Remembering what's important on 9-11

Today is the "anniversary" of 9-11, the downing of the World Trade Center. It seems like only yesterday that I was pregnant with Maya, watching in horror, as the towers collapsed. It was so very sad, sitting in the office with my coworkers, eyes glued to the lunchroom TV as the events unfolded. I cried a lot that day.

Every year on this day, I try to take a moment to reflect on my life and all I am thankful for. It's not often I get a chance to do that. Life gets in the way. That's what I love so much about being in the woods. In the forest, there's no deadlines or carpools or things that demand my attention other than the immediate need to put one foot in front of the other and not trip over any fallen trees branches or loose rocks.

While in Pisgah National Forest, with packs on our backs, Maverick and I hiked up the mountain to Looking Glass Rock. It was drizzling ever-so-slightly. I called upon the rain gods to not rain any harder and spoil our day.

The drizzle and the gray skies kept the temperature low but the humidity clung to the wet forest leaves. I was thrilled to walk quietly through the woods, not seeing another human being. The woods were eerily silent. I thought about how the rainforest in Hawaii was eerily silent too. And Costa Rica. I never knew how silent the forest was before, probably because I never shut up then.

I love the silence now. There's something about a quiet forest. I can't put my finger on it, but its tranquility always has the same effect on me. It wills me to take a big cleansing breath in, hold it, and slowly release. Shuuu...It's peaceful among the quiet, wet wood.

It was the very same peacefulness I experienced practicing yoga on a Maui beach at sunrise. It washes over me when I take some time to just be. Not be a mom, or an errand runner, or a dog walker, boss or wife. Just be.

And in those rare moments of peace, those slivers of time of just being, I reflect upon how very lucky I am. Yes, I can bitch about my thighs or how my commute is sucking the life out of me on a daily basis. I can complain I'm a day late on your birthday card or a dollar short. And I do, I know. Thanks for listening.

But when I'm in those moments of clarity, and on days like today, I'm thankful for so many amazing people in my life. My family and my friends. My girls, of course. My happy, healthy life. But mostly for Maverick, my very best friend and truest love. Thanks for showing me the love...and the peace, baby.

Are you laughing with me?

Maverick and I celebrated our anniversary this weekend. After 11 years of marriage, 14 years of cohabitation and a history that began almost 20 years ago, I love how amazingly well Maverick really gets me. He understands me in a way no one else does. And when he doesn’t understand me, he laughs at me. I love that too. It’s just one of the many reasons that makes “us” work.

For example, about three years into our relationship, while in the car, I decided to entertain him with my Karaoke Queen singing. Reincarnated in the form of my Rock Band avatar, Bunni, with surfer-girl dreadlocks, Daisy Dukes, knee-hi socks and Chuck Taylors, I curled my hand into a microphone, thrashed my hair all over the passenger seat, shredded my air guitar and belted out every chorus of some Soundgarden tune with ear-curdling off-key half-correct lyrics. I may have truly sucked, but I owned my performance! Thank you for coming out tonight! I love you!

Maverick watched my entire music video with a semi-smirk lurking from behind his hands, resting on the steering wheel. When the song was over, he politely remarked: “You really think you’re good, don't you, Tracy?”

I was mortified—I couldn’t believe he thought I took myself seriously. I’m a jokester, a clown. I make funny faces, sometimes unintentionally, and I laugh at myself. Of all the things I’ve ever thought about myself, being a good singer was as far at the bottom of that list as becoming the smoking-hot, 6-foot-1, Hollywood-supermodel-starlet Mrs. John Travolta, I wanted to be when I was seven.

“What?” I screeched at Maverick in my high-pitched tone. “Good? Are you kidding? I was completely just trying to be funny!” I pleaded and begged him to believe me. I needed him to believe me. I stupidly thought I was amusing him being thy goofy self.

Red-faced, I turned my body towards my car door and sulked. Honestly, I’m pretty clear on which side of the recording contract I sit on. Of all my delusions, my singing well wasn’t one of them. I felt foolish. It’s one thing to be laughed with; quite another to be laughed at.

Maverick laughed anyhow and he laughed for a while. Then he slowly allowed the smile to fade and placated me with: “Okay. If that’s what you say.”

We sat in bloated silence. I peeked at him through the corner of my eye, arms still crossed stubbornly, and saw he was looking directly at me. He was smiling, holding in another burst of laughter. I recognized how hard he was trying to contain himself, muffling the sound that desperately wanted to come out.

I realized how much Maverick really loved me then and my anger faded. I saw the situation for what it was: He sat by quietly, day after day, song after song, and let me sing on the top of my lungs, acting out my silliness, because he knew I loved it. And even if he thought my singing stunk, which it absolutely does except to some neighborhood dogs, he was never going to tell me otherwise. He loved me enough to tolerate my lunacy.

I turned up the radio and belted out another song. We laughed for a long time about that one. And here I am eleven years later still laughing about it. Thanks Maverick, for all the laughs we’ve shared. Even if most of them are deservedly directed at me.

