I think we'll need more cake

Happy Birthday Februarians!

Robyn Coffin, Remee Morse, Me, John Basco, Jeremy Hirsch, Andres Marcus, Reed Maschevski (yeah, I spelled that wrong) and of all things, Happy Birthday Dunkin Donuts.

What?

Yep, Happy 60th you cheap-ass-donut-making-franchise with excellent coffee. Two more years and you can retire your ovens. Just keep the kettle brewing.

Headshaves, Horseshoes and Love

Its weird, the things that represent strength.

In the past week I've watched my best friend face fear and become stronger than I think she realizes. She can rock a shaved head and I am in awe of her. I guess that's what got me thinking about this post's topic. I associate shaved heads with fear and ultimately strength.

My little sister had a life threatening accident when she was three. To this day I can vividly remember fragmented pieces of it. She went from a little smiley kid with pigtails to little smiley kid with a helmet. She had this huge horseshoe scar on the side of her shaved head where the Doctors repaired her fractured skull.

Her skull.

But oddly enough, the shaved head, scar and helmet only accentuated her little kid smile (just like it is doing for Crescent) the proverbial twinkle in Erin's eye was for real. Even though she was three and couldn't verbalize it, I believe she knew just how close she came to a different outcome and she was celebrating. (Okay, so she celebrated in the weirdest of little kid ways, like pretending the dining table leg was her pony, but it made her happy.....and they said there was no damage to the brain.......hmmm....)

As her older sister, I think about that day a lot. Somewhere deep down in the memory banks lies this image of her actually getting hit (by a softball bat....and NO I was not swinging it). Thankfully, I have made a deal with the memory librarian and she archived it so I can't consciously recall it.

**Side note: Librarians love caramels. If you ever need to bribe one, make sure to be prepared.**

I am so damn thankful I AM an older sister; I can't imagine having lost her. Ever since we were teenagers we've talked about the "one day" dream -- that one day we'll be neighbors with a gate made in the fence between our houses and her kids will run away to Aunt Sissy Pant's house where they'll eat fluffer nutter sandwiches in pajamas while we make forts with the couch cushions. And in the middle of the night Erin and I will carry them quietly back to their own beds so when they wake up they're back where they belong. I'll let you in on a secret, I don't care if she has kids or not, there would be a gate in the fence so I could run away to my sister's house and hideout in the fort we'd make in her living room.

When I look at her now, I don't see that little awkward scared kid in a helmet with a horseshoe scar, I see a beautiful strong sister with a lucky horseshoe mark she'll carry with her forever.

When you see a shaved head, you are looking at a strong woman. You may not see them at first because their hair has grown back, but look closely and I bet you'll see the twinkle in their eye and the strength in their heart.

What Weight Watchers and my Ex have in common

Or.... "Does this Cheesecake make my life look fat?"

(For the record, I don't like cheesecake, not in the least. Not even if it were infused with ginger, dusted with macadamia and topped with Frangelico whip cream)

It's time for me to fess up because I've been holding back and I haven't been honest with you recently. I always said that I would write what I needed and wanted to with no reservations or modesty (tact, yes) but no editing content for the audience. Shoot straight from the hip (Lord knows I have them) and always tell the truth, because we all know, truth usually makes for the best material.

I hate this.

Ok, here goes.......ready.....set........go........I have gained some *noticeable* weight. Shocking! Why on Earth could this take me by surprise? Naturally good eating habits wouldn't lead you into such a predicament, and I've mastered those in the past. Like 80 pounds in the past. Pssh-yeah.

Wait, what's that you say? Cookie dough and red wine at midnight can't be considered good? Whatdaya mean I can't grandfather these in?! Well I'll be a turnip cart, I never would have imagined........ah, bullshit. I totally knew. Totally aware. It's as if I have given Power Of Attorney to my mouth, my tastebuds and my emotions. They're the evil step children I have to put up with and right now I feel like they've tied the rational, calm part of my being to a chair in the tool shed.

The thing is, I'm a stress eater. What a low down dirty vice this is. Everyone eats to sustain life. Everyone has stress. I just happened to introduce these two scoundrels on the playground one time and since then they refuse to go play alone. I want to be one of those people unaffected by my stress, or at least can I be in the group that gets stressed and can't stomach water? I'd love that. Built in willpower.

Now you see why I haven't written about this topic until tonight. I have a lot to say about this and all of it is extremely personal and probably uninteresting to you. I don't know anyone who is happy with their body condition. Ok, maybe two people. In the country. But I'm not going to lie, when I get to the point where I've reversed this gain, I will shut the hello up and just be content. I'll be the third person in the country.

