Lana's Space

My friend Dave and I made a pact awhile back to go to different churches each weekend and "try on" an assortment of different religions if you will.  We were both raised Catholic but neither one of us felt touched by what we learned every Sunday morning and over time going to church with our families became more of a chore than a cause for celebration.  Sit.  Stand.  Pray. Sing.  Kneel.  Shake Hands. Kneel some more. The only thing really worth celebrating, as far as I was concerned was the chance that after church we might stop by Woods Bakery for some hot cake doughnuts.  Obviously, religion, or God for that matter, have not really played a huge role in my life. However, I have always been slightly envious of the people who are strong believers and those who do, in fact, have unshakable faith.  It's not that I don't believe in God, I do...or at least I beleive in Him enough to be scared to admit that I have doubts about Him, (especially outloud.)  Turns out that one day I let my secret slip to Dave who admitted that he had the same doubts and hated going to church also.  While he believes in God, he is just not sure about all the mumbo jumbo that goes along with it.  Maybe it was Catholicism that was turning us off.  Maybe we needed to get out there and explore other religions and see which one felt right to us.

The following Sunday I sat at a local Starbucks a few blocks away from my home, sipping my soy latte and watching the Jewish worshipers line up at the gorgeous synogogue across the street. The men all had long, black curls hanging down the sides of their faces that blended with their even longer dark beards and they all sported yamacas on top of their heads.  The women wore plain clothes and the children seemed to be all tiny clones of the adults..each had dark hair, skin and eyes.  Seeing them all lining up like that brought back a childhood memory that I had almost forgotten but blame completely on the strange fascination I have with anything Jewish. When I was in 5th grade my class and I took a field trip to a synagogue.  As we walked into the huge room I was fascinated that there were no pictures of Jesus up on the walls.  There were no stations of the cross anywhere, the walls were blank and the doors and windows were trimmed in shiny gold. In place of where the crucifix was in our church there hung The Star of David.  We silently sat down in a long wooden pew and directed our attention to the huge book sitting on the pulpet in front of us. Suddenly a man who looked much like the men I just described walked into the room and opened to huge book which I later learned was called the Torah. We sat listened to the man read outloud and eventhough we didn't understand a word of the ancient language he spoke we knew that if our eyes left him we would be in big trouble on the bus ride home.  We were Catholics and we were representing. 

When he finished reading we all stood up and took the driedels out of our pockets that we had made in art class the week before.  We held them out in front of us and began to sing the song we had been practicing for months to the man who smiled down at us. (At least I think he was smiling. It was hard to tell through all the curly hair around and on his face.) Looking back I am sure we must have been some sight, a bunch of Catholic kids in our starched blue and black plaid uniforms singing about dreidles and latkes, Hannukah and the Festival of Lights.  I could not tell you how long we stayed there.  I could not tell you how to get back to that place where for the first time I felt the magic of faith.  I don't know if it was that everything in that synagogue was foreign to me but from that moment on I became intoxicated by all things Jewish.  Weird I know...even weirder that I am admitting it outloud.  I don't know much about their beliefs but I do know that they fascinate me with their privateness and their smooth, exotic words: Shalom. Say it with me.  Shalom.  Nice huh?  I know that I have a Star of David pendant that I wear around my neck and that during the holidays I always buy The Festival of Lights candle from Yankee.  It smells like cinnamon and it is my favorite. I know that when I am in line at Einstein Bagels I am always tempted to try the bagels and lox.  I never do though...something about fish that early kind of turns my stomach. 

So while I may never have matzah ball soup grace my table during the holiday season and my name most likely will not be remembered in crazy Adam Sandler song, I have to say that that brief moment when I was a young girl standing in that synagogue touched me forever.  So next weekend I am going to try and drag Dave to the synagogue across from Starbucks with me.  I am not sure if the service is open to the public or if we will be turned away at the door.  That is not what worries me.  What worries me is trying to convince Dave that he will look very dapper in a yamaca. 

 

 

I used to be able to sit down at this computer and my fingers would fly over the keyboard full of life and the promise of stories waiting to be told.  I would drive home from work and in the fifteen minute commute I would  have an entire entry floating around in my head needing to escape onto this light grey screen in front of me.  It became my stress relief and my passion and there were times that I thought I had found my nitch...my something that I loved...my "calling" if you will.  Writer's block was a foreign word to me.  I had endless stories to tell and endless more that I was creating with every relationship that I had, every date that I went on, every memory I decided to share.  There were times that I would get stumped when I could not find the right words to express how I felt or frusterated when I couldn't find the right words to end an entry.  But after a few minutes of sitting and thinking it would come to me like a flash of lightening and I would wrap it up with a shiny bow and send it off sealed with a kiss.  Voila. 

