Team Gerdes is taking a little hiatus for a week!
I'll be back with stories and photos, etc etc, after June 24th!
Have a great week!
Team Gerdes is taking a little hiatus for a week!
I'll be back with stories and photos, etc etc, after June 24th!
Have a great week!
I have a friend in massage therapy school. Having a friend in massage therapy school is the BEST thing, because sometimes their homework is "give a massage." I was the fortunate lucky recipient of this assignment a few months ago.
We set a date. I was to go to the friend's house for the massage cause that's where her table was. Perfect. Golden. I'm in.
At 9am the morning of the massage, I received the following email: "Hey, so i dropped my phone in a toliet on saturday. but i wanted to email you and say we are still on for one." Bummer about the phone! But yay, we're still on. I showed up to her place at 1:00 and buzzed the door. And waited. And buzzed again. And waited. I checked my phone to see if she texted--oh right--she didn't have a phone and I couldn't call her. I sent her an email saying "I'm downstairs!" in case she was on her computer and her buzzer was broken. I buzzed again. About 10-15 minutes later, I saw her running down the sidewalk. Her bus had been delayed, and she couldn't text me to tell me. No worries, I was easy breezy. "Next time, we'll start on time," she said.
We went into her apartment. She reminded me that she's been staying in a friend's living room temporarily, so things were in a bit of chaos. There was a futon in the living room and stuff all over the floor. No worries for me, I get it. She lit an incense stick and started getting her table out to set it up. I asked to use the bathroom.
After I was finished with my business, I tried to flush the toilet. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. I exited the room and told her that it didn't flush. She replied, "Oh, yeah--it only flushes like once every couple of times." and apologized. No worries; if she was ok with it, so was I. "Next time, I'll be in a different place, so it will be better," she said.
Back in the living room, it became clear that we needed to move the coffee table out of the living room. She asked for help. The coffee table was very large and square with two-tiered shelving. It was also loaded with stuff. We lifted it to try to get it out of the room. It didn't fit through the rectangular doorway. I mentioned to her that we needed to tilt it to get it out, but we had to be careful cause of all the stuff. We angled it a bit, and things started to slide around. She grabbed the incense and put it on a nearby bookcase so it wouldn't fall. We tilted the table more, and suddenly, everything came sliding off of it--books, papers, food, things--absolutely everywhere. We sort of shrugged like "oh well" and just pushed forward. As we were getting it through the door, I noticed a sudden burning sensation on my left arm. I said to my friend "I am being burned by something." I pulled up my left elbow, and the incense stick was sticking into my arm. My friend yelled and grabbed it from my arm, but the cherry from the stick was still attached to me. She grabbed that off, too. We set down the table. My arm instantly blistered and started to hurt. She apologized and got some ice cubes from the freezer for me. "Next time, it will be better, I promise," she said.
As I sat on the couch icing my arm, my friend went to work assembling the table. She pulled some sheets out of a wad on the bed to use, assuring me they were clean. It's ok! I'm easy breezy! Free massage! "Next time, the sheets will look nicer," she said.
I've recently become incredibly sensitive to all sort of bath products. I try to only use paraben free, and I have to make sure that no natural strawberries are used, etc. Facials and massage creams usually break me out, so I asked if I could look at her lotion to double check. I looked at the ingredients, and it looked a-ok with me.
When we were ready to begin, she told me that I could get undressed and under the sheet. She was going to step out of the room. As I started to take off my dress, I realized that the large bay windows only had curtains on 2 out of 3 of the window panes. I looked out of one of them and saw a man walking his dog...which means, he could see me. As I was undressing. I called to my friend "Hey, is there anyway that people can see up into this window while I change?" She answered "Oh...yeah, they can," and apologized again. I thought for a second and then decided to get under the sheets before taking off my dress. Boom! Brilliant. Let's begin! "Next time, none of this will happen," she said.
She asked what kind of music I wanted to listen to, and I said "just something relaxing." She chose a nice mellow station on spotify. The massage began. It was awesome. Free massage! This is what it's all about! Burn or no! A few songs in, a really weird one came on. I had never heard it before, and it had a very aggressively pointed female vocalist singing. I tried to not listen to the words, but few crept in. "La la la the red and green..." It was weird. I let it go, but I started to get giggly. She kept massaging. "LA LA LA LA RED AND GREEN!!!" Finally I burst, "Is this a CHRISTMAS SONG?!?!" and died laughing. She said "Yeah, I don't know WHAT this is!" and changed the channel. I couldn't stop laughing. Or giggling. After all the events of the day. It was the perfect storm. She settled on some Indie rock, and then got down to business.
