Torn Between Two Offers

Sometimes, when spirit, or fate, or God, or whatever your preferred nomenclature for the ethereal being that guides your faith, answers your pleas, it comes as a shout rather than a whisper.

What the hell am I talking about?  Last week, I wrote about losing one job and this week, I am writing about deciding between two new ones.

Granted, nothing is official yet, but the job I interviewed with yesterday has basically promised me a position of some kind so I have until later today to make my decision.

Meanwhile, the job I interviewed with on Tuesday sounded promising as well.  In fact, the librarian I would be working under showed me around so that I could get a head start on getting acquainted with the library.  The next step is for me to complete one of those ProveIt Microsoft tests that measures proficiency of certain programs, like Word or PowerPoint-but maybe I'm getting ahead of my story and I should give more background details.

Of all the jobs I sent my resume out to, these jobs as a library assistant or the research assistant for a collectibles company were the two I was most excited about.  The library assistant job, because I always thought I would enjoy working in a library setting, and the research assistant, because I love history and would enjoy getting to work hands-on with it.  Unbelievably, I snagged interviews with both, but the library job contacted me first.

It was getting late last Sunday night when I checked my email and noticed a message from the library saying they received my resume and that it would be getting passed along to the hiring manager.  My hopes swelled but I was cautious not to get too excited just yet- after all, it could've been just a standard form email that was sent out to all applicants.

Happily, I received another email in the morning, but this time it was sent personally from Valerie*, the human resources department point person.  I was about to become ecstatic until I read the email a little further....

"The position pays ***.  If you're still interested, let's set-up an interview."  My heart sank.  The pay was much less than what I was making previously and I knew it would mean I would definitely need to take a second job.  I would do it if need be, of course, but I wasn't thrilled with the prospect.  Still, I was excited to finally have a valid excuse to peel my ass off the couch, so I wrote her back and agreed to an interview.

When I arrived, I was amazed by the beautiful campus and how close it was to my home.  I imagined myself riding a bike to work everyday and saving money on gas.  I'd need to save every penny I could if I took this job, the cynical part of my brain chimed in.  I had gotten there early so I sat in the cafeteria.  As I watched all the promising students chatting with their classmates or studying quietly by the window, most of which are years younger than me, I couldn't help but reflect on my own choices with schooling and major, wondering if I had made a mistake that cost me job security and direction.  

I didn't have time to mull it over any longer because just then Valerie arrived.  I followed her into a conference room while we exchanged greetings.  Then, another older gentleman arrived and introduced himself.  I gulped tightly as my throat went dry.  I didn't even consider the possibility of doing an interview with another person in the room.  Valerie then switched on the phone and I was introduced to yet another person that worked in the northern division of the company.  I had a mini panic attack as I tried to gather my thoughts, which were now loose and rolling around like marbles.  I'd be answering questions from not just one, but three individuals.

Fortunately, I managed to get through the process with no issue and garnered a few smiles in response to my answers.  I sighed when it was nearing the end.  I had done well. 

"How would you like to get a tour of the library you'd be working in?" the man said.  He showed me around this bright room with tables everywhere, many of which were occupied by focused students and their piles of books.  We had a perfect view of the fountain out back, and the glass windows made the room cheerful and light.  I thanked him for the tour and as I left I tried to see myself going there everyday.  

The next day, following some advice that Joe gave me, I decided to send one final email to the first company I had pursued when I first realized I was going to be losing my job.  There was an available position for a research assistant for a collectibles company that intrigued me, so I had applied.  I heard back from them the day after I accepted the position at the "other" job, asking me to complete their application.  I had ignored it until I began the new job and realized how unhappy I was, and then I began digging through my email and submitted the application with vigor.  As the days ticked by with no response, desperation and depression began to sink in, and I began to accept that I had missed my chance.  

Then, a few nights ago while sitting on the couch and talking about it more with Joe, he suggested I contact them one more time.

"What could it hurt?" he said.  I thought about it the next day, as I sat in front of my computer and found the HR person's email.  I sighed, and sent out one more professional but endearing email, figuring I was sending it out to the universal abyss.

Much to my shock and delight, I heard back from her within an hour.  I immediately wrote back and before I knew it we had set up an interview for the next day.

I arrived a few minutes early and was amazed at the stone structure with a luxurious lobby.  As I waited, I walked around the room, looking at the cool old maps and fossils.  I felt like a character in a Jules Verne novel, waiting to meet the explorer that I would accompany to the Amazonian jungle.

When the HR woman, Karen*, finally emerged from one of the rooms, she led me into a small office.  We spoke for a few minutes and then I was able to meet a few more employees one-on-one.  I felt my stomach tighten nervously at first, but as I talked more and more, I began to get comfortable and confident.  I could see myself in this job immediately.  I could see myself, years down the line, expertly eyeing items and keying in their information, learning history and interesting tidbits.  

When Karen returned, she let me know that they believe they could find a place for me here and what the next steps would be.  As I shook her hand goodbye, I felt suddenly light but thoughtful.  I left and came home to discuss it more with Joe, who noticed my bright and excited attitude.  He held my hand and looked at me sweetly, saying, "think about where you were three weeks ago.  And now, everything is working out.  I knew you'd be ok."

And for the first time in almost two months, I believed I would be.

Have you ever been torn between two jobs?  What was your final decision and what was the ultimate factor?  

The Ax

*NOTE:  This was a post that I began two weeks ago.  I decided to keep this intro because it represented accurately what was going through my mind at the time.

Breathe in.

"It'll get better."

Breathe out.

"You'll get used to it."

Breathe in.

"Not everyone likes their job."

Breathe out.

"It's temporary."

Breathe in.

"It's temporary."

"It's temporary."

The supportive comments from my friends and family buzz around my head as I try to keep myself calm and not cry for the umpteenth time.

"It's temporary."  I keep letting that thought land on my brain more than the others because I want to  believe it so much.  Also, because I can't help but acknowledge the irony; I had a "temporary" job that lasted so long and I hoped would never end.  Here I am with a salaried position that I couldn't wait to escape.  I've had jobs in the past that were difficult and my mental health and relationships suffered because of it.  As I kept taking deep breaths, I realized I couldn't go through it again.  A job is one thing; it's got its good and bad moments.  But a bad job has no silver lining other than the fact that it's a stepping stone, and sometimes it's too small of one to merit hanging onto.

