the pieces of my life

I really hate Eugene right now, and since I can’t figure out how to link to an individual entry of his, just read February 10 to understand why my sheer plain-old-jealous-with-every-last-bone-of-my-body has forced me to hate a boy I’ve been friends with for over four years. What can I say.

You haven’t heard about the CWITs for a while. That’s because there really hasn’t been much going on. But in two weeks, we’ll all be going to a Celtics/Pacers basketball game, and I’d make some really snide remark about how the women are going only because their husbands want to go, except that that would make me a CWIT, because really, who cares about basketball? If it ain’t football, it doesn’t count. This is the most packed event of the season. They had 80 tickets and had to buy more to accommodate 160 folks, and even then people have been shut out. But if I could tell you how many of these people don’t understand Evite or the reply vs. reply all function on e-mail, I will scream. I have gotten no fewer than 21 e-mails of various sorts about this event, and the friggin’ game is more than two weeks away. Insanity. So check in at the end of February for some more hip-hop CWIT action. I bet you can’t wait.

The reason I shouldn’t bother buying adorable vintage outfits is I never wear them. That darling coat I bought at Canal Jeans? Still sitting in the closet. Every morning I grab my coat for work, and I think, “Oh, I really should wear my new coat! Well, I don’t know if it goes with my outfit today. I’ll wear it tomorrow.” That coat hasn’t budged. Sigh. Maybe I’ll wear it next week.

My father wonders, “How is it I looked at your site this morning and there was no entry, but when I looked at noon, there was an entry at 8:45 a.m.? How did I miss that?” Ahem. Blogger Pro and it’s ability to set the time on a post is a beautiful thing. Because as I’ve stated many, many times, I would never blog at work. No, never. ‘Nuff said.

I wish I could one of those bloggers who just writes little tidbits all throughout the day/week, getting the thoughts down as they come. But I can’t. For me, it’s generally spew out a ton of thoughts at once or clam up. I’m like that in real life, too. Well, except for the clam up part.

The more there is to blog about, generally the less time I have to blog. It’s been a busy few days. Of course, often the stuff that is most interesting, I don’t blog about. In case folks are wondering how I can go on and on about the inconsequential tidbits of my life and ignore the big picture stuff, it’s because some things I like to keep private. I admire folks who can pour out their hearts about things such as the Columbia tragedy or go on in great detail about their personal life, but I’m not comfortable spilling those kinds of things out. So instead, you get to hear inanities such as:

Why I’m Annoyed at a Certain Prime-Time Actress

There’s a certain actress, who I shall not name, who is on a certain NBC sitcom, which I shall not name, whom I was assigned to write a story about. After a first PR person wouldn’t call me back, I randomly chose another name off the NBC menu, and voila! She was pleasant and nice and hooked me up with said actress’s personal publicist. We arrange for an interview at 6 p.m. my time on Tuesday. I’m a little stressed about being late for my 6:30 sewing class because that is the night we were making our first project. Pillowcases! Very excited about the pillowcases. Especially because my parents gave us those super comfy Tempur-Pedic pillows and none of our pillowcases fit on them properly. I picked out this lovely ivory fabric with tiny white flowers on it, so I could finally make pillow cases that fit! Am I digressing? I think perhaps I am. But, I figure, 6 p.m., interview for about 15 minutes, I can get to class no more than five minutes late. So the office is empty. And I mean empty. I’m sitting at my desk. Waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting more for the phone to ring. I’m doing a little Web surfing, looking for information on her shows. Waiting. I’m IMing Adam my intense frustration that the phone isn’t ringing, because I don’t want to call out, as our phone system shoots a caller straight to voicemail if you’re on another call (wasn’t I supposed to stop having problems like the phone not ringing once I got married?). Finally, at 6:20, I call the publicist. “Oh, let me get X on the line for you.” So now I’m sweating, thinking, “Oh my gosh, was I supposed to call her?” But no, I’m 99 percent sure the publicist said she’d call me. Anyway, Publicist gets back on the phone after a few minutes and says, “I’m sorry, can X call you back? She’s still in production.” Not wanting to miss pillowcases, I ask, “How long?” Publicist says, “Oh about ten minutes. If you like, she can call you on your cell,” which doesn’t work for me because a) I can’t talk and drive. Hell, I can’t do anything and drive; b) I can’t hook up my tape recorder to my cell phone, and c) I want to make friggin’ pillowcases, not sit in the hall whispering a phone interview. So I wait. And wait. And wait. La la la. I’m starting to look up all the negative reviews about the show. It’s making me feel a little better. Finally at 6:52, the phone rings. I answer in my perky voice, because that’s what I’m paid to do, only I don’t hear Ms. X’s voice but Publicist. “Jenny, I am so, so sorry. Would it be possible to reschedule this for tomorrow?” I grit my teeth and work on cheerful as I agree, jotting the time in my calendar and running–I mean running–to class. I made it 45 minutes late with a lot of huffing and puffing, but the teacher was cool about it, which brings me to…