I'm very happy to say that the massage was amazing, and I felt incredible afterwards. She is very talented, thank goodness! And nothing else bad happened.
That is, until I got home, and my skin was on fire and itching to death from the massage lotion. So I took a shower to wash it off.
Next time will be better.
A few months ago, I was visiting Erica in New York to spend some time with her before the arrival of her baby. The sole purpose of the visit was to "loll about in bed and do nothing" for the weekend. We've always been really good at doing this, and this visit was no exception. There was lots of bed lolling, bed magazine reading, bed youtube video watching and bed napping over the weekend. One night, we decided that we wanted to watch a movie, so we got in the bed, pulled out the laptop and loaded up Netflix. We both love all things documentaries, so when the documentary Meet the Fokkens popped up in "new arrivals", we were intrigued.
Meet the Fokkens is about 69 year old identical twins in Amsterdam who have been prostitutes in the Red Light District for over 50 years. In the movie, they talk about their lives, their histories, and their present lives, in and out of the industry. How could we pass that up?
The movie took forever to load. We waited patiently. We asked Danny, Erica's boyfriend if he wanted to join us. He declined and said that he was going to walk the dog. We waited. Finally the movie loaded. We learned that it was in Dutch with subtitles. Oh that's neat. It froze up again, no! We waited. And waited. These ladies were worth it.
Finally, it started to play. Success! The Fokkens are adorable and charming. Danny returned with the dog. We asked if he now wanted to join us, since he had only missed a little. He agreed. At this point, Erica was on the right side of the bed, (and super pregnant) and I was on the left side. I asked what they wanted to do: should I move over to the side to let Danny in the middle so they could be next to each other? Danny didn't know if he was going to commit to the whole movie, cause he had other things to do. Did Erica want to move to the middle? She didn't want to move, cause that side of the bed was her pregnancy-pillowed side, and she also wouldn't have been able to hold the laptop in her lap. So I was the meat in the bed sandwich, with the laptop on my stomach. I decided to start the movie over so that Danny could see what he missed (which really wasn't anything). It froze up again and started reloading. NO! More waiting, as the clock ticked on. Finally, it came back, and we were ready to go.
I guess I didn't really know what to expect in a documentary about prostitution, but I felt like I was ready. I'm no stranger to erotic imagery, what with Fuzzy's previous job at a certain gentleman's magazine and my career in the burlesque world. And Erica and I can watch anything together no problem. The subtitles were a little blurry, so you really had to work hard to read them, and their voices and the other language was really lilting and soothing. It was an interesting juxtaposition to the subject matter--the things they were talking about were really explicit. After one graphic and unpleastant description, Danny made the ironic comment "Sexy..." and we all giggled.
Only, I realized that Erica didn't giggle. And I realized that she was breathing pretty heavily. Because of how her head was propped and my being on my back with the laptop on my stomach, when I looked at her, I couldn't tell if she was still awake and just quiet, or if she was asleep. And I didn't want to ask that super annoying question, "Are you asleep?" especially not to a super pregnant woman with inconsistent sleep patterns. So we kept watching.
As the movie went on, things got more real, and they showed one of the twins at work. Which is to say, performing sex acts to male clients with blurred faces. And I got more uncomfortable. I started getting shifty and sweaty. It became clearer that Erica was totally passed out, so essentially what was happening was that I was watching some sex at night with Erica's boyfriend in their bed. No big, just watching some porn on a computer on a Sunday night in Brooklyn with my best friend's baby daddy while she's asleep next to me. You know, just sandwiched between a couple in the bed that the baby was conceived in, watching an elderly woman be a dominatrix to a paid client in Amsterdam. As one does.
I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. If you can't watch porn with your good male friends, who can you watch it with, right? So I let a few more minutes go by, and I don't remember if it was Danny who decided to leave, or if I bit the bullet and said that I was tired and needed to go to bed, but one of those things happened. We stopped the movie with about 45 minutes left to go, and we started moving around. Erica woke up a little. I told her I was going to go to sleep, and I asked if she was interested in watching any more of it that evening. Her response was, "Well, I have been listening to it."