So why write about this at all? Well, I've got to bite the bullet and go to my Weight Watchers meeting this weekend. I've had the same leader since I started in 2005 and she's tracked the successes over these past years right along side of me -- until I took a leave of absence in November and haven't been back since. And now I find myself dreaming of loosing 10 pounds before I next go to weigh in so that she doesn't know the extent of the damage done in 3 months.

Why is that? Why would I try and lose weight prior to attending a meeting? A meeting solely created to support someone who is actively losing or maintaining weight? It seems stupid. But then if that's true, why do we brush our teeth before going to the dentist? Or trimming before going to the waxing appointment? Or even cleaning the house prior to the cleaning lady coming over....all services we willingly seek out and pay (dearly) for.

It's for approval. You want to be given kudos for maintaining your (teeth/lady parts/house) items between sessions. Approval that you took care of your new clean teeth for six months! When you walk out of that waxing appointment you are going to use your power for good and when you return for follow up there's travel and excitement to share! Trust me, you want the same from a WW Leader. You want to see the smile of congrats when you've lost from the week before. That hint of jealousy that they themselves wish for a second that was their success we were celebrating. To be better than when last you met. To have something to bring to the table.

Same goes for exes. You always want to look better, smell better, seem stronger than when you last met.

I can't change what will register when I get back on the horse this weekend at the meeting. Just like I can't worry about what I'll look like the next time I see my ex. I should be thankful I don't have to be naked for either.

Why Gay bars have Kleenex

It's not easy to admit that I've cried in some strange places for a myriad of reasons. Though I am proud to admit that it hasn't been often as of late. With the exception of tonight.

Add yet another bar. A bar ill equipped to handle an emotional outpour with a best friend. A PBR Irish bar.

Fucking Cancer. Fucking absent Kleenex. God Damn dog.

I am not one to cry in front of people. I hate it. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable - two things I just don't put up with in myself. Yet I'm not naive to think that it hasn't happened, won't happen....I just can't stand it when it does.

My best friend starts Chemo next week.

Fucking Cancer. I'd like to go two rounds with you in a ring. Two rounds. First round I get surprised by how dirty you fight and the next round I KICK YOUR ASS.

But it's like boxing smoke. Elusive and coy...one minute right in your face and the next not even a shadow on the mat. So instead, I pour my weakness into something constructive. A benefit for her. Something that can provide comfort to her and her husband. Selfishly it makes me feel good for contributing.

But there are nights that we sit and laugh until we cry - and then cry until we laugh. Tonight we started laughing over PBR and Chardonnay and bar pizzas. Then we started to talk about the benefit and the crying started - the, "I can't believe the amount of support and love that is out there" kind of crying. So we paid the bill at the PRR bar and decided to call it a night.

Unfortunately (or is it fortunate) that our train stop is literally twenty paces from a gay bar called Scot's. How do two girls sharing laughs and tears in a straight bar pass up a drink at the gay bar?! Moments after arriving we were bought a martini and shots. Gay men just aren't scared off by the prospect of crying; they are drawn to it like moths to flame.

So for those of you that I sent texts to that seemed odd or out of left center, I don't apologize but I offer the explanation of PBR draft beers, gay men and a dog named Wilson. If you'd been there with me in person you'd have appreciated the fact that Gay bars have Kleenex readily available.

Here's to you Crescent Prah. I will bring the Kleenex, kick Cancer's ass, and cry anywhere, anytime as long as it's with you. Just promise that someday it can be my dog that we take pictures of in a bar.

Boom! Rubber Band

Here's a weird thing....rubber bands.

Tell me, when was the last time you remember purchasing a rubber band? Go ahead, think about it. I'll wait.

Waiting. ...............................................................still waiting.................give up? Yeah don't feel bad, I can't either. But I knew that (this is my topic after all) I just wanted to see how long you'd try. Even though you can't recall when you acquired a rubber band I bet you could walk to your kitchen or your desk and find a handful of these rascals scattered in the drawer. Rubber bands are like those dryer sheets that sometimes hide out in the crotch of your pants until at the most inopportune moment, say like when you are in line at the bank , it decides to make a break for it and shimmy down the pant leg and escape by sneaking past the sock. FREE AT LAST.

(What in the hell does a used dryer sheet have in store for itself after preventing static cling? I doubt roller coasters and pony rides are on the agenda. Maybe a sort of lining for a bird's nest possibly?)

