Masquerade

When I was a little girl, I loved to play dress up. My mom made me a fairy costume for Halloween, and then a princess costume, and then an angel costume and tons of others. I wore those every chance I got, always inventing stories and plays and reasons to don these outfits.

I suppose I never really grew out of playing dress up. In France, I learned to dress like the French, and here I dress in the jeans (sometimes) that I'm expected to wear. I love to wear pretty clothing and jewelry and, in a way, pretend to be someone else. I write about fashion and style and colors and clothing and shoes (for another blog), and we all know if I could afford everything I wrote about, it would be in my closet.

So why does it bother me when others play dress up? Or for that matter, grown up? When it's a child, it doesn't bother me. But some people, pretending to be something they're not, soiling the reputation of what they'd like to become... that bothers me.

Don't pretend to be a soldier, be one. Don't pretend to be a businessman, be one. If you're not in business with a job and a salary, you're not a business man. If you're not enlisted in some division of the armed forces, you're not a soldier. If you're studying to become something you want to be, great. But in the meantime, don't try to build up your credibility by pretending to be something you're not.

The thing about costumes, the thing about a masquerade, is people see through it. You're just a child playing dress up, wearing over-sized shoes and a mouth that says words you don't understand.

Do us all a favor and grow up.

Stupid strikes again

I had one of THOSE days again. Really, I shouldn't be overly surprised. I have one of those days at least once a week.

So, I was recently hired by the Goshen News as a correspondent to cover the LaGrange County meetings, and then, last week, added the Topeka Town meetings and the Westview School Board meetings to my schedule.

I got the rest of my work done early today, grabbed a bottle of water and headed out to Topeka (about 25 miles) to cover today's 4 o'clock town meeting.

I drove allllll around Topeka, which granted, isn't an overly large town, but still took a good half hour to do it thoroughly, and I had to dodge people who don't look before crossing streets, buggies, bicycles and constructions workers, and didn't find the town hall. I stopped at a tanning salon for directions. They got me in the right general area, but I still didn't find it.

Oh, did I mention that I left my directions at home? Any other town in Indiana, and it would have still been obscenely obvious where the meeting was. This was held in a house, or what looks like one.

At 4:12, I walked into the building, holding my breath, praying that I wouldn't disturb the meeitng and it was blissfully empty, with the exception of an over-worked secretary typing away in a back office.

At least now I know where it is.

Dear Mr. Obama

Dear Mr. Obama,

I have to admit that when I first saw you, your smooth words made it easy to listen. Your inviting voice makes it to easy drown out the words your actually saying. But when I started listening to you, I recognized you.

You're like the man who promises one thing to one woman and the same thing to another. You promise change because people want change, but you purposely promise things that you'll never be able to change, things you have no power to change. Reminds me of the person who says, after millions of broken relationships, that he can change: this time he'll be faithful. It's lies, all of it. But those are believed over and over and over again. How are your promises any different from those that cross the lips of the man who has been unfaithful?

You promise lower taxes, but more government-implemented programs, which of course, will cause an increase in our taxes. You promise lower gas prices, and you must think Americans are real idiots to believe that you could possible have control over such a thing. The scary thing is the number of people willing to believe your meaningless words.

Your campaign tactics give a renewed vigor to the word "slander." You're all talk. I don't like talk. I don't like people who say they can do something they know nothing about. You know nothing about war, for instance, but the American people are sick of war, and so you say you'll end it. If you're elected... I hope that's one thing you can do. But I'm not foolish, so I doubt it.

Of course, this is just my opinion. But I'll bet there are thousands of others who agree with me.

In a recent conversation with a friend currently serving in Iraq, he asked me,
"So anything else back in the US going on? Other than Obama destroying the very fabric of America with his empty promises of change and hatred of the troops?"

He went on to tell me, "Did you know when he came to Iraq, he walked straight from the vehicle past all the soldiers and refused to look at them and went straight in to the general? Then he refused to play basketball with any of them, and told them all to leave them gym when they taped the commercial. A guy in my unit was there when they did it."

Did you think those men wouldn't tell their friends and family members how you treated them? Did you think they wouldn't tell their battle buddies? That's not the "leader" I want. A man who refuses to interact with the very people he's being elected to serve.

Yes, serve. Or is that beneath you?

If you have anything to say that you'll actually be able to change, now's the time to say it. Anything you plan to do that you can actually accomplish, tell us what it is for pete's sake! But no... your words are empty, meaningless, "blah, blah, blah."

For once, instead of standing idly in the corner letting your empty promises of change speak for you, say something we can believe in.

But you won't. Because you have nothing to say that you can hold yourself to. Ahh, what a tangled web...

Good Bye-Scary

I have a problem. I'm forgetful.