To the movie that was in another language.
I said my goodnights, and went to my room and read for a little while. We never finished the movie.
A few weeks ago, I found myself at a building with a very exciting name--The Reid-Murdoch Center. Do you see why it is so exciting?! REID! Whenever I find a Reid spelled my way, I feel a special kindred bond the person/place/thing. Everyone always spells our name Reed, and usually, I get called Eric a lot, too. I've spent a lot of my past being Eric Reed.
Upon entering the building, I beamed with excitement of the name recognition that was about to happen between me and the security guard. LOOK, MY NAME IS JUST LIKE THIS BUILDING! How rare and neat is that?! All a-twitter, I handed over my ID for her to copy my name down.
And she handed me back this:
Oh well, maybe next time.
Fuzzy and I have a betta fish. His name is Miles, cause he's "kind of blue." We love him. I am kind of a jerk, cause I always call him Sherman, which was the name of our betta fish before Miles. In my defense, it's always an accident, and we had Sherman for a long time. So whenever I talk about Miles, I sort of always call him "Shmiles." Which isn't really a bad name either. Let's just say it's my nickname for him.
Miles has a heater in his bowl, cause Chicago is kinda always cold even when it isn't, so the water evaporates out of his bowl pretty quickly. We keep some pre-slimed fish water in a jug near his bowl to top him off when things are getting pretty low, and when we do, we always say "Hey Shmiles, it's raaaaiiiinnnng." (only when Fuzzy does it, he calls him "Miles.")
Miles is pretty active--he made an epic bubble nest the other day, then he had some techno fog machine action going on, then the next day his water was crystal clear. But his bowl was filling up with a good deal of fish poop, so I decided it was time for a total water change and thorough cleaning.
I had been letting the water sit out all day to get to room temperature. Bettas don't do cold well and they don't like the temperature change of the water. I knew that the water might still be a little too cold, but he was only going to be in it a second before I could put the heater back in the bowl. I scooped him out in his net, put him in a smaller container of his fishbowl water, and scrubbed to bowl clean. As I was doing it, I had this visual flash of Shmiles jumping out of the net and hitting the floor. I thought to myself "that would be the WORST if he did that. Thank goodness he's never done it and it won't happen." I do this sometimes before I fall down stairs. I will see myself falling down stairs, I'll think "tisk, that's funny. I am not going to fall down these stairs." And then somehow I will fall down the stairs. Please note that this implies that there are multiple instances in which I have fallen down a flight of stairs.
I filled the bowl to the top with clean fresh water, poured Sher-Miles into his net, and tipped the net over the bowl. Only Miles didn't make it into the bowl. As I was tipping, he jumped out of the net and onto the counter. I screamed. Then he jumped again, off the counter, and onto the floor. I panicked! My tiny little precious fish, on my nasty gross kitchen floor! And imagine that fall! His tiny little fish bones must have felt such an impact!
It took me a second before I was able to pick him up off the floor. I was scared I was going to crush him, and his was slimey, and I FELT LIKE AN ASSHOLE. I held the little guy in my hand and plopped him into the water. The shockingly cold water. He darted around super quick around the bowl, and I was convinced he was going to have a heart attack. I put him back in the living room and put his heater in the bowl, and he floated down to the bottom of the bowl under his pink flowers. I dropped in a piece of food as a consolation. He didn't care.
At this point, I was trying to calm down, and I, too, was a little bit in shock. I tried to call Fuzzy. I went to check on the fish. I noticed a white patch on him that I had never seen before. And as I looked closer, I noticed that he was very slanty or maybe even UPSIDE DOWN.
A small note about my phobias: I don't have a lot of fears. This isn't true. I hate and am scared of the following things: snakes, amplified whispers, amplified heart beats, computer voices, and dead fishes in tanks. Also cancer and all that shit. But my whole life, I've wanted to have fish and look at fish, and my whole life, I've been terrified at pet stores because of seeing sometimes a fish floating upside down in a tank. It's happened more than I wish it has. One time years ago, I went to the aquarium here, and there was a dead turtle in a tank. Traumatizing. So when the possibility arose that a) there might be a dead fish in the living room b) that dead fish was MY dead fish and c) the fish was dead BECAUSE I KILLED IT, I had a total meltdown.
