. Some of them they have had their whole life, and have been passed down to them just like their last name and their religion. I never had a choice. And I don't think I would have wanted one. Philly sports is home to me. Makes me think of growing up and my family. Makes me think of nights spent sitting on the porch eating a water ice and listening to Harry Kalas. Makes me thing of Autumn Sundays with Buddy Ryan and listening to my dad yell at the TV. It's a part of my growing up, it's a part of me.

My Mom-Mom is 98 years old. And listens to every single Phillies game each season. Every one. Part of my joy in seeing the Phillies win the World Series in 2008 was knowing she got to experience it too. It was stepping outside of the bar I was watching it at that night and calling my Dad and little brother. This wasn't a choice for me, it's where I came from, it's what I know. It's my family and my home. And I am very very lucky to have it.

So go ahead and tell me about booing Santa. Tell me about the idiots who run on the field. Tell me about the belligerent and obnoxious teenager and what he did. Tell me about the jail at the Vet. Tell me all your stories about what horrible sports fans come from the city of Philadelphia.

And I will smile and tell you....I'm a Philadelphia Sports Fan. Now go f*ck off.

Instructions for Birthday Weekend: Champagne-Cupcake-Repeat

Hooray! That picture is the most accurate description of how I feel right now because this crazy work week is (just about) O-V-E-R and I have so much fun to look forward to this weekend because …. It’s my Birthday!

I am usually a big birthday hater. Not other people’s birthdays, those I love. It’s my own that I never like. It’s not about the getting older part of it (okay, yeah that became a teensy bit of a reason after birthday #25) but more it is just because I have awful, horrible birthday luck. So many of mine have been so unfun, forgotten, disastrous, traumatizing, or some combination of all of those. To the point where I have come to just dread the day and hold really low expectations for it.

A few examples:
• My very first sleepover birthday party was cancelled due to the weather (F*ck you Hurricane Gloria – and YES I am still holding a grudge)
• When the party was rescheduled a few weeks later, someone’s Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag got caught in a box fan causing some legit sparks to fly out of the fan. The almost-fire and lots of smoke caused my Dad to come running downstairs in SUCH a panic that he neglected to realize he was only in his underwear. Traumatizing.
• One year was supposed to celebrate with kiddie friends for a little birthday lunch at a Friendly’s type of place. Then the restaurant caught on fire and burned down the the day before my birthday. Birthday lunch was moved to Burger King. Swanky.
• An attempt made by my parent’s to have a “surprise” birthday dinner for me at a restaurant was ruined by my protesting going out to dinner because I had too much homework. My mom angrily spilled the beans about my friends waiting to surprise me at the restaurant and told me to get my ass in the car. Surprise!!
• This was a few years after my parents had totally forgotten my birthday. See, it’s not just a humorous John Hughes’ movie plot!
• Being a year older than most of my closest friends in college, none of them could legally go out with me for my 21st birthday. I was at the mercy of older sisters in my sorority who I recall being a bit relentless with the whole idea of doing 21 shots. I threw many of those shots out the front windows of Bentley’s (a bar at my school) and will never forget the one that sent my ass running back to the ladies room with a wave of sickness. (Deviled Megs was never again to do a Lemon Drop. No lie, have NEVER done one again.)
• A few years ago I was taking me and boyfriend-at-the-time out for dinner. Yes I was taking HIM out, don't ask as it's not even worth explaining. He then came up with some complication about going to dinner so I said screw it and just cancelled the reservations. He thought it would be funny to then send me an e-card that wished me a “Happy Pancake Day” Let me tell you, that was just hilarious. Haven’t eaten a pancake since.

And while there have been a few fun birthdays (particularly the Vegas/San Diego bash), by and large you get a little taste above of why I just try to avoid my birthday all together.

But I am changing that this year. This year I have fun things to look forward to and would be just as excited for all of it if it all wasn’t tied to my birthday. L even helped me make a birthday mix CD. Because every fun event needs its very own special soundtrack, right?

