Suffering from SPA

Working in an environment that is 99.9999% female means many things.  This list includes catty fights, tears on a regular basis, more cutesy crap than you can shake a stick at and...parties.  Not just any party.  These parties are money makers.  I'm talking about

Pampered Chef


Scentsy


Home Interiors


Tupperware


Mary Kay


Beauty Control


Silpada


Lia Sophia


Miche Bags


Thirty One bags


Passion


JAFRA


Celebrating Home


Longaberger baskets

parties.  The list could go on and on.  These are all things that I have been invited to/guilted into/suckered into throughout my teaching career.  And perhaps I'm just a little bit cynical, but when I get an invite to one of these things, I inwardly (and perhaps outwardly as well) groan.  There seems to be an unwritten rule.  If you get invited to one of these things, you have to buy something.  I don't get it!  I must have missed that 11th commandment "Thou shalt support thy fellow coworkers by purchasing cheap faddy crap whenever presented with the opportunity."  And like a dutiful person, I do it.

The thing is, I have enough Pampered Chef orange peelers to tunnel my way to China.  I don't want a bag that has interchangeable sides.  I think expensive baskets are a waste and frankly, most of the Scentsy stuff stinks.

Now, however, I'm feeling the pressure.  I know someone that works for a jewelry company and she wants me to have a party.  My mother and sister think I should have a party.  I am completely immobilized, however.  I am suffering from a severe case of SPA - Severe Party Anxiety.  Don't get me wrong.  I love a good party!  I enjoy having people over!  But in my mind, if I do this party, one of two disastrous things will happen:  1)  people will groan and resent having to buy something and not like me and/or 2) no one will come and I'll feel like a loser.  I feel their pain!

If I really do this, I want to beg people to come.  I want to lure them to my party with promises that the food will not suck, the party won't be filled with awkward silences as people race to fill out an order form and get the heck out of there, and it won't be lame.  They don't have to buy anything!  They just have to show up to boost my poor self-esteem.

Men should really throw these kinds of parties.  They miss out on all the fun.  Imagine the possibilities!

Screwdrivers with interchangeable handles


Wickless candles that smell manly


Storage containers for the garage that are ridiculously overpriced


Skincare products for men only

Anyone want to come to a jewelry party?

I Went to St. Louis...

...and all I got were lousy bruises!

I was in St. Louis this weekend to meet my most favorite people in the entire world.  It was so good to see them, and I was sad we had such a short time to be together.  Leaving them was hard!  But all I have to do is look at my bruised arm and knees and I will have fond memories of them.  Why?

Because they took me to the most amazing place ever, the City Museum in St. Louis.  Now, you might be thinking "A museum?  Yawn."  Oh no, my friends.  This is no museum.  It's a giant, giant playground for adults.  An artist purchased an old shoe factory and using reclaimed industrial parts like airplanes, fire engines, rebar, engine parts, etc. created a monstrous structure to play in.  Sure, it has lots for children, and they love it, but it's totally designed for adults, too.  The former shoe factory is filled with tiny tunnels and holes that you crawl through.  You have no idea where they are leading you, and you have no idea if you'll ever find your way back.

They turned the former shoe chutes into slides that will lead you all over the 10+ story building. 

Everything in the area, including the rope swings, tree houses and skate park, is made of industrial leftovers.  The bathroom walls are made out of restaurant baking pans.

 There are caves throughout the building.  They smell damp, and are dark and scary.  Perfect for spelunkers. 

I found myself crawling on my hands and knees, scooting on my butt, climbing, and seriously wondering if I was ever going to make it out.  At one point, my friend was trying to wedge himself through a tiny hole and yelled back that my other friend and I were not going to fit - it wasn't boob friendly.  And then he had to seriously work to get back out of the hole.

It also has a ten story tall slide.  You can get there in more than one way, but I preferred the stairs.

It was when I was walking through this wet grate, very high in the air, in the dark that I remembered that I currently have NO health insurance and...um...was this a very good idea?  Also, Non-Mommy, do NOT look down.

It is open until 1 a.m.  After 10 p.m. they turn off the lights and you can explore the entire factory using flashlights and glow sticks.  They also have a bar for those interested. 

