Repost - Was I like this at 12?

The blogging continues...

Occasionally I'll go delving into the old blog I used to keep and will repost a few that I deem interesting and non-controversial.  Trust me, that blog, full of controversy.  Anyhoo...I was perusing it once more and found this one that I liked enough to share (again).

Hope you like it too.  Oh keep in mind as you read that I wrote this nearly 3 years ago at which time I was a law firm slave : ) (I do say this with some bit of tongue in cheek-ness for I loved that firm a lot.)
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I realize that once again I've fallen off the 'regular blogger' wagon. I, again, have absolutely no good excuse aside from siting pure laziness (and/or no real topic in which I could have written expansively about). Either way I've been absent from my beloved blog for quite a while. So what brings me back? Some sort of epiphany? Maybe the sudden realization that I was missing something important in my life by having stayed away for so long? Or possibly the dreaded writers block has lifted and the words flow from my fingers with ease.

Unfortunately, none of the above are reasons for my reappearance.

So here's what's really happened:

Today, a bunch of middle school children were invited to the firm to see for themselves the glory of law firm life, come face to face with real life lawyers and 'staff'. I was asked to be one of the two paralegals who would have a round table discussion with groups of eager kids (okay, maybe eager isn't the right word for them but I digress). Fo had warned me that when they had visited his office earlier in the morning, they had asked some pretty intelligent questions so I shouldn't underestimate them one bit. Maybe a part of me still scoffed thinking 'really, how intelligent is intelligent?'. Yeah well I should have just shut up and listened to Fo.

These kids were pretty damn brilliant. I found myself slack-jawed on many occasions during the course of our conversation, which I believe is a good thing.

The real question that I found myself asking all day long, well after the kiddies had walked out waving bye to us, cheerfully calling out 'thank you's' (and that too after 4 young girls begged Fo to hire them for a day as his assistance *grin*) and other appreciative exclamations, was: was I like this when I was 12?

And these were the inevitable follow-up questions:
Was I this driven?
Was I this ambitious?
Was I this focused?

The depressing answer: HELL NO.

This is what I remember of my 12, 13 year old self:

I hated school. I should be more ashamed to admit that but somehow I'm not. At that time, in middle school, the very idea that I had some 8+ years of schooling left to go through often turned my stomach. I wanted out of the institution and couldn't imagine ever looking back on those glorious years with any sort of fondness. Maybe the reason for my hatred for all that accompanied schooling was simply the very fact that I was aware of my academic ability (or lack thereof), accepted it and had half convinced myself that there really wasn't anything better out there for me than to become a wife to a man that my parents would eventually chose for me, subsequently settling down into domestic bliss.

Here's the thing about growing up though. Eventually, you do. And all those middle school inadequacies, the sad lack of ambition, a future one is positive was destined to be full of nothing but diapers and curry also...grows up. Frankly I don't know when the tides turned. I can't put my thumb on the exact moment. I wish I could for conversation sake.

These kids, I found myself envying them so very much. They say envy is a sin but I do believe it's the type of envy one is talking about. Not the type that wishes harm, but the other type...you know, the wistful type. Yeah, that was the type I was today because whether they (the children) realized it or not (and they probably haven't...or at least all of them haven't) they had their futures stretched before them simply waiting, an empty page to be written upon, a white wall that could be splashed with glorious color, a barren stretch of land waiting to be seeded. I was envious of them, saddened that my time had passed.

Again, Baby It's Cold Outside

Baby it's cold outside. 

 

I don't mean just like 'brrr, it's cold out here, best wear a hat and gloves'.  No, not that sort of cold.  It's frigid.  As in the 'holy moly have we moved to the north pole without knowing?' and 'today I'm going to wear 3 layers of thermal under the 5 layers of actual clothes, two coats, three pairs of gloves, scarf wrapped around till you can only see my eyes and 2 hats on my head' kind. 

 

Here's a picture for visualization purposes  (I feel as if references from "A Christmas Story" is appropriate just about anywhere): 

 

 

(Let me just take a moment here to say (again for I've repeated this several times in several blogs before) that when I write about weather here in my fair city, I'm not trying to compare us to anywhere else.  I realize that other places have it way worse, as well as better.  I'm writing about MY city, from MY perspective, therefore if I complain that it's too cold it's because to me, it is....so back off in case you were judging.) 

