Merry Christmas!!

Greetings from Lake Charles, where the weather is changing faster than a casino craps table. The city is like a scene from a holiday post card; minus the veritable winter wonderland of Christmas decorations and a frosty storm. However, I did see a guy in a Santa suit who meanders between cars announcing: “My name is Forever and I am a poet.”

Well, we’re in the home stretch. Two days from today is Christmas. Or, as I call it, Xanax Appreciation Day. The airports, railways and roadways will soon be filled with travelers heading home to be reminded of why they no longer live there (I obviously didn't think that through). Then, on Christmas Eve, families across this great land will gather around the table for heaping portions of turkey and passive aggression. All this talk about food is not to diminish the true spirit of the holiday. In fact, there is much for which I am thankful: my family, my friends, my job, Bella’s snoring in my ear... the list goes on and on.

People tend to say that Christmas has gotten too commercial, but I beg to differ. Take for example that sweet, soft-spoken couple I stood next to in the grocery store line. I mean, if I didn’t know any better I would have thought they were Mary and Joseph themselves. Because if there’s one thing I remember about Mary and Joseph it’s that they got into a obscenity-laced fight over whether Baby Jesus wanted an iPhone or a Blackberry Storm.

Of course, the economic crisis is only adding to holiday stress. And Jolly Ol’ Saint Timothy F. Geithner apparently isn’t doing enough to calm investor jitters. I feel like he’s about one congressional hearing away from recommending all Americans ask Santa for Powerball tickets.

Take comfort, though. It’s not all doom and gloom this Christmas season. In fact, if you want some holiday cheer just take a drive to my house and visit my dog, Bella. She’s the one standing outside our apartment holding mistletoe above her head.

Speaking of Bella, she and I were bummed out we didn’t get invited to the premiere of the Nutcracker this Christmas season. So, as a sign of protest, we’re making our own competing albeit low budget dance number: The Peanut Cracker. But instead of a lovable young girl who gets into magical situations in her dreams, our dance number will be about a foul-mouthed Miniature Schnauzer who gets into fights with our landlord and shoplifts peanut butter crackers.

Many of you have asked what I’m getting Bella, for Christmas. Well, as is tradition I’ll be filling her stocking with packs of dog bones. Then, under the tree, she’ll be getting some Peach Schnapps and fireworks. And, if there’s money left over, that Amy Winehouse wig she wanted. I’m sure Bella will pretend she loves the gifts we buy her. I can hear her now: “Oh wow, mom and dad, (awkward pause) just what I always wanted.”

Which, coincidentally, was also Baby Jesus’s reaction when he got his new BlackBerry.

SEPTEMBER 5th - ODE TO MY DAD!!!!!

I remember the first time I thought my dad was a cool guy. It was my 2ND grade year at the Prien Lake Elementary. “Dad!” I shouted as I chased him down the hallway and gently placed him in a headlock, “I entered myself in a art contest and I have to draw a dinosaur and mine looks horrible, will you help?” Ever the class act, he graciously agreed to help. It was a moment for which I had been waiting my whole life…or at least since my grandparents got cable. I won the contest- it was the coolest looking dinosaur I had ever seen. To this day, I wish I would have framed that poster board dinosaur...

While other kids my age were busy developing social skills, I sat wrapped in a quilt watching him paint all of these amazing pictures. Afterwards I’d go upstairs to rehearse my brush stroke techniques and listen to the Bob Dylan or Donovan tape I swiped from his collection. It was a golden age. I always felt a connection with my dad over music and our hatred of math!

Fast forward to 2010 and I’m still in awe of my dad. It’s cliche to say he’s an artist, but he is. He is someone to admire and the memorable moments are too many to count. Nowadays – a couple of years of being on my own – I find myself playing it cool when we talk art or music but it really does make me giddy inside.

So, Dad, here’s to you. And congratulations on your many achievements in life. Even though you have grown another year older, I’m sure the final chapter is yet to be written and once it is - it's going to be an amazing read.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to put some music on and think of good memories. Happy Birthday, Dad!!!

It's All Downhill From Here

All this talk about graduations has gotten me a little bummed out. Sure, unemployed secretaries aren’t exactly A-list speakers, but I’m still disappointed that not even one college invited me to deliver my inspirational address, “It’s All Downhill From Here.”

So, I thought I’d share with you – you being my Miniature Schnauzer, whom I have dressed up in a cap and gown, Ms. Bella Moon– what I had hoped to share with the Class of 2010:

