Neglected?

I feel like I need to apologize.

I've been neglecting you quite a bit the last few months.

Yes, I've been blogging and adding entries but I'll admit my recent posts have been.....lack luster. And I am truly, truly sorry! I've had a lot on my mind......

Because my FIRST book has gone to print!

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO exciting for me!!! This book has been a labor of love for the last 5 years and finally it is ready for people to purchase!

So I hope you accept my apology blogger-verse....
And buy a copy!

http://www.amazon.com/Codename-Story-Picket-Sailor-During/dp/1480031070/ref=sr_1_15?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1358621757&sr=1-15&keywords=codename

https://www.createspace.com/3988090

Trapped

I strain to open my eyes.

My eyelids feel as though they are weighted down by barbells. There's no budging. I will my brain to command them to open--even if just for a second. A small, quick peek and they can go right back to sleep. I bribe them. Promising hour long naps everyday, or with sights my eyes have never seen before--hell, I'll take you to the Grand Canyon if you just cooperate! After pleading for what seemed like hours, my eyes start to flutter open and come to life. One at a time, with a slow and steady pace, they open expecting a blinding light to excruciate my senses.

But it was the exact opposite.

It was pitch dark. So dark that I couldn't make out a single thing that stood in front of me. So dark that I couldn't tell if  I had actually opened my eyes. For a split second, I panicked thinking I had gone blind. I went to grab my face, to run my fingers over my eyes to make sure they were in fact open. But I couldn't. I couldn't move my arms an inch. Because they were bound behind my back.

This dark was far more than dangerous.

I realize that I was laying on my side, facing out. My arms were ruthlessly yanked behind my back and tied with zip-ties at the wrist and elbow. I could feel the plastic digging in to my skin and with every yank I made the plastic dig in deeper--I could feel it slicing my flesh and drawing blood. I tried to sit up but the second I moved my legs, a gut-wrenching pain shot through my body.

I could tell it was my ribs.

When I was 13, I was a top in stunting for my middle school's competitive cheerleading team. This meant I was thrown in the air, completed a toe-touch or other maneuver, and then caught by my other teammates. I had been practicing for weeks without a single problem. Our first competition was coming up and our coach started us on 6-day a week practices. We were nearing perfection, but fatigue must have set it among us all. After completing  my last stunt--which I nailed-- I came back down to earth to no ones waiting arms. I slammed down on to the hardwood floor on my side--braking my arm at the elbow and bruising 4 of my ribs. It ended my cheerleading career for good.

The pain I was feeling now was much worse. My ribs were broken, I could tell that much. All of them from what I could tell. It was hard to even breath without sending my body into complete agony. But I knew I couldn't stay like this. I gritted through the pain and managed to shift my body into a sitting position by leaning against the wall behind me and bracing my legs as an anchor.

Once sitting, I leaned back against the wall trying to still my heart and stop my head from spinning. Even with the dark, everything around me was blurred and my body was shaking from head to toe. From my forehead, I could feel something dripping down on to my cheek and falling to my chest. I tasted dirty pennies and knew it was blood. Somewhere by my crown, there was a gash of some sort that had reopened and was bleeding freely down my face. I shifted my arms up, trying to wipe some of the blood from my cheek. I felt the fabric of my shirt shift and fall to the side.

The shirt I was wearing was sliced right down the middle. Exposing me.

Panic set it again. Unbelievably horrifying panic that makes a person faint.

What happened?

Where am I?

I crammed my brain for a memory. For the last thing I could remember before waking up here. Anything to shed some light on my sorroundings.


I went for a run.

It was after work. Really really stressful week--nothing went right. I needed to complete a massive pile of data reports and every time I started, I got pulled away by a co-worker who needed their hand held through one of their assignments. Naturally, I got none of my own work done and when I left work on Friday, I sat in my car and screamed at the top of my lungs.

I needed to release.

I needed a nice long run, with no distraction. Just music pumping in my head and the feeling of my feet against asphalt. I got home, quickly changed, grabbed my I-Pod and hit the road.

I remember my music was blaring. It was as loud as it could go--but naturally not loud enough for me. Nicki Minaj's "Pound the Alarm" was playing. Great running buddy and her music always pumped me up. Her beats made me run harder and dance bigger. Even with her pounding in my ears, I was focused and in control. I stared straight ahead and let my feet do the leading. I felt my heart's steady rhythm and the burning in my legs. It felt great. I never felt more alive.

"Damn," I thought as I felt my sneakers loosen. I glanced down and saw my left shoe lace flapping in the breeze. I waited until I was safely on a sidewalk before I stopped running and took a knee to tie the offending lace. 

I remember the song had just switched to "Starships". I remember I finished tying the lace and switched to the other shoe--retying the laces just for a safety measure. I double knotted it and then looked up for a split second and took a deep breath.

Then a lot happened at once.

I know I was grabbed from behind. Big hands with powerful arms gripped me around the waist and pinned my arms to my side. I think I went into shock  because my body went rigid and I let him take me. Then I went into attack mode and kicked and thrashed as hard as I could. I screamed at the top of my lungs until a rag was put over my mouth and I was stiffened. I remember taking long, huge breaths and I felt myself slipping away. The world went dark and everything around me started to disappear. The last thing I remember is my body being lifted off the ground.

I had been taken.

