PlazaJen: The Blog

Riding the Bike with One Pedal.

Page 32 of 165

The ol’ Pushme-Pullme.

I’m enclosing today’s Hazelden email below. Sometimes, I get these and they’re – meh. Too much God, too much 12-step, too much addiction, and yet I still stay subscribed, because there are days when they resonate like a clear bell above still water. I’ve grappled off and on internally with some things I don’t feel I can write about so publicly, partly because some people will think it’s about them, others won’t realize it IS about them – ha – and who needs that pressure when you’re already grappling?!  I started subscribing to these about 8 years ago, when my mother nearly died from alcohol poisoning (0.48 is a rather high number, eh?) and my efforts to get her into treatment at Hazelden failed. Wow, just typing that I saw the parallels to when I got my father into Mayo before he died. Sometimes I’m astonished by how much I grew up when I wasn’t paying attention.

Anyway, her birthday was Friday, and a co-worker was puzzled when I was getting advice on a birthday gift – “You haven’t seen her, you don’t talk, but you still send her gifts for Mother’s Day and her birthday? I don’t get it.”

I do it for me. There will always be part of me that loves her and wishes things were different. Instead of trying to change it, I’m letting it be. I take the actions that I want to take, send gifts because it’s what I want to do. Cutting someone out of your life is much easier in its definitive-ness; it’s a black & white world, much like rehab. You drink or you don’t, you have a relationship or you don’t. For me, that choice doesn’t work. Unfortunately, that gray area bears a lot of parallels to other friendships – things have changed enormously in two years. People I fought for and defended have turned their backs on me. Others who feel they gave me everything think I turned my back on them.  Because whenever there’s another person involved? Your ability to influence, work on or control things still only equals half.  And when the proportion of effort is out of whack, resentment builds. It gets easier to retreat, draw the line, say fuck-off, go away.  As someone who chooses not to live in a black & white world, I still do love labels and resolution.  But I’ve learned, unlike a moth to the flame, that seeking it doesn’t always work. So I am letting it all just be. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, yet I’m finding there’s peace in letting go. Not seeking.  Not tugging. In standing still, we can actually find and create direction. Peace.

Today’s thought from Hazelden is:

Stop playing tug-of-war.

Letting go can be like a tug-of-war with God.

Have you ever played tug-of-war with a puppy and an old sock or a toy? He pulls. You pull it out of his mouth. He grabs hold again and shakes and shakes and says grrrrrr. The harder you tug, the harder the puppy tugs. Finally, you just let go. Then he comes right back again, for more.

I have never successfully treated or solved one problem in my life by obsessing or controlling. I’ve yet to accomplish anything by worrying. And manipulation has not wrought one successful outcome. But I forget that from time to time.

The best possible outcomes happen when I let go. That doesn’t mean I always get my way. But things work out and, ultimately, the lesson becomes clear. If we want to play tug-of-war, we can, but it’s not an efficient problem-solving skill.

Heard on the Street

I pulled up to the Panera on the Plaza this morning, and noted this odd-lookin’ dude pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. Not odd in the sense of “By-Night-I-Live-Under-The-Bridge”, but I just don’t see a lot of professional men in sweater vests and Dutch Boy haircuts, and this one had his earbud-cellphone thing going on so he was talking while pacing. I wasn’t sure if there was much of an accent, mostly because I was trying to contain my surprise at hearing, “I just hope that getting off the SlrrrrrXicrrrrr is easier than getting off methadone.”

Well, I certainly hope so, too.

And once again, proving how the world is shrinking, I ran into a couple of co-workers. I marveled at how fantastically well (and fast) our brains can work, you know? I just glanced sideways into the seating area as I set my bag down, waiting for my breakfast sammie, and I saw my two friends. Chatting with them turned into a longer-than-expected delay, but was lovely and worth it. And didn’t require a smidgen of methadone!

