Vicarious Rocky

I’m in a rut. It goes like this. I let my hair go. Really let it go and then I see a picture like this:

And I say, Uh-Oh, better get a haircut. Then I get a haircut like this one:

Then I get bored and grow it out again for 8 months:

Then I get another haircut:

Then I get bored and grow it out again for 8 months:

Then I get another haircut:

Then I get bored and grow it out again for 8 months:

Here’s my haircut from Saturday.

In April 08, I will get another un-daring and unmemorable haircut.

I couldn't resist. This was the last time Pat and I had a fun night out -- three years ago! Ah, pre Indy living. There were more margaritas in that life. And Two Amigos didn't suck back then either. And YES, she finished it!

My social life strikes again! I've known Pat (AKA: Cruise Director, Julie) for 11 years (!!), and she took me out yesterday for the perfect Saturday night. Well, by "Night" I'm referring to my idea of a night out, which means starting at 3pm and heading home at 10:30.

We started with Art Gallery window shopping, less window-y shopping at City Buddha, then over to The Flying Fig for a big-ass martini and an elegant, delicious meal (stuffed figs, gnocchi, seared tuna and then I had the Prawn Risotto). Then over to the Wine Bar patio (where I experienced the "luck" of sparrow shit on my leg), and finally Pat drove my pleasantly tipsy self over to Truffles coffee shop in Lakewood for praline cheese cake and a large sobering coffee. Ahhh. Perfection!

And, of course, there was lots of great conversation about being in our third and fourth decades, flowing friendships and changing careers. Thanks for getting me out of the house, Pat! Seriously, we must do this more often. You Rock!

I am often struck by how fortunate I am that Sage and I are friends and how that has made my life phenomenal. We clicked immediately, were good buds, got to watch each other have unsuccessful relationships with other people, and then tiptoed our way over the friendship line. But the genius of it all is that we've always taken the time to really KNOW each other. Friends for 2 years, dated for a year, lived in "sin" for a year or so, then got hitched, then waited a nice long time to bring a third party into the mix. And I attribute all our comfortableness and ease and daily joy to this rhythm of friendship that has been with us from the start.

In fact, I was breaking down in my mind whether or not I was missing my husband or missing Sage. Weird, I know, but when you've been married for 10 years and you're rutted in routine, that question makes sense. I often structure my days off with Indy around this timeline of Sage's morning departure, arrival home, dinner together, etc. So, when he goes out on business, there is a void there that I would label as missing the "husband." But I get over that really quickly.

What I don't get over is missing Sage. I love how we laugh together, and mull over topics of joint interest in great conversation, and how we can be quiet together and check in in cool ways. He has such a presence. I'm excited he's coming home today.

I'm working on having a social life again (Indy has been a bit of a distraction). And today I made a spontaneous effort. This is huge because I am pretty bad at just accepting other people's efforts let alone expending any energy. But, I called my friend Deborah (we always get together as "couple" friends w/ our husbands) to check in and see if she could hang out this morning with the kids. And she could. We had 2 clear schedules and we agreed that there were astrological implications.

It was really nice to hang out and talk with her. We're so much alike and have very similar styles as mothers, wives, and business owners. And our kids really liked each other. Indy had to shed tears when we left because he was having such great time with Riley. I was having fun too, but I was able to keep myself pulled together. :)

Last weekend Holly and I talked about the unfortunate tendency to see things in your own life or in other’s lives (like Indy’s) as a “phase.” The problem with this is the implication that we’re all on a path towards some kind of ideal “self.” And if there is an ideal “you” out there in the future, well, that implies there’s a nice underlying dissatisfaction with current “you.”

In that way, it’s a bit like an “original sin” mindset, except I think we tend to replace “Jesus” with “Self Improvement” as our modern saving grace. No after-life, just a future-life as someone in an idealized personal state. Personally, I like to envision myself balanced like a trapeze artist at the top of Maslow’s ladder.

Anyway, the Indy/Motherly implications for me are this: If I were to tell people he’s going through a “phase” right now of being (fill in the blank), I am communicating several things:

--My hope (or acknowledgement) that his behavior and current self is temporary.
--My dislike of this behavior I feel is “phase” related.
--My expectation that he will some day move through phrases I comprehend (and he does not) to arrive at a realm of personhood or behavior that is final and expected.