This wasn't a game or a cruel joke from one of my friends.

This was real.

"Oh God! Oh God," I cried out, feeling the dark getting darker and my bonds tighter. Panic was seeping in to my bones--I could feel my heart racing. How long have I been here? Hours? Days? I wracked my memory for any small clue, anything to figure out what happened between being taken and dumped here. I knew I was beaten to a pulp--my aching ribs and the blood pouring down my face were clue enough--but had anything else happened? My torn shirt could only mean one of two things, and I hoped to God it was the lesser of two evils. It scared me down to my core that I couldn't connect the dots. That my mind was completely blank.

I didn't want to cry. I wanted to stay strong and resolute. Be the strong independent woman I had always told my mother I was. But the tears flowed anyway. I couldn't be strong. Not now.

Was anyone looking for me? Did anyone know I was missing? My parents? Friends? Did anyone see it happen and do nothing? Were policemen searching the streets? Did I drop anything that would lead someone here?  Maybe there were outside right now....

 "I'm here! I'm here! My name is Sarah Updike! I'm here! Someone please! Help," I screamed at the top of my lungs. Out into the dark. I screamed and screamed until my throat went hoarse. Maybe there's a window? I struggled against my bonds, I tried to squeeze my wrists out of the ties. They wouldn't budge. I tried to stand up, anchoring myself against the wall again. But my ribs wouldn't let me. I inched myself against the wall, into a corner where at least there I felt safer.

I had to come up with a game plan. A way to get out of here. A way to save my sanity and my life.

I heard a floorboard creak.

From right in front of me.

With as much effort as I could muster, I braced myself against the wall again and forced myself to stand. My ribs felt like they were braking all over again, but my anger got me through it. If whatever I heard was coming to where I was, I would be ready. I'd go down kicking and screaming if nothing else.

Another board creaked and this time I heard footsteps with it. I tried to calm myself down and steady my heart. Whoever it was, they were taking their damn time getting here. Every second he got closer, my energy and inner fight rose.

A blinding light hit me full on in the face.

I turned my head towards the wall, trying to protect my aching eyes. After a few seconds, I forced myself to look back at the now fully lit room. Blurred objects started to take shape--a turned over night stand, a thick wool blanket that seemed to be covering a window, an lampshade-less lamp. It was small--only slightly bigger than my office at work.

Then I saw him.

The man standing in the light that poured in from the hallway. He was tall. Very, very tall but lanky. The rest of him was cast in shadow so I couldn't make out any facial features. Except that he wore his hair long and tied back in a pony tail. He took long and labored breaths--I could hear him breathing from the safety of my corner.

I prepared myself for what was to come next. For him to enter the room and chop my body to pieces. For him to rip the remainder of my clothes from my body and rape me--if he already hadn't. For him to destroy me body and soul. I knew I was here for a reason and it couldn't be a good one--with such a sinister figure before me, this was not a casual kidnapping. But I would not be his victim. I wouldn't give him that.

So I waited.

And stared him down.

And he didn't move.

Not an inch.

He stared right back at me--I assumed, because I couldn't see his face.  He just stood there and did nothing. And I wasn't about to give in--I stared right back at him, trying to convey everything I was feeling through my eyes. He wasn't budging and neither was I--although my legs were starting to give way. I felt my knees buckle and I slammed back down to the floor, with an agonizing blow to my ribs. My eyes teared up in pain, but I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't let him see me cry. Once the pain abated, I looked up and to see my ominous captor still hovering in the shadows by the door.

"What! What the hell do you want from me," I screamed at him, unable to take it any longer. Again he didn't react--just shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Answer me!" I screamed again. I hated him more than I thought I could in that moment. Not simply because he stole me off the street, but because he just stood there and did nothing. I wanted him to move. Do something. Do what you brought me here for and then end it!

He moved towards me. Slowly with thought out steps. As he got closer, his hand shifted up towards his hip and pulled something out from his pocket. A glint of metal blinked from his hand--it was a long, thin cylinder. I felt my heart drop, I knew what it was when he held it in front of his face and liquid squirted out.

A syringe.

I shifted my legs up into a protective stance. "Get away from me! Get the fuck away from me!" I screamed when he was within inches. I kicked at his hands when he grabbed for my legs. He grabbed my legs and pulled me towards him, pulling my head to the floor with a smack. I screamed and tried to wriggle away from him, but he held me down and straddled himself across my chest. No matter how hard I tried, there was no budging him.

I was trapped.

He leaned down close to my face, as if he was going to kiss me. In a last ditch effort, I spit in his face. He was startled and he pulled back from me, wiping his face on his t-shirt. He grabbed my face before I could blink. He pulled me towards him.

"We don't spit," he whispered in to my ear, still holding my face in a death grip. His breath was hot and thick. He smelled like cigarettes and aftershave--I felt like I was going to vomit. He continued to hold my face like that, squeezing harder on my cheeks and draining all the blood from my face. He looked at me like he was waiting for a reply, so I shook my head.

"Good girl," he said and let go of my face.

I spit in his face again with all the force I could muster. Without wiping his face, he jumped off my chest and flipped me around onto my stomach. I screamed out in pain, unable to contain it. I could feel him pulling down my pants and I screamed harder and tried kicking my feet again.

Then I felt a sharp prick pierce my skin.