Tomorrow kicks off with a trip to the Farmer’s Market, then awaiting the arrival of V so a few of us girls can head out to the Sugarland concert. There may also be a very special appearance made my Hair Stylist P…wishes really may come true, haha. There will be tailgating (with champagne) food, good music and good friends. Can’t get any better. (As a side note, how much do you just love Jennifer Nettles? One of my birthday wishes might be to be her.)


Wait, yes it can get better! Sunday (which is the actual b-day) will be spent as a low key Football Sunday Funday watching games. Some more fun friends will be joining the cast for the day with hopefully a few very special guest appearances. Then that night there is not only the premiere of “The Amazing Race” but also the Season 2 premiere of “Eastbound and Down.” It’s like special tv presents just for me.

Monday is a day off from work (I think everyone should observe a day off from work in honor of their birthday) and some time with Mom and Dad who are making a trip down to visit. The birthday train pulls up to its final stop on Monday night, into DC to see my Phillies take on the Nats. Oh and of course, my boyfriend. (Bonus points if you have realized that my birthday is the 26th...and his number is 26)

So for once, I am going to go against type and get excited about this birthday. Excited about this weekend and seeing friends, having fun, and putting all my worries and stresses on hold for a few days. And looking forward to a year that is full of potential and possibilities. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend too, whatever your plans may hold for you.

Weekend trip to the Jersey Shore (no not THAT one, a much classier one)

I took a drive up to the Jersey Shore this weekend. My Pop-Pop lives there and while where he lives is really quaint and nice and worlds away from the trainwreck that is the MTV show (it's ok...I watch it too), I will tell you that I went to the location they shoot the show at almost every single week in the summers when I was younger to see fireworks. I used to be scared sh*tless of fireworks, but I think that weekly "facing my fears" therapy I endured must have paid off because fireworks might be one of my top 5 favorite things. Like ever.

Ok, let's get this posting back on track....so up to the shore to see Pop-Pop. He went into the hospital last week and I was worried about him, so having no plans I couldn't get out of this past weekend, trekked up to see him. A big BOO to work for not letting me leave early like I had gotten approval to do (really, it was my temp assistant's fault....I cannot wait until her last day here) but a big HOORAY that there was only very light traffic in spots, and I finally found one friend home on a Friday night to take my call and keep me company on the drive. Thanks, J!

Pop-Pop came home from the hospital on Friday -- apparently just really dehydrated and in need of some rest. Sometimes I worry that he was always so good at taking care of my Gram but never remembered to take care of himself. And now that she's gone he still sometimes forgets to make sure to take care of himself. But he just raved about the wreath that I made him. I felt like I was a 4-year old with a finger painting up on the fridge for all to admire. Except I had taken down the faux-foliage fall thing that was already up on the front door (sorry bout that Mom!) and hung up my wreath and admired my work. I think mostly I just wanted to have a little piece of me there with Pop-Pop every day.

I had also brought my crafty-crafting supplies up with me thinking I might get some time to work on some other projects. I stayed up late on Saturday night making a really pretty wreath for my Godmother. She is a breast-cancer survivor and I had gotten some pink ribbon-printed fabrics to make a wreath for her to hang next month for Breast Cancer Awareness month.

That following morning, while I was still asleep, my mom got an email from her cousin with not-good news about my Godmother. She is back in the hospital after becoming very sick as a reaction to radiation she began last week; her cancer has returned and she has tumors in her brain and her spine.

So I am hoping my wreath makes its way to her or to her house waiting for her to be able to go home. So a little piece of me can be there with her letting her know she is in my thoughts and prayers. And sending some pretty pink fireworks her way too becuase, well you know how I feel about fireworks :)

And I hope you won't think me selfish to ask for those of you that come here and read my postings, if you might keep her in your thoughts and prayers. Every little bit helps, I think.