Then there came the lull.  The time that I began to realize what writers block was.  The time that I thought I had told every story I had to tell and that I had nothing left.  I had used up all my fifteen minutes of blogger fame and now I was done.  Now I realize that I never had writers block at all, because, in essence, I was never really a writer.  I was just some girl who had a witty way of telling some goofy stories that people could relate to.  As I sit here today all of this feels forced and foreign.  The magic is gone.  Lots of great things have happened that would have been good material.  For instance, The Cards won the World Series.  I was there, in the utter chaos that took over this city.  I drank the red shots that were passed around. I cheered until I was hoarse for days.  I danced in the streets and celebrated with baseballs best fans.  Not one time did I think about writing about it. 

I learned that the one person I thought was a truley good seed turned out to be nothing but an onion.  The more layers I peeled back the more he made me cry until finally I just had to throw him in the trash along with the other garbage from my past.  But hey, you have all read about my disasterous dating life so why share more? A sob story is a sob story and frankly, I am getting sick of them myself.

After this drama I took the advice of a wise girl and tucked my head back into my turtle shell and I hung out with some dear friends from the past.  I don't know what ever happened to the girl who gave me that advice but if she happens to read this I want to tell her thanks.  Sometimes sitting around a bonfire sipping whiskey to keep warm with old friends is the best was to get back on your feet.  There is no nonsense, no sugar coating, and no bullshit. They call your bluff and tell you when to shut up and quit feeling sorry for yourself. Then they hug you, tell you that you derserve better, and for the first time in a long time you feel home.  You laugh until your belly hurts and all the crap that has been weighing you down slowly melts away.  You stare at the girl sharing a bale of hay with you and you realize who you are and where you come from.  You quit trying to be something you aren't and embrace the girl who you used to be.  You make plans to go and see her in Chicago the day after Thanksgiving and know that you will keep them because suddenly true friends are the only people you want to surround yourself with. 

Life's a mess right now.  Do you ever have those days when you think that things just cannot possibly get any worse and then, suddenly, they do?  Just when you feel like you have made it over one hurdle you look up and realize that there is a bigger one just a few feet ahead of you and there is no way to avoid it?  These are the days that I have to sit back and remind myself that to every down there is an up, that every cloud has a silver lining, and that everything happens for a reason.  These are the days that I want to pull the blinds closed, crawl back into bed, and forget about all my problems. These are also the days that I wish that there was someone there who I could crawl back into bed with who would wrap his arms around me, kiss me on the forehead, and make everything better even if only for a few minutes.  Instead I snuggle back into a mess of sheets and down comforter and wait for the alram to go off again warning me that my snooze time is up.

To start it all off, the clutch in my car went out a few weeks ago.  What should have been a wham bam thank you mame kinda thing has turned into a full fledged fiasco.  At first I wanted to just send my old car off to junk yard heaven and get a new one but a closer look at my not-so-perfect credit made me seriously rethink it.  Then as I sat and budgeted my money I realized that yes, I could afford a new car but that meant seriously cutting back on my fun money.  I would basically be living on peanuts for the rest of the month...oh who am I kidding?  I would be living on peanut shells and everyone knows Target takes check, cash or charge....not peanut shells.  So I nixed the idea of getting a new car and decided to give my trusty old car a makeover.  While she has never really given me any mechanical problems before now she could use some help on her body.  A ding here, a dent there.  A back window that is off track and slowly creeps down as you drive.  Peppers dog hair in every little crevice that the car wash vacuum can't reach...these are all things that need to be taken care of along with getting the major stuff done.  New clutch, new tires, tune up for the winter and the towing fee to move her from in front of my apartment complex to the mechanic and we are talking a good $1300.  I could think of alot more stuff I could spend that money on. Also, that chunk of change is breaking me and until I can get the car fixed I have become a vagabond of sorts.  I have been having to stay in Illinois and split my time between my mothers house and Lance's apartment.  Neither of these have been panning out for me (or them) very well.  While my mother had been great and basically puts up with me coming and going as I please and leaving my dirty clothes on the bathroom floor I know that deep down she wants her privacy back.  Lance and I are downright not good for one another.  When we are together we literally sit and talk for hours and in the meantime accomplish none of the things that we set out to do.  Eating out and drinking lots of wine have become a steady thing for us in these last couple weeks.  Nights that I should be studying have been replaced with trips to the mall, renting crappy movies, playing miniature golf, fishing, long rides in the country, Cardnal baseball games and midnight trips to Steak-N-Shake for two vanilla shakes with extra hot fudge.  To make matters worse we have begun to argue like an old married couple and have been getting in petty little fights about things like what laundry detergent smells best. For two people who are just friends we need to spend some serious time apart if we want to stay that way....if we don't I am afraid one of us is going to end up missing. However, until my car situation is resolved I am stuck with him....or he is stuck with me.  Anyway you slice it it's no good.