I realize I am probably violating all of monster.com and CareerBuilder.com's sound career advice by lamenting publicly about my job, but this blog is about nothing if not my honest life.  And if something is preoccupying my spirit so much, dragging me down into depths of worry and sadness, I can't help but vent about it.  So, prospective employers out there who happen to stumble upon this blog while researching me for a position in your company, I beg your pardon and hope you will read this and not think of me as a weepy woman or immature woman, but just as an honest woman...

***

Thus was my life for approximately 9 weekdays, the entire extent of my career as a marketing writer. What began so suddenly ended the same.  Last Thursday, a few minutes after 5 p.m., my boss called me into his office and had me sit down.  I wondered if this was going to be the moment I had been expecting.  Lisa**, my only other co-worker in that office, had informed me that before she started working, there had been another girl who only lasted two weeks before she was "let go".  I had gulped nervously at that when she first told me.  But now, as I was seated in his overly comfortable chair, I was half-expecting it.  And also half-hopeful.

"How do you think it's going?" Bill** asked, settling in his own big office chair, ostensibly calm and familiar.

I had gone over this conversation for days, imagining what I'd say and what he'd say.  On optimistic days, I imagined I'd say I wasn't sure if I was a right fit and he'd say, "Really?  You're the best person for this job!  You're doing wonderfully!" and I'd get talked into staying a little while longer.  On practical days, I'd imagine I'd say I wasn't a right fit and he'd agree, sending me on my way.

That Thursday turned out to be a practical day.

I felt myself splitting in two; the professional in me knew the right thing to say was that I was enjoying myself and learning a lot- essentially begging for my life.  But the other side of me, the part closer to my heart, came rushing forward.

"I've been thinking that maybe this might not be the best fit for me.  I've been learning a lot but I don't really think my heart's into the work enough and I don't know if it ever will be.  I think maybe this was a mistake..." the words blurted out of me before I could even mind-check them for sense and clarity.  I was basically putting my own head beneath the ax but I didn't care at that moment.  I needed to be free.

Surprisingly, he seemed relieved.  He said he noticed I was feeling this way and assured me that this was not an easy job.  He went on to say that it wasn't a reflection on me as a worker or even necessarily as a writer, but that he was in search of something very specific and that he hadn't found it yet in anyone.  

"Maybe I should be looking at bigger pools of professionals, like in New York or Chicago," he smiled.  I smiled back, though I didn't really know why.  He was dancing around with the ax, scraping my neck with it, while I winced and waited for the weight of it to finally crash down.  At last he said he would pay me for the past two weeks and would give me a good recommendation if I needed it.  I thanked him for that and was about ready to go when he stopped me.

"Just out of curiosity, and because I think I always have something to learn as well, was there anything I could've improved upon?"

I thought about it for a second, again wondering what the ethical thing to say was.  I wanted to be honest and tell him all the little things I noticed that I wished were different, such as more hands-on training or less customer service responsibilities, but they would've come off as petty and probably childish. 

Instead, I said that he has the tendency to be a bit direct, but softened, saying it is understandable considering he's a businessman and the boss.  He sat back at that, seemingly offended.  

"Well, I think I've improved on that.  I tried to help you.  I sat with you that one day to coach you.  And I gave you over a week to impress me; I used to give people only a few days before I would let them go," he said honestly.  I was stunned, unsure how to respond to that.  

Luckily, he interrupted the awkward silence by saying I could go.  We shook hands and with that, I quickly packed up my box of tissues, my calendar, my notebook, and grabbed my bag.  Lisa had already gone for the day otherwise I would've said goodbye and good luck with her new job search, which I had inspired her to pursue after a few frank conversations about her own issues with the job.

I walked to my car, threw everything inside, got in the driver's seat and screamed.  And smiled.  I took a deep breath in and blew it out slowly.  I was free and the exhilaration of being free from a bad job is intense.  But soon, just as the deep well of worry had been drained, another emotion began to fill it up once again: fear.  I was suddenly falling without a net.  I didn't know what I was going to do next.  I still don't in fact.  As I write this, the day after Thanksgiving, I still have this heavy fear pressing down on me.  But I have much to still be thankful for.  I am thankful for my wonderful friends, my loving family, and my spectacularly supportive husband.  I am grateful for the health of my loved ones, my sweet dog and my lovely home.  And I am thankful for this new found freedom, the possibilities that lay ahead, and the ability to breathe once again.    


**Names have been changed.

The Six Voices You Always Hear on NPR

A while back I went to meet up with a group of girlfriends for our monthly book club meeting.  When I walked in they were already deep in conversation about a topic they heard about on a show called "All Things Considered".

"What's that?" I asked, somewhat embarrassed that I wasn't in the same loop as my intelligent friends.

"Oh, it's a show on NPR," one of them replied.  They then continued on with their discussion while I tried in vain to catch on.  I knew NPR was National Public Radio, but I had never bothered to listen to it.  After sitting in with my friends and hearing their in-depth analysis and opinions formed from non-biased stances on important issues, I decided that it might be good for my brain to get some mental exercise.  

And so began my NPR habit.  I began listening daily after work but then expanded to including "Car Talk" and "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" on the weekends.  It was a nice change of pace from my typical chat shows and music play lists.  But as I listened more and more, I began to notice the odd little idiosyncrasies that make up the personalities on the air.

Here is my list of the six voices you always hear on NPR.

1.)  The Uninterested British Guy
One of the common voices on NPR's "BBC World News" is the anchor who doesn't seem to be invested in the story he is telling, nor the person he is interviewing.  

2.)  The Flirt
This is a female breathy voice who seems to sounds like she is winking throughout her entire broadcast.

3.)  The Close-Talker
It sounds like the microphone is literally embedded in their trachea.

4.)  The Sour-Lemon Speaker
This person has a constant stream of saliva in their mouth and is constantly trying to combat it with several gulps and puckered lips.

5.)  The Regional Girl
She never bothered to rid herself of her accent, and as a result, as she's reporting on the debate over minimum wage, she sounds like one of Bill Swerski's Super Fans from SNL.

6.)  The Not-Funny Guy
This is a man at odds with his copy, trying desperately to work out the jokes and quips that have been written for him.

I tease, of course, because I love.  The programs on NPR are informative and interesting, but it is definitely necessary to poke fun at its' highfalutin tendencies.  I value NPR for their reporting style and variety of stories, but whenever i hear that breathy voice or those over-extended vowels, I can't help but chuckle.  These odd characteristics make the intelligent broadcasters so much more human...and take away some of my own feelings of inadequacy.

