It was nearly two years ago. I was sitting at Shaw's Crab Shack in Chicago. I'd planned a sales team dinner and I was, as usual, the first to arrive. Having been to this particular location in the past, I knew to ask for the private room in the back. I arrived at least 30 minutes prior to the event starting, as is my habit, so I brought a book with me, as is ALSO my habit. I sat at the bar for a moment or two (long enough to order a glass of champagne for myself – again, habit) and then introduced myself to the general manager, who walked me to our private room.
I was sitting for a few moments … just me, in a room with 29 other chairs, waiting for a gaggle of folks that I did not know. I'd made a single friend on the team (Scott), and there was a manager who seemed friendly enough (Cliff), but otherwise I was gonna have dinner with a whole bunch of strangers. I'm not good in crowds. I'm *great* one-on-one but, either due to my crappy hearing or my inability to concentrate on things I don't care that much about, I'm just not that comfortable in larger groups of people. So I wasn't looking forward to this evening, truth be told. I tried to calm my nerves by getting involved in my book … and found my foot tapping.
There was a jug-band-style song playing over their stereo system in the room. The waiter came over to me when I smiled and asked if he should turn the music down and I vividly remember my response: "Hell no man – turn that up!" He smiled and did so, and for a full two plus minutes, with doors closed, the two of us were in that room, big smiles across our faces. At the end of the track, I asked him to find out the name of the artist. My team started to arrive at this time, and unfortunately I never found out the name of the track, or the artist performing it. However, I had enough sense to write down several lyrics that I'd remembered and, the moment I was back in my room with my laptop, I did a lyric search and came up with Corey Harris – Fish Ain't Bitin'.
Corey Harris is a year younger than me, and he started recording in 1995. You could say he plays standard Mississippi Delta Blues … but you could say he plays Reggae … Gospel … Jazz … Caribbean and/or African Folk Music … and you'd be right.
And today, Corey Harris was named as a recipient of the 2007 Fellow of the MacArthur Grant, which means he's been given a stipend of $500,000, which he'll receive in quarterly installments over the next 5 years to allow him to continue to do what he loves and what he's best at.
Is it strange that a 5th generation Californian, Republican, old-money chick fell in love with the sound of a Mississippi Delta Blues artist while waiting for a dinner to start in downtown Chicago? Sure it is … especially as she hadn't set foot in the Mississippi Delta … yet.
Now? Hell, now it TOTALLY makes perfect sense.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
If you’re ever in a jam, here I am. If you’re ever in a mess, SOS.
Part of the problem of being outgoing and outspoken is that everyone knows you well enough to either like you, or to not like you at all. Folks run hot or cold with me, usually for reasons that I cannot comprehend. From my end, I'm too bold to hide how I feel about people. I will likely not "warm up" to you as a human being … I'll either like ya' or I won't, again sometimes for reasons that I cannot comprehend. Today I thought I'd write about some experiences I've had.
The "not like you at all" people:
There's one particular individual at my company who is less-than-pleased by my existence. If I were telling the truth, I'd write that this person, a female, actually fears me. WHY, I do not know, as I pose absolutely no threat to her – physically-wise, job-security-wise, or any other-wise. I know the reason I'm not on her Christmas Card list is that I'm friends with an individual that she's attracted to … so I am, by default, the enemy. I continue to reach out to her just as I do to the rest of my list of work acquaintances – NOT to "rub it in" or anything like that, but because I'm not going to treat her any differently, which would likely only confirm her "fears" of me – and I continue to be ignored. Rather than be even remotely amused by this, I find it sad. I'm feared for being a friend to another person. Even more interesting to me is that she continues to ask other people about how I'm doing, what's going on in my life, etc … but again, never asks these things directly to me. *sigh* Just because I am a woman doesn't mean I understand them.