Hypocrisy: How it Plays Out

Setting: Saturday morning, my kitchen table

Maverick (grabbing his keys off the counter): I’m going to get Starbucks.
Me (folding a load of laundry): While you’re out, can you pick up some turkey to make sandwiches for lunch?
Maverick (sarcastically) : Why do you need to buy more food? You just went to Publix the other day and spent $300. We have plenty here.
Me (doubly sarcastic): Because I don’t feel like spending my entire day in this kitchen preparing breakfast, lunch, snacks, dinner and dessert. I thought turkey sandwiches would be fast and easy. Forget it. Just get me a iced quad grande non-fat three Equal extra-ice latte. Thanks.

About thirty minutes later.
Me (phone in hand, lounging on a pool chair, enjoying my 30 minutes of quiet-time): Where are you guys? I just made lunch.
Maverick: Just picking up ‘Bucks. Lunch? Camryn just had a yogurt here because she was hungry.
Me (jumping off my chair in amazement): What? You just spent money on yogurt? I have yogurt here from Publix! And you’d better not have ordered Maya chocolate milk because I have that here too! You kill me! (Click. Silence.)

Five minutes later.
Maverick (kneeling at my lounge chair): What? Are you mad at me?
Me: Yes, unless you admit you’re a hypocrite!
Maverick (with a wink and a smile and knowing full well I’m completely right): I’ll never admit that…

Setting: Evening, in my living room
Group: We’re getting hungry! What’s for dinner?
Me to Maverick: Want to bring in sushi for us? I can make the kids homemade tacos.
Maverick (repeating himself): What? Why do you want to bring in? We have tons of food in the fridge to make. You just spent hundreds of dollars…(fade to black. Discontinue listening.)
Me (red-faced from frustration): That’s right. We do have food to make, but I don’t feel like cooking! I work all week and you hang out with the kids. Then I come home and spend so much time making everyone delicious, healthy, home cooked meals, while you hang out with them. I’d rather spend less time in the kitchen and more time with my kids.
Maverick: Well, we have mahi-mahi filets in the fridge. I’ll make dinner then!
Me (smiling): Great, I love that idea! I’m going to shower. Just call me whenever dinner is ready!

Thirty minutes later.
Me (walking into the kitchen, fresh, relaxed and dressed): How long until dinner is ready?
Maverick: How about we order in from Park Avenue BBQ?

Thanks, friends.

Today, someone called me snobby and elitist in an anonymous comment to my Jealousy & Envy blog post. Wow, that stung…if only for a minute.

Actually, I’m thrilled to receive online feedback because it happens so infrequently. Usually I just get kudos or grief from my readers in person.

I’m not going to defend nor justify my position on this comment. Everyone’s entitled to their opinions both of me personally and my writing. Obviously, this reader has issues with me that have been passive-aggressively addressed anonymously. So even if I wanted to respond personally, I can’t.

But the comment did get me thinking about my group of friends. To be sure, they far surpass a “close knit group of 3”. I do have a circle of girlfriends, some live near by and others are far. Yes, these are “my girls”. My girls are my strength, my rocks, my go-to people. My life is fuller and richer with them in it. I’m positive you know who you are, girls.

You are my source of entertainment and comedy. I love it when you laugh with me. And laugh at me. I love when you poke fun of me and don’t take it too seriously when I tear you up too.

I consider myself very lucky to have a wonderful array of personalities. I love that you are each unique in your own way. I love that we’re very much alike and very different at the same time too.

I love when you agree with me. Sometimes I really need that. But I also love when you completely disagree with me and force me to see the other side.

I love it that even though you live far away, we can always pick right back up where we left off when we talk on the phone. I love that calling & texting enables me to feel like you’re right here.

I love it that we’ve been friends for years and years and our friendship is still very real and relevant.

I love that I can be myself with you. Not Mom or Mrs. Fives, just Tracy. Thanks for listening to me. Even if you’ve heard the same story twenty times. Thanks for going along on this roller coaster journey of life with me in the next seat.

I’m very thankful for all my amazing, wonderful, dynamic, sparkling, fabulous, smart, fun & funky friends. My life wouldn’t be the same without you. I’m fairly confident I tell you how much you mean to me, my friends. But just in case, I can’t say it enough: I love you dear friends.

And to my anonymous commenter, I apologize if I’ve unknowingly slighted you. It was not my intention. And thanks for your concern; I will keep my day job.

My new De-Friending Facebook App

So, now I’m on a tirade about envious girls. I heard a story over the weekend from my girlfriend, Anna, that got me fired up. Anna has a friend, we’ll call her Jane, whom she met through their mutual friend. Anna liked Jane very much, except for the fact that Jane doesn’t like Anna. Anna of course, cannot figure out for the life of her why Jane doesn’t like her. What’s not to like about Anna? She’s fun and kind and seems like a true, down-to-earth, Saturday-night worthy girlfriend. What else can a girl ask for?

After running through all the possible far-reaching scenarios of why Jane could possibly NOT like Anna, we came to the conclusion that Jane is very much envious of Anna. Either that or she’s just a total bitch. That very real possibility aside, envy, as I mentioned in my last post is a lethal green cocktail of wanting what someone else has for yourself.