 

Last night the east coast was hit upside the head by a snowstorm.  The forecasters had been predicting this for a few days but since they've historically been inaccurate, I wasn't fretting.  On Monday night (FYI, it's Wednesday morning right now...wait no, it's the afternoon...as I write this) I received an email from work saying that due to the impending storm (I practically read that as "doom") we could work from home.  But upon waking on Tuesday  morning, I peered out the window and saw...nothing.

 

The streets were dry with not even a flake in sight.  Checking emails again there was another that said if we could go to work if we wished and if it was convenient but otherwise stay home, safe and productive.  Okay.  I climbed back into bed debating whether to just go back to sleep or fire up the laptop and monitor but the guilty conscience that is a constant companion reared it's ugly head.  It jeered at me, whispering into my cranium that I had no real valid reason at all to stay home when nada was going on outside.  Besides P had also gone to work.  If he could, having a crappier car than myself, then why couldn't I? 

 

It was probably the quickest drive to work I've had in a long time, not even during the Christmas holidays did I see this particular type of open roads.  10 minutes door-to-door.  Awesome.  And where I thought I would be the only schmuck to be in the office, I was pleasantly surprised that there were 2 other people equally schmucky. 

 

Eventually the city was bombarded with the fluffy white stuff so I cut out at about 1pm-ish facing the same sort of traffic.  Being a diligent worker is one thing, being plain old stupid is another.  Oh, here's something some of you may not know unless you live in DC; this town is very health conscious.  Everywhere you go people are heading to gyms with duffle bags  in hand and determined looks on faces.  And since we have a river here, there are also plenty of activities in that arena with rowing and other water fun which I probably know nothing about.  But yesterday as I quickly made my way home through the driving snow, I espied plenty of nutso individuals outside running...with shorts on!  Okay there is a time and place for such things, I just don't think that was it.  Then again who am I to judge?  If they want to have random body parts freeze up and fall off all in the name healthy living then that's all them.  Just sayin'.

 

To be honest, it didn't turn out to be quite the Armageddon that the forecasters had predicted, no shocker there.  I believe my side of town only got 4 to 5 inches dumped upon us but the wind was pretty fierce.  P had the brilliant idea of shoveling late in the evening while it was still snowing and whereas I thought he had lost his little brown mind, come to find out it was in fact quite a brilliant strategy for while this morning as neighbors were out grunting and shoveling, our car and drive way had hardly any evidence of the crystalized water.  But damn was it unbearable last night.  Poor P (of course I wasn't out there helping him, that would make me almost too nice).  In case you were wondering it's still freezing outside (I told a friend of mine that I may have dropped a finger or two on my way into the building) however the sun is out and shining. 

 

As we prepared to go to bed last evening, P asked me why I went to work since I had the option to just telecommute.  I told him that I liked going to work.  I was in the process of folding laundry as I said this and stopped to consider those words.  "I like going to work".

 

I don't think that through my adult working life I've really said that and meant it.  Sure I've been places where I enjoyed the environment, the people, the camaraderie or even at times, the work itself.  However none of these things have ever come together just perfectly (other than I believe when I was in Hong Kong working with those specific team members). 

 

Snow days, when I was working at the law firms, meant freedom.  I would pray and hope feverishly that the sky would open up and dump as much as it could on us just so that I could avoid going in the next day.  Sounds so childish, right?  But day before yesterday I was worried that we would have to close.   Does that mean I've grown up? 

 

Nah, that's hoping for too much. 

 

It probably just means that I like my job, as P was quick to point out looking almost relieved.  I don't blame the guy for being on edge when it comes to my career.  In the past 2 years the trials and tribulations that have lead me to this place of employment has not been easy by any stretch of the imagination.  I have the lacerations hash tagging my soul as proof.  I admit I still walk around a bit tense, waiting for the other shoe of woe and heartbreak to drop.  I expect that the cool façade of this company will soon evaporate to reveal what it truly is:  a bleak soulless energy sucking waste of time and talent.

 

Guess what?  It hasn't (yet).  And Allhamdulillah, it never will.

