chris' aunt mary is in the hospital, and she will probably die today. there's no other way to put it but bluntly. after work, i went to the hospital without chris, as he was still working, and i stood in her room with the rest of family. they were, for the most part, completely silent. there was nothing else to say, and any attempt at conversation would have seemed inappropriate. i kept looking at mary's hands. the rest of her body is frail and sickly, but her hands are still beautiful, her fingernails still perfectly polished. i thought of those nails being painted, and i nearly lost it.

i want to say i'm sorry. i'm sorry for being selfish and not taking advantage of life, and i'm sorry for not always enjoying what's beautiful in this world. i'm sorry for chris' family, and i'm sorry for aunt mary. i'm sorry the world isn't always fair, and i'm sorry for not knowing what to say.

john mayer’s got us calling it
a quarter life crisis,
but, frankly, i don’t think i’ll live that long.

i took two life expectancy tests online-
one spat out the age of ninety-eight,
the other one settled on eighty-nine-
but those were just programs designed
to deter suicide or thoughts like,
"what the hell, i’m kicking it soon, might as well
steal a car and eat all that cheese."
i’ve always known that sometime around forty is when i’ll leave,
dying in my bed or my car or during an
elaborately planned dinner party
where all of my friends can watch me choke on a carrot stick.
i’ll be face down in a bowl of soup,
and i don’t think they’ll know what to say;
my darling husband
will have to make a joke.

when i was fifteen, i thought twenty-five
would be different, somehow.
i never thought i’d feel as old as my parents looked
in their mid-to-late forties.
the truth is, at this age, i’m way behind them-
no mortgage, no kids, plenty of
spending cash, for the most part,
nothing to take care of but myself.
but myself, i am a handful.

a lot of things are heavy-
the smoking, drinking, worrying.
i lay awake at night and wonder
if this is what i was supposed to be
at my half life, my past half life,
and the crises i create are even
heavier than the drinking.
what do i do from this point on?
re-evaluate? re-invent?
re-write?
or just a plan a dinner party,
and write out which jokes won’t be funny,
dear,
and which ones will absolutely kill.

in no particular order

good meal, good poker, good sisters, good dudes.

(p.s., not only was my baked ziti delicious, but i also won first place in poker. i think we know who the real star of the evening was.)

(p.p.s., if you guessed my sister, you're right, because, boy, isn't she adorable?)

sometimes scrabble letters can hit below the belt-

or accurately describe a "political" stance-

- and, if you're my mate, sometimes a tv show can inadvertantly tell you exactly how the world feels about you-

everywhere, there are (not so) subtle messages.

i want to see a headline in the paper that reads, "hurricane rita not so bad after all." or "thousands fled for nothing." perhaps, "settle down, everything will be just fine." the media is very good at instilling fear; they're as good at instilling fear as i am at, say, scrabble. and i'm pretty freaking good at scrabble.

the world's got me down, again. last night, i read an article about how bananas are going extinct, and that was just the final straw. sick people are dying, hurricanes are destroying lives, kids are dying in iraq, and then, on top of everything, a staple of breakfasts is going to soon be gone. i want to read about something hopeful. chris refuses to watch the news at night, and maybe he's on to something. maybe i'll refuse to tune into the news unless they start broadcasting headlines like,

"wayward puppy gets re-united with little boy,"

or

"lemonade cures cancer,"

or

"millions of people happy for no particular reason."

even when things go well, there's still a headline out there that points out the ominous signs ahead. misery sells, satisfaction doesn't. i remember being little on vacation with my family many years ago, where we stayed in a little town with newspapers only an eighth of an inch thick. the articles were all about bake sales and upcoming bingo nights and giant tomato plants certain to win at the county fair. i wanted to live in this small town with its tiny paper completely oblivious to all the wrong-doings. i wished the entire world would be like this little village with nothing but mudane, mostly positive things to report; i wanted a morning scan of the daily news to take only three minutes over a glass of freshly squeezed juice.

