Half Baked, Twice as Good

So lemme run this down for you, real list-like. The last few days since I got home from New Orleans have sucked in a special way, and because I was all Pollyanna this weekend with my “Hey! Let’s help people!” rant, I feel entitled to bitch now.

1. I have something. It’s some kind of snotty, nasty, energy-sucking thing that’s also causing panic attacks. I wish I were kidding.

2. I have to teach a class at 5:00 today. It’s technically the 3rd week of class but I’ve only laid eyes on these people once, and I swear to you, for all I know they are Joan Rivers look-a-likes. Yes, people. I am THAT good at education.

3. I have fallen out of favor with the socialites, and I wish I could say that I didn’t care, but I also wish I could say that I did. In reality, most of my frenemies need AA. Just a little message. (Did you like my Danielle Staub reference there? What? You don’t know who she is? Get thee to a television NOW.)

4. My hair is dirty and it’s possible that I also smell, showers notwithstanding. I think when you’re sick AND you’re in a bad mood, stink just seeps out of your pores.

5. I just lost 5 readers and 1 Twitter follower for that graphic and vaguely disgusting imagery.

6. The heat, y’all. The goddamned heat. If Hurricane Earl comes this way, and it’s kind of looking like it, there better be rain and at least 5-degree cooler temperatures. OR ELSE I’M MOVING TO MAINE. Consider yourself warned, Maine.

7. On a good note, the friends loyal and true to me are ones who warm the cockles of my heart. I have this one lovely friend who flew to NC this weekend just so she could host some friends for dinner at her mother’s house. She had me print up menu cards and she cooked a three-course meal, in the grand tradition of Southern hostesses. I swear, Yankees, I’m just not sure you know what you’re missing.

8. Hey, did you watch the Emmys? The dresses were ridiculously ridiculous this year. Actually I’m just talking about January Jones. The rest of them were kind of boring. Woo, but do you know who’s NOT boring? Tom and Lorenzo. The love I have for those boys is just ginormous and I think I need to up the gay quotient in my life. I really think that’s what might be missing, y’all.

January Jones, looking ridiculous at the 2010 Emmys in Atelier Versace.

9. I’m all done with the listing for today, mostly because the Diet Coke has kicked in and I’m a twirling, nervous wreck. What is it about illness that brings on the panic attacks? I’ll never know.

Have a great Tuesday, dolls. In the words of the ever-profound New Jersey housewives, I am not garbage.

Right now:

There is a Julia Roberts marathon on USA.

I’m reading the BlogHer ’10 tweets and wondering about these girls.

A pile of bank papers on my coffee table is staring at me.

My cat is desperately trying to meld her body with mine.

I can’t organize my thoughts well enough to write more than a list.

But I’m trying.

Last summer I wrote a post about Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love, a book that has stuck with me ever since. The eating part I’ve got down pat; it’s the other stuff I – and undoubtedly every other woman who’s read that book – am working on. I forget though. Do you ever find yourself starting those good habits like exercising and eating right and calling your mother every Sunday and then find that two weeks have passed and you missed that one day and then that other day and then all good intentions are no more? You’re not alone. Or maybe I’m the only one. Who gives a shit, really…the important thing is that the praying and the loving are far more essential to getting down to the root of what ails me.

I am failing at my business. Oh, I have customers, and I have people who buy things from me and who plan to get gifts for birthdays and graduations and so forth. But in the grand scheme of things, like THE BUDGET, I’m failing. I am not a good record-keeper, I am a terrible mathematician and I have no head for business. I love the work itself, but I hate the business and the voices in my head were right: this probably wasn’t a good idea. There’s no one to rely on – or blame – but me, and it’s far easier to give up than try to fix a mess. It makes me feel awful though, and I fear that the awfulness will get the better of me.

Additionally, that gentle, relaxed feeling I had leftover from vacation is gone and the tension of real life has crept back into my shoulders like stubborn ivy, winding its way up my neck and down my spine and choking the life out of my head. There is intense fear and anxiety about the expectations I have for myself. I did not register for school. I am terrified to teach this semester. I am ashamed that I am not a better housekeeper or wife and that I have failed at my business venture.

I have educated myself enough about my anxiety to know that there are definable triggers and that there are steps I can take to head off the avalanche that comes so easily. I can meditate, I can reduce distractions, I can focus myself and my thoughts, BLAH BLAH BLAH. Just like the business, it’s easier to give up than to fix a mess. I take my medication, most of the time, but there is work I know I should do right along with that. Is it that I’m lazy? Is it too much to tackle at once? Do I forget? I don’t have the answers.

Praying and loving are these two huge words – these touchy feely warm fuzzy words that are repulsive and comforting at the same time. Praying for some people involves a church or mosque or synagogue; for other people, it’s just a quiet moment that is private and personal. I don’t know what it is for me. I forget how to do it, mostly because I think I’m doing it wrong or that God is sitting there (up there? out there?) shaking his head at me and adding my name to that list of people who got left in the oven too long. So I just skip right over it because really, what would I pray about anyway?

