Home is where the love is

First of all, let me say ... it's a beautiful Sunday in Maggie's World. The cats found room on my lap for both of themselves. It was crowded, but what the hell.
Helped my friend Donna pack the truck yesterday. She's moving to Michigan. I will miss her, but I love that she left some very nice stuff at Chez Mags. Thank you, Donna, for the rugs, the chair, and the antique mirror. And the rug really ties the room together.

My place is really starting to look like my place now, like I brought all this stuff in and I did it on purpose. It's a pretty incredible feeling. You should really stop by and see it. The apartment, not the feeling. Now all I need is a bookcase and I'm set!

It's pretty amazing, because I know none of this would have been possible without the love and support of my friends. They are such an eclectic group of wondrous lunatics, and yet when I look around, my place is full of love because of my friends. The bar/desk Shamie loaned me the money for when we were garage saleing, not to mention my original Shamie painting. The chair Patrick gave me, more comfortable than any other piece of furniture I own. The microwave from Dan. The rugs and chair and mirror and picture from Donna. The clock my late father-in-law made. The photographs of me, Kelly and Patrick from when we were young. And it's not just "stuff" either - it's the spirit. Mike and Rae helped me move not once, but twice, even driving up from Charleston to move me into my first apartment. Kelly & Kevin helped Chris and I move into the first place here in Arlington Heights, and Kevin brought Tofe and Aubri to help me move into the current Chez Mags. And ya know what? It's like a part of them are still here, because they couldn't possibly pack up all the love and take it with them.

That's what makes it a home, I think. The love, whether it came with stuff or sweat, remains. Mike, Rae and Kaylee will be here in a couple of weeks when we'll all roadtrip together down to Jacksonville for Papa Rice's wedding, and I'm hoping they'll leave a little love behind then, too. How about you? If you'd like to come by, my door is open.

Semi-charmed kinda life

Today didn't start out particularly good. I weighed in and I'm only down a half pound.

Devil scale.

But I think I'm getting some definition, and tonight my eyes seemed to be more ... I dunno, in proportion to my head? Not as hidden by my immense noggin?

Worked out after work. I'm up to a full hour on the elliptical. My knees hurt after, so I went for a swim and soaked in the whirlpool before heading home.

My evening? I went with the cutest straight guy in the suburbs to see "Teeth" at the Music Box Theater in Chicago. It's an indie film catagorized as comedy-horror. Unless you have serious Lorena Bobbett issues, you have to find humor in the vajayjay that bites the head that feeds it.

The theater is on Southport. As we were driving, I told Shamie that there was a great Irish pub on Southport but I couldn't remember much about it other than it was next to a small theater. We parked almost right in front of it - it's called Cullen's, and it's next to the Mercury Theater. Anyhoo, loved the movie, loved the crowd, loved the popcorn - big fun. So we were walking to the car and as we passed Cullen's, I said "Hey, there's music!" because two guys were playing guitar in the front window.

"Oh my God, that's Fraker" said Brian.

Seriously. This type of shit can only happen in Maggie's World.

So we went in, hoisted a pint, and enjoyed the feeling of being "with the band." Turns out Fraker really does exist - he's not a figment of Shamie's imagination. They sounded fantastic, and played all kinds of stuff from classic Beatles to Pearl Jam. My pint of Harp's was pretty damn good, too.

A great night, spent with a great friend, completely spontaneous and as close to perfection as you can really expect to get. But I'm out of practice with this whole "out 'til all hours" thing, so I think I'll turn in now.

A little bit of this, a little bit of that ...

Crazy workout tonight. Swear to ya, the endorphins are crazy cool. I think I might steam clean my entire apartment, and then write a novel, and when I'm done with that I'll give the cats a bath.

Another Easter weekend, gone

This one came and went in a flurry. But ya gotta love an Easter Bunny that brings you shoes! (Okay, they're from Terra, but the bunny makes a way better story.)

