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Filler

What to do when you have an idea for a Halloween entry but also want to post the day before Halloween? Do a meme! Thanks, Liz!

Three names I go by
- Frema
- Bree
- Breain (pronounced Bree-in)

Three screen names I have had
- Chasingamy109
- Lolalicious
- MsFrema

Three physical things I like about myself
- Fingernails
- Hair (most of the time)
- Lip shape

Three physical things I don't like about myself
- Gut
- Acne
- Eye circles

Three parts of my heritage
- Irish
- Mexican
- Arabian

Three things that scare me
- Student loans
- Paying for a wedding
- Never finding a job that I 100% love

Three of my everyday essentials
- Chap stick
- Clinique's Dramatically Different Moisturing Gel
- Alterna's Texturizing Glaze

Three of my favorite musical artists
- Liz Phair
- Elton John
- Lionel Ritchie

Three of my favorite songs
- "As I Lay Me Down to Sleep," Sophie B. Hawkins
- "Closer to Fine," Indigo Girls
- "These Are Days," 10,000 Maniacs

Three things I want in a relationship
- Openness
- Laughter
- Respect

Three lies and truths in no particular order
- I hate jewelry
- I love seafood
- I have six toes on my left foot

Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to me
- Dark hair
- Big hands
- Easy smile

Three of my favorite hobbies
- Reading
- Hiking
- Watching movies

Three things I want to do really badly right now
- Win the lottery
- Get back under the covers
- NOT feel like I'm coming down with something

Three Places I want to vacation
- Boston
- California
- New York City

Three kid's names I like
- Amelia
- Nathan
- Lucy

Three things I want to do before I die
- Publish something
- Be a mother
- Learn how to swim properly; I am deathly afraid of water deeper than five feet

Three ways that I am stereotypically a boy
- Burp and fart a lot
- Don't always enjoy showering every day
- People sometimes misread my first name and call me Brian. Does that count?

Three ways that I am stereotypically a girl
- Cry at the drop of a hat
- Horrible at math
- Want to get married

Three celeb crushes
- Kiefer Sutherland
- John Cusak
- Peter Krause (I've never seen Six Feet Under, but I did love Sports Night)

Two people I would like to see post this meme
- My sister!
- Brooke

Blogger's First Prada

But not Prada clothes. Or a handbag. Or shoes. Or even a jaunty hat.

Prada eye glasses, people. PRA.DA. I am such a little shit.

It's not like I possessed a burning desire to sport a major design label on the bridge of my nose. I tried on, like, six different pairs of glasses before deciding on these, and it wasn't until the receptionist was preparing the bill that she noticed the brand. But how many people are going to believe that, when they already know about my passion for clothes and shoes and colorful accessories? "Sure, sure you didn't know they were Prada," they'll say. I'm honestly kind of embarrassed to wear them. Especially since Luke's been throwing out playful jabs for the last week and a half. But really, when you consider that spectacles are supposed to last for two years, the overall cost only comes out to about three dollars a day. And for PRADA glasses? That's a steal.

Anyway, after my fitting today, me and my bad-@$$ Prada self moseyed on down to the local Chevy dealership, where my car has become a regular fixture due to various minor annoyances, the latest being a thunkthunkthunk sound from one of the back tires whenever I slow down. Because Chevy hasn't been able to pinpoint the source of the trouble, they thought it best to get me into a rental while they showered my Cobalt with a few days' worth of TLC. Now, most drivers would be presented with an everyday, run-of-the-mill, just-get-me-something-so-that-I-can-make-it-to-work car, like a Neon or a Vibe. But not Frema! Apparently, Frema qualifies for a 2006 Cadillac STS. Also apparently, they do not keep tabs on the driving history of their customers.

So. I started the day with frames from For Eyes and a car that's been violated more times than Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. I ended it with my first Prada (PRADA!) purchase and a luxury car that's five minutes old. I feel sooo money. And smart. And a little sassy.

And also a little afraid of this picture. It makes me think of that scene from The Silence of the Lambs where Clarice visits Frederica Bimel's house and snoops around in her bedroom and unearths Polaroids of the now-dead women in her bra and panties, striking poses just like this one. *Shiver*

Evidence of My Nerdiness And Possibly Yours

Since the last couple of posts have been all Deep and Thought Provoking, I thought I might spice things up a bit with a very special version of "Name That Tune." I will provide a lyric (or two or three, depending on the level of dorkiness--er, difficulty) from ten of my very favorite songs--it's up to you to guess the name of the song and the artist. Participating in this exercise will not only give you an in-depth look into Frema's musical tastes but also provide you with an opportunity for meaningful self-discovery. In other words, if you know even half of these bad boys, you need just as much help as I do.