Despite my bruised knees, very sore muscles, and sweat soaked clothing, I had a great time.  This is really an incredible place to visit.  You could be there all day long and never see anything.  It's truly huge.  It is well, well worth a visit - even if you have to drive a day to do it.  It is extremely child friendly, extremely adult friendly, and a great work out.  Don't believe me?  Go read reviews online.

If you go, I strongly recommend that you wear pants that you don't mind getting dirty in.  You will literally be pulling yourself up, climbing, shimmying, scooting, etc.  You need good shoes with good traction.  Be prepared to sweat a lot.  Knee pads are a great idea.  But I promise, you will love this place if you are active!

City Museum of St. Louis

Gracias, Pedro

I just learned of the death of a great man, and one that was extremely influential in my life.  Today, Pedro Hernandez passed away after many years with illness.  Pedro and his wife Donie are instrumental in forming a children's home and ministry for orphaned/abandoned/neglected children in the Guatemala City, Guatemala area.  Their ministry is called Casa Bernabe.  I first met Pedro in the year 2000 when I traveled to Guatemala to care for orphans.  I thought I was going for a few weeks of fun with adorable kids and travel in a beautiful, beautiful country.  When I stepped off that airplane and onto Guatemalan soil, I had no idea how my life would change.

To inadequately explain it, I fell in love.  Big time.  Pedro and Donie put all of their time, finances and lives on the line to create homes for children who were absolutely desperate.  These are children that have been prostituted.  They have been pulled from a dump, buried alive in garbage.  These children have been abused in every way possible and sniff glue to stave off hunger pains.  These are not children that are easy to love, and yet you can't help but love them.

Pedro and Donie created a safe place for children to be loved and cared for.  Pedro was so much fun!  He had an incredible zest for life and was always laughing.  When he would come in, the children would  flock to him, hanging on him and playing with him.  Pedro was officially a father to several children as it was, but he was also a dad to hundreds of children that would never legally belong to him.

As soon as it was time for me to leave, I knew I had to return.  I had to return as SOON AS POSSIBLE.  As in, like 10 minutes ago.  A few months later I went back for a three month stay.  I learned so much from Pedro about being selfless, using humor to break down barriers, and using love as your greatest resource to make a difference in the life of others.

It all seems so far away and so foreign now.  I spent extended time in a third world country with people I didn't know?  I was fluent enough in Spanish to be the only translator for a group of dumb Americans, Brits and Canadians?  I stayed somewhere that required me to know, intimately well, the Spanish words for lice and fleas?  I washed my clothes using a garden hose?  I could tell when the local volcano was going to erupt because of earthquakes?  For extended periods of time, I took showers without getting water in my eyes or mouth, and never flushed toilet paper?  ME??

And yet, when I think about it, or talk about it, a flood of emotions so deep and overwhelming crush me to my core.  It's hard for me to talk about, because it was such an important part of my life.  Sure, I love speaking Spanish and was completely fluent at that time.  Yes, I enjoyed teaching orphans in a private school.  Of course, I LOVED Guatemala - the color, the food, the sweet people.  But that wasn't what was so incredible for me.  It was the children.

Just writing this makes me bawl.  Even after all of these years, I still cry thinking about the children.  It was my honor to care for them.  I loved every minute of it.  These poor children have nothing.  They are beautiful inside and out.  Life has dished out the crappiest things possible for them, and yet so many of them were so very grateful for what little they had.  They constantly would seek your attention.  I used to spend quite a bit of time watching a group of boys roller skate.  They would purposely crash and come to me to bandage them up, just because they wanted attention (of course I was more than happy to oblige!).  One little boy called me Mami.  I would always correct him, but I loved it.  Shortly before I left for good, we took the children to a water park and one of my little shadows, William, sat down beside me.  He leaned against me, very tired.  Instead of going to play with the others, he eventually made it to my lap and dozed off.  I let him sleep in my lap for an hour, a big 9 year old boy.  As I traced his hairline with my finger, his eyes fluttered open.  He reached up, put his hand on my cheek and said "Please don't leave me."

My heart burst into a thousand pieces.

I wish I could tell you more, but I can't honestly bear to think about it.

