How do you block the sound of a voice....

... you'd know anywhere?

Watching "My Best Friend's Wedding".  Maybe not a great or even good movie.

But here's the part that gets me:

The scene at the Rehearsal Dinner when they break into "Say A Little Prayer".

Reminds me so much of a time in my life when someone important to me was getting married. 

Rehearsal dinner.... her family, his family, friends, wine, salmon...

Over dessert we broke into a little Frankie Valli.

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

To this day I can't hear that song without thinking about that time in my life.

Nor can I not think about the people in my life at that time.

G&J -- I miss you guys.  Hope you are well and happy.

THIS JUST IN: SAHW NOT WHAT IT'S CRACKED UP TO BE!

It's true. Being a Stay At Home Wife is NOT all about watching Judge Judy, eating bon bons, and playing Bridge with The Girls. In fact, sometimes it sucks most of the time.

It's five parts getting up every morning with The Husband (TH) to make coffee, pack his lunch, and kiss him goodbye, because you feel guilty about not having to work.

It's four thousand parts letting the dogs in and out and in and out and in and out and IN, DAMMIT, NOW!

It's ten parts laundry.

Seriously. How did I ever do all of this laundry AND hold a full time job?

Conversation this morning:

Me: You are NOT going to work in that shirt.

TH: Why not? I love this shirt. It's clean -- I found it. In. The. Laundry Room. On a hangar. (vague passive-aggressive reference to the fact that I don't always move clean laundry to the closet). (okay, i don't EVER move it -- I figure it's the least he can do. Besides, I love seeing his cute little butt scamper down to the laundry room every morning.)

Me: You are NOT wearing that shirt to work.

TH: [Grinning, all sexy-like] [displaying shirt proudly] I look HOT.

Me: It's not ironed. You look wrinkly.

TH: It's fine. Who will know?

Me: Me and everyone else who knows 100% cotton -- and remind me not to let you go shopping with a Macy's giftcard without me next time.

TH: It looks FINE, honey. Seriously. No one will know or care.

Me: *I* will know AND care! Wear another shirt -- there are 27 shirts in the closet which are ironed and/or don't need ironing AND are clean.

TH: I LOVE THIS SHIRT. Fine. [huff] I'll iron it.

Me: NO. You. Won't. Watching you iron is like watching a glass cleaner on the 45th floor of the Sears Tower. Either give it to me and I'LL IRON IT or pick something else

Dog: WOOF! whine... WOOF WOOF whine (OUT! NOW!)

TH: I don't have anything else to wear.

Me: What are these 27 shirts in your closet?

TH: I like this shirt better.

Me: Why do we keep them -- better yet, why do I ....

********** Dog: WOOF! ***********

Me: [opening door for 20th time that morning] ... as I was saying, why do you keep them?

TH: In case I need one someday. They're... okay. You know, in a pinch.

Me: Honey, today is

********** Dog: WOOF! LET ME IN ***********

Me: *sighing* [letting dog IN] ... today is, in fact, a "pinchy" kind of "SomeDay".

TH: [scowling, looking at 27 shirts] None of them go with my pants.

Me: PICK ANOTHER PAIR OF PANTS.

TH: These are the only dockers that aren't too short or too long.

Me: blink
blink blink
What about these other 14 pairs of dockers that I wash and iron on a regular basis?

TH: They're too short... or too long... or... well, this one has a mustard stain on it. [indignantly points out minuscule pin-size stain]

Me: Then why do you keep them?

TH: Because they're fine for GOLF. [Like I should know this.]

Me: Tell you what. Give me the shirt. I will iron it. Then I am going to remove ALL 27 OF THESE SHIRTS AND 14 OF THESE SLACKS AND GIVE THEM TO GOOD WILL. And then we're going shopping. And, oh by the way, you need new undies. Those are embarrassing.

TH: What's wrong with THESE -- they're FINE. [demonstrating how undies could only barely pass as a jock strap; cotton almost completely removed from the elastic band in the back]

Me: *sigh* You're right, honey. You look fine. Have a nice day.

