Off to another MacBlogger Family Christmas

Happy holidays, y'all!

More miles logged than Santa Claus

So, you might have heard about this small little blizzard in Denver. You know, the one that has shut down the airport and stranded thousands of passengers? Guess where my layover is on Sunday! I know, I'm sure it will be fine by then. But it's kind of weird - in the 21 months I have lived in LA, I've probably taken about 15 trips to the east coast; never once have I had a layover at all, let alone in Denver. Direct flights all the way, baby! Unless I can save $400, in which case I suppose it's worth the risk. Such is the price I pay for choosing to move across the country.

And have you heard about that terrorist threat in London? I'm really so excited to be traveling this weekend, I can hardly contain myself.

But once I get there, I tell you, things will be great! Have I mentioned that I am spending my Christmas vacation taking a somewhat meandering tour through the northeast? See below:

I fly into Boston on Sunday. Hopefully.

I'll spend Christmas Eve with my dad in Bridgewater, and Christmas Day with our relatives out near Worcester. I'll spend Christmas night and the 26th with my mom in Stoughton. On the 27th, my friend is driving me from Stoughton, MA to Stamford, CT, and then, that evening, I will take the train into New York. To see the boy. For the first of six nights in a row we are spending together. Who wants to put money on how fast he'll get sick of me? I have dibs on Sunday. (I'm kidding! Really. He is either blind or just refuses to notice any of my bad traits. So far.)

I'll be in New York Wed night and Thursday, and then on Friday, we are leaving for our skiing trip in Vermont, or as I like to refer to it, the ATO Winter Formal: Ten Years Later. I no longer fit into any of my sorority formal dresses, so I'm praying that it gets cold enough so spend the weekend in my ski pants. Which are a size Small, and I am also kind of worried about. So, PRAY FOR SNOW, PEOPLE! Without skiing, all we'll be doing is drinking, and maybe singing rousing renditions of Piano Man, if I remember correctly.

We'll be in Vermont until New Years Day, Monday, and then all drive back to New York. I'll stay in New York Monday night, and catch a flight back to LA on Tuesday morning, with the goal of arriving at work by 1:30 PM so I can save half a vacation day. I had planned on long term parking at the Burbank airport to make that happen, but after a reality check from co-workers today, I'm thinking that plan might be flawed.

I'll write an official goodbye tomorrow, but for anyone reading this before then, please know that I wish you the very best holiday and I don't know what I am going to do being away from a computer for 10 days. I will probably have the chance to blog from New York on Thursday, so until then, I will miss you all and wish you all the best.

Love,
Lori

Adding junk to my trunk

The holidays make me crazy. Maybe that's why I'm losing things left and right. Now, I am apparently forgetting things as well.

The holidays make me crazy because there are so many people to see, and each of those people has a need to stuff homemade cupcakes, cookies and candy down my throat. The ones that don't want me to eat their homemade confections insist we meet for dinner and order someone else's handcrafted goodness, usually in portions twice that of what I would make myself. Don't get me wrong - I love seeing my friends and enjoying the merriment of the season. But I love not having fat rolls even more.

I met friends for dinner after work on Tuesday, which meant that Wednesday would naturally be a gym night for me. Except that Wednesday was the only night another group of friends could meet, my best friends in LA, and I really wanted to see them before we all left for the holiday. But, no problem! I thought. Work has been super slow, so I could duck out a bit early, hit the gym for a full workout, shower and change there, and make our 7:30 reservation in Hollywood, which was closer to my gym than my home, anyway. This will work out perfectly!

I don't usually shower at the gym, because that means I have to lug all sorts of crap like face wash, makeup, hair stuff, etc., not to mention an extra set of clothes to change into. But on Wednesday morning, I packed all that into my gym bag, so it was bursting from the top. I ducked out of work a half hour early and made it to the gym by 5:15. I changed out of my 50 layers (because it is FREEZING here - what is up with that, Huphter?) into my gym clothes, and then I realized: I had left my sneakers at home. MY SNEAKERS. AT HOME.

Now, I've forgotten socks before. Many times. So what do I do now? I keep extra pairs in the trunk of my car, just in case. For days that I forget my iPod, I have an extra set of headphones that plug into the gym's entertainment. And when I bought a new pair of trainers a few months ago, I had the passing thought of, Hmm, I should leave my old ones in my trunk. Just in case. Did I do that? NO.