Any voices I missed?  Let me know!

Spare Change/Double Scare

In honor of Halloween, I've been writing this month about different scary moments in my life, like the scary or weird dreams I've been having and my experiences at various "haunted houses."

I neglected to write last week because I was dealing with something that is far scarier to me than nightmares and fake frights; it's Change.  I found out I was going to be losing the job I have had for over four years.  While I had until December to find something else, it didn't deter the fact that I was going to be thrown back out into the job market.  Many of my family and friends were supportive and excited for me, reminding me to look at this as a good thing and to find something I was passionate about.

What I'm passionate about is a stable and predictable routine.  I had gotten so comfortable with working from home, doing the same menial tasks I have done for so long, that it outright terrified me that I would have to adjust and, dare I say it, actually try to do something that I went to school for and cared about.  

All the comments and questions emerged from my Voice of Insecurity.  What if no one wants you?  You don't have any skills.  What if all you can find are jobs that will make you miserable?  You're not going to be able to make any money.  What if you are not good enough?  These thoughts kept me up at night, socked me in my gut first thing in the morning, or came trudging forward like a freight train whenever I had a moment's peace.

Thankfully, I wasn't left twisting in the wind for too long.  I went on two job interviews and was offered both jobs.  The first was a non-salary insurance sales position and the other was a marketing and copy writing trainee position for a nutritional supplement company.  After considering it, I was excited to accept the trainee job, which will start in about a week.  There I hope to cultivate my research and writing skills, as well as increase my social and career possibilities.  I'm still nervous about starting something new, but as my new boss said, he wouldn't have hired me on the spot if he didn't think I could do it.  And he's right.  So I'm going to just stamp down the negative thoughts, have some faith in myself and my abilities, and tally forth.  

Well, that's all well and good, but that's no way to end a Halloween month of stories.  Here are the two freakiest things that have ever happened to me....(muah ha ha ha...)

1.)  The Crow

It was one of those rare afternoons when I was home all by myself- a special thing in a household of six. I was barely a teenager when I was flipping through the channels in my parents' bedroom, finally settling on Alfred Hitchcock's classic "The Birds".  It had already started but I decided to give it a watch, since I had heard about it so often.  I had just gotten to the scene when Tippi Hedren was hiding in the telephone booth as various birds slammed bloodily into the sides, when the station went to a commercial and I went downstairs for a snack.

As I perused the kitchen, I heard the sound of a loud tap coming from the dining room.  It wasn't totally steady, but it was unusual, not sounding like a tree branch.  I stepped into the room which had a wide glass window looking out to our front patio, and saw a big black crow perched on the banister outside.  I blinked hard and suddenly the thing took flight and once again made the loud rapping noise as it's beak made contact with the glass window.  I held my breath, terror shooting down my back and arms, when it repeated it's trajectory once more before finally giving up and flitting away.  

I ran back upstairs and quickly changed the channel.  I still have never seen the rest of "The Birds".

2.)  A Little Night Music

Back in college I was living with my girlfriends Ashley, Bethany and Tiffany.  We had semi-regular schedules back then, but once in a while, being music majors, one of them would be cramming and rehearsing for a performance they had to give as part of their grade, using the stereo to play music.  One night I was trying to fall asleep when I suddenly heard the sound of opera music coming from our living room.  It sounded as if it was getting louder and louder.

Grumpy from being kept awake, I remember wishing in my head that whoever was playing the music would turn off the stereo and go to bed already!  Just then, my wish came true, and I heard the music slowly quieting down to silence.  Relieved, I finally passed out.

The next day, after classes, I came home to the apartment and found Bethany sitting on the couch.  I said my usual hellos and she stopped me.

"Hey, was that you playing music on the stereo last night?" she asked.

"What?  No, wasn't it you?" I asked, confused.  It had been so apparent to me that the only culprit could've been one of us, I didn't even think to be scared.  As we discussed it further, we noticed the switch on the wall that controlled the stereo was in the OFF position.  And since none of had fiddled with it in a while, there was no way the stereo could've been on.

From then on, I welcomed the girls to play their music as often and as loud as they liked.

Ok, so let's hear YOUR scary stories!  And Happy Halloween, Guys and Ghouls :)

Houses on Not-So Haunted Hills

As I said before, I don't enjoy being scared.  I know people say there is a correlation between the pleasure and fear sensors in our brains but for me the only pleasure I derive from slasher flicks and roller coasters is when A.) tables turn on the masked murderer and they find themselves as the hunted, rather than the hunter and B.) I know the coaster is slowing down to a stop.  So I have a hard time understanding why people give their hard-earned money for the sole purpose of getting freaked out of their minds.

I might even understand the fun of some roller coasters (there are a few that I do enjoy) but what I can't understand are those seasonal haunted houses.  Who is watching a film about a serial killer wielding a chainsaw on the loose in an abandoned farmhouse and is thinking- 'Golly I wish I was there!  Wouldn't being chased by a madman in my skivvies be a gas??'  That's what those haunted houses are!  The only difference is when the madman comes up to and breathes down your neck, you're not allowed to fight back.  They tend to throw you out for that...

And yet, despite my aversion, I have found myself on several occasions on line for these "attractions".  Why you ask?  Well, because I don't pay attention and don't do my research.  And I think my friends enjoy watching me have an absolute panic-attack.

Which Witch is Witch
My very first experience with a haunted house was back in eighth grade when our class visited Boston.  We made a stop at Salem, MA to tour the city and visit the witch museum.  Surprisingly, I found it very interesting.  I was going through a very "New Age-y", Enya-listening, magical-forces phase so it was right up my alley.  I could feel the history of the town in the air and hearing the stories about the convicted women was heartbreaking but necessary.

Afterwards we were given a few hours to walk around by ourselves and my friends wanted to see a different "witch" museum.  We walked to this building that housed some witch-related artifacts and then led to a witch-themed haunted house.  I stood around looking at the odd drawings and pictures on the walls.  One held my attention and I remember staring at it more than the others.  It was an image of an attractive girl, her clothes tattered and falling off her.  She was tied to a stake that was engulfed in huge orange flames.  Below her, Satan was reaching out to her, grinning a sadistic smile, his hands close to her breasts, and the look of sheer terror on her face made me gulp hard.  This wasn't the image of an evil green warted hag that was getting what she deserved.  It was the face of innocence and injustice, a girl not much older than me being burned alive.  I know it was just a drawing, but I couldn't shake the fear that gripped my legs so when my friends giddily walked to the entrance of the house I begged off, saying I wasn't feeling well.  I stood there for what felt like an eternity, until finally they emerged, excitedly retelling their experience while I didn't say much at all.  Even though I didn't go through the house, I knew I wasn't my thing and I was ok with that.

