I turn 35 on Tuesday. It's not a monumental birthday like 18, 21 or 50, but nonetheless, it's a birthday. At this point my daughter is more excited about my birthday than I am. I'm sure she envisions a celebration that will be similar to her recent Chuck E. Cheese party only with Mommy and all her fellow mommy friends.
I don't have the heart to tell her that the older you get the more your birthday just becomes another day. Sure, there will be the humorous card from my co-workers, a "happy birthday" wish from my husband along with a dig about how I'm getting older, so I should think seriously about giving him another baby, and I can almost lay money down that somewhere in the equation a cake will appear (although given my recent lack of exercise and consumption of Valentine's candy, I should be more cautious than I most likely will be).
The coolest thing about turning 35 is the realization that I'm at the happiest place I've been so far in my life. At age 5, I was being dragged away from my father across country by a mother who was running from demons, either real or imaginary, I'll never know. At 15, I was a zit-covered, hormonal ball of confusion who hated living in Idaho (not that that ever changed), and spent the bulk of her day dreaming about making life happen. At 25, I was in art school having a blast and actively working in the music industry, but I was also in a marriage that was quickly going South and dealing with clinical depression.
At 35, I have the great fortune of being bound for life to someone I'm completely in love with, I have an adorable (albeit, exhausting) child who makes me smile (and yell) everyday. We live in a cool house in a place that is sunny most days of the year. I have a decent career that may be a thorn in my ass (particularly right now) due to the workload, but has given me the opportunity to push myself professionally. I own a hybrid, have excellent cholesterol, and have only found 3 gray hairs, so far.
There are downsides. I was diagnosed this week with tension headaches, but that's better than something serious. All I have to do to relieve most of the stress causing the headaches, according to my doctor, is get back into my regular exercise routine. I need to drop 10-15 pounds (which also would be helped by said exercise routine), but I'm finally at a point in my life where I can have a piece of chocolate at night and not hate myself, because I don't look like a supermodel.
I can see why the world fears us women in our mid-30s. We are vital, running households, managing work environments, comfortable with our confidence, and don't give a fuck about what the world thinks of us. It's a good age. My only fear at this point is that it's all downhill from here, but given the fact that everything has been an upswing, I think I'll ride it out for at least another 50 years. Not an unreasonable life goal for a woman with the blood pressure of an 18 year old.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Consumption Whore
As I entered my second straight day of a merciless consumption orgy I realized as I walked into, yet another store, that this was the dark side of acquiring a new residence. How is it that we moved from one house into another, yet all of the shit contained in the insane amount of boxes in our garage just doesn't work in the new house!?!
Some of this is my fault. I wanted nice bedding. A simple, elegant, and dare I say, romantic pattern that would make Jeff and I feel like our bedroom was a place for us to relax and become reacquainted as a couple from time to time. When I didn't have the money or desire to change the look of my bedroom, I saw gorgeous patterns everywhere, but for the past two days, it's all been the ugliest things I've laid my eyes on since the days of neon spandex and leg warmers.
Why is the '70s now considered retro? The '70s was such a low point in fashion, home styles, and decor in general that everyone had to be on cocaine in order to get through it, so whose bright idea was it to bring those burn orange and babyshit green colors back for a Round Two?
The bedding is just the tip of this disgusting consumption tirade. New walls equal new space, and new space means the art you have doesn't seem to fit with the massive amounts of empty that make up you dwelling. I'm not one of those people who can go buy a print at Target and be happy with it. I'm one of those emotionally deep bitches who has to have some sort of "connection" with everything I hang on my walls, or I just can't stand staring at it. I need to be able to give people a story about what they see when they walk into my house. I wish I could just throw some sort of Thomas Kincade, Wal-Mart art bullshit up and be happy with it, but I'd rather live in a one room hovel then resort to that.
The second misfortune in my pretentious quirk is that I like certain artists, and certain types of artwork, so decor for my walls cannot be obtained quickly or cheaply. I don't mind this consumption, it's like hunting prey. What I mind is going from store to store for two days looking for one of those little, skinny cabinets that I can use in my bathroom to hold toilet paper, or search stores for a half hour trying to find a tabletop mirror, because my blind ass needs a mirror two inches from my face in the morning so my makeup won't look like crap.