There was no way I could work out, and no way I was driving all the way back to the westside, just to turn back around for dinner in Hollywood. That is what we here in LA call crazy. So I went to my friend Laura's house to kill time and catch up and drink wine so I could forget about all the calories I wouldn't be burning.

This morning a well worn pair of Adidas found a new home in the back of my Acura.

Losing it

Every now and again I'll joke that I'm losing my mind, but I'm really beginning to believe it. And if it's not my mind I'm losing, then that's the only thing left in its proper place.

Last week, when I started unpacking my suitcase from Boston, I grabbed my glasses and some other bedroom items to put away. Fast forward 30 minutes, I take out my contacts and realize that my glasses aren't in my nightstand drawer where I keep them. Tired and blind, I quickly gave up searching and went to bed. The following night I checked all my drawers, under the bed, and then remade the bed, thinking they might have gotten tangled in the sheets. The third night I checked the refrigerator, the freezer, the garbage - hand picking through the garbage, thank you - and every available crevice in the bathroom, in case I really had lost my mind and put them away with something else. The fourth night I checked under the bed again, and there they were, in plain sight, resting against the nightstand on the opposite side. I have no idea how or why they were over there.

Friday, I picked up a toothbrush at the supermarket with just a few other items. An hour later, I went to brush my teeth, and the toothbrush was nowhere to be found. I checked the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen, the garbage, you name it. Saturday afternoon, while watching TV, I saw it sticking out from behind a picture frame on my console.

Two weeks ago I bought a pack of gum at Target. I haven't seen it since.

It's a wonderful life

So, I owe you guys an answer.

Not about my weekend in Boston - that's easy: it was wonderful. No, a year ago I came back from my office holiday party with mixed feelings about what LA had to offer me versus what I gave up to accept it, and proposed a mental deadline for figuring it out:

While I thought I understood the sacrifice I was making to move here, I guess I underestimated how hard it would be to actually do so. I suppose we all make sacrifices for the things that we want, but at what price, Christmas carols? Surprise 30th birthday parties? Being there for a best friend's engagement? Will it have been worth it? I'll let you know a year from now.

We had our holiday party today, and this time, instead of feeling like I was among 14 friends, I felt like I was in the presence of three really good ones. That's a positive. Last year at this time, I was happy with everyone, but knew hardly anything about anyone; now, I have a solid group of friends at work that I would be thrilled to have by my side for 3 AM caroling.

The bonds with my other friends have grown as well. My weekend plans are fewer now, but richer. I don't feel the need to go out so often, to push myself to meet new people, to "get out while I'm young"; rather, I go out when I choose, when the plans sound fun and I'll have the opportunity to maximize my relationships, not increase the numbers stored in my phone. I used to worry that if I stayed in, no one would invite me out again; somehow I've gotten beyond that and trust that my friends will keep calling whether I meet them this week or not.

I have missed a lot on the east coast, and I'm missing more as we speak. That cousin's annual holiday party was last night, more friends are getting engaged, and others are having kids. None of that goes unnoticed, or without an aching twinge of "why aren't I there?" Traveling home for Christmas, to see my extended family for the one time per year, I'm always wondering if this might be the last time I'll ever see my grandparents. Wondering in advance how guilty I will feel about that in the years to come.

But I have gained so much. I thought I was independent in New York, but having 20 of my closest college friends in spitting distance wasn't exactly encouraging me to meet new people. I could barely pay my bills until the last couple years I lived there, and then I spent my savings (what savings?) on Prada shoes, not a 401K. The City is actually one of the easiest areas in which to live with the smallest amount of responsibility, and I, frankly, excelled. But I am prouder of what I have accomplished in LA because it was such a steeper road to climb.

Whenever I tell people I am dating someone in New York, they inevitably ask me if I'm moving back. Clearly, it's a thought in my mind, although one I'm not quite ready to address just yet. But it has made me ponder, if I left LA now, would it all have been worth it? The homesickness, the driving (and getting lost!), going weeks without speaking to my best friends, the struggles I had in making new ones?

And, without a doubt, the answer is yes.

Back from Boston

I'm back from Boston and happy to say that it was a great trip.