I finally got ahold of Fuzzy, and I proceeded to have a complete and total major sobfest to him. Lucky for me, Fuzzy is the kindest, sweetest, most loving man that has ever existed, and he calmed me down and handled the situation like a champ. I snuck into the living room to peek in the bowl, I noticed that
Sherman Miles was at the top of the bowl. WAS HE FLOATING UPSIDE DOWN? More tears. I then convinced myself that I was The Most Horrible Person That Has Ever Lived In the History of the Universe. The ultimate worse. I killed my sweet husband's beloved fish.
We were going to an event last night, so I got off the phone, washed my face and put on some make-up. I emailed my brother telling him about how terrible a person I was. I pouted. Then, I got the urge to check on Shmiles again, so I snuck into the room, peeked around the doorway, and what did I see?! SWIMMING!
MILES WAS ALIVE!
He looked like hell. He had bubbles all over him, his eyes were super droopy, and his beautiful fins looked all ripped up. But his little fins were moving, and he was swimming around and bobbing up and down! I squealed with glee! I WAS NOT A MURDERER!!!!!!!!
IT WAS A FISHMAS MIRACLE.
I picked up Fuzzy from work, and we talked about our stressful days and this that and the other. We talked about Miles and the great Floor Incident of 2013. We both determined that we needed a beer.
On our way into the event, Erica texted me to tell me that an old friend of ours had died. This friend was only in my life for a short period of time, but his impact was HUGE on me and my circle of friends at the time. Erica and I sent each other a series of text messages, laughing about old times and crying and trying to process the shock of the news. I was at my most awkward at the event. I'm awkward at events when I haven't just almost murdered my fish and found out sad news, so I was at a nice new level of awkward, I am sure to the delight of the poor folks who attempted to have a normal conversation with me. Fuzzy made sure I had food and beers and company at the party, and then lovingly made a joke about falling and hitting the floor. Jerk.
When we got home, I was nervous that maybe tiny Miles had drifted away out of exhaustion or heart-attack. Happily, he was his usual not-dead self. He still had a couple of bubbles on his cheeks, but he was looking better.
This morning, I went to feed him, and I am happy to say that he is completely fine! No bubbles, no haggard fins. I'd even say he is swimmingly good (pun intended).
I think I am going to make Fuzzy clean his bowl from here on out.
Friday was an epic day.
I had two meetings for Drunk Monkeys, one at 2:00 and one at 2:30. Jen asked me to meet her at a coffee shop at 1:30 so we could prep a couple things before the meetings, since we didn't know what to expect. Earlier in the day, I had eaten breakfast, but when it was approaching time to go, I wasn't hungry. Fuzzy encouraged that I have a snack, so I had an apple. My meetings were going to be short, though, and I was going to be home pretty early, and I also had early 6:00 dinner plans. I was going to be fine.
Once I arrived at the coffee shop, I ordered a tea. I had already had coffee that day, but I didn't want to sit there having not purchased anything. I sat there sipping tea and waiting, when Jen texted that she was running late. I decided to go sit in my car. Never being one to pass up a public restroom, I went to the bathroom, and then went to my car to await her arrival, me and my tea.
Jen arrived at 1:55, and we went to the first meeting. It was awesome. Plans were made. And as anyone who loves the art of alcohol is wont to do, the bartender we were meeting with pulled out an amazing rum and a delicious green chartreuse to try. Tall pours, too. We split them, thanked him, and said our goodbyes. We had to get to the next meeting.
On the way to the car, we talked about how unexpected the impromptu tasting was, and Jen even noted that she was going to have to fake her way through the next meeting cause she was a bit buzzed. Since I had not had lunch, I felt the sips more than I normally would have, but I knew I was still ok. Fortunately, the next meeting was only a 5 minute drive away.
The next meeting was also awesome. We got a tour of a facility, a history of distilling and so much information that was mind-blowing. We were there for a long time, and we loved every second of it. Just when we were about to make a date for a filming, our host says "have a seat, so you can try some things." How could we object?
