Peace Out 2009

Dear 2009,

It’s hard to remember all of the times we had together.  Looking back, you started off a lot rougher than you ended.  When you first arrived, you caught me kissing some guy from Atlanta who told me he used to play baseball for the Braves organization…or was it the Indians? I don’t know, but I tried to believe it.  Did you know, a couple months later I actually got sushi and a pitcher of sake out of the deal?  Yeah, he was in town for business and thought we could meet up.  I’m pretty sure he thought a few eel rolls meant he could have his way with me at the Nashville Marriott, but of course I politely declined the invitation.  Then there was Valentine’s Day.  2009, you probably gave me my worst one yet.  I had decided to get back together with the biggest mistake of 2008…thanks.  A carton of strawberries from the corner grocery store?  Oh yeah, and some cool whip.  “I knew you didn’t want chocolate.”  True, and I guess I didn’t want flowers, a card, a gift, or for you to purchase our tickets to the hockey game prior to the face off.  The only thing good about the situation was that he got ripped off by a scalper when he bought our tickets.  He charged him $10 over face value.  And I thought this guy was smart.  We lasted 3 more weeks.  Remember, he was chatting up his ex (and ugly) girlfriend behind my back.  It all came out at my birthday party.  “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.”  I did.  I actually cried over the loser, but you know what? I was reminded again of how much my friends really cared about me.  They picked me up and promised me that I’d be fine.  They were right. 

I shook it off and started dating again.  I signed up for a free week of Match.com and was determined to get a date without paying for it.  I had a whirlwind email relationship that quickly turned to texting and plans to meet up…at the mall.  Yeah, he worked nights and I needed to go there anyway to buy some new shoes.  The date was okay, he wasn’t as cute as his picture, but we had such great conversation right? I thought I’d give him another chance so I sent him a funny ecard.  It said “I had fun on our date, unless of course you didn’t, then I didn’t either.”  I received an email back at 1:30 AM that read “I didn’t. Best of luck!”  Wow. I could only blame myself.  Really? I went to the mall on a date? Now I understand why I didn’t date in junior high. 

On April 1, I was fired.  April Fools! It was actually April 2.  I almost bet they did that on purpose. “What if she thinks it’s just a joke?” Well, I was told my position was “written out of the budget.”  That’s the real joke.  I was completely over the place, i.e. wouldn’t spit on it if it was burning.  Why would I try to extinguish something I worked so hard to start? Still, it was a complete slap in the face. 

Sixteen days later I went fishing.  I know a guy who is basically a semi professional fisherman and he had offered to take me fishing. I think I surprised him when I responded with “When?”  “No, it’s not really a date,” I told my friends.  I didn’t catch any fish, but I did manage to capture the heart of the fisherman and he captured mine.  Finally 2009, you cut me some slack!

Seven days later on April 25, I used those shoes I had purchased during my failed date to run in my fifth half marathon.  That’s a pretty big accomplishment for a former fat kid.  Well not fat, but kind of chubby.  I didn’t run my best race, it was hot as hell, but I had my biggest group of fans to date.  Not only did I have friends cheering for me, but for the first time in my running career, my parents came to watch.  By coincidence, my aunt and uncle were in town, and my cousins and grandma made the trip, making it a family affair.  It was great!

In May, summer love started and the fisherman and I did a lot of…well, fishing.  We also went camping over Memorial Day weekend to Big South Fork national park.  We hiked, cooked over a camping stove, took a train ride to an old mining town, and spent some quality time together.  It sounds romantic, and it was until he heard me trying to pee in the woods.  I won’t go into details, but I will say it was embarrassing. 

Summer was a hot one.  I had to wake up early to complete my runs.  There’s nothing worse than running when it’s 98 degrees.  Well there are things that are worse, like not having any money.  Oh yeah, I was still out of work.  I was poor.  I was a deadbeat.