"Now you'll be good," he whispered again, massaging my back side.

I knew I had only minutes left. That.....that......it would....all....slip


away

                                                                  ***

"And now we move on to the next ward," Doctor Shields said to his young intern. He took a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the chained gate that stood in front of them. Both handed their IDs to the waiting guard who checked them in and allowed them to walk down the hall.

They walked for a few minutes, in a barely lit hallway with no decorations or signs of life. Making a left at the end of the hall, it wasn't much different. Except now there were nurses and other doctors.

"This is Ward 9. The Psychiatric Ward. Most patients on this hallways are on 24 hour surveillance and are monitored. These are our most extreme cases, and the utmost care and protection is given to our staff and patients alike. Thus the guards on each hallway," the Doctor continued as the intern took notes in a small notepad he held in his hand.

"Shall we take a look," he said turning to one of the bolted doors that lined the hallways. He pulled the patients file out and handed it to the intern, encouraging him to read aloud the diagnosis.

"Updike, Sarah. Age: 26. Admitted to Ward 9 at the age of 15. Diagnosis: Acute Schizophrenia with manic tendencies. Thought to be the result of a fall from a sports competition."

"Yes, yes. Sarah is one of our special patients. Care to take a look," Dr Shields said, motioning to the small window in the center of the door. The intern stepped forward and peered inside the room. It was fully lit, as must rooms were on this ward. Housed a single chair, a night table and bed that were all bolted to the floor. In the bed was a woman, laying on her back with the blanket pulled up to her chin. She was awake, but staring straight up but at nothing. There was also an IV drip set next to her bed, pumping fluids into her.

"Is she comatose," the intern asked, turning back to the doctor.

"At this time, yes. Her fits are unusual as they result in a comatose state that we are unable to revive her from. This current state has been active for a few weeks--the result of a lax in medication when she awoke the last time. Sometimes she comes out of it, for a few hours at most. She is acutely aware of who she is, but not why she is here. Her delusions have convinced her that we kidnapped her. We found a stash of her meds hidden in a crack in the wall the last night we searched her room. Soon after she slipped right back into the "dream" as we call it. We can tell there is brain activity as we can see eyelid movement and occasionally she screams out. It is really an interesting case--of which we are trying to make a study of. If only we could keep her awake for more than a few hours."

The intern looked back in to the room. At the girl sleeping soundly in the bed in the lonely room.

"On to the next?" the doctor asked.

Les Obsessed

So I have a new obsession.

Trust me, I know I have a lot of them--they frequent quite a number of blog posts, and I do apologize--but this one is kind of serious. Very serious in fact and beyond an obsession. It's been engrained in my head and very demeanor over the last month or so. At night, I dream about it--which isn't necessarily a good thing because the subject matter doesn't exactly warrant wonderful dreams and I kind of wake up depressed. During the day, I troll websites and YouTube for clips. I listen to the music constantly--whether on my IPod or directly from YouTube on my IPhone--and even when I'm not, the words and melodies are spiraling through my brain without prompt. I find myself relating all daily circumstances to it--thinking, "I wonder what so and so would think about me eating this granola bar right now."

It's actually prettty sick and I may need an intervention. My day doesn't feel complete without it. Like....I feel lost. Or that I lost a great friend and will never see them again.

That obession would be Les Miserables.

Victor Hugo's 1862 masterpiece--translated to "The Miserable" "The Poor Ones" or "The Wretched"-- which follows the lives of several characters from 1815 to the June Rebellion in Paris in 1832. In particular, the life of ex-convict Jean Valjean and his search to be defined by his actions and not the past that always seems to haunt him. In 1985, the book was adapted into a musical of the same name, and single-handedly introduced millions to the masterpiece and changed Broadway forever. It's the winner of countless accalades, awards, and launched the careers of many of Broadway's finest singers and actors.

And for those of you who have been living under a rock, it is now a major motion picture.

I'll admit, I wasn't too interested in the show before I heard about the movie. I love Broadway as much as the next girl and this show happens to be my late grandfather's favorite, as well as the fav for quite a few of my friends. I even sang "On My Own" from Les Mis for my college chorale scholarship audition--which I should actually send a little note of appreciation to the creators as that song single-handedly helped finance 4 years of college tuition for me--but I had no clue what the song was in reference to or who even sang it! I really didn't care either and had no inkling to investigate further.

Definitely not on my bucket-list to see.

A few months back, I started seeing these ominious and huge promotional posters in malls and movie theaters.

This is a GENIUS promotional poster!

Initially they caught my eye because hello! It's Hugh Jackman! Got kind of excited at first thinking a new X-Men was coming out. A really dirty Wolverine maybe? But the "24601" made absolutely no sense to me, which made me turn to to my brother-in-law (who is a Les Mis uber-fan)on one such outting when I saw the poster. I'm not even kidding you on how quick is head whipped in my direction and the way his eyes popped out of his head.

"You've never seen Les Mis?" he asked, looking at me like I had just broke out of Byberry (which if you're not from Philadelphia, Byberry is the infamous and now closed Insane Asylum right off Roosevelt Blvd in the far Northeast).

"I've heard of it, but never saw it," I told him, kinda scared I was going to get a verbal lashing.

