The ghost of St. Patrick's past

So, in the spirit of yesterday's holiday, I was reminded of past St. Patrick's Days and how different life is for me now.

Picture it: March 17, 2000? Not sure of the year, but it was a Saturday. We had beautiful weather; 70s, sunny. I had a pretty good idea who I was with that day... until my sister reminded me yesterday that she was, in fact, not with us that day.

Hmm. That completely changes my fuzzy memories of the day altogether.  But who was I with if I wasn't with her?  And, where in the hello was she for such an important holiday?

Aaaanyway, the plan was to meet at a friend's house, drink, take the bus downtown, drink, watch a parade, drink, stay downtown all day, drink, come home. Drink. I believe we did all of that, although I don't remember the parade. Here is what I do remember:

• visiting a lot of bars
• drinking beer
• losing some people we came with
• eating a Reuben at our favorite bar near my apartment
• falling asleep on a pool table at favorite bar

Fast forward to St. Patrick's Day, 2010. I spent it doing the following:

• working
• making dinner
• arguing with a 5-year-old about rules and why we're not going to DQ for ice cream
• falling asleep watching American Idol while said 5-year-old stayed up to watch the entire episode

At least he was able to tell me who was voted off.

Vampires and werewolves and... vampires... and werewolves (oh my!)

So, yeah, I jumped on the Twilight bandwagon.

It's not that I'm a big fan of vampires, although I did enjoy the Anne Rice series back in the day. Twilight was on Showtime one day, so I decided to watch. That was it for me. I ran out the very next day (or a week or so later) and borrowed the book from the library. I'm usually a "read the book, THEN see the movie" kind of girl. But whatever.

I found the movie was pretty true to the book. Aside from different characters saying a particular line or omitting some important details. I read Twilight in a weekend. The house fell apart, the children ran amok, I think my husband left me (or went on a business trip - he said something before he left, but...). Anyway, I couldn't put it down. I was Team Edward all the way. I added the soundtrack to my iPod. I couldn't get enough, so I went right into New Moon.

New Moon was different. It took me longer to get through. I read it over the course of a week (my co-workers have given up trying to talk to me in the lunchroom, I'm constantly surprised/relieved when I remember there are no vampires trying to kill me, and I've left a loaf of white bread and a jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter in case the kids get hungry). New Moon was a great story, even though Edward leaves Bella (for her own safety, of course), which is depressing. But the reader gets to learn more about Jacob. I must admit, I was starting to lean Team Jacob.

No offense to Edward, of course. But, I am halfway through Eclipse and I'm getting pretty tired of him telling Bella what to do all the time. Cut the girl some slack, Edward. I realize there are blood-sucking vampires out to kill her, but you're kind of the reason they're after her. And she has werewolf friends to protect her. Let her live a little.

Sounds to me like she might be in an abusive relationship. He won't let her do things by herself (or, at the very least, she has to ask permission). She has no other life outside of him. She's not allowed to keep her best friend. Plus, she's willing to give up, you know, her human LIFE for him. I think she deserves to go to a cookout without him freaking out.

All that said, I'm still Team Edward. Because, of course, he's the one she's meant to be with. And he's awesome. You know, in an intelligent, brooding, vampire-like way.

What she really needs to do is stay away from the mythical creatures, find herself a nice human boy with a good moral upbringing, have a few babies, grow old and die. You know, like the rest of us.

Obviously, I don't know what happens as I haven't finished the series, but maybe she takes my advice. Maybe she pulls a Kelly Taylor "I choose me", kicks Edward and Jacob to the curb, goes to college, becomes an award-winning author (her stories based loosely on her experiences) and talk show host, finds a nice woman to settle down with (because, clearly, no other man could compare to a vampire or a werewolf), adopts 12 babies from some third world country, grows old and dies.

It could happen.

Eh, Scrabble this

So, I got an iPhone for Christmas. Sort of. What actually happened was:

• my old cell phone broke
• I wasn't due for a new phone until April
• the rest of my siblings all got iPhones for Christmas
• the iPhone looked like fun
• my husband had his old iPhone just lying around

So, I took it. And I gotta admit, it is a fun phone.

I downloaded about 50 unnecessary applications, from MoodSense (which is pretty much the dumbest app out there) to fun games like LineUp and Word Warp.

