sometimes it happens...

I lost a good friend today.
A really, really good friend.

In the back of my mind, I knew it was coming. I felt the change. The change was almost imperceptible, but it was there…hovering, stealth like over me. That sensation that something is about to happen. And although I expected it…it still made me sad.

I’ve had this friend for over 10 years. We traveled many places together, seen many things, had many experiences and share loads of secrets. We’ve been together through some great times and many a tear has been spilled on them. We’ve had a relatively long and wonderful relationship…but today, unfortunately, that relationship came to an end.

We were ripped apart, there's no better way to describe it. That sound of heartbreak, of tearing. I can still hear it in my ears, it’s something akin to the sound of metal on metal of a car crash, or glass breaking. Your mind, without visual, just automatically knows what it is.

The day started like any other day except that the sun was brightly shining, an oddity here on the north coast mid winter. It’s usually cold, and snowy, and gray. This time of year is full of hues of gray. It’s about this time of year up north that we all start dreaming of sun, and beaches and warmth. This entire winter season has been extremely mild. No snow, a little cold and today; lots of sun.

My master bedroom is up on the third floor of my home. There is a row of cottage windows facing east that at first dawn lets me know what the weather is like outside without ever having to reach for my phone to pull up Weatherbug for the forecast. There are three skylights that also grant me the knowledge before ever swinging my legs out of bed what kind of outerwear I will need for the day. I like the light that streams in and have never bought draperies to cover these windows, or film to dim the light cascading in through the rooftop. It makes it difficult to sleep in or take daytime naps with all the light in my room, but it’s quite nice. There have been times that I’ve thrown a makeshift blockade to the suns rays when my daughter used to sneak upstairs and crawl into bed with me. I’d wake to see her cherubic face on the pillow with the beams of light dancing on her cheekbones. I’d roll out of bed and either make a barrier of pillows on her side to block the sun or throw a sheet over the windows to douse the rays.

But this morning it was just me stretching in the suns rays. I was scheduled to work this afternoon but Boo was off from school as the teachers had some meeting to attend and I knew already before even rising that I was going to take the day off. We needed a little mom/daughter girlie time and today was the perfect day to do so.

I got up, showered and called work. Although I am and wanted to be completely honest, I found myself spewing a fib. It wasn’t what I had planned but there I was…smack dab in the middle of it.

“Hi Maureen? It’s Nancy. I’m scheduled to be there at 11 but I’m not going to be able to make it today….” I trailed off, wincing...waiting for lashback.

“OH!...Is everything okay?” she exclaimed.

“It is, yes. I’m fine. But…” and then I stumbled a bit, mentally. The devil on the one shoulder, the angel on the other. I almost caved and was going to say that I would be a little late and go in to work anyway…and then I thought, No…I’m really not needed. I’ve been practicing that little two letter word; NO. It’s a hard one to say. For me at least, but I’m making progress. My mouth forms the word, I just need to push the air out through my teeth in order for it to be audible. I reasoned that they would probably cut my shift short anyway so I mustered up and continued…”Boo isn’t feeling well. I’m going to stay home with her today.” I cringed at the sound of my fib, biting my finger.

“OK…I’ll tell June. I hope she feels better.” No fight. No reprimand. On one hand I was relieved and on the other, worried.

Tell June…yeah,  I thought.
I bet you will.

Maureen has become the new tattle tale of our store. We have a new manager and she has been sucking up to her with no holdbacks. You can almost feel the breeze from the suction when she walks behind our new leader. If you park somewhere in the yellow lines, not the white ones…Maureen will call June. If you take 22 minutes for a break instead of 15, she’ll call June. If the sales people make 8 calls instead of the required 10, she’ll tell June. She brought chocolates and champagne in for an employee who decided to retire after 10 years with the company and then retreated to the office with June to bad mouth her after she’d left. Nice lady…but not trustworthy. Fact is at the company Christmas party gift exchange she’s the one who will choose the gift YOU chose just because someone else wants it. It’s quite odd. And quite pathetic.

So to NOT come in to work with her today didn’t quite make me feel badly. Acquaintances, we are. Workmates, we are. Friends, we are not.

Friends are trusted individuals.
Friends are people you rely on.
Friends are people that you know will always be there for you. No matter what.