I'm sick of shopping for shower curtain rings that match my kid's clear monkey shower curtain, a napkin holder which seems to be out of style at the moment, reasonably priced sheets with a thread count over 350, and space saver items for the kitchen, because despite having a large kitchen, we somehow ended up with more stuff than we have space. For example, that all-in-one tortilla maker/fajita cooker that was on clearance, so my husband bought it and we used it twice back in 2001. Still taking up space, still collecting dust, but do you think he can part with it; hell no, he got a great deal on it.
The good news is that I ended up finding great bedding, on sale, so I'm going to go enjoy it now, because tomorrow I still have to figure out what I'm going to use to hold the toilet paper.
Some of this is my fault. I wanted nice bedding. A simple, elegant, and dare I say, romantic pattern that would make Jeff and I feel like our bedroom was a place for us to relax and become reacquainted as a couple from time to time. When I didn't have the money or desire to change the look of my bedroom, I saw gorgeous patterns everywhere, but for the past two days, it's all been the ugliest things I've laid my eyes on since the days of neon spandex and leg warmers.
Why is the '70s now considered retro? The '70s was such a low point in fashion, home styles, and decor in general that everyone had to be on cocaine in order to get through it, so whose bright idea was it to bring those burn orange and babyshit green colors back for a Round Two?
The bedding is just the tip of this disgusting consumption tirade. New walls equal new space, and new space means the art you have doesn't seem to fit with the massive amounts of empty that make up you dwelling. I'm not one of those people who can go buy a print at Target and be happy with it. I'm one of those emotionally deep bitches who has to have some sort of "connection" with everything I hang on my walls, or I just can't stand staring at it. I need to be able to give people a story about what they see when they walk into my house. I wish I could just throw some sort of Thomas Kincade, Wal-Mart art bullshit up and be happy with it, but I'd rather live in a one room hovel then resort to that.
The second misfortune in my pretentious quirk is that I like certain artists, and certain types of artwork, so decor for my walls cannot be obtained quickly or cheaply. I don't mind this consumption, it's like hunting prey. What I mind is going from store to store for two days looking for one of those little, skinny cabinets that I can use in my bathroom to hold toilet paper, or search stores for a half hour trying to find a tabletop mirror, because my blind ass needs a mirror two inches from my face in the morning so my makeup won't look like crap.
I'm sick of shopping for shower curtain rings that match my kid's clear monkey shower curtain, a napkin holder which seems to be out of style at the moment, reasonably priced sheets with a thread count over 350, and space saver items for the kitchen, because despite having a large kitchen, we somehow ended up with more stuff than we have space. For example, that all-in-one tortilla maker/fajita cooker that was on clearance, so my husband bought it and we used it twice back in 2001. Still taking up space, still collecting dust, but do you think he can part with it; hell no, he got a great deal on it.
The good news is that I ended up finding great bedding, on sale, so I'm going to go enjoy it now, because tomorrow I still have to figure out what I'm going to use to hold the toilet paper.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Breaking News Reality Check
I woke with a start at 3:00 AM as the anxious broadcaster was barely able to contain the excitement in her voice proclaiming there was "breaking news". There was a cut to a commercial break and during the 90 seconds of drivel about mattress sales, the latest revolutionary, natural health product, and the token public service announcement, I wondered what the urgent "breaking news" could be.
Although the Resident-In-Chief only has a few more lame duck months in his pitiful presidency, he would be stupid enough to start a war with Iran. Perhaps there was a 50 car pile up on the 5 Freeway or civil war in an unstable country. My mind raced until the woman's voice came back on air with the "breaking news".
Breaking News: Police have just been to Brittney Spears' house, and although there are unconfirmed reports of a suicide attempt, nothing has been substantiated. However they are taking her to a hospital in an ambulance.
You've got to be fucking kidding me!
There are so many levels of wrong here I don't know where the hell to begin. Maybe I should start with the obvious, which is that a has-been pop tart's mental breakdown is not exactly "breaking news". Breaking news is a political assassination, or an natural disaster, or a major financial crisis that will affect millions of people.
When I went to journalism school I learned about the history of the profession, and felt proud to join it. I studied great journalists like Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite. My favorite female journalist was Nellie Bly. Many know her as the lady who went around the world in 80 days, but what they don't know is that she was hired as a reporter (when women weren't hired) by doing one of the most shocking undercover investigations of the late 1800s. She suspected that female immigrants were being carted off to mental institutions, not because they were insane, but because had no knowledge of their new American culture. To prove this, she had herself committed to one of the most notorious women's asylums in the country.
