Where's Your Boyfriend?

I had the option to stop at the nice (and cheaper) Wawa in Glen Mills but no, I decided to wait it out and hit a gas station on 322 because I was lazy and didn't feel like getting out of my car so soon after piling groceries into it at Giant.

And for this stupid decision, I paid. Severely. I pulled off at the Citgo - the ghetto Citgo - in Chi and barely got out of the car when the WT boy at the pump next to me in his POS late 80s Cutlass sedan walks around to my pump and asks, "Where's your boyfriend?!" all smug.

WHAT THE F?

"I'm married," I say in my snotty bitch tone.
"Oh. Where's your husband?," mouths WT boy.
"Home," I say matter of factly, turning around and ending the conversation.

He muttered something else which I ignored, started to fuel my tank and watched as he drove around the parking lot to leave, obviously to take another look at me.

I sigh loudly. "Can't a girl get gas without having to deal with that crap?!" I shout to no one. Who does this?! Who says something like that? Did he even for one second think that's a class act opener? He only said something because I was wearing a tube top. What goes through their heads?! So white trash. And obviously I'm not, so WHY bother? WT boys who think they can pick up cute classy girls at a gas station with lame ass lines in their disgusting wife beaters and POS cars DON'T EVER HAVE A CHANCE.

Ten Year Reflection: Part 1

Excerpt from July 13, 1997:

Best friends...what constitutes a best friend? It used to be a group of people to each lunch with, laugh with, be ourselves with. Then something happened...what was it? A selfish inconsiderate act? Immaturity? College?

Were we really ourselves? Or did we pretend to be something, want something that we never could be or have? I have watched friends change since freshman year. Even the way people were junior year was not who they were senior year and not who they are now. Actually, I don't know who anybody is right now. All I know is that I don't like very many people.

##

I wrote that at the shore the summer after my freshman year of college. Everything and everybody (including me) had changed and was continuing to change and I was lost somewhere in the middle of it all. I was drifting away from high school pals but those bonds of friendship hadn't yet matured with my college girlfriends yet so I felt alone. It was July and I had one more month before school began and I had that bittersweet feeling that comes when you realize it's time to move on, move forward, but in doing so, essentially must leave people, places, things behind you. I was excited to go back to school, to focus on my now familiar college environment and embrace that life, but I was sad at the challenge before me - to let go of the past and stuff I had hoped to fix or change or be what I wanted, but over which I had no control, so therefore, had to accept (and/or supress) and get on with my 19 year old life.

My next entry doesn't come until November 1997 but in the months leading up to it - I worked at the Gap that fall in Springfield and at the Deck the Walls in Granite Run, immersed myself in my Photography class, in visiting Linvilla (pre barn fire), listened to the Smiths, went to a few parties at B3, had my hair chopped to a shaggy pixie, still embraced alternative 90s girl style (thrift store cords, shirts, velvet blazers, vintage Puma sneaks or Docs) and tried my damndest to look like the cute Winona Ryder indie chick I wanted to portray for the cute boys (there were 2) I so adored at the time.

Behind the wheel of a large automobile

The Versa has gone missing. My poor red Nissan Versa has been held captive by the service peeps at the dealership for over a week. Over a week? Yes. Body work? You'd think. No. It's that bastard fuel pump. I know...It's a brand new car. Barely toppling 10K miles. The fuel pump went south in the Focus when it hit 80K so I've had plenty of experience with cranking starts, rough idles, the occasional stall, and me upset, crying, and cursing in the middle of an intersection. Typically replacing this would take a few days. Apparently not when your car is so new that the actual parts aren't even in the country. This stinkin fuel pump is still overseas in its country of origin, Japan. Who knows when it'll arrive in Concordville PA.

Meanwhile I've been cruising around in a Sentra (OK until the engine started knocking and I had to switch it out) and then the only vehicle Enterprise had available this past Monday was a crazy minivan. A Chevy Uplander. What the hell is that? I soon found out. It's a massive beast. I stared at it and then looked around to be sure no one saw this cute 29 year old in her Step Up outfit - sans kids of her own and soccer practices - get behind the wheel. For 2 days I drove this minivan. One that barely got over 70 miles/hr. and who's AC was never cold enough and who's back end continuously felt like it would bounce off when I put it in reverse.

For 2 days I felt like Sam in Who's the Boss when Tony unveiled her "new" car. You remember - the yellow 70s Olds with brake lights galore and the plate that read SAMS CAR. You probably also recall how mortified she was driving it and in the episode parked it miles from school until it was stolen! Well that was me parking that damn minivan clear across the Dilworthtown parking lot to trudge into Starbucks. If the van was blue and slightly older and boxier, it could have passed for the famed Tony Micelli van we all know from the opening credits.

My friend Melissa and I joked that I needed to pretend I was at SJU again, hauling a group of volunteers down to the Appalachian region of KY. That brought back good van memories. The kids I babysit, while appreciative of the roomy interior, were shouting at me from the back of the van "WE CAN'T HEAR YOU CHRISSIE!?!" When I retrieved Matt from his music lesson Tuesday afternoon, he greeted me (laughing) with "I was waiting for your big ugly dumb car! Even that's better than sitting outside in this heat!" I almost died laughing - it has to be bad when an 11 year old is making fun of you. Their dad, a 40 something car buff, I knew would kill to see me in this machine and enjoy every second of torturing me. I managed to slink off Monday evening undetected (and was SO hoping to do the same Tuesday) but we pulled into the driveway just as Chris was leaving - and staring and laughing - at me. Caught. Behind the wheel of a large automobile.

Embarrassing.

Finally Enterprise was able to get me out of the crazy minivan and into a Subaru Impreza. I'm on the fence about this sporty little sedan. It's not nearly as swank as the Sentra but I gladly sacrificed all that room and awkwardness for conversation and coolness (literally and figuratively). I just hope Japan can get my fuel pump here this century. I miss my Versa.

A Misbehaving Munchkin

Juliet decided in the middle of crossing MacDade that she wouldn't have any more of this walking business and this highway was a prime place to drop down and refuse to move. Thankfully we were standing near the median and it was a green light so there was no oncoming traffic headed straight for us but after a few seconds of unsuccessfully getting her to stand and walk, I had to pick her up and carry her across the road. People in cars making right turns from Fairview onto MacDade stared. My dog is practically throwing a stubborn tantrum in the street and I'm yanking on her leash, she's on her back, thrashing and looking like she's dying and refusing to move! I must have looked like a horrible mother. Safely on the other side I hold her panting and racing body and calm her a bit. She won't talk about this episode and what prompted her to choose the street to misbehave and put both of our lives in danger. The rest of the walk home was just as stubborn. Twice I had to carry her. She refused to go more than 20 yards before plopping down and giving me that "I'm not moving, Mommy" look. So much for taking her to Dunkin Donuts with me.

Is it possible she was pissed because I didn't buy her any munchkins at Dunkin Donuts?

Fashionably Socially Responsible?

You know once upon a time Acme used to inquire whether I preferred paper or plastic. I always said paper. With the little handles, they are easier to carry, they are sturdier and my groceries never spilled out over the seat and floor of my car, and they were recyclable. I only ever tossed chicken in the plastic bag. Sometime in my mid 20s between sampling a host of other socially responsible markets (co-ops, Trader Joe's, Whole Foods) and a few gourmet places in and around the city, Acme (and quite possibly the rest of the supermarkets) stopped asking whether I wanted paper or plastic. Suddenly, baggers assumed plastic and before I could get a word in otherwise, half my groceries were thrown into environmentally hazardous plastic bags. Untied. Lumped together in a cart. Rolling across the floor of the car. Half of which I tossed once I arrived home and unpacked, the other half I saved for trash (and in the last 5 months, a nice amount of them have been reused to pick up doggie droppings).

I even poked around the last time I was at my local Acme since I assumed control of my own bagging. There wasn't a paper bag anywhere. What the hell?! The problem with the big boys is that you almost never go for a few things. Like us, you hit that 6 week mark and realize there isn't anything in your fridge, pantry or cabinets. So off we go for an hour long trip to the supermarket marching up and down every aisle tossing in paper towels, canned vegetables, poultry, ice cream, toiletries, milk, yogurt, coffee, you name it. So we'd need about 10 of those canvas bags. We'd need to bring them with us each and every time. I'd like to think I'm responsible and motivated to do that each time. I'm not too sure about my husband. I can't see him remembering to take the canvas tote with him to the market. Let alone be seen carrying it.

