The other woman

Last weekend, I came face to face with history.

Not U.S. history or world history or anything so grand. Just my history. And it shoved me right out of my comfort zone, down the block, around the corner and into a freezing vat of “Shit, what do I do now?”

About a dozen years ago, I fell in love. He did, too, but he shouldn’t have because, as it turns out, he was otherwise committed. (It was a pattern for me at the time, this falling in love with men otherwise committed, but that’s an entirely different blog post.)

He fell hard, and let it sweep him away for a delicious few months. Eventually, he returned to his senses and ran straight back to the woman he'd loved for nearly two decades before that — and has for the decade since.

I fell hard, too, and got hurt real, real bad.

In the months that followed, he confessed to her and I assume they dealt with the heartache that comes with infidelity. The only thing I know about that part of this is that she was entirely unimpressed by whom he’d chosen to dally with. I don’t remember the exact quote as he relayed it but it was clear she considered me far beneath her, and by extension, far beneath him. (Not long after that torturous conversation, I asked him to leave me alone, which he mostly did. Except for the flowers that arrived on Valentine’s Day and my birthday for years afterward. I never acknowledged them. They eventually stopped.)

In the years since, I’ve been in sporadic touch with him. We’re in the same business, the three of us, so it’s hard to keep completely away. Besides, life has treated me better than it’s treated him. And living well is the best revenge.

She, with whom he has remained to this day, is a bigwig in my business. Big. Wig. Pulitzer Prize winner. Marquee reporter and editor. Endowed chair. She’s amassed fancy titles from all over the country.

I’m not intimidated by her stature. In fact, I appreciate her talent and believe she’s earned every bit of the glory she’s received. I mention it because her status in my business makes her very hard to avoid if you’re at all interested in professional development. If you want to learn more about what I do, she’s the best to teach it. And she does. Everywhere.

So... last weekend, for the first time, I came face to face with her.

She not only taught a session at a conference I attended, she had breakfast in the same restaurant I did, bought coffee at the same Starbucks, rode up the same elevator, wandered the same exhibitor tables and sat through the same presentations. Every time I turned around, there she stood.

Several of her students and several of my colleagues made it a point to introduce us — me to her, her to me — assuming correctly that two successful women in our business ought to know one another. Little did they know. We were, of course, gracious. Both of us knowing. Neither of us acknowledging.

I must say, I was completely impressed by her. She’s tough, smart, sassy and much cooler than I ever imagined. I can see why everyone loves her. Including him.

I was surprised at how little I felt about her given how much I’ve felt about her in the past. The even bigger surprise is how little I cared about what she felt about me. As with so many things in life, time and distance has dulled the sharp edges. Instead of panic and anger, I was able to watch from afar and enjoy the scenery. There were moments, in fact, when I felt a bit sad that I couldn’t move in closer.

Upon reflection, I realize this experience was another step in my journey. Another pain let go, completely and forever. Before you know it, there won’t be any left.

What a wonderful world that will be.

Another grand experiment

There is a real blog post coming soon, I promise. In the meantime, I cannot imagine how anyone could keep from smiling during this.

Happy day, dear reader...

A new storm gathering

If you don’t know the Genesis of this parody, I’m not going to lead you to it because I think it’s horrible and hateful and shouldn’t be sought out. The short version is that a group of unenlightened people have produced an ad about the “gathering storm” of gay marriage, and how it’s going to take over our country, degrade our lives and defile our children. The ad is hate-mongering at its best. It’s also completely laughable. And the outtakes you can find on YouTube are hilarious.

Anyway... it was only a matter of time before some smart people made fun of it. And here it is.

Be ready. This is laugh-your-ass-off funny.

Peace to you.

A Gaythering Storm from Jane Lynch

Rule 6: Do not overwrite.

Today is the 50th birthday of every writer’s best friend.

“The Elements of Style,” which you probably had to buy for freshman composition class in college, was written by E.B White (“Charlotte’s Web” and “Stuart Little”) and William Strunk Jr., White’s professor at Cornell University. This little gem contains some of the simplest advice for clean and effective writing ever published.

Among my favorites of their rules:

“Write with nouns and verbs.”

