Twisty

So...

Right now I'm writing you from JFK airport on my way to a business trip. I just finished my $10.82 ham sandwich and Diet Sprite and just coughed up another $6.95 for this delightful wireless connection.

I'm all set for them to up sell me for a glass of water on the plane.

Oy,

The main reason for my writing this is...

I will be out of pocket from Monday to Wednesday this week. So, depending on the availability of (hopefully free!) WiFi, I expect to be out of touch.

In case I don't talk to y'all for a few days...have a great week!

Breakfast of Champions

It's 10:32 a.m. and I've finally gotten around to eating breakfast.

Caffeine Free Diet Coke and some leftover garlic bread.

Oh yeah.

So:

• Guess I'm officially off the "health wagon."
• Vampires are so not messing with me today.

Pan

Don't read this post if you wish to preserve your sense of child-like wonder!

So, tonight Mr. Surly and I wanted a little vacation from life and decided to rent Finding Neverland. (Excellent flick, by the by.)

In case you're wondering, the film focuses on the live of J.M. Barrie and his relationship with the Llewelyn-Davies family, the inspiration for his most famous work, Peter Pan.

WARNING: Spoilers a plenty coming up. Really. I'm warning you. If you care to be surprised step away from the damn computer.

I'll give you a minute.

OK. Are you gone yet?

Really. Don't be kicking my ass if you want to be surprised by this movie.

Good.

OK.

In the end: The already-fatherless children's mother dies. (How uplifting!) However, Mr. Barrie is named co-parent in the will and the children (seemingly) live happily ever after. Yay!

Charmed by the delightful tale and eager for more information, I turned to the trusted Wikipedia.

Bad idea.

Let me give you a few of the strange and/or wildly depressing highlights:

- Most biographers think Barrie was asexual. (I'm pleased to hear he wasn't channeling Michael Jackson.)

- Peter Llewelyn-Davies (aka "Peter Pan") referred to the work as "that terrible masterpiece" and grew to loathe his pseudo-celebrity.

- When Barrie passed away, he gave his fortune to a local hospital, rather than the Llewelyn-Davies boys -- his adopted children! Some speculated that this drove Peter to drink.

- Peter committed suicide in 1960...by throwing himself in front of a train.

- Michael Llewelyn-Davies died at age 21 from a mysterious drowning incident. His hands were found tied to those of his best friend, Rupert Buxton, leading many to think the drowning related to a suicide pact.

I haaaaad to go searching for the truth.

Crap. 

I've Been Zonked

Thanks to Zonker for giving me solid advice for dealing with Dad's technical dramas.

Yeah, I have his genes. So, I should probably reserve myself a room too.

Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

Looks like today’s topic is “White Lies I’ve Told My Significant Other.” Thanks to the Divas for this wonderful opportunity.

Admittedly I’m kinda new to this sort of thing, so if I commit some sort of big ol’ breech in link etiquette, it certainly is by no means intended.

Now, on with the lies...(Muh. Ha. Ha. Ha. Haaaaah!)

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The $25 Rule

“You mind if I blog this?” is a pretty common phrase in the McGuinness house, so this was a tough assignment.

Me: Hey honey, I’m doing this Divas thing tomorrow for Christina. The theme is “White Lies I Tell My Significant Other.”

Mr. Surly: Oh really? What are you going to write about?

Me: Well, I can only think of one.

Mr. Surly: What?

Me: Well, every time I tell you how much I pay for something, I round it down by $25.

Mr. Surly: Really?

Me: Sometimes you think in 1970’s prices, so I always thought it’s a way to stop the sticker shock. I view this safety measure as heart attack prevention.

Mr. Surly: Oh. (Pause) OK. (Smiles and goes back to surfing the Internet.)

Me: Guess it’s not a white lie anymore, huh?

Julio!

The only other thing I can think of is, Mr. Surly will come home and ask (after some huggies and smoochies), “Hey, what did you do today?” And, I’ll say something along the lines of, “Well, Julio came over for the afternoon. He vacuumed the house, washed all the dishes, then gave me a foot rub. Isn’t he great?”

As you may have already guessed, Julio is my fake love-ah. (Spelled phonetically in the Carrie Bradshaw, “Sex and the City” way.)