In her envious state, Jane excluded Anna from a birthday party for their mutual friend. Anna was shocked. For one, she is very close to this mutual friend, much more so than Jane. For two, Anna thought she and Jane were friends too. However she was shunned. After the party, the mutual friend questioned Jane as to why Anna was not invited. Jane replied lamely that she wanted to keep the guest list small. KEEP THE GUEST LIST SMALL? What a bullshit excuse for excluding Anna. Obviously Jane drank from the green well of envy.

Rightly so, Anna was strongly advised to unload Jane as a friend. Because, really, with friends like that, who needs enemies? Jane sounds like a back-stabbing bitch, so why bother keeping her around? A good spring cleaning of crappy friends that bring you down is good for the soul periodically.

Over drinks, we deviously plotted how Anna can dump Jane. Anna asked my opinion of simply de-friending Jane on Facebook. I told her to de-friend Jane was not enough punishment and shame. When you de-friend someone, visibility to your Facebook page just disappears for them. It's not even obvious unless that person looks for you page or your updates. It's just too passive.

Instead, I want to write a Facebook application that ANNOUNCES when you de-friend someone. God knows my Facebook inbox is filled with these mini apps of nonsense…What Color Are You on the Inside? What 90210 Character are You? Are You a Bitch or a Vixen? What Led Zeppelin Song Are You?

I can’t imagine it’s hard to create a mini app called “I’m De-friending You, Bitch!” (IDFYB). To use it, just enter a person’s name. The IDFYB app will announce on your network and theirs that the hussy has just been dropped not only from your Facebook friend status but also from your life (and good riddance!)

The message will then appear as a permanent wall post and be highlighted in the notifications section. IDFYB will also allow you to forward it to twenty of your Facebook friends so they can join the party and de-friend the person too.

To be clear on why you’re adding a scarlet letter to your de-friended friend’s chest, IDFYB will include several check boxes to choose from in which to explain your justification. For example: Hit on My Husband; Too High Maintenance; Not Saturday Night Worthy; Whiny & Annoying; Back-Stabber, etc.

Wouldn’t that be fun? I know as you're reading this, a girlfriend or two that could benefit from IDFYB has crossed your mind....

And in honor of Anna, I thought I’d add a justification especially for Jane. It would go a little something like this: “Anna de-friended Jane for being such a shallow, envious, backstabbing, write-a-check bitch. My Facebook friend list was getting long, and I wanted to KEEP IT SMALL. Goodbye.”

Jealousy and envy

When your close girlfriend shares some exciting news with you, let’s say she just returned from an extravagant vacation in Tahiti, I bet you do the same thing as I do. As I listen to her story, perhaps about details such as the in-room amenities or the expansive view from the balcony, I think how thrilled I am for my friend for having such a wonderful experience. It sounds like such an amazing trip, I wish I could go on that vacation and have that experience too. Damn it, I must admit, I'm a little bit jealous.

To be jealous in that nature is not the same as being envious. I know the two words are used mutually exclusive but I think envy is much worse. And being one of the seven deadly sins, it must be worse if God will kill you for it, right?

Envy is when you see something that someone else has, you don’t like the fact that they have it, you want it for yourself, and you don’t want them to have it anymore. The object of envy can be a material possession, a quality or talentd, an achievement or success, a relationship, or any number of things. In other words, envy is the bitch who doesn’t like you because you are more attractive, richer, smarter, with bigger or smaller boobs, or just have a better life than she does.

Friends can be jealous of each other. We can all admit it. We try not to show it but it’s human nature to desire something someone else has. The key word here being ALSO. When my friend has a wonderful experience, I sometimes want it ALSO. I don’t want it INSTEAD of her. I don’t think I should have it and she should not. I don’t think I deserve it any more than she does. Well maybe I think I deserve it just as much. But not more. Either way, these thoughts may be totally selfish, but it’s hard to control your thoughts.

With envy, the thoughts are usually negative and nasty and lead to bitchy, spiteful behavior. Like not inviting a friend to a party and rationalizing that you wanted to keep the invite list small. Bullshit! You were totally envious of your friend and purposely didn’t include her so she would miss out. So you could have fun INSTEAD of her.

Just the other day, I was told by a friend that she hated me when we first met. She said she was envious of me. That I got all the attention when in fact she wanted all the attention. Does that mean that now that we’re friends, she’s jealous and not envious? I really wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information. Either way, it was an uncomfortable conversation, even for me. My only answer is: don’t hate!

Maybe you disagree with how I use the words jealous and envy, but now you know what I think.

Top 10 Things NOT to Do on Your Girls Vacation

I just returned from a fabulous girls trip to Santa Fe. Lucky for me, I have another one mid-summer as well with another group. The more I talk to girlfriends who take vacations with their friends, the more I realize there’s a common thread of annoyances among us. Here’s the top 10 things to NOT do on your next girls trip (especially if you want to be invited back next year.)

