The Price Of Cool

I walked into the living room this morning to find my daughter watching the Imagination Movers on Disney. And I thought to myself, "What a bunch of dorks. Look at them jumping around and hamming it up like complete idiots. I bet they are so embarrassed when their friends find out what they do." And then I realized that they are making money doing that. And I thought that there is probably an amount of money someone could pay me to dance around like a fool on national television. And it probably isn't that much. But since I'm not currently in the employ of the Losers Incorporated, I feel completely free to judge and proclaim: What a bunch of tards!

South Tower, 84th Floor

About six years ago I met an amazing women named Patty. She became a huge support for me during a difficult time in my life--the horrible infertility years. As I got to know her, I found out that Patty had been working in the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. She told her her amazing story of that day. And recently I asked her to recount it for me so I could share it. It's amazing. Here are her words...


"I woke September 11, 2001 to a beautiful fall day. Showered and dressed and headed to work. I worked on the 84th floor of the South tower. I remember clearly that day, noticing things about my surrounding that I would normally take for granted. When i left one elevator on the 77th floor, heading to my next elevator I realized the enormity of this building and the life size flower arrangements that I passed every day and hardly took notice of.

I was at my desk at 7am, we started our normal trading process by filling the screens with markets. What seemed like shortly after, we all felt (rather than heard) a tremendous thump. At that very second Karen (who sat next to me) said, "Patty, grab your bag, that was a bomb", i did so. As I was leaving our trading pit I saw Jose (our trading floor 'do everything guy') who was directing us to stairwells with the most urgent face I had ever seen. Later I learned the one of four stairwells he directed us to, saved our lives. It was the inner most stairwell of the building. There was a buzz going around that a helicopter hit 1 WTC by accident, walking toward the stairs I smelled the fuel. At that point my body took over my mind and every part of my being knew I was in great danger.

I remember people being very cordial in the stairwell, looking out for the elderly, helping others that needed assistance. Its at that point where the greatest patience of my life came into play, its very tempting to roll past people knowing you have a very long way down. I tried to repeat the lords prayer in my head but couldnt get past the first verse. A couple people saw my face of fear and tried to calm me. We started our flights down, it was beginning to go smoothly and I started to relax a bit. At the 65th and then the 44th floor there were announcements for 2 wtc employees to report back to their floor. The 44th floor was a main elevator bank so a lot of people exited the stairwell waiting for an elevator to retreat back to their office. I considered it and as I approached the door to that floor a loud NO was in my head, just then I saw a colleague who said, "im sticking with the stairs", I agreed. At that point the stairs were empty and we were heading down quite quickly. At the 42nd story, we heard what sounded like and felt like a freight train ripping through the building. People flew across the stairwell, thankfully I was at a landing and secure. The building is meant to bend in case of hurricane winds, it bend so far each way I thought it was going to break in half. Karen was screaming and I remember telling her as calmly as i could to keep going. I should mention, the people that got into the elevator did so minutes before the plane hit us, they didnt survive.

We continued down, it was getting hot, I was sweating but had no idea why. Finally we were on the observation deck level, we were told to take an escalator down to the mall area. It was torturous being on the ground level of a building that you just wanted OUT OF! A glimpse of the concourse (which i thankfully forgot quickly) was total devastation, a war zone to be exact. Pieces of plane and building wreckage, I'll leave it at that.

Once outside, my friend Karen had to change her shoes, the cops and firemen told us to run and not look back. Of course we ran and looked back, My building was on fire too, my thoughts were the fire jumped. (?) The strangest thing about the outside world was people standing and staring a the buildings, completely frozen. The only people walking and running were WTC employees.

Im not sure how i knew the buildings were going to fall since i had no idea what even happened, but i did. I told Karen we were going to the seaport, try our phones then proceed over the brooklyn bridge. As we were halfway across the bridge we saw our building crumble to the ground. My first thought should have been my co-workers but it wasnt, it was the cops and firemen surrounding the building. We made it to downtown brooklyn were my brother picked us up and took us home.

Upon driving to bay ridge a black, dark sky started to clear and all of a sudden we saw blue skies again. We got to my apartment, turned on the TV. The first thing i saw was Katie Curic and I thought to myself, I shouldn't be watching this. My second thought was, if i had just died, life and news would go on like every and any other day. No phone service so I turned on my computer. My first email was from a friend from Roomful of Blues saying "God hopes this email reaches you". It was only at the point I realized everyone i knew thought i was dead.

The next few days I had hopes that people would be found in the building, it never happened. Friends that were family to me 10 hours a day, 5 days a week were gone. The cast of characters I knew and loved will never be forgotten. I will always mourn their loss and the tragedy their families endure forever. I went through a scary, tragic ordeal but this isnt about me, its about the amazing people who innocently went to work that day and lost their precious lives."

