We Are Marshall

I love movies! I have seen so many movies that it is hard for me to actually see one I enjoy. However, I am going to recommend We Are Marshall.

My hubby and I had the opportunity to see a sneak peak of the movie last week. It was so moving and the story flowed so well, that I did not even notice the time pass, which for a fidgit like me is amazing!

I just wrote a column about the movie and my thoughts on it. So if you love a sports movies, Herd footbal or even Matthew McConaughey or Matthew Fox, you will love this movie.

Take Me Back

I bought a new bottle of hairspray today. I know, nothing extrodinary. Except it was, when later in the day I opened the sprayer to get a whiff of its scent. Rather then getting a sense of the fragrance that would surround my head as I fix my hair tomorrow morning, I was immediately transported back in time.

The year was 1989 -- I know that seems like forever ago. And in my poor-memory mind it is. That was my freshman year of high school. And like something out of a movie, as soon as I inhaled that Pantene ProV, I time warped to a time when I was standing in Chantel Clifton's bathroom getting ready to go to a football game. She was one of my first high school friends that did not go to the same grade school as I. Growing up in a somewhat small area in a limited Catholic school setting, most of my friends were people I had known since first grade. Chantel, though I did know her a little from 8th grade dances our schools would jointly have, was one of the first people I got to know outside my click.

Though the memories of us getting ready to go to football games had not crept into my mind in almost a decade, it so quickly hit me when I sniffed the spray. Though I cannot remember all the details of her home, I do recall using a gallon of Aussie Scrunch Spray and too much make up to primp. I remember that she had a huge bedroom, or what seemed like a big room to me (I shared a small room with my sister, so anything was a huge bedroom if it had only one kid in it). The coolest part was that we were at her home alone - no parental supervision. We were listening to Poison, and I felt like a grown-up though I was only about to be 15.

Maybe my blast from the past moment was a compilation of many weekends spent at her house that year, I am not sure. What I am sure of was how powerful that memory flooded my mind. For a few brief seconds I was there again. I was young and carefree. Everything was exciting because it was a time of building life long experience, a time before we become jaded and bitter. It was a great feeling.

It is funny how things are connected in your memory and that the slightest action can trigger the most awesome effect. It was nice to have that memory again, to recapture a long forgotten feeling that really can only happen once in a life. Had I sniffed the hairspray at the store, like I usually do before buying, I do not think I would have had the same reaction. I think because I was slowing down for the day, putting the hairspray away in my bathroom, that the connection was made.

It is nice that those memories are still there. Sometimes it is hard to think back or recall anything because we are so bogged down with everyday life, which so far seems to be getting boggier as I get older. Maybe those memories are buried deep so that we appreciate them more when they are triggered. I know that tonight, the rarity of the feeling that trip back in time brought will make me laugh long into the night.

I'm Too Funny!

I think it is best to always be able to laugh at yourself.

My whole life I have tried making every situation humorous. Partly so I do not have to deal with anything bad (who really wants to cry) and partly because it is just done right fun. I mean, who doesn't love to laugh.

Yesterday was a day of laughter for me. After working way too many overtime hours, I have become giddy and cannot stop joking about everything - no matter how inappropriate the timing may be. While in a 2-hour meet and greet meeting, I spend most of it cracking up my co-workers. I was laughing so hard that when it came time for me to introduce myself, I could barely get the words out of my mouth. Part of our introductions had to be an "unusual fact about ourselves." Well, why not just show me Pandora's Box and tell me not to open it. Not only did I "rip" on everyone else's "unusual fact", but I made up several of my own prior to my turn. Though everyone around me was practically in tears, I think I cracked myself up more.

Then in the afternoon I had the perfect idea for a joke. If WVU lost to Louisville, I would send sympathy cards out to all of my WVU friends. I know not too humorous. I had planned out what the cards would say "Sorry for your loss. It is best it happen now rather than loose a BCS bid to Notre Dame later in the season." I did not think I could amuse myself more than with that. All I needed was for WVU to actually loose.

Well answer my prayers, they did and in such a glorious fashion. I was absolutely giddy over the anticipation of sending out these "sympathy cards." Honestly at the time, I did not think it could get any funnier. That was until this morning. I had an epiphany! Bud Light used to have this Talking Faces gag site where you upload a pic of someone and make that picture "talk." How awesome would it be to have Coach Rod himself deliver my message.

Again, I though it was the most hilarious thing ever. I was literally so proud of myself. I completed the task, added my verbiage and sent it out to all of my WVU friends. I have yet to hear back from any of them, though. I hope they find it as entertaining as I did. If not, at least I got a good laugh out of it.

Lazy Sundays


It's football season and that means lazy Sundays! As much as I am go, go, go, I love to curl up on the couch and do nothing. It is only when the gridiron games begin that life slows a little and affords me the luxury of spending an entire day at home - we cannot miss games you know. Everyone needs their "thing" to help them relax, center their Chi, all of that stuff. And lazy Sundays are mine.

