Twas My Night Before Christmas Eve

After three hours of sleep and countless hours of tossing and turning all week, I woke up surprisingly chipper.  I stopped to grab a coffee, paying special attention to wish the gas station attendant a very Merry Christmas.  Alanis Morrisette's "All I Really Want" was playing on the radio, and I began to reminisce of my days of youth.  I must have listened to her jagged little pill through my entire sophomore year of high school.  I thought to myself, "what the hell does she have to be so bitter about anyway?"  This shocked me...as I tend to lean more towards the bitter side of reality most days.  It had occurred to me, that I have absolutely no reason to feel bitter these days.  That we as humans are born unto a selfish race; most days a challenge to not find something attractive or desireable knowing it is completely out of reach.

Are there things that I want?  Indeed there are a plenty.  I look around and see all that I have and find no excuse to not be satisfied with it.  There is nothing that I need today.  I am thirty.  I have a house, a car, a great job, a loving and supportive family, a beautiful healthy child, and friends that would walk over coals to come to my rescue if need be.  All things I have acquired through my life, through good times and bad, in sickness and in health, through better or for poor.  At any given time, I could lose any one of these things; I am thankful for today.
 
Tomorrow, I will watch my son eagerly tear open every present under the tree.  This evening, he said to me, "Mama, aren't you so excited that Santa is coming and he is going to bring us all both presents?"  I said, "Well, Santa brings presents to boys and girls, he doesn't bring them to old people.  My present is to see how happy you are when you open them."  I could see his mind racing, contemplating what I had said, and wondering how that could compare.  He said, "Well, you can help me open mine." 

All day, I haven't quite been able to pinpoint where this sudden jolt of happiness had come from.  At this moment, it finally dawned on me.  I briefly recalled Christmas mornings as a child, running into my parents' bedroom to wake them.  I never once thought of going to the tree and looking at the gifts first.  Instinctly, I ran straight to where my Mom was, and woke her...so that she could be there with me.  All the commotion, all the holly-balooz and bustling of that season; and like auto-pilot, there I was...with my parents...and my sister...every Christmas morning. 

I am more excited on this day than I ever was as a child.  I am so happy and fortunate to be in a position to be able to provide for my son, all year round...and especially...provide him all of these extra things on Christmas.  People always say, "Christmas is for the kids" and today I beg to differ.  I feel like it is Christmas morning all over again, only this time, it is magnifide by all of the people, things, and accomplishments that I've made in my life over the last twenty something years.  My biggest accomplishment being my son.

Jack, Christmas morning, 2008

You People are all So Selfless:

My friend Melanie set aside a special gift for me and asked me to open it tomorrow morning with Jack, so that I would have something to open.

My Mom had me over earlier this evening, and let Jack and I taste test the brissoulini and lasagna for tomorrow's feast - ahead of everyone else - so I wouldn't have to cook dinner tonight.

My Sister ran around like a chicken with her head cut off to find the last gift on my list for Jack - without the time to do it myself, and helped me with a few other things like wrapping, because that's "F-ing Teamwork!"

My friend Greg ignored my "I only need to get a few things" and accompanied me on a two hour grocery shopping trip, in a blizzard - dropping me off at the door, carrying the bags in, and scraping the car several times in the process.

My friend Brian had a package waiting for me on my porch with the most beautiful pictures I have ever seen, and some media of which I cannot wait to find the time to give my undivided attention.

S G...thanks for eluding that you care, because I know how hard that is sometimes :)

To all of you people in my life:  Thank you for thinking of me and helping me through some of the best and worst times of my life.  It ain't easy doing it alone...and today, I've realized that I'm not...and I haven't been.  I am so lucky - no gift could compare.  My son is fortunate to be surrounded by family and friends who will help teach him the same...that no gift compares to a simple happiness.

Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night!

Excerpt from Chapter 3: "Close Encounters of the Male Kind"

"Close Encounters of the Male Kind"
Excerpt from Chapter 3:

 “The Romper”