I'll leave this game "open" until Sunday; on Monday, I'll post the answers and the name of the person with the highest score. That person gets...I don't know what. An answer to a burning Frema question? A pen from my employer? Tell me what you want when you play, and if it doesn't cost any money, I'll probably give it a whirl. Just be sure to send all guesses to my e-mail (unless you know of a better way to avoid copying), but also be sure to still leave a comment, because my self-worth is directly related to how many of those things I get per entry.

Let the games begin!

Songs That Bring Frema To Her Happy Place, Especially When Commuting Long Distances And She's About To Pass Out At The Wheel

1) "Feels like sunshine, feels like rain / Lord it feels like love finally called my name"

2) "My heart is achin' for that special girl / To come on in and to share my world / Someone to love and someone to hold / Let me be the one"

3) "Now my love is somewhere / Lost in your kiss / When I'm all alone it's you that I miss / Girl a love like yours / Is hard to resist"

4) "Squeeze her knees underneath a book /You know a real good shakin's all it took / Cause my baby's hooked on me / And as you can see I'm wild about her"

5) "All summer long we've been together / And I never felt so good / Cuz when I'm with you / It's such a good time (yes it is)"

6) "My weary mind is rested / And I feel as if my home is in your arms / Fears are all gone, I like the sound of your song / And I think I wanna sing it forever"

7) "It's drivin' me outta my mind / That's why it's hard for me to find"

8) "Show me that smile again / Don't waste another minute on your cryin'"

9) "It felt like springtime on this February morning / In the courtyard birds were singing your praise"

10) "Plant a seed plant a flower plant a rose / You can plant any one of those / Keep planting to find out which one grows / It's a secret no one knows"

Sallie Mae Be Driving Me Crazy

Over the weekend, I received a letter I've been both eagerly anticipating and passionately dreading: an official verification that my federal student loan consolidation application (try saying that ten times) was accepted. Anticipating because I knew the sucker was coming but didn't know when, making it hard to plan each month's bill cycle. Dreading because holy crap, now I actually have to start surrendering hard-earned money to these people.

This realization has triggered a brand-new bout of Freaking the &*%$ Out. What happened to the days when a fifty-dollar paycheck from Sam Goody could last two weeks? How can I be expected to make a car payment and keep up on my rent and pay down my Visa bill and plan for a wedding and have babies and even think about being a stay-at-home mom when I now have to find an extra two hundred and eighty dollars a month for Sallie Mae? And that's just the federal loans. The bill for the private ones will be coming around Christmas. Do they plan it this way on purpose?

The Freak Out is further fueled by the fact that Luke is still temping and I did not get any kind of raise after my September review, a raise that was neither promised nor implied but simply fabricated out of my own wishful thinking and desire for more money.

I know I'm lucky. I have a great job that's enabling me to repay my educational debts, a job I wouldn't have even qualified for if I hadn't financed my schooling. I have all the insurance I could possibly need and a 401(k) plan that offers a company match, of which I am taking full advantage, even with all this nickel-and-dime chaos going on, don't you worry, Suze Orman. I'm lucky in that respect, too. Not everyone can afford to invest in their future.

And I could have made some better choices along the way. If I'd been more careful, I wouldn't have totaled and lost forever my beloved, precious, still-miss-her-to-this-day Cavalier, which was only two and a half years away from being fully paid off. I didn't have to buy a brand-new car, a car that would bring me my second accident in three months. It was my own pride that talked me into buying extravagent presents at Christmastime, so that my parents and siblings would have physicial evidence of how well Frema was doing on her own. And honestly, how snobby am I to complain that I don't have enough clothes to wear when I was spending two hundred dollars at New York & Company every other month, the last spree taking place the week before Luke moved in? Am I that shallow?

Moral of this story: I'm a big girl who made her bed, and now I have to lie in it, in blankets and sheets that will be made to last for the next five years, because who can think of blankets and sheets when I'm buying generic dishwashing detergent? It may take some time to feel financially secure again, but I thank God that at least I have the resources to do so.

And yet...I STILL hate Sallie Mae.

