Wednesday, April 23, 2008
A guy walks into a bar...

Or actually, a hotel lobby where we sell beer and wine, though he is clearly not in need of either. The only thing he needs is a shower, a breath mint and a good night's sleep. But instead of any of those things, he decides to stand up at the front desk and tell me his idea for a movie.


It's an hour until the end of my shift and I was stupid enough to tell the man that I have a degree in writing. When will I learn to lie to the people who ask me questions about myself? What's that? You want to know my story? I actually dropped out of high school, have four children and am working fifty hour weeks to pay for my raging addiction to nasal spray.

But no. Instead I stand, smiling until it hurts, and listen to drunk men talk (to themselves mostly), nodding appropriately.

Tonight's gentleman points out his wedding ring no less than ten times and assures me constantly that he has never strayed.

Really? High five, man. You want a sticker? I might have one with our logo on it.

Anyway, he goes on to tell me, in riveting detail, the opening scenes for his movie idea. Which is basically Lost in Translation, only set in New Orleans. And, since he's drunk and my time is just about up, I'm honest with him when I tell him that, Yes, it has been done before.

It's not always like this. There are some guests who come in (and who are generally sober) that I genuinely look forward to chatting with. One such guest came down to the desk twice last night, but was too polite to stick around after he checked on his next reservation, not wanting to interrupt my conversation with sketchfest-here's-my-movie-idea-man.

But enough about work.

Home life has been good. In an attempt to trim my daughter's bangs from dangling over her whole face, I've officially given her a mullet (in case the God given one that she had was not bad enough.) It wouldn't be so bad, if we didn't already live in a part of Southern NH where mullet's are considered a part of local culture. (On a good day in the summer you might even spy a rat-tail.)

Writing-wise, things are going well. The piece that I was asked to rewrite a few weeks ago was accepted. So, that's three pieces coming out in the next few months. Not a bad start to the new year. I'll let you know when things are out (some will even be available online...)

Editing-wise, things are slow. I'm behind on my biggest project, partly due to the cold that tore through my house, but also because I was thrown a couple of curve balls (ok, the same person who requested that I write a letter on plagiarism for her about a year ago, asked me if I could basically whip up an entire thesis for her...due this week. Obviously, this was a no go. But she is family, so I'm trying to help as much as possible, without being responsible for any form of cheating.)

And now that I'm officially rambling - I'm going to stop. Will return with more concise thoughts later. Sooner than later.

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Saturday, April 12, 2008

That's My Girl 49/365, originally uploaded by Mellahoney.
And the best part? She's staring down two total strangers in this shot.

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Thursday, April 10, 2008
Na Na
So, I'm supposed to be working diligently on various projects that require attention to detail and time spent in quiet places with red pens and an editorial eye. But for the first since before the first snow fell, we can go outside wearing only thin jackets or hoodies and it's awfully hard to make myself sit down and work.

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Friday, April 04, 2008
Confession Time...

It's official. They're back. And the 10 year old little girl inside me, who wasn't allowed to go to their concerts as a pre-teen, squealed when a friend alerted me to the news.

Even if it's just a nostalgic romp through the misguided musical choices I made as a pre-adolecent...I'm so there.
(Maybe I'll throw some stonewashed denim on the stage...)

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Wednesday, April 02, 2008
We have friends who are house hunting in this very buyer-friendly market. Not only is the market on their side, but they also have the financial support of family, as well as large monetary gifts from their recent wedding - all to put down toward their first home. All of this is wonderful.

They looked at a large home in a neighborhood the next town over from ours - at our urging (move closer, please!) - and then stopped by to visit with us and the kids before driving the half an hour back to their small apartment. And as we sat around chatting with them about atrocious houses and what they're looking for, what they're willing to spend (versus, what they've been "pre-approved" for), etc.

They are good people, some of our best friends, and I'm so happy for them. But, I'm also human, and can't help but have the fleeting moments of envy at their incredible, unbelievable, good fortune. To be buying in this sort of market (as opposed to when we packed up and moved north to simply afford a teeny-condo over the border), to not have to worry about finances too much (both working full time and also enjoying that cushion of wedding loot), to have the time and energy and funds to devote time to getting their house (whatever one they choose) up into their ideal shape - before having children.

They're looking big. Big yard, finished basements, giant garages. The works. Meanwhile, they sat describing this to us in our 1250 square foot, ranch style home that was built on the rails where a mobile trailer once sat. We are not big. We are not flashy. We do not even have hallways to speak of, more like rooms that just branch off of one another. Our driveway does fit two cars and we do have a deck and a good sized shed, but our neighbors are both trailers. Our neighborhood is entirely mobile. The epitome of low-class, low budget, low, low, low.

I sank into the lowness of it all last night as I slept. I can't remember my dreams exactly, but I know that I woke up this morning feeling lower than I had before their visit last night. I was unsatisfied and bitter and thinking well, we could afford a larger house if we were both working too. And we're only here because the market was so terrible when we needed to buy a place...

And then I reached into the refrigerator to offer my kids yogurts after their waffles. We had a plethora of strawberry, but only one blueberry left. I gave my son the choice between the two and he chose blueberry.

He is now down for an early nap, because as soon as he saw his sister licking the pink strawberry yogurt off of her spoon, he woefully regretted his decision and began to whine for a strawberry cup of his own - even though any other day of the week, blueberry is great, blueberry is his first choice. Blueberry is grand.

As I explained to him that he made his choice, that it was a good one and that there's plenty of strawberry for tomorrow or the next day, I heard my own words come back to myself. Be thankful for what you do have, don't whine for what you don't. I told him.

Of course, he's only three and the whining and whimpering and fretting over every goopy spoonful that his sister loaded into her mouth of that precious, delicious, most amazing yogurt ever - continued and escalated. So, he's down for a nap to settle down and think about thankfulness and what it means to appreciate what we're given.

Now, I'm left sitting here, imagining my life without him. What my life would be had my husband and I waited five or six years into our marriage to have children. What if we had decided to go for the big house ourselves. (And what if we had, and in order to keep it after having children, I would've had to relinquish them to someone else's care five days of the week, and spend my time in an office and on a commute and working for someone other than my family?)

And I realize that these questions are just as silly as my son clamoring for something other than the blueberry he loves any other day of the week.

I've been given more than what I need. I've been given things, people, that I love. And I need to listen to my own motherly advice. Either that, or take a nap.

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Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Marital Bliss
Found this original note "You Stink" above my desk the other day, and of course, responded in kind (and with a grin on my face.) You see, I'm not a romantic, flowers-on-Valentines day sort of girl. I'm a goofy-random-joking-note sort of chick. And my husband is just so sweet.

Can you feel the love?

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