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Silver Lining

It was the first of many long, difficult, weekends... filled with many long, difficult, conversations.

-The housing market is terrible right now.
-If we sell when the market is low, we can also buy when the market is low.
-Would we sell it as a tear down, or should we try to fix it up first?
-How much money are we willing to put into it. (p.s. we've dumped $10,000 into the place since the funeral)
-How much can we rent it for?
-Who would act as the landlord?
-What about the plumbing? And the ants? (p.s. they were relentless ALL WEEKEND!)
-All these trees will have to be trimmed before we can do anything.
-We'll have to have an estate sale for the furniture... does anyone know what Dad paid for this stuff?
-Did anyone find the title to Dad's old Mercedes? It's gotta be worth $80,000, we should sell it.
-Or we should restore it and drive it up the coast!
-Who has time / money to restore an old car?
-What do we do with ALLLLLLL these old family pictures in boxes? Damn it! Why did no one ever make photo albums?
-Hey look, I found mom and dad's marriage certificate... and the receipt for their wedding - $35.
-Does anyone think we should keep dad's old camera?
-Courtney, you're taking your piano aren't you? (My piano? Where the hell am I going to keep a piano!? But it was a gift for me, and only me, when I was 5 or 6, from my parents.)
-Of course I'm taking my piano. I'll have to come down with a truck next time.
-We had to turn the water off again - we found another leak by the pool.
-Did Dad really save EVERY home depot receipt he ever got? I swear some of these are 20 years old!
-Caitlin, when are you moving out- we need to clear out the house.
-We should keep Dad's tools.
-We'll have to rent storage space.
-When is everyone available for the garage sale?
-Kyle, will my hope chest fit in the trunk of your car? I have absolutely no place for it my apartment, but I want to take it with me.
-What do we do with Dad's clothes...?

It was heartbreaking every step of the way. The memories, the questions, the decisions, the throwing away of old things. Heartbreaking.

But going through all of it with me... were my brothers and my sister. The four of us. All of my dad's kids - closer than we have ever been. It is such a gift. A brilliant silver lining to darkest storm cloud I have ever been caught under.

Thanks Dad.

I Hate The Weekend

Well, I guess I don't hate "the" weekend... I just hate "this" weekend. In a heartbeat, I would gladly trade this Friday for last Monday. I do not want this weekend to be here.

I'm driving down to LA tonight to start sorting things out at my Dad's house.

My Dad bought that house in the sixties. As far as I know, it's the only house he ever owned. Six kids were raised in that house (my dad's first two step kids, and then my brothers, and then me and my sister.) Forty plus years.

My dad didn't have a will, and so, after probate, that house will belong to me, my sister, and my bothers.

What the hell are we gonna do with that house?

I wish I could begin to explain all that that house is to me.

That house is ALWAYS a work in progress. Always.

That house is where I was born and raised.

That house is cold in the winter and hot in the summer, and the roof leaks, and it's dirty, and it's never very well lit, and growing up you were never sure if the water was going to function properly. It has bugs. It is old, and messy, and falling apart, and I grew up embarrassed because of it.

That house is huge, and sometimes scary, and it creaks at night.

That house is a money pit.

That house is where I learned to ride a bike... and a horse.

That house is where I learned to swim and to play piano.

I played tag in the huge yard in front of that house.

I walked down the long, strange, leads-to-nowhere hallway in that house, and I pretended that I was a fashion model on a runway.

I scrambled my first egg while standing on a stool in the kitchen in that house.

I woke up to 26 Christmas mornings in that house.

My sticker collection is safely hidden on the inside of a cupboard door in that house.

That house touched every part of my childhood.

That house tore my parents' marriage apart. My dad chose that house over my mom and it broke her heart.

That house is at the top of long private driveway that no one would ever drive up... so I always had to walk up. But the driveway made that house feel like a sanctuary away from the outside world.

That house was less than 300 yards away from the gruesome car accident I was in senior year of high school.

That house has my last name scrawled in pencil on the mailbox - I wrote it there when I was in junior high.

