The REAL Story of Harry and Sally

I have this friend. In college, he was a good friend, a best friend even. We talked about stuff. Important stuff. Less important stuff. We drank coffee and we drank SoCo. And, yea, there was always a lot of sexual tension. But whatever. In a way, I loved him. Not "loved him loved him," but it probably was love.

And then, one day, we had sex.

And then we didn't talk for a really long time.

And then we started talking again, but only because we pretended that we'd never had sex.

And then we had sex again.

And then, we stopped talking. Not actually. I mean, I still hear from him. We chat occasionally and text often. But we've stopped really talking. Every time I try to have a conversation, it devolves into stories about underwear. Or the lack of underwear. And his efforts to get girls into or out of underwear.

I miss my friend. I miss pointless debates and insightful remarks. I miss having a deep relationship that didn't take a lot of work because we just sort of got each other.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm glad that I got to experience some of the world by his side. But I don't know that I ever really wanted to trade a friend for a lover. And now that he's not really either, I'm not sure where that leaves me.

And that makes me sad.

Channeling Summer Weather

Self-Service

It's nice to receive compliments - what my dad calls "AttaBoys." It's nice. (It's also good to keep them on file just in case HR calls....) But sometimes, people really don't care about you when they give an AttaBoy. And that ticks me off.

If you ever wanted an example of exactly why Napolean, my boss, drives me nutso, I submit the following evidence:

To herald in our new website with a proper Irish (Irish American) celebration I'd like to invite (on me) the office out to a local pub for a few pints next week when I'm back up. Guinness must be available at the pub selected to make this a proper celebration not to mention I favor Guinness these days if you must know. I suggest a Charles Street establishment if appropriate or other pub within walking distance from the office. KALESY is our guest of honor as the program lead on the website so she can choose the venue. I suggest we do this around 4:00pmish on Wednesday afternoon if that works. Hip hip hurrah!

First off - Wednesday night is my yoga night. He knows this.

Second off - I don't drink Guinness.

Well, it's not like I'm the guest of honor. Oh, wait, yea, I am.

Alas, Napolean's trip north got cancelled, so I got a reprieve.

Karma is wonderful.

Why Don't I Rain on Your Parade?

May I vent?

Anyone who knows me knows that I've been working on our company's new Website for months. This thing is a beast. We've changed the site map a gazillion times. We've edited and reviewed and re-edited the content ad nauseum. People have been fired over this damn thing.

So I called my mother to tell her the good news. Below is a transcript of the conversation:

Me: "My website goes live tomorrow!" squeal "It's done! Yee Haw!"
Mom: "Gee, honey, that's great. Did your father call you?"
Me: "Dad? No. Why?"
Mom: "Oh, I didn't think he would call you. He's just a wreck because this project he's been working on isn't turning out right and he's worried they're going to fire him and close down his division."
Me: "oh." voice noticeably sadder
Mom: "Glad to hear about the website though!"

Maybe this would upset me less if I hadn't been up all night worrying about my new website. But, alas, I was Up All Night Worrying About My New Website. So, hearing about my father's impending unemployment wasn't exactly the way I wanted to celebrate.

So, yea, thanks mom.

Topless Hiking in January?

Well, here I am, "home" once again in P'boig (aka Phillipsburg). One might say that this is a little too much family togetherness. One might be right.

I'm home to take my mother to see a bullriding event in NYC tomorrow. The PBR. Professional Bull Riders. Have you seen these people? It's regulated insanity.

But those boys are nice looking, if you can see past those little crosses most of 'em got stitched on their collars. They sign your program (if you care to stand among the throngs of big-haired "buckle bunnies" there to get themselves a husband) with a flourish: "Jesus Loves You, NAME." Of course, if you're 8 seconds away from death, maybe you really are looking to be saved.

Anyway, in order to get away from the good ole fam, I went for a hike today at my favorite resevoir spot. And hilarity ensued.

Friends of mine know that I'm prone to excessive sweating. My internal thermostat is shot. Which causes a little embarrasment but no real concern at my healthclub where I'm a regular gym rat.

It causes a little more concern when I'm out in the woods. Because today, I was not dressed for the weather.

Correction, I was dressed fine for the expected weather, but NOT for the actual weather.

It hit 72 degrees in the tri-state area today.

So, there I was in a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and wool socks. Sweating. A lot. And I thought, hmmm - haven't seen people around in awhile. Maybe it would be okay if I just lifted up my shirt a little. Let some air circulate. But then, that felt so good. So maybe it would be okay if I just took my shirt off, just for a second, and got some breeze on my skin.

Not okay.

Because on 70+ degree days in January, lots of people take their kids out for walks on a Saturday. And the one thing they don't want their kids to see is a 30 y/o hiking with only a bra on.

The good news is, I heard them coming and got my shirt on in time. The bad news is, I got so nervous and jumpy when I heard them that I got even sweatier. Seemed like a good idea at the time....

So tomorrow, we're off to the PBR in NYC. And I get on an Acela Express at 6 p.m. and don't have to be "home" again until next Thanksgiving.

The holidays are officially over.