Spent yesterday at the gym with Terra, during which I had an MMM (see previous post if confused.) There's something about being with her that just makes me feel good. Being in her presence makes me feel beautiful, appreciated, loved just as I am. I love that I have friends who give that to me. I hope they know I feel the same. (If you're reading this, that's a hint.) While we were stretching, she says to me, "Ya know? A lot of women your age don't have their butt up there where it belongs. You don't have that problem."

I tell ya, I love this girl. And for the record, there is nothing wrong with her eyes.

Today I was going to go to the gym again, but I gave myself a day off. I slept in, baked a banana pound cake to take to Dad's, and off I went.

I spent the entire day playing with my 14-year-old nephew, Alex. He brought Rock Band so we could play together. I think it amazes him that I know all the words to "Ballroom Blitz" and "Don't Fear the Reaper" without looking. We pretty much rocked the afternoon away, with a short reprieve to go out back and shoot hoops, which he still can't beat me at, yet. If he calmed down and started concentrating on shooting the basket instead of beating me, he would've started wiping the court with me a year ago. But I think I'll let him figure that out for himself.

Had a great afternoon with my family. They are nuts, but they are also a lot of fun. They are my people. Well, some of them, anyway. Sometimes it's nice, if a bit surreal, to spend time with them and walk away realizing you really had a great time, and it wasn't hard at all. Maybe I'm not too old to grow up.

So it's Easter. Forgive me if I turn on my blinker and change lanes, but I have an Easter memory I'd like to share.

It was eight or nine years ago, I guess, and we were all at church. My whole family, and I'm sure Christopher was there (one of the two times he came along with a minimum of complaining.) I was up front with my sisters and Dad and I saw Mom walk in. My sister Jenn said something to her, and next thing I knew, Mom was gone. Five, ten, fifteen minutes past, and then she finally returned. My dad was livid - he thought Jenn said something that upset Mom and she needed to get away.

Not the case. What Mom needed was a skirt.

Jenn was the only one who noticed that Mom had come to church wearing her black blouse, yellow linen blazer, black heels and stockings, and a lovely black slip. Thankfully, the house was close enough that she could run home and change and still make it back in time for the opening chorus of "Christ the Lord is Risen Today."

That story has been told and re-told so many times, and it never fails to make me laugh. I hope that, somewhere, Mom and I shared that laugh today.

MMM

No, that's not a statement of delight. Tonight, MMM stands for Minor Maggie Meltdown. It only gets really confusing when I use the same abbreviation for a Major Maggie Meltdown.

I was at the gym, working my as off (and may I say I'm quite dismayed every time I work it off and BAM, it's right back there where it was?) Anyhoo, did 40 minutes on the elliptical, 40 minutes on the bikes. a good portion of stretching, and then hit the weights.

Now, I love my gym, so imagine my dismay when, for the first time since I started going there, I got "the look." Most of the time, people are so engrossed in what they're doing, they don't even notice anyone else. But over by the free weights, today it was different. Most people smiled, if they maintained eye contact at all, but there was this one guy I saw in the mirror ... first of all, what the hell - do people not realize that I can see them in the mirror just as easily as they can see themselves, or me? And let's also face the fact that I DON'T EVEN LIKE LOOKING AT MYSELF IN THE FRIGGIN' MIRROR so I'm not comfortable over here surrounded by the doggone things, anyway, and the last thing I need, Popeye, is that look of sheer disdain, as if my sheer presence on the planet is an insult to you.

That one look was all it took to undo the good of the entire day. Talking to Sharon and Ryan and Melissa about how I was doing, letting the time slip by in the company of Terra, who simultaneously entertains and motivates (and I think I do the same for her.) I felt the tears start to well up, and I had to get away.

I don't even remember finding my way to the bathroom. I do remember hearing Terra when she walked in after me - "You didn't really think I was just going to let you walk away and not follow you, did you?"

Eventually, I got off my pity pot and went back out, finishing up on the machines - I don't think I'll be going back to the free weights any time soon. It's intimidating enough when my self-esteem is intact. We went for a swim, soaked in the hot tub and soaked up more moisture in the sauna before showering off to head home.

But there you have it - my first gym-based meltdown. It wasn't pretty. But I survived. And I've spent pretty much every moment since then wishing the asshole would crush his pinky between two 75-pound weights. Is it wrong?