A few years after I met Patty, we both were able to concieve children. Her little boy, Nathan is just younger than Daphne. And I think all the time how he wouldn't be here if Patty hadn't listened when God told her to get out of the building and stay out of the elevator. It's so amazing to me how things turned out. I know it didn't turn out this well for so many people who died that day. But for some reason, Patty's time on this earth wasn't done yet. Maybe because of Nathan.

Patty, thank you so much for being willing to share your story again. It's inspiring and precious. Your little boy will treasure this history you have written down when he gets older. And we all will treasure it every time we remember that infamous day.

Sometimes There Just Aren't Enough Swear Words

There is nothing so depressing as getting on the scale and realizing you just gained back the 4 lbs you lost only 3 weeks ago. Already. And that you will now have to forego everything wonderful and sweet and delicious that you love to eat and drink. For another month. Just to get back to where you were before you decided to "let go a little" last week.

^&%F*$!@#!!*%$!!GR?*!!!!



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The Most Frivelous, Superficial Post Ever

I will spare all readers with a Y chromosome from a fate worse than death and warn you right here:

THIS POST IS ABOUT MY PURSE :(

I will further warn all readers with a very repressed second X chromosome:

THIS POST IS ABOUT MY PURSE :/

However, for those of you out there with one X chromosome and a second, very sparkly, shopping-prone, accessory-loving X:

THIS POST IS ABOUT MY PURSE! :)


Those of you who are left may or may not remember the previous purse drama around here. It took place over the course of about a year, during which time I searched for the perfect purse and was unable to find it. I wanted it to be on the smaller side, as I hate digging around in outer darkness for my sunglasses. I wanted it to be kind of funky--I feel that accessories should say something about who you are. And I needed it to appeal to the practical, slightly OCD side of me that likes lots of pockets and pouches and places to put things; I want a spot for my cell phone, a spot for my keys, a spot for my sunglasses, wallet, business cards, pill box, lip gloss, pens, and any other items which might occasionally make their way into my purse.

This is a tall order.

Purses tend to come in A)Sassy and cute and gigantic/and/or/without organizational capabilities; or B) Practical and horribly ugly, or at the very worst majorly boring. Trying to find a purse that fits all of my needs was next to impossible, hence the year-long search. I eventually stumbled upon a purse that fit the bill.



Lots of pockets and pouches, pretty cute (candy apple red with an embossed paisley pattern) and of a moderate size. It would take me several months to realize that I hated this purse. Mostly because the handles were so short that it could only be held in one's hand or dangled from one's wrist. Too short to throw over the shoulder. And that, when you have two small children and are always holding two hands plus a school bag, grocery bag, diaper bag, pool bag or any other bag = a deal breaker. It also only had a small 1" wide tab across the center opening to keep in all the contents of my purse when thrown down to the floor of my car after a 90-to-0-in-5-seconds stop, and out of my son's hands when jonesing for gum. That = no worky. Plus, it never really spoke to my core personality. It sort of whispered, "You might be a 70 year old grandma. I'm not sure." to me. I wasn't trying to hear that.

So (and yes, I am finally getting to the point) I have secretly been on the lookout for a new purse. And miraculously, I finally struck upon one I thought I could like last week... after only a couple of months of looking! I wasn't dead sure about it. The handles gave me pause. Long enough? Oh Yes. But also vaguely reminiscent of the braided belts of the 90's. Oh No. However, now that I've had it a week, I can say that I absolutely adore it. It has:

1) a cell pocket
2) a key pocket
3) two interior pouches for pill cases, cards, etc.
4) an interior zippered pocket for receipts, etc.
AND as an added bonus
5) two snap shut pouches on the outside of the purse that run the length of the purse, perfect for tossing pens into and tucking sunglasses into and hiding garbage in and holding coke cans in.
AND
6) The whole thing ZIPS SHUT! I have actually gone an entire week without Beck devouring a pack of gum or dumping everything I own on the floor of the car!
7) Plus it's cute. The stripes suit me. It also turns out that I like the braided leather handles. They're very smooth to the touch and slightly padded and feel really nice on. You'd have to try it to understand just how nice braided leather straps can feel against your skin.

Here is the little beaut......






So, in light of all that, I hereby pronounce us woman and purse.

And if you don't like it, DON'T TELL ME. I want to live in purse paradise/purse denial as long as humanly possible. Or, you know, until next year when I get bored with this purse and the start the madness again.

Wishing I Were Elsewhere

Question: What is the best vacation spot you've ever been to. Part 2) Why?