1) Don’t be cheap. There’s a world of difference between frugal and cheap. When everyone else has bought a round of drinks, don’t decide you’re suddenly not thirsty when it’s your turn. Don’t try and nickel and dime the group either. If you eat out, just split the bill. If you don’t want to spend money on something, such as a massage, then don’t. Just don’t make it everyone else’s problem by complaining you have no one to hang out with while all your other girlfriends are relaxing at the spa.
2) Don’t sweat the small stuff. Whether your group consists of 3 girlfriends or 10, it’s hard for everyone to be happy with every decision the group makes. You may not love the restaurant chosen, you may not be thrilled with the spa times. Someone has made an effort to herd the flock into making a decision. It’s made, deal with it. Furthermore, when it comes to making a decision, don’t say you don’t care and then bitch once a decision is made.
3)Don’t come without cash. No one wants to stop at the bank five times because you’ve only extracted $40. Take out enough money for the entire trip so you don’t have to inconvenience the rest of us. Unless you’re lucky like me and can rely on your girlfriends to be your personal banker. (Thanks Indie & Jackie!)
4)Don’t be passive. No one wants to be in charge the entire time. Don’t be the lazy bitch who lays back waiting for everyone else to make decisions. Take ownership of one piece of the trip and work it out for the rest. Remember, this trip is for you to take a vacation from your real life and party with your friends. It’s not an excuse for you remove yourself from reality and rely on everyone else to take care of you.
5)Don’t talk about your husband and kids the whole time. These are a few of the top reasons we go away with our girlfriends in the first place: to forget about our families and responsibilities for just a little while and to think of nothing else but ourselves. If I have to listen to you yap about them the entire time, I rather stay home.
6)Don’t burden your friends. When I’m on my girls trip, I want to do what’s good for me, when it’s good for me. For as long as I feel like it, without strings attached. So if you’re fried at the pool and I want to catch more rays, just go off alone. Don’t try to convince me to leave with you. We don’t have to be attached at the hip. Thanks.
7)Don’t assume everyone would be potentially good girls-trip comrades. This point goes back to my “Saturday Night Worthy” post. It’s one thing to spend an evening with a girlfriend. It’s another thing to consider sharing a room with her. There’s only so many girls I can even imagine traveling with. If you're not sure if she's girls-trip worthy, include her on your next overnight trip. Don't kill your whole vacation to learn you were wrong.
8)Don’t judge. It’s amazing what you learn about your girlfriends while you’re away. One may hoard the bacon and another may flirt incessantly with cute boys. It’s all part of the experience but probably not what she does on a normal basis. No one needs to hear your critical catty comments. Let her have her fun. Letting loose is what it’s all about.
9) Don’t be high-maintenance. Stop asking what we’re doing next. Stop checking out your hair. Stop asking me if you have the right clothes on. Stop relying on me to help you make decisions. It doesn’t matter what time we finish what we’re doing nor do we need to plan every minute of the day. Relax. That’s the whole point. If you need a formal agenda, feel free to write that up yourself. Just don’t hold me to it.

The last and golden rule is:
10)Don’t tell your other friends how great your girls trip was. Breaking this rule is a sure-fire way to alienate your friends who were not included. Furthermore, when they hear how much fun you had, they’ll expect to be included the next time. The same is true for husbands. Surely your man can live a long, happy life without knowing all the details. Plus, you’re friends probably don’t want you spilling the beans to your husband. I know it can be a hard rule to live by, but just remember the old adage “whatever happens in Vegas…”.

Anyone disagree?

facebook conversations

I’m having fun with Facebook again. Tonight I had the best conversation with a bunch of my friends, who collectively don't know each other. They read my Facebook update and began a dialog, a virtual conversation with strangers they wouldn't recognize on the street but all connected through me.

Backstory: 7:45 pm. Kids are fed and bathed. Casey's back from his playdate with Rhodie, his canine girlfriend. I realize there is nothing edible in my refrigerator. Decide to order in. Look at take-out menus. Realize there's nothing good because the five restaurants in my area that deliver suck (my favorite Italian joint aside!)

How many times can a girl eat the same five places? I hate it. It's not fair. I wish I lived somewhere that had more selection and better food. I have this thought and decide to update my Facebook status.

At 7:52, I write:
Tracy Friezer Fives: One of those nights I wished I lived in NYC so I could have delicious food delivered.

Then the following conversation occurred responding to my post:
Larry at 8:02pm: But then you'd have to take out a 2nd mortgage - do you how crazy food is in manhattan today? Trust me, stick with the 4:30 early bird dinner specials...

Brian at 8:15pm: It's a little more expensive but it's worth it for the convenience. The food in Manhattan is incredible. You can always have it Fed-exed to you. LOL.

Christopher at 8:22pm: there is no food like Manhattan food. Also you get $ 400 per night for a 2 diamond hotel, $57.00 for a bagel, $70.00 per day to park car.......Having the hotdog vendor serve you from water that has been sitting all day wondering where he /she goes to the bathroom or washes his hands......priceless

Brian at 9:35pm: I just had Filet Mignon, King Crab legs, crab cakes and creme brulee. Mmmmmmm. In Reston, Va. Lora at 10:12pm See you make the best of where you are! Although NY would be a fun trip with you Tray!