The NY Times article this week about London fashion designer Anya Hindmarch, promoting social responsibility with her line of cotton totes got me thinking about this. On the one hand I support what she has done - brought the idea of recyclable grocery bags more into the public eye while spinning it with some fashion sense. However, I'm somewhat suspicious of a bag that literally screams I'm Not Plastic, and of the designer's remarks that it has to cool before the world catches on and does the right thing. For one thing, this article illustrates hordes of shoppers trampling over each other to get their greedy paws on one of these bags. To be socially responsible? I doubt it. Moreover, it means nothing to me if this one bag has the best intentions but the rest of your line is being mass produced in sweat shops under not so socially friendly conditions (note: I don't know if this is the case, but my point is to hold people accountable).

I'm also a tad insulted because not all of us are clueless and not all of us need to buy your brand and your tote to show off what we're already comfortable conveying and doing, and not all of us will feed your ego and say it was you who brought fashion and a socially conscious product and mindset to grocery shoppers. I know the goal of the article wasn't to insult my intelligence or insist that we are all trend followers. I was to make us think. I still support the idea of using cotton or canvas totes and recycling as much plastic as possible. Enough so that I will flock to Trader Joe's and snatch up a few reusable totes and (try) to remember to take them with me to Acme in another few days.

Gardening

For most of my life I've hated -- and I mean loathed - gardening. I couldn't walk on grass in bare feet until I was a teen. I shaded out when my mom needed help weeding the front or back gardens or I offered to clean all 3 bathrooms so I didn't have to weed or plant. Even when we first purchased our home, I insisted Vince do the real gross part of the gardening chores. He hated the hostas so much, he could remove them...and all the snails and worms and strange bugs that made their habitat beneath them. My best friend Jocelyn was in town for our friend's wedding the first autumn we were here and she and Vince weeded and planted mums. I went to Home Depot and loaded the mulch and supervised.

So it's been 18-24 months now and I'm finally getting past my prissiness of grass, soil, some bugs.

Some people are petrified of the ocean...of swimming in the sea for fear of what's beneath them and they either wear those embarrassing water shoes, enjoy life on a floaty, or don't put more than a toe in the shallow end. This doesn't bother me. A crab? A jelly fish? Seaweed (which does creep me out -- it's like grass. Obviously I don't like it)? But I swim around them. I can paint and throw a pot or smudge charcoal over paper and paint, slip, and charcoal covered hands and nails don't bother me one lick. Something about bugs - snakes, leeches, spiders, worms, the frightening ground creatures I learned about in Bio class...Gross.

But I'm armed with cute gardening gloves, the weed fork (which is effing fabulous), and the desire to make my house pretty and give it some curb appeal. The other day I cleaned out the shed and everything was humming along well until I reached this old piece of wet, rotted wood on the concrete slab. I knew...KNEW this was going to be bad. I gingerly lifted it from one corner. I peeked cautiously underneath. Instantly I dropped it and jumped back. Scary scary creatures under there...the kind that only exist in damp dark places. There was a white spider crawling around that I'd never seen in my life. I surveyed my organizational work - it was swept, clutter free. Sans this one piece of wood, my work was complete. I left it for Vince to haul.

These moments still find me. I'll be laying brick and suddenly a worm is staring straight at me. I weed and a snail surfaces. I back off and collect myself. Then I return. People make fun, but it's OK. They laugh that I still cannot touch dirt without gloves (but you paint?! Isn't clay the same thing?! -- NO, it is not. Clay and paint are CLEAN). But it's progress. At 29 I've come a long way from the prissy girl that would rather touch bathroom grime than the earth.

And after this week, my front and back yards will have petunias, lilies, and a host of other flowers. Good for me.

Juliet

Most of my Juliet pictures are on myspace. I thought she needed some representation here as well.

Paradise By The Dashboard Light

It's taken me a few months to get to speed with this Comcast Digital Cable. Finally I can operate the remote. Finally my brain memorized a few favorite channels - The Soap Net, VH1 Classic and know generally where Bio, Travel and Hallmark fall (because they run reruns of Little House, Murder She Wrote, and some other classic shows).

Right now I am watching a behind the scenes/making of the album of (drum roll)...Meat Loaf. Bat out of Hell. And the craziest thing occurred: I realized why so many of us LOVED this album early in my high school days. This album is (and was built to be) and theatrical, opera-esque collection of rock. A rock opera like The Who's Tommy (but not nearly on the same level). Duh. Why didn't I see that then? It makes perfect sense. I was a theater girl for a year and then a theater goer for my remaining high school years. But Paradise By The Dashboard Light was played over and over in the Green Room before, during and after our productions and subsequently requested and played at every formal dance. And we rocked it. Obviously. Weren't we all aspiring actors, singers, Broadway stars?! We could assume the role of some character (like the backup vocalist) and appreciate the extreme mingling of electric guitar, tambourine, piano, drums, and overall dramatic layering of the instruments and vocals.

I totally forgot about this song's appeal and legacy. And up until now, didn't get the connection (I'm sure the fact that it's about sex was also appealing to hormonally charged teens). This is a funny reminder of days gone by when I LOVED musicals...before I became bitter and spewing venom at all musicals and operas. (Yes, there are issues here. It's a long story). However, to this day, I still prefer Paradise to any Greece song. That's for another blog. Long live Meat Loaf, especially in the world of high school dances.

Thank You For Being A Friend...

It's like the Golden Girls theme song...

We hung out the other night and I remembered how much I adore him and how much I learn from him. For so long I focused on moving forward, moving on, priding myself for always knowing when the writing is on the walls and getting out, not being afraid to embrace change and that everyone needed a little Chrissie inspiration in their lives.

I don't think I affect people that much. I just try to give little boosts of confidence here and there and share stories, good and bad. But it was still me focused on me and in some ways masking internal sadness that I never truly found job security and had to take matters into my own hands. I know to many it's ballsy and commendable, but it's scary too. Regardless, I always believe we have some control over our destinies and for a long time now, I've tried to be a positive influence and motivator for him.

In his presence the other night, I am humbled because he is older and wiser. He can see in me the deeply rooted burning issues and will laugh with me but also understand that they do exist and it's OK...but he gently reminds me to not over analyze situations, to relax. He allows me to be here now. He's that kind of person - I can tell him anything and he knows me well enough to talk me off ledges and call me on any BS. At times I've questioned the friendship, if it was real enough to withstand people moving on, but interestingly, it's made me more self aware. Once upon a time I would have projected unrealistic expectations onto him and onto the relationship and it would have imploded like a few previous friendships, but I suppose I am older and wiser too. I did that once last October - and we squabbled and I was so hurt I didn't speak to him for a week and cried - and then caught myself. Instead of internalizing emotions, I talked about it and I saw that for this to move forward I needed to relax a bit and let things just be. Accept this person for who he is.

And the best conversations and moments come out of me simply accepting and existing. It's a new thing for me :)

So I told him this. He tells me he's glad I feel this way, that he doesn't want to think he's the only one coming away with something. That when we sit and talk he forgets our age difference...except for when he sees all that I am doing in my life at the ripe age of 29 and what he has yet to do at 42. I smile and blush a little when I read that - I am my own worst critic, thinking what have I done? Most days I wish I was 42 with all that acquired knowledge. But I keep the faith - for me, for him, for others in my life. And I know the sense of awe we have in each other, for whatever our reasons, is real and sustains the friendship.

But then he offers me the biggest compliment anyone can ever give, one I heard once before, 10 years ago. He tells me "You do make me want to be a better man."

10 years later I am still filled with so much emotion that I can't find any words to express how that makes me feel.

Bingo

This past Friday night I got roped into BINGO. Yes the game where letter and number permutations are drawn and called and one must get a row down, across, diagonal, and as I just found out, a postage stamp in the top right corner or all four corners.

Vince, his dad, his cousin, friends of our and I all played bingo at this smoke infused fire house down the street from us Friday evening. I stole glances at my phone periodically wondering if my friend Jon would call like he said he would and save me from this crazy night. It was not to be. Rather, this experience was meant to play out like something from of a movie. And not My Girl.

There I am, cute little me in a sundress sitting amidst old ladies, sketchy white trash folk, scary men with beady little eyes and tattoos, all puffing away, checking me out. They were all probably wondering what I was doing there. So was I.

The night goes on and I'm breathing in the toxic fumes, barely keeping up with combinations yelled and frantically stamping my 45th bingo sheet. Can I at least shout BINGO to make this night worthwhile???!!!

But the best would come when our family friend's 80 yr. old mother calls bingo just as the announcer is reading off another number (did she call bingo in time??) and all hells breaks loose because everyone thinks the old lady shouldn't be allowed to have her card proofed for bingo. It was fierce. These people were up in arms and relentless. For 5 minutes we went back and forth about whether Bernice called bingo in time. The troops were called in and finally they grant permission to read Bernice's card and here after all this hoopla -- she has bad bingo.