Huh?

I was talking to one of the trainers at the gym last night, and we were discussing music to listen to while working out. I mentioned that I really got into The Who on the elliptical or on the treadmill, and that "Baba O'Riley" is one of the ass-kickin'est songs ever. And he said:

"What song?"

He had not clue what I was talking about. He knew the band, but in reality, he was clueless. Cute, but clueless.

Don't cry. Don't raise your eyes. It's only teenage wasteland.

And Rice? No fair making an old-age joke. A) I set it up so well, it would almost be like cheating and B) I don't care how old you are, this is one of the greatest rock songs EVER and if you don't know it because you're a musical lunkhead, you should have seen the opening of at least one episode of CSI:NY.

Kids these days, I tell ya ...

I am more than my work

Okay, so it finally happened. I hit my first rough patch at work. After 14.5 months, I suppose it was overdue.

Anyway, yesterday I learned that they are looking for a senior writer in my department. So I asked what any sensible woman in my position would ask - what are they looking for that I don't have. The answer? A history of corporate direct sales writing experience. Okay, I don't have that, except for the past 14.5 months, but I have ten years corporate journalism experience, and the prideful part of me knows that finding someone who is better at what I do than I am is going to be a challenge.

Which means that, eventually, they will hire someone who isn't up to my standards and pay them more for the privilege. And it makes me crazy, because I take an extraordinary amount of pride in my work and I feel undervalued and unappreciated.

There, got that off my chest.

Having said all that, it made me think about what I learned over the time that I was out of work (which I've come to call MaggiePalooza 2006.) During that time, I kept reminding myself that there is more to me than just what I do for a living. Sure, I'm a writer, but what else am I?

I am ...

• a daughter, biologically and emotionally
• a sister, ditto
• a knitter
• a singer
• a work in progress
• someone who likes to have fun
• an ex-wife (and may I say, I think I'm pretty good at that one)
• an athlete (just ask Sharon)
• a child, and a grown-up
• an adventurer

There's more, I'm sure ... that's just what flew off my fingers as I sit here at the computer. It helps, because I really don't want to fall back into the trap/habit of defining myself by my job. When someone asks me, "What do you do?" I'd really like to answer "Make great guacamole. You?"

Wouldn't that just set the world on its ear?

A Long Night with Gym

Last night, I met a woman named Sharon.

This was after 40 minutes on the elliptical, an hour in the pool, 20 minutes on the treadmill and another heaven knows how long on the bike. I had an appointment with Ryan to set up my shiny new heartrate monitor at 9 p.m., and since I'm not one to just sit and wait for time to pass I spent the entire night moving.

As I walked up to the Personal Training desk, there was a beautiful dark-haired woman seated behind it. When I approached, she stood to say hello, and all five-foot-nothing of her just exuded charm. This was Sharon.

Ryan came over, and we started getting the monitor set up. The monitor I have is technically a running monitor, and I told Ryan that I hoped it would work even if I didn't run, because I simply cannot run. Only if there's a big guy with a knife behind me, or a cute guy with chocolate in front of me - you know me, the queen of self-deprecating humor. Well, Sharon overhears this and comes around the desk to talk to me.

She came up to me, tall enough to look me in the chin, and says "And why, exactly, will you not run?" And I start to make my excuses - bad knees, too much weight, don't want to get hurt ... she won't have any of it. Turns out she's quite the passionate runner, and she starts to tell me about some of the people she trains who are every bit as out of shape as I am but who run, even just a little bit, every time they work out. And then she looks me in the eye (no small feat for this tiny woman) and says to me, "You may be out of shape, but you are also an athlete. You are beautiful, strong and powerful, and you will never tell me about what you cannot do again. Do you understand?"

Mind you, she's not scolding me, she's encouraging me. Her words were intensely powerful, and today I am a believer. If I want to run, I can. If I want to run, I will. There is nothing holding me back, there are only amazing forces propelling me forward.

And one of them happens to be a pint-size dynamo named Sharon.

