Christmasy Weekends and another Bridget Jones' Party Experience

It's another Sunday evening where the weekend has flown by entirely too fast. It's a wet, chilly night out there- the rain has been coming down for a couple of hours and with the glow of my Christmas tree lights, it seems positively cosy in my living room.

I've tried to have a very Christmas-y weekend. I decided earlier in the season that since I adore Christmas so much, I was going to make the most of it and try and be as festive as possible this year. It's hard to avoid jumping right into the Christmas spirit when the stores are festooned with yuletide glory, the radio is full of Christmas music and it seems like it smells like cinnamon everywhere.

I put up one of my Christmas trees on Friday night. Normally, I only have one. However, for the past couple of years, my sad, Walmart Black Friday $20 Bargain Tree has been looking a little forlorn and pathetic even when I've tried to hide the gaps with decorations and garlands. So this year, I splurged and got a new tree. It's very nice with no gaps and it looks somewhat real. I'd actually rather have a real one but since I spend Christmas at my parents' house, it seems a bit of a waste. I contemplated one of those burlap-bulbed trees so I could replant it but even though my little Toyota Corolla can haul far more than you'd imagine, I'm not quite sure even I could figure out a way to get a Christmas tree home in my car.

So, I got a nice artificial one. The only problem was that I couldn't bear to part with my little forlorn tree. It was the first tree of my own that I ever owned. Thus, I decided to bedeck my Tuscan room with my forlorn tree and use the new one in my living room.

Friday, I put my new tree up. I drank mulled wine and watched "Elf." I baked chocolate chip chocolate cupcakes and whoopie pies for a friends' party on Saturday. It was a very festive evening and I enjoyed every minute of it. By the time I was done, my tree looked rather nice, if I do say so myself.

Saturday, I did some Christmas shopping in the morning and then came home, put up my simple outdoor decorations- just a garland and bow around my little lampost and a couple of little pre-lit porch trees. Then I put up my forlorn tree in my Tuscan room. I also frosted the cupcakes I'd made with peppermint buttercream and filled my whoopie pies with candy-cane Hershey Kiss buttercream. Then I headed to my friends birthday party.

The first sign it wasn't going to be a great success was that just as I was lifting my cake carrier that was stuffed with cupcakes off my car seat to transport them into my friends' house, the stupid lid came off. It was my fault- I should have checked to make sure it was still locked and hadn't come loose during the journey. Needless to say, I had quite a few cupcake casulties which was rather too bad because they tasted rather yummy if I do say so myself. Still, the whoopie pies were safe since I'd packed the seperately.

The second sign that it wasn't going to be a terrifically fun party for me was that I quickly realized it was going to be another Bridget Jones Night. It was small gathering in honour of my friends 45th birthday. She was doing something unique- a blind wine tasting in which she would decide the winner, no gifts but, instead, we would bring a toy to donate to Toys for Tots that would have been something our hostess would have liked as a child and a concert by a local university acapella group which my friend had 'won' in a silent charity auction.

My wine was pretty good- I know my friends' tastes which are quite similar to mine so I brought a nice Zinfandel. My toy was Scrabble- my friend loves to read and write and oddly adores English grammar.

The problem was that every single person there aside from me was married. Now, when I lived in L.A., even when I went to similar gatherings, it was ok- the 'marrieds' were independent enough that they circulated seperately from their spouses and it was just a gathering o' people. However, in the Midwest, it's a little different. Here, the spouses come as a pair. When one spouse is separated from the other and forced to talk to the lone singleton at the party, this spouse starts to panic and say things like "I wonder where John is!" Well, this would be ok if it was, say, a large house and there was a possibility of John being more than 25 feet away but in this case, my friends house is not huge and the reality was that John was 15 feet away in the next room talking to Bob whose wife is holding his arm possessively.

I know, that's a little harsh. I'm sure not every gathering in the Midwest is really like that but the few I've been too where I've been the lone singleton have been very much like that. I try very hard to be social but it's rather hard because couples seem to like to talk to other couples and discuss their children, how much they're paying the sitter and who their kids' teachers are.