Looking back, I think we tried 13-15 different things (whiskeys, liquors, etc), small pours, but these were some hearty products. I knew was driving, so I pounded 3 glasses of water while doing the tastings. It got to a point where I had to start being smart--I didn't want to turn anything down, but it was a lot of booze on an empty stomach. We said our goodbyes, hoping that we didn't make too big a fools out of ourselves. I had to pee, but decided not to ask to use their restroom, for some prideful and stupid reason.
We left, and Jen smartly determined that we needed to eat some food. We found a little coffee shop in the industrial park where we were, and I ordered a croissant and a glass of water. I asked if I could use their restroom. They said no. Weird, it being a coffee shop and all, but whatever, I was doing ok. There were others in the room when I asked, so I thought that maybe once we were the only ones there, they would make an exception for me. We talked for a while, but I realized that I wasn't paying any attention to Jen due to the rising urges in my bladder, and I also realized that there was a constant stream of people in this oasis in no-mans land. Finally, I couldn't wait any longer. I asked the barista where the closest restroom was. She didn't know. I asked again if I could use their bathroom. She said no. I looked at Jen and said "We gotta go!!" I practically ran to the car, and was miserable until I was able to find a grocery store, thankfully. Grocery stores always have a public restroom and this one was my saving grace. Crisis averted. It was 4:15.
I gave Jen a ride home, and traffic was terrible. I got her home a little before 5:00, and I looked at my GPS and the restaurant I was meeting my friend at at 6:00 was 48 minutes away. After chatting for a second, I told her that I had to go, cause I already had to pee again and I was going to swing home before heading to the southside. Remember, I had been binge drinking water and booze for 3 hours at this point. She invited me up to use hers--perfect! Then I would be able to head straight to the south and all will be well. Jen saved the day!
Instead of hitting the road right that minute, I decided to call Fuzzy and talk to him for about 10ish minutes before hitting the road. Once I got moving, I was squarely in 5:00 bumper to bumper traffic. I was driving down Foster when the feeling hit me again--my bladder was calling. I started thinking about my options--if I went home, I would be late. Do I call Noah and see if he is home? Ah! There is a McDonalds at Foster and Sheridan! And a grocery store across the street! Options! Perfect. I was going to be fine. As I approached the McDonalds, I saw that it was closed and under construction. Due to the lane I was in, and the oncoming traffic and the changing traffic light, I panicked and found myself suddenly on Lake Shore Drive, 11 miles from my destination. In 5:00 traffic. ETERNITY from my destination.
I made a series of bad decisions. I know there are gas stations off of many exits on Lake Shore Drive, but not every gas station in Chicago has public bathrooms. In fact, most don't. I zoomed passed Lawrence, I thought about Gill Park at Irving Park, but yet, drove past that. Belmont--what's there? Too late. Fullerton--time is running out cause once you are downtown you are screwed, North? Pipers Alley didn't ONCE pop into my mind. Til suddenly, I found myself on the outer of 4 lanes downtown. I was miserable and I thought I was going to pee in my pants. You don't think clearly when you are in that situation. I realized that I had passed Fuzzy's old office, which I know has a public bathroom. I started shaking. I went into crisis-prevention mode: If I couldn't get to a bathroom, what is my last ditch effort? I know!
I had had tea earlier! There is a cup in my car! I could pee in the cup! I'm a pro at peeing in cups--I've had kidney stones for years! I can do this!
Traffic slowed for a second, and I opened my car door and poured out the remaining tea that was in the cup. I didn't WANT to pee in a cup in my car while driving, but I was starting to think there was no alternative. I started wondering how I could do it: I took off my coat so I could put it over my lap so no one would see. I unbuttoned my pants. I looked in my rear-view mirror; would that guy behind me know I was peeing in a cup in the car? I looked to my left--would THAT guy know I was peeing in a cup in the car? If HE was peeing in a cup in his car, would I know? I decided to test it to see if it would work. I tipped the cup near my groin to see if it would be possible to fit the cup in my sadly-too-tight jeans. Suddenly, I felt a cold wet sensation on my lap. Did I pee myself? No, thank God--there was still a little bit of tea in the cup! And now it was now poured all over my crotch in a way that looks like I just actually DID wet myself. To add insult to injury, I realized that there was no way that the cup was going to fit inside my pants. I tried to rip some of the height of the cup off. I was unsuccessful. I was miserable.