Poor Nellie would be vomiting and pulling her hair out if she could see what has become of the profession she fought so hard to be a part of. Journalism was set up to keep an eye on the government and big business, as the fourth institution in this country. Without freedom of the press, you can't have a democracy, but much like the failed dream of a true American democracy, the press has fallen by the wayside, sold off to big corporations and is now busy creating sensationalist info-tainment instead of covering real news.
Television networks used to be willing to lose money on the news broadcasts, because they weren't about making money or getting high ratings, the news was the news. It was a vehicle to keep the country informed, and to let politicians and big business know they were being watched. Now, the caliber of your average news broadcast makes the National Enquirer seem dignified.
Aside from the complete collapse of media integrity, I find it very disturbing that they are fixated on Brittney hoping for an Anna Nicole ending. They want to be there for every ounce of this woman's self-destruction, and if they're lucky, maybe they can be standing over her while she overdoses!
There used to be an award for journalistic integrity that was presented once a year at a large journalism conference. One year it was won by a photographer who happened to be standing in front of the nightclub where, late actor, River Phoenix was having his last party. River came out of the club and overdosed on the sidewalk. The photographer snapped photos until he realized that the actor had died in front of him, then he destroyed the film in his camera, because he felt that no one should see a brilliant, young actor die so tragically. I don't know what ever happened to that photographer, but I would lay money down that he isn't one of the vultures hovering around Brittney hoping to create "breaking news".
Although the Resident-In-Chief only has a few more lame duck months in his pitiful presidency, he would be stupid enough to start a war with Iran. Perhaps there was a 50 car pile up on the 5 Freeway or civil war in an unstable country. My mind raced until the woman's voice came back on air with the "breaking news".
Breaking News: Police have just been to Brittney Spears' house, and although there are unconfirmed reports of a suicide attempt, nothing has been substantiated. However they are taking her to a hospital in an ambulance.
You've got to be fucking kidding me!
There are so many levels of wrong here I don't know where the hell to begin. Maybe I should start with the obvious, which is that a has-been pop tart's mental breakdown is not exactly "breaking news". Breaking news is a political assassination, or an natural disaster, or a major financial crisis that will affect millions of people.
When I went to journalism school I learned about the history of the profession, and felt proud to join it. I studied great journalists like Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite. My favorite female journalist was Nellie Bly. Many know her as the lady who went around the world in 80 days, but what they don't know is that she was hired as a reporter (when women weren't hired) by doing one of the most shocking undercover investigations of the late 1800s. She suspected that female immigrants were being carted off to mental institutions, not because they were insane, but because had no knowledge of their new American culture. To prove this, she had herself committed to one of the most notorious women's asylums in the country.
Poor Nellie would be vomiting and pulling her hair out if she could see what has become of the profession she fought so hard to be a part of. Journalism was set up to keep an eye on the government and big business, as the fourth institution in this country. Without freedom of the press, you can't have a democracy, but much like the failed dream of a true American democracy, the press has fallen by the wayside, sold off to big corporations and is now busy creating sensationalist info-tainment instead of covering real news.
Television networks used to be willing to lose money on the news broadcasts, because they weren't about making money or getting high ratings, the news was the news. It was a vehicle to keep the country informed, and to let politicians and big business know they were being watched. Now, the caliber of your average news broadcast makes the National Enquirer seem dignified.
Aside from the complete collapse of media integrity, I find it very disturbing that they are fixated on Brittney hoping for an Anna Nicole ending. They want to be there for every ounce of this woman's self-destruction, and if they're lucky, maybe they can be standing over her while she overdoses!
There used to be an award for journalistic integrity that was presented once a year at a large journalism conference. One year it was won by a photographer who happened to be standing in front of the nightclub where, late actor, River Phoenix was having his last party. River came out of the club and overdosed on the sidewalk. The photographer snapped photos until he realized that the actor had died in front of him, then he destroyed the film in his camera, because he felt that no one should see a brilliant, young actor die so tragically. I don't know what ever happened to that photographer, but I would lay money down that he isn't one of the vultures hovering around Brittney hoping to create "breaking news".
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