Everybody's Irish today

I was Irish yesterday, too. And I consumed enough calories to cause my very own potato famine.

It was the Rathunde Family St. Patrick's Day Gathering, although there were only two Rathundes in attendance, me and the Original Margaret. But that didn't stop us from having a great time. We christened Buzz's new kitchen by allowing him to make us potato pancakes and enjoying Irish Coffee all afternoon. Renee, Randy and their kids Alex and Everett were there, and of course Terra and Drew, her fiancée. We pretty much ate our weight in corned beef, potatoes and key lime pie.

Yum. Pardon my food coma.

My favorite moment of the day came when Buzz was making arrangements for dinner next Sunday, which would be Easter. He asked his girls what time they wanted to eat, and then he looked at me and asked what I was doing that day. It was the sweetest, kindest invitation ever, and it was a declaration that, once again, my definition of family has expanded.

It must be that Irish luck.

There Will Be Bored

This is a public service announcement.

Do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to view the "movie" entitled There Will Be Blood.

Here ends the public service announcement portion of this blog post. The rest is simply details and closing arguments.

The movie should have been called There Will Eventually Be Blood, or Don't Hold Your Breath Waiting for the Blood or There Will Be Blood, but You're Gonna Have To Wait for 2.5 Hours.

I gave up $6.50 of my hard-earned money, and two and a half hours of my life, and for that I blame Daniel Day-Lewis. Fuck you, Daniel. Go steal someone else's kid. Go kick another minister. Go drink someone else's milkshake. Just don't come knockin' on my door. You suck.

Actually, he wasn't bad at the acting ... it's just that THERE WAS NOTHING TO ACT FOR. As Cute Brian (who is reading over my shoulder as I write this so I technically am required to call him "cute") pointed out, the desert made a good supporting character. And added just about as much to the plot.

There were about seven storylines, none of which actually intertwined with the other stories, and none of which were actually resolved.

EVER.

I am a bitter movie-goer. I got sucked in by Hollywood, people, and I am not happy about it.

Best part of the evening? It's a toss-up: either trying to figure out which of our laughs Tina the waitress liked, or the post-movie pie.

Please, don't do it. Don't rent it, don't NetFlix it, don't pay-per-view it, don't let anyone, no matter how cute they might be, suggest that you should see it. Anyone who likes this movie is either blind, retarded, or European.

Or some funky amalgam of all three.

A three hour meal

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
a tale of three good friends ...

Yeah, after that, it just gets too hard to rhyme.

Suffice to say, last night the Thursday Night Dinner Group was born. Amber, Patrick and I met at The Melting Pot in Buffalo Grove. They do not, in fact, serve buffalo.

It was Ladies' Night - $6 martinis, and a great deal on cheesy goodness, salad and chocolatey nirvana. We added an entree (French Quarter for me and Amber - chicken, shrimp, steak and sausage - and veggies for Patrick ... hold the peppers.) None of us could believe it when, as we enjoyed our last bites of fruit smothered in hot melted chocolate, the clock displayed 9:30 p.m.

We had been there for three full hours.

I guess that sort of thing happens when you have good friends with whom you can visit and linger over good food and even better company. I can't wait for our next dinner.

Life in moistland

Yes, it's true - I just used my least favorite word, moist. And yet it's true. I've been living a pretty pruney life these days, spending a lot of time in the water. On Monday and Wednesday, I started taking a water circuit class, and after class I relax in the whirlpool for as long as I please ... it's quite awesome.

Tonight in class, I felt graceful. It's been a long time since I keyed in to that part of me, and it felt fantastic! There's something about the water ...

The instructor is hysterical and really wonderful. We laugh through the entire class! Tonight, as I was saying goodnight to some of my classmates, I told them I'd see them on Monday. They asked why I wasn't coming on Saturday, but then they told me class starts at 8:15 a.m. Alas, no ... I do not acknowledge an 8:15 in the morning; I accept only the one that happens at night.

Anyway, I am loving being a part of this class. I wonder what next week will bring.