Sneer All You Like, Monkey Boy…

I have a lot of things to catch up on, one being a huge shout-out (they’re all the rage, homies, y’all can even do it while debating for the second-highest office in the country! /sarcasm) to our friend Amanda, who ever-so-graciously stopped and offered us a ride while we were waiting for the shuttle on Sunday. Actually, before I knew it was her, I could tell from the car slowing down and pulling over that someone was going to stop, and I told JWo, “We don’t accept rides from strangers!” Well, hellz-no, but this wasn’t a stranger! She’d just dropped her fiance’ off for judging, and was nice enough to swing back around & drop us off as well. I swear, this town, it just get smaller & smaller each year!

So, back to the story, as we were leaving the judging on Saturday, we were once again asked by the local newspaper if we were subscribers.  (We were asked that morning as well, and on hearing we were subscribers, they thanked us for our support.) This time there was someone new, and JWo said, “Yep, matter-of-fact, it’s on our doorstep as we speak.” The representative? Said, “Yeah, riiiiight”, ever-so-sarcastically. Wha? Huh? That was no put-off lie, jackass. James, who RARELY seeks confrontation marched back and asked him to repeat what he’d said. And the guy continued his jack-assery, and sneered his name when asked, wanting to know why we’d want it. “So when I call and cancel our subscription of 9 years, I can give them your name!” I was doing the oh-hell-there’s-gonna-be-a-fight dance watching all this, and the jackass basically said, “FINE! Go ahead and do that.”And continued to make faces and gestures as JWo walked back towards me.

Customer service at its finest! And as we walked away, all I could think was, “Motherfucker. It’s not over!” Because I’m not a big shot, I’m not fancy pants with city council members at my beck and call, nobody rushes when they hear it’s me on the phone, I don’t qualify for private banking.  But remember that thing about this town getting smaller? I’ve worked at several places, and have connections at most every media outlet in town, including the paper. And I happen to have a salesperson at said paper who takes his job, and his company, VERY seriously, who can zip right through the channels and get to the supervisor of a jackass who decides to mouth off at the husband of a small agency media director. And mind you, I didn’t go about this to try and get the guy fired.  My point was that as someone who places ads, and as a subscriber myself, I WANT people to stay subscribers. Yes, newspaper is berated as a “dying medium” – in some markets, circulation has declined drastically. It’s down about 10% in Kansas City over the past three years. But in many smaller cities, circulation, especially Sunday circulation – is flat or up. The baby boomers that comprise the majority of the population haven’t embraced the internet as their sole source of information. OK, I’m wandering. The essence of my message was simple. Customer service is paramount at all times.  If you want to believe someone’s lying to get out of talking to you about subscribing to the paper, keep your lip buttoned. And for all I knew, they outsourced hiring these people, and if that was the case, they definitely needed to be alerted to the behavior. The last thing they need is someone driving off the people who are already on board!

Within thirty minutes of sending my email to my rep, I received a call from The Person who supervises the person responsible for our incident. With apologies and reassurance that this was not acceptable behavior, and that it would be addressed.  Hopefully we won’t get a dead rat delivered with the paper tomorrow, but again, at least I know who to call….

It’s Actually Possible to Go on a BBQ Bender….

….because right now, I feel hungover. A meat, smoke, rub, sauce hangover.

It is an unbelievable weekend, and this year, we took our learnings from last year, and had our act together. Apart from one small hiccup, which could have been disastrous – the weekend was an unmitigated success. We saw some folks we’d met last year, and made new friends this year. It’s really a lot of fun, and has been the Christmas gift that keeps on giving!

The hiccup was at the very start of the judging, when we arrived at 11:05 for the Invitational Meats judging. One woman working the entry to the judges’ tables barked at us, “You’re LATE!” I was all, “Surely she is speaking to someone else!” Because our paperwork said we were to check in between 11 & 11:30. So we got our aprons & pins, and stood in line. They called out if there were any husbands & wives together (we raised our hands), and I got accelerated to the front of the line. Again, nothing alarming or unusual; we’re not allowed to sit together. I get seated, greet my tablemates, and get out my book for signing. Then I see James come in with his group of 6, and I found out shortly thereafter that his table was the last table in the door.

