Talking About Loss and My Weekend - Part 1

Loss is a part of life but when it happens to you, it's always shocking, saddening and causes a lot of soul searching.

My aunt passed away last week.  It was relatively sudden - - she had surgery five or so days beforehand and developed complications.  I thought she would pull through because my aunt was a fighter.  Hearing that she had not pulled through hurt me terribly although my tears wouldn't come until her funeral.

So I had to take Tuesday off from work to arrange for air travel, boarding for my dog and because I had nothing I felt was appropriate to wear to the viewing and to the funeral.  Does everyone have a viewing or is that a Southern thing?  I know that out here in California it's perfectly acceptable to wear slacks to a funeral but when you're old school Southern, you wear a skirt or a dress (if you're a woman, obviously, although I guess if you really want to wear a skirt or dress and you're not a woman, go for it.) 

Airfare is insane in general but try buying a ticket two days before you need to fly.  Ouch.  Even with a bereavement rate, it was still "I-need-a-loan-to-buy-a-ticket" ridiculous.  I haven't flown with a connection in almost three years (yes, I am spoiled and yes, I had an incident the last time I flew with a layover) but given that I did not want to take on a second job in order to fly nonstop, I got myself on Priceline and chose a flight that would connect in Dallas before taking me to Atlanta.  Seemed harmless enough but more on that later.

Whenever you aren't looking for a basic black/navy blue/gray skirt, they are everywhere.  I mean, everywhere.  However, when you have one morning or afternoon to find something that fits, that isn't loud, that doesn't come to your toes or graze your hooha . . . good luck.    I went to Kohls, which is always my go-to place.  They had nothing.  Sundresses but not appropriate.  Short skirts that would tell everyone not only what kind of underwear I preferred (and whether or not I actually wore underwear) but also my waxing (or nonwaxing) habits.  I bought a skirt and top out of fear - - didn't particularly like them and, of course, they weren't on sale.  I panicked that I would have to go to the mall, park a mile away, and then go through rack after rack to find something decent, at which point they would either not have my size or I would be painfully price gouged.

Enter Target.  I almost forgot about Target in my worry and fear.  There is a Target in the same shopping center and I thought I might as well pop in and see what they had, even though I figured it would be a wasted trip.  Five minutes in and I had found a basic black skirt that came right above my knees, as well as several different blouses that would be appropriate to wear.  Salvation!  No mall jaunt necessary!

Having that day off from work allowed me to pack as much as possible so I wasn't doing it last minute - - my usual routine - - and also allowed me to prepare my dog's meals for when I was away.  (My dog is as spoiled as I am and on a special diet.)

Fast forward two days and everything appears to be going smoothly.  As my layover in Dallas is only 44 minutes, I "upgrade" my back of the plane window seat to a middle seat in the first row of economy.  The first row is considered an upgrade because of extended leg room - - so important when you're short like me.  I went with the upgrade, figuring that I would get off the plane more quickly being in the first row.  The downside to this seating choice is that you are looking at a wall the entire flight.  I like to see.  I'm not flying the plane or anything but because I have control issues, I like to see what's going on.  Staring at the wall is not my cup of tea.  Additionally, because you do not have a row in front of you, you also do not have a seat to stow a bag under, nor do you have a tray table to put your drink, book, etc. on.  I was pleasantly informed on taking my seat that my handbag would have to be stowed in the overhead compartment during takeoff. 

What now?  I am the type of person who has nightmares about losing my handbag.  I cannot go anywhere with a little changepurse or tiny wallet.  I need my mobile phone.  I need my wallet.  I have my keys.  I need my lip balm.  I have three pairs of glasses - - sunglasses, reading glasses and glasses in case my contacts are out.  I have a baggie of soft peppermints when I travel, as well as multiple packs of chewing gum to keep my ears from popping.  I also have my iPad in there, with many books and several movies downloaded.  I was so flustered that I let the flight attendant take my bag, with everything inside, and put it away. 