The "like you" people:
The CEO of my company is casual, rather goofy, has a terrific sense of humor about himself, is fallible, has interesting hobbies, is NOT all about work, is exceedingly bright, and treats me (and those that have known him prior to his current title) like a buddy. When I spoke at our company-wide all hands in January of this year, he pulled me aside afterwards and jokingly told me that he'd never let me address the company again, as I had scored higher than he had for the "best part of the meeting" poll that was taken as folks left. He has commented on lots of occasions that he's interested that his jokes are now, apparently, funnier simply because of his job. He knows that there are all kinds of people that will now kiss his ass simply because of his title. I, on the other hand, will not. In fact, on the day he was given the job of running our company, I passed him as I was leaving early. He paused and asked me where I was going, and I told him "it's 2pm and just too f**king nice out to keep working so I'm gonna go drive around topless for a bit and then go home". He laughed at my reply, partly because it's probably not what he expected and partly because he knew it was the truth.
Likewise we have a recently promoted C-level manager who, many years ago, transferred divisions. I was in charge of creating his "roasting presentation"; his wife gave me yearbooks, photos, stories and all KINDS of ammo to use for said-roasting, all of which I very happily used. Instead of cringing at the images and embarrassing stories, he will sometimes remind me of that evening when we run into each other.
Being an "all or nothing" kind of person has meant that I have, at times, made some bad choices when it comes to friends. However, it also means that I absolutely stand behind those people that I am friends with. If you need someone to pick you up at the airport at 11:30pm on a Tuesday, if you need a designated driver, if you need someone to laugh or cry with, I'm your gal. I *love* that I have the ability to surprise my friends with the occasional obvious nicety, and that they know that I'm not going "over the top", I'm just bein' me, and that's enough.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
I think I can I think I can I think I ... did.
Each year, for my birthday, I challenge myself to do something unusual – something to stretch myself as a human being. Some challenges have been self-serving, some dangerous, and some have been really goofy. My challenge this year was to complete a half-marathon, in under 8 hours, without puking on my shoes.
The day started at 4:45amCT. That's when the alarm went off, and I knew that I wouldn't have the luxury of hitting "snooze" at all. I am, sickeningly, one of those folks that can sit upright and start walking straight out of a deep sleep so I got going right away. Put on gear that I figure I'll likely NEVER wear again, running hat, hair in a ponytail, packed some cube stuff called "Goo" which tastes like strawberry jam and has the consistency of undercooked pork, filled up the water bottle, and was ready to go.
The race started at 6:30am, 'tho Scott and I didn't cross the start line until 7am. I've told him from the get-go that I would NOT be running, so we wished each other luck and off he ran. I was able to keep my eye on him for about two minutes and, after I put on my ipod and started my playlist going, I looked up and he was gone.
Miles one through three went pretty fast. There was lots to look at, and the groups were still in blob-form, so while I knew no one around me, we all made the same observations, cheering each other on, and such. It was shortly after mile three that I realized I needed to take off my rings while I still could. My hands were bloating … so I suddenly had inverse knuckles … the hands of an infant. Making a fist felt tight and strange, and I figured that it was blood was going everywhere to keep up with my oxygen needs. My feet and legs felt fine, so onwards I went.
At mile six, we passed a firestation. "The boys" were all out with their coffees, watching us, and I gave them a bit of flack for not having a pancake breakfast out for us to grab. The carb need was starting to hit me, which was when I remembered the "goo cubes". We were directed onto Highway 370 and, looking ahead, it became clear to me that this would be the part I'd like the least. We'd be crossing a bridge. Not a significant bridge, but significant enough. At this point, as tho' I had planned it (which I hadn't), a song came through my headphones to help distract me. So I crossed over, humming along, and continued along the path.
I wanna point out too that all along the way were coaches, cheering stations, random groups of people and very little kids just screaming their lungs out – for total strangers. It's a little weird, to have folks applaud you for doing something like this, but I'd be lying if I said that it didn't make a difference. It made a HUGE difference – my steps became easier, my stride longer, my smile broader.
Right around mile nine, we passed a Waffle House. This, as far as I'm concerned, is grounds for cruel and unusual punishment. Not that Waffle House is the end all and be all of breakfast joints, but again – carb load. A short stack would have been worth $40 to me at that point.