I’ve had ‘friends’ in the past with whom I thought were friends but turned out weren’t really my friends. Friends that betrayed me. Friends that have betrayed my trust. I’ve had friends in the past that we just lost touch and we no longer connect. I’ve had friends with whom I have reconnected and feels like we picked up right where we left off. There are those that build you up and those that drag you down. Sometimes some of the people with whom we are friends with run its course and they just disappear.

I was cleaning out my file cabinet the other day. It’s become quite a mess. I’ve been throwing items in there without a filing system in place of stuff that I want to keep but just don’t quite know where to put it. When taking everything out I found a birthday card from a friend.

I use the word friend, because that’s what I thought she was. I loved this woman. When I met her I thought I’d found a sister. Our girls were classmates and that’s how we first made contact. Our girls were friends and then we became friends. Close friends. And then one day…she just wasn’t anymore.

I never did know, don’t understand  and never got an explanation of what happened. Boo and I went south for Easter break and when I returned, she would no longer return phone calls. Funny thing, I had brought her back a souvenir. She loved drinking wine and there were T-shirts playing off the Life is Good line that said “life sucks”. This particular shirt sported an empty wine bottle tipped on its side and read “out of wine. "Life sucks” under it. I found it particularly humorous. I thought she would too. So I bought it to wear on her new regimen on her treadmill. I brought it back, left it on her porch and waited for the ‘Thank You’ phone call.

It never came.
I ran into her husband at the music store where our kids took piano lessons.

“Did your wife get her present I left her?”

“Well, I’m not sure. What did you leave?”

“Oh…I brought her a T-shirt from Florida. I thought it was funny and made me think of her! I left it on the back porch...”

“I’ll have to ask her. I really don’t know…”

Two weeks passed and I hadn’t heard a peep. So I called. “I left you a present. I thought it was funny. I hope I didn’t offend you with the humor and if I did…please accept my apology.”
Another two weeks later and still no word.

That was almost a year ago.

This past summer I was invited to a Bocce Ball party. She and her family were there. I left within a half hour because her obvious avoidance of me reduced me to tears. What the hell happened? It was awkward. It felt horrible. So I claimed a headache to the hostess and left.

So coming across this card with her written sentiment, “ I didn’t need anymore friends. You were simply the piece of chocolate cake, that fabulous bottle of 1996 Bordeaux, that pretty shiny bauble I wanted in the worst way. Whether or not I needed you, you always made things more colorful, more fun, more hilarious, more beautiful. You have made me believe that there is always room for ‘one more’…because maybe that ‘one’ will make all the difference.”

She signed it with a “OH, I love you so!”

2 years later she never spoke to me again. Go figure.
So yeah…I have had (unfortunately) a little experience with losing close friends.Good friends. Friends that you thought would be around forever but then they aren’t.

Losing my friend today brought back that immediate shock of when I lost that friend a year ago. One minute they were close and the next it was time to throw them away. And throw this friend away I did. I’ve learned  that there would be no need to drag this on. There would be no going back, no repair work that could be done.

So on this seemingly normal day where I showered like usual, I dressed like usual and waited for my daughter to get ready herself…just like usual, I lost another close friend.

Gathering up Boo's discarded potential outfits I felt it before I heard the sound.
Yes…you guessed it. The entire inner seam of my favorite jeans just gave way. Ripped away to be completely honest. Air rushed in and I started to laugh. Laughing so hard tears trailed down my cheeks. My daughter swung around to find out what the heck was going on with her mom...

"You okay?...!!! she asked.
"Oh yeah. But loooook." I pointed.
"Oh my. Those are your favorite! That's too funny..totes!"

Totes m'goats...fer sure.

I had repaired  the back pockets a several times already. There were multiple thin spots and frays along the inside seams. Many of the belt loops had pulled loose over the years. The bottom hems were fringed from wear. These Levi’s were a perfect fit when I bought them, so I bought 4 pairs. All but one had bit the dust, revealing too much skin from too many tears. These were the last remaining pair…and I loved them.

And now they are gone. Some relationships come to a screeching end and some fade like sunsets.
The difference is…my jeans can be replaced.

Good thing I was at home when it happened AND wearing undies.
:-)

easy laughter...

I was just minding my own business.

Yes, I was laughing.
Yes, I was having fun.
Yes, I was with friends. But I was minding my own damn business and yet, someone was coming up to our table with that familiar look of authority.