Whoa. There was some screw-up with turn-in times and they seated the judges way earlier than announced. He would have been crushed if he’d missed the cut-off. (And mad at me, who was all, “WE DON’T NEED TO ARRIVE SO FLIPPIN’ EARLY”) As it was, we met numerous people who arrived after us who were turned away and were PISSED. So, I know two things – next year, we’ll be crazy early, and two, the KCBS folks are prolly gonna get some angry letters.

We judged chicken, ribs, pork shoulder & brisket. Wisely, we’d brought insulated coolers, ice, baggies and a wet washcloth in a separate baggie. (Which drew envious admiration both days…. a little trick we learned last year.)  The chicken in general was outstanding; most of the meat was above average or better. Then we judged sides, and our table got three different potato dishes that were basically inedible. The first was beautifully presented, but sweet potatoes are more of a gamble in the ‘tater category, and if you overspice them and whip them to the consistency of baby food – eesh. The second was underdone. As in, raw. Ah, no. The third, another sweet potato, was sauced with pure cayenne pepper that left my mouth on fire for quite some time afterward. My seat mates and I were all in agreement, at least.

The big drama comes with desserts, and after the bad sides, we were getting a little pessimistic, joking that we were gonna end up with pudding, tapioca, jello and vanilla ice cream.   And as we watched massive dessert after dessert come in, I think a little part of us inside hoped beyond hope that we, too, would get an elaborate three-tiered cheesecake, or a large torte. Our table captain didn’t even get in line until, well, she was last. (grumble, grumble.) So what did we get? Banana pudding. Strange slivers of fruit tart. Flavorless vanilla ice cream mixed with unripe peaches. And six measly grilled peach quarters.  James, on the other hand, got large-scale productions (including one that had a solid chocolate cow from Annedores as GARNISH. FOR EACH PERSON.) My hope is that next year will be a different story, but I was definitely disappointed.

Today’s Open competition included sausage, which I was dreading. I don’t normally enjoy this category, on the heels of last year’s submissions (two were so spicy I thought my head might explode, and all of them made me burp unpleasantly.) Sorry for the overshare, but there it is. Again, the chicken was fantastic, we had one awful, almost inedible rib, I almost got a hand cramp trying to pull one piece of brisket (lawzy was it tough), and then…. along came the sausage. And the one entry I gave a “9” to for appearance? Was without a doubt the best sausage I have ever tasted in my life. It was the only thing I gave all 9’s to, and I am still rather blown away by how good it was. We swung by Culver’s for a palate-cooling cone, I put away our extra baggies of meat, and we promptly fell asleep.

The other crazy thing that parallels over-imbibing alcohol is how much water you ultimately consume. During judging, and then once you get home. I feel like I’ve been on some Atkins-cleansing diet for three days. The only thing that sounded remotely appealing tonight was some fruit, and I expect tomorrow will be a meatless day.

And, much like being drunk, I could only do one thing when we hit the radio to hear the Chiefs-Panthers score: laugh hysterically. (34-0. Oy.)

The First Step Was Taken….

Tonight was the party night at the American Royal. We went to several tents – we always have a great time at the KCTV5/KSMO tent, and then, because we knew both an attender, and the cop working the “door”, we sorta crashed the Worth Harley-Davidson tent, which was pretty awesome. After a while, we went back to the KCTV5 tent, to make sure we thanked everyone & said our goodbyes, and on the way out, I saw my chance.

There was a young police officer working security there, as well, nice nice guy, and was doing an inordinate amount of texting. It’s not really major case squad down there at the Royal, though I’m sure as the night goes on, the drunk & disorderly rises.  So I decide, now’s my chance. I started to tell him, then I stopped, imagining the worst, he told me to go ahead, just tell him, and I did it.

“Has anyone ever told you they’re afraid they’re going to lose their minds, lose utter control, and try and take your gun away from you?”

The answer? It’s a helluva lot more common than I ever imagined. (Yay! I am not alone in wanting to hurtle myself right into unmitigated stupidity!) And he continued to tell me just how aware he is, at all times, of where he is in proximity to other people, how he doesn’t want people behind him, and he’s always aware of where other people are in relationship to his weapon.  As sorely tempted as I was to fake an attempt, HA HA, wouldn’t that be hilarious, I wisely chose not to. And I walked away, shouting to my husband and mother-in-law that I’d made the first step in ridding myself of this phobia.