I also realized at mile nine that I was gonna do this. I could tell that my heel on the right side was gonna have issues, possibly blisters – tho' nothing that would be unmanageable – but regardless, I really was going to accomplish this.
At mile 11, we were cheered on by Jared. Jared looks to be in his early 20s, if that, and is holding a sign specifically for the group I'm racing through. "If it weren't for you doing this, I wouldn't be here." He is a cancer survivor, and the drugs he was given has helped him live. Those drugs were funded via the training company I'm partnered with. I ask him what time he woke up. "4am, but it's totally worth it" he says.
Just before mile 13, I'm greeted by Scott's ex-wife and daughter, all smiles. Scott is, of course, long done and getting food but has admitted that he'd be far less sore if he'd trained more. I decide to admit to him when I see him next that I've done NOTHING to prepare since June. I'm not proud of this – it'd be easier for me if I had trained too – but that we are both still standing (and neither of us got sick) is nice to know. If I HAD to put my body through this, I could do so.
I cross the finish in under 4 hours. Now, obviously, 4 hours for 13.1 miles is NOT a blistering speed, but I walked it – strolled at times, actually – and it's more than I've done ever before, and CERTINALY more than I usually do on my average Sunday morning.
We take photos when Scott returns, with our medals and gear still on. We call Todd, our co-worker, who is currently running his own race. His finish will be to go into remission, and no matter how sore I am as I lower myself into the bathtub for a well-earned soak, I'd do this again tomorrow if it meant getting Todd to his finish line.
Each year, for my birthday, I challenge myself to do something unusual – something to stretch myself as a human being. Some challenges have been self-serving, some dangerous, and some have been really goofy. My challenge this year was to complete a half-marathon, in under 8 hours, without puking on my shoes. I'm happy to report that I met all my goals. I intend to do all I can to help Todd meet his.
The day started at 4:45amCT. That's when the alarm went off, and I knew that I wouldn't have the luxury of hitting "snooze" at all. I am, sickeningly, one of those folks that can sit upright and start walking straight out of a deep sleep so I got going right away. Put on gear that I figure I'll likely NEVER wear again, running hat, hair in a ponytail, packed some cube stuff called "Goo" which tastes like strawberry jam and has the consistency of undercooked pork, filled up the water bottle, and was ready to go.
The race started at 6:30am, 'tho Scott and I didn't cross the start line until 7am. I've told him from the get-go that I would NOT be running, so we wished each other luck and off he ran. I was able to keep my eye on him for about two minutes and, after I put on my ipod and started my playlist going, I looked up and he was gone.
Miles one through three went pretty fast. There was lots to look at, and the groups were still in blob-form, so while I knew no one around me, we all made the same observations, cheering each other on, and such. It was shortly after mile three that I realized I needed to take off my rings while I still could. My hands were bloating … so I suddenly had inverse knuckles … the hands of an infant. Making a fist felt tight and strange, and I figured that it was blood was going everywhere to keep up with my oxygen needs. My feet and legs felt fine, so onwards I went.
At mile six, we passed a firestation. "The boys" were all out with their coffees, watching us, and I gave them a bit of flack for not having a pancake breakfast out for us to grab. The carb need was starting to hit me, which was when I remembered the "goo cubes". We were directed onto Highway 370 and, looking ahead, it became clear to me that this would be the part I'd like the least. We'd be crossing a bridge. Not a significant bridge, but significant enough. At this point, as tho' I had planned it (which I hadn't), a song came through my headphones to help distract me. So I crossed over, humming along, and continued along the path.
I wanna point out too that all along the way were coaches, cheering stations, random groups of people and very little kids just screaming their lungs out – for total strangers. It's a little weird, to have folks applaud you for doing something like this, but I'd be lying if I said that it didn't make a difference. It made a HUGE difference – my steps became easier, my stride longer, my smile broader.
Right around mile nine, we passed a Waffle House. This, as far as I'm concerned, is grounds for cruel and unusual punishment. Not that Waffle House is the end all and be all of breakfast joints, but again – carb load. A short stack would have been worth $40 to me at that point.