You probably know by now from past stories that I seem to rather approachable. Random strangers in line at the grocery, or passersby at the park, or gas station attendants/toll-booth operators/fast food clerks; I’ve learned…no, experienced, over the years that when someone is walking towards me and looks as though they are about to speak? They usually do.

I’ve gleaned intimate details of their lives from these veritable strangers. Or their daughters lives; or spouses lives; or the lives of their next door neighbors. I’ve heard about their upcoming surgeries or past surgeries. I heard things that are humorous; things that are sad; and things that are heartwarming…all from strangers. Perfect strangers that obviously needed to speak out about whatever was on their mind…and I just happened to be the person in the line of fire.

I’m not sure what it IS about me exactly that entices these random incidences to happen. I did at one time wish to be a psychiatrist, but that was long ago and I’m not exactly handing out business cards to listen. My daughter all but has accepted this phenomenon as a regular occurrence. When out to eat she expects the waiter or waitress to strike up in-depth conversation. She used to roll her eyes when it started, she now just sits and waits, absorbing the spectacle and then messages it to her friends. “Yup. Sitting in a restaurant with my mom. And yup, someone is telling her a story…again.”

Last month my friend Laurie and I were out dining. Having beenin the industry I do always try to pay attention when the waiter or waitress says their name and then at least once use him or her name when ordering. I’ve found over the years that you will indeed get better service and hey, it just makes them feel better! So why not? But my thanking Marisa, our waitress, for her exceptional service kindof backfired in a way. Apparently now since she knew our names and we hers Marisa pulled up a chair, sat down and commenced to join in on our converstion. It was the end of the evening. We were her last table. But she might have filled our wine glasses prior to pulling up said chair…that would’ve been nice! It was a tad odd but fun all at the same time. Yet one more story to add to the collection.

So with all this history with people I don’t know, when I saw someone approaching our table while kicking back, relaxing and enjoying not only the company but the ambiance at a local Irish pub…it wasn’t totally surprising to me, and yet it always is, when an elderly gentleman approached our table.

“Are ye havin’ fun?” he asked me in a deep Irish brogue.

“Why yes…yes, I am!” I responded. Putting my hand to the side of my mouth and whispering to him as if we were sharing a secret, “Is it that noticeable?”

He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Aye, it 'tis…I heard yer laughter way over to the other side dere and taught I should top over and see fer meself what all da ruckus about.”

“I’m so sorry. Was I being too loud?” I asked.

I really was taken aback. I mean, I was laughing…but it’s laughter! In a pub! I didn’t know I should have been using 5 star restaurant golf club cocktail party laughter in a pub. His comment actually made me feel suddenly slightly deflated. I didn’t realize that I had been bothering anyone. I made a little mental note; ‘don’t laugh so loud’ to myself.

“No my darlin’…I LOVE the sound of yer laughter! I just wanted to you to know yer welcome here anytime.” He winked at me. “And to prove it to ya, the next rounds on the house. You’re making all dese people over dere happy with da sound of it.”

This little compliment almost made me cry.
In a split second I thought about the fact that laughter hadn’t come so easy in the several years past.

Many of my past memories that I think “well, there was that one time...that was fun” wasn't really. It was forced fun. Not real fun. Doing things, planning things, creating things in only to make him happy. I felt that if I made him laugh, him happy, then I too, would be happy in return.

Yeah. It doesn't work like that. Go figure...

I asked my companions “do I laugh too loud?”

“NO!!!” they all replied. “it’s so good to hear! You didn’t laugh for a long time, Nancy. We thought you had forgotten how to.”

Yikes! Really? How did that happen to me? It still surprises me to think back to where I had ended up mentally. That wasn’t the Nancy that I knew…this laughing Nancy is the one that I’ve always embraced! The one that I’ve always had the mental image of who I was. Who I am.

But as it turns out, it had been such a long time since I could feel my eyes twinkle, so long since I'd been happy or when laughter came so easily. It’s been such a very long time since I’ve been this relaxed. And this confident. To feel as though doors are opening and I’m excited to explore and see what the day brings. I used to look forward to bed, where I would toss and turn, unable to sleep because of the stress and depression my relationship had put me. I wanted so desperately for the day to end…quickly, so I wouldn’t have to endure another moment of it. All in hopes that when I awoke, things would be different. Things would have changed. And then I lost that hope.