 

Ugh, I just took a sip of my coffee and it's gone cold.  That's the worst!  Okay I'm off to do some work.  People are still straggling in and I got in here early enough to get plenty of things done.  Snow isn't predicted in the near future however today the wind chill is supposed to make it feel as if it's below 0.  That's okay, I'm warm in my office with the heater kicked up wearing jeans and fuzzy boots.  What more can a blogger want?

 

Stay warm for you around these parts. 

 

Letting Go...(a short story)

Challenges, challenges, challenges.

I asked for one and oh boy did I get one.  I sent out a ‘what should my next blog topic be’ question to the net and I received a very, very unexpected request.  The gauntlet has been thrown and I, being the brave soul that I am, shall attempt to pick it up and run with it (does one run with gauntlets or is there a fear of poking one’s eyes out?).  I decided on a short story.  Hope you appreciate the effort.  Enjoy (if you can).

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The fear had settled low in my belly.  It was a living breathing thing.  It quivered and shook me from inside.  I swallowed but that was a bad idea for the overwhelming need to throw up only somehow became emphasized.    Why had I thought this was a good idea?  Had the past not taught me anything at all?  But the opportunity had been just far too tempting.  It was final; I was my own worst enemy.

Blowing out a pent up breath I headed out the bathroom, down the dark hall and wound my way through the crowded restaurant.  Humanity seemed to be teaming in all corners of the smallish bar to the point where a polite ‘excuse me’ wasn’t going to be the passport to freedom.  No, one had to apply the slight ‘shove’ and ‘pardon’ muttered under the breath with a glare.  Then people realized you meant business.

I approached the table and I guess the petrification that I felt shone clearly upon my face.

“Don’t do it if you’re really that scared.”

Swigging back the dregs of the drink I had been nursing for over two hours, I somehow hoped that the melted ice water would fortify my resolve; I eyed the pretty blond who sat there ensconced in the arms of her husband.   “When have I ever backed away from a challenge, regardless of how stupid it is?”

“Good point.  Try to have fun.” 

I turned, walking away from the couple, once again elbowing and muttering.  There was a distinct air of doom hanging over me.

The night was warm, not too humid which was nice and the air smelled like cigarettes, the acrid tang of beer and a whole range of different foods that perfumed the area.  It was a Saturday night in the city, the summer was upon us and people were taking ample advantage.  Music blared from car windows as well as speakers set up outside of the strip of bars and clubs that pretty much lined the whole block.  I wanted to hail one of the many taxis that were waiting for passengers and go home but that wasn’t to be.

I heard a beep beep and looked to the right.  He stood there leaning next to what I considered my arch enemy, a lethal looking motorcycle.  I didn’t know enough about them to say what type it was.  I just knew it to be big, shiny and yes, mean looking.  The handsome man who leaned casually against it was very much the same sans mean although at first I hadn’t thought he was that personable.  He still wasn’t actually but after knowing him for a bit I knew that he was quiet by nature.  May be the bike would ultimately be the same way, different then I had always assumed?  Probably not.

He straightened as I approached, trying to at least appear to him as if I was confident.  “Okay let’s do this,” I said in what sounded to me as an over bright squeaky voice.

“You’re sure, right?”  He had straightened to his full height, a lopsided grin flittering across his lips.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”  I blew out a frustrated breath. 

“Because your skin looks slightly green.”

I couldn’t even be mad at him for that assessment.  He was probably correct.  “Doesn’t matter, let’s just do this.”

Reaching behind him, he produced a helmet, a big black monstrosity that I eyed with a mixture of disdain and fear.  Disdain simply because it was so unwieldy that I had to wonder if it would do much to protect my noggin.  Fear because I knew that the need to wear such a thing was directly related to what I was about to do.

He reached out, hooked a finger around one loop of my jeans and drew me close.  Proximity to the man wasn’t something I was looking for.  He made me nervous, much like the bike.  Both had destructive powers far beyond my understanding.  Resisting the urge to gulp audibly, I allowed him to slip the helmet over my head and proceeded to affix the chin strap.  I waited patiently commanding myself not to fidget.  “You nervous because of the bike or…?”  He asked in a low voice, his fingers brushing my chin.

I wanted to push him away, badly.  “I’m fine.”  I was pleased that my voice didn’t quiver.

He released me, tapped the top of the helmet and said with a small affectionate smile, “cute.”