That house floods EVERY winter.

My friends and I used to sneak out of that house. It wasn't hard, that house has FIVE doors leading to outside and is long and winding and easy to lose people in.

I was grounded SO MANY times in that house.

Every penny my family had when I was growing up went into that house.

My sister almost drowned in the pool at that house.

My dad built me a tree house in the back yard of that house - with a slide and everything.

That house was home to horses, and chickens, and cats, and dogs, and turtles, and peacocks, and fish, and bunnies... and maybe even sheep.

That house was “that house” on our street – I’m fairly certain that our neighbors prayed everyday that we’d move and that someone would come along and tear that eyesore down.

I've been told that that house builds character.

My name is carved in the cement at that house - and it's spelled without the u.

My mom was depressed for years in that house.

That house threatens to be overcome entirely by plants and trees and other greenery on a regular basis. It is a full time job to keep everything watered and trimmed and sort of at bay.

My dad died in that house.

We had my father’s funeral at that house. My siblings and I, our friends, and our extended family worked for 3 days straight to get that house and the grounds in order. It was so beautiful.

I love/hate that house.

And now it is my house. And I have to go through it and through all forty years of stuff inside it. I have to throw stuff away. I have to throw away my father’s stuff. We can’t possibly save everything.

What the hell are we gonna do with that house?

Sell it? The place I grew up in? The bain of my existence for 26 years? The strange, inexplicable, enigma house with hallways that go nowhere? Can we really sell it? Can we really afford not to?

I do not want this weekend to get here. I do not want to deal with this.

Who Does That?

I got an email today, from a girl I didn't know, inviting me to a concert. Strange. And then I looked at the To: and CC: line to see if I knew anyone else on the distribution list. Hmmm... seems I know EVERYONE on the distribution list. These are all the people that *I* invited to a concert last week. Friends from far and wide - old Berkeley friends, a few random co-workers, post college friends, one of my sister's friends, even some of Kyle's friends. Every single one of them was on the distribution list.

Now really, what are the chances that some chick, who I don't even know, would know this exact same group of random people?

So I emailed the chick and said, "Hi! Thanks a million for the concert invite... btw do I know you? And how on earth is it possible that we have the exact same circle of friends when we've never met? Do you actually know any of the people that you emailed?" (Ok, so I was a bit more diplomatic than that, but whatever.)

So she writes back and says "Sorry, I work at the same company as you and I met a few guys who work in your group... they forwarded me some mass emails and I just hit Reply All to one of them... but feel free to come to the concert."

What?

Ummmm, who does that? She sent an email to like 20 people who she's never even met. Most of whom don't even work at our company! Or in our city! And they aren't even friends of the guys that she met - they're *my* friends! So she sent an email to friends of a friend of a friend. (My friends are friends of me and I'm friends with these guys and they are friends with her - I guess.) That is too many degrees of separation if you ask me. And now my friends are like "who is this chick and why is she sending me an email" - and I'm like "I have no idea."

Email etiquette expressly states that the "Reply All" button is to be used sparingly, for critical, everyone-needs-to-know, information... or for (very) witty comebacks. It is NOT to be used to send random emails to strangers.

So chick! Back up off my friends!

Ozomatli, Ya Se Fue!

Reason # 8,452,321 why I love San Francisco (in no particular order): free concerts in the park with awesome bands like Ozomatli.

It was all but impossible to drag my 26 year old self out of bed at the butt crack of drawn (read: 7 am) Sunday morning – I’m no spring chicken, you know – but it was well worth it. We simply *had* to get good seats for the free concert at Stern Grove staring one of my fave bands, Ozomatli.

Thank goodness for Laura and AJ who got there at 9 am. Kyle and I missed ONE bus and didn’t arrive till 9:30 (grrr). The rest of our (totally random) crew trickled in throughout the morning until the concert started. By 2 pm we were rockin’ out with a few work friends, a few of Kyle’s friends from college, one of my best girl friends, a girl Kyle met while serving jury duty (hello, random), and a few of her friends – one of whom happened to be a friend of mine from Berkeley who I hadn’t seen in like 4 years (hello, small world!) In total we had about 15 people drinking wine and beer, eating WAY too much bread with fancy cheese, and having an absolute blast dancing to some amazing latin funk.