Reminder: All of this was being done while I was driving.
Things were looking grim. I was just about to accept that I was going to pee in the seat of my new-to-me car, and I would have to call my friend and cancel. My friend that I was supposed to meet in about 5 minutes. I looked at my phone--6.8 miles away. There was no way I could make that, even though I knew that traffic was going to lighten up past Roosevelt. It was now or never. I was praying to not wet myself. I was praying to make it through each second.
I was first in line at the light at Balbo. I remembered that there is a Target on Roosevelt. I would go there. Success! The light turned green, and I punched the gas in the car so I could cut over 3 lanes of traffic to take the Roosevelt exit. Success! But once I was there, I realized that the Target was too far down. NO! I saw a beacon of light--a Subway! YES! I will turn left and go to Subway! Oh no! There is no parking! But alas! Right past it is a Jimmy Johns! With parking right in front! THIS IS MY MOMENT.
I pulled into the parking space. I buttoned up my pants and hopped out. I knew that there was no way that I was going to get a ticket in the 3 minutes I was going to be in the space, but I am a good citizen, so I paid for parking. Here in Chicago, you have to wait to get this little slip out of a machine to put on your dashboard, and when you are about to drip urine down your leg, that can take FOREVER. I got the slip, and then remembered that I have a giant pee-looking stain on my jeans. If I go walking into this fine business establishment, asking hurriedly for the bathroom with a giant pee stain on my pants, I was surely going to be denied service. So I got my coat and put it on after I was already out of the car. I was in such a rush, I put my coat on OVER my purse. Whatever, who cares. I went in, got directed to the bathroom, and finally was able to relieve my misery. GLORY.
In the bathroom stall, I was faced with a familiar cunundrum. Do I walk out confidently, head held high, thank them for the use of their facilities and breeze out the door, knowing I would never see them again? Or do I repay for their services by purchasing a sandwich? Having a small bladder and the aforementioned kidney stones, I have used many a public restroom in my life, with no intention of ever spending a dime. I'm a confident public urinater. So I decided that buying a sandwich would be silly, especially since I am trying to save money and I was on my way to dinner plans that I was currently late for. I would just waltz out. I took off my jacket, put my purse on the outside, and exited the bathroom. I made eye contact with the guy who directed me to the bathroom, and suddenly, I found myself non-chalantly browsing the sandwich options and ordering an italian sub, no big deal. Like an idiot.
From there, there was only about 5-7 minutes left in my epic journey to the South Side. I breezed through traffic, parked, and ran into the already crowded restaurant, where my friend was patiently waiting for me. I, on the other hand, was still frantic and trying to calm down-- I was shaking from trauma, hunger, and maybe even still a little hint of booze. I tried to focus on the menu, ordered the first thing that I saw, and then launched into the tale of the most epic and ridiculous 4 hours of my life.
And then we ate chicken and waffles, celebrating that I didn't have to pee in a cup in my car.
I barely touched my water.
But you know who else deserves it?...The women who don't want kids and have to listen to a bunch of bullshit about how you're only worthwhile if you've pushed a human out of your vagina. The women who miss the children they once had. The women who miss the children they lost before they ever met them. The women who gave up their children so their child could have a better life than they could provide. The women who were raised motherless, or with shitty mothers, or who have lost their mothers and are reminded of how alone they feel. Mother's Day is a confusing, weird, very-seldom-wrapped-up-with-a-nice-commercial-bow sort of day, and as for me, I salute you all - mothers or not...you're here. You're alive. You continue to survive. You are worthwhile and wonderful. Never forget that.
Happy Mother's Day to all my lady friends out there, mothers or not.
And to my own mother, who may or may not be physically able to see this, I love you. I wish you were well.
I am me.
Sometimes I am on top of my game. Sometimes I am not. I am a human. This is what humans do. We're not perfect. We're always learning.
I have been thinking a lot lately about my life and journey and how I have changed over the years. I love my life and I am very blessed for all the gifts I have and how fortunate I am. This morning on my run, I felt empowered and that I cannot be stopped. That I am entering the "Era of Erica" and that I am going to be unapologetically ME. I am going to be me to the fullest.
Who am I? Well, that is constantly evolving.
I am proud of my Southern roots.