Shortly after I take my seat, a man sits down next to me in the aisle seat.  He is busy talking into his phone.  He plops down and proceeds to push my arm from the armrest.   I give him an "excuse me?" look and put my arm back, which he ignores as he is still busy having a conversation, but he does elbow me in the side as he puts his arm back.  I mutter a "dick!" under my breath as I get a whiff of the bucketful of cologne he has doused himself in before boarding the plane.  I am not a highly sensitive person when it comes to scents but good Lord . . . I begin to feel queasy and wish that I had my peppermints and gum.

The announcement comes over the PA to turn off all mobile devices, laptops, etc. as we are preparing for takeoff.  My cologne-loving neighbor continues his conversation.  Clearly he (and his conversation) are more important than anyone else on the plane.

Not my flight but could have been.  adventureswithben.com

We take off and I am mentally telling myself that as soon as we reach cruising altitude I can get my bag and all the life savers I have in there.  I am okay with not having an armrest so long as I have my peppermints, my gum and my iPad.   I am putting myself in my mental happy place when my neighbor takes off his shoes.  Takes. Off. His. Shoes.  And not flip flops either.  Regular shoes that require socks.  Black socks as I can see them (and probably smell.)   The purpose of overloading the cologne is now evident.

This is where being a writer comes into play because the second thing I think of (the first being "ewwwwww!") is that I wish I could get my phone to take a picture of this so I could attach it to this eventual post.  Writers always imagine how to write about every situation they are in.

The rest of the flight was relatively uneventful if somewhat distasteful.  We landed in Dallas early and I easily made my connecting flight to Atlanta.  I jumped on the Marta train, as I always do when landing during the day, to head north where my brother was going to pick me up.  And here is where things got strange again.

I've never had an incident with anyone on the Marta before and I've taken it for years.  On this day I was taking it during rush hour so you would think the likelihood for a "situation" would be much slimmer.  Apparently not.

I feel sympathy for anyone who is mentally unwell but that doesn't make it any easier to be the target of their rants.  This man, after attaching himself to someone else who exited the train prior to me, sat next to me in the only other available seat and spent the next twenty-five or so minutes telling me that we are all here only to die, that people spend too much time on their cellphones and don't talk to each other any more (that part may actually have some merit.)  Of course he was yelling this in my ear once my cellphone rang and I was trying to tell my brother where I was.  Upon hanging up, the man then told me that "he doesn't love you!" and "he doesn't even like you!"  I did my best to ignore him, while keeping my sympathy in check, but it was downright difficult when he announced to the entire train that I was "only looking for someone to have sex" with me.  Ummmm, okay. 

I got sympathy eyes from most of the other passengers - - you know, they make eye contact with you and you can tell they feel sorry for you but oh-so-grateful they aren't in your seat.  When my stop mercifully came up and I stood to leave, my extremely verbal neighbor yelled "Where do you think you're going?  Get back here!" 

I was never so thrilled to exit a subway train in my life.  And very relieved he didn't follow me off.

And that, my friends, is part one of my journey home.

Weekend Wrap Up

How is it possible that it's nearly Monday?  Is it just me or does it seem like it's Monday three times a week?  Sigh. 

Besides the normal household chores, which are lacking in both fun and excitement but are necessary, I met a girlfriend for lunch at Outback Steakhouse and then we attended the Pride and Prejudice musical at the La Mirada Playhouse.  This was the first time I've eaten at Outback since I decided to go nearly 100% red meat free.  Interesting eating at a steakhouse when you don't want steak.  Their grilled chicken with veggies is quite tasty.  Beware, though, that "regular iced tea" may translate to super fruity, send-me-into-a-sugar-overload raspberry tea.  Best to give a cautionary sip before a big swig.  Ahem.  And tortilla soup looks nothing like baked potato soup to this writer so I'm still trying to figure out how I got tortilla soup slid in front of me. 

But!  The Pride and Prejudice musical was magical!  Magical, I tell you.  I went in expecting to see the book in musical format but was pleasantly surprised that the play was Jane Austen herself thinking of how to rewrite First Impressions into a more saleable format with the help of Cassandra.  Her characters came to life around her, singing, dancing and exhibiting some very wry humor.  The sarcastic being inside me was in heaven. 