He promptly grabbed my hand and marched me out to his car where, of course, he had the original cast recording. We sat in his car and he played me a few of his favorites--"I Dreamed a Dream" "One Day More" and "Castle on a Cloud" to name a few--and they were all great. But still had no clue what the story was about, just that the people sounded really really miserable.

As months went on and I saw more and more previews and more importantly the cast, my interest was greatly peaked. So I decided to turn to the internet to get some more information and decide whether or not I'd be joining movie-goers in December when it was released.

Being an avid-reader, I decided to turn to the actual original text first to look for a quick synopsis. Well, if you've ever seen Victor Hugo's book, you know it's huge and a synopsis is anything but quick. It's massive and split into 3 sections. If you aren't familiar with that particular time in history, it's basically the years during the French Revolution and following the executions of Louis XVI and Marie Antionette. France was in complete and utter turmoil and the poor--or "The Wretched"-- were in even dyer straits then they were with a monarch still on the throne. People were starving and the rich were only getting richer. So the book follows the lives of the down-trodden of French society and in particular Jean Valjean, who has just gotten out of prison after serving 19 years for stealing a loaf of bread--yes, you read that right, 19 years for stealing bread. The story evolves into a story of redemption for Valjean, as he tries to escape his past and help the people around him.

That description is pretty depressing, as it should be. And I wouldn't blame you for walking away from my blog now. "I'm not looking for a depressing history lesson, Penny!" you may be saying. Trust me, I wanted to stop my research there as well. But trust me, keep going with me on this!

Next I turned to the actual musical and to YouTube in hopes of finding some audio clips from the show. HOLY GOD is there a lot out there on the show. Like hundreds of videos. I scrolled through most of them and was pretty surprised to find that YouTube had the full 25th Anniversary Concert (from 2010) with the "Dream Cast" available in it's entirety. And it being a very slow week at work, I decided to watch the entire thing on my phone.

It was actually a really REALLY slow week, so I watched it twice.

Holy God (again) it was awesome! Like beyond anything I ever expected and now I understand why people are obsessed with it. Now that I knew what was going on, the songs made more sense and left me wanting more. The "Dream Cast" really was a dream--except maybe Nick Jonas, who had no business playing Marius when he barely had the vocal range for it--it included Broadway greats like Lea Solange, Ramin Karimloo, Alfie Boe, and Samantha Barks. Jean Valjean was played by Alfie Boe and his performance literally blew me away. I was glued to my seat, eyes focused on my tiny IPhone screen everytime he opened his mouth. His vocal range is astounding and I almost started clapping along with the audience at the end of "Valjean's Soliquy". I've heard a lot of excellent singers in my day--being in choirs and the theater quite a bit--but he definitely has one of the top ten voices of modern era.

The incomparable Alfie Boe

Seriously, YouTube it. Have I ever steered you wrong?

After experiencing this--which it was an experience, not just entertainment--I was pretty excited for the movie. Actually, excited isn't the right word. Excitement doesn't quite capture the magnitude of my feelings towards it. The butterflies and longing--I told you it's semi-insane! I even tried to convince my family to break our "Christmas Sloth Day" tradition, get out of our jammies and go see it opening day. No one was willing, so I had to wait until the next weekend--which I don't know if it's fate or God trying to tell me something but they played the 25th Anniversary concert on PBS TWICE that week.

In the mean time, I heard plenty of reviews that either sang the movie's praises or more frequently, talked about what was wrong with the picture. Particularly that the singing wasn't up to par, it was too long and melodramatic and certain actors had no business singing at all (namely Russel Crowe who plays Inspector Javier). But I went in to the showing with an open-mind--how could they screw up something so perfect? Like come on, it can't be that bad!

Well I sat in my local theater, hands shaking and time going at a snails pace. The previews were entirely too long for me and I almost threw my large Diet Coke at the screen. Then the theater darkened, and the screen went blank, while from the speakers began the opening overture--which if you are a fan, you know what I'm referring to.

2 hours and 34 minutes later, I emerged from the theater not disappointed in the least. It was beautiful. I balled my eyes out multiple times. Anne Hathaway's Fantine, and her rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream" is assuredly Oscar worthy. I exclaimed "Was that necessary?" when you hear the splat of Javier's body hitting cement when he commits suicide at the end of the film. I felt the love of Marius and Cossette and the longing of Epinone. And Hugh Jackman. Hugh Jackman. He impressed me beyond expectation as Valjean. He's no Alfie Boe, but he really sang the shit out of the part. The emotions he evoked were real and it was simply a great performance. I loved every second of it and even downloaded the soundtrack the minute I got home that night.

That being said, I will now address the nay-sayers and bad reviews.

Yes, Russel Crowe is not the best Javier. As an actor, yes. As a singer, no. His voice was a bit warbly--meaning it sounded like he had marbles in his mouth--and sounded like he was singing in the back of his throat. I actually do a pretty good impression of his voice, if I do say so myself. But to say he's an awful singer really isn't fair. He can carry a tune and has good pitch and annunication. The part itself is very difficult to sound great at. The part is a pretty low bass part--hard even for a great singer to pull off. He doesn't have the soaring parts of Valjean, and his part is supposed to have a lower and darker quality as he is the villan in the play. So I defend the casting of Russel Crowe. Really he wasn't that bad. Not great, but not bad.