Oh 2009, do you remember when I planted pumpkins at my parents’ farm? Yes, in July I went home to Nebraska to visit the folks.  The fourth is my dad’s favorite holiday and I thought I would prove myself as the favorite child by spending it at home with my parents.  I brought the fisherman and boyfriend.  Don’t worry, I’m referring to the same person.  We planted pumpkins to add to the crop of growing Christmas trees and took a few spins on the tractor.  We also blew up a bunch of shit.  We honored my sister’s memory by dancing in the smoke of smoke bombs, a long time ritual we had when we were growing up.  Of course she didn’t die, she was just in Austin where she lives.

In July my unemployment checks ceased because I found a job! As you know it was (and is) a marketing job.  It took three months, but you finally came around 2009.  You about had me eating out of a dumpster. 

I was reminded of the true beauty of the earth when I visited Colorado in August.  It is amazing when you realize that most of life’s pleasures are free.  Blue sky, mountains, rivers and streams provide a backdrop for wild elk, moose, and other magnificent creatures.  Thank you for the much-needed reminder that the world is much bigger than I often think.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk some shit during football season this year.  The Huskers were back! Of course they had a few mistakes and one HUGE heartbreak during the Big 12 Championship, but I have never been more proud to cheer “Go Big Red!” My only regret is not attending a game in Memorial Stadium this year.

At least nine friends (and if I think about it, a few enemies) became engaged in 2009.  You really know how to make a girl feel special.  Could you have sent a less obvious of a wake up call that it’s time to grow up.  Thanks.  However,  for the first time most of my friends are very happy in the love department, and that makes me ecstatic.  Do I smell happiness? The weddings have already started and will continue into the new year (sorry about your luck 2009).

I became a world traveler in October when I visited Dublin, Ireland.  I ran the Dublin Marathon in 4:10:53 and loved almost every second of it.  I took a double dose of Imodium to prevent myself from runners trots.  It worked.  The trip was amazing.  I saw castles, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, pubs, and green country side.  Again, I was amazed to discover the size of our world.  It’s crazy to think there are buildings that have been standing for hundreds of years longer than the U.S.A. had been a country. 

Thanksgiving with my family was amazing.  So while you gave me the worst Valentine’s Day, you made up for it with the best Thanksgiving.  I’ll forgive you now.  It was wonderful to relax with the company of my family.  2009, you’ve also reminded me of how fortunate I am and the importance of the moments we get to spend with our loved ones.  I am truly blessed to have such an amazing family and really good genes.  Damn, we are good-looking!

Holiday parties and more time spent with friends brought a cheery holiday season.  I put up my Christmas tree in a new house this year.  Yeah, I moved in with that fisherman. 

Did you have to send 14 inches of snow for Christmas? This year, Lincoln received a record amount of snow with 8 1/2 inches on Christmas day.  It was a blizzard!  We weren’t able to attend Christmas church because so many services wer cancelled due to the weather.  Nevertheless, it was great to be home.  I hadn’t been back since July.  Though I cursed its existence, I truly loved experiencing the snow.  We just don’t get that kind of treatment in Nashville.  It was the first Christmas I haven’t spent with my sister.  As a nurse, she was scheduled to work on Christmas.  Ironically, she was put on call and never called in to work, which is even sadder.  It was tough, but thanks to technology we kept in touch throughout the day.  We even had a reading of “The Night Before Christmas,” over the phone.  My dad started laughing in the middle of the story, for reasons I have yet to fully understand.  Something about his neighbors potentially being “furries.”  Oh, how I love my family!

On paper, you weren’t too terrible 2009.  Of course I only remember the good and the really bad parts.  You brought me many milestones:

cooking my first turkey dinner, my first overseas trip, my first marathon, and my first time breaking wind in front of a guy (a complete *and mortifying* accident).

I changed boyfriends, changed jobs, changed my address, and changed my mind about a million times. 

I learned about myself and about others.

Not too shabby, 2009.  Not too shabby at all.   Your last seven and a half hours better not disappoint.

Sincerely,

Erin

It’s been awhile with sprinkles on top

Like most people, I have been consumed by the busyness of the holidays.  Add that I’m completely unorganized and fly by the seat of my pants and you can imagine why I haven’t had time to post.  Yes, excuses are like assholes, I know. 

