Screw flowers, I want a mix tape!

Maybe it’s because of all the plans I have been making as of late with old friends. Maybe it’s my upcoming high school reunion. Maybe it’s all the #80stweets I’ve been reading (and making!) on Twitter. Maybe I’m just harkening back to a simpler time, when the only thing I had to stress over was what outfit to wear out on a Friday night and the term paper that was due at the end of the grading period. Whatever it is…

I want a mix tape.

Not just any mix tape, mind you. The kind that was given to you by someone who was crushing on you. The one with all those songs hand-selected by that guy, you know the one. The one you stole kisses from in front of your locker. THAT kind of mix tape.

Sure, now all you have to do is pick songs from iTunes, burn them on a CD, and viola! But that’s not the kind of mix tape I’m talking about. That’s too easy.

I’m talking about the one where you listened to the radio for HOURS; waiting for that ONE song to be played. When it finally did play, you had to be ready to record and through the entire song you prayed the DJ would wait to do their schtick until after the last note was played. You had to be quick too. One second too long and you had to try to reset the tape so the next song will record over your mistake.

It was mixing and DJing back in the day. It meant something. You had to work for it to make it perfect.

This was the mix tape every girl wanted. The one with songs of undying love and emotion. Those forever songs that, even now when you hear them play even in Muzak form, you are transported in your mind back to that dance floor at that dance where you prayed the chaperones didn’t see where your date’s hands were REALLY going. Those songs that stand the test of time. The ones you might put on one of those iTunes burned CDs today.

Remember that mix tape?

I want THAT mix tape.

Memo to Me: You Can’t Please Everyone

So, if you know me in real life, I’m kind of a people pleaser.

No, seriously, I am.

You can stop laughing now. Seriously.

It is my goal in life to make people happy. Content. Thrilled with everything.

I will bend over backwards, I will borderline (or just outright) annoy you making sure you are happy. I will drive you nuts.

It’s a gift, people. One I’d love to return to the store for a full refund. But I’ve been told there was a 30-Day return policy, and we’re 30+ years past that point.

Or it’s a side effect of my Jewish guilt.

Anyway.

If I have learned anything in the past few days, no matter how hard I try, no matter how personal I take things, no matter how much I listen, and try to accommodate…

YOU SIMPLY CAN NOT PLEASE ABSOLUTELY EVERYONE.

Even if you want to. Badly. Desperately.

You’re welcome.

He seems to think I’m out to get him…

Lately I have found myself surfing the channels to find something to watch on TV. It’s become a vast wasteland out there, now with The Real Housewives of New York over. So while I bide my time until the reunion show and The Real Housewives of New Jersey (Holla, @Jonniker!) I have found a show that every time I pass it, I’m compelled to watch.

And it makes my husband a little bit no a LOT nervous:

It’s Snapped on the Oxygen Channel.

(no lie, as I’m linking this up, I have the window open to the show and the intro music made my husband’s head snap up from his game and look at me with crazy eyes..)

I can’t help it. I love true crime stories, because I personally can’t fathom how someone could think, even for a minute, that they wouldn’t get caught. Me? I’d TOTALLY get caught. So I watch in fascination of the stupidity of it all, and I’m hooked.

It also seems like every time my husband enters the room one of these shows is on. (Give it a few more weeks; Oxygen will run constant episodes of Tori & Dean, and his head will really explode!) He is constantly commenting that he just knows I’m taking notes on how to kill him and bury the body and get away with it.

He says I need to ask you, dear Internet, if he should feel justified in his fears that I am going to use the show as “research”, and that his days are numbered.

So? Should he be worried? Fearful? Sleep with one eye open?

I say no. Every story ends with the woman getting caught and jailed. It’s not like the show is providing me a road map on how to off my husband.

Besides, I can find that on the Internet anyway. Who needs a TV show for that anymore?

Honey? Hey! Where are you going? …Honey?

Today I Am..

Today I am…

– being showered with kisses and love.

– celebrating being a mother.

– thinking of my friends who are mothers.

– missing my own mother, who died when I was nineteen years old from cancer.

– thinking of those mothers who are missing their children today and always.

– appreciating the mother I’ve inherited; who is so much like my own mother the lines have become blurred and faded over time.

– thinking of you today.

Happy Mother’s Day.

xoxo

(I wrote this on the way to my mom-in-law’s house on my iPhone. Hope it turns out okay!)