I bet a lot of you work at large companies where you make friends, or acquaintances really, with people in other departments/branches/etc. This is all good and well, as Tom Rath explained to me a couple of years back.

Tom says that having friends at work makes you a better employee, among other things, because you are happy at work. He reasons that, who wouldn't want to work with their friends?

Tom, you have a point. But I have a quandary.

I was out to lunch with a client recently when I ran into someone I had worked with at Local General Hospital. We shared small talk while waiting for our separate tables, as our lives have crossed paths, interestingly enough, since my departure at LGH.

My clients, being inquisitive (remember: I am a professional question answerer-people feel the need to ask me lots of questions!), asked me how I knew aforementioned girl in white lab coat. Offhandedly I answered, "Oh, we were co-workers at LGH. I worked there (professionally answering questions) and we hadn't seen each other in awhile."

This misled my lovely clients (they assumed, we all know what that does) to believe that I had once been a white coat. Note the little 'w' and little 'c'. Big 'W's and big 'C's are reserved for the MDs. What I really wanted to answer, when they asked how we knew each other - was that we were faux-workers. You know, fake co-workers. We worked at the same large, large company and occasionally ran into each other at the company dining hall, but really didn't actually work together. She couldn't give me a reference. She knew I was a consistent employee only because we were the only two in the organic food line at work. Every. Day.

And here I am again, in the same precarious situation. Apparently, I was offered up as a sacrificial reference for a former faux-worker. Upon receiving the unexpected, yet obligatory on the interviewees part, phone call I stalled.

How was I supposed to tell this guy that I wasn't as close to the interviewer as she thought we apparently were? I had flashbacks to making the invitation list to my wedding. Did Mr. & Mrs. Rhinoplasty realize that I didn't think nearly as much of them as they apparently (heard through the grapevine, mind you) thought of the soon-to-bes?

All I could think to tell him was that she threw killer Pampered Chef parties and drove a Lexus and was generally known to suffer from Big Hair syndrome. On occasion, she was able to get her boss to return my phone calls, but I wasn't privy to the earth-shattering secretarial skills her resume proudly boasted. To make matters worse, I wasn't even aware she was looking. Or unemployed. I was half tempted to put the guy on hold and dial her extension as a "pinch me" to prove that I wasn't a part of some time warp experiment.

Turns out, he had a list of textbook questions to ask where I ranked her "flexibility" and "sticktuitiveness" on a scale of 1 to 5. Praise HR for senseless interview practices we have all come to know and love.

Tomorrow morning, at the coffee pot, make sure and say hello to your friendly faux-workers.

After reading about a celebrity siting here - I realized that I had to neglected to publish my very own celebrity siting.

I was caught off guard last Saturday when Casey Rivers brushed by me in McAlisters. You can imagine my bliss as I watched him load his wife's (?!?! I thought he was saving himself for yours truly!) baby shower gifts into their Dodge Durango. (see picture proof below)

one more reason I love my job....

I arrived at work this morning to discover this:

An Office Crossword

e-mail from A: suit (the one) [insert link to Ralph Lauren]

reply from B: yessir

reply from A: lets get more than 1 word in reference to my WEDDING suit




I think it goes without saying that we'll be seeking extensive marriage counseling. With much review of the communication section.

conversation between A & B:

b: I have to have my dress hemmed.

a: so it's long?! wait? is it?

b: yeah and I need to have a bustle added to my dress.

a: a brussel? like brussel sprouts? you're wearing a brussel sprout dress?!?!

b: no bustle! BUSTLE! B-U-S-T-L-E! you know - I gotta get a poof in the back..

a: oh! so it doesn't drag the ground! why didn't you just say that?

this little game I play...

..in this little world I live in.


So my life consists of relatively mundane tasks. There are very few things that I feel passionately about - but CLEAN DISHES is in the top five. I swear.

I think it started when I was a little girl. We didn't have a "real" dishwasher and so the girls were delegated nights to wash. My dad was militant about having clean dishes. In fact, my sister was horrible at washing dishes and I have vivid memories of Dad not being satisfied with the washing done by my sister. Ever the competitor - my goal was to do it better. faster. with hotter water.

To this day - a dish isn't clean until it has been doused in scalding water at least twice.