Patricia at 10:22pm: I had an awesome meal in NYC just this past weekend - French - funky Lower East Side restaurant. Can't think of a place in South Florida I could get duck for <$20 and an oversized NY strip for $22. Got a slice in Little Italy for $2.50. You can eat cheap and well in NY if you look in the right places. Brian at 10:26pm: Pat, that place across the street from you in the Keys was awesome!! Key Largo Coffee house or something. They loved Casey.

Patricia at 10:40pm: I love that place. Key Largo Conch House. Good to hear you all had a good time down there. Next time we'll go together so we can take the boat out!

Tracy Friezer Fives at 10:42: Had to settle for Chili’s. Next time I’m cooking for myself.

I love this web 2.0 stuff. Fascinated by the fact that now we’re all somehow interconnected to everyone else. Very Kevin Bacon, six degrees and all that. Hope you're having as much fun with it and all the other social media tools creeping into our lives.

My girfriend Lexi

The other day, I had a long conversation with my friend Lexie. I thanked her for being one of my best friends. She’s always there for me when I need her. Sometimes, I rely on her to calm me down when I get all out of whack. I have a tendency to overreact, over-think, over-analyze, over-process, over-over-over everything. Talking to her helps bring me down from the ledge (or cave) I want to jump off of or crawl into. She helps me sort through the clutter and find reason. She reminds me that I’m not Superwoman or Woman of the Year, and that’s okay. She holds my hand when I start to panic that I can’t finish it all, be the best, find perfection, and overcome every challenge I throw in my own way.

Through our conversations, I realized how much I’ve been able to breathe deeper lately and not care so much about everything. Not sweat the small things. In planning my girls’ trip this year, the group is debating where to go. Planning a girls trip should not be so difficult. Usually I care and I care a lot. This year, I realize it doesn’t matter where I go, if I’m with my girls. I’ll even go back to the place we swore off in the first place. It just doesn’t matter because I know I’ll have fun. Lexie, however, was asked to stay home. If she can’t contribute to the conversation, she’s not welcome in it.

Being as laid back as Lexie has wonderfully therapeutic benefits. If you don’t put too much time into agonizing over every single detail, decisions are easier to make. It doesn’t have to be perfect, the best, the greatest. It doesn’t matter so much because it will all be good. Wherever we decide to go. Letting up on just a little frees up quite a bit of stress. Allowing others to help—or take charge of things, even—doesn’t mean it’s not going to get done right, as I always believed. It may not be done just so, like I would do it, but it will get done in another equally good fashion. I sort of like the vacation from it, actually.

Lexie reminds me that life is too short. I have to enjoy the life I was given. The body I live inside. The mind’s space I occupy. The cards I was dealt. She helps me dispose of the unproductive thoughts and focus on what matters. It’s much more productive for me to focus on a few important things at once than endless unimportant things all at the same time. I’ve learned from Lexie to stop fixating on the bad stuff I can’t change and work on the good stuff that I can make great. I’m not saying I’m all the way there yet, but I’m sure trying.

I’m lucky to have Lexie in my life. Hope all of you have your Lexie too.

Lucky me

I’m not easily fooled. I read between the lines and know what you’re hiding. I can read your facial expressions and know what you’re not telling me. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. But apparently, you can pull a surprise party over on me!

Surprise parties are the best kind of parties. There’s no involvement on the recipient’s end. Everything is handled for you. You get to show up and just enjoy. You get the honor of being celebrated. You get to bask in the love of your friends. You get to dance around like a wild woman and not worry about being judged. You get to sit at the head of the table and make toasts. You’re allowed to get mushy and tell your friends how much you love them twenty times. You get to blow out the birthday candles (Unless your cake has sparklers, thank you very much!). You get to eat a beautiful cake. (Unless someone drops it and then there's a second beautiful cake!) You get to open wonderful surprises in beautifully wrapped bags. It’s a wonderful thing.

The beauty of a party in your honor is while your friends are celebrating you, you can celebrate your friends. There’s no better feeling than in knowing how much time, energy, thought, effort, and love was all put forth for you. I’m so very lucky for my dear, wonderful friends who took the time from their very busy lives to make me feel so incredibly special. I’m so very lucky for my dear, wonderful husband who has redeemed himself from spilling the beans at my 30th birthday surprise twenty feet away from the door. I’m just so very lucky for you, and you know who you are. Thank you.

Vacation calling etiquette

My recent post regarding whether it's okay to call a girlfriend while she's on vacation has received a great response. Thank you! I'm truly enjoying this blogging experiment, doing some writing like I've always wanted to do, and developing my own creative outlet. And as an added bonus, I get feedback from my readers and friends, which I absolutely love. (Even when you tell me some of my posts are bitchy!)

So I have two requests of you, my readers:

Comment on my blog. If you read something you like (or don't!), respond to it. Say what you think. It's a shame when I'm the only one to hear your similarly funny stories. I want to share it with all my girlfriends. You can respond with your name or you can respond anonymously. Just get engaged, share your comments and join my tribe.

Vacation phone calls, or not! Would you like to be called while on vacation? Should I expect that you may be calling me? I just want to know your stance.

Tonight, Jamaica told me, "Definitely not. I will not call you on vacation. My mind will be far away from here!" That's cool. Now I know that unless I'm having a true girly emergency, when Jamaica's away, do not hit #8 on speed dial!