I forget where I put my cell phone. I forget my key in the door. I forget where I've parked my car. I forget tickets at home. I forget that I hate Steven King novels. I forget that I don't actually like scary movies (psychological thrillers are good... horror with tons of blood and guts not so good).


The other day, I watched a movie with Desiree and Celi, Mirrors. Bad. Icky. Really gross. Those kind of things put bad feelings in my stomach and I really don't know why I put myself through it.

Yesterday, I watched an equally dissatisfying film on Lifetime (yes, I watch Lifetime). The difference between these two films was mostly that the Lifetime film wasn't as gross. There's no substance there, and I don't enjoy them.

So why do I watch them?

I wish I knew.

"Maybe Baby Daddy"

Yesterday was a long day, to say the least. Knowing a little about babies and waiting for them to come, I packed some work, my laptop, food, two coffee drinks (I thought about getting Adam one, too, but decided that he didn't need one), a couple books and some cash. The boys were frustrated after twenty minutes. No joke. They seemed to think that the baby would just magically pop out. I tried to explain on the way there, on the way in, and while in the waiting room that it takes time. Adam simply said, "She better pop that bastard out."

Five hours later, the doctor broke Jan's water. The boys went out to smoke just before it was time to push, and Mike volunteered the two of us to not stay in the room. While they smoked, I explained to Adam that he had to be in that room because if it is his baby, he'll regret not being there, if it is his baby, he'll have an amazing first memory of it, it'll look good to Jan's mom (who, at only six years older than him, was not impressed by his attributes) and he needs to be there to watch at least one of his kids be born. And he went in.

I swear he came out, and he was excited. He was telling us about accidentally looking and about how big the baby is and it's feet and it's hands and his dark hair and how cute he is. One hour and he was hooked. The baby is adorable (and I swear it has his nose), but he's waiting until the paternity test comes back before he says anything official. At least, that's what he says.

I tried to convince Mike that Adam wanted the baby to be his when he left. He wasn't convinced, but I think he is now. Mike and I went out with Celi and Eddie and Adam showed up later with baby pictures galore, telling everyone about his kid.

He confided in Mike and I that he'll be disappointed if this kid isn't his - that he wants it to be his. Mike thinks he's on Cloud 9 (which he is a little bit), but it doesn't actually surprise me - from what I understand, men becomes fathers when they see the baby.

He keeps talking about the baby's faces and how cute he is. He's even talking about how much it sucks to have to go to Iraq. You don't know how surprising that is unless you know him. In the first six months Mike and I dated, all I've heard Adam say was how excited he was to go back. Even recently, he was talking about how then he wouldn't have to deal with the situation.

It's crazy to me what a complete turnaround he's had.

Mike's worried. He's worried about what's going to happen if the baby's NOT Adam's... and there's that possibility. He has a point.

Everything's Broken and a Baby Will Be Born

I'm pretty sure that everything in my house is broken. There are hornets in my backyard. The bigger of the two peach trees broke in half.

Mike came over for dinner yesterday. Earlier, while I'd been grocery shopping, the door knob broke off in my hand. I couldn't open the door to fix it, so I took the doorknob with me. Later, Mike told me to use a screwdriver to open it. It worked, but I felt like an idiot. After dinner, he fixed it.

I got the bright idea yesterday to fix the toilet seat. Finally. I took off the old one, cleaned it off and stuck on the new one. It was a lot too small. So now there's no toilet seat. I bought a new one, but haven't had the time to put it on yet. And I'm not too thrilled about the new one I bought. They didn't have a lot of options for the elongated toilet seat, so... yeah.

And I just got a phone call from Mike. His best friend's one night stand is in labor (we don't know if it's his kid or not) and he called up Mike and said, "Get your girlfriend down here. I need someone with me." Fortunately, they got out early today and Mike is coming by to get me. Mike seems to think the whole thing is amusing. So do I, actually. I hope this kid is Adam's. It would serve the fool right.

Cell Phone Dead

Yesterday, I decided it would be a good idea to go swimming since I'd spent the last two hours typing away at my computer. I stepped out of the bathroom and my cell phone dropped, sending the back flying and ejecting the battery in the opposite direction. When I put it all back together, it wouldn't turn on. And if it did turn on, the screen was broken, so it doesn't count. Ahh, drama.

I loved the conference yesterday, though. I've met tons of people (and will probably continue to meet more) and have had some very interesting conversations.

I have a conference scheduled with an agent later. I'm so nervous I'm afraid I'm going to pee my pants. And in the meantime, I'm sipping a skinny caramel latte. This made me realize something: I don't like skinny lattes. If I'm going to be fat (which, it seems is inevitable), I'm going to eat the good lattes. Not the ones that taste bad... even if they are only 100 calories. Should have stuck with the hotel breakfast (but I had to go to Kinko's to print something off and it would have been over by the time I returned). Maybe I need to be more organized.