However, that’s probably less about white lies and more about extorting a foot rub from my husband.

Admittedly, I have told a fair share of fib-eroos to fellas I have dated. Here were some of the typical ones:

“No, really, this pasta is the best!”

If some kind fella busts his bootie trying to cook you a romantic dinner, you damn well better appreciate his efforts even if it means you have to choke down some nasty, nasty stuff in the name of love. (You can always sneak in a McDonald’s drive-thru trip on your way home.)

“Alan, I just I loooooove your mom.”

I once dated this guy, Alan, whose mother had a strange quirk. She would only talk to me through her son.

Alan’s Mom: So, why don’t you ask TJ what her major is?

Alan: Mom, she’s sitting right next to you. Your butts are touching on the couch, for God’s sake.

Alan’s Mom: (Deadpan) Just ask her.

I few that as penance, cause I totally lucked out in the Mother-in-Law lottery. (Mother Surly is the best!)

“Of course I missed you!”

This came as the reply whenever a fella asked me if I missed him when he returned from a trip.

The God’s honest truth is: I didn’t miss him because I was having too much fun being by myself. Chances are, I spent the time eating popcorn for dinner or drinking beer while chatting with Sarah on the phone for three hours or watching 1992's “The Cutting Edge” on TBS for the 38th time or re-reading every book I own on Elizabeth I or mastering my Tuscan bean soup recipe. In short, I didn’t have time to miss you. I was just too busy enjoying myself.

So, there you have it.

Let’s see how other fine folks weigh in on the topic. (I promise to post permalinks as soon as they emerge.)

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Demystifying Divas

Sadie knocks it out of the park with this take on Lies. Silk aka "The Sassy Diva" will throw in her excellent two cents. Delightfully Snarky Kathy will weigh in. And Shiela will step in as Guest Diva extroardinare, as Christina takes a much needed break to take care of some stuff. (Yeah, I know I'm late to the game but this is the first time I've come across Shiela's stuff. I'll definitely be back!)

The Men's Club

Despite the early hour he posted (Oy!), The Wizard managed to post some great stuff. (Certainly I'm not surprised. "My old girlfriend..." Ha!) Fin is bound to have some goodies. So, stay tuned. Puffy will jump in with some words of wisdom. And, we'll also get to hear what whoppers Naked Villiany has told.

Work From Home

OK. I just have to let loose with this one, big pet peeve.

As I may have mentioned before, I am a remote employee, so I work from home. This means my morning commute is great, as my office is five feet from my bedroom.

Working at a home office has its distinct advantages, like going to work in your snuggy pants or dusting the coffee table while you’re on a conference call. But there are also some disadvantages, like, never really getting to have a sick day and sometimes working through breakfast, lunch and dinner. Nevertheless, I love it and am very grateful for this unique opportunity.

However, of late, there has been another disadvantage that I hadn’t expected – the advances of pesky (but well-intentioned) people aggressively seeking a “Work From Home” job.

Let me give you the most recent example.

Today Mr. Surly and I are having our furnace, air conditioner and water heater replaced. (I know. BOING!) So, we have had a team of workers coming in and out of the house all day. I’ve made coffee. We’ve shared a couple of chats in passing. They all seem like very competent, very nice guys.

So, on his most recent trip to the bathroom, one of the guys poked his head in the office.

Him: Hey, so what do you have going on in here?

Me: Well, this is my office. I work from home.

Him: What do you do?

Me: I’m a (title) for a technology company.

Him: Oh. Work from home, you say? My girlfriend is looking for a job. What does your company do? Are you hiring?

Me: We’ll we (description). We're only hiring sales folks right now.

Him: That sounds great for her. She's quite a talker. She would be great on your sales team. Can she call you for an interview?

Me: Well, does she have any experience selling (broad description of what my company does)?

Him: No.

Me: Oh. That's cool. Has she ever been in sales before?

Him: Nope. (Pause) Is that your business card. (Points to Desk) Gimmee one of them. I’ll have her call you.

Me: Well, if she is not interested in sales, I’m not sure how much I can do for her. We’re only hiring sales people.

