Hello

So, the next book on my impromptu reading list is one about how to get married in a year.  The whole idea seems a little silly to me, but maybe if I'm really honest, I'll admit that there's a little hope that something along that fairy tale line might happen to me.  At any rate, I'm not gonna even mention the title of the book here, because I'm a little disgruntled by it.  Mostly, because I can't afford a personal shopper, don't really think that finding a good man requires Botox, and I ABSOLUTELY refuse to purchase a pair of black velvet pants.  Maybe I'm wrong.  I AM the single one here.  Ha!

I was about to put the book down in disgust last night, when I read the challenge.  Say "hi" to three people while you're out and about tomorrow.  That's it.  Just. Say. Hi.  

I went to bed PUMPED, I tell you!  My head was full of fantasy sequences that involved me saying hello, finding lovely people to chat with over coffee, and falling in love with some handsome stranger that I engaged with a simple hello.  There were roses and butterflies everywhere.  It was just beautiful.  Those rose colored glasses were just about surgically attached to my retinas! I got myself so worked up, it took me two whole hours to fall asleep!

Before I fell asleep, I made a list of the one and only rule:

1. Store employees don't count for my 3 - they're always unappreciated and deserve, at the very least, to be acknowledged!

Flash forward to today.  The time is currently 4:09 p.m. and I am sad to report that I have failed.  I mean. Epic.  Failed.  How does the person who actively smiles at everyone she passes fail at saying hello to the same people she is smiling at???  Really.  

Maybe it was because I was crabby from not getting to bed at a reasonable time because of my stupid awake dreaming.  Or because I had to drive an hour and a half, round trip, to get to a meeting that lasted two hours.  Or because while I was at that meeting, I was asked if I was still training for "that" marathon in January and I had to say no.  OR because it was 96 degrees outside at 7:00 in the morning.  

Maybe its the fact that the only errand I had to run today was to the hardware store for a plunger.  By the way, I'd like to express to ya'll how much more embarrassing it was for me to buy a plunger than possibly any other single thing I've ever purchased before in my life!  

In hindsight...

Maybe I should have read Everyone Poops a couple of times before I went, or pretend that the clogged toilet was the product of some obnoxious boy (because everyone knows that girls don't poop), or simply used it as a walking stick to make light of the situation. I was about mortified as I watched the construction guy as he looked at me in the face, looked down at the plunger, and back up at my face again.  

Maybe I should have given myself a pep talk.  After all, being brave about two insignificant things is almost like hard labor.  I mean, its almost ridiculous to ask a person to say hello to passing human beings while purchasing a plunger.  

I blame the plunger!

So what about you?  Is it easy for you to talk to strangers?  What helps you?  Help me out ya'll, I'm trying to loosen up here :)

Girl Power!

I just devoured an intriguing little book that seemed to unearth itself right before my pretty little eyes as I scoured the library for help on planning a work event (more about that later, I'm sure): Seducing the Boys Club by Nina DiSesa.  I really hoped it would help me learn to refine those flirting skills I've been working so hard on...  I'm not sure that I can say that it was a page turner or that it was all I had hoped it would be; but I can attest that it offered a bit of hope for those of us professional women who do not ever hope to become men nor want to be confused as one.  Not to say that I don't love men.  Oh, I do.  I just don't anyone to forget that I'm a woman.  Then, I want them to remember my name.  And finally, how well I put all of that together!

So at any rate, I got some reaffirmation that there is no reason to feel bad about embracing my female-ness (selling myself up, not out; really, I'm far too blunt to dumb myself down) to get what I want.  But I really want to know what to do about this woman who seems to have possibly forgotten that underneath her pants, we both have the same parts.

I'm still dealing with the woman I spoke about in my last entry and some things keep presenting themselves to me: the "charminacity" does seem to be working (as I have worked diligently to be charming towards EVERYONE I have dealt with in regards to the situation, in person and in print) and as I have climbed the bureaucratic ladder with my complaint, the higher the position of female I have encountered, the more coldly she has presented herself.  It makes me wonder, and I shudder to say this aloud, if ... this would have already been resolved ... if the person ... in ... charge ... wouldhavebeenaman.  ugh.

It seems to be a strange happenstance that I should have found this particular book at the crux of this particular battle between two powerful women: one who, as DiSesa puts it, may have gotten "drunk with power" and one who is willing to pour the wine.  I'll keep you posted on my progress :)

Cheers!

A Spoonful of Sugar?

I first fell in love with Joyce Carol Oates, then Faulkner, then the Southern Gothic genre as a whole.  Then, after visiting my friend in South Carolina and vacationing in Georgia, I just simply fell in love with the South.  Currently I live vicariously as fantastically Southern as possible through books, blogs, and Paula Deen.  I suppose I'm practicing here in my Northern city until the day that I can finally afford to migrate.

At any rate, I've recently been practicing the art of flirting as Ronda Rich has so kindly outlined for my poor misguided Northern self.  I must say, I think I'm doing a pretty good job and I know I'm a happier person for it!  And its all fine and dandy to be flirty and fun when the world is offering scrumptious hor d'oeuvres off of a silver platter, but I'll tell you what, today has sure been a test!  I don't always think before I speak; but today, I thanked God about a hundred times that the oh-so frustrating conversation in question was via e-mail and therefore forced me to choose my words a bit more wisely.  Its so much harder to press send on the I-would-really-like-to-tell-you-about-yourself email now that I'm a big girl.  Ugh :/

Luckily, this little crisis occurred in the privacy of my own home. I keep reminding myself that Ms. Rich has promised me that the trait of "charminacity" is one to reckon with (and also that I am simply too cute to ruin it by feeling so ugly about the situation).  You will all be happy to know that I have devised a constructive plan of action complete with research, outlines, and most importantly, questions; I have scheduled a date with myself to perfect my manicure; and I have continuously visualized me in a meeting with this woman (or her boss, she can choose) being pleasant, respectful, and collected all the while calling her bluff :)

And so here I am...

There are several ways to build a character, it seems I am one best built in media res and so I will tell you that it is generally my constant effort to free myself from my calculating J. Alfred Prufrock mind and drink the "free spirit" that dances in my soul.  Ok, so I'm a bit over the top.  I guess that's a start.

At any rate.  I'm a runner.  Sort of.  I wasn't, then I learned.  I fell in love, then I got hurt.  Now, I'm waiting on surgery that will *hopefully* (those are my fingers crossing) allow me to run again.  I wish I could tell you that it was some fantastic accident that bore some type of unsung triumph.
Nope.
Apparently, I was born with a deformed femoral head.  Yup, a square peg in a round socket that just finally took my hip cartilage past its breaking point.  That's all there is, folks.  And while I know hip joints are pretty necessary for running (and so I've learned, just about everything else as well) it seems like such a minor thing compared to what other human beings overcome.

So here I am.  It's 11:51 on a Wednesday night.  For the second night in a row, I'm having anxiety about having this surgery and what my life will look like if running is still not a viable option for me.  Maybe I would feel differently today if I had known on that April morning that it was going to be my last painless run (albeit, pumped full of ibuprofen) through my neighborhood.  Maybe if had been ready then, this wouldn't be so hard now.  But.  I wasn't.

And so this is my story, as it unfolds, of how I overcome my square peg and learn, despite the limitations and inconveniences along the way, to stop measuring my life in coffee spoons.