In the end, I chose to make my career a priority back home and leave that part of my life behind.  I would be lying if I didn't admit that I regret that a tiny bit every day.  For months I grieved after I left there.  I think that leaving behind those precious children was almost like a death to me.  When I see pictures of the children today, I can still tell you so much about each of the kids.  They have never left me, even though I left them.  Time has not healed that wound, at all.  I still get very upset when I think about that part of my life and that it's "over."  It is so odd.  Part of me wishes I could just live there full time.  Part of me wants to be here.  None of it would have been possible if it weren't for Pedro and his tenacity.   Casa Bernabe has changed dramatically since I was there.  They had very few resources, and lived in some pretty sad conditions.  But it still provided the children with at least two meals a day and shelter.  Today, Casa Bernabe is extremely developed and nice.  It is giving children with few chances a big step forward in their lives.

I'm happy for Pedro, because his suffering is over and I know that he's so happy to be with children who were sick and passed away while at Casa Bernabe.  He had such a heart for children and it would crush him to not be able to do more for the children.

Thank you, Pedro, for all you did for the children, and for the opportunities that you gave me to grow and learn more about myself.  Thank you for showing me how amazing adoption can be, and for planting a seed in my life for a family of my own.  Thanks for all the dinners at your house, and for driving me all over creation showing me your beautiful country.

Te exrano.

Rebel Friday Fail

I carpool with a friend of mine.  She's very funny, and you just never know what to expect when you ride with her.  A cup full of tiny shovels from Orange Leaf?  Got it!  A restroom stop at a fireworks warehouse?  Done it!  Listened to a lot of Glee songs?  Yep.

She is a lot of fun, and since we have to leave at the butt-crack of dawn for our long commute, it makes those early mornings a lot more bearable.

This past week, we had to stay at school late for a night event.  After we left, I suggested that we could go to work later in the morning so we could sleep in a little bit late.  If we made it to work on time, and liked it, we could do this weekly and call it "Rebel Friday."  I even declared that I was not going to wear an official school shirt (as is a requirement on Fridays in my school).

I didn't think it through, though.  You see, I'm not a rebel.  Not by a long shot.  I am neurotic.  If I'm on time to an event, I feel like I am late.  I have to be early to things.  So, by getting to work at the exact time I am supposed to be there, I feel like a failure.

We left, marveling at how weird it was to leave when it was light outside, and how there was quite a bit more traffic than normal.  We were perky and well rested.

Thirty minutes later, I was feeling very anxious.  I kept watching the clock.  I kept accelerating more and more.  Finally, I admitted to my friend that I was feeling stressed about leaving so late.  She admitted that she was feeling the same way, and couldn't stop watching the clock.

85 MPH later, I was praying that I wouldn't get caught by a cop.  We made it to work in excellent time, and all was well.  But the fun was sucked right out of "Rebel Friday."  This is why I never did any majorly rebellious behaviors as a teen - I just couldn't do it!  I couldn't handle it!

I'm going to rename it "Fuddy Duddy Friday."

Technology is awesome

Right now, one of my closest friends is in labor.  She's texting me a whole lot, which means that things aren't really rolling too much.  I wanted to take a nap, but I'm too excited!

You know, as the only single woman on the planet, with eggs that are rapidly approaching geriatric status, you'd think I'd be used to this.  All of my friends have babies.  All of them.  And yet, each time they go into labor I'm ridiculously excited and a nervous wreck.  I want to be there!  I worry about if they are in pain or not.  And yes, part of me just wants to get my hands on that kid.

As an aside, I'd just like to say that I want to see someone give birth.  I know it's gross, but I don't care.  I just want to see a live birth!  No one ever takes me up on it, not even my sister.  My cousin would probably let me, but she lives a million miles away and has no plans for a Non-Mommy, Jr. either.  I am screwed.

Anyway, soon I will get to snuggle with a new baby.  They don't do much, but there isn't much better than holding a warm bundle of new goodness.

(Please note the restraint I have shown in not complaining about it never being my turn!  Also, if you know any single men, please leave me their pertinent contact information.  

Huked on Fonix Wurkz Fur Me!

I commute to work every day with an absolutely hilarious friend. When you spend a great deal of time in the car with someone, you get to know them fairly well and also have some interesting conversations. Today, this song came on the radio:



I began making the bull whip sound earnestly, as it is my favorite part of the song. Somehow or another, my friend and I got into a deep conversation about how you would describe this whip sound. Specifically, how would you spell it?

