Suffice it to say that this is one of the funniest things that's happened at work so far this year. I will enthusiastically celebrate McClure Day (by eating copious amounts of chocolate, of course) every year from now on.
Since I blogged about them in my last post, I thought I might include a photo of the kitty darlings. Aren't they sweet? There are seven all together, but only three or four that we see routinely. The little grey one sitting on the bench and the black one on the deck are the two that always run up to the car and allow us to get close. It's my mission to eventually win them over with food... it works with men, so why not cats? :-)
I hear you... I know it's nuts. Gas is four bucks a gallon, and I'm still willing to hop in the car several times a week to check on my feline friends. But get this... over the weekend, I read that the homeless pet population in the U.S. is so overwhelming that every man, woman, child and infant would have to adopt SEVEN animals each to curtail it. Can you believe that? Well, this self-admitted Crazy Cat Lady will just have to visit the homeless and dote on them from afar, because my two fuzzy little snarks at home are all I have room for. Spencer and Sydney are not willing to share the princess bed (not to mention they're so fat it barely contains the two of them). And now that I'm finally sans-dog (oh, yes, Lightning finally went home yesterday! Holla!), there's no way I'm adding any other creatures to the Mannon menagerie anytime soon. Besides, it just doesn't look right for a 37-year old single woman to have too many pets... I'm not that anxious to conform to stereotypes. Next thing you know, I'll be living up to the other one about getting killed by a terrorist, since that's apparently more likely for me than a marriage proposal at this age. Ok, that's enough about me...
Now for the rest of you: Don't you people remember what Bob Barker told you every day for 30 years? Get your pets spayed or neutered! If everyone practiced good stewardship, we wouldn't have a bunch of homeless animals running around... and we sure wouldn't have a bunch of Crazy Cat Ladies running around with cases of Iams in their cars! Yep, just so you know, I'm blaming my quirks on you.
I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, as the saying goes, but considering the run of ill luck I've had lately (and the nagging feeling that the universe it speaking directly to me through a freakin' bullhorn), I thought I might share the latest oddity here.
In a bold move of political correctness, a high school in Bangkok, Thailand, has taken the concept of the "unisex" restroom to a whole new level. This semester, the school has added a trans-gender toilet for students. The principal had the restroom built in response to a survey revealing that 200 (roughly 8%) of the school's 2,600 students considered themselves trans-gendered. The lavatories are designated with the words "Transvestite Toilet" and bear a symbol of a human figure that's half man/half woman, split down the middle.
Seriously.
The principal justified the decision, stating that students should be able to "go" in peace, without being "watched, laughed at or groped." He said that using the girl's room made the female students feel somewhat uncomfortable, while using the boy's room often resulted in harrassment. (Tough crap... haha... ok, sorry.)
So let's see if I can follow this crazy-train of thought... First, we're going to build a "teen queen" hang-out (with good lighting, please, so everyone can pluck their eyebrows between classes). And now, the students who already enjoy harrassing these poor confused boys will know exactly where to find them... plus they'll now be able to kick their tranny butts behind closed doors. Hmmm... Mr. Principal, I don't think we've thought this one through.
I don't know where to start, there are so many angles to this story. I am extremely tolerant of others' lifestyles (perhaps overly so), but even I have to ask is this really solving a problem? How about investing in resources and counseling to help these kids with their gender/identity issues? Might we have attempted to enforce stricter consequences for the kids who harrass the boys who dress like girls? Is building separate restrooms not further segregating the students from their peers? And is this not a validation that could potentially influence other kids to join in trans-gendered activity? And where, oh where, are the parents?
From what I've read, the Thai culture is much more tolerant of alternative lifestyles than we are in the good ol' US of A, but it's unthinkable to me that this would take place in a high school anywhere. High school, folks. Back in the day, all Ferris Bueller wanted was a teeny little day off. And this principal in Thailand? Well, if you ask me, he makes Mr. Rooney look like a real smart guy. And as a homage to the brilliance that was (and is) Ferris Bueller's Day Off, I'll exit with a quasi-quote from the end of the movie: "I bet you never smelled a real tranny toilet before." Nope. And I hope I never do.
