Mixed Tape Monday

So I was able to go back in time and tap into my days of Levis Jeans, Lucky Charms, and yellow neon attire in order to create another awesome 80s mix tape for a friend who celebrated the big 4-0 milestone this weekend.

I actually love making these for my comadres as I can’t remember ever getting one myself back in the day. I remember getting tapes, and I was grateful for those, but no one seemed to give me enough thought back then to take the time to make one of these for me.

But I get it … it took a while to listen to the radio for that one song to come out, to hear it in the privacy of the late night so that no one would interrupt your kick-ass mix by yelling at you for not picking something up, and then you had to hit the red record button at just the right moment so that you didn’t get the DJ calling out “THIS IS LOVE SONGS ON POWER 106!” Sometimes this was a two-man kind of job.

You had to reeeeeeaaaally love someone to go through all that.

I get it.

It wasn’t easy in those days, but plenty of people got them. I’d see them in the front pocket of their Jansport backpacks with some awesome artwork attached to the cover. I’d seen it! So I knew they existed. I knew it. They were out there … those 60 minutes of undying teenage love, and if you were lucky enough to get one … duuuuuuude.

So thinking back on how awesome it would have felt to get me one of those, I thought I’d make my own mix tapes for each of my comadres on their 40th birthdays to show them how special they were to me and how important their friendship has been throughout the years. Maybe they’d get that awesome I’m-special-to-someone-teenage feeling that escaped me during Marty McFly days.

Maybe, I’d take them way back, to a time with great memories and bad hair. Each friend has brought something different to my life and I’m grateful for what I’ve learned from them. Vero, brought me friendship without judgement, support, laughter, mom advice, a shoulder to lean on, and hard truths with a graceful touch.

This weekend she celebrated with a surprise party, and they pulled it off. She was definitely surprised, although I didn’t see it because I had carpooled with someone and we managed to arrive just as she was entering the venue. So we hid behind clear glass and a rubber tree plant.

Good thing she didn’t turn around.

We celebrated the night away with good conversation, laughs, and music. This was her mix tape.

Two Occasions – The Deele

Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore — REO Speedwagon

Love You Down — Ready for the World

I Got You Babe — UB40

One More Night — Phil Collins

Head Over Heals — Tears for Fears

Cool It Now — New Edition

The Way You Make Me Feel — Michael Jackson

More Than a Woman — The Bee Gees

Mas Que Tu Amigo — Marco Antonio Solis

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Accusations Suck

I just can’t stand it anymore.

I’m about to star in my own episode of Oxygen’s Snapped!

I’ve met my share of people from the close-talkers to the sidelers who often take credit for your hard work. But the one that really burned me and ignited a true Costanza Serenity-Now moment this week was the I-Know-You-Did-It Person.

 

Serenity Now!

 

They never ask you anything, they just automatically know that you are the one that messed things up even if you weren’t in the room, it was you. They’re negative and they’re nasty. You really don’t even want to be acquaintances but for some reason your paths have to cross with one of these crappy people, either at work, school, your kid’s school, and sometimes even within your family get-togethers.

You broke the copy machine, you wasted the ink cartridge and didn’t replace it, you erased the project files, you made the computer crash, you lost the keys, you broke the blender, or you made me make a mistake.

Familiar?

The I-Know-You-Did-It Person knows you did it because they’re also the It-Couldn’t-Have-Been-Me person because they never do anything wrong.  Ever. And this is where the burn comes.

Being around people like that can be so frustrating. They zap out all the juice from your Duracels and you’re constantly trying to replace them just to get through the day.

I usually have to eat some chocolate just to get over the encounter, because it gets under my skin no matter what Zen-like techniques I try. And I think I get all Costanza-style because of the accusation itself. That’s what kills me. Feels more like the accusation is trying to say something about your character and the lack of respect they have for you. If they respected you they would have just asked, but instead they come at you with that hostility, forgetting that they’re the ones probably responsible, or perhaps it was the noodlehead they hired.