Yes. BAD BINGO. There is such a term. It's for when you call Bingo and in actuality, you don't have bingo. So all that squabbling and poor Bernice doesn't even have bingo!! Bonnie, her daughter, is across from her and says, "Mom, I'm so embarrassed! How could you?!" Meanwhile, I double over in laughter. The crowd is still sneering at our table over the logistics of the call, some smug that Bernice didn't win, some annoyed that we delayed the game, and Bonnie is hiding her face ashamed of her mother. I was dying. Clearly this was why I stayed - to witness the sheer madness of Bingo.

Vince and his cousin won once and damn near scared everyone in the room (this is an experienced crowd -- they raise their hands and mumble Bingo while Vince and Rob jump up, send their chairs flying backwards and scream Bingo at the top of their lungs - naturally) and now insist on returning 2-3 days a week. I may return with a camera. This could make for some fabulous documentary photos. My sister and I got the best laugh out of this story the next day imagining our grandmothers calling out bad bingo and getting the population in a fury.

90210 -- Again!

I'll preface this blog with this: I am not obsessed with any other TV show the way I am with 90210. Hell I don't even watch TV much anymore. But I was 12 when it premiered and it followed me through an entire decade...

Every so often I go through these moments where I catch an old episode of my gang and I get pathetically nostalgic for my favorite show of all time and lament (again) that it's off the air. Wah. It didn't help that the episode I caught was the LAST one ever. I watched it Saturday morning. Now 7 years ago I had the fam record it because I was across the globe in Greece when it aired and upon my return I watched and sobbed. Saturday I made fun of certain scenes (like WHY were Donna and David's bachelor/ette parties SO goddamn lame???) but I did get teary eyed at the last scene.

And as if I'm not already nuts (and as you can see, I am -- besides my sadness over the last episode, my sister and friends, we can quote episodes, remember random characters, relate most life experiences to this show), now YouTube preys on my nutty vulnerable 90210 side and I can sit here for hours watching snipets of old episodes, video colleges of Dylan and Kelly, Dylan and Brenda, all the love triangles that made those guys my best friends. Forever. What's a girl to do??

Embed random 90210 things into her myspace profile, that's what. And play the theme song not just on her cell phone but here too. And plot ways of getting DJs to play the theme song at a wedding (or even How Do I Talk To An Angel -- Ray, you were great until you hit Donna). Something ridiculous like that. I still say it's a shame that Vince and his groomsmen weren't into acting out the whole opening credit/song/stance/dance thing they do. There's always my sister's wedding...

Long live Dylan and Kelly.

Peace Out

Because I am not into the Sopranos, of course I have no idea tonight is the series finale. I have however witnessed grown men obsess over this show the last 8 years the way I obsessed over 90210 for 10 years. And just like the whole storyline there eventually grew old and slightly boring (I know, blasphemy) and it was time to peace it out, and tons of nonfans were applauding, I am the nonfan here breathing a sigh of relief...and while I don't know enough about the plot lines to know if they are stale (everyone gets whacked in the end, right?!), I do know I'll be happy to have a husband not revolve his life around HBO Sunday night.

Honestly, I'll be happy when One Tree Hill season ends this week and my Wednesday nights are free to take part in Powder Hour over at Plain Jane, the cute West Chester makeup boutique.

Intersections

I have specific places that when I am physically there, I cry. I have no idea what comes over me, but it's almost as if there is a presence from beyond that just seizes me and brings with it a flood of emotions.

My grandfather's grave is one such place. I could go to visit, leave some flowers and be fine. But the presence shows up and brings with it a few memories. Suddenly I'm vulnerable and recalling inspiring words and Saturday morning visits. I remember 2001 and all the loss I endured. Tears fall as the sun beams down on my face.

While the SJU campus brings a sense of peace to my heart and spirit, there are places there where memories and emotion intersect and a tear falls as I remember days when I was continuously pushed outside my comfort zones. 4 years is a long time to be somewhere...

Oddly, there is this one intersection - 309 and Lower State Rd. - that by forces unknown to me, unleashes a tidal wave of nostalgia and emotion. It's not just that I am leaving Doylestown (because this only happens on my way home), but that I'm leaving anywhere due north of that intersection. But maybe that's just it - it's about leaving...or rather when I was leaving. I used to scurry away from the office back then and take refuge in the little mosaic park (or some back corner of a restaurant) and scribble in my journal, confused and upset about my life, and most days cry for 10 minutes before wiping my eyes, buying my latte with a forced smile and shuffling back to my tiny hole in the wall. It was about work, about stress, about death. Actually, everything was dying or leaving. Me included. So by the time the day caught up with me - 15-20 min. after I left the office at 5:30 - it would spill out in the form of tears right as I sat waiting for my left arrow. I was never sure how I made it down 309 to the Turnpike without an accident. Usually I pulled myself together by the time I whizzed through EZ Pass, but this one day in July after a party, when I knew I was giving my notice the next day, I started crying there and didn't stop until I got home. 45 min. later.

There are other places...other places where I'd been and left, perhaps before I was ready...places where people had been and left before I was ready to let them go. I find myself in these places, where stuff intersects, but really they direct me to someplace in my mind where someone or something or someplace had a profound effect on me.

Hello Kitty

It doesn't get better than this.

It's My Party...

On the heels of a recent wedding - just when I thought I was finally finished with important weddings - came the news that lady friends of mine are expecting. I wasn't particularly surprised. I'm pretty good at calling who will be the next whatever and I suspected this wedding would bring with it a slew of announcements. Of course I'm very excited for my dear friends and their new arrivals.

Selfishly though, tons of people are due in the fall and in early December which means I need to make some more friends who will not have just given birth and can still come to my 30th birthday party. Yes, I am being selfish.

For those of you who don't know about my dream party - It's ringing in 30 old school style: Roller Skating. We may compliment this by throwing in some bowling, some dancing, some drinks, some good food. Maybe even some goodie bags (like the kind you took home from those parties in 1st grade).

It's hard enough having a birthday in December. Forget the gyping. Yes, there are people who do that, but they aren't our real friends anyway. I'm merely talking about how everyone else got parties or dinners throughout the year - that I happily attended and provided a card/gift - but because my special day fell smack between exams, a semester ending, Christmas, holiday parties, a million obligations (most of which included emptying your pockets of cash), I was slighted.

So my big plan is to nail this 30th birthday party date down in October...and make it for late November, first week of December. By involving a few activities over a weekend, people can come as they please to what they please. Simple and fun. Of course now the pool of friends who are able to come is diminishing.

Vince asked if I felt any pressure to have a baby now. What? I WANT MY STINKIN 30TH BIRTHDAY PARTY! For the record, I'm just whining. I love my friends dearly...I am happy for them. But no babies for me just yet ;)

High Heels

I need high heels just to stand up
got to carry some stairs to get near enough
I need some wheels to move you around
I've borrowed some tools to chisel you down
tie me up and I'll confess
a thousand ways that make you statuesque

There are moments, and they creep up, usually after the excitement and adrenaline associated with something dies down, when navigating the world of small business that "I need high heels just to stand up" and measure up to those I admire.

Suicide

4 times in one week my dog has tried to commit suicide. Let me preface the following with the fact that we live on a busy street. Let me also say we are extremely careful of anything in her plain sight. Jules' motto is "If it smells, eat it."

On Monday last week she yanked the leash from my hands and tore through the front yard and driveway before I dove and snagged it and her. The following day she escaped from the backyard through a hole in the fence...only to come scratching at the front door "Let me in!" Vince's heart was in his throat and within a half hour he and his cousin were at Home Depot buying up some new hinges and tools to fix the fence door. Later in the week I placed my newly purchased Bic Soleil razor on the shelf of the tub only to find the entire handle and razor in her mouth, chewed and ruined a few hours later. Attempting to slit her paws? Finally just now she got a hold of a Combat Ant Killer trap. She chewed through the plastic to the poison and Vince and I were on the phone with the Penn Vet Clinic (the emergency weekend vet) frantically wondering if we had to haul our suicidal dog into west Philly. Obviously throwing herself into oncoming traffic and slitting her paws had failed, so poison was her final straw.

This dog is under lock down until she gets herself under control.

Definition

The Starbucks barista may have been flirting with me the other day when he asked me if I was having a good day and what constituted a good day...but it got me thinking. How do I define a good day?

Raindrops on roses? Whiskers on kittens? LOL. No. But let's see.