Have you ever felt like the universe is giving you a sign?
Like maybe you've deviated from the plan and it's time to get back on track?
I find myself feeling that way, as of late.
It kinda started as a niggling in the recesses of my sub-conscious, about the time of this whole silly business of my 20-year class reunion-- which for some reason seems to have dredged up every twinge of juvenile insecurity I ever felt. I'm not sure why it has consumed my thoughts the way it has. My best friend, Melonie, tells me I should pull out my Prom Queen tiara and don it for the reunion... as if it has some kind of magical Stuart Smalley-esque power. She's convinced that it's ensconced somewhere in glass (like the Hope diamond) in my closet or something. Honestly, I think I threw it away years ago. I'm not really one to form sentimental attachments to gee-gaws from my past... that, to me, just reaffirms how bizarre all of these anxious feelings are, in the first place. I think the universe is trying to tell me something.
Ok, so I'm unsettled about reuniting with my classmates. And as a result, I'm now devoting an inordinate amount of time (it's bordering on a compulsion, I'd say) obsessing about skin care. I'm spending mad money on medi-spa treatments and all manner of topical "snake oils". And I'm constantly Googling to learn more about collagen and peptides and hyaluronic acid and dermal fillers and anything that might possibly restore the dew of youth to my aging face. Ironically, my skin looks worse than it did before that ridiculously expensive bottle of Sonya Dakar (but it sure does smell nice). So I'm all broken out and flaky-- and since I'm avoiding the sun, I look like something from an opening scene of Six Feet Under (you know, that show was always chock full of traumatic deaths and frightfully realistic-looking corpses). Anyway, I shouldn't even be spending my money on this crapola... I'm supposed to be paying off my cards. So now I feel even worse about myself...What in the world am I doing? I think the universe is trying to tell me something.
So then there was the little fender-bender. Ah, yes. A true wake-up call. I'm still not sure exactly what happened, because it all happened so fast. But given my new found fixation on my skin, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that I had the visor pulled down, looking at my face instead of the road and oncoming mailboxes. I gotta tell you, I was rattled by that whole thing. I mean, I can't even keep my 1992 Honda between curbs? Really? Plus I was miffed about having to drop 700 bucks (that's five facials!) for my neighbors' replacement mailbox... not to mention its deep cut into my "get out of debt" initiative, which is really supposed to be the priority here. And it also cut into the joy I felt when the big, glossy, long-anticipated Mercedes catalogue finally arrived. What? No joy from the sporty centerfold? I think the universe is trying to tell me something.
Next, I had to get the Hoopty in shape for a weekend trek down to Little Rock. Mom and I had planned our spa day at the Rejuvenation Clinic for weeks (again, I'm getting spiffed up for those classmates!) and I realized that, even though the windshield had been replaced, the car really wasn't road worthy. It needed an oil change, wiper blades, a set of new tires and a brake job. That's a total of over $850, just so I can get in one last round of micro-dermabrasion before Saturday and shop for the perfect reunion outfit. That's freakin' nuts. I'm starting to feel like "Misplaced Priorities" should be my middle name. I think the universe is trying to tell me something.
Before I could get on the road for Little Rock, though, I had a dentist appointment... and though I haven't had a cavity in, like 28 years, I found out that I'm going to have to have an old filling removed and re-filled. Plus, in my quest for a pearly-white smile, I'm also brushing my teeth so hard that I'm damaging my gums. I've never had a periodontal exam before... they rammed a little metal rod into my gums to assess the health of my gums. That made me feel really old. I think the universe is trying to tell me something.
So on Tuesday, I take a quick lunch break to see the doctor. I'm really only needing a refill on a script, so I feel that this office call is a bit of a formality. Until the nurse takes my blood pressure, that is. The first reading is 161 /113. We finally settle on 150/101, which is still serious. Now, I'm really falling apart. I think the universe is trying to tell me something.