I didn't get in until nearly 1 AM last night (this morning), so I'm a bit too tired to do a whole recap of the weekend's itinerary. Instead, I'll share the two random celebrity sightings I had at LAX last night, at the American Airlines baggage claim.

1. Jeremy "The Pivert" Piven, of Entourage fame, looking exactly like you would expect him to look. Grayish-black tweedish newsboy cap pulled down, brown leather jacket, ear attached to his phone the whole time. Not sure if he was actually talking to someone.

2. Dee Snider, of 80's metal hair band, Twisted Sister. Let's be honest. The only reason I know who he is is from all of those VH1 specials. But standing over six feet tall with a platinum blond ponytail hanging down to his waist, there was little question in my mind that it was him. He wore tight black jeans, black rocker boots, a trucker hat, and carried a gold briefcase. Imagine those titanium briefcases in which one might keep a pistol, or insured diamond jewelry; you know, if one were James Bond, or Jack Bauer. Picture that, but gold. There was no question.

If insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result, then I could probably benefit from an asylum

So, I am headed home to Boston for the weekend.

I actually planned this trip a while ago, because my mother has a doctor's appointment on Monday and needs someone to drive her home from it. A year ago we agreed that if she drove me home from getting my wisdom teeth out, I would drive her home from this. But it also turns out that my friend Heather is having her 30th birthday party celebration tomorrow (Saturday) night so the trip has turned into quite the social event as well. Even more so because the New York boy is coming in for the weekend too.

He grew up maybe half an hour from me, and had been planning on making a trip to see his family this month anyway. When I told him that I'd be home this weekend, he decided that it would make sense to combine the trips so we could see each other. And I didn't think much of the fact that he'd probably be meeting my mom and five or so of my high school friends until just about an hour ago. And now my stomach is lodged somewhere up in my throat.

What makes me so nervous is that I've done this before. This entire scenerio. I've written before that about three years ago I was in a long distance relationship, me in New York, him in Pennsylvania. My 27th birthday fell on the same weekend as a friend's bridal shower in MA, and I had decided to go to it long before he was in the picture. Once he was, I invited him to come in for the weekend, even though it meant that he would have to fly in from PA, rent a car because my NYC self wasn't driving at that point, and by the way, sorry, but you're not invited to the shower which was four hours of my Sunday morning. He did it all anyway. He flew in early Saturday, drove to my mom's house (I had met his parents five times by this point so didn't see any issue with that) and then on Saturday night we met all of my high school friends out for drinks. He charmed my girlfriends and bonded with the one other boyfriend. When I went to the shower on Sunday morning, he entertained himself by going to the mall and buying my mom a gift. It was one of the most selfless, romantic, out-of-the-way things anyone I've known has ever done.

The next time we saw each other he broke up with me.

I am a superstitious person and have always kind of chalked it up to the fact that once I get comfortable with something, it inevitably gets taken away from me. I was relating this story at lunch, and then my friend suggested what probably should have been obvious: maybe it was that trip that made him realize that I wasn't the person he saw himself with. Oh, hello reality. I hadn't really thought of it like that. After all, I'm a fairly confident person and I assume if someone likes me, and takes planes, trains and automobiles to see me, they'll like me in spite of who my friends and family are. But it's not as if I've never judged someone on the same things. So maybe that was it. And if so, did I make a mistake by planning to repeat a virtually identical scenerio? Is it too soon to invite him into this part of my life? Or is it better to show my cards up front, before I have too much to lose? Or am I completely overreacting and what happened with one person is in no way indicative of what could happen now?

Either way, the deja vu is frightening.

Happy birthday, Kris!

I have a feeling that you are going to have an amazing year.

Boys who ride buses

Speaking of nice Jewish girls named Hilary, I not too long ago discovered Superfluous Juxtaposition. (How could you not love a blog with that name?) I've never met this Hilary, but she is 32, single, and seems like a pretty cool chick, so I often feel like we have a lot in common.

Hilary's blog covers a lot of different topics, but one of the main themes is dating, and all of the idiots that have crossed her path over the last few years. While each guy seems to have a different story, if you ask her, it usually just seems to come down to The Bus.