          I liked his tattoos. He wore glasses, heavy black safety shoes, and an all occasion baseball cap. He always smelled nice. He was at work. The office was desolate one Friday afternoon, I was there by myself playing catch up on a project that left more to be completed. He rushed in with a last minute request, and by chance, I was the only fool that could help him. I obliged. He came to thank me on three separate occasions the following week. “Again, thank you so much Nina, you really saved my ass,” he said. As he turned to walk out, he faced me again and said, “I should probably take you to lunch at our five star cafeteria or something.” I smiled and replied, “I’ll take my chances and wait for a formal invitation somewhere outside of this dump.” He called my desk phone when he returned to his office and asked me if I wanted to go out. Of course, I said, “Sure.”
          Later that week, we met up at Fishbones. Fishbones was a classy watering hole right near the water. We sat in our nervousness and talked for nearly three hours. He occasionally glanced up at the Redwings game playing on the raised monitor. He even admitted he had tickets for the game that night, but said that he planned to meet up with his friends later in the evening. We talked about our backgrounds, childhoods, interests, work, and lightly touched on our traumatic past relationships. I am a slow drinker, so I finished the night off with two beers, he had four. We walked out together and he kissed me. It wasn’t a bad kiss; though I didn’t feel many sparks as I had anticipated. He called the next day and asked me out to dinner for the following week.
          It was a nice evening for dinner outside. He took me to this place right off Jefferson. The boats were lingering around the patio, and the sun was just beginning to set. The dinner was great, and the conversation was lasting. Afterwards, he asked me if I’d like to take a walk down by the beach. Sounded great to me, but I glanced down to my four inch wedge platform sandals and wished I had been just a little more conservative when it came to selecting my shoes for the evening. I asked him if we could swing back to my place so that I could change into a more reasonable pair. Later that week he asked me if I would be interested in visiting his place for dinner. I accepted.
          That day, I had a pretty busy day at work. I came home and changed into something a little more comfortable and head out to his place. He had already started drinking, and I could smell a hint of barbeque as he closed the patio door behind him. He said, “I just started the grill, so dinner should be ready in about an hour, can I grab you something to drink?” I said, “sure, I’ll take what you’re drinking.” We sat around and talked while he was preparing to put the food on the grill. We were going to feast on steak, scallops, and shrimp. Who needs veggies and carbs anyways, right?
          My stomach began to grumble and I had realized that two hours had passed and we still hadn’t eaten. No big deal. It was 9:30pm, and I realized this guy must have polished off at least ten beers. As he closed the patio door behind him, with the full tray of cooked food in hand, he said, “I’m not really hungry right now.” Oh great. I’m starving, this guy is near drunk. I can’t just go ahead and help myself. Who wants to eat alone on a date? I politely said, “nah, I’m alright.” I nervously plopped myself on the couch and began to watch the Red Wings game. He sat down next to me, turned his head, and said, (brace yourself for this), “you wanna make out?” On the inside, I started laughing hysterically. On the outside, I said, “sure, why not?” Maybe if I could occupy my mind with something other than the smell of the steamy hot goodness that sat on the dining room table, my hunger could pass.
          So, there we were…fifteen minutes and taking a breather. I exclaimed, “hey, I’m not really into going that far with you, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea…maybe I should leave.” He expressed that he wanted to stay, that we should just lay there and talk. Fifteen minutes later, there we were, taking a breather. I exclaimed, “hey, maybe I should leave.” He expressed that he wanted me to stay, that we should just lay there and talk. Fifteen minutes later, I am the catalyst of every poor man’s excuse for not getting to the next level. You guessed it. Rhymes with ‘Lou Rawls’. Need I say more?
          I’m lying there on my stomach, contemplating how much longer I am going to subject myself to his whining. I find myself fantasizing about the grilled goodness sitting out on the table. He leans in close and whispers in my ear, “Can I use your ass?” Before I can say “For What?!” Two hundred and sixty pounds of sheer horn-ness is climbing up on my fully clothed butt; straddling it as if I am a prized 4-H. At this exact moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. I was laughing for sure. How could that even feel good??  Jeans on jeans??  Waiter!  Side order of chaif cream please!  The side of my face was smooshed into the pillow and one lowly tear streaked my face and rolled under the side of my nose. If only he could just hand me a shrimp? A scallop? Anything?! This moment, in hindsight, brought total new meaning to the phrase Eat. Pray. Love; as I was only satisfying one of these three desires.
          “Please get off me (minus a few inappropriate f-bombs).” A deep sigh of frustration and he was off. Thank god. He went to use the bathroom. And that was a wrap! As soon as the bathroom door shut I shot up, grabbed my things, and fled for freedom. I rocked back from grabbing the knob, grabbed one shrimp off the tray and sped to my car.  This was by far, one of the worst dates I have ever been on; however, I’m still laughing...and to me...that is worth far more than a bad ass-romping. 

Two valuable lessons learned from this one: 

1)  Don't date anyone from work.  Period. 
2)  Don't come hungry.