The positive list

People, by their very nature, tend to occasionally let us down. Some of the people I love most in the world have let me down from time to time - it comes with the territory. It just happens, and in true friendships you weather those storms and it makes the relationship stronger. (However, when one chooses not to even try to weather the storm, well ... it probably wasn't a worthwhile relationship to begin with. Are you reading this, Christopher?)

Anyway, thinking along those terms, I started to reflect on the things in my life that have truly never let me down. Sure, they don't bring me as much joy as people do, but sometimes it's nice to have something to hang your hat on, something to remember when the chips are down.

And so, I give you, The List of Things That Never Let Me Down as of this moment.

• Murphy's Oil Soap. This all around cleaner makes my floors beautiful and smells clean. I love it.
• Coppertone Suntan Lotion. The smell reminds me of childhood vacations, and the sun protection means I can frolic outdoors as long as I want.
• My Thumb Ring. I bought it for myself when my marriage was beginning to crumble, and it is a positive statement I wear on my left hand, in a way replacing my wedding ring. It says "May Your Wildest Dreams Come True," and every time I look at it I am reminded that I believe it's possible.
• The Mac Titanium PowerBook. I love my computer. The only time it crapped out on me, I had accidentally unplugged it and it ran out of juice. I have taken good care of it, and it's taken good care of me.
• Yoplait Yogurt. It tastes sinful, but it's really quite good for you. It's the best dessert I can give myself.
• LifeTime Fitness Center in Schaumburg. My gym makes me feel like a rockstar. It's beautiful, never boring, and is giving me a new and improved body. Today I spent 40 minutes on the elliptical, 30 on the stationary bike, and an undetermined amount of time in the pool, hot tub, shower and sauna. It's like going to a resort every time I go, and I deserve it.
• Cacique Balconette Bras. These gravity-defying wonders of the underwear world take years off my appearance. And they're pretty. Never underestimate the power of a good bra that fits well.
• Aveda Hand Relief Lotion. Soaks up fast, never feels greasy, and smells like a dream. I'll take two, please.
• Sea Salt. If I'm gonna salt my food, it's gonna be with the good stuff. I swear, I can tell the difference.
• Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers. This is the band that basically serves as the soundtrack of my life. As much as I adore Jimmy Buffett and require showtunes, whenever I need to set a mood, no matter what that mood is, I turn to Roger. It doesn't hurt that he's smokin' hot, either.
• My Brown Riding Boots. No matter what I wear them with, I feel sexy. Even though they aren't high heels, these are killer boots. They make my legs look long and strong, and look equally fierce with jeans as they do a short denim skirt. Not too short, though. I acknowledge that I'm no longer 25.
• Sports Night on DVD. Whenever I'm bored, I can pop this critically acclaimed series into the DVD player and live vicariously through the exploits of the amazing cast of this amazing, yet under-watched, show. It always makes me remember that women do have special powers, no matter what Jeremy says.

Somethin' about

There's just somethin' about a hot guy in your kitchen cooking you dinner. You know - watching his strong forearms as he prepares mostaccioli, enjoying the way he feels his way around your kitchen even though he's never cooked anything in it before.

It's even better to sit and relax while he does the dishes, and passes you dessert.

Now if only a straight guy would come do that ...

Yes, Patrick was here for dinner. I love the very Will & Grace-esque way we sort of fall into a rhythm. I love that we can talk about everything and nothing, and that I can tell him I've been angry at him for almost five years and he understands that, and he doesn't pretend like it isn't important.

Old friends are like old blue jeans. They fit better than anything else.

My night with Gym

I went to the gym last night. And I stayed.

I arrived at around 5, changed and made my way to my elliptical machine. I love that damn thing; it makes me happy. I feel like I'm running, but it doesn' hurt me. Okay, 40 minutes on that (which makes me really happy because when I first started going to the gym in September I thought I was going to die at 10 minutes) and on to the stationary bike while I wait for Terra.

I had gone 20 minutes on the bike when she joined arrived. We cycled for a little while longer before going to Pilates class. After an hour of Pilates, we stayed for yoga. After an hour of yoga, we changed into our suits and got into the whirlpool.

Three guesses as to what my favorite activity of the night was!