Thankfully, I didn't have to confront it again, until many years later on my first trip to London...

The London Dungeons
My friend Ashley and I were absolutely ecstatic to be going to visit our friends Matt and Dave in their home country.  I was especially thrilled; being an English major and lover of history, I couldn't believe I was going to see such monuments as Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace.  I'm also fascinated by the dark history of London, so when the boys asked if we wanted to see the London Dungeons, I was all in.  They explained how it showed the history of Jack the Ripper and the Black Plague and more.  It wasn't until we were actually walking into it that I realized what I had gotten myself into.  There were no exhibits detailing the history of ancient punishments or documents in revered light.  We had ghouls coming up to scare us and screaming skeletons behind cellar doors.  Although we did get some history in- we actually heard the details of the Jack the Ripper murder case and saw replicas of various pain-inducing contraptions- and we did have a few light moments- like when Ash and I were put on "trial" in the section about London justice.  And because we were in a big group, I managed to keep my cool long enough to enjoy it as a bonding experience.

Penn State Penitentiary
Again, I agreed to go on this trip to Philly specifically because I had it in my head that it was going to be a nighttime tour of the prison.   My first indicator that this was NOT the case was the fact that there were people dressed up a little TOO much for just a tour.  As we boarded the buses to the penitentiary, it all dawned on me what we were about to do.  My heart sank and I seriously considered bolting to the nearest bar to wait it out.  But not wanting to embarrass myself, I would man up and and go through with it- and I did.  I also screamed my head off even when we were just on line, which basically created a giant target on my back.  For the next 30 minutes I had zombies and escaped inmates breathing down my neck and shoving their plastic weapons in my face. When it was finally over, my mind, my nerves (and my throat) were exhausted.

Busch Gardens "Dark Side of the Gardens"
Joe begged me to go to Busch Gardens for their Halloween celebration.  I still don't know how he managed to convince me, but I went along with it, thinking it was just going to be decorated with some spooky elements.  When we got there, we realized it was much more than that.  The park was almost completely unlit, with kids in dark clothes carrying shovels that they would slam on the ground to create a huge clatter of noise and sparks.  Other people were in high stilts and would come after you.  Basically, the entire park was one big haunted house.  I wanted to kill Joe.  He also wanted to go on the rides of course, so when I wasn't trying to dodge the attention of one of the actors, I was nervous about going on the roller coasters.  At one point, we were heading towards the biggest ride in the park and after getting surprised and screamed at by a bunch of extras, we realized too late that we were going the wrong way.  We had no choice but to back track the way we came.  After a few more pop-outs and screams, I had had enough.  I was wound tighter than the plastic tab on a loaf of bread.  I started yelling, "I'm here!  I'm frightened!  I'm just going to scream at everything!"  It turned out that moment of release was just what I needed- it calmed me down and it made Joe laugh harder than I had ever heard.

So if you invite me to attend some fall activities, such as pumpkin picking or a corn maze, I'll be there.  However, if you tell me we are going to visit the Lizzie Borden house, you'll forgive me if I do a thorough check on the address and a back-out plan.  I really don't feel like being chased by a pretend 30-something ax-wielding spinster.

How about you?  Are scary houses your thing? 

A Nightmare on Willow Avenue

Well, here you are October, my love/hate month.  Love, because I once again have the valid excuse to throw caution, calories and cash to the wind and buy bags of candy (to give to the little children, of course), as well as see the latest in slutty, trendy and politically incorrect costumes that people come up with.

Hate, because I HATE being scared.  I don't go out of my way to see scary movies, I will happily be the bag-holder instead of riding the Throat-Cutter roller coaster, and I usually fold up into a fetal position at those man-made haunted houses.  

I hate those kind of terror-inducing activities, however I am oddly fascinated with real-life horror.  I will watch documentaries about serial killers and actually love hearing people's true life scary experiences.  Maybe it's because it feeds into my love of stories in general, so while I'd cry at the parking lot "Haunted House" with its' plastic chainsaw-wielding out-of-work actor, I'd pour you another glass of wine to hear the details of how your bed was shaken while you were sleeping.

So, in honor of my dysfunctional relationship with this month, I'll be spending the next few weeks relaying my own Halloween-y stories.

Some might be freaky.  Some might be pathetic.  But they're all Wittie :)

Let's start with something that I've wanted to write about for months but I was waiting for this month to begin- nightmares.  I know we've all gotten them so there's nothing really special about that.  What IS weird is how frequently I've been having them and how intense they have been.  Since I moved down here to Florida, I can't help but notice that my nightmare-to-dream-to-nothing sleep ratio has gone from a pretty normal 1-2-4 to about a 4-1-2 (and no, this is not based on any kind of actual math or science-y research.  Just my own equation to explain what I'm talking about).  And in all of them I was so disturbed I woke myself up at least gasping and whimpering, and at worst screaming and thrashing.  Maybe it would be best for me to tell you what a few of these nightmares were about and you can tell me if I'm normal...or if I need a prescription for a padded room and chic straight-jacket.

1.)  The Spider.
I remember dreaming that there was a huge spider on the ceiling.  It crawled right above me and when it began to descend, I actually flung myself away and yelled out "Holy Hell!"  Joe, still half asleep, tried to grab me and said, "It's ok, it's ok!"  I muttered something about the spider and pointed to the ceiling.  "Honey, it's just the fire sprinkler," he said soothingly.  "I see it...the spider..I see it..," I said for a few more minutes as I stared manically at the spiky fixture.

2.)  The Half-Man.
There was this legless old man floating on the ceiling above me.  He was smiling but it terrified me.  Suddenly, he drifted down and was just about on top of me when I screamed and kicked out of the way, once again, terrifying Joe.