You can read her full explanation here, but essentially: "The Bus, known to many throughout the country as the answer to the question 'Why didn’t he call?,' has been around for many years but only very recently has the public learned of its existence. Says one once-confused-but-now-in-the-know-single woman, 'I always wondered what happened to the guys I went on dates with that disappeared. You know, the ones who said they’d call but didn’t. Now I know. The Bus picked them up.' ”

Now, I said I thought we have a lot in common. Did you know that I, too, used to have a bus theory? Back when I was at the tender age of 20, before I even had any idea of what dating crap would be in store for me down the road, I surmised that life was like a bus. In that, you see, some buses just take you from point A to point B, and then everyone gets off and goes their separate ways. But other buses transfer, and even though you may go to new locations, you stay with the same group. Just like how, in life, there are people that you meet that are meant to be with you forever, while others are meant to simply teach you something and then get off at a rest stop and be remembered for the charming story they shared or that bad smell they left on the seat.

Some people just aren't meant to ride along down the road of life. But others will transfer with you depsite the bumps and stick around to enjoy the scenery. Pretty profound for a (constantly drunk) 20 year old, eh? Then again, at 20, what didn't I have to be optimistic about?

Possibly the best part about my bus theory was that it was easy to illustrate. Throughout my junior and senior years of college, I took great pleasure in drawing my life in different phases of boys and buses. And now, I am pleased (and not at all embarrassed) to share my hopes and dreams, as seen through three stages of my bus theory, with y'all:

Stage 1: Optimism

(Text: See? I'm only 20 years old - I don't even have half my bus filled in yet.)

Stage 2: Moving On

(Text: He was never really on the bus, anyway.)

Stage 3: Bitter Acceptance with sides of Jealous Rage and Slightly Crazy

(Above text reads: I'm making my bus theory a train theory for tonight. Inset pic is me, in circle, making the OK sign in my conductor hat, saying, I'm not bitter. Text on the right reads: Is this a problem, do you think? Can I still write from solitary? Stay tuned! Love, Lori.) FYI...This was a different guy from the guy in the pics above. This guy told me that he was Tom Cruise to both my Kelly McGillis and Renee Zellweger, and then he went and lavaliered my sorority sister the next semester! The bus theory was officially laid to rest at that point when I came to the conclusion that life and boys couldn't be summed up by a simple mode of transportation.

In Hilary's words, I gave up. I totally gave up.

And one more birthday wish (at least until Friday)

Happy birthday, Hilary!

Hilary is the type of friend that can't be summed up in a single blog post, although a single acronym says a lot: LYLAS. Back in the days when people used to write letters rather than email, we might have signed off with this closing, which was short for Love Ya Like a Sister.

I've known Hilary since first semester freshman year of college. We pledged the same sorority, went to Europe together, moved to New York, well, not together exactly, but at the same time, along with everyone else from college; and then a few years ago, she up and left for her hometown in Massachusetts because it was a better place to raise a kid, which she happened to have had practically when the rest of us weren't looking.

I keep telling her I'll meet her back in Mass one day, but until then, I will leave her with this reminder of Freshman year:

Happy birthday, Heather!

My high school friend Heather turns 30 years old today. She was in my grade, but, having been born in December, one of the youngest of our friends. It was hard on her when we were all getting our drivers licenses or turning 21, but now that she's the last to turn 30, we're all kind of jealous of the extra time she had to milk her 20's.

The above picture was taken at our friend Andra's house over the summer after our senior year of high school. We were in Andra's bedroom, on Andra's phone, inviting people to Andra's 18th birthday party, but Andra was still a few hundred miles away up at camp. Heather had a key to her house, and I think just that morning came up with the idea of throwing a party. We must have called Andra at camp, asked if she would come home, and, it being her night off, said, okay, I'll be there by 10! By the time she walked in the door that night, we had a house full of people there to celebrate her birthday.

This picture here is from last Thanksgiving when we got together with our larger group of high school friends. Heather has always been a social butterfly, and is an important thread in keeping us all in touch as much as we are. In fact, I'll be seeing the whole group next weekend, as I am heading home for Heather's official birthday party.

It's nice to know that all these years later, we still have so much to celebrate.

Dear Caifornia, part 2

Dear California,

Thanks for listening. Tan lines in December? I love you.



Love, Lori

Why am I calling them "kids"? I think I am officially old.