Him: No. Sales is fine. Just fine. How much does it pay? Like, what does she have to do? Do people call in to buy stuff? Does she take orders on the phone?

Me: (Smiling, but Getting Annoyed) Well, not exactly. She would be an enterprise sales person to large companies. She would call on them, tell them about our product...For example, the most recent person we hired has over 15 year's experience. So, we're primarily focused on people who have lots of sales experi--

Him: But she wants to work from home! I’ll have her call you. I will just take one of those cards. Thanks!

I hate to be a jerk here, but this kind of thing drives me crazy.

I don’t mind that someone is asking for a job. I’ve been a job hunter before. I know how difficult it can be out there. So, I don’t want to criticize someone for trying to make a living – or for helping his girlfriend try to do the same.

However, I work for a real company that sells a real product to real customers. We work hard. This isn’t some kind of easy gig or silly "Earn 15,000 A WEEK from the COMFORT of your HOME!!!" pyramid scheme.

What that guy did is tantamount to walking into the local law firm and saying to some random employee, “Give me your card. My girlfriend is a huge Law and Order fan. I’ll have her call you about a job.”

Oy.

A Salute to Pop

Apologies for being late with this. It seems to be my trend.

However, I couldn’t let Father’s Day go by without doing a salute to dad.

Here is one of my favorite stories about my dad helping me learn to ride my first two-wheeler. (Keep in mind, I still need safety wheels.)

Actually, our luck has never been good regarding anything with wheels.

One of my other favorite dad moments involved taking me out for my first ever drive, after having just completed driving school.

Now, I should underscore this by saying that it was kind of a stressful time around the house. Mom was down the shore helping to take care of my aging grandparents who just arrived home from the hospital – on the same day. Dad was staying up here working, like, a million hours a week, keeping the home fires burning and driving me all over God’s creation to do, like, all the school activities teenagers do.

After running two stop signs, nearly crashing into a telephone pole (or a neighbor, was it?) and watching dad turn seven shades of purple whilst desperately trying to keep his cool, we decided to turn the car around and go home. (Did I mention I only drove six blocks?)

Long story short: I got confused, screwed up the gas and break, did a “Dukes of Hazard”-like airborne fly off of our inclined driveway and smacked into the garage, managing to take off half of the front of car in the process.

Thankfully, no one was injured but the car was – for lack of better words – a farookin’ mess.

After the crash, there was total silence. I sat there in the driver’s seat in shock, doing a white-knuckled grip on the wheel. Then, I started to sob. One of those, big, ugly, snotty body-shaking sobs. I failed. And made a lousy mess of things in the process.

Then, dad did the coolest thing in the world.

He walked around to the driver’s side and eased me out of the car.

Dad: Hey, are you okay?

Me: (Sobbing, Snotting, Wiping Nose on Arm) Yeah. (Big Sob) Are you (Bigger Sob) mad at me?

Dad: No. Of course not. Hey, let’s call your mom and tell her about your first time on the road.

(We start walking into the house to call my mother.)

Dad: Hey, did you want to go out with your friends tonight and do something, like a movie?

TJ: Yeah, that would be nice. (Sniff. Sniff.) Are you…(Blowing Nose in Big, Honky Fashion)…um…sure?

Dad: Absolutely. One thing, though. How about I drive?

I have no doubt in my mind that he probably wanted to throttle me Homer Simpson style. But you’d never know it. It was one of those great dad moments where he realized that what I needed just then – just at that very moment – was his unconditional love and support.

So, I emerged that day from the car with all my limbs – and my spirit – in tact. And, of course, I have my dad to thank for it.

Happy (Belated) Father’s Day, dad!

Surprise!

As I write this, I just finished a 8:15 a.m. drive to the Walgreen’s One Hour Photo to drop off six roles of film. Of what, you ask?

The reason I have been so quiet of late is that dad and I have been planning and eagerly anticipating my mom’s (SURPRISE!!!) 60th birthday celebration, which (finally) happened last night.

You see, this was kind of a big deal because my mother is one of those people who is genuinely and quietly good. The sad part is, good quality folks like my mom often fly below the radar in terms of special occasions. So, back in December, my dad and I conspired to change that and give her a day she would always remember.

