Archive | May, 2010

And in my next life, I’ll come back as a…

25 May

Last night I met my old college roommate Karen at Millenium Park to watch a concert and enjoy the gorgeous weather. (Getting to see Karen more frequently is definitely one of the up-sides of a crazy travel schedule.)

The band was very loud and the lead singer’s voice sounded like someone was squeezing his testicles with varying degrees of pressure. (I’m thinking the event organizer might not want to invite them back next year.)

Even so, the people watching was fantastic. I was obsessed with this girl who looked like she was about eleven and fancied herself a ballerina. She was transfixed by the music, doing all kinds of leaps and pirouettes and kicks in the grass. She clearly takes lessons (she wasn’t that bad) but it was her willingness to show off her moves in front of strangers that struck me. She had a look of such fierce determination on her face, I felt like I could read her thoughts: “Please, God, let someone here be a talent scout who will discover me and invite me to dance with a professional troupe!”

The reason I felt confident about her thoughts is because it wasn’t *that* long ago (if you consider 25 years ago a blip in time) that I was indulging in similar fantasies. Note: I said similar. As a child, I would choreograph ridiculous moves on roller skates and cruise up and down my driveway, pretending I was a rollerskating dance instructor. Because A) That’s a real job and B) There’s clearly a labor shortage in that area. Note: I said fantasy.

Sigh. If only that’s the way my brain worked these days. Instead of fantasizing about an amazing career doing something utterly creative, I spend my nights tossing and turning under the stress of an all-too-real job. The fantasies I have are more about clients suddenly expressing a willingness to truly partner with me instead of trying to score the best possible “deal” for their company.

Alas. It’s probably too late for me to resuscitate my dreams of being a professional rollerskating dance instructor, but maybe I should not have been so quick to smirk at the girl dancing wildly in public. Dreams are a good thing.

Did our nation’s water supply get replaced with Stupid Juice while I was sleeping?

24 May

I generally avoid traveling on Mondays and Fridays. This morning I was reminded why. (Note: it is Monday.)

Upon arriving at the airport, I went straight to a check-in kiosk and attempted to run my card – with no luck. I tried three other machines (and two other cards) with similar results, so eventually I joined the masses in line for the kiosks that are supervised by United personnel.

The line wasn’t moving, despite the fact that I could clearly see no fewer than four free kiosks blinking “check-in here.” No one in line was wearing a suit, and most of the people had over-sized bags indicating they were heading on vacation. They all had blank looks and no urgency. I wanted to push someone.

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Open mouth, insert foot.

23 May

As someone who often sticks my foot in my mouth, I revel in the moments when I catch other people doing the same thing.

Imagine then, about a week ago, when Alan – looking at my thigh – said, “Do you always have these?” and traced his finger along my veins, which sit close to the surface and show through easily.

I raised an eyebrow. “Only about as long as I’ve had blood flowing through me.”

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Foxtrot, Uniform, CHARLEY, Kilo – make it stop!

21 May

It’s no secret that I’ve been sleeping like crap lately. All a person needs to do is look at me and – if the bags under my eyes don’t give it away – the slightly crazed glint in them will. Between a hectic travel schedule, a demanding job and the stress of two real estate transactions looming over me, I guess it’s no surprise that my bed has become a battlefield in recent months.

Last night was no exception. I woke up at 2:30 in the morning with my leg in what might be the absolute worst Charley Horse I have ever experienced.

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Haiku: Where’s Waldo?

20 May

Airplanes are drafty.
Business shoes are not comfy.
I must pack my socks.

Fuzzy with red stripes,
they make people think, “Waldo.”
Jealous stares ensue.