Leap for leap day

I'm so excited today! Today is the very last day of February 2008 which, for me, has been one of the lowest months I've had in a long time. Today's paper confirms that I'm not just a crazy, psycho, but there is documented proof of why this month has sucked.

According to the Boston Globe:

"It rained, snowed, or sleeted 14 of the first 28 days of the month. That doesn't include today's bonus leap day, when 1 to 3 more inches of snow are expected.

And it is not just the cold rain and snow. Daylight has been shrouded in clouds roughly 60 percent of the month, according to the sunshine recorder at Blue Hill Observatory."

Snow? Sleet? Rain? No daylight? No wonder my boyfriend cowers in a corner (thanks, Matt) whenever I enter a room. Last night I hit a low - swearing and scowling as I went to 4 stores looking for a birthday present for my friend. "How dare she have a birthday!" I grumbled. "Some people can be so selfish!"

Yeah, Roz, time to embrace March and let go of this awful, awful month.

If I could kick February in the ass on it's way out - I would.

Runaway

My sister Celia told me a story yesterday about her childhood that I never heard before. I thought I'd heard them all. She was the "wild" one in the family. The one who in her teenage years, fell asleep in the back of truck and woke up in New Hampshire. The one who had the wild parties when my parents weren't home. The one who got sent to Catholic school because she was so "bad."

She really paved the way for me - for all of us siblings - (6 in total). I called her yesterday to thank her for her trail blazing. My mother had called me to say congratulations for deciding to move in with my boyfriend. Congratulations?! If this had happened 20 years ago she would have been crying, inviting priests over for dinner, bemoaning the fact that I was going to be living in sin, and surely going to hell. Now she's calling to congratulate me!? This is an awesome transformation.

So thank you Celia, for "breaking-in" my parents for me. Thank you.

So the story Celia told me is as follows. At 11 years old she and a boy friend (not her boyfriend, but a boy who was a friend) decided to run away to Mexico. He stole $50 from his dad and gave it to her. She went out and bought Levi's. (I don't really know how that part fits into the story), but, anyway, she was caught by my mother as she was running for the border.

My mom was teaching piano in the living room when she saw a suitcase swinging by a rope outside the window. My sister had was lowering her belongings to the ground as part of her escape plan. If it hadn't been for the suitcase debacle, I'm sure they would've hit Mexico by sundown.

I asked my sister if her daughter, now 8, has tried to run away yet. She has not. I was stunned! "What's wrong with her? " By the time I was her age, all of my siblings were running away on a weekly basis. I was just conforming to the norm when I stuffed my pillowcase full of possessions, grabbed a blanket and my teddy bear, and headed out into the woods.

I think this speaks a great deal to our home life growing up. We were all just trying to get away from each other - to have some sort of privacy, and to get some sort of acknowledgment from our parents that we existed and mattered.

I'm very surprised that we don't currently live in separate countries now.

Tell it like it is

My friend Michelle and I are considering developing new line of greeting cards called "Tell it like it is"
They'd be filled with sayings like
"I've been meaning to tell you. . .
you just don't mean that much to me."

This one is for my upstairs neighbor
"I don't mention it enough but. . .
I can hear you yawning every night"

or this one for my neighbor across the hall
"You've been there for me in the past. . .
but you never, EVER lift a finger to freaking shovel the driveway!"

or this one
"You are nice and sweet on the outside. . .
but a raging lunatic whenever you open your mouth."

or
"I've always considered you one of my best friends. . .
and you make way more money than I do, and live in a mansion and you never pick up the check when we go out to dinner."

Last minute addition by Michelle:
"I always meant to tell you. . .
I like you better when you're drunk."

ahem. February is getting to me.

Just a little shell shocked

As the girl next to me on the elliptical trainer was singing along with her ipod this morning, I was attempting not to fall down with laughter watching Meredith Vieira grasping at straws in an attempt to eek any sort of reaction out of this lottery winning couple.

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/23333028/

Meredith does a great job restraining herself as Tonya Harris weaves her gripping tale.