Good times.

Figured out how to make the snooze button 3 months long...

Still can't figure out how to make a title in this damn thing, so there you have it. And it's probably more like 6 months. I have been, for all intents and purposes, the Biggest Loser Blogger in all history -- I think that makes me a SBlooser -- kind of like a SPlunker. Without all that annoying equipment and muscle demand. I'm sure I'm not the first one to think of that.

I am entering month 6 of unemployment and I decided, what the heck. I'd rather do this than create Yet Another Custom Resume for a Job I Will Not Get (nor even be called or interviewed for).

Granted, I suppose you have to actually submit an application, but... LORD. What a tedious process. After a quarter of a century at the same company (my ONLY job), I am exceedingly out of practice when it comes to the art of finding a job. What's this Behavioral Interviewing nonsense. Rob? Andrea? Curves? Anyone? Bueler?

SO. You'd think, wouldn't you, that during all of this domestic downtime I would have learned to make The Perfect Meatloaf, installed custom closet shelving in all the bedrooms, painted the entire house, installed chair molding, and learned to make retro curtains out of faded bathtowels.

Uhm, no. Not so much, really.

I have learned that you CAN, in fact, read not one but TWO entire books in one day. (The only trick is to move around the couch frequently to avoid bedsores.) I have learned that people drive down our small, subdivision street doing 90 mph while singing Crazy by Gnarls Barley at the top of their lungs, which helps muffle the sound of the dog they have just eviscerated (thank God for small miracles, right?) I've learned that one can go several days without a shower if one is so inclined (one is, often). I've learned that I am really not a people person, unless you count Ellen, Oprah, and the handful of people I still IM with as Real People Interaction (screaming "OH GO TO H***, Oprah" probably doesn't count). I've learned that just because it seems like a good idea to shop at Kroger at 8:00am on Tuesday, there is only one checkout person and you have to negotiate around the Veggie Guy, the Bread Guy, the Meat Guy, and the Pop Guy, all of whom are inevitably stocking groceries which you would like to purchase.

I've learned that All The Stocking Guys are not "People People". They're crabby morning people who hate their jobs.

I've learned that I really love my dogs and yet... I really don't want to be with them 24/7. Maybe not even 14/7. Maybe just when I get home from work for about 10 minutes. Then I would like them to go away. I've learned that my dogs can go in and out of the front door 3,400,566,999 times a day if so inclined. I've learned that they are, in fact, inclined.

Perhaps the highlight of this week was sitting on the porch having a smoke when a gentleman walked up the driveway (while Bella tried to dismember him -- brave guy) and asked if "My Mom" was home. I said no. He left.

I have to remember that.

Hi, Rob. I've missed you. I need to get the word out to my other reader that I'm Back.

Part of my "exit package" included career counseling, which, truly, is pretty cool. Because I've only had one job in my life and I have NEVER had to look for another job, I wouldn't even know where to start.

Career Counseling is a fabulous untapped business opportunity, kiddilies. Seriously. What could be better than losing your job and then starting up a company to help other people who have lost their jobs? (I'm not kidding; most of the people who work there either (1) started the company after being "downsized", "laid off", or "whatever"; or (2) were recruited when they, themselves, were looking for work.)

Ingenious.

All cynicism aside, it is a good thing.

Today I attended my first two classes, after filling out 3 assessment tests, which are supposed to Help One Figure Out What One Wants To Be When One Grows Up (or lose their job, see "laid off", below), and it was helpful and actually, uhm... fun. Good to get out of the house in something other than plaid PJ bottoms or my husband's sweat pants.

I had to get up at 6:30, jump in the shower, feed the dogs, feed the cat, make coffee, pack the husband's lunch, shake him awake, and then hurl myself into rush hour with the rest of the world with my VW "We Need Drivers" coffee mug in hand.

