A Room of One's Own

Going away

I am feeling the need to disappear for a little. I am way to overworked and run-down and stressed out to even function as a normal human being. I'm leaving a trail of people with bitten off heads everywhere I go. It's not pretty. I don't like it.

I was talking to a friend on the way home last night and told her I'm having a hard time focusing on anything positive right now. Usually, I'm so optimistic that it's almost annoying. I need life to throw me a little something good. Just a little nugget of good. I'm not asking for life changing good, just a little something.

I'm thinking of heading out of town for a couple days. Nowhere big. There's a hotel in Prescott I love. Old historic hotel with a big porch and upstairs balcony. Bathtubs with claw feet. Cute little small bar in the lobby where the owners, Frank and Kathie, will get you a glass of wine. I'm thinking it would be nice to get up there and spend some time. See the fall colors we miss in Phoenix. Mill around the antique stores. Hang out in the town square and watch people. Sit on that big balcony and write for a bit. Try my hand at altitude running. I need to disconnect. I don't want to lose my happy.

I just kept going...

Today was not a good day. Today was horrible. Today was filled with moments where I just stared out my office window and tried not to cry. Today was one of those days that rocks your core and rattles your cage just a little bit. I don't like that.

I figured I'd eat a little dinner when I got home and go for my run. I was only planning to do a short run. Somehow, around mile 5, I turned into Forrest Gump. The heat has broken in Phoenix and the nights are actually getting cool. I live out in no man's land so it's quiet. The area has soft trails and you can still smell the mesquite trees and creosotes in the air. Perfect conditions to just keep running. So I did.

I was armed with my iPod and enough music to run across the state if I wanted to. There is just something about being totally alone with nothing but your thoughts and any music you want at your fingertips. There were a few moments I didn't think about anything, just the moment. Joe Cocker's Feelin' Alright came on and it felt so good I had to listen to it twice. I found a hidden version of Wave on Wave at the end of the last song on Pat Green's album. It's amazing. Beenie Man got me up the first hill.

The best, and when I'm hurting tomorrow I'll be thankful for it, was climbing back up the small hill going to my community, toward the end of the run, with the sound turned up as loud as it would go, was Mahalia Jackson singing Precious Lord. I had to actually stop running for a minute. I've annihilated my body but I think my soul feels a little better. Not a lot, but enough.

23 songs. 10 miles. 1 hour. 50 minutes.

Just one more thing that makes me goofy

My house has not sold yet. 48 days on the market. Of course, this has not stopped me from checking out a few new digs online to see what's out there, where and if it's in my price range. I'm trying not to get my hopes up but when the house sells, I'm going to need to move fast to find a house and put a contract in place.

This is not what makes me goofy. What makes me goofy is that I've already started decorating a house that I don't have. And I don't mean that I have chosen one said house. It's just decorating in general. I have a stack of dog-earred magazines on my coffee table. Curtains, new linens, bookcases, paintings, lamps, you name it. Maybe I'm trying to distract myself from the fact that my house is not actually selling. I like projects. I need a project.

In unrelated news: I caught the second episode of Studio 60 last night. I could not love this show any more. I could not love Bradley Whitford any more. I fell asleep with Pirates of Penzance in my head.

Everyday is like Sunday

I wish this were true. I can't tell you how much I love Sunday. I firmly believe in the Sunday as the day of rest philosophy. I'm really good at Sunday. Really good.

I sleep in. Get up and immediately fill the house with soul shaking gospel music. Make a kick ass latte in the large mug you could imagine. It's like a bowl. I made one for a friend once and he called is cake in a cup. Yummy. Today, I fried up a stupid amount of bacon in my new cast iron. It's looks just pretty and happy now. Had that with eggs and toast. Set my Fantasy football line up. Sit down and read every section of the Sunday paper. Play with the crossword. Straighten the house up, take a shower and then it's football all day long. If there's not an afternoon game I particularly care about, I'll comb the TV for a good sappy romantic comedy. Never fails. There's always one.

When it gets colder outside the whole thing gets even better. That's when I get to add lighting a fire in the fireplace, making some kind of soup or comfort food, baking something way tasty and blankets on the couch. This winter, I'm hoping it gets even better. As soon as I'm in a place of my own, I hope to add friends to the mix. I want to do this with a bunch of people around to enjoy it as well. Go on my need to feed people and have them happy.

I could kill someone with this!

Today, I braved the Cabela's Superstore for Lodge cast iron. My intention was a dutch oven. It's fall and soup needs to be made for lazy Sunday football watching. I've lost the Le Crueset dutch oven in the divorce, damn it. Soup requires a dutch oven. Period. I'm always wanted cast iron. My mom has her mother's cast iron skillet. I tried to steal it once. That didn't go over so well. She's not handing that thing over until she's six feet under. I'd rather have my mom than the skillet, so I'm going to have to suck it up and buy my own.

I see the 7 qt. dutch oven and it's just gorgeous. Heavy as hell with the lid and the wire handle and everything. I am purely in love with it instantaneously. I start poking around and see a nice looking skillet. It's only a 10 1/4 inch. This darling gentleman goes and gets me a 12 inch. Then, and this is the glorious part, I ask how much this stuff is going to cost me. It's so dirt cheap I nearly kiss the man. Dutch oven is $39.99, 12" skillet is $14.99 and the 10 1/4" is $9.99. Needless to say, I bought all of it.

