Memory

I know getting older is better than the 'alternative'. I get that it is natural. Still, I'm going to be bummed when my memory starts to go. It's quirky, but serves me well. I remember what you wore that night, when you said that thing. Please don't try to deny it.

Friday, between client meetings, I managed to shovel in a late lunch and pick out a new eyeshadow. It's spring-ish. I wanted a pastel-ish shade, but a solid, pastel, not a wimpy one. SPRING, not spring. Last time I went to Vega$, I had a new, greenish (what's with all the 'ishes'?) blue eyeshadow and it turned out to be a damn good trip.

So, I get done with the meetings and the BART rides and make it home to the barking dogs and my new treat. I hadn't been able to test it on my eyes yet. Generally, colors good for Vega$ are not good colors for client meetings. So, it's this chalky blue, slightly shimmery shade. Somehow it reminds me of the first 'eyeshadow' I ever wore. The blue chalk at the pool hall. The memories just came flooding back. You know, when they really hit you, and you have to just sit down and just remember?

Before I was Grandma's girl, I was Grandpa's girl. Technically, I am the oldest of 30 cousins, but unofficially, I am really the youngest of 10 kids. When your parents have you at a young age and they are on the older end of their clans, the generations get blurred. My youngest aunt and uncle (twins, please don't ask if they are identical) are about seven years older than me. About, because my birthday does fall a whole day before theirs. So, I fell neatly into the fold and since my parents were still trying to figure out what to with a baby, the village took over.

So, my kindergarten, was very close to the high school that my Grandfather coached (football, basketball, softball) and taught at. Some days, I would be dropped off at his door. I loved hanging out at the school. I would visit with my Grandfather, eat whatever I wanted at the cafeteria, and draw pictures in art class. Some days, when school let out, my Grandfather would take me to the bar with him. I know it sounds awful in the light of today's parenting standards, but this was a while ago and you know, we're Irish.

I loved it. The bartenders would give me change to buy sodas from the machine. One of those soda machines where all the wares were in glass bottles and the machine had a built in bottle opener. The bar-flys sitting on the stools, would give me money and I would buy candy. You have to remember that at this point of my life I was living in the country, with my barely of age hippy mother, no t.v., no sugar, no bath tub, no heat, no fun. Candy was beyond decadent.

They had a couple of pool tables in the bar. Every once in awhile someone would try to teach me how to play. I never was very coordinated or graceful, so I would inevitably give up. Still, I'm a helper. I would take the cue sticks, grab the small squares of blue chalk, and get everyone ready for their next shots. And, I would use the chalk as eye shadow.

My Grandfather let me. He had me on the world's longest leash. Once, I talked him into cutting my long, shimmery, blonde hair and giving me a bob. He certainly wasn't the world's best hair dresser, but he was a damned good Grandfather. I loved sitting with him, with my blue eyeshadow, ruining my dinner with candy bar after candy bar. When the memories begin to fade, I want this one to cling until the end.

Busted, Almost

So, yesterday, I left the HR Farm a little early. I figured I would let the dogs run around in the yard and finish up my work from home. When I turned onto my street, I noticed two Comcast trucks parked in front of my house and the Comcast guys kinda looking at my yard. Needless to say, I was more than a little worried that I was busted and they were there to disconnect my beloved, illegal cable.

So, I did what any other highly ethical person would do. I parked in from of my Aunt's and, without pausing, entered that house with my spare key. Then I sat on their couch and watched until the guys left.

Luckily, my illegal cable is still in effect. Even better, because I'm dense, I still haven't learned my lesson and won't be doing anything about it.

Valentine's Day

Dear Pretty Co-worker,

Thank you so much for the $.25 box of Necco Sweethearts. I felt like we had something and am happy to have tangible proof that it is mutual. I'm happy that you want me to be your valentine. I'm a little sad that, judging by the amount of boxes of sweethearts that you brought in today, that you want everyone else to be your valentine as well. I still feel special, but in a slightly used way.

Luv,
Rachel

Cashmere Lipstick

1. Cashmere

2. Lipstick

3. Cat

4. Other Cat

5. Dog

Not only are cashmere and lipstick the top two items on my 'What I want with me when I am stuck on an abandoned island' list, they are the keys words in the titles of two lame ass t.v. shows.

I know, it does seem weird for me to offer t.v. critique. I schedule my Sunday activities around watching Rock of Love 2 and reading the NY Times. In that order. But even I, apparently, have taste limits.

I hate to start getting all feministy on you, especially with my history, but Lipstick Jungle and Cashmere Mafia are just backlash shows wrapped in shiny, Prada bows. So, here is why these shows make me grit my teeth and get all frowny when purely crap shows like Rock of Love 2 don't.

LJ and CM try to act like they are all empowered and then just force the same broken-sisterhood shit down our throats. I get it; career girls are lonely and their men don't love them. I get it; women are too nice to do 'hard' things like fire fucked up employees. I get it; men don't like to hire women in high positions because they have babies. I get it; girls can't wipe their asses without asking the other girls if it is okay.

Let me just say that these things all still happen in the big bad world. But, if most sexism was this transparent we should all be so lucky. The real shit is layered and it's the under currents that can pull you under.

Pet Updates

Galileo has decided that her over priced cat food is just not enough. In the past week she has stolen food from both me and Fondue. She really isn't the food stealing type of pet. That is Fondue and sometimes, Lolita.

Garcon, the menu please.

While I am still going strong on my goal to not buy new clothes or even new, old clothes, or even shoes (ay dios mio!), Fondue has a new winter coat. People, she was cold! Chihuahuas get cold! It's for health.

I used to be cold, but now I am hot, hot, hot.

Lolita says no pictures please. He is sleeping on my New York Times and he would like more treats when he wakes. That is all.

Yes, You

Hey! Why are you wasting your time reading this? Go out and vote!

IN YOUR FACE

It is a fine day today. Yesterday, you may be aware, was Super Bowl XLII. That is 42 for those of you who do not read Roman. You may not be aware that yesterday was also my second (annual?) 'Super Bowl Party for People Who Don't Watch Football'. It's the social event of the season. It involves me making enchilada casserole and watching the game on my smallish t.v. with other people that don't actively follow football. We get easily confused by the rules of the game and spend a lot of time switching to The Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet. I started the tradition last year when my uncle's team The Chicago Bears made it to the Super Bowl. I knew there was no way I was going to get away with not watching the big game and still be considered part of the family.

So, this year, my other uncle's team made it to the Super Bowl. Did you know I was related to so many football coaches? Look at how broad my shoulders are; how could I not be? Unfortunately not everyone in my family has the drive and determination needed to be a highly valued HR Professional. Some of them are forced to take high paying jobs in professional sports instead. Still, I try not to rub it in their faces when I see them. That would be rude.

So, for the second year in a row, I was forced to watch sports on t.v. (for the record I love going to see games, just not into the whole game on t.v. thing). I took the enchiladas out of the oven, gathered the pets, and cracked open a beer at 3:00 on the dot. Twenty hours later the game really took off.

Even if you are not a sports person, you still need to find someone who got that crap on tivo and watch the fourth quarter. Amazing. I got up when there was about five football minutes left in the game (note: one football minute equals one hour of real time) to go to the bathroom and never made it there. I just stood, staring at the game.

And best of all. We won. We really won. Take that other East Coast football team that also wears red and blue. Take that.