Progress

I was reading through older entries this morning and found that I had blogged exactly one year ago today. It's a sad little entry, one in which I talk about not fitting in with my graduate-school classmates because I lived so far away from campus. Now, on October 21, 2005, I realized that I'm going through the same thing all over again, only this time I'm striving to forge a relationship with Indianapolis. As much as I love the activity, the possiblities of being in a metropolitan area, I still don't feel quite at home. I still have many of the issues I faced in Rensselaer: I can't see my parents after a long day of work. No after-dinner drinks with lifelong friends, friends who I haven't lived in the same zip code with for eight years. No lazy Saturday breakfasts with my sister, unless I drive for three hours the night before. Though I try to stay connected as best I can with phone calls and visits, it's not the same as being around every day.

Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking when I agreed to move another hour-and-a-half away from the support group I love so much. If I had held out a little longer, I might have landed a job at Brookfield Zoo, a job that totally would have kicked @$$. I wonder what life would have been like for me then. I would have been surrounded by friends and family and felt a little more at ease with only seeing Luke on the weekends. We probably would've waited until marriage to live together. I know that would have pleased my mother.

But moving to this city has served as a catalyst for the progress of Luke's and my relationship in a way that Chicago never could. If I hadn't moved here, he would still be working at the Rensselaer newspaper, and we would still be waiting for that "perfect" moment to start our lives together. This move has allowed both of us to stretch our limits as individuals and unearth our true possibilities as a couple. It's been hard, and there are days when we both feel angry, taken for granted, out of place with ourselves. However, when we're tucked into bed, he opens his arms to me and allows my head to rest on his shoulder, signaling that we've made it through another day. That alone makes Indianapolis good for something.

Sexual Harrassment or Earwax Buildup?

So, I'm microwaving my Weight Watchers southwest chicken bowl in the break room, minding my own business, when I catch one of my colleagues on his way to some place that was not the break room. "Hi, Colleague!" I call out pleasantly.

"Hi, sweetie, how are you?"

"I'm fine, th--"

Say what?! I turn my head, but too late. He's off.

I cannot say with one-hundred-percent certainty I was addressed with a pet name. Does my sassy sexuality scream "Come hither, old man?" Maybe it was meant in a grandfatherly way. Seeing as I drink juice boxes at lunch and can't keep lipstick on for more than twenty minutes, this could in fact be the case.

Or maybe it didn't happen at all and I was just reaching for potential blog material. The world may never know.

In other news, I have officially finished Harry Potter. When I got to the last page, I thought I would hear the trumpeting of angels celebrating my accomplishment, because Oh My God, everyone else on the planet has finished this book. Months ago. And are probably tired of talking about it. But I am not tired of talking about it. In fact, I'm dying to talk about it. I have Opinions! Theories! Is there a number I can call or support group I can join to get me through this?

I also picked up the new Liz Phair CD. Hmmm. Not horrible, but where is the talk of dead relatives? Favorite pairs of underwear? H.I.V.? H.W.C? What's with this clichéd "catch me if I fall" and "let's take a leap of innocence" crap? Our flower, we have lost her to commercial pop. Another death to mourn.

Entry With Everything On It

During the four days in which there was no blogging at all, some interesting things have happened, things that in and of themselves could have made for well-versed and comedically peppered posts, things that I will instead talk about in lazy, fragmented sentences categorized by day:

Thursday
Worked my second of six volunteer shifts for the Lord of the Rings exhibit at the Indiana State Museum. Folded tee-shirts in the exhibit gift shop and received guidance from two high schoolers who will probably never score a date and resort to becoming pizza delivery boys and quoting dialogue from The Family Guy on their days off. Saw Dakota Fanning, as the museum hosted a special showing of her new movie at the IMAX theater. Briefly wished that Luke and I had rented Hide and Seek instead of Birth last weekend.

Friday
Spent seven hours talking with Number Twelve about whether the cover for my lab's testing directory should be run through a four-color process with a spot color to nail our logo's specific Pantone shade of blue or just go with the four-color process and an educated guess as to which CMYK combination will produce 287C. Briefly wished I was a pizza delivery boy and had no need to discuss the intricacies of offset printing.

Saturday
Wanted to get to first base with my hair dresser after my well-worth-the-wait-and-one-hundred-and-forty-dollars-plus-tip cut and color in Chi-town. Did not have the heart to tell her I planned on scouring Indianapolis for salons, so instead I made another appointment, this time for an updo for a Chicago wedding this Friday. Pretended my baby sister wasn't wearing a shirt that read "You Don't Know My Name But Your Boyfriend Does." Briefly wished I lived in Chicago.

Sunday
Left Chicago after a fabulous two days of hanging out with my family. Saw my mom crying after I went back upstairs to grab my keys. Hugged her for two full minutes. Cried. Wished I lived in Chicago so that I could see my wonderful parents and siblings every day, and also have a better chance of securing the seventeen-year-old copy of Ninja Gaiden for Nintendo that was promised to me MONTHS ago.