Yeah, okay? I'd rather be sleeping. There is a certain part of me, when not weeping, letting the dogs in and out and in and out and FEEDING THE GODDAMN SCREAMING CAT (who is apparently going for an Enquirer cover story for The World's Fattest Oldest Most Annoying Cat In the World), gnashing my teeth in general frustration and boredom, and bothering my friends who still have jobs, that has become accustomed to, and perhaps even enjoying, NOT working.

Ahem.

Okay so really, maybe I just like not having to get started -- I mean truly started -- until something like 9:30am as opposed to 6:30am. Otherwise, getting out of the house was divine.

In any case, it was a good day. I actually felt like I earned my cocktail.

Which I'm having right now.

Cheers!

Okay, here's the deal.

I've been In Limbo for quite some time for a variety of reasons. My first blog on this site sums it up -- it's been a tough year for me and I simply arrived at an Anti-Nirvana where writing anything was so fraught with Oh-Woe-Is-Me, poorly written prose that even I became deeply bored with myself.

Since that entry, I have, in fact, lost my job.

In September I was part of a fairly substantial Reduction in Work Force (I'm told I'm not supposed to say I was "laid off", because that implies that I was Fired With Benefits, which I kinda was, but who's counting?).

So on top of All The Other Sh*t I went through this year (which I'm sure I will enumerate for you at some point), this was added to the pile and I've decided that blogging might actually be a cathartic measure to get through it.

For so long I struggled with blogging because I thought every entry had to be autonomous, anonymous, not unkind to others, but above all, funny.

Well, I'm just giving you a heads up it won't all be funny. Right now I'm so deeply in a state of self-pity that Denial is even begging for a back stage pass. Front and center is the Me That Feels Sorry For Myself, and I'm belting out every Rejection song known to man, and if you're lucky, you lost your tickets. If not, buckle your seatbelts and get ready for a lot of Alanis, Journey, and Barry Manilow.

I feel like I've lost some Blog Buddies -- a couple of whom I really miss. You know who you are and I'm sure I'll hear from you. I'm back, just slightly bruised and battered, but I'm back. I thank you for your surprise "cheer up, gurl!" gifts and phone calls -- I hope we reconnect.

I also feel like I've lost a lot of Work Buddies, only a few of whom I will miss. When you lose a job I think you are lucky if you walk away with 2-3 really good friends with whom you will never lose contact. I have two, and feel lucky for both of them. You know who you are. There are others with whom I will stay in touch, but not to the degree that I will Midge and D. They are, truly, Forever Friends. Thank you both for listening, cajoling, supporting, and buying rounds when I need them. I love you man!

I'll write more about Losing Your Job later, but for now, I wanted to get this out there. Because I do intend to start blogging again, because I think I need to.

Unlike before, however, I won't worry about comments and who reads me. I won't feel the pressure to Be Funny with every blog. I won't feel the pressure to write every day.

Instead, this will be, finally and for now, for me.

Me, me, me.

For now, it's all about me.

Enough about me. How are YOU?

(I never said I didn't want comments!)

BORN-AGAIN VIRGIN

This is a new blog. I've been out there before. You may or may not recognize me. I may or may not care. There are a handful of you whom I care deeply about, especially those of you who won't point out that I probably just misused "whom". You know who you are.

I decided to shut down my old blog because of a bunch of stuff going on in my life at the time which I decided I just couldn't write about.

Blogging is a funny thing. (Not mine, particularly.)

What I mean is that it's difficult to write about anything but yourself without offending someone, getting fired from work, or confessing something horrible which may end up on Dateline (and NO, I am not referring to trolling for 14 year olds.) Therefore you are somewhat pigeon holed in to talking about only YOURSELF, which, let's face it -- even from someone as dazzlingly entertaining as myself* -- gets old. Especially if all you want to do is whine.

At this point I'm done whining and ready to make copious fun of myself again. Let's hope the last several months have provided me enough material to do so, and that the coming ones will keep you interested.

Once I figure out this new template, I'll add some funner people to read.

Ready?

Set?

SNOOZE!