3.)  The Son of Sam: The Animated Series.
I was watching what looked like a dark cartoon version of the story about the "Son of Sam" killer, David Berkowitz.  He was staring out at me from this shabby apartment building.  Just staring and grinning this dark horrible grin.  Then he cut a word into his arm backwards but when I saw it, it read "Cecelia".  Somehow I knew that was the name of his next victim.  I then laid there, feeling myself stuck in conscious limbo, screaming behind my still lips and trying to wake myself up.  I tried to move my arms but they felt as thick and heavy as lead, and I tried to will my eyes open.  Finally, what I thought were screams were sad sighs issuing from my throat, until finally, once again, Joe woke me up.

4.)  The Nightmare that Wasn't.
Joe struggles enough just trying to get a good night sleep without the threat of being startled awake by my thrashing and shrieks; now the poor guy can't even get up to pee without my freaking him out. I must've been in the middle of some kind of dream when Joe stood up from the bed and walked around to my side to go to the bathroom.  It was at that moment that my eyes fluttered open to see a large black mass standing near me.  I screamed (are you seeing the pattern?) and hurled myself away while he jumped back a bit and then, once again, reassured me that everything was ok.

5.)  The Wolf and the Soup.
I mentioned this one on Facebook already, but it was so odd, it bears mentioning again.  I was in a suburban neighborhood, one that felt familiar except this time it was Fall.  The trees were mostly bare or else the leaves that clung on were brown and withered.  The houses were different too- broken windows and collapsing walls.  I walked into a cul-de-sac and was glancing around at the forest beyond the houses, sipping a bowl of soup, when a grey wolf with blue eyes appeared behind a shed. It scared me, but I remember thinking I wasn't supposed to be scared.  Still, I began to run, feeling it begin to chase me.  I put the soup down hoping to distract it, when it was suddenly upon me.  I woke up then, sweating with fear but bewildered by the vivid images and crisp details.

I don't know what my subconscious is trying to tell me- why do I almost always have animals or insects in my nightmares?  Why are things on the ceiling always falling down on me?  It's fascinating what the mind conjures up and I do love to read about dream interpretations, even if sometimes they mean nothing.  Still, I find myself now fearing sleep, which sets up anxiety right before I end up falling asleep, which is probably why the nightmares keep happening!  Vicious cycle.  (Meanwhile, I think Joe is ready to invest in some Nyquil and restraints for me).

But, all I can do is hope for one good dream to wake up from and then maybe that will break the spell.  So on that hopeful note, I bid you...good night.

*And if you have any really odd or scary dreams in the past that you can't shake, tell me about 'em!  Always room for more in my nut house :)

A Cut Above

Ahh, Autumn.

The gentle time of year when the blistering sun is tempered by cooler breezes, the days begin to shorten (and we welcome the extra hour of sleep), and of course, it is the quiet before the speeding train that IS the Holidays.

And for many kids, it is the beginning of the school year.  I know I'm a little late with this revelation (after all, kids have been in school for a few weeks now) but as I sit here tonight, sipping some Mirassou pinot noir, and trying to conjure up something relevant and humorous to write about tonight, my mind wandered to an old memory of myself back in the last few months before I entered high school.  I had it in my head that I would start this new adventure of a new school and new people with a brand new daring haircut.

And if you've known me all these years, you know how this story ends.

But for those of you who weren't, and whom I never cornered at a party to relay this story to, here's how it begins.

Like most people entering high school, I was nervous about not fitting in.  I had spent the years of middle school perfecting an under-the-radar behavior that allowed me to seamlessly exist grade after grade.  I wasn't the worst kid in school, and I wasn't the best.  I got good enough grades to satisfy my parents and teachers, but I wasn't going to any Gifted and Talented programs.  

But with high school looming, and the vast myriad of people I was to encounter, all of whom by then will have developed ways to fit in by not "fitting in", it seemed unsatisfying to just keep going with my mediocre existence.  I wanted to stand out--and fit in.  And what better way to say, "Here I come world.  This is the new and improved Me!" than a makeover!

My mom had helped me on the clothes-front, selecting hip and stylish new threads, but I wanted to go for a really bold haircut, and I knew what I wanted ever since I saw Jamie Lee Curtis on the cover of Redbook.  She had this cute, pixie hair style that looks great on her and (bonus) looked incredibly easy to manage.  I was sick to death of my wiry, frizzy, thick curly hair- I wanted something fresh.  And what says fresh more than a 40-something actress on the cover of a magazine geared towards woman nearing menopause...yeah, I was never hip.

So my mom took me to the salon and when I sat down in the chair, I explained that I wanted it short.  Short-short.

"Really?" the stylist said.  "Want to change up your look a bit, eh?"

"Yep.  Starting high school soon, so I wanted to just try something different.  Bold," I said.

"Yeah but not too bold," my mother warned.  "I mean, once it's gone, you'll have to wait for it to grow all over again."

"Oh, its hair.  It always grows back!" the stylist assured me with a wink.

"Yeah mom...it always grows back," I said, trying to remain upbeat and pushing the growing knot of nerves in my stomach back down.  Sure hope this isn't a mistake, the voice in my head said as I began to see clumps of brown curls fall to my feet.  I'll be fine, I said back, it'll look cool.

When the moment of truth came, and my chair was turned back for the final reveal, I gulped.  Hard.  I was staring at a face I didn't recognize.  I was in such shock, I didn't know what to think.  When my mom picked me up, I didn't say much.  "It looks fine," my mom tried.  "And like you said, it'll grow back."

Fantastic.  It took me thirteen years to grow it the first time.  And in thirteen minutes, it was all gone. I called my friends for real opinions.  Opinions I could trust and be comforted by.

The laughs I received when I opened my front door were not promising.

"Oh man, you look like Pat Benatar!" one of them wheezed mid-giggle.  There was a time when I was heavy into 80s pop music that I would have found that a compliment, but at that moment, I was panicking.

"What the hell am I going to do?  I look like Hermie the 'Misfit Elf' from the 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas Special!" I lamented, staring at the odd swoop of hair.  It was ironic too, since I still had braces on my teeth as well- so the young, dentistry-inspired Hermie.

"Just wait it out.  It'll grow back," they said, trying to calm me down.

And so it was: for our 8th grade dinner dance, for graduation from middle school, and for the whole summer leading up to high school, my look varied from the "Love is a Battlefield" rock singer or a prepubescent male claymation character- it depended on which direction my hair was leaning towards.

In a way, I accomplished my goal to stand out.  And by senior year of high school, I was vying for the superlative of "Most Changed Since Freshman Year".  I didn't get it, but at least now I have a great awkward story to tell the little Benatars one day.

