Shred, Baby, Shred

I was afraid of my office until yesterday. After two personal days and all the will power I could muster, I finally see an end to the paper jam.

I'm a self-proclaimed compulsive neat freak who loves to organize. (There's a line that makes a prospective employer's mouth water.) However, I've realized that I have a hitch in my neurosis. If a letter needs to be read, but can be read later, it is put into "the stack". Like my earlier fear of banks and post offices, the time has come to pummel this hitch.

The Stack in my office stuffed my office. Yes, neatly hidden and organized, but a major CF nonetheless. The Stack lived neatly in trays on over my computer, neatly on top of my desk, neatly inside my desk, neatly in the bill file, neatly on the bookshelf, neatly everywhere!

I do have systems. The important things do happen. It's The Stuff that comes in the mail and email from my HR dept and everyone else I have an account with that clogs the machine. Even though I can be heard ripping and shredding junk mail every week, people insist on sending me newsletters on my benefits, letters about improved service, or just other crap regarding my accounts.

"This is important, I'll read it later." But I won't.

But as of today, I have. I've finally emerged like a spring tulip. Hehe! I spent two days reading, filing and shredding. Now, not only do I know all about the pet insurance my company now offers, my chi is flowing freely. Amen!

Nummy, Nummy, Shimmy, Choo-Choo

I'm a sweaty mess, but I feel good! I just spent the last hour practicing a new choreography, and I'm very close to nailing the footwork.

When I was a little girl, I went to dancing school like so many other little girls. I danced in tap and jazz, like many other little girls who got the thumbs down in ballet class. That was okay with me. I liked tap and jazz better *sticking out my tongue and sending the raspberries to all you tutus out there*

I wasn't graceful enough and I certainly wasn't built for it. But when it came to tap... well I could take down the house, literally. I tapped all the way to the chorus line--with the teenagers! But, I had to end my dance career when I went to a new school. I never quite got over it.

Between 7th grade and 36, I pondered going back to dancing school. I danced in the talent shows, went to all of the high school dances, and for 10 years, I religiously attended ladies night. I have never been afraid to get into the center of the dance floor and work up a sweat.

So, it really isn't too surprising that 3 years ago I started belly dancing. I'd always wanted to try it--but then there isn't much that isn't on my list of things to try before I die.

After months of seeing classes in the YWCA and Continuing Ed catalogs, I finally committed to going to one class. I was afraid at first. I was sure that I would be lead to the back of the room and asked not to return. Just like ballet. I could not have been more wrong. I highly recommend Aren's class at Shaw VPA. www.bellydancemirage.com

All my life, I've been holding in my tummy. Today, I'm pushing it out. When I shimmy, I'm glad that I jiggle like Jell-O. What started as something of a lark, grew into a great exercise and has blossomed into a full-blown commitment.

Sure, the costumes are beautiful, the music exotic, and it is an ego boost. But, it can be much more than that. I've discovered an appreciation for whole new cultures. I've become more comfortable with my body and developed some fantastic friendships. But, one of the things I believe is most profound is the new found joy I've discovered in just being a woman. This is the great celebration of woman-ness.

Just wrap a coin scarf around your waist and shake your hips. Once you hear those coins jingle, you'll feel like you’ve just heard the most delicious secret. And you will never be the same.

Embrace the big mush inside

2 hours. It takes one hour and forty-five minutes to get to the good stuff.

Call it a chick flick; roll your eyes and wave me away. But, if I could bottle the last fifteen minutes of Sleepless in Seattle, I'd keep it close and spritz the air every time life seemed too routine. If Holly Golightly wouldn't tolerate humdrum, why should anyone?

Oh, I do love Mr. & Mrs. Smith-style action. You can't beat the break from reality that comes when you hang out with Mr. Potter or a bunch of hobbits. And, I always enjoy sorting out life with Ulysses Everett McGill, Pete, and Delmar.

But, this week I have complete control of the TV (insert evil laughter). I'll be wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea and hangin' with Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts or Audrey Hepburn.

Tonight I spent the evening with Meg and Tom in You've Got Mail. Tomorrow I have an appointment with Julia and Hugh in Notting Hill. Until my husband returns, I'm going to catch up on my chick flick fix.

Who knows? When he gets back, I might be itching for a little Jet Li... Unleashed, maybe?

No there isn't a murderer in my home...

Yes, that is me making all of that racket. Yes, the neighbors heard me. But, I don't care. I'm happy.

Tonight, I was late to the Broncos-Pats game, but not too late. I saw the second half and ohhh yes! The Pats are out of the playoffs! Can I hear a universal HAAAALLELUJAH! Very satisfying. The balls were flying--30 yards? Sorry, Tom, but that's Lynch with your ball. Interception!

Okay, so I'm a softy, and I felt a little guilty about being so damn happy, but I've been waiting for this for too long. The only thing that would have made it sweeter is if it had been the Rams kicking the Pats butt.

Tonight Denver moves on to the next round, and they took out New England! Congratulations Denver, you ROCK!

PS- Jake, the Grizzly Adams look works for ya, dude. Hey, I like football, but I'm still a girl. ;-)

Aaack, there's giant hairball in my throat!

When I'm whining all of the world is a stage. Without a doubt making you laugh reduces my mammoth problems to their rightful ittybittyness. A favorite hobby of mine is inspiring your laughter. In fact, I'd liken it to the rush a skydiver has when that other foot steps into 2,000 feet of solid air. It's my extreme sport.

If you're being wronged, I'm ready to listen and then shuffle off to a butt kicking. I'm relentlessly loyal and thou dare not be crossed. If you're happy, sad, indifferent, I'm a giant ear. Share and I'll laugh, cry and suffer a lack of commitment with you.