Until a year ago October.
It broke my heart. He broke my heart. But it's fully mended now.

My laughter comes easy.
My confidence in place.

I even enjoy that strangers talk to me. It’s all pretty cool in the big scheme of things. I’m in a very, very good place right now. And obviously, it shows. 

As it turns out, this spry elderly gentleman is the owner and purveyor of said Pub. “You come back now anytime darlin’”, he said to me as he bowed to me holding my hand. “We’re in dire need of da sound of yer laughter in this place.”

He had no idea how he hit that on the head. As it turns out, I had been in dire need of hearing my laughter myself. And on my leave I promised him that indeed I would be back. And soon.

I already own my own mug there, hung from the ceiling with my name on it, but it’s really not been used much since it’s purchase. But me thinks it won’t be gathering any dust from now on out. I do believe that I’ve found my Cheers!

Slainte!
:-)

poor little thing...

I love me some eBay.

There is something about the online chase for the perfect item gets me all excited. I have been known to set my alarm so I can wake to bid at the very last moment. There's no need in driving up the price hours before the auction close or to allow my fellow bidders to outbid me whilst I sleep. Nah…I’ll just wake, hit the 1-click bid button a few times and Viola! , I’ve now got me a North Face for $100 less than I could buy it at Dick’s Sporting goods.

Oh yeah.
I’m that savvy.

I also sell quite a bit of stuff on eBay as well.

It’s like an online garage sale without the people trying to steal your items when you back is turned or offering you ¾ less than what you have it priced for. For instance, at a recent garage sale I had a picnic basket, never used with all the plates, silverware and wine glasses inside staged out on the lawn waiting for the right buyer. It was really quite nice, but a gift that I never used. I had priced it at $50 which was quite the bargain since it was about $150 less than the sticker price.

“Will you take $10 for that basket?” one of the people browsing my wares asked.
“No, thanks so much. But no.” I responded. (I’m WAY to polite, trust me.)
“15 dollar. That’s a good price! I’ll take it for 15 dollar.”
“No, really, thank you…but I’ll just keep it then.”
“You’re crazy! Why you not take $15! That’s a good price! Last offer!”, she persisted.
“ Again, thank you for your offer but the answer is no. It's actually a GREAT price at $50.”  I tried to explain. Her look of exhasperation with me showed. I gathered up the basket and put it on my back porch. I figured that she just might help herself to it when I was talking to someone else.

The next day I listed it on eBay.

Guess how much I got for it?
C'mon, guess!

Yeah, diggity! The bidding went up to $108! 15 dollars…bah. Shame on her. I bet if I'd have let her have it it would be her that would be collecting $100 right now.

For the most part the buyers on eBay are delightful. They’ll send me messages “I love Love LOVE this sweater! THANK YOU!” or “You’re the best seller EVER on eBay!”. It’s these messages that keep me listing.

Oh sure, there have a been a few that were so horrible that I thought I might never get on eBay again. Some that get my blood boiling to a point with the incredulousness of their antics that I can hear my heart beating in my ears and my fingers shaking.

There was the lady that insisted she get her money back that she never received her shoes. She even opened a case against me on eBay. Ummm, yeah right. Delivery confirmation shows they were delivered on your doorstep at 1:01pm September 24th. Don’t mess with me, ma'am…I’ll take you down.

I love delivery confirmation.
It’s saved me a few times. I would never, ever, send anything without it.

I’ve sold everything from lots of old gold jewelry for melt to a hard top for a convertible. From snow tires used one season to antique silverware. From an armoire to an old American flag with only 15 stars on it. If I own it, and I’m not using it, and I see no future for my using it…then it goes on ebay.

In my basement I have 3 bins at the base of the stairs. One is for Goodwill, or Easter Seals, or the veterans…whoever calls me first when the bin is full gets it. The second bin is for the summer garage sale. And the third bin is for eBay. All those goodies, like the picnic basket, that would sell better online than in my yard.

A recent sales transaction I had made my mind wander and think of a story. I had shipped a box to Texas. She asked if I had sent it yet, which I then traced and it said that it was ‘undeliverable’ . Undeliverable? What did that mean? I suggested that she go to her local postoffice and inquiry. The only time I had seen that before was when a woman kept leaving her dog out on the front porch so the carrier wouldn’t approach due to fear of being bitten. He marked it ‘undeliverable’ because in his mind, it was.

