StacyCelia.com

A swimming cap and goggles is an amazing look for me. Throw a bathing suit in the mix and I’m talking a serious recipe for hotness. Picture perfect. Erin and I went swimming this morning. I learned how to do the front crawl finally. I’ve been trying to learn since BBPC (my overnight camp growing up).  But at age 26, I finally can do it! It took Erin teaching me how to connect my chin to my arm so that my breathing timing is on target. I felt like a marionette. Swimming for an hour is hard work, I tell you! Try it.

I told Michael Linsker about this new swim-cap look. He said, “you know a girl is pretty when you put her in a swim cap and goggles, dunk her in the water and she is still pretty when she comes back up.” Is that mean or true? Or both?

Walking back from lunch today, I noticed that there is a new clock on the building. It can be seen from Michigan Ave or South Water. Who paid for it? It’s huge! Did people in this area complain that they lost track of time while on their lunch hour? Did the city pay for it? I can think of so many better ways to spend Chicago’s money than on a clock.

I stopped into the salon downstairs to make a mani and pedi appointment. I was chit chatting with the receptionist (what’s with me and receptionists?). I told her about this awesome new perfume I recently got. It’s a solid, soap like texture, that you simply rub on the areas you normally put perfume onto. Before I knew it, she was wiping it on her neck and wrists. By the time she gave it back to me, it was covered with nasty makeup from her sweaty face. Are you kidding me? You can keep it! Why would she do that? No thank you, I do not want to rub your nasty cake-up on myself. Gross.

Happy Long Weekend, everyone. I’ll be at yet another wedding this weekend where I will yet again, know nobody. I LOVE IT! I seriously love not knowing people. I always make one bff. Last time it was a woman a few years younger. Damn, what was her name? While our boyfriends were taking photos, we did our hair together. And now I don’t even know her name. We were supposed to “do dinner” the next week. Opps. We all know how that goes. In any event, this weekend is another wedding. Sunday my friend Michelle is coming in, so I’m psyched for that…it’s been too long.

Other than that, I’ll be at the pool NOT wearing my swim cap and goggles. I’ll save that for five AM when nobody is watching.

PS - It is really challenging to write goggles and not google.

I went to the doctor’s office last week. I waited forever. The receptionist was overly friendly and seemingly insecure. But sweet. So sweet. Maybe too sweet. And clearly a hard worker. I felt like standing up to his co-workers for him, protecting him what I bet is daily teasing, circa middle school. I didn’t actually see anyone be mean to him, but I sensed that he was a target.


I went to pick up a prescription from the same doctor’s office this afternoon. I walked in and he immediately greeted me with a smile. He seemed genuinely happy to see me, and I was him. Someone was waiting downstairs for me so my time was too limited. I wanted to stop and talk, see if he is OK. Something about this sweet man made me want to show my appreciation to him for being a nice man with a big heart. And I don’t even know him.

 As he walked to the desk drawer behind him to retrieve the envelope with my name on it, I peered over his desk and noticed his keyboard. On the keyboard, he taped and highlighted a fortune cookie’s message: Others will notice your efforts and kindness. And I did, within five minutes of interacting with this middle aged man whose name I don’t even know.

He also had a figurine of Superman on his desk.

Since when is it too late for me to start accomplishing major goals? Holy crap. Is 26 old?
I turned 26 today (thank you SO much for all of the messages and calls; it just proved my point that people care, even when life gets in the way of showing it) and I am struck by the fact that I am getting, well, old. Older, I should say. I am getting too old to do major things. For instance, Hilary Clinton, who dazzled me on TV last night (did you notice the ORANGE, not red, suit?), made me want to break through the presidential glass ceiling. I’m afraid it’s too late. I may not be 35 yet, but my life in politics is non-existent and I’m pretty sure that online sales experience is not what the American people order up on a candidate’s resume. Not to mention, I highly doubt that my advisers would approve of this blog (can you imagine what the other side would say about my imaginary love affair with Obama?).  To my friends, I am an old lady. You see, I was the first one to get bat-mitzvahed, first one to get fail my driver’s test, and first one to turn 21. But to my family, colleagues and a lot of Chicago friends, I’m just a baby. I LOVE being a baby. FYI - I have purchased really pricey skin creme for old people - am I nuts?
On the way home from my birthday dinner tonight at Tango Sur (on Southport), Jason and I were listening to WXRT. They mentioned the band, “Bucket Number Six.” Jason chuckled. He said the band was named after, “The Bozo Show.” I’ve never heard of it. He could not believe it! Is this a generational thing (he is 31 and older than my brother!) or is this simply another example of me living under a rock? Laurel, Michelle, Zelman (thanks for reading!), have you ever heard of it? Jason shook his head as he often does when we realize that there is a major age difference between us and nearly turned himself in. But I don’t think there’s THAT big of a difference…