Oddly enough, it didn’t even cross my mind when we met up with James’ former D.A.R.E. officer, someone I adored the minute I met her, and she gave us both hugs (talk about your perfect opportunity). She told me she’s got some great stories for me (I practically jumped with glee, except I was so tired by that point, I couldn’t have left the earth for a second). Can’t wait to plan that dinner, I love me some first-hand COPS. We then admired the drug-seizure vehicle her partner was driving – a souped-up Denali with spinner wheels and a DVD player system (in the front!), and then our jaws dropped when the trunk doors were opened. The entire cargo area was filled with the biggest speakers I have ever (EVER) seen in a car. I made a joke about how this kinda makes drug money look good, and she said she spins it the other way. I’m not sure exactly what that is, apart from the fact I think those speakers can actually sterilize you at 50 yards. Oh, well, yeah, JAIL. Duh.

The evening was great fun, and the big event is tomorrow – I’ll take pictures, and give you a full report on the day of judging. I know by the time Sunday rolls around, I’m going to have sauce & smoke coming out of my pores. …

It’s Good To Be Understood

I really, really, really like my dentist. I’ve had the same technician (Danica!) for years now, and she keeps up with our lives, because JWo goes to her as well.  I had to change dentists a few years ago when Dr. Palmer retired, so now I see Dr. Morgan, and anyone who recalls my cracked-tooth-crown-root-canal saga from last year will know, Dr. Morgan is quite patient with me. He drew diagrams of my tooth, explained the science and anatomy to me, and answered all my questions, because I am the original Curious Georgina, and I find all these things fascinating, plus, the way I see it, facts remove fear.

So  I don’t think either one of them blinked when I asked them if my tooth (yes, same said tooth) was loose. They said it was not. I said, “Well, I’ve been thinking I could just reach right in there and yank it out with a couple of swift tugs.” If they thought this was funny, they did not laugh. Nope. My tooth isn’t going anywhere. It’s funny what our brains can do – I’m still unused to the texture of the crown, and gum likes to stick to just one small part of the tooth. (Good thing I don’t really like gum all that much.)  I have phantom pain – phantom, because if I had real pain, I’d have levitated right out of the chair, what with the tapping percussion and testing they did on my tooth, and apparently, the delusion my tongue can push the tooth around.

But since my visit on Tuesday, I’ve let it go. Facts. Imagination. I have both in vast quantities. But nothing knocking about in my head ‘cept ideas and dreams. Welcome to Friday!

One Indication of the Stress In My Life…

…is when I don’t blog. There’s been a healthy handful of work stress (some of which would have made LOVELY fodder, but then, we do like to pay our mortgage, unlike, apparently, eighty-million people).  And frankly, as stupid and trite as it sounds, I will never be able to read a memorial (such as Paul Newman’s) that says the person died at home surrounded by family and friends without thinking of my father. I believe there will be a time when it simply makes me melancholy, and it will feel like it is more of an arm’s-length away from me? But in this time of my life, it still has all the unpleasant qualities of being squished by a sweaty, garlick-breathed man on the bus.

Except it also makes me weepy. And, I cannot wait for the election to be over, because everything to do with that enrages me. I believe I alarmed quite a few drivers on Wornall this morning, while I listened to John McCain avoid the question as I screamed “FUCKING ANSWER THE QUESTION” and all my windows were down. It’s quite a pendulum to swing on, lemme tell you. All that we’re really missing are some mice in the house to make me feel like I’ve finally lost my shit. (You know, because you catch sight of them out of the corner of your eye?) And then I’d have to kill them and I don’t enjoy that one bit. But who knows? Perhaps election-year mice are therapeutic?!

This weekend is the American Royal, and we will be judging…. everything. Invitational meat, open meats, side dishes and desserts. Lawzy. Thank god we learned from last year, and are bringing a cooler. I hope I get to bring home a 14-gallon brandy snifter of pudding. I seem to have seen a photo of something like that once, and obviously, it stuck with me. (Though I think we can all agree such a snifter would be useful for after-work beverages, too.)