The songs were all performed live during filming. The soundtrack was not pre-recorded and the actors did not lip-synch to their own voices, which is what Tom Hooper wanted. He wanted to capture the raw emotions and realness of the actors performances. He wanted to allow his actors to live in the moment and not base their performance on a recording and decisions they made months before. No musical has ever done this before and many believed the songs suffered as a result. The singing lacked perfection, that can only be found in a recording booth. Honestly, I loved that they did this. It made the songs more real and with a subject matter that is so emotional and intense, it connects the viewers more easily. We felt those emotions deep down. Anne Hathaway's performance, which was emotional regardless, would not have been as powerful if it had been prerecorded. Yes, the songs weren't perfect but nothing is pre-recorded on Broadway! So shut your mouth and go buy a Justin Bieber album if you want manufactored perfection.

And finally, the movie was sort of long. But so is the show! Everything from the show was present and nothing was cut or shortened to make the movie shorter in length. Honestly, all of my favorite movies are pretty long in length (i.e the LOTR trilogy) and I loved them more because of their length--the director wanted his vision seen in its completeness and not chopped or watered down to fit into a 90 minutes standard movie format. I think people only thought it was long because there was no intermission, which would have been present if you had seen the show on Broadway. And yes, the subject matter is pretty intense to experience without a small break. But again I say, shut the hell up!

So that's it. My latest obsession and the subject of a pretty long rant on my blog. It's been a few weeks since I saw the movie, but it's still as real for me now as it was then. I am a reformed Les Mis fan and appreciator!

And now its a new addition to my bucket list: To see the staged Les Mis in London.

Christmas Recollections

In my family, we have our own set of traditions when it comes to the holidays. For example--Christmas Eve is our only extended family holiday time. We are out almost all day visiting relatives, drinking eggnog, giving and receiving gifts, and generally making jolly with our relatives. I kid you not, from noon until well after midnight we are out at different parties. We try and fit it in all in one day, because in the last ten years or so, we instituted our "Family Sloth Day" on Christmas day. We get up when we want--which in recent years involves my parents dragging us out of bed around ten; a funny role reversal-- unwrap gifts at a leisurely pace--we usually take turns unwrapping what Santa brought us, so we can all see each other's gifts--eat a glorious breakfast, and then lay around in our pajamas all day watching movies until its time to make our Christmas day feast--lobster tails, filet mignon and all the trimmings. It is seriously the best day of the year, because we actually take the day to bond with eachother instead of stressing about running around and having to be somewhere.



I've actually been tempted to buy these for my family just for Christmas day

After all the gifts are unwrapped, we also enjoy sitting around recalling past Christmases. This year was a little different as this was the first Christmas my brother-in-law participated in "Family Sloth Day." Obviously no stories were left on the shelf, so I thought I'd share one of my families favorite Christmas memories.

When we were younger, my parents were pretty strict about going to Mass on Sundays and holidays. "If we are paying thousands of dollars in Catholic School Tuition every year, you're sitting in those pews every Sunday," my Mom used to say. Christmas Mass was the ultimate sign of dedication and faith in our community. We were up, dressed in our Christmas finest and on our way to Mass after barely catching a glimpse at what Santa brought us that year. Needless to say, we all hated it. And resented the fact that we were drug away from our toys when the fun had only just begun. Sitting through an hour (sometimes two, depending on the priest that morning) mass was pure torture and we were always itching to get out and home.

As we got older and a little more daring, my sisters and I would sneak one of our new toys into Mass with us, to help eleviate the boredom. Usually it was something small--something that was easily hidden in a pocket or in your hand. I actually became quite the expert at hiding books under my coat and sticking them in hymnals once we were seated in church. To the outsider, I must've looked like a very devoted Catholic reading up on her hymns during mass, when in reality I was discovering that Harry Potter was actually a wizard and would be going to a wizarding school called Hogwarts.

One year in particular, my youngest sister took this it to a whole new level, and instituted a new "shake down" of toys before we left the house for Christmas Mass.

About 15 years ago (which makes me feel unbelievably old when I write it out) there was this British import, kid TV show called Bananas in Pajamas. It involved giant--not even kidding you, life-sized--bananas, in yes white and blue striped pajamas and the crazy hijunx that they got in to every day.

Shocks me that crap like this used to entertain kids!

I was 12 years old when this little show shot to fame, so I obviously didn't watch it. But my youngest sister, who was 7, was obsessed. She watched the show every morning before she went to school and even started eating bananas. These dancing human-fruit even had their own theme song;



Bananas in pajamas are coming down the stairs,

Bananas in pajamas are coming down in pairs,

Bananas in pajamas are chasing teddy bears,
Find More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com

'cause on Tuesdays they all try to catch them unawares

boom boom pow boom boom pow

*And yes, I did have to look this up!*

This show was on constant loop at our house, to the point that my Dad started singing it at all hours. In fact, to this day my Dad uses this song as our wake-up call.

Obviously that year for Christmas, dolls from this show were the hot item. And when my sister saw that they had 2 foot, plush dolls that sang the theme song when you hugged them, it was at the top of her letters to Santa. It was really the only thing that she wanted that year. She begged and pleaded, sat on Santa's lap numerous times and made sure she was extra good all year round.

Sure enough, Santa brought her the set.



These things were huge!

My sister was overjoyed and literally hugged these dolls so hard that we thought she was going to wear out the batteries.