Right, that’s precisely how I wanted to be perceived, cute.  Fleetingly I considered barking but decided against it.  He probably thought I was some weirdo to begin with. 

He put on his own helmet, and then straddling the bike he straightened it from its relaxed position.  After settling down onto the leather seat, he looked at me, only his eyes visible.  Reaching out one gloved hand palm up, he murmured, “come on little girl.” 

The flutters in my stomach were now more like a thousand moths on speed.  Putting my hand in his I tried to at least get onto the blasted thing without seeming awkward or falling off.  The bike itself was gigantic, or so it seemed.  Black, dark blue and silver it gleamed even at night.  It looked…deathly.  I fleetingly wondered if I shouldn’t have created a Last Will and Testament then remembered that I had nothing to leave anyone, so I was straight.

“Ducati,” I over enunciated. 

“Nice, yea?”

“Sure.” 

He chuckled at my rueful tone.

I sat there, slightly elevated behind him not having a clue as to what I was supposed to do with my hands or arms.  The real option, I realized with a bit of alarm, was to either grab him around the waist or wrap my arms about him.  Neither seemed viable.  I wasn’t into intruding on other people’s personal bubble.

He must have sensed my discomfort.  “Sweetie, unless you want to go flying off, you may want to grab on.”

“To what?” I asked a bit frustrated.

“Me.”

Oh, well there it was the okay for personal bubble intrusion.  I still wasn’t pleased.  Tentatively I put one hand on his shoulder, barely applying pressure.

I heard him chuckle again as the bike came to life beneath us.  Many of the folks either strolling by or loitering around close were now openly staring, making me grateful for the helmet which shielded the blush.  I also didn’t like unwanted attention.

Due to the ruckus the bike was making, he had to raise the volume of his own voice as he suggested that I hold on a little tighter.  Scowling I increased the pressure on his shoulder.  With a sigh he reached around pulling my hand off his shoulder and down to his slim waist, placing it there with a bit of pressure.  “This is probably safer.”  I said nothing, feeling awkward.  “In fact,” he pulled the same hand around further till he could place it near the front of his stomach.  “This is the safest.  Just do the same thing with the other arm.”  He spoke to me patiently, as if I was a child.

“I don’t think I like this.”  I said, stiffening visibly, trying to strain my torso away from him.

“You may not but it’s the better than the alternative…”  He trailed off, leaving it to my imagination.  I could near the amusement leaching out of his voice, “look, I know you have an aversion to touching me but…”

“That’s not true.” I said softly, wondering if he even heard.  He had.

“You sure act like it.”

“I’m sorry if it appears so.”  I leaned forward, commanding my body to just let go.  For some reason, it wasn’t listening.  He sighed again. 

“Fine,” he said as he revved the engine.  “Place your feet up here,” he indicated below, which I did, “off we go.”

Before I could blink twice he pulled away slowly into oncoming traffic.  By the time we made our way down to the end of the block, I thought to myself, this isn’t so bad, and almost convinced myself thus until we hit the onramp to the freeway.  That was when he decided to ‘let go’ and accelerated.  The gasp that came from my lips quickly blew away and without any further thought of propriety I plastered myself onto his back.  I heard his chuckle and responded by digging my fingers into his belly which produced a satisfying wince.  That would teach him to take too much enjoyment in my discomfort.

We sped alone as he weaved in and out of traffic almost effortlessly.  I would have admired his skills had I not been so very petrified.   I held my breath, keeping my face buried into the broad planes of his back, the leathery smell of his jacket of little comfort.  I wanted off and I wanted off right at that second but my pride wouldn’t let me scream out the demand.

When I was a child, my cousin took me for a ride on his new (to him) bike.  As we puttered along a very uneven road, I fell off the back of the bike.  He hadn’t noticed even.  I sat there stunned and in pain while watching him zoom off.  That was probably why I had such a ridiculous fear of that particular mode of transportation.  I had gruesome visions of myself in bloody mashed pieces on the pavement.  Not a good visual at all.