So I've had a little time to reflect on the events of the past few weeks. And I think I've figured it out. The universe REALLY IS telling me something. Slow down. Regroup. Stop worrying about superficial stuff like red C350's and making my face look 29 again. It's time to adjust. Adapt. Overcome. Get back to basics. Be healthy. Be organized. Form a new routine. Act like a grown-up. Stick to the goals that will make me a more attractive person on the inside-- not on the outside.
I'm still not sure how much the things going on around me are to be perceived as meaningful... I think time helps us sort it out. Some of us are just worse at interpreting the signs, I suppose. I'm clearly not in tune with discerning these little messages-- mainly because I've become so distracted by the minutia. But ok, universe... you don't have to beat me senseless... I get it! I read you, loud and clear!
So it's Wednesday night and I'm tuned in to O'Reilly to get my weekly "Miller Time" fix, along with a little fair and balanced coverage... when, lo and behold, something happened that threw my whole universe completely off-kilter: Gennifer Flowers and Paula Jones. There ain't nothin' fair about that, let me tell you.
Finally, my whole life makes perfect sense. Thank God for the word of the day.
flibbertigibbet (FLIB-uhr-tee-jib-it) - noun :
Someone who is regarded as flighty, scatterbrained, and talkative.
[Apparently from the imitation of the sound of idle chatter.]
Never have I had so much pleasure as in a trip through the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru...
In fact, I've driven her to two different places since the incident... and so far I'm two for two with queries about her demise. Hail and flying baseballs are the front-runners thus far. But nope, I just smile with pride and tell them it was all me. Well, all me... with a little help from a USPS-certified mail receptacle. 
This month, instead of waiting until the end of May to grouse and complain about how I didn't meet my goals, I've decided to declare defeat early...
Here it is, 11 days to go, and I'm just going to have to say it: my resolutions are in the toilet. Flush. Zip up the fly. Walk out of the stall.
For all of my great intentions, I have just not been cutting it with the diet. In fact, my focus has pretty much waned to nothing. I ate like I was on death row all weekend, then blew it out at Ruth's Chris last night... ridiculous, copious amounts of delicious food. I really didn't even feel guilty about it, which is a sign that I'm in really bad shape, mentally. Once I stop caring, it's hard to resurrect the willpower.
So I've decided to try another tactic to meet my resolutions. I'm envisioning positive changes and hoping they'll take root in my life. It's that whole cheesy "if you can see it, you can be it" thing. Maybe I should paper my refrigerator doors with photos of rock-solid abs. Heck, I don't even mind being a little doughy through the middle... I just don't want to look like Mrs. Butterworth anymore.
Mark has been a positive influence lately; he's doing NutriSystem again. I have to admire that... It's not pleasant in any way. It's ironic that my decline has come at the precise moment he's getting his nutritional act together. So that's one more reason to try harder. I'm stating my June goals early and giving myself plenty of time to meet them:
"I will lose 6 lbs before June 30 and I will shave off another $1,000 in debt".
(And I'm clicking my heels together and saying it aloud three times, just for good measure.)
The financial part I'm not so worried about. I've given up spending any money, with hardly a thought. Every month is getting me closer to that little red C350. And when the credit cards reach zero, it's on. I had nurtured the fantasy that our annual pay raises would be fantastic this year, and that I would somehow carve off all the debt in one fell swoop and run straight to the Mercedes dealership-- but then I woke up to reality! One can only build their car online so many times until the thrill wears off, though. Which leads me to wonder if a website exists, where I could build my own virtual waistline and watch the pounds melt away? That might be an interesting "if you can see it, you can be it" exercise... well, for my fingers, anyway. I know the real effort of weight loss takes place between your ears.
Ok, so let's recap. I was a stinker in May. And now I'm telling the negative thoughts that they are no longer welcomed in my head, rent-free. It's time to get the heck out. No more "if you can see it, you can eat it" mindset!
