I Want a Love Like Carrie and the Girls

Who else likes to sit around in their jammies late at night and settle in for a Netflix or Amazon Prime marathon while they drift into (ahem…postpone) sleep? I’m sure I’m not the only one. Lately I’ve gotten into Sex and the City, which my fiance is still making fun of me for. “It’s just all about sex,” he says, “there isn’t anything else to it.”

But he’s completely wrong when it comes to this show. Yes, it features sex sometimes, but that isn’t the focal point. The focal point is Carrie learning about herself through her relationships. She’s continually questioning everything and in a very public forum – a weekly column in a New York newspaper – and judging by the popularity of that column and her ensuing book deal, her curiosity and explorations resonate with her readers.

Personally, it isn’t just the show I love but also my memories of watching the show in bit and pieces as it was being aired years ago. I was in high school and in the beginning stages of my own explorations. It was exciting to me. Inspiring. It was the first time I considered the possibility of being a writer and I took steps toward my interest in journalism to try it on for size. I took a year of journalism in high school writing for the school paper and even went away for a week one summer to a journalism camp at Ball State University (shout out to my Indiana homefolk!). It wasn’t the right fit for me. It turns out, I only like writing about things when I’m actually interested in them.

It was also the first time I realized that adults don’t always have their shit together either. They each go through their own set of problems that is reminiscent of the real world asskicking that happens when your expectations don’t live up to what actually pans out in your life – and it all works out ok in the end anyway. You make it work, one way or another.

And the main thread through the whole storyline is the girls’ friendship with each other. They may fuss and they may fall out over some pretty big issues at times, but they are always there for each other and always make time to be together. Wouldn’t it be nice if real life was like that?

Instead, it’s more like the end of How I Met Your Mother – all the closeness fades away as some have kids, some pursue their dreams at the detriment of everything else, and some just plain don’t change but your opinion of them does. That’s just life. It boils down to “being there for the big moments” and the next thing you know…you’re missing those too. In the end, everyone is just trying to survive their own lives while hanging onto the bits of the people they’ve been throughout the years.

I think that’s one of the many reasons audiences are drawn into tv shows the way they are. You get pulled into the lives of a core group of people. You evolve with them through their struggles, you grieve the loss of some and celebrate the joys of others. It reminds you of times in your life when you were those people on the screen. The adventures. The laughter. The heartaches. The friendships. The family you make for yourself.

So yeah, I’m gonna keep watching the same old tv shows in my pajamas and wax nostalgic about the way things used to be.

There are some damned good people back in those times.

 

 

Morning Shenanigans

I got up at five this morning to shower and try to do something with my face to make it more presentable, and had a little bit of time before waking up the girls.

I got bored.

I had already slathered my hair with theĀ  plethora of products to try to tame it down and still had the hair gel by me. I look at it.

I look back at Darrick, looking comfy as all get out with his arms propped up behind his head and snoring like it pays him money.

He has no hair on his head….but he has armpits.

This morning, he woke up to teeny, tiny dreadlocks in places I’m pretty sure he never expected.

L is for Look, An Idiot

I love to make people laugh. It’s just how I’m wired; it must be the Sagitarius nature.Today, the new materials planner at work came over to my square of the plant floor.

I think he was sorry.

I happened to be speaking to the receiving coordinator at the time, and he joined in our conversation. At one point he said, “I’m quick!” and we both heard, “I quit.”

The receiving coordinator freaks out and the poor guy immediately backtracks to correct our impression. Then he gets to joking around and says, “What would I do with my three kids?”

I chip in with “Well, you eat them.”

He looks at me aghast. I have to continue.

“That way, you can survive longer since you have no money for food, and you don’t have to worry about feeding them or what they’re doing.”

Probably not the right thing to say, but boy was his face hilarious.

K is for the Killjoys

We have a meeting every morning so management keeps updated about what’s going on when it comes to production, and one of the supervisors cane hobbling in hanging onto his back. Apparently he pinched a nerve and it is giving him all kinds of fits. He was constantly shifting and making pained noises. Very distracting to me (distracting from the doodles…those meetings are boring and have little bearing on what I do) so I lean over to the lady next to me, shake my head sadly, and say, “I think it’s time we put the ol’ boy down.”