I guess these last couple weeks have really made me, for the first time in my adult life, take a closer look at me.  I hate the fact that I am 27 years old working in a job I don't want to be in.  I look at the two women who work next to me and pray that I do not end up like them.  I pray that I do not end up in a dead end job that barely pays the bills.  I hate that I have to rely on a friend for a ride to work.  I hate the fact that I seem to be floating through my life and have no idea how to point myself in the right direction.  I hate the fact that I think I am having a quarter life crisis!

So now I am playing that "what do I want to be when I grow up" game and the irony is that I am a grown up.  When the hell did that happen?  Grown ups are supposed to be able to buy cars by themselves, have real jobs that they love, and have a special someone in their life to talk about all of this crap with.  What bump in the road did I hit that made me fall completely off the apple cart?  Why can't I decide what I want to do with my life?  I feel that with every step forward I try to take I end up falling two more behind and there are some days that I literally feel like I am staring up from the bottom and can barely see the light up ahead.  I have had enough.  I am at my wits end and I do not know that to do.

I have prayed as hard as I know how to pray that God would show me a sign.  I still haven't heard back from him and I am starting to get a little nervous, so tonight I am going to pray a little louder. I am starting to think that either we may have a bad connection ot else he may be hard of hearing.  Either way, I need to speak up.

 

For the past few months there has been a monster living under my bed.  At night right before I would doze off she would whisper quietly into my ear that I am not as funny, pretty, or smart as she was.  She would lurk in my thoughts all day long and has made me doubt everything about myself.  Because of her I have had many sleep deprived nights, some not-so-healthy weightloss, and some serious dates with top shelf vodka.  Then four days ago, out of the blue, my monster decided to email me.  Well, technically, she decided to email me back. 

When I first mustered up the courage to email her I was fueled by a broken heart and the knowledge that the man I trusted had turned out to be nothing but a liar. I was sure she would respond right away and I was ready for whatever she had to bring to the table.  This was good verses evil and I had faith in the good guy...or girl in this situation.  I was about to make contact with "the other woman" and I was scared to death.  I felt sick to my stomach, my palms were sweaty, and my mouth felt like a desert.  I hovered over the computer all day waiting for her reply.  I could not wait to let her know what I thought of her.  I wanted to tear into her and hurt her as badly as she hurt me.  I wanted revenge but deep down all I wanted was answers.  I wanted to know that I had been lied to and that all the moments of wonder I had were not in vain. I wanted to be able to walk away from this with no what if's.  What if I was wrong.  What if he was telling the truth.  What if he really isn't such a bad guy.

Then something strange happened.  She never emailed me back.  I checked my inbox everyday for about a week and everyday there was no reply from the Monster.  Slowly the unanswered questions didn't weigh so heavily on my heart.  The tears quit falling as much and I started to get back on my feet. I put the vodka back in the freezer and had all but forgotten about her until Tuesday afternoon when I got her response.  It was month later than I had expected and it floored me. I felt sick to my stomach as I read through it the first time.  I read in again slower than the first rying to grasp everything she was saying me.  By the third time I read it I almost had it memorized.  My fingers flew over the keyboard as I wrote her back. I read my reply over five times before I finally sent it. I waited and this time her reply came much quicker than the last one. 

For the past few days we have been emailing back and forth not only about the man who lied to us and broke both of our hearts but also about how much better off we are without him.  Our identical stories seem to be giving eachother exactly what we needed to begin feeling better about ourselves and makes walking away from him very easy. They always say never to judge someone until you have walked a mile in their shoes...Well, not only have I walked in her shoes but we have been traveling down the same road, side by side, and didn't even know it.

Since our first contact with eachother I have realized she's not so bad afterall.  She is a regular girl just like me who has had the same doubts and fears I have had and who has been living with her own monsters. Through this terrible situation we have become, for lack of a better word, friends.  From these emails we have both realized that sometimes you really are sleeping with the wolf in sheeps clothing.  Sometimes in takes the enemy to show you exactly how strong and beautiful you really are...and sometimes, when you finally do face your fear, you realize you never really had anything to fear at all.

The answer?  Just Juan.  Yeah, I know it isn't really funny.  Kinda lame actually, but after one too many drinks at Al Hraboskys Sports bar on Friday and watching Beth plant a kiss on the cheek of Cardinal outfielder Juan Encarnacion we all thought it was hilarious.  We thought it was even funnier that she felt compelled to tell Ronnie Belliard, another Cardinal, that you don't really need your pinky to play baseball.  He has just hurt his hand in the game and was obviously in no mood to deal with tipsy girls.  We left shortly after that...well, at least I think we did.