I also realized at mile nine that I was gonna do this. I could tell that my heel on the right side was gonna have issues, possibly blisters – tho' nothing that would be unmanageable – but regardless, I really was going to accomplish this.
At mile 11, we were cheered on by Jared. Jared looks to be in his early 20s, if that, and is holding a sign specifically for the group I'm racing through. "If it weren't for you doing this, I wouldn't be here." He is a cancer survivor, and the drugs he was given has helped him live. Those drugs were funded via the training company I'm partnered with. I ask him what time he woke up. "4am, but it's totally worth it" he says.
Just before mile 13, I'm greeted by Scott's ex-wife and daughter, all smiles. Scott is, of course, long done and getting food but has admitted that he'd be far less sore if he'd trained more. I decide to admit to him when I see him next that I've done NOTHING to prepare since June. I'm not proud of this – it'd be easier for me if I had trained too – but that we are both still standing (and neither of us got sick) is nice to know. If I HAD to put my body through this, I could do so.
I cross the finish in under 4 hours. Now, obviously, 4 hours for 13.1 miles is NOT a blistering speed, but I walked it – strolled at times, actually – and it's more than I've done ever before, and CERTINALY more than I usually do on my average Sunday morning.
We take photos when Scott returns, with our medals and gear still on. We call Todd, our co-worker, who is currently running his own race. His finish will be to go into remission, and no matter how sore I am as I lower myself into the bathtub for a well-earned soak, I'd do this again tomorrow if it meant getting Todd to his finish line.
Each year, for my birthday, I challenge myself to do something unusual – something to stretch myself as a human being. Some challenges have been self-serving, some dangerous, and some have been really goofy. My challenge this year was to complete a half-marathon, in under 8 hours, without puking on my shoes. I'm happy to report that I met all my goals. I intend to do all I can to help Todd meet his.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Dig me – I’m grace-full.
I found myself on a plane quite early, bound for a final destination to a place that I actually swore I'd never go to.
It started at the check-in counter, where I had to turn over my 42 pound bag filled with running gear and my little black boots (because bringing my Manolo's just seemed like overkill). The agent behind the counter checked my ID (which has possibly my favorite image of myself), looked up and said "And you're heading to St. Louis?" and … well, it was EARLY, in my defense, and the Venti, decaf, non-fat, no whip, peppermint mocha hadn't TOTALLY kicked in yet so my response was a rather slow … "Unbelievably, I guess it looks that way, eh'?" Happily the agent wasn't really listening anyway, returned my ID to me and wished me a good flight.
By the time I landed at the hub, my mood had significantly brightened. I had wound up with a terrific seat on the plane, after giving my original seat to a business man who wanted the aisle and had the window. For me, having either is good, but the window this early meant that I could sleep without killing my neck, and sleep I did. I had a good rest and came to right about the time we were beginning to descend.
I picked up a snack, got rid of some e-mail, and waited at the gate for the next flight of this trip to begin. Since my running shoes wouldn't fit in my checked bag, they were with me and I was reminded of my reason for this trip each time I needed to find something, which was a good thing. And – no fooling, I'm NOT making this up – 10 minutes with me sitting there alone, this super nice woman a little older than me sat down next to me and we got to talking. She lives in St. Louis and makes this flight every 5 months as a follow up to her second mastectomy three years ago. She went through all the treatments and every bit of the hellishness that is breast cancer … twice … and she was the nicest person, and she was sitting right there with me. There's a reason this happened. I don't need a sledge hammer to knock sense into my head.
The next flight was quick (I barely made it through three Sudokus) and boring, the way I like them to be. I landed and thought "Ok – the airport is smaller than my home-town one but bigger than Biloxi, so this can't be all bad, right?" and just when I thought that I'd have to hang up all my skepticism at the door, an airport-wide announcement came over the Public Address system that made me literally laugh out loud.