My Pillowcase

It is beautiful. I mean beautiful. Okay, the hem isn’t that straight and don’t look too closely at the interior zig zag stitches ’cause I don’t want you to notice that there are two sets, because I messed up the first one, but it’s a beautiful pillowcase. It’s on my pillow right now as we speak. It would have been on Adam’s pillow, because I can be nice like that, but he was at a sports bar watching basketball with friends and when I called at 9, he said he’d be home soon, but he didn’t get home until close to 11, which is so not soon, so I kept the pillowcase for myself, because I can be vindictive like that. But I had a good night’s sleep, which is a fine thing, because I had to interview Ms. X the next day, which brings me to…

Why I’m No Longer Annoyed with a Certain Prime-Time Actress

She called right on time on Wednesday morning and she was as nice as nice could be. God forbid, she was the kind of gal that I think I’d actually want to hang out with if I knew her in person. Terribly goofy. Said things every now and then that made me want to say to her, “Um, you do know I’m a writer? That I’m going to be writing this stuff down?” but I found that all the more endearing. And it’s not like I write for the Globe or anything. I’m not exactly looking to dig up dirt. I wish I could name her, so you could all watch her show, but since I don’t write about work, I can’t do it. Although maybe one of these days I’ll post the link to her interview on my work writing page and you’ll be able to figure out who she is.

(Not so interesting fact I learned while writing this blog. Pillowcase is actually one word! I didn’t realize that!)

More inanities to come as they happen….