But as good God-fearing Catholics, the fun was short lived and we had to get to 10:30 mass--which at our church is usually the most popular mass to go to and it's always packed and standing room only. I remember my mom went crazy that morning trying to get us ready and out the door by 9:45. She was determined to get seats that year, as standing for 1+ hours is not fun. Somehow, we were all in the car and made it to mass at the precise time she wanted us to be. We even got our own pew right in the middle of church.

About an hour later, we were well into Christmas day mass-- which is filled with a lot of pomp, circumstance and carols. I'll admit, it's actually one of the only times I enjoy going to mass as an adult. Everything is so pretty and the mass itself is beautiful. But when you're 12 and your mother had just confiscated your new book, it was awful.

After standing for what seemed like forever, the priest told us to "Be Seated" as he began his homily. In unison, everyone in church pushed up the kneelers, and sat down on the ancient wooden pews. The priest had barely gotten 3 sentences out, when my sister decided to sit back into the pew and a sound started emulating from where she was sitting. Soft at first, but got louder and louder as the priest took breaths in his speech, a song started to play with the audible words;

"Bananas in Pajamas are coming down the stairs

Bananas in Pajamas are coming down in pairs....."

The song that my family knew by heart. The song that we had all just heard only an hour before. The song that was coming from our pew. Or more precisely, from beneath the back of my sister's winter coat that she still happened to be wearing.

In the chaos of getting 4 kids fed, dressed and out the door on time my mother neglected to take a good look at all her kids. My youngest sister cleverly hid her new, 2 foot toy beneath her coat. And by clever I mean she put on her coat and shoved the stuffed animal beneath and behind her back while my mom wasn't looking. No one seemed to notice the hump on her back or the two little sneakers hanging from the bottom of her coat as we walked in to church. And she almost got away with it, until she forgot it was there and sat back too hard in the pew.

The second the song played, my mother's eyes bugged out of her head and her face went ghost white. She instantly looked over to my sister, who was acting like she didn't hear it but continued to lean against it. By the time the song played a second time, the entire congregation was either looking at us or straining their necks to see where it was coming from. The priest even stopped his homily, looked up and said, "Am I the only one who hears that?"

My mom was mortified and started hitting my dad to get the toy off my sister. He was in a fit of hysterical laughter and could barely keep himself quiet, let alone grab my sister. The tears were literally rolling down his face, which only made all of us laugh and my mom didn't find it funny in the least. Then my Dad started struggling with my sister's coat but could not get her arms out of it, since the coat was pretty snug with the added "person" in the back of it. Once the homily was over and the congregation stood up, my mom grabbed my sister's hand and marched us all out the door. Naturally, the rest of us followed laughing even harder.

That Christmas will forever live in infamy with my family. It was the last Christmas my mom rushed us out the door Christmas morning without checking and de-toying us before we left the house. We also started going to the Christmas Eve Vigil instead--I'm not sure if it was to avoid noisy toys, or prevent any further issues on Christmas day. It also was the last year any of us recieved a toy that sang a song when you hugged it. We all still laugh hysterically when we recall this Christmas; my mom even joins in now that the sting of  public moritification has worn off. I actually asked my sister this year why she did it; her answer was simple, "I just loved my Bananas in Pajamas."

Hope you all had a great Holiday and a safe New Year!

THANK YOU for reading my Blog!

Timing for Butterflies

As most dating women are aware, there are two very big dilemmas we are faced with in those first few dates. The source of which takes hours and even days of thorough thought and pre-planning. No, I am not referring to wardrobe or hairstyles for the big night--although both a pretty key and are painstakingly planned, changed then decided on with our girlfriends or while looking in a mirror-- or even deciding the actual location or event--which let me add should totally be the man's domain; we have enough stress as it is with wardrobe, guys need to take the reigns on that one.

No, I am referring to those two things that are all dependent on timing and "the right feel" for the situation. If timing is off, or if you pull the cord too early, future dates could be canceled before they are even planned.


I am referring to 

1. Paying the Bill

2. First Kiss

 And lately I've been trying to figure out both for myself. 

In my merry-go-round of a dating life--where I'm always bringing new guests on and kicking old ones off--I recently started dating a new guy. We've gone on a few dates at this point, and I'm really enjoying myself and his company. But now I'm faced with the above dilemma; Should I offer to pay/ help pay for the dinner or activity bill? And when is it too early for that essential first kiss?

Let me go into each a bit.

My new guy is a union construction worker, who like most union members are subject to a lot of lay offs and are frequently unemployed. At the present time (and until last week) he was in the midst of one of those lay-offs, which is awful at any time of year but hits a little harder during the holidays. So we've gone out a few times--usually some sort of activity and then dinner--which I know can be pricey. Every time we have gone out, I have tried to be a bit conservative in choices, but as time went on I really started feeling guilty. Like, what if he can't pay his rent this month because he's taken me out? Trust me I know how it is--I went through my own 3-month stint of unemployment where I depended on those UCBenefits from the government. I don't know how I would've coped if I just started dating someone while I was in dyer money straights. It's very stressful.