Neighbor Favor

I like to think of myself as a pretty thoughtful person.  I try to be aware of people, help them in need, and give when I can.  Of course, that statement should probably come with the specifications that I try to be so aware of people that I become obsessed with trying to predict their wants and needs till I'm immobilized with fear; I help if it's convenient for me; and I give a spare dollar or two (never more than that unless the person has a really clever sign- then I might up it to a fiver).

So it's not surprising that I put myself in situations where my want to be liked and helpful collides with my neuroses and selfishness.  Take what happened a few years ago for an example...

I had been living down here in Sarasota for a year and had gotten friendly with the neighbors in our apartment complex.  By friendly, I mean I was at a point where if I was out walking Georgia or getting the mail, I would at the very least politely wave and smile with any passerby.  For a select few, I was able to hold down a 5 to 10 minute long conversation, learn their names and some tidbits about them.  But I never really crossed the barrier into real "friendship" with anyone, which was fine with me.  It was a pretty transient complex, with people constantly moving in and out, so I figured I could get away with an amiable smile and quick chat until it was our turn to move on.

However, there was one girl who I think wanted to take our friendship to the next level.  

She was a sweet thing;  a mother with two kids and a husband who took far business trips.  Since I worked from home she often saw me in the morning when I was walking Georgia while she was out walking her mother's dog.  We would chat about the weather, our pets, our significant others, and whatever else.  Like I said, she was/is very nice.

I think I realized things were getting serious when she kept suggesting I come over to her apartment sometime for a coffee and tea to chat some more.  I always thanked her, but never went over.  For one, I had just begun working from home and didn't want my office to think I was already slacking and leaving my post.  Secondly, and this probably solidifies my assertion that I'm a crazy terrible person, but I just didn't see a future there.  We were such different people- she was almost ten years older with kids and a husband, plus when I asked where she liked to go out and do for fun, she said she didn't really enjoy going out.  That's fine, of course, not everyone enjoys going out.  But then I would try and feel out her humor endurance, tossing out a blue joke here or there and see if she reciprocated.  She would just politely smile and change the subject.

That was my final straw.  You're a mom?  Cool.  You don't like going out to events or partying?  That's fine.  You don't enjoy sometimes tasteless jokes or some level of inappropriateness- I got nothing for you.   Because that's me.  And if you can't handle that, then you don't really want to know me.

So I was content to just keep our relationship uber friendly and easy.  And then one day, she upped the ante.

She grabbed my attention one morning and explained that she had been feeding the local stray cats in the complex.

"But now we are leaving for that trip to Italy for a month and I'm worried the poor things are going to starve," she said with dismay in her eyes.  Uh oh.  There's the wind-up...and the pitch.  "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind feeding them for me while we're gone?" 

I could feel my inner voice screaming at me, even after I smiled absently and nodded.  She looked so relieved and happy, I couldn't take it away from her.  After she gave me instructions on where the food would be and how she would have it pre-measured for my "convenience", she said, "I can pay you for this, if you like."

This time my inner voice gave me the silent treatment when I waved off her offer.  "No, don't be silly," I wheezed.  She beamed as she thanked me profusely again and then walked off.  I meanwhile was simmering.  How the hell do I get out of this one? I thought.  You can't, you idiot.  Enjoy putting out smelly food for a bunch of stray cats for the next month, I grumbled to myself as I walked back to our apartment.

I immediately texted Joe, my voice of reason, on what I did.

"Silly girl," he texted, "just tell her you can't.  She's not supposed to be feeding those cats anyway.  She would get in trouble and so would you."

"But I already told her I would.  I even told her she didn't have to pay me," I texted back.

"Silly girl, you could've def taken the money.  It's a big pain to have you go to her apartment and feed cats for a whole month," he texted.  I felt stuck.  And awful.  I didn't want to go back on my word but I also didn't want to commit to something for the next month either.  And I would've felt like a royal ass to go knock on her door and tell her I changed my mind.  

So I did the next best shameful thing.  I wrote her a note and slipped it under her door.  In it I apologized but said I was just worried about us getting in trouble with the apartment complex and hoped she would understand.  I carefully pushed the letter under her door and ran like the dickens back to my apartment.  

I prayed that she would simply read the note, acknowledge me as either a weirdo or welsher (both of which were true), and toss it aside.  Instead, a few hours later I saw her leaving her apartment and coming towards mine.  I panicked and grabbed the dog and hid in the guest room.  When she knocked on the door, Georgia started barking and leapt out of my hands.  I considered hiding until she left, but considering I would most definitely run into her again once she got back from her trip, it would be best to clear the air now. 

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hi..." I said.

"Hi, I just wanted to let you know that if you are uncomfortable doing that then that's totally fine.  I didn't want you to think I would ask you to do something if I thought it would get you in trouble.  I just wanted to make sure you knew that," and there it was.  That kind genuine smile.  It was like salt on the wound.  

"Oh, I know.  I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said yes when I wasn't sure..." I stammered, trying to avoid her eyes, but she reassured me that everything was fine.  I felt so much better; I had wormed my way out of a monthly task and I didn't have another neighbor hate my guts.  I was a winner.

"Would you possibly mind doing something else for me, though?' she asked.

So, in the end, I got away with just going into her backyard and watering her numerous plants for her.  She even left out jugs of water that she had pre-filled for my "convenience".  And it wasn't all for nothing after all.  

I got about four pounds of Italian chocolate for it.   

New York State of Mine

In honor of September 11th, I wanted to write something about New York City.  I considered describing my personal experience that day, but instead, in honor of a city that is so often the setting for so many great stories and memories, I thought I'd share a few of my own.

1.)  The Rockettes
My earliest memory of New York City is being taken to see The Rockettes with my grandmother and sisters at Christmastime.  I remember it being stinging cold, but clinging to my Nana's jet black fur coat, I warmed up quickly.  I remember the theater being unlike any I had ever seen.  I can't recall all the numbers and performances, but I remember the smell of peppermint and chocolate, and the bright colors of the huge toys on the stage, and of course, the Rockettes (who are probably responsible for setting a bar of femininity and grace that I would never achieve).  