I think about rubber bands all the time. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I "collect" bands (that's more than a little fishy) but I do know when and where I get them from. You can walk around my house and find a few bands hanging on random door knobs or cupboard knobs -- always handy -- and even one hanging in my shower, but that's a special one. These get used in a myriad of ways from long term to quick fixes. You just never know when you'll need one, a good band is hard to find.

(Get it? Good band....like man........wow, I've been away too long. Either I'm rusty or you've forgotten my sense of humor. Let's get it together people!)

Postal workers are NOTORIOUS for dropping bands all down the sidewalks of their routes in Chicago, like Hansel and Gretel and the breadcrumbs. All I have to do is walk two blocks out of my way and have enough bands to last the next couple months. I like to remind myself not only am I being frugal, I'm also doing a good deed by collecting these off the ground so some yippy little dog doesn't choke to death when he decides a chewy rubber band is a good afternoon snack.

(Only yippy dogs. Big dogs wouldn't bother with anything smaller than a fan belt.)

When I was growing up my parents owned a grocery store and my mom was the Non-Foods Manager. That meant on days when the stock came in we would have to help replenish the shelves. Boxes of Tylenol held together with a rubber band, bottles of cough syrup clinging together inside a rubber band -- container after container of the same. By the end of it you'd have rubber bands lined up from wrist to elbow. Enough rubber bands to last a lifetime. It was a bitch and a half to get those Mothers off your arm. Usually leaving a hairless forearm as proof of a job well done.

I venture to guess that after reading this you will catch yourself noticing the existence of rubber bands more. And, if you want yet more excitement, you can do what an old acquaintance of mine started doing. Every time he'd see a rubber band on the floor or sidewalk he'd yell, "BOOM! Rubber band" and pick it up.

I bet his forearm is hairless.

All Skate

I don't know how many of you are out there reading my postings, I know for certain there are six of you. For you six, plus anyone else reading, I offer an apology for not writing more frequently. Even as I sit here apologizing to you for not writing I feel like this post is sucking monkey balls and I don't want to finish it. It's just that I haven't had a lot to say which is surprising since I'm not lacking things bumping around in my head -- trust me, it's like a goddamn roller skating rink in there -- thoughts just keep going round and round and round and round....getting dizzy...and I'm afraid of what will happen when the song stops and I need to make sense of it all. I'm avoiding it. And in the last 20 years I've crafted some very strong avoidance techniques so I'm really good at it. Huh, too bad there isn't some way to get paid to avoid things......what?

Honestly, I have been trying to decide what to write about for the last couple weeks and when I finally get a nugget of a topic started in my head, I lose it before I get the time or energy to start writing. To help explain how it feels, let's keep going with the roller skating analogy. It's like the thoughts that are going round and round in my head daily are the expert speed skaters, the kind that do all those fancy tricks and backward skating in the middle of the rink. They are effortless and unlimited. Then the creative ideas, the lists of things to do, the weekend plans and compliments for friends, care and concern to give, decisions and Christmas wishes are the little kids on skates for the first time flung to the outer edges of the rink. Barely able to stand erect, they cling to the shag carpeted walls on the outside and try to muster the strength to make it a quarter of the way to the next exit. Here their skates hit the worn carpeted safety zone and they feel that relief that the attention is no longer theirs. All the while the advanced skaters are doing bigger tricks and skating faster and more furious with the extra room that has been created with the exodus of all the carpet clutchers.

This is what is happening. This is why I apologize to you six (teen?) readers. I just don't want to write about the thoughts that are the speed skaters in my rink. And I'm afraid until they've exhausted themselves, or I cut off their feet, I have no choice but to wait it out.

That said, today is December 1st. It's almost a year since Test Your Pen's conception. I'm really proud and really thankful that you bother to come back and check it out, it means a lot to me. You should register and be counted with the other brave 6 souls that are "followers." While it won't get you a free meal or cup of coffee, it does make you a member of a very elite group. Act now and for anyone who registers before the end of the year that person can name the topic of a posting I have to write about. Your registration, your choice of posting topic. What a deal! Hurry, only 30 days left!! Just think, you could play a huge part in making the speed skaters stop so the newbies can come back to the rink and entertain you!

Just around the corner

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort.
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.


The time will come. But until I get to raise a pint with you again, my friend, try and stay out of trouble. Remember, you still owe me that re-match; I'm going to miss the shit out of you until then.

Peter Ferrigan
November 5th, 2009