maybe that should be my life's goal- to create a national newspaper like that, where i basically ignore everything ugly in the world and report only on the good and boring. it wouldn't sell of course. fear sells. but, hey, it would make me feel better. and isn't making me feel better truly what it's all about?

the first headline will read, "enough bananas for everyone!"

i want to see a headline in the paper that reads, "hurricane rita not so bad after all." or "thousands fled for nothing." perhaps, "settle down, everything will be just fine." the media is very good at instilling fear; they're as good at instilling fear as i am at, say, scrabble. and i'm pretty freaking good at scrabble.

the world's got me down, again. last night, i read an article about how bananas are going extinct, and that was just the final straw. sick people are dying, hurricanes are destroying lives, kids are dying in iraq, and then, on top of everything, a staple of breakfasts is going to soon be gone. i want to read about something hopeful. chris refuses to watch the news at night, and maybe he's on to something. maybe i'll refuse to tune into the news unless they start broadcasting headlines like,

"wayward puppy gets re-united with little boy,"

or

"lemonade cures cancer,"

or

"millions of people happy for no particular reason."

even when things go well, there's still a headline out there that points out the ominous signs ahead. misery sells, satisfaction doesn't. i remember being little on vacation with my family many years ago, where we stayed in a little town with newspapers only an eighth of an inch thick. the articles were all about bake sales and upcoming bingo nights and giant tomato plants certain to win at the county fair. i wanted to live in this small town with its tiny paper completely oblivious to all the wrong-doings. i wished the entire world would be like this little village with nothing but mudane, mostly positive things to report; i wanted a morning scan of the daily news to take only three minutes over a glass of freshly squeezed juice.

maybe that should be my life's goal- to create a national newspaper like that, where i basically ignore everything ugly in the world and report only on the good and boring. it wouldn't sell of course. fear sells. but, hey, it would make me feel better. and isn't making me feel better truly what it's all about?

yesterday was my day, man. first, i am "featured" in an article in the newspaper. i promptly make copies of the article and distribute them to my co-workers, customers, and a group of kids skateboarding in the parking lot. then, i play mediator between my future sister-in-law and the girlfriend of the boy that my future sister-in-law has been seeing for the past few months. what a pickle that was! thank goodness my communication and mediation skills are par for the course. i should do stuff like this for a living; despite having no sense of control in my own life, i am halfway decent at dispensing advice for those in need. or so i like to think. i did, after all, talk several people into stealing a mini-van because i thought the license plate was funny. when i see them in five to seven, i'll have to buy them a corn dog.

back to me. so, first, i'm in the paper, then i help solve a very sticky problem, and THEN i go out with some of my friends, sing a karaoke song, and promptly win fifty bucks. fifty big ones! the only problem with winning fifty bucks at a bar is that i was instantly compelled to drink more. my profit margin went straight out the window along with, at one point, my sense of common decency.

in other news, i am loving this weather. it's cool and dreary, and all i want to do is curl up on the couch with a blanket and a mug of tea spiked with a little brandy. this is truly my favorite time of year. sweater weather is the best, and, is it just my dirty contact lenses, or are the leaves starting to change?

wait, those aren't leaves, those are... arby's coupons?

i am in the newspaper today, in the daily herald. i am quoted twice. the article begins with my name. it is my fifteen seconds of fame, and there i go mentioning david hasselhoff. what a tool.

at least now i have something for my fridge aside from arby's coupons.

last night, 5:30

the guy that jessie's seeing has had a girlfriend for the past year.

5:35

i convince jessie she's got to tell this girlfriend.

5:36

i agree that, what the hell, i'll be the one to tell her.

this morning, 9:00

i aquire girlfriend's email address and write vague email.

9:30

girlfriend emails back and wants more info.

10:00

with jessie's permission, i email more info.

1:00

girlfriend writes back and says she wants to speak to me.

1:02

jessie says, sure, give her a call.

1:11

phone conversation with girlfriend where i am pressured for more details that i can provide. feeling sweaty.