Ozomatli: You rock for bringing such a great group of people together!
San Fran: I heart you! But you alerady knew that. :)

Life With Caitlin

3 weeks ago I found a pink Starburst in my bedroom. “Ohh! A Starburst!” I thought as I picked it up and placed it in a spot of honor in the middle of my dresser. “I’ll save you for later.”

And later came, and went, and came again, and went again. And every day I’d see the little candy sitting on my dresser and I’d think “Gosh, I love pink Starbursts!” but I wouldn’t eat it. I was like a child with one last piece of Halloween candy – saving it until that perfect moment arrived when nothing in the world would delight me more than a single pink Starburst.

And then my sister, Caitlin, came to visit me for my birthday.

She was putting her stuff down in my room and I was out in the hallway and suddenly I heard, “Ohh! A Starburst!” And she picked up my pink Starburst and popped it in her mouth.

*sigh*

Twenty Six Pics

The debauchery that was my 26th birthday party...


My Girls


My Sis


Oh My

For the rest of the pics, click here!

Twenty Six

I woke up this morning twenty six years old. Twenty six. Years. Old.

I woke up to one of my best friends calling me from New York. "Happy Birthday!!!" she chirped. Her birthday's not till September. Lucky B*tch. She gets 4 more weeks of 25. I never liked her.

And as far as the rest of my friends and family go - you know the ones who have been absolutely amazing to me and have made me feel loved, and blessed, and special today- yeah, I never liked them either. Hello! I'm 26 today!! My wrinkles and I are trying to have a little pity party for ourselves over here and they are totally ruining it!! How am I supposed to feel sorry for myself when I'm wearing a Birthday Girl! tiara and sitting in a cubicle filled with streamers and confetti. And did I mention the piñata? Honestly!


Me in my streamer filled cubicle wearing my new tiara... note the fab clip on earrings too!

Take That, Mall

After spending *another* long and fruitless evening at the mall, I decided to give up on my quest to find the perfect birthday girl party dress.

At 9:45pm, I went to Target (I love target... Love love LOVE Target... so much so that my roommates are convinced that I should call my credit card company and tell them to no longer authorize charges from there because almost every time I go I spend $200... but that's another story.) Anyway... at 9:45 pm I went to Target and in about 10 minutes found an adorable tank top for $15. Fifteen Bucks!!! Weary from my 4 hour shopping adventure but reinvigorated by my awesome find, I drove home to put an outfit together.

Turns out I already owned jewelry that matched PERFECTLY (Yes!) and my fave pair of shoes - so cute and Oh So Comfortable - were just right. AND this purse I bought AGES ago but haven't used yet TOTALLY works with the shoes. (Who knew!?) AND (the best part) I'm wearing the same jeans that I wore on my birthday last year... so 1. Yes! I still fit in my birthday jeans from last year and 2. I found $15 in the back pocket! So net $$ spent on fab birthday ensemble... ZERO Dollars. Score!!!

Everything worked out so perfectly. And to think I almost shelled out $148 for this puffy little number from BCBG! Eeek!

I Hate The Mall

Ok. I take it back. I was coming from a very emotional place there. I don't actually *hate* the mall. I'm sorry.

But at the moment, we are SO not friends.

My birthday party is FOUR DAYS away. Four Days! And what do I have to wear? Nothing!! So I spent 2 hours power shopping around the greatest mall on the planet. And what did I find? Nothing!!

I even ventured into the stores that are normally totally off limits to me because just looking at the price tags is enough to send me into cardiac arrest. Yes, I went into those stores... totally prepared to part with a ridiculous amount of money if (and only if) I found something acceptable to wear Friday night. And you know what? Nothing!!

