I Missed the Memo

I like my house. I don't l-o-v-e it, but the kitchen makes the cramped upstairs worth it. What I do NOT like is my neighborhood. I can hear the Sesame Street song in my head now "Oh, who are the people in your neighborhood, in your neighborhood, in your neigh-bor-hoo-ood..." Well, Snuffy, they are snobs.

I knew I was in trouble one day last summer, shortly after we moved in, when I pulled into our driveway and spied my next-door neighbor watering her landscaping (more on this later). She was outfitted in a tennis skirt, cutesy matching top, cardigan around her shoulders (hey, Muffy, you missed a spot!) and - the clincher - those little tennis socks with the balls at the heels. I didn't even know you could BUY those anymore! As I was wearing khaki shorts and a grungy t-shirt, I thought "Hmmm, this reeks of yummydom, no?"

Cut to the first cool day last fall, when the Central Bexley uniform was revealed to me: Capri-length yoga pants, a turtleneck and a North Face vest. I counted no less than 4 women on my block marching their kids to school in said uniform. Shouldn't they include this info in the closing? If the neighborhood association requires a North Face vest, than perhaps I can figure that into my closing costs (or, at the price of North Face, maybe my monthly payments).

We bought the house from our former rabbi, who loved to garden. I love the man still, but I have completely ruined dudes landscaping. I know he drives by every once in a great while and prays for my eternal soul and my black, black thumb. The summer we moved into the house - and this is not hyperbole - I replanted the damn flower boxes 5 times between Memorial Day and Labor Day. DeMonye's Greenhouse loves me. To make matters worse, the guy across the street owns a landscaping company, so I am quite sure we are a pox upon the neighborhood, what with the wilting and the dying.

I DO have to say that the one part of our neighborhood that I do love lives right next door. The Vitarteses (and I still can't figure out if there is more than one of them if they are "Vitarteses" or "Vitarti"). Until recently, mom had long-ish braided hair. They frequently wear tie-dye. The high school chic has a super-cool bohemian-style coat. They have giant dogs and more cats than I can count and their yard looks as bad as ours. They are unruly - for the Central Bexley crowd. I ADORE them.

"Come, Vitarti,"(that's what I'm goin' with) "Let us form a Hippy Uprising against these Prada-wearing, Beamer-loving maroons!" Screaming that from my front porch one day is my dream. The result being that the Zimmers and the Vitarti will rise up with our non-North-Face-having selves and convert the weaker yuppies into hybrid-driving, granola-munching hippies.

Hey, a girl can dream, yeah?

Moment of Clarity - While Unconscious

For the last three nights, I have had dreams about working for Obama. Two nights in a row, I was a speechwriter. Considering I think the man's oration is A-MAZ-ING, those were happy dreams, indeed.

Last night I had elevated myself to a potential candidate for VP. I was running against Michelle Obama, of course. In the dream, I was busily writing my own debate points and acceptance speech (Michelle told me in my dream that there was no way America would have 2 African Americans on the ticket...again I say, of course).

I have been really praying lately about finding my "passion." The thing that I truly want to do with my life. I think crafting presentations and messages for others might just be it. It was the part of my last job that I most enjoyed - the research, creativity, ability to combine my voice with the presenter's - I loved it.

Not having a background in media relations or PR, I think moving into a Director of Communications role - where this type of thing typically occurs - is out for now. However, I am researching to see if crafting presentations for others might be a marketable skill.

Several people have said I should write for a living. I would love to, but never know where to begin. Creating presentations and speeches for others allows me to A) have that starting point and B) use the writing talent my delusional friends think I may have.

I have not been this excited since I found out I could LEAVE work - oh the irony, I know. However, I am going to get back to researching to see if this could be an actual THING.

Thoughts?

Oh, the Irony

I had a FANTASTIC visit from an old friend last night. We were inseparable in grade school. Because of that inseparability, when we both went from public school to Catholic school the same year, the "IN" girls thought it would be funny to start rumors that we were too close, if you catch my drift. Nothing like trying to navigate your way through lesbian rumors at age 11. Jess and I were constantly harassed and, because her mom has common sense, Jess went right back to public school after 7th grade.

I mention this for two reasons. She is possibly the only other person on earth that truly understands my hatred for the 3-headed torture beast that was Jodi, Erin and Annie. We were discussing this during her visit last night.

Lo and behold, this morning in my Facebook account, I have received an invitation to join a group for St. Mary's Catholic School alumni. Surely, you jest. It was started by the above-mentioned Annie and, apparently, she would like to reconnect with old friends (re: prisoners of war).

This brings me back to a question asked on New Year's Eve: Do I spend more time living in the past, present or future? I spend time in all three, as I think all people do. However, the effects of 7th and 8th grade have had a huge impact on who I have become. I just can't let those wrongs go, as many times as I have tried. A lot of people have stories of being picked on, but these girls kicked it up a notch - they sent me Playboy magazine and filled out info that lead an Army recruiter call my house looking for me to enlist.