Ok, sorry for that bit of a somber Monday posting. Just weighing on my mind right now. I'll try and think of something especially hilarious for tomorrow's Tales from the Trenches. Good thing that well never seems to run dry of tragically comical stories :)

Lessons learned from cake and champagne

My friend’s 30th birthday is today, and I imagine she might be celebrating it with some champagne – pink champagne, most likely. But she would just as easily be drinking champagne on a night of no importance, consequence or celebration. Why the heck not, right? Champagne is delicious and she likes it, so ordering it for no special occasion makes perfect sense when you simplify it like that.

It may be her birthday that has me thinking about champagne…which has led me to a story involving cake. The two go oh so well together. But there’s another reason that I will get to, in my own roundabout way.

My Gram passed away just over two years ago after suffering a long time from Alzheimer’s. It is a hard disease not only for the person with it, but for the family and loved ones who take care of that person. And sometimes, as politically incorrect as it may be, you laugh at something that person does or says. Sometimes it’s because you are tired of crying or being upset by it. And sometimes because it is just really, really funny.

Around Christmastime of 2007, a bridal shower was held for my soon-to-be sister-in-law (STBSIL). I was seated at a table with my Gram, sitting across from her. I remember it being a good day because she remembered who I was even though she may have not known what was going on and why we were at this party. But she knew it was a party…and parties always have cake. As is the case with just about any shower I have been to – baby, bridal, and everything in between – it takes about 17 hours to open all the presents. This particular shower had some more “colorful” presents than I have seen at other showers. Basically things one might save for a bachelorette party. I still remember the STBSIL swinging a purple dildo around by a ribbon attached to it and my Gram asking me what that gift was. I think I told her it was some new sort of kitchen appliance. Forgive me, but thank goodness for the Alzheimer’s so she likely never had to remember that image….because I sure wish I could forget it.

Eventually, Gram got tired of all the present opening and asked me when we were going to have cake. “Soon”, I said, “STBSIL has to open all her presents and then I think we are going to have cake.” My Gram turned around and pointed to the sheet cake a few tables away. “It’s right there!” she said. “Yes, I know I know” I replied trying to calm her down. She asked me again about that damn cake maybe three or four more times. She was growing increasingly frustrated by the situation. She picked up a piece of paper and a pen from the table (used earlier for the super fun shower party games that people so enjoy) and wrote CAKE in all caps. My Gram held up her makeshift sign like she was the Norma freaking Rae of desserts. But you know what? I’ll be damned if that didn’t get someone (likely from my family) to say “The hell with this, we aren’t waiting and we are cutting this cake.”

I know it may sound so strange, but that is one of my favorite memories of my Gram. One of her last lessons to me was a really important one – don’t wait for cake.

Don’t wait until a special occasion to have your cake and champagne. Use the good dishes, even if it’s only for a PB&J sandwich. Dress up for work on a day you don’t have any meetings. Get a pedicure in the dead of winter.

Don’t wait for a reason to celebrate….find the reasons to celebrate every day.

My Gram

In the summer of 2008, I lost my Gram. Frankly, it's a loss I am still trying to process. Outside of my mom and dad, she was the relative I was closest to and some days I struggle with the fact that she's gone. My Grandmother meant the world to me. My mother was an only child, so me and my brother were her only grandchildren. That's a great set up if you can get it, I highly recommend it. They also happened to live about 5 minutes from my parents' house, so I spent quite a bit of time with her and my Pop-Pop at their house. She was my partner in crime -- when I was old enough to use the phone, whenever my little brother was annoying me, I would call her telling him I was calling Santa. I ratted him out, she was initially upset on the other line for being used but always laughed in the end.

My Gram was a tough lady -- she liked things a certain way. I lived with her for all of my summers growing up when I stayed at her beach house. That's when I learned to make my bed every day -- and today, it doesn't matter how late I may be, my bed is made before I leave for work. She also would not let me have a soda before noon -- I can't say she would approve of my early morning diet coke habit.

She valued a orderly home and we all fell in line. She put up little laminated notes everywhere: "remember to turn out the light when you leave", "put empty cans in the recycling", "pull up the door." She was efficient to a fault. My family will still joke about how she used to consolidate items for the sake of saving space -- a half bag of doritos and a half bag of potato chips would be married together in the name of a more orderly and neat kitchen. I think she even consolidated chunky and smooth peanut butter jars for the sake of saving space.