Now, typically, at an airport, you'd expect to hear "This is a final boarding call for flight 123 to East Timbuktu, which is now boarding at Gate Z" or "Please note that the security threat level is currently set at plaid" or some such, right? Yeah, but I got the feeling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore when I listened to "May I have your attention please? May I have your attention please? If you left your tin of mints at the security gate, please come back and get them. They're still here." Uh huh.
I strolled through baggage claim, where it turned out Scott was waiting for his luggage to appear from his sales meeting trip. And, just like the first trip I arranged when I transfered to his group, a piece of checked baggage was lost. Unlike the first trip, he was the victim this time and, as he's headed home, it's a manageable inconvenience. He very kindly dropped me off at my hotel on his way home, and I had dinner with a new friend of mine who also lives out here.
But that's a post for another day.
So I guess you could say that I'm in a state of shock – that I'm able to manage my fears and be here at all. I'm in a state of surprise – at myself for daring myself to attempt to accomplish my half-marathon (even if all I do is START to attempt it). I'm in a state of awe – at the strength that others can show when fighting their own battles. And, best of all, I'm in a state of grace – for having the blessing of good health that I can assist with that battle, even at a very small scale.
It started at the check-in counter, where I had to turn over my 42 pound bag filled with running gear and my little black boots (because bringing my Manolo's just seemed like overkill). The agent behind the counter checked my ID (which has possibly my favorite image of myself), looked up and said "And you're heading to St. Louis?" and … well, it was EARLY, in my defense, and the Venti, decaf, non-fat, no whip, peppermint mocha hadn't TOTALLY kicked in yet so my response was a rather slow … "Unbelievably, I guess it looks that way, eh'?" Happily the agent wasn't really listening anyway, returned my ID to me and wished me a good flight.
By the time I landed at the hub, my mood had significantly brightened. I had wound up with a terrific seat on the plane, after giving my original seat to a business man who wanted the aisle and had the window. For me, having either is good, but the window this early meant that I could sleep without killing my neck, and sleep I did. I had a good rest and came to right about the time we were beginning to descend.
I picked up a snack, got rid of some e-mail, and waited at the gate for the next flight of this trip to begin. Since my running shoes wouldn't fit in my checked bag, they were with me and I was reminded of my reason for this trip each time I needed to find something, which was a good thing. And – no fooling, I'm NOT making this up – 10 minutes with me sitting there alone, this super nice woman a little older than me sat down next to me and we got to talking. She lives in St. Louis and makes this flight every 5 months as a follow up to her second mastectomy three years ago. She went through all the treatments and every bit of the hellishness that is breast cancer … twice … and she was the nicest person, and she was sitting right there with me. There's a reason this happened. I don't need a sledge hammer to knock sense into my head.
The next flight was quick (I barely made it through three Sudokus) and boring, the way I like them to be. I landed and thought "Ok – the airport is smaller than my home-town one but bigger than Biloxi, so this can't be all bad, right?" and just when I thought that I'd have to hang up all my skepticism at the door, an airport-wide announcement came over the Public Address system that made me literally laugh out loud.
Now, typically, at an airport, you'd expect to hear "This is a final boarding call for flight 123 to East Timbuktu, which is now boarding at Gate Z" or "Please note that the security threat level is currently set at plaid" or some such, right? Yeah, but I got the feeling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore when I listened to "May I have your attention please? May I have your attention please? If you left your tin of mints at the security gate, please come back and get them. They're still here." Uh huh.
I strolled through baggage claim, where it turned out Scott was waiting for his luggage to appear from his sales meeting trip. And, just like the first trip I arranged when I transfered to his group, a piece of checked baggage was lost. Unlike the first trip, he was the victim this time and, as he's headed home, it's a manageable inconvenience. He very kindly dropped me off at my hotel on his way home, and I had dinner with a new friend of mine who also lives out here.
But that's a post for another day.
So I guess you could say that I'm in a state of shock – that I'm able to manage my fears and be here at all. I'm in a state of surprise – at myself for daring myself to attempt to accomplish my half-marathon (even if all I do is START to attempt it). I'm in a state of awe – at the strength that others can show when fighting their own battles. And, best of all, I'm in a state of grace – for having the blessing of good health that I can assist with that battle, even at a very small scale.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Current mood? How about "scared"?