Fast forward to the present. I live in a lovely little house with circa 1950s appliances - save the refrigerator which is coming in a distant second at DOB 1990. The dishwasher here has this almond covered panel to make it look "modern" and it makes this HORRIFIC grinding noise once you turn it on. Seriously - no exxageration, you can't watch TV in the next room with that thing on.

My suspicions were that the dishes weren't meeting my standards of cleanliness (we all know cleanliness is next to Godliness, don't we?) but the grinding and the magitude of decibels produced confirmed it.

So - I began washing by hand. I mean, it did it for almost eighteen years - what's another two or three, right? (Side note: my "new" house won't have a dishwasher either. What sin did I commit as a child to deserve dishwasher hell???)

I don't necessarily use a lot of dishes, but when I use dishes I use BIG dishes. We're talking 18" searing pans and 13" Calphalon saute pans. No small potatoes here. I actually enjoy washing the dishes after cooking a large meal. There's just something about completing a task that's fulfilling.

I also play this little game when I'm stacking the dishes to dry. I go for efficiency and stack-a-bility. I even wash in a certain order as to attain maximum dish stacking height so that cups can be stacked and spoons turned upside down. Water spots are my enemy in this game with myself. Tonight - there were lots! of! big! dishes!

Thrilling!

I added an element, almost like a new level in video game dish stacking! (Girls - I'm on to something here!) I stacked them as high as I could while still being able to open the door to the bowl cabinet. You see... in my stacking and washing and washing and stacking frenzy I put all the bowls for oatmeal (Beth!) and Special K (Laura!) on the bottom. Sad day. Once I realized this I had an epiphany! Just stack so that you can get to the bowl cabinet! Brilliant! You get to skip to the next level in Wii Dish Washing and Stacking, right?

Copying is really just flattery....right?!

I've been blessed with some really amazing friends. Like this one who posted this not too long ago. She also posted this and I've since been formulating my response.

As a bride-in-the-making, I've experienced so many awkward moments. I wasn't as shocked by the "when are you thinking about starting a family" question as I was by the "so.... are you a virgin?" inquiry by a lady who doesn't really know me (in my opinion) --- maybe in her mind, we're really on better terms than I realize.

But - I digress. So, as aforementioned blogger friend suggested I am posting some things I really appreciate hearing. Trust me, they're needed. Just ask my friends who've been around for the countless "she thinks I'll be a horrible bride/wife/chef/mother/sex goddess" breakdowns since Gibralter was laid to rest upon my left hand.

-- "You will make a lovely bride!" Note: lovely is the key term here as opposed to beautiful. Beautiful is reserved for pregnant women, super models (the REAL ones like Cindy Crawford) and sunsets.

-- tell me about your engagement/early months of marriage (especially if you've been married for 15+ years!). Personally, I love stories. But, I've already seen marriages crumble that I stood for. And people wonder why kids my age live together. Millennials don't like to fail. And that "D" word is failure.

-- ask me about me. Yes, as if being a bride isn't already about me me me me. But the other ME still exists. The girl who has a career, and amazing best friends, and interests in quirky history books, who goes to the library alone on Thursday nights for a Date Night with herself. I am more than a bride-and-groom pair. Don't forget about me.

-- tell our parents "what great kids we are" when I am within earshot. Even if you think it's a lie. They need to be congratulated on raising two competent, gainfully employed children. That is very rare these days. Very.

Sometimes you have to do things you just don't want to do. Those times aren't very often for me.

But Saturday arrived early and full of opportunity to perform the unwanted and unnecessarily necessary duties.

I went about with a somewhat jovial spirit. It was very cold outside and I had the wonderful opportunity of being indoors - so, in my opinion, there wasn't too much to complain about. I am someone who bores very easily, so I was pleasantly surprised when a stranger took up conversation with me. It made the time pass quickly while I prodded along at the menial task I had taken upon myself.

I first noticed him when he sat down near me because he was missing his right arm. Several of his fingers on his left hand were missing the tips. He was very tall and you wouldn't have even noticed his abnormalities because he carried himself with such ease. I know that's hard to believe, but his demeanor was such that you knew he was very comfortable with who he was.

He told me that he was a retired mathematics professor and that he and his wife had bought a ranch and were raising cattle and horses. We discovered several mutual connections (I am amazed every day at how small the world really is) and that we were interested in the same things. He couldn't have been younger than 72. We chatted on - I tried not to talk so much, because I realize that's annoying to other people.