Needless to say, it was a difficult evening. Fortunately, there was wine and cheese. The wine tasting went well. I came in second. I would have come in first, I suspect but the winning wine was the first one everyone tried and someone said, "Hey, wine #7 is good!" so everyone had to try wine #7 and it went fast. This meant that our hostess couldn't have a second taste of wine #7 to compare it to my wine and it won by default because it was so popular. I tried wine #7, for the record, and I found it to be a bit plummy. Also, wine #7 happened to be brought by the hostess' closest friends who'd been staying there that weekend. Yes, I probably sound bitter but three hours of standing around feeling more and more alone in a room full of smug married people made me feel a little bitter. Also, the hostess' dad asked me where 'my other half' was in reference to a former coworker I'd once showed up to a party with a few years ago. I've been to several of my friends' parties since without this coworker but he clearly thought we were a couple. I shouldn't have been surprised. An unmarried woman in the midwest in her thirties is bound to set off a few suspicions. Still, it was a bit like throwing salt in a wound by this point.

The party itself was lovely. My friend throws a good gathering. The acapella group was amazing though and it was nice to have a break from mingling to listen to some music. I was a little surprised that people were raving over my whoopie-pies which I found cloyingly sweet. They were actually fighting over the last one. Meanwhile, my lovely, hand frosted, crushed peppermint decorated cupcakes sat virtually untouched.

By the time it became safe for me to leave without being rude, I did so. It was a relief to get in my car, crank up the Tran-Siberian orchestra and drive home where I was greeted enthusiastically by my pups. It's nice to show I'm loved even if I am a pathetic singleton who apparently gives of lesbian vibes. Not that there's anything wrong with that it's just that I'm not a lesbian.

As much as I hated that it did so, my party experience made me feel a little down on Sunday. It's one thing to know I'm alone and accept it but it's another to be reminded of how alone I am at times. Still, I decided to fight off my blues by some intensive cleaning and organizing and finishing putting up the final Christmas decorations.

Now, I'm sitting inside, listening to the rain pour down, finishing some laundry and feeling sad that the weekend is already almost over. Tomorrow, it's back to work as normal. However, on the plus side, I now have the glow of the multicoloured lights of my Christmast tree when I come home in addition to my lovely pups who constantly love to show me how much I'm loved.

It's not all bad. I just need to stop going to parties where I'm the only single person. I think they're bad for me.

Happy Monday!

Feeling a Little Too Much Like Bridget Jones

It's Halloween day and it's about as beautiful out there as it ever could be at the end of October on an Autumn day.

I have my trick or treat candy ready to go. I'm hoping I have enough. If not, my porch light will just have to go off early and I'll close up shop. I had planned on being festive and lighting my three carved Jack o' Lanterns but it's been rather warm and like most carved pumpkins in the neighbourhood, mine have a case of the rot. They have that saggy, caved-in look. I'm still going to attempt to light them but I think they might be slightly more horrific than I intended.

My weekend has been sufficiently Halloween-y/Autumnal. It began in a nice way too. My boss decided we were all leaving at 4 p.m. on Friday for a happy hour in celebration of my first job placement. It was nice and unexpected. It's just another reason why I like my job. At this company, there's no debate about whether it's fair to leave early because some people would have to take paid time off. There's no doubt that people can't make it...everyone shows up and everyone has fun. It was nice to get to know my coworkers/boss a little more and it was far more laid back than any awkward event at my old job.

Saturday was nice too. I took the pups for a long nature hike over the woods. I was very impressed at their stamina. We went up hills, down hills, on bridges, on gravel, on woodland pathways and they didn't stop once. Rory had a bit of a problem with some of the bridges because the wooden slats were far enough apart that her little paws got a bit stuck in them but she kept up. My goal was to wear the two of them out so I could be gone for a Halloween party most of the evening without feeling too guilty.

I took them for another walk not long before I left for the party. It did occur to me at this time that in the process of wearing the puppies out, I was also making myself quite tired. Sometimes my grand plans aren't quite so well thought out.

The party itself was a great party. The hostess- my friend and former coworker- goes all out and doesn't miss a single detail. The only problem was that as great as the party, the food and the drinks were, what it came down to was that I was the only single person at the whole party. When I say single, I mean in the Bridget Jones sense, not in the sense that I was the only person at the whole party.

