The Road Not Taken

Do you ever think about this? The road not taken? Do you ever wonder how different your life would be today if you had made this choice instead of that choice?

Now let me emphasize right up front that I am not unhappy with the choices I have made. I adore my husband, and am incredibly happy we chose each other. I am very content, so this isn't about any dissatisfaction on my part, or any longing for a different life. This is simply...curiosity.

So indulge me why I help kill the cat.

Last week on Facebook, an old college friend of mine had wished his wife a "happy birthday." I had met her once or twice back in the day, and commented on his post as follows, "I don't know if she remembers me, but pass on my birthday wishes." A day or two later, I received a message from him saying that she remembered me well...she thought I was the girl he was going to run off with.

Really? Really? I mean I don't exactly want to be remembered as the tart who she thought was going to steal her boyfriend, but even more troubling was that I never had a clue. I was actually way more into his roommate at the time, and I never noticed him...at least not like that.

But this whole weird Facebook exchange got me thinking. What if? What if I had known this back then? Would I have stolen him away? Would we have ended up together? What would my life be like today? Would I have two daughters and live in Texas, or would we have ended up in New Jersey...Alaska...Montana...with four boys and two cats? The options are endless.

The strangest part, I think, is that having been oblivious to this possibility, I had never entertained this notion before, so it caught me quite by surprise. Not only was this a road I never took, but a road I never even considered.

When I think back on the boys I actually dated...the roads I did consider, I don't really wonder too much. There is little curiosity about them, because it isn't hard to imagine what my life might have become if I'd gone that direction. I guess because I started down that path once, and then consciously chose another. The old adage "been there done that" comes to mind.

But this one is a pure mystery. Since I never even saw the road, I have no idea what it could have been. It is...interesting, and kind of fun to wonder about in a weird hmmmm kind of way.

Still, I'll never be sorry I chose the road I am on. It is a beautiful road, and I love it.

Maybe His Name Isn't Bruce After All

Since I don't have time to post much this week, I thought I'd share another random conversation from last weekend.

The scene: Late Saturday night (possibly early Sunday morning), sitting around the kitchen table playing cards and drinking beer. I doubt you'll have needed that last part of the explanation, as this conversation should make it painfully obvious that something stronger than water was being consumed.

He: "Did I tell you they remodeled the ______ theater, and they are going to start having concerts there.?"

She: "No."

He: "Yeah, and some pretty good people. Bo Bice is going to be there."

She: (with excitement) "Bo Bice? I love Bo Bice! I'd go see him."

He: "I knew you would. Oh and Bruce Springsteen."

She: (dumbfounded and disbelieving) "Bruce Springsteen? Here? Seriously?" I am thinking it is unlikely Bruce and Bo would be playing the same venue, but then what the hell do I know.

He: "Yep."

She: "That is awesome! We have to go!"

Time passes. Don't ask me how much...I mentioned the beer, right? A Bruce Springsteen song pops up on the iPod.

He: "Oh. Hold on. Did I say Bruce Springsteen? It's not him."

She: "What's not him?" (I have the attention span of a fruit fly)

He: "It's not Bruce Springsteen who is coming to the theater. It's...Bruce...Bruce...help me."

She and They collectively start shouting out random Bruces, some of whom are dead, and few of whom sing...at least not that I know of: "Hornsby?" "Lee?" "Wayne?" "Willis?" "Boxleitner?" "Jenner?"

He: "No! No! It's Bruce...Bruce...SPRINGSTEEN!"

Now this last word was said with such joyous revelation, like he had just discovered something brand new. Of course, we all burst out laughing. I know without the actual audio, you are missing the best part, but trust me, it was hysterical.

He: (quickly realizing his mistake) "Oh wait! No! Maybe his name isn't Bruce after all..."

We are now howling with laughter. Eventually, we catch our breath and give up the mystery. More time passes.

He: (randomly...we had moved on to other subjects) "Oh, wait! It was Rick Springfield!"

I am literally crying writing this...it still makes me laugh so.

I don't think I will ever again hear a Bruce Springsteen (or Rick Springfield) song without thinking "Bruce...Bruce...SPRINGSTEEN!"

Pet Peeve Number 1

Okay, so technically this one is not at the top of the list, but it is at the top of the list right now, and in honor of this being a new blog, I figured I'd start the counting at one.

So I am a huge football fan. Everyone I know knows this about me. I also graduated from a very prominent football school...one who has finished in the NCAA top 4 the last seven years (this is not bragging...just background). I make no secret of the fact that I love my alma mater. I wear football jerseys on Saturdays, have the standard issue "alumni" license plate frame, and I have my degrees proudly framed in my school colors along side an artist's rendering of one of the University's more prominent landmarks. What I do not do is run through the hallways every Monday proclaiming victory, and mocking those whose teams were not so fortunate. In fact, I rarely bring it up myself. If someone comes to me to discuss a win, I am happy to oblige, but I never go bragging to them. I never smack talk before or after a game...except maybe on the blog. But that's a different thing entirely. Folks have the option of not reading.