She remembered everything -- every birthday, every anniversary, every person she met, every recipe. Maybe that's why it hurt so much that she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. I had been really upset by bouts before -- a Thanksgiving trip when she didn't know where we were started us all to worry. It progressed because that's what happens, you can't stop the disease. It felt like each year I lost more of her. I can't put into words how hard it is to lose someone mentally while still having them physically there. You go to see them each time never knowing if they will remember you and know who you are. I also can't put into words my feeling of loss, not taking the time to hug my gram and tell her I loved her the last time I saw her at my brother's wedding. There was no way for me to know that was the last time I would see her. But that still upsets me to this day and I don't think I will ever forgive myself.

She was tough, but she was the best. And I know I have a lot of her in me and I am beyond lucky for that.

Cliches from the Coach

I grew up with a Coach for a dad. Now there are a lot of positives and a lot of negatives to that. Personally, I wouldn't trade the experience I had for the world. But one thing that has always bothered me is that my dad speaks in cliches. Constantly. To those who get to speak with him from time to time, they find it endearing or quirky. Seriously, any one who has ever met or known my Dad has loved him and I know I am lucky to be his daughter. But for me, who has sought advice or insights from him since I was a little kid, this quality irks the hell out of me sometimes. When I am having a tough time of things at work, it isn't very encouraging or inspiring for him to tell me "They don't call it work for nothin'!" I probably have a number of scars and bumps and cracks that were a result of shunning medical attention over the years and being told to "walk it off." But having heard them time and time and TIME again over the years, I know that cliches are used over and over again for a reason -- they're usually true.

You can't go home again. I find myself coming back to that one a lot lately. I think I started to understand what that meant for the first time when I went back home from college for the first time. "Home" wasn't my parents' house anymore. It was Route 1, my dorm room, and my friends at school. And some years after that, I felt that same way again going back to my college and experiencing the places and the sights and the people as an alum. Everything was the same but still....different. Because I was different. I think that everyone goes through a series of these experiences over the course of their lives, married or single, gay or straight, rich or poor. After all, isn't that what makes it a cliche?

There are ways I have physically gone back, to try and get some glimpse, some brief taste of experiences from my past. I don't know if I have done that to feel younger, or better, or safer, or what. And it is good -- for a little while it feels really nice. Just kind of warm and reassuring -- like some favorite, beat-up, old sweatshirt. I feel like a me that is younger and hasn't yet experienced hurt, or broke, or failure, or scared, or sick or one of the many other tough emotions I have personally felt in the process of growing up. For that brief little while it's kind of intoxicating. But in the end, I am left wondering, is it worth it? To just forget about or ignore who I am now to try and relive for a little while who I was then. If I am being honest, no, it probably isn't. I think if I can step away and look at it clearly I'd be able to see that it's a little self indulgent and probably pretty immature of me. The cons likely outnumber the pros.

But I have also been looking back a lot recently. Places I have been and people I have known, jobs I have had and things I have done. I have spent some time recently with people that have very much been a part of my past. But I can't say they are a part of my present. Personally, I have struggled with that one for a long time. I invested a lot of myself in friendships from college and many of those didn't pan out. Someone told me when I graduated that I'd find out quickly who my true friends were after graduation. While the process wasn't immediate, it did prove to be true over a bit of time. I hate that I grew apart from people who meant a lot to me and wish I could have meant something more to them. I know that I tried, and sometimes I wonder if it was valiant to have made the effort or if it was a total waste of time/energy/emotion. I can't answer that question, really. I am scared I might pick option B...and be right.

You can't go home again. And that's fine. Maybe the upshot in all of this looking back is when you eventually turn around and look forward, you can see how far you actually have come. Ugh, that sounds like a long winded fortune cookie message doesn't it? Damn it...maybe speaking in cliches is genetic. Thanks, Dad.