1:13

regret everything. what a mess. why do i get involved in other's people business? matter not over, as girlfriend is requiring phone call later, from the still unnamed jessie. massive headache.

1:17

have cup of coffee, instantly feel better.

1. i've been hearing a lot of good things about the movie "crash," but unfortunately, whenever i think of "crash," i think of oprah's "crash" moment. and that dissuades me from seeing the film.

2. gail's got more planned for her wedding in late 2007 than i have planned for my wedding in early 2006. and while that should alarm me, i keep telling myself, "well, at least i've decided between chicken and beef."

3. chris and i got our test results back from the "so you want to get married in the catholic church" testing committee. we fared reasonably well, which is a relief. now to make sure that the $35.00 check clears- that will be the true test.

he who smelt it, dealt it

last night was yet another poker party, and while my cheese lost all of his money, i more than doubled my stack. i've really improved my skills in the past year or so, thanks in part to "celebrity poker showdown" and the fact that, in my opinion, being a girl nobody expects too much out of totally works in my favor. i find that is true in not only poker, but also in life. if nobody expects anything out of you and barely even sees that you're there in the corner idly licking ranch dip off your thumb, you have nowhere else to go but up. unless, of course, you go down. which, now that i think about it, has also been known to happen.

i'd like to become a professional poker player. i'd at least like to become one of those guys you see on the 9 o'clock news with no real job to speak of and millions of dollars in a bank account all from online poker. my co-worker, salty, has the same aspirations. the problem with salty is that he goes about it the wrong way. as a way of concealing what has become a huge gambling problem from his wife, he gets all of his poker and gambling related literature sent to the office. every day, he's getting gambling brochures and receipts from costa rica, and, on days when he's not around, it's up to me to grab the mail first and conceal his ugly hobby from anybody with any authority. i don't think the company would smile upon getting gambling materials sent to work. i mean, christ, they nearly flipped their lids when i got my rebate check from a bag of bagels sent to work. is it such a crime that i don't want the good bagel boys at lender's to have my real address? is that so hard to understand?

anyhow, the poker party was a lot of fun.

found in the news


Man gets 8 years for ripping off his mother.
He depleted funds, left her in a hospital.

....Will County Circuit Judge Daniel Rozak also ordered Beasley, a 59-year-old veteran, to pay $38,605 to the Illinois Department of Public Aid. That will cover the cost of his mother's care at a nursing home--where she lived until her death at age 88 in May--and the ambulance ride to the hospital.

i think it's awesome that they tacked on the bill for the ambulance ride. in fact, i think it's hysterical. it's good to know there's a very thorough judge out there- his honor scratching his head while he crunches numbers, adding together the ambulance ride, the cost of a cup of cherry jell-o the mother once ate, the batteries the mother must have surely gone through in the remote control for her in-room television. the justice system works! the illinois department of public aid has now been re-imbursed for gas!

seriously, though, that's awesome.

i am perusing recipes online for baked ziti. this is mostly because i have enjoyed the tv dinner version of it so much that i have decided a home-cooked version must surely be a thousand times better. even if it's home-cooked by me. looking at the recipes online, i discovered baked ziti contains egg. who'd have thunk it? that's the thing about food; you know what you're eating, but you never know EXACTLY what you're eating.

the reason i am writing so prolifically about, of all things, ziti is because the word "ziti" reminds me of scrabble games with an old friend, zil. i never even knew what "ziti" was- can you imagine an italian girl not knowing what ziti is?- and yet zil always managed to plop "ziti" down on the board nearly every game. zil loved scrabble, but, except for the occasional triple word score ziti, she wasn't all that good. she sat with a dictionary, slowly thumbing through it on every turn while looking for possible words involving a "b," an "h," and an "x." or she'd flip through it quickly, wondering aloud, "is wusler a word?" i'd timidly mention that, i couldn't be sure, but was this really allowed? zil would shoot back, "of course it's allowed! how else are you supposed to know what words to put down?" she did have a point, although, in the back of my mind, i wondered if all of her found words were really words- if, aside from all the cheating, there was even more cheating going on. maybe she was pretending to look up wusler and hobexi, and, upon not finding them, she'd plop them down anyways. "wusler's totally a word. it means, one who wusles. and what does wusle means? it's something about speaking german while wearing big pants."