“Be clear.”

“Write in a way that comes naturally.”

“Avoid fancy words.”

And best of all:

“Omit needless words. Omit needless words. Omit needless words.”

I don’t always follow every rule. For instance, I think it’s OK to “affect a breezy manner” and to “inject opinion,” especially where a breezy manner and opinion are called for. But the basic construct of their guidance is sound and solid. And when you’re wandering around, writing yourself in circles, wondering whether you’re ever going to end up anywhere, Strunk & White is like a trail of breadcrumbs out of the deep, dark forest.

There’s a commemorative edition out in honor of its 50 years. It’s beautiful, leather bound and such. Of course, I’d never buy it. Strunk & White isn’t a pretty book. It’s to be used. If your copy isn't dog-eared, it hasn’t been devoured as it should be.

There’s an old story involving Strunk & White that makes me smile every time I hear it. American writer Dorothy Parker once reviewed the book for Esquire magazine. In it she said, “If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second greatest favor you can do them is to present them with copies of ‘The Elements of Style.‘ The first greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they’re happy.”

Happy 50th birthday, my friend. And thanks.

On books and covers and such …

Judge not, dear reader.

Q: When will bzh reach Post #200?

A:


(Get it?)

Have a wonderful holiday, dear reader.

xoxo.

This way to a Peep show...

This is one of the only things I loved about living in D.C.
I hope it makes you giggle like it makes me giggle.
Because giggling makes everything better.
Peace to you.

Back-asswards

Good God in heaven how I love this woman. She gives me hope that the morons won’t always have the last word.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Zoom, zoom

When I was single, I’d regularly go out looking to buy a townhouse and come home with a 3,000-square-foot Colonial nestled on half an acre.

Not literally, of course. But the figurative application of that sentence basically summed up my life. If I had $100 to spend on a dress, I fell in love with, talked myself into and bought the $500 one next to it. Because it was gorgeous. Because it fit me like a glove. Because, well, just because.

Yesterday I learned how far I’ve come.

We left the house at noon — leaving Urchin with her grandparents, who are wrapped around her finger — to begin our search for a new car. Mine's 10 years old, and while I still love it and it still has plenty of life in it, it will soon need $1,000 worth of work and it just doesn't make sense to put that much into it at this point.

I’ve had my eye on a hybrid — specifically the Honda Insight, which has just been released. I not only love the idea of it, I think they're cute. And because this will be our family’s secondary car, we don't need it to be any bigger than what will hold Urchin and me safely.

Off to the Honda dealer we went, to begin the journey toward buying an Insight. Which is why, of course, we came home with a two-door Accord coupe, v-6, with chrome wheels, in San Marino red.

It was sitting in the showroom, right at the front door. I’m not sure how Lake Norman Honda knew that it's the car I’ve wanted to drive since, well, three cars ago. I never bought it because, well, it makes absolutely no sense to buy a car like this. It has “write me a ticket” written all over it.

It wasn’t the right car for me when I was single and carefree — which, of course, means it’s perfect for the 43-year-old preschool mom I’ve become. That’s why salesman Charles, once he saw the gleam in my eye, sent us off on a test drive. When that didn’t work, he quoted us a great deal, and then sent us home with the car for a few days, to think it over.

Driving this car is a little slice of heaven.

Owning it would be folly.

Even if it fit me (which it does physically, but definitely doesn't psychically), it doesn’t fit my life. Two doors means I can’t get Urchin in and out without a battle. Storage space? Not enough. Leg room for anyone else? Ditto. And bright red with chrome mufflers? Please.

We took the car home. Even flirted with buying it. For about five minutes. Until we floated back to Earth.

I decided before the mufflers were even warm that it would go back on Monday, with a “thanks but no thanks.” I think it surprised Husband when he started to tell me all the reasons we shouldn’t buy it that I agreed before he had made his case.

It’s gorgeous. It fits me like a glove. And it’s so wrong that not one thing about it feels right.

So, for what feels like the first time in my life, I’m happy to pass by the 3,000-square-foot, tricked-out crib, in search of a nicely appointed townhome.

Cannot. Stop. Laughing.