Barb’s Burblings

I went to a friend’s house last night for a cookout. It was a great time, and it was SO nice being out in the middle of nowhere–she lives a few miles outside of Gettysburg. (Ironically, I did NOT meet this friend at college.) I loved sitting outside, by a fire, chatting, enjoying the quiet and the peace.

And oh wow, the fireflies! It was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen–even more amazing than the adorable baby little horse we visited. There were so many fireflies, but the coolest thing was seeing them in the trees. It was…seriously, I can’t describe it. It looked like there were Christmas lights in the trees. I’ve never seen anything like it.

On the other hand, my feet and lower legs are covered in bug bites. So, there’s a downside. But I think the awesome time won out.

I’ve never understood women who refer to their female friends as “girlfriends.” Part of it is that I definitely do think of that word in the romantic sense; part of it is that it just seems unnecessary. “Some girlfriends and I went out for lunch yesterday.” Why not just say “friends”? Was there something that made it particular for women only? I wonder how many women who use the “girlfriends” have close male friends to begin with. There are times when I’ve done things with just my female friends for a girls’ day; usually you can tell by context. “Some friends and I went for mani/pedis, then got drinks.” Sure, there are guys who get manicures and pedicures, but not a ton. I might refer to it as a “girls’ day” in conversation, but I can’t see myself saying “I went out with my girlfriends.” But then, it’s rare that I’m out with a group of just girls. And if I’m hanging out with a female friend, just the two of us, it’s usually, “Oh, I’m going over to my friend Tricia’s” or “Amanda and I had drinks.” The whole thing is just odd.

But then, I’ve always been bad at girly stuff.

For the past few years, I’ve taken on a sizable freelance project in the late spring/early summer. From the end of March to the beginning on June (with a couple weeks off in there), I spent almost 140 hours on it. And now…I don’t want to do anything. At all.

Even after finishing the project, I’ve been busy–tap recital, ushering, volunteering, etc., etc. When I look at my calendar for June and July, I shudder a bit. The problem is, it means that on nights that I’m home with no actual obligations, I don’t do anything. At all. Tonight, for example, I had a number of things I needed to do: Work on another freelance project, clean the shower, do laundry, take off my nail polish, play with Rosetta Stone a bit. And I have…finished a book I was reading and made a playlist for a friend.

Part of the problem is that I know I have tomorrow night free, too. Of course, tomorrow night I will have ADDITIONAL cleaning. But, meh. That’s the future. And I’m banking on the cats doing something helpful while I’m at work.

…Or maybe cleaning fairies?

I’m not saying that How I Met Your Mother’s Barney Stinson is a character I necessarily recommend emulating. And he’s certainly not one who I relate to a lot. But I’ve decided to use a quote of his for my new philosophy:

“When I get sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead. True story.”

It’s a good one. I’m lucky that I don’t actually get depressed and that being sad is usually fairly fleeting for me. And this is helpful in building up my self-esteem. Because I AM awesome. And sometimes, it’s good to be Barney Stinson and remind myself of that.

The combination of seeing Follies last night and it being prom season has caused yet another bout of nostalgia for me. (In fairness, it doesn’t take much.) I had to look for a formal dress for an upcoming event, which meant prom dresses. Dave and I saw a group of kids waiting for prom to start at a hotel in downtown Baltimore last Friday. It’s all over late-season television. Prom.

I didn’t go to prom. In fact, I didn’t go to a single dance in high school. I went to all of them in middle school, even the ones in sixth grade that took place right after school. “Stairway to Heaven” gives me flashbacks to standing in East Ridge’s cafeteria, watching whichever guy I liked at the time dancing with someone else. In college, I went to 10 formals. (That’s right–almost 3 a year. That’s what happens when your service fraternity has a fall AND spring formal, and the school has one each year, too.)

I have mixed feelings about it. I only get really sad when I look at pictures my friends in Connecticut posted on Facebook. I still associate growing up much more with Connecticut than Montana. In Montana, there wasn’t a junior prom and a senior prom–there was just one prom, for everyone. My senior year, I asked a guy friend to go with me, but he said no. And I didn’t go. I’m sad more in theory; I’m sad that I didn’t get to go to prom in Connecticut. I’m sad for my parents that they didn’t experience the joy of dealing with finding a dress and pictures and so on for me. But do I wish I had gone to one in Montana? Eh, not really. I didn’t have the emotional connection there that would make me really regret it.

There are things in my life I wish could’ve been different. Do I wish I had gone to A prom? I guess. I think the formals I went to in college made up for it. And part of me loves cheesy teen comedies and makes me sad that I can’t relate. But it was years ago that I accepted that I wouldn’t have the high school experience I might have liked. I’ve had more direct control over my life since then, and that I can’t really complain about.

Looking back, I probably was in a constant state of crushing on someone from the time I was, say, 10 or 11 until I was 21 or so. It makes sense–I was in school, I saw guys a lot. How could I not spend those pivotal years crushing? Since college, I’ve certainly weathered my share of crushes, but they’ve been fewer and far between. Fortunately, I’ve also actually dated during that period. Dating involves its own share of uncertainty, God knows, but as I’m once again experiencing the world of crushes, I feel like I’m much more analytical about the whole thing.