Eventually the cars thinned out, the mostly city scape gave away to trees, quiet fields and long empty stretches of road.   I would have noticed this had my eyes been open.  I was petrified.  I barely noticed that he had stopped since my face was pressed into his back.  The shivering wasn’t from our closeness but out of primal fear.  When he abruptly stood up, I thought he was doing some sort of trick or daredevil stunt to which I was planning to lay into him but with one look about I realized we were standing by the side of a quiet country road.  Nothing but the sounds of crickets could be heard. 

“Did the thing break down?”  I asked, eyeing the darkness around us.  The only illumination was the big round low hanging full moon.  Surely these sorts of nights literally begged for werewolves to make an appearance.   I had seen American Werewolf in London!

“It’s not a thing, it’s a bike.”

“Whatever, are we stuck?”

“No, I stopped, on purpose.”

“And why is that?”  I sat perched on the bike still fearfully looking around.

“You know you really should work harder on that poker face.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

He blew out another sigh.  He did that a lot around me.  “Anyhow, I stopped because I wanted to talk to you.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.  “I didn’t do it.”  I said automatically, scrambling down from the bike, almost tripping.

“Wow, you sure are quick to defend yourself and that too without knowing the allegations.”

“I still didn’t do it.”  I said stubbornly, standing on one side of the bike that radiated heat while he stood on the other, legs apart, arms crossed.  He didn’t look happy. 

“Relax.  I just wanted to request something.”

“What?”  I eyed him distrustfully.

“Can you please try to enjoy the ride?”

This startled me.  “I am.”

“I never pegged you as a liar.”  He said, frowning.  I said nothing.  “It’s apparent you’ve been terrified since I suggested you take a ride with me, and the half-moon wounds on my chest from your nails can attest to this fact.  I just want you to give this a chance.  It’s not so bad if you just let go and try.”

This was the story of my life.  People telling me to let go and me never quite being able to do so.  It was a control thing.  I stood silently looking into the darkness off to my left.  He was right of course.  I always allowed my fears to rule me and make things worse than they were.  This applied to all aspects of my life, professional and personal.  How many times had I been told that I needed to keep a more ‘open’ mind?  How many times had I actually done that?  Rarely. 

He was in fact more than right.  Damn it.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”  One eyebrow quirked in response.

Throwing my hands up, I snapped back with a scowl, “I said okay, and I mean it.”

“Really convincing.”

Shrugging I got back on the bike, looking straight ahead.  “Don’t sigh.”  I snarled.

He paused in the act of swinging one long leg over the metal beast.  “What?”

“You sigh, a lot.”

“Do I?  I hadn’t noticed.”

“I have.” 

Leaning in a little too close for my comfort, he asked in a low voice, “What else have you noticed about me?”

I was glad at that moment that the helmet had never come off therefore he couldn’t see the blush that suffused my face.  Oh heck, why did I have to open my big mouth?

“Other than the fact that you have no respect for personal bubble space,” I pushed him back with one finger, “nothing.” 

“Okay, if you say so.”  Clearly he didn’t believe me.

Soon we were back on the road but this time I decided to take his advice.  May be it was time to just let go a little.  Taking a deep breath I opened my eyes wide and tilted my head to the right.  There was large open land and about 200 feet in the distance were trees, big, dense and ominous.   They zoomed by in a blur and for that moment I was glad to have the solid frame of the man who I was holding onto in front of me.  He seemed solid in all that uncertain darkness. 

Then as we turned a bend, there it was…the moon again.  It had been there all along of course, I knew this but somehow it startled me for it seemed so much lower to the ground.  And now that I got a good look, I had to admit that it was simply gorgeous.  I gasped, this time not out of fear.  Loosening the grip of death I had upon him my head went right to left, eyes taking in all the details.  The trees no longer seemed frightening; the bike even felt more like a soothing friendly familiar creature than a death trap.  I had no doubt about skills of the man who drove the metal beast with such expertise, as if an extension of his own body.  I felt his shoulder muscles tightening and then loosen with every turn; I felt the leashed power and couldn’t help but be slightly jealous.  Not Impressed but jealous.  I realized sadly that I had no mastery over anything, much less the magnificent scrap of iron and pure power that we were riding upon. 

May be I could learn?

The thought came out of the blue, streaking through my mind.  I instantly laughed at the absurdness of it, a sound that seemed to bubble up from within me.  What a crazy, ridiculous, improbable idea. 

He must have heard me for his voice wafted back as clear as day, “finally enjoying yourself?”