Somewhere in there I managed to pick up Harry Potter again, and now I am fewer than 100 pages and four chapters away from being finished. Am deathly afraid that I will finish the book on my lunch hour at work and sob like a little girl. It makes my heart hurt.

My head hurts, too. Time for bed.

Mental Smorgasbord

OK, it was definitely time to update, because that baby post was really starting to creep me out. You want kids. We get it Frema, we all get it. Dry your eyes and shut your pie hole. Hell, I found myself saying this to MYSELF. Let's all move on.

Anyway, I started a post on Sunday about Luke's and my glorious time at the Whiter River Gardens bonsai exhibit, cleverly connecting the show to my only memories of bonsai, which all stem from The Karate Kid Part III. However, when I received a link the next day from Luke announcing his then-latest post, what did I find but MY idea, shamelessy stolen by someone who's never even seen the damn movie. Now, talking further about the day just seems redundant, and really, I can find my own original ideas to post about, thank you very much, Useless Clutter.

It's been kind of a blah week, a week in which I have experienced the full impact of our domesticity. Over the weekend we made a special trip to the mall so that I could redeem my highly cherished Victoria's Secret coupon for one free pair of panties. (FYI: Every time I say the word "panties," I imagine Eric from That Seventies Show in the episode where Donna finds strange underwear in his car and she imagines him in his bedroom surrounded by his lingerie trophies, shouting, "Panties! Glorious panties!" and then gleefully tosses them over his head.) Anyway, as I'm sure Victoria is well aware, women who get something free are likely to also walk away with items that cost the very opposite of free. Only this time Luke was there, and he shook his head vehemently when I said it might not be a bad thing to get one more bra. You know, for work! Yet still, no.

We were at the mall again tonight, shopping for my father's birthday, and for the first time in a long time, I walked away with nothing for myself, even though I am the proud owner of not one but TWO good-through-October-only coupons for New York and Company. Now that Luke and I are a Financial Unit, it's not OK to say "&*$# it" and charge three sweaters on my NY&C credit card. For the first time in my life, my money-management skills affect someone other than myself. Plus, with student loans, a 3,000-dollar Visa debt, and soon, a wedding to pay for, it's time to grow up and learn to keep the plastic in Mr. Pocket. But it's hard. I spent so much of my childhood hating my clothes. As an adult, I love the control I have over my wardrobe. The idea of not adding to it at my whim is depressing. But such is life.

The one aesthetic splurge I can look forward to is my haircut and color this weekend in Chicago. Yes, Chicago. I've strategically scheduled all of my hair appointments to coincide with my Chi-town visits, as the salon I visited in Indy back in June left the top layer of my head a shade of copper neither I nor God himself ever intended for my hair. That's what I get for going to a place that spells "curl" with a K. Behold the evidence, if you can. Sunglasses may be required.

Less than a week after this was taken, I was sitting a chair at Enve in Chicago, pleading with Brenda to make the ugliness go away. Not only did she fulfill my wishes, but she also demonstrated the proper way to use a diffuser, not realizing she had bestowed upon me a gift more precious than the cotton-candy-pink bicycle my grandma bought me for Christmas in 1987.

As much as I heart Brenda and her mad skillz, though, I've come to discover Indianapolis is actually chock full of salons whose employees don't show up for work in scrubs and sport hair styles that were shaped by a mixing bowl. Plus, my hour-and-a-half appointments subtract from the precious time I have with family and friends. So, this weekend, I'm saying my good-byes to Brenda, in hopes of finding an equally if not more savvy stylist at least two and a half hours closer to home. Any opinions on Ulta?

And...I'm out.

Temperature Spike

Like a volcano, it lay dormant for months, patiently waiting to attack the vessel that is Frema. But the Baby Fever, it can no longer be contained.

I was doing so well, too. Since I moved to Indianapolis in May, I've paid regular visits to Matt, Patty, and their newest addition, thus curbing my desire to be a full-time mom. However, in the last week, there's been the birth of Noah, three baby-sitting shifts with Anna, and this shocking revelation. For cripe's sake, I thought the man was infertile. How much more is a girl who's already named her children supposed to take?

I know it's coming. Luke and I are doing great, and though we're not officially engaged yet, there's already been discussion about having our wedding next summer. And still, I'm ten steps ahead of myself. How long will Luke and I wait before we start trying? What if we have trouble? How would I feel about never being pregnant? What if I CAN get pregnant but need a C-section? If I decide not to breastfeed, would my love for my baby appear less than unconditional? How many children can we afford on one income? How would I feel placing my kids in day care?