Then, another girlfriend hit me with: "Of course, I want you to call! You think I want to sit around for three days,with my husband, by myself ?"

Here's my answer: If I'm traveling with the family, call away. I can probably use a break from the choke-hold of kids asking me to buy them something else or from the exhaustion of trying to do something fun while the kids are bickering and would have really been satisfied had I just let them play their DS's until their brains melt and ooze from their ears.

But if I'm alone with Maverick, don't bother calling. There's no way I'm answering because most likely, I won't care where my phone is. It's that simple. So tell me, so I'm clear. Do you keep your phone on, fully charged and close by when you're on vacation?

Vacation from friends

When you go on vacation, it’s usually to escape the headaches and stresses of everyday life. The job, the spouse, the kids, the bills, the carpooling, the traffic, the grocery store…whatever. But what about your friends? Do we go on vacation to escape our friends too? Sometimes, the obvious answer is yes. But if you have a girlfriend with whom you speak to regularly and she goes on vacation, does she really want you calling for the daily gabfest just like when she’s not on vacation?

I encountered this situation recently. I would never think to call a girlfriend on vacation because when I’m on vacation, I like to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. If I want to check in with you, I’ll call you. But another girlfriend called our vacationing friend. I wouldn’t want my vacationing friend to think I was not a good friend if I didn’t check in to see how everything was going. Would I look like a bad friend if I just asked about your trip when you return? Luckily, my vacationing girlfriend called me before I spent another day debating if I should or shouldn't call.

Of course, I missed my friend while she was away. But I don’t know if that’s enough justification for calling. I figured if she didn’t feel like talking, she could let my call go straight to voicemail. But then she’d have it hanging over her head that she needed to call me back at some point and that creates stress. But if I call and she doesn’t want to talk, but answers anyway, I’m still creating stress. Either way, it’s a lose-lose scenario and I’m perpetuating the vicious cycle of why we go on vacation in the first place, to reduce stress.

Unless, of course, she wants to talk while on vacation. Should we clarify up front, before you leave on vacation, whether we should talk while you’re gone? And if so, will you be calling me or should I call you? Maybe we should just text? Or go on vacation somewhere with no cell signal. The rules aren’t clear and clearly vary by girlfriend. What’s your rule? Let me know, so I don’t stress.

Unconditional love

This weekend, I fell in love at first sight. I saw him at once upon entering the room after quickly noting the other boys. Our eyes locked into a death grip and you could feel the laser-beam energy emulating from them. The rest of our surroundings melted away and all that existed in that moment was he and I. I crossed the room to him and he ran to me. I raised my arms and reached for him and we intertwined in a hug that felt like a lifetime coming. I knew right then and there that he was the one for me. I had waited so long to meet him and once I was there with him, everything in the world felt right. Next, he brought his face up to mine…

…and licked me. Yes, this weekend I brought home my new puppy, Casey. And yes, it was love at first sight, I’m not exaggerating. From the car ride to the airport, from the plane back to the car, in those first few hours we made our connection and formed a permanent bond. Me to him and him to me. I’m in love with his puppy breath, his oversized paws, his tiny, sharp teeth and his fuzzy fur. He looks like a golden marshmallow and has a personality to match. I’m in heaven.

Of course, my almost-seven-year-old had something to say about this new love. She commented that I’m paying so much attention to him and treating him like a baby. I replied that he is in fact a baby, only 8 weeks old. She corrected herself that I treat him like a human baby.

Obviously, a little jealous, but if you think kids grow up fast, try raising a puppy. By the time you turn around, they’re full grown. And cute of course, but surely not like a puppy. I can’t get enough of the puppy phase of watching him crash into walls, uncontrolled spinouts and slides on the tile floor, endless curiosity regarding every nook and cranny of my home, chasing his tail, trying to catch a lizard, attempting to navigate up the stairs, and even watching his sheer joy as he chases five kids in the backyard.

And the thing about a dog is he gives you unconditional love. Where else do you find that? Surely not from your children who swear to disown you when you embarrass them. Or from your husband who gets pissed when you don’t do things exactly as he would. Every human relationship has conditions that must be met to receive love. With a dog, just feed him, play with him, love him, and take good care of him and his heart is yours forever. It’s a beautiful thing.

So maybe I’m choosing to overlook the three am walks and the poop on the floor because I didn’t get him out soon enough. I know I’m overlooking the chewing and vet bills and all the other responsibilities that goes along with having a dog. To be home to walk him and make sure he’s looked after when I go on vacation. Cleaning his teeth, his ears, his coat. Vacuuming up the tumbleweeds of fur. Training him to be an upstanding dog who listens to commands, sits when asked and doesn’t hump the guests. It’s just like taking care of another baby, which I swore I never would. At least the human kind.

Alas, it’s just one more task I’ve added to my daily to-do list, but it’s worth it. If you’re still not convinced, stop on over and to meet my new boy. He’s already warmed over some of the neighborhood chickens who ran from dogs before. In fact, they’re going to be our newest pet sitters next time we go away. Feel free to get in line...I know we'll need it.