At the end of the day I rid myself of the encounter by finishing the rest of the Ben & Jerry’s pint of chocolate awesomeness and binge watching House of Cards. Francis Underwood helps. He wouldn’t take this crap. He’s too busy to ever have a problem like this. He’s got bigger ones and I always love to watch his mind work. Maybe he’ll inspire something.

 

 

 

 

I Think I Still Could Have Been A Great Chapter

It hasn’t happened to me in such a long time, so I wasn’t sure how to take it. I mean I know how I took it, I took it poorly.  In addition to raiding my kids Halloween Candy stash, I emptied the freezer of  two Ben & Jerry’s pints.

It was a crisis or sorts.

I had lost it.

I lost a friend and it wasn’t because of death, health reasons, or an untimely demise. They’re living and breathing just fine, it’s me who was hyperventilating when I realized a couple of months ago that our friendship was over. It was a friendship that was rushed to the relationship ER and then never made it out.

There wasn’t an argument or heated discussion, and nobody had crossed any lines. It just slowly deteriorated. I saw it happening and tried to stop it. But with all my efforts I felt like that chic from He’s Just Not That Into You. The dork that hopelessly and endlessly tries to find the one and then thinks that every guy she’s been with is the one, only to realize that they’ve all been lame dudes that she’s made these excuses for because she was blinded.

 

He’s Just Not That Into You

 

Yeah that was me. I was trying to hang on to a friendship that apparently meant more to me than them.

Now I realize that everyone is busy and as we get older there are all kinds of demands coming from work, family, and other friendships. I get it. We’re busy. But there are friends that I haven’t seen in months even years, and when they come into town and we get to talking, it’s like we never left campus and we picked up exactly where we left off. No awkward pauses or talks about the weather. We get down to laughter and real talk. The comfort zone is still there. The inside jokes are still there. The friendship is still there.

But this time around I realized that was gone. And I don’t know if guys really make a big deal out stuff like this, or if it’s just a chick thing, or if it’s just me but losing a friend kind of sucks all the way around. I was making all kinds of effort to maintain this friendship in a non-stalker-non Single White Female kind of way.

But then it dawned on me.

We had already broken up, I just wasn’t aware of it. I didn’t know the ins-and-outs of their lives anymore, I wasn’t part of their growth process. I wasn’t a chapter in their novel anymore, I just ended up being a really good short story. And I guess nothing is wrong with being a short story, great movies and TV shows are based on short stories.

But it’s something I didn’t expect. I think I had more to offer, I think I still could have been a great chapter.

As an adult I thought I was set and my circle of trust was in tact, but was reminded that some relationships don’t last and there’s nothing more that you could have done. Just got to be happy with the fact that you lived with integrity and you always did right by them.

 

 

At First Sight

It happened right there on the elevator.

I never thought of it happening like that.

But it did and she said it was so easy.

I never do stuff like that, especially at the mall.

I hate the mall. But that’s where she said it happened, they were in the elevator and their eyes met as they both hit the button for the second floor.

She said she had a feeling.

What? What kind of feeling could you ever get in a mall elevator that didn’t resemble heartburn in your wallet and irritability that there were so many people there?

She said it wasn’t that, something in her gut and she went with it.

A blue sippy cup fell from the stroller and it  was friends at first sight.

.

They ended up talking for like four hours outside of Wetzel Pretzel and became good friends.

I told her she needed to go see Single White Female starring Bridget Fonda, she assured me it was nothing of that nature. In fact she invited me to a get-together where this new best-bud would be there. And so I went.

To my surprise, Viviana was pretty cool. Down to Earth, easy-going, with a good sense of humor. I got along with her pretty well,  and found it hard to believe that they met in a mall elevator. Stuff like that doesn’t happen. Well, at to me it doesn’t.