I was really excited a few weekends ago when he busted out with the “My Buddy, My Buddy, wherever he goes, I go” commercial; I thought he was so 6 years too late for it! I think he was equally pleased to hear me enthusiastically chime in with, “Kid Sister, Kid Sister, whereever she goes, I go.” Simultaneously we closed with, “Kid Sister and me!” I miss Teddy Ruxpen.

Is 26 old? When my mom was 27 she was giving birth to my brother. Yikes. Maybe times have changed, maybe it’s not too late to change directions. My mom, at age I can’t say or she’d kill me, is starting tap-dancing lessons in a few weeks. So maybe I can run for office. Hey, I didn’t make school council, but perhaps “It’s time for a fresh start, vote Bogart” was the wrong approach. Oh, who knows.

It’s time for bed. What a great birthday. Another year has passed and this one even better than the last. To me, my birthday is like Thanksgiving…a time to reflect on the year and my personal growth. Only unlike November, there is no need to strategically pick out an outfit before the big “night before” festivities.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROSSY and MAL! “Go Ross, Go Ross!”

PS - Do I use too many commas?

PPS - A lot of people asked about the photo of Obama and me. It was taken election night of 2006 while I worked for Fox News. There were only 15 of us in a hotel banquet hall; all of the media outlets were getting his perspective on the big Democratic win. He was impressive then and continues to be now…

PPPS- Obama, call me!

Obama and Me, 2006, Chicago

So anyway, Erin is my trainer… She’s phenomenal. She knows that I really want to be an Olympian in London, right, so she is working hard to get me there. She works my legs so hard (remember, Stacy, the bigger the muscle, the more calories that are burned)  that at this point, they are simply jello. One day, I hope, fat free jello. Blackberry. And a little sugar free cool whip. Yum. I begin the workout in perfect form; each squat low, each weight lifted at a 90 degree angle. But as each rep goes, so does the form and so does the gold. Erin senses it. Today when I began to falter, she simply said, “go for the gold,” and suddenly my form and speed were on target. “Is that all I have to say to you? Damn,” she said completely laughing and in shock.

It really is.

Why go for the silver when you have a shot at the gold? Shawn Johnson should have been upset about the first and second medals. She is a gold medalist and she knew all along. I really am, too. Second place? Not so much.

Erin said that when I am “where I want to be,” she will buy me a gold medal. I can’t wait. It better be soon, she is drowning my bank account.

Saturday night was excellent. Jason, Bruce (Jason’s father), Donna (a family friend), Oster (Jason’s college roommate, my friend) and I went to dinner for my birthday. I chose Bella Notte (on W. Grand Ave.) and it exceeded my expectations. I wanted a restaurant that would create an “evening” and not just dinner in an hour. We had eight o’clock reservations and we left several courses and hours later. I tried Octopus for the first time. It’s really delicious if you are able to forget what is in your mouth. I must admit, I did hear the Little Mermaid’s “Poor Unfortunate Souls” in my head for an instant. For dinner, I ordered roasted vegetables and a piece of grilled chicken. It was a customized dish made just for me. Following dinner, we had all planned on going to the Green Mill to hear some live Jazz. However, by the time we were done, we were stuffed like sausages. Side note - if you go there, do not order “full” size portions unless you plan on feeding the homeless afterward.

After dinner, Bruce and Donna headed back to the suburbs while Oster, Jason and I went on our balcony for the remainder of the evening. The three of us agreed that the music selection should be a mutually agreed upon by all of us. We set the rules in advance - we are all able to veto as many music requests as we wish. I love games like this! (My brother invented a restaurant game that involves writing down your preference, crumbling it up, and eliminating restaurants one at a time until you are left with the one you eat at - I LOVE playing, so I was pumped for this game.) I started out by requesting Counting Crows. Veto. Simon and Garfunkel? Veto. Art Garfunkel? Veto. Paul Simon? Veto. In the end, I have no idea who we listened to and I have no recollection of the request. Somehow I always end up cut out of the TV and Music selections’ equations (OSTER!). I’m OK with that. (Actually, Jason and I have a deal: I have no say on what we watch on TV, and in turn, he is in charge of all laundry. Unless the Cubs are on, we usually agree . Plus, I can always go into our room if there is something that I’m dying to watch. Best deal I’ve ever made. I have also traded the best couch position for cart-duty. Whenever we are forced to bring up a cart to carry in groceries or shopping trips, Jason must take it down. Apparently every deal we make involves him going up and down 17 flights, while I get to sit on my tail. If I had to give up showering to avoid ever cleaning, I would consider.) 