I am a comedian/producer/choreographer.
I am a caregiver.
I have and will continue to battle with anxiety and depression.
I am a wife.
I will never be a mother.
I am not good with children.
I have a lot of wonderful friends.
I am not perfect.
I can sometimes/ most of the time be an asshole.
I am opinionated.
I am angry a lot.
I am happy a lot.
I am not an amazing athlete--but I try.
I am not an amazing dancer--but I love it.
I cannot be everything to everyone and that is ok.
Not only is it ok, it is impossible. The only thing I HAVE to be is true to myself and loving towards my husband (which is the thing I do best, I feel.) I choose to be compassionate and empathetic to others. I try to be a good friend to the friends that are good to me. And sometimes, you have to let things and people come in and out of your life.
There will be bumps in the road. Without them, life wouldn't be real.
So that's it. Love it or leave it. Take me for who I am. As for me--all bets are off. No holds barred. I am working harder than ever, and juggling more than ever, and the beauty part of it all is, is that I am capable of handling it all. I am taking this life that I was given and making the most of it. And ENJOYING it.
(this blog post was brought to you by the Empowerment Cliche' and Idiom Counsel of America.)
This past weekend was a busy one, in that not only did we bake a wedding cake, but I also officiated 2 weddings-one of which in Indiana. I am in the process of starting a new wedding officiating business (more info to come!) but I have now married 9 couples, and each wedding has been wonderful and special in their own ways. I am happy to say that I am getting better with each one--more confident, less nervous--and my ceremonies are getting stronger. I am learning how to write a good ceremony for a couple I don't know very well, and rock the house down for the couples that I know and love. Sunday's wedding was a total blast, and after the ceremony, I partied hard!
But enough about that, here is the world's cutest couple, aka: ENRG and the Fuzz.
I mean, look at us.
Check out my kickass shoes.
Ok, so I don't ALWAYS know how to pose for photos. Take, for example the first attempt at the cake photo from the previous post:
There's Leigh, posing like a champ, and there's me, looking like a damn fool.
I mean, really:
Ever had your photo taken before, there, Erica?
Hmm...though something is missing...
Ahhh....that's more like it.
(I realize it's been a while since I've had a "Dork" photo. It's good to have them back.)
(And in titling this post, I am blown away that this memory I have is from NINETEEN YEARS AGO. Sheesh. When did we grow up?)
So it was beautifully summery for 2 days here in Chicago, with temperatures in the 80s on Tuesday and Wednesday. I drove with the windows down, wore short-sleeved shirts and skirts and left my jacket at home. It was amazing! Since I was in high school, I've had a "first day of summer" cd, and it is The Breeders "Last Splash". Yesterday I was working (filling in at my old job to help out) and I listed to Sirius XMU all day. They played "Do You Love Me Now" I think it was, and I almost flipped out. So I got home and got out my cd to rock out to today. Well, today is 52 degrees. No matter, I was already in the mindset, so I've listened to it twice.
When we went to Lollapalooza in 1994, Christopher and I were super excited about all the bands including the Breeders. (1994 is, in my opinion, the best year for music of our generation. If you disagree with me, that is fine, but I will fight you to prove my point. Also, I am aware that "Last Splash" came out in 1993, but it was in August, so they were still of that general year.) When it came time for the song "Drivin' on 9" they made a big deal about a "special guest" and hype hype hyped up the guest. It turns out that it was just a regular old violin player. Oh, ok. We still enjoyed the performance, and thought they were just making a joke about someone being a big deal to make them feel special.
Jump forward to a few years ago, when Fuzzy was talking about this band he loved called Ed's Redeeming Qualities. I had never heard of them, and he told me all about them and played me a lot of their songs. In that conversation, I learned that "Drivin' on 9" was a cover of an Ed's Redeeming Qualities song. Neat! I had no idea!
So today, I am washing my dishes, and the song comes on, and it hits me--I bet the special guest that day was someone from the original band! Wouldn't that be neat? So I looked it up, and found this from Wikipedia:
So yeah, it only took me 19 years, but I figured it out. And that IS a pretty special guest if you ask me.
(Also, I can't talk about seeing The Breeders at Lollapalooza in 1994 without mentioning that Christopher had to go pee during "Divine Hammer.")