Before you know it, my friend and I are making the whip sound over, and over, and over. We are really analyzing the sound and trying to put letters to go with it. Of course, every time we make the sound, we have to make the whipping motion with our hands! I'm sure we looked VERY odd, sitting in traffic, whipping the air repeatedly in the car.  We were also dying of laughter.

To better clarify the sound, I turned the volume WAY up so we could study the sound in detail. Here we are, sitting in my old lady car, music BLASTING, whipping the air with a frenzy.

My friend suggested that you spell the whipping sound like this:

Witchchchch-chhch

My argument was that sounded like a whip that had a stutter, or a whip that is cold. Besides, you'd need the hyphen earlier in the word! But hey, try spelling her suggestion outloud to yourself and listen to how silly it sounds!

I don't know if it's

whi-tch
whtch
witch

Or, as Chandler Bing says it...



Don't you wish you carpooled with us to hear our stimulating conversations?!

I Wonder What They Think of Obama?

Alternately titled:  Rough Times in France

I am seriously considering a trip to England this summer.  It's been a while since I have traveled outside of the country and I think I might just die if I don't use the old passport again.  Also, there are plenty of rumors that Prince William will be getting married this summer and I think it would be really cool to be in England during a royal wedding.  The cougar inside of me cries at the idea of him getting married, but I'm willing to put those feelings aside so I can see lots of bunting in England.

 The last time I went to England, a friend and I took a trip over to France.  This was my second trip to France.  It is not my favorite place in the world, but I still went.  Then...the following trauma ensued.

I was sitting in an outdoor cafe, eating lunch with my British friend and her French friend, minding my own business, when I noticed a small French man in a beret.  He was an old man and was shuffling along.  The three of us were visiting and enjoying the sunny day.  I said something, and the old man suddenly froze, shooting me a deadly look.  I had no idea what he was doing, so I continued on with the conversation.  No doubt it was something really important like wondering about the weird rotating toilet seat in the bathroom at another cafe we'd been at.

 Suddenly, the old man began shouting at me in French.  I had no idea what he was saying.  He was very animated, screaming and waving his arms.  I tried to pretend there was no crazy man shrieking at me, and kept eating my salad, trying to avoid eye contact with him.  Then, the old man began SPITTING ON MY SHOES.  I repeat, SPITTING ON MY SHOES.  I continued to eat, acting like it was completely normal for a short man in a beret to spit on me while I eat.

He shuffled away, and conveniently, the police drove by.  When I no longer needed them!  The French woman at the table said that she was confused by what he was saying, and didn't know what he thought we were.  We kind of chuckled and continued to visit and eat.

 Pretty soon, my French best friend was back!  He began immediately spitting on me and started screaming at me again.  He wasn't doing it to my British friend, or the French woman, just little innocent me.  The French woman was trying to reason with him and he shuffled off again.  After he left, the French woman said that he was calling the three of us lesbian whores and telling me that Americans were going to get the French all killed.  He told me to tell President Bush that he didn't support the war and to stop it.

You know, all Americans know the president.  Sure, French Dude, we're like this:

 I'll pass on your message!

So, with spit on my shoes and an apparent invisible target on my back, I left the cafe.  It was a Sunday and we had to take the Metro to get back to the hotel.  We purchased tickets to the Metro, but mine wouldn't work.  I tried and tried.  There was no one at the ticket counter because it was a Sunday.  I had paid for the ticket, but it wasn't recognizing it.  The only solution was to cozy up to the French woman and go through the turnstile as one person, all the while staring at the surveillance camera watching my every move, mouthing "I'm sorry!  I did pay for it!" and praying I didn't go to French prison.

So, as I contemplate another trip to Europe, I wonder - what is the political mood over there?  Do they like President Obama?  Should I bring rain boots for shoes?

Why I Dislike Weddings

 In part two of Why My Middle Name is Sucker:  A Charming Tale of the Things I Do for People I Don't Even Like we go from the lame bachelorette party I got suckered into to the WONDERFUL! (barf) BEAUTIFUL (barf!) STUNNING (barf!) wedding.