I waited a few days to see if it would be returned to me or if it indeed would show up on her doorstep. Nothing. A few more and it was returned to me. Box smashed, my name still on it, but the delivery address ripped off.

I took it up to show my postmaster. They said that I could re-ship it, but I’d have to pay for the shipping again. I pleaded my case that by looking at the shipping itinerary it HAD reached it destination in Austin only to have the label damadged there so they didn’t have a full address. (however, but scanning the bar code all that information is available to them…duh) So someone down there stamped it undeliverable and sent it back to Ohio. The manager at the post agreed with me and sent it again, on it's way at no extra charge.

But what happened to that box?

Obviously a sorter somewhere crushed it. Or someone sat on it. Or someone used it to stand on to reach something else..I mean, it was crushed! Do all packages get handled with such disregard? If this box could talk, what would it tell me…?

I began to wonder about this poor boxes journey. What happened to it from the time that I carefully packaged what was inside, wrapped in bubble wrap and tissue and tied with a ribbon and note. What happened to this poor little box in it’s travels to Texas? AND on it’s return?

As I stood there and looked at this box, willing it speak to me…by God, it did.

It told me of the abuse it suffered at the hands of a angry postal employee, it told me of the pain it endured from the massive sorting machine and how the figurine inside was so grateful for the little box trying it’s hardest to protect its charge.

It was a sad story.
It was an enlightening story.
It was a heartwarming story.

Complete with a happy ending with the little box making it to its destination and its contents all delivered in one piece. I daydreamed as I saw a short animated film play in my head with the voices of other boxes crying out to this one to ‘watch out!” The Priority Mail eagle stamp on the side coming to life and helping navigate it’s way safely through on the conveyer belts.

I looked at it and smiled and pondered for one more moment…and then I sealed it back up with heavier packing tape and affixed a new label.

“Good little box.” I said to it as I patted its sides. “You are a very, very good little box.”

The postmaster gave me a bit of a quizical look as I stroked the boxes side as I handed it over the counter to him. "It's been through a lot already. Just giving it some encouragement." I awkwardly replied.

He just smiled at me. Tilted his head a bit as he observed the odd behaviour of his patron. "It'll be ust fine ma'am."

It was then that I realized I hadn't quite let go....
:-)


Oh…and yes. Indeed it WAS a happy ending. It got there the second time and the new owner was very pleased with her purchase. Funny thing is she sent me a note that read, “Geez…that poor little box must have been through a lot! I kind of felt sad for it.”

12 step scrabble...

I love playing scrabble.

It was one of those games that we used to play at home growing up. Sure we had the games of Mousetrap, Operation and Twister that all kids had, but when it was game time with the parents we either played cards; Hearts in paticular which usually left someone in tears (me) when my dad would get them all and we would all get 36 points; or Scrabble.

I have fond memories of playing it with my mom and dad. We played lots and lots of games. Most were unmemorable, the ending always the same with my dad winning. My mom was a good player, but didn't have the savvy my dad did. He could get 30 points with just playing one letter. As a kid, it was highly annoying. But I continued to play. My mother used to write down the unusually high scores in the lid of the scrabble box with the date and who was playing.

As you might know, my mother passed away a couple of years ago. We had somewhere along the line replaced the older version of our scrabble game with a new one as one of the tiles got lost somewhere in the 25 years that we had that particular game. But I still have the original box and game. It’s old, the cardboard sides are broken, the velvet bag torn…but I keep it. I pull it out from its nesting spot under my bed and look at it from time to time. I read the entries in my mothers’ neat hand and caress the well worn tiles. It holds a lot of nostalgia for me.

One particular memory holds like it was yesterday. I had come home for a visit from college and played a quick game with my dad before going to bed. It was my dad’s birthday and as a joke I had given him a paperweight. I had it engraved with “Lifetime Achievement Award for Outstanding Scrabble Play”. I thought it was funny. It did bring a smile to his face. And it still to this day sits on the bureau in the living room.

Ironically it was that very night we played a quick game. And I beat him.
For the first time in my life.

