Replaced

I wanted to start this little post off with a musical quote, but unfortunately I found out that Jesse McCartney sang that song and while I'm all sorts of dorky I'm not about to admit that I listen to the musical song stylings of Master Jesse. Anyway, it was a moment I knew would come eventually. I just didn't expect it to affect me in the quite the way it did. I've been replaced. My former employer (my first real employer) has found someone to take over the position I vacated a little over two months ago. I understand that it had to be done, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. She contacted me to ask a few questions about the position before she accepted it and I immediately went on the offensive (maybe it's defensive. I don't know. I don't really do sports.) "She's all wrong for George!" I whined to my friends. I really freaked out a little as I thought about someone taking over what I left behind and possibly doing it better.

It's funny how we forget the negative things when we leave a situation. I hated junior high. I was not a happy teenager. Those memories, however, no longer linger. I remember them, yes. But they no longer play an importance in my life. Instead, I choose to remember going to Mountain Stage with my friends. And drinking coffee. I remember smoking my first cigarette. And I remember other things, too. I remember refusing to go out with a boy who told me I was beautiful because something about him didn't feel right. I remember watching several weeks later as he bashed his girlfriend's head into a locker. No one's ever told me I was beautiful since. I guess all I'm trying to say is that I've never relied on the validation of others. My instincts have served me well.

So when I started to doubt myself professionally, I knew it was time to think about why I stayed. I stayed for personal reasons. I developed great relationships while I was there and while I certainly had some adversaries (perhaps the attorney who suggested the firm needed a "marketing professional", the same one who thought I did my job poorly and shared that sentiment with the entire membership), I was comfortable. I was complacent. I'm not having as tough a time as my posts might indicate. With the position open, I guess I thought somehow in some way it was still mine. It seems silly, I know. And so, officially, the position, my position has been filled. And I wish the new person all the luck in the world. She'll do things differently, maybe she'll do things better. I just hope she knows how lucky she is to be in such good company. And I hope she knows I wear a size 10 shoe, so she's got some big ones to fill.

A Dollar A Day...

I'm not sure how I found this, but I'd like to encourage the three or four people who read what I write to visit Kerri and Chris at the One Dollar Diet Project. For thirty days, they're living on one dollar each. It's a little nutty, I'll admit, but it's interesting, too. And it's a good way to put into perspective not only the waste of the world (and I certainly include myself as one who wastes), but the limited means on which some people live. I appreciate the fact that Kerri and Chris aren't preaching, but simply leading by example.

Bittersweet Me

Over the past several weeks, people have asked me how I'm doing. And the truth is, I'm doing all right. I miss my friends. There's a comfort in being able to send an e-mail or pick up the phone and sneak out for coffee or a slice of pizza. I miss looking forward to margarita nights and impromptu dinner parties. I miss Sam's Uptown Cafe even though I was spending less time there. And I miss my work crush. If there's anything I've learned from that, it's that there won't be another.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to be a stopover on a friend's whirlwhind Scrabble tour. We shared a good meal, great conversation and a few drinks. It was awesome. And really it didn't feel like a reunion; it just felt right. I'm lucky to have the friends that I do. I'm by no means religious, but I feel blessed to have these amazing, wondeful people in my life. I'm a lucky girl indeed.

I've said ti before. I moved for opportunity. I knew that if I stayed in Charleston it would mean professional stagnation and without a husband or children, I knew that I was the only one holding me back. It's a cliche, sure; but it's also the truth. I gave up a lot to make this move. And everyday in small, sure ways I'm finding that it was the right one. But I still miss my friends.

Grandma Wakes Early

So after deciding to stay in last night, I talked to a a few friends on the phone, loaded the dishwasher and watched the season (hopefully not series) finale of Swingtown and went to bed around 11. Exciting? Certainly not, but I didn't feel bad about it and I fell quickly to sleep. I slept in the guest bedroom last night which gets the better (best) morning light and it woke me earlier than normal. I took care of a few necessaries and then took the dog for a whirl around the block. I could hear the birds singing, the sun felt good beaming down and the temperature was just right. It's a beautiful morning. I even took time to make a PBB&J smoothie (not as indulgent as it sounds -- Smart Balance peanut butter, soymilk and all-fruit spread with a banana) and taking a cue from my nutritional guru threw in a handful of spinach for good measure. And so now I'm getting ready to clean my kitchen, maybe hit the garage before I head down to the Black Swamp Arts Festival to sling pizza and pop (I'm a "soda" or "name" girl myself, but when in Rome...) and listen to some great music. Actually many of the acts on the main stage tonight have been to Charleston recently. Shemekia Copeland headlined Wine and All That Jazz this year. The others - Eilen Jewell, Graham Parker and The Dirty Dozen Brass Band - have been on the Mountain Stage. The Dirty Dozen Brass Band even did an almost unheard of encore and received two standing ovations. And I get to listen to all of this under the stars in one of my favorite American small towns. Yeah, I'm not feeling so bad about being a grandma today. Besides, I'm definitely more of a Tina Turner grandma than a Guideposts reading, pink elastic pants wearing grandma.

F*ck you, Grandma. Oh wait! That's me...

(To preface, "Fuck you, Grandma" is my favorite line from one of my favorite movies, Sid and Nancy.)

I came across an article a few days ago (not coincidentally in a magazine featuring a very grown up Daniel Radcliffe), that I felt compelled to share with a few friends, and now a few more. I'll admit that one friend above all others came to mind, but I'm not embarrassed to admit that I identified with the article as well. A few weeks ago I purchcased a ticket to see a band I like in a venue about an hour away. I was excited, I'll admit it. Even with just four days, this was a long week. The thought of coming home, walking the dog, changing clothes, getting in the car, dealing with Detroit traffic (and road construction), looking for a parking space, waiting in line, then being forced to stand for four hours only able to drink one, maybe two beers while kids half my age bumped into me and jumped up and down, only to get back in my car, with my ears ringing, to drive home all for a band whose first album I loved, second album I liked and most recent album I haven't even heard was simply not one that appealed to me. There was a time when I would've gone; I would've jumped; I would've screamed, "Fuck yeah!" I guess that time has passed. Tonight, all I wanted to do was come home, change clothes, walk the dog, grab a beer and some dinner and hibernate. I've got a ticket to see another band that I do love and have loved for years. It's on a Monday and I'm not missing it for the world, so I'm not a total grandma...yet. Rivers Cuomo, this Grandma is coming for you! And you better believe my ass will firmly be planted in a (reserved) seat when Lucinda Williams comes to Ann Arbor next month.