2.)  "Rocky Horror Show" with Sebastian Bach
Back in high school, my boyfriend surprised me with tickets to go see the "Rocky Horror Show" which was featuring Sebastian Bach as Riff Raff.  His friend Mark was responsible for teaching me the ways and wonders of hair metal back then, so going to see the lead singer of Skid Row in a funky Broadway production was awesome.  We made a whole day of it; walking around the city and window shopping, grabbing dinner at nice restaurant.  It was the first time I was able to take advantage of the fact that we lived so close to the city and do something so adult.

3.)  Girls Trip
In college, my three girlfriends and I decided to take a road trip to the city to go ice-skating at Rockefeller Center.  Right off the bat, it proved to be a memorable trip; Ashley's drive shaft got stuck just as we were getting onto 95.  We pulled over and while she got it figured out, the three of us went to get something to eat at McDonald's, only to be told that they were out of meat and dairy.  We scratched our heads at the insanity of a business that makes its money off its cheap meat and cheese, and rejoined Ash who had gotten the car fixed.  We finally made it up the rest of the way with no incident.  We had a great time looking at all the display windows decorated for the season, and when we finally got to the rink, we witnessed over 11 marriage proposals.  Which made us all wonder- how bad do you feel for the guy that was marriage proposal #8?  

4.)  Getting Pizza at "Original Ray's"
On the only trip to the city that Joe and I took together, we made it our mission to find THE Original Ray's Pizza before we headed over to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Annex.  Being from New Jersey, I am a bit of a pizza snob and I know good pizza.  But to get a slice of true authentic NYC pizza was exciting.  However, when I went up to the counter to order, I handed the girl my card.  "Cash only!" she yelled over the din of the crowded parlor.  As I shrunk away in search of an ATM, it was the first time I had ever felt some of that no-nonsense attitude of New York.  You get it and harden to it so you can survive in the city.  Of course, I still cursed her under my breath (I'm still from Jersey, after all, and we don't always take kindly to that attitude).

5.)  Beck's Bachelorette
My cousin had her bachelorette a few years ago in the city.  She wanted to have a day at the spa, followed by dinner at a cool underground place, and then drinks afterwards.  I was so honored she invited me along and we had a ball.  As luck would have it, she was marrying the brother of an old friend of mine that I hadn't spoken to in years, so while the girls were upstairs getting massages, we caught up on old stories and mutual friends.  We had dinner and then headed over to a bar that the bride's sister, my cousin Ali, knew about.  As we sat there goofing off and drinking, Beck grabbed my shoulder and nods in the direction of the bar- one of our favorite comedians, Jim Gaffigan, walked in with his wife.  We were all a little buzzed but I think Beck was the courageous one who actually went up to him, with the rest of us who knew who he was following close behind.  I am happy to say I actually managed to tell him how much I loved him and they even posed for a picture with all of us.  *Beck, if you are reading this- please tell me you still have that pic!  A day at the spa, fancy dinner, and celebrity sighting- it was definitely a New York night.

6.)  The Skyline
This might seem cheap and easy (like me!), but the single most important thought or memory about New York City to me was and is the skyline.  It was the backdrop to so many good moments for me.  I had a lot of family up in the Atlantic Highlands region of the shore, which is a town built up onto the cliffs looking out onto the ocean and it's dominated by the Twin Lights lighthouse.  We would go to my grandparents' house or my aunt and uncle's house for all kinds of holiday parties, but my favorite was when we'd go for Fourth of July.  They had decks that faced the water and on clear nights, you could see all the way to the city skyline.  I loved watching the pops of colors from the fireworks set off all around, from all the way to Sandy Hook to the edge of the city.  I picture that, and suddenly the rest of the memories start to flood back; the smell of my male relatives' cigar smoke or the mixed and muddled perfumes of my aunts, or the giggles and inside jokes coming from my cousins, and usually the music of Carole King or James Taylor playing in the back.

Everyone has their own personal connections to the city and I would never presume that ones' experiences outweighs another.  New York City to me was always this distant relative that I visited and was familiar with, but never really got to know.  We took for granted that we lived only a ferry-ride away.  It was a presence, like how Bruce Springsteen is seen- something I don't think we ever realized how significant it was, because to us, New York will always be simply "the city" and Springsteen will always be just "Bruce".

I'll never forget seeing the smoke drifting above our heads as we stood outside of the Hofbrahaus in Highlands, standing on the lookout with dozens of other people, quietly whispering out of fear and disbelief, watching helplessly as our beloved skyline changed forever.  All we could do once the shock had worn off and the grieving completed, is remember the good things from before, our thoughts and memories of trips and visits, meals and museums, epic nights and adventures.  And to remember there are many more great experiences to be had.

Never forget that.  

Doggie Doo-Wop

I really don't mind contributing a portion of the monthly mortgage payment to the town of Lakewood Ranch in order to pay for maintenance of the parks and common areas.  It keeps the neighborhood looking tidy and neat.

The only problem I seem to have is constantly timing my walks with Georgia to happen the same time the landscapers and lawn mowers are out.  And the reason this is a problem is two-fold; Georgia hates any loud mower sounds and clanking trailers, and I feel totally in the way.  These guys are just doing their job, yet I can't help that they're thinking, Here comes the disheveled red head in those same Victoria's Secret Pink yoga pants and that ratty stretched out tank top.  And her little dog, too.

Usually I can hear what area of the neighborhood they are working on and I can simply go the opposite way, giving them plenty of space and not bothering them.  That was the plan yesterday, but it didn't work out exactly.

Georgia began whining at my feet.  "Yeah, ok, it's time," I told her.  I got her leash on and my pooper scooper set with a fresh bag and walked out.  

Bzzzzz.

Lawn mower day.

I walked out of the house and towards the main road that met with our side street.  I could see them in the distance working in the park.  Ok, so we won't go that way today, I thought, and led Georgia to the right, towards the small park on the other side of the neighborhood.

I should probably also mention that I am terribly paranoid about getting yelled out for my dog doing her business.  I don't really know why.  I keep expecting one day for a woman in a blue bathrobe with pink curlers in her hair, running out of her house and shaming me for not getting every bit of her poop.  She would then order me to pick it up with my bare hands.  And I would.  Because I'm weak and obedient.  

Still, dogs do dog doo, and really if she doesn't relieve herself, I'd be worried something was wrong with her.  So the compromise is, I make sure she pees and poops, but only in the park areas.  Never on the lawns.  And I always bring my pooper scooper and bag to pick up after her, but if I can't get it all, well, at least I tried.