But in normal circumstances, I wouldn't. Maybe I'm old fashioned and this notion may be archaic --and feminists may be rolling in their graves-- but I think men should solely pay for those first few dates. It goes back to old courting rituals naturally, but the man should take care of his woman. And honestly, if I'm going through the effort of getting all dolled up--which ladies, let's be honest, it is an effort to look pretty at all times, especially on first dates when we over-scrutinize everything-- I kind of expect the rest to be in the guys hands. If I'm taking all that time to impress you, when you're basically pulling the cleanest shirt out of your closet and slapping on some cologne, then you should treat me like a queen for the night. And in most instances, the guys want to pay and take of everything. It shows their prowess or some crap like that.

But on the other hand, some like the girl to at least offer. One of my girl friends will always at least reach for the check once it's placed on the table. Or she'll take her wallet out and have it in eye view of her date. I like to call it the "wallet jingle". She's not doing it for show, trust me she's an accountant and usually makes twice the money her dates do, but she genuinely wants to pay. Again, guys like girl to at least offer. But I think if a guy actually takes a girl up on those offer--especially on the first few dates--the girl should high-tail it out of there and never answer his calls. That is what I refer to as a cheap-bastard. And beyond rude.

My situation is a bit different because I know he's strapped for cash. The last two dates we went on, I really struggled with whether or not to grab the check. To not even let him touch it. But I also don't want to insult him. I know a lot of pride is associated with paying for dates and "taking care of your woman." To not be able to, is a kick to the balls and I think most good guys (and I say GOOD meaning the keepers) want to show their date that they are boyfriend material.

So I guess my only real solution is to wait and see, then just offer at some point. Like if we go out multiple times in one week--which this coming week we are--I'm going to try help pay. Maybe not for meals, because I know that's usually the bigger deal, but for anything else we do. Really, it's only fair. With one of my exes that's how we did it--if I went to his house, he paid for the date and if he came to my house I paid for the date. Kind of evened itself out with gas and tolls we both had to pay to get to eachother, especially if its a long distance thing.

Now for kissing.

It's usually an unspoken rule that you don't kiss on a first date. That girls who kiss on the first date don't get a third date. And you shouldn't kiss anyone until there is an emotional connection of some sort, and that there's no way you can have that within one date--or as my mom says "Don't kiss a guy til you know his last name." I tend to agree with this notion. The best first kisses are always the anticipated ones. The ones where you are thinking about it the whole time you are with them. When you stare at their lips and wander what it would be like to brush against them. You need to wait for those butterflies to build to a point where you feel like you will physically burst if you can't kiss him.

But on the other hand, waiting too long can be detrimental. For me, a lot rides on that first kiss. If you are a sloppy kisser, it's just not gonna work. No matter what kind of chemistry we may have built, it just won't matter if the kiss isn't there. It's a complete turn off and something that you really can't do-over. The absolute worst first kiss I ever had happened on a first date where we were jelling pretty well. Then he kissed me (or came at me unexpectedly with his lips) and it was awful. He literally licked my lips and thought it was sexy. All I wanted to do was go home and wash my face. I never talked to him again after that. So luckily I didn't waste a lot of time on him, I knew right after that kiss that it wasn't going to work.

So where is the happy medium? Because at this point with my new someone, we haven't kissed and I'm not about to make the first move--another one of my little rules. There have been some really close moments--especially last Friday when we went ice-skating--but I didn't want to push it and I know he didn't want to make that move unless he was sure I wanted him to. Trust me, I wanted him to.

Again, I guess I'll just have to wait and see. Let him make the first move and be patient. The kiss will happen when its meant to happen. And I'll just let the butterflies build til then.

Dating is definitely a tricky world. Lots of things to decipher and think about before hand. It's not just throwing on a pair of pumps and showing up to a restaurant for dinner. A lot goes into it, and obviously timing is everything. I guess I'm still trying to decipher parts of it, but I will say.....I'm enjoying the butterflies.

Love Letter

I dreamed about you last night.

As I do most nights.

You were alive. And everything was fine. It was all just a mean-spirited joke. The accident, the obituary, the posts, the pictures--all of it wasn't true. Someone faked all of it. You were safe and in hiding--in Europe or something--but finally coming out into the light. I was so angry and excited all at the same time. Felt like such a fool that I believed it all, so angry that I wanted to scream. Why would you hurt us all? Your poor mother and family! I cried for nights for your loss and now I know it was for nothing! Why! But that faded to the building joy in my heart. All wrong-doing easily forgotten. It really wasn't that bad, now that I think of it.You weren't gone! You were still warm and breathing! You were coming home! Maybe not to me, but you were still you. Maybe not to my arms, but in the same city. I didn't need you to be with me, only alive and safe. I went to the airport, I had to see for myself. I had to see you walking. I stood in the terminal trembling, almost crying. I could see your shadow, almost hear your voice.

Then I woke up.

And my heart broke all over again.

Dreams never last long enough. I tried shutting my eyes, to recall the fleeting dream but it had retreated to the back of my memory. Dreams can never be beckoned.

Sometimes, I really wish I could get you out of my head. That I could move on and stop thinking about you. Dreaming about you. And just move on. To find someone I click with from the start, like we did those many years ago. To have insane chemistry and affection for. To not actively look for things to nit-pick. To feel complete with someone else. To want someone as much as I wanted you. And I don't want them because they are not you. Not even close to you.

Sometimes I think you were my soulmate and the only love I was meant to have was what I felt for you for those few short months. How different things could have been if I hadn't gone back to school. If I had stayed home and gave us the time we needed. How our lives could've ended up. How you could've been by my side now, instead of gone forever.

