My Night with George Clooney

I did it. My short story is ready for the world.

Click here and you can read of it for yourself. You might even be able to do so at lunch, depending on how much time you get to take. In fact, you should start reading it at lunch or on your metro ride home tonight or first thing when you wake up in the morning. (I will cut you some slack that you might already have Friday night plans.)

This is an electronic book, published by Amazon’s Kindle Direct Program. But you don’t have to own an actual Kindle to read it. All you need is an iPhone, iPad or android or any other device that is compatible with the Kindle app. The app is free, so if you don’t have it, go download it now.

Before you cough up the $2.99 to read my story, I thought I’d give you a little description of what to expect.

My story is:

Funny.

Better than 50 Shades of Gray.

My story is not:

True.

Porn. (Sorry.)

And you can enjoy it for less than the cost of a tall latte at Starbucks, 1/7 the cost of a one-class pass at Biker Barre, and 1/166 the cost of these dream shoes by Bettye Muller at SimplySoles.

I feel a little dazed now that the big day is here and my story is out there for the world to read. Chalk it up the late night (it was 1:30am by the time I finally hit all the right buttons to send my story to Amazon) or the typical feeling of quiet exhaustion after you have fulfilled a huge personal challenge. I’m sure I will be more emotional later, once the realization sinks in that I just bared a significant part of my soul to you all. While I do hope you like it, I did this for me. As it turns out, proving to myself that I could publish a story was the best gift I ever gave myself.

And now I’m going to stop before I do open the emotional floodgates.

May you enjoy reading My Night with George Clooney as much as I enjoyed writing it.

go vote

 In case you’ve been living under a rock, it’s Election Day.

Maybe you took advantage of early voting, as I did. Perhaps you are taking your chances on the day itself. But whatever the situation, please do vote.

Some excuses I can’t stand:

My vote doesn’t make a difference. It does. Maybe you don’t live in a battleground state. Your popular vote still matters. And there should be some pride in voting your heart even if it isn’t mainstream in your district.

I don’t have time. This year, there was a plethora of early voting opportunities. Make voting a priority. Imagine living in a country where you didn’t have the right to vote. Wouldn’t you give anything for the chance to exercise your civic duty? Don’t take it for granted.

I don’t know how to vote. Spend the time in line familiarizing yourself with ballot initiatives and/or candidates you don’t have an opinion on. It’s important. It’s your country, state, county, city. Take pride in being part of the process that determines its governing.

The bottom line is that voting is sexy. So go out and do it, whoever your candidates may be.

Month of Chelsea

Photo by chelseachronicl

I have designated November to be Month of Chelsea. I’ve had enough of tears, frustration, bad weather, illness and death. I’ve had enough of sleepless nights, back pain, and wondering when things will turn around. There’s no sense in waiting for change. It’s time to make it for myself.

I had this epiphany exactly yesterday, on day one. And what did I do on this day? I early voted. It took a five-hour split shift on a rainy day to get it done, but it was important to me to fulfill this civic duty. In between line waiting, I spent some quality time with my hairdresser and dropped by the kids’ school where I had a nice chat with the principal about my kids’ education.

So far day two has found me breakfasting with one of my favorite people in DC and receiving this unexpected gift in the mail from my friend Kassie. It’s my very favorite shoe of all time, the Treat by Bettye Muller, custom dyed in a gorgeous coral-orange shade. Later today, I hope to make it to Biker Barre and after, to visit with my old boss to discuss an idea I have to return civility to Washington, DC. Yes, I am thinking big this month.

On tap for day three I have Weekend Warriors, one of my favorite days of the month. Other goodies in the Chelsea queue include: publishing at long last my story; heading to Michigan for Election Day to campaign for the Michigan Energy Michigan Jobs ballot initiative; and later this month, I head to San Francisco for Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. And then there is my upcoming vacation to Hawaii.

How can November not be month of Chelsea when I’m spending seven days of it in Hawaii?

I won’t torture you with daily updates, but did want to share my newfound energy, enthusiasm and purpose. If we all decide that November is going to be our month and we all made the most of these 30 days, wouldn’t all that positive energy result in a vast amount of goodness?

I’m not saying that this is the solution to all the world’s problems, but at least for one month, I promise to not let the negative get in the way and to live each day with the promise it deserves.

tips from an early voter

Photo by chelseachronicl

I just spent three hours and ten minutes in line to early vote. That does NOT include the two hours I spent in line this morning before I had to abort the mission to head to my noon appointment.

The lines are long. The line waiters are patient and determined.

It’s beautiful to be part of this display of patriotism. But if you are going to squeeze in early voting before Election Day, I have some advice.