At first I nodded, and then I laughed again for I had forgotten that he couldn’t see me, “yes.”  It came out breathy yet excited.  “I love this.”

We raced along gaining speed.  I knew it was reckless but he gave me a sense of comfort, as if as long as he was with me nothing would happen, we were indestructible.  I knew I was kidding myself yet I couldn’t remember the last time I trusted someone like this.

May be I could learn.

The thought had stuck. 

Free.  When had I felt thus?  Was this what they had all meant when they had advised that I let go?  How had I missed out on this for so long?   Yes, I could do this.  May be even not just when it came to riding a bike?  But this was a good start to me.

It was over before I knew it, much to my disappointment as well.  We were back at the place the adventure had begun, where I had first faced my fears.  And yes, shockingly enough I had conquered one for a change. 

He got off first.  I sat there smiling under the helmet, giddy.  He couldn’t see it but I was. 

“Look at me,” he said.

I turned my head and watched as he reached forward to undo the helmet and pull it off.  He looked at me for a second, then chuckled.

“What?”

“Your hair…” 

I peered into the mirror of the bike and blew out a breath.  Yes, I definitely wasn’t the sort of person who would take off her helmet only to have her long silky tresses come tumbling down in perfect curls as she shook them out.  My luck would never be that good.  Mine looked like it had been administered a good voltage of electricity as it went in every direction but down.   “Of course,” I muttered.  But the adrenaline from what we had just done was still coursing through me.  I wasn’t going to let this get me down.  “Doesn’t matter,” I pushed him away and got off.  Turning I ran one finger over the warm leather of the recently vacated seat, trailing it up to the closest handlebar, almost lovingly.  “It’s incredible how one minute you have no interest in something, and the next you want to know everything about it.”  I said this almost wistfully, softly, completely distracted.

He said nothing at all.  Not that I had expected him to.  I was musing to myself.  But still, after a large enough pause I looked over my shoulder half way expecting him to have left me standing there alone.  But no, he was there, gazing at me with his head tilted to one side as if he were trying to figure something out.  He too had taken off his helmet; his hair of course was perfect.  I scowled.  “What?”

“You’re right.”

“About what?” I asked, for a second losing my train of thought.  I placed the palm of my hand on the leather again; needing support.  The bike would do.   He so made me nervous. 

“What you just said.”

I didn’t respond.  Something in his eyes told me we weren’t really referring to the same thing.  I didn’t need clarification.  I feared enlightenment to some degree.  Probably something else I should change about myself.  Not right then of course.  Turning my back to him I stared down at the bike.  Right, I would learn to ride. 

He stepped closer.  I could feel the warmth of his body close behind me.  Naturally I stiffened.  “You clearly haven’t completely let go.”  I still held my silence.  “Was it only during the ride that you could?”

I nodded, “and now?” he asked.

I shook my head.  Taking a deep breath I finally squeaked out, “do you know anyone who can teach me to ride this?” 

“You liked it that much?”

“Yes, I really did.”

“I’ll give you a name,” he said, “however I can assure you, you’ll have to turn and face him every once in a while.” 

This startled me.  He was laughing again.  “I’ll do that, with him.”

“Him, will be me and I will make sure you know how to really let go.”

So saying he walked away, leaving me to stare down at the motorcycle.

False Advertisement!

I was getting ready for work a few days ago and this interesting sorta ‘pretty’ commercial came on television.  It was of a very handsome man (which is what probably stopped me long enough to watch) who was waiting at the head of an aisle dressed up to the nines.  He looked sort of nervous which morphed into a smug half grin.   Soon enough the camera pans to the reason he in fact looked like this:  his bride was walking towards him bedecked in a flowing gown that probably was the very embodiment of so many little girls fantasies. 

Even I sat mesmerized.  The woman herself was gorgeous, blushing just so, shyly looking at her groom who waited for her as she floated closer.  It was a sweet advertisement I thought to myself, well done.  Sighing, I turned away and continued to prep for work.

I guess the company that was paying for the ad has more money than they know what to do with since while I was pulling on my favorite fuzzy boots the thing aired again.  This time though I focused on the words and…wait…what?  I sat quite dumbfounded.   I heard the voice over of the groom, a pleasant soft spoken resonance within it, talking about how he’s not the focus of anyone’s attention, how he’s the ‘invisible man’ and goes onto say how the wedding is ‘all about the bride’ and how for the bride, it’s ‘all about the dress’. 