Thanksgiving - The Italian Creed, Fran Werschler

This holiday, I am most thankful for my big fat Italian family, my heritage, and all that I've learned from them.  As we grow older, we begin to realize how fragile life really is.  The holidays always bring about a taste of bittersweet...as these are days that remind me of the huge family dinners.  As time moves forward, the dinners seem to get smaller; memories larger.

I have friends that haven't spoken to their families in years.  When I see this, it saddens me...as I'm not sure any skeleton, lie, mistake, or mishap, could keep me from mine.  Forgive and be forgiven; life is too short.

In honor of Thanksgiving, I bring to you "The Italian Creed," written by Frances (Crifasi) Werschler.  She was my Godmother, forever always being the woman who inspires me to be selfless and giving.  We miss you.

The Italian Creed

by Frances Werschler

We believe in food

We can never eat enough of it

We grow too much, and we eat too much

To share with family, neighbors and friends

We believe in drink

Wine, coffee and conversation

We have been told we talk too much

We believe we have much to say...and we do

We take the saying, "Wake up and smell the coffee" literally.

From the day we are born we think our name is EAT EAT!!

But as we grow older, we realize our real name is...

Stephanie-Josie-Maria-Jackie-Francie-Rosalie-

Whatever the hell your name is

We believe in family

We believe that it is written somewhere in the

Italian Handbook that at least one of our children

should be named Joseph or Josephine

We are compassionate people

We believe in giving ourselves unconditionally

no matter what the cost

We do everything excessively

We eat too much, drink too much, and love too much

We believe in wearing our emotions inside out for all to see

We laugh, we cry, we get angry

Then we cry, get angry, and laugh again

We are poets, musicians, artists, and lovers

We believe in Faith

The resurrection and life

And we believe God is Italian....and God is.

Frances (Crifasi)Werschler

1958-2004

Sincereality & the Flavor of Friends

This blog is best digested while listening to Oasis

I've come to the realization that its extremely rare to go through life sustaining some of the friendships that began when we were still developing into our own.  Most people don't even talk to anyone from High School, above and beyond the 'like' button associated with Facebook.  I had the fortune of meeting these people early on, as they have contributed much to who I am today.

Insert Personal Rant Here: 

Please, when I use the word friend below, consider it's traditional meaning...if you do not remember the traditional meaning, click here and take a journey to the past.  Reference definitions 1a, and 4.  (1b clearly added recently as a result of facebook).

I've decided to devote this blog to one of my most prized possessions:  my friends.  Kickin' it old school - these friends of mine share only one common element.  High School.  These people all have their share of unique qualities...and I'm going to share with you a little from each one.

V:

Veronica and I met in highschool.  We spent many a night in her basement listening to Tool and Smashing Pumpkins.  She was that person that had made my highschool years less painful...because her picture resides in nearly every good memory to come out of that time of my life.  Her family was, in large part, my family too.  Veronica moved away a few years ago and began a new life in Tennessee.  No matter how busy life gets, no matter how many kids she has occupying her every waking moment...Veronica has always been there.  She has always been the friend to call, text, write, send photos...and in retrospect, she is that friend I wish I could be - because, well lets face it...my busy-ness seems to get in the way of keeping in touch.  Last year, I specifically sent her birthday card almost two months in advance just so that I wouldn't send it late.  I think of her every day, but I know our friendship still thrives because of her selfless attempts to keep in touch; she's my boulder.

LEE:

Lisa is the kindest, least judgemental, person I have ever met.  If she wasn't always donning the latest and greatest fashions, I'm convinced angel wings would be perched on her shoulders.   We were roommates at one point, though I think I drove her absolutely crazy.  She was there when I delivered my son.  She was there for my wedding, and the eventual demise of it.  She was there at my grad party, to paint my house, to paint my room, and she was there at every funeral I've endured since we've met.  She is my voice of reason, because she's never let me down when I've needed a voice of rationale.  She always knows what to do.  She's savvy, passionate, and caring.  No matter the time or distance between us, we pick up right back where we left off when we can make the time.

GREG:

Greg is like my conscience.  After all...the guy knows me like the back of his hand.  Its a good thing I can't play poker because he'd call my bluff every time.  He is the brother I never had.  He's a voice of reason, and the calm after a storm.   He is the one person that will tell you everything you don't want to hear, if its necessary...and sometimes, it is necessary...and very much appreciated.  He inspired me to play guitar, as we spent many a nights through school (and after) singing and playing together.  Even when he moved to Florida - he was always there, through thick and thin.



These are my Golden Girls (errr...sorry Greg).