I’m usually focused on my mission … in-and-out no stopping. Just want to get out of there, probably because the mall just doesn’t interest me, I’ve had some irritable experiences with the uptight and noses-in-the-air Mommy & Me Mafia posse talking about how advanced their kids are and how healthy they’ve been on their gluten-free diet and how I should really give it a try.

Bad luck, I guess.

In any case I thought about this during my next outing to the Old Navy, unfortunately the blond lady behind me was angry that the cashier wasn’t going fast enough and apparently “this is bullshit” was one of her favorite phrases. She paced back and forth and exhaled loudly every three minutes, while her kid terrorized the Big League Chew Gum and knick-knack section.

I shook my head and thought maybe it just works when you’re actually in the elevator … the one near the Wetzel Pretzel.

I’ll have to think on that next time.

 

 

I Found My Mojo With My Comadres

It was the kind of weekend I needed.

After the emotional exhaustion last week I needed something to pull me out of that state, I needed a moment … A moment for myself … A Super Soul Sunday moment to last me at least two weeks … A bottle-me-up-this-is-so-awesome moment … A-Tony-Robbins-workshop moment … A-let-loose moment … A-comadres moment.

Do you know comadres?

They’re faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

They’re Gatorade-worthy moments waiting to be unleashed.

They’re as essential as oxygen and chocolate.

These are the ladies that recharge my battery after a tough week with anything and anybody. They hear you and understand what you’re saying. They see you, the way you see yourself. They support you, when you feel alone. They’ll volunteer to help move the body if necessary … they’re your friends — your lifelong friends.

Comadres … everyone needs at least a pair. And in truth I don’t get a chance to see them as much as I’d like to because parenthood without babysitters usually equals lock-down. But when I do get a chance to escape the world of Legos, Nickelodeon, Superheroes, Doc McStuffins, and Pull-Ups diapers, I make it count. I thoroughly enjoy their company, and get a chance to remember who I am, because sometimes when you’ve had a rough week, you tend to forget.

So this weekend we all got together to celebrate one of our own taking the plunge into the Happily Ever After pool. One of our dearest friends got married and we drove through mounds of gridlock traffic to witness this pretty awesome moment. I was extremely happy that my friend had found someone who shared her same values, journey, and dreams. I knew she was gonna be happy with this dude. She was Zen and I was there to high-five her. It was a great life-moment. And the thing is she was so happy (no bridal-wedding stress anywhere) that her reception reflected that joyous mood and everyone benefited from that.

The music. The people. The atmosphere. The vibe.

It was a great night to once again find myself when I hadn’t realized I was lost. You forget things sometimes and I guess I was trying to get some of that back with the start of my whole 10-Day Mental Diet Challenge, and don’t get me wrong I’m still on that, but all it took was one night out with my comadres, to fuel my fire again.

 

🙂

 

Dude last week was a tough one for me, thinking about everyone and everything else as always on hyper-drive, in addition to thinking about my Dad. My gas tank was on E and I had forgotten. So when I saw las comadres and began talking, and laughing the tank was filling up and then the DJ started playing my jam and it was on … I let my awesome out. It didn’t matter that I had ended up going solo to the wedding and everyone else had their dudes with them, I was all good. I let my freak flag fly and it felt great.

I let my awesome out and managed to come out victorious from many dance battles, despite having a Tom Cruise Risky Business dance move in my socks go wrong. I had found my mojo and was glad that the laughter and companionship of my comadres unlocked it.

So I dedicate this post to the ladies (and their dudes) for making our friend’s celebration a great one for me too.

 

 

The High School Guat … Way Ahead of Her Time

Hanging out at a 40th birthday bash for an old high school friend, and a retirement party for a former basketball coach this weekend, raised questions about my own existence and the quality of my life, or the lack of it. And as I was contemplating this Tuesdays With Morrie question a blast from the past snuck up on me.

Literally.

As I was tearing up the dance floor to the best jams of high school gym dances I felt a tap, tap, tap. I turned and there he was … The Danny Zuko of my past. In truth, I wasn’t talking about Summer Nights at the lunch tables, or singing Hopelessly Devoted when I was “hanging out” with him, but I did like him. It was a big time crush, not Jake Ryan worthy, but still pretty big for high school days.