"5:45?!? What, like in the morning?!"
That's what went through my head when I read the note from my training team. (I'll be participating in a half-marathon this Sunday. Note that I did not say that I'd be RUNNING in it 'cause THAT would be lying.)
So out of all the things that I should be concerning myself with – that I haven't put on my shoes in more than several consecutive days, that I literally did pack "training gear" that still has tags on it from the store, the whole "my being in a state that I swore I'd never, ever, ever set foot in", looking like an idiot, hurting myself or, at least, my pride – the thing that literally jumped out of the "notes to know" from the team was "hey – meet ya' in the lobby at 5:45am ."
Oh - and, while I'm at it, the second part of the sentence also made me pause. It was "meet ya' in the lobby at 5:45am and we'll walk over to the starting line". My thought? "If we're all at this hotel, isn't there some kind of shuttle or something that could take us there?"
Seriously. That's REALLY what I thought. So I could be wrong, but something tells me I'm in way over my head here.
This Sunday morning, when y'all are barely able to roll over to go back to bed, take a moment and laugh at me and my ignorance. I know I will be.
That's what went through my head when I read the note from my training team. (I'll be participating in a half-marathon this Sunday. Note that I did not say that I'd be RUNNING in it 'cause THAT would be lying.)
So out of all the things that I should be concerning myself with – that I haven't put on my shoes in more than several consecutive days, that I literally did pack "training gear" that still has tags on it from the store, the whole "my being in a state that I swore I'd never, ever, ever set foot in", looking like an idiot, hurting myself or, at least, my pride – the thing that literally jumped out of the "notes to know" from the team was "hey – meet ya' in the lobby at 5:45am ."
Oh - and, while I'm at it, the second part of the sentence also made me pause. It was "meet ya' in the lobby at 5:45am and we'll walk over to the starting line". My thought? "If we're all at this hotel, isn't there some kind of shuttle or something that could take us there?"
Seriously. That's REALLY what I thought. So I could be wrong, but something tells me I'm in way over my head here.
This Sunday morning, when y'all are barely able to roll over to go back to bed, take a moment and laugh at me and my ignorance. I know I will be.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
I’ll take "Things the French love that no one understands" for 100"
I'm sorry in advance. I should note, in fairness, that I'm NOT a fan of Jerry Lewis and his alleged "talent".
Jerry Lewis, for all the good he's done (and he's done a LOT of good) will never see a dime from me. Why? Because during his MD telethon this weekend, he forgot himself and "made a funny". He went on quickly and revisited it after the broadcast was over to say "whoops" but that's far too little and far too late.
As I won't be repeating the alleged "funny", I'd like to recreate it in a fashion so you can cringe along with me. Let's say that, during the broadcast, Jerry (who yes is up there in years AND I'm sure was tired and emotionally drained) made a comment about a camera-man's family being on-set. Something like "Oh, and there's Debbie, your illiterate, retarded daughter" … or "Debbie, your illiterate, mute daughter" … or "Debbie, your illiterate, MD-ridden daughter".
Right – see? NOT funny.
So Mr. Lewis, thank you for helping me take one more charity off my list of places to donate. I'll be putting my money in groups that have the good sense to hire mouthpieces that DON'T "forget" themselves, that know when a camera is on them, or that just plain don't spend any money on an extravaganza like yours and instead put that money to helping the causes they fight for.
And it's a shame, honestly, because the kids that you stand up for really do need someone to speak for them. However, given what you decided to say, perhaps they'll be better off to speak for themselves.
Jerry Lewis, for all the good he's done (and he's done a LOT of good) will never see a dime from me. Why? Because during his MD telethon this weekend, he forgot himself and "made a funny". He went on quickly and revisited it after the broadcast was over to say "whoops" but that's far too little and far too late.