I'm not really into football, but I'd have to be in a coma to not know there was a huge UCLA/USC game today. When I left for the gym around 4:00, the game had just started and UCLA had a short lead.

After my workout I headed to the nearby Whole Foods, which is located across from all the UCLA fraternity houses in Westwood Village. (Mmmm, fraternity boys...) Just as I started to wonder if the game was over yet, I heard a roar of cheers, shouting from the streets that sounded loud even from inside my car - with the windows closed and the radio on. The cheers continued as I walked from my car to the store entrance, and were audible thoughout the entire front half of the market. Even I knew that UCLA was the underdog in the game, and, since I have no allegiance one way or another, was kind of pleased that they pulled it off.

I drove home through the village, and passed throngs of students partying in the streets, yelling, cheering, fists pumping in the air. Other cars were honking in spirit, flashing their lights, as kids stood up through the sunroofs, whooped through the windows. Normally I'd probably be annoyed at that stuff, but it so reminded me of my sophmore year at Syracuse when our basketball team made the Final Four, and I smiled with pride at the memory.

One of the reasons I had wanted to go to Syracuse because they had decent sports teams and were known across the country for it. My high school was small, and while we had a good basketball team, our football team suffered a 20 game losing streak over the course of two years. I had a lot of school spirit, but high school only wet my palate for the tailgating parties and excitement I knew that a major college could deliver.

By second semester sophmore year, I was going out four nights a week anyway; March Madness just gave us all a reason to. The night we won the game that led us into the Final Four, all the students poured out of the bars, dancing and shouting in the streets just like the kids tonight. When we played Kentucky, a few nights later, I went to Harry's because they brought in huge screen TV's and served .50 cent Bud Lights, so it was the only place to be seen on M street. I barely remember watching the game; in fact, I may be mixing up memories here because I seem to remember cheering in the freezing Syracuse streets after that game as well - only we lost. But still, it was the furthest our team had gone in a long, long time, and we were all so happy to have been a part of it. The camraderie, the spirit, the .50 cent Bud Lights - life really did not get much better. Watching the UCLA kids tonight totally brought me back.

Fortunately, more than ten years later, I still have the Syracuse camraderie and the spirit, although drinks are a hell of a lot more expensive. The memories, however, are priceless.

Happy Blog Birthday

Break out the bubbly - Lori MacBlogger turns two years old today!

To celebrate, I thought I would swallow my vanity for a minute, and lead you to a horribly embarrassing picture of me at ten years old, smack in the middle of my "awkward phase", posted by City Wendy as part of her new "Ugly Phase" blogging series. Yes, I sent her this picture. Why, I don't know. I was probably drunk.

[Aside: I discovered City Wendy maybe six months ago, and she is one of my blogging inspirations, one, because she is a fabulous writer, and two, because she is also doing the long-distance thing with a guy in New York. (Hello? Where were all these guys when I lived there?)]

Anyway, her post has kicked a lot of traffic my way today, and I can tell from Sitemeter that a number of those people have almost immediately then clicked on my Photo Album, to the right, as if to see whether I still look like that, or to make sure that I don't. (I don't. And if I did, you can bet that ice cream sandwiches would be the least of my problems.)

I would say that if Blogging, year one, was all about connecting with my family and friends back east, then year two has definitely been about connecting with new people, fellow bloggers. This year I have been so fortunate as to have gained readers outside of my immediate circle, and not only are people reading, but they have brought me into their lives, as well. Every morning when I get into work, I have a list of bloggers I need to check up on; when I get home from work, I cover the bases again. Some bloggers argue that you aren't supposed to blog with other readers in mind - it's about the writing; others claim that narcissism is the only reason to blog in the first place. I think I have covered both bases, and all I can say right now is that blogging is fun, it feels right.

For year three, I have two goals. One is to meet many of the bloggers who comment here in person. I am already attached emotionally, have made them my friends on MySpace - I think it's time to make this deal official. The second is to actually improve my writing. Learn how to tell a story, recite a narrative, get my thoughts across without tripping over semantics and pedantics. One will be easy; two, I'm not sure how I am going to make happen.

Let's just hope it's not as awkward as I look in that photo.

Dear California,

Warm the f#@$ up already!

Bitterly,
Lori