You see, the Cubs are in town.  St. Louis is all a flurry with the rival team here and with their fans who come and perch on our barstools and drink our Anheiser Busch products.  They walk down the streets in groups and wear their blue and white jerseys with pride and arrogance. How dare they.  You have never seen smack talking until you see a drunken Cards fan lash out a drunken Cubs fan.  There is no love.  There is no respect.  There is no sportsmanship. Hand gestures and verbal jabs have led to more than one bar room brawl.  It doesn't help that we have won the last two games either.  We're getting cocky and loving it. We are floating on cloud nine right up to baseball heaven despite the fact that this season the good old Red Birds haven't been doing so hot.  All that has been forgotten thanks to the recent wins over Chicago's pride and joy this weekend.  We're sending you boys home and if you don't come back for a long, long time that is ok with us.  However, while you are here, we will take the opportunity to drink too much beer, give too many high fives to our fellow fans, and talk too much shit about you.

Which desribes my Friday night to the T.  My friend Laila used to be a Cardinal Girl and she rented out the loft at Al Hrabosky's sports bar so we could watch the game from the lap of luxury.  Only VIP's are allowed upstairs and yes, thanks to Laila we were all VIPS's for the night.  It was great!  Food and drinks were free and yes, we took full advantage. We danced and laughed and when the game was over we gloated over our victory.  We congratulated the Cardinals as they came up the stairs and gathered around the small bar to relax.  The only reason I reluctantly dragged myself and my girlfriends out of the crowded bar at midnight was because I had to wake up really early and go buy my books for fall courses...oh yeah, and I had to meet my brother in law, my sister and our friend Dave at 10:30 the next morning.  We had tickets to the game!  Whoo-hoo!  It doesn't get any better than the promise of a cold beer, a paper boat of cheese and jalapeno laden nachos, and watching the Cards kick the crap out of the Cubs.  I drug myslef out of bed the next morning and took a couple aspirin to subdue my pounding headache. I showered and pulled my hair up in a ponytail and threw on my jersey.  I felt like crap but I figured after a few beers I would forget all about the nasty headache I had and could ignore the feeling like I could vomit at any second.  Hair of the dog I kept telling myself...hair of the dog. I was running late and felt rushed and hungover. My cell phone rang and as I looked around the living room for my keys I was tempted to ignore it.  It was Fatty, my brother in law calling and I still had so much to do. What could he possible need?  I was meeting him in an hour.  Hello? Ooooh, you are gonna be mad.  I got the dates mixed up on our tickets and they were for lastnights game.  We aren't going today.  We will just have to go to a bar and watch it there...yeah we are still coming to your side of the river.

Whatever, Fatty.  Nice try.

I have been fooled by my brother in law one too many times for this crap.  He loves to make me the butt of his jokes and on my drive to school he called a few more times, each time the lie getting more elaborate.  I was not giving in, he was good though and if I don't know any better I might believe him.  However, I was not about to fall for this prank of pranks and look like a total fool.  The moment I acted disappointed or said I believed him would be followed by him telling me what an idiot I was, handing me my ticket, and cackling his way all the way to our seats. If he had really mixed up the ticket dates he would have been much more upset.  When I was done buying my books and finally headed to meet them by the staduim my excitement grew.  I was feeling alot better and I could smell the hotdogs from the highway and see red jerseys filling the streets.  God I love baseball.  People were lined up at the ticket windows and I wondered out loud to myself if the rain would hold off long enough for us to play.  As I pulled up next to their car my heart sank.  Nate and Mandy were in regular clothes...no Cards gear.  This could only mean one thing: He wasn't lying. Oh my God, we really weren't going were we?  You weren't lying and you really messed up the tickets! YOU IDIOT!

So instead of watching the game from $50 seats and drinking $8 beers we decided to make the best of the situation and have our own little bar crawl.  We gathered around the big screens and drank one beer at each place in hopes of drowning our sorrows. I don't know how many bars we went too or how many beers I  drank but I do know that it wasn't enough. Eventhough I did end up having a great day I'm still sad about missing the game. My poor brother in law will be hearing about this for the rest of his life.  He made a mistake and I guess I have to forgive him...all I have to say is he's lucky he's not a Cubs fan.

 

It is only Tuesday and it has already been the week from hell.  Between running around all weekend like a chicken with my head cut off and having to jump through hoops to get registered in time for fall classes I am drained.  It is all I can do not to go to the store, buy a bottle of Grey Goose and shake up the worlds dirtiest martini.  No, I am not an alcoholic but yes, I sorta want to be one today.  At least then I would have an excuse to be hammered at 6 p.m on a Tuesday.  I have not been myself lately.  My happy-go-lucky carefree self has been replaced by someone who I don't particularly care for.  I would love to call American Airlines and book this new Lana a ticket on the first flight out of here. Frankly I cannot stand her and like a bad house guest she has overstayed her welcome.  I am just in a funk.  I feel like nothing has been going right.  I am sick of my job and I don't know what to do to give myself a little jumpstart. 