The past two days I have been online shopping for the Christmas presents I should have purchased by last week.  I can’t be bothered by work requests.  “If my order times out because I have to reply to this email… Back away from my desk and don’t you dare look over my shoulder.”  I’m on a mission folks and I’m busy being busy. 

There is nothing worse than shopping for someone when you have no idea what you are actually shopping for.  You just wander aimlessly through the store hoping that something will jump out at you as if you are going to suddenly remember that this person needs the deluxe version of Scrabble or a Hillshire Farms meat log.  Why do I even bother? I know as soon as I park my car- better yet as I’m driving to the store that I’m going to be completely unsuccessful.  Thus, I have turned to online shopping.  The Internet is smarter than the average shopper.  You may Google “vintage jewelry” only to find out that you actually were looking for a GPS watch.  “Did you mean navigational pedometer?”  Why yes, I think I did.  Google is a mind reader.

Last night I made some Christmas cookies.  Actually, they probably are classified as “candy,” because they are shaped as balls.  Peanut butter balls coated in chocolate almond bark and topped with colored round sprinkles.  They taste like shit if you forget the sprinkles and you may as well just not show up to the party if you forgot the sprinkle topping.  Peanut butter balls have been a staple of Christmas tradition in my house since I was a child.  These balls are so coveted that the ball preparation becomes the main priority of the chef.  Nothing can get in the way of perfecting and finishing each peanut butter ball…nothing.  Case and point: As a child I fell down the basement stairs. I had tumbled down the stairs and landed on the hard, cold linoleum.  Fearing I had lost feeling in my legs, my sister called to my mother for help.  My mother was making peanut butter balls.  She sent a message to “shake it off.”  Afterall, her hands were greasy and she couldn’t let the almond bark dry. 

I think this may be my best set of balls to date.  They are sure to be a crowd pleaser at two holiday parties I am attending. 

The funniest thing that has happened at work lately is I’m supervising three temps.  These poor jobless people are making cold calls about a new set of services we are trying to whore out to unsuspecting business owners.  I just showed up one day and was told they were reporting to me.  It’s quite humorous to listen to myself attempt to explain the actual set of services we are selling.  Just make your calls and don’t ask questions.  If you’re good you can have a slice of the fruit cake some random old lady sent to our office.

Stuffed

I think I’d be okay if I never ate again.  I need to be checked into detox and I feel like I just had my last bird binge before I am forced to go into withdrawal.  Disgusting.  I really just want to go to the gym and return to my routine of normalcy, but I’m afraid my ass cheeks will hang out of my running shorts and there will be more jiggle than cranberry Jell-O.  Sick.  I’m contemplating just continuing this lifestyle of eating and watching movies and football and think I can buy a couch that will last me for at least a few years, giving me some time to grow.  When the couch is smaller than my ass, then I will know it is time to order a new one.  “Stop judging me,” I’d say, my mouth full of potato chips, “I ran a marathon.”

If that Mocking Bird don’t sing

2009 has officially been “the year of the diamond ring.” I’m not exaggerating.  At least six friends have had a man drop down on one knee and pull out some bling.  She says “yes,” it slips on the finger, then instantly she is his, locked down and forever marked to society as untouchable.  The left ring finger can tell you more about a woman than her mother.  Of course there is a huge party and a big celebration of love and commitment and the satisfaction of knowing that you won’t die alone.  It’s a beautiful thing, really. 

I was in a sorority, so it’s safe to say I always have an engaged or pregnant friend, but of these six brides, four are very close friends.  I’m genuinely very excited for each of them, and truthfully am not the tiniest bit jealous.  I’m pretty sure everyone thinks I’m lying when I say that…I say “All my friends are engaged right now,” and the response back is always something like “Your day will come.”  Thanks, and you’re right.  I’m pretty sure I’ll get married one day, just like everyone else who is not a complete disaster.  The ugliest of people can find someone to love them…I’m not too worried. 

So, really, I’m not jealous that I don’t have to call multiple venues, try on a million dresses, pick out over-priced flowers, and plan the happiest day of my life.  That’s a lot of pressure, and right now, I don’t have the emotional energy to even go down that path.