Our time together came to a close and, as any proper young lady would do, I bid him "have a good day!".

"Have a good forever," was the reply I received. "Why stop with just one day?"

And I cried as I drove home. The simplicity of that statement - the depth, still moves me now as I write.

so - have a good forever. And don't stop with just one day.

Where does the light end and the darkness begin?

It's funny how you subconsciously adjust your expectations of yourself and others in certain situations. Like when you swing by the office on your day off wearing flips and a a tube top. Something just doesn't quite feel right....

Yesterday, I was standing in the church foyer (well, it's not really a foyer - but a big entrance area before you walk into the theatre/sanctuary/auditorium) when the girl in front of me at the coffee pot said, "Fuck it!".

I died. And then crumbled into several little pieces.

I don't see myself as someone who is easily embarrassed, but I was. I mean, let that roll around in your noggin. It even sounds harsh in print.

And then, I pictured one of the dozen 8 year olds repeating it a the dinner table and telling mom that he "heard it at church".

Unacceptable.

Which leads me to ask - is it ever acceptable? I mean, we've all heard the f-bomb dropped on numerous occasions, but just picture saying it in the kitchen in front of your mom. Yikes. See what I mean about subconscious expectations?

And was it appropriate for that girl to express herself in such a manner?

I'm not sure how I feel - but it was the first time I've ever heard the f-bomb at church!

who is THIS girl?

for some strange reason, I am SO excited about Christmas this year. I have no idea why - I just am. In fact - I've already pulled out my nativity set and my favorite dish towels (the nice ones only for decorating and not for using)! It's odd because I went on a walk tonight and griped to my neighbor, Courtney, about everyone who had lights out already.

I already have TWO presents wrapped! I mean - who is this girl? If you find the real me, Grinch Beth, please return her to her rightful owner!

the new man in my life takes my V card...

Last year it was brought to my attention that I was deprived. It was questionable whether or not I would be able to call myself a Texan. For, my friends, I was a State Fair of Texas virgin.

Gasp!

I had been holding tight to that State Fair of Texas vcard. It seems that No Child Left Behind left me in the dust when it came time for the State Fair of Texas. If you know me, you know I grew up in a teensy town deep in the heart of East Texas. Many twists and turns have led me to where I am today - meaning that I realize that the State Fair is more than an event that occurs during the Texas/Oklahome game.

You see - my "State Fair" experience consisted of a "ferris wheel" and some shady rides set up in the Kroger parking lot. I was SHOCKED to realize that A grew up taking a 'Fair Day off from school' every year.

Growing up, the big D was the land of milk and honey - but a WHOLE DAY off from school to go to the fair?!?! Boy - I was missing out.

be careful what you're workin' with

Humans are, quite possibly, the most fascinating creatures to grace the face of the earth. I am equally amused and frustrated at some of the things we humans do. One such instance occurred not to long ago.



I hate being mushy-mushy but it goes with the story. So be patient with me. I have a superbly intelligent boyfriend. He ranks in the top three of "Three Most Intelligent People Beth Knows". Top tier - I tell ya. Must have been those Dallas public schools. His resourcefulness never ceases to amaze me - except for this one instance.













The story goes like this: he does really nice things for me. So, in return, I want to do nice things for him. One really nice thing I do for him is: laundry. He hates it. He once told me that he viewed his socks as "disposable" and wished his clothing were to so that it never had to be washed. Just wear it, then throw it away. I explained to him that while this was completely logical - it wasn't necessarily economical and as such not possible. BUT - I digress. Soooooo..... in doing his laundry a couple of weeks back I go to remove STACKS of clothes off the top of the dryer only to be suddenly, painfully poked in the hand by something in the laundry.






A porcupine one might guess? Maybe "stickers" (more commonly know as grass burs) from walking out in the field?






NO. no no no.






It was this:







Yes, folks. From the man who wants "disposable clothing" comes the new line of clothing. ZIP TIED JEANS. Upon closer inspection I discover that this 1997 era model of Structure brand jeans (does Structure even exist anymore?!?!) had apparently ripped at the ankle seam. Apparently, the aforementioned owner took the time and great effort to ZIP TIE the seam back together.









This from the man who possesses nearly every Williams-Sonoma gadget known to mankind.