Good morning Class of 2010. It’s an honor to be here at (insert name of unaccredited school and/or halfway house). Never in a million years did I think I’d be awarded a doctorate, especially one printed on such lovely colored paper. But today isn’t about my degree or the pharmacist who is now obligated to fill those prescriptions I’ve been calling in for myself. It’s about you. You, who have proven that hard work and perseverance do indeed pay off. You, who exemplify the notion that education is the key to success. You, who will end up defaulting on your student loans to support your addiction to doughnut holes. Indeed, today is a happy day. And you have much of which to be proud. But as joyous an occasion as this is, let’s not forget that these are challenging times for college graduates. The economy is in tough shape. Jobs are scarce. You know it, I know it, my dog knows it. True, the president has said he sees "glimmers of hope" but America’s fiscal health is still not what it used to be. Nor, for that matter, is my dog’s stash of Dingo Bones. The good news is that you now have the necessary education and skills to be competitive in the global job market. The bad news is that, even if you get a job, everything will not always go according to plan. And I’m not just talking about marketing your “Scentsy wickless warmers and scents are for Lovers” rain bonnets. Don’t get me wrong, you may very well wind up with a wonderful job. A job that will pay the rent with enough left over for a rainy day. Perhaps you’ll even be able to afford those arm muscle implants you’ve been wanting. And sure, you may plan on becoming a successful working parent. But unless you simultaneously give birth to a minimum of eight babies, no one will care.

I know what you’re thinking: Who’s she to give advice? Well, I don’t want to brag, but I did once work at a tanning parlor. And, of course, there’s the business sense I acquired while selling knock-off Lacoste shirts outside of my mini-van. But, when it comes down to it, I owe what I know to my education. Just like you.

Congratulations Class of 2010. May you have much love and success. Or at the very least a hot set of arms and some fabulous Scentsy warmers and scents.

P.S. If you need some warmers and/or scents... come see me :)

Farewell to the College Years...

Well, here we are. My last few days of living in Florida with a grad student. To be honest, I'm not quite sure how it's going to feel when he starts working. We got married when he was in law school and I have gotten used to living vicariously through him. These last couple of years have been the best college years of my life.

Anyway, the situation remains... um, how can I put this delicately... uncertain. Everywhere you look, graduates are walking around depressed, angry and paranoid. And those are the ones who already have their jobs locked down. I guess none of us should be shocked, considering how far the bar has been lowered in recent months. Forget about that raise or promotion, you should now consider your day a success if you haven't been laid off by your employer. Yes, it's a true golden age. And sure, we have to give President Obama time to turn things around. Despite what you may have heard about my problems in the Whole Foods checkout line, I – like all Americans – am nothing if not patient and understanding. So, in that spirit, the president can have until the end of this blog post to fix the economy.

At the end of the day, of course, we are only human. And I myself am a little embarrassed that – even though it's not arrived yet – the first taste of reality will be that student loan bill. I know, I know... I should have realized that a student loan did not mean free money. But the fact of the matter is that I was running low on basic household necessities. I mean, cut me some slack, my panic room wasn't going to fill itself up with cream cheese frosting and Cheetos, now was it?

Finally, I say farewell to Florida... It was fun! I have met some wonderful friends and I hope you'll keep ignoring my phone calls and texts. Melissa, we can chat over Facebook! Gainesville has been interesting to say the least and I will always look back at my time here with fond memories. So, farewell to the college years and cheers to becoming a grown-up.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

I am not good with obligations. The only after school activity at which I ever showed a tiny minuscule of skill while growing up was Ballet. And even then I was mediocre. It’s not that I didn’t want to be good with obligations. It just wasn’t in the cards. And, frankly, I was fine with that. But my mother, intent on instilling in me a commitment to one day put her in a nursing home against her will, insisted I stick with the activities on which she had signed me up for.

There was gymnastics and piano lessons, which I objected to on the grounds that there wasn’t a snack bar. There was basketball, which discriminated against those of us unnerved by buzzers. There was golf, which my dad and brother put a stop to. There was tennis, which mean't I had to fetch balls for the coach and run suicides. And, of course, there was any and every type of dance imaginable, an experience that immediately downgraded my mother’s twilight years from a mediocre nursing home to one known for its health code violations.

Still, I hung in there, remaining on whatever recital or sponsored-by-the-local-pizza-parlor team I was on until the end of each year. And, as much as I hate to admit it, not every obligation was awful. Sure, I spent a lot of time on the sidelines, staring at my shoelaces and planning what I’d say when Connie Chung grilled me on the circumstances surrounding my mom’s lawnmower “accident.” But, there was the occasional triumph, like the time I scored a goal or got to be in The Nutcracker and wear toe shoes. I can remember when I slipped on first base in a Slow Pitch Softball game. Let me tell you, it doesn’t get much better than that. It’s a moment that’s stayed with me all these years, not just because I can so clearly recall the Keds I had on while running to first base, but because it was witnessed by my mother. Also in attendance at that game was my father, who apparently enjoyed that moment so much I was forced to resign Softball.

Fast forward to the present…I’ve long since come to terms with my place on the obligations ladder. And after years of me responding to her challenges with my rolling of the eyes, my mom has stopped trying to recruit me for anything that involves fresh air and/or character building.

Nevertheless, our bond is strong and I realize that I am, in many respects, who I am because of my mother. A passion for philanthropy, an addiction to Chevy Chase movies and the ability to sniff out any Ice Cream parlor within a 25-mile radius; our similarities outweigh our differences.

She is a woman of humility, compassion and respect…and I wish her a very happy Mother's Day. That said, the nursing home is a done deal.