Even while planning this thing, I felt the love. Almost invariably, people’s RSVP messages on my voice mail said, “Of course I’ll be there! It’s about time we did something for Mrs. Parkway. Now…what can I do to help?”

Everyone lent a hand: My 93 year old grandmother helped us to carry out our ruse. Aunt E and cousins handled transportation and help me set up the room. Dad’s “Usual Suspects” were also there in full force. "The Bodyguard" showed up early to help get things organized. The "Baker Babe" was kind enough to lend us her stereo and brought along "Li’l Hank" to help. "Big Hank" was the official "Shush-er," making sure no one let out a peep as we ushered in the birthday girl. Trust me. The list goes on.

For those of you who have never planned a surprise party for someone, you should. Yeah, you get an ulcer and will probably sport a massive “Now I Can Finally Relax, Point Me Toward the Bar!” hangover (like me) but it is all worth it. Nothing in the world compares to that moment where you watch as the person of honor puts it all together.

I’m hoping to sneak in a few more winks of sleep, but before I do, I figure I’ll give you a few more highlights:

• The theme was “A Few of Her Favorite Things” – all stuff my mom enjoys -- from fresh calla lilies to coconut cake.
• The theme of dad’s toast was “I’ve Never Met a Person Who Doesn’t Like Mrs. Parkway.” By the end of his speech, even the big, burly guys in the room were dabbing at the corners of their eyes.
• Even the lady who does her nails sent a gift. (See above.)
• The whopper we told to get her there was that I was winning a big, fancy pants “Board of Trustees Award” from my college. Upside: She got a surprise party instead! Downside: No award for me. I suck.
• "Quietly Sinister" Linda made mom this hysterical story book with plenty of pictures  -- much of it dealing with dad not cleaning the farookin' basement, an ongoing saga in the house by the Parkway.
• When dad got the bill at the end, I hear tell that the waiter looked at it and said, “Wow…that’s quite a bar bill. Well…just…wow. Um, thanks.” However, when dad told us later what the damage was we said – almost in unison – “Um, that was it?” Guess some folks were taking it easy last night.

Today we’re going back up north to celebrate Father’s Day on my parent’s deck. (As a side note, “Happy Father’s Dad!”) So, I’m off to put the finishing touches on my coconut cream pie and whip up some appetizers – grilled, marinated asparagus and tandoori shrimp.

Man, I’m exhausted but still amazed we were able to pull it off. Mom kept saying, “I think this is one of the best nights of my life.” I think she’s a little shortsighted. It was one of the best nights of my life too.

The Jackson Verdict

Methinks everyone will be blogging about this today. Nevertheless I wanted to put my two cents in.

Last evening before going to bed, I caught one of the (likely many) interviews with the group of jurors who heard the Michael Jackson case.

A continuing refrain was, “Well, we just wanted to treat him like any other guy.”

Oh, really?

So, if your average Joe (or Jane):

• Admittedly slept in the same bed as young boys
• Repeatedly maintained intimate friendships with young children – even calling them in the wee hours of the morning just to chat
• Had a series of elaborate bedroom security measures to prevent people from sneaking in
• Was accused by more than one child of sexual misconduct

you would still say “not guilty” on all charges, right?

I don’t think so.

Anyone who says Mr. Jackson’s celebrity didn’t play a role in the “not guilty” verdict is woefully mistaken.

I tend to subscribe to the “Where there’s Smoke, there’s Fire” theory. However, I wasn’t a juror. No matter how I feel to the contrary, Mr. Jackson has had his day in court. The opinion of those 12 people is ultimately the one that matters.

The word is that he’s now planning a “Jackson 5” tour with his brothers. (Guess the “back trouble” he experienced all through the proceedings is no longer a factor, huh?)

One would hope he would just lie low. Sell Neverland. Stay out of the public eye. And, for God’s sake, stay away from other people’s children.

The Air Update

Well, the air conditioning man came yesterday.

We need a new air conditioner, furnace and, for good measure, a new water heater.

Did I mention it will cost us the same as a good-quality used car?

Greaaaaaaaaat.

Ah, home ownership.