First of all, the wedding was lame.  Really, really lame.  There was hardly anyone there.  I was glad I went because of that, but at the same time, clearly everyone else in this girl's life has figured out what I'm slow to get to - no one wants to be with her!  It was your typical, loser wedding.  They played way too much music, the bridesmaids looked kind of ill fitted in the dresses she selected for them, and the bride came down in all her radioactive skin glory.  Seriously, her orange skin looked positively radiant against the white brightness of her wedding dress.

I would like to add that when we went for the dress fitting, it was suggested (ahem) have the dressed altered because it was too long.  Nope.  Guess who looked like she was walking in quicksand down the aisle?  Yep.  Seems that some people may have known what they were talking about after all!

Anyway, as the wedding was over, we all filed outside to wait for the bride.  As I gave the bride a hug, she whispered into my ear "The single guy is here."  THE single guy.  THE.  And no offense to the bride (well, ok, some offense) but I don't want to be with anyone that she thinks would be good for me.  To get out of the chapel you had to go down these super tall, steep steps. As I was one of the first rows to be dismissed from the chapel, I got to see everyone walk down the steps.  This girl came out (she will be part of the story later) and she was wearing the SHORTEST SKIRT I have ever seen.  Like, "Oh look, there's her butt crack" kind of short.  But then, figure in the angle in which I was looking up, and the wind, and let's just say that I'm a lot more intimately acquainted with her than she realizes.

The ceremony is over, so we head to the hotel for the reception.  We get to the reception at 5:00.  Evidently, the dumb bride wasn't supposed to have anyone come until 6:30.  SHE didn't even show up until 6:30.  So we sat, for an hour and a half, with no drinks and no food.  It was so boring.  There was no seating arrangement, and no one knew what to do.  I went with my friend and her husband (I love being the third wheel) and we sat with some really nice people, but they didn't have much to say.  It was awkward.

The bridal party finally graced us with their presence, and we could finally eat.  It was so quiet in the reception.  There were lots of empty tables.  People weren't talking much.  It was uncomfortable.  It also felt like a fake wedding, like the bride and groom knew they were supposed to do things, but then weren't really into it.  I was making lots of helpful comments like "When I get married, I'm going to do this.  At my wedding, it's not going to be like this."  I've pretty much decided to get married somewhere else so I don't have to bother much with inviting lots of people, or having a big party.  They can do whatever they want.  They can eat whatever they want.  They can drink whatever they want.  I'll be long gone on a steamy honeymoon with my husband!

 So we're going along in this supremely awkward reception, when word gets back to me about Short Skirt Girl.  It seems that Short Skirt Girl is an ice skater.  She seriously could break me in two with her legs.  She was tan, tall, and gorgeous.  And guess what?  One of two single ladies there.  The other one being ME.  But what do I care, right?  I was a little stressed about the whole "toss the bouquet" thing but the bride acted like she wasn't going to do it.  I was sitting at the table, minding my own business, when the DJ turned on a new song.  I knew what the song was from the first two notes.  It was "Single Ladies" by Beyonce.  Upon hearing those two notes, I knew what was coming.  I believe my reaction involved a few bad words, and the decision that I needed to go to the restroom, NOW.  As I bolted out the door, I heard the DJ call up all the single ladies to catch the bouquet.  When he said that, I heard the bride yell my name.  Call me a wuss if you must.  But it is humiliating enough to be forced to the front to catch the stupid bouquet.  But then, the TWO people up there were Hot Ice Skater Short Skirt Girl with the killer legs, or...me, in my pushup bra.  And did I mention that I can't catch to save my life?  I'm a total spaz.  So, I had a near miss.  I don't think my fragile self-esteem could have taken a wrestle with that ice skater for the bouquet.  I did make it back in time to see THE single guy catch the garter.  I think I am glad we weren't introduced.

The rest of the reception was uneventful.  It was a loser wedding, as I thought it would be.  And now, my conscience can rest easily knowing that I am no longer obligated to do anything out of pity for this girl!  If I told you some of the things she did, you'd be like "Why were you still even being nice to her?"  It's a curse.  I don't say no very well.

Then, on my way home, my dad, who was in the hospital at the time, called me and said "Do you want to come over and stay with me a while?"  I was already really far from the hospital, and it was really late.  I didn't go.  And I permanently cemented my place in the "Horrible Daughter Hall of Fame."  But hey.  I got to wear a push up bra.