Between two high-rises in the distance, we could see Lake Michigan all lit up. Jason estimated that the lightening was striking 50 miles away. But can one really see that far? Maybe. People claimed to see Canada from the top of Cedar Point’s Magnum. We could also see a massive disco party in the building across the way. Strobe lights and flashing lights - across NINE windows. Either someone knocked down lots of walls to create a huge place, or the entire floor was having a party. I thought the three of us would surely see shadows of an orgy through the glass. We never did. I can blame CBS’s Swingtown for my colored imagination.

*This is part of the view from my balcony. This is where the lightening was flickering.

PS - I received this email from my grandma on Saturday: Your father is losing his hair.  But, I love him anyvey.**** (She lives in a nursing home, yet is more computer savvy than some of us.)

My father called me this morning. He loves reading my blog. I love that he loves it. There is very little that I wouldn’t share with him and that little information would never be posted here anyhow. He is coming to Chicago on the fifth of September and would like me to set a blog for him. I told him, someone at work put it together for me. And then he asked, “oh, does he know the guy that owns the Internet?”

My father knows more than anyone in the world…but about issues and things that have no meaning. Ask him about the first dog to run through a doggy door and he will tell you, not only the date, but the name of the owner, the city it occurred in and the impact it has had on dogs in America. He knows useless information and saves EVERYTHING. Almost every day, I receive a piece of mail from him - some memorabilia that he has saved from over the years. It amazes me most days…yesterday I received a thank you note from my Uncle Joel to my parents written in ‘76.  In any event, coming soon…my father’s blog.

Last night was one of the most fun nights that I have ever had in Chicago to date. Jason, my friend Jamie and her boyfriend, Greg, packed up the car and headed towards Tinley Park in celebration of my birthday. Counting Crows were in town and they have always been my absolute favorite band (I think Adam Duritz is the best writer ever). We finally arrived after Chicago traffic (on a Friday, nonetheless) and entered the arena. Jamie brought an umbrella but was forced to throw it away. Big debate - is this because umbrellas block other concert-goers’ view of the stage or for some safety reason? What do you think? So we go to the bathroom, get some beers and walk up to the lawn. I love outdoor venues - especially those with lawns. Jamie spilled her drink. She wondered if she could get another one for free, but we all said no, as she did not purchase beer insurance. PS - there is no such thing, but Jason and I think we should sell it for $.75 for lawn shows. Anyway, Jamie took a picture with her digital camera and headed down the huge hill to go get a replacement. It was a really long walk. As she walked away, Jason yelled to come back and bring her wallet. I guess she was that certain that she would win the heart of the beer man. When she came back, she had less money. But at least she had a beer.

All of this seemed so hilarious to me last night, though as I write this now, it’s obvious that its humor is laying flat on this monitor. Oh well. At least I’ll be able to remember this one day when I look back. Jamie was the funniest she’s ever been in her whole life.  I did not want the music to end. Freaking Maroon Five took up all of Adam’s time. Oh, and Jamie knew every single word to every single song they sang. Little did I know that one of my best friend’s was obsessed with Maroon Five. Hilarious.

As for the concert. Wow. He finally played “Anna Begins” for me. I had chills. Even Jason liked it. I kept explaining to him the lyrical symbolism and what not. Years ago, I would spend my free time writing poetry. As I sank into each line of each song last night, it dawned on me that my writing is inspired by his. I told Jason this as we swayed to the music before us. I explained that I have journals about my past, filled with emotional writing - some of the best I’ve ever produced. He said, “you should post that for people to see.” I was amazed by my immediate response, “no way, that’s too private.” At one point in my life I wanted it to be published and wanted everyone to know the pain I endured during and after being sexually assaulted. And now, it’s private. “How is that possible,” I asked Jason. “Because,” he said standing behind me with his arms wrapped around mine, “It’s over.”