There's a scene in Bridget Jones' Diary where Bridget goes to a dinner party thrown by her married friends. The dinner party is nothing but married couples, "smug marrieds" as Bridget calls them. Well, I felt very much like Bridget at my friends' party on Saturday night. It wasn't her fault- she did a great job of checking on me. It's just hard to socialize with people who you don't know and obviously all know one another. I attempted conversations but I couldn't ever break in. Since my friend/the hostess had invited every one from my old office, I thought a few of my old coworkers might show up but, alas, there wasn't anyone there I knew.

In the end, I left slightly earlier than planned because in the absence of distraction, I began to worry about leaving the puppies alone. It had already been over six hours. I got home feeling slightly too-spinsterish and feeling a little blue. I discovered that the puppies, particularly Sookie, were furious with me for leaving them and they wouldn't come near me. When you come home feeling slightly Flump-ish , the last thing you need is your dogs to be angry with you. What you want is for them to come sit with you and let you know you're loved. Instead, it took them almost an hour to decide I was forgiven.

I woke up today still feeling a little blue so I've spent the day doing things that make me feeling in the Halloween spirit. I made butternut squash soup which I'm going to have for dinner tonight served in a mini pumpkin. I made a pumpkin simple syrup to make into a cocktail later tonight. In short, I'm having my own little Halloween party after trick or treating is over. I did think about dressing the puppies up but given that they don't even like their winter coats much, I was afraid they'd chew each other's costumes to pieces.

All that's left now is to light the pumpkins, mouldy as they are, run the vacuum around and make sure my candy is by the front door. I also have to gate the puppies in the kitchen since I know they'll go a little nuts if the doorbell rings. Other than that, we're ready for Halloween!

As long as I don't run out of candy.

Happy Monday and I hope you had a good Halloween.

Conversations With Our Old Selves...

Have you ever looked back over a span of your life and wished you could have a conversation with your [X] year-old self?

Tonight I did that. I was scouring my shelves for a notebook in which I could jot some ideas to inspire my latest novel and I came across one in which I haven't written for years.

For a while, I went through a phase where I asked for notebooks and journals as gifts. As a result, I have an eclectic collection that is emblazoned from everything from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," to a cute toddler dressed in fairy clothing.

Tonight, I pulled out a random notebook. In it, I found a "journal" entry from 1999. I say "journal" because it's clear, back then, I intended to keep track of my life. Unfortunately, my attempts were from New Years' Eve through New Years' Day of that year. After that, there's a couple of blank pages and then a list of "Why I'm grateful I moved to Los Angeles."

It reminded me that I'm fond of lists. Sometimes it's nice to see things in black and white, even though life is rarely that simple. Today, for example, I was told that the job for which I interviewed could be mine. It's going to be offered to me on Thursday when I meet with my interviewer to discuss the compensation package.

It seems so simple. I've been miserable at my current job and thus, this new one should be a blessing in disguise...right? And yet, as I stated yesterday, things things are never that simple. Just as I found a lifeline out of the office that has caused much of my misery over the past year or more, I was offered a lifeline within that office. My boss finally recognized that I had aspirations and hopes. It only took two years.

So now I stand at a crossroads. Do I dive into an unknown future or do I sit, comfortably, on the present past?

The nice thing is that it may be simpler than I'm making it. The new job may end up being of a salary that is too low for me to contemplate. It may offer the hope of commission-based earnings but the base salary may be too hard for me to contemplate in the bill-owing reality of my world.

Or, it may be hard. It may be a job I feel suited for and the salary may be comparable to mine. In which case, my dilemma from yesterday of the devil I know vs. the devil I don't may be relevant.

It's hard to tell. Yet, tonight, when I came across my list from 1999, I was reminded of the simplicity of life. In 1999, I was 24 years old. I had recently read "Bridget Jones' Diary," and so I wrote without pronouns. I wrote feverishly, spilling the secrets of my singleton status as though the diary were my wine-saturated best friend.