1. Bring a book. (I was so happy to discover I had my kindle in my purse.)

2. Charge your phone. (I was on low battery an hour before I hit the last stretch of hallway.)

3. Go with a friend.

4. Wear comfortable shoes.

5. Dress warm if you live in a cooler climate. I had a sweater, coat, gloves, two scarves and was still cold.

6. Bring a snack and water. Seriously.

7. Take this time to review any ballot initiatives you aren’t well-versed on.

8. Talk to those people waiting around you. It really does pass the time faster and I even saw some folks holding places in line for those who wanted to run to the restroom.

9. If you can, leave the kids at home.

10. Revel in the fact that so many Americans are exercising their civic duty.

I don’t know if 2012 will see record voter turnout, but I do know I have never waited in line for more than 45 minutes to vote on Election Day proper. And at the end of the process, the more people who come to the polls, the better we are as a nation. I just hope the rest of those who intend to vote don’t show up at the polls at the same time you do.

strengths and weaknesses

We all have talents.

When it comes to holidays, I totally excel at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Thanksgiving is a no-brainer for me. I love food. I love wine. I love big dinners with my closest friends and family. Of course my favorite holiday is the one where you are supposed to eat and drink all day with your nearest and dearest. And be thankful for all your have in life, of course.

I do Christmas well too. I painstakingly decorate my tree with hand strung popcorn and cranberries. I have amassed an amazing collection of ornaments over the years. We bake an obscene number of cookies. Filling the children’s stockings (not with socks and flashlights, thank you) gives me great joy. I make the contents funny and meaningful, and enjoy the stocking ritual more than I do the unwrapping of presents.

Sadly, I’m kind of sucky at Halloween.

There’s no reason why. Halloween means fall. It’s the holiday for my favorite color, orange. I love how happy Halloween makes the kids. Carving pumpkins is fun, especially now that the boys are old enough to help, and I don’t have to do all the work. I don’t even really have to decorate the house by myself anymore because the kids take care of it, although this year, Halloween snuck up on us. We didn’t have the usual countdown of days and we never got our fake cobwebs on the bushes or any of our other decorations out of the storage bin except two strands of skeleton garland.

So where does the angst originate? For me, it’s the costuming. I might be able to put together an outfit, but visualizing a costume is a different story. I sometimes get paralyzed over this process, especially when the kids give vague orders like they did this year: “just order us vampire teeth and claws and we’ll figure out the rest.” I know I have to let go and just trust that their vision is fulfillable once we put it to the test tonight. Maybe I’m a tiny bit scarred by Halloween four years ago when Jack was going to be a zombie but decided at the last minute that he wanted to be an “army man” and threw on a camo t-shirt and grabbed a neon nerf gun as a prop. He looked like he did any other day outside playing with his friends.

Whatever the naissance of my panicky Halloween state, I sit at my desk today not consumed by the election or superstorm coverage, but by the internal debate as to whether I should buy werewolf hair (Jack says they don’t need it) in case whatever they have planned doesn’t work accordingly. Or maybe I can just let go of the worry and grab another piece of candy.

weathering the storm

Photo by chelseachronicl

We neurotically baked. Sugar cookies. Banana muffins (no nuts). Rustic Apple Tart. Homemade pizza (three kinds). We watched a lot of movies. Five, to be exact, including Young Frankenstein. We built a fire. We kept our electronic devices plugged in at all times and knocked on wood every time we looked at the clock and noticed how much time had passed since the worst of Frankenstorm had hit us. I drank wine.

And after kids were finally asleep on the living room floor where I decided we should camp out in case one (or more) of the tall trees in our yard tipped, I watched with horror the flooding that was occurring on the coast of New Jersey and in New York City.

In DC, we haven’t had a lot of good news since Teddy won the President’s Race, but that Hurricane Sandy left us relatively unscathed is a relief. If only we could continually channel this spirit of community and neighborhood that prevails during times of crises and let it be our guiding force everyday of the year. But sadly and cynically, by tomorrow, I expect partisan bickering to return to the shores of the Capitol and the nation.

meet Katie…

If you don’t go to Biker Barre, you might not have met co-owner Katie Fouts. She’s a badass on (and off) the bike. And the woman can dance, if her spin room moves are any indication. I suspect she teeters on the edge of crazy fun to go out on the town with. She’s inspiring. (I’m a sucker for the whole “I was unhappy in my previous career and made a complete change” storyline.) She’s energetic, smart, and gorgeous.

I was most honored when Katie approached me a few weeks ago and asked if she could engage my services in finding her a gown (make that two) for Inaugural festivities in January.

By way of an aside, let me note that Katie plans to attend the balls regardless of who wins the presidency, though she assures me she does have a preference as to who emerges victorious. Attending an Inaugural ball just happens to be something on her DC Bucket List.

Initially, we met to discuss strategy, over wine of course. We decided she needs a black dress for Inauguration Eve and a spectacular dress for the big night. She set a budget. She started a Pinterest board, Cinderella Time. And we scheduled our initial date to shop.