I had come close several times, but I had never won. His vocabulary was just superior to mine own, his plays more clever, the use of tiles played close to not allow others free play. Triples were guarded and rather than make the big 6 letter word that might open up one for the next player, he’d be content taking a lesser single score and look for that spot the next turn. It was like when we played chess…he was always severals moves ahead.

But this time it was I who won. And he couldn’t believe it.

Oh sure, he gave me the congratulations. When I went up to get ready for bed and then came back down for a glass of water, there he was...sitting on the couch RE adding all the scores just to make sure.

The game HAD been close.
I won by a mere 6 points.
But I won.

It was the first time that I really felt as if I had become a young adult.

Here we are so many years later; Enter Words with Friends.

Help me.
There must be a twelve step program for me somewhere.

I am addicted.

You’ll find me in a basement somewhere, iPhone tucked into my palm nervously glancing at it to see if any one of my 23 opponents has made a arecent play.

“Hi, I’m Nancy. I haven’t played a word in 46 seconds….”
"Hi Nancy..." all the other people with smart phones will answer.

I wake up in the middle of the night and make a play. I’ll take a break from work to see what the score of a particular game is. The other night my daughter had crawled into bed with me. My phone was under my pillow. I heard the familiar ‘ding’ when someone plays. I pulled out my phone to see…”Mom? Are you playing words? What time is it?” came her voice. I had forgotton she was even there. The glow from my phone illuminating the room. “Uhmmm, yeah. I’ll turn it off. Sorry. It’s late.”

And I did turn it off.
For a moment.

I grabbed my phone and snuck into the bathroom for a quick bladder release and a double word score.
I know. It’s sad.

It’s been years since I downloaded the app. At first I was just playing with my then boyfriend. He had a Blackberry so we would just pass my phone back and forth between us to play. We'd be out to dinner and between bites we'd make plays. I should've seen this addiction coming. But I didn't.

At the time I thought it odd to just pick up a random opponent.  But one afternoon I got bored waiting for him to get home from work to play. I wanted to play NOW. So I did. I hit the Random Opponent button. Enter in Justbreysmom. Turns out she lives in Arizona, her name is Melissa and yes, she has a son named Brey. We’ve now been playing for over 3 years. I can’t even fathom how many games we’ve completed. I feel as if I should send her a Christmas card.

I’ve many games going with people that I feel as if I know. But don’t really. There’s Km in Malassia whom I can’t tell if she cheats or not. Her knowledge of the English language is seamingly better than my own. Or sparkles4u, she (I assume she’s a she…but I really don’t know!) she either plays poorly or really really good. I’ve had to look up a few of her words just to know what they are.

The Facebook connection has gotten me playing with a lot of people now that I DO know. But I still like to pick up random games from time to time. You can always tell if they are newbies by the plays they make. Simple two letter words from the get go. One I started yesterday; her first play was “no”. Which I turned into “noirs” making it a double word, she added “head” to the s which opened up the triple.

Silly girl.
Leaving open a triple.

I’m currently beating her by 160 points. We have 48 more letters to play.
Her screen name is aptly named WeepingGirl.

Joe146 couldn’t take the heat and quit the game when he opened up the triple and I added a s to his play of zinc. It was an 86 point play. C’mon dude. Play it out! Bah.

The highest single play that I’ve ever made was 162 points. I played a triple word with the Q and Z with the Z landing on the triple letter. It was beautiful. My opponent, Jennifer, didn’t resign. She just played harder. She’s a tough competitor. Her husband, also my friend and a good scrabble player, I’ve played as well. He is currently on Words Hiatus as it was taking over his life. I'm sure I'll see him in the basement with all of us trying to desparately break free of the Words bug.

Jen and I are pretty evenly matched. She makes some stellar plays that I even scratch my head at. “Wow Jen….that was a doozy! Take it easy on me!” In our games, the median play is between 30 and 40 points. We’ve had some pretty high scoring games.

That’s all a far cry from when I used to play on that old board with my dad.

And although I love my electronic version of scrabble that I play…the memory of my playing with my folks I will always hold dear.

Oh…and the last time we played as a family?...my daughter joined us.

Guess who won.

Yup.
She did. With a little help from dear ol’ mom when grandpa was in the bathroom. THAT score I wrote on the box.