So - I did what any reasonable girl would do. I went and grabbed my phone. And went to "check the dryer again". And I snapped away. It took several attempts, but I think I managed to capture the magic of the zip tie.

















Also of interest was this:





After cleaning off the top of the dryer I found the sign shown above. Verrrrrrry interesting.

I hate to harp on weddings all the time, I really do. Maybe I'm burned out. actually - I'm not, but the truth might hurt a few feelings, so we'll carry on without all the usual self-examination. So if you're currently engaged or recently married or if I was in your wedding - stop reading here.

why has Vera Wang come out with her own set of MATTRESSES?

In business class we learned about the concept of co-branding, so the concept itself isn't new to me. It's the actual coupling that is. I can understand Gillette razors and Duracell batteries (hello! they're owned by the same company!) but mattresses and wedding dresses???

What's the target group here? I mean - there's the obvious. But come on guys! In this day and age? Are couples really buying their first bed for their first night together?

I didn't mean for this post to reach soapbox proportions and I don't usually like to bring my fundamental beliefs about things into this, but even as an evangelical Christian I know the truth. I saw the pregnant teenagers last night at the movie theatre (btw-GO see Hairspray. Maybe that's why they're pregnant. All those movies with sexual innuendo).

What I'm trying to say (but am ending up chasing rabbit trails instead) is that weddings and mattresses don't go together. Bad idea, Vera. AND to make things worse, Vera, you are promoting the wedding mania that I am adamantly against. The idea that says that to achieve the ultimate in blissfulness you need a three thousand dollar dress and 8.6 bridesmaids bedecked head-to-toe in either 1)dresses they hate 2)dresses they'll never wear again or 3)dresses the bride-picked-out-and-didn't-pay-for-even-though-the-bridesmaids-hate-them-and-will-never-wear-them-again.

Vera, you were my friend. I wanted to wear a Vera Wang dress (purchased off of eBay, of course). But, you and your little mattress empire are too much for me.

...and the miles that separate us...

A recent conversation between your two favorite letters in the alphabet:



Ms. B: So, I talked to Audra today and she's headed up to Ponca City to check things out. You know, we should go camping.



Mr. A: Yeah...we should. You owe me for that one time you stood me up.



Ms. B: *snickers* yeah... you would not stop asking me out! Come on!! camping?!?!



Mr. A: How about cabin-ing?



Ms. B: YOU.ARE.MY.SOULMATE.

bridesmaids=ex girlfriends?!?!

I experienced an epiphany this weekend. Actually I experienced more than one – if that’s possible. The first was seeing my brother drink beer. Weird. I’m sure he felt the same way once he realized that I wasn’t toting around punch in an awkward brown bottle, but Shiner.

So–I’m watching the scene unfold. Preacher and groom walk in. Groom is fidgeting nervously with his cuff links. Then, the processional starts. Bridesmaid….after bridesmaid…. after bridesmaid. All awkwardly smiling and secretly cursing the bride for choosing a color of dress so awful that Elle McPherson couldn’t even pull it off.

The groom is anxiously watching each girl traipse/plod down the aisle, all the while thinking,
“When is the right one going to get here?”

And then it occurred to me! My aha! moment came so swiftly in the sanctuary of the First Methodist Church. Those bridesmaids represent every relationship he had to suffer through before arriving at the right one. This also explains why the groom usually casts disdainful eyes upon the bride’s friends. Isn’t my theory coming together nicely?

When an acquaintance of mine was married, she had something like thirteen bridesmaids. The funny (and ironic and weird and sad) thing is – she probably had that many relationships before meeting her husband.

I realize that traditional thought says that bridesmaids/groomsmen are there to stand in support of your marriage. They often represent remnants of your past, or are what brought the two lovebirds together or better yet, they’re siblings that will be around regardless to listen to your woes as newlyweds/new parents/empty nesters.

Maybe I'm pregnant?!?

Even pregnant you wear heels? Always. Louboutins. I’ve worn heels forever, and my feet are just more comfortable in them. I’m not bragging, but when I wear flats, my back hurts because I’ve relearned how to walk—I walk on the front pad of my foot instead of on my heel.