Stage 1: Realization of the crush. “I think I might like him” is the key phrase here. When around him, there’s the almost constant perception of where he is, what he’s doing.
Stage 2: Crush! Yay! By far, the most fun stage. There’s a lot of giggling, a lot of idle fantasies. In this day and age, Facebook stalking. (So evil!) Analysis of all interactions, wondering how he feels. Happiness over the random hugs, then flirty banter, the Facebook chatting.
Stage 3: Despair that he will never reciprocate. Overanalysis–my downfall in all areas of my life–kicks in here. He seems flirty. Probably with everyone. The way he acts around me is probably the way he acts around all his female friends. What’s the point of this, anyway?
Stage 4: Acceptance. This is a comfortable place–one that I’ve spent a LOT of time in. It’s fun spending time with him, flirting with him, etc., but the highs and lows have evened out. There are still moments of both, but it’s a lot more even.
Stage 5: I’m not positive that this stage exists. Theoretically, it’s the stage in which something actually happens with the object of the crush. This is not a stage with which I am personally familiar, but I’ve seen it happen to others. This is the stage that continues to provide hope.

There a number of times when I think about my life and get a bit bummed. “Man, if I told myself when I was 18 that at 32 I’d be be single, how upset would I be?” But I’m trying to stop that. I mean, look at all the GOOD things that 18-year-old me would be psyched about:

* I have a job where people consider me an expert in the field; where I have fabulous coworkers, flexible hours, an understanding boss; where I run a successful publishing program.
* I have a fab apartment in a great location.
* I have a wonderful niece and nephew and family who love me.
* I have two cats who are adorable if not necessarily well-behaved.
* I have a Smithsonian ID badge!
* I’ve seen Michael Ball in concert twice.
* I have a great group of friends who understand and appreciate me.
* I volunteer at Ford’s Theatre and have gotten to hang out with actors I admire.
* I’ve been to a movie premiere.
* I get to attend theater regularly.
* I’ve been to England four times and will be going to Russia soon.
* I’ve learned to tap dance and have been in a bunch of parades.

I mean, really. It’d be nice to have a boyfriend, but I’m already living a pretty great life.

I had lunch with my grandmother yesterday and she was telling me about her time as a secretary and how she did the correspondence for her boss. And it was after telling me the following story that I realized that my occupation was written in my genes:

My grandmother was typing up a letter for her boss, and she saw that he used the word “irregardless.” So she changed it. He argued that “irregardless” is a word, but she wouldn’t give in. The word went in the letter, properly, as “regardless.”

In a cute follow-up, she saw a comic recently that had a joke about that usage and mailed it to him, leading to a nice phone call. Awww.

Hopefully he’s realized the errors of his ways, but I didn’t ask my grandmother whether he had any recent pronouncements on the issue.

I was reading the comments to a Carolyn Hax advice column that involved an elderly woman who watched tv all the time. A number of comments devolved into individual television habits, and a few people wondered whether a person who didn’t watch much tv most of their lives would increase that substantially as he or she got older.

Growing up, I don’t remember watching a ton of television. We had cable from the time I was little and I remember watching Saturday morning cartoons and some MTV and sitcoms at night and Jeopardy and such, but we weren’t a family that always had the tv on. Maybe it’s because we’re a family of readers; I don’t know.

Interestingly, though, we’ve all increased our tv consumption. I know I have the tv on a LOT. In large part, it’s because I live by myself and I don’t have a good stereo. I should get a speaker for my iPod, I know, but I do wind up listening to iTunes a bit. I’m usually not totally focused on the tv; most of the time, I’m also reading the paper or playing on the computer or something. (For example, right now, I’m watching Community.) But the tv is on a LOT.

Same with my sister’s place. They don’t always have the tv on; amusingly enough, sometimes my 3-year-old niece will turn it off because she has other things to do. (So much for the concept of all kids being automatically entranced by tv.) But the tv is on a fair amount.

AND at my parents’ house. They usually have on MSNBC or the local news or, like me, baseball. I guess we watched the news a bit when I was little, but certainly not this much.

I wonder if part of it is because of the open floor plan so popular in newer homes. The family room and the tv at my parents’ house is right next to the kitchen table. My dad sits at the table, on his computer, working, while the tv is on. I’ve had dinner there with the tv on. Not a lot–they still turn off the tv for meals most of the time. But it has happened. Though in fairness, I believe this was the Christmas that we were snowed in. After so many days of not leaving the house, you don’t really have much to say to each other.

I still read a lot. For all the screeds about tv being the Idiot Box (and dude, there is a LOT of that in Roald Dahl books), I’m not sure how true that is. Does it keep me from exercising? No, that’s just my laziness. Is having the tv on a lot a bad thing? Well, it’s probably not a good thing. But honestly, increasing use of this computer is probably worse.

They met at a mixer their first year at Penn State. She picked him up, which was possibly very progressive for the time. Their first date was November 22, 1963. He was majoring in engineering, because his father was an engineer. She was majoring in math and tutored him. Their initial courtship wasn’t a serious one. She, at least, was dating other men. There was a senior for a while, and a guy named Bob with whom she would forever associate the Rolling Stones song “Get Off My Cloud”. He, presumably, also dated other people. He was in the ROTC; worrisome, in the 1960s. He had to take time off school to get surgery on his knee, sparing him a trip to Vietnam. At some point, they reconnected and became serious. They talked of getting married.

So they did.

They lived in a bunch of towns with M names: Mapleshade, Muncie (New York, not Indiana), Mamaroneck, Mahopac. He got an MBA. She programmed computers, back in the days that computers took up entire rooms. They bought a house and had a daughter and got a dog. Then they had another daughter, and realized that obviously they couldn’t top what they had, so stopped having kids. They had some good times (children who apparently were incredibly well-behaved) (or were so horrible that memories of this period have been erased) and bad times (moving to Montana).

She’s more pragmatic. He’s more demonstrative. They don’t agree on everything, but their marriage has remained strong.

Today they celebrate their 43rd anniversary. Again: 43rd anniversary.

Congratulations, Mom and Dad.