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A Painfully Awkward Trip Down Memory Lane, or, What I Wore to Prom
In what may possibly be THE singularly most embarrassing uncomfortable post in the short life of my blog, of all the possible weekly prompts for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop, I chose: The prom dress. Or in this case, dresses. As I had two, and they were both horrendous hideous memorable. Oh, yes. Or, *oh.my.word* The year was 1984, and I was a sophomore. I still don’t remember why we didn’t BUY me a prom dress. (in all honesty, they were expensive, and we weren’t frivolous – those were the days of “layaway”, remember that?) Anywho…this dress was borrowed. More embarrassingly, it was borrowed from a lovely upperclassman who wasn’t actually…
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I Can’t Do Math in My Head, Among Other Things
Despite the fact that I have a degree in Finance, worked for a hedge fund (and actually worked for a time on the trade desk, where we traded currencies and commodities), I can no longer do math in my head. In fact, I’m even struggling to make sense of the sentence that I’ve just written. The best way to understand what we do is to know that we work in a similar fashion to forex brokers – we help people to trade currencies in the easiest and most efficient way. Yes, it can be a very complicated process, hence why it’s affected my own mind so much. Honestly? I think…
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Writer’s Workshop: Big Fat Focaccia Fail
I’ve been so good. Drinking my water and eating my veggies and fruit. Trying to stay away from the candy dish. Saying “NO” to the luring call of the afternoon cake or a biscuit (that’s a cookie) with my tea. Hopping around my sitting room to “Just Dance 2” (extra points for ducking behind the sofa to hide from walkers on the lane). But today at the Farmer’s Market, my self-control *gulp* failed and after nearly a YEAR of self-denial, I broke down. I couldn’t resist the call of feta-olive-tomato focaccia. Since I told myself I won’t regret it…Just Dance 2, anyone? Mama Kat offered…
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Where I’m From
I am from pictures colored in a notebook, books and a flashlight under the sheets, from milk and carefully split Oreos and tents made from blankets under the dining room table. I am from the “west side”, dinners in the screened-in porch, root beer floats at the A&W drive in and the summer rain pounding on dusty streets. I am from the lilac bushes on the alley, helicopter seeds spinning dizzily from the sky. I am from Mulvahills and Vicinis and Ewings and Rozattis, from a world where anything was possible with some ingenuity (and duct tape). I am from the from the peacekeepers and worriers, perfectionists and imaginations, from…
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Put a Ring on It
I love weddings. And it is guaranteed that I WILL cry at them. (I cry at baptisms, too.) True, weddings are a very emotional time for everyone….for the parents of the bride footing the bill, for the mother of the groom losing her BABY, and okay, sure, for the groom, too, but let’s face it: It’s the bride’s show. Months of planning. Meticulous planning, and lists, oh lovely lists….Years of dreaming of this day…oh, don’t tell me you didn’t even a little bit. I remember playing bride with my friend Katie, wearing her mom’s slips on our heads. And to be honest, I wasn’t a *young bride*. After my 30th…
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Phoning Home
I had a laugh, really, even as I picked today’s topic for my post for Mama Kat’s Writers Workshop. It’s actually not hard to recall “who I last spoke to on the phone for 30 minutes” – it could only be my mom. And not just because she is my mom. Mostly because I don’t think ANYONE here actually uses their phone to call people, unless it is for business- it seems like everyone here texts. (Which I do now, constantly, and never did when I was in the US – thinking that it was for teenagers….) Ok, so that is an exaggeration, but that is how it feels to…
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Simple in Barcelona
My little family unit is well into the first week of our “Great 2011 Med Adventure” – which I’m thankful we have the opportunity to experience – but I’m finding that the things that are sticking with me the most are the simple things. The quiet moments sitting on a park bench enjoying the view. Walking hand in hand with my 5-year old, listening to her chatter about what she sees. A family dinner, enjoyed at a slow pace because there is nothing to distract us, no pressing chores to do and no urgent need to be anywhere (sorry, Macy-pup, we love you, but your need to pee can cock…
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I Miss That D*mm Car
I think we all have a story or two to tell about our first car. But which car: the one I drove when the State of Illinois granted me my first license? That car technically belonged to my mom. It was a little white Chevy Cavalier, in which my Dad had so thoughtfully installed a CB radio. (don’t ask me why; it was before mobile phones were popular and weighed less than 5 pounds, so maybe it was a safety thing.) Whatever. Along with the CB was a PA system with a speaker under the hood. Cruisin’ on Friday nights had a certain “Mr. microphone” element to it, I will…
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We Can Laugh About This, Right, Mom?…MOM?
My mom has a great sense of humor. And she is pretty damn tolerant. At least, I’m hoping. Today, I blew it. Totally dropped the ball. I didn’t call my mom. *hangs head* Yes, it is Mother’s Day. In the US. Where she lives. Unfortunately, it is not Mother’s Day in the UK. That was last month. Yes, we sent flowers. Yes, I sent a card – which I remembered to buy last month (because there are no Mother’s Day cards around in May), although, because it was last month, it went into the post, erm, a bit later than intended. But. Still. I didn’t mean to spend so much…
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10 Reasons Why I Could Not Be a Housewife From ANY County
I’ll admit it. I did watch the Real Housewives from Orange County when it first came out. They were ditzy. They were ridiculously rich, and watching them drop thousands on a piece of jewelry – or a car for their kids – was unfathomable to me. They were, at times, ridiculous. But they weren’t overly mean, or nasty, or snooty about their money. Hell, two of those ladies made their OWN money. However. The rest of the Housewives? I just didn’t get into it. New York? Obnoxious. Preening. They wanted everyone to KNOW they were rich. Atlanta? Damn, those bitches be catty. But really, I could not be a housewife.…