not that i didn't trust her- but i have a clear memory of going home one night and looking up the word "ziti" in my handy merriam-webster. and today i'm looking it up online, hungering for some noodles coated in cheese and egg and maybe, for old time's sake, a hobexi or two.

girls can be so nostalgic.

i've been so freaking busy lately. i think i need a vacation. the only problem with going on a vacation would be that recovering from a vacation usually requires another vacation, and i just don't have that kind of time. i'm strongly considering quitting my second job, which is a shame since every day i work is over a hundred bucks straight into my savings. man, if only i didn't have a wedding to save for, i'd be rolling around in a nice pile of spending cash. the stress of working so much is really getting to me, though. the more i work with people, the more i realize that i really don't like them.

i'm hoping to free up some time as to take up a few pointless hobbies. i'd also like to go swimming sometime soon. i was never a good swimmer; i couldn't even go underwater until i was eleven. in high school, i was always in the "retard" lane during swim class; thank goodness for the "i've got my period for a solid eight days and it's against my religion to use tampons" excuse. i have the urge to do some swimming now, though- although, when i say "swimming," what i really mean is floating around lazily in an inner tube. too bad i don't have a pool or an inner tube. or a bathing suit that doesn't make me look like i'm 9. ah, fuck it, i didn't want to go swimming anyways.

this is the one photo that made me laugh.

something awesome that my company is doing is collecting donations for the red cross from both employees and customers. for every dollar donated, we will match. it's like our 401 k plan, but instead of large cap stocks and emerging markets, it's water and food and medicine. and bullets, for this guy, and some cold cream for his ugly woman.

i feel like i've caught something vaguely flu-like. i'm tired, achey, pukey, and dizzy. it almost feels like i'm hungover, but all i had last night were three beers at the lake in the hills fest. i went with some people from work to see a band, and, looking around, i saw all the happy young families dancing with their kids on the lawn in front of the stage. i hope to have that with chris one day- wholesome nights out under the stars with our kids and the warm, fuzzy safety of a suburban carnival. cotton candy and funnel cakes for the young ones and three beers for the mama. the only damper on my wishful thinking was that rumbling whisper in the back of my head- will i dare bring children into this world? i hate to be such a downer, but, man oh man, am i feeling down.

there are always going to be bad things going on in the world. but there are always going to be good things, too. speaking of which, i'm going to go stand by the door and wait for one of my good things to pull into our driveway- at which time i will probaby begin discussing all the bad things while interjecting bitchy comments about why a person should never put duct tape on the walls. for christ's sake, why did that seem like such a good idea?

wink.

i blame bush

i have never once assigned blame for a natural disaster. when the tsunami hit last winter, i didn't shake my fist at the tv and yell, "damn you, megan mullally of nbc's 'will and grace!'" the thought didn't even occur to me. and yet, here i am, watching the horror of the hurricane on cnn, and all i can think is, "somehow, some way, this is bush's fault."

i look at the destroyed lives, and i want to kick bush in the face. i pump my $3.89 a gallon gas and want to rip his testicles off. i check news of iraq on the internet and i want to set him on fire. true, iraq and, i believe, subsequent gas prices, are the fault of the president, but a natural disaster? an act of god? how can that be one man's fault?

i don't know the answer. but i blame him anyway.

the world situation has really bummed me out. easy for me to say, safely tucked away under the clear, sunny skies of the midwest, sleeping peacefully under my roof while the air conditioner quietly hums away. i am not a religious person, and yet i get the feeling that we're heading straight into the apocalypse, all of us crammed together on a wildly veering bus driven by, you guessed it, the commander in chief. everything is his fault. i lost a sweater and a spatula in my move. that, too, is his fault.

i feel silly writing about my daily coming and goings when so much is going on down south. but, as they say, life goes on. life goes on, and gas goes up.