What a difference a decade makes...

Yesterday, I attended a work function, held at work, and of absolutely ZERO interest to anybody but people who work here. While I was mingling and conversating, I noticed that a co-worker of mine (a man I really admire and am friendly with) addressed his entire half of the conversation to my cleavage.

Inside my head, ten years ago: Oh my GOD, is that guy looking at my rack? He is! He's not even looking at my face - he's just looking at my rack! What a fucking pig! Hellooooooo - I have a face! Why do I even try to talk to guys like this?

Inside my head, yesterday: Oh, my God! Is he looking at my rack? He IS! Why? Do I have something on my shirt? No, I don't - I managed to keep lunch off the front of me today. Then why is he looking at my chest? Well, I *am* wearing the push-up bra and the shirt that makes them look pretty good. And they *are* DDDs. Yep. He's looking at my rack. Awesome.

Lamenting the Loss of My Ever-Lovin' Mind

First, I lost my keys this weekend. I mean, I LOST THEM. Possibly they're lying in a parking lot or on a road somewhere, smashed beyond recognition after having vaulted off the top of my truck, where I presumably left them.

Then, yesterday, I left my computer at home. An hour away from where I work. So I had to go home and I just ended up staying there and working from home. Because WTF else am I going to do? BUT FIRST, because I lost my keys, I had to travel an hour in the other direction to DH's office, where I procured the HOUSE KEY that I would need to GET INTO THE HOUSE.

I also learned this morning that on the soda fountain, even though it LOOKS like the person in front of you is getting water from the spout marked "SODA" in big, generic letters - that's actually CLUB SODA. And no, I don't like it any more now than I did the first time I tried it plain. Club soda needs and deserves vodka. Or a stain that it can work diligently to get out.

Today was the coup de grace, though. I bought tickets to the circus (yes, even though I'm opposed) and have been prepping the kids on the circus trip since Saturday morning. I printed them out this morning in anticipation of the show tonight.

The show is not tonight.

The show is NEXT Wednesday.

Not only will my children be completely hysterical with no hope of consolation when we pick them up from school today and inform them of Mama's Colossal Screw-Up, but neither will the mistake be assuaged by Dance Class, which was being missed for the fantastic circus. Why? Because I left her dance things at home. An hour from where I work.

We weren't going to need them, you know. We were going to the CIRCUS.

The Post Where I Reveal My Favorite. Poem. Ever. Today, Anyway.

This was really, really hard because I like so many different poems for so many different reasons.

I looked through everything: Neruda, Auden, Burns, Teasdale, Browning, Keats, Dickinson, cummings, Frost - and more and more. I remembered poems I had forgotten and saw my tastes change throughout my life.

Finally, I remembered it. And this is my favorite poem. Today, anyway.



The Lake Isle of Innisfree
by William Butler Yeats

I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

The Problem with the Digital Age

It occurred to me this weekend that my kids are going to miss out on an awesome thing by being part of the digital age: cassette tapes.

My kids won't be able to hold the tape recorder up and tape songs off the radio. They won't be able to tape-record themselves reading really annoying kid books out loud to their dolls. Or their siblings. Or just for the hell of it.

They won't know the exquisite annoyance of fast-forwarding through a song you HATE to get to the only song you bought the stupid cassette for in the first place.

And they won't even KNOW they're missing it! How sad is that?

I can't remember poetry.

When I was in middle school, I loved Edgar Allen Poe's "Annabel Lee."

When I was in high school, I loved Maya Angelou's "Phenomenal Woman."

Now I'm a wife, a mom, and sometimes a sort of intellectual. I know I like Sara Teasdale. I know I like e.e. cummings. I know I like W.H. Auden. (Apparently, I only like people with initials instead of names.)

I just don't know what poem I like best. It's been so long since I've even contemplated poetry - I gave that up as a genre for myself a very long time ago. I'm a tiresome and uninspired poet.

So, Katie has inspired me (see the "slightly savage" blog link to the right). This weekend, I'm going to figure out what my favorite poem is.

Major can already recognize the scent of a woman.

His comment yesterday morning with regards to my Sensual Amber body splash:

"Mama! You smell like WOMEN!!"

It wasn't until I recounted this to his father a few minutes later that I realized he (Major) has a lisp.

Translation: Mama! You smell like LEMON.

*sigh* It was probably just the lemon-scented Pledge.

Oh, yeah. I look JUST LIKE Julia Stiles.

http://www.myheritage.com

Stolen shamelessly from Laura.