I love Fall

Fall is just about the best thing ever.

Fall rocks.

Fall is changing leaves, pumpkins, Indian corn and cider.

Fall is crisp leaves being blown down the sidewalk.

Fall is my most favoritest time of year.

Okay, fine, it happens to include another new season of television shows. So sue me.

I love many things.

I love holidays, I love my family. I'm particularly in love with my niece who is turning one-year-old. But dammit, if I don't also love t.v.

I flippin' love it.

I love happy endings. I love possibility and hope. I love love.

And if crisp leaves down empty sidewalks reminds me that love lives. And if fictitional characters say the things that I want to say in the face of love. And if hope lives because I do.

Well, then - I blame it on Fall. On beautiful, perfect, precious Fall.

Confession #3: I am afraid of my own shadow

You know how when you were a little kid, your mom wouldn't let you watch scary shows or movies before bed? I still remember sneaking out to watch "Salem's Lot" on TV one night. I don't think I had a good night's sleep for the following 9 months.

Things spook me. Not normal things like graveyards (see previous blog). But completely abnormal things like creaking floorboards, attics and birds (don't get me started on birds, but while you're judging me - think for a second about how unpredictable birds are and tell me they're the slightest bit trustworthy).

I also am a 34-year-old woman who occasionally checks her closet and behind doors before bed. Not all the time, in fact rarely - except for when I watch a scary movie.

Just the other night I rented "Zodiac" and I had a brief moment where I thought "maybe I should wait until tomorrow at 7pm, rather than 10pm tonight", but I quickly brushed those thoughts aside because I am, after all, a grown woman. And well, Jake Gyllenhaal is hot and not bad to think about at bedtime.

Stupid, stupid me. I am often times amazed at my stupidity. More amazing is my frequent ignorance of said stupidity. Quite simply - I ought to know better.

But I watched the stupid movie (okay, the movie wasn't stupid, but I'm deflecting here) - and come 12:30am I'm checking behind doors, in closets and yes, even under my bed. (Believe me when I tell you that with the 47 rolls of wrapping paper stored there - not even Gary Coleman could fit under my bed, but even that is not a comfort when one has the "creeps").

So, why don't we learn from our mistakes? Why don't we think twice? Why don't we, for the love of god, listen to our mothers?

I don't know. But I'm going to think about that long and hard before I rent my next movie from the "Thriller" section at Blockbuster. Until then, well, one more peek under the bed couldn't hurt, could it?

The Best Thing I've Ever Heard...

...at least in the last 24 hours is this:

"Hope dies last."

It's this "quote" I ran across - though, in a quick google search, it's also a book title, dealing with grief seminar and unsigned indie rock band. So, who knows its true origin. And quite honestly, I don't care.

Because I simply want to breath it in and cherish the thought. Hope is, in my wholly unqualified opinion, the most powerful thing. Take the power of the wind and sun and we're only talking a fraction of the power of Hope.

I depend on it daily, maybe hourly - okay, every few seconds. And it's always there. It is the quiet friend who smacks you in the head, drags you to your feet and says - "There's more - if you want it bad enough."

If I live to be one hundred - let hope live to be one hundred plus one day.

Best Advice Ever

My stepmother also does a little blogging. Her's is generally much more profound and proofread. You should check it out.

Anyway, her latest post was on the best advice she ever received. I thought about that a second and rushed back here to share mine.

My dad is, in my opinion, about one of the smartest guys I know. Book smart, for sure. Jeopardy smart, oh yeah. Smart ass, oh dear lord don't get me started!

But my favorite kind of smart that he is - is the kind of smart that doesn't presume or judge. It's the kind of smart that is so friggin' smart, he doesn't need to be "right" - he'll let you be right until you go ahead and figure things out. And, yeah, realize he's right.

Forgive my aside, the point is - it's some advice from my dad that I think might well be the best advice I've ever been given:

EASE UP ON THE CLUTCH.

Sure, my dad taught me to drive stick (which I think is an invaluable skill), but this is a mantra I apply often to my life.

When I get to the point when I am so strung out on life I need to remind myself to effin' EASE UP ON THE CLUTCH already. Don't push so hard - whether at work or in relationships. Don't get in your own way. Just relax, breath and EASE UP ON THE CLUTCH.

Who knew at fifteen that I was sitting in a dirty brown Pontiac with my own personal Budda?

The Thing About Hotels

What is it about hotels? What is it that makes me just on this side of giddy when I'm in one?

• Is it crisp fresh sheets?


• Is it a pile of towels all for little ol' me?


• Is it an endless supply of ice - and never having to fill the cube trays?


• Is it wake up calls instead of my cranky alarm?


• Is it indoor swimming pools like all the homes featured on E!?


• Is it freezing cold climate control that won't show up on my Consumers bill?


• Is it room service?


• Is it free coffee in the lobby?


• Is all the travel-sized stuff? (It's just so tiny and cute!)

I don't know what the thing about hotels is, except to say that I'm staying in one this week and I'm not just a little bit giddy about it.

Confession #2: No, that's not my butt in picture below

(shoot)

Things I Know

I'm a terrific liar. It's just something I know.

Mostly it's just for fun. Tonight I told a ridiculous lie about growing up in Texas and nearly having an affair with both a 25-year-old and his 50-year-old father. I don't know if it's just about getting away with something or something else all together.

Regardless, I'm a terrific liar.

But what I know about my lies, is that I want to be able to tell the difference between them and the truth. I see people who tell others (and themselves) a lie and think it's the truth. I hope beyond hope that that is never the case with me.

Let my white lies stem from "all in good fun" at the bar. Let my white lies never hurt anyone, especially me. Let my white lies remain white and never steeped in something dark and dangerous.

I'm a terrific liar. Let me use my superpowers for good and not evil.

Confession #1: I work in HR

We all have dirty little secrets and here's one of mine: I work in HR.

While it may hardly set your scalp a tingling - it is, in fact, one of my great horrors. I have always hated HR. In my experience, HR wasn't full of warm fuzzies, it was chock full of nosey people who like being in other people's business. Way up in their business.

HR = Human Resources. Human Resources. Like electricity and water, but human. Stupid humans with stupid feelings need a whole department to babysit them. I wretch at the premise itself.

Here, perhaps, is the kicker. Most HR people have good intentions. They like the idea of working with people. They like the idea of talking to people. They like the idea of forgoing spreadsheets and pie charts and instead put their hands into something extra ooey gooey like people.

That is, until, they actually work and talk with people. That is when it happens. That is when the bile rises and the temples throb and the blood pressure skyrockets. Because people are a nightmare and nobody but nobody knows this like HR.

I had no delusions of grandeur when it came to HR. I needed a job and like a two-bit hooker - I sold my soul for a bi-monthly paycheck. I have no one to blame but myself, my needy greedy self who relishes things like toothpaste and microwave popcorn. I'm a sell out - I confess.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I work in HR.