Loving, for me, comes back to that whole thing about being an asshole. I know that I shouldn’t be an asshole and that I should love other people, but I don’t know that I’m aware of how to do that. I could write a whole other list of shortcomings right here that would take up 14 hours of my time, and all of it involves being self-centered and too afraid to tell people I love them because they might not say it back. How do you know you love someone or something to begin with? I don’t mean romantic love – I have BB and I put a ring on his finger and so he’s contractually required to love me until I do something to piss him off. And vice versa. I’m talking about the other kind of love – the kind that (I think) is what you reserve for friends and ideas and yourself.

I really don’t know what I’m talking about here other than to say that life has confounded me in such a way that I feel as though I’m at a 4-way stop sign with no directions. It does that to everyone, I totally know that, but what happens to you isn’t nearly as important as what happens to me. See? I’m an asshole.

Finally, before Pretty Woman ends and I strangle the fur off my cat, I should say that two weeks ago I had a conversation with one of my best friends about traveling abroad for a period of time. Neither one of us knows how we will finance it or where exactly we’ll go, or what we’ll do when we get there, but we have good intentions. If it happens, it will be a lesson in selflessness and compassion, both of which I desperately need. If you’re the praying sort, send us your good wishes so that we might focus and develop this. If you’re the loving sort, send us your love because we probably need that too.

Those weather people. So creative.

I’ll go ahead and warn you up front: this entire post is a long, drawn out complaint about the heat. Ready? Here goes:

1. It’s so hot that my ass sticks to everything.

2. It’s so hot that pipes can’t produce cold water.

3. It’s so hot that birds don’t have the energy to shit on my car.

4. It’s so hot that my deodorant doesn’t work anymore; I stink by 9am.

5. It’s so hot here that no one is at the pool.

6. It’s so hot that being naked won’t even cool you off.

7. It’s too hot to eat.

8. It’s too hot to sleep.

9. It’s almost too hot to type.

10. It’s so hot my cactus plants are dying.

11. It’s hot enough to melt my jewelry.

12. It’s so hot my coworker’s windshield exploded. True story.

I would write more, but frankly, it’s just too hot. And this is enough complaining for one afternoon. I wish you all a wonderful, cool weekend. I will be packing for my beach trip, going to see my shrink, having lunch with a friend, and sleeping in the freezer.

Okay, well maybe they are. This post is a little bit in bad taste because I’m going to complain about my in-laws. Some of them are “online” but heaven only knows how many of them actually know this here blog exists. I’m hoping it’s none.

Anyway, our annual Beachsplosion adventure starts next week and as you may recall from last year, I expected it to be a nightmare of epic proportions and it really turned out not so bad. Granted, there were a lot of people, and granted, there were some meltdowns but all in all it was tolerable and at some points, enjoyable!

We're staying here. How bad could it be?

We leave next Tuesday, but this time there are a few twists and turns. One, part of BB’s family we will miss altogether, as they will have come and gone before we ever get there. Two, my MIL’s boyfriend is coming – not new – and bringing one of his children. TOTALLY NEW. There’s a little bit of a stink about this. I’m waiting to see what happens, because at the least, it should be entertaining.

So here’s my packing list from last year, compared to this year:

1. 5 lbs. of homemade chicken salad Pick up a half gallon from the bbq place.

2. 4 cases of Pepsi products A couple bottles of water.

3. 7 pairs of shoes Beach flip flops and dressier flip flops.

4. Laptop, iPod speakers, chargers, portable DVD player, DVDs Two Droids and some headphones.

5. 20 lbs. worth of hardback bestsellers Couple of paperbacks, Kindle for Droid app.

6. Enough clothes to outfit Paris Hilton Bathing suit, perhaps some pajamas.

7. Snacks. A lot of snacks. Tequila.

8. Pasta, cereal, bread, farm veggies, casseroles Debit card for the grocery store and takeout.

9. Effort, energy and pleasantness Apathy, appetite, lazy bone.

I’m sure BB will have a great time being around his family, away from Pepsi and reading the fat Stephen King novel I bought him. And I’m sure I’ll just be drunk.

You know, typical family vacation.

36 years ago today, your mother lay in a hospital bed staring out the window at the Chowan River. She was 36 years old. She had three older children, one of them 15 and rebellious. She had a 5 year who wanted a baby sister and instead got a brother. She had a 10 year old who had no time for babies, only time for riding bikes.

And she had you, a ball of energy from the start, a head full of dark blonde curls, and brown eyes that twinkled.

Now she is 72, a happy grandmother to 7, a woman with a more active social calendar than Lindsay Lohan and who wears the same perfume she did when you were a child.

You are a grown up, with a head full of dark brown curls, brown eyes that twinkle, and a line on your forehead that comes from too much worry and not enough vacation. My friend at The Daily Snark wonders what life it too short for, and I took the liberty of answering that for you.

Life is too short to…

…Let your bank account determine your station in life.

…Watch others get what they want and not grab some for yourself.

…Let your wife erase “Good Times” from the DVR.

…Spend your days off clipping hedges.

…Worry about what you can’t change.

…Not change the things you can.

…Let other people get away with things they shouldn’t.

…Not pick your battles.

…Take birthdays for granted, even 36^th ones.