I’ve also got some finished knitting items to get pictures of – Gigi, and the Sweet Tarts Montego Bay scarf has been blocked, plus some socks.  I also have a small baby sweater on the needles for a co-worker of James’; and tonight, I finished sewing in a zipper on his jeans. Which might explain why someone found my blog when they searched for “what’s the difference between sewing and knitting.”

I’ve stayed up too late as it is; got an early meeting & lots to do again tomorrow. Catch ya on the flip side, peeps! And congrats to Meesha for winning Pitch’s Best Blog!

Apricot Tart with a Mascarpone Cheesecake filling Glazed with a Raspberry Sauce.

That’s totally what I would make for my “Make-My-Head-Explode-With-Rage” pie, in the spirit of the utterly charming movie, “Waitress“. I don’t even know if it exists, but after the day I’ve had, I was about to lose my shit all over the Costco parking lot. And then? I decided to think about pies. And what I would make, if I were going to theme my day. It really does diffuse some of the stress! And makes ya hungry, to boot.

Fortunately, I’d picked up a nice big bag of shrimp, and the Wo turned it into delicious scampi. We had that with some salad & a baked potato, all of which he fixed.   After we exchanged twenty minutes of sharp political banter, in which we both just decided to scream at each other the worst things about each other’s party we could.  All on the heels of declaring our unconditional love for one another, so, no worries, we couldn’t be happier. Well, we could be a little less maddened by each other’s beliefs. But it doesn’t touch our love, thankfully! Two minutes of balls-out yelling is cathartic: I’m a tax-loving liberal who wants to hand all the money to no-good deadbeats who’ve done nothing to deserve it; he’s a fascist capitalist who rewards businesses who don’t need more money with more tax breaks and leaves everyone who’s not rich out in the cold. Oh, and yeah, I’m a baby-killer.  But so is he. Now that’s a fuckin’ pie.

Hi! (I get enthusiastic after long separations.)

Enthusiastic, that would be a good “E” word, were I keeping up with that Alphabet Soup project… :) In any event, I could feel it in me, bubbling out, when I met up with my co-workers at LaGuardia on Monday. I’d spent the day traveling, but by myself, with little chitty-chat and moving amongst a sea of strangers. I remember when I first had a self-selected roommate, after college, and I chirpingly greeted her in the morning. (She was not a morning person, and I was more of one then than I am now…) I figured out that I’d spent so much of my life alone, or with just my parents, that upon seeing someone else in my life sphere, I became quite gregarious and happy for the company.

Now, I just hate people in general.

(That’s not true.) I would, however, enjoy the use of a taser while traveling. Not for nefarious purposes, but more for that person who thinks it’s perfectly fine to come to a screeching halt in the middle of the main-traffic-drag of the busiest airport in the world. The problem is, the longer the day got, the less judicious I would be. I would have taken out two people alone flying back to KC for their insistence on slowly putting their three bags filled with Walt Disneyworld purchases into the overhead compartments, rearranging them, with no sense of urgency whatsoever. Actually, only one of them was doing the stowing, the other one? Standing in the aisle observing. I might have half-body-checked her as she finally realized she needed to step back into her seat.  Might.

New York is a really kick-ass place, I love the energy and motion and the seventy-billion options you have, though it can get a bit overwhelming.  If I had the chance to go back in time and invest in two things? Parking and scaffolding. There’s a lot of scaffolding, and parking charges are crazy! We had drinks & snacks with one of our clients in Bryant Park, and it was just lovely, the atmosphere. On our walk there, I was bringing up the rear (that’s what we do, phat girls, we bring up the rear and take the pressure off everyone to slow their pace to ours.) I got waylaid a bit, waiting for a couple tourists to get their photos taken, and then I strolled by a Hispanic couple, her arms draped around his neck, as they stood in this little patch of green in the concrete jungle. They looked at me, I looked at them, she turned as I passed and said, “Your eyes are really pretty.”