Last night took me back to my past, through the music of Counting Crows. His music opens up my brain, letting inspiration, motivation and emotion in. Counting Crows had been my past, but as I laid on the lawn with some of my favorite people in the world, I realized that it absolutely must be a part of my future, too.

PS - ADAM…Call me!

Everything that goes well in this world is a product of moderation. When something, anything is too much, too big, too small, not enough, too fast, too slow, etc., it is not going to work. Think about it…relationships (with anyone or anything)…it must be 50/50ISH or else someone or something is giving too much. If you eat too much, you get fat. If you eat too little, you may be unhealthy. If you’re too nice, you’re a pushover. If you’re too mean, you’re a bitch. If you’re too open, you’re “crazy.” If you are too closed-off, you’re a “mute.” Too much sleep makes you tired. Too little rest makes you exhausted. If you spend too much, you’re broke, but if you save too much, you’re broke AND bored. If you work too hard, you miss out on family and friends. If you fail to work enough, you stay positioned in your company with no movement or raises. It’s all about moderation.

Darling, I don’t know why I go to extremes. I always have. No more. I become extremely passionate about people, places and things in my life…and then I get disappointed because the people fail to live up to my perception of them, or I’m exhausted by the insane strength I put into something and then that really important priority that I engrossed so much effort in, suddenly halts and my intensions are overcomed my actions. (If I diet too much, I end up eating too much. If I work out 7 days a week, I burn out by week 3. If I spend too much time with someone, they disappoint me.)

Except Jason. He never disappoints. And I mean it, never. Even last night, I was so cranky and he just ignored me. He made popcorn to eat while we watched The Breakfast Club. He was chewing pretty loudly, though I’m sure it was in my head. I completely bugged out at him. I was a crazy person, though my mood was most definitely the result of a conversation from earlier. I won’t get into that here.

Sidebar, today is day 40! I think I should be rewarded with weight loss every time I don’t eat something that I want to. I honestly think that’s how it should work. Then again, if that were the case, I would aspire to work in the fast food industry like right now.

My friend, let’s call her “Amy” was broken up with recently. Her boyfriend chose a motorcycle over her. It was never going to work out anyway (though I seldom had the heart to tell her during our 45 one-hour talks on the phone). He firmly believes Jesus Christ is our savior. She is a big Jew. Not big like, “I go to temple every week and refuse to eat non-kosher food,” but more like, “I go to temple on the high holidays twice a year and could never imagine my daughter with a cross around her neck.” In fact, I think that was a direct quote from her. It’s amazing to me how important finding a Jewish spouse is to those who pratice Judaism twice a year (like me).

It was so obviously a mismatch from the beginning. Amy, who like me, grew up a suburbs of Cleveland, where students had “off” for Rosh Hashanah, has always been destined to be with a Jewish guy. But, for the last year she constantly searched for reasons it was meant to be, searching daily for a compromise on how they could raise their children “half and half” - yet her idea of compromise was bar mitzvahs, Jewish holidays, and Christmas; no crosses, no Jesus and certainly no trips without her to his parents’ house where there is a chance that Jesus may come to them in their sleep. This to her, was the compromise.

I give her a lot of credit, however, because she spent months reading books about how to marry someone outside the Jewish religion and make it work. It got her nowhere. My question is why was she willing to sacrifice so much that she recognized was important to her? Maybe she thought he was THE ONE, but maybe she was just feeling ready to settle down and find THE ONE. In either case, I’m not sure I would ever be able to go into something so huge and so forever like a marriage knowing that there were elements out of my control that would ruin my vision of the future. There is no way she could control what religious aspects his parents brought into her life. What? Was she not going to let them go to church to celebrate Christianity? That’s disrespecting his beliefs. Anyway, they’ve broken up now, over a “motorcycle”. Her first move? Joining J-Date. Which, btw, is a great place to meet Jewish men. I know this because one of my best friends met a real prince on the site. Like peanut butter and jelly, I tell you. Maybe Amy’s ex knew he didn’t want to spend his life breaking fasts, eating matza and wearing funny little head coverings. Maybe the motorcycle was merely his vehicle to freedom from the relationship. Maybe they really did love each other but he saw that down the road, there would be major roadblocks greater than the love they had in their hearts. Seems like a blessing in disguise…but from who is the question!?