Sunny and 70.
Walking my dog/visiting the bark park.
Exercising
Having food in the house and being able to make something yummy for lunch or dinner.
Enjoying a good cup of 'jo (even better when I can be in the city for yoga and stop at the Green Line on Lancaster Ave.).
Doing something relaxing like reading or blogging or scrapbooking.
Hearing good tunes on the radio (or my iPod).
If I can accomplish a few things on the never ending to do list.
No traffic.
No drama.

Wine or Mushrooms?

Vince and I went to the Cornerstone Inn - this adorable B&B in Chester County - for our anniversary earlier this month. We had an all inclusive wine tour complete with tasting glasses for all 6 of Chester County's vineyards. Let the following illustrate our priorities:

Loaded with 5 lbs of Kennett mushrooms, a box of canned marinated mushrooms, and 5 mushroom recipes, we visited 2 vineyards and purchased one bottle of wine and drove home, excited about our mushroom cuisine. Needless to say, you will likely find us here come September:

www.mushroomfestival.org

Orange Mocha

Yikes. Good thing I looked up the nutritional info on the newest addition to the Starbucks family. The rather yummy Orange Mocha Latte boasts a scary 220 calories for a tall (12 oz) nonfat milk version. That's 100 extra calories than a normal latte. Even more that the Caramel Macchiato (170). What a sin. I was just getting acquainted with Ms. Orange and her interesting delicious flavor. Maybe it'll be a once a week treat.

Chucking the Bar

I grew up with that allusive bar...the one I still strive to meet. For years I set the bar very high for myself and for all those who crossed my path. Most people have some inkling of motivation so while they may not have always met my crazy expectations, they show me they try.

And then there are those who simply do not rise to the occasion. The ones who don't just fail (because that means they tried), but simply have no concept of the bar and do not try. Period.

The underachiever, the one that will take the path of least resistance always, the road always traveled, figure out the shortest and quickest path from A-Z and if it means skipping very important letters and steps, who cares? The one who could work a 9 hour day for the sake of building a business but why bother when things are good as they are...greatness isn't an aspiration but rather, getting by with the absolute least amount of effort. The one that despises formalities, social etiquette, adult obligations and duties, anything that even hints at organized religion.

People look at me like I am crazy, accepting this. I say it's useless wasting my time locating the bar, setting it and insisting the underachiever - the complete and total opposite of me - acknowledge it and rise to it. I threw that bar out a long time ago. It's sad. But I suppose I still have my own. And out there exist people that do try.

Hail Pat

Pat Benetar that is. When I get my hair done, my stylist, "D" (as my family has called her since we were in grade school) always gives me a great cut and funky style complete with product out the wazzoo ("You need to embrace the product, Chrissie," she told me some time ago). Embrace it I have and I walk out with a slick mane that when touched, pulled, or tousled, will pretty much do whatever I want, including stick straight up in the air.

This particular day I was dressed in my hot pink puma sweatshirt, black pants and my black patent flats. All I really needed was Love Is A Battlefield playing to make the moment perfect.

From Beyond

I have this weird way of remembering someone on the exact day that a particular situation with that person occurred. Moreover, I'm also convinced that those who have gone before me find the most unusual ways of communicating with me. The day I fainted in April was the day my grandfather passed away 6 years ago. When I picked my car up at Villanova that evening, it was 7:30 PM, right when he passed. I thought of how despite the days surrounding his death being unseasonably warm, inside I felt alone, sad, wavering, cold. Sort of how I feel now. I carry around the weight of that memory with the situation of the day and my current career struggles - I'm strangely aware and saddened by all I think and see and experience this day - and I yet I felt calm like he was with me, reminding me to keep the faith. Had I been feeling better, I would have stopped at the cemetery.

In 2000 before I left for Greece, Pop Pop wrote me a letter expressing his excitement for me as I embarked on this journey but moreover, the many journeys I would soon experience as I graduated St. Joe's. Three weeks after he passed away on May 3, 2001, I sat in my Philadelphia apartment and sobbed over the incredible amount of loss I'd suffered in the last few months. I suddenly remembered this letter and found it in my desk drawer. I looked down and saw the date was the same. There I sat in a puddle of tears as my life crumbled around me, knowing he'd wanted more for me than what I was living right then, at yet also knowing he wanted me to find that letter at that moment. Through hiccups of despair, I knew he was telling me to keep the faith and take comfort that he was there with me. Years later, that letter still finds me on May 3. Sometimes in between to remind me of who I am.

Dates

Yesterday, May 6, Vince and I celebrated our 1 year anniversary. It was slightly surreal. It feels like so long ago that we were at the church, at the reception, that it was 1 AM and I didn't want to take off my dress because then it would mean the day was really over.

I made us pancakes for breakfast...we took Jules to the bark park in Wilmington, ran some errands which included stopping by my parents place, wishing them a happy 33rd wedding anniversary, and then had dinner at the Towne House. It was fantastic to go back and be in the same place we were a year ago.

It's my mission this week to do a few wedding related things...my dress is still hanging here in my closet. Of course I need to try it on again. But I also need to get it preserved. My box of proofs needs to be sorted and placed in the cute albums I found on the bargain rack at Borders. My wedding scrapbook I started last fall needs to be completed, but I'd settle for a few more pages and now that Martha Stewart has graced Michael's, there's no excuse! Oh and we need to nibble on the top of our cake. Yes, we hauled it from the depths of the freezer, opened it and to our surprise, the entire top of it there staring at us, icing and flowers and all.

Meanwhile, Vince is enjoying his sandlewood shaving stuff and I am enjoying my 4 dozen roses.

2 years in a house, 1 year married, and a 6 mo. old doggie. Yay for us.

Arf. A Fire Extinguisher

The moment went something like this:

Me: Happily chirping away on the phone to the editor of Key To Philadelphia.

A loud bang interrupts my conversation and I peak over to see what fell - nothing. I continue with my chatting.

Jules: Arf. Arf Arf Arf [followed my 30 more seconds of loud barking].

Me: What the hell?? Sorry, Ron, my dog seems to be freaking out about something. Hold on.

I venture into the kitchen where Jules is in her pounce mode - her tiny ass sticking straight up in the air, tiny tail erect, jumping back and forth and barking. At what? I peek behind a corner. There, lying sprawled on the floor is the red fire extinguisher that she managed to knock over, the cause of the loud bang, and with its scary hose, it must have looked like a monster to her. A monster that would come after her and attack her. Clearly she had to give it a piece of her mind. I right the extinguisher and place it back in its corner. Jules finally stops her bark fest and gives it one last Look and turns to follow me out of the room.

This has happened not only with the fire extinguisher but also with the broom, mop and vacuum. Anything large (most things are larger than she), that can potentially move (either because I sweep, mop or vacuum or because she knocks it over and in her head, it moved) or make a strange noise - these objects come out of nowhere to spook her and after days of silence, she finds her voice and barks ferociously at these objects.

Granite Run Mall

I was just in my local mall for the first time in heaven knows how long. It's in a terrible state of decline - and it seriously reminds me old gas stations left to become a town eyesore, covered in weeds. So I sent a scathing email to Simon Property Group, the Mall's Management and sent a note to the president of the Delaware County Chamber of Commerce.

As a Delco resident, I need to vent about the decline of Granite Run (and perhaps even Springfield). I submitted a complaint to the Simon Property Group about what a disgrace this mall has become, but what concerns me most is that this shopping destination exists in the Middletown/Media area - an upper middle class area - and how can we as educated residents and consumers let this mall continue in its downward spiral? We shouldn't have to feel like to get quality stores we must leave the county - and take our dollars that should be funneling into/through Delco and sustaining our local economy - to Chester County or Montgomery County.

Is there a committee to save Granite Run (or shut it down?)...In all honesty, unless it took a serious turn for the better (competing with the likes of Exton and Willow Grove), I'd prefer another assisted living quarters...a strip mall like Britton Lake even (and I hate suburban sprawl). I walked around there this evening and the Gap is gone, there is yet another teeny bopper clothing shop, and I reminisce of days gone by when I worked at Deck the Walls (also gone), had my Coffee Beanery latte (gone, but thankfully taking up shop at FMFCU), and actually had a number of different shops to choose from in my quest for a prom dress. Most of the places there now turn over quicker than the wind changes direction. I recently heard teen cousins of mine say they make my aunts drive them Exton because the stores are better. And these are teens - a market segment with disposable income and to whom so many of these shops are supposedly targeting. Educated working 30 year olds like myself cannot go here because everything is too young. My mother, a die hard department store shopper, from Glen Mills treks elsewhere now.

