PomJob

suz at wedding

Originally uploaded by JPom1

You sounded remarkably coherent when I called you a few hours ago to make sure you survived last night with the Captain. Your favorite shot was the Red Headed Slut but I would have cautioned against the cherry Long Island iced tea you chose as a chaser.

You’ve blossomed from my knock-kneed, lazy-eyed, lisping baby sister into a beautiful, intelligent young woman. I’m so proud of you and love you with all my heart. (Although you might kill me if you ever find this post.)

Happy 21st birthday, Little Suzie!

Have you ever had to turn off Dr. Phil because the daily topic hit a little too close to home and you just couldn’t handle listening to what he said when someone you love is doing the exact opposite of his advice but won’t listen to anyone?

On any given Sunday, I can stand between two glossy wooden pews, gripping my blue hymnal, and meet eyes with girls my age and younger. They grow ‘em tall in my hometown, that’s for sure.

I found a delightful new blog today when Zoot linked to Angie. Her most recent post recalls a recent trip to the grocery store when a man made an awkward comment about her height, which made me think about all the awkward things that people have said to me over the years.

• A cashier asked me and my youngest sister if we are sure we’re really related.
• I’ve been working out for more than two years but people who I haven’t seen in a while are still getting used my my new physique. I’ve been asked many times how I lost the weight, and some people have come out and asked me if I had surgery.
• During a banquet I attended for work, the farmer I was writing a story about asked if I was “you know” (complete with hand wiggle) because I didn’t (and don’t) have a boyfriend.
• A friend’s boyfriend recommended a specific razor to shave my legs, because I’m a “big girl.”
• I have naturally rosy cheeks. People don’t understand that and I’ve been told several times to lay off the blusher.

I’m sure there’s more but the part of my brain that allows me to hold on to some self esteem is blocking those memories right now.

What’s the most outrageous thing someone’s said to you?

The cat’s plaintive cries drift up the basement stairs and filter through the door. She’s in timeout, if you will, for the nasty stunt she pulled the other night.

Mid-afternoon on Saturday last summer, my roommate’s name popped up on my caller ID. Fearing a catastrophic event that claimed the life of my television and second-hand bed, I hit the green button to answer the call. Why else would she call on the weekend? We don’t hang out.

“So I went to the pet store with a friend and I found this cat that I think I really like,” she said. “Would you mind if I adopt her?”

I groan inside. I’ve never been a pet fan, sorry all you pet parents.

“Well, I’m not a huge fan of cats,” I replied. “But I don’t want to keep you from adopting a cat if that’s going to make you happy.” Besides, the cat would probably be around a lot longer than me. (I really need to move.)

So the cat came to live with us and has been tormenting me ever since. She’s evil.

My coworker dropped me off the other night around 11 p.m. I stumbled up the stairs, fumbled with the lock, bolted the door and dropped my bags on the hassock where my junk accumulates. I hit the kitchen and return to the hassock to grab my cellphone/alarm clock on my way to slumberland. That’s when I notice two brown logs laying in wait on the beige carpet.

I wrote a note saying the cat had an accident and left the gifts where they were deposited and headed to bed. Dawn rolled around and my roommate uncharacteristically didn’t come home. I worked from home that morning with a plethora of candles burning to mask any unpleasant odors. I refuse to clean up cat poo. (However I have no such qualms about cow manure. I’ve spent many, many hours cleaning up that. My sisters, friends and I used to walk barefoot through it telling ourselves we were getting a deluxe spa treatment. There’s not much to do where I come from.)

The cat’s literally on my sh!t list.

You pull into the parking lot and realize you left a candle burning at home. You have two choices: run home to extinguish the candle or be on time for your hard-to-get hair appointment. What do you do? Get the haircut or make sure you have a house to which to return?

The men at the supermarket sure seemed to like my new haircut. (Really. The checkout guy checked me out.)

The house smelled good when I walked through the door two hours later.

A light curtain of rain was falling. puddles of brown water pocked the surface of the Pennsylvania Turnpike as I returned this afternoon from my friend’s baby shower in Pittsburgh. I was weighing the pros and cons of a new job that might be offered to my sister as I sped across the Commonwealth.

Suddenly I was hurling toward the concrete barrier that separated me from the west-bound lanes of traffic. I jerked the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes. My life flashed before my eyes and I screamed repeatedly. The car made a 360-degree circle and continued another 90 degrees, the back wheels moved down the rumble strips as my car continued East-bound, sideways. I finally came to a stop and looked out the driver’s side window to see a gold car and a tractor trailer flashing their four-ways. My sister’s voice streamed from the cell phone clutched in my right hand, near the gear shift.

Television shows, books and “safety ed” teachers tried to impress upon me the proper way to handle such a situation, but as the khaki concrete loomed in front of me, my mind was blank. Maybe someone should invent a Wii game to simulate hazardous driving conditions so I’ll be prepared for the third time I do a 360 in precipitation. (If such a product hits the market let me know. I’ll buy a Wii.)