My boyfriend told me the other day that I “secretly want to be engaged,” because I talk about rings and weddings.  I just looked at him and said, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about weddings since I was five.  I’ve had kids’ names picked out since junior high.   You just happen to be sitting next to me right now, so you’re the one who hears it.”  I can’t stand the assumption that every woman in her twenties is dying to get married.

Bird is the Word bitches

I have agreed to cook Thanksgiving dinner for eight people.  Make that eight adults and three large dogs.  Not that I’m planning the meal around the beasts, but visualize three huge labs running in and out of the kitchen as I’m attempting to cook.  It will probably look like a scene from ”The Christmas Story,” when the dogs eat the turkey and the family is forced to go out for Chinese Christmas dinner.  I guess if that happens there is a Famous Dave’s in town…we’ll honor the Pilgrims and keep it American. 

Now, I say I “agreed” to cook dinner as if the responsibilities of feeding eight people fell into my lap, but if we’re going to be 100% honest, it was my suggestion.  I offered and issued the invitation to my parents, my sister and her boyfriend, and my boyfriend.  I never really expected that everyone would agree to it.  You see, these are out-of-town guests, coming in from Nebraska and Texas and I didn’t think people would really jump on board.  To my surprise, everyone was excited about the possibility of eating a burnt turkey and lumpy mashed potatoes.  To my even greater surprise, my boyfriend invited his father and 92-year-old grandfather to dinner.  Now, this is getting cozy.  Not only do I have the pressure of living up to my mother’s cooking, but I have to serve southerners who probably won’t appreciate that I cook with fat-free ”butter spray.”

Though I knew it would be tough, I was confident in my abilities to cook a bird and appropriate sides and thus pull off the greatest Thanksgiving in either family’s history.  It can’t be that hard, right? 

Last week I burnt water.  I was steaming corn and potatoes and I actually burnt water.  The bottom of the pan is blacker than a forgotten chimney sweep.  Shit.  I see hot mess written all over this occasion.  Instead of the greatest Thanksgiving feast since we were fresh off the Mayflower, it may go down as the year of the lunch meat.  “Don’t be shy, get yourself two pieces of bread and make yourself a sandwich.  We have plenty of turkey slices for everyone…shaved and sliced…dig in folks.”  Store bought turkey sams and a can of cranberries.  Just keep drinking…

:)Pass the crack..LOL

Calm down. I admit, it’s been awhile.  It’s better not to bore you with unnecessary posts during low points of creativity and wit.  I’ve been a little behind the times with my communication.  My POS phone finally died.  The place to plug a charger was corroded and unrepairable, so I was forced into slavery under yet another 2 year Verizon contract.  I’d been eligible for a new phone for almost a year, but was holding out and hoping to switch carriers.  No such luck, the little shit died during the week when I had $20 in my bank account.  Typical. 

Like most broke, white trash people, the Blackberry was an obvious choice for my phone upgrade.  The device was free, and how could I pass up that deal? I mean, who cares if I have to spend a little more each month on a data package when I can spend half of a work day messaging my college friends with Crackberries.  It’s a perfectly reasonable investment.  I did refuse the accessories, so in the end I stuck it to the Verizon sales rep who my boyfriend noticed was “dumb as a box of hammers.” 

Seriously though, from now on I can’t just fake that I missed your call, text message, IM, Facebook post, or email.  My Crackberry is clairvoyant.  It knows all. It is a shape shifter that morphs into whatever method of communication I wish.  Need to change my status on Facebook?  No prob.  Long gone are the days when I had to wait till I was home to announce to the world that “Erin is pretty sure her coworker wore that shirt yesterday” or “Erin wishes people would flush the toilet in her office bathroom.”  Things like that are completely unnecessary when posted 5 hours after the fact.  The moment has passed and the charm is ruined.  Never again will I fall victim to firewalls and blocked websites.  The world is literally at my fingertips.

Huge Bitch

It really concerns me that the woman who works across the hall has looked ten months pregnant since I started working here–four months ago.  The other day my coworker asked her when she is due.  Five weeks.  FIVE WEEKS? I swear to God she is carrying an elephant baby.  I can’t even imagine the stretch marks…they probably look like pot holes.  Sick.  Holy shit, if that isn’t a poster for adoption.