Obviously the mall sustains itself somehow, obviously it still makes sense for the place to remain open...by the influx of Chester and Upper Darby residents that rely on Septa to get them there? I don't understand how such a terrific area like greater Media, that boasts great homes, terrific school districts, and clearly favorable demographics can let this mall decline the way it has been for the last 3-5 years. I understand things change and with more residents come traffic changes, road expansions, strip malls, assisted living quarters, and now the new center going up at 322/1. I get that everything will eventually become the Golden Mile Springfield. I even get that boutique shopping - ala Suburban Square and Rittenhouse Row - are the trendy way to shop (this is actually how I shop now) and directly or indirectly leading to this very decline. But it sure doesn't mean I want my local mall changing the way 69th Street did and taking 20+ years to (sort of) turn around again.

What can we do?

The Return of the Iced Latte

"I'd like a grande nonfat iced latte please," I chirp excitedly to the Starbucks barista. Not just another tall cup of whatever bold note they are brewing that day, not another misto, plain or flavored, not even the ever popular (and my eternal favorite) Carmel Macchiato. No, the iced latte is a glorious happy drink. It's prepared quickly and downed just as quickly.

It must be the warmer temps that have finally graced us here in Philadelphia. Come fall I welcome the hot cocoas, the coffees, the pumpkin and gingerbread spices that flavor everything. But it's April. Actually, it's nearing the end of April and I with nutty Nor’easter weather spoiling all sorts of outdoor plans until this week, I was miserable most of the month. My distain for winter was obvious in my ordering. Normally not one to mix it up or sway from a favorite, I was all over the board - flip flopping from tall coffees to caps, to sampling the Dolce Le Leche latte (ick) to a Vanilla Cream. Many of which I wasn't finishing and leaving to ferment in my car.

Then the other day I walked outside and OMG I didn't need my winter fur trimmed coat! I actually wanted something cold and refreshing to drink. Upon my daily decent to the coffee brewery of my choice I promptly ordered an iced latte. Within seconds (not minutes waiting for the milk to steam), my drink was on the counter. Is it the quickness of service? Or the joy that comes with not having to sip this drink? I can drop a straw into it and slurp away?

Whatever makes me giddy for the iced latte, so be it. I am quite content embracing it this time of year. Now if I could just make it so there's no condensation...

Sick Roxanne? Or Sick Chrissie in the Buff?

"Way to be a Sick Roxanne! Now those kids will know you as Sick Chrissie!," my sister's text screamed at me late Thursday. I know, I thought.

"Sick Roxanne" was the name my senior painting class gave to our regular model this one particular evening when she was horribly ill, coughing, sneezing, and blowing her nose. Roxanne was a wreck that class. Yet she persevered. During our critique weeks later all of us laid out our sketches and paintings and our professor commented positively on all of our Roxanne portraits we created that evening. "That was Sick Roxanne..." and we'd all laugh because if there wasn't one of us that pointed to a painting and muttered that, we all did. Sick Roxanne inspired us all and we churned out some stellar portraits.

I've been modeling at Villanova for 6 years now and never once thought about that crazy experience - until the other day. I'm am a living embodiment of What Goes Around Comes Around. I am also a living embodiment of All or Nothing.

Posing for a drawing class and feeling under the weather, I had flashbacks to that hysterical evening and the crits. God, I hope these Villanova kids have some bitchin gesture drawings of me after my pathetic state here today. Unlike Roxanne, I was not standing and sitting dealing with a cold. No, my incident is a million times more dramatic and embarrassing. What happened, you ask? I became feverish suddenly and despite taking a seated pose, managed to completely faint in front of this entire room of students. Nude. Now it sucks when you know you feel like crap and you talk to yourself, trying to focus so you don't faint even though the world is closing in on you. One minute I was talking to myself, the next I was in a dream state, and then suddenly my eyes opened and Brother Jack and Joan are standing over me, patting my face, sopping my head with cold towels and asking me if I'm OK, if I know who I am, where I am, etc.

Huh?

I knew who I was, where I was, the date, everything. It hit me then what had just happened. I was more aware that I'd actually fainted (something I hadn't done since I gave blood at 17) and that I must have the flu and that I'd have to go home and I ruined his drawing class than the fact that I was exposed for all to see (I was barely aware that they'd thrown my sweater over me). SHIT. THIS SUCKS. MY DAY IS RUINED.

But wait. It gets better.

They ushered me to the back room...kids were grabbing towels and juice bottles...apparently in the seconds that I was out someone had called the Villanova security and EMT...class was dismissed...an entire EMT squad came rushing in to ask questions and take my blood pressure. What??? I cooperate and think the drama will end here and I'll have some privacy to put my duds back on and calmly skate out like nothing had ever happened.

WRONG. Brother Jack looks at me and says "I should warn you...bells and whistles Chris...lots of drama!" I thought he was kidding. Apparently not. The freakin ambulance comes, I'm staring at all these strangers, and what about my clothes?! I barely had time to slip on my cute purple Victoria Secret panties, fleecy pants and top before these peeps escort me out of the art building in a wheelchair, lift me onto a stretcher and place me in the ambulance, all the while smacking little sticky heart monitor things all over my body as we careened down Lancaster Ave. to Bryn Mawr Hospital. OH MY GOD. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! I'M IN A GODDAMN AMBULANCE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL?!!?!?

At this point I'm half laughing at the drama ensuing, apologizing profusely to Brother Jack for causing such a scene and ruining his class, calling Vince and explaining the situation, and wondering how on earth was I going to explain this away. Maybe no one has to know...

I should interject here that Bryn Mawr Hospital is about 200 yards from a Starbucks and sans my coffee that morning (maybe that's why I fainted?) I tried unsuccessfully to have the driver (or anyone) stop and get me a latte.

I tried to hide at the hospital but Vince showed up and found me...and really the only reason I called him is because obviously I left my car at Villanova and I'd need a ride home...not because I want to dwell on drama or have hospital visitors. Ask anyone - I tell the family hours after something happens and then they scream at me for not calling. I sure wasn't calling anyone about being here (at least not yet) so he took it upon himself to inform the fam. I should also interject that Vince has a bigger mouth than me and loves instigating scenarios. Rumors spread like wildfire in a matter of minutes (see why I don't tell people?)..."Oh she must be pregnant!"..."Maybe it's a seizure?" (recalling my blood donation in 1995)..."Did she eat?" (duh, of course I ate that morning). I mean who cares about all that?! Forget where I am. Isn't it funnier that I was modeling? Ordinarily I don't broadcast that I model (if you ask, I'll tell), but I don't really want my grandmothers knowing, but then again I'd rather people be amused at this than initiating a phone tree that Chrissie fainted and therefore must be knocked up. Of course now that this happened (and obviously me writing this blog) it's moot.

Two hours, some tests (I even had an EKG) and poking of my veins for an IV (ick) and blood work (gross) later, I was released - Not pregnant (of course, I knew this), not a victim of a bizarre seizure. Just diagnosed as a fainting spell. If you ask me, I think the extra strength Tylenol mixed with the Robetussin gel cap taken the previous night gave me a medicine head and those chemicals were still in my body at 10:30 Thursday morning when this happened. Seriously, I'm a pathetic light weight and probably OD'd - most medication gives me a medicine head or knocks me out...

Meanwhile, Sick Chrissie went down in history with that class and certainly with me. How do these situations find me??? Being sick and being in the ER and having family talk about me and spread rumors because they have nothing else to do - that's the crap I can't stand and why I shade out and don't tell people. As it is, I'm laughing about the whole ordeal now, classic Chrissie, more upset that she ruined an art class than fainting in the buff...knowing there was a terrific story to tell.

Incognito

I could feel my self confidence eroding a tad. I was relatively unmotivated to do much the last 2-3 weeks. eBay was becoming more appealing with each passing day. Even creative endeavors like arranging wedding proofs in a new album were seeming bleak. Then over the weekend a good friend flat out called me on this unChrissie behavior. It's part of starting a new business and you knew things would take time she reminded me. Yes, I admitted. However, she kicked me in the butt and told me not to lose myself, as this uncertain wavering in confidence persona was simply not me.

It was true. Situations where I would normally not think twice about doing or saying whatever - suddenly I was hiding. Not wanting to feel like a burden, a needy child, not wanting to disappoint. There are specific people I want as mentors and coaches, who's businesses and work I admire greatly. But I feel so small compared to them. Of course I let myself forget that they too have been in similar boats.