Look out, June 30... I'm heading your way! I may be traveling by foot instead of my '08 Mercedes-- but I'm enroute!
44 DAYS TO GO... BUT WHO'S COUNTING?
The day the letter about the reunion arrived, I was so excited. I’d been expecting it, so I couldn’t tear open the envelope quickly enough! I read the letter three times, along with the questionnaire on the second page. Over the past couple of weeks, I've read it dozens of times. I'm 100% certain I'll attend the reunion— I mean, my insatiable curiosity will never allow me to stay home on June 21. I’m dying to know what everyone has been up to the past two decades! There’s just one hold-up:
“What have you been doing for the past 20 years?”
Gulp. Those ten little words paralyze me. It’s the first question on the page, and as much as I hate to admit it, that one little sentence has stopped me dead in my tracks for days. I've finally realized I can’t put it off any longer. It’s time to “man up” and answer all the questions (including dreaded question #1). I need to check the “Yes, I will attend” box, enclose my reunion dues, and plop my envelope in the mailbox. But how do you sum up 20 whole years in a mere line-and-a-half ?
I simply can’t do it! Too many hours spent a-blogging have rendered me incapable of writing out so much as a grocery list… I can’t form a cohesive thought unless my fingers have contact with a keyboard. And this particular writing-exercise is compounded by the acute anxiety I feel about answering these questions. I know my responses will be the basis for the many snap-judgments my former classmates could (and probably will) form about my life and accomplishments. Maybe I’m over-thinking this… Maybe everyone else just whipped out a pen, without giving it a second thought, and hastily scribbled down a few milestones, the names/ages of their kids, and their exciting hobbies… Maybe I need professional help. Does anyone know a capable bio writer who could help me with this pantagruelian task?
Ok... Sit up straight, like a big girl... Take a few deep breaths... Ready. Set. Answer the questionnaire.
What have you been doing for the past 20 years?
I graduated from the U of A with a BA in Communication in 1993 and went to work for J.B. Hunt Transport, where for the past 15 years I’ve had a job that I love (most days, anyway). Being a late bloomer, I finally bought my first home a couple of years ago and share it with two snarky Siamese cats, which are my sole proof of responsible adulthood. Hiding out at the office occupies most of my waking hours. My second great passion is planning what to do with my vacation-time; it seems there’s never enough of it, so I try to make it count.
Are you married?
Happily single since 2001.
How many children do you have?
I’m the only kid I’m trying to raise.
Have you stayed close to home or been all over?
I’ve stayed in NWA and currently live in north Springdale (Bethel Heights).
Where else have you lived?
The furthest I've strayed was Bella Vista for two or three years in the late ‘90s.
What kind of work do you do?
I head up the Advertising department— buying media, writing ads, developing campaigns and executing driver-oriented promotions. I like the work and I love my co-workers, who keep me in stitches.
Who would you most like to see at the reunion?
I’m most excited to see the girlfriends I haven’t stayed in contact with the past several years: Pam (Bell) Phillips and Kathy (Watkins) Williams.
What is your best high school memory?
My most vivid classroom memory is from Home Ec, when Mrs. Dennis told us: “My, you girls are wound up today! Am I going to have to put you in a closet?” Looking back, I’m sure we deserved to be locked up. Most of my memories seem to revolve around breaks, lunches, pep rallies or assemblies— and the nonsense we were always talking and passing notes about!
Who have you thought of over the years and wondered “What ever happened to __?”
I think of John Gloria when the Pur commercials come on. If that’s not him, he has a doppelganger in the water filter business.
What are your current interests?
I love to travel, read, blog and spend time outdoors.
What do you do for fun?
I enjoy getting outside— hiking, floating and exploring Arkansas.
If you could change anything about high school, what would it be?
If I could go back and change anything, it would be having more of a social circle outside of school hours… I wish I’d had more experiences, just hanging out with friends.
Is there anything you would like to say to the class of ’88?
I hope we all have better hair than we did twenty years ago!