The day was wonderful, leaving me feeling satisfied and brimming with creativity.  Which I immediately destroyed by stopping at Baskin Robbins for a milkshake that was not on my eating plan and made me lethargic. Bygones. 

Not this weekend but on Wednesday night I went on a nice little date with myself.  Yes, with myself.  It was a last minute decision to hit the movie theater and I figured I wouldn't make myself late nor would I have to debate with myself over what I wanted to watch or eat.  There is a marvelous luxury theater close by and I had yet to give it a go and Wednesday was a trying day so a little luxury was in order. 

First impressions?  (Ha, see what I did there?)   Pretty nice to have a bar in your theater lobby, as well as comfy seating areas where people can hang out pre or post movie and converse.  Ticket was costly but hey, that's what I make the big bucks for.  (Insert complete and total sarcasm.)  Seats were roomy, leather and reclined.  Hello!  Tons of space in between rows means that no one can kick the back of my seat during the movie.  Can we please do this on airplanes?

Ordered dinner before the movie started with the handy call button on my armrest so that I would not need to trouble myself with getting up.  Nice.  Hope I don't have to use the restroom.   Skinny fries and ketchup, small caramel popcorn and unsweet tea.  Again, costly but again, . . . well, you know. 

Now THIS is how to watch a movie

Movie (The Age of Adaline) was wonderful and even more so by reclining in comfort.  Didn't care much for Blake Lively beforehand (maybe because she's married to Ryan Reynolds?) but she was perfect here.  Highly recommend seeing it - - at the luxury theater and/or with me.

I found an application on Facebook that will guess your age based on pictures you post.  Thrilled that the first few I tried pegged my age at 40.  Over the moon that the next photo got me at 34.  App clearly brilliant.  Last pic pegged me at 50.  App obviously daft. 

Will be spot cleaning my sofa and reading chair, as well as spots on carpet, where my sleep patrolling dog (he does his best to keep me from slipping up and sleeping in) had a volcanic vomiting situation.  We'll leave it at that.  He's lucky I like him.

Oh yes, and I will be writing today.  Not sure which scene.  Still finding out some wonderful things about my main character - -she's fun. 

Don Draper, you sexy, smoking thing

Mad Men is on tonight.  Who else watches? 

Happy Sunday all!

TGIF!

Friday!  It's finally Friday!  Oh Friday, how I love you.

TGIF, TGIF, TGIF!  Fridays are fabulous.  And you, my friends, ARE fabulous!

Fridays start with such high hopes.  I do have to work at my "real" job but it's casual day (yes!) and once it hits five o'clock, I can turn off the legal jargon.  I always plan the usual - - errands, laundry, general house drudgery - - for my weekends and want to squeeze writing time in there as well.

Don't you think every weekend should be three days?  I know I need it, what with one day being for the aforementioned drudgery, one day to socialize and hang out with friends and one day to just decompress and sit in front of Lifetime if I choose.  Four day work weeks would be heavenly, wouldn't they?

Speaking (somewhat) of which, why is it that I always have so many creative ideas bouncing around in my head while I'm in the office and when I get home and in front of my computer, I have a crazy desire to eat/nap/watch reality crap?  Can anyone answer that? 

Why I Am Team Steve

Beverly Hills 90210 fans, represent!  (I'm talking the OG, not that ridiculous reboot.)  I got to thinking about the show after attending a talk and book signing with Randy Spelling and Tori Spelling this past weekend and Tweeting that Steve was always my favorite character.  (To which Ian Ziering, the actor who portrayed Steve, not only favorited my Tweet but Retweeted!  Yes!  Week made!)