Does blogging about a highly unproductive day make it any more productive? My unproductivity thereby giving me something to say? Hmmm, perhaps not. After a lovely brunch at Johnny D’s with Shannon (where else can you get your cheese grits while listening to a bass/guitar duet playing?) and an interesting conversation with the next table about a Dungeons and Dragons event (or something) in Seattle (he had a very elaborate spell book with him that I was somewhat intrigued by), it was off to the fabric store in the mud and snow and mush (white snow on top of black snow doesn’t even make gray snow. It goes straight to gross), where I was instantly overwhelmed by how much fabric there is to choose from and I spent a while picking the pieces for my class projects. And then? Why straight to nap time for me. Because apparently fabric shopping and brunch are incredibly taxing chores. Does anyone else make really detailed to-do lists for their weekends? And then end up using them for scraps of paper because they never get done? Sigh. So now that I’ve recorded it, has my day had worth? Purpose? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Through a convoluted means that I won’t bother explaining here, my father is friendly with Michael, the piano player for the Neville Brothers. So, when the Brothers were playing Boston, Michael told my father that I should come to the show. No one had to tell me twice. After a dinner at Legal Seafoods (I decided that I deserved lobster tonight. No reason why, I just did), we met up with Michael at the Marriott Copley. I asked how I’d find him, and he said, “I’m huge, I’m bald, and I look like George Forman.” We recognized him instantly. Up we went to the ballroom, where the place was set up with row after row of chairs. “Where are people going to dance?” I asked. “I don’t think it’s that kind of event,” he said. Oh, didn’t I mention where they were playing? It was a private party for the Massachusetts Dental Society. (Adam said, “Should we go out and find the one in five who doesn’t like Trident?”) Sponsored by Oral B. Huge banners proclaimed “Oral B.” Clean teeth and the Neville Brothers. It’s like they were made for one another. Anyway, Michael takes us to the back, and we’re hanging, you know, with the band. Aaron is sitting around, going over his schedule with his tour manager. Charles’s son is playing Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets on his laptop. It’s chill. Michael’s totally cool and introducing us to everyone. Not that my life is filled with meeting bands, but this has got to be the nicest band ever. Everyone is so friendly. The tour manager is telling them how they’re going to be requiring in the contract riders healthier food, which I found vaguely amusing. After a short while, we went to watch the opening act, which to our surprise was… Dennis Miller. Dennis Miller playin’ for the dentists. (You can imagine our disappointment when Michael had told us that because this was a private party, we’d have to watch the show from backstage. Aw gee, what a tough break). Dennis Miller was in good form, although I have to admit, I’m not his biggest fan. When he was done, they leapt right into the Neville Brothers. Let me tell you, a roomful of middle-aged dentists is not exactly what I would call the Neville Brothers’ ideal audience. I think they all had toothbrushes up their butts, because these people just sat there. During the Neville Brothers! I’m bopping away on the sidelines (they played, among others, “Yellow Moon,” “Tipitina’s,” and “Iko”), getting into the music, and these stiffs in suits are just sitting in their chairs. One woman–a Tipper Gore look-alike–bounced in her chair a little bit, but really that was the only sign of life. These two kids in the front row obviously wanted no part of the whole evening and were dying to get out of there. Toward the end the dentists loosened up a little, especially as Earl, the back-up singer, began his act, with a lot of ass shaking, and then the whole place was clapping along and wiggling in their seats. After the show (with a beautiful encore song of “Amazing Grace/One Love”), we met Charles and Cyrille (Art was already on his way out), and then we said our good-byes and made our way home, because as anyone who knows us even a little bit knows, we are not late-night folk. But this, well, this was definitely worth staying up past bedtime for.

Some real appreciation for the president’s State of the Union address.

Last night Hannah, from work, and I went to a reading at BU’s bookstore (are all college bookstores run by Barnes and Nobles these days? BU’s is. Harvard’s is. University of Washington’s bookstore, though, remains steadfastly independent. Yeah, U-Dub!) for a book called That Takes Ovaries!: Bold Females and Their Brazen Acts. It’s a collection of very short essays of bold things women have done, everything from attacking back when being attacked to demanding equal playground rights in elementary school. They’re written by women of all ages. Over all the stories are great, but I do think there are too many of them of women doing brazen acts that fall under the realm of questionable (sometimes it’s better to just escape an attacker than to try and hurt him especially if you don’t know if he has a gun or a knife). But over all, the book seems good (when I’m done reading it, I’ll give it full critique). The reading, though, brought me back to my younger days in New York, when I’d hang out a women’s bookstores, go to hear people such as Andrea Dworkin speak, and spend my time going to pro-choice rallies. When did I stop doing those things? When did I become a suburban frau? Actually, I stopped doing those things long before I married. Is it a phase young women go through and then grow out of? I mean, the editor of this book was easily my age or older–she never grew out of it. I think there came a point where I didn’t feel I was making a difference as a single voice among many. I think I’ve done more by just leading the life I’ve wanted, by not letting my gender interfere with doing what I want (I still remember how freaked my mom was when I decided to take my three-month solo cross-country trip. Would she have been as frightened if I had been a boy? If I remember her panicked night-before-I-left note correctly, it said something to the effect of, “You could get raped. You could get murdered. You could get raped and murdered by some cop on a Texas highway.” I’m sure that’s not an exact quote, but you get the drift). As one of the authors put in her essay, Is just living a political act? Maybe it is. Maybe just leading your life they way you see best is enough of a statement.

So, even though I said I wouldn’t post from work, I tried to sneak in a lunch time blog–only to have the system screw up on my and wipe out my page (temporarily, obviously). That’ll teach me!