I was wandering in a desert for a few weeks, lots of nothing surrounding me, no direction, no plan, obviously dehydrated from any nutrients...Maybe I didn't want to look for the tools or maybe they just appeared - an oasis! Either way, between our conversation and a terrific book I just read - How To Make A Name For Yourself by Robin Fisher Roffer - I felt motivated this week to regroup and think about me and what makes me who I am. To return to a plan and brainstorming session and tap into stuff that excites me and motivates me.

I have a feeling this surge will help me in the long run. There may not be clients right now, but much relies on confidence. I have to get past these insecurities. I mean - It's just the ego getting in the way of making things happen, of making me don masks and be all incognito. Aside from some breakups, when have I ever been incognito?!

Fraulein Maria: My Hero

I feel like Maria in the Sound of Music when she's signing "I Have Confidence" on her way to the Von Trapp house - completely cool and excited about the new - until she arrives at the gates surrounding the gigantic mansion.

OH HELP.

My print copy of Musical America arrived yesterday and I am tooling through this massive directory and I am completely overwhelmed. There are so many performing arts series, festivals, venues, and consultants. Where do I start? How can I possibly swim, let alone stand out in this huge ocean? How can I possibly attend PA Presenters?

Someone will likely plant a frog in my pocket or leave a pine cone on my chair. There will be many a Baroness Schrader who are calm, cool, established. How do you find a word that means Chrissie?! Will I triumph like Maria?!

Going the Distance

In an attempt to get my ass in shape (beyond the pilates and occasional run) I signed up for a few 5Ks this spring. I'm on an 8 week training schedule with a few races between now and May 12. I figured the races motivate me to train, the training motivates me to stay in shape and cross train, and in the event that I gain weight (like I did when I ran the half marathon), it'd quickly come off by the end of May/beginning of summer.

So running outside this time of year always takes me back to the glorious days of spring track during high school. That first week of practice, being so pathetically out of shape and going on that first long (3 mi.) run where you run/walk/run/walk the entire length of Philly Pike, Governor Prince Blvd., Manor Ave. or Darley Road. And inevitably it rained and because you were the hard core runners, you donned your gear and windbreaker and whether it be 60 degrees and mild or 40 degrees and freezing, you trudged on. You come back to the lockers soaked, hot and sweaty/cold and sweaty, clothes reeking, sneakers soaked in mud, and muscles aching. The next morning you barely drag your whipped ass out of bed, let alone sit on the jon to do your business. Forget climbing steps to get to class. Your quads effing kill. And so it goes for another week.

Us track peeps...we went the distance. And here I am 11 years later doing the same. The icky running clothes are spotted with mud, water and sweat and the laundry has gained another load dedicated to workout clothes. I look forward to the 5Ks. While they are no 4x200 relay I anticipate my times improving over the next 6 weeks. I look forward to that intense surge near the finish. And like track, it's only 8 weeks.

Then I'll be back to pilates and yoga.

The R5

Saw this on Monster's crazy commute stories. It's fantastic. Only in West Philly.

I work in Center City Philadelphia and take the SEPTA R5 Regional Rail line in from the suburbs. On the ride in, we go past West Philly, which is a bit run-down. A few blocks on that stretch are particularly bad, complete with boarded-up buildings, burnt-out cars, etc. While taking the train this morning, I was looking out the window and saw a boat lying in the middle of the street. Yes, a boat. It was white, about 12 feet long, mostly intact. But that's not the strange part. The strange part is that someone sprayed graffiti on the side of the boat that read, "3 hour tour?"

I wish I could have been on the train and seen this boat.

1996

This showed up via a myspace bulletin and it was too funny not to take and post. All about Senior Year of High School :)

1. Who was your best friend?
Becca, Beth, Aileen, Chris, Matt, Brian - the fab 6

2.What sports did you play?
I ran track and played soccer for one season

3. What kind of car did you drive?
I drove my Chevy Cavalier until the engine rod went one morning on 495 and Mr. Becker was waving me into the school parking lot like "What the hell?!" and told me to get it checked out right away. It was over then and I drove a Lumina for the remainder of the year.

4. It's Friday night, where were you?
Probably at BruHaHa at Bran Mawr Plaza sipping my latte, chatting with friends, reading a book or mag. I was indie then, before it was all cool.

5. Were you a party animal?
Not by any means. I didn't really drink until college. There was a part of me that wanted to be all bad ass and party and drink and get grounded - isn't that what's supposed to happen at least a few times in high school? - and I sort of wish I had one of those experiences, but I had more fun going to the city and visiting galleries with a small group of friends.

6. Were you considered a flirt?
No...that came much later!

7. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir?
Wanted to be in chorus...

8. Were you a nerd?
I was too nice and outgoing to be a nerd! At least I hope so! But I wasn't a party gal either.

9. Did you get suspended/expelled?
On restriction for many a dress code violation, but never suspended.

10. Can you sing the fight song?
A fight song? What is that?

11. Who was your favorite teacher?
Mr. Jordan...the best blue eyes ever. The craziest personality. I had SUCH a crush on him. And in total Chrissie fashion, I'm sure he knew. If I wasn't just 18 and he wasn't 30 something at the time, married with kids...

12. Favorite class?
Mr. Jordan's English class! Followed by AP Art.

13. What was your school's full name?
Archmere Academy

14. School mascot?
The Auk (it's a type of penguin I believe).

15. Did you go to the Prom?
Yes.

16. If you could go back and do it over, would you?
I don't know...I enjoyed high school, even the crazy drama that would sometimes ensue. I liked most of my classes, my friends. There's very little I'd change or do differently. I think maybe I'd try to have a few more crazy life learning experiences so I wasn't so naive going into college. But you are who you are then. Truthfully, I'd relive my college years because they were the most intellectually, emotionally, mentally and spiritually challenging.

17. What do you remember most about graduation?
Winning the Art Award with Chris and Matt, excited to leave for Dewey Beach with Brian and Nicole that night.

18. Did you have any boyfriends/girlfriend?
Not until the end. I had tons of crushes (Stenta, Newsboy, Joe), but my ballsy "I like you" moves were light years ahead of their time! I met Cameron at senior week and we had our intense relationship that summer...and even through the fall. I still have a place in my heart for that boy.

19. Where were you on senior skip day?
Did I skip? Why do I feel like that whole idea got screwed up and half the class skipped and half didn't? Skip day was so something out of Can't Buy Me Love or one of those 80s movies all about high school life that I expected my high school years to be like and they totally weren't.

20. Did you have a job your senior year?
DECK THE WALLS! Whoo Hoo!! I worked Tuesday and Thursday nights with Rob and Sundays with Greg or Matt, then sometimes with Heather. One of my favorite memories (though I think this was holiday or 96 maybe) - all these people kept coming in for last minute Christmas orders and Matt and I were at our limits - with orders and our patience. We told EVERYONE to go to Springfield. We didn't think they'd actually go?! Until someone there called us like "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" It was very funny then. Oh and all the bean bag fights. And radio wars. And who would get the coffee.

21. Where did you go most often for lunch?
Cafeteria or art building

22. Have you gained weight since then?
OMG, how was I 118 lbs then? I'm between 128-135 now depending on whether I'm really working out.

23. What did you do after graduation?
Hit the road for Dewey Beach, spent the summer working at Deck the Walls, spending days and nights hanging with friends before we all went our separate ways to college.

24. When did you graduate?
1996

25. Who was your Senior prom date?
My good friend, David.

26. Are you going to your 10 year reunion?
Went this past October with Beth and we had a nice time. It was good seeing people. All the BS that existed when you're 14-18 years old was over.

27. Who was your home room teacher?
Home room? What is that? I had first period and that was it.

28. Who will repost this after you?
Someone from Archmere?!

29: Do you miss anyone you graduated with?
I mean, as Mr. Becker said to me senior year...Chris, you'll be lucky if you keep even 1 friend from Archmere for the rest of your life. I didn't want to hear that then. But he was right. And I'm SO lucky. I have 3. Plus several more that are acquaintances and I keep in touch with via an occasional email, myspace, but 10 years after graduating, I still think I had a pretty nice class and I love reconnecting with people.

HELP FIND HER TRAILER!

This story was originally published on Rachel Furman's web site, www.rachelsguide.com. Philly residents and PW readers may know her from her Rachel's Guide newsletters, web site and her PW cover this past summer detailing her road trip in this kick ass camper. She's a Marketing and PR gal (like me) and always serving up the greatest to dos whether it's where to eat, what's opening, an art gallery, a holiday dress guide, you name it and she knows all about it. Sadly, her beloved 70s camper was recently stolen from a South Philly parking lot. Everyone keep an eye out for the Twink!

http://www.rachelsguide.com/archives/?p=214#more-214

UPDATE: Channel 3 news ran this as one of their top stories on Friday night! Watch the clip here. Many thanks to CBS3 for your help in trying to find the Twink!

