I am at work putting to good use the principle of discipline, characteristic of focus, deep concentration and having a strong work ethic...just like my mother taught me. My Mommy. She's the apple of my eye and I am the apple of hers. She taught me how to grow up to one day fill her Queendom-sized shoes. I thought I was there. Accomplished, educated, focused on my career at a Fortune 500 firm - I think I'm doing O.K. I'd say I've done what she's advised for most of my life. I'm thankful for her wisdom, and hope I'm a better woman because of her. You can say she's proud of me (at least she says that she is).
So why, after being asked to attend a cousin's wedding, did my mother request to see my outfit before attending?
The diatribe:
Me: "What?! Mom! Are you serious?!"
Mom: "Well, do you have anything formal? The reception is formal."
Me: "Yes Ma, I have a few gowns from the 30 or so weddings I've been in."
Mommy: "Well, I just want to see what you're wearing. Don't I ask you 'How do I look?' when I try on clothes?"
Me: "Seriously, Mommy. You don't ask me every time, and it's not for me to approve what you have on. I can't believe (at my age) you are wanting to approve my attire! Forget it, I don't want to go anymore. Please tell Cousin Mary, thanks but no thanks."
Mommy: "The offer to attend the wedding and reception are still on the table, I'll let Cousin Mary know you'll be coming. I can get the outfit for you, you know. You know how our people talk and like to dress, Queen. Don't you want to look and feel good about yourself?"
Me: "So I don't feel good about myself now? And I am one of those people. I like to dress!"
Mommy: "O.K., fine. I don't know why you don't want me to help you."
Me: "It's not that Ma. I know what to wear. And on the day of the wedding, I'll ask you 'How do I look?' and the both of us will approve."
Mommy: "Oh, so you wanna go now?"
Me: "Yeah Ma, I'll go."
Mommy (chuckling): "O.K., I'll talk to you later. I love yooooouuu."
Me: "O.K., love you too Mommy."
I got off the phone wondering what had just happened? How does she still do that after all these years? I tried to be firm and stand my ground, but turned to creamed honey butter in just a few moments. I guess I'll be living out my years trying to fill those shoes. Size: Queendom. When I finally fit them, I'll ask you: "How do I look?" Please say I look great in them...please?
UPDATE 5/22 (via voice mail message): "Hi Queen, it's Mommy. Just thought I'd pick up a few items and drop them off at your place - the wedding is next week. Let me know what you think after you try them on. Oh, and I turned your alarm on for you...you must remember to turn that thing on! OK, love you. bye!"
I need this skill...its a little more than persistence - seriously.
4.27.2010
4.26.2010
I Love My Gym (I Think)
Another beautiful Monday morning began with the usual alarm clock ring/buzz (the one that's so annoying you HAVE to get out of the bed and turn it off - if it's far from you). I get started on my early A.M. commute into the city for my morning workout at the new gym location less than a mile away from my job. Cute. I've been a member for a little while, but this location is brand-spainkin'-new, and I love it - or so I thought. The women's locker room is zen-tastic with greenery and spa-like qualities. Shower stalls are private and spacious and the bathroom stalls are always clean. What's not to love? I've got access to a pool, sauna, and softest and cleanest towels I have felt and seen at a gym. The lockers are digital; so you can enter a four-digit code of your own. Oh wait,"You have to push the 'C' button first ma'am." Another patron said as I frustratingly entered several digits into four or five different locker codes. I guess she was tired of me looking at her from the corner of my eye as she primped in the mirror. She could probably read my mind saying,
"So, you see me struggling with this and you're not going to help, huh?"
Anyway, after trying two or three of my favorite four-digit codes, I was eventually successful. I packed my things away and locked them in locker 65 (because that's an easy number for me to remember), but locker 65 was too close to the aisle that everyone walks by, so I moved my things a few lockers down. I left to get my cardio and stretching in. In all, I had a great workout. Sweated like the pig I used to be and walked through the gym to the locker room, as if I had just finished a half-marathon (I needed for the evidence of my hard work to be more than obvious to everyone else). I began preparing myself to shower and get ready to head into the office. So far, all was going perfectly. I was not running late and I had my 'get ready at the gym' regimen down to a science. So why couldn't I scientifically recall which of my favorite two or three four-digit codes I used? Frantically, I enter each combination (having to wait about a minute between entries).
"Oh no, nothing's working...I can't be late! I have two reports due today (one with a self-imposed deadline, and the other a client deadline)!" I thought to myself.
I ran to the gym's Membership Services counter and asked if someone could assist with unlocking my locker. "Sure." The cute and oh-so-buffed, slicked-back-haired gentleman said behind the counter. "I'll send someone right over."
With all the southern charm I could muster, I batted my eyes, smiled nervously and said, "Thanks, I'm at locker 67." Did I think he was going to meet me at locker 67 for Happy Hour later or something? I flirt at the most inopportune times. I digress.
I went back to my locker and waited for my things to be rescued.
As I waited, the Mental Committee Meeting ensued: "Are you sure you left your bag in this locker, I thought you wanted to move closer to the corner?" She's my cautious committee member.
My anxious member: "No, that one was already taken, right? Right?" She's always second-guessing things.
"Did that woman figure out one of your codes when she was 'helping' you and end up taking or hiding your things? Maybe she changed your code to play a joke?" says my paranoid member.
My guilty/guilt-ing committee member asked "Damn! How could you confuse your most important four-digit combinations, what kind of daughter, granddaughter, sister or aunt are you?"
One more, "Well at least your wallet is in your car - that was smart." She's the sarcastic member.
Finally, a masculine (not muscular, but masculine) woman arrived to assist with the master key.