So the irony of Annie wanting to "reconnect" having just spoken about her last night is not lost on me. How to proceed? (And these are all rhetorical, since I've already decided...) Should I join the group and see who else shows up? There is no one from grade school I want to find that hasn't already found me on FB. But maybe this would help me get over the scars. Should I just ignore the invitation? I decided to ignore it and try, once again - in the new year, to just Let It Go.

The present is where it's at. And the future is even better. I'd like my answer next New Year's Eve to be "Present." But Jess and I did decide that we have another 2.5 years until our 20 year reunion and, therefore, to shape up. So, you know, living a little in the future couldn't hurt :)

Bewildered by the Bra

Now that my plant biology friend Erin has cleared up how we grow seedless things (oranges, watermelons, grapes) without seeds (it's splicing. Shhhhh...super-secret botany intel right there), I am free to ponder other things. Like why in the world would any woman, in her right mind, need an 18 Hour Bra?

I have owned many over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders in my life. Some of them comfortable, some of the fancy-schmancy (rarely does this combination exist simultaneously), NONE of which I cared to stay in for 18 entire hours.

Let us do the math here. Even on your best day, a day you might like to repeat a million times over - let's say your wedding day - you are not going to be in the same foundation garment for 18 straight hours. That would require being up, alert, showered and dressed by 6 a.m. (a miracle in itself at Chez Zimmer) and then staying that way all the way until midnight. MIDNIGHT, PEOPLE. What are you doing for 18 straight hours that you can't give The Girls a little relief?

And here is another question: What happens at 12:01? Poor Cinderella only had the misfortune of losing a Ferragamo and having to hoof it home. I shudder to think what would happen if, at the stroke of midnight, the 18 hour wonder simply collapses under the heft of my bosom with a flourish of metal and elastic (and likely snapping sounds). I could kill someone - or at least put their eye out. (Heh heh, that would make almost as good a story as "French Toast Induced Head Wound", no?)

I simply do not understand to whom Playtex is marketing. Senior Vice Presidents who like to party after work? Working mothers with dinner meetings? I cannot comprehend why someone would voluntarily wear an 18 Hour Bra. Am I over-thinking this?

While we're over-thinking, here is something that'll rock your world. Since bananas have no seeds, all the bananas in the world are virtually the SAME PLANT. We could endure a banana famine should just the right disease strike the banana crop. Every single plant would be wiped out.

There is some super-secret botany intel I just don't need to know. I mean, how hearty are bananas? Are they hearty enough to endure 18 hours in a Wonder Bra?

The Happiest of New Years

I asked Osi last night if he was happy or sad to see 2008 go. He said that the year had - in all - been pretty unremarkable. No huge gains, nothing horrible. Tru, dat. Since the past few months have been bumming me out with the job search, I am leaning more toward the "sayonara" end of things, but over all, it has been a pretty decent year. Let's review:

We met and fell in with some of the most fabulous people I think we will ever have in our lives. When you hear the phrase "life-long friends" I pray to the deity of your choice that it means these people. In fact, we spent one of the most fabulous New Year's Eves with some of them just last night.

We started at the Chambers', where we touched on all the forbidden topics, I think - religion, politics, and pictures of Pam's bachelorette party. Pam and Ken are fantastic and Pam and I are headed to New Orleans in three short weeks to attend a Sisterhood conference together. It is all part of my evil plan to get her to be co-president with me in 2 years. I think she's on to me. But she humors me, and - truthfully - that is part of the reason I love her. Isn't it always a little safer to humor the lunatic?

We moved from the Chambers' party, which we hated to leave, the the event we have been looking forward to since Thanksgiving: A Very Baskind New Year. I don't think New Year's celebrations get any better in my mind. It involved flannel pants, sparkling wine, cheese, chocolate and so much laughing that my face hurts this morning. We met fantastic new people and I don't think the room was without an outburst of laughter for more than 2 minutes at a time - literally. THAT is good stuff, people. Once you find that, you've got to dig in and make a home there (Or, as Liz Lemon would say, "I want to go to there.").

Also in 2008, I did get the Volunteer of the Year Award from Sisterhood and I made the decision to convert, so, you know, big Jewish year for me. Woop! And Osi has become a slave to, erm, I mean involved with Brotherhood. Seriously, though, I am so thankful he has found a group of guys to hang out with and talk football (even if their "staff meetings" are at Hooters - for the wings!). It's good to see him out with the boys. And they are all pretty good guys.

And in an effort to get something accomplished in the parenting arena this year (since the potty training has stalled and we were bink-free for 2 months before we discovered an abandoned binky and Grammy's...) we moved Jack to a toddler bed on Sunday. We have now had three out four uneventful nights of toddler-bed sleep. Yay!

Finally, we're looking forward to hosting the Cashmere Mafia and their spawn and staff (otherwise known as husbands) for a New Year's Day get-together today. Chili and beer and lots o' football. We plan on sending all the kids to the playroom with its glut of toys and telling them to have at it.

So, overall, as my dad would say, 2008 didn't suck. There is so much to look forward to in 2009 - a new job, conversion, no more diapers...it's going to be a fantastic year at Chez Zimmer. I hope yours is, too.