Good Idea Gone Wrong

ExcitedI get very animated when I have a good idea, and when I think it’s a great idea, my heart flutters in excitement – a rush of euphoria flows through my veins, a smile spreads on my face and I can’t wait to tell someone.  Yesterday, I had a great idea at work.

I’ve been working on a project that includes planning activities for the company.  I had been struggling with one inparticular until a Google search ended with a “Eureka!” moment.  It was the perfect activity. 

My co-workers were going to love me.  I imagined the day I announced the activity, they would run over to my cube to give me high-fives.  When I entered conference rooms for meetings, they would all stand in spontaneous applause, cheering, whistling and chanting my name.  I was going to be a hero.

I sat at my desk with a goofy grin on my face frantically typing up the proposal and guidelines of the activity.  Midway through, I couldn’t contain myself.  I dialed Peter’s number. 

*ring* *ring* *ring*

Damn, he’s not there.  His calendar says he’s free.  Where is he?!

I stood up to look around, thanking God I am tall enough to see over the cube walls.  I immediately spotted him talking to a co-worker.  I hurriedly grabbed my document from the printer and headed over to him.

One of the most awkward things at work is when someone lurks.  Yet, I do it all the time.  I stand a few feet from a cube waiting for someone’s conversation to finish.  What I have to say is not important enough to interrupt but I want nothing more than to interrupt.  So I stand there, shuffling my feet around, occasionally staring hoping they’ll notice. 

They didn’t notice.

I sulked back to my cube to send Peter an email instead. Continue reading


Plumber’s Butt

Tom doesn’t understand why I wear high waisted jeans.  As I documented in my post Mom Jeans, I am constantly tugging at my pants to pull them higher.  It’s a terrible habit – one that drives Tom absolutely batty.  He just doesn’t understand the woes of having an unnaturally long butt crack.  It runs in my family.

Anyways, he took a picture of me the other day from behind to try to illustrate that I don’t need the high waist.  My twenty year old self didn’t think I needed a high waist either.  And look at where it got me.


This is me, my junior of college.  I insisted on wearing the lowest rise jeans I could fine.  The result was constant plumbers butt.

This is me, my junior of college. I insisted on wearing the lowest rise jeans I could fine. The result was constant plumbers butt.


And here is the picture he took the other day. 

Tom showed me this picture immediately followed with reasons why I should wear lower waist jeans.  The main one being I don't have children.

Tom showed me this picture immediately followed with reasons why I should wear lower waist jeans. The main one being I don’t have children.

My butt crack tucked safely away makes me happy. 

I wasn’t even mad he took the photo to tease me.  In fact, I was delighted he took this photo.  I’ve been working out since July, and this picture made me happy with the progress.  Just maybe, when I decide to reward myself with “goal jeans”, I’ll opt for midrise. 

*If you’re curious about the jersey I’m wearing, it’s a Notre Dame jersey.  I am a huge fan and cannot wait for the National Championship game.  Go Irish!

Thirty No More

Tomorrow I turn 31.  It’s the birthday I have dreaded.  It means I am officially in my thirties.  While I spent the last 364 days as a thirty year old, I could always say “Well, last year in my twenties…”  I don’t think I ever uttered that sentence, but it was in my back pocket if needed.  It was comforting to think that my twenties were still in the rearview mirror.   

Thirty being a milestone birthday deserved a big party.  I celebrated mine with a Pilgrims and Indian themed birthday party.   I remember looking around that night at my group of friends, who had no shame going to a bar with giant Indian head dresses and Pilgrim hats, thinking how lucky I was to be surrounded by so many wonderful friends.   People stared.  We laughed.  It was a great way to celebrate the next decade.  But what I didn’t know at the time, is it was the last hurrah for that group of friends.  All of our lives were changing.  Marriages happened, babies were born and I moved to the suburbs.  Our lives that were once so closely woven had loosened so that only a few pieces remain intact.  Those few pieces – my best friends Evelyn, Jack and Tom – were with me on Saturday to celebrate 31. 