My mother would have been so proud.
:-)




Happy Thanksgiving!
And if you want to pick up a game, you know what my screen name is: f8hasit. With a little f. Someone out there has taken it with a capital F...but that ain't me. :-)

costume miss hap...

I love Halloween.

I love the season it’s in, I love decorating the house, I love the costumes, I love the idea of playing dress up. We’re big dress up costume people year round in this house. If anyone ever needs a costume, for Halloween or otherwise, they usually call here first.


And chances are I have it, I can make it, or I can find it.
All I need is an idea…and I run with it.

My daughter a few years ago was going with a group of friends for trick or treat. They gathered at Chloes house for a tete-a-tete to figure out what indeed they would be. They poured over the most recent costume catalogs. “We can pick out whatever you want.” Chloe exclaimed, “my mom will buy them for us!”

My daughter, although enthralled with all the costumes, immediately replied, “My mother would never allow me to wear a store bought costume. Never.”

Smart girl.
And she's right.

It’s true. My thought is you can buy ‘things’ to make or go with the costume, props and such…but going to Target or Sears and picking something up? That uses no imagination. Isn’t that what Halloween costumes are about? Using your imagination?

There are several costumes that I’ve seen over the years that I thought were brilliant. Some are outstanding just because of the attention to detail in bringing a costume to life. Others are because of the wit behind the get up.

I remember one year having a party and Pete came with a head band that read “Go Pete!”. He was wearing medals around his neck and a jacket made of sponges. He carried a book around that he showed to everyone titled “All about Pete”. What was he? Why, the self absorbed man.

Brilliant.

This past Halloween I went to a party and the host had the most elaborate costume with full duster coat, leather gloves, eel skin boots –with spurs mind you, AND a Stetson royal flush hat complete with playing cards tucked into the silver concho band. He had an intricate latex mask of a skull. What was he? Death.

Very cool. Well done, my friend. Kudos to Death.

Guys costumes are usually pretty straightforward. But I don’t understand the trend in the costumes that the girls are wearing. Not the little girls like my daughters age or her peers, but the adults. Going to an adult costume party does not mean that you need to buy your costume at Fredericks of Hollywood.

I was astounded by the amount of fishnet hose, corsets/ bustiers, platform stilettos and ruffled panties. Each outfit seemed to have at least 3 of the 4 and some went even further in pushing the envelope. I didn’t realize that the queen of hearts from Alice in Wonderland had such a low cut top that when bending over her breasts would fall out. Not to mention that her uber short skirt and sheer panties, her outfit pretty much left nothing to the imagination. And she was not a runway model by any means. She was quite the ample girl. I just didn’t get it.

And her friends? They all had that same slutty mindset. Alice in Wonderland - Same outfit…fishnets, stilettos, ruffled panties and major pushup bra throwing her boobs into our faces and drinks. A pirate'ess- again, more of the same but this time with boots that I didn’t even know came that high, or tops that low. Uh, matey...your nipple has fallen into my drink.

There were in attendance all the cliché costumes. The French maid, the pussy cat, the playboy bunny, the belly dancer, the nurse, the naughty schoolgirl, the sexy nanny, the police woman....the prostitute. Yup, they were all there.

Sure, there were a few of us that had on more traditional garb. In that I mean I donned a turtleneck to go with my black angel of death outfit. Or Brookes kitshky white sheet ghost costume. Even the Bride of Frankenstien, which was fabulous, didn't have to expose tons of flesh to look wonderful...and sexy.

As I stood there assessing the costumes that the women were wearing, I started to wonder. Why is it that Halloween, for women, has become a time to get your slut on? I don’t get it? It didn't always be this way. Just because it’s an ‘adult’ party does not mean that you need to dress like an ‘adult entertainer’. This was not the playboy mansion. Our host was not Hugh Hefner. And we were not at a club.

Hell, earlier in the day I was down at Edgewater Yacht Club for their annual kids ‘trunk or treat’. Some of the members get really into it and decorate their cars for the event. There are those that even get dressed up. But the lady parked next to us was dressed with long blond wig, fish net hose, short French maid outfit and heels…at 1:00 in the afternoon for a CHILDRENS costume party. Really? And honey…look at your drivers’ license. Your 62. AND perhaps 40 pounds too heavy for that outfit to begin with. Uhmmm. Can you say ‘Inappropriate’?