While it's true that I was not exactly Fox's target demographic when the show aired (I was either at the tail end of college or just post-college but not Andrea Zuckerman territory), I quickly became addicted to the Walsh clan and their new circle of SoCal friends.  Yes, I did name my cat Dylan after Dylan McKay -- although I would tell people he was named after Bob Dylan or Dylan Thomas.  Hey, 90210 wasn't huge at first and then it became somewhat cheesy.   Brandon was supposed to be the All-American boy (played by Canadian Jason Priestley, he he) to identify with and sure, he was cute if you could look past the ever-present honking watches he wore, the never-moving-even-in-a-tsunami shelfy hair and the pocket pool he was always playing.

Steve Sanders was the man.  Why Steve when Brandon was preaching righteousness when not flipping burgers at the Peach Pit and exposing something with The Blaze and/or The Condor and Dylan was moodily driving around in his James Dean-esque Porsche and, we assume, shopping for many, many white t-shirts?

Despite a few fashion fuckeries (Steve, I forgive you for the blindingly loud shirt you wore in the opening credits for years and the cutoff shirt you wore while playing volleyball and we just won't even dwell on the post-mullet situation), Steve would be the guy you'd want to hang out with.  He was fun.  He wasn't going to get all judgy on you like Brandon, who might spout off the statistics on teen drinking if you chose to have a glass (or two) of celebratory champagne or Hunch Punch.  (Two words, Brandon:  Emily. Valentine.) 

He also wasn't moody, if you look past the episode where he told the rest of the crew that he was adopted.  Take that, Dylan McKay.  Steve wouldn't disappear for days because the surf was up or go on a bender because he was pissed at his dad. 

Other than a pre-series romance that happened with Kelly (while she was still trampy, vapid Kelly and not Saint Kelly) and Valerie Malone, which I will overlook, Steve actually dated outside the little circle of Hill-sters.  Amazing, right?  He also had friends, albeit frat house keg-loving boneheads for the most part but he branched out.

He was not just fun but funny and not at the expense of his intelligence (looking at you, Donna Martin.)  Speaking of Donna, and not to digress too far from Steve, I loved Tori Spelling's comedy and thought she did it very well but at times the dialogue she had to repeat made her seem like a downgraded Lucille Ball.  On crack.  After a weekend with Dylan McKay off the wagon.

Steve and his 'Vette (notice the I8A4RE custom plate) -
living the dream!

While he did stupid things like stealing the high school key (and getting caught), cheating and plagarizing (and getting caught), I think Steve as a character grew the most through the series.  In 1990, he was a somewhat frivilous rich kid whose biggest worry seemed to be dating and his 'Vette.  By 2000, he had married Janet - - a woman who challenged him - - traded in his 'Vette for a minivan (okay, so I still cry about that) and was a devoted dad to their daughter Maddie. 

In short, Steve was the most real, fully formed and best character on 90210 in my humble opinion.  I would much rather have hung out with him, where we would be certain to ride around town in a classy 'Vette (screw you, Darla Diller for telling Steve you don't do Corvettes! - - I'll go to the dance with you, Steve.) or watch back to back episodes of The Hartley House.  Steve would never judge me for poor choices in partners or having a little too much fun at the party.  Steve is the party.

Ian Ziering today - - hubba hubba!

And let's just be honest.  It helps that Ian Ziering portrayed Steve.  Raaaawwwwrrr.  I flove Ian Ziering.  He's smart (as evidenced on Celebrity Apprentice), he's fit (Chippendales, ya'll!) and he knows that Sharknado is campy goodness and is down with that.

Hit me back.  Are you Team Steve? 

Defining Success

I received an email this morning with an article about how to be the happiest you possible (for me, that might be Robert Downey, Jr. in my home) and one of the points was defining success for yourself (see above with RDJ.)

God, I love this man

It got me to thinking about a Jennifer Aniston interview I read portions of last year.  I'm not a fan of hers nor would I say I dislike her; I guess I'm relatively indifferent but I was offended on her behalf over the assumption that she (and others like her) has failed as a woman because she hasn't given birth to any children. 

As a woman who is child-free partly because of choice and partly because of circumstances, I am disgusted and irate that a woman's level of success can still be determined in this day and age by passing another human being through your vagina.