Coffee always helps.  So when I was sitting at my desk this morning and over my head a wonderful, hot, Starbucks grande soy latte no foam was placed in front of me I smiled from ear to ear.  I swiveled around in my seat and was face to face with my friend, Lance. Well, gooooolly! Is that all it takes to get a smile out of you?  His southern accent made me smile bigger.  You're prettier when you smile ya know?  I smiled a little bigger...couldn't help it.  Compliments and coffee all before 8 a.m.?  I was in heaven.  He knows I have been a little blue lately and his honest effort to due something to cheer me up brightened my morning a little bit.  Man, Lana.  You are so easy to please.  I wish my ex girlfriends were more like you!  We both laughed.  I took his turtle flavored coffee out of his hand and took a sip.  Too sweet for me.  I handed it back and laughed as he took a sip from mine.  Ick.  You need sugar.  Nah, it's perfect the way it is. Seriously, Lana, you need to get out of this funk.  You being sad kinda brings the whole office down.  Aww, that's sweet Lance.  No, it's not.  I am serious.  You kinda have a way of strutting in here and seeming like you don't have a care in the world.  You smile at everyone and say good morning and you start us all off on the right foot.  So if something small like this coffee is all it takes to make you smile then I need you to do me a favor: Stop mulling over whatever it is that is bringing you down.  It's not worth it.  Think about all the little things that make you happy instead.  I like seeing you smile but I can't bring you in a cup of coffee everyday...these damn coffees are a rip off!  $4 a pop!  I don't know if you are worth it every morning! I watched as his lanky body disappeared around the corner and realized he was right.  But what was it that really made me happy?  I thought about it all morning and this is what I came up with:

 

Daisies for no reason at all.

A good long hug.

A good long run.

Fresh laundry.

Hotdogs at the ballpark/going to see the Cards beat the Cubbies this Saturday!  GO CARDS!

Watching my right slice slowly going a little more to the left. Just call me Tiger Woods.

Jordyn trying to get me to hop like a kangaroo at the zoo. (I'm 27 and I did it.  I hopped like an flippin' kangaroo.)

The gay guy at Starbucks who makes fun of my Crocs.

Watching the entire 1st season of Greys Anatomy with Beth in one night...we only got up to pee.

Sleeping in Nate's grey hoodie.

The semi annual sale at Victoria's Secret. 

Getting a funny email from Erin.

Great highlights.

Compliments from strangers.

Mani/Pedi days

First kisses.

Snuggling.

Puppy breathe.

Lovespell lotion. 

Being with someone who really gets me.

Getting all dressed up to go out.

Great songs on the radio.

Someone telling me my butt looks good in a pair of pants...or that my favorite brown dress makes my boobs look huge!

Patriot Pops

Coronas and peel-n-eat shrimp

My favorite jeans.

Good hair days.

Digging my feet into white sandy beaches.

Kisses on my forehead.

Finding cute shoes, earrings, or purses on sale at Target.

Pictures.

How my grandparents always smell like Downey when I hug them.

Laughing until my belly hurts and knowing that if I watch Dane Cook's Standup this is definetly gonna  happen.

Funny movies.

When someone gets what I mean when I say "PIVOT!" and they start to laugh.

The Tiffany Beans.

Writting.

Soy lattes for no reason at all...or maybe just to give me just the jumpstart I need to get out of this funk. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My family used to be big on Friday night fish fry dinner at the local Knights of Columbus.  No matter where we were Friday or what time we got off work we would all meet up in the basement  of the smokey crowded bar and unwind over plates of cod cuts up, crinkle fries, coleslaw, and cold beer. Some Fridays we would all stay late and drink more than our fair share of Budlight, Crown and Sprites, and Jack and Cokes.  Other nights we would just eat and jet out early, all of us having something else on the agenda.  I loved these family bonding times and would skip any major event to make sure that I was in attendance but, as with anything, things started to change.  First Mandy started having babies.  Noone wants to have a tiny baby in a smoke filled bar with loud people coming up and breathing their fish breath all over your childs face.  Then the management changed and they switched french fry brands which threw my brother in law into a fit of rage.  He vowed to never eat there again until they brought back his beloved crinkle cuts.  Then Beth and I moved to St. Louis. One by one we slowly all just stopped showing up.  Suddenly, Friday Family Fish Fry was a thing of the past.

