Happy Crowded

For 31 years I slept alone. All by my lonesome in a big bed just for me. I had all the covers to myself, all the pillows. I could toss and turn and move this way and that. I could do the splits if I wanted. Snore. Drool. Eat crackers. Watch late night informercials. Read. I'm a person who loves to sleep....loves to sleep...so I've always taken great pains to make the most comfortable bed situation possible. I was reminded of my 31 years of vast-bed-space-all-to-myself this morning at 3am when a wet dog nose was burrowing into my side. And an elbow of a husband was flung perilously close to my left eyeball. And Minnie was stealing ALL of the covers. I was shivering and squished and annoyed and awake....at 3am.

But.

Truly.

I don't mind. Even though I now have to constantly tug at the covers, keep my arms and legs to myself, sleep with a dog who wakes up 30 times a night to walk around the bed to find a new spot and next to a husband who gets too hot if any part of my body touches him....I don't mind. Now when I am startled awake from a nightmare, I'm not alone. Now when there's creepy noises outside, I'm not alone. Now when I've had a bad day and things have escalated to end of the day tears....I am not alone. Now I have my family surrounding me.

My little family. All in one bed.

Is This Thing On?

So my friend Kelley went to Open Mic night the other week to see an old family friend do his undiscovered talent thang the way only young, single Nashville transplants with a guitar and a dream can do. She hadn't seen this particular old family friend in a month of Sundays and was excited to support and maybe catch up. She went alone* and upon walking into the dimly lit bar had to take a moment to gain her night vision. Upon acclimating, she realized she had been inadvertantly staring intently at a young upstart at the bar. He asked her to sit down. She awkwardly did. She then ordered a beer. Young Upstart then said "You know, I would have bought you that beer but I paid my utilities today."
O.
K.

*Note: Kelley is the only friend I have who can work a room like no other and yet maintain a close friendship with everyone in that room. Sincerely. And she traveled Europe. Alone. In short.....ain't no party like a party with Kelley cause a party with Kelley don't stop.

Later Young Upstart (you saw this one coming) left the bar stool to go perform his own catalog of songs. He asked Kelley if she was going to stick around.
"Errr....ummmm, " she said.

Then even later...after learning that Kelley works for a Certain Record Company, Young Upstart gave her his demo and business card. He then said the following - "You'll have to open the files on this disc...you won't be able to play them in your car. Oh...and I put my business card in there. Give me a call sometime and we can go to lunch." He also asked for her number and she said, "Ummm, that's not how it works. My name is Kelley....if you want to call me you can figure it out."

Oh young, male Nashville.....how wild and desperate you are.

2006 No More

I've been thinking about writing the obvious It's-A-New-Year post where I cherish the past and predict the future chock full of obvious resolutions (Lose Weight! Save Money!) and positivity out the wazoo. Truth is...I haven't been able to formulate a thought in my head let alone put one in print. 2006 was......crap. Start to finish.

Total.

Crap.

I was looking forward to 2007 with an obvious desperation. Counting on it to be better. Depending on it....because 2006 Volume 2 is not an option for me. I can't take one more minute of 2006. In short, I AM OVER 2006. I am over TMC and doctors and job stress and family drama and car troubles and friends losing loved ones and prescriptions and physical therapy and sick friends and muddy paw prints and on and on. And on. I thought Christmas would be the beginning of the end of Terrible 2006....but over Christmas we lost two family dogs. Did you hear me?

Two.
Family.
Dogs.
Died.

Minnie is still with us, thank the Lord, but to say that losing the other dogs was sad is a gross understatement. Ryan and I had a long talk with Minnie and told her that she's not allowed to die. Ever.

And so....I'm begging you 2007.....be good to me. GOOD to me. I need a break. A pass. A jackpot. Something.

Let's take a moment to remember Foxy and Tess. They were both loved deeply.

Here's Tess...the Illingworth family dog and Ryan's dog since he was 10 years old.


1991-2006

And here's Foxy...my parents' dog and Minnie's friend.


2003-2006

They will both be terribly missed.

12,412,678.06

The approximate number of calories I have consumed since December 21st.

Long live peanut butter balls and sugar cookies.

Ho...Ho....HO!

Merry Christmas from Illingworth Manor...













May your Christmas be Merry and Bright!

P.S. Here's Minnie hoping Santa doesn't forget about her....

Welcome to Office High

I graduated from high school over 14 years ago. As much as I feel like high school was just last week, it also feels like a distant memory. Like I need to squint to remember it clearly. And this is ok with me. Being an adult, while overrun with bills and responsibilities and giant life decisions, is at least free of the need to be popular. The need to achieve status among the elite. I've come to a place in my life where I don't care (all that much) if you like me or not.

Until yesterday.