So that's the reason my back was hurting today! I'm pregnant! Not really...that's how rumors get started. But I can totally sympathize with this chick. I wear heels 6 days a week. I noticed several months (maybe more like a year or so) ago that when I wore ballet flats my hips and lower back would have a dull ache. I chalked it up to old age or the early on-set of arthritis. (I can't believe I even just mentioned those two terms... it's like I already have one foot in the grave.)

I would say that I am very aware when it comes to my body and I acknowledge that a couple of skiing injuries and a family history of arthritis make me a likely candidate for aches and pains at a young age. I also realized that on the days I was wearing ballet flats were the days that I wasn't feeling up to par, so it was to be expected that I feel a few aches and pains.

So, one day when I had worn flats all day and then changed into heels for an evening out I realized that the pain magically disappeared. Then... months later I read the above linked article in New York-The Magazine's Look Book I realized my problem. My body is so acclimated to wearing heels that it rejects anything else. Even super comfy Cobians. (Which, btw are the only things you should put on your feet save Manolos.)

So -mystery foiled. Just call me Matlock!

Rendevous then I'm through with you...

Have you ever made a really awful decision? I mean REALLY AWFUL?

I'm not talking about marrying the wrong guy (I almost did that), or wearing one of those "in style" outfits that you really thought you could pull off (done that), or saying hateful things to your mother (sad to say - I've done this too).

What I'm talking about is a little different. The aforementioned quandaries are really considered to be choices, in my opinion. Not so much decisions. With choices, there's an obvious good and bad. Not so much with decisions. Those are the tricky ones.

So I made a decision. And in making that decision I was, in my opinion, choosing between two goods. (Sometimes, in decision making it gets really yucky because you have to choose between two bads.) I made a bad decision. This decision led to a brief rendezvous with an establish that is good, just not good for me.

The light at at the end of the tunnel is this: even when we make bad choices or decisions - good inevitably comes from it. Without you even trying. Funny how that works.

I climbed into my gas guzzling SUV (did you realize that gas is $3.19 in Highland Park?!?!) and began re-adjusting the AC vents to my liking. Another driver had taken it upon himself to point ALL the vents on him in the previous excursion so that when I climbed into the drivers seat and started the car I was immediately transported to Antarctica.

The aforementioned driver stood on the street curb and waived good bye as I drove away. I began thinking about the fact that his leisure reading has more of a life than I do. Over the course of the next six weeks, his books (and a relatively small amount of other appointments) will travel a quarter of the way around the globe and experience the "magical place" that is Africa.

I reminded myself that the Africa he will experience is nothing like 'Hotel Rwanda'. That, in theory, he's only hours six away. That internet cafes exist on every street corner. And then I'm not sad. Really, I never was sad to begin with - but I wanted to allow myself that liberty if I felt so led.

We had talked about this for months. About the fact that if something happens he'll be air lifted out at a moments notice. About the opportunity for him to get flight time while he's there. About my zebra rug!

But it still felt eery to know that once he leaves the city of Windhoek we'll have no contact for 14 days. Nothing. Not even a little peep. That's a looooooong time for two people who talk every day.

And then I was struck with the awe of how small the world really is. It such an increasingly small place. But not so small - that two fiction books can take the trip of a lifetime.

Some special things are to be found in Longview. As if the example above wasn't good enough I, again, was asking myself, "Did I just see that?" last week.

A rather large banner said:

Acceptance

Insurance

I thought to myself, "Surely not." I mean, group this right in there with thigh creams and Midol. That stuff is a hoax. Have things become so bad that people will pay for acceptance insurance? And how, exactly, does this 'acceptance insurance' work? And for fun we're gonna call this insurance 'AI'. Working in the medical field has this weird way of making you turn everything into an acronym. But I digress...

Does this AI protect you from rejection? If a guy wants to ask a girl out that's waaaaay over his head (are you listenin' Andrew?) can he buy this acceptance insurance and it guarantee that she'll say yes?

By golly - I gotta get me some of this Acceptance Insurance.

With AI I won't get turned down when I ask for a raise or a mortgage or even for a date night. Man... who came up with this? They're genius!!!

You and I both know I'm joking around about this acceptance insurance - but how much do you wanna bet that if I were to take a MySpace ad and advertise 'acceptance insurance' I'd have a few takers?

It really makes one think about how much we all need to feel accepted now and again.

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,but that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
It is not just in some; it is in everyone.
And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Nelson Mandela, 1994 Inaugural Speech, (a quote from Marianne Williamson)