Kiss your man

The other day I was astounded to learn that many of my friends didn’t kiss their husbands anymore. I’m not talking the polite-on-the-cheek kind of passing kiss. I’m talking the deep, passionate, tongue-mashing-tongue French kiss kind of kiss. The kind of kiss that probably draws each couple together in the initial “oh yeah!” of courtship. The kind of kiss girls all dream of sharing when we were still young enough to fantasize about what that kiss would feel like but not old enough to try it. Or if we did try it, it was sloppy and awkward with teeth scraping and confused tongues lashing about trying to connect at a unison speed.

I love kissing. Short kisses, long kisses. Fast kisses, slow kisses. Kisses on my neck and behind my ear. Kisses on my lips. Teasing kisses. Long, luxurious, leisurely kisses. Fast, passionate, desperate kisses. I like to kiss a lot. Maybe that’s just my nature but as surprised as my friends were to learn that I kiss Maverick that way after work still was in the same vein for me to learn that they did not.

It got me thinking about how does that make your man feel? And what else have you given up along the way. I know when months stretch into years in a relationship, it’s easy to let those things go. Careers, kids and responsibilities get in the way and we make time for more pressing needs. But if you think back to what brought you two together in the first place, wasn’t passion a major component of your connection?

Sure, we all looked for the boy from a good family with a good upbringing and a secure future that could provide for a family. Someone who took notice of our hopes and dreams, with whom we shared interests in common and a made us giggle like school girls. But wasn’t chemistry and passion and sex and kissing a part of it too? And if so, why do we let that integral part of that connection go so easily?

We’re great at finding all his flaws and pointing out and bitching about what’s he’s not doing for us, or how he doesn’t do what he used to do. But what about what we stopped doing for him? Let’s face it—as much as we still need to hear we’re beautiful and desired after all these years, he still needs to feel handsome and sexy too. Our men don’t just go to strip clubs to look at the girls, they go for the feeling they get when they’re slathered with the female’s attention too. And truthfully, he’d rather get it from you, I’d bet.

So go brush your teeth, gargle with Scope and lay a wet one on him. Now. For no reason. You may be pleasantly reminded just how damn good it makes you feel, too.

Rekindling Old Facebook Friendships

The other day I was sent a friend request on Facebook by a woman with whom I went to high school. She fondly remembered me from a class we both were in and even had some lovely photos of my very 80s self, which she happily shared. I found it utterly fascinating that this woman had such recollection of my high school days for which I did not. I actually felt badly that I had left an impression on her and even after a cow-poke to my brain, I failed to form a single cohesive memory of her.

And then I had to remind an old friend on Facebook of all our junior high school antics. Missy lived across the street from me and we spent much of our junior high school years palling around. She didn't remember the Jordache jeans we wore so tightly that it required a hanger through the zipper to close the fly. I was stunned that she didn't recall sneaking my mother's cigarettes and teaching ourselves how to inhale. We did these things together....yet I remembered it and she did not. Maybe I didn't make such a strong impression on my friend either.

The funny thing about Facebook is that all the reconnections we make there remind us not only of how many friends have come and gone in lives, but also that there was probably a good reason we let so many of these friendships lapse.

At first I attempted to rekindle some of the previously important friendships. I felt strongly that the core people I cared about would still have relevancy to me now, even if our friendship existed a dozen or more years ago. But those efforts proved to be fruitless endeavors. Some friendships just died off because of distance or circumstance. Some faded because we went off in different directions. And others were just not people I want to be friends with anymore. It was a sad realization for me.

If Facebook has been “good” for anything, it is for the few strong connections I’ve resparked again and that was worth it. When we’re young, it was all about quantity. Now, it’s all about quality. Every now and then, we’re lucky to find a friend we somehow lost our way with and reconnect in a meaningful way. The rest of them on Facebook are just Web 2.0, social networking cotton-candy. Light and fluffy and not much substance.

Just because it's a convenient time to call...

I'm in a mood right now, so bear with me. I have a simple statement to make about the phone and it goes a little something like this: Just because it's a convenient time for you to call, doesn't mean it's a convenient time for me to answer.

I get such shit from my friends because I'm terrible with the phone. That's me. Accept me, please, warts and all. I commute two hours a day and that's my phone time. Maverick will tell ya my cell phone bill is through the roof and I could support my shoe habit if I only laid off the cell.

I love to talk on the phone, really, but only between the hours of getting to work and driving home from work. So if you can't catch me then...try texting me.

Yes, sometimes I do hear you on my answering machine, calling out for me: "Tray, I know you're there; pick up the phone." But you have to understand that by the time I walk in door after being gone for almost twelve hours, walked into the insanity that exists with two screaming kids who are thrilled to see me, I've got to go to the bathroom, I've got to get these kids to bed, I'm starving; I'm tired; Mavrick's probably complaining about something I had forgotten to do that day; there's mail to read, previously a dog to walk and feed, and well, the last thing I feel like doing is talking on the phone.

That would require me to stop all of those things above and sit down to listen to what you have to say. And I want to hear what you have to say. I don't want to give you the "uh huh, uh huh" because what kind of friend would that be?