Harris starts off by saying she didn't play the number, but then she goes on to say something about calling her daughter, "makin' sure 'bout the kidses' birthday" and goes on to describe some kind of power outage. Her story culminates with a trip to the store for her husband, where she does, in fact, (wait for it. . .) play the number. (Collective, mass exhalation!)

Wow. That trip to the store came out of nowhere!

Apparently the winner not only receives $270 million, but a lifetime supply of quaaludes which these two appear to be enjoying immensely.

I think my favorite part is when Mr. Harris proudly holds up the winning ticket.

Projecting projects

Sorry I didn't write yesterday fans, it was not that you were not in my thoughts, but I was at a company "retreat" the entire day and away from my computer.

It's going to snow a lot today and I'm not feeling it. The shoveling that lies ahead is dreaded.

So what can I recommend for today? Little things. Here is a list of little things that I always forget about doing. They are small things, but once I've done them, I always feel so much better:

Polishing my shoes. I never do this, but like I said, when I do, I'm like "Wow! My shoes looked so crappy before, and now they look so great!" It's a good, small, satisfying project that can easily be accomplished while watching American Gladiator.

Cleaning the light switches, phones, and remote controls in your house. Oh! When you think of how many times you've rested your pretty digits on each of these items after your fingers have been in the peanut butter jar - the realization is staggering!!

Refolding your clothes. My drawers get out of whack pretty fast. When I take the time to take everything out and refold them, the result is a pretty package that makes me wanna pucker!

Rolling coins. I LOVE to roll coins. Am I weird? Yes! I'm just not one of those types who goes to the coin machine and dumps them in. Too easy peasy. I hand roll, baby. Having all those coin logs around comes in handy. I've already rolled $20 towards my trip to Italy. AW YEAH!

Cleaning your makeup brushes. Holla! Do you do this every week? Hell no. Should you? Hell yes! Nothing beats the feeling of a clean, soft brush upon your delicate face. Here's my system: Take a mild soap and soak those nasty brushes for at least 5 mins. Then, take it to the street and hand wash each one until they don't rub any make up off on your hand. Rinse and let dry on the edge of the sink so that the brush hangs over the sink bowl. This will ensure that the brush will retain it's luscious form and not get all flat on one side.

Shredding documents. I love you my sweet shredder. You are the bread and I am your cheddar. My files are pretty full. So it's very important that I only keep what I need to. How long do you have to save stuff like phone bills? I usually save them for 1 year. I keep a file of "To Shred" on my shelf and let the old crap pile up until I have enough for one big, super, scintillating shredding session. This way, the satisfaction just goes on and on and on!

Do you have any projects that you do that make you feel clean on the inside?
Please share!

We're not gonna' take it!

I think I'm suffering from anxiety about my impending move. Last night, I dreamt that when I awoke, one of my apartment walls was missing. The rain was pouring in and I was cold. I went to call my landlady and had a difficult time finding the number and pressing the buttons on the phone. I hate that when that happens in a dream. My hands were shaking so much.

When I reached my landlady, before I could get a word in about the missing wall, she began to accuse me of subletting and having my boyfriend over far too much. "Of course, you two work together," she stated in her accusatory tone. (As if that mattered!) "No, no we don't!" I professed.
She told me she was going to raise the rent because I was a loud person, and I had broken the subletting rules.
I woke up before I could tell her about the wall.
Drat!

This dream also comes on the tails of a scary car moment that occurred yesterday. My car decided to pull a Steven King "Christine" moment and start accelerating uncontrollably all by itself. That wasn't fun. My mechanic says that all should be well now, but while it was happening, I was one freaked out chicka!

There are moments in your life you just don't expect and can't control - that make your heart race and your breathing fierce - like your apartment wall disappearing, or your car deciding to drive all by itself.
When those times hit, I think it's best to do what I did yesterday - pull over and call for help. Or, wake yourself the fuck up and realize that "Hey, that lady is a big cup of crazy and I don't have to take that shit!" Sometimes I forget that part, the waking myself up part and I just take it. I'm gonna' try to pull over way more often.