WHERE’S THE TWINK?
Sometime in February 2007, my beloved 1975 Airstream Argosy camper disappeared. It was earned the name of “Twink” because of its keen resemblance to a Twinkie, hence this priceless photo I took while on my road trip. The Twink has taken me many places, from mountains to desserts to beaches to cities and every wacky redneck town in between.

So imagine the horror when I drove by to check on the TWINK in the parking lot where I had parked it all year and… it wasn’t there!!! “No sweat,” I thought, “it must have been towed.” But when the police had no records of any towing or abandoned vehicle reports, the terrible truth hit me. My Twink had been stolen.

I am DEVASTATED. The TWINK means so much to me, has taken me so many places and I had pictured traveling with it for years to come. I had dreamed of making the TWINK into a career somehow - pitching some book ideas, maybe trying to get a show, a sponsorship perhaps… And now it’s gone. Someone has to know something. Please help me find the TWINK!

WHERE’S THE TWINK BEEN?
Last year I kind of lost my marbles from working too hard. I had a successful marketing company in Philly, but I really needed to get away. While some people choose a nice vacation, I decided to blow all of my money on a vintage 1975 Airstream Argosy camper, trade in my Jetta for a Ford F150 and hit the road for a few months. Here’s the story: (Philadelphia Weekly Cover Story)
Here’s a Holiday Photo Shoot We Did in It: (Rachel’s Guide Holiday Photo Shoot)

TWINK Description:

VIN 24D5V1022
Plate # XCB9560
Title # 63036278001FU
•24’ 1975 Airstream Argosy Camper Trailer
• Beige Exterior with Orange Trim & Brown Bumper
• Large ARGOSY Logo Over Back Window
• Pimp 70’s Interior with Olive Green Countertops & “Airplane” Overhead Compartments
• Kitchen & Diner Booth that Converts into a Bed, Bedroom with Dresser, Bathroom with Shower
• Cushions are light green with pastel yellow & green stripes on some sides.
• Some Camping & Kitchen Supplies in the Cabinets
• 70’s Vintage Playboy Magazines in the Magazine Rack (essential for any road trip!)
Identifying Features:
- chipped paint over the Argosy logo on the front, top rounded part of the vehicle. The silver shows through, almost like freckles.
•Rusty step for the front door, one side of the step sometimes broken
• Broken shelf in the bathroom closet
• Couch off of the tracks when you try to convert it into a bed
• The pantry closet in the kitchen won’t stay closed
• Wax in the kitchen sink from melted candles

CONTACT INFORMATION:
If seen or found, please contact your local police department and then me. You are welcome to remain anonymous.
Rachel: 215.888.8885 | rachel@rachelinc.com

"You're Young"

I hate days like this. PMSed days when all I feel like doing is curling up in a ball and doing something mind numbing like scrapbooking, painting, reading. Instead I must carry on...work, think, be. I stare blankly at my Photoshop document of my soon to be new business cards. It took me about an hour or so last night to perfect the layout and now I'm stumbling over the words. That value prop. Things are in this uncertain state of start up so web pages, messaging, verbiage - it all changes.

I'm anxious about PA Presenters, wondering if it was the right move. There's this balance between spending time working with/for your clients and developing the actual business complete with its operational needs. I know I need the opportunity to meet with artists and organizations again and immerse myself into that conference experience again - which I loved - but I'm totally nervous too. I'll be the new kid - and a kid rightfully so. As Marc said - "You're young. " I'm nervous about leading a round table discussion, about being "on" and wondering if at 29 in front of a slew of presenters, artists, agents all older than me, I really know what the hell I'm saying and doing.

I just want to hear that it'll all be OK.

The Evolution of a Name

Since I was a kid, no pet of mine has simply had 1 name. When I was 11 we adopted Sammy, a German Shepherd Collie mix puppy. I imagine I was short then, in 6th grade, and by the time the pup was 9 months old she was up to my knees/lower thigh on all 4s. She walked me. I loved that dog even though she was big, barked a lot and the neighbors didn't like all her barking. She was Sam, Sammie, Teenies. Not that she was in any way tiny.

Then there were the cats. They grew to be fat little guys and Oatmeal and I got along once in a blue moon (usually around Christmas) and Oreo was a mini me. Oatmeal was Oatmeal when he was fickle and refusing to come get his food or when he was in trouble. Otherwise he was Oatie, Bee Bee, Bebes and finally, The Bebe. Oreo was nicknamed Baby for a while (he was the baby of the family), Honey, and then Animal. It amazes me that they learned all these crazy names and managed to come (most of the time) when they were called.

Now we have Juliet, my little Boston Terrier puppy. Let's see...we call her Jules for short. Some call her Julie but I don't because I just don't like Julie. I usually just call her Pookie or Pook. The poor animals with all these names. It's a wonder they don't lose their little minds. We treat them like humans with tons of names and terms of endearment.

I guess we'll see how Jules/Pookie responds in the coming weeks and months and what if anything morphs from those names.

Refuge

Despite my valiant efforts, leaving my house at 7:30 AM this morning, for reasons unknown to me, I simply wasn’t destined to be in Doylestown like I had hoped. For 35 minutes I crawled north on 252 in the hopes of navigating back roads to the interchange at Lancaster Avenue. By 8:00 AM I had squeezed my car’s back bumper over the “box” at 252 and Baltimore Pike and could feel the tears from 18 months ago swell up as I saw a steady stream of tail lights before me. I pulled off, called BAM, and turned around. I never did that. Pulled over, broke down and cried, yes, but forged ahead always.

It was like a rush of blood to the head, the way the memories of driving north to Bucks hit me that moment. I can handle just about anything, any traffic situation but after months of constant construction, constant delays, and constant frustration (and not just with the traffic but with everything in my life then), the traffic was this familiar metaphor – never moving. I completely lost it. I know why I spent 4 months crying daily. It is clear to me now how badly I needed a break and how the gallery job was simply that – a break, a transition.

All I wanted to do today was enjoy my catch up meeting with an old boss and old co-workers. I wanted it to go smoothly. Maybe the good thing is that unlike before…even unlike a few months ago when the metaphor reappeared at American Pie, this time I just stopped. I just said no. Some things aren’t worth me even backing up and finding another way, fighting. I would take refuge at the nearest Starbucks and wait it out…even if it’s tomorrow or next week.

I read my horoscope now. It offers some reassurance:

For the foreseeable future, Sagittarius, take your inspiration from Franz Kafka, who gave the following advice in his book The Great Wall of China: "You need not do anything. Remain sitting at your table and listen. You need not even listen, just wait. You need not even wait, just learn to be quiet, still, and solitary. And the world will freely offer itself to you unmasked. It has no choice; it will roll in ecstasy at your feet."

A Vintage Valentine

I love vintage anything...especially vintage cards and holiday decor. I especially love vintage pinups. Sucha timeless classy sex appeal, you know? I created this in Photoshop. To everyone here on the eastern seaboard, stay warm and off the scary roads! Happy Valentine's Day!

Why I Had A Tantrum

So I hate Walmart. More than any person can imagine. Today, Vince really wanted the Nora Jones CD and apparently Walmart had it listed for a rock bottom price. On our way home from the art supply store Vince insisted we stop there for the CD. There's no denying that I acted like a 2 year old in this situation - I threw a tantrum. In the car driving there, in the parking lot, even inside. Especially when we discovered that the special deal was an online exclusive. HAHAHA. Now let's leave. Vince thought he'd torture me a tad more and parade me up and down another aisle or two and talk up how if we'd just gone to Walmart, we could have purchased X, Y and Z for substantially less money. I'm sorry...was he trying to speak to an opinionated dogmatic person in that moment? As if that would enrage me more than my subsequent rant enraged him?

My righteous rant went something like this: I'm not always about finding the cheapest deal and there are certain places I go for certain things. I am not the one stop shopper. I won't buy a mat cutter at Walmart even if it is $50 less than the same/similar one at a local art supply shop. I will pay extra to support the local economy AND the value added service of wonderful and educated art staff. I won't even buy CDs at Walmart, again because I find more good in supporting the local indie music shop. If it's $2 extra, it's going into making sure that place stays on my Main Street and those indie music lovers work stay employed at the job they love, stay on top of the scene and make some suggestions of new and old artists. Places like Walmart cannot offer that.