The boys have had a great time with my phone. Even my 2-year-old knows:

a) which phone is mine and which is Daddy's
b) how to turn it on
c) how to find the games he likes (Paper Toss and the Lightsaber app)

As with most things, of course, the novelty wears off. I don't like some features of the phone. I still hate that the phone doesn't have buttons, so I never text correctly. I appreciate autocorrect, but I'm also annoyed by it. Sometimes I misspell things on purpose and should be allowed to do so without the spell check police. I know you can turn it off, but, like I said, I appreciate it (see: I never text correctly).

Anyway, it went back to just being a phone for me. Until my sister told me to download Words With Friends. Which is Scrabble. With friends. Who have iPhones.

I thought this was a great game for me. I have my Bachelor's Degree in English, I'm fairly well read, I have a word of the day emailed to me every day. I am smart enough to make words out of letters.

I have never felt so dumb in my life.

In the 4 games my sister and I have played, I've only won once. And it's never even close. She beats the pants off me every time. She's an expert at using the double and triple letters to gain 50 points with one 3-letter word.

I hate her a little bit.

This last game, she played the word meze, for 70 points. What the hello is meze? According to dictionary.com, the word doesn't exist, so I should be able to call foul, but the damgame (a word my iPhone would have autocorrected) allowed it.

My brother has a theory she has another app installed on her phone that provides her words with the letters she has in her queue. I wholeheartedly agree. Because she's a cheater. Normally, her cheating is to my advantage as I'm usually on her team, but when she's playing against me, it's bullsheet (another word that would've been autocorrected).

Anyway, I played a game with my husband. In the beginning, we were fairly even. He had some pretty good words, giving him 20+ points each time. I am now losing to him.

Screw Scrabble.

Benjamin Bratt ain't got nothin' on this cleaner

So, I'm Greek, right? It is in our nature to speak our minds (loudly), to cook with abandon (and without recipes, which is annoying) (needless to say, this gene skipped over me entirely), to spit on people in order to ward off evil spirits, and, in my family, to clean.

I was taught early on how to clean. My mother is a cleaner. Growing up, both her parents worked, so she and my aunt used to spend their Saturdays cleaning the house. They would each have "sides" of the house to clean, and, when they were done, they would invite the other over for tea. Or baklava.

It's real dedication when you can make cleaning a game.

After she married, my mother made it her life's work to keep a clean home for her family. She went to great lengths, including yelling (see: speak our minds (loudly)) at us to clean our rooms. After a while, we were so used to the yelling, she began to sound like Charlie Brown's teacher, bless her heart.

So, fine. Teaching me to clean didn't mean I listened back then. My room growing up was a disaster. I was a big fan of leaving piles of clothes on my floor all week. You couldn't even see the floor, it was so bad. And, on the weekends, I would heave the entire pile down the laundry shoot.

Saturdays were my mother's favorite day of the week. Yeah, not really (see: speak our minds (loudly)).

The summer I was 14, my mom and sister went to Greece for 6 weeks. Before Mom escaped, she left me strict instructions to clean the house, do the laundry, water the plants, iron my dad's shirts, etc. Basically be my father's and brothers' (and grandfather's) bitch for the next 6 weeks.

Let me tell you, boys are gross. And it really sucks to clean up after them all the time. They are not capable of aiming their little things at the toilet bowl. How hard can it be? My brothers were 16 and 12 at the time, so not children, but apparently not old enough to know when they dribbled on the BATHROOM FLOOR! Anyway, I was very grateful to my mother when she returned. I'll tell ya, I never cleaned the house as well as she did. The second day she was home, the house already looked and felt better. I knew then I was way out of my league.

20 years later, I still clean the way I learned at 14. Bleach and Lysol are my friends, not my enemies (even though I admit I hate when bleach gets on my colors and Lysol still reminds me of being sick). My friends constantly make fun of me for saying I have to clean. But, it is who we are. We clean. And since we're stuck in this winter wonderland from hell, I spent my day cleaning the house. Sweeping floors, dusting, washing clothes, cleaning dambathrooms. I feel so much better.

For the record? Boys are still gross. I share a home with my husband and 2 sons. I am outnumbered and scared to death of my boys becoming teenagers. I can't really get mad at my 5-year-old for missing the bowl... mostly because he doesn't use the master bath. And, in defense of my husband, he did offer to clean the toilets.

As much as I'd love to take him up on that, he also said he'd wash the floors and the shower weekly and those things are only done on holidays (like Leap Day). Plus, he'd never do a good enough job. No offense to him, I'd feel that way about anyone cleaning my house.

Well, except my mother. So, if she wants to come over to clean my bathroom, I'll be more than happy to let her. I have the bleach and Lysol waiting for you, Mom.

Mom? Please??