As I am over forty and divorced for the second time, I don't have nearly as many inquiring minds wanting to know why I'm not married and when I'm going to have kids, thank God.  When I was younger and most particularly after my first divorce I did.  I wanted to answer 1) because I married an emotional fuckwit and 2) it's none of your business what my eggs and I are going to do. 

Jennifer  Aniston says women should get respect
for more than their bodies

Why do people feel others' reproductive systems are their business?  We don't ask people when they are going to pay off their debt or buy a house or how much money they brought home with their last paycheck or the last time they had sex because that's considered rude but apparently asking when the egg and sperm are going to meet up to create morning sickness, stretch marks, labor pains and an eventual need for a college fund is perfectly okay.

Can you imagine if someone was to suggest to George Clooney that he was somehow failing as a man because he hasn't fathered any children?  No, you probably can't because it would never happen.  There are still double standards today and it's ridiculous.

Can't a woman - - or anyone - - define their success without children (or marriage) being part of the equation?   Can't we say that we're happy with who we are and where we are (whether that includes children or not) and that equals success? 

I haven't been successful at everything I have endeavored in but they have been learning experiences.  Not all happy, of course, I do have regrets and have wondered if I struck my head prior to making some of my more ill-advised decisions but I have excelled in other areas and with some things I never knew I could.  And I have survived with my relative sanity and sense of humor intact and haven't given up.

That should be considered success.  Or maybe some form of insanity. 

Let me know what you think.  Do you think women are still judged unfairly?  What do you consider success? 

Welcome Aboard!

Welcome to my blog!  (Anyone over forty recognizes the band above.  Guns 'N Roses, baby!  How could you possibly forget Axl Rose and his combo Jim Morrison-The Snake dance moves?  Classic.)

If you're not my mother and don't owe me a favor, I'm hoping you're here because you too are over forty (looking at the big 5-0 looming in the horizon) and maybe forty isn't quite what you thought.  Maybe you're perfectly happy with forty and think I'm crazy.  Maybe you think I'm funny.  Or maybe you stumbled across the page by accident and will decide to stay.

Why did I decide to do this?  I operate a book review site (Psychotic State Book Reviews) and while my reviews have been spotty as of late, I do enjoy writing them.  However, that's the more serious side of me (as serious as I find I can get) and my true, authentic voice belongs to that special genre of smartassery (yes, I just made up a word.)  As most smartass and sarcastic people, I have an opinion on everything.  Because I love to write and really want to write on a daily (or near daily) basis, I found myself debating over what I could do.  I can't read fast enough to write a review every single day.  I hope to be a published author but sometimes my brain is too taxed after being in the office all day (living the dream, people) to sit down and let loose creatively in the way I would like to.  Sharing my opinions, however . . . now that comes easily and naturally no matter how tired I may be.

Okay, so I guess I can be judgmental and critical.  I'm not a mean person but come on.  We all judge.  So let's judge together.  Not to be cruel, of course.  Unless we are talking about Tom Cruise or a Kardashian.  And rest assured, that will come.

So about me, as briefly as possible.  I have been reading my entire life - - I can't remember a time when I wasn't reading.  I have been writing in some form since I was eight.  I was a teen in the 80s (greatest music ever), completely obsessed with Duran Duran and quite possibly may have set up an Aqua Net executive with retirement based on the mile-high hair I was sporting then.  I dreamt of living in California (check!) and making my living as a writer (ummmmm . . . )  I have been divorced twice (definitely not something I dreamt of) and continue to try and find the humor of marrying two people so ill-suited for me.  I wish my breasts were bigger and my hips were smaller.  I love Jane Austen, hate The Time Traveler's Wife and watch far too much Bravo TV for anyone's good.  My current life's motto is that I'm looking for a dare to be great situation (thank you, Lloyd Dobler - - more on him later.)

If you've read this far and are still interested in what I have to say, I commend you.  I hope you will find this blog funny and, at times, insightful and will enjoy spending time with me.