Sometimes I do answer the phone, even when I'm busy because I feel guilty; then I rush you off in sixty seconds anyway with a plea that I'll have to call you later...So what's the point of that?

Also, there's nothing more annoying than when I do sit down to talk and I've got to listen to your screaming kids in the background. So, there's another thing: please don't call me if you can't control your kids.

I don't mind the occasional "Dear, please put your dishes in the sink after you finish your snack". I'm talking about the girlfriends who can't finish a sentence or let me get my thought out before she interrupts sixteen times to reprimand a child who's grabbing the phone out of her hand or are such out-of-control lunatics that I just can't hear you on the other end.

Seriously, whatever you called about most likely isn't that important right that minute! Can't it just wait until 7am the next morning, while I'm on my way to Starbucks?

Sentimental junk

Every girlfriend holds on to things long past its expiration date. From a favorite pair of skinny jeans tucked away until it fits another day to that tube of pink lipstick we can’t stop wearing, sometimes it’s just so hard to say goodbye.

I’ve been chastised for this infamous “Brown Swimsuit” I used to love. It was the perfect combination—a well-fitted bottom that hid all that needed to be covered down below and an equally well-fitted top that accentuated the sisters. Apparently, it was well past its expiration date. Turned sour, really. I haven’t worn that swimsuit in more than a full year, but I’m still harassed to burn it. It’s the (I really liked it!)

The funny part is that I save not only the things I love but also the stuff that doesn’t make sense to keep. And I’m not sure why I’m such packrat, but most girls are. I’ve been known to stash a few things away in a drawer, waiting patiently to be resurrected.

Okay maybe a lot of things.

I have a drawer (or few) crammed with lip glosses, tampons, a recipe torn from a magazine, a notepad, pens in a rainbow of colors, Astroglide, several tubes of trial-sized lotions, a crayon, an appointment card from 2005, six ponytail holders, and some kids’ jewelry. Then there’s an overflowing drawer stuffed with belts and neck scarves (did anyone wear them outside of Dallas?); old costume jewelry that may come back in style in another decade or two, a scrap paper for a playdate with a mother I can’t remember, a dog collar (?), an exercise video, sparkly hair clips, at least a dozen gel inserts for my bras and oh, yeah, more tampons! (Does everyone stash them as strategically as I do around their bedrooms?) Not to mention the “Pocketbook Graveyard” cabinets either. I won’t even get into that!

Some items I’ve saved are ridiculous; it’s the lazy Tracy that forces me to save things such as the half-used tube of airline-sized toothpaste. For the flight I may take in the future, I’ll think “there’s no sense in tossing it.” Instead, I’ll stash away on my desk. It never made it back in the bathroom since the last trip. It’s here on my desk because when I put it there (laziness, remember?), I figured the next time I’d need it, I wouldn’t forget it because I so obviously left it on my desk. Of course, this was not the tube of toothpaste I brought on my last trip, because it got buried amongst all the other crap on my desk. (So it obviously wasn’t obvious!)

Some of the “junk” is worth saving because of its sentimental value. Such as the first Valentine my husband wrote or my kid’s first birthday card. Unfortunately, somewhere along the road of sentimentality, I swung far to the left of center and transformed into a pack rat. I started hording. It’s not just the cards from my husband that I’ve saved. Actually, it’s every card anyone has ever sent to me since my mid-twenties. (And that was quite awhile ago!) Yes, you heard me right. If you are my friend and have ever sent me a birthday card, invitation, birth announcement, holiday photo, postcard, get well card, flower arrangement, gift through the internet, or even a thank you note, I have it cataloged away for safekeeping.

My friend Indie is totally on board with this concept. She just spent an entire day, a completely kid-free Saturday (well, okay, she doesn’t have kids yet), a whole afternoon to conduct an archaeological dig in her guest bedroom closet which stores her troves of sentimental “junk”. I am not exaggerating when I use the term “archaeological dig.” Indie could reconstruct her entire past—every old boyfriend, every injury, and travel destination, she had experienced for a major portion of her early adulthood years—through the careful examination of her collection of junk.

And as an avid junk collector and professional archaeologist myself, I enjoyed our long conversation on the guided tour of Indie’s past. It was hilarious and some of the random stuff she had saved from me, I could actually remember it too. It was a trip down Indie’s memory lane.

Every so often, we all seem compelled to clean out our closets. I’m good for a spring cleaning (and full examination, of course) about every two to three years. But it seems we’re all doing that more often now as we start to approach our 40s. Forty isn’t here yet, but I just passed the exit ramp warning sign that read “40—2 miles.” So perhaps it’s that awareness that pushes us to clean out our memory closet, dust off our favorite things and reexamine both what it meant to us then and how it fits us now.

Indie, my soul sister, and I may be a bit extreme. Not just in the collecting part but the re-examining, inspecting, finding new meaning part. Some girls don’t save quite to that extent. And I know a few who have tossed out most of their junk. They were able to say, “that was then and this is now” and out it goes with the baby’s bath water.

Sometimes we save our junk because we want to hold on to our past. Sometimes we save it to remind ourselves how far we’ve come. Either way, sometimes you just need the closet space.