But you all know the common story … most high school boys are stupid.

Danny Zuko

So it wasn’t a ride off into the sunset on Grease Lightning after the carnival type of situation. It was more of a I’m going to trade you in for one of those cha-cha girls with too much make-up from the drill team. Yeah that’s how he rolled.

Flash-forward twenty years later, he’s standing in front of me giving me the biggest hello hug ever. I hadn’t thought about him since the last time I saw him at his graduation. No real reason to do so.

So it was funny when he said he’d been hoping he’d run into me. We chatted about our families, kids, and work. And just as I was going to take a break from the dance floor, he said it. I had no idea why he had said it, but he did.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

I was totally confused because he hadn’t stepped on my toes while we were dancing, and I know he didn’t spill a drink on my jacket or anything. I stood there with the huh? look on my face.

He went on a full five-minute apology, surprisingly pretty sincere and remorseful, for dogging me way back in the day for his Danny Zuko behavior, chalked it up to being a dumb teenager. I told him not to worry about it, wasn’t a big deal now. In fact the whole situation hadn’t even occurred to me because there were plenty of jerks that followed, so he was sort of lost in the muddy waters of my past. I’m sure that at that time I was undergoing the typical what’s-wrong-with-me teenage chick blues, but they weren’t big enough for me to have a whole Sandy metamorphosis so that he would like me better. I wasn’t changing for anybody.

And even though the apology came twenty years later it made me smile. Not so much because he was sorry, but because I realized I was way ahead of my time and it definitely paid off to stay true to my Chapstick Girl kind of ways. I wanted to give myself a high-five.

Apparently I hadn’t changed, or at least that’s what everyone at the party had told me. They said I looked like my yearbook picture. The fact that the party was outdoors and late at night probably helped hide my crappy lack-of-sleep needs anti-aging cream appearance. Apparently I still looked hot, in my Sporty Spice kind of way and I guess that may have prompted the apology. Who knows. But it makes me feel better to know that I was right all they way back then … yeah … high school boys were stupid.

 

What Kind of Friend Are You?

I’d like to think that I’m the kind of person a friend could call if they needed to move a body. I consider loyalty to be a very important quality in a person. So if someone called me I’d like to think I would pause Mad Men and drive over there immediately. No judgment.

Now before you go freaking out calling the police, I don’t mean the kind of body you would have to move out to the desert, requiring a shovel and a deep hole. No, that’s a whole different conversation and level of friendship. I’d probably have to know you for more than ten years to do something like that. But no, that’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about a body that’s passed out on your couch for some reason or another. A mom. A dad. A brother. A sister. A son. A daughter. A grandma. Your dude. Your lady. Whatever they may be to you. If they’re passed out because of too many Lemon Drop Martinis, El Patron shots, or something stronger I’d like to think that my friends could call on me for help. No judgment. No drama. No gasps of horror. No lectures.

The “please don’t tell anybody about this–” preamble would not even be necessary with me.

I read something recently about the depths of friendship and the whole moving the body situation, they got all into it with details, scenarios, and different types of friendships. And it got me thinking about the type of friend I am.

I’m not the fake Facebook friend, I’m the body-mover. I realized that I’m one of those people.

I’d probably show up with a great piece of chocolate and tell you there’s no need to move the body, just leave it there. There’s no social worker coming over. So let them sleep it off. But if you still wanted me too, I’d help you move it. I work out. I’ve got muscles. We could do it. Then we could feast on chocolate and I’d probably try to throw in some Goodfellas type of jokes just to lighten the mood. And there would be no chisme, no drama, no judgment. Just safety in knowing that The Guat’s got your back. Really I’m the last person to be judging anybody, my life isn’t all happily ever after, it’s like a Spanish soap opera, but with more clothing and less good-looking people.