Okay folks, I’m an old married woman, 17 years and counting (MashAllah).  May be this fact alone makes me ‘out of date’ in understanding this sort of social thinking.   I can’t say I remember everything about what my own wedding was like other than pure chaos.  Sure important parts drift to  mind, how he looked, how I felt, how I sensed as if I was a 3^rd party sitting somewhere watching me go through the motions.  But what is most easy to recall was that for most of the engagement period, as the day of the wedding approached, I wasn’t sweating the small details of the event itself, I was more worried about the bigger things like “I’m going to be someone’s wife,” “oh crap does he expect me to make him breakfast every morning?”  “Am I supposed to pick out his ties or match shirts to socks?”  “Hold up, so I have to care about someone else’s life along with my own?”  These were the things that shot through my 23-yr-old brain as I prepared myself to be bound to another for the rest of existence.

And I don’t think anyone could say for a moment, knowing who I was then (and who I am now) that I would be more worried about my dress than the man himself.  Here’s a possible unknown fact to my non-desi readers:  in our culture, the groom’s family/groom provides the bride with her wedding outfit(s) (this includes everything from toiletries to shoes, even underwearK) while the same happens to the groom.  I never saw my wedding dress until the day before that rainy August evening.  And neither did I ever think to ask about it.  I know this is highly unusual and I don’t know many women who have been quite that lax about such a thing but I never claimed to be normal (as you’ve probably noticed).  Do I think others should do this?  Of course not!

Anyhow what had me outraged about this ad was the simple fact that it seems to say to the world that it is alright for the woman to be more focused on something as silly as the dress (or other wedding details) rather than the man she’s planning to spend the rest of her life with in wedded bliss.  And adding insult to injury, the man knows this as well as accepts it.  Um…what?

Hello folks, to me this picture seems all jacked up.  This is so ‘effed that I don’t know where to start with this ‘rant’ I’m about to take off on.  I had thought this would be a perfect blog topic to break the long dry spell I’ve recently gone through with my writing but that was days ago when I first spied this ad.  And had I typed this then, it would have been full of far more curse words than appropriate.  Judiciously I decided to wait a few days and due to a rigorous work schedule I haven’t had a chance to refocus while in the meantime there was a distinct cool down period.  Or so I hoped.  Obviously not.  I’m still sort of hot under the collar.

Let me ask you something crazy here which no one else may have ever bothered to ask.  I warn you, this may be a little disconcerting, the question itself.  You may in fact sit back and really get them tiny little cogs in your head to start working.  Hang on to your thongs/knickers/tightiewhities or whatever else it is you chose to put on in the morning (There’s an assumption here that you do indeed wear undies and if you don’t, please do not share.  The other assumption is that you in fact put on fresh underwear every day.   Once more, if you don’t, please don’t feel the need to make my blog into your confessional.).  Here it is:  Possibly, Little Cricket, don’t you think that instead of focusing all your energy and attention around the details of ONE very important day, you actually focus on setting up the right foundations to what will in essence make up the rest of your marriage/life? 

Through the years I’ve had brides-to-be (friends, not just strangers off the street which would be plain ol’ weird) come ask me what I was like when I was preparing for the day in which I would be connected to another forevermore.  To one particular individual that had panic in her eyes along with a certain gleam of insanity, I told her, ‘I didn’t sweat the small stuff.  The wedding isn’t important; it’s all the days after that is what I was intent on getting right’.  In that instant, I totally lost her.  The confused stare she gave me said that in loud volumes.  So I sighed, sat her down and explained.  I said something like this:

There is no such thing as a perfect wedding.  No matter how ‘impeccable’ you hope it will be, something will inevitably go wrong.  And that’s okay.  So what?  How can that one single day be more important than the rest that will follow? 

More blank confused looks thrown at me as she says “yes, but I mean you dream of this day since you’re a little girl.  You deserve it to be everything you envisioned.”