For me it probably has to be Cancun. PERFECT white sand beaches. Absolutely gorgeous turquoise water, about 90 degrees. Enough surf to body surf without being rough. And we stayed at an all-inclusive resort. Not having to fight about where to eat or stress over how much dessert or appetizers will tack on to the meal was priceless. Well, no, it was an extra $375. And worth every penny.

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Begging For Money

I'm here to humble myself. To beg from all of you. I need help. Actually, what I really need is money. I wouldn't usually post on my blog that I needed this kind of help, but I've reached the end of my rope and I just don't know where to turn. So I'm asking for any of you to donate money.

Specifically, quarters.

Here are the ones I need:

Pennsylvania

New Hampshire

Mississippi Thanks, JJ. Send me your email and I'll send you my P.O. Box.

Arkansas

Illinois This one just showed up ON MY DOORSTEP! Erin, you rock! I didn't even know you still read my blog.


You didn't really think I was going to beg for REAL money, did you??


I've been collecting quarters for about six months now. I'm down to these last 5 and I just can't seem to come across any. If you have one and would love to be my benefactor, just let me know what you've got. And if I deem you worthy, I'll send a P.O. box you can mail it to. Come on...all it takes is a little sofa diving or a quick scan through that re-assigned car ash tray. Please don't relegate me to yet another trip to the laundromat to exchange $20's for quarters. Thanks.

Sincerely,

The Needy

A Secret Spy Quandry

Let's say, hypothetically speaking, that you had some neighbors move in next door about a year ago. Renters. Three older men, brothers (ages 50-60). They're quiet, unassuming guys. They have a dog who barks occasionally at passers by, but mostly they keep to themselves, take care of the yard, and don't bother anyone. Imagine they are the father and two uncles of a lady you know by acquaintance. She had told you, long before they coincidentally moved in next door, that her father was on methadone and had been for years. He's ashy-skinned, hunched, sickly looking, scrawny...completely the type you'd suspect of having a prescribed drug addiction. The youngest brother also looks sickly, but he has lesions on his skin, rotting out teeth, and a sunken face. Though you won't see him for days at a time, he'll come out of the 2 bedroom house once in a while either hyper and manic or in a sort of coma, sitting or standing hunched over, nearly frozen in place, for an hour or more at a time. You suspect that he might be a meth addict. He has all the telltale signs. But you have no proof of this. The middle brother is grey-skinned, hunched, and sickly looking too. But you know now anything about him other than that he says hello when he takes out the garbage. Again, they're nice, unassuming, mild mannered guys. They compliment you on your lawn, say hello to your kids, and wave as you drive into or out of the driveway. None of them works. How they pay the rent, I don' t know. Probably wellfare.

Now imagine, a little less than a year later, as the summer weather starts getting warm, you start noticing cars drive up to the house, stop briefly (maybe 30 seconds or a minute) as one of the men, usually your acquaintance's father, goes to the car door and exchanges a few words, and then drives off. Would you suspect drugs? Would you call the police? And what would you say? What lengths would you be willing to go to to find out or prove that these guys are selling drugs?

Because this story is not hypothetical. It's a true story of my next door neighbors. I do think they're selling drugs. Yesterday I even saw my neighbor walk out to a car with three small white baggies in his hand, money exchanged, and the car drove off. Classic drug deal. I don't know what they're selling. Maybe the guy is only selling his methadone pills. Maybe it's the other brother's methamphetamine. Maybe I'm totally wrong (but I don't think so). I have already called the police. They said they'd covertly observe the house. But from what I can tell, this stuff isn't going on dozens of times a day. (Granted, I'm not sitting around watching all day either. I've got kids. I only see this stuff if I'm out in the yard, taking a walk, or happen to glance out my front window at the right time). So maybe the police will never see what I see, never catch them in the act. What then? And what if they do catch them? Will I be asked to testify? Will it put my family in danger? Will it alienate the woman I'm acquainted with and whose aunt, the men's sister, is in my ward? Should I talk to the woman I know first? To the aunt? Call the landlord with my unfounded suspicions and hope that he throws them out so I don't have to get involved? Or just stay anonymous and let the police hope to catch it? I've set my camera near the front window where I have a clear view of their driveway and front yard thinking I might catch the actual act on film. And then what? I really don't want to get personally involved. But I also don't want drug dealers, however innocuous they might seem, living next to me. Plus, recently the youngest brother's high school senior daughter and older daughter with an 18 month old son also moved in. So now there are two minors on the property who are in circumstances that might put them at risk. That one detail makes me more determined that something needs to be done. But what exactly?

I'm really not sure what to do.