So much for all those New Yawkers being asshats, eh?

I’d love to have a trip where I could stay an extra day or two, just to do things at my own pace, have the Wo by my side, to see some things for the first time together, to see his face as he drinks it all in.  We had dinner at a Belgian bar, and then on our walk back to the parking garage, ended up going through Times Square. It’s a lot cleaner now, I’ll give ’em that – it’s been 15+ years since I was there. I’ll get the photos off my phone, at some point!

Well, I’ve gotten derailed numerous times trying to write this, so I’m giving up – my concentration is shot, I’m still “hung-over” from the very long days of travel & meetings, and I’m ready to have a good dinner with my sweetie. I made the choice to get Papa Murphy’s pizza last night, and while it’s a “10” on appearance and toppings, it was about a “1” on flavor – I couldn’t believe how much it tasted like.. nothing. Uber-disappointing. And I was disappointed today on another matter entirely, so I’ve had enough.  Tomorrow is Friday, I’m going to strive for stress-free right on into the weekend. Hope yours is as well!

Oh, hi. Miss me?

It’s been another crazy week here! Yup! Work has consumed a big chunk of my time/life/brain, and as a result of that work, I’m heading back to NYC on Monday. Since I was a late-addition to the itinerary, my co-workers & I are going to be engaging in an Amazing-Race-esque travel event, with me leaving before everyone, flying to Atlanta, then on to NYC. They leave an hour and a half later, go through Cincinnati, and yet we’re all supposed to arrive at La Guardia at the same time. My brain keeps seeing the two colored lines peeling out from Kansas City in two directions, and I hear Phil Keoghan’s voice conjecturing if one team will encounter delays, or will we both arrive on time, and someone…..may be eliminated.

So, there are worse places to be stuck for 2.5 hours, which is my layover time in HotLanta, and I have loving, fond memories of that airport, because I walked off a plane once and saw a Body Shop in front of me. That was the trip where I’d forgotten my hairbrush, so it was a welcome sight indeed. I’m going to charge up my Zen and add some more music/This American Lifes to it, and of course, I’ll pack a knitting project, and a book. I dreamed a couple nights ago that I ran into the Yarn Harlot on my travels, too, which was pretty cool. My favorite part of this trip was when my boss told me that if they encounter delays, to just take a cab and get to Times Square. (That’s when my AE said that’s where we’d have the Amazing Race carpet to jump on.) So if you’re there on Monday during rush hour, and you see a fat lady talking to the singing naked cowboy dude, come up and say “hi”, I’ll be there waiting to get my next clue.

In other news, it’s a busy day here at the shop, because we’ve got our annual client/vendor party this afternoon/evening. There’s been a lot of hustling & bustling to get the place ready, and I’m just going to say it, my office is a disaster. I’m going to have to remedy the situation pretty quickly, but I also have another piece of my presentation to finish for Tuesday’s meeting. Instead, I’m blowing off a little steam & blogging. I miss my blogging!

Last night, we went to BB’s Lawnside BBQ, which is a fixture in the KC BBQ community (and I love that they underwrite on NPR); I had never gone there, despite its proximity to our house, so when I heard co-workers were taking our out-of-town AE there, I ran it by the Wo, who heartily agreed it was better than scrounging in our (very messy) kitchen for something. They had a band, and a helluva special, with a full slab of ribs & two sides for $15. Pretty tasty! And the music was great, and I even got snorgled by the harmonica player. I was engrossed in conversation (more like listening to the conversation between my hubby & a co-worker), and suddenly there was a man with a cowboy hat & a harmonica, playing by my face. Whenever I leaned away from him, he followed me, tickling my cheek & neck with the air from his playing. I couldn’t stop laughing, it was that crazy mixture of fun, unexpected attention and a pinch of embarrassment!

All right, I need to crank out my spreadsheet, and determine what’s for lunch. I know I’ll be Plurking my way through New York again, so if anything hilarious happens, I’ll let you know, and I’m going to see if I can blog with my phone as well. Just in case there are pictures that need sharing. Who knows? It just might be my week for cowboys!

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2025 PlazaJen: The Blog

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