Anyway, here I am, trying to be respectful, not rubbing my teams victories in the faces of my friends and co-workers. So why...WHY do they find it necessary to hail every loss my team suffers with obnoxious glee?

I am not exaggerating. In fact, obnoxious glee might not be strong enough to describe the singular joy they all get from rubbing my nose in the teams messes.

Case in point: a few years ago, my team suffered a loss to their biggest rival that knocked them out of the National Championship game. When I got to work the following Monday, my office was littered with confetti in the rival's team colors. And no one from my workplace even went to that rival school.

This past weekend my team suffered a very public and unexpected loss. Yesterday I had to endure a few comments about it, but I thought I was out of the woods. Today, I get to work to find the sports section from the Wall Street Journal on my desk with the following passage highlighted AND circled in red ink:

"Like the Patriots, ___ is a team that everyone likes to see lose.

It's a BMOC thing, right? The _______ just exude privileged swagger-watching them lose is like seeing a fraternity president's BMW get a flat tire in the student union parking lot."

Then, to top it off, the perpetrator came into my office and asked if I had read it. I smiled graciously as she then proceeded to read it aloud to me, followed by gales of laughter and the comment, "I thought you'd enjoy that."

No...you thought you'd enjoy that. And did you? Did you?

Yes, I get it. We win...a lot. All this derisiveness is part jealously and part boredom. I know. I know. But why do you have to be so mean? Seriously. My team losing is bad enough. But that is only the beginning. I can usually count on the first text message coming in within seconds of the game expiring, then the rest of my family, friends and co-workers just line up for their turn. And I have no choice but to smile and laugh along with them, else be labeled as a poor loser.

I guess I need to develop some of that "privileged swagger" the WSJ spoke of and start laying my smack down with the rest of them. I mean if I'm going to pay the price whether I am gracious or not, I might as well, right?

Fine then. Whatever, Freaks. It's on.

Football Watching Gone Awry

Apologizing in advance to all pregnant cheerleaders or trailer park inhabitants (which several members of my family are, and I love them dearly), but I thought this conversation was funny. Or maybe you just had to have been there. Either way.

As heard at my house this weekend...

He: "Look at that cheerleader for _____ (unnamed University that I
refuse to acknowledge). I think she's pregnant!"

She: (looking up, but missing the shot of said cheerleader) "I'm sure she
wasn't. She was probably just full figured."

He: "No! No I am sure she was pregnant."

She: "They wouldn't have a pregnant cheerleader!"

He: "Sure they would. It is _____ after all. And it's not like they
can kick her off the squad for being pregnant. Hello lawsuit!"

She: "I would think she wouldn't want to be on the squad. It
makes the school look...I don't know...trashy. Like some bad trailer park
joke."

He: "But if she was from the trailer park, she wouldn't realize it looks trashy."

She: "Hmmm. Good point."

He: "It's a 'ho thing."

And so beget my new favorite phrase...It's a 'ho thing. It has wide applicability and explains so much with so little. It's a 'ho thing. Oh, yeah! It's a 'ho thing.

Relocation Relocation Relocation

Let's just hope the third time is a charm.

I considered giving the blog up entirely, but I decided not to let a group of small people take this from me in addition to the other things they took. It is a distinct possibility that they may find this blog too. I don't really care. I plan on saying little to nothing about them.

You know the last time I relocated, I was weighed down with tremendous guilt over mistakes I had made. I was so very wrong the last time, but I learned so much from that experience. This time was different. I have very little guilt over the chain of events. I am not saying I am blameless...far from it. But the choices I made were done only after careful consideration was given to the consequences. Of course, there were consequences I never anticipated, but so it goes. I have regret over the situation, and if I had to do it all over again, I would probably choose another path. But I am not really what you'd call sorry. I refuse to beat myself up this time. In the grand scheme of being "wrong" in this mess, well I'm not even close to being on the top of the list. Anyway...the whole thing has been enlightening...sad, but enlightening.

But now this is a fresh start. The blog is named after one of my favorite song lyrics (thank you Mr. Springsteen), and is a motto I try to embrace when I'm feeling beat up...like now. My new posting name is "The Morning Sun." It isn't that I think I am the sun, it's just a funny little link to my old posting name. Come on...you know you know the song, even if you don't want to admit it. I am sure you will be able to figure out my new references to my peeps. Let's face it, I'm just not that clever, so it will be fairly obvious, I'd imagine.

So for those of you who bothered to follow me here...welcome to the new pad. I truly value your continued readership and support. Many of you have become downright special to me, and I appreciate you more than words could possibly say.