Anyway, I was nearing the park area and we were doing the same ol' dance; Georgia sniffing everything, marking, or looking around, while I waited, looking for woodpeckers and willing her bowels to move.

At last, she finally went and just as I picked it up with the scooper, I heard it.  Bzzzzz.  And it was suddenly getting louder.  I saw one of the lawn mower guys driving towards us.  I didn't have a chance to deposit her bag in the garbage.  I just yanked Georgia away from her fascinating blade of grass and hurried her to the cul-de-sac.  The other problem of trying to discreetly walk your dog in the morning is that you almost always have an audience.  People are leaving for school or work, bringing their garbage to the curb, or bike riding.  I really don't know why I have this absurd modesty...on behalf of my DOG...but I just fear judgement, what can I say?

As I watched and waited for the lawn guy to finish mowing the park, I heard something else.  Aaaack.

Georgia puked on the neighbor's yard.  Wonderful.  I stood there for a few minutes, holding a loaded pooper scooper, unsure what to do.  I considered trying to pretend to clean it up, but what good would it really do?  Instead, I kicked a little grass on top of it and hoped no one saw.

After purposely "pretending" to fumble with the very complicated pooper scooper, the lawn guy finally drove off and I was able to throw away the bag.  We were just getting home when I heard the sound of another law mower coming towards us.  Maybe they are just messing with me...

Foods I Can't Believe I Got Away With Eating as a Kid

Nowadays, the big thing when it comes to kids and food it's all about organic and all-natural.  

What a gyp.

I know, I know.  There's an obesity epidemic going on and there have been proven links between diseases and diet.  And I'm not saying being healthy isn't important for kids at these early stages of development so they can be prepared to make good choices for their mind and body for the rest of their lives.

But when I recall some of the foods I used to eat as a kid, I can't help but pity the poor kid who gets the wheat-germ alfalfa "cake" for their birthday or is only allowed to spend their hard-earned allowance on hummus dip instead of Fun-Dip.  Is the fact that our generation was allowed these treats the reason such an epidemic exists?

Probably.  But every choice comes with any number of outcomes- and if my feet are taken from me years from now due to diabetes, at least I will have the sweet memories of real sugar candy and frosting to keep my engorged heart warm.

As a rememberance to these sweet memories, here are the tasty treats I can't believe I got away with eating as a kid.

1.)  "Kudos" bars
What's the difference between these bars and candy bars?  Really, not much.  The oatmeal that is coated with chocolate and candy is like Mother Theresa in a tube top and hot pants- covering the good with the evil.  It was the wiliest kid that was able to talk their parents into buying these, and they were the equivalent of gold bricks come lunch-trading time.

2.)  "Shark Bite" Fruit Snacks
These things were definitely more snacks than fruit.  Of course, that was the point.  The best were the "Great White" ones, which were fruit punch-flavored I think.  My other all time favorite was called "Gems" a kind that I only got to have two or three times and then they disappeared.  They were tiny, jewel-shaped and extra chewy.  If anyone remembers these, or even better knows if they still make them anywhere, PLEASE share the love.

3.)   "Cookie Crisp" Cereal
I've only had this cereal a few times, but the concept of it always astounded me.  Cookies?  For breakfast?  How the hell did this make it past marketing AND a health board?  Whatever magic they concocted in their conference rooms resulted in the production of a cereal that would be great in brownies, ice cream, Hell, even in cookies.  But a raring start to your day?  Let the geniuses over at Pop-Tarts field that one.

4.)  Orange Soda
After the days of first being introduced to your basic Coke and Sprite, and yet years before we would have to do the "Diet-Zero-Max Mambo", there was Orange soda.  Sweet as can be with the nice bite of carbonation, whenever I was at a birthday party or school dance, Orange soda was my date.  It wasn't until I reached that critical early adult stage and I read how of all sodas, Orange is the worst for you, that I gave it up.  My reasonable, grown-up brain still won't allow me to drink them now.  However, whenever we get Chinese and Joe gets an orange "Crush", I smell that rich fake orange smell, and am nostalgic for roller skates and Ace of Base.

5.)  Swanson's "Hungry Man Fried Chicken" TV Dinner
Back in middle school, my Saturday night consisted of back to back episodes of "Hercules", "Xena: Warrior Princess", "Mystery Science Theater 3000", two episodes of "I Love Lucy", and the "Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour" to finish out the night.  And what best to go along with this epic night of Nerd-dom than a feast worthy of the Gods.  I always went for the Fried Chicken meal (that included mashed potatoes, corn AND a brownie), and as I got a little bit older, upgraded to the whole pound of food.  Yep, not much difference between a grown male body-builder bulking up and a sad little girl on a weeknight.  Coronary, thy name is Sodium.

6.)  "Fun-Dip"
What do kids love?  Sugar.  What's one way to eat sugar?  Through a straw-like contraption, a la Pixie Sticks.  What's a better way to eat sugar?  Licking a stick of sugar to dip inside the sugar!  These were always the most expensive thing at the concession stand and for good reason.  They usually came with three or four chambers of flavored sugar to dip into.  And then of course there is the sweet tool that is also the conveyance for said-sugar.  If I had one of these now, I would be instantly transported to summer at Little Monmouth Beach Club.

7.)  "Dunkaroos"
What do you get when you mix small cookies into a vat of frosting?  A product that children and dentists loved but has nearly disappeared from grocery shelves (and kids everywhere mourned their absence).  It's not surprising, considering these things were really the junkiest of junk foods.  They didn't even try to present them with a headline of "all natural" or "soy-based", because how could you?  They didn't beat around the bush.  Cookies and flavored frosting.  You're welcome, World.

Of course part of me is relieved these things have been discontinued (or at least rare to find).  No one really should eat cookies dipped in frosting, a whole pound of deep-fried preservative-laden chicken parts, or soda so full of sugar and food coloring that your mouth would resemble a jack-o-lantern's (in that it would be orange and missing several teeth).

Still, these were the foods that were around for our generation, and whenever we give in to a taste, we are deposited right back into that moment of childhood.  And I'm sure the kids today have their own addictions and fad foods, but I can't imagine anything like these things existing today.  After all, in addition to health and nutrition education and new allergies to combat, kids today have even more troublesome things to worry about than we did.  But I just hope once in a while kids can experience their youth for what it's meant for- fun.  And a time to take advantage of the fact that this is also the age when you can eat like that and burn it off after a few rounds of TV Tag or Sharks and Minnows.