I had written the entry on New Years' Eve, 1999. It turns out, I went to see a movie, specifically, "The Talented Mr. Ripley," with my best friend, Saz. I had a good time. Yet, I was clearly searching for the meaning of my life. I was clearly contemplating a move to L.A., a digression from the Midwest to the West Coast. I was contemplating writing a screenplay. I had written, in my own words, "Probably should write a screenplay or something. No point in saying I'm a writer if I don't write."

That was more than 10 years ago. These days, I've been to L.A. and back. I've gone through my resentment of the Midwest and turned, full circle, into being grateful for the simplicity of the Midwest.

I did write a screenplay. I wrote several. Then I wrote television scripts. Then I wrote novels.

Three major feature film scripts, seven television scripts and nine and a half novels later, here I am, back in the Midwest. I think I can safely say I'm a writer, even if my book sales don't agree as much as I wish they would.

It's interesting. Once you get to a certain age, you stop living life minute by frenzied minute. Life slows down and yet speeds up at the same time. You start noticing the small, simple details of life and yet you realize they start passing you by more quickly than they ever have before.

It's been just over ten years. In that time, I've grown from being a dreamer to being a realist. The dreamer in me still exists. I still hope that sales of The Reluctant Demon will increase, that people will realize it's worth the time, even if it has no deep level of significance. It's fun. I still dream that the right person will stumble upon my book or, even, this blog and realize I'm an imprisoned talent trapped in a mundane life.

And yet, the realist speaks louder. The realist has realized that while the dreams are important and even necessary, the reality of life...is now. I may dream of being respected, famous, quoted and respected but, in reality, I exist. I have a house which makes me concrete. I have puppies, which makes me responsible. I write fiction, which makes me creative. I have a job, which also makes me responsible.

I think back then, in 1999, I was still young enough to believe that it was ok to shoot for the stars. These days, I see the stars and look at them with a fondness. I've been there, in a way. I did manage to get the idea to write a novel. I finished that novel. I enjoyed that novel. Then I wrote eight more.

When I step back, I can see that the mere fact that I finished one novel is an accomplishment. I forget that sometimes. In my life, I've always been consistent. In school, I worked hard and got good grades. It was expected of me. In life, it's been expected that I'll make my own way and not rely on others. That, too, is expected.

Sometimes, it's hard to remember that the things that come easiest to us, come hardest to others. Those that know us come to expect that greatness, even "decentness" is an everyday thing. For me, I look at the novels I've written and I see only a series of stories, of characters, of events that are tied together only because I created them. I forget that the simple act of creating them isn't as easy as it seems to me. Once I wrote one book, the rest seemed to be simple.

Then I look back at the journal entry that I wrote on 12-31-99 and I see that, back then, the mere idea of even one novel wasn't even a seed in my mind.

It's amazing how life changes. Some people plan it. Others take it as it comes. Me, I try to plan it but I'm willing to change course if it feels right. In 1999, it seemed right to move my life across the country, 2000 miles away. It seemed right to want to think about writing something.

These days, in 2010, I'm back in the place I abandoned- the autumnal world of the Midwest. I thought about writing and I did it. I wrote about a character who was a hacker and, because I like to be thorough, my research led me to a career in software.

And, so, here I am. I wonder, if I could talk to my Bridget Jones inspired self, whether I'd tell her anything different. Would I change the course of our lives, just to live for another dream?

It's hard to say. Because, when I look back at that Captain Monkeypants' aspirations, writing was my dream, moving across the country was my dream. I accomplished both.

Life is a series of nested dreams. I think it's up to us to decide if we should look at it as a whole, a horizon of unaccomplished wants or as a series of successes, of small conquests that have helped us keep moving forward.

I think it's safer to look at the small conquests. That way, we allow life to keep us flexible. It allows us to go with the flow rather than resolutely say, "No, I won't have that."

It also allows us to deal with life when it says, "No, you shan't have that," even when we think we should.

All in all, I think I'd talk to my ten-years-ago self and tell her that it's ok to have dreams. It's ok to try to accomplish them. If we fail, so be it. If we succeed, power to us. It's about the trying that counts.

And we did that. We're doing that. That's what makes life...life...right?

Happy Wednesday!