God, I hate winter

So I made it through January. Barely.

We're on the 4th day of February and I think I'm going to lose it.

I'll admit we had it pretty good in January. There weren't very many bitterly cold days, the snow was at a minimum. I kind of figured we were over the hump. The days are already getting longer... we've made it through the snowiest month (historically speaking)... Spring is on its way, right? Right?

But then that damn groundhog. Can't he just, for once, not see his effin' shadow? You know, if you believe that kind of thing. I honestly don't know if that little rat is accurate. All I know is that I heard 6 more weeks of winter-like weather and wanted to kill someone.

(But, in my defense, I would only kill someone who really deserved it. Like the guy who cut me off the other day or my brother who left the toilet seat up in MY. OWN. BATHROOM.)

Okay, so maybe I have that Seasonal Affective Disorder. I'm SAD. I always thought it was a made up disease, like Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or Mononucleosis (which are just a fancy words for lazy).

I had a friend who would get "happy pills" every winter from his doctor. I'm liking that idea. Who doesn't want happy pills? I have been eating oranges for weeks now, thinking the citrus scent might fool my brain into thinking we're in Florida or something. It kind of works, too. But then I look outside and see the stupid snow. A pill may be just what I need to forget I live in Cleveland - a city that gives its inhabitants about 30 days of sunlight a year.

Speaking of sunlight, I was at the vitamin store yesterday and the man behind the counter went on a 10-minute tirade about the importance of Vitamin D (which is provided by the sun, by the way). Apparently, there's an epidemic of Vitamin D deficiency in the world. I told him I take a multivitamin and he went off again, telling me my multivitamin isn't giving me nearly enough Vitamin D.

(sidenote: I've heard this speech before - that a multivitamin doesn't give you nearly enough of the vitamins you need. So, what is its purpose exactly?)

This man boasted that he takes 2,000 (what do they use to measure vitamins? Units?) a day. And the manager said he takes 4,000. I read an article today that says we're supposed to get 5,000 units a day, so even these guys suck. And they have free access to the stuff every day! I should have lied and told him I took 10,000 a day just so I could buy what I wanted and get the hello out of there. Live and learn.

I hear exercise might help get me through the funk. But my idea of exercise in the winter is either running my mouth, channel surfing on TV (after all, we have American Idol and the Bachelor to watch), or dancing in my car.

So, to sum up, the weather sucks, I'm not getting enough vitamins, and I refuse to exercise because everyone else is doing it. I'm screwed.

Oh, eff it. Just give me some chocolate and alcohol and wake me when it's May.

Hotel, motel, Holiday INN!

I will never look at the world the same way. Not after what I've just been through.

So, I spent yesterday with some friends from work. Instead of going skiing for the day, we decided to go bowling and dancing (sorry, Al, but yay for me!). After a few games of bowling (high score of 122 - woo!), we went to a local brewery for dinner. The plan was to go dancing downtown, but I knew, if we did, we were going to lose our group. My girlfriend's friend was going to a Holiday Inn to go dancing, so she suggested we meet up with her.

(sound of record scratching) Hold on a sec. Holiday Inn? As in the hotel? Was I missing something? Since when did the Holiday Inn become the hot spot? Looked like I was going to find out.

After leaving the rest of our group, my friend and I made our way to the Holiday Inn. I had prepared myself for a quiet piano bar, older people drinking scotch or brandy.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

I was dumbfounded. The place was packed, the disco ball spinning, the dance floor filled with middle-aged (non)dancers shaking their groove thangs. Lots of balding guys wearing silk shirts unbuttoned to their navels, gold chains proudly hanging from their thick hairy necks. Women in brightly colored dresses, high heels.  Boobs all over the place. I think I saw a few nipples. Did I mention there were boobs? Everywhere?

Boobs. Everywhere.

I needed a drink. I needed 2 drinks.

We made our way over to the group. They were there celebrating a 40th birthday. I'll tell ya, this is where I'm coming for my birthday. And my sister's birthday. And every friend's birthday this year. The music wasn't bad. I had my drinks in hand, groovin' to the music. I could see this becoming my new hangout. I was even carded on our way in. My guess is it was because I was under 60, but I was not complaining.

I was drinking the Kool-Aid until the band came out. Picture 60-year-old wannabe... um, not sure what they wanted to be. They started their set with a Dr. Dre song. Really? These guys were white. And old. Do they even know who Dr. Dre is? But, I have to admit, they could rap better than me and I fancy myself a pretty awesome rapper. So, I went along with it. That required a few more drinks. Because, after a few songs, they slowed it down. Which was a good thing because those boobs needed a break.