Yesterday was my first lazy Sunday of the season though football has been in full swing for six weeks. Finally a free weekend with no plans, no work that needs to be done - just a relaxing do-whatever-I-want day. Normally, I dread Sundays because that it is one day away from Monday, which means the work week is about to start all over again. But not when it comes to Autumn Sundays -- and this Sunday rocked! Not only did the Steelers route the Chiefs to over come their horrid slump, but I discovered that I am enthralled with the Carter Family.

Yes as sad as it sounds, I watched a mini-marathon of the "House of Carters," the reality show about Nick Carter of Backstreet Boy fame and his siblings. Though I am not a boy band fan and am hard pressed to know the difference between a Backstreet Boy or N'Sync song, I do not think I can get enough of this family. It is basically because they are all f***ed up, for lack of a better term (though this is probably the most appropriate terminology).

I spent Sunday afternoon curled up on the couch in sweats, eating junk food and watching this show. I discovered it upon attempting to kill time before Steeler kick off. I will blame "The Soup" for introducing me to this far-from-a-masterpiece of programming. After watching "the Soup" replay on Sunday I left the channel there too long. That is when "House of Carters" started to air. I was just fascinated by the turmoil this family was going through.

The episode in question revolved around the Carters' mother -- though I only know of the situation was producers want me to know, I found it eerily familiar to my own maternal entanglement. What makes it more crazy is that for all the money Nick Carter (the patriarch by elimination) has, they are handling their problem poorly, which makes me feel a hell of a lot more stable knowing that my not-as-rich ass is mentally equipped to handle a psychotic mother (as well as smart enough to know not to air it on national T.V.). Plus the show is a wonderful dichotomy between someone who only wants his siblings to see him as their brother while his actions are as dictatory as that of a father figure. I mean if you were a psych major or professional, analyzing this family would certainly get you an article in some medical journal.

With this kind of screwed up entertainment, I not only look forward to my cozy, football-filled Sundays because of the sweet release they bring, but now I have a more on my plate to watch than just quarterbacks being sacked!

Damn Yankees

Apparently, I am a southerner. Though I do not have a drawl, know what homney is or drink Jack Daniels like water, I am a southerner. At a recent dinner with an out-of-town co-worker, he explained that just because West Virginia succeeded from Virginia, that did not make us (my WV colleagues) northerners. We, however, believe differently.

First off, I typically tell folks that I cannot be a southerner because technically, I am from Pittsburgh. However, the majority of my life has been spent in Wheeling, W.Va. -- and by majority, I mean all but the first three years I have been on this earth and the four spent in college (in PA of course).

Also, I have no southern accent. I do not say "y'all" or anything of the sort. If you want to accuse me of having any accent, I will resort back to my 'Burgh connections. Occasionally when speaking fast (which as those who know me is really all of the time), I will say dahn instead of down and have referred to Bologna as jumbo. When I started college, there was one other West Virginian in the freshman class. She was from dahn south, way past the Mason Dixon (oh, another reason I am not southern, I am at least 30 miles above that line). She sounded just so sweet with her drawl. I was constantly asked why I did not speak like her. Funny, isn't it. You try and pride yourself on speaking clearly and in a manner understandable to all, but yet I was obviously the freak for not representing.

But let me get back on track. My co-worker is not the only one who believes this, though. A recent CMT show touted the sexiest southern country singers and listed John Corbett (if you can actually call him a singer). Though older than me, he lived in the same neighborhood as me (which is only 40 minutes outside of Pittsburgh), went to the same high school as me, and never used a southern accent in any speech I have heard him give until he was invited to perform at Jamboree in the Hills this past summer. If you have ever seen him in interviews or on TV or in the movies, he is not a country boy.

If you ask anyone I work with, really anyone who lives in the Upper Ohio Valley, we are northerners. Heck, you do not even see rebel flags flying until you are on top of the Mason Dixon line. Again, I do not see my self as country folk. Though at times I can be friendly, I do not pride myself on southern hospitality. I am proud to see myself as a northerner, hell, I am a damn Yankee (and not of the George Steinbrenner kind).

The Waiting Game

I hate to wait!

I am usually not in a big hurry in life, but enjoy moving at light speed. Now every time I have to go to the doctor, which is as rare as I can make it, he makes me wait. Luckily, I do not have high blood pressure, because as I stew in the waiting room, I can literally feel my blood heating up, getting ready to melt my veins and burn through my flesh. Obviously, I am so conceited that I feel my time is worth so much more than everyone else's. Actually, that is true.

Anyway this morning, of course, was no different. Unfortunately today, I cannot blame the doctor. It was the lab tech and an extremely opinionated old couple. All I needed was a little blood taken so that they can tell me that my cholesterol is good, my triglycerides are low, blah blah blah more medical jargon. But no, I was there for 45 minutes waiting for a 5 minute hemoglobular extraction.