And it's not the preseasoned stuff. You can't buy that. It's just bad practice. So both skillets are in my ovens right now coated in lard and getting happy and seasoned. The dutch oven is going in next. I'm downright giddy about it. I am dying to fry something. Anything. Probably chicken. Soaked in buttermilk and all floured up. My Gawd. Nothing makes me quite as happy as new cookware. 

What could be better?

Yet another girly moment happening here.

Getting dressed was delightful this morning. My skinny jeans are loose on me. And, by skinny jeans I don't mean those heinous peg leg pants that are fashionable now. I mean skinny jeans in the way that when you're feeling skinny you can squeeze into them. My belt is in a whole other notch.

I'm also wearing the deal of the century cashmere sweater I got this summer for a whole whopping $6.99. And the Jimmy Choo boots. To say I feel sassy today might just be a tad of an understatement.

Helping a sister out

I have forgotten what it's like to be surrounded by Yentes. I'm finding I'm incrediblly amused by it. It's public knowledge that I am freight training toward singledom. And it's started already. The Yentes have come out of the woodwork. They, too, roll mad deep, yo.

I started a leadership class this past Friday. It's kind of a big deal locally and my boss was the Executive Director of the organization for a few years. She asked how my first class went and one of her first questions was if there were any cute single guys in the class. Nice job. She's killing me.

Then, I'm meeting with two guys on my staff and going over a whole array of issues. I mention that my boss's counterpart at another project is very good at his job and it's quite inspiring to be around him and how I've learned a great deal from him. Of course, their reaction was not one of interest in the general good of the organization and how this guy might help us. Oh no. They said, "Cool! Is he single?" Way to work as a team, fellas!

My favorite actually happened at the leadership class and I'm still laughing my ass off over it. Oddly, the divorce lawyer who is doing our mediation is in the class with me. We had a reception at a swanky hotel in Scottsdale after the first class. We're standing at the valet waiting for our cars and she askes me, "Did you meet Kurt? He's a doll! He's single." This from the lady who is finalizing my divorce. My Gawd.

i don't know whether to be flattered or very very scared.

Ten more hours

I think I officially need to slow down. Yesterday, I pulled 14 hour day. I was driving home last night at 9:00, listening to Ray Charles sing Georgia on My Mind and I just wanted to pull the car over and sit there. Do a cry-and just sit combo. I just felt over whelmed.

I have been running around in circles trying to figure out what I'm doing and where I'm going. The good thing is that I feel like I'm getting somewhere. I don't think I've ever felt this good, looked this good or been as professionally sound. The bad thing is that I am exhausted. I am plum worn out. Is this the price I have to pay for trying to be well adjusted, well rounded and someone that I can be proud of?

I do not want to be the person I was 9 months ago. At the same time, I want to be able to enjoy life a little more. I need a little more time for myself where I'm not doing something that results in something. It just is.

I could die happy right now

I got home from work late today. Around 7:00. I've had an insane day and it just got long. I get home and lo and behold there is a box for me. Now, I've forgotten that my friend Kelli emailed me that she needed my address again and had no idea what I possibly could have ordered that came in a good size box. I attack the box. What I saw inside transformed me into a whole other person. I became Ralphie opening his Red Ryder BB Gun on Christmas morning.

There was a plum colored box inside. It said Jimmy Choo.

I nearly fell over. Clearly, someone has played a joke on me. I grab the card. I stared at the plum colored Jimmy Choo bag in the plum colored Jimmy Choo box. Then I gasped. Apparently, Ashley, my Great Friend of the Fabulous Shoes, had sent these darling boots to Kelli and told her that when she was done, she needed to send them to me. I cannot tell you how precious they are. They are beautiful. They are girly. They are a perfect fit.

In the last few months I have been working steadily at rebuilding my life and it's been hard work and very tiring. Ashley understands that if there is anything that could possibly make a girl feel absolutely fabulous in a time when she really should feel and be fabulous - it's designer shoes.

It happened again

I got completely sucked in by Hugh Grant again. This time is was Two Weeks Notice. I'm beginning to think I have a problem. Is there a Hugh Grant 12-step program?

Here's what I've realized: I'm a total sap. Completely and totally a sap. I love mushy movies. I live for them. If it's a romantic comedy that ends up in some fabulous moment shared by a couple who has spent the last two hours torturing each other or themselves in the name of love, I am so there. Now, one would think that a nearly divorced woman such as myself might be just a tad bit bitter. Bitter does not become me. I remain the idealistic optimist.

The only problem that this creates is that it may perpetuate the problem Mia Farrow had in The Purple Rose of Cairo which she sums up by stating, "I've met a wonderful new man. He's fictional, but you can't have everything." Do these men actually exist in real life? Is it wrong of us to watch these movies and hope that there is some man out there that is that wonderful? Are we setting ourselves up to be let down? Are we setting men in our lives up for failure? I hope they're out there. I would hate to think the good ones just don't exist and I'm not willing to give up hope.

These are the questions I ask myself after sitting in my living room after yet another Hugh Grant movie has left me all weepy.