I met Evelyn and Jack through my sister Lana.  It would take a few years for us to become best friends but when we needed each other most, our friendship evolved.  In 2009, each of us were having shitty years.  Within months, Jack broke up with his partner of 7 years, Evelyn’s father was diagnosed with cancer, my mom was diagnosed with cancer, and to top it off, our common bond was leaving – Lana was moving to Canada.  In a few short months, it seemed our lives were falling apart.  But rather than let ourselves fall, Evelyn, Jack and I found comfort in each other.  We distracted ourselves with laughs over bottles of wine, late night dinners and companionship.  We did everything together.  It was rare to find one of us without the other. 

I met Tom at work.  We were both starting a new job and sat next to each other at orientation.  I introduced myself eager to make a work friend.  He was not as eager.  He and I crossed paths every day at work but it would be four years until our first date. 

It was Evelyn who pointed out the chemistry between Tom and me after a work happy hour.  She was right.  I couldn’t get him out of my head.  He was the type of man I had always dreamed of dating – smart, kind, interesting, funny and handsome.  He was perfect.  A few months later, he asked me out. 

The night before our first date Evelyn came over for a typical Friday night – Scrabble and a bottle of wine.  We were perched at my table gossiping when Jack texted.  A guy he was dating stood him up, and he was in the dumps.  Evelyn and I told him to come over and to bring more wine.  It was no different than it was during those infamous shitty months in 2009, the three of us would do anything for each other.  Jack was at my door in ten minutes.  We sat on the couch comforting each other and laughing within minutes.  We had an impromptu dance party in my living room that night, not a care in the world while we drank ourselves silly.   The next morning I woke up to see Evelyn and Jack passed out on the couch like the perfect friends they were.  And just like I didn’t know it on my 30th birthday, this night was a sort of last hurrah for Evelyn, Jack and myself.  You see, I was 29 and that night, Tom and I had our first date.  I fell in love with the man I will someday marry. 

As much as I never wanted the dynamic to change between Evelyn, Jack and me, it did.  I started spending more time with Tom.  I wasn’t in the city as much.  I was missing the nightly walks and random texts to meet for drinks.  And while we still emailed religiously every day, things were different.  Evelyn and Jack remained a constant in each other’s lives, while I floated in and out. 

I dreaded the night I told Evelyn I was moving out to the suburbs permanently.  Continue reading

The Intruder

When Tom and I were coming home from the grocery store on Saturday, we noticed an odd car parked in the street in front of our house. I instantly assumed we were getting robbed because I have an irrational fear of home invasions.  I have read too many crime stories and watched too many documentaries on murderers.  I will never forget watching the testimony of the BTK killer who said he waited in one of his victims closets until she was asleep to make his move.   It terrified me.  When I lived alone, I checked every closet and the shower every day.  If someone was in there, I wanted to get it over with.  And even now, I live with Tom, but the fear is still there.  I have tried to tell myself I’m overreacting but isn’t having an irrational fear what that’s all about – overreacting?

 “Do you think it’s robbers?” I asked Tom. 

 “Don’t be ridiculous, Elyse.”  Tom looked at me and smiled.  He has always embraced my neurosis.

 I stopped short of the garage as the door opened to let Tom out.  As soon as he had one leg out, he started yelling.  “Oh no!  Oh no!  Oh god!”

 “What?! What do you see?”  I was looking around frantically.  I couldn’t see anything.  Is this it?

“Stay in the car, Elise!”  Tom jumped out of the car and started running into the garage waving his arms frantically and yelling.  And that’s when I saw what he saw – an unnaturally large rodent with webbed feet, rabbit teeth and a rat tail.   It was slowly waddling into our garage. 

“What is that thing?”  I yelled out my window.  I had never seen anything like it. 

“I think it’s a woodchuck.”  Tom replied coming to the car to hand me a rake.  He had opted for a large broom.  We were both shaking.

This is what it looked like – we think it’s a beaver. I have only one picture and it’s on Tom’s phone so this is going to have to do.

“Hmm, that’s not what I imagined a woodchuck looking like…what are we going to do? I’m scared.”

“Elyse, we have to get it out of here but first we have to find it.”  The intruder had found its way into the junk pile of the garage.  While our house is spotless, the garage had become storage despite our large unfinished basement. 

We started poking around in the piles of stuff.  I was stomping and banging the rake on the floor to try to scare it.  Tom wasn’t amused at my antics. 

 “Elyse, get serious.  We have to get this thing out.” 

 “I am serious but I’m scared.  What if it has rabies?” Continue reading