Is Vegemite Actually Edible?

Last weekend, Dallas received a postcard in the mail announcing the planned February nuptials of his sister. Tuesday, we booked our flights to...

NEW ZEALAND

Excited doesn't begin to describe my feelings about this. Besides the obvious plus of meeting his family, I'm looking forward to seeing the southern sky for the first time. I know that it must sound ridiculous but I can't wait to have a look at the constellations south of the equator. I hear the beaches are fabulous, too. And it will be their summer. Which means shorts. And possibly a bathing suit.

Okay. I'm not going to let myself get all freaked out by that last thing because I'm going to

NEW ZEALAND !!!

Wearing My Emotions

This weekend, we had our office Christmas party. I know that many of you are rolling your eyes because often, these kinds of events are their own special brand of torture. Believe me. I have been there, too. Ours is a bit different, though.

Because we are a relatively small company, we have this intimate affair with great food, wine and some sort of live music. Last year there was a harpist. This year, we had four musicians playing Christmas carols on violin. It is low key, tasteful and very, very conservative. The men dress in suit and tie and the women are just one Spanx garment shy of a ball gown. This year, I asked Dallas to be my date. Gulp.

Besides being a great sport about shucking on a suit, Dallas allowed himself to be introduced and scrutinized by the thirty odd people at our event. They had all heard of him, knew he rode and had seen up close that I was crazy about him. In the four and a half years that I have worked for this company, I have never once showed any real interest in a man so it was only natural that my work family would be interested to lay eyes on this "Harley" guy. He was charming, attentive and a perfect gentleman. I was thrilled to be there with him.

Later that night, we went on to a local club with Steph the Magnificent and her husband. After a few cocktails, it was decided that the four of us would try to get to a Nascar event sometime next year. Steph promised me that I wouldn't have to flash my boobs and just like that, my metamorphosis into a southern Republican began.(NOT!)

Yesterday, those of us in the local office were gathered around the water cooler rehashing the party. The girls told me how happy I looked and that Dallas and I made a cute couple. I gushed like a school girl, of course because I don't seem to have an emotional off switch where he is concerned. Then, this delivery arrived:



It seems that Dallas was thinking of me and wanted me to know. The bouquet was lovely but it was the card that made me misty. One of the girls in the office whispered to me that I "wear love well".

And truthfully, this is the singular instance in my life where I could care less that I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve.

The Exhale

God, I'm happy.

I have always been able to laugh pretty easily but these days, I'm downright giddy.

What has struck me lately is that I feel content. So what, right? Who cares about contentment? Well, I'm not sure that I have ever been content before. I've certainly had extended periods of happiness. I've experienced joy and peace but there has always been this quality of restlessness about me. Foot-tapping, onto the next idea, breathless, agitated, unfocused, can't-put-my-finger-on-it unease.

For years, everything I owned would fit into a backpack so that at a moment's notice, I could bolt if I had to. I have lived in this one horse town city for seven and a half years. It's the longest that I have hung my hat in any single place ever. EVER. Like, as in forty years ever. And the strangest thing is that I like it. I am content here.

I suppose that happiness is a choice that we make each day but it is so much easier to pick that option when all facets of life are working together in harmony. Some people keep gratitude journals, some carry gratitude stones and still others blog their blessings on a daily basis. Regardless of the methodology, I'm convinced that a sustained, conscious and focused effort on the positive is life changing.

Shit happens. Yes.

But when it hits the fan, it's comforting to know that I've got more than one umbrella to weather the storm.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I have been a good girl this year. I did not maim my ex husband and most times, I was able to greet him with a smile. I made an effort not travel as heavily this year and sure enough, my children no longer panic when I leave to go grocery shopping. I kept three houseplants alive and there are enough weeds in my flower bed to confirm that I am capable of nurturing something more than a grudge. I ate my loathsome vegetables. And I flossed.

Please see this year's wish list below. Please note that the usual requests: world peace, an end to human suffering and the impeachment of Dubya, should be considered understood and thus, they are not included.