There’s a Crap for That

Now there is proof that your money really is going down the toilet.  As if there aren’t enough ridiculous time-wasting applications for the iPhone, developers at SWS Digital, Inc. have truly produced a giant turd with the launch of “Poop the World.”  No, I am not shitting you as I share that this application tracks where, when, as well as the frequency and consistency of your craps.  With over 400 poop type and fragrance combinations, you can record that your turd smelled like “booze “and was shaped like a “brown baby manatee.”  I’m all about some poop jokes, but this app is a clog in technology.  We have valuable resources in the Internet and GPSs and we utilize them to describe our diarrhea.  As little as ten years ago our society was able to operate without cell phones.  My how technology  has advanced!  Forty years ago we were excited about our first mission to the moon, now we’re just hoping to poop in space.

The down sides of going up and down

I hate elevators.  I mean, forget the fact that your weight is being supported by a hidden pulley system, they are crowded, stinky, and usually slow as Christmas.

 I will say I feared for my life many times when I ran errands for my dad at the Nebraska state capitol building and would encounter a not-so-slow-vator.  For a charge of $1.50, I would deliver documents to be stamped at the workers’ compensation court office located on the 13th floor of an extremely tall, narrow, and phallic shaped building (it’s not called the “penis of the plains” for nothing).  Not only am I superstitious, the 13th floor was one floor from the foreskin of the penis and the rickety, wooden elevators were located in each corner of the shaft.  With each floor passed, the wooden death box would shake and accelerate in its quest for the top.  I always imagined the elevator crashing through the tip of the penis and soaring above the streets of downtown Lincoln, Nebraska before it plummeted to the ground.  My death would have been for the pursuit of $1.50. 

Now days, it’s the slow elevators that frustrate me.  Why is it that people feel the need to constantly “re-push” the floor buttons?  Notice next time you are in an elevator.  Let’s say you’re going to Ground Level.  You walk in to the empty elevator, press the G and travel one floor down and stop.  Enters genius number one.  He or she is also going to Ground Level.  Your new passenger will look directly at the illuminated G button and press it again.  You stop on the next floor and pick up another passenger, and genius number two repeats the first’s actions.   Oh, how I can’t stand it!

My issues with elevators also involve people who refuse to take the stairs to go up or down one level.  Unless you are in a wheel chair or carrying loads of luggage or laundry, it is going to be faster to utilize your legs and move one floor.  Every time the elevator stops on floor two on its way down to the main level, I am screaming inside “You fat, lazy, piece of shit!!!!”  That’s exactly what I’m saying.  I’m pretty sure most people can read my mind too because I don’t have a poker face.  It’s more of a “I’m completely judging you” face.

How about when you have a full elevator and someone comes running down the hallway as soon as the doors are shutting?  One dumb ass in the group always has to be the one to open the elevator doors and be that good samaritan.  The doors open and the would be passenger looks at the crowded group and says “I’ll wait for the next one.”  Good one.  When I’m by myself in an elevator and I hear someone racing to catch it, I almost always hit the doors close button.  Shuffle your feet, lose your seat and you can wait for the next death trap to ride to the top.

Now WTF?

I completed the marathon.  At 27 1/2 years old, I can check 26.2 miles off of my list of things to do before I’m 30.  However, that was never really something on my list, but more of a challenge that arose and I answered.  So what now? No seriously, what the f am I supposed to do now? For months I could say “I’m training for a marathon,” and “I’m going to Ireland– to run a marathon,” but what can I say now? How about “I just ate some whale shaped crackers from the dollar store?” Cause that’s about as exciting as my life is right now. 

I would really love to cross off the things that are actually on my “to do or die” list, like landing a full time magazine job and not living paycheck to paycheck.  I really wish Cosmo would come calling.  Did you know I was voted by my sorority “Most likely to write for Cosmo?”  Pretty impressive, except I made up the categories and I totally knew that’s where I would place.  At least I didn’t get “Biggest party pooper” or “Most likely to fall off the face of the earth,” however these titles were definitely deserved by the winners, so maybe mine is also.