All in all, it was a great night. I'm not capable of doing everything they did in class - I'm not nearly as flexible as I once was, and I'm a big girl! But it felt so good to stretch and relax and just move in a different way. I loved it. I will be going back.

Sadly, I was exhausted and lightheaded when I finally got home at about 10:15. I thought I'd just pass out in the sleep of dead men, but no. I could not fall asleep.

Maybe it's the endorphins. Maybe I've got too much on my mind. Maybe I'm too sexy for my bed. But right now, the only thing that makes sense to me is coffee.

Lots and lots of coffee.

March forward

Ahh, Sunday. It was a beautiful day. I woke up with sunlight streaming through my window and a cat on my head. Life is good.

I tooled around in my pajamas for hours, watching a couple of movies and enjoying being completely relaxed. It was about 3:30 by the time I thought I'd better get moving and head for the gym.

So I'm walking into the gym and politely held the door open for the person walking in behind me. Imagine my surprise when I turned to look and it was Terra, my ex-step-cousin-in-law. She is the daughter of my soon-to-be ex-husband's mother's step brother. If you followed that, give yourself a medal.

Anyhoo, it was wonderful to have a workout buddy. She is kind, beautiful and inspirational (there's nothing like a friend with a great figure working out next to you to remind you that you, too, can look fabulous!) We're meeting up on Wednesday for Yoga and Pilates.

And to think, I almost didn't go to the gym yesterday. Stuff really does happen for a reason.

Overflowing

It's been an amazing, love-filled couple of days.

Yesterday, my morning began with an instant message from a friend - a simple message, nothing more than "I hope you have a great day" from someone I hadn't heard from in a couple of weeks. It was there when I turned on my computer at work, just waiting for me. I loved being thought of even though I wasn't online; that simple message made me smile all morning.

After work, I met up with Di and we went to the gym. Working out with Di is like having a personal trainer. She gave me some great suggestions of exercises with light weights that I can do even in my out of shape current state. It felt good; I felt strong. Plus, it was so much fun to have a workout buddy.

Di and I got smoothies in the cafe and then had our nails done - my fingers, her toes. Total luxury, that's for sure. Then we dashed off to the movie theater. We saw "Penelope" - I highly recommend it. It was sweet, a modern-day fairy tale unlike anything I've seen in a long time.

And then, it was back home for girl talk into the wee hours. And did we ever talk. Time with Di is magic - the time passes without you even noticing, then you blink and it's 2 a.m. We talked about our evening, and how good it felt to be active and support each other and share the desire to be healthy and strong. And then she looked at me and said, "you are so worth it."

The tears fell without warning, hearing those words and realizing that the last time I really felt like I truly was worth it was when Di was part of my daily life, back in college 11 years ago. Well big damn shame on me. She's right. And it felt so good to hear it, to be validated, to be loved for who I am and encouraged to be who I will become.

When she left this morning, I was so filled with love - love I feel for Di, and the love she gives to me.

I spent the afternoon with my dad, brother, sister and nephew. It's a different sort of love, but love all the same. My nephew is such an amazing kid - he drives me insane, but wants to learn how to make my famous oatmeal cookies, and then wants to try to kick my ass shooting baskets while they bake. I'm just crazy about him. It was a fun afternoon, which isn't always the case with my family.

And then it was off to Chez Farbo to celebrate Patrick's 41st birthday, which is today. This is a family that is crazy, but they are so busy loving you that you forget to care. Tony kept pinching my cheeks (the ones on my face, praise Jesus,) Emma liked when I held her, I figured out that Eric and Christopher are two different kids (I swear to God, all these years I thought they were one guy, and then there they were, standing next to each other.) I drank shots with Donna and planned Fourth of July with Kim and got nearly attacked by Rick and just eased into this house of mayhem and pizza. By the time I headed for home, I had been hugged so many times I couldn't even remember where they'd all come from. The genuine affection touched me in a way I sometimes have a hard time understanding. This is a group of people who accepts me just as I am and loves me anyway. They are my family.

How much family can one girl have? I don't know. But I think it's unwise to try to limit it.