1. I would like a blank cheque for the plastic surgeon. Now I know that this might be viewed as a hefty request but really, if one is going to receive Botox, what's a little Restylane to fill in the crevices? And if I have to be anesthetized to receive lipo, doesn't it just make sense to keep me under a wee bit longer and give the girls a make over? ECONOMIES OF SCALE, I tell you. Is it too much to ask to be able to see my abdominal muscles again without the benefit of an MRI?

2. I would like an inground pool. When it is 120 degrees outside and the humidity is 99%, I find that it is difficult to be reasonable. Can you wiggle your nose or snap your fingers and find some way to get it installed without having to dig up my back yard or rip down my fence? And while you're back there, would you mind planting a tree that I can't kill? Maybe something like a cactus would work because apparently, two sugar maples, a dogwood and a Bradford pear require watering and who the hell has time for that?

3. I would like one week at a luxurious beachfront resort with Dallas, preferably after healing from the plastic surgery. (see item #1)

4. I would like a personal chef. I have come to accept the fact that my idea of domestic bliss is to outsource the dirty work. My yard is mowed and my house is cleaned by other people. It only stands to reason that the final barrier to total sloth be breached. The candidate should understand that sometimes, he will be required to double as a short order cook because my children have never met a box of mac and cheese that they didn't love.

5. I would like the opportunity to be fifteen again for one day. There are several reasons for this. First of all, I'd like to sit my teenage self down and veto the decision to start smoking since all of those years contributed to the vain need for Botox. Second, I'd tell her to take a cab instead of accepting a ride home from that creep in the donut shop. Finally, I'd like to crawl into her body just once more to see what ten hours of unbroken sleep feel like.

Well, Santa. That's it. I realize that there are some tall orders on that list but I have confidence in you. By the way, my dentist has recently informed me that I will require a crown and a possible root canal so if you happen to see the Tooth Fairy in your travels, would you mind sending her my way? It's obvious that I have somehow pissed her off and I'd like to apologize. Thanks!

The First Stirrings

After a completely indulgent weekend including beer, wine and a veritable carb festival, I got on my scale to find that I was down nearly two pounds.

So let me get this straight.

I limit my carbohydrate intake to sniffing the air at the local bakery, workout until I vomit my spleen and I get to gain a pound OR I eat and drink like a toga clad Roman and I lose weight. Yes, that makes perfect sense....if you live on Fantasy Island.

The only conclusion that I can reach is that my scale is possessed by a lithium-popping, filthy, lying, whore named Cybil.

Anyway, the weekend was fantastic. Dallas and I spent it doing mundane things like an ordinary couple and it was the best time I've had in months. We cooked, shopped and went out with friends. The definitive high point of the weekend was meeting Brandon and his wife, Erin. Wow. They have got to be two of the smartest people on the planet. Several times during the evening, the four of us were howling with laughter.

Besides the fact that Brandon could pass for a Canadian in his mannerisms and his dress, he further endeared himself to me because he married Erin. She is warm, sharp and she makes no apologies for her opinions. After years as a designer in the theatre business, Erin elected to go back to school to complete her degree in architecture. She can spell and she's got a great eye for all things creative. NOT FAIR. Best part is that Erin has agreed to join us on "Girls' Night Out: The Road Trip". And the mix just keeps improving...

They were just awesome and I look forward to getting to know them.

Late Sunday afternoon, Dallas dropped me back at my house and as I watched him pull out of my drive, I realized that my defenses had disappeared. I think the scientific term is smitten.

After four years of self-imposed exile from the dating pool, a girl can become remarkably comfortable with the idea of spending the rest of her life alone. She tells herself that it isn't so bad because after all, the kids need her and that floor really could use a good washing. She doesn't have to consult the TV guide to know which shows are on and she spends hours on the phone with family and friends catching up on the minutiae of their lives. She tells herself that she owes it to her children to remain free from entanglements because the stain of her failed marriage is still vivid. But there is a difference between being alone and being lonesome. Eventually the day comes when that line gets crossed and she will open up her mind to the possibility of being involved with a man again.

Thank God for eHarmony. Dallas and I joke that we'll be making a commercial for them one day. Nobody knows what the future will bring but today, I'm liking our odds.