I would have to HAUL ass to Kennett if I wanted a nice Walmart. Every one of those mecca stores around me borders on sketchy neighborhoods. Was it strategic to place these near the underprivileged neighborhoods? The idea seems nice. The one stop, cheap stop. If I wanted something even remotely sketchy, I'd drive to the H Mart in Upper Darby...take the back way into the West Philly for some killer restaurants...drive North on 611 to a camera shop. But you know, it doesn't matter where the Walmarts are built - the idea of it attracts people who only care about cheap cheap cheap. Quality, value, service...what are those when it's just $1? And around here, the Septa bus finds all.

I find it disgusting that more and more, there is nothing but suburban sprawl. Bulldozing and leveling acres of land for more condos, single family mansions and strip malls. More people and more traffic, more overcrowded warehouses and parking lots...where people can't move, refuse to move, take their sweet time in line, at the register, pulling into or out of the parking lot, can't answer questions, can't honor a price, simply in this day and age, cannot offer quality service because all that matters in this super-sized for less world is mass production and mass consumption.

Yes, sometimes I do need to hit a big ol' place for a few things. Hell, I still prefer Macy's - part of the dying breed of department stores - to chain shops. But for me, it is not about the bottom line. It's sure not about subjecting myself to crazy overpopulated and sometimes ghetto like conditions to save that buck. Why my expectations are SO great and amazingly, attainable in places. And why I throw fits each and every time someone says they need to buy whatever at Walmart.

NO. YOU ACTUALLY DO NOT.

A Local Quiz

1. How many Wawas are within 10 minutes of your house?
2 or 3

2. When you go to "your" Wawa, do they recognize you?
No, that would be my mom. I don't go that often even though "our" Wawa is 100 yards away. I don't like Wawa coffee. I really only buy milk there.

3. Have you tried the Wawa milkshakes yet?
They have milkshakes? Rarely have milkshakes, but I think I'd drive to Nifty Fifties for a malt one if I had the burning desire.

4. When you get a pretzel, do you get the single or the double?
Don't eat pretzels.

5. What's your favorite side?
The Pickle!

6. Which movie theater do you frequent the most?
Marple is the closest, but I prefer one of the Ritz theaters downtown. Cozy and intmate.

7. Which theater has the best seats?
Crap, I forget the theater where we saw Lord of the Rings?? It had stadium seats. Maybe Plymouth Meeting. I don't know.

8. What snacks do you get before the movie?
I try NOT to get snacks at the movie. It's all supersized and overly priced like Disney. Highway Robbery.

9: Last movie you saw in the theater?
LOL. Arthur and the Invisibles with the boys...and The Good Shepherd.

10. Do you usually go to Blockbuster or Hollywood video?
Blockbuster and then TLA.

11. Which bowling alley is the best in our area?
I SO hate Conchester Lanes. Granted, they pull out some archived 80s tunes, but I want to check out the new lanes in the city. Apparently, they actually have bars?! REAL bars where even if they card you, you aren't stuck wearing a little quazi baby bracelet.

12. Which bar is the best?
Here in the 'burbs? So far I love Picasso's in Media. They have a bad ass selection of Rogue beer. I also like Vincent's in West Chester, Spence's in West Chester, Chambers in Doylestown, Duffers in Glen Mills (the old Duffers). I don't care that much for hole in the walls out here because there's always some old men checking me out. In the city? I like trying new places. But my favorite spot is Beau Monde. It's dark, there are twinkle lights, there's a fire going in the winter, you can sit outside in the summer, the crepes are divine, the bar is great, upstairs is great if you want to dance.

13. When's the last time you went to D&B's?
I have never been to D&B's and don't want to!

14. How about Longwood Gardens?
Wow. A LONG time ago. I think I was about 5 or something. All I recall were the millions of red pointsettias and always having to look up to see everything!

15. The Camden Aquarium?
A few years back...I like the Baltimore one better, but that area of Camden is actually pretty nice.

16. What's the last show you saw at Tweeter?
You mean the E Center? Because that was the last time I was there. It was either Oasis in 97 or something...

17. TLA or Electric Factory?
Geez, this is a trip down memory lane. I think I prefer the TLA. The last time I was there was in January 2001. It's just cozy. Electric Factory is OK though...but really the last time I was there I wasn't old enough to drink! All my favs are playing the big expensive places now :(

18. Ever got a tattoo on South Street?
More like I was the driver. I drove my friends to South St. and we descended on one of the places on 4th St. I have no tattoos.

19. What slushi drink do you get when you go to Fat Tuesdays?
I was there once like 5 years ago and was unimpressed.

20. Do you like New Hope?
I love New Hope. Triumph Brewery when they brew the coffee beer. It rocks.

21: 202 or 309?
309 hands down. That bad ass interchange now at the TP? It's SWEET!

22. What's your favorite club in the city?
I still say Woody's for the music!! If someone can find me a somewhat respectful club with good electronica...I'm there. But where are they? I don't care if it's gay, straight, whatever.
Oh wait, Le'Etage is pretty cool. Although on certain nights, that can get a little kinky.

23. Pat's or Geno's?
Blah. Cheesestakes.

24. Which mall is the best one in our area?
My personal feeling is K of P is too massive, so I prefer Exton or Willow Grove.

26. Ever gotten stuck in traffic on the Schuylkill?
Yeah, but I know all the back roads so it isn't too bad.

27. How about this cold snap?
Holy crap. Thank heavens for my stylin vintage coats that I can finally wear!

28. Is Philly really the city of brotherly love?
Did ya see the covers of the last 2 Philly Mags?

29. Ever been to the Kimmel Center?
Yes, lots.

30. Ever take a ferry to Camden?
Yes.

31. Ever have your car broken into in Philly?
Do we really have to talk about my cars? Broken into, broken down, stolen, you name it, it's happened. Even with theft proof devices.

32. Eaten a street vendor pretzel?
Probably when I was younger.

33. Seen the Liberty Bell?
In 4th grade I think when we covered it in Social Studies.

34. Peed in an alley after drinking too much in Philly?
I'm sure I have...after some party at SJU.

35. Know anyone who lives in the city?
Plenty.

36. Ever been to a Phillies game?
Eons ago.

37. Flyers?
I think so but it was like 10 years ago when Lindros was still on the team. When the team kicked ass! I couldn't even tell you who plays on that team now.

38. Eagles?
Again, eons ago.

39. Were you ever in the Vet before it was demolished?
All the time.

40. When's the last time you went to the Franklin Institute?
I no idea. Probably 1990 or something. I normally don't get into their exhibits because they are tourist traps. However, I'm considering the Tut exhibit.

41. Ride Septa frequently?
Only when it's absolutely necessary...like when the car is in the shop or broke down or I have to be in the heart of Center City where there is no parking but in an expensive garage. But really, for $8 round trip, you could buy a half a tank of gas (at least in my car) and make several trips into the city...but beware the meter maids!

42. Ever been to the Mummer's Parade?
No. I know some people in it and I should see it once...but my last memory of my dad's father was him watching it, being miserable and dying...so I guess I just have this sadness associated with it.

Writing Stories

I am sure if I dig through old journals I'll find a slew of old writings from the late 90s detailing my experiences at St. Joe's and all the associated parties, boys, and adventures. There was much going on at this time of my life. Oddly enough, even through the early part of my parent's separation, I wrote a lot. The Dark Ages didn't come until 2001. There was a 2.5 year period where I wrote very little. I wish I had written more, expressed more about what I was feeling and grappling with at the time. But then again, I was so lost. While it would have helped to get things out, I remember now looking at my journal with distaste. That writing would mean existing more deeply in the confusion and pain that was already too consuming. I wrote what I could, internalized the rest, and then boxed it up and shelved it Years later, I'd revisited stories mentally (and in some cases, physically) and stared down any lingering demons to clean out old haunts and move on. I made peace with the past.

But in the last few weeks these stories that had long been deserted and shelved have fallen down and spilled open to reveal a few chapters. I remember again. But looking down I'm a little confused...I see that where there weren't lines before, there are now. Something that I thought was over and lost just needed time to wander around and then be written.

6 years ago in October 2001, I scribbled the following: What if it really wasn't the end? If what I thought was the end was really just the beginning? Can we write this story?

A Big Something Missing

We talk about much that is nothing,
Just small talk, but nothing that is everything.
The important topics that I want to hear, to listen, to understand
You skirt around and then I try the back door
but still, prying you open challenges me.
My tone, my words, my actions, they all continue to try.
You tend to be working, distracted, when we speak,
Always in love with ideas, with ideals
And you tell me what you know I want to hear.
I am more than so many to you, yet the same.
I walk away, hang up and feel empty.
There's a big something missing.