A serious perk to non-mommyhood

Allow me to take a moment from my usual comedic genius to talk about something more serious.  I want children.  I want children terribly.  I never in a million years dreamed that I'd be at this point in my life, still unattached and with no family.  It's been very difficult for me to accept.  There are, however, perks to singlehood.  The obvious ones are things like sleeping in, ease around the house, etc.  What I want to take a moment to talk about, though, is how my singleness affects my relationships with others.

As a single woman, I have more time to spend with others.  This can be a positive and a negative.  It can be frustrating for me that I have time and inclination to do activities, but all of my friends are unable to do things because they have families to tend to.  I've been so fortunate to have open time to spend with my sister and my parents.  This has been such a wonderful perk about being single.  I'm able to spend quality time with my parents.  Recently, my father passed away.  I treasure every moment I've had with them both, and am so grateful I had fewer obligations to take me away from time with them.  Since becoming an adult, my sister and I have become more than sisters - we're truly friends.  Her schedule may be limited since becoming a mother, but mine is not.  This means that I have time to play and relax in her home and be a bigger part of her daily life than I would be if I had a family.  These relationships are so very important to me.

In honor of where I am at this moment, I'd like to talk about one person I am very thankful for, and thankful that I have the time to spend with her.

Six years ago, my younger sister was getting married.  I had a very hard time with this.  It was hard for me to watch my younger sister doing something that I so desperately wanted, and the irrational side of me felt like a loser because I should have been the first to get married.  As the wedding approached, relatives came from near and far to visit.  My aunt and her stepdaughter decided to come to the wedding.  I knew her stepdaughter.  We'd been together on several occasions, and always got along well.  I hadn't spent a tremendous amount of time with her, but I knew I enjoyed her company.  Suddenly, at a wedding I was feeling slightly blue about, my cousin swooped in and saved the day!  She was hilarious and funny!  She kept things perky.  We slept in a teeny, tiny bedroom (she in a twin bed, I on an air mattress) and we stayed up a long time, laughing and talking.

After that, a new relationship was born.  She was no longer my aunt's stepdaughter, but it was clear that she was her daughter in every sense.  She was no longer "just" my cousin, she was my good friend.  We continued to talk and spend time together.  Because I have no familial obligations, I was able to travel to see her and my family members each summer.  This time has meant SO much to me over the years!  She married an incredible man who I adore, and then had two children who I fell head over heels in love with.  I count down the months and days until I can be together with my cousin and her family.  Although they live far away, they mean the world to me.

I trust my cousin as much as I trust my sister.  She is one of the strongest, most generous people I know.  I can always count on her to have a listening ear and wise words.  She truly makes me work harder to be a better person, and I can't imagine my life without her.

My father recently passed away and I was devastated.  I remember calling my cousin to tell her, and she was crying on the phone.  She wasn't crying because she liked my dad (which she did), she was crying because she didn't want me to hurt and she loved me.  At a time where everyone was trying to be strong for me, or felt uncomfortable and unsure what to say, she cried with me.  She told me she'd be there soon.  When she came, I couldn't think clearly.  She took me to a store, picked out clothes for me to wear at one of the worst moments of my life, and she took care of me.  Once, when the house was overflowing with people and I was feeling overwhelmed, I went to lay down on the bed to get away from everyone.  My cousin came back and found me.  She laid on the bed with me and we ate chocolate covered edamame and just visited.  It felt so warm, peaceful and comforting at a time where everything was swirling around me.  I will always treasure that time with her.

These are moments that people who have children can have, but it is harder and more complicated with them.  I'm so very grateful that for the past 12+ years I have been able to go to my cousin's house for an extended amount of time and just spend time with her and her children.  That can, and will, still happen when I have a family, but I know it will be different.  My lack of attachment has helped me form some deep, deep bonds with those most important to me and I will forever be grateful for that.

As I type this, I lay on her daughter's bed, sad that soon I will have to leave.  I feel so comfortable in her home.  I love that when I'm at her house, two snuggly kids will crawl in my lap, or that I can just go in her kitchen and get a snack.  It's been a rough year and I haven't been my normal self, but she hasn't given up on me.  I love that I have the time to spend with my cousin and her incredible family.  I can never repay her for all she has done for me.

M, thanks for being there for me when I needed it the most.

(OK, that last picture is a joke.  I can't stand Doperah or Gail.  But SOME people like her!)