I don't know why we decided to shake things up this Friday but we did.  Maybe all of us just had a craving for some good greasy food.  Maybe the gorgeous weather we have had for the last few days lured everyone out of their air conditioned shells.  Maybe we all just needed a good dose of family time. No matter what the reason, this Friday, my entire family headed across the river to meet me and Beth for dinner at our favorite place, Pat's Bar and Grill.  

We have been trying for months to get my family to come and break bread with us at this local watering hole but it took something much greater than our rave reviews to lure them across the river.  It took my older sister reading an article in Dining on a Dime that boasted Pat's as serving the best fried chicken livers in St. Louis.  My family looooves fried chicken livers.  I could barely stand to watch people eat them until recently when I tried Beths one night.  People say they are an acquired taste and I guess after months of taking tiny nibbles off Beths livers I reached my goal.  I acquired a taste for one more fattening fried food.

Beth and I arrived at Pat's earlier than my family in hopes of grabbing a large enough table to seat everyone.  Unfortunately though, everyone else in St Louis must have read the famous chicken liver review too because Pat's wasn't just more busy than normal, it was jam packed.  People hovered like vultures over full tables of diners waiting for someone to give up a seat.  The bar was lined with hungry patrons trying to stifle their hunger with alcohol.  We knew that there was noway my family was going to want to have to fight the crowd for a table, especially with my two young neices in tote, so we met them outside and broke the bad news: We would not be dining on chicken livers that night.  I could see the disappointment in all of their faces.  Now we had to try and decide, at 7:30 on a Friday night, where we could go and eat. We racked our brains trying to think of someplace that we could get a table for ten and not have to wait for hours on end. 

Our first choice was another Irish bar down the road from Pat's called Seamus McDaniels.  While it is nowhere near as fun as our little bar they did have family dining available and one really hot bartender who I have a secret crush on. I was all for it...let's go.  Does my hair look ok?

My sister went in and came out moments later shaking her head.  There was a longer wait than she wanted and the girls were getting hungry and cranky.  If we were going to stay in our neighborhood and had any hopes of eating that night this left us one option: We piled in our cars and headed for Olympia, the only greek restaurant in a predominantly Irish part of town. It sticks out like a sore thumb with it's white washed walls and big blue umbrellas...everything about it makes you want to stand up and scream, "OPA!"

I think by the time we were all seated we were so hungry we didn't really care what you would have put it front of us we would have devoured it.  Everyone was stressed about having to hop from place to place and all we wanted to do was sit down and stuff ourselves silly.  Over plates piled high with spanikopita, hummus, pita bread, mousaka, kalamata olives, gyros and chicken fingers for Jordyn, we did just that.  Rounds of greek beer, pinot grigio, and bloody mary's couldn't come fast enough.  My family was having Fish Fry Friday miles away from the Knights of Columbus and still loving it.  As I sat watching them all eat, drink and laugh with eachother I realized how much I missed our Friday nights and how good it was for all of us to get together like this.  My family members are my favorite people in the world.  They have seen me at my best and at my worst and still claim me as one of their own. Come hell or highwater we are there for eachother and while we have our disagreements like any other family, we are a tight-knit unit.  You can tell by sitting with us for just fifteen minutes that our bond is unshakable, we are good to eachother, and that if you can switch your dinner plans from fried chicken livers to greek cuisine in a matter of minutes, we will be good to you too.

 

 

Today I had an accidental day off.  How, you might be asking yourselves, does a girl have an accidental day off.  Well, let me tell you.  This morning started out like every other weekday.  I crawled out of bed to the screaming alarm on my cell phone.  I clicked it off and sat up in bed.  My eyes focused in on the time and I yawned.  Ugh...5:35 a.m.  I cannot wait for summer to be over so I can go back to running at night.  All I wanted to do was crawl back under the covers and sleep for one more hour.  Just one.  That's not asking too much is it?  But Pepper is used to our morning routine by now and she was hopping all around the room and doing her little pee-pee dance that meant I could not go back to bed.  She had some business to take care of. 

I changed out of my pj's and slipped on some shorts and a sports bra.  Even this early in the morning the heat and humidity make wearing anything else unbearable.  I walked in the kitchen, grabbed my Gatorade out of the fridge and my keys off the counter.  We were off.

Our run started out like any other.  As expected the humidity made it harder than hell for me to breathe and a part of me wished that I would have taken a hit off the Albuterol inhaler Lance perscribed me. He thinks I may have exercised induced asthma and the medicine in the inhaler opens up my lungs.  While it does help me breathe it gives me a severe case of the shakes.  If you combine that with my morning Starbucks I look less like a 27 year old gal and more like an old woman with a bad case of Parkinsons.  So since I had my hopes set on a grande soy latte I opted not to use the inhaler and just suffer.