Because I know that all of you reading this are sympathetic to my situation, please take note -- my boss does not care if I am late, I had no pressing work this morning, the doctor is literally blocks away and my boss does not care if I am late. Nonetheless, I arrived at work around 10 'til nine. 50 minutes late! Can you believe it! I wasted almost an hour of my day sitting, doing nothing.

Fortunately, the wait is over, and I am about my daily, productive business of slacking and ridiculing my co-workers behind their backs. And to imagine, I had to wait an hour to do that!

Oh Baby!

I knew that when I got married, people (or rather every relative my husband and I have) would continually bring up the "When you having a baby?" question. I know it is a given because the next course in life after marriage is child rearing. And, I guess I did make a commitment when I recited my vows that I would go forth and procreate. But I thought it could be at my leisure; however, I must be wrong and we are apparently losing some kind of race.

Within the past few weeks, we have found out that four of my husband's five college roommates are expecting. To top it off a co-worker and friend of my husband announced that his famous son is also having a baby. At a wedding this past weekend, we met the newest addition to another friend's family, as well as heard about this little one's new baby cousin.

I feel there must be some kind of conspiracy here. My guess is that there is something in the water. Toys R Us, Fisher Price and Huggies have teamed up to create their own Weapon of Mass Destruction (destruction of a woman's uterus that is) -- instant fertility. It makes women ready, both mentally and physically, for conception. Apparently, it is being tested with great success in Ohio, West Virginia and Pennsylvania. I am assuming infant and toddler sales are declining and that they wanted to drive the market up by producing clientele.

Or maybe, it is the next big reality show to hit the air waves. Whoever pops out a child first wins $10,000, a new minivan and their 15 minutes of fame. I must have missed that message from Mark Burnett.

Believe me, I am not opposed to having children. I was just hoping that I could do it when it was best for me and not because there is a game show host about to start a countdown clock.

Mi chiamo...

Buon giorno! Well that is if you are reading this before 4 p.m., if after then, Bueno Sera! Last night was my first lesson in Italian. And as you can already tell, I am picking it up quite nicely - at least the simple stuff anyway.

Along with my husband and friend, I am taking beginning Italian on Thursday nights. What initially started as a way to invigorate my life is quickly becoming the cure all I think I needed. My advisor in college once told us that everyone goes through a "mid-life crisis" every so many years because we need to continually learn and grow. What she meant is that we all need to broaden who we are, which for most means reinventing oneself. However, this wise woman explained to us that it is not in reinventing, but in expanding who we are that fills the void that brings on this "crisis".

For the past several months, I have been having a mid-life crisis of sorts. I hate to refer to it as depression, though that is probably what it is, because I knew that a change needed to be made and that I inevitably controlled what was keeping me out of sorts. Rather than use the blog as my own therapist couch, let's just say that boredom was overtaking my life from my job to my house, even down to mi amore, my husband.

When I read about beginning Italian classes, it hit me like a cartoon light bulb blinking above my head - this is what I needed. I had planned on taking a fitness class, but when looking through the course catalogue of our local arts organization, I knew that I needed not only to rejuvenate my body but my mind, too. Because my husband has an Italian background, I suggested we both take the class. I tried getting him into the Pilates I was also taking, but he wouldn't do that and I actually needed the alone time.

You may think it is too premature for me to think this is the cure all I needed, but the way I feel lets me know that everything is OK for now. I have a hyper personality so it is just a matter of time before I hit that next mid-life crisis. The key is remembering to just open my mind to something new and know that it is up to me to make things better.

"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."

-- Shakespeare

"Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved."

-- William Jennings Bryan

To Blog or Not To Blog
I am not one for blogging, but after being inspired by a co-worker decided that sharing my voice with the online world was probably for me. I figured that those around me were tired of listening to me ramble about whatever random thought entered my head. So why not force these "insights" onto anyone lucky enough to wander into this blog.

As my profile indicates I am a journalist at heart. That was even my profession once upon a time. Well, before I realized that I needed an actual paycheck and not the spare change my publisher tried to pass off as money. I remember thinking in college that I wanted to write stuff that would make a difference and help people. It turns out that working for a newspaper doesn't mean fleshing out the unjust but rather making sure you write a "nice story" about that carpet business so that they buy the big ad in Sunday's paper.

If you are still reading along, please do not think that I will break into some wonderful verse about how I use my talents for good and not evil. Some days, I don't know which side of that aforementioned dilemma I pledge allegiance. Hence why I decided to write this blog. Writing has always been my passion. Though I have been away from it for a few years (and by away from it, I mean creative, thoughtful writing - not the "marketing speak" that awards me a real paycheck), I am a long way from the wirebound note books and crumpled-up loose leaf I used as a kid. And check out my friend's blog http://lifetimeofadventures.blogspot.com/. With out her inspirataion, I wouldn't be blogging here or anywhere.