"Always and foreva... each moment witchoo... it's just like a dream to me..." Yikes. If that wasn't bad enough, they then played some Kenny G. Who was this band anyway? I prayed for them to go on break again so we could hear the DJ play some fun music.

While we waited, I made friends with some people at my table. A man and his girlfriend (surprisingly, both under the age of 60), told me they'd been here before. I was instructed to wait until later when the transvestites come out. They also told stories of the Asian prostitution ring infiltrating the hotel. (I never saw the transvestites, but I believe I danced next to a group of Asian prostitutes) What a fun and interesting place. I am totally coming here again next week.

The DJ came out and we danced some more. Boobs. Everywhere. I was sure one lady was going to give herself a black eye. Another woman's top was so tight and squished her girls up so far, she had created a chin rest. For everyone dancing near her.

Yeah. Boobs. Everywhere.

Additionally, the place was swarming with 80-year-old security/bouncer-type people. I had already gotten into trouble for having my drink out on the dance floor. Now there was a man up on stage, arms crossed, trying to look menacing, but I think he was more worried about falling off the stage and breaking a hip.  I know I was worried for him.

But, I will be forever grateful to the 70-year-old man who taught me a new line dance last night. I wouldn't be this person today if weren't for you. And the Holiday Inn.

I might recover someday.

Only thing we have to fear is fear itself

So, over the past couple weeks, there's been one commercial constantly running on TV. It's a preview for the movie, The Lovely Bones. Years ago, my sister tried to get me to read the book, but after learning it was about a ghost, I was all, "Thanks, but... it'll be a cold day in hell before I read that." But anyway, this commercial has a creepy girl saying stupid shit like:

"My name is Suzy. I was 14 years old... when I was MURDERED!"

Dude, shut UP. She's dead, right? Does she not know that she scares the crap out of me? And the damn commercial is on ALL. THE. TIME. God. It was on the other night while I was watching TV in bed and then, of course, I couldn't fall asleep.

I think you can gather that I have a fear of ghosts. It started a long time ago when I saw an awful movie called The Exorcist. I was 10, we were in California, visiting family. I have no idea what possessed (ahh! possession is what scares me!) us to watch this movie, but I didn't sleep for a week. And my brother (older brother, I might add) slept on the floor of my parents' bedroom for the rest of that trip (sorry, (brother), for giving away your secret).

Aaanyway, so yeah, ghosts. Or rather, mean-spirited ghosts/demons who want to possess us.

But this commercial got me thinking about my other fears. When I was younger, I had about a million of them. Thunderstorms (or more specifically, the tornado that would tear up our house and kill us), men with facial hair (all men with facial hair are hiding something), meatloaf (you can't trust a loaf made of meat).

Over the years, I have conquered most of these fears. I saw the movie Twister and decided if those people can get that close to a tornado and not get sucked up and die, I'm certainly not going to die. Facial hair? Well, when I started dating my husband, he had some silly soul patch on his chin. I made him get rid of it. I'll argue that it was because it looked stupid not because of any fear. Still don't like meatloaf, but that's just common sense.

I think I have now narrowed my fears to 3:

• Ghosts - which we've covered (a little too much for comfort, actually)
• Throwing up - I don't know anyone who really enjoys it, but I also don't know anyone who avoids it like I do
• Heights

Heights. This is an oldie but a goodie. Not sure how it started, none of my siblings caught it. But I do know my first airplane ride was not a pleasant experience for anyone involved... or within a 5 mile radius of me.

My mom decided my first ever plane ride should be to Greece. I was 8. Why don't we pick a destination further away? I hear Bora Bora is awesome. While boarding my (second-ever) flight at JFK, I pitched one hell of a fit. I screamed that my dad would come get me and I was NOT getting on that plane.

Mom or the flight attendant jammed some white pill down my throat and away we went.

Since then, my flying experiences have been less traumatic, but not much less. I still panic and I once skipped a spring break trip to the Bahamas the morning of my flight (again, very sorry, sister). You'd think I'd be more rational about it, with my brother being a pilot and all.

But my fear of heights is not limited to flying. Tall buildings... you'll never catch me in a hot air balloon... ski lifts. I was in the ski club in high school and I hated riding the ski lift. Just thinking now about how high you are off the ground makes my legs tingle. And my friends are trying to get me to go skiing this weekend. For. Get. It. What's wrong with a little bowling and a lot of drinking?!

With 2 of my fears surrounding me this week, it's a wonder I ever sleep.