A couple side notes to clarify - I believe that a marriage between  two people who practice differing religions can absolutely work, however not in this case. Amy and her ex were on opposite sides of the spectrum. He had never even laid eyes on a Jew before Amy! He did not know the customs, understand the history, or even ever heard of a bar mitzvah. That makes a difference. In fact, Amy’s mother was Catholic (my parents were her witnesses at her conversion back in ‘87!). So Amy knows that these relationships can work (though they got divorced, I am 99.9% positive that religion was a non-issue). I can still remember the Christmas tree in Amy’s house. Part of me wanted one, while the other part of me didn’t (probably how Amy and her ex’s children would have felt).

I just got off the phone with Amy. Despite her overwhelming response on J-Date, she is still open to meeting non-Jews. Hasn’t this year taught her where her heart is?

OY!

Last night I went to PJ Clarks and to see Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. It was cheesy and predictable, yet sweet. I went with my friend Heather and her friend who sat between us (I called, “End!” before we even entered the theater). There were a number of occasions that I felt tears swelling up, yes I’m serious. Embarrassed by the reality that I was actually crying from Tibby’s pregnancy scare (I guess Tibby missed the whole over-the-counter ”morning after pill” debate), I pretended to sneeze every time I had to catch my teardrops. I think the tears were coming from one of the lines recited by America, “…something, something, something…it was about finding ourselves without losing each other.” I think that one line brings tears to my eyes because that’s the struggle that I’ve been dealing with since mid-college.

I had an intern this summer at work. She was amazing. Her last day was Monday, so we sat and ate lunch together. She was so excited about returning to IU next week; her sister will be a freshman and she just made the kick line team. Immediately my mind flashed back to my days in school. It seems like yesterday, yet LIFETIMES ago. After college, friends move away to be adults. Everyone makes new lives for themselves, with new priorities. Some people surface as workaholics, some as shopaholics, some as alcoholics. Some people like to read in their spare time, volunteer, or go to concerts. Some keep partying hard, some would rather sit outside and listen to music with a bottle of wine (me). But all of a sudden, college students  transform into adults. At times I find myself looking at my closest friends just hoping that despite our newly surfaced differences, our historic foundation will be enough to keep us close. Way back when, it was school work and weekends that mattered most to all of us; dances, boys, clothes. And now, in what seems like a blink of an eye, suddenly there are hundreds of miles and oh too many differences between us.

I recognize that at times I am a 30 year old in a 25 year old’s body. By the end of college, I was “over” the whole busy, sweaty, loud music, so drunk I cannot see straight, after party at my house nights. It was years before I accepted it - I really wanted to love those nights still, but I didn’t. Now, that doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy bars and what not, it just means that if I lose my voice talking to the friend that I’m out with or am forced to double-fist my drink because the wait to the bar is thirty minutes…count me out.  Maybe that’s why Jason and I get along so well (His idea of a perfect night involves a good dinner, a “chill” bar and of course, sleeping next to me. Oh, and a Cubs win doesn’t hurt either!).

This is just a lot of babbling to you, but to me, it’s nearly 4 years of attempting to stay within reach of my favorite women in the world.

And all of this from Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (part 2).

I am really excited about this blog…and why shouldn’t I be!? I bought myself this domain for my upcoming birthday and it’s quite possibly the best gift I have ever received from myself. So I called my brother yesterday to tell him about it. He wasn’t very interested, which is fine. He’s a supportive brother, but the most serious, overly logical (to his detriment, I think) brother ever. He just emailed me that it is not a good idea because it “is no one’s business.” Ugh. Pit in my stomach. I hate when he puts a damper on my fun. Stacy - you are an adult, you can do what you want, you have fairly decent judgment. Yes, I am very quick to do things, sometimes not thinking, but it’s not like I ever suffer major consequences from it. I think it’s fun to live in the now and not worry about tomorrow. So long as I am saving money for retirement, keeping my body healthy to live, etc., my future looks promising to me. I can’t worry about what if this or what if that! It’s no fun! I would rather just fly by the seat of my pants and do what I want. Ugh. He gets in my head sometimes. Out, now.

Speaking of…I would like to be an Olympian. If I start training tomorrow, is there any sport that I would be able to compete in? I have been asking people all weekend and the only feasible sport, it seems, is archery. Not so into it, but I would really like a gold medal. Michael Phelps is super cute. If you are reading this one day - call me. And Michael, congratulations on Beijing. I don’t think I’ll ever forget watching you win your eighth medal. It didn’t hurt that it was one of my favorite summer days to date, either. I spent the whole day in my pool practing my routine for London. Jason and I are working on a swimming/dance routine…not sure which sport it will qualify for.