But when bad stuff happens to my family and me, my ability to speak evaporates. Suddenly, my inner ear starts screaming, "You sound like a bloody drama queen!" Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as that look of extreme concern on your face.

Don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate my friends and family and the fact that they care. Hell, I'm tickled as heck to have friends and family who care. How lucky is that? But, okay, when the house comes down around me and whatever the worst is has happened, I loose my skills.

Nothing sounds right coming out of my mouth. Thank you? I appreciate your concern? Over used. I desperately want to find the exact word that will completely express exactly how much I appreciate you and the fact that you care. But, there I am, lost. Babbling. Graceless. I'd love to have some grace. I hope in my next life I do.

What I do have is a drive to fix it. Since I can no longer communicate, I instead become driven to fix it. Who? When? Where? How? What are the options? Line up those geese, Duckie, and let's get passed this.

I'm very empathetic and I'm totin' a load of compassion. Heck, I couldn't even handle the death of a 25 ft gorilla. King Kong was truly misunderstood. But, when I tell you something really sad has happened; please forgive my graceless, incoherent sentence fragments. I'm working on it. Really.

Evicting the Bouncing Yellow Ball

In school it was the administration vs. the students. Then boss vs. employee and average person vs. politician. All my life there has been an us and them. However, we and they both want to be happy. Neither they nor we want to suffer. We really aren't so different, but it is so easy to ignore what we do not see.

Somewhere in Bangladesh a woman fell asleep at the sewing machine she was working at for a pittance a day. Somewhere in China a girl is trapped in a system reminiscent of the early 20th century coal mine company town. Somewhere down the street from me is a third generation hardware store about to go out of business.

Now, all things in moderation. I believe we all tote some serious Karma baggage, but this is when and where I take responsibility for my actions and the results. I know that not buying shampoo and toilet paper from Wal-mart will not save the seamstress, the factory worker or the hardware store owner from the Karma that is their own. However, it is my choice not to support company practices that I would not practice myself.

I have never liked Wal-mart anyway. Have you ever shopped in a Wal-mart? It's pure suffering. I actually got more satisfaction from surprising someone with kindness than anything the store had to offer. But, I digress.

I'm not really into resolutions, but I am resolved. No more Wally World for me.

Good Bye, Mike

Not a pretty picture, I admit, but this is how I greeted 2006. Sitting in the kitchen, wrapped up in my giant fuzzy robe with my neurotic cat curled up in my lap, I waited for the coffee. I flipped on the TV to watch some local, pre-game jabbering. I got a little vocal and scared the cat.

Talk of players and coaches moving and retiring always rocks my world. I love the Rams, but there are a number of players in the NFL that I watch with nearly as much enthusiasm. For me, football is not just about the Rams; it's about a good game.

The TV guys started tossing out possible exits. Might be Brett's last game in Lambeau. Last run for The Bus. Vermeil's bound to have a tearful goodbye in KC. Axe for Tice? Marshall's last run? Mike Martz cleared to play, but not picked.

I have opinions on all of these, but I won’t rant. I do believe Brett can and should play more. I think the Viking's waited 45 minutes too long to fire Tice. I think that Marshall should be on that field a whole lot more. And Mike? Well, Mike is tough, isn't he?

I have a love/hate relationship with Mike, like a million other people. Good coach/bad coach--living with Mike is like being stuck in a revolving door. I've tortured my ever-so-patient husband with rants that end with declarations of incapable play calling and ridiculous, fickle player treatment. Then my husband would throw a Hail Mary out for Mike. Humph!

But, I can never stay mad at Mike. He has too much spunk. Too much offensive genius. Too many wins. And you have to feel a little sympathy for the guy after Brenda got involved in the q-back debacle. Heck, you've got to feel a little sorry for Kurt, too.

And then, Mike got hit with some seriously negative karma. There was talk going in that if he didn't win in 05, he was finished in St. Louis. I raised an eyebrow and waited. Now, I have to admit, I'm feeling a little like he got the shaft on that last shot.

I do believe it's time for a new coach. The team is loaded with excellent players and they deserve a better coach and a little better behavior from the office. But, Mike's illness really highlighted the grey area in this decision. What might have happened if he hadn't gotten sick? Don't you wonder a little?

All this said, I wish him the best. I really believe that this is a great opportunity for him because there is a better place for him and his skills. I hope he finds it soon and I wish him great success.

And, maybe he'll change the way he handles challenges and timeouts? Naw, not Mike.

How do I count the days?

After a grueling search, I've selected calendars. I cannot grab any calendar, lob it on the wall and call it a day. I sift through every bloody calendar in the store to find the perfect intention for the upcoming year. This is a neurosis--I know it and I embrace it.

"Get any calendar and get out," I chant. Bam! Wall of cat calendars. Dig up the funny ones and giggle vigorously.

Personality calendars? I can't paste one person's mug on my wall for an entire year anymore. Leif Garrett held a prime spot on my teenage landscape for so long the sun burned his moppy image onto the wall. Pass the supermodel, superstar, super ego wall. Aah, must ogle football calendars, laugh out loud at Far Side, and take an impromptu art appreciation course.

Medieval to match my office decor? Tuxedo cat calendar to match my cat? England to encourage me to pack up my husband and cross the big water? Knitting calendar with a pattern for every day? Art deco for a bold stroke of adventure?

Aha! The New Yorker cat cartoons! We have a winner! Throw up the blinders and dart for the cashier--nab that knitting calendar on the way. It's 50% off after all.

Enjoying the lull

Christmas is over. The new year is waiting to enter the room. This is my favorite time of the year. The crises Christmas crunch of a week ago is fading from memory and everything at work is sureal. No one is in the office, panic time has passed, and the abundance of chocolate goodies are no longer cooing my name. And so we blog; we enter a new world--bull in a China shop that I am, this should be interesting.