There was a documentary shown at the Sundance Film Festival this year that won awards. And for good reason. It was recently aired on the Oprah Network and has a Facebook page. I believe the director, Jennifer Siebel Newsom, has her finger on the pulse of what’s happening. This isn’t about Halloween and the lack of inspiration for appropriate costuming. It’s about the media and how young girls and men perceive themselves and what they feel is the norm, or expected.

When we are constantly barraged with sex, from every standpoint, it’s no wonder that the Queen of Hearts thought her outfit was fitting. Darlin', it was TOO fitting. Trust me.

The documentary is called Miss Representation. (see the trailer here) It’s fantastic.

“In a society where media is the most persuasive force shaping cultural norms, the collective message that our young women and men overwhelmingly receive is that a woman’s value and power lie in her youth, beauty, and sexuality, not in her capacity as a leader.”

Watching this film really got me to thinking about these girls dressed in their hooker outfits and what they really must think about themselves. I do believe that we, as women, are extremely influenced by media. The magazines, the catalogs, the movies. Who doesn’t want to look like a Victorias Secret model? But what is the cost?

When I was a manager at VS I found it amazing how men coming in the store would talk to us. Making sexual based comments when we would ask what they were in shopping for.

“You know, something to make my girl sexy…like you.” he said as he obviously checked me out from top to bottom.

Brushing the comment aside and trying to be polite and proffesional I asked, “is there a specific color or item you have interest in?”

“Red. Red is sexy. And slippery. I like slippery...Like silk or something.”

Alright, got it.
I steered him over towards the satin chemise’s. They are always a big seller at that price and I could add on other things to go with it depending on his input.

“What size do you think she is?”  I asked. Always a loaded question but one that you need to know to go forward. I’d almost cringe immediately after asking because you know that that's when they would look stare at you, stare at your breasts, hold out their hands like about to grab melons and say “About this big.” Or “Her tits are bigger/smaller/same as yours.”

Yeah. Amazing, huh? And a completely true story.

Many times after work the girls would go out for a drink before heading home. I loved the gals I worked with…still do! Our uniform was to wear a black suit. Didn’t matter if it was a skirt, or pants or what you wore or didn’t underneath it…just as long as it was a black suit. When we’d walk in an establishment it was pretty much known that we were the VS girls. It was like the girls in the Robert Palmer video “Addicted to Love”, heads would turn and the men would flock around us like WE were the supermodels. It was really weird.

I work for VS.
I am not in the catalog.
I am not your fantasy dream girl.

I do, however, own a lot of their lingerie…perk of the business. I am STILL after all these years pulling out of my drawers bras and panties that I bought that still have the tags on them. Thank goodness too since I like the old construction and material to the new one!

I’m a not a big womens libber or anything, but I was raised with the notion that there is nothing that I can not do…just because I’m a woman. I’ve lived by that statement my dad made to me at a very young age my whole life. I’m strong. I’m capable. I’m fierce.

I like to look good. I like to feel sexy.
But I am a very capable and smart woman too. I can’t, nor do I wish to, live any other way. I’m not going to be the one saying “Honey, I can’t get this…can you do it for me?” while batting my eyelashes and twirling my hair. Chances are that I’ll have figured out a way to accomplish my goal before I would even think about asking for help.

That being said, you can place a safe bet that it will not be me you find at a Halloween party displaying my goods. You want to see them? You’ve got to earn that right. Now granted, I’m not about to don an unattractive outfit, but I think one can look fabulous without all the low cut, up to there gear!

“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” – Alice Walker.

So what is really up with the kinky, racy, naughty outfits?

Personally, I don’t think that wearing itsy bitsy costumes brings out anything fierce in a woman. It leaves precious little to the imagination and feminine mystic. I understand that Halloween costumes are a chance to don another persona for a short time, but is that to say that every womans other self is a whore? Say it isn’t so.

Halloween in America has become a 5 billion dollar industry. And the media drives it, so all those little outfits bought? It just feeds the machine that continues to demean. And women have bought into it. The costumes used to be bought for private role play and bedroom use…now it seems everyone has deemed them appropriate for public wear.

I took another glance around at those at the party. I shook my head and I vowed that if one more girl walked in the door with one of these get-ups on, I would have to spew my drink....
THAT would have been a horrible trick.

What are your thoughts?
As women? And as guys?
…enlighten me.

:-)