This is all very socially acceptable when a child is two, but when do parents stop feeling this way? When is a person a “person” – 13? 16? 24? I mean, isn’t it insulting right now to speak of Indy this way? I wouldn’t take kindly to my mother letting me know I was in my “young motherhood” phase right now.

So, this came up more specifically because Holly and I were discussing religious feelings from our youth in this manner, and we stopped ourselves to break down why that conversation had problems – listing out our assumptions and generalizations about other people’s experiences, noting the “phase” language and its disrespect, and then just generally wondering when our culture of constant improvement would ease up in our lives and language.

Sorry this was so long. I’m experiencing a rambling phase, and my ideal future self will always post in scannable bits.

Seeing Holly for the third time this summer is like having a pass to Cedar Point. I mean you try to go (see her) every year, but three times in one summer? That's just off the hook!

Having Holly in my life is so great. She GETS me. What's that like? Someone who finishes your sentences and laughs at everything you had hoped would come out funny. Someone that has long, lovely conversations with you and asks you meaningful questions because they actually give a shit what you're saying. Ahhh.

She's lovely and I'm lucky. Oh and we're cute together too.

I think my son is gorgeous. I just realized I am raising him to be (or maybe he just is) the type of man I would fall for romantically -- wild haired, creative, moody, quiet, and self assured. Ah, Oedipus.

I can't believe he was ever this little. He wasn't quite one yet. That's almost 2 years ago! Wow. Imagine how I'll feel when he's 16.

More importantly, why is my nose so long and pointy? Has it always been like that? :o

Since I'm from the suburbs, I have little experience with boarded up houses. When I moved to the city, I always felt sad when I saw them. I figured the people who used to live in them are sad, and the people living next to them must feel they are an eyesore.

Silly me. The day they boarded up that Meth dealer's house next to our office was a great day. I'm happy every time I look at it. No more shirtless drunks driving by. No more worries about their pit bull killing me as I get out of my car. No more Meth picnics in the woods out back.

Unfortunately, our crack heads are really persistent. They got a ladder and have moved back in -- coming and going from the top floor windows (not yet boarded). Since their Meth business is in Recession, they have also started scrapping the aluminum siding from the house. But now it's just entertaining to see how they're coping, really.

Anyway, don't feel sad next time you see a boarded up house. It is just a little scar left from a removed wart.

I was looking at a folder of March Pictures and found this:



A guitar and a pencil makes a great 2-yr-old cello. He's getting to that age now where being like Dad is super cool. I love to see them together -- my boys. I get jealous when he cuddles with Sage though. It's not a jealousy like a Jr. High feeling about a popular girl's sweater. It's more like an ache deep in my gut to be involved. I have to show great restraint not to add myself to their time together and interrupt things.

Motherhood is crazy-ville. As if I wasn't Looney enough already.

"There are three words to describe the weather here on the East Coast, Brian: Very Hot . . . Hot."

When she said, "Very Hot." I could NOT wait to hear that third word. And then, there it was, "Hot." Again. It was AWESOME.

The best part? This blond reporter was in a low-cut, red, skin-tight shirt looking all Hot Hot, herself. Then she went and uttered those three fabulous words and she got even hot, hotter because she looked so dumb dumb. And we all know that the only thing that makes a C-cup blond in a skin-tight shirt look even better is a lower IQ.

I have three words of career advice for you honey, "Local News News."

I need to find my kid a playmate. A boy. He's surrounded by chicks. Lovely ones, mind you, and this will be seriously handy when he hits 14, but right now my kid needs someone to play race cars and pirates with on a semi-regular basis. I wouldn't bother to be so gender biased if Indy didn't seem so all boy about everything. And don't get me wrong. He has a great time with the gals. They play in the kitchen, play doctor, play playdough and catch, and some tolerate the car obsession for a while.

But none of these ladies can sit through the Pixar movie Cars, or lay on the floor pushing a race car around for 2 hours straight. So, I am looking for someone that will let my son know he's not alone. Even though he's never met one, I want him to know that there are other people on earth, alive right now, that live to make grumbling engine sounds continuously.