Wow. That wasn’t as hard as I thought. And typing it out helped. I hope this version will do— until that professional bio writer comes through with my “real” responses. In the meantime, I’m off to sign myself up for “Extreme Makeover – Julie Edition”. Who knows what that biographer might have me doing? Undoubtedly, it will be glamorous, so I’d better look the part!
And a little PS to the Reunion Committee— I’m not enclosing a current photo, as requested. The way I see it, I’ve got 44 days until the big reveal... and I’m long overdue for a miracle!
I just recently found out my first big class reunion is coming up... What?? How can I be attending a 20-year reunion, when I'm only 27 myself?
Ok, so I'm 27 only in my head... my face has 37 written all over it. But despite that fact, I continually forget my real age... it's weird. I think it's because I'm one of the few thirty-somethings still living like I'm in my 20's. While thinking about all this, I've come to the conclusion that I'm a habitual late-bloomer. Single. No kids. And heck, I only recently started thinking about grown-up things like mortgages, 401k, cars that aren't fun to drive and sensible footwear. I like the first two ok, but that last one really sticks in my craw.
A 20-year reunion of the class of '88... This is quite a milestone, and one I can't quit thinking about. I've been trying to come up with a clever answer for my little "what I've been doing the past two decades" bio. Chronologically, it goes something like this:
1988 - High School Graduation
1993 - College Graduation
1993 - Started getting up and going to work every day
1994 - Got married
2001 - Got divorced and started living happily-ever-after
2006 - Bought my first home (which I consider my biggest accomplishment, since I'm doing it on my own)
Ok, so that pretty much timelines my big milestones, but what about all the little moments in between? Those are the real essence of a life... the good stuff, like the sweet filling in the middle of an Oreo (which I would love to have, if I were starving myself for this crazy reunion). So how do you sum up the good stuff for people you don't know anymore and haven't seen since President Reagan denounced Libyan terrorists for blowing up that Pan Am flight over Lockerbie and Rick Astley sang "Never Gonna Give You Up"? Heck, I work in advertising so I should be able to come up with a few eloquent words to put it into a tidy little package so my erstwhile classmates can make snap judgments about me... right?
Let me get back to you on that.
Say hello to my little friend from Natural Bridge, Alabama.
I know I really should be posting pictures of the beautiful scenery in that area-- but this shot was my favorite one of the bunch, for some reason. I'm sure my ridiculous soft spot for felines has nothing to do with it.
Natural Bridge is the longest natural-rock bridge east of the Rockies and was formed by water eleventy-gazillion years ago... It's basically a big, rock arch that you can't walk across, but can look up and admire. If you're ever passing through this area, north of Birmingham, be sure to drive in and hike up to the bridge. It only costs, like, two bucks to get in and is more than worth the price. You'll see some gorgeous scapes and rock formations, including one in the shape of an "indian face" and a cave dwelling that's really spectacular.
Well, about the time I got under the ledge and inside the dwelling, I saw a little tortie-shell kitty in the cave. At first, I thought I must be having some kind of mystical native american experience... I mean, I was long overdue for some cattitude, afterall. But as it turns out it wasn't a crazy peyote-induced cat spirit, afterall. She let me pick her up and I carried her as I proceeded around the inner path of the cave, back outside and down the trail. She was content to ride in my arms a good, long way-- which seemed odd, since hiking through the woods isn't exactly a pleasure cruise. Anyway, I guess we both needed what the other one had to give that day.
Once we completed the entire trail and crossed back up toward the visitor's center, I saw this little grey sweetie (in the photo above). He was very friendly... I think he would've jumped in the car and ridden back to Arkansas with me-- which I wouldn't have minded so much, except that Spencer and Sydney would not have been pleased.
So here's the inevitable line... I'm sure you all knew it was coming:
I took this photo, so I'm just going to do a little bragging... I'm not much of a photog, as a rule, but I think this one turned out pretty good.
But then I did have a white sand beach, a cute little hermit crab, a nice guy and a wide expanse of bright, blue sky to work with-- so maybe I don't need to take too much credit here, afterall.