But while I was contemplating what an awesome non-judgmental body mover I would be, I realized that I only had a few of these type of friends on my speed dial. I had movie-going friends, writing pals, eating lunch time friends, give me a ride to the airport friends, and go to a game with friends. Not too many move-a-body friends, or relatives for that matter.

I felt a little bad about that, but then I realized you only need a few of those friends. Bodies aren’t that heavy if you’ve got a plan. You really only need one friend like that. A strong one, or maybe one that studied physics in college, stuff that would make body moving easy. I mean it would be awesome to have like twenty body moving friends, but realistically I didn’t see that in my future. But I could be wrong. In times of crisis people come through for you. They surprise you. So you never know.

 

 

Keep Up The Good Work …

 

Author Unknown

As my crazy 365-day-post-a-day anniversary approaches I wanted to let some of you bloggers and followers out there know that you’ve been the people who have made me laugh, and crack up. You motivated and inspired. You have been the good to my bad and ugly. You, and chocolate, have been a great support system.  You have been a good focus and I thank you.

Keep up the good work.

I’ve Got a New Set of Duracells

Since falling off the Happiness Project-Bucket List wagon I felt the need to talk to one of my sponsors.

Every time something like this happens you’ve gotta have a sponsor. They prevent stuff like drunk dialing, confirm facts like you’re not really crazy, and most importantly assure you of your warrior status so that you can get back on the wagon. They see you … they see you.

Normally I call my main man … my brother from another mother … my childhood friend who knew me during my Vans and Aquanet Hairspray days.   But my other sponsor happened to call me and seeing how she lived in the same city I thought it would be best to have a session in person. You know, over a pizza, a bottle of wine, and some chocolate.

The Movie Swingers: Mike and Trent

This four-hour escape proved to be the therapy I needed to pick myself up. She’s one of these people who you don’t see for a couple of weeks, but when you do, the conversation picks up just where it left off. No awkward pauses. No uncomfortable silences. Just laughter and trust.

She’s my Trent Walker … She is the person who tells me “You’re so money and you don’t even know it.” She reminds me of my mantra during personal crises and also reminds me that I’m not 40 yet, so I shouldn’t freak out if things aren’t quite falling into place. However if I’m 39 and still in the same situation she said she wouldn’t blame me if I panicked then.

She puts me through the  four-step program. She listens. She agrees. She advises. She knocks some sense into me. She doesn’t have a silver lining handbook, but she sure knows what to say and how to say it with such comfort and ease that the words are trusted. The feelings are trusted. The good intentions are there. The night usually ends in laughter and old stories from our newspaper days, back when I was a sports reporter and she was working the copy desk.

I left her place feeling like she had changed my batteries. I got a new set of Duracells and felt much better about falling off the wagon. Although the pesto pizza, red wine, and laughter definitely seemed to help. I don’t know what it is about good pizza that makes things better. In general good food makes things better, but good pizza seems to take it up a notch — sort of adding extra life to those batteries.

I’m glad I picked up the phone. She’s a good sponsor. She’s a good Trent Walker. She’s got plenty of batteries in reserve. I think she shops at Costco.

 

Sometimes People Need a Little Strength

 

Image via quotablecards.com

 

Sometimes when you’re at a crossroads you look for some sort of sign … something to give you confidence that you’re making the right decision, confidence to walk in the right direction, either with your career, friendships, or relationships.

You look for some deep, soul-searching wisdom through O Magazine or the self-help section at Barnes & Noble, but then you find it … on a magnet.

A friend of mine was having some technical difficulties in life that chocolate could not fix. Well, in truth she does not like chocolate and she’s one of those calorie counters. This should have been grounds for me to dump her on the spot and sever all my friendship ties. But I gave her a chance anyway, just because I thought she was funny.

I saw this magnet and immediately thought about her. I thought it was small enough for her to put it on her little file cabinet at work and act as a reminder.

Sometimes people need a little strength to make the decisions that require courage they think they don’t possess. But it’s there. Deep down. It’s there.