For a few weeks now I've known some information about a friend that not many other people know. I was asked to keep this information a secret for a few weeks - and I did. It wasn't my news to spread. Yesterday, this information was finally revealed to our mutual friends. Most of these friends shouted YAY! and CONGRATS! since this information is of the good variety. Although one friend received the news by saying, "Jo knew before me? SHE KNEW BEFORE ME!!!"

Later in the afternoon this One Friend and I were discussing the information when she looked at me and said, "I can't believe she didn't tell me first. I can't believe she told YOU before ME." Like somehow it should be obvious that I rank WAY below her...and that I should know that it was obviously ridiculous for me to know information first. Information of any kind. Like I should know my rank in the office friendship queue - and stay there.

I can't explain why...but this stung a bit. Like the popular girls telling me with a smirk that the last seat at their lunch table was taken.

Thinking...

Don't you hate it when you've been so sick that you've had to blow your nose every 32 seconds and now it's raw and cracked and irritated but you finally have some drugs thanks to the shiny walk-in clinic where all the mean people work and you are starting to feel better although you still have to blow your nose only now it's not every 32 seconds but more like every 32 minutes and more of a maintenance than a nuisance but now that you aren't blowing your nose so often when you do actually touch cracked nose to scratchy tissue your ears EXPLODE with a force only matched by the pushing and shoving at 5am at Best Buy on Black Friday.

I hate that.

Also, I'm wearing a long sleeve t-shirt today (my fav) and a wool sweater (it's cold) but the sleeves of my t are quite longer than the sleeves of my sweater so I look a bit like a six-year-old with a ten-year-old sister who hasn't grown into the hand-me-down t but has already grown out of the last season sweater.

I hate that too.

Bedside Manners

I live in an area that's in constant development. Constant newness. We're on the outskirts of "town" but we're trying very hard to become town. To become destination worthy. We just got our first sit-down chain restaurant, a Home Depot, Lowe's....even a walk-in clinic. We are becoming so urban Minnie will soon start sagging her pants and writing rap rants about her smothering Mother.

For the past month everyone in the office has been sick. I had secretly started to pride myself in my resilience...taking my multi-vitamin every day and drinking my carrot juice. I thought I was somehow untouchable....like the germs trembled in my healthy presence.

Then on Sunday - I got sick.

Today I broke down and went to the brand new walk-in clinic. I called ahead to find out their hours, checked online to make sure I knew where it was. New clinic!, I thought. Should be fast and easy!

I walked in the shiny new door (no hand prints!) and breezed through the empty waiting room, smiling as I skipped. Well, half-skipped.....I am sick. As I dutifully signed in, the pinch-nosed nurse behind the sliding glass asked me if had been there before. No, I smiled. You haven't!, she shivered. Ummm, no.....aren't you new? Well, she sighed throwing her hands up, you'll HAVE to fill out ALL THESE FORMS and you'll HAVE to GIVE ME your INSURANCE CARD you know. Ok, I smiled.

After I was called back the nurse carrying the small laptop pointed for me to get on the scale. Given my recent weight loss I was happy to oblige. She started me out at 200+......note to the reader.....even at my heaviest, her choice was a bold one. I smiled lightheartedly and said, Oh No! I'm way below that. She growled suspiciously and slammed the weight counter down a notch. Then, almost as an intentional jab, she shouted my weight while typing it into her laptop. She shouted it. Now...I think all ladies know the universal Don't-Shout-Another-Ladies'-Weight Rule....don't we? I don't care if I weigh 105 - don't shout it. Ever.

She then grunted me into Exam Room 1 and checked my vitals. I tried to make polite conversation but she wasn't having it. I ended up leaving with an infection, a prescription and an irritated demeanor.

I ask you, when going to an Urgent Care facility, shouldn't I deserve a little (in the immortal words of Michael Bolton) Time Love and Tenderness?

Just Shoot Me

Our record company collected thousands of emails all summer on the Warped Tour. Understandably, we got some fake emails. My personal favorite is:

biteme@yeahright.com


Rowdy punk kids.

Naked

Sometimes I forget that The Glamorous Life is open to the public. That anyone on planet earth with an internet connection or a library card can access my personal-ness. Not that I'm writing anything embarrassing per se.....but on the occasion someone from my murky past comes back to haunt me. Or to say hello. Or both. Sometimes it's alarming...and sometimes nice. But it always makes me feel like some creep flasher - stunning onlookers with my private bits and pieces. This is one of the main reasons I haven't fully disclosed The Medical Condition I'm wading through. That's what I'm calling it now - The Medical Condition. Or TMC. Or The Thing That Hurts: Season 1. Or......anyway.....I say all this to say.....it's a weird thing, writing about your life in such a way and not knowing whose eyes are watching. It makes me want to censor. Cover up.

But at this point, why bother.

P.S. Hello to you Bryan Currie.