More sighing, on my part of course, True, but I wanted to run away and join the circus when I was a kid.  I can guarantee you that it’s a good thing that didn’t come to pass.  I think that one of the best things about growing up is the very fact that we adjust our visions of the world/universe/reality.  We hopefully figure out what is possible, what isn’t, we accept what we can do and what we can’t do and most importantly we take into account the fact that all things simply cannot always go our way.  By the time you’re making the decision to get married, you should have at least that little bit of maturity within you, right?

Well, not right.  Not everyone I realize is as mature as I was when I was taking the decision to marry P.  And for all my immaturity towards life (and there was plenty) I never fooled myself into believing that being and subsequently staying married to one man for the rest of my life (without actually killing him in the process) would  be simple.  I knew that it would take some major work…on both of our parts.  Although I also admit that I had no clue, none at all, as to how hard it really can be sometimes, at least I wasn’t sitting there more worried about the trivialities than the big picture. 

And this leads me to mull over:  do more marriages fail in this day and age because societies focus is so very…well, unfocused?  Have we basically lost all sense of what is important?  How wrong does the general populace out there actually have it?

A few of you may be thinking that I’m way overthinking this. May be even wondering why I would take a simple advertisement and blow it so totally out of proportion?  My answer back to you would be, why not?  May be YOU should?  And follow that up with the question:  Can something as innocuous as an ad be an accurate representation of the national psyche?  Frankly, I believe it can.  Companies (like the bridal store that aired the spot) which can afford to spend a lot of money during prime time most likely has done their due diligence.  I’m assuming they pour over marketing specs (or whatever you call them), have done test runs, and checked with legal before actually airing.  These aren’t stupid people (in a business sense at least I hope).  They know what will appeal to the mass before it goes up on the screen.     

And since my peepers have seen it, doesn’t that mean that this nonsense was vetted and the marketing geniuses sitting wherever they’re sitting have determined that there will be consumer appreciation?  That the lemmings of the world will watch that advertisement and run, and I mean run, en mass, to the store to buy themselves the most important thing that will be at their wedding…the dress.  Oh how sad is this thought?

The fact is that the right veil, the best champagne, the glittery opulence of the wedding all fades eventually in the memory.  We’re left with some pictures and may be a few retold stories but the bulk of it all goes away.  What we deal with every day after that is getting up to that person who you walked to at the end of the aisle and my advice is, instead of the dress being the most important thing to you that day, make sure it’s the person. 

Take this advice from a woman who is old, cynical yet a realist.  This is what counts most.

Happy New Year

Well hello there!  Yes it’s me, your friendly blogger who hasn’t been much of a blogger lately.  Let’s not revisit all the reasons, let’s just move past it all. 

I entered 2014 with no resolutions in mind, absolutely zero.  Everyone else apparently thought I should though which was why I probably had so many throwing inquiries to me regarding it…what is it…yada yada.  Or maybe they were trying to fill in the silence at awkward forced social events, who knows and frankly who cares.  That seems to be the question most acceptable right after ringing in the New Year, right?   After years of miserably tanking each and every one that I’ve made in the past anyhow, I figured why set myself up for further failure?  Brazenly I’ve informed all those who are nosy enough to ask that I am a highly unmotivated lazy person who has no time (or energy) to figure out a resolution and that if I did kick-start my brain enough to try to come up with one, the brain itself would probably protest and shut down (like an engine that hasn’t been warmed up enough before throwing it into gear…just grinds to a stop). 

The good thing about having no resolution is that the pressure is off.  The bad thing is the guilt.  I feel as if I should.  While the rest of my family and friends gush over their intentions for the coming year I sit by with eyes averted wondering why I can’t even be slightly motivated to do the same. 

Still I guess there are some things I hope will happen in the following year.  Things that I’m sure everyone wishes for as well.  These things do not make me unique, at least they shouldn’t, just human.  I would like to see:  more peace in life, less stress and sadness, more reasons to celebrate and less to mourn.  I guess the way I think of it is that what will happen, will happen.  Fates are sometimes just decided for us.  The small things I can probably alter by doing something different however the big things?  No, I just think those things are going to come at me as intended, no matter how I run from them. 

 End story here folks, no resolution.  I’m not down with the pressure of it all.  I’ve never been one to work well under it anyhow so it’s best this way.  I suppose though, I could get better at updating my blog more often?  Hmm…let’s see how well that goes.

Happy New Year : )