Makes your head hurt, doesn't it?

This last picture was taken yesterday night and is the epitome of what I believe motherhood to be. Yes, I know it's not all sunshine and roses; I grew up the oldest of five children and experienced plenty of number-two diapers, spit-up clumping in my hair, and incidents that tempted me to scotchtape my siblings' lips together, therefore denying them of their right to cry. But, on the good days, I also experienced plenty of this. How lucky I was.

I know that in good time, babies will come, and I need to be patient. But until that day, I fully reserve the right to cry at the sight of them.

[Edited 12/9/06 to add: Some photos removed.]

One Exhibit To Rule Them All

How dorky am I? So dorky that I am an official volunteer for this exhibit.

It's only being showcased in six museums in the entire world, with only three of them located in the United States. The other two cities are Boston and Houston. Not sure when Indianapolis reached the status of "pop-culture cool," but this Hoosier isn't asking any questions. I'm just going to show up for my two shifts a month for the next three months and attempt to acquire as many token freebies as possible. No pun intended.

I'm also excited to see just how many high-school dropouts will show up dressed like Frodo and Gandalf. When I was in college, I saw Star Wars: The Phantom Menance with the Three-Weeks-Without-Calling Boyfriend, who I've referenced several times in the blog and was the type of guy who thought it perfectly appropriate to paint his face red and black and don a floor-length cape and call himself Darth Maul on opening day. Sadly, I can see how this may have been cool with his Magic-playing, pot-smoking, questionably hygiened friends, but when you're on a date and without a car so you have to take the bus to the movie theater and normal people are staring at you and thinking, "What in the hell...?" Not so much. To be fair, I suppose I should be grateful he wasn't sporting a lightsaber.

Anyway....

It's a good thing the exhibit is based on the Lord of the Rings film trilogy and not the books, because while I adore the movies and saw each one at the show, the only J.R.R. Tolkien novel I've finished is The Hobbit, and that took me a full calendar year. (Apparently, it's very easy to distract me.) I ended up loving The Hobbit so much that I once named a goldfish after Bilbo. He only lasted a couple of days. (Damn county fair goldfish!) Hopefully that's not used as a measuring stick of my devotion.

Playing Hooky

Well, not really. I did go to work yesterday and managed to stay until lunchtime, but with my projects at a standstill and the lovely weather beckoning and the fact that my boyfriend was at home with nothing to do, I could stand it no longer. I was off.

There is something slightly scandulous about having fun on a Friday afternoon, knowing you should be at work and remembering all those you left behind, forced to go about business as usual until 5:00. Just the fact that you're away from the confines of your cubicle makes the day spectacular, even if you do nothing but organize your sock drawer.

Don't worry, I didn't really organize my sock drawer. Instead, Luke and I went to this orchard in Indianapolis, which turned out to be nothing more than a barn that sold expired eighties candy (Blow pop, anyone?) and homemade mustard and oh, yeah, some apples, too. So off we went again, this time to downtown Indianapolis, where we walked around and got ice cream and visited the Soldiers and Sailors Monument. We finished our city adventure by heading over to Broadripple for the second time this week and talking a stroll down the Monon Trail, which is where we took the above picture and, in my opinion, one of the greatest things about this place. Broadripple reminds me a little bit of the north side of Chicago, with its quaint little shops and tons of restaurants and loads of upscale twentysomethings decorating the streets. In addition to the slew of townhouses that you know the owners are paying out of their ears for, there are also joggers, bikers, dog walkers, parents with baby strollers, and a variety of other residents looking to get their blood pumping. I always admire the joggers in their sporty shorts and tee shirts, wearing gym shoes that probably cost more than my grocery bill, chatting with their companion about the daily grind. When I was in high school, I always pictured myself being one of those joggers; I'd have an apartment in Chicago off the lake shore and live in a neighborhood where it was common to have your groceries delivered and have dinner parties with "colleagues" from work.

I may not have my Chicago dream, but life is still pretty good. Luke and I have spent the majority of the week experiencing the first season of Scrubs on DVD, as a way to pass the time until the fifth season starts in January. The last month has been a weird one for me in regards to TV, as I used be attached to an IV that fed me all my favorite shows intravenously. (If you don't believe me, read this.) Now, the loss of cable has also caused me to lose most of my television appetite, so that I usually end up just popping in a Friends disc and letting it play all the way through. I haven't even bothered taping All My Children. Soaps just aren't as much fun without SoapNet. I can't decide if someone should congratulate me or initiate an intervention.