Who knew our shopping date would fall on Frankenstorm Eve? Being ever the cautious one, I questioned the sanity of heading out to Tyson’s after her Sunday Brunch Spin class as planned. We discussed rescheduling. But the endorphin high after her class pushed us both to go for it. (I mean, it wasn’t even raining yet.)

We hit two stores: Neiman Marcus and Saks. At Neiman, I suggested we look at every dress. I pulled gowns we had pinned and gowns we were unsure of on the hanger because I wanted to push her boundaries.

Of the ten gown we brought into the dressing room, the first three I suggested she try emerged as favorites.  I will hold back on sharing a photo of the top contender for now, as we want to see her in a different style by the same designer. (We may stage our own little public opinion poll.) While we loved the David Meister Animal-Print Gown on her (pictured at the top) I feared that she’d be yanking up the strapless bodice all night and that the sequins would chafe her underarms. We also loved a Catherine Dean gown (pictured below) for its edgy factor, but it was way over budget. (I don’t normally endorse trying on dresses over your budget but in this case, we wanted to try something out of the ordinary.) Both dresses were flattering, but neither was our favorite.

Our Inaugural Gown Pursuit continues. Stay tuned for the next update.

In the meantime, if you can introduce Katie to an eligible bachelor who’s tall, hunky and able to match her dance moves step for step, maybe she’ll comp you a spin class.

storm prep

I had a hard time figuring out what to do for Frankenstorm. Snow and ice storms, I get. Perfect Storm to Tell the Grandkids About, I’ve been at a loss for how to prepare.

I bought some firewood and a bag of votives. I would have bought batteries too except who knows when one is at the grocery store what kind of batteries one’s flashlights take? I have a full wine cellar, and I can mercifully cook on my stove thanks to the old fashioned pilot light. At this moment, our iEverythings and Kindles are charged, and I’m using as many electrical appliances this morning as possible. Forget reading. Time to watch TV. I immediately got in the shower after waking up so that I could blow dry my hair. I made a latte on my espresso maker. I’m doing laundry and using the computer. My rain boots are by the door in case I need to make a quick escape.

It sounds cavalier, but it’s all my form of panic management. I manage what I can control, and hope that talking to the majestic 30 and 50-foot trees that surround my house will be enough to keep them firmly rooted in place.

Last night, when I read this storm story from the Weather Channel, the severity of what we are about to face hit me. This shit is real. And it’s scary. In the end, there’s not a lot we can do to combat mother nature (except maybe address climate change). So hunker down. Stay safe, my friends. And if you need a glass of wine by the fireplace and have a vehicle that will get you to my house, feel free to drop on by.

on grieving

Fuck funerals. I (mercifully) hadn’t been to one since my former boss, Senator John Chafee, died in 1999. I worked for him. I respected him. But I wasn’t his friend. And there’s something different about the death of someone at the end of their life than someone so clearly in the middle of it.

Angelika had so much energy left in her that I didn’t know what to expect at her service today. Well, I knew I’d cry. I knew that I’d pass on the viewing. A body is just a body once the spirit has moved on elsewhere.

I wasn’t surprised to see a broad congregation of mourners. She was so much to so many different people.

But I was surprised to not recognize a soul.

How strange to be among scores of mourners and not know a single person. Oh, I knew immediately when her dear son Christopher walked in the room that he was indeed the man I’d heard so much about. I knew her husband was her husband before he was introduced. I’d been hearing stories about them for many years. I knew the details of their family vacations. I knew her son had a chemistry set when he was a little boy. I knew her granddaughter asked her to bring apple juice as a treat on her last visit to Amsterdam.

Her mother read a psalm in their native German. Her sister and daughter-in-law concurrently read the German and English translations of a favorite poem. Her son and husband choked back tears during their very heartfelt tributes. And through it all, it was clear to me that this room of people all carry the spirit of Angelika within them. Within us.

Thank god for the box of tissues in the pew.

By the time I made my way out at the service, I couldn’t contain the sobs. And I went right on not containing those sobs straight into the arms of Angelika’s patient husband at the head of the receiving line.

He held me with a strength that I was accustomed to in Angelika. He let me cry. I mumbled something about his wife being very special to me. He didn’t push me away or hurry me along so he could move on to soothing the rest of the mourners. He held tighter and just let me cry. Was it one minute or five? I don’t recall exactly. As I pulled away, he invited me to come to their house for a private reception afterwards, but I made my excuses. I felt I had imposed enough.

That’s the crazy thing about grief. It’s selfish, but it’s genuine. It’s all-consuming. It’s fucked up. This poor man lost his wife of 26 years and he’s the one comforting me? But part of her lives in him now, just as part of her lives in me. And that practically makes us family. At least, for a brief moment today, that is what it felt like.