"Usually, we have to I.D. you for this." She warned.
"My I.D. is in my locker." I quickly replied. I wanted her to hury and open my locker.
"Now's really not the time for me to get all caught-up on your customer service/security protocol, lady. I've got my own job to get to." I thought to myself.
"Uh, noooo." [the sarcastic mental committee member] "Your I.D. is in your wallet, in your car--remember?" I had to ignore her (or ignore myself) because the most important thing to me right now is to get my things so that I can shower and start my day.
Mr. Female opens the locker. IT'S EMPTY!! "What!" I exacerbatedly cried out. Insisting, "I could've sworn..."
"Don't panic and start looking in the plants throughout the zen-tastic, spa-like locker room for your digital combination that should be memorized. Try the corner locker." Taking heed to the caution of my cautionary mental committee member (in this case also my voice of Reason), I took a deep breath, recalled, and entered my favorite four-digit code. The locker buzzed open and there were my things - just as I left them. In the corner locker. "Hee hee...oh look, there they are.." I said and smiled to Mr. Female as s/he rolled her eyes at me. And after forming her mouth as if she was biting down on her inner jaws and puckering her lips simultaneously, she announced, "Well, I guess we don't have to ask for that I.D. since you opened your locker."
"Nope, I guess not." I thought.
And it's in my wallet [in the car] anyway.
"So, you see me struggling with this and you're not going to help, huh?"
Anyway, after trying two or three of my favorite four-digit codes, I was eventually successful. I packed my things away and locked them in locker 65 (because that's an easy number for me to remember), but locker 65 was too close to the aisle that everyone walks by, so I moved my things a few lockers down. I left to get my cardio and stretching in. In all, I had a great workout. Sweated like the pig I used to be and walked through the gym to the locker room, as if I had just finished a half-marathon (I needed for the evidence of my hard work to be more than obvious to everyone else). I began preparing myself to shower and get ready to head into the office. So far, all was going perfectly. I was not running late and I had my 'get ready at the gym' regimen down to a science. So why couldn't I scientifically recall which of my favorite two or three four-digit codes I used? Frantically, I enter each combination (having to wait about a minute between entries).
"Oh no, nothing's working...I can't be late! I have two reports due today (one with a self-imposed deadline, and the other a client deadline)!" I thought to myself.
I ran to the gym's Membership Services counter and asked if someone could assist with unlocking my locker. "Sure." The cute and oh-so-buffed, slicked-back-haired gentleman said behind the counter. "I'll send someone right over."
With all the southern charm I could muster, I batted my eyes, smiled nervously and said, "Thanks, I'm at locker 67." Did I think he was going to meet me at locker 67 for Happy Hour later or something? I flirt at the most inopportune times. I digress.
I went back to my locker and waited for my things to be rescued.
As I waited, the Mental Committee Meeting ensued: "Are you sure you left your bag in this locker, I thought you wanted to move closer to the corner?" She's my cautious committee member.
My anxious member: "No, that one was already taken, right? Right?" She's always second-guessing things.
"Did that woman figure out one of your codes when she was 'helping' you and end up taking or hiding your things? Maybe she changed your code to play a joke?" says my paranoid member.
My guilty/guilt-ing committee member asked "Damn! How could you confuse your most important four-digit combinations, what kind of daughter, granddaughter, sister or aunt are you?"
One more, "Well at least your wallet is in your car - that was smart." She's the sarcastic member.
Finally, a masculine (not muscular, but masculine) woman arrived to assist with the master key.
"Usually, we have to I.D. you for this." She warned.
"My I.D. is in my locker." I quickly replied. I wanted her to hury and open my locker.
"Now's really not the time for me to get all caught-up on your customer service/security protocol, lady. I've got my own job to get to." I thought to myself.
"Uh, noooo." [the sarcastic mental committee member] "Your I.D. is in your wallet, in your car--remember?" I had to ignore her (or ignore myself) because the most important thing to me right now is to get my things so that I can shower and start my day.
Mr. Female opens the locker. IT'S EMPTY!! "What!" I exacerbatedly cried out. Insisting, "I could've sworn..."
"Don't panic and start looking in the plants throughout the zen-tastic, spa-like locker room for your digital combination that should be memorized. Try the corner locker." Taking heed to the caution of my cautionary mental committee member (in this case also my voice of Reason), I took a deep breath, recalled, and entered my favorite four-digit code. The locker buzzed open and there were my things - just as I left them. In the corner locker. "Hee hee...oh look, there they are.." I said and smiled to Mr. Female as s/he rolled her eyes at me. And after forming her mouth as if she was biting down on her inner jaws and puckering her lips simultaneously, she announced, "Well, I guess we don't have to ask for that I.D. since you opened your locker."
"Nope, I guess not." I thought.
And it's in my wallet [in the car] anyway.
4.25.2010
Well, Here We Are
The term "Drama Queen” is usually given a negative connotation. That's not really the case here. We are Queens(z) who claim dominion over the drama that presents itself in our lives. We don’t go looking for her [drama], but we refuse to let her control our emotions or consume our lives when she comes looking for us. Practical humor is woven throughout our daily experiences and we could not keep it to ourselves. And since we can't afford a reality television show (which would be so awesome), we will do our best to blog these experiences for our enjoyment and yours. We hope you see the humor (or whatever emotion the drama calls for) – or at least find these entertaining...and for the record, there's a 'z' at the end of 'Queenz' because there were no available email address accounts or domains with the correct spelling. To be honest, one of us really liked the 'z'...you'll make that queen's acquaintance soon...soon enough. Thank you for reading our blog!
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