Archive: November 2006

Shortly after the new television season started up (woo!), I realized that JG and I had a habit of turning on the television for no reason at all. It was background noise, and that bugged me, partially because the TV is always three times louder than it has to be, and also because it’s not just noise. It has that visual part that triggers a vegetative state for me. I can’t help but be transfixed by the glow of the cathode ray tube, and before I know it, I’ve squandered three hours of my time watching something like Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders: Making the Team. Shudder.

So I suggested what we now affectionately call Quiet Wednesdays. They’re not so much quiet as non-television-watching nights. We haven’t been sucked into the vortex that is Lost and I didn’t mind taping Project Runway; instead, we found other ways to spend the evening. I conceded playing video games to JG because it wasn’t as passive an activity as zoning out in front of the TV, but the compromise is that we have to listen to a CD over the sound. Preferably something girly and show-tune-like.

Tonight, I have a Quiet Wednesday made even more so due to JG being out at his grad class. My night so far has included an hour of yoga, browsing around for Christmas gifts for the fam, and a CD player full of jazz. I’ve discovered that I like the imposed mid-week break in the routine. Even though I’m not exactly reading up on philosophy or something, I’m not simply putting my brain on pause while the laugh track echoes around the living room. It’s also a nice way to space out my bouts with craftiness; next week, I plan on finishing a wreath made out of the cards we received for our first married Christmas. I’ve found that the best side benefit of a Quiet Wednesday is that it breaks up tough workweeks (like this one, again) and helps me feel better about the remaining days ahead. I know it’s all in my head, but it works, so I think that’s okay.

All of this is not to say that I don’t enjoy some significant TV time. Trust me, I’ve got my other evenings booked with a regular schedule of an hour or two of entertainment, depending on the night. Quiet Wednesday is more of a temporary, voluntary leave of absence, so to speak. It’s not that I have to do it, but I’m relieved that I don’t rely on TV for evening entertainment every night of the week.

I’m tired.

I arrived home this evening after a two-day summit with consultants from my company. I came along because, for some reason, I coordinated the summit, even though event planning is miles outside my job responsibilities. Over the course of the summit, the consultants discussed important things like business development, revenue targets, and profit margins. I typed notes diligently on a laptop projected onto a wall, scurried to set up whiteboard easels and post-it pads, and made sure that everyone was properly sugared and caffeinated. It was kind of fun, but mostly exhausting. I’m not sure how long I’ll last tonight.

This week at work took something out of me. I had my annual performance review on Wednesday, and I cried the whole way through it for no good reason. It wasn’t indicative of how I was feeling, but I simply could not stop the tears. The feedback I received was almost entirely positive, but the few bits of negative feedback cut me to the bone. I wasn’t necessarily surprised, but seeing a comment in black and white is just plain hard. I know that my performance was very good overall, but I wish I had done better over the past year. I wish I could be less rigid and more approachable. I really wish I hadn’t cried through the whole darn thing, which left me with red, puffy eyes and a terribly raw nose.

And then I got a phone call. I didn’t get the job. I was deflated, the wind knocked out of me. They didn’t think I was “a perfect fit” and they were looking for someone with “different experiences”. The woman who called me was very gracious and she said that I was definitely the right material for their company. Apparently, she’ll keep me on their “A-list” for new positions. Thank you, I heard myself say. I don’t have hard feelings because I know that they work really hard to find the perfect person… I just thought that I was the perfect person. I felt like the stars were aligning so that I could leave my job and take on something new. I was disappointed. I still am.

When I got home that day, I nursed my wounds with chicken noodle soup, which is strangely, magically curative in these circumstances. After all this and then the summit, I’m about done. Stick a fork in me.

I’m going to come out and say it: I was proud of my Halloween costume. Designed for all-day work wear, I was a princess-cut diamond ring: a black t-shirt puff-painted with a bird’s eye view of a ginormous ring, a big strand of fake pearls, and of course, a tiara. Ha. I tied with a scarecrow for Most Creative Costume at the office, you know.

It was in this regalia that I greeted our neighborhood trick-or-treaters, basket of candy in hand. Last year, in my inaugural debut as Lady with Candy, I was too nervous to properly observe this suburban ritual. I had only gone trick-or-treating once during my childhood (as an eight ball) and being on the other side of the door was a new experience for me. This year, however, I realized that there should be a few rules to this free-candy racket, at least at my house…

DO say “Trick or Treat”.
When seemingly mute children came to my door with the bags outstretched, I was half-tempted to say sweetly, “How can I help you?” so as to coerce the traditional greeting from their lips. I will allow that “Happy Halloween” is an acceptable substitute because I am all about inclusion.

DO say “Thank you”.
So, let me just go over this whole Halloween thing. Kids come to my house in costumes, rendering me unable to recognize them, so that I can give them free candy for the vague achievement of wearing something that is not their normal garb. Call me crazy, but if you thank a random guy holding open a movie theater door for you, shouldn’t you also thank the neighbor who is giving away free snacks on a fake-o holiday? In the same vein, if you’re a parent of said kid in costume, I will amend this guideline to recommend that you please strongly encourage (i.e. threateningly demand that) your kids say thank you. If you do so, it will help negate the inherent ingratitude of your little ghoul.

DO wear a costume.
What’s up with these teenagers who wear hoodies and cargos and hold out a backpack for candy? I know you’re all in it for the sweets, but come on, make an effort. I suggested to JG that, next year, we invest in those mini boxes of raisins for the kids who are clearly dodging the costume route. (And those adults, too, for that matter.) He cocked an eye at me and said, “That’s how you get egged…” Which brings me to my next guideline –

DON’T be a jerk.
In response to the egging threat, I retorted, “Isn’t that just giving in to terrorism?!” And with that, I had somehow crossed the threshold of sanity and JG didn’t press the issue. But seriously, since when does the lack of free things entitle someone to hurl eggs at someone’s house? This jerk rule isn’t confined to egging; there are other ways to exhibit jerklike behavior. For example, if you examine the (free) candy I dropped into your plastic pumpkin and give me a look like “That’s it?” Or maybe if you crane your head to sneak a peek into my basket and say, “Hey, I want a Twix!” Whatever, jerk. You can have your single Reese’s cup and enjoy it.

DON’T trick-or-treat on someone else’s behalf.
Even if your “son” can’t make it. Even if your toothless, un-costumed (see above) infant is trying his hardest to wish me a happy Halloween. If you have kids, you can afford the darn candy! One exception to this rule took form in the tiny Frankenstein in a stroller who held the bucket as his mom said “trick or treat”. Okay, you can have candy. Raisins for the rest of you, if I weren’t afraid of being egged!

DO compliment the jack o’ lanterns.
I think acknowledgement of the hard work and painstaking detail that goes into making pumpkin art this is the only way to rise above the resentment that comes from failure to comply to the above guidelines. A friendly “nice job on the pumpkins!” will go far, let me tell you.

Okay, it’s not like I didn’t have any polite, well-costumed, complimentary children at our stoop. We did have a few, including a teeny tiny little lion and a kid whose mask was disgustingly awesome with its fake-blood drip effect. I also admit that we ran out of candy (gasp of horror!) before the end of the night, forcing me to jump outside, blow out the pumpkin candles, and hop back in the house to turn off the front light. I had to avoid the eggers, after all.

Gotta love Halloween. See you next year, kids.