After what seemed like forever and one too many hills we finally crossed over the highway into Turtle Park and made our way back to my car.  I bent over to unclip my keys off of Pepper's collar and groaned outloud when I realized they were not there.  They had been lost, once again, somewhere on my four mile run. Yes, as retarded as it sounds this has happened to me before.  A few months ago the same thing happened when Pep took off after a rabbit.  The leash jerked out my hand and in a glittery shower of metal I witnessed my keys disappear into the rough on the golf course.  Beth, Joshua and I searched and searched to no avail.  We found bits and pieces of keychain and my Gold's Gym thingy but no keys of any importance.  My dad had to bring me the spare key to my car and lectured me first about not ever putting my keys around my dogs collar again and two about making sure that I got a copy of my spare.  I would be really sorry if it happened again and I lost my spare.  I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, told him he saved the day, and not to worry.  I was going to Wal-Mart that night to have a spare made.  But I didn't.  Then, over time, I completely forgot.  So the key I lost this morning was the last known key to my little car.  I called Beth and when she answered the phone I stared to cry.  I explained it all to her and cried some more.  I felt so stupid, I knew my dad was going to kill me and I wanted to kick myself for not getting a copy of the key.  Christ I am such a procrastinator and now I was about to pay, literally, for my stupid mistake.

She offered to come and get me and I told her that would be great.  I was going to start retracing my steps so just to drive along my normal route until she saw me.  Minutes later she pulled up along beside me.  I climbed into the front seat of her car, still keyless, and sighed.  She tried to cheerme up but nothing helped. The tears just kept swelling up in my eyes I knew if I tried to answer her they would spill over and down my cheeks so I just sat there and nodded.  I don't honestly know why I was being such a baby and crying so much, it's just that nothing ever goes my way and yes, I guess maybe I was having a little pity party for myself. 

I called into work and told the girls what I had done.  I explained to them about not having any spare key for my car and therefore had noway to get to work today.  I wanted to hug Beth when she told me if I rode along with her to work I could use her car to drive back to Forest Park and look for my keys.  I didn't hug her though because I was covered in sweat and stunk to high heaven. Instead I rode along with her and said a silent little prayer I have such a great friend.  I dreaded having to go back and retrace my whole run.  If it would have been just be me running it wouldn't be so bad but Pepper has an extenda-leash so she runs all over.  She is a maniac.  She rolls in the grass, dives in the water, she sniffs in every hole, chases squirrels up every tree and today she even chased one into a fallen tree that had crashed to the ground in the big storm we had a few weeks ago.  I impatiently waited as she untangled herself out of the limbs that lay lifeless on the ground and thought for sure she would come out limping.  Nope, she just trotted ahead looking for her next prey.  That's when it hit me...maybe somehow the branches had unhooked the clip and my keys had fallen off there, amidst the rotting tree limbs.  Fat chance but hey, anything is possible.

As I pulled up to the Jewelbox and couldn't get out of the car fast enough.  I ran down the flower paths, past the huge greenhouse and up to the fallen tree. There, laying in a bed of dead leaves and twisted tree limbs was my keychain.  I breathed a sigh of relief and picked them up.  I went back to Beth's car and drove home thanking my lucky stars I had found them.  When I walked in the door I peeled off my sweaty clothes and hopped in the shower. I suds up and marveled at the fact that I had actually found them. I got dressed, sat down on my bed and compiled a list of errands to run on my accidental day off:

* Drop off picture to Amy's mom

* Go to the Farmers Market and get some tilapia and brocolli for dinner

* Go to Hallmark

* Call Pat's Bar and see if we need reservations for Friday night.

* Balance my check book

* Stop at Walmart and get some keys made.  Make sure to get an extra set just in case of an emergency.

My lobster is coming home to visit.  I haven't seen him since all those months ago when he told me he wasn't going to move to New York.  He lied.  He got a great job  and he moved to New York. I haven't really missed him but I find myself thinking about him every once in awhile.  Especially lately since this whole thing went down with Kevin.  I think in some twisted way Kevin thought I was his lobster.  That being with me seemed like the best thing in the world.  That he thought he knew me and that life with me would be great but in the end I was just a girl.  He had held me above all others for so long that when he finally got the real thing he was disappointed.  I wasn't the girl he had created in his mind. I was real and I had faults. I don't want this to happen with my lobster, so I don't think I am going to go to his party. 