ARGH!!!

Why is it that when I go shopping, with money, ready to buy something, there is NOTHING to be found. But when I'm totally poor, and don't need a thing, and am really not mentally prepared for an all out shopping spree, EVERYTHING in the mall is adorable and on sale and totally flattering and just CALLING OUT for me to buy it.

Grrrr.

You know what, on second thought, I DO hate the mall.

Victory Is Mine

Welcome! to my new and improved URL address.

This is the URL that I wanted in the first place... but when I created my account, sigh, it was taken. And so that was that. I settled on "ShortButSweetForCertain" because it at least had *something* to do with the title of my blog. (It's a line from a Dave Matthews song for those not in the know.)

Anyway, the always fabulous Jes mentioned to me that the lucky bastard who did have the "CelebrateWeWill" URL hadn't posted in OVER A YEAR! The nerve! So I sent the guy an email and said "Please please please can I have your URL!!!???"

*holding breath, crossing fingers*

And he said, "Sure!"

*oh joy!! oh happiness!! oh twinkly stars and rainbows and birthday cake*

:)

And so, here it is: My new URL! If I could hug it, I would.

(I'm hugging my monitor right now, does that count?)

It's Like 10,000 Spoons When All You Need Is A Knife

Spoon supply in the kitchen at my office. I think we should be good for a while.

Frequently Asked Questions

... because it's easier to just answer them all here.

What's BlogHer?
It's (apparently) where the women bloggers are.

What's a BlogHer conference?
A conference/weekend getaway for (mostly) female blog writers. (BlogHer 2006 was the second annual!)

What did you do there?
Well, there were workshops - how to make money with your blog (Big shock – place ads in your sidebar and hope people click on 'em), how to get more readers, brief html stuff, how to add video, tips on editing digital photos, etc.... none of it was super useful... but it was still fun. We heard from the creaters of Flickr.com and Blogger.com (so cool!) They also had "celebrity" panels where we had Q&A with some “famous” bloggers... Dooce was one... I have no idea who the others were... but one chick - a professional blogger - kept 17 blogs!!! WOW! And mostly it was just a lot of networking and meeting other bloggers and making new friends etc. It was fun. A bit overwhelming, but fun – plus we got all sorts of cool free SWAG.

How do you get invited to BlogHer?
There is absolutely NO INVITE necessary to attend BlogHer. Although EVERYONE there knew EVERYONE else because they all read each other... so I sorta felt like I was crashing someone's party... I mean, I've never even heard of Dooce!! You do, unfortuantly, need a (rather pricey) ticket.

How did you end up there?
My friend, Jes, managed to score me a free ticket. We love her.

What were the famous bloggers and the mommy bloggers like?
Well... I didn't really know who was famous and who wasn't until the very end (I finally caught on and began to understand the paparazzi)... but they were nice and normal... I mean, we’re all human, we all blog, we're all basically the same – they just happen to be more widely read (and, apparently, wittier) than the rest of us. Who cares? The mommies mostly all sat together and looked young and hip and fabulous. If this was high school, they definitely would have been the cheerleaders in fantastic little skirts with perfect skin. And I really think they could single-handedly take over the world – mostly because their other hand would be busy carrying a small child. (Caitlin – if you’re reading this – they were “pompom cheerleader mommies” to a T.)

Did people drool over the famous bloggers?
YES! And I have no idea why. I mean, you read a person's blog EVERYDAY... I would think that you would feel like you *know* them... right? So why the drool?

Who did you meet?
All sorts of lovely women!!! And the ones whose blogs I like, I'll be adding to my "Other blogs I like" list - regardless of whether or not they are famous.

Was it a total estrogen fest?
YES!!! My monthly friend even came early - way sync up ladies!

Bathroom lines?
Suprisingly not too bad. I, for one, was SHOCKED!

Will you go back next year?
Ummmm, it's in Chicago - which I've never been to... so maybe? But only if some my other blog friends come with me! I want to have my own hip posse that others can drool over from afar. :)