Eye patches and tacos make the world go round

Mmmmkay. . .
My sister, Laura, is at a conference this week which just so happens to be in Mexico. She couldn't have picked a better time to go. The weather here on the East coast has just been abyismal. February is not my month.
In fact, unless you get the opportunity to shove off to a warm locale, it's best to skip February entirely.

I think my sister is having a better February than I am. Here's a sniglet from our most recent IM session.

Laura:Yesterday Andy and I signed up for dinner cruise. The guy said we could watch the sunset and it was a lobster dinner on a boat.

So we thought that sounded really nice and chill and relaxing.

We get there and we're standing in line waiting to get on the boat and all of sudden I see a dude in a pirate hat and boots, and I was like, "Andy look, it's a pirate!"

me: did he smack you?

Laura: No, he saw the guy too and I said, "Wouldn't it be hysterical if there was like a pirate theme to our cruise?" Hahahahahahah

So, guess what?

me: there was a pirate cruise

Laura: It was a total pirate themed cruise, no, make that a Mexican pirate cruise.

Complete with hangings and drinking games and sword fights and they made me sit on some guys back while he did sit ups and dancing and other pirate antics.

me: naturally

Sounds like we all should could use a little Mexican pirate cruise -or at least a virtual one.

Talkin' 'bout love

Valentine's Day. It's a candy holiday.
I believe there are certain holidays just designed to keep you chubby.
Vday is one of them. I mean, what would Valentine's Day be with out chocolate, and of course those adorable, teeth rotting conversation hearts?
I bought a six pack of the aforementioned hearts on Sunday (the Lord's day).
They were from Necco - which I consider to be the master of all conversation heart producers.
Sadly, upon opening the box, the contents were stale and half of the "conversation" on the hearts was illegible - unaligned love letters. That didn't deter me from enjoying the satisfying sugar rush, but I was a bit let down. I long for the chewier, dare I say 'moister' convo. heart along with a more enjoyable 'conversation.'
Perhaps I'm being too picky here. It's akin to expecting Ryan Seacrest to recite Shakespere- wanting your sugar and some sense to go along with it.
The best that Necco had to offer was "Say yes." I even mildly enjoyed the sassy "Date me."
But I couldn't help but wanting something a bit more, well, conversational, like "Lasso me!" or "Take a whiff."
Now those are guaranteed conversation starters!
Perhaps Brachs has a better offering.
I do find their candy corn to be of a superior quality.

You gotta start somewhere. . .

You gotta start somewhere. . .Good God! I'm blogging!

Has it really come to this? Well, friends. . .yes, it has. Thanks to my recent encouragement by respected blog-diva Duck and my super talented office-mate Michelle, who’s got her fingers in all sorts of creative pots, I'm dipping my big toe into the pool of blogdom with a resounding "thwap!"

"Sacre bleu!" As my fantastic friend Sara always says as she imitates the frail, ancient, constantly pickled French man Roget who used to (chastise us) maitre 'd at the restaurant where we both worked in the early 90s. When I would come in for the morning shift Roget would usually announce his meal plans to me in his signature raspy, barely audible, heavy French accent.

"Rosa, tonight for me and Mimi, I make Beef Bourgogne!"

Mimi was his cat. He was constantly referring to the other waitresses as "Gigi", "Babbette" or "Fifi". And although his handwriting was barely legible, he insisted on writing all the waiters names down along with their station assignments every morning. This is how one girl named Sara, came to be known simply as “Bandit.”

I fondly recall one wintery evening he took me and “Gigi” out to dinner at the now defunct “Chez Jean” just outside Harvard Sq. I tried escargot for the first time. He even showed me how to drink Pernod like a proper member of French café society.

So, I suppose it is oddly fitting on this eve of love I’ve chosen to write my first post about one who always appreciated all things to do with amour - Monsieur Roget.