I waste so much time thinking about the what-ifs. I can't stand it.

But still I pray at night to you. To send me a sign of what I should do. A sign to show me that everything happened the way it was meant to. Show me that you are okay and at peace. That my love wasn't one-sided. That from the beyond, you are sending someone else to me. Someone like you. Someone you'd want me to spend my nights with.

It's weird. I can still see your face. Like it was yesterday. Everything about you is so fresh in my mind. And the way I felt with you, in your arms.

I miss you.

I'll never stop missing you.

Stay with me.

Forever.

Scrooged

December is a time of family gatherings, colored lights, the smell of fresh pine needles, red and green wrapping paper, baking cookies, giving gifts, snow, Santa Clause, Frosty, Rudolph, Christmas specials, caroling, and ultimately love and happiness. It's the one time of year that the entire world comes together, in different ways, to celebrate the season and love for their family. It is truly the most magical time of the year, not just because of the gift-giving and time off from work, but this month evokes strong emotions of gratitude, excitement and love. Most people wish they could experience or live this one month all year long--I actually know someone who, when they are blue or lonely, will watch Christmas movies and will instantly feel better. It's a time of year that should be bottled-up and shared with all.

I have so many great memories from my childhood involving Christmas, as I'm sure many people do. But I think the one thing that stands out for me--which it may not for others--is the magic my parents try to create for us with Christmas. It's something I want to recreate with my own children.

When I was little, my parents would not decorate the house in any form until we were safely tucked in and asleep in bed on Christmas Eve. We'd get home from my Grandmom's house, put out milk, cookies and carrots for Santa and his reindeer, hang our stockings on the bannister (because we didn't have a fire place--which was an issue of high contention in our house.  "Santa has a magic key to our front door," my Dad would tell us), and set up our American Girl dolls around the Christmas tree. As soon as we were in bed, my parents would decorate the entire house, decorate the tree, wrap gifts, set-up my Dad's elaborate Santa village and train set, and assemble any gifts that had parts so they'd be ready first thing the next morning. No matter how late we got home, this was their tradition. Recently they told me that one year we got home close to midnight and they were up until 4 am getting the house ready--we came bounding in to their room Christmas morning at 6 am. Or one year they didn't wrap our gifts and the next morning I turned to my dad and said, "I guess the Elves forgot to wrap them this year." They admit now that doing this was a bit crazy, but completely worth it when they saw our faces the next morning. To see our excitement at how Santa decorated our house. We actually have some pretty hilarious home-movies of those mornings--our faces and shrieks of "HE CAME" are pretty priceless. Christmas in my house was seriously the best, and the entire season was decked in magic.

This year, I'm just not feeling it.

I have no idea why,  but I haven't found my Christmas spirit. True, December has only just begun, but I'm usually bursting with excitement for the season as soon as Thanksgiving is over.

Here is a list of things  I haven't done yet for the holiday season;

1. Listened to Christmas music
2. Watched a single Christmas special or movie all the way through
3. Decorated the house
4. Accompanied my parents to get our Christmas tree
5. Drove around my neighborhood to look at the decorations and lights
6. Contemplated sitting on Santa's lap
7. Hoped for a "White Christmas"
8. Baked cookies

All of these are pretty big traditions for me and I just haven't had the urge to partake. And it's not like I haven't had the opportunity. In fact, last weekend when my parents wanted me to go with them to get our tree--something I truly believe I have mastered--I passed telling them, "Oh I want to take a nap."

Yes, I know. With that utterance, I spit in the face of Christmas.

All of this isn't to say that I am making an active choice not to participate in Christmas. I actually have all my gifts bought, wrapped, and ready to give. A few of which I am truly excited to--especially the gifts for my grandmom and grandpop. But...it's just the feeling of Christmas seems to be missing. Like this is just any other month for me; not a month with the best holiday. Like something is missing in my heart when it comes to Christmas--like I'm just going through the motions and not really enjoying it.

Is there something wrong with me? Have I lost the Christmas spirit? Is it something you lose with age? Am I too old for the magic? Am I doomed to spend the rest of my holidays a Scrooge?

Baby Jesus, I hope not! Because life without Christmas would suck!

Now that I'm thinking about it some more, I can only come up with 2 explanations;

1. My house is a construction zone. My parents are adding a "Senior Suite" (or the "west wing" as we lovingly refer to it) to our house for my grandparents to move in. An entire wall was knocked down in our living room and there is dust and crap everywhere. Due to this, my parents haven't really decorated our house to the usual extent that they do. It's actually pretty sad.
2. I'm single.

I don't think it's the second, since I was single last Christmas and didn't feel like this then. Sure, it'd be great to be in love and to spend the holidays with someone special, but I wouldn't let that bring me down. Honestly, a boyfriend would be too stressful right now--I like being able to do my own thing and spend the entire holiday with my family, and not have to worry about other obligations. 

So I don't know. Maybe I need a "Christmas Intervention" of sorts. An intervention where the only cure would be forced consumption of Christmas cookies, watching Christmas movies and listening to B101 (the "soft radio station" that plays only Christmas songs from December 1st until New Years) at all times. Hopefully I'll get more into the spirit as the holiday gets closer, because no one can take Christmas away from me.

Not even me!