As I won't be repeating the alleged "funny", I'd like to recreate it in a fashion so you can cringe along with me. Let's say that, during the broadcast, Jerry (who yes is up there in years AND I'm sure was tired and emotionally drained) made a comment about a camera-man's family being on-set. Something like "Oh, and there's Debbie, your illiterate, retarded daughter" … or "Debbie, your illiterate, mute daughter" … or "Debbie, your illiterate, MD-ridden daughter".
Right – see? NOT funny.
So Mr. Lewis, thank you for helping me take one more charity off my list of places to donate. I'll be putting my money in groups that have the good sense to hire mouthpieces that DON'T "forget" themselves, that know when a camera is on them, or that just plain don't spend any money on an extravaganza like yours and instead put that money to helping the causes they fight for.
And it's a shame, honestly, because the kids that you stand up for really do need someone to speak for them. However, given what you decided to say, perhaps they'll be better off to speak for themselves.
Monday, September 3, 2007
My instructional cheat-sheet
If you were to come with an instructional booklet, what would it say?
Figure maybe eight or so hints on what to do to provide happiness or things to avoid - to give other people a headsup.
Things to know about this human:
She has been known to change her mind during an argument (not because the opposing point had been proved, but because, as a woman, it's her right and her job to change her mind frequently).
She cries for no reason at all. Don't be so naïve to ever think it has anything to do with you – and don't ask her to stop crying. It's a good thing – just give her room to do so.
Never, ever try to tell her ANYTHING about her family and their various tendencies or faults. She's known them all her life, so she's totally allowed to make all the snide comments she likes. YOU cannot.
Nothing is ever totally in the past. Oh, also note: She has a terrible memory for her stuff, but she'll remember *everything* you've told her and can quote it back at the worst possible times … for you … so do be careful on that.
She does not do confrontation. If you try to trap, corner, or otherwise confront her, she will run, and she will not look back. She has proven quite capable at disappearing for months on end in the past and likely would do so again if the need arose.
She has been exceedingly lucky all her life. You'd be wise to let her pick your lottery numbers, place your bets, or go with her hunches.
She is deeply insecure and, as such, you probably will need to feed her ego pretty regularly. However, because of her time spent with sales types, she can feel an ass kiss a mile off, so creativity would be a good move.
She has been told that she's generous, both with the random gift, and with her time and her energy. Strangely enough, while she appreciates the fancier items in life, the things that mean the most to her aren't "things", but words, memories, sensations, tastes, or sounds. If you want to give her something meaningful, write her a letter, play her a song, or take care of her when she's sick.
She sometimes laughs in her sleep.
Ok – your turn.
Figure maybe eight or so hints on what to do to provide happiness or things to avoid - to give other people a headsup.
Things to know about this human:
She has been known to change her mind during an argument (not because the opposing point had been proved, but because, as a woman, it's her right and her job to change her mind frequently).
She cries for no reason at all. Don't be so naïve to ever think it has anything to do with you – and don't ask her to stop crying. It's a good thing – just give her room to do so.
Never, ever try to tell her ANYTHING about her family and their various tendencies or faults. She's known them all her life, so she's totally allowed to make all the snide comments she likes. YOU cannot.
Nothing is ever totally in the past. Oh, also note: She has a terrible memory for her stuff, but she'll remember *everything* you've told her and can quote it back at the worst possible times … for you … so do be careful on that.
She does not do confrontation. If you try to trap, corner, or otherwise confront her, she will run, and she will not look back. She has proven quite capable at disappearing for months on end in the past and likely would do so again if the need arose.
She has been exceedingly lucky all her life. You'd be wise to let her pick your lottery numbers, place your bets, or go with her hunches.
She is deeply insecure and, as such, you probably will need to feed her ego pretty regularly. However, because of her time spent with sales types, she can feel an ass kiss a mile off, so creativity would be a good move.
She has been told that she's generous, both with the random gift, and with her time and her energy. Strangely enough, while she appreciates the fancier items in life, the things that mean the most to her aren't "things", but words, memories, sensations, tastes, or sounds. If you want to give her something meaningful, write her a letter, play her a song, or take care of her when she's sick.
She sometimes laughs in her sleep.
Ok – your turn.
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