How did I spend my morning? By taking photos of kids wearing milk mustaches and giving the kids a tour of the office.

How did my sister spend her morning? By dodging fireworks her students set off near gas tanks outside her classroom.

She gets to do all the fun stuff.

I was waiting in line after the candlelight Christmas service, wearing an adorable dress suit, when my former Sunday School teacher said to me, “You remind me so much of your Aunt Janet.”

“What - an old maid?!” I responded.

Aunt Janet is my great-grandfather’s sister and I can’t even hazard a guess of her age. My great-grandmother is 86-ish, but I think Aunt Janet is a little younger than that. She looks darn good for her age, at any rate. She’s had quite the life. She was a nurse in the Navy and has all kinds of degrees adorning her walls. She’s traveled all over the world and I’m sure she could tell stories that would make your hair curl. But she’s never been married, and the only guy that anyone talks about with a romantic connotation lived with his mother.

That exchange rolled over me as I folded clothes and reflected on a coworker’s announcement earlier today.

The years after college are marked with waves. First was the wedding wave, seven weddings one summer, six the next and others littered between. Three cousins get married in four months two summers ago. Two of my younger sisters have walked down the aisle. I’m riding in the baby waves right now. My nephew just turned one. The other weekend I went to a pregnancy party and this weekend is my college best friend’s baby shower in Pittsburgh. These three cousins have all become fathers in the past few months. A message was delivered to my inbox on Friday listing at least six sorority sisters who are pregnant and a coworker just today announced she’s due in November. This doesn’t even include the bloggers I stalk read.

Like all little girls I played bride and dreamed of my wedding day. Remember those dolls with the diapers that disintegrated to reveal the baby’s gender? The doll Santa brought me turned out to have a twin! But these days I don’t see myself getting married or having children. I would love to, but I just don’t see it in my future. I have a pretty big hang up that keeps me from getting too close to men. I don’t know if I tell myself I won’t get married so I won’t be dissappointed if it never happens or whether it’s related to how I deal with what I really want but over which I don’t have ultimate control. Like when I ran for milk queen. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t going to win so when my name was called it was a huge surprise (only not really because I totally knew I was going to win).

Being single is expensive and Carrie had the right idea on Sex and the City when she threw herself a party and registered for Manolos.

I know a marriage or children do not a complete life make. My question is this: how did Aunt Janet get so rich after buying gifts for all of the engagement parties, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, weddings, pregnancy parties, baby showers and birthday parties and never receiving gifts for the same milestones in her own life? And do they make Manolos to fit size 10 feet?

As I participated in the Dash for Organ Donor Awareness yesterday, my observant olfactory glands caught a whif of unpleasant second-hand smoke. Thanks for poisoning my lungs at a transplant fund-raiser, jackhole.

Before the 5K kicked off, the announcer wished a happy 21st birthday to a liver transplant recipient who’s had the liver for 19 years. I turned to my friend M and asked if liver transplant recipients celebrate that birthday in the traditional way.

PS-The “dash” was more like a crawl. It took me twice as long to complete the 3K walk as it did to run the 5K earlier that morning. But it was fun, and for a good cause.

I would love to say it was because I was recuperating from the crazy awesome weekend I had that it took me so long to write a blog entry about it, but that would be a lie. I’ve just been kind of lazy. After the tumultuous previous weekend, I was due a little stress-free me time.

I had a fabulous weekend packed with new adventures that made me fall more in love with Philadelphia.

First up, a four mile run on Saturday along Kelly Drive on the banks of the Schuylkill River. As the wind blew threw my hair, I passed crew teams, babes in strollers (and in shorts, ba-dum-ching), dogs straining again their leashes, couples strolling hand-in-hand and groups of awkward high school track stars. The cherry trees are in full bloom and the sun kept slipping behind fluffy white clouds.

As a lifelong Presbyterian, I’ve been looking for a church near my burg that meets my needs: an atmosphere I like and social actives for people my age. That’s a tall order to fill among Presbyterian churches near me, I guess. One church I visited had at most 15 people filling the pews. I don’t think any was younger than 65. I ride past the First Presbyterian Church everyday and finally broke down and went downtown for a service and it was totally worth it! It’s a gorgeous building, complete with Tiffany windows, and there’s even a young adults group and coffee hour after with food!

I love a good museum so I finally headed to the Franklin Institute and did something new: I became a member. I’m looking forward to the promised young professional events and special member privileges. Plus I got to ride the skybike for free! I don’t think I got the full experience. There’s a Star Wars exhibit, complete with costumed characters on select days. Guess which day was selected? It was packed… good thing I can go back!

Then it was on to hear the utterly charming Jennifer Weiner appeared at the nearby library. She’s so witty and I can’t wait to read her new book.

A brand new Desperate Housewives rounded out my pleasure-filled weekend.

How was your weekend? Hope this one’s great!