Lobster is turning 30 and they are throwing him a big bash. All of our mutual friends tell me that I have to go.  He will be sad if I am not there.  But oh my goodness we are getting old and this "thing" between us has been going on for too long.  I figure if it was meant to be it would have happened by now. Don't get me wrong...part of me really, really wants to go.  I want to see him and see how New York is going.  I want to get that butterfly feeling in my stomach but another part of me just wants to take a break from it all.  I have no desire to have anyone in my life right now and I think part of the thrill of seeing him in the past was that I wanted something...or someone.  He has been the only person who has had literally made everyone else in the room seem invisible.  The one who I am drawn to not because of the the way he smiles, the funny way his hair sticks up in the front, or the way his clothes smell of fabric softener when you stand close enough to him but because he fills some need in me. The need to feel like someone sees the real me, KNOWS the real me, and because of that doesn't want to leave my side all night long.  The only one who held a candle to the way I felt about Nate.  The only boy to knock on my window late at night and sit on my mom's front steps talking until dawn.  The only one who has tempted me when I was dating other people.  The only man who's face makes my heart feel heavy and light at the exact moment because I know deep down we will never be together but the fantasy of it still makes me happy. 

I think realizing that your lobster isn't really your lobster has to be terrible.  I think it is important to always have that one person who you fantasize about...the one who you can go without seeing and then when you do you see them you wonder how they haven't entered your thoughts for so long and how you can live your life without them in it...even if it is only for brief,shining moments that you remember forever. I am terrified that seeing him won't be the same for some reason. Maybe because so damn much has changed since the last time we talked.  Maybe it's because I feel like a light in me has gone out and I won't have the same effect on him...or worse, he won't have it on me.  I am thinking it over.  Maybe I will feel differently in a few weeks when the party is scheduled for but I doubt it.  Afterall, everyone knows lobster is the freshest on the coast...not in the MidWest.

 

This morning as I was running I had some random thoughts floating around in my head.  I tried my best to peice them together into one great little entry but I came up with nothing.  So instead I am going to throw them out at you in no particular order...sorta like mental mumbo jumbo.

 

First of all, I hate running lately.  It takes every ounce of energy I have to crawl out of bed at 5:30 when my alarm goes off.  I have been running before work because the heat has been unreal and by early evening you would literally drop dead of a heat stroke if you tried to run then.  I am so not a morning exerciser.  I like to go at night after a long days work and when I am full of stress.  That stress, along with all the crap I ate for lunch, fuels me to keep going. Another thing, besides having no stress in the morning, is the song selection on the radio.  I find it impossible to get any kind of pace going while listening to the ho hum drum of the morning DJ's voices here in St. Louis.  I surf and surf through all the morning shows until I stumble across the last 2 seconds of a song.  Those 2 seconds are the greatest ones of my morning run. I know, I know....I should get an IPOD.  I want to get an IPOD but it just seems like I never have time to go to the store and look at them.  I am a very busy, important woman you know! ;)

 

My friend Sarah is laying on the floor here in the office and she is stoned.  She hurt her back yesterday and due to the fact that she has a softball game tonight that she refuses to miss she has doped herself up on enough pain meds to kill a small army.  She is babbling about random things and cracking me up.  Writing with her in the room is virtually impossible.  My thoughts keep getting interupted by random bursts of song...verbal abuse towards me and everyone who enters this office... and questions about wether or not I watched Last Comic Standing.  She has asked me this 3 times now...3 times my answer has been no.

I really don't know how she is going to play in the game tonight but God love her, she is determined to lead her team to victory. She is a trooper I'll give her that.

 

I am covered in hematomas.  That is my fancy medical lingo for bruises.  As you all know I went on a float trip last weekend and that is the reason I am covered in these black and blue little suckers.  I can't wait until they are gone.  Plus the doctor I work for thinks I may have fractured my pelvic bones. Yah for me.

 

Lance and I went out for martinis and stuffed mushrooms lastnight.  The bartender laughed when Lance ordered a foo foo girly Apple-tini and I ordered a dirty martini, blue cheese olives, no vermouth, Grey Goose only please.  I think he thought we must have mixed up our orders.  Nah, Lance's just too metro for his own good. After a few drinks we started talking about the possibility of wether or not men and woman can really be friends.  I asked him if he had ever seen When Harry Met Sally and he said no.  I told him that the next time we hang out we have to watch it....it is the greatest movie in the world and it asks (and kind of answers) that exact question.  I was very adament that men and woman CAN be friends.   He disagreed.  We went round and round and in the end we still disagreed.  The question of ages? Still just a question.

 

Friday night we are going to Copia.  It is a wine bar downtown where the the drinks are too expensive, the music is too loud, and the people are way too snotty.  I cannot wait. Lance's friend is coming down from Chicago and we are taking him out on the town. Showing him the new and improved side of St Louis. I haven't decided what I am going to wear yet: It is a toss up between my favorite brown dress or my white pants with my fun new tube top.  I guess it depends on how hot it is, how much my bruises have healed, and how dressed up the boys get.