She absolutely lost it. She had tears and was snorting, and I get dirty looks for basically shutting the meeting down for five minutes.

Killjoys.

J is for Job Opportunities…And Possible Jams

During my usual meeting with my manager today, she pulled the plant manager in to join us. It scared the padiddle out of me for a minute, but then they offered me a promotion.

Holy crap balls.

The catch is that I’m almost completely unfamiliar with the packaging I’d be working with, and I’d have to go to Detroit for training. I’ve never been there, which scares me.

Ugh. I hate decisions.

I is for I’m a Little Teapot

I’m short and stout. And tired of it. Every time I see a photo of myself it’s the firat thing I jump to, and I hate that about myself.

Why are women always so hung up on their weight? On appearance in general? One of my minions just got herself breast implants and it’s sparked a whole debate in my head.

I mean, I’m all for doing things that make you feel better about yourself. I guess I just always associated it with new experiences. A road trip, learning to play guitar, a new job.

New boobs never occurred to me. Maybe I’m going about this all the wrong way…

H is for the Hey, Something Shiny!

I have never had anyone make me breakfast in bed before, but Darrick brought me some pancakes in, and man, were they delicious! That man can cook better than I can sometimes.

Today’s project is washing down the walls in this apartment to welcome in some new energy around this place. I’ve been pretty good about trying to do at least one objective a day to make things look better around here, and this is a biggie. My littlest one is going to help me by cleaning up the baseboards while I work on the walls. Last night, she stuck by my side in the bathrooms while I scrubbed down the toilets and organized a few things. It’s great that she’s always so excited to help.

In other news, one of my “minions” at work is having a new grandbaby come into her life today, and she’s so excited she’s practically vibrating as she’s sending out messages to everybody. You can’t help but get excited with her.

Life is good at the moment.

F is for Forgetting

My father passed away ten years ago yesterday. I’m not much of a talker. I’m a writer by nature. I’m a bit random for a blogger. But I can write.

It’s how I’ve kept my sanity.

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F is for Forgetting.

Forgetting the shake in the voice on the phone as I was told my dad was sick and going to the hospital, forgetting the frantic phone calls to my mother and brother trying to figure out what was happening, why in the world my dad would go to the hospital over being sick when he would barely go to the doctor for a broken bone.

Forgetting my sister-in-law’s panic as she realized I had no idea and had to break the news that he had been taken by ambulance and that he wasn’t breathing and had no heartbeat.

Forgetting the annoyance on the desk clerk’s face when I rushed in asking where he was and she said she had never heard of that patient and I needed to calm down.

I didn’t realize I’d beat the ambulance there since I was closer. I waited outside.

Forgetting them pulling my dad out of the ambulance, breathing bag over his face so I couldn’t really see it, but oh god, his arm. His arm was just hanging off the gurney and he would never do that.

Forgetting running back inside and flipping off the desk clerk who insisted that I WAIT and running to the back, yanking open curtains until I found them. Shirt cut open, cuts in his skin as they did I don’t even know what, he didn’t look right, they were shocking him and prodding him.

Mom. Where’s Mom?

Running back to the waiting room and taking her back to him, but they stopped us and had us go into a room to wait.

It was too quiet. There were too many tears and too much silence and nobody with any answers. Other people were coming and we had more to call to get Dad’s shift taking care of grandma covered.

Forgetting the doctor coming in and telling us what we already knew but didn’t want to admit and the cheerful nurse coming in right behind him to ask if we’d ever given organ donation a thought and how my dad would’ve felt about it.

Forget the itch under my skin to leave, forget the hugs and the crying and the keening noise I didn’t realize I was making as I cried.

Forget going outside. Forget how beautiful the day was, sun shining and birds singing. Forget how traitorous that was.

Forget waiting as his brothers and sisters came, breaking the news to them. Forget the disbelief, the grief.

Forget going back inside.

Forget the hospital letting us see his body, forget the tilt of his head and the way his mouth was just slightly open. Like it was when he snored. The way mom ran her hand down the side of his face, kissed his forehead.

Forget the ride to her house. It didn’t matter where we were. My mouth